#i’m mourning the boy i grew up with

[bundlebrent]

What do you call a hollow sorrow

[justasecretflower]

HIII!! ermm this is my first time requesting something so idk if I'm doing something wrong, but I saw the Ticci Toby dating before he became a proxy can we pretty please have one where we meet him after he became a proxy? Tyyy!!! (You can just ignore this if you're already making something similar or you just don't want to do it) 🤍🖤

Hi chérie! I love this idea hon:)! When requesting creepypasta you put the “🥀” emoji if you wanna request more :). Love you sm!

🥀- Meeting Ticci Toby! Again after dating him before he was a proxy 🤍

Synopsis- you meet ticci Toby in the woods after you haven’t seen him for years. What’s his reaction?

~fluff.

____________________________________________.

- seeing the boy you once loved years ago, now a hatchet in his hands with somebody’s blood smeared on his clothes is certainly a tough sight.

- you were out for a walk in the woods expecting it to be quiet, not expecting to see him..

- his eyes would soften, his shoulders slump and letting go of the hatchet as it slipped out of his grasp.

- he scans over your body head to toe, examining the slight changes within you. He soaks up every bit of it.

————————————————————————

The crickets hopped through the thick blades of grass, fireflies popped out occasionally, lighting up a tiny patch of darkness throughout the forest. It was peaceful, just the way I liked it. The peace coddled me and made me feel snug, like I was wrapped in a quilt.

Hearing some footsteps my eyes quickly snap to look where the source of the sound was, my heart thumping and my body tensing with goosebumps decorating my skin. Then I see him, face to face with a man I used to love. That I mourned when he went missing, that I cried millions of raging oceans of tears for. He had changed tremendously. He grew a good couple of inches / a foot on me (depending on how tall u are.) his face got severely scarred, like his face got cut into, and he had blood splattered on his coat, hands, and hatchet that he was carrying. I didn’t know what happened, I don’t even wanna picture it, but the thoughts telling me I knew what happened, and throwing pictures into my head of my Toby taking someone’s life make me slap a hand over my mouth and take a shaky breath in.

His hazel eyes go through a mix of emotion. Anger, confusion, realization, then landing on a softened look of affection, like our memories together are just now hitting him. I can’t speak. Even if I want to. “Y-Y/n..” he whispers my name like a prayer, soft spoken, promising, gentle, honest.

My hand shakily reaches back down. “Toby.” I echo back. My voice almost a fleeting breath, just barely a whisper. He keeps getting closer, and my breathing keeps getting more shallow with every crunch of the fiery leaves under his boots.

We’re just a couple inches to a foot away from each other now. I can see his dark hazel eyes, that I used to look into before kissing him, the messy brown hair I used to thread between my fingertips , the lips I used to laugh into a kiss on, he pulls so many strings on my heart by just looking at me. Like he’s playing a heavenly harp and I’m just standing here, soaking up his presence.

“I m-missed y-you.” And the walls crumble down, the strings break.

____________________________________________

- he stalks you for a bit, deciding to leave small things he found like pinecones and wildflowers at your porch.

- he makes it clear that he’s sending it.

- eventually, he starts giving them to you in person, starting to talk to you more and more.

- you learned about what happened, and what he does. You’re not thrilled, but you can’t stop what you’re feeling.

- whenever he’s with you, he goes back to a time when he didn’t have any blood on his hands, when he looked up to the stars and kissed you under them, when there were fleeting kisses under the covers and comforting snuggles.

- you’re his warmth.

- unlike him, you didn’t change for the worse, And you’re doing amazing in life, which makes him so happy.

- he knows you find his killing distasteful, so whenever he goes out to kill, he comes back and just.. grips onto you, sinking on his knees and mumbling stuff about how he loves you, he missed you, and how much he’s sorry that he ended up like this. Clothes all bloody and dirty, dirt caking his face with somebody’s blood on his hands.

- his love language is touch..WOAH!!

- his hand is always in yours, finger tips to finger tips, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, kissing softly, tight hugs, loving embraces.

- refuses to get you involved with slender. You’re the only thing in his life that doesn’t revolve around killing, the creeps, and gruesome settings, you’re what brings him back to simpler times, he 100% preserves that.

- “Angel�� because you saved him yet again in hard times.

- “sunshine” because you’re the only thing that shines in his horribly dark life (corny but true.)

- cares about your safety and gets you like a thousand locks for your doors and windows, even gifted you a hatchet to match his right next to your bed if something happens while he’s gone.

- he doesn’t mess around when it comes to you. No one touches or hurts his angel.

- sometimes he’ll just..come behind you, interlace your fingers and kiss your lips softly, telling you he loves you.

- he’s so little spoon core.

- he lays on your chest, curls his whole body into you.

- you’re his whole world<3…

___________________________________________

If you guys want more creepypasta make sure to use the “🥀” emoji with your request!!

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[jallerentrags]

Better than him.

James Potter x Reader, based on 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron.

James Potter thought of himself as a lucky man.

He had everything he wanted: Good grades, good friends, a good life. The only thing he wanted, which he worried he might never have, was you.

Y/n Cassiopeia Black, twin sister to the elusive and handsome Regulus Black. But despite being at the same school, and being best mates with your older brother, the space between the both of you was almost impossible to cross. You were cold and indifferent - sticking with your friends and Regulus - and avoided James like the plague. You rarely spoke, supposedly scorned by his theft of your older brother, and when you did converse, it was usually under the watchful eyes of Charles Nott, your betrothed.

At the age of 16, you had been auctioned and sold to the highest bidder, wrapped in his vice like grip. James watched from the side-lines as the eyes that used to shine like her brother's name-sake, faded.

He had tried to become besotted with Lily, a beautiful and intelligent girl, but it was futile. Your power over him was strong, his urge to move on with Lily too weak. But a strong friendship between the Head Boy and Girl did blossom, so James ended up ranting to Lily about his situation.

“James I don’t know what to say. Y/n is one of the most prized girls in school and her circle is small. Your best bet to get her attention is to ask Sirius to introduce you,” Lily paused to brush her long hair out of her eyes and behind her shoulder with a thoughtful look, “Of course, that’s if she’s willing to speak to Sirius, I don’t think I’ve seen them together since last year.”

James sighed. He already knew that you had closed yourself off after losing your brother, and he grimaced thinking about how hurt you must feel. He knew that Sirius was still mourning his loss as heir to the House of Black, and heard him crying at night when his ache for his little siblings grew too heavy.

“I know,” James fiddled with his glasses, face heating up. “Maybe it’s best if I just leave it. It’s a pipe dream that a girl like that would ever go for a guy like me.” James moved to pick up his books from the library table and head to his dorm, mood low. Lily gasped and slapped his hand away.

“Definitely not! I remember Remus telling me that you two were completely smitten and oblivious to it despite belonging to rival houses. The James Potter should definitely not give up this easily,” Lily’s brows were lowered in an expression of seriousness, her lips thin, “I’ve got an idea. You know the Christmas Ball is this weekend?”

Of course James knew the Christmas Ball was this weekend. The whole school had been preparing for it since it was announced early November, a night of bliss and relaxation to temporarily ignore the deteriorating state of the outside World. James’ parents had already sent him his dress robes, and he saw that last Tuesday you had received a large parcel in the mail which he guessed must of been your dress.

“Yes, but I don’t see why that matters? She’ll be going with Charles. He proposed in August.” James spat, anger lacing into his words. Lily merely rolled her eyes and huffed.

“So? Steal her away! Ask her to dance and charm her! I’m sure it won’t be that difficult, it’s not as if she’s in love with Nott,” Lily placed her hands on the table and leaned towards him, “She’ll definitely leave him for you, she’s always been sympathetic towards muggle-born’s and I heard her talking about how she wishes she didn’t have to marry Nott. Give her a reason, Be her reason, and she’ll leave her supremacist family and be with you.” James scoffed and leaned back in his chair, watching as Lily reclined also.

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. She loves Regulus and she fits the role as ‘Slytherin’s Princess’ perfectly. I don’t want to put myself out there for her if she’s already too far gone.”

“Believe me. She’s not. People don’t look at each other like you two do.” Lily smiled at him, certainty blazing in her emerald eyes, “You could be her new beginning, and I really think she wants that. She loves Regulus and she always will, but I know that he would value her happiness and I doubt that she wouldn’t love to have a reason to escape,” Lily’s hand reached over to James’ and clasped it, “I really believe that you two would work. I want to see you happy James, please trust me.”

James’ lips formed a smile, and he felt hope blare in his chest. If Lily, the smartest girl he knew, believed that he stood a chance, then he had faith. He squeezed her hand and stood up, collecting his books and shoving them into his bag.

“I trust you, now watch me get my girl.”

————————————————————————-

The Great Hall looked beautiful, you thought, as you entered. The ceiling showcased a clear starry sky, and the decorations shone and sparkled in the candle light. Ice sculptures decorated the corners, and 12 great circle tables surrounded a square dance floor and far off, adjacent the teachers table, was a long buffet and drinks table laden with Honeydukes delights and crisp pumpkin juice. Charles, your financeé, gripped your hand tighter and dragged you to a table with his friends, only slightly admitting how beautiful you looked in your F/c gown. Charles' friends briefly acknowledged you (with a few appreciative eyebrow raises) before ignoring your presence entirely. Across the room, you spotted your older brother and his friends, who hadn't seemed to notice your entrance just yet. Sirius looked remarkable like always, a classic example of the Black families striking looks. Even Remus looked quite handsome in his robes, and Peter had cleaned up nicely. Admittedly, you thought, James looked incredibly good in his robes and had caught your eye as soon as you entered the Great Hall. His robes were tailored to his fit physique perfectly, and his hazel eyes shone with excitement. Although he hadn't managed to tame his hair, you secretly appreciated how well it framed his face.

"Admiring the blood traitor, Y/n?" Rosier, one of Charles' close friends, scoffed. You turned back to the table, missing James' look your way, and shot a smile in Rosier's direction.

"Of course not," you replied, entangling your arm from Charles' grip, "But you have to admit that he does look very enjoyable in his robes." you smirked, watching as Charles' face contorted into a sneer. He made to grab for you, already muttering about your incompetence with an extremely angry look on his face. He wrapped his hand around your arm hard, pulling you close enough to whisper in your ear. Despite being pulled into his side, his body still angled away from you, like you didn't matter at all. From across the hall, you wondered whether it looked like it was a lover's embrace. It was anything but. You spared no love for Charles, and it was no secret. Rosier and the others all sniggered, slurs tumbling from their lips and their faces a mixture of disgust and outrage.

"Y/n, you should watch your mouth. You don't want people thinking that you agree with your mutt of a brother, do you?" Charles asked, his face settling into a blank stare. Your brows lowered and your lips curled, before quickly schooling features once more. You simply hummed, avoiding Charles' eyes. "Now run along to Regulus. I'll come to you when I need you." He unwrapped his hand from your arm and pushed you away, before turning back to his group. You wondered through Hall, greeting friends, before making a bee-line for your twin. The dancing had begun, a light tempo that sent couples soaring over the floor. You watched in admiration, the way they held each other, looking into each others eyes like no one else existed, souls mingling and stretching across the floor. You wished you could be swept along the floor, lost in the steps and the feel of your partners hands. The partner you imagined never had the Nott green eyes and cigar scented yellowed palms, he always had the face of your older brother's best friend.

From behind you, you heard somebody cough to catch your attention, and you turned on your heel to come face to face with James Potter, watching his already huge smile grow wider. His hands were in his trouser pockets, his body angled towards you so completely that you couldn't even acknowledge other's brushing up against you.

"I can't believe we're finally alone, I've been trying to catch you since you arrived, you look so beautiful," James revealed, blush drifting across his cheeks, "I almost went back up to the dorm."

"Well that would've been a shame, Potter" you smiled back, easing towards him, "I was hoping to see you on the dance floor."

James laughed, a sound that sent shudders down your spine and took his hand out of his pocket to push up his glasses that had fallen down his nose. "What are the chances? I wanted to see you on the dance floor too," James squared his shoulders and cleared his throat "Everyone's dancing, yet you aren't, somebody that I know is stuck by dance fever frequently, and he's not with you," James leaned forward and smirked, "the Universe must of divined us, little Black, it looks like we're destined to dance together tonight."

You could almost see the thoughts fly across his face as he grabbed your wrist before you could even object, pulling you towards the dance floor. The music had changed to a sweet, mouldable beat, sweeping partners across the floor in unique waltzes and dips. James positioned you on the floor, a large hand leaving a burning touch on you waist and the other slipping into you awaiting hand as you breathlessly laughed. Your hands fit together perfectly, just like his hand rested so perfectly on the curve of your waist. He started leading, smiling down at you as though you placed the stars in the sky, a twinkle in his bespectacled eyes. You followed readily, returning his smile and placing you hand on his shoulder, heat building and spreading under your dress at your close contact.

