#i just realized he is the author of coraline

[geekthefreakout]

The Joy Leaving the Work

This post will be discussing the works of Neil Gaiman and my personal relationship with them. If you don't like that or cannot handle that, kindly don't read. Also, there will be allusions to SA in the discussions.

So, a couple of weeks ago I decided to pick up Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman-- a book I've owned for a couple of years that's been in my "to read pile" waiting its turn. In the light of the allegations against Gaiman, I put off reading it a couple of months more as I tried to process how I felt. Now I've read it.

Background: Neil Gaiman has been my favorite author bar none ever since I read Coraline in 5th Grade. He and Sir Terry Pratchett share a bookshelf of honor in my room- the one right behind my bed, so I can easily reach for a comfort read. I've always loved his twists on various stories-- The Graveyard Book and Neverwhere being two of my favorites. The dark-but-not-too-dark tone, the dry humor, the magical realism, all of it. Anansi Boys looked like it would have all of that.

And it did! In a vacuum, this would have been a very enjoyable read. But with the allegations, I noticed things that I wouldn't have before. For example (spoilers, I guess):

Mr. Nancy (the titular Anansi) is a funny old man, and often a bit lecherous. In his final moments, he's doing karaoke with some young, buxom blondes when he has a heart attack and falls off the stage, hand outstretched. As he goes down, he sticks his hand out, grabbing one girl's tube top and exposing her as he dies.

This anecdote in the book is presented as something that embarrasses his son (our protag) but is generally interpreted by the other characters as something that was just so funny and charming.

It made me uncomfortable. In fact, just about every time Mr. Nancy alluded to his Master Roshi-like interest in buxom young women, I felt uncomfortable. But wait, there's more:

Spider (secret twin brother of protag Fat Charlie) is interested in Fat Charlie's fiancee. He tricks her into thinking that he IS Fat Charlie, and this girl who had been saving her virginity til marriage is so taken by him that they have sex. Meaning not only did he entice the girl to sex under false circumstances (this is rape), but it's also unclear as to how much of her going along with him is really HER and how much is his... mojo, I suppose. To the story's credit, once she realizes what has happened she gets angry and breaks up with both of them, no longer wanting anything to do with them... until, of course, happenstance brings them together again and she admits that she had real feelings for Spider, who finds himself wanting to behave better for her.

That doesn't sit right with me in the best of circumstances. These are not the best of circumstances.

I finished the book and it took me this long- two weeks and change- to decide how I feel about it. And how I feel about it is this-- I cannot separate it from the author. I cannot enjoy this book because the slime from Gaiman's actions oozes all over it. And that sucks.

I'm almost afraid to reread my favorites from him, for fear that my happy memories of those books will be ruined too. That SUCKS.

And it makes me feel dumb for never having seen the misogyny in the books before. It's like when Rowling showed herself to be what she was and I couldn't enjoy Harry Potter anymore, but worse because Gaiman is an author that I was still actively reading, who had been vocally supportive of queer and trans people, who I'd still looked up to. When it all went down with Rowling, I realized that I'd been excusing a lot of problematic shit in her writing as ignorance, rather than malice. But it WAS malice. And now I'm wondering if I didn't make the same mistake with Gaiman. That sucks too.

Anyway. That's my rant. Thanks for listening. Please share if you're having issues like this too, it's good to not feel alone.

[merakiui]

Hai hai! Meraaaaa, you've done it again. A magnum opus once more! I really loved the new Riddle fic!

Since it was an arranged marriage and more in the victorian age anddddd was also inspired by Coraline (it gives me the creeps but I still love it) from the bottom of my heart it's the past life of your fic love me not!

From my observation, It has a lot of parallels. Firstly, Riddle's mother doesn't like FL because of her attitude, unperfect and too little for her liking and both Riddle fighting for their engagement. Second! Riddle's tapping, Well more on Moro's but Riddle in love me not was tapping as they waited for the oven to bake the lemon tart? and FL noticed that the place was weird.

Third, the place was weird, while Moro's looking glass noticed it pretty much sooner Love me not noticed it at the ending of the fic. Though Love me not got the FL in the ending, I'm quite curious if the mirror is still working? Since it was stated that there should be a part of him so that it'd go through her world and since there was nothing.. a broken mirror is useless at this point but that's just my interpretation of course!

Also! this line in Moro's! It also parallels the questions you've got in love me not

iii. the third petal is plucked from the wilting rose: “he loves me.” to what extent does he love you? “passionately, you see.” - from love me not

"It wants me. To what extent, I’m unsure. But if it truly does love me as it claimed… Surely it wouldn’t hurt me." - from Moro's looking glass

MERA MERA I WANNA DISSECT YOUR BRAIN AND PEER INSIDE OF IT LIKE WHERE DO YOU GET THESE WORDS?! It's so lovely and haunting and like gob smacking like wowww, big brain moment, it's like a song that just flows in! All your fics were aaahhhhhhhhhhh!!! ヽ⁠(⁠｡⁠◕⁠o⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠.

actually.. actually this is my third ask but I didn't know how to introduce myself hehe. I'm Italian Mafia Tako and Mera day anon (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠). I'm quite shy and an introvert that's why I'd rather hide between anonymous asks hehe.. I also didn't know what to call myself haha and and! I'd rather introduce myself before I get caught.. You'll find me in your asks once in a while.. randomly, but I was anxious if you'd notice that my writing patterns are alike hehe. That's why Idia is one of my kinnies, I'd rather do it anonymous hehehe sorry Mera (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

.. I'm rambling a bit too much but I love all your fics! Every fic has a special place in my heart. This is the only time that I'd be jealous of a Tako but I wish that I could have three hearts to store all your fics, all so lovely and filling hehe! Have a great day author! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

MAFIA TAKO/MERA DAY ANON, HELLO!!!! SWEETEST GREETINGS TO YOU~~~ it's lovely to chat again!! I'm happy to see you in my inbox!! :D and omg,,, such a kind message AAAAAAA!!!! T^T <3 please don't apologize for sending anonymously!! Whatever way is easiest and most comfortable for you! 💖 thank you so much for reading Moros's Looking Glass and for enjoying the rest of my fics as well!!! To say you would want three hearts to store all of my fics..... aaaa I'm so happy to hear that!!!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sending you all of my love!!!!!!!!

AAAAA IS IT TRULY A MAGNUM (MOROS HEHE) OPUS?!?!? :O I never realized just how many parallels it has with Love Me Not!!! Those are all great catches! The line parallels between Moros and Love Me Not were completely unintentional, but I'm shocked at how well they align with one another omg!! I think the Love Me Not and Moros MCs should meet to discuss their Riddles. ^^;;;; group therapy with them... I think Moros!MC would be sympathetic towards Love Me Not!MC's situation. A motherly sort of figure almost,,, aaaa they both deserve happiness and freedom from the terrible Riddles!!!

As for your question of whether the mirror is still working, it's somewhat functional (i.e. it's still a prison for Mr. Moros)!! Moros is still trapped within and can't cross over into the real world because there is no part of him that exists there and Reader still has the locket with Riddle's hair. <3 he's essentially just a really useless charm necklace now since the mirror is in pieces. T_T it isn't big enough for him to slip out even when Reader is sleeping, so she is safe. <3

[biblicallyaccuratewetowls]

Processing the fall of a Tumblr Deity

I'll state right here right now that what has *allegedly* occurred concerning a certain English author is absolutely horrific and I cannot in good faith condone any support of him as a person. If you still find his works meaningful you have the right to keep going on as you please, hell I'm one of you. Good Omens opened the door for me to realize that I had religious trauma and finally gave me the words and courage to start speaking to people about it. It was the first time I had seen the word asexual in the wild since coming out. I felt so seen through the character of Crowley, trying to be good but no matter what the world has chosen a role for you and you have to fit it, even if that is not who you truly are. And Aziraphale being a sassy bitch made me laugh when I had been conditioned to take religion, especially angels, so seriously. I felt free for the first time in my life to just, not believe. I must admit I could not really get into any of his other works, although I have seen the Laika adaptation of Coraline and that also means a lot to me as a baby witch. I never really had the relationship with him that a lot of other people on this site do, I never put him on a pedestal or anything like that. He was kinda just a cool guy who wrote a good book. Now that I have this information I will still hold Aziraphale and Crowley close to me but remove the author from them. I would like to think they would want that, but honestly I can't say. I probably will wait to watch series 3 whenever it releases, I'm scared to see where this goes anyways since the asexuality of the characters seems to have been erased from the television series (yay ace erasure...). However you feel about this whole mess don't attack anyone in the comments, there is enough hate in this world already and I fully reserve the right to put you in the freezer. Blessed Be nerds

[cliveguy]

no clue if you remember that but i’m the person that sent neil gaiman the “do you support lgbtqia+” ask and just wanted to elaborate on why i asked that:

i was very new to tumblr and had seen coraline and read it so many times, but i didn’t know much about the author. i saw him, and was like “hm, maybe i’ll send him an ask!” at this time, i had only very recently realized i was queer and was very scared of people i looked up to being homophobic. a combination of that fear and just the excitement of realizing i could contact him, made me send the ask instead of googling. for about a week after he answered, my askbox was flooded with hate, and it really meant a lot to see someone taking my side, so thank you

either way now FUCK NEIL GAIMAN

(in that same era of being very new to tumblr i accidentally deleted my account 💀)

oh wow it's been a long time so i only vaguely remember this, but it's good to hear from you! people would (and still do probably) go crazy when someone even implied gaiman was anything other than the world's greatest ally so it must've really sucked to have that happening while you were just coming out

and yeah fuck gaiman i hope he never works again tbh

[the-sage-libriomancer]

Random media i love and want to recommend:

Saving Me (animated tv show) - A Canadian show about a brilliant 61 y/o inventor who, upon realizing that he's driven away everyone he ever loved, projects himself into the mind of his 12 y/o self to help save his (their?) relationships before they crash and burn. This show gives me super intense Gravity Falls vibes, in the sense that it's basically just what would happen if Ford Pines went back in time to help his child self. It also has a lot of interesting plot pieces that slowly connect over the course of the series. Currently has two seasons.

Daybreaking Romance (manhwa) - A Korean manhwa following three different college couples and their romantic escapades. This is very slice of life but also features comedic misunderstandings of epic proportions and grounded examinations of people, not to mention plenty of nice lighthearted emotional turmoil. Also two of the main characters (Saebyeok and Yeomyoung) are the most autistic twins you'll ever meet. Check it out if you like simping boyfriends, aesthetically pleasing artwork, and misunderstandings that drive you up the wall in a good way (if you're a Miraculous Ladybug fan you'll probably like this one lol). Unfortunately there's no official English translation so you'll have to read it online.

Mision: Yozakura Family (manga) - a recent(ish) Japanese manga about a high schooler who accidentally gets married to the head of a family of spies and is adopted into the family business. Now I've complained about this series in the past, but I'm still recommending it because it's funny and sweet, all of the characters are easy to love, and the main couple are incredibly shippable. Plus its myth arc is shaping up to be incredibly interesting!

The Goes Wrong Show (tv series) - a British comedy series with the premise "what if an amateur theater group tried to put on shows and they went disastrously wrong?" It's the most hysterical, side-splitting show I've ever seen - I'm not kidding when I say every episode makes me choke with laughter. The craftsmanship is also top notch. You will not BELIEVE what sort of things these actors will go through for the sake of the bit. There are two series (seasons) plus a handful of holiday specials and a wholeass movie. Also, the entire series is free on YouTube!

Small Kingdoms (book by Charlaine Harris) - a short story collection, all featuring the same character: Anne DeWhitt, an assassin trainer turned high school principal. The writing is clean and concise, in a way that grips you right from the first sentence and doesn't let go; I also really love the characters, who are delightfully practical and also super endearing. Definitely recommended if you like thrillers, good writing, and short reads.

Eerie Tales From The School of Screams (graphic novel) - a recent horror anthology comic. It's middle grade fiction, but hoooo boy it's the sort of book kids will come back to as adults and be like "holy shit, this was for kids???" You might recognize the author and artist (Graham Annable) because he's done a bunch of comics/comic strips and also worked on movies like Boxtrolls and Coraline. This one has a bunch of body horror and creepy art so genuinely don't read it if you're not interested in horror horror ^^'

[moonlight-fan2008]

Moonlight rewatch for millionth time

Episode 7 random thoughts and feelings I had while rewatching again: cause I’m bored and have nothing else to do or watch. And I love this show

And Steve is gone again

More tidbits of Mick’s human life; I take it he was an only child since he said my parents would take me here (Franklin hotel) for bunch after church on Sundays and not my brother/sister/siblings and I

Flashback also reveals he musical abilities playing guitar and being the lead singer of a band

It’s very interesting how the mind screws with you when it comes to trauma. Coraline kidnapped and terrorized Beth as a child and she doesn’t remember Coraline at all when she meets her as Morgan and doesn’t really have any hostile feelings towards her until she knows she’s is Coraline. However Beth instantly knew Mick upon seeing him again as an adult.

“Was she dead?” Love how blunt Josef is

“Beth doesn’t remember me from back then and I’m the one who rescued her.” She technically remembers you but (and I still love him) you kind of gaslighted her when it came to that

Josef was four in 1603 making his birth year 1599

I like how comfortable Beth is with Mick and just like walks into his office

I’ve only now realized the flashback at Coraline’s home is mainly in black in white and only a few characters are shown in color and are primarily those wearing red. Ex: Coraline in her red dress, Mick and his band mates with their matching red Hawaiian shirt with the white hibiscus flowers, the fire from the tiki torches, etc

“I have a 50’s thing I’m trying to shake” very on the nose Coraline

According to WIKI: “Remembrance of Things Past, and sometimes referred to in French as La Recherche (The Search), is a novel in seven volumes by French author Marcel Proust. This early 20th-century work is his most prominent, known both for its length and its theme of involuntary memory. The most famous example of this is the "episode of the madeleine", which occurs early in the first volume.”

I like how Mick and Beth are bouncing ideas off each other and Coraline is just there like 👁️👄👁️ you weren’t supposed to figure this out so quickly or together

“Coraline did not come back from the dead to exact revenge on you” oh Josef how wrong you were

“You need to let her go” immediately followed up by Mick in fact not letting her go

Idk why but I always thought she was putting her hand on his knee but she’s actually grabbing his hand/wrist

“You’re jealous” Mick smiling ☺️

“Don’t touch anything” proceeds to touch things

Is the ice breath thing a thing Mick has or do you think other vamps can do it too?

I know Coraline is partly manipulative because she grew up and lived during times where woman were not treated fairly or had basic rights and I have a semi head-canon she may have been pressured by her brothers or at least Lance to be a courtesan but like you’d think she’d try and not play mind games with people after a certain point. Im sure Mick’s not the first one to try and break things off with her because they’re tired of her shit

I feel like Cynthia was probably the one who Beth was talking to when she was talking to “Morgan’s” family

“Next time I’ll find a Beverly Hills thief” Mick is sassy and Josef’s little “thanks” back

“You got your cameras back this case is over” Josef was saying that to Morgan but is looking at Mick

Is Mick taking a picture here? Or is he just randomly shining a light on his hand? He sits down grabs something from the table, the light flashes off then he sets something in his lap

I know Josef is not interested in going back to the human world but I wonder if there’s anything that is solely made for humans (ie tanning bed) or modern day food he’d like to try

This is supposed to be Hank right? That’s what I always thought

For someone with super senses and reflexes Mick sure does get his butt kicked a lot

Another flashback that’s in black and white save for candles burning

“Were you disappointed?” And Mick stays silent but that says more than words

Again I like that they don’t drag out certain plot points like Morgan and Coraline are the same person.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Ineffable (Dream of the Endless x f!Reader) - Chapter 1: Daydream

Masterlist - Playlist

best to read the *preview* first before this one

previously on Ineffable....

"Listen. I have a... request. And as such, it is up to you whether you will accept it or not," he mutters deeply, his voice a mere whisper yet I have a feeling it can reach the farthest corner of this room.

My eyes stays locked onto his blue, and I realize I've held my breath for a minute, reeling from what he said.

"Go on," I implore. I want to add, For you - anything.

But I bite my tongue, and wait.

-----------

He pauses, as if rethinking his decision. I wonder what it could possibly be concerning, if he did not bring it up with the others in the room.

"You're not getting rid of me, are you?" I jest, although there is a tinge of worry in the pit of my stomach, some part of me thinking that he would actually do that.

Well...even if he does, I certainly won't go without a fight. I am valuable here. I belong here. For once, I no longer feel as if I'm running away from something, or towards some impossible goal. I've got my feet firmly planted in place, and I know who I am.

A year ago, I was just a normal student living in a shared house in the London suburbs. As normal as can be, that is. For someone like me, that was a feat. It all started when I was 5, one afternoon when I spoke to my father. Nothing out of sorts there, one would think. But I was speaking to him without uttering a single word, while I was in the room upstairs with my door shut.

"C'mooon Dad, I wish you'd please bring back pizza next time. I'm bored of the salads and all that."

"Sure thing, hon." his voice echoed in the kitchen, "Although, you still have to get some greens every now and th..."

He had whirled around, expecting me to be there. But I wasn't.

I came downstairs an hour later, and he'd chocked the incident off to exhaustion. I was too young to understand what I'd done, but the more it happened, the more wary dad got around me. Thankfully, he didn't really end up treating me any differently. My dad said I was special and it reminded him of my mom. And soon thereafter, we developed a game out of it. I'd figured out that in order to communicate through thoughts, I have to be the one to first direct a message into another person's head. Then, I can hear their responses to me. It's not the same as reading minds, no, and I for one am utterly grateful that it isn't. Not long after, I developed other... powers too - which initially did not manifest in the best way, and so I tried to stifle them for a long time.

