#if he relapsed after two years then maybe he feels he really is broken | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

call-sign-shark · 2 years ago

Text

I KNOW RIGHT??? ARE YOU OKAY, DARL?

If you allow me to play the Devil's advocate, I must say that Tommy really thought about changing during the short time they were closely interlocked together. In truth, this fleeting moment suspended in time was genuine and I am glad you found it beautiful because I did too. This was such an emotional moment between the two of them. And I love your thinking process during reading because this is exactly what I wanted to convey, like, okay he's vulnerable, probably attracted to her, maybe we can forgive him for the kiss despite being awful when considering she's his brother's wife...

AND THEN HE BLAMED HER. Mostly because his little man's ego had been wounded. This was definitely a low blow, in spite of being gratuitous and cruel, taking into account how deep her love for John was. And he knows it. At this point, he just wants to hurt her because she has rejected him. Also, your analysis is on point: this is a God complex. As you said, being jealous can be understandable, but in his mind he thinks that Arthur is far too broken and unworthy of having a woman like her, contrary to him. See the dysfunctional logic here? He genuinely feels better than his brother.

Heaven's powers are terrifying right? It's kinda similar to what heartrender can do in the Grisha Verse -- even though I have been fond of bloodbender /body-related power from years. For sure she has scared the shit out of Tommy.. But she also undisclosed her abilities, and as you said, he might want to use them for his own benefits now.

Regarding Arthur, his grief is not a reason to lash out at his wife -- completely agree with you. I must admit that I nearly CHOKE at the line "One because is an asshole and the other because he's an idiot." THIS IS SO TRUE. Arthur is just an idiot, really. Stupid as fuck. 😂

I hated to write this argument scene, it broke my heart because yeah, they love each other so much and they are so close, literally soul mates, that it was utterly painful for them. And part of the escalation of their argument came from both the drug but also their overwhelming emotions. But despite her never ending love for Arthur, she cannot forgive him right away after the awful things he said and after his relapse. He'll have to prove he's worthy of her trust if he wants to be forgiven.

Thank you for your wonderful comment Flor. I was so excited to hear about your thought. Your support is one of the most important for me here. And THANK YOUUU for the gif, I downloaded because this is so Heaven-coded!! This would be exactly what she would do to calm her mind. Thank you again I love it!🖤

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…” You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.” His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powserful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave him an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!” He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appease you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect of Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest, Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…” His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue. Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too on top of hating to see you that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone’s coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully.

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking passed you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you suggested rather than ordering. Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another one. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arms, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived in his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with th cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize the object from miles for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling back and forth due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess of your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense, “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burn brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!” Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cuts you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and his teeth were bare, as a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur could not keep your tears for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time you speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. You showed him your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and it crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your skin to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take you arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re bleeding. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sob. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him. Whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded. Everything was starting to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear: I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers closed grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – But Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took a last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and forced you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and his felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hitting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If if you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

#comment rb #Flor on the floor #Hye squad #“Tommy is an asshole and Arthur is just an idiot”

208 notes · View notes

altbite · 2 years ago

Text

Little Victories *Konig x Reader*

Summary: You have struggled with self h@rm before. You are almost a year clean and Konig surprises you.

Konig x GN!Reader

TW: A LITTLE BIT GRAPHIC AND DETAILED, BLADE AND BLOOD TW

It has been almost a year since you last took a blade to your skin. It almost feels unreal. It was hard at first, and although it got easier, you occasionally thought about it. You thought about doing it again, feeling the edge of the blade slice your skin, feel the blood drip down slowly. You wanted to relapse but you also didn’t need to anymore. Sometimes it was boredom that brought you back to it, sometimes a bad day. But the bad days began to wither away. You kept a little journal of dates of when you relapsed. You used to check it often but forgot about it after a while. You only really remembered when you thought about how long has it been since your last. Turns out, almost a year ago. It will be a year tomorrow.

You couldn’t help but feel but proud and sad at the same time. After struggling for so long, you finally made it. It wasn’t the longest you’ve gone but it was still a victory.

You had been sitting on your bed, door wide open as you had walked in a couple minutes ago to grab something, but ended up deep in thought. Konig had walked by, glanced into your room before stopping himself. He stood in front of the door way, and proceeded to knock on the door to get your attention. He could see you were entranced by something. You zoned by in and diverted your attention to him.

“All good, Socks?”, he gently asked, continuing to stay in his spot.