You were flying, soaring, just two people in a sea of revellers. You didn't slip from his gaze, totally unfettered, lost in him. You never stumbled, never faltered, you recalled every conversation, every lingering glance, every lasting touch, knowing you were utterly enthralled. James looked the same, captivated by your presence, stuck in your energy. You saw the words bubble in him, and your heart soared when he stopped biting his tongue.

"Y/n," he whispered, drawing you closer, his face a picture intimacy, "I could be a better boyfriend than him," you sucked in air, but didn't draw from his arms. James tightened his grip on your hip as you looked deeply into his eyes, "I could do all the shit that he never does," he flared his fingers against your waist, "I'll stay up all night for you, I won't quit. I'm thinking that I'm going to steal you from him," he dropped his head to press against your forehead, your joined hands tight as you still manoeuvred around the floor, "I could be such a gentleman, plus all my clothes would look so good on you." You slowed to a stop, dancers fluttering around you as you ended up at a loss for words, mouth agape and your heart singing. "I could be so much better for you than him."

"James..." you unlaced your joined hands, already missing his touch, as he stared at you desperately. You knew that everything he said was true, and James was nothing if not an honest man. He made you smile, kept you safe, always thought of you as the prettiest girl in the room. You were in love with James Potter, but it wasn't as easy as that. You had to worry about your brother, Regulus, and the future of your family. While your parents were definitely not kind and nurturing, they were all you had. You didn't have James Potter to whisk you away if Sirius didn't allow him too. You wanted James, more than you'd ever want Charles and his prejudice. Your eyes watered, and you suddenly felt lost.

"I don't need to tell you twice all the ways he can't suffice, he wouldn't care about your happiness, or your dancing or your smile," James' unwavering hope warmed you, cocooning you in a safety net when you felt like you were falling from the Astronomy Tower. James wanted to be your new beginning, your second chance. He wanted to cuddle you on cold nights and to show you the beauty of the muggle world and all its secrets, "If I could give you some advice, baby, I'd leave with me tonight." His desperation slipped from his face, replaced with a confident smirk, as if he saw your facade melting, as if he could see you melting in his arms, as if he knew that you were going to choose him, just like you would every single time.

"You'll help me get through it?" you asked, and James immediately knew that you meant the sparking fall out between you and your parents, and the Nott family. James took your face in his hands, love shining in his eyes, before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"I'd give you my heart if you asked, darling, of course I'll help. Besides, what's another Black sibling in my house? if your brother comes I'll have the full set." you shared a laugh, biting back the tears that threatened to spill.

"You'd like that." you said between laughs.

"I'd love it." he answered, leaning back and taking your hand in his once again. He led you back off the dance floor, both of you blushing madly and smiling merrily. Towards the left of the hall, you spotted James' friends watching you both intently, glasses raised. Lily Evans seemed particularly excited, emerald eyes aglow with excitement as she waved enthusiastically and gave James a thumbs up. Sirius and Regulus stood further away, small smiles on their faces as they watched their little sister walk out of the hall with the resident trouble maker. No complaints rose up their throats, just unbridled joy for their sister who finally looked happy. James and Y/n didn't look at anyone else as they left hand in hand, not even at a furious Charles Nott, hands balled in tight fists. They ignored the open mouthed stares and muttered remarks, completely absorbed in each other.

The next day, Charles would arrive at his dorm to an owl waiting by the open window. Tied to his leg was a envelope, and Charles reached for it immediately. Ripping it open, he tore the piece of paper out and dumped its contents on his bed. Gleaming back at his sneering face was the ring he gave Y/n when he proposed, and scribbled on the letter was one sentence:

'I suppose you were right Charles, I do have a taste for blood-traitors.’

- Y/n Black and James Potter

[renthony]

Coming of Age at 30: Musings on A Wizard of Earthsea

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

Having nerdy parents meant I grew up surrounded by plenty of classic nerdy literature. Our home was filled with iconic science fiction and fantasy, and what we didn’t have, my parents gladly helped me find at the library. I never lacked passion or access to books, yet somehow I managed to skip right over the work of Ursula K. Le Guin.

How this oversight happened, I couldn’t tell you. I devoured every book about hidden worlds with wizard schools I could find—and there were many on the young adult market in the early 2000s. Though I read a decent chunk of them, somehow I never stumbled across the book that did it first: Le Guin’s 1968 classic, A Wizard of Earthsea. No, I didn’t find my way to Le Guin’s wizards until adulthood.

A Wizard of Earthsea introduces Ged, a boy with magical talent. Over the course of the novel, he attends magic school, grows into a young man, and earns his wizard’s staff. While at school, he is nearly killed when a botched summoning spell unleashes a mysterious and terrifying shadow entity. From there the novel follows Ged’s adventures as he seeks a way to defeat the shadow before it can kill him.

The novel is ultimately a coming-of-age narrative, and though I am an adult, it resonates. Ged’s journey with the shadow forces him to accept the darkest, most painful parts of himself, and it’s easy to relate that to my own struggles as I enter my thirties.

In a 1973 essay titled “Dreams Must Explain Themselves,” Le Guin wrote, “Coming of age is a process that took me many years; I finished it, so far as I ever will, at about age thirty-one; and so I feel rather deeply about it.” That quote convinces me I came to A Wizard of Earthsea exactly when I needed it most. In 2024 I am a disabled person in a so-called “post-COVID” world, still following strict safety measures as the rest of the world moves on. Every day I must exist in a world that fills me with fear and anger, and grief at what could have been before things fell apart. I have had to mourn the things—and people—I lost, and find new things to fill the void.

Entering my thirties has involved learning to love the self I have and react to the circumstances I’m in, rather than obsessing over a hypothetical version of myself that might exist if things were different. Just as Ged had to name and accept the shadow as a part of himself, I have had to face my own anger, grief, and regrets, and choose to accept them as part of me. Neither suppression nor avoidance of the shadow—of those difficult emotions; of that pain—can make it go away. It must be seen, and embraced, and processed.

While I’m sure Earthsea would have been relevant, and wonderful fun, to my younger self, I’m glad I came to it at thirty. The magic of a good story helps make confronting shadows a little less terrifying, and it’s true at any age.

_

Written on commission, using the prompt, “500 words about an Ursula K. Le Guin novel.”

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[reedles05]

The Responsible One

Michael had been odd ever since arriving in Santa Carla. Not a day went by where he acted like he did before the move. Being the oldest sibling meant a lot of things, one of which was taking care of the others when Mom couldn’t. During the entire divorce, you had been there to watch the other two, to make sure they were provided for while Lucy mourned her life moving on. 

And here you were witnessing the downfall of one of your brothers while the other was thriving. Sam had gone and even made friends that were as weird as he was, they had come by and gotten him to hang out while you were home. They were lovely boys, kind and respectful when meeting you. You had waved them off, telling them to be safe and have fun, the streets were dangerous after all. Normally, you would have advised against going out, but Sam needed time away from you. So, you had let him go, but not without something to have on hand in case something were to go awry. You had handed him a pocket knife, not something super dangerous, but something to fend off anyone with ill intent. He had shot you a look, the one where he was insinuating you were being overdramatic, but had taken it when you glared. You were relieved when his friends had awed at you giving him such a weapon, telling him how lucky he was for having you on his side. 

And that had put them in your good books. Sweet kids, Sam was lucky to have them. 

But Michael has been leaving in the night, not returning into early morning. You were worried, admittedly so. You were worried he was hanging around the wrong kinds of people, the kinds that had drugs on hand at any time. Even trying to confront him didn’t do anything, he only grew frustrated at being cornered by both you and Lucy. So, you did what any sane and concerned older sibling would do. 

Follow his ass. 

He wouldn’t get out of this so easily, making Lucy cry was on the list of ‘NO.’ 

And he knew that, so why was he going and doing things that were doing exactly that. 

Dressing yourself to avoid catching his eye, you listened to the tell tale signs of Michael leaving the house. The cracking of the window and the silence that followed. 

So you raced down the stairs and watched as he departed. He was quick, you’d give him that. You chased him all the way down to the Boardwalk. And watched as he met up with four men leaning on their bikes. He conversed with them, laughed and smiled until one of them wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A grimace crossed his face, and so you moved. 

Stepping with purpose, you strutted up to the men and pulled the blonde away from your lovely brother. 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your nasty hands all over my darling brother, Micahel.”

Michael had tensed, eye widening once he recognized who had saved him from David.

He stuttered, trying to push you away before the others had really gotten a chance to take a look at you. But it was too late, and the men leered. Taking in your appearance, the vampires watched as you scowled at them, especially David. He had been the one to put his hands on Michael, and you had watched it as it happened. 

“I’m sorry, doll, but who might you be? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

David leered. And the rest watched as you remained as you were. Hand still in place on Michael’s shoulder, you scoffed. 

“I just told you, I’m Michael’s older sibling. And he was clearly unwanting of your hands being all over him. Fuck. Off.” 

And David laughed. 

Paul leaned in, eyes tracking every minute detail of you that he could.

“Older sibling, huh? Mikey boy never mentioned you, babe.” 

You looked over at Michael, trying to discern the look he was wearing at the moment. 

You nudged him, prompting him to speak.

“Any reason for that? I thought I was worth mentioning to your dearest friends. You do spend more time with them than you do us anymore.”

Michael opened his mouth, but was cut off by another one of the unintroduced men. 

David interrupted him, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him. 

“He was brushing off someone so hot just to hang with us? How cruel of you, Mikey.”

Marko had been the one to speak, pushing off his bike and approaching you. 

He had gone to reach for you, but Michael’s hand intercepted it. 

God, this was going to be an experience. 

–

David opened his arms, gesturing to his band of boys. Motioning to each one as he introduced. 

“This is Paul, Dwayne, and Marko.” 

You nodded, noting their names and pulling along Michael. 

“Great, we’ll be leaving now.” 

The one said to be Dwayne had stopped you, stepping in front of you and ceasing your escape. You looked up through eyelashes at him, a scowl overcoming your face once more. 

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave without knowing your name, lovely.” 

Paul sauntered over, grabbing your arm and pulling you into him. 

“So..?”

“No.”

Michael went to speak but you glared, pointer finger held up to cease his talking. 

“I refuse to give you a name until you explain what’s going on with my brother and you all.” 

David smirked, eyes sharpening. 

“Alright then, we’ll explain everything. Let’s take a ride, boys.”

And that was all they seemed to want to hear, as their laughs started to sound out across the clearing. 

Marko threw out his hands.

“Who do you choose to ride with?”

“Preferably, none.”

But you had to admit, the boys were handsome, and roguishly charming. It was just the fact that they were somehow blackmailing Michael into staying near them. If not, you would gladly spend the night with any of them…or all of them. 

David laughed under his breath, but you saw the gesture. Sucking your teeth, you pointed to Marko. 

“I choose the wild curly blonde then.”

Marko looked shocked, pointing to himself before smiling wide. Cheering, he raced to your side before hauling you up bridal style. Screeching, you held onto his shoulders before slapping his back. He laughed the whole way to his bike, and once you made it, he dropped you on the back. Dropping in front of you, he looked back and smiled. 

“Hold on tight, gorgeous, we’re gonna be going fast.”

And that was all the warning you got before he took off faster than you’ve ever gone before. 

It was…

Thrilling. 

[justwinginglife]

Blind in Love

Dedicated to @mangostarjam, you convinced me to finish the WIP since you asked about it lmao so thanks!

It had been awhile since you’d had good sex and even longer since you’d had a good date. 

Which was why, when your friend yammered to you -on a daily basis- about the new friend she’d made and how he was your perfect match, you allowed her to set up a blind date between the two of you even though you were still recovering from the first serious relationship you’d ever had ending. But you’d spent more than enough time mourning the past and you were ready to get back out there. If your date ended up being a serial killer, so be it; at least you’d die knowing you tried to have some semblance of a love life again.

At first, you almost didn’t get the date with him at all.

Your friend would tell you how kind the man was, how attentive the man was, how loyal the man was, and you were already sold from her first description. But she kept selling him to you anyway. The days would go by and she’d tell you he liked the same music you did. She’d tell you he was raised in the same area that you grew up in. She’d tell you that he liked the same foods you did. She’d tell you that he was a night owl like you. She’d tell you he liked the same TV shows. She’d tell you he had the same hobbies. She’d tell you he’d vacationed to the same places you had. She’d tell you so many details about him that it felt like you were going on a date with yourself. So you knew you had to meet this guy, you just had to. 

And then one day, she told you it was most likely not going to happen. 

How? How could the most perfect sounding man in the entire world not even want to meet you? Had she told him what she’d told you? Did he know you were practically soulmates? How were you supposed to hear about him everyday, to know all these things about him like he was suddenly your closest friend, only to never meet him, only to be rejected by him before he ever crossed paths with you?