It came as second nature to me, I thought other kids could do it too. Up until 1st grade, when I repeatedly asked Marianne if I could borrow her crayons, and she'd started crying and yelling at me to get my voice out of her head. Since then, I'd learned to reel in my thoughts and not cross into other people's heads. But I do slip up sometimes. The results of which are either comical or downright infuriating, on my behalf and theirs.

And at 21, while trying to make ends meet as a student and bookshop clerk in London, I met Fiddler's Green. Gilbert, he called himself.

He had walked in the shop, his towering stature and curious demeanor appearing to announce his entrance. I tiredly looked up from my post, and took him in as he tipped his hat in my direction.

He strolled over to Fiction, and began his perusing. I let him take his time, looking over at him again a few minutes later, and noticing Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys in his hands.

"Hmmm... sadly I haven't read that one, but I have to say Good Omens and Coraline were impeccable works of his. I'd happily recommend this author..." I sat up, startled, my thoughts had clearly pushed over to him. Please be busy, I thought to myself. You did not hear me. I am simply thinking to myself, that's all there is to it...

"Is that so?" he thought out to me, "Well, I suppose I'll be giving this one a try then."

I wanted to apologize, or to give some sort of excuse, anything. But something told me that he didn't mind. He had this steady smile that was just comforting, that I nearly forgot about my slip-up altogether.

Until... "Don't worry about it, dear. Our thoughts can escape us sometimes. That does not necessarily have to be a bad thing. On the contrary, your advice truly helped. I'm in for a great read, indeed," He jovially comes up to the counter, "So I'll be taking this one, please."

It's safe to say that nothing was ever the same after that day. And I had Gilbert to thank for it. I'd ended up moving in with him, and his wonderfully eccentric collection of flatmates after I was shortly kicked out of my flat, and never looked back.

From then on, I'd learned more about myself and my abilities. Rose Walker and Gilbert were the first people, after my father, to truly see me and accept me for who I was. They understood my abilities, for they too were like me.

And so, if Morpheus thinks I am going to give up this life easily, he is sorely mistaken.

But...

"No," he seems surprised, "Why would you think that?"

Oh, I don't know. You barely speak to me, for one. Apart from when we discuss important matters that relate to the safekeeping of the Dreaming, or when I throw a question your way that you act like you're answering purely out of courtesy.

"I just... what do you really think of me?"

"I...," he starts, and I can see that he was caught off guard, but in plain Morpheus fashion, he tries to appear unaffected.

I stare him down, not letting the question dissipate between us.

"I find you... intriguing," he says after what seemed like the longest pause, "I mean... you're certainly someone who has become important to the Dreaming. I know Lucienne, among others, has grown quite fond of you. And her judgment is one that I hold in the highest regard."

"Hmmm," I am pleased at this, but dare I press on? "But, have you?"

"Have I what?" He asks slowly. Did I stray too far? I may have gotten cocky there, but I hold my ground.

"What I mean is... I have made friends here. No... family. Lucienne, Merv, Matthew, Rose, Gilbert...." I search his face, "Almost everyone, but... you."

His expression loses its signature stoicism, and he gives me a look that is tortured and amused at the same time.

"Am I not a part of that?" The corner of his lips lift slightly.

"Of course you are." You may be the most important of them all. The most captivating. The most perplexing. I add, "But sometimes I feel as if... you'd rather not be."

The silence weighs heavy afterward. But for some reason, I don't feel weary. Not even anxious. I've said what I wanted, and simply being able to be so candid with him like this, strangely gives me calm.

"I... apologize if I've been rather... cold... towards you. If you've felt overlooked or unwanted, it was not my intention," He whispers, "You are...important... to me."

I feel arrested in my seat, all the blood rushing to my head making me feel lightheaded, if that were even possible in this realm.

"Thank you," I manage, "It's okay..."

"No.. you have to know that..," he pauses, "that it's not easy for me. It never has been. These...things."

He stands much closer now, looking down at me, his gaze keeping me in place. When did he get up from his seat?

I take a deep breath, and rise, decreasing the gap between us further.

His eyes flit from my own to my nose to my... lips. He looks pained.

"Especially with you... I...can't..." His words are barely discernible.

"Can't what?"

Another pregnant pause. He rests a tentative hand on my shoulder, as if testing the waters.

And as if this moment was never so pressing, he turns away.

Well, that was something. Nevertheless, this is probably all he can give me right now. In my time around him, I can see how being the literal Lord over an important aspect of the human condition can take its toll.

"You had a request for me?" I try to steer the conversation into a neutral area, "Is it about the mission I have with Gault?"

"About that. I've just decided that I will come with you instead. I need to show you something."

This was a surprise. The two of us have only gone on a mission alone once before, and this resulted from all the others being occupied with their own thing.

"But it can wait," He turns back to look at me, "You should rest."

"Well, technically, I am dreaming," I smile at him.

"You know what I mean," He gives me just a hint of a smile and then starts to leave.

"Morpheus," I voice out in his thoughts, he pauses in his step, "You're important to me too."

He turns back halfway, and I swear I can glimpse a full smile over his shoulder.

"Sweet dreams, y/n."

End of chapter one.

Neil Gaiman reference! I just had to..

Thinking of adding some *spice* to the main plot, and seeing as I'm a sucker for some jealous!Dreamboat or jealous!Reader-- which do y'all prefer? A bit of Corinthian x Reader, or slight Dream x OFC??

Worry not! The Reader's abilities/background will be more fleshed out in the coming chapters.

Also, this fic WILL contain angst. However, I want their relationship to develop healthily and naturally, to some extent. We'll see!

[therealvinelle]

I love your takes on twilight, do you have recommendations for other books?

Sure!

I'll divide this into authors, titles, and playwrights, since there are some authors I blanket recommend, and reading a play is very different from reading a book.

Also, wrote this one on the fly so there are probably many I missed, but now you have recs.

Authors:

Agatha Christie Christie is remembered by most for her ability to create compelling mysteries and zany detectives, but she had many other qualities. Chiefly among them, her ability to create amazing characters. Recommended works: And Then There Were None. Ten seemingly random people are gathered on an island, and start dying one by one. Crooked House. The usual Christie dysfunctional family, one of my favorites. One of Christie's as well. Curtain. Poirot finds the perfect murderer. Ordeal by Innocence. Two years earlier, a murder was committed. The victim's son was convicted of the crime, and hanged in spite of his insistence that he has an alibi, guys!! Totes!! Well, cut to present day, and the alibi hears about this case, realizes "whoopsie doo, that was me, wasn't it. Well I better tell the family they sent their brother to the gallows and the culprit is still alive and most likely one of them. I love doing good deeds like that. :)" The Mirror Crack'd. One of Christie's later novels, this one is among my favorites for its character creation. It has a very good sideplot of old lady detective Miss Marple finally getting the kind of old where she's not just a zany old lady, but old as in can't live alone and people tell her all the things she can't do, and she's furious about it.

Amalie Skram Radical feminist 19th century realist author. Particular titles I recommend include: Forraadt (Autobiographical novel about a young woman completely unprepared for the horrors of marriage. Places a magnifying glass on the hardships upper-class woman had to endure in their marriage) Professor Hieronimus (A woman reluctantly agrees to submit herself to an asylum, as she has been very stressed lately. The psychiatrist proceeds to gaslight her into thinking she's crazy, her husband believes the psychiatrist over her, she realizes she's not getting out anytime soon. Also autobiographical, because Skram's life was terrible.) Hellemyrsfolket (Follows an impoverished family in Bergen. Asks the question of whether poor life choices are the fault of society or the individual. For instance, first novel, the patriarch has stayed sober and hard-working against all odds, he'll keep this family afloat or so help him god. The novel proceeds to break his spirit.) Skram's translated works might be hard to get your hands on because to my knowledge she's not well known outside of Norway.

Philip K. Dick Hard sci-fi author. Insanely talented man, the kind of mind I aspire to have. A Scanner Darkly (an undercover policeman develops a drug problem and an identity crisis) Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (Features the age-old question of where real ends and synthetic begins)

Victor Hugo VERY loquatious. However, he's so charming when he babbles on and on that you kind of just have to love him for it. I can recommend: Quatre-vingt-treize (historical novel, set during the French revolution.) Les misérables (about miserable French people.)

Titles:

Albertine by Christian Krohg This realist novel about a young, honest woman whose downwards spiral leads her to prostitution sparked a debate about the treatment of prostitutes in Norway and led to changed legislation in their favor.

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis Not for the faint of heart, but if you think you can do it then knock yourself out with this insane book.

Candide by Voltaire A satirical anti-war, anti-everything novel about a very candid man named Candide, who travels the world and finds that it's a ridiculously, over-the-top awful place. He remains optimistic through it all.

Coraline by Neil Gaiman Delightfully eerie story about a girl who discovers a sinister world almost identical to our own.

Dune by Frank Herbert Excellent, and while I haven't seen the Villeneuve film yet every interview I've read has given me the strong suspicion that the spirit of the book was lost on him. Read the book.

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman Not a perfect novel, but god it's utterly enjoyable. Impossible not to have a good time reading this.

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman One of the few YA fantasy series I've read that I wholly and unabashedly loved. Inspired by Milton's Paradise Lost, featuring very interesting religious themes.

Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams SO MUCH FUN. No point in summarizing in part because I can't, this is just a fun, fun, quintology in three parts. If you like my sense of humor you'll love Hitch Hiker's Guide. It's a longer read, though.

Jerusalem by Selma Lagerlöf Penned by the first ever woman who won a Nobel prize in literature, this generational novel depicts the inhabitants of a Swedish village who form a Christian cult and decide to emigrate to Jerusalem. Inspired by a real events. Features seriously interesting characters, my favorite being the couple where the wife developed really bad post-parture depression and wound up committing infanticide, then when she gets out of prison the husband is waiting for her. "I still love you, babe. Let's have new kids."

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov Beautiful prose, excellent use of an unreliable narrator, horrifying story. Strong recommend.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Most people have heard of this one already, so I'll just say that it's a deeply funny book. Dorian Gray is awful, just awful, but delightfully so. Shoutout to poor Sybil Vane.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee Told from the point of view of a little girl, her sweet childhood takes a dark turn when a white woman is raped and a black man gets the blame.

Playwrights:

Euripides. He's the mastermind behind Medea and Bacchae, both of which I strongly recommend.

Henrik Ibsen. A master of writing about the ugliness just beneath the surface. Enemy of the People (Spielberg's movie Jaws is loosely based on it!), Vildanden, and Peer Gynt.

Ludvig Holberg. Erasmus Montanus: Rasmus Berg (Berg meaning "Hill" in Norwegian. VERY normal name.) returns from university, and he is Learned™ now so you may now refer to him only as Erasmus Montanus. He proceeds to be too intellectual to function throughout the play.

Shakespeare. Yeah yeah I feel like a tool, but... he's good damnit. Though my recommendation for him would be to watch a filmatization, as the language can be rather dense. In my experience it's better to know what happens in the play from watching it performed first, before you can really get much out of reading it. The Hollow Crown is a good filmatization of his king trilogies, The Merchant of Venice with Jeremy Irons is amazing, and Baz Luhrman's Romeo and Juliet remains the best Romeo and Juliet film I've seen. Also, sidenote - if English isn't your first language, DON'T make the same mistake I did of reading a translation, thinking that'll be easier.

Sophocles. Wrote the Oedipus Rex trilogy.

Other recs that come to mind are the Old Testament (there's nothing so fascinating as reading stories that date back three thousand years that have shaped our history) and The Cheese and the Worms by Carlo Ginzburg (a scholarly work outlining how an Italian miller named Menochhio formed his own cosmology).

Tagging @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin in case she wants to add to this.

[aquamarinescarlet]

The Half of It

Pairing: Gerri Fields x Reader

Word count: ~ 5.5k

Warnings: catfishing (kind of), crushing on a straight girl… y’know, the basics

Request: Hello there! Not sure if you take requests but there’s a movie titled the half of it and I thought it would be a great fanfic idea for a lizzie (or any of her characters) x reader (if you’re not busy of course)

Author’s note: Alright, I cut this in two parts ‘cause it needed a lot of editing and I wanted to post it soon. Thank you anon who sent the request, I loved writing this, I hope you like it. Stay tuned for part two.

Taglist: @b0mbdotc0m

Part 1 - Part 2

The ancient Greeks believed the human body was once formed by 4 legs, 4 arms and a head with two faces. They were complete. So complete that the Gods, fearing their wholeness would not require a need for worship, separated them in two, leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery, forever longing for their other half. It was believed that when one half meets the other, there’s a harmony, a moment of no greater joy.

Of course, the ancient Greeks never went to high school, or realized they don’t need the Gods to mess things up for them.

Perhaps humans spend too much time looking for someone to complete them. How many people find true love? And if they do, make it last?

All the more evidence to support Camus theory that life is irrational… meaningless.

And that, my friends, is an A plus is philosophy. You thought to yourself as you discreetly passed around the papers during quire class, your phone chiming with notifications from money sent by Tori, Steve, Coraline, or whoever had paid you to write their essays this time.

Mr. Fields, completely oblivious to your secret scheme, stood in front of the class, explaining something about the talent show which you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. Soon enough everyone was standing, per the professor's request, following along to some music sheet he had handed.

You sat by the piano, following along with the rest of the band, although completely lost on what you were, in fact, supposed to do.

There were at least half a dozen seniors singing, and yet you couldn’t help but only pay attention to her. Gerri Fields. The girl dating the hottest, most popular guy in school. The girl who always had her nose buried in some book. The girl with the most angelic voice you’ve heard.

Maybe it was all in your head, but she overpowered the whole room. Her voice completely filling the space.

Unfortunately the moment was short and soon the bell rang. Since quire was your last period, you now found yourself biking back home. The ride was boring, as much as it was every single day. You appreciated the nature surrounding you, the peace and quiet, seemingly alone, or so you thought. You were pushed to the floor, being completely broken from your daze.

“What is your problem?” You said while picking yourself and your bike up.

“Sorry- I’m sorry- I just…” the boy trailed off and you noticed he had a paper in hand.

“Ten dollars for three pages, twenty for three to ten.” He looked at you nervously.

“I’m not trying to cheat.” He simply stated.

“Then what’s that?”

“A letter.” He handed it to you and you quickly opened it.

“Who even writes letters these days?” You read the name on the top, Gerri Fields.

“I thought it’d be romantic.” You folded the paper back, looking at him with disbelief.

“Dude, I’m not writing for Ger- some girl.”

“Why not?”

“Letters are supposed to be authentic not-”

“That’d be great,” he interrupted you.

“No,” this boy must be stupider than you thought, “I cannot be you being authentic,” your patience was starting to wear thin “look, get a dictionary, read some poetry, and good luck Romeo.”

“I can pay more for authentic.” You heard him scream, but you were already far ahead.

Back home, you took the interaction off of your mind and focused on your studies in the living room, while your dad watched a movie. Your concentration was broken by the lights flickering, you knew he hadn’t paid the bill, so you made a mental note to call the company first thing the next day.

And that’s exactly what you did. You rang them first thing in the morning and was put on hold. While you biked to school, during class, while you practiced piano alone in the band room, at least two times in which you had to avoid the boy in the corridor... throughout all that you were on hold.

You were so concentrated that you bumped into someone on your way to class, all your stuff falling to the floor. You leaned down to pick’em up when a pair of shoes came into view.

“These hallways are murder,” you looked up to find none other than Gerri Fields.

Her brown hair tied into a bun, a few loose strands framing her face perfectly. Her body dressed with the characteristic boho-chic clothes, and somehow her green eyes out shined all that color.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you muttered when you noticed you were staring.

“I know,” she responded while picking up your stuff, “you’ve been playing my dad’s services for years now. You’re his favourite, he hates mediocre accompanists,” you couldn’t think straight when her eyes met yours.

She handed your stuff, while you just remained completely silent, and walked away. You just stared, the hallways now empty due to the bell just ringing.

You were brought back to reality by the voice on the phone.

“Miss Y/L/N, your bill is three months overdue, we will need a minimum payment of fifty dollars by tomorrow or we’ll be forced to terminate your power.” Your mind was empty with ideas of how to solve this.

On cue, the boy from yesterday, who was running down the hallway, stopped by you, looking expectant.

“Fifty dollars. One letter. After that, you’re on your own,” your face was one of pure annoyance.

He raised his hand in celebration, but you just turned and walked the other, him following suit.

Dear Gerri Fields, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d wanna know you, because you’re smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl, but even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.

You were shocked, to say the least. The fact that normal teenagers wouldn’t write essays such as yours was not news to you, but this letter, this was something else.

About me: Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma… who’s dead now. Nevermind my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime? I work part-time and I have a truck. Let me know whenever. Thanks. David Avery.

“So what you’re trying to say is-”

“I’m in love with her.” He blurted out, not giving you enough time to take that all in.

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“I- I- I’m not good with words.” Shocking, still you pitied him as he looked at you, slightly ashamed.

“And you know you’re in love with her?” You tried to take in the whole picture of what you had gotten herself into.

“I know I think of her when I go to sleep, when I’m working at the ice cream stand, when I go to the beach, when I’m at the studio, when-” you cut off his rambling.

“That just means you’re stubborn, not that you’re in love.”

“No, it’s love. Love makes you screwy. Don’t you get screwy?”

“No.” Who gets screwy because of someone? How does that even make sense? This thing was going to be more trouble than you initially anticipated.

Your attention shifted back to the piece of paper on your hands. A pen scribbling over the words, trying to figure out how you could fix the mess that this was.

“Oh, I get it,” David said, while you mumbled random ideas, “you’ve never been in love.”

He got into your nerves. What does it matter if you’ve been in love or not? You considered getting out of this, leaving him to try his own luck, but you needed the money, so you just got up, shoving the letter onto his chest and saying,

“You want a letter about love? I’ll write you a letter about love,” and stomping away angrily.