You had told him a few months ago about your struggles. He was the first and only person you told. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare you, not knowing how he would react to. But he was very sweet about it. Even gave you a hug to say how proud he is of you and how hard it can be. He never made you feel broken or fragile for it, never treated you differently. He didn’t pry either. He waited for you to tell him what you wanted.

“Yeah, sorry I just remembered something”, you smiled at him, signalling him to come in.

He walks towards you, “Care to share?”.

You briefly thought about how to tell him. You didn’t want to make it dramatic or too casual. “I’ll be a year clean tomorrow”.

“Hell yeah! That’s awesome”, he raised his hand for a high five, in which you complied to. “We should do something. We should celebrate!”, Konig spoke with excitement that you could see him shaking in his boots.

“Dude, that is kind of a morbid thing to celebrate”, you chuckled as you stood up and started to leave your room. You stood at the door, swinging your arm, gesturing for him to leave the room first.

“Well maybe but its a big achievement”, he walked out and you followed, shutting the door behind you.

“I know but I don’t know. How exactly do you celebrate something like this?”, you asked, hoping for a genuine answer.

Konig brain cogs were turning but he was speechless, and just shrugged. You two walked to the kitchen, and the topic was dropped once you saw the rest of the team.

The following morning was an easy one. It was a Saturday and one of the few days you get a lie in. To be fair, you only got out of bed after 10 but now you didn’t have to feel guilty for it. Weekends were quiet. Everyone did their own thing, gone out for the weekend: drinking, partying or fishing if you’re Price, and Gaz occasionally, although you weren’t sure Gaz actually liked fishing. You think Price just dragged him along for whatever reason.

You do a big stretch in bed before sitting up, and contemplating why you sat up. You’re body acted before your mind did, and in this case, you had dragged your fingers over your scars, feeling them one by one. You did it most mornings. It gave you comfort of sorts.

You hear a knock on your door, and groan because that meant you had to get out of bed. Finally you did make your way to your door, but not before sliding into a hoodie. You open the door to Konig standing with a diy cake in front of you. You take a couple seconds to comprehend what is happening.

The cake was, although greatly attempted, badly covered in frosting and sprinkles, and in the middle, one green candle like the ones you see on birthday cakes.

“Happy Birthday!!”, Konig practically yelled out, the biggest smile on his face. You looked at him in shock, amusement and confusion and fell into a fit of giggles.

“You said you didn’t know how to celebrate yesterday and I spent all day thinking about it. Its almost like a birthday so I baked you a cake. Its not perfect but i hope you like it”, he was very forward until the last sentence when he whispered, clearly getting shy about his baking skills.

“That- That is so fucking adorable oh my god”. Despite being in a fit of giggles, you were actually really touched.

“Well, make a wish”, he said as he held up the cake higher.

You stared into his eyes, appreciating him and this moment. You looked down, took the plate and blew out the candle. Once you did, Konig clapped for you.

“Well what did you wish for?”, curiously asking.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true!”

Maybe it was cheesy, but you wish that he would always be by your side.

313 notes · View notes

d6rkroom · 4 years ago

Text

— ‘𝗻𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼.’

finn mcnamara x top!male reader. (wc; 1.7k)

#a/n: this took way longer than it should've, my apologies fer’ that! BUT THANK YOU ELIAN FOR GIVIN’ ME THE GENERAL IDEA FOR THIS, I HAD A TON OF FUN WRITIN’ IT! YER’ BIG BRAIN AS HELL!

warnings. forced breeding, dubcon, mentions of cheating, possessive behavior, degrading k., dumbification, brat taming, sex infront of a mirror, manhandling, belly bulge, cum inflation, implied mpreg.

it was expected, it was only a matter of time before his olden behavior caved in on him and he relapsed right back into those sickly habits from nothing more than a year prior.

finn mcnamara was a slut. a dirty, good for nothing cheater. you knew his loyalty was short lived— his drive for exploration and choas secured that lucid notion in your brain ever since the two of you had started your dating journey.

how naive were you to untrust your heart with him, so utterly idiotic.

there you were, fingers curled around the doorknob as you lay in wait for your boyfriend to take note of the new presence clouding the room. your face was sheathed in coats of not shock, nor distaste— just inflicted with an expressionless disappointment. whatever bit of rage that fogged your mind swiftly dissolved along with his sexual mate that accompanied your spot on the bed.

nonchalant as ever, he sent a sloppy smile your direction; probably as a result of whatever poor pounding he just received from the rather small looking guy who was just in your room. pathetic, he couldn't even wait a few hours for your attention so he tossed aside his pride and let his greedy hole get creamed by someone at least half your size.