This couldn’t be how things ended. 

But your friend was persistent. Thank god she was persistent. As much as she had promoted him to you, she doubly promoted you to him, and soon enough, she was giving you the good news that he had eventually agreed to go out on a date with you. He had even gone so far as to pick the time and the venue, so she had high expectations for the night. 

You had high expectations for the night.

You tried not to. You didn’t imagine there was anyone for you who could ever be as good as your first love, but if there wasn’t, it wouldn’t be for a lack of you trying to find them. You owed it to yourself, to your friend, to him, to give this date a good try. So even though you tried not to get all worked up over one simple date, you got excited anyway. You dressed up to the nines. 

When you showed up to the address that you’d been instructed to meet him at, you were shocked to discover you’d been here before, years ago. It was a cherry blossom garden. A cherry blossom garden that was usually extremely busy and yet somehow it was now completely deserted. And… lit up? You didn’t remember there being so many lanterns everywhere the last time you’d come here. 

Following the trails of lanterns, you found a man in a suit waiting for you at the end. He was down on one knee. Holding a ring box.

“I love you. I love you so, so much. Please, please marry me.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No.”

“But why?”

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I’m not going on a blind date. I’m not going on any date. Never again.” Hoshina waved his persistent friend away, thinking his resolve might end any further arguments. It only strengthened her resolve. 

She followed him down the long expanse of hallway, and boy, did he realize just how long it was as she prattled on and on. “But did I tell you she also grew up in the same neighborhood as you?”

He groaned. “Yes. Yes, you did. Doesn’t change a thing.”

“But did I tell you she hikes? You could go hiking together.”

“I don’t want to go hiking with anyone.”

“But did I tell you she cooks, and get this, she cooks your favorite foods. It’s honestly crazy how your favorite foods are like somehow what she specializes in. That’s gotta be some sign, right?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, I appreciate you trying, but nothing you say is going to make me change my mind about this.”

“Okay, okay, one more thing. You remember that, like, weird vintage medallion thing you have on your nightstand?”

He froze in his tracks. “...What about it?”

“You remember how you told me that they only ever made two of those medallions and you won it at some event? Get this- she has the other half of the set. She also won it at the same event. If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.” 

He quickly turned around and started making his way back to his room. 

She watched him curiously, keeping pace with him as his pace increased. He was almost like a man on a mission the way he sped down the hall. She was sure he’d burn tracks into the floor with the way he was walking. 

“Can she see me tomorrow night?” He asked finally.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what on earth could’ve made him change his mind, and so quickly at that. But after all this begging and pleading with him to reconsider the date, she wouldn’t dare question his sudden change in heart. 

“Yeah, of course she can. She’s been waiting for you to say yes forever. I’ll text her. Do you guys wanna meet up at that restaur-”

“I’ll pick the place. I know the perfect spot.”

She blinked a couple times. What was going on with Hoshina today? Not only was he actually agreeing to go on this blind date when he’d been vehemently rejecting it these past few weeks, but now he was taking the initiative to plan the date himself? Something had to be going on. But she was too afraid to ask what, too afraid it would weaken his nerve. So she simply nodded and said, “Alright, good luck. I’ll let her know when you’re ready.” Then she vanished down the hallway, too stunned to speak any further. 

When he reached his room, Hoshina tossed out half his closet trying to figure out what to wear. What was one supposed to wear to propose to the love of his life that he hadn’t seen in years? What was one supposed to say?

He quickly called up the managers of the cherry blossom garden that he’d taken you to on your first date together and he bought out the entire place for tomorrow night. He didn’t want anyone walking in and ruining the only chance he might have with you. 

He took out the ring box he’d been holding onto these last several years and set it out on his nightstand, right beside the medallion that he’d won with you. Then he fell asleep dreaming about your smile. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I love you. I love you so, so much. Please, please marry me.”

Suddenly everything made sense.

Of course he liked the same shows you did. You always made him watch it with you. Of course he was a night owl, you stayed up late together watching those shows. Of course he liked the same hobbies, the same food, the same music, you lived together, it was hard not to pick up the same routines, to pick up the same interests. And all those places your friend had told you he’d visited that you’d also visited? You’d gone on vacation together. 

You’d done everything together. 

Until you didn’t. Until you broke up. 

But now here he was before you, and without even wasting a second to say hi it’s me again, he was already down on one knee proposing with a ring you told him you liked once in passing. 

At first you wondered why he was here, after so many weeks of declining to proceed with this date. Had he known it was you all along? Was that why he’d said no? But then why was he here? And with a ring no less? What was going on? What made him change his mind?

But suddenly you didn’t care. You didn’t care at all. You didn’t care about the how or the why or the what. You just cared about him. You just cared that the man that you loved, that the only man that you’d ever loved, that the only man you ever wanted to love, was kneeling before you, saying he loved you, saying he still loved you, saying he’d always loved you and always would love you. And he wanted to marry you.

“Yes.”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter @ouiouimochi

[alibasnur]

My Friend's Widow

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: 700-ish

Warning: Written in Sebastian's POV, angst, mention of sexual act, major character's death

Author's note: This has been sitting in my draft and i impulsively decided to post it before going to bed

“Today, I brought in some flowers for my friend’s widow. I cut them a little messier, just like how her blind husband used to do when he was alive. 

It was always both of them in that little house as the couple had no child. I remember how she used to tell me that she wanted several of them. But her husband despised the idea of having any at all. She must have loved him so much that she had a change of heart.

 

I wished she had given me the same mercy back then. She used to be my betrothed before she was my friend’s wife. I loved her and I treasured her in the best way that a foolish boy could do. I made a grave mistake of falling back into a deed that I had promised her not to step in, which also caused me and my friend to have a falling out.

Two years after that, I received the news about their marriage. I had never seen a bride so beautiful that it hurt me. A precious, blushing bride laughing in his husband’s arm. So beautiful, but she wasn’t mine.

It grew unbearable to simply look her in the eyes. I didn't stay much longer, just a simple congratulations and then I set off.

But I was glad. My heart sank so much that I didn’t have the strength to pick up a wand and set that wedding arch on fire. At least I didn’t make that mistake anymore. 

I knew what I’m capable of in my worst temper. But that time, I didn’t want to be the reason for her to cry. I wanted to be good for her. No matter how much I’m aching and suffering for it. 

I could be Merlin had she asked for it. But no, she wanted him instead.

I got struck by a high fever and in my sleep, I called for her name. A few days later, I picked myself up, forced myself some stale pieces of bread and water and I didn’t know why and what for.

Sometimes, It still terrified me to see her in the finest witches I came across. It was a bitter reminder that somehow I still belonged to her. She could live a life without me and I would be the one trying to numb myself from the hurtful thought of what things could’ve been.

At one point, a few years later, I could open the drawer and see the ring that she had so coldly returned with only a little sentiment. I thought that I had made up my mind. I thought that I could listen to someone speak of her, and feel no sting.

But as soon as the news of my friend’s passing was at my door, I came as quickly as a gust of wind. I found her, looking at me behind her mourning veil. Her arms reached out to me, and as I held her, I could feel every single wall I had built shatter. She said that she needed me to stay. So I stayed. 

She would call for me on her loneliest nights, I warmed her bed when it felt cold and empty, and I’ll do it gladly. After years of suffocating, I got to breathe her in. At this point, I would take anything. Her lips, her loving gaze, her skin that I could caress, even though she would call for her late husband’s name as I drove her to the peak. It felt like a stab through the chest, but I said nothing. The heartache that she inflicted on me felt as if it redeemed me, that maybe, i would be deserving of her again.

I would wait so patiently, until she comes to love me again. If not soon, then the year after. I would try to read the look on her face, behind that black, sheer lace of a veil, searching for a sign, waiting for it in every word that ever came out of her lips.

So I counted days of the year, but as my heart started to grow weary, today, she put her mourning dress back into the wardrobe, and she stared at me so lovingly that I couldn’t be mistaken.”

[possiblyunhinged]

I’m sorry, but you can’t remove the context of class from any discourse about the riots in Southport last night. To remove it is to remove any desire to understand what is happening, and without understanding, there will be no resolution.

Working-class, disenfranchised men are being exploited by the likes of Tate, Robinson, and Farage and are galvanised into ‘righteous’ anger.

There’s nothing righteous about rage based on fallacy. I doubt any of these men could explain why they were there beyond little soundbites regurgitated into their mouths by Tate and co.

'We WaNt OuR cOuNtRy BaCk'... screamed by men whose country never has given two shits about them and will guzzle on any privately educated men who tell them what they want to hear... Free Thinkers who happen to all think the exact same...

The men last night throwing bricks at the police with alcohol in their hands were not mourning children. They are not concerned about the safety of women. They are scared little boys attempting to disguise themselves as men. They have no purpose, and I don’t say that to be cruel, but it’s obvious.

If a middle-class person were saying this, maybe I’d have an issue with it. However, we won’t fix this level of disenfranchisement by pretending that class isn’t the ruling factor in what is happening—and fundamentally, how working-class people are treated.

I grew up thinking that working-class people had each other’s backs and looked after those in need. The women who lived around me were the most selfless people I’ve ever met. It’s embarrassing to see what’s happening and how cruel and empty people are becoming. Immune to facts. Immune to others’ suffering.

Until the government actually makes changes to people’s quality of life, situations like this are going to get worse. And frankly, while I understand the responses from political figures, only speaking to these groups of people when things like this happen isn’t helpful.

Robinson, Tate, and Farage fill the silence that the government maintains towards working-class people.

Yet again, I know some will say, ‘No excuse’… Okay then, let’s remove context from everything and never try to understand why these things happen. Frankly, I’d like to live in a society capable of change and reason, not one more concerned with groups fighting to see who is the most virtuous.

Taylor Swift fans have raised over 200k for Alder Hey while these 'men' nurse a hangover.

[artiststarme]

Let's Get Out Of Here

Aha, the writer’s block is gone! I’m not sure what this is but I hope you guys like it! Please leave your thoughts in the comments.

~*~*~*~

Eddie had wanted to leave since he stepped foot into the god-forsaken town. As soon as he’d passed the town’s border in the backseat of the social worker’s sedan, he knew he didn’t belong there. Hawkins was everything he despised about society; white picket fences for the rich, small town boys who thought they were better than everyone else, and snobby adults that turned their nose up if he so much as looked at them.

So yes, he’d been imagining a way out since he got in. He’d imagined Corroded Coffin making it big and getting to leave Hawkins together, best friends living the best life on stage while sharing their music with the masses. They wouldn’t be the outcasts that people treated like shit beneath their boots anymore, they would be something important. Unfortunately, that dream was squashed by his experiences over Spring Break. His old friends wouldn’t so much as glance at him much less leave town to hit the road with him.

Gone were the friends that would listen to him narrate a campaign for hours on end. Gone were the the friends that would drop everything to practice one of Eddie’s spur of the moment song ideas. After Spring Break of his third senior year, Eddie was alone.

He managed to avoid criminal charges by the skin of his teeth with a bogus alibi fabricated by the surprisingly-still-alive-Chief Hopper. He was finally able to graduate from high school and get a full time job to raise some money. But everything else was ruined. The friends he’d had since sophomore year were gone, the trailer he’d called his home was savaged, and his body was marred with gruesome scars that still wrought pain on the worst days.

On the bad days when the pain kept him in bed, he’d fantasize about leaving Hawkins. New, more achievable dreams centered around moving someplace new with Wayne. They’d pack everything up in the van and truck and just take off. They’d leave the tragic Midwest behind and head somewhere bigger like LA or NYC to take the world at storm, Munsons against the world as it had always been. Unfortunately though, they just didn’t have the funds to do that. Wayne couldn’t leave the plant when he had no savings to his name. And Eddie didn’t have anywhere near enough saved from working at Thatcher Tire to support them both.

He still had nothing going for him in Hawkins though. The harsh glares and pointed insults had only worsened since Chrissy’s death. He had to leave. But, he’d always been a coward at heart and he wasn’t brave enough to leave on his own. He would be trapped in the town that hated him until he died or something happened to force him out.

The one thing he had still was his family. It had lost several members but it had gained even more. The Party had managed to creep passed his defenses to find a place in his broken heart. Steve and Robin in particular grew close to him, assigning themselves best friends of Eddie Munson 1 and 2, respectively. They would hang out around Wayne’s new trailer, bother him at work, and he’d bother them at theirs.

It was on one of these impromptu hang-out sessions that a spark of hope developed in his chest. He’d been mourning his cowardice and inability to leave in silence until Steve started complaining about feeling trapped in his empty home. It was then that Eddie saw an opportunity.

“I don’t know, man. I know it sounds stupid, how can I feel trapped in a big house? But there’s just nothing there! And it’s, it’s suffocating, man. I don’t know how much longer I can stay there.”