Writing it turned out to be more of a challenge than you thought. You were again sitting in the living room, watching a french movie with your dad, struggling to get the words onto the paper.

You were close to giving up when a sentence, uttered by one of the characters on the TV, caught your attention.

“Longing… longing for a wave of love to swell up in me.” That would work.

The next morning you handed David the finished piece, sealed so he couldn’t look at what you’ve written.

Yet again you were caught by David while biking back home. Thankfully this time he didn’t throw you onto the floor, he didn’t need to since you stopped immediately when he said she’d written back. Of course you had said ‘one letter’, but you were allowed to be a little curious at her response.

He caught up with you and handed the letter.

Dear David, I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’a plagiarized him though. - Gerri

She was good, better than you expected.

“Who’s Wim Wenders, and why did you cheat off of him?”

You couldn’t be bothered by his confusion, completely ignoring his question, you were interested, you were hooked, you were eager to see what she would come up with next.

“This is good.” You mumbled.

“How?”

“It’s- It’s like a game. She’s challenging us. But in a good way.” And for some reason, you were willing to take that challenge.

You biked away leaving him behind like a lost puppy.

“Game on, Gerri Fields. Game on.”

Dear Gerri, okay, you got me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17. I’ve lived in Squahamish my whole life.

“Such a downer,” David finished reading the, still incomplete, second letter you wrote for him.

“Not a downer,” you retorted.

“Major downer, ask her to hang out.”

“What do you mean by ‘hanging out’?” You asked with genuine curiosity, doing everyone’s homework had kept you from having an active social life. The fact that you lived in such a small town did not help. “Like… what do you do?”

His friends interrupted the conversation before he could explain.

I hang out with my friends. I keep my head down. I’m a simple… guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. - David

“Psst, in here,” David called from the confessionary, “she wrote back.”

The second letter had been finished and sent, and now you had another response.

Dear David, Did you know it takes 11 muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from… well, yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. So, yeah, I turn to other people’s words, too. When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but that’s why you’re even writing me, right? When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in ‘I like you’, but like them as in ‘I am like you’. So I’m like a lot of people, which makes me kind of no one. - Gerri

“Can I text her now?” What was up with this guy and going so fast?

“Too soon,” you quickly shut him down.

You left him inside that church, mind bubbling with ideas as to what to write next.

I never thought about the oppression of fitting in before. The good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them. - David

Doesn’t everyone think they’re different, but… pretty much we’re all different in the same way? - Gerri

Says the girl perched on the rarefied peak of Mt. Popularity. - David

Easy Mr. I-Know-Nothing-About-Love. I may surprise you. - Gerri

The messages became shorter, and somehow deeper. It was no longer a simple exchange of letters, it became some sort of a game, and Gerri was a damn great player. So much so that you didn’t even notice her coming into the bathroom while you washed your hands, lost on thoughts of the conversations you’ve been secretly having.

She was leaning against the wall, her hair pulled up by those bandanas she’s always using. When your eyes met, you stopped breathing for a second, nervousness prickling at your skin from the prospect of getting caught on the scheme you had with David.

But she just smiled, and you could’ve stayed there, looking at her for hours. Unfortunately the other girls chatting in the bathroom, oblivious to both your presences, scared her away when the topic of her boyfriend came up.

You could sense how hurt she was by those words, how they talked her down by talking him up. It was the first time you’ve seen first hand how this universe that she was trapped in could suck sometimes. All you wished was to punch their faces. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

What’s surprising is: people don’t see what they’re not looking for. - David

The obvious unseen. - Gerri

You were getting too caught up by this. No longer writing people’s essays for them. To the point where even one of the teachers started to notice. It was funny how she knew everyone cheated and still preferred to cover for them over having to read what they’d actually write.

You didn’t care. You were getting the money and Gerri Fields was piquing your interest immensely. She was much more than you expected.

I’ve been thinking about what you said - about seeing and not seeing. I had a painting teacher once tell me that the difference between a good painting and a great painting is typically five strokes And they’re usually the five boldest strokes in the painting. The question, of course, is which five strokes? - Gerri

Along with the message came attached a picture of a painting. It was a challenge. Would you be able to see those five strokes?

I get it. After one’s slaved away at making a pretty good painting, the last thing you’d want to do is make a bold stroke and potentially… - David

Ruin everything. - Gerri

You spent hours analysing the painting. You had your ideas of what those strokes were, but had she seen the same thing? Or did she see it from a totally different perspective?

You tried to explain to David the strokes. How to read a painting like it was a book. Showed him the painting she’d sent. Explained what made that painting a great painting.

Sure, he didn’t understand any of it, just nodding along, which surprised you since he has interest in pictures. It was pointless, but he was still the one she was flirting with, the least you could do was to keep him alert, curious, aware of who Gerri Fields was and what he was in for.

That’s why I gave up painting. Still, I wonder if that is how I’m living my life. It’s a… pretty good life. Probably the best life one could hope for in Squahamish. - Gerri

It was time to step up your game.

Perhaps… but how well do you really know Squahamish? 41.1º24’12.2”N 2.1º10’2.65”E - David

You found a simple stroke of paint on the mural you had prepared. The coordinates you sent her led to this empty wall, a few bottles of spray paint sat at the bottom. Since you’re talking about paintings, why not make one yourselves?

Oh, so that’s your boldest stroke? - David

I’m into the slow build! What was that? - Gerri

The conversation had shifted from a paper and pen to paint and a wall. You had added some random pattern, and came back to find she had done some of her own as well. Let’s see what you can do, Gerri.

Decisiveness, but please… take all the time you need to be BOLD. - David

Is this BOLD enough for you? - Gerri

What was once a splash of light green paint was now overpowered by a golden figure in the center, specks of a darker green surrounding it. Now that’s a bit more like it.

And thus was abstract art born… - David

And transformed. - Gerri

It wasn’t just the spray paint this time. She had broughten tools of her own. The golden figure had taken the form of a woman, delicate shades forming her body and marking the roots of her hair. A star at the tip of her hand.

It was a great painting. No change needed. No more bold strokes.

Unfortunately, it was gone as soon as it came to life. A now white wall hiding what was once a great piece of art.

Or not. - Gerri

Everything beautiful is ruined eventually… Maybe that’s the thing. If you do ruin your painting, you gotta know you have everything in you to get to that pretty good painting again. - David

But if you never do the bold stroke… - Gerri

You’ll never know if you could’ve had a great painting. - David

“But when does the dating start?” Why does this boy have to be so impatient?

“This is dating.”

“No, dating is burgers and fries and shakes. And maybe another order of fries. And…”

This was a shallow way of putting it, you thought, there must be more to dating than eating fast food and talking about dead grandmas. Although you wouldn’t know, life hasn’t given you much opportunity for dating.

“... I’m gonna text her.” Your eyes went wide with those words.

“Wait, what?”

Before you reached him he had already sent out the message. Fast food emojis, tonight was spelled ‘tonite’, it was all wrong, so wrong. You watched the phone intently, waiting for a response, hoping you’d get a response.

Those three little dots appeared and disappeared, making your heart sink in your chest.

You had to think, and you had to think fast. David was getting utterly frustrated behind you and no response was coming. A thousand ideas went by your head when a specific one seemed a good enough excuse.

“Little sister hacked my phone. Can we take this to a safer platform? Ghost Messenger? My handle’s ‘Smith Corona’.” You typed frantically.

“Who’s Smith Corona?”

“Just… a guy,” you shrugged him off.

The both of you were staring anxiously at the screen when, once again, those three little dots appeared and disappeared, earning loud sighs from you. So this was it? All that for a stupid message to ruin everything? Would Gerri really give up that easily just because she now thinks David’s a moron?

The sound of an incoming message on your phone broke you out of your thoughts, raising your hopes back again. You fumbled to your bag and there it was.

‘New Ghost Message’

DiegaRivero: So… where are these fries?

“Yes!” You and David celebrated. Gerri wasn’t that easily scared off after all.

Although now you had a completely new problem. Gerri and David would go out together. On a date. Just the two of them. And you couldn’t be there to help him. The heavy feeling at the pit of your stomach was screaming at you that this wasn’t going to work.

Sparky’s Diner was the place of choice. Secluded, not that popular, nice food. A good choice. You had David on the phone while he drove.

“She prefers abstract to representational. If she brings up Remains of the Day, talk about how the movie loses out by not spending more time on the Nazis.” You explained, more to comfort yourself than to help him, you really didn’t want him to screw this all up.

“Relax. I got this.” This boy is too confident for his own good. “It’s a date, not a book report.”

He kept you on the line, his phone on speaker, but with no volume, so you could hear into their conversation while being at home. You were dreading having to listen to this.

“I got two of them signed when he came to Powell’s Books last year.” You heard her voice for the first time in a while, you assumed she was talking about Remains of the Day just like you had predicted. “I drove all night to get there.”

“Oh, uh… cool.” What an idiot.

“You’ve probably already read it. Thought you’d like one.” You were starting to pity the girl and the night she was in for.

“Uh, yeah, totally. No, I- I love, uh… Nazis.” You almost hit your head on the wall out of frustration. “I mean the- the- the ones in the book. I mean, like, more of those Nazis. Am I right?”

Silence settled for a few seconds, a pretty uncomfortable one you’d bet, before Gerri spoke again.

“Uh, speaking of Nazis, thank you for meeting me here. My dad… he isn’t a Nazi exactly, but, uh… he can be pretty strict. You know, people talk.”

“Um, yeah. Talk. Ugh.”

More silence.

“It’s nice… to make a new friend, though.” Points to Gerri for the effort, but damn was this going badly.

“A friend. Good.” He sounded disappointed but what did he expect, for her to propose or something? She has a boyfriend, and he knows it.

Silence filled the conversation more than words, David saying the stupidest things that definitely didn’t sound like what she expected of him. They didn’t sound like you. This was over and done with, but he just couldn’t accept it.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he tried to convince you the next morning while you biked.

“What about that date wasn’t bad? You have nothing in common.” You argued. “Game over!”

“I can’t give up!” He retorted.

“Look, you and Gerri Fields, not gonna happen.” You needed to get some sense into this boy’s head.

He, on the other hand, didn’t give up, following you all the way to this abandoned school bus.

“Gerri Fields thinks you’re into abstract art and repressed British literature. None of that is you.”

“It could be, I started reading that Remains of the Day book.” You were pleasantly surprised. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“There are no points for effort.” Gerri already thought highly of him, he could no longer win her over with just ‘trying’.

“Isn’t that what love is? How much effort you put into loving someone?” Is he right? You never experienced love, you wouldn’t know for sure.

“Well, whatever love is, we just blew it with Gerri Fields.”

On cue the sound a notification came from your phone, leaving the both of you shocked.

DiegaRivero: So that was… weird?

Maybe not everything was lost.

“We can do this!” David exclaimed. “I’ll pay you double,” he added when you didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to pay me,” the words were out of your mouth before you could process them.

“Don’t be weird, why else would you do this?” You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t even know why you were still doing this.

You quickly accepted the offer so he wouldn’t get suspicious and, let’s be real, some extra cash could always come in handy.

Now that the game was back on, you devised a three week plan to get David ready for the next date. You didn’t have time to teach him everything, you had to be selective, deep versus broad-based learning. Spy on Gerri and specialize David on her favourite things.

Existentialism. Sartre. Camus. Hepburn. The Philadelphia Story. Conversation Lessons. Reconnaissance. Following Gerri around the movies, the pharmacy. Kathenne. The Roman Holiday. Mapping out her boyfriend, her interests, favourite foods. Watching her family, night dinners. Soon enough the entirety of the abandoned school bus was covered with information on any and everything you could gather on Gerri Fields.

Other than quire class, Sunday services were the only moments in which you could see Gerri Fields without creepily following her around town. Her father, Mr. Fields, was in charge of the church quire as well and, as Gerri had pointed out weeks ago, you were his favourite accompanist.

DiegaRivero: Do you think Father Shanley has any idea what’s going on around him?

You received the message in the middle of one of the services, after Father Shanley, who was in fact too old, had one of his ‘moments’, which basically meant he screamed some nonsense for no reason.

SmithCorona: I think Father Shanley KNOWS ALL

Your heart ached when Gerri turned and smiled at David, sitting amongst the crowd, while you watched from your place on the piano, above everyone else. It was lonely. But the fact that her eyes were on him just made it all the more lonelier.

The training with David kept going, conversation lessons making you both closer. While playing ping pong you’d learn about your past and present, suddenly aware of how sad it is that neither of you have ever been anywhere other than Squahamish. He has his truck, but the beach and his family business keep him stuck in town, and also away from pursuing his dream of working with photography. You, on the other hand, never even thought about leaving.

DiegaRivero: So… why you always up so late?

Night had fallen upon the small city before you even noticed.

SmithCorona: World’s asleep, more room for thoughts

DiegaRivero: Hour of secrets?

SmithCorona: Something like that

DiegaRivero: So what secrets… ?

It was in moments like this that you were reminded of the fact that she wasn’t talking to you, she was talking to David. Or, at least, that’s what she thought, and that secret was killing you inside.

After one of your ping pong/conversation lessons, you caught yourself wondering what it was about Gerri Fields that was so enticing to David. He knew nothing about her before this whole scheme started, and they had nothing in common.

“What do you like about Gerri?”

“She’s pretty,” he answered with no hesitation, “and smart… and she’s never mean. And she smells like fresh-ground flour.” See, nothing in common. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“What else could I like about her?”

The question got you thinking about what it was in Gerri that enticed you so much. Why you kept up with the game. Why you were so invested on it.

“I don’t know.” So many thoughts were flooding your mind. “How her eyes look right into yours. How… she twirls her hair when she’s reading.” Images of these moments going through your head. “How her laugh busts out like she can’t help herself and she stops being so perfect for just a few moments. She has at least five different voices. How you could live in an ocean of her thoughts and… feel like she knows, like really knows-” You stopped the moment you noticed David’s expression had turned into a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“I’m so stupid.” Your heart stopped for a second. “I’m so dumb.”

“No,” you were getting desperate, “don’t think that I-”

“What you said,” his voice was louder, “that’s what you say when you love someone.”

“No I- I was just talking,” you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or him, “I- I would never, ever actually-”

“No, it is, and- and you don’t even care,” a rush of relief took over you. “I mean, I love her and I can’t even… agh!”

He was getting frustrated. He wanted to be as good as you were with words. Poetic and… romantic. That wasn’t his thing. You felt sorry for him, you really did. So much so that you caught yourself contradicting what you’d said weeks ago to him.

“You try… harder than anyone I’ve ever met,” your voice was soft, soothing his nerves, “to show a girl that you love her. And if love isn’t the effort you put in… then… what is it?

He smiled a little, calming your own nerves. This boy was starting to grow on you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

David was becoming a friend, someone you truly care about. Despite how much it killed you to flirt with Gerri for him, you wanted him to be happy. You wanted this to work.

SmithCorona: No secrets. Just a good guy… and you should be with a good guy

These late night talks weren’t particularly helpful.

Three weeks passed and that second date was long overdue. This time you wouldn’t stay too far away from him, but close and ready to come to the rescue whenever he screwed up.

“Okay,” you opened the door to his truck, “Gerri. If she brings up immigration, you’ve been talking about the recent-”

“I know.”

“When in doubt, if the name is Italian, probably an artist. If French it’s probably a-”

“Hey.” You stopped your rambling. “Thanks.” His voice softened.

“Oh…” you were surprised, he had not thanked you yet for all of this, you did not quite know how to respond, “uh, sure.”

“I’m probably gonna crash and burn, but thanks for sticking it out with me anyway.” He was nervous, it was endearing.

“Well, not like you didn’t pay me,” you tried to lighten the mood, earning a gentle scoff from the boy. “You’re not gonna crash and burn.” You reassured him while he left the truck.

You didn’t believe your own words. He was totally gonna crash and burn. But a little boost of confidence couldn’t hurt.

They were sitting at one of the window seats at Sparky’s Diner. You could see them clearly, and, by the confusion on her face and the nervousness on his, you could tell it did not start well.

The conversation was clearly taking a weird turn. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you could see none of them seemed to be enjoying the date that much. So you had an idea. You picked up your phone and typed Gerri a message.

SmithCorona: I get nervous when you’re close

She smiled at him. She bought it.

DiegaRivero: Why?

David, on the other hand, was totally confused by what was going on, and soon enough you received a message from him.

“Wut????”

“Look at your phone!” You typed back, she had to believe it was him who was texting her.

SmithCorona: …

DiegaRivero: …?

SmithCorona: …..

DiegaRivero: I’m just a girl

SmithCorona: You’re not just a girl

David was quick to interrupt, still being kept in the dark.

“WUT. ARE. YOU. SAYING???”

“STOP. LOOKING. AT. ME!!!” Why can’t he just go with it?

DiegaRivero: I’m not? Then what are you?

SmithCorona: Also… not just a girl

She giggled at the joke, and boy what you would have given to listen to it. David, still oblivious, gave her thumbs up, while she just stared him up and down, totally confused. You don’t blame her, it feels like it’s two different people because it is, and if the boy doesn’t learn better, he won’t get her ‘cause she’ll be stuck in this idea of who he is.

DiegaRivero: You’re strange, but cute

SmithCorona: You have classic bone structure

You typed, instead of sending all the things you were thinking about her just by staring at her through a window.

DiegaRivero: ...Thanks

Your mind tried to think of something, what to say next, but came out empty. While you brainstormed something that was fit for Gerri Fields, David decided to take matters into his own hands.

“I don’t wanna be just friends,” he stood up abruptly and spoke loud enough that even you could hear.

No, moron, that’s how you crash and burn. But of course David wouldn’t listen to you, your advice. Too eager, too impatient, unable to enjoy the build up. If he didn’t ruin everything before,for sure he would do it now. And you were helpless, there was nothing you could do from inside his truck at this point.