“satisfied with yourself, whore?” a satirical snear contorted your lips. one he knew a little to well, one he could tell apart from your usual one. the one you would often flicker as the two of you conversed. he knew you loved him, as did he; yet, the outcome of pushing your buttons was one he couldn't shake the craving for.

“hah, as satisfied as ever— sweetheart.” his first mistake was underestimating your tolerance for his bullshit. the second was letting that sour chuckle rip past his throat.

he was already exposed, clothes abandoned along side his dignity. letting such a inexperienced and second option hook-up ruin his beautifully stretched hole was baffling to you. was he really that desperate to have his ass filled and feel full for the remainder of the evening? you already knew the answer to your own inquiry.

he sputtered out a few words that glazed past your ears and straight out the back of your head. you had no care to hear any other soft attempts to convey how what he committed was mistake or how his body was now yours for the night. you had tunnel-vision set on his spend, plump ass that was already wiggling in the air— contrast from his cheek, which was pressed into the matress.

you give a harsh smack on the milky flesh, making finn’s lower half jolt in retaliation; halting his train of thought and stopping his tongue mid monologue. his hands instinctively sink into the pillow beneath his neck. you shift your weight, prying his thighs apart and spreading his cheeks wide open; the perfect view. the head of your cock, flushed red and throbbing gives a few pokes at his pulsating rim which is already venting around nothing.

you give his hole a few, firm slaps from the length of your shaft. beckoning that bratty inclination from out from beneath him— you wanted to hear those lips bark out your name. persuading you to rock in and out of his useless body.

“you want that? my cock to just slip right inside you without need for an apology? without regard for what i just caught you doing in, our bed?”

you almost give in, but you're smarter than to let finn get what he so desperately wants, that easily. rubbing your palm into his hips, small pats connecting with the side of his abdomen insinuate he fetches the mirror from the corner of the bedroom. no words were required in the exchange, he knew his place— plain and simple. and he sure as hell knew what you silently commanded he do.

an exasperated groan grumbles from the depths of his chest, his tongue clicked in annoyance at the sudden expectation for him to remove himself from his lewd position. so stupid, he throws away your years of love to get fucked by some stranger and then complains as you whisk him away from the sheets. he had driven you to your witt's end.

“excuse you, cunt? did i just hear you protest, after cheating in my bed, in my house? don't forget who owns you.”

his blood ran cold and the hairs on the back of his neck sprung to life with an accompanying chill that relished up his spine. his shoulders visibly cringed at your tone as he wasted no time flipping over and hoisting the mirror slowly to the foot of the bed. with the reflective piece of glass now fitted nicely as it leaned against the bedframe— finn crawled atop the messy array of sheets.

“y/n look.. m’sorry don't-” he wasn't allowed to finish, at least not anymore he wasn't. you weren't going to let him disrespect your authority under your roof any longer.

without thinking your hand reaches to unbuckle your belt, fingers toying with the zipper and button respectively. tugging your pants and boxers down without caution— you carded a few free fingers into his messy, mop of hair. digging into and only making it a much more noticable mess than before as you yanked his face to meet yours.

you felt a guley glob of spit collect under your tongue, shooting the wad right between his eyes; saliva leaking down the bridge of his nose and bleeding onto his upperlip. you knew how he adorded being tossed around like trash, better yet, treated as such. he was getting off to this, his eyes pooling wide with lust everytime a vulgar insult leaped from behind your teeth.

he tries not to let his words slur as you play with his still, very tender asshole. breath hitching every step of the way as you spin him to face the direction of the mirror. his hole was still lubed and wet from his previous visitor, giving you very easy access with little push or resistance.

his eyes roll back, you keep your gaze attentive on his decoy on the other side of the glass. your fat cock streaching him out has his lips parting to release a squeal of appreciation, a lavish burn following close suit as you sink deeper inside of him. he's not regretting his choice to unturn his devotion towards you; not yet at least.

“getting off to this slut? look at yourself, i haven't even started to really fuck you yet. pathetic.”

finn’s eyes are trained on his reflection, the look of tragedy curling over his spit-slicked lips. he could feel how deep you were, reaching spots he didn't even know were there. he can also make out the veins on your cock dragging along his walls and you're right; he is getting off to this. it felt so good— he felt so good— it all was good.

you rut into his ass like a feral animal, grunting cocktailed with sour remarks to keep the tension rising. instinctively he clings onto the fabric beneath him for dear life, knuckles fading from bright red to a pale white. through the fog of pleasure clogging his mind, he can only keen out an audible ‘yes’ to all of the questions and words that jumbled from your mouth.