Steve murmured his words against the end of a cigarette, his body leaning against the side of the car that Eddie was pretending to work on. But how was he supposed to focus on changing a timing belt when the object of his affections was expressing a will to leave?

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Eddie nearly fell over as he rushed to reassure him. “Hell, I’ve felt suffocated since I got here.”

Steve hummed softly and took a puff of his cigarette.

Eddie smirked sardonically and chuckled to himself. “Maybe we should leave together. You could stop being a ghost in your parents house and I could stop being the murderer that killed his classmates. We could get a place together and decorate it half jock, half metal. That’d be a sight.”

Steve looked over at him with squinted eyes. “Really? You’d want to leave with me?”

“Why not? You’re one of my best friends, Stevie. I’d love to leave with you.”

The suspicion melted from Steve’s expression and a genuine smile took its place. He dropped the cigarette to the gravel ground, pulled the tool from Eddie’s hand and pulled him into an all-encompassing hug.

“Let’s do it! You and me. And Robin, I don’t think she’d let me move without her. We’re a package deal, if that’s okay.”

Eddie laughed and it’s him, high in the moment despite it all being a joke. “Of course! You can bring your emotional support lesbian and I’ll bring my Sweetheart. Then we’ll take the world by storm.”

Steve held onto him for another few moments before pulling away. “Okay, when do you want to leave?”

The smile fell from Eddie’s face. “Wha- seriously? You actually want to leave with me?”

“Um, yes? I feel like I made that pretty obvious.”

Eddie blinked. “Um, okay. How about the end of the summer. Then we’ll have enough time to find a place and raise some cash.”

Steve grinned. “Sounds good! I’ll tell Robin. See you later, Eds!”

Eddie could only watch him skip to his car in shock. Steve continued to surprise the hell out of him. He’d shocked him in the Upside Down by being a genuinely good guy. Again when he’d fought the entire basketball team two weeks afterward to protect Eddie’s honor. And now with plans to rescue him from the stifling hatred of Hawkins.

When he pulls him into a gentle kiss as soon as they step into the apartment with Robin behind them griping about carrying all the bags, that’s a nice surprise too.

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[louisgayvodka]

i’m not really good with expressing how i feel but i’m going to try because it’s a lot and i need to get it off my chest.

i was 10 when i got into the one direction fandom. 13 years i’ve been here supporting each of them on their journeys. i always said that, even though i didn’t know them personally, i grew up along side them.

they had a hand in shaping me into the person i am today and for that, i will always be grateful. over the pass couple of years i haven’t exactly agreed with some of the stuff liam has said/done and i hoped that he would have stepped back and re-evaluated his life and started a course down a better path.

one direction means a lot to me. that includes liam. it’s sad to admit this but i had been worried about him for a while. i was hoping that it would never come to this. never did i think that’s i’d be saying goodbye to him, or any of the boys for that matter, at this age. i thought i would have been well in to my 70s or 80s before something like this happened.

there’s going to be a memorial held in my city tomorrow. i’m not sure if i should go. on one hand i feel stupid because i didn’t know him personally so do i have the right to be upset? do i have the right to show up there and cry and mourn someone who didn’t even know i existed? even now, writing this, i feel like i don’t have the right to speak out about it at all.

if i do go, suddenly it becomes real and i just can’t believe that. i don’t want to believe that.

on the other hand, i want to go. i want to be surrounded by people who might just understand how much losing him is like losing a part of myself, a part of my childhood. i want to go and spread so much love that he feels it wherever he is. i want to go and show him that, even sometimes it may have not seemed like it, there were and still are people who loved him. who are so grateful for the impact that him and the rest of the boys had on them.

[blu-ish]

In your words describe Shadow

What is he like? Do you think he’ll be different in the movie than prime or sonic x or the games?

Oghh man, when you’re asking about my favorite character of all times.. prepare for an essay hshsjsjsh

Shadow is someone who really imprinted on me as a kid, (besides Sonic ofc lmao) I first saw him in Generations and knew next to nothing about him other than he was single-handedly the coolest character in the game.

In the Sonic and Shadow race that happens in gens, I could tell he was pretty powerful— and when he comes to support Sonic fighting off the time eater, I could also tell he was a good friend. (7 year old me omg if only you knew lmao)

But as I grew older, I started learning more about Shadow as a character— I think that’s when I started to understand just how important Shadow is to the Sonic series as a whole, and to us, his fans.

Shadow is someone who’s been through hell and back, literally. He’s someone that, through all the odds, became someone he wanted to be (and even more)— not something he was made for.

He’s compassionate, curious, headstrong and likes to keep to himself most of the time. He’s not one for “pleasing the big crowds” he just does what he knows is right.

He has a small circle of friends that are like his family, he gets to be a kid again with them. He gets to be competitive and have people to care about again. Even if he has trouble showing it.

Shadow is a heavily traumatized character, one whose past doesn’t just make him some asshole villain character (because that’s NOT who he is.) He’s someone who never got to mourn, who’s been manipulated, who has memory issues and teaches us that it’s not as simple as just “getting over our negative experiences” but acknowledging they happened and growing stronger because of it.

He doesn’t try to be a whole other person, he is unapologetically himself. Someone who’s gonna stand up and protect others, someone who’s not gonna be seen as a hero by everyone or be as loved as some blue heros. But that doesn’t stop him so why should that stop any of us?

He inspires us to choose our own path, to not dwell on our past but rather grow because they happened. To be who we’re meant to be truly, and if the whole world turns its back on us we can fight like we’ve always have.

He’s a nerd, he likes flowers and coffee beans, he loves animals and the Earth he protects. He cherishes it all for him and Maria cuz that’s what she would’ve wanted for him and he believes it. He’s willing to protect the humanity that wronged him, even give it a second chance.

He’s Shadow the fucking Hedgehog.

But to answer your question (hsjsjsj SORRY) I’m not too sure how they’ll portray him in the movie or the games moving forward (love how he was in prime hands down best Shadow characterization) but from what I’ve seen so far, all the shadow love? I know my boy’s back, and he’s gonna be my fav no matter what 💖

[kaznejis]

Forever is the sweetest con- Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalised words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face. His name. The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope's front gate.

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote and posted this to AO3 YEARS ago, but after a recent replay of RDR2 I decided to fix up some mistakes in this fic and post it on here! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 9287 / Read it on AO3!

NOTORIOUS BAD MAN ALIVE —--------------------------------------------

A dispatch from Tall Trees reports a sighting of infamous outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde, who has been on a bloody run from the law for many years now. The notorious Dutch’s Boys gang once plagued this state, but it was believed to have disbanded as long ago as 1899. Two of his henchmen - Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan - were both killed in separate raids by Pinkerton agents that same year. Gang members Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, John Marston, and Charles Smith are still believed to be at large. But most notably, Dutch’s supposed lover - rumored to have allied with the opposing powers during the gang’s infamous civil war - Y/N L/N has been seen haunting our states, donning bounty hunter wear. Will our young outlaw-turned-heroine be the one to finally end Van Der Linde’s tyranny?

Either way, law enforcement have pledged to continue searching for Van Der Linde, who still has one of the largest bounties on his head for kill or capture.

-

Eventually, the hands that were once calloused from gun slinging and knife wielding grew used to the arduous task of milking Betsy, Beecher's Hope’s famed prize cow- tuning to the rhythm of milking a cow that only really took a liking to the young Jack Marston. Swiping a palm through the mounting sweat on your forehead, you glared at the cow as it huffed.

“I hate this as much as you do, honey,” You turned slightly to retrieve the second bucket to be filled, “But we all want to eat, so you’re going to give me every last drop of that milk of yours.”

The cow’s ears merely twitched, the animal equivalent to a relenting eye roll.

You gave one right back.

“You tell her.” Abigail chuckled from behind you, pacing forward to lean against Betsy’s stall, “I’m not surprised John has you down here today, Ol’ Missy here tried to feed him a hoof at the slightest sign that he was about to milk her.”

You snorted, an image of John’s hat flying from his head and into the neighboring stall entering your mind, “She’s just stubborn is all, she’ll like me more than Jack soon, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” She laughed, easing the weight of one of the buckets brimming with milk as you stood, ”Hey, walk back to the house with me. John said he has something to show you.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a thick feeling began to lodge in your throat. The cautiousness of years on the run still lingering despite the secure life you now lived. “Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged, “He refused to tell me so probably some bounty hunting stuff. The silly man.”

You nodded; calming yourself as you deposited the contents of the bucket into a jug. You were safe, things had been relatively safe since you’d stumbled into the last remnants of the gang in the Blackwater Saloon. You had entered the building desperate for a comfortable bed and a hot meal- only to leave brimming with whiskey and laughter, a permanent room available to you mere minutes from your original destination. You had stared up at the stars that night, laying in the comfortable night time breeze upon the house’s deck as Rufus had snuffled at your hands, excited at the premise of a new friend.

Fatigue rotted the depths of your being, having followed the cold trail of Micah Bell for the better part of eight years. You had vowed that fateful night, as he forced you to point a gun at the only man you had and would ever truly love, that you would kill him. Globs of spit and blood flickered from your mouth as you had fled upon your steed, screaming likewise threats of revenge and murder as he had hunted you- the red of his vest merging with the rage in his eyes.

Micah had always wanted you dead.

You had been an obstacle before his beloved leader, the gem in the notorious Dutch Van Der Linde’s eyes. His sweet, his darling, his largest weakness.

The O’Driscolls had known it, the Pinkertons had known it and Micah Bell had known it.

His hackles raised everytime you neared, steering Dutch away in order to discuss his new “plan”. It had grown severe in Beaver Hollow, the drapes of Dutch’s once-welcoming tent consistently closed as he drowned within his own mind. You had moved into Tilly’s tent, terrified of Dutch’s inherent darkness breaching your own soul even despite the love you felt for him.

Micah had pounced then- Dutch’s last flicker of lightness being efficiently snuffed out. His once dormant toxicities were pampered and brought to life; riches and Micah became the forefront of his racing thoughts. You were simply lost in the tide.

“Now that I come to think of it,” Abigail placed her jug into the cart and spun to face you, “John looked like he was holding a newspaper of some sort- I think there was something of interest in it.”

Squinting, you turned to face the house- sure enough, John was sitting upon the front steps; a newspaper open within his hands. His face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, “I’ll head over to him now, thanks Abigail.”

You spared a wave as you both went your separate ways, meeting eyes with John as he somberly raised his eyes, “Who died?” You joked, standing before him with your hands on your hips, “You look like you’re preparing to draw.”

John only swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked away- almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes.

“John?”

“I think you’ll need to sit down, Y/N.” You quickly obliged, the scratch of his accent carrying a sorrowful timber; rougher than ever. lowering yourself beside him and wringing your hands together- the previous dread now returned at a higher fervor, taking residence within the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

John finally turned to you, his eyes filled with a dangerous mix of pity and anger, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place. I really should have looked into the area first.” he stood suddenly, his boots scuffing against the gravel as scrubbed at his face. Almost as if he was punishing himself for his supposed mistake.

“John?” You guffawed, straightening in your seat as you gaped at him, “What are you talking about? We’ve been over this, this is the perfect place for your family. It’s where Abigail wanted to be!”

The gravity of the situation weighed upon your conscience suddenly, John hadn’t been this stressed in months- having left the life of an outlaw to become an established father and farm handler. Whilst the weight of his past did prevail, the future had not previously posed any issue.

John nodded somberly, his eyes fixing upon a huddle of trees in the too-near distance.

“You know what happens in Tall Trees, don’t you?” You nodded and turned towards the trees yourself, urging him to continue. You’d had many runs in with the Skinner Brothers since moving in. “It’s filled with dangerous people, a fugitive paradise for people who are still like how we used to be.”

He stopped then, looking down to the newspaper within his hands. You noted that it was heavily crumpled, as if he’d been about to tear it up though decided against it at the last second, “You need to read this for yourself, I think.”

“Okay.” You spoke tentatively, peeling the newspaper from his hands as he gripped it reluctantly- as if to protect you from what you were about to read. You loved that about John, always willing to take the brunt at his own expense in order to protect the ones he loved. A trait carried from Arthur, you thought, stealing a look at the worn hat upon John’s head.

You looked away, the pain of loss forever present at the back of your mind. It lingered like a festering wound- oozing and growing at the merest memory of the pain. Arthur had given up everything for the safety of the remnants of the group; sometimes you wondered if it should have been you.

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalized words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face.

His name.

The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope front gate.

-

“So, to dismiss the elephant in the room, are you going to hunt the bastard down?”

“Sadie!” Abigail choked, glaring at the woman across from her- having just barely managed to coax you out of your room and into a seat at the dinner table.The news had left you partially catatonic- a haze feeding into your limbs as you had fled from John, curling up against the wall of your room until the cool glaze of Abigail’s palm had rubbed your shoulder. The usual buzzing cacophony of sound during dinner had become a mournful silence prior to Sadie’s announcement; each member treading on eggshells around you. Even Jack had barely spoken, having heard scattered tales of the time of the Van Der Linde gang, much to Abigail’s disapproval.