You couldn’t listen to what they were saying and it was nerve racking. His mouth moved, she just stared, and it all seemed uncomfortable and confusing, until it wasn’t. He smiled, he sat back across from her, and when she turned she was smiling too. That moron had figured it out on his own.

You were proud of him. But you were also a little sad. He was starting to walk by himself, soon enough he would not need you anymore. And yet you were enjoying this little game. You were enjoying these interactions with Gerri, even if she didn’t know it was really you she was talking to.

That was the deal when you signed up for this. You flirt, you put in the work, and David ends up with the girl. Why you ever thought it would happen differently is beyond you.

So, reluctantly, you left his truck. You left them alone. David could carry himself from here on out. There was no point in being there anymore.

And yet, you wanted to be there so bad.

[tenroses07]

This is absolutely brilliantly worded and I couldn’t have said it better.

It really does upset me how much credit and power the fanbase has given gaiman (and I am HEAVILY guilty of this too and I am totally kicking myself over it) because if Terry Prachett was still here, I think people would’ve realized way sooner that Good Omens was mostly his work. Gaiman would’ve never gotten away with so much if he wasn’t the co-author still alive, honestly. It’s so clear to me now (and once again I feel ridiculous for not realizing it sooner) that he’s used his social media presence and interactions with the fanbase to be held to such a high esteem and be a the GO’s fandom little uwu author who loves the gays and is so humble that he answers asks on Tumblr.com.

I don’t have much to say about gaiman or Prachett’s other works unfortunately, I’ve only finished Coraline (which I did enjoy…but it was not as ‘dark’ as people really wanted to act like it was) and I unfortunately haven’t gotten to reading any of Terry Prachett’s other works (I am coming for discworld eventually though, I swear) but honestly even then I can see myself still 100% agreeing with your opinions on the two.

With this whole disgusting situation with gaiman, I’ve honestly come to realize that…he hardly does anything for the show. I only ever gave a damn about him was because, surprise surprise, he was answering questions on here and I thought that was kinda cool. The other reason I ever cared about him was because he was the co-author of GO and the author of Coraline..that was it. And I think that’s pretty much the same feeling for him held by most the fanbase up until this point.

Sorry for the ramble in response, your reblog just made me think a whole lot lmao. This also probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense considering it’s almost 2 am where I live but let’s just pretend it does.

Okay I lied I do have something else to say about the neil gaiman allegations

Do NOT drag Terry Prachett into this. I haven’t seen anyone do so myself yet, but I’m sure someone probably will and it disgusts me.

And also, stop giving neil all the credit for everything. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed, it’s that the GO fandom gives neil WAY too much credit. I’m even guilty of this. But it isn’t right and it absolutely isn’t fair to Terry Prachett or anyone else who was worked so hard on the show. People only give neil so much credit because he is alive to answer questions about GO and talk about how it was written while Terry Prachett unfortunately no longer can.

Sorry that this isn’t very well articulated it just was something that came to mind and made me very upset. Hope this makes sense.

[godzilla-reads]

When did I start reading Neil Gaiman?

If I'm being honest, I didn’t REALLY start reading Neil Gaiman’s books until last year. After talking with a friend of mine I realized I really hadn’t read enough of his work to call myself a true fan.

I had read 1.5 books of his. The .5 is for me getting halfway through The Graveyard Book in high school. No one asked for my reading history, but here it is!

I actually have the original receipt from my first Gaiman book: 02.24.2011. I would have been 12 when I bought my copy of Coraline. I got it from an independent bookstore called Dreamhaven because at the time I had just seen the Coraline movie! And the book? It was so amazing and so great and actually ACTUALLY scared me, which I loved.

Instead of getting into Neil Gaiman’s other books, I hunted down books with pictures by the illustrator of Coraline: Dave McKean. Queue my obsession with this artists for the next few years.

In high school, I saw a copy of The Graveyard Book at a children’s bookshop, The Wild Rumpus. I bought it with my allowance because, once again, Dave McKean. I barely made the association that Neil Gaiman wrote this book, too. I got halfway through this masterpiece before quitting. At the time, a friend of mine had died very young and tragically and I was so distraught that I couldn’t bear to read a book with ghosts and graveyards. I didn’t pick the book up again until 2021.

In the summer/fall of 2021 my friend J mentioned Neil Gaiman and I said “he’s one of my favorite authors” and when I was asked which books I had read… well, only 1.5. But those books had such a profound impact on me that just 1.5 books made him one of my favorite authors (plus his association with Dave McKean, one of my favorite artists).

After creating a list of Gaiman books I scrounged, I bought, I dug, I bargained, and I started creating my own library filled with his books. Well, the library consists of 1.5 (ironic, right?) cubbies in my bookshelf. I read M is for Magic, I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane, I read so much!

(Side note: I tried reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane once in high school because a girl I liked swore by it.)

I started reading The Sandman, and eventually, I read The Graveyard Book again, which was such a profoundly beautiful and wonderful experience, I wish I had finished it in high school. I feel like it was a book I needed at that time and I was so sad and scarred to see it. It was a book where you find yourself hugging it to your chest and breathing in and out to know you’re alive.

Earlier this year I had the amazing opportunity to see Neil Gaiman for an evening of readings, Q&A, and stories. I jumped at the opportunity, buying tickets. Being able to hear a beloved author speak and laugh and joke and care… it was amazing. It made me think of two authors I had met and loved: Kate DiCamillo and Peter S. Beagle.

So, why am I writing this? Well, I’ve decided to go back where it all began. I’m going to read Coraline.

[aerialflight]

the most misc fic rec list yet to date (and became instant faves)

[Game of Thrones]

biggering by TheOneKrafter

Ship: OFC / OFC (lesbians in the house)

House Mooton is an old and respected house founded before the time of Petty Kings and forever lying in their holding, Maidenpool.

Eleanor Mooton inherites the Ladyship of House Mooton after the second brother of two months dies in a hunting accident in the middle of Robert’s Rebellion. She is quite put upon about this.

(alternately: local reincarnation unfortunately becomes important due to the universe’s own fuckery. she should’ve ran to essos the second she realized where she was. also, where the fuck did all these kids come from??)

(This fic is basically lets throw a Tired lesbian at the start of Robert's reign and see what happens. What happens is shit gets actually done. I love her, laugh at her, and pity her as she tries her best to Fix Canon and not give a fuck about anything else. A hero of the people, truly!)

-

[Twilight]

Daybreak by pretend

Ship: Jasper/Bella, Emmett/Edward, Rosalie/Alice

Bella knew what her life would be like if she turned around and got back on the plane to Arizona. She knew her mother and her moods and how far the woman could go. Charlie was the unknown. And what was that saying about the monster you know versus the one you don't? Didn't end well for the prey in either scenario.

(I need to put up warnings for this both hilarious yet triggering fic. Bella was abused by Renee and it fucked her up good. Not gonna lie, I was very close to smashing a wall when reading Bella's thoughts and what she's been through, but at the same time, the tone of the fic made it easier to handle the topic at hand. It's so fucking funny how Awkward both Bella and Jasper are in this?? Seriously, they felt like such teens and Jasper made me laugh out loud multiple times, he's such an awkward Mess and it's fantastic, oh lord. I love how the author characterizes them and the rest of the Cullens and especially Charlie (bless that man), and how the author handles Bella's trauma. It felt so visceral and anxiety-driven, I felt so much for her. Also, the author fixed Edward! He's chill, thank the lord.)

-

[Star Trek]

A Galaxy of Spiderwebs by I_Got_Lost

Jim Kirk lives in a galaxy of spiderwebs. He has his kids, his crew, and the surety that the monsters that haunted his childhood are dead and long gone. Until, suddenly, one of them isn't. And it isn't the one that is easy to kill.

-AOS Star Trek with mythos from Coraline and other fae stories. Edit: starts in Iowa before Tarsus IV and runs during that time as well

(I was biting my nails to the nub when reading this, I wish I had read this fic in October holy shit. This is genuinely terrifying and a constant feeling of dread dodged my heels at every chapter. It's honestly so good and this is the one fic I am waiting for updates with bated breath.)

-

[Avatar The Last Airbender]

Ballad of the Nightingale by Lost_In_The_Muse

What does it mean when you’re living through a pandemic, suddenly find yourself in Ba Sing Se with absolutely no explanation, and the only thing you have going for you is an uncanny knowledge of your Spotify playlists? Escapism during quarantine just got a whole lot more epic. OC Self-Insert.

(This made me laugh out loud and facepalm so many times, the self-insert is so freaking awkward lol. Though let's be fair, my social skills took a deep dive due to this pandemic too.)

-

[Ted Lasso]

this is the very beginning by tenderjock

Ship: Roy Kent/Ted Lasso

This is not the end of a love story. / "Roy loves Ted. He doesn't like to admit it. He doesn't like feeling it. But, damnit, he does."

(Roy really does hoard all the sunshine characters in this fandom, doesn't he?)

-

[Haikyuu!!]

Final Boss by saltedpin

Ship: Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi

It’s totally fine, though – Oikawa can, temporarily at least, put aside a grudge that was six years in the making for the sake of trying to impress his coaches and senpai.

Or at least he could, if Ushijima weren’t so obviously and blatantly staring at his ass.

(*slams head on desk* fniewopafeaw Oikawa is so dumb. Oikawa, Oikawa why?? But also, Oikawa slowly falls until it's too late and then he's plummeting to his death. And Ushijima is a mountain whose head is so up in the clouds that he can't see the desolation and chaos Oikawa truly is, he's in a whole other stratosphere lol. Until he isn't. But also, he's characterized so well and I know he's such a hard character to pin down but the author just nailed it, ugh, so good.)

-

[Boku no Hero Academia]

Thinking in Resolutes by Redleaveshavefallen

"I attempted murder."

Iida’s voice was low and even, with a dangerous weight that immediately rooted Midoriya in place. "I tried to kill someone, and it's only because of the police's intervention that our teachers don’t know. And if anyone heard that, well," and at this he attempted a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, "they wouldn't believe I belonged here anymore, right?"

--

Bakugou hadn't meant to overhear.

Series Part 1 of The two most villainous students in UA

(The Bakugou and Iida friendship fic! They bond! Over murder and whether or not they're villains! It's a wholesome time! *bright smile*)

-

[Sailor Moon]

The Next Right Thing by AislingRoisin (JayBird345) for HybrisAnaideia

Ship: Chiba Mamoru/Tsukino Usagi

Usagi was aiming to live her best third life. Then a cat happened.

(*buries face in hands* I have GOT to STOP getting into the most random fandoms, it's ruining me dkfwjewa. But seriously, this fic looks at Sailor Moon critically and yeah, there are some messed up things in this fandom I never even thought about, wow. Really liking it so far!)

-

[Bleach]

Made some bad decisions by ThatOnePlatypus

If Sousuke had to determine the reason everything went wrong, he would point the blame very firmly at Kenpachi Zaraki’s feet.

How was he to know that, for once, murder was not the solution?

(*rubs hands together and laughs evilly* Karma bites Aizen in the ass and it's the best thing ever! :D)

anyone's ghost by fathomfive

Hinamori and her new captain have nothing in common but the first, worst thing.

To get the Fifth Division off the ground they're going to have to pull all-nighters, scale the cliffs of bureaucracy, strengthen new and old bonds - and maybe do something really drastic, like trust someone whose mistakes can't be erased.

(I always love when fics explore the aftermath of the Fifth Division. Shinji and Hinamori both learn to work with and around each other, struggling to make this situation work and trying to be kind to each other in the ways they can. Trying to function after what Aizen did to both of them. It's fascinating and one of the most underrated relationships I've seen expanded in this fandom. Love this!)

-

[Marvel]

One Day (you'll have given more of yourself than is meant to be taken) by Cross_d_a

Thor grows into manhood reluctantly, fiercely, with all the fervor of a child who desperately wishes to be loved but doesn’t exactly know what they’re doing. Or why. Or even if they should.

But she does it anyway.

(The thing is, Thor knows she will never be a real man. But how can Thor complain when she was born a boy in all the ways that seem to matter?)

(#Trans!Thor, #Thor is actually a woman who never learned it was okay to be one, #because everyone sees Thor and thinks "this is a Real Man", #and never thinks there might be room for something more)(If these tags aren't enough to make you cry, then reading this fic will.)

-

[The Hobbit]

The Fine Art of Small Talk by Margo_Kim

After Bilbo rescues Thorin, Thorin starts respecting him, but there's a big difference between respecting someone and liking them. What do you say to someone you have nothing in common with? If you are Thorin and Bilbo, you say all of the wrong things.

(It's been years since I read this fic and it's just as good as I remember! The dialogue and dry wit still make me laugh and the slow friendship between this cantankerous pair is so believable and real. If anyone wants to read an old favorite, give it a go again! It's great. *thumbs up*)

-

[My Next Life as a Villainess]

Time after Time by Palhinhaea for mariagonerlj

Ships: Katarina Claes/Alan Stuart, Katarina Claes/Geordo Stuart, Maria Campbell/Geordo Stuart, Anne Shelley/Long-suffering, One-sided others (My ship tag has never been longer lol)

All Katarina Claes needed to succeed in her mastery of subjects was a little motivation. If her motivation was the opportunity to spend time with her gorgeous fiancé, all the better for her future plans. But even the most determined horse sometimes needs an actual carrot and maybe Katarina Claes will attempt to master the most challenging subject of all: how to find someone worth gifting her time.

(It's been so long since I've been in this fandom but this fic reminded me why I love this crazy place so much. Alan was always my favorite and this fic just proves why?? He's the best boi and truly cares about Katarina and just, I love them so much?? Also, Geordo, get wrecked.)

The Phantom of the Palace by mariagonerlj for Palhinhaea, Lutka

Ships: Katarina Claes/Alan Stuart, Katarina Claes/Geordo Stuart

Prince Alan Stuart had sailed through eighteen years of his life with nothing but the winds of misfortune at his back. Hideous, useless, untalented, sickly, and largely unknown to anyone outside of his circle of immediate family and morose servants, he had lived with the sincere conviction that he was one of the most unfortunate men to have ever been born. He did not expect to ever get engaged or married, have children, gain any appreciable power, or do more than flit around the royal palace like a gray ghost.

So who could have known that one day, he would find himself courting the strange, passionate, and pensive woman that his golden twin brother had abandoned? Or that a most unorthodox love story could blossom from their burning desire to prove themselves to the world?

(THIS IS SO CUTE?!? ALAN THINKS HE'S UGLY AND HE'S SO DRAMATIC AND SHY AND BASICALLY THE CUTEST AND KATARINA IS QUEEN HERE AND IT'S RIDICULOUSLY SWEET?! I laughed so many times and got so much second-hand embarrassment reading this, it's unbelievable fewnifopewa)

-

[Klaus] (it's December, so let's add a bow at the end)

Hard-Knock Life by kitlaurie

Ship: Klaus/Jesper

In the absence of a working postal service the Smeerensburg post office has been (unofficially) repurposed as an (unsupervised) orphanage.

And now that's Jesper's problem.

Series Part 1 of Klaus Orphan au

(I AM IN LOVE!!! This is so heartwarming and I want to adopt all these vibrantly colored children who are all troublemakers and will probably give me as many gray hairs as they do Jesper but I DON'T CARE! I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH!! *ScReaMM* Stumbling upon this fic was the best Christmas gift EVER! Please read and spread the joy!!)

[shrinkthisviolet]

Author Interview Tag!

Tagged by @maipreciation, thanks for thinking of me! This looks really fun :D

(Note: I’m keeping this as a running list, so if you’re ever wondering what fics im working on/brainstorming, make sure to check here! Last update was on 12/12/2020)

Name: Lavi! As of 12/5, I’m no longer going by my real name (see this post)

Fandoms: so many 😂 check my bio, I think I have them all listed. I’ve posted fic for Hamilton and ATLA, and then there was a huge Inktober compilation I posted last year with a whole host of fandoms. Currently, my major fandom is ATLA, and probably Kipo as I’m starting to move through S1

Where you post: I have an AO3 (lavi0123)! I used to have an FFN and a Wattpad, but I don’t use either of those anymore :/ tbh, I’m embarrassed of anything I still have up there 😂

Most popular one-shot: Most definitely we’ll give the world to you (and you’ll blow us all away), one of my contributions to Maiko Week! I’m not surprised it’s an ATLA fic, but I find it interesting that a fic with Izumi in it blew up so quickly. But hey, if y’all want more Izumi content, you won’t be disappointed 😉

Most popular multi-chapter fic: ...I’m really embarrassed to say because I don’t think I’ll ever finish it...but En Hamilton Heights is the only multichap fic I’ve published so it’s gotta be that one 😂 hopefully soon I’ll have another fic to add to that, since I’m working on one (sorry EHH fans but it’s been too long and tbh I don’t remember where I was going with it :/ I’m thinking I might orphan it)

Favorite story you’ve written so far: you think this world is a dream come true (but you’re wrong) for sure! It’s super niche but it’s something I wrote out of love for a movie I discovered this Halloween and absolutely love. Though all you’ve got to do is want something (and then let yourself have it) is a close second. Basically, anything I write that sounds absolutely bonkers as a concept is one that I love 😂 (and it’s no coincidence that both fics are Mai-centric! I love all my Mai-centric fics nearly equally)

Fic you were nervous to post: Is there an “all of the above” option? 😂 I’m always nervous to post. But in particular, I was nervous for if you ran away (come back home), because it was Mai-centric and longer than any one-shot I’d written thus far, and also you think this world is a dream come true (but you’re wrong), because it’s Mai-centric and a Coraline AU, which makes it BONKERS as an idea

Why was I nervous to post Mai-centric fics, you ask? Two reasons: 1) Mai is very different from who I am as a person (I vibe a lot more with Aang and Ty Lee, sometimes Katara and Sokka), so I didn’t want to upset the Mai stans by writing her incorrectly. 2) Mai is generally not well-liked in the fandom at large, so I especially didn’t want to attract antis who would accuse me of writing Mai as too emotional and loving (which is why I tried to justify that in my tags). Luckily, my comments have all been lovely, and I’m far less afraid to post fics about her now that I’ve written three fics with her as the focus! And the shoutout from @nonbinary-crafter-aang praising my portrayal of her?? I was touched 🥺 still am

How you choose your titles: Song lyrics or movie/book lines that speak to me, occasionally a pun. Remember that post I rb’d about how authors title their works? My tags pretty much say it all 😂

Do you outline: Ehh...define outlining 😂 for my one-shots, nope. But for my upcoming multichap works (see below) and Nanowrimo work (original fiction, so I won’t talk about it on here, but send an ask if you’re curious), YES ABSOLUTELY!