with your eyes fixated on the way his skin ripples and jiggles against your hips, the fat riding up onto yer’ waist with the brutal pace you keep. he attempts to protest with how close he feels himself getting, only to be cut off by one hard slam after another— cock drilling into his tight little hole with intentions to impregnate him.

concepts of his usualy flat tummy growing round and bloated as you fucked it full of your little swimmers now press into your mind. each seed racing to see which will be the one to knock up your boyfriend; rendering him yours forever. your vigor prevails, motivated by the sole image of your slut giving birth to one, maybe two of your genetic creations. your offspring.

finn wonders if the cheating scandal really has your stamina skyrocketing, that is until through the intoxication of your speed— he realizes. fuck, you don't have a condom. he can't get pregnant, as much as he'd want to settle down with you he has way to many jobs that would release him from employment if they found out he had a baby in his belly. you wouldn't do that to him, would you? you knew how near and dear traveling from place to place, job to job was to him. was this punishment?

“sweeti- ah! y/n c-condom!”

even with his tongue tripping over ever other word, you could decipher the clutter of gibberish all too well. he had figured out your plan to breed his tiny body.

“oh? that silly thing? i gotta make you my wife, remember? just a stupid little whore who can only work from home. nobody wants to fuck a pregnant bitch. maybe that'll teach you to keep it in your pants.”

“n-no— ah-! fuck..”

your words sent tingles over his scalp, squelching noises resonate through the air mingled with your bitter laughter. drool starts to seep from the corners of his mouth and tears begin to well up in his eyes as he watches his mirror double get impailed by the outline of your cock. he knows soon that a small child will fill the roll of your shaft, he can't do anything but try to resist as the idea of your warm, stick love flooding his womb only grows on him.

at this point, all finn is doing is whimpering on your cock, degrading making the pressure behind his thighs hotter and his ass tighter. that familiar knot twisting in his lower stomach begging to snap as you roll into his prostate with a hunger glistening in your eyes. you flip finn on his back and catch his bottom, wet lip between your teeth and tug with the push of your hips. eye contact is never broken as your hot load spurts long and sticky ropes through his ass and into his belly. so full, he's so positively full as he feels your genes enter his boy womb— effectively impregnating and painting his gummy walls with white fluid.

soon a bunch of mini you’s will roam the empty spaces in your home and you'll start the perfect family together. you had planned to make him your bitch for quite some time, but the cheating only sped up the inevitable. finn sobbed into the crook of your neck; protruding tummy poking at your abdomen as he loosely attached to you.

the whole ordeal would be burned into his brain and yours, the mirror serving his eyes a sick reminder that he was now tasked with carrying your kid. forever.

#𓉔 — m.list #𓉔 — directory.#𓉔 — works.#c; finn #finn mcnamara x male reader #finn mcnamara x top male reader #life is strange x male reader #life is strange x top male reader #dark life is strange #life is strange smut #lis smut #dark lis #dark blog #smut blog #finn mcnamara #finn mcnamara smut

232 notes · View notes

kevindayscrown · 4 years ago

Text

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 11

Weight

[TW: Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Alcohol, Mentions of Violence, Riko Moriyama]

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts.

The winter holidays were a nightmare.

Maybe Kevin had the tendency to exaggerate things. Though, who could really blame him?

The Foxes – before they all departed for their holiday destinations – were approaching Kevin in extremes. Either as if he was a wild, caged animal ready to snap at everyone, or as if messing with him was the highlight of their day.

“If you miss him so much, call him,” Nicky had said, ever so casually.

The thing was, that Kevin knew he had messed everything up. There was no chance he was going to call or text Eric after what had happened during the winter banquet.

Partially because he thought Eric wanted nothing to do with him.

Another part of him, of course, simply wanted to punish himself. He had something in his grasp, something other than Exy, and he let it go, just like that.

If no one would bat an eyelash at Andrew and Neil, or at Jean and Jeremy, maybe Kevin could for once, do something for himself.

Disgusting.

Even after his death, Riko’s ghost would not let Kevin be happy. It was all so much, that he hardly thought he had the spine to actually call and apologize to Eric on his own volition.

Coward.

Kevin just knew Christmas would not be pleasant. It should be; it was the first Christmas when he was really free.

It didn’t really feel like that.

He’d thought that perhaps going to Columbia with Andrew, Neil and Aaron would help him forget.

Alcohol would help.

Apparently, however, those plans were ruined too, when Wymack told Kevin it would be a good idea for them to spend Christmas together.

“Abby said it- it might be a good idea. We have a lot to talk about,” Wymack had said, the night before they were to leave for Columbia. “The Foxes will be gone. We will have some fucking