“What?” Sadie shook her head, stabbing a lump of beef with her fork threateningly. “The only reason I’m not already knee deep in those woods is for Y/N,” she turned to you then, her blonde plait glowing in the evening tint, “It’s your call hun. If anyone other than me had taken action against those damn O’Driscolls in Jake’s name; I’d never have forgiven ‘em.”

Abigail nodded in agreement, placing a hand beside your plate barely skimming your fingers, “We will support you in whatever you do Y/N.”

A scoff sounded from the end of the table, Uncle spat crumbs across the table as he spoke, mouth filled with stew, “I say we kill the bastard, especially if he’s allied with those wretched Skinner Brothers.”

The group stayed silent at that- all too aware of the extent of Uncle’s horrific injuries. You or Charles would regularly return from a hunt with ointment, to which Abigail would apply to Uncle’s injuries; her hums attempting to drown out his screams and cries. But nothing could amount to the nightmares that Uncle endured- reliving the torture he endured night after night. His alcohol dependency had only seemed to worsen. Not taking action against a Skinner-allied Dutch would only feel like betrayal.

John was the first to speak up, taking on the authoritative tone he seemed to muster during severe circumstances, “Either way, we need to decide what we’re doing fast.” John spoke, ever the strategic, “No matter the connections we used to have with Dutch, he’s going to be as unpredictable as ever. He cannot be trusted, not so close to Jack.”

“He could be here for us.” Charles regarded the matter for the first time, his deep baritone carrying a rougher tone, “It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here so soon after you properly settled down.”

The sound of your spoon dropping filled the silence that followed, everyone turned as you placed your head into your hands- grinding your palms into the tears that filled your eyes, “I’ve gone so long.”

“Y/N it’s okay-”

“I’ve gone so long,” You repeated, dribbles of snot clouding upon your upper lip, “'I've been able to forget about him. All these years, I’ve been able to focus on other things-” A sob escaped from your lips as you refused to meet the sympathetic eyes surrounding you. “Why did he have to do this now?”

You broke down then, folding into Abigail’s embrace as she stroked your hair, coaxing the pained cries out of you. “Why don’t we run you a bath? A hot bath and a good nights’ sleep will do your mind some good.”

Nodding slowly, you wiped your face without a care towards the stains that would now grace your sleeves. Abigail led you towards the comfort of the chair before the fireplace as Charles jogged ahead to prepare you a bath- promising to add an array of the herbs he had recently discovered to be of abundance in the area. The joy you had felt during previous dinners had been long abandoned.

-

When the bathwater had long gone still and cold, the longer-lasting bubbles floating alongside the waves traced upon the water- the memories finally set themselves free, the tranquility of the soak loosening the long-secured walls within your mind.

The days spent leading up to the initial heist in a camp not far from your own, long morning’s tucked up in animal furs and Dutch’s arms as the Blackwater heat and assurance of soon-to-come-riches washed over you. The subsequent plight, Dutch’s eyes constantly swiveling back towards you from his wagon as you had chosen to ride upon your own horse; the way he had protested against this decision, digging his heels in even despite the fangs of the law snapping at them mere minutes away. Your safety being his first priority.

You had shut him out during the short stay at Colter- furious that he had prioritized you before his duties as the leader of the gang. Furious that he had put you before young Jack, the other women, the wide span of injuries slowing the gang to a desperate stagger. But no, he had snapped at you; waving desperately towards the wagon the last of the women were piling into as you shook your head- tightening your horse’s reins. He had cast your wrist into his iron grip then, his eyes hard and swarming with anger; a mirror image to the swaths of the law’s blood coating his shirt sleeves. The blood of an innocent woman.

With shaking limbs, you had snatched your hand away and mounted before kicking your horse into a gallop, following the others who had already enacted their hasty departure.

With only mere seconds free to himself during those cold days, Dutch had tried- he’d stared determinedly at you during every speech and attempted to corner you at every given moment. You had successfully evaded his advances every time, opting to escape into the mounting snow outside of your cabin in opposition to being with a man you weren’t sure you could trust anymore. It was Arthur who successfully infiltrated your movement, joining you at one of the scarce campfires the gang had managed to light.

“You’re driving him mad, Y/N.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You shook your head, poking the embers with a stick. “You of all people know that he’s already there.”

He sniffed, a short flash of amusement crossing his face before it was replaced with sobriety. “Maybe. I wasn’t at the massacre, I didn’t see exactly what he did-”

“He killed an innocent woman, Arthur. Right in front of me and then had the audacity to claim that my safety was the most important thing to him.”

“Yes, I want to beat him senseless for the way he’s damned us too, I promise you.” He scratched his beard tentatively, almost searching for the correct words to say, “But… no matter what he did, we need to stick together, Y/N.” A pause. “And if his only source of light is snuffed out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Arthur.”

“I’m not, Y/N. You know I’m not. But we are all starving and cold and tired. We need a right-minded leader to get out of here and once we do, we can judge Dutch all we want.”

You laughed then, a foreign sound in the somber setting; Arthur had grinned crookedly too, wrapping an arm around shoulder as he pulled you into his side. “Alright, I’ll talk to him..soon.”

Arthur had simply huffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a pat on the head as he rose- behind on his schedule of carrying the burden of the gang. You had remained at that campfire for some time after that, dwelling within your own conflicting thoughts.

Sitting in the bathtub, you felt the same affliction as you did all of those long years ago, even despite being so much younger and naïve at that time. You wanted to run out there, into the darkness of the forests and deep troughs of moss, into the arms of your lost love. But another part of you, the part that had grown and hardened with age, the part that hated Dutch Van Der Linde with every fiber of its existence- wanted vengeance. It wanted to provide Sadie and John with your vital blessing to go out there and capture him, kill him even.

Despite the years you had garnered since settling eyes on Dutch, you didn’t trust yourself to follow through with ending it all yourself; you didn’t trust yourself not to melt entirely within his presence. His charisma would sway you, his ability to flirt and coerce would be an instant match for your own stoic toughness. You couldn’t possibly know what he looked like anymore- but your betraying conscience conjured an image of his trimmed mustache complimenting his sharp jaw, his towering stature and taut muscles- those same muscles that had pinned you down night after night, the same ones that belonged to the only body that had ever truly pleasured you. The rings that adorned his fingers, each one a symbol of masculinity and fabrication, glinting in the moonlight as he smoked his complimentary, post-orgasm cigar.

Your insides tingled as you recalled the way he used to ravage you, the hungry glint of his eyes from between your thighs or the heavy pants that would spill from his lips as he buried his head into the sweaty base of your throat, his sex-tousled hair drawing paths against your skin, lighting the fuses beneath your jaw and throat.

Mr. Van De Linde had always been the embodiment of seduction- whether in his manipulative nature or in the coital bed you shared. You doubted that this feature had hardly changed.

Which is why you could-

“Y/N?”

You sprung from your dazed position within the tub, jumping and wrapping linens around your soaked body, “Sorry- uh- Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while now?” It was Jack, probably worried sick about you alongside the rest of the family.

“I’m fine.” you spluttered, desperately wringing out your sopping hair as you opened the door, plastering on a half-convincing smile, “I won’t burst into tears on you again, I promise.”

He simply nodded, a concerned look in his eyes that frighteningly reminded you of his own father. A look far too old for his youthful features, “I just wanted to check that you weren’t drowning in there. The bath is far too deep for me sometimes.”

Ruffling his hair, you laughed- mood slightly improved, “Don’t worry about me Jackie- just had a little blast from the past is all.”

He nodded, though a pensive look flashed across his face.

“What?”

“I don’t have many memories from back then,” you nodded, encouraging him to continue, “but I do remember you and Uncle- sorry, you and Mr. Van Der Linde.” He looked at you sadly, possibly seeing the shock and grief that instantly sunk into your face, “Sometimes, you’d be so happy but then other days all that could be heard was your fights… I remember once it got so bad that Ma wouldn’t let me out of that room in that big house. But I also remember when you went missing for a day or two, he’d practically torn the place apart with the worry that you’d been taken.” He paused again as you watched him through tear-blurred eyes, “I’m sorry that he’s come back Y/N.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around Jack, allowing your tears to slip into his hair, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that, Jackie,” you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and tightening your lips, “I hope to God that you never have to deal with something like that. Promise me you won’t let it happen?”

“I promise, Y/N,”

“Good. Good boy.”

“But… Do you still love him Y/N?”

Your teeth clacked shut, the sound resounding throughout the thin hallway. Not even when you and Dutch had been together had anybody dared question the true status of your relationship- opting for sympathetic smiles or knowing looks alike in respect for their brash leader. Shaking your thoughts, you attempted a warm smile, guiding Jack towards the living room. “Love is a complicated thing Jack, part of me hopes that you’ll never have to experience the woes of it but the happiness it brings outweighs everything,” tightening your robe around your chest, you sat beside Jack before the hearth of the fireplace, “Dutch could render me happy or sad at any given moment, the power he held over me was…terrifying.” Jack nodded, his eyes glinting curiously with the fire’s light, “But I think I did love him. Maybe I still do, but that doesn’t matter anymore because he’s not a good man.”

“You deserve a good man, Y/N.”

You chuckled, a real source of warmth and comfort finally replacing the cold of the bathwater, “Maybe. I look forward to the day that I finally meet one.”

“I think Uncle Arthur was a good man.”

“Yeah.” A lone buck sauntered along the hills surrounding Beecher’s Hope, its ears pricking towards Tall Trees. “He was.”

-

Shadows of branches intertwined and floated amongst the ceiling of your room, a light breeze filtering in from the opened window. You had opted to retire to bed early, skipping the usual drinks you would share with the rest of the family around the fire. You couldn’t face them, the pitious glances and the sway of alcohol would be too much, an easy passageway into spilling your darkest secrets.

The smell of alcohol had a tendency to remind you of Dutch, anyway. The acrid taste of whiskey and cigars mixed to create an unashamedly addictive scent; the taste of it upon his lips practically doubling the initial effect.

Not only had Dutch Van Der Linde always been an object of seduction, but he had become an object of addiction too. He had been the one to tie your dependency to cigarettes during your time in the gang, having quickly picked up his habit of smoking a cigarette in the event of anything extraordinary. You would regularly smoke together post-sex, bathing in the privilege of sharing one, or even two, of his prized cigars- picking up on his ever-watchful eyes as you wrapped your lips around the blunt and puffed; always making sure to add an air of extravagance as you exhaled.

The thought had you scrambling at the bottom of your mattress, searching for the stash of cigarettes you had stowed there for the event of emergency. You swore to yourself you had quit, but living a Dutch-less existence required other outlets.

Low and behold, you had smoked the last of them after attempting to round up a herd of sheep the week prior.

You swore, jumping out of bed and pulling the mattress back further to no avail. “It’s fine.” You mumbled to yourself, checking your wardrobe and dresser subsequently, “It’s fine.”

In all honesty, you could do with the fresh air- your room had quickly begun to forego the open window and grow stuffy with the weight of your own sinful mind. Though, your objection to facing the others still remained steady- leading you to hoist yourself out of the bedroom window and onto the saddle of your horse.

Blackwater remained a constant bustle of energy even within the darkness of night, having returned to its pre-Van Der Linde glory as a portside town. The city itself acted as a constant reminder to what Dutch had done, marking the beginning of his true tyranny as the blood of the innocent Heidi McCourt had splattered along the sidewalk and his very own shirt sleeves. You had only learned her name from the bench before the boardwalk- “We remember Heidi McCourt” scratched into the base of the wood, only a minute of research informed you of exactly who that was. But upon further residence within Blackwater- you learned of the hatred felt towards the notorious members of the gang; cutouts of previous gang members pinned to dartboards and littered with darts and even bullets alike.

Despite your pardons, the people of Blackwater had never forgotten what you had done.

Your hair was longer now, providing the disguise necessary to lay low. Besides, your bounty hunter escapades had quickly taken over any true resemblance to the you that had resided within the gang; the very newspaper detailing Dutch’s return had coined you a “heroine”. It was good to know that people knew you mostly for your good, the version of yourself eight years prior would have feared your very being.

Dismounting your steed, you patted her side as you pulled out a set of twin revolvers- ever aware of the new threat that lurked nearby. The thought that he could be anywhere made you shiver despite the warmth of Summer as you jogged towards the grocer, apologizing for your late arrival as it was near closing time. The man waved you off, rolling his eyes as he continued to sweep the shop floor.

Maybe chivalry was dead, you smirked to yourself as you requested a pack of premiums. The man nodded, but before he could bend to grab the cigarettes he paled, sweat beginning to bead at his temple as he whimpered- seemingly catatonic in place. Rising your eyes to the dusty window, your lips pursed as you spotted at least four figures behind you in the reflection, all obviously armed.