For my Nanowrimo work and one of my upcoming AUs (a Soulmate AU), the worldbuilding is so complex that it’s an absolute necessity. For the other upcoming AU (a time travel AU), there are just too many things that need to happen at certain times so as not to interfere with canon events, and things I want to change from canon and things I want to keep...I think you get the idea 😂

Complete: Basically my entire maiko halloweek series! Check it out if you want some fics about the most underrated canon ATLA couple :)

In-progress: ...En Hamilton Heights again...but not for long, sadly. Still trying to decide between a quick conclusion and just flat-out orphaning it. Still haven’t made up my mind, but either way, it won’t be what I originally planned, unfortunately.

I’m also counting my ATLA Soulmate AU on the basis of forever in my mind (only you), which has the worldbuilding and fits into the AU without much problem (the AU is going to be a series of one-shots, not a multichap fic, because there won’t be enough deviations from canon imo to justify multiple chapters. And one-shots are just less pressure for me 😂)

[EDIT 12/12/2020: added another fic because I’m an idiot and forgot about this too 🤦‍♀️😂 it’s a year-old idea that I started writing but I’m picking it back up thanks to the Heist banter in MatPat’s St Jude stream!]

-A fic series combining Escape the Night and Who Killed Markiplier (Heist and Date are part of it too, but only tangentially at the moment. Depends on how involved I want DA Y/N to be). Tentatively titled A Heavy Cost, and definitely won’t happen in any of Mark’s projects, but in a way that’s actually for the best 😂 the canonicity for me stops at ETN S3 (with some S4), then it’s canon divergence

Coming soon/not yet started: OOOH YESSS HERE WE GO

Okay okay sooo we’ve got two main things:

–An ATLA Soulmate AU, featuring platonic and romantic soulmates! I know I called it in-progress, and I stand by that even though I haven’t actually set up the series on AO3 yet, but this AU is about to be SO MUCH MORE than just a few Maiko moments. Because...drum roll...it’s gonna be entirely Aang-centric (with maybe one or two exceptions)! Like Mai, Aang is a character that doesn’t get as many -centric fics as he should (and being an Aang stan also isn’t unanimous for some reason??), so I’m gonna fix that. Plus I want to dive further into his mind, and I think I’m more equipped to do that than I was with Mai, since Aang and I are very similar in attitude.

–Bumizumi time travel AU, which can be read as platonic until the last couple chapters (it’ll be multichap) but definitely has a romantic agenda throughout. So just. Be warned if you don’t ship them. It’s gonna be chock full of comedy and antics! Also A LOT of platonic affection between Izumi and teen Zuko (and just between Izumi, Bumi, and the Gaang in general), because platonic affection is underrated and also I can :D I’m also probably gonna make fun of how some elements of affection have become solely romantic territory, because...um, no, hugging and holding hands and cuddling can be done between friends, thanks! (Maybe it’s the ace in me talking. But regardless)

There are also vague concepts I’m spitballing, like:

-Zukaang telepathy AU (Platonic Zukaang, the only romance I’ll ever write in ATLA is for the canon ships, prompted by a dream because apparently ATLA lives in my head rent-free forever now 😂)

-Evil Zuko AU (Azula doesn’t exist, mostly prompted after watching Aang make fun of Zhao and realizing that if Zuko had been in any position of power during the War...the Gaang would have stood no chance at all)

-Bumizumi Arranged Marriage AU (Bumi and Izumi both think the other is hotheaded/reckless (Izumi @ Bumi) or uptight (Bumi @ Izumi). So Kataang and Maiko (along with Sukka, Ty Lee, and Toph because...duh) set them up in an arranged marriage, with the presented reasoning being that they already know each other’s families, it’ll be a great symbol of unity, and this way Izumi doesn’t have to worry about suitors. They both agree to it (it’s arranged, not forced), and over time, they warm up to each other...and maybe even...fall in love?? Prompted because we need more arranged marriage fics! On that note, I’m gonna plug shadows and steel by @dearestpartnerofgreatness because arranged marriage needs more rep and this fic does it and with Maiko to boot!)

-Zukaang as Brothers AU (I saw a fic about this, but it wasn’t complete. If it’s not done by the time I get to this concept, I’m gonna write it, because just...imagine the possibilities! Zuko and Aang are already basically brothers in canon anyway, this is just making them brothers in blood as well as in their hearts. This is especially vague because I have no concept of how this is gonna work 🤷‍♀️ I’ll get to it eventually)

(Can you tell I’m obsessed with Zuko and Aang’s friendship? Because I am!)

[EDIT 11/25/2020: I’m adding two more because I forgot these have been swirling around in my head too 😂]

-A fix-it fic based on May You Always Be Satisfied, a backstory fic for Who Killed Markiplier by @blackaquokat! I recently reread it and remembered that I was gonna write a fix-it for that fic. Not because the fic sucks, it’s actually amazing! I’m just a sucker for the main (requited unrequited) pairing, and there’s at least five ways to make that pairing canon and avoid the mess of Who Killed Markiplier. And THEY ALL DESERVE TO BE HAPPY OKAY

-A Finnrey fix-it for the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy (this one is especially vague, and I probably won’t write it since a bunch of these already exist, but it’s fun to think about. Maybe if I ever run out of WIPs 🤷‍♀️)

Upcoming story that you’re most excited to write: I’m equally excited for the Soulmate AU and the Bumizumi Time Travel AU! I’m also excited for my Nanowrimo work to be finished, but that’s more so in-progress than upcoming

Tagging:

@nonbinary-crafter-aang @dearestpartnerofgreatness @ohsalamanders @blackaquokat (no pressure ofc, only if you want to! But please tag me if you do, I’d love to see it!)

[the-kr8tor]

Lol you heard right!

He doesn't need to have a long walk around his property after a nightmare 🥺

Yeess!!! Do you know that one photo set of a couple unable to stay still bc they got too giggle and started to laugh so the pictures started to get blurry and blurrier? That's them! Ajsbsixwnnd

They do be quacking

BAHHAHAHAHHAHA I understood that reference and maybe some bunnies and slimes too!! 😆

Lmaooo imagine r actually saying that 🤣 she would've made hobie laugh hysterically

So many!! Also i forgot to mention that there're also notebooks in there that contain day to day notes and doodles from his travels!!

R really should tell him! She's procrastinating 🤣 I will once we switch from hbo go to disney once again!

Rice pudding!! Idk what that is but i want it! Don't bonk me bonk hobie and r!!

Samesies! But i would like to see him with one tho for scientific purposes

Lmaooo r was one of those tiktoks where they mix a bunch of cleaning agents 😂

Tiny human sittin on a tiny horse!! 🤣🤣🤣 Billie and ramona waiting for the day: *taps watch* anyday now mum and dad

Cross dropped a nuclear bomb on Hobie. I bet the kill bill sirens were blaring in his head when he heard it

Exactly! It majorly sucks donkey balls

You literally predicted so much in opin 😂 your accuracy rate is 97 percent

Lol I felt your anger with that line 🤣

I need to give coraline a rewatch bc I have no recollection of that line lols (and yes the author sucks)

I STARTED SINGING HAHAHHAHAHHAA that's why the stained glass window is red muahahahhahaha

AGAIN YOU GOT IT RIGHT HAHAHHAHAHA

Hobie and r are the only ppl standing between them and the title of "first horse serial killers"

Everyone booed that hicks lived (and i don't blame them)

Yooo i just realized too?! Like he's THAT tall

R will invent therapy for him

Lol that's so real

THE GOODEST GIRL

It's like the burning of alexandria

YEESSS RELEASE YOUR PENT UP RAGE R!!! HOBIE'S COMING FOR THEIR HEADS!

HAHHAHAHHA he needs a good nap bc he has an adventure after it

By Hook or By Crook

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.2 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW guns, CW food mention, CW suggestive, CW blood, TW violence, TW death, TW abuse mention, Wild west AU, Cowboy AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

Hobie's nightmares are few and far between now that you sleep beside him. But on the rare occasion that it haunts him, it's always horrific. His own mind betrays him, the fog of a nightmarish scene unfolds like theatre curtains; where you're the star, a bleeding, screaming star of the night. It always starts off with you in place of him. Hicks has you in his iron grip, while his men, men that you've known since you were a little girl taunt you with the same disgusting words they threw at him.

He can never forget how your face contorted into a horrified expression when you see Hicks brandishing the knife in front of you. All the while, Hobie stands there, motionless, in place of the same oak tree bearing your name. As if your fate is predestined, your own tombstone carved above the shallow grave they're about to throw you in. It happens just like how he remembered it. Hicks, your own uncle, slices your throat with a cackle; while rain pelts down upon you, drenching your lace dress, mixing in with your blood gushing out of your neck in waves. Thunder and lightning cracks above, and you're thrown into the pit where they bury you alive.

You try to claw your way out, nails digging into the dirt, staining your once soft hands. Gasping for air, Hobie is unable to look away— how could he when he stays rooted on the spot of your tree?

As the storm pours down, your lungs filled with dirt and rain water, he watches as you slowly lose the light behind your eyes; falling limp, chest completely frozen as you stare up at the night sky. Hobie tries to scream, desperately uprooting himself off the soil, but it's not enough. You lay there unblinking, dead before they could cover your whole body with the same earthly soil you once stood upon with him. The last thing you saw was the leaves dancing in the wind, the last thing you saw was him, unable to save you one last time.

You hold him in bed until the trembling stops, you'll hold him forever if need be. Hobie's embracing your middle, face tucked just above your ribs, hiding his red puffy eyes from you while you knead at his nape. Your other hand cradles his elbow, fingers drawing patterns on his skin to calm him down. With every sniffle, you squeeze him tighter against you, and love filled words spilling out of your mouth to comfort him further.

You've told him a hundred times before that it was just a nightmare concocted by his mind that was caused by the trauma he has experienced. But you know that he understands that it isn't real, but you'll tell him a thousand times more to ease his worries because he once told you that it helps. You'll do anything to support him, and maybe one day his nightmares will finally fade away. Until then, you'll hold him and keep him grounded to the present.

His silent sobs have subsided, hand splayed over your stomach to feel your warmth. Dawn is peeking through the light blue curtains you've put up in the shared bedroom. You're surrounded in hues of brilliant blue, as if the sky itself presents itself inside your small bedroom.

The room is sparsely decorated, save for a large wardrobe at the other end of the room. You were too occupied to decorate the house. If you had enough time in between tending to the garden and the house, you'd decorate your home with things you and Hobie love— place photographs of you two, trinkets that remind you of the good days back home; and fill it with shared memories. You promise once everything is settled, you'd put your time and effort in making the place more homely. For now, you'll settle for filling the abode with warmth and your love for eachother.

The almost sheer fabric of the curtains does nothing to shield you from the light, but with the soft blue hue coming from the heavens above, and the cool breeze passing by, blowing the curtains around the sparsely decorated room— it helps him calm down. Hobie feels like he's floating above a cloud with you hugging him, lips pecking gently against the crown of his head with so much love he feels it in his chest. Blossoming, spreading around his limbs, tending to him and comforting him slowly.

You flick your eyes over to him, inadvertently meeting with his own that has been searching for the light behind your eyes. “I think we need ducks.”

Hobie cracks a smile, green eyes lingering on your soft grin. “Why ducks?” His voice is still hoarse so he clears his throat as you continue to massage at his nape. Making sure that he doesn't get a crick in his neck from how he's looking up at you with tender eyes.

“They hunt pests, it'll help the farm.”

“Where'd you learn that?” He humours you, hand cupping your side; such affection could only come from him.

You chuckle while your fingers play with his baby hairs clinging to his nape. “From my books.”

Hobie cuddles closer, nose nudging your stomach. “Buck and Cherry won't like ‘em. Clover might even eat ‘em.”

You snort, tamping down another laugh as if your laughter will disturb the peace when it's the opposite for him. “If we desensitize the horses they'll like them. And I'm sure Clover won't eat the ducks.” Hobie pulls himself up, tear stained cheeks illuminated by the dwindling oil lamp; chin placed on your chest. “We can build a coop for them, then have duck eggs every morning.”

“Have you tried duck eggs before, lovie?” His knuckles brush along your jaw, emerald eyes swimming with emotion. Sometimes you wish you could hear his thoughts so you could do a better job at comforting him. Like he does to you, he's better at that than you.

“I don't think so. Do they taste bad?”

“Nah,” his voice is soft, as if he's whispering secrets only to you. “It tastes the same as regular chicken eggs.”

You reach for his nose, squeezing it once before letting go. “I'll take your word for it, farmer Hobie.”

He chuckles, cheek pressed gently on top of your chest, straining his ear to hear your heartbeat. “‘Farmer Hobie,’ I never thought I'd hear that.”

“Don't like it?” With your thumb, you wipe the remaining tears clinging on his eyelashes. “How about ‘rancher Hobie?’”

“It sounds better than outlaw Hobie. Whatever you want to call me, love.” He pulls himself up more, face tucked in the crook of your neck. You cradle his head, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “I'll be there.”

“Good, you know I don't like waiting.” You joke, eyes slowly closing while you fight a yawn. “We can go back to sleep, Hobs. It's still early.” You feel his presence above you, eyes cracking open, you see him frown. “You okay?”

“'m sorry that we lost all that time together.” He sniffs, inhaling sharply. Eyes finding your own.

You smile, helping him ease up. “It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” Hands cradling his face, you peck his lips then his eyelids as he closes his eyes. It's a simple act, a small one but it wraps his heart in silk and warmth. He feels like that lovelorn boy he left behind a long time ago.

“I need to show you somethin'” He whispers against your lips.

You quirk a brow, lips pursed into a gentle smile. “Okay, show me.” Hobie kisses your cheek before leaning away. The mattress squeaks as he leaves your side, you already feel empty and cold.

You watch as he crouches down on the foot of the bed. There's a scraping noise when he pulls something from underneath. Propping your elbows up, you crane your neck to see what he's doing. Wood scraping against wood, you see him lugging it towards the side of the bed. It's a large wooden trunk that's carved with simple patterns. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing but metal inlays and a lock where a key would go. Your heart thumps loudly, filled with trepidation as Hobie takes an old rusted key hidden under the bedside table. Crawling towards the edge of the bed, you peek as he opens it.

“Please don't tell me that's where you're hiding your millions.” You joke just as when the smell of old paper akin to weathered books hits your nose. “Oh,” you almost cried at the sight of hundreds of letters piled inside. They all bear his name and yours where the recipient would be. Your letters dwarf next to his own, yours are wrapped in a red ribbon that's placed next to his own pile. “Hobie—”

“I kept it all, I used to write everyday, but I got busy. I never forgot, Y/N. I never forgot you.” You choke back a sob whilst he roams his eyes around the contents of the trunk. His hands reached inside to grab a leather bound book. He finally looks at you, staring at your tear filled eyes. “D’you remember this?” Holding up the book, you smile at the worn out title. You remember the gold painted on it, now it has been worn down from years of it being read.

Heart stuck in your throat, you could only beckon him over back to your side. “Come here please.” You sniff, and he complies. Reaching for your hand as you help him up on the bed. Hobie places himself in-between your legs, back laying on your chest as his hands flip towards the front page of the book. “‘Candide,’ how could I forget?” You wrap your arms around him while your legs are crossed around his waist. You're his personal pillow, you've accepted the role earnestly. “I never asked how you liked it.”

“Your confession trumped how much I liked the book.” Hobie takes your hand to peck the back of it, eyes reading the three words you wrote years ago. “‘I love you,’” he reads the brief inscription you wrote on the front page. It's short, but you'd write it on every wall you encounter, on every surface; carve it on mountains and even the sky itself if you could. “I thought it was as absurd as the book itself.”

You chuckle against the crown of his head, “I remember the way you ran towards me after you saw it.” His lips felt like morning dew against your own that day. It was heaven sent for him and for you.

“This is the only thing I could grab before I had to leave. It was just this, all my savings and the clothes on my back.”

“I'm sorry,” you hide behind his shoulder, sobs wracking your body as he holds onto you tightly. You should've been there, fought harder to be by his side. All you could do now is lament on your grief and longing for time lost.

“Never mind that, it's over now.” Hobie pats your cheek, “the trunk is yours, love. If you want it.”

You peek over his shoulder, blinking at the large amount of letters that would surely have you sobbing even more. “You'd let me read it all?”

“They're all addressed to you. ‘sides, I read all of yours. It's only fair that you read mine.”

You wipe a fallen tear, sniffing while a moment passes in comfortable silence. He senses your feelings, twisting around, he cups your cheek before laying his forehead on your own. “I never blamed you for everythin’ that happened.”

A weight is lifted off your chest, a weight that you never realized was there since you've gotten used to the burden. “I–I never truly hated you for leaving.” Eyes closed, you rub his shoulders, comforting him and yourself at the same time. “I wrote it a hundred times in my letters.”