“Raise your hands darlin’.” A gruff voice spoke, the traditional accent carried by the Skinner brothers.

“I’m just grabbing some cigarettes,” You spoke firmly, your hands lowering towards your revolvers, “Just let me leave and we don’t need to have any issues.”

The men began to cackle at that, you could hear the sound of them clapping at each other’s backs and howling like dogs. The shopkeeper remained cowered beneath the counter, frozen in place as his eyes pleaded at you to do something- the stoic shopkeeper from mere minutes ago was no longer present.

“You think we’re just gonna let an infamous bounty hunter like you leave just like that?” The speaker spat at the ground, a display of disgust. “Do you know how many of our brothers you’ve killed?”

Chuckling, you rose your eyes. “I think they use the word infamous for a reason, you know.” You turned, spinning your revolvers and executing two of the men in a split second; time slowing as bullets lodged into each of their skulls. Tearing through skin and bone, the sound of the bullets pinging into the wall shattered their amusement, the fallout spraying their faces with blood.

The remaining men had barely even reached for their weapons before you delivered bullets into their heart and kneecaps respectively, the latter would live but never walk again; able to enforce the resounding fear of your presence into the outlaw community. Stepping over the bodies, you leaned over the survivor- clutching his shattered legs as he screamed and cried.

“Never underestimate me again.” You spat, mimicking his revolting action from earlier.

Despite his cries, the man laughed at your statement- his rotten teeth and stringy hair coated in the blood of his assailants. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he rose to rest on his elbow, his hitched breath releasing in pained pants, “We didn’t.”

Your eyes widened, you were only rewarded for a split second to prepare for the barrage of gunfire that attacked the storefront. Rolling backwards, you surveyed the frenetic gunfire from behind one of the many shelves and calculated how grossly outnumbered you truly were- at least ten men awaited outside, the group very obviously having not underestimated you.

You quickly discovered that the shopkeeper had locked himself in the back room- leaving you isolated with the threat of the Skinner Brothers. Without a second thought, you scaled the shop counter- loading your revolvers with bullets and replacing the empty space with the money in your pockets; it would serve you little purpose now.

You had no choice but to fight, your stubbornness making cowering and hiding not an option- if you went down, it had to happen fighting. You knew that your death would be gruesome, the feeling of the rough, splintering wood against your back and the tight press of your boots against the wall would not be the last thing you ever saw. You knew that you would be waking up again. Closing your eyes, you said a prayer- for your family. For Jack’s strength and innocence, for Abigail’s love, for John’s unwavering loyalty and for Sadie’s strength. You prayed for Dutch, prayed that despite all of his evil and wrongdoing, that he would not see you in the condition you were bound to be in. That he would not be the one to inflict the pain to come upon you.

Time slowed once again as you rose, meeting the men as they slammed open the shop door- grossly outnumbered as you had calculated. Vision blurring, you shot widely- fighting for your life as men collapsed throughout the room. The flash of gunfire and the glint of throwing knives blinded you.

Finally, you ran out of bullets. The bodies of vile, disgusting men surrounded you. The bodies of the men that had terrorized your family. As an arrow lodged itself into your unguarded chest, you felt nothing but vindication.

-

Blinking, the sound of dripping rang throughout your brain as your senses faltered. Slower than usual.

You couldn’t move your arms or legs.

“I can’t-” You stuttered, fidgeting and shaking, “I- can’t…I can’t move.”

No one replied, only the sounds of your unsteady breaths could be heard, each one followed by that dripping sound. The horror of the situation dawned upon you, you had been right. You had woken up.

The skinner brothers hadn’t killed you.

Your cheeks felt wet, slicken with tears and something else as you heaved and pushed against your confinements.

Boots crunched along grass then, the sound of a rolling glass bottle rung beside your head.

“Who’s going to shut her up this time then?” A misty voice spoke nearby, it was followed by a mixture of sounds, to which your brain couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like they were fighting over who would finish you off. You continued to cry then, your brain running at a speed faster than you could manage as the pain outweighed any coherent conscience. Finally, your eyes managed to peel themselves open.

To your horror, the dripping sound was your own blood- oozing from a cut on your arm that dribbled down through your fingers and onto the gravel below. You were tied to a wooden frame, similar to what Uncle had been tied to- though the fire had not yet been lit below you. The shine of the sun above you told you that not only had it been multiple hours, but that they were saving your sacrifice for the following night. Your body adorned a number of cuts though the arrow wound within your stomach had been messily patched up.

“They’re keeping me alive.” You mouthed, your eyes flitting around your surroundings as they welled with tears. You were within tall trees- deep in the forest and past the border lines you had previously ventured towards; they were ensuring that you would not be found.

“Have you found any takers for her?”

“Hm?” A large man looked towards a smaller man only a few steps from you.

“Any takers?” the smaller man rolled his eyes, socking the larger man in the arm, “Has anyone posed any offers to purchase her?”

Your ears rung as you squeezed your eyes closed, feigning sleep as you listened in on the conversation. They were keeping you alive to sell you, they were aware of your worth as a ruthless bounty hunter. It was their job to strip you of everything you had so they could sell a bounty hunter reduced to nothing to the highest bidder- a fate potentially worse than the fate of the Skinner brothers.

Before you could squirm frantically, the larger man spoke, “We have actually- some man spotted the poster up near Manzanita Post, claims he has some personal business to settle. Hefty sum, he’ll be here within the hour.”

The younger man grinned, his molten teeth dull in the sun’s light, “Personal? Damn, she must have taken out someone close.”

The larger man hummed as they departed their posts, moving towards the larger group of men. Your heart thumped in your chest as you squirmed- using any tactic you had ever learned from your fellow outlaws to perform any attempt at escape. But all was to no avail- the Skinners knew damn well how to hold a hostage.

Closing your eyes, you laid back. Every ounce of fight that had resided within you during that initial fight had vanished. There was nothing left, you had nothing left- all you could do was wait for what came next.

“Look at this pretty lady.” A voice spoke above you soon after that thought, a Skinner with a patchy ginger beard hovered in your eye line, a menacing grin upon your face. “What are we gonna do with you?

Fellow skinners laughed as a sharp pain, a knife, punctured your side- you’d experienced stabbings before, but not in this state. You succumbed to the urge to scream, the sound tearing from your throat and laced with terror. The man grinned, twisting the knife before wrenching it out and watching as you panted through the pain.

“It’s alright Darlin’. We all have to pay penance for our actions sometimes, seeing as you killed my father and all.”

You grinned, the feeling of blood dripping from your scabbing lips pushed aside as humor filled you, “Am I supposed to know who you’re referring to?” The mans’ eyes darkened at that, though just as he went to resume his torture, a deafening shot resounded throughout the forest.

You could only watch as the man collapsed backwards, blood spraying your already coated skin in thick beads. The background noise within the camp instantly dropped, all present turning to face their attacker- though none dared to retaliate.

“For the sum I’m paying, I’d hope my investment would be in pristine condition.”

The worst of your nightmares paled in comparison to what you saw as you turned. Dutch Van Der Linde stood at the edge of camp, tall and boisterous as ever. A repeater laid pointed within his hands, complimented by black rings adorning his fingers and aimed ready for whoever dared to step forward. The black waistcoat and linen shirts had been replaced with a silk black shirt, the sleeves rolled and the top button undone in respect of the humidity of West Elizabeth. No hat laid upon his head now, his hair curling at the nape of his neck and slicked back with pomade. He looked rich, luxurious. He didn’t look like the most wanted man in America.

It seemed that his obsession with finery had never dispersed.

You heaved, grappling at the wooden frame as you hoped, prayed, and begged for any way to escape. Any route other than having to go with him. The mere sight of him invoked sickness, suffering and fear- you felt like you had regressed, all progression made dispersed at the sound of his voice.

“Sir…You are free to take her.” The larger man whimpered, despite Dutch’s smaller frame, the man lowered himself to one knee; bowing his head. You scoffed, shaking your head as tears of anguish and defeat rolled down your face.

“Free?” Dutch sneered, his lips curling as he stepped before the cowering man, “I would hope so- seeing the state of her. What am I supposed to do with her if she looks like that?”

“Of- of course, Sir.” Multiple Skinners nodded in agreement, joining in bowing before the renowned criminal mastermind.

“Good.” Dutch spoke calmly, his features void of all emotion. You shook, in fear of what was to happen. In fear of the man you had previously thought you had left behind, the man you had presumed long dead. But part of you, the long cold and dormant part that had loved him. The part of you that yearned and starved, that had dragged you on that late-night outing in the first place- it longed for him.

Before anyone could blink, fathom the possibility of Dutch’s evolved tyranny over the years- he pressed the repeater’s trigger; ending the lives of the men bent to his will with a parade of clean headshots. You were no stranger to brutality, especially not Dutch’s, but your position was significantly more vulnerable than theirs; you could do nothing but bend to Dutch’s will.

As the last bullet sounded and the last man fell, Dutch wasted no time in slinging the repeater upon his shoulder and advancing towards you. Dutch reached you then, staring down at your dwindling and shivering form. Your groggy brain registered the crease of his brow, the red lining of his eyes and the worried curl in his lips.

He composed himself quickly, a mask settling as he moved to cut open your bindings. “The man was right, what am I going to do with you Y/N?”

-

You faded in and out of consciousness in the back of a cart- effectively bleeding out onto what felt like boar pelts. Dutch had instructed you to hold on as he fled from the camp, leaving the Skinner’s to decompose in his wake- a fleeing devil and all. The canopy above Tall Trees swirled above you, the sun remaining high in the sky throughout the journey. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Alright Princess,” Dutch said from the driver’s speech above, refusing to look back at you, “Hold on, we’re nearly there now.”

The use of your old, long unused nickname made you recoil- Dutch had always been one for sweet remarks, but he especially favored Princess- he was the beast, you were the innocent beauty. It created the rhetoric that you were to be protected, despite the major contributions you had made towards the camp on many occasions. You had to fight to be sent on missions, Dutch would respond with cold refusal; opting to insult you brashly in order to supposedly keep you safe. At his worst, you had stormed from camp; jumping onto the back of your horse and galloping away, ignoring the pleas of the gang. It was only when you didn’t return that worry had set in, three days you had been missing- later found by Arthur near Emerald Ranch. You had later learned that Dutch had practically torn the camp and nearby settlements apart; his shirtsleeves painted in red as he had searched for you- knocking down anyone in his way.

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled groggily, using all of your energy to deliver a retort.

“What? Princess?”

You gritted your teeth, Dutch-induced-irritation felt like home- the gritting of your teeth and press of fingernails all too familiar when in his company. As the cart halted to a stop, Dutch leaped over the back of the wagon, instantly picking you up and taking you into a nearby tent.

“Okay Y/N,” he spoke hastily, flitting around the tent as he artfully bandaged up your wounds and poured health cure down your throat, “You’re going to stay alive because even though I did get you for free in the end- I’ve put a lot on the line for this.”

The utterance of your name blindsided you, the specific phonetic variation of your name on Dutch’s lips a foreign concept to you. Though at the same time, it felt right. Like returning home. But he hadn’t changed, you told yourself. He was still rude, materialistic, and conniving. You may have been better off staying with the Skinners. As he pressed into the stab wound in your side- you felt your consciousness fading, the pain blurring your vision and eliciting shouts from your throat.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled as you felt a hand ridden with jewels caress your hair, “We have a lot to discuss.”

When you next awoke, the hum of night surrounded you as the crackling of a fire sounded nearby. You were laid upon a pile of warm pelts, a thin cross stitch blanket laid over your frame, covering the injuries that each individually created a cold ache. The tent you laid in was a decent size, though smaller than what you had previously slept in with Dutch- it was filled with mismatched furniture; pieces that he had presumably scavenged due to the inability to show his face anywhere. A thin cloth shirt lay beside you; to which you awkwardly pulled on, careful to avoid the extent of your injuries, in favor of losing your long destroyed and stained clothes. From your position you could see a horse, the Count, strong and faithful as ever though its once pristine, shining coat was greyer with what could be presumed as turmoil and age.

Dutch filtered into your vision next, sat beside the horse and facing away from you- his back solid and strong as ever, posture perfect as he cleaned the repeater that you had only seen to inflict pain. You attempted to rise from the bed, instantly wincing as a burn resounded within your side- that gained Dutch’s attention as he spun, his features wearing a look of shock.

“Finally,” He smirked, placing the gun on the ground and rising to come and meet you, “I thought you’d never wake up Princess.”

You glared at him, both for the nickname and his forceful attempts to lay you back down, “I’m a renowned bounty hunter now, you know.”

“Oh, I know that,” A grin marred his features, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I’ve seen you all over the papers- the wonderful tales of justice and empowerment. Always a great read.”

“It isn’t a fantasy story to enjoy over breakfast,” You snapped, “I’m finally doing something good with my life, going straight and working alongside the law. Not against it.”

Dutch scoffed, always the cynic in the face of accomplishment “You’re nothing but a tool to them Y/N- one wrong move, one slightly unlawful kill and you’re finished.”

You cut him off with a laugh then, scrubbing a hand against your eyes in disbelief, “You are seeing me for the first time in eight years and you are seriously giving me a lecture right now?” You paused, preparing to deliver a punch, “The public are betting on me to do it you know, to kill you.”

Dutch stood then, an unbridled rage in his eyes as he towered over you, though he only spoke two words. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrugged, smirking up at him cynically, “How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in eight years, Dutch- the last time we did see each other, you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Dutch raged, “I never betrayed you; my gun never faltered in your direction though I remember you sending a number of shots my way.”

“You killed Arthur.”

Dutch swallowed, his throat bobbing; the weight of your accusation infecting the strength of his shoulders and setting stone within his chest. He spoke slowly, each word laced with venom as spit flew from the lips, “How would you know?”

“I saw,” your voice shook with anger, “I followed him up there. I saw what you did. I saw the way he begged. I saw the way you left his body lying there. If I hadn’t been there- he would have been left behind to rot.”

“I did what had to be done.” His voice cracked, emotion tiding the way over any rational thought, “I did…what had to be done.”

Shaking your head, you turned from him; the severity of your injuries rendering you useless, unable to run. Dutch refused to move from your peripheral, his gaze heady and severe upon the back of your head. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dutch paused, his fists clenched and hair falling into his eyes, the pomade long worn off, “Because, I miss you Y/N.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N,” Dutch was pleading now, grasping at your shoulders and arms, his hands skimming any skin he could find; the actions of a starved man, “No matter what I do, no matter where I go, who I’m with, what semblance of riches I am able to grasp- you never leave my mind,” He gulped, no stopping now, “I’ve been reading about you for years but when I saw that poster up in Manzanita Post, I went insane with worry- I thought I’d be collecting your dead body but when I saw you strung up there I felt even worse; I practically felt the pain you felt.”

“Seriously?” You spat, “You felt my pain? I was being tortured and you spin this to be about you?”

“Princess that’s not-”

“Leave it Dutch,” You growled, slapping away his encroaching hands, “You haven’t changed.”

“What was wrong with me before? I was a leader, I kept you all alive. And what do I get for that? Nothing.”

“You ruined us!” You yelled, “You ruined me! My life since leaving you has been reduced to nothing but surviving, I can’t fade into the background anymore because of the target you placed upon our backs Dutch.”

“You had a choice, you could have left whenever you wanted.”

“But, I couldn’t. Anytime I left I’d be watched like a hawk Dutch. I was finally free, but now you’ve reigned me in again.”

Dutch laughed then, a fabricated cackle as he clutched his stomach- though the grin above his face did not reach his eyes. “I saved your life, Princess.”

“My fate there would have been better than this.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two of you sat in petulant silence then, too stubborn to back down as the weight of trauma and regret outweighed any semblance of forgiveness. The stale air of silence continued for days as you recovered- Dutch would check your injuries and bring you meals whilst you were still bedbound; allowing for only small glimpses of contact as he opted to spend as much time as possible outside of the tent; favoring humidity and his horse over your company. As you recovered, you began to venture outside of the warmth of the bed- opting to explore the surrounding wilderness, ignoring Dutch’s ever watchful gaze. It seemed his possessive streak had never ended, possibly having worsened seeing as though he had the gall to stroll into the camp of some of the most ruthless killers in the state.

In your solitude, you thought of home. You thought of your little bedroom in Beecher’s Hope, a place you could finally call your own. You thought of the family dinners you were missing; Abigail’s horrendous cooking feeling like a distant memory as you ate only scavenged animal meat and local berries. You thought of nighttime bonfires, morning coffee and the glow of the sun upon the crops during the afternoons; sweat congregating at your forehead as you had earned your keep. You missed home, you missed home like you had once missed Dutch.

The knowledge that you couldn’t have both was heartbreaking- serenity and Dutch was not an amicable match. Dutch only brought destruction and suffering; you hadn’t spoken properly in days due to his inability to see the point of others, his leading mindset never faltering. Dutch could simply never be a part of a family. You glanced over at him from your perch then, watched as he brushed down The Count; taking care to smooth down its hair and whisper sweet nothings into its ear.

Everytime he acted contrary to his real self you felt your heart shatter.

You stood then, unable to bear the weight of loaded silence any longer. “I spotted a river down the hill, I’m going to go and wash myself down.”

Dutch paused, seemingly shocked by the sound of your voice, “I’ll join you.”

“Dutch-”

“No, Y/N.” Dutch spoke firmly, raising a hand towards you, “Your injuries are too severe, if you slip and open up your side, your death will be in my hands.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and sauntered down the hill; listening as his footsteps followed. The silence continued as you walked, all too aware that you would have to remove at least some articles of clothing before him. It was nothing he’d never seen before of course, but it had been years since a man had seen your body in that way- you couldn’t account for your actions if his heated gaze met yours after so long.

“Turn around.”

Dutch grinned, turning slowly with his hands on his hips, “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Princess.”

You knew he would say that. You merely scoffed in reply.

As you stripped, you became too aware of the sensitivity of your injuries; the ache in your shoulder, the sting in your stomach and the pain in your side. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Dutch called, back still turned.

“I don’t-” You screwed your eyes shut, dreading what was to come, “I don’t think I can wash myself.”

“Okay,” Dutch spoke slowly, turning though his eyes remained closed, “Do you want me to help you?”

Gulping, you nodded frantically, “Yes.” You spoke hastily- terrified that if you didn’t respond quick enough then the moment would be over. Part of you felt disgusted at yourself, disgusted at your lack of resistance towards the man that had broken your heart. But, the other part of you felt thrilled; electrified, brought back to life at the thought of him truly touching your skin again. Rolling back his shirt sleeves, he approached; his uncaring facade refusing to break as he helped you peel your shirt from your arms, instantly exposing your bare breasts as you had foregone upper undergarments in favor of allowing your injuries to heal. You gulped, refusing to look at him as he moved to unbutton your pants, stifling groans as you felt the linen brush over a sore spot. He shushed you comfortingly, discarding your pants to the side. Beads of sweat had formed at the base of his temple.

He began to lower you into the cool tide then, cupping water within his palm and pouring it onto your head; shushing you soothingly as he did so. His finger constantly skimmed your body- the edges of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, the corners of your mouth. Your lips pursed as you stared up into his eyes; to which he resolutely stared back, the mask finally breaking. He could’ve done anything to you in that moment- pinned you down beneath the water, stolen your last breaths.

You dwelled on whether that would be the case if anyone other than you laid within his arms.

“Dutch,” you gulped, your throat running dry as you attempted to voice your feelings, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

Dutch blinked at you, his finger tracing a path down the side of your face- his voice croaked as he spoke, half-speaking half-groaning, “Princess.” The sound of his resistance breaking was mesmerizing and you laid compliantly as his finger began to circle your nipple; creating goosebumps in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t.” Your head spun as he moved his hand downwards, holding you steady as he reached down to swirl a ringed finger around your clit. The feeling of the stark cold of the ring matched with the heat of his skin elicited a guttural moan, your eyes rolling backwards as he began to pleasure you. His throat bobbed as he stared down at you, his eyes darkening and intense as he watched you break apart, a familiar mirage of the past. The semblance of a woman could break even the strongest of men.

You broke entirely, gripping Dutch’s hair and smashing your faces together; drenching his shirt in water and kissing him messily. His tongue dove into your mouth as he pinned your face against his own with his free hand, continuing his ministrations upon your clit. You groaned into his mouth, working at the sopping buttons of his shirt. You were all too accustomed to his rough nature during intimacy, often opting to pin you down and clutch your hair over soft, sweet actions. You had cared in the past, but now you couldn’t, opting to claw at his back and hair; scratching his scalp and drawing lines down his back.

Just as you reached for his pants, he stopped; pulling away with swollen lips and ruffled, wet hair- “I’m sorry Darling, we can’t do this here,” he breathed, moving his hand upwards to cup at your breast, “Let’s get you up to my tent and then we can continue.”

You shook your head, eyes pleading and begging, “We can do it on the shoreline, please we can’t stop now.” You knew that if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue; the disgust and horror would set in. Dutch nodded reluctantly, a tinge of suspicion lingering in his eyes. You stumbled out of the water; collapsing together as you hastily pulled his pants from his body before lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned huskily, his hands flying to your hips as he threw his head back. He had been craving this.

As you rocked and rolled together- you knew that this couldn't happen again. Dutch Van Der Linde was not safe- you could not let him enter your sphere any further. You moaned and cried and whimpered- relishing every last touch and taste and feeling. The sweat congregating between your bodies was slick and hot- connecting every last fiber of skin.

This couldn’t happen again, you told yourself, this couldn’t happen again.

Afterwards, you laid together at the shoreline- naked and bare to the forest as you laid in Dutch’s arms. He told you stories- stories of his time on the run, moments where he thought of you, moments where he caught glimpses of you in the paper, glimpses of you told in the fireside tales of other outlaws. You laughed, smiled, complied- gave him exactly what he wanted- you told him stories of the gang; neglecting important details though providing him with the skeletons of true stories. He too smiled, his lips curling genuinely as he placed a kiss into your hair.

Just before sleep overruled him, he informed you of his plan. His plan for the two of you, how you would travel together in his wagon; find a farmhouse and make a living there. You smiled, agreeing.

But it was the life you already had.

When dawn hit, you crawled out of his arms; allowing yourself one last look before you fled- into the dangers of Tall Trees and the semblance of home that lay just past it. You had to return to your family.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

I can’t even read my one direction fanfics without crying. I don’t think those fics will ever be the same. I pray the rumors aren’t true about Liam. I really hope he didn’t commit or start a fight if he fell off the wagon. If any of these things are true, I’m still mourning the loss of him. He had so much weight and pressure on him. He was daddy direction. He was the one who took care of wolf everyone else from the outside looking in. That puts weight on a person.

I’m mourning for Bear, who is only 7 and now does not have a daddy. For Liam’s family, who now has to walk through this tragedy with Bear and each other.

I’m mourning for the boys. They loved Liam like a brother, even when he messed up. They grew up together and leaned on each other. They may have been apart as a band, but I choose to believe that they stuck together like brothers.

I’m mourning the loss of what could have been. One direction will never be the same. Our fan base will never be the same. Without Liam, nothing will ever be the same.

He was young. He had a lot of good years ahead. He could have turned it all around and been a better person, but now we will never know. I’ve cried off and on since I heard the news. Shut down more than I expected I would. I didn’t think a celebrity death would rock my world so much, but the band that Liam was a part of will forever be my saving grace.

Listening to the songs won’t be the same anymore. Songs that pulled me out of deep holes or kept me afloat when I felt like I was drowning will probably bring tears of sadness to my eyes for a while.

I’m sorry you were the first to go.

I’m sorry that life was hard and you coped in ways that made it harder.

I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to turn it around.

I’m sorry you may have died alone when you could have been thriving.

I’m sorry you’ll never see your son grow up or get married.

I’m sorry life treated you so roughly. I hope you find peace Liam. No matter what anyone says or thinks, you deserve to find peace.

[aquarryus]

I haven’t been on here for a long time. A long, long time. It’s been an even longer time since I was actively part of the 1d fandom. But I joined tumblr when I was 12 because of one direction.

And I’ve grown up and I’m 24 now, but that was half of my life ago. Half of my life that I have spent with this band, and the boys in it.

I doubt it matters much to anyone, but here’s what I sent my friend after the news:

“like obviously he was just outed for being an abuser and this is in no way shape or form her fault, and I recognize Liam in his later 20s into his early 30s wasn’t a good person. But that’s not the Liam I’m mourning right now, I’m mourning the 1d Liam payne that brought so much joy to so many of us when we were younger and didn’t have a lot of joy in our real lives”

No one should minimize what his victims have been through. He grew up to be an abusive person. His death isn’t their fault; this is not Maya Henry’s fault. And nothing excuses what he put her or anyone else through.

It’s true at the same time he was a victim himself, of a predatory industry that takes advantage of children so that they can make a profit off them. An industry that creates addicts and abusers out of its victims. And unfortunately a lot of victims go on to repeat abuse before they recognize that they need to heal.

It’s just a shame he never got that chance.

Rest in peace, Liam Payne. I’m just so sad to see it end this way.

[yuritsukikage]

I’m having a mix of heartfelt sadness and some sense of anger (towards a certain company) right now

I know I’m mainly a Precure fan over here but I started my journey into the Japanese language, anime and manga when I first picked up and rented that Sailor Moon S DVD at a local hobby shop.