“I know, I read all of them. Now it's your turn to read all my…” He inhales sharply, letting your scent ground him to the present. “...complicated thoughts.”

“Complicated thoughts comes with loving someone.” Pulling away, you kiss him gently. Hobie has placed his whole heart in your hands, and you intend to keep it safe and tucked right beside your own. Or perhaps you've given him yours years ago.

—

After spending hours in bed, letters in hand and Hobie sleeping soundly next to you; you've only read half of the letters he wrote for you. Some made you quietly weep as he wrote about his struggles in the new world without you by his side. Some have made you laugh with his almost incoherent scribbles, notes that he has written while deep in amber liquid and under the fog of longing. It was almost noon when you two finally decided to leave the comfort of the bed to eat and go about your day to day chores.

Hobie decided to make breakfast for the two of you, or brunch is the better way to put it. After feeding Clover and both horses, you come home to a neatly set table. Bowls of fruit, bread and butter with oatmeal on the side sit prettily inside the new porcelains you bought from town. The table is complete with a red checkered table cloth, and plush roses inside a vase placed in the middle.

You stop in the doorway, watching him whistle a tune as he straightens the utensils. “I love it when you go the extra mile.”

Hobie perks his head up, sun shining on the delight etched on his face. “Can’t help it, love, you're contagious.” He eyes your blue poncho that he gifted to you a while ago. “I spend all this time with you, it's impossible not to catch your flawless manners.” He's already reaching towards you as you close the distance.

You place yourself in his arms, palms flat on his chest. “You make it sound like I gave you an incurable disease.”

Index finger on your jaw, he wipes away sweat from your heated skin. You notice the gun belt around his waist that pokes your hip, you don't mention why he started carrying even in the comfort of your home. You know why he does.

“I don't mind dyin’ from it.” He starts to peck your forehead and then he moves down to your parted lips, but you lean away teasingly before he reaches your waiting lips. With a furrowed brow, he tilts his head questioningly.

“Easy there, cowboy. We just got out of bed.” You reluctantly pull away even though you wanted the kiss as much as he did. Patting his bicep, you walk towards the kitchen to wash your hands.

“What do you mean? It's just a quick snog, love.” He leans on the table with one arm, the other nonchalantly inside his jean pocket. He clearly knows what he's doing to you. Sun rays part around him, bathing him in godly light.

You laugh, looking away before you pounce on him, hands in the water basin as you scrub the grime off your hands. “You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.”

Shrugging, he pulls the chair away from the table for you. Wood scraping on hardwood, smirk thrown your way. “It was one time. ‘sides, we finished all our chores before the sun went down.”

Drying your hand, you walk back to him. You poke his chest with a chuckle, he feigns hurt, making you laugh even more. “Bucky and Cherry were ignoring us after because their food was late.” Sitting down, you roll your eyes, “and it wasn't just that one time, Hobs.”

Hobie slides the chair back in, quickly kissing the crown of your head before sitting next to you, not at the head of the table like you thought he would the first time you two shared a meal together. You love all the subtle ways he shows you his love without saying the three words.

He gestures between you and him, “combined effort, love.”

You flick his ear, heat settling on your cheeks. “I know, I was there.” mumbling, you grab the pitcher of orange juice to pour one in his glass then over to yours whilst he spreads butter on your bread.

“You love flickin’ my bloody ear.” His arm is comfortably placed over the back of your chair, fingers brushing along the top of your head. “How would you feel if I started flicking your ear, hm?”

Covering your ear, you dramatically gasp. “It's still healing, how dare you?” Despite your words, your smile betrays you.

Hobie chuckles, “you can barely see the scar now, love.”

“It still hurts, sometimes.”

“Wait, really?” The sarcasm goes over his head until you give him a look that says ‘I’m clearly joking.’ He sighs, relief in his viridescent eyes. “You had me, I was about to bring you to the doctor.” The last word doesn't send you spiraling anymore after what happened last time with a certain doctor.

Scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal with blackberries, you bring it to Hobie's mouth. “You're a worrywart, Hobs. And I love you for it, now eat. We have so much to do today.”

Smiling, he clamps his mouth shut. “Yeah, but what if we just stay in bed instead—” he gets cut off by oatmeal gently shoved in his mouth. Laughing, he almost chokes from amusement.

He loves this, the domesticity, the shared affection and everything in between. He now sees the beauty in the mundane, the peace in uneventful days. After what seemed like decades of longing and bone aching grief, he feels like he's finally living again

After eating, you pick up plates even though Hobie told you a dozen times that he'll clean up. Once you shut him up with a quick kiss, he immediately relents and continues to drink his coffee.

You come around his seat, taking his finished plate. Before you could leave, he dips his head down backwards to look up at you. “Don't wash them yet, let me help you, yeah?”

With one hand cupping his chin, stubble prickling your palm, you squeeze tenderly. “You made breakfast, so that means I get to clean.” He starts to shake his head, but your hand stops him, making him scrunch his nose. “Combined effort, right?”

As you brush your hand along his scruff, you can see that he's surrendering. “Fine, at least let me dry it.” Beaming down at him, you can't seem to move away from him, hand still running along his jaw. “Do I need to shave?”

“No, it's growing on me actually.”

“Funny, it's growing on me too.”

“Haha.” You walk away with the plates as he hides his laugh behind his mug.

Finishing his drink, as the warmth settles in his stomach, he saunters over to you with the remaining dishes. “D’you think a beard would suit me?” Appearing next to you, he grabs a clean towel, drying the clean plates just like he promised.

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” Teasing and giggling Hobie splashes water on your cheek. “Completely joking, my love. I like whatever you decide to do. Even if it's a mustache.”

“And they say ‘m the bloody menace.” He pretends to glare at you, but you flash him with a flutter of your eyelashes, melting his façade on the spot. You shake your head with a grin, a comfortable silence settles, save for the sound of water sloshing around the basin and birds chirping outside.

Your matching rings gleam in the sun with the kitchen window in front of you that's facing the backyard. You've gotten used to this life, yet you still can't believe you're living it. It's hard to think that you were running away and starving just barely six months ago. Now you're living the life you always hoped you would be in.

You've forgotten what you were worrying about in the first place.

“What are your plans today, love?” He dries his hands before he takes yours to dry with a clean towel. Gently wiping, he waits for your answer while you think.

“Pick some tomatoes for Riri, you remember how she loved the last batch?” You love it when he dotes on you.

“Yeah, she was raving ‘bout it.”

You hum, “then maybe try again with your surprise.”

Hobie pauses from drying your hands. “You're still not goin’ to tell me what it is?”

Shaking your head, you stare at him with a cheeky smile, and eyes sparkling. “Nope,” he doesn't know that you're trying to breed a new variant of roses that would bloom in the same shade as his eyes. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be, but you persevere especially after one of the saloon's band members lent you a book all about it. “I think I'm close to getting it.”

“As long as it's not going to blow up in my face.” His hands clasps your own, tilting his head with a raised brow.

“For the last time, I didn't know that combining those two cleaning agents would make the bucket explode.” You both chortle at the memory. “But I think it's about to rain though. So I might just help you fix the floors in the spare bedrooms.”

Hobie glances at the window, seeing a clear blue sky without any hints of grey clouds nor rain. “Let me guess, knee hurtin’ again?”

You nod, “exactly. Wanna bet like last time since you still don't trust my knee rule?”

“It’s not an exact science.”

“And yet I've been right ninety percent of the time.”

“Ninety?” He slyly wraps you in his arms, you let him wholeheartedly. “Try seventy.”

“You either bet or you don't, Hobie.”

Nudging your nose lovingly, he peppers your face with featherlight kisses. You softly smile, clay in his arms, eyes closed as he dusts your skin with kisses. “Fine,” kiss “I'll bite.” He smooches each corner of your eyes. “How much?”

“I think you're already paying in advance.” You don't blame him when you two didn't finish any chores for today. It is a combined effort as you let him in your saccharine embrace.

—

Hobie waits for you by the porch with a cigarette in between his lips, smoke wafting in the air. The sun is slowly setting, orange and pinks dancing along Clover's face as she paws on his leg. Her eyes are big and glinting in the afternoon hues. A breeze carries the smoke away into oblivion just as when Cherry and Buckeye make their way inside the barn like clockwork.

“Your treat is comin’, stop whinin’.” He pats her head briefly. If dogs could frown, Clover would be giving him the deepest lour. “You've become spoiled, girl.” His fingers scratch behind her ear, tail wagging from side to side, yet she still whines for her afternoon treat.

The front door opens with a creak, Hobie sighs from the sound, thinking that he has finally fixed the stubborn hinges. But alas, it still declares every time it opens. His furrowed brows are replaced by a gentle smile the second he sees you saunter out with two mugs of tea in both hands. Still gorgeous in your poncho that seems to camouflage you with the house paint.

He quickly snuffs the cigarette, and flicks it away from you. Waving away the remaining smoke, he holds his hands towards you, one to hold one of the mugs, the other to hold onto your waist.

“There you are.” He beams at you, palms meeting with the drink’s warmth and your affection. “Run into some trouble?”

You grin at him and his habitual sweetness. “Here I am.” Pecking his cheek, you place yourself on the porch railing, eyes never leaving his own. Hand brushing along Clover's head, petting her. “You didn't even wait that long.”

“Seemed like forever to me, love.” Hobie clinks his mug against your own, earning a soft chuckle from you. Taking a sip, he makes a face, scrunching up his nose with a groan.

“What's wrong? Shit, did I mistake salt for sugar again?” You take his mug, tasting it for yourself. His tea barely tastes like anything, if anything else, it tastes bitter and akin to dirt. You clearly forgot to add sugar and milk just like how he likes it with this tea variant. You don't blame him for disliking it, the shop in town ran out of the good tea so you both had to settle with whatever is floating in the mug. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll remake it.”

“Oi, oi.” Before you could leave his side, Hobie reaches for your hip, arm snaking around it to pull you back to him. “I can handle it, stay with me, yeah?”

You feign a huff, placing your own mug on the railing, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. Hip to hip, you beam at him whilst his hands rests upon your hips. You two look like you're about to dance. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hobs, but I can't let you drink bland tea.” You're sure that you forgot to put honey in your own.

He shrugs while Clover watches from the side, puppy dog eyes waiting for her treat. “I've got all the sugar and sweetness right ‘ere.” Leaning down, he places his forehead against your own. He then pecks the tip of your nose, all the while never leaving the comfort of staring into your eyes.

“I knew you'd say that.” You giggle, hands balling around his shirt. His eyes shine brightly, emeralds mixing in with the soft orange.

“You psychic now?” He raises a playful brow.

“Nope, I just know you, Hobie Brown.” You slide your hands away from his shirt to his chin, scruff scratching you a bit. “And I know you hate this tea without milk and sugar.”

“I can live without it for one drink.”

“And what? You can't live without me for even a moment?” You tease, and you now notice Clover's waiting but polite stare.

Hobie smiles, tilting away to then bend back in to kiss your lips gently. His hand holds your chin in place while you smile into the kiss, eyes closed but you still see the soft afternoon glow behind your closed eyelids. With one last peck, lips brushing along your own, he gives you his answer without saying a word.

You open your eyes with a breathy sigh, warmth filling your entire chest. “Do that again when I come back.”

“Love.” He sounds like he's pleading.

“I'll make your tea better this time.” You pat his cheek. “Besides, I forgot Clover's beef jerky.” With the utterance of her name, Clover stands up, wagging her tail with her tongue lolling out on the side of her maw. You're already moving away backwards, but his hand still holds onto your arm. You take both drinks, careful not to spill and waste any. As you go, his palm slides down, still trying to make you stay. “Five minutes, Hobs. Give me five and I'll be back.” You giggle when he stomps his foot like a petulant child.

“I'll be waitin', countin’ down the seconds.” he exhales dramatically, making sure that his longing is clearly shown. You laugh as Clover follows you inside. “It's my beef jerky by the way!” He yells, earning a muffled guffaw from you.

Smiling, Hobie returns to rest on the railing, elbow propped up, leaning and relaxing on the bannister. He refrains from lighting another stick of cigarette so he could keep his promise to you of quitting smoking. Fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve, his ears perk up from the sound of hooves thumping on the ground. Hobie's heart immediately skips a beat from the sound. His hand stays on his gun as he leaves the porch to see where the horses are coming from. He's not expecting any visitors, and from how loud the sound is, there seems to be a dozen of them coming his way.

Everything screams at him to take you and run.

His worry quickly rushes to you, as he twists and turns to spot where they're all coming from, he finally sees them coming down from hills. A dozen or so of them unmistakably gallop towards the farm. They're fast, leaving everything in the dust behind them.

There's no time to run away. And there's too many of them to fight off.

“Y/N!” He yells. “Stay inside!” There's no sound coming from the house, not even your footsteps as the strangers come closer and closer within a second until they all appear from behind the farmhouse with a couple of horses missing from the line. He takes notice of them, afraid of what will happen.

Dust flies around the farm, the clover covered ground gets trampled by hooves. They stop a mere inches away from your precious plants, surrounding him. Horses huff and neigh just as when dust settles, showing Hobie all their riders faces. He doesn't recognize any of them, and none of them stands out from the crowd. Except for the one leading the party, he's clad in a white suit with a pitch black tie. Eyes as green as the grass he's standing on, hair slicked back, revealed when he took off his matching hat.

Hobie stands before them, hand on his gun, posture ready to quick draw. “You’re trespassin’”

“Sorry about that,” the man in the white suit answers for the rest of them. “We're just here to ask for directions.”

“Ask, then leave.”

He clears his throat, “You see, we're looking for a place in Scarlett Meadows. But we're all turned around.” Chuckling, he leans on his horse, the poor horse clearly looks uncomfortable from the awkward weight on its neck.

“You're in Scarlett Meadows, mate.” Hobie says the last part sarcastically.

Clapping, the strange man looks around his party before returning his attention to Hobie. “That's good! Now can you point us towards the direction of Emerald Ranch?”

Hobie's stomach plummets, “You passed it.”

“That so?” The stranger looks around the farm. “Funny, this place looks like Emerald Ranch.”

“This is a farm, not a ranch.” Hobie's eyes narrow at the man before flicking towards the front door of the house to then return at the man whose eyes stare him down without a single fear behind them. “Have you tried asking ‘round town?”

“We would, but we heard they're not too friendly.”

“I wonder why?”

The white suit man chuckles lowly, “I'm just looking for someone, mate.”

“You're like a bloody cigarette, you're draggin’ this out, mate.” Hobie unlocks the strap securing his gun, ready to shoot.

The stranger chuckles, cracking a humourless smile before his expression turns flat. “Where's my fucking wife, Mr. Brown?”

Hobie falters, hand twitching around his gun. “Wife?”

The front door slams open, and you come out with a shotgun aimed at the stranger's head. “Ah there she is—!” A shot rings out, Hobie dodges from your range, and the man has the same idea. He falls from his now dead horse, using its body for cover.

“Cross!” You scream with anger, fear laced into your tone like venom. “You motherfucker!” Pumping the shotgun, you glance at Hobie. “Run!”

“I forgot I taught you how to shoot!” Cross laughs even with bullets raining down on him and his entourage.

Hobie sees everything in slow motion, one by one, as the assailants run towards you, they get shot down immediately. Blood splattered all over the clovers and plants you love so much. The horses neigh wildly from the barn, and Clover barks desperately from inside the house. Shotgun shells fall on the porch he mended, with gunpowder replacing the honey scented home. Hobie quick draws his gun, emptying half of his chamber at the men you missed. You're in the clear as his Entourage now lies beneath your feet. Hobie aims at Cross where he has a clear shot at while the man continues to hide behind the corpse. But before he could shoot, he hears your gun run out of bullets from how the trigger clicks empty. And then a harsh crack follows as you fall loudly on the wooden deck, head bloodied, breath trembling and struggling as the man Hobie hoped never to see again stands over you with his rifle digging into your temple.

Hicks, a stout man with a pencil thin mustache, clad in gold and your supposed uncle; the one who started it all, cackles above your bleeding form. “Long time no see, Hobie! Back from the dead, eh?” He waves at him, grinning widely. “Drop your fucking gun or I'll end her right here.”

Hobie's entire body trembles just like five years ago, mind reeling from the sight of Hicks' face. Never wasting a second, Hobie drops his gun just as he feels a pistol whip him from behind the second he's unarmed. He falls on the ground not from the strike on his head but from the angry kick on the back of his knees. He gets a mouthful of grass, dirt sticking to his cheeks.

Gun punted away from him, his vision swirls, hand reaching towards you. “No,” he whispers as he hears your sobs. There's a sudden pressure around his wrists, rope tying his hands on his back. “You fucker.”

Hobie picks up the unmistakable sound of a body getting dragged across the ground. Hands and feet hogtied, he struggles to fight back. He stops his struggle when you're placed in front of him in the same position. Your hands and feet are also bound, crimson trickling down from your temple to your eyes; blood sticking to your lashes. Trying desperately to wiggle next to you, he gets a harsh kick at his side. He bites his lip to prevent a pained groan from escaping.

Your eyes try to focus on him, pulse rapidly decreasing, you're in danger of falling unconscious. “...Hobs?” You call to him despite only seeing his outline in front of you.

“‘m here, love.” He wheezes. “Stay awake for me, yeah?”

You struggle to see, black dots dancing around your vision and blood rushing in your ears. Voices come and go, victorious laughter echoing and fading. “I–I should've told you. I'm s–sorry.” Crying, you feel a heavy cheek pressed on your own.

Your sobs would haunt Hobie in his grave. A haze of despair falling over him like fog atop a mountain.

“It's okay—”

“Yeah, you should've told him. Or maybe you shouldn't have left in the first place, hm, honey?” Cross has his hands around your binds, flesh against your cheek. “You left me for him?” He yanks you up, your bones crack and creak as his hand slither up to your bare throat. “I told you, you can never leave.” You choke as he squeezes.

Hobie tries to fight back even with the ropes around his legs and wrists. “Let her fucking go!” A heel stomps on the small of his back as Hicks laughs above him. A raging pain flares, but he refuses to let you fall in the clutches of a man that you clearly never wanted to be next to you.

Guilt wraps Hobie in its familiar embrace. He should've done more, added barbed wires around picket fences, hid guns under the porch, grabbed you the moment he heard the horses— he should've been better at protecting you.

“P–please,” you mumble out despite the hand gripping around your neck. “Let him go, y-you have me. You won.” Gasping, you stare at Hobie with your bloodshot eyes. He shakes his head, eyes full of unshed tears. Even now he doesn't want them to see the sorrow that they've caused him. “Cross, please.” You beg, a trapped doe in front of him.

Cross lets you go after a moment of you desperately trying to gasp for air. You look into his green eyes that are awfully familiar that fills you with dread. You despise that colour on him and how similar it is with the only man you love.

He reaches for your face as you flinch away but with his hand around your collar, you can't escape. You wait for a hit, but it doesn't come. Instead, he pats your cheek with a gloved hand, rough leather sending shivers down your spine. For a second, he looks like he's considering letting Hobie go. Hope blossoms in your chest together with the panic.

Your husband turns towards Hobie, towering over him, his hand still on you. Hobie meets with the similar green eyes with fury. Silence blankets around the farm as both men stare each other down. Cross is the first one to break.

“Thank you for bringing my wife back to me, Mr. Brown.” Craning his head to look at you, you pray that he gets hit with a stray bullet. “Mr. Hicks,” said man hums in reply. He smiles at you, showing his teeth. “Do whatever you want with Mr. Brown, I'm done here.” Cross pushes you towards one of his men, your back hits a sturdy chest. Something gold and metallic pokes your shoulder.

You look up at the man who bears the familiar gilded star. “Sheriff Lee?” He could only look at you through narrowed eyes, anger swimming behind hazel. “No!” Heart in your stomach, heels digging in, you refuse to go. “Hobie!” Said man wails for you in agony as you get dragged away by Lee's strong grip. You ignore the sheriff's sneer as you return your attention towards the only person who deserves it. “Run! Please!”

Hobie yells your name with wild rage. “No! Fuckin' let me go, you wankers!” He fights back on the ground, teeth biting at anyone who comes near him. But there's too many of them left, they punch and kick at him. Steel toed boots hitting his flesh in a sickening squelch. Once they're satisfied, they drag him behind the house as you both fight back despite the odds. “Remember your promise!” He screams, blood coating his tongue from the beatings. “Wait for me!”

“Leave—!” A sack is placed on your head, lungs struggling to breathe, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. Your joints are frozen in place as panic takes over your whole body. Even with massive amounts of adrenaline to keep you fighting, you feel powerless, muscles straining, fingers trembling; everything crumbles. It's an assault on your senses, there're hands touching you, trying to tie you down. Breath staggered, eyes blown out, and body trembling. And yet, his screams are the ones that truly stay with you. Him screaming your name, crying out to you whilst you try to reach him.

“Burn the bloody place to the ground!” Hicks yells as you're placed on the back of a horse. “Dig a deeper hole! I'm here to finish what I started.” You call for him desperately, throat aching, body twisting and turning on the horse as you try to fall off it.

The stench of iron is replaced with fiery embers curling around your nose behind the fiber hood. You see blurred red and orange spreading through your home in a blaze of wildfire.

The last thing you hear is his screams as you fall unconscious from another hard punch to your skull.

—

Stirring awake, head pounding mercilessly against your temple, you groggily sit up despite the throbbing pain and dazed state. Hands still tied by rough rope behind you, the skin around your wrist is angry and starting to blister. Back hitting hard oak, your eyes meet with red stained glass windows that shine underneath flashes of lightning. You sit hunched on a pew as rain batters the windows with wind howling outside while you roam your eyes around the chapel— Smooth stone walls carved all around with granite floors glinting from the candle light. Arched ceilings that seem to be taller every time you blink, and incense filtering around the air, making your nose twitch.

“Good, you're awake.” Cross’ echoing voice rumbles deeply from the altar. Shoulders straight as a ruler, white suit drenched and dirtied from his recent fall from his horse.

“Wish I wasn't.” You groan, noticing how your feet are also tied together. Glancing around the altar, you scoff bitterly. “Really? Is nothing sacred to you, Cross?” He stalks over to you, fists clenched on his side. Fear is slowly creeping up to you. Yet, you don't balk, nor flinch when he gets closer to you. “What? Are you thinking about renewing our vows?”

“What did he do to you? Hm? What did he say to get you out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” His wedding ring shines, making you glare at the piece of jewelry.

“Why? I chose to be with him, simple as that. I moved forward because you weren't there to shackle me anymore.” You lean closer despite the bindings and your instincts telling you not to fight or else. You know what he's capable of, his hands still bear the shape of your throat and cheek. “Why are you even here? You should've let me go, I gave you a reason to finally be free of me!” You stomp your foot, frustrated and angry. But most of all afraid for Hobie and what has become of him when you were dragged away. “Why didn't you let me go, Cross?”

His eye twitches, the same eyes that are sickenly familiar to Hobie's. “You're my wife, of course I'd follow you.”

You scoff bitterly, “your wife? I'm only your wife on paper.” Wrists twisting, you try to free yourself just like how Hobie taught you in case something like this would happen. And happen it did. “If you forgot, my aunt chose you, and Hicks made me walk down that fucking aisle with a knife to my throat. You are not my husband. Not to me.”

Cross blinks as if he's lingering around your words. Your heart beats louder than the storm outside, afraid of what the man before you would do. Your instincts are right as he suddenly raises his hand to land a harsh slap, you flinch away on instinct, heart beating loudly from the fear. But the pain doesn't blossom on your cheek like it used to, instead, he lunges for your throat, fingers digging in your pulse as you choke.

“Make s-sure you hit me right between my eyes until I see stars, husband.” You mock him despite your crippling fear.

“Don't.” He seethes, you don't stand down, this pain is nothing new to you.

When he doesn't get the response he wanted, his hold loosens, green eyes roaming and searching for the familiar fear in your eyes. A second later, he slowly lets you go and slides his hand up to cup your chin. He smells of nickel and rotten wood.

You tilt your head back so you can leave his hold but he grips tighter. Hair standing on end, his touch is a shivering familiarity on your skin.

“W-why do you hold on tight to me? You don't love me, you never wanted me to begin with.”

He rubs your cheekbone with his thumb. “A year of marriage with you— Anyone would hold onto you with a grip.”

“You should've gotten a dog instead of a wife then.” You laugh throatily, feeling his hand clasp tighter. “Now what has become of you, Cross?” His jaw clenches. “What happened to slapping me as your greeting? All the hair pulling, and dragging me across the floor to show your so-called love for me? Fetch my aunt, she knows how to properly greet me as always.”

His eyes sparkled with brief amusement. “You didn't hear?” He pauses, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, hunger in those green eyes. “Your great aunt's dead.” You swallow thickly, letting his words sink in. Your mind can't make out how to feel about it. “Died of a broken heart, that's what the doctor said.”

“A–a broken heart?” You shove his hand away from your face. “I didn't know she even had a heart in the first place.”

You can see the confusion spreading across his face, not used to your new found fiery attitude. “What has become of you? She died because you ran away.” Cross uses grief and guilt as his weapon, and he knows what he's doing.

“I'm not the same girl you married, Cross.” You tilt your head on the back of the pew, staring him down through your bloodied lashes. “And you and I both know that's bullshit. She smoked like a goddamn chimney, worse that she had numerous enemies. Not the kind of combination you want if you wish to live long.”

“Watch your fucking tongue, girl.” Hicks’ booming voice ricochets around the chapel as he appears from a door near the altar. “That was my wife you're talking about.”

“Look at that, hello, uncle.” Sarcasm drips from your words. “Why do you like a fucking priest when you're the farthest from being one?” You gesture with your head towards his robe like clothes, he's draped in black cloth from head to toe, mourning clothes.

Unabashedly eyeing him up and down, you start to giggle. “You married her for money, you fool. You're not convincing anyone with that.” Turning towards Cross whose eyes remained on you, you falter for a second before straightening your expression. “You blame me for her death but have you asked him about it? He has everything to gain from her death.” Cross flicks his eyes towards the man before turning to leave with a humourless scoff. “Coward.” You whisper.

A strong grip latches itself in your hair, pulling at your scalp. Hicks' hot breath puffs over your cheek, you yelp in pain, reminding you of all the times she did this exact thing to you. “You and your childish whims killed her. And for what? To be with that boy?”

“Fuck you!”

“Y/N,” Cross stands in the middle of the aisle, nonchalantly taking a coin from his breast pocket to twirl it across his fingers. “He didn't kill her, Hicks isn't the one named in her will. He has nothing to gain.”

Slowly, delight spreads across your chest, wrists almost free. You grin widely. “She left it all to me.” Hicks throws your head down, skull hitting the pew with a sickening crack. Yet, you still laugh even with blood trickling down to your nape. “A-after all the shit you had to do to win her over,” you swallow down the pain. “she still didn't trust you enough to hand the company over to you!” Your guffaw echoes around the chapel. You spot Sheriff Lee standing in the corner, guarding the door, your laughter roars louder at the sight of him.

Hicks scoffs, trying to act that your words hasn't fazed him. “I always admired her, y’know, her and her resilience to punish you even though she loved you so much. With your hands bloodied and knees in grain— pretty eyes wet with salty tears. It was quite a sight. But as much as I admired her, cared for her, I can't replace you. No one can.”

Your eyes brim with tears you refuse to let go. “She could barely look at me.” You whisper the words.

He sighs, “she loved you.”

“There was a time I thought she did. That I deserved all of the pain, that I didn't know any better. But I was just a child who didn't do anything wrong but look up to her.”

Shrugging, Hicks makes a face that fans the flames in you. “Maybe you did deserve it.”

You don't feel the fear anymore, your rage triumphs over it.

“Fuck you!” Your screech could be heard above the thunder. “It got worse because of you! Only because you whispered in her ears and told her everything with your jealous sickly eyes! Married me off to some man who would hurt me more than grains on my knees!” You heave, Hicks raises an unbothered brow. “Wasn't it enough that you took him away from me?” He grins at you, papers in his hand, looking at you as if you're the one in the wrong. “The poison drips down, from her to you and then to my accursed husband.” You turn your red eyes towards Cross, the coin in his hand pauses from your heavy stare.

Maybe you should've gone with your parents on that doomed expedition.

A rustle of papers makes you turn towards the sound. Hicks spreads the crumpled paper on the seat next to you, pointing at the dotted line and placing a fountain pen beside it. “Sign your name and this'll be over.”

You lick your dry lips, the taste of your blood is bitter and acrid on your tongue. Your eyes don't even glance at the words. Wondering how they knew where you went, your mind wanders to the only person back home who knew. “What did you do to Peter?”

“We set him free. Free to roam the gates of heaven that is.”

Nails dig into your palms, leaving crescent scars atop your old one. Fury snaking along your aching body, you crane your neck towards Cross who leans against the altar, flipping a coin as candlelight flicks across his face and red windows reflecting off his skin and eyes. “The people you surround yourself with, Cross, it's astounding. You've got a dirty sheriff, a gold digging motherfucker, and me, who will take every opportunity to kill everyone in this fucking room.” Your want for vengeance spreads across the chapel, voice louder than the thunder raging outside. Cross looks at you like it's the first time he truly ever saw you. Returning your focus on the man who buried the love of your life, you utter behind clenched teeth.

“Just sign the damn papers—”

“When you buried Hobie under that oak tree, you buried me too. And you sliced open my neck just like how you did to him, that's why I'll never sign it.” Hicks tries to grab your head but you headbutt his chin before he could. He collapses on the floor, cradling his bitten and bleeding tongue. Standing above him, pen in hand, wrists now free behind you, you smile at him so it's the last thing he'll ever see. “I'm going to burn the company into the ground, and you'll be left penniless but I'll be fine; thanks to you suggesting this, how did you put it? ‘Auspicious’ marriage.”

Cross notices the sharp, shiny pen in your hands. He yells, coin falling from his hand with a clink, but it's too late as you pounce on Hicks, stabbing his chest with every clink of the coin— three times, you stab him three times as blood gushes out in a spray across your vengeful face. Lee stops you by tackling you on the ground. The blood coated pen clangs on the granite, drenching the floor with crimson. Lee has to put his entire weight on you so you can't escape, Hobie drives you to fight back with the same ferocity he would.

You need to avenge him.

“How does it feel, Hicks?! That's how I felt while you watched!” Your uncle sits up, groaning, blood slipping from his fingers as the outlaws that they hired rush towards him. You know he won't die from his injuries, you'd know— but it's enough, knowing that you caused him pain until you can finally end him with your own hands.

Laughing, arms being tied up from behind, tighter this time, you continue to try and escape from under Lee even with his knee digging on the small of your back. “I will not cleave, never again! Especially to men like you!”

Hicks stands up with some help. He leaves small drops of his blood on the granite, hands plugging the holes you made on his torso. “Now I'm glad I finished the job! I buried him again, and this time he'll stay down there for good!” He tries to rile you up further, it works from the mere mention of Hobie. You fight back, Lee's hold on you wasn't enough so Cross joins him, hands keeping your kicking legs down. “I even burned down your dinky house, there's nothing left there for you!”

“Did you make sure that he stayed buried this time, uncle?!” You yell at him, a sound akin to primal fury. His eyes widen, and you grin bitterly, “You didn't. Don't bother running away because he's already coming after you.” Lee yanks you up, and then places the same hood on your face. “He's coming after you!” You get dragged away towards the small room behind the altar.

Your grief has grown teeth. “If he doesn't then I'll do it for him!”

As Lee ties you to a table, closing and locking the door behind your screaming form; Cross' entourage looks at him with trepidation.

“We'll leave the second the rain is gone.” They all agree immediately.

—

Dread spills over him like a flood, incapable of saving you, watching your unconscious form ride away as Cross carries you on his borrowed horse. Hobie had to gaze upon the agonizing pain of you being taken away.

Outlaws set fire to the house, razing it to the ground as smoke immediately entered his senses. Flames spread in the home you two built together, angry orange hues devouring the same place he promised to live the rest of his life with you. The light blue paint starts to melt, glass windows cracking in the heat. He watches as his home turns to ash.

Men drag his screaming, writhing body towards the back of the house as he hears the awfully familiar sound of soil falling from shovels. His entire body hurts, cuts and bruises marring his flesh, clothes torn, and teeth coated in crimson. Trying to fight back, his nails digging in on the men's wrists yet it doesn't faze them. He sees Buck and Cherry run towards Hobie, neighing angrily with every intention to kick each of his assailants.

Hicks takes his guns out, aiming at both horses before they could reach him. Hobie yells at his horses, pleading with his broken voice. “No! Get away, Buck!”

Hicks shoots, gunshot echoing around the farm, bullet missing Cherry's hoof by an inch. Both horses rears, neighing loudly. “Fuck, I missed.” Hicks looks back at Hobie, who's on his knees. Hicks pulls down the hammer again to shoot. “Good thing I have more than one bullet.”

Hobie sneers, turning towards both terrified horses. “Buckeye! Leave! Get!” Bucky seems to shake his head in protest, but one look from his rider has him understanding what he meant. He runs away in the direction with Cherry in tow, who looks at the place she last saw you in. Hobie's glad he listened, he can't lose them too.

With dust clearing, Hicks returns his focus on Hobie and the outlaws that are digging behind him. “Dig deeper, make sure he doesn't get out like last time.” An idea passes by his eyes. “Or maybe I should just strap your hands and feet to my horse and gallop away while I drag you around in your shitty farm?”

“Fuck you, Hicks!” Hobie kicks dirt at his direction, soil landing on his shoes, completely unbothered. “Where is he taking her?”

Hicks chuckles while he takes out a cigar from a golden case that Hobie recognizes as your aunt's cigar case. He cuts the cigar before lighting it up with the same fire that eats away the farm. “Why bother asking? She's married, boy, taken and all that.” Crouching down, he blows smoke at Hobie's face. Eyes flicking towards the hole behind him. “Besides, you'd be six feet under.”

Thunder roars overhead, followed by a spark of lightning and petrichor. You were right, it's going to rain.

“It was all arranged wasn't it? Was it you?”

“No, it was her aunt. God rest her soul.” Hicks points at the sky as droplets of rain trickles down.

“Good.” Hobie grins, teeth threatening to snap at the man. Hicks clenches his jaw, sneering with a scoff.

The fire continues to burn behind him, and the men carry on with digging Hobie's grave right behind him. “Well, technically, I was the one who suggested it but she's the one who did most of the work.” He huffs and blows smoke, “you should've seen Y/N at her wedding, so gorgeous in white.”

Hobie tightens his jaw, lunging at Hicks but the men holding him down stops him. “No matter how deep that hole you put me in, I'll dig myself out and I'll come and cut your neck this time.”

“Let's see about that, Hobie. Pity, if only you didn't chase her, you'd be fine. Hell, maybe a manager at the factory by now.” He takes a peek behind Hobie, sucking in his teeth when it's not deep enough. “Shame, you had talents. I gotta hand it to you though, you've built yourself quite a reputation over here.”

“Whatever you heard,” Hobie leans closer, but a hand stops him. “It's all true, especially what I did in the east. And once I get my hands on you and that prick you married her to, I'll make sure what happened back then was child's play.” For a brief second, Hicks wavers.

“It's six feet,” someone says behind Hobie, still heaving from the labour.

“About time.” Hicks stands up, instructing the men to lift Hobie up on his feet. He gets yanked up, shoulders throbbing. “I'm supposed to say some nice parting words to the departed,” Hicks takes out his gun, pressing the barrel on Hobie's forehead while he glares with a bitter smile— “But I don't want to waste my breath.”

“Make sure you don't miss.” Hobie leans closer to the metal as Hicks then digs it into his neck as Hobie taunts. Moving a few paces away with his free hand pressed on his ear, he knocks the hammer down and aims it at Hobie's head.

He braces himself.

Hicks shoots, lighting strikes a few ways from the farm, lighting up the bullet heading right at Hobie's head. Blood spills over the soil below. He falls into the grave with a thud. Hicks Looks from above, seeing Hobie limp inside the hole in the ground, right next to the writhing worms. Satisfied, he tells his men to cover it back up just as the rain starts to pour in.

“Meet us at the rendezvous.” Hicks says above the sound of rain and thunder as he makes his way towards his horse, already galloping away while soil drops on Hobie's motionless face.

—

It rains, just like that day five years ago.

Hobie's nails are coated in dirt and grime, face covered by his own shirt to protect him from falling soil. Yet it doesn't save him from slowly suffocating. Soil in his lungs, breath ragged, he remembers the panic in your voice, how you screamed so he could be let go. He's living his past once again, but this time, he's not a frightened boy, he'll rise from the dead over and over again if he has to. With a raging heart that feels like imploding, his thoughts are on you.

Your worst fear is him dying. Even with the threat of a gun to your head, you still chose him.

Did he deserve any of these? To see you cry for him desperately, to hear you call for him with blood spilling from your lips— is he cursed? Is this karma for all the things he has done? That he deserves all of it because he was molded into this, a weapon he never wished to become but had to so he could survive. He doesn't want to linger on the thought, all he knows is that he needs to survive this.

But will he survive long enough to see you again?

Grunting, his temple has stopped bleeding a few minutes ago, skin grazed by the bullet that he dodged covertly. Hicks was never known for his aim even if his target was just a few steps away from him. Or perhaps Hobie is incapable of dying.

With his belt buckle in hand, he digs upwards. While he laid there ‘dead’ he heard about the new factory settled in the south— That after your aunt's death, they changed the main location from London to the heart of the new world's south. He knows where to find Hicks now, and in turn, you too.

He's not going to lie down and bleed.

Hobie hears the pattering of rain just outside the grave, thankful that the idiots Hicks tasked to bury him gave up halfway after they thought him dead. Still, Hobie's having a hard time digging himself out when the soil has clumped together because of the water and became heavier because of it. But he won't give up until he gets to see and hold you again. He still needs to tell you that he forgives you, that he understands why you didn't tell him. That he loves you despite it all.

Yelling in frustration, he still can't feel the breeze from below. Seemingly not making any progress. Arms thrumming from fatigue, he inhales and exhales, remembering why he keeps fighting, why he wants to survive it all.

You. The image of you drives him to dig himself out of his own supposed grave.

Hobie digs and digs, calculating his breathing so he doesn't waste what little air he has. He lists all their names, all the people he has to cut through to get to you. Hicks is a given, he has to end that man to avenge his younger self. Sheriff Lee, whose asshole son he had to shoot or he'll continue to commit unspeakable crimes that his own father lets him do without a single reprimand. And Cross, your husband, a marriage you never wanted, your shackle that continues to drag you down.

“Fuckers,” he whispers, renewed energy making him dig faster and faster.

There's a metallic twinkle from outside, for a moment, he thought that he suffocated and is now being taken by death. His worries subsides when he hears frantic barking outside, paws digging and whining sadly.

“Clover.” Hobie is in disbelief, lucky that Clover returned. “Good girl, Clover! Keep diggin’!” He helps, tunneling together in tandem until he sees her snout sniff at the ground. “Atta girl!” Petting briefly, Clover digs as Hobie gets his hand out from the depths of the soil.

Lighting pierces the night, he rises from his grave once more.

Death can't stop him from getting back to you. This time, he won't leave you to be eaten by the coyotes.

Dragging himself out, Clover helps him by biting at the hem of his jeans, pulling him up by her teeth. Rain pelts against his skin, mud sticking to his flesh, and blades of grass clinging to him. Shakily standing up, he screams the moment he's fully out of the grave.

Hobie brushes his hand along Clover's head, scratching just behind her ear. She scampers off, running towards somewhere, maybe a dry place where she can rest after a job well done.

He lets Clover run away, taking out his cigarette and lighter, he drags the stick across his dry lips before placing it in between. Lighting it, he inhales deeply, the glow from it illuminates the fury on his face. Promising himself that he'll save you, that he won't abandon you this time. And If you're still willing, rebuild the house in each of your visions like it was supposed to be.

Staring at the farm house, its burnt, but remnants of it remains thanks to the unexpected rain. The structure still stands tall, darkened wood falling apart, ash mixing in with the rain, turning the floorboards into a muddy sludge. He can't think about all the letters that you didn't finish reading, all those words forgotten in the wind, nothing but ash flying away with the breeze.

Even the garden you worked so hard for is burnt to nothingness, not even a single leaf has survived. All the flowers and produce you've painstakingly kept alive are now cinders.

The familiar calmness that comes after a brush with death sits in his chest. A wave of pain seizes him to a pause, gripping the chest, his mind imagines the worst. That they've hurt you, that you're sailing halfway across the world by now; that they've killed you and dropped you into a shallow grave to let the rain inevitably wash you away. He shuts the thought out, tears pricking at his eyes. Uttering your name softly, he exhales. You're his peace.

Still standing in what remains of the farm, Hobie hears hooves rushing behind him, and a familiar bark running next to the pair of horses, whose shadow looms over him when lightning strikes and lights up the barren land.

“I'll get her back, I promise.”

—

The saloon is in full swing, patrons dance around the band, people rambunctiously play poker upstairs while Riri is arguing with Miguel after she told him that she's leaving to go and check the farm.

“I'm telling you, Miguel, something doesn't feel right. Morgan told me he saw fire blazing over there!” She unlaces her apron, tossing the empty whiskey bottle right next to other empty ones.

“Their place is far away, how could Morgan even see that?” Miguel chomps down on a slice of cake, rain continues to pour down as Riri takes her coat and hat from the closet beside the bar. “Where are you going, Ri? It's pouring outside!”

“To check on them—!” The saloon doors open with a bang, spooking the band, the music screeching to a halt when they see Hobie standing there drenched, bleeding and covered in weapons. Everyone stops to look, the brim of his hat covers half of his face, scar in full display, ring glinting in the light. Silence hangs, not even a whisper can be heard. “Holy fuck.” Riri pushes past people to get closer to him, hands reaching out to him, eyes seeking you from behind him. When she doesn't see you, she presumes the worst.

“They found her.” Lightning strikes behind him, briefly showing his red eyes.

Riri nods, hiding her shaking hands with a fist. “I've got your back, just like I said.” Miguel stands dumbfounded, frowning, eyebrows knitted in anger.

Hobie glances at the customers he knows, half of them were from the gang he used to run with. The other half are afraid of him. He turns his heed towards Miguel, eyes boring into the man. “Remember that bounty you never got?” Miguel smirks, already placing his hat on his head. “Any valuables you find, it's yours and the gang’s. Time to get even, Miguel.”

He hears ear splitting cheers before he collapses into Riri's arms.

[grinningjackal]

Tea and Book Asks: 5, 10, and 17!

5) Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?

I want to say yes, but the answer is probably no. I have a lot of individual tracks that I really like - such as Oogway Ascends by Hans Zimmer and John Powell, The Shire by Howard Shore, and The Sixth Station by Joe Hisaishi - but I’d be hard-pressed to say there’s a film soundtrack that I absolutely love.

On the other hand, I have a ton of video game soundtracks that I adore (Journey, Sayonara Wild Hearts, and Crypt of the Necrodancer come to mind). I think this is because I’m more likely to notice the music in something that I’m actively playing a part in the story vs something I’m passively consuming.

P.S. I realize I completely ignored musicals, somehow. I guess I tend to think of them in terms of theatre and not film.

10) Do you have a favourite classic novel?

Ah, my least favorite not-genre. I’ve always found the sentiment behind classics to be ludicrous at best and pretentious at worst.

This is going to be a little wild, by I really enjoyed The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. I think the musical does it injustice. There’s a lot of interesting historical tidbits hiding in it and it has good potential for a really dark adaptation if people would stop being cowards about it.

I also have a soft spot for Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein. It’s a clusterfuck of problems and bigotries, but it compels me. Not a bad read.

(P.S. Ask me about my least favorite classic for a very angry rant.)

17) Who is your favourite author?

You’re lucky you’re my friend and I love you so much, because I despise the favorites game. This question made me sit in front of my bookshelf and stare for three hours straight, just weighing the merits of each author I like. I’m going to pick four, just to spite you.

Neil Gaiman - An old favorite of mine. Some of the first books I ever read when I was first really getting into reading were his: Coraline and Stardust. The Sandman comics were the first comics I ever actually read consistently. I love the way Gaiman makes magic feel both unusual and mundane. My favorite of his: Good Omens (GNU Sir Terry Pratchett, you will be missed.)

Sabaa Tahir - The author who reminded me that there a gems hidden in the YA section. My gods, can this woman write. I don’t think I’ve ever devoured books as quickly as hers (especially in the last decade). I adore her character work. My favorite of hers: An Ember in the Ashes, naturally.

Neal Shusterman - This man could kill me with the fine print of his novels. I firmly believe most of his books should be placed outside of YA as his themes are dark as fuck and he pulls no punches. The only author to give me an emotional breakdown in the last five years. Good shit. My favorite of his: Unwind.

Ursula K. Le Guin - The queen of worldbuilding. I don’t care what pretentious twat says Tolkien is the master of lore - they’re wrong. There is not a book of hers in which the world is not rich and realistic and familiar. Her stories cut deep and keep going. My favorite of hers: The Word for World is Forest.

Find more questions at the Tea and Books Asks!

[hellreads]

Thank you for your blog it's really helpful sksjsksj anyway i don't know if you like dark themes(yandere, supernatural, psychological) but if you do what are the best fic you can recommend? Especially Jimin's? Thank you in advance ❤️❤️

hello there lovey! thank you for appreciating my blog, btw I LOVE DARK THEMED FICS and I have read a lot of stories with said theme (yandere and psychological are part of my fave reads), anyways, I will be listing below my favorites for every member, you can also check other fics on my organized shelf in case you’re looking for specific stories xxx | 🍒

Kim Namjoon

❥ Let the Villain Win by @lemonjoonah➴ Author/Yandere!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ Kim Namjoon, famous author and your childhood friend has been keeping a secret from you. His new book treads on such dark themes that he’s finding it difficult to write. Excited by the prospect of a sinister plot you offer him a piece of advice, “Let the villain win…”

❥ First, Do No Harm by @psycho-slytherin➴ Doctor/Yandere!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ Dr. Kim is well known as the most skilled heart surgeon in the hospital, but when you notice his mortality statistics seem skewered, you discover all is not what it seems. Now, Dr. Kim is offering you a choice: will you join him? Or become yet another broken heart beneath his scalpel?

❥ A Little Bit of Sugar (but lots of poison too) by @lthyl➴ Noir!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ Namjoon is well aware that some, well actually most people could find his hobby not exactly common, yet he still considers himself to be a man of tasteful words and higher intellect - someone who managed to understand the true, deepest meaning of beauty itself.

Kim Seokjin

❥ A Portrait’s Whisper by @jimlingss➴ Supernatural!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot➴ When you’re trapped in a house controlled by a witch’s power, Seokjin will go through every means to search for you again.

❥ Cake by yeyeniejjung➴ Killer/Yandere!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series➴ “I was always hungry for your love. Just once, I wanted to know what is was like to get my fill of it. I wanted to be fed so much love that I couldn’t take it anymore, just once.”

Min Yoongi

❥ Dead Leaves by wrienne➴ Police/Det!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jimin | Series➴ In which you (reader) are a homicide detective about to face the biggest hurdle both of your career and life.

Married to probably the kindest but most boring man you’ve ever met and living in a town where nothing ever seems to happen means life for you is dull. Dull enough to drive you crazy with boredom and dissatisfaction. However, life changes abruptly when your old boss retires and a new man takes his place - a man you used to love (and sleep very regularly with) more than a decade ago. Especially when your husband comes home smelling of perfume, you’re unable to resist your more carnal urges and dead women start showing up across the city with unnerving frequency.

Jung Hoseok

❥ Lost and Found by @fortunexkookie➴ Peter Pan!AU | Hoseok x Reader | Series➴ The only hope you had at ending your exile and earning your life back came in the form of an infuriating and uncatchable man: Hoseok. He seemed to love the endless game of cat-and-mouse you two played - so much, in fact, that you were unsure if you were the cat or the mouse. What he failed to realize was that there was a third player, and this one wasn’t after him. The Crocodile hunted you with an intensity that rivaled the way you chased Hoseok, but with one difference: the games he played were deadly.

❥ Taken at Dusk by @yeontanismypresident➴ Hybrid/Yandere!AU | Hoseok x Reader x Jungkook | Series ➴ The moment you sauntered into the party, his gaze was locked in on your form. Everywhere you went, his eyes followed along, not wanting to lose you in the huge crowd of sweaty bodies. There was something about you that drove his instincts wild. Was it your scent? Your attitude? The manner in which you held yourself? He didn’t have a clue and he couldn’t have cared less, so long as you were his and his only. And he would do anything to make that happen.

❥ Red Door, Yellow Door by @polaritae➴ Supernatural/Incubus!AU | Seokjin x Reader x Hoseok | One-Shot➴ In hindsight, maybe going into a trance to communicate with the spirit world was a bad idea.

Park Jimin

❥ Eradicate by @gukptune➴ Purge!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ A hotel intern finds himself trapped between death and lust.

❥ Neighbors by @jkeuphoriadreamland➴ Neighbors/Yandere!AU | Jimin x Reader | Series➴ Finally achieving your successes in life you never expected the distraction that came with your new hot neighbor. He however, had been trying to get your attention for a much different reason.

❥ Otherworldly by @sinning-on-a-sunday➴ Coraline!AU | Jimin x Reader | Two-Shot➴ When you discover a tiny door in your home that leads to a much better version of your own life, it seems too good to be true. little do you know, the man posing as your boyfriend may be a lot more dangerous than you care to admit. and he is not intent on letting you leave.

❥ The Uncanny by sinsirella➴ Stalker/Yandere!AU | Jimin x Reader | Series➴ “The uncanny is the psychological experience of something as strangely familiar, rather than simply mysterious.” An everyday object or occurrence can be experienced as something unsettling and alienated. This is accompanied by a discomforting effect and—most of the time—leads to an outright rejection of said subject. Or Someone.(Y/N) is a young girl whose Life turns upside down. One day her mother surprises her with news of her arranged husband, forcing her into her new chaotic lifestyle. Join her journey and experience her new life through her eyes. Will she get along with her husband? Or someone else? What are they hiding?

❥ Nine-One-One by @yminie➴ Det/Killer!AU | Jimin x Reader | Series➴ When murder and crime threaten the city of Seoul, there’s a team in place to help keep the public safe, but just what do you do when all your training is to help others, and the one that needs help is actually you?

❥ Devotion by @sugaxjpg➴ Angel/Demon!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ As an angel questioning your place in Heaven, the last thing you needed was for someone like him to appear.

❥ The Devil’s Own Luck by @jimlingss​➴ Demon!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ You should’ve known that opening that box would’ve made your luck go rotten. And not only that, but a certain demon would end up following you for the rest of your days. Introducing the devilish boy - Jimin! Your childhood best friend from the underworld who will never leave your side!

Kim Taehyung ( I read a lot of dark fics for Taehyung so just check my shelf)

❥ Beastly Gods by @lemonjoonah​➴ Hybrid/Yandere!AU | Taehyung x Reader | One-Shot➴ ‘Don’t leave the forest,’ a rule that you’ve been forced to follow since birth, but you are tired of living in this wooden cage. Out of desperation you cut a deal with Taehyung, who claims to be the only one who can get you out safely, even though he might be just as dangerous as the god you’re trying to escape.

❥ Minutiae by coconutty ➴ Stalker!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series➴ Y/N meets a mysterious and alluring photographer and wants to interview him. Along the way things start getting a bit strange. What happens when you draw the attention of someone who always gets what they want?

❥ L’Appel Du Vide by @infireation​➴ Killer!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series➴ //

Jeon Jungkook (I read a lot of JK dark fics too so pls just check my shelf)

❥ Only You by @sweetbunnykook (+ all of her stories!!!)➴ Lovers/Yandere!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Namjoon x Jin | Series➴ Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

❥ Every Breath You Take by @junqkook​➴ Stalker/Yandere!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series➴ Everything was going great when you first met jeon jungkook. he was a new light in your life with soft smiles and tinkling laughs; but then you noticed a lurking presence that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

❥ Lust by @umitae➴ Stalker/Killer!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series➴ Everybody has a lust for something. but his lust was beyond the ordinary one. his lust for you was out of this world. he only wanted you and in order to make you his, everything had to go his way.

OT7 (so all possible dark tags apply to these stories so please please please check all tags and warnings before reading!!!)

❥ Extreme Obsession by saylilirose➴ Psychological/Poly!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series➴ In life, you meet one person that you live and grow old with. You? You meet seven. But your love? Non-existent. But theirs? Real…and obsessive.Which turns deadly and dangerous. Without hesitation.

❥ The Scarlet Lust by infires_fanfic➴ Vampire!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series➴ Your world becomes turned upside down as a series of unfortunate events places you directly in the hands of a clan of blood-thirsty vampires, where you become their one and only human servant. Filled with uncertainty, strange emotions and many questions, what truths will you uncover? Are your new keepers the intimate form of evil incarnate, or is there humanity hidden beneath the surface of their statuesquely beautiful faces?