As I was watching the Region 1 DVD, I made a decision to try to watch it in another language because the old Pioneer DVD had both English and Japanese. I, a wee little depressed year 9 student was blown away by the voice acting from the Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast that I decided to look them up on the internet and find out the women behind these iconic characters.

What I realised was these women were not only around both my parents’ ages. They were in other anime that I literally grew up in, watching their anime in English. I decided to watch some of my childhood anime in those languages, just to hear how they performed. Spoiler alert: They we’re amazing.

And that’s how I started my journey into pursuing learning the Japanese language all the way to University where I graduated with a degree in that field.

The Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast were like those aunties (yes I am Asian) or older sisters (depending on the region) that you never knew but you connected with them through the anime that you have watched over the years. You watch them grow older seeing their public photos on news sites and social media through the events they attended, as you, yourself grows older.

The fact that we lost one of them in the 8th of September 2024 will be one of the most heartbreaking things to find out for me and a lot of people this year. Coincidently the shock announcement came on the birthday of one of the beloved Sailor Senshi makes it even more tragic.

Emi Shinohara was an fantastic seiyuu/voice actress. She worked in a lot of people’s childhood shows, many of us would have known her for her role as the ever reliable, ever strong Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter in the 90s anime of Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon (90s Sailor Moon for short). Others would have known her for Kaho Mizuki from Cardcaptor Sakura or if you’re old, B-Ko from Project A-Ko. However the majority of people (anime normies) would have mostly known her as the voice of Kushina Uzumaki from the Naruto Shippuden anime.

Her later years in life would really reflect on her roles she would later have with the aforementioned Kushina. A lot of younger seiyuu would have known her in Fafner (I hear that anime a lot on Twitter through some of the seiyuu involved and I know the character designer for Gundam Seed worked on the designs).

Probably the roles that really stood out for me personally asides her roles in Sailor Moon and CCS, would be an obscure 2007 anime called Claymore. That anime was one of those that the unfortunate case of “manga was still ongoing while the anime was airing situation”. However props to the casting staff involved in this anime because they brought in a chunk lot of veteran seiyuu that would get to show off their years of experience into this one single 24 episode anime. Emi Shinohara was no exception to this! She voiced the ax-crazy, hella insane, ultra mega bitch Ophelia and oh boy it was a ride and an experience to listen to her voice from the beginning right to the death of her character. I personally would recommend watching this anime for the voice acting in there, not for the anime itself because of its situation at the time.

Her music prowess was no joke either. Of the original 5 seiyuu of the Sailor Moon cast, she was definitely the most experienced and you can clearly experience it though the Moon Revenge live for a Christmas event that happened 31 years ago. She has released her own albums during the 90s as well and 100% she slayed on every character song that came to her during her active years in the 90s

I really cannot believe that Emi Shinohara has left us. The Sailor Moon community is definitely in mourning right now for this iconic voice actress. Our heart goes to her husband, Tokusatsu actor Hiroshi Watari and their only son who made a heartfelt and saddening message to Shinohara’s own personal Twitter account.

And our hearts also go towards the remaining 4 seiyuu of the original Sailor Moon voice cast, who out of the two who have social media, are currently in a state of devastation and sadness to have lost a fellow cast mate who they have worked and truly bonded together on the 5 years of Sailor Moon’s airtime from 1992-1997.

In particular fellow cast mate Rica Fukami who she considered Emi Shinohara as her twin, having being born on the same year, month and day. To the point they even have their own duo name together back in the 90s as Funky Twins, where they last year held a 3 day fan live together. Who would have thought that this would be the only time they would be together for such a special occasion. Let’s not forget the constant amazing and interesting quote tweets interactions between the two of them since Shinohara started her Twitter account a few years back from the constant birthday congratulations, to recently finding a hidden Sailor Moon treasure while Rica Fukami was in the middle of decluttering. The fact that we will never get this kind of interaction ever again is heartbreaking but it will live on through the past interactions that they have shared together.

I will briefly mention my anger towards Toei for losing this once in a lifetime opportunity to reunite the original 5 Sailor Moon voice cast for the 30th anniversary of the franchise. The fact that their last public reunion together was for a DVD commemoration in Akihabara, late 2009 has given me this sense of anger, frustration and sadness inside me that I will never forgive them for. And we will never have an opportunity like this ever again.

With that part out of my head. I will now leave this insanely long message with a single part of a message that Emi Shinohara’s son has written in that post on Twitter, “the name ‘Emi Shinohara’ will continue to live on as long as people remember her voice and the roles that she has portrayed”

Thank you Mrs Emi Shinohara for the past nearly 40 years of service to the anime and voice acting industry. We, the fans, will never forget you and we definitely will look back to the voices and songs that you have given us over the years. Rest in Peace. 🕊️💚

[aquagirl1978]

a story in which mc goes to the past and meets the child chevalier and the boy ends up having his heart stolen by belle

Anon, this fic has lived rent-free in my head for entirely too long. I hope you're still around to see this finally posted 😊

It Was You - Chevalier Michel x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of the Different Universe, Same Love Content Creation Challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

Pairing: Chevalier Michel x Reader

Prompt: free day (i'm not exactly sure what kind of au this falls into - time traveling? soul mates? something?)

Tags: fluff

Word Count: 1674 (so long i included a word count)

The skies were gray and the line was long as you stood and waited your turn, white rose in hand as  soft sobs and muffled whispers filled the air. Raindrops gently fell from the clouds, as if heaven, too, was mourning the loss of Rhodolite’s queen.

Two young boys stood in the distance, away from the crowds. And despite their distance, they somehow caught your eye. Your heart ached as you caught the sad expression on one of the boy’s faces; he must have been close to the queen and is grieving.

You tugged on the long sleeve of Mr. Akatsuki’s dark kimono, your wide eyes pleading. “Is it okay if I go see those boys over there? I’d like to offer my condolences.” Mr. Akatsuki turned and looked at the boys, noticing their elegant attire.

“Don’t stay long,” he replied.

“I won’t.” You turned to face the boys, the distance between you closer than you had initially thought.

As you approached the pair, their voices grew louder. 

“...from the books I’ve read. I thought I would feel something, even just a little bit, but –”

Your heart lurched; you were right, they were close with the queen.

The voices grew quieter and you couldn’t hear anything for a moment, but then you heard the same emotionless voice again.

“I realized this awhile ago, but somehow, I can only see things from a bird’s-eye point of view.”

Your heart ached hearing the young boy speak; he couldn’t be more than 10 years old. Such a young age to lose his mother. 

He must be hurting so much.

The boys, engrossed in their conversation, didn't even notice you approaching them.

“Hello?” you called out.

The two turned and looked at you. The boy with purple hair looked stunned, as if he had just heard a horrifying secret. 

The other boy, the one you had heard speaking earlier just stared at you silently, his ice blue eyes cold and emotionless.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I just wanted to offer my condolences…”

“It’s not necessary,” the boy with blonde hair replied, coldly dismissing you.

“Chev, please,” the other boy spoke up. “This young lady came all the way over here to offer you her sympathy. Don’t you think, as the queen’s son, you could just accept it and say thank you?”

Chev, as the boy with purple hair called him, narrowed his eyes, and looked as if he was refraining from scowling. 

“I have no need for her sympathy, Clavis. You should know that better than anyone.”

Clavis approached you, a smile plastered on his face, clearly covering his grief. “You’ll have to excuse Chev. He’s so overcome with sadness that he’s forgotten his manners.” He took your small hands in his. “Allow me to accept your sympathies, on behalf of the royal family. Thank you.”

Having done what you came for, there was no reason for you to stay and intrude on them no matter what your heart was telling you. Lifting your skirt, you curtseyed and said your goodbyes to the pair.

But as soon as you took one step away, you turned around and walked right up to Chev and wrapped your arms around him.

“What are you –?” he asked, his arms awkwardly pinned to his sides by your embrace. 

“You looked like you needed a hug. Everyone deserves to love and be loved. And you lost one who loved you.” Your eyes met his, his blue eyes wide and wild like those of a caged animal. “So I’m giving you a hug today.”

You remained in the embrace until he calmed down, his body relaxed somewhat and his blue eyes returned to their cold, emotionless state. After letting go, you took a step back, your gaze holding his.

“Prince Chev, I’m really sorry about your mother,” you whispered before turning around and walking away, not giving him the chance to dismiss you again.

Clavis stared at his brother, your figure growing smaller in the distance. He watched Chev watch you walk away, and thought he detected what could be considered a ghost of a smile gracing Chev’s lips.

*****

The bookstore had been empty all afternoon, to which you were grateful as it gave you the time to finish reading. When the bell chimed, announcing the arrival of a customer, you quickly put your book away, readying yourself to work.

The gentleman who entered was tall and lean, pale blonde hair framing a face carved from marble, bright blue eyes intense as he perused the books on the shelves. Dressed casually in a black turtleneck and trousers, you wondered to yourself if he worked at the university as a professor and that was what brought him to the bookstore today. 

As he walked around the store, you got this feeling that you knew this man from somewhere. Probably a past customer, you told yourself.

But you’d remember a man so handsome, wouldn’t you?

“Excuse me, is Mr. Akatsuki in?” he asked, his tone curt.

“No, he’s out this afternoon. Can I help you with something?” 

“Yes, perhaps you can, I had ordered a number of books from him and was told they should be here.” 

“What is your name so that I can look for your order?”

“Chevalier Michel…” His voice trailed off as he looked away, clearly not a fan of social interaction.

Definitely not a professor, you told yourself as you went into the back room where Mr. Akatsuki kept all the orders. It wasn’t hard to find the order – it was a large stack of romance novels. Only romance novels. In many different foreign languages. Impressed, you were stacking the books, double checking the list to make sure everything was there, when it hit you.

Chevalier Michel. The Second Prince of Rhodolite. The late queen’s only son.

Chev. The boy you hugged on that sad day so many years ago.

Despite all the years that had passed, for some reason, your heart remembered him when he walked through that door into the bookstore.

You put the books down, an attempt to catch your breath, somewhat relieved in knowing he would not remember you, so there would be no need for any awkward conversations about that day.

How you had wondered about that little boy you met that cold, gray day. You had heard the stories about Bloodstained Roses Day; you had heard of the prince they called the Brutal Beast. 

But for some reason, the man waiting in the other room did not seem brutal nor beast-like to you. To you, he was a boy who had just lost his mother. 

“Here you go,” you said as you returned with the books, placing the pile before him. “Feel free to check over them and make sure everything is in order.”

Your hands were still on the books when his hand darted out, his fingers encircling your wrist.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, his voice cold and emotionless, much like it was all those years ago.

Your eyes widened in shock. “You remember me? After all these years?” 

“I don’t forget a name or a face. Ever.”

“Oh,” you whispered, swearing you felt his thumb gently caress the inside of your wrist. You closed your eyes, wishing for a moment that he was a professor and not royalty.

“I don’t normally come in to pick the books up myself…”

A chill washed over you as he removed his hand from your wrist, knowing you’d likely never see him again.

“Thank you. For the books.” He gathered the books in his arms, and without as much as a smile, he turned and walked out of the store and your life.

“Royalty and commoners cannot mix,” he muttered to himself, more reminder than commentary, as he closed the door behind him, leaving you for good.

*****

“Do you have any questions?” 

You looked at Sariel, who was waiting for your answer. Your eyes flicked down to the voluminous contract placed before you; your eyes flicked up and found eight sets of eyes on you.

No, that would be incorrect. Seven sets of eyes stared at you, one set looked down at the table, his eyes not meeting yours the entire meeting.

Sariel sighed as he stood up. “If you have no more questions, you have a bit of reading to do now.”

“Belle,” he added, as if to remind you of the role you just accepted. 

You quietly waved goodbye to Sariel and the other princes as they all left the room.

All but one.

He made his way towards the door, as if he was leaving with the others. But he shut the door, his body pressed against it, blocking any entry as he glared at you.

“You.”

A chill ran down your spine as he spit the word out, his body seething with controlled anger.

“I didn’t ask for this task….” you tried to reason.

How were you going to spend 30 days in this castle – his home – with him this angry.

“Of all the people in all the towns of Rhodolite, they had to pick you.”

“You keep appearing in my life. Why?” When his eyes finally met yours, you felt sadness, not anger.

Your heart ached; pushing back your chair, you stood and walked over to Chevalier, placing your palm on his cheek. 

He bristled at your touch causing you to slowly withdraw your hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered. He let out a low sigh before continuing. “No one has ever touched me.”

“Except me…”

“Except you.” 

His hand found yours and he tugged you roughly, pulling you closer to him. You looked up at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, his pale blue eyes softening, shards of ice melting. 

“It was you, all these years it was you. It was always you.” His lips crashed against yours in a kiss you had both waited a lifetime for. Deepening the kiss, he wrapped his arms around you in an awkward embrace.

“It will always be you.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @umi-adxhira @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @lancelotscloak @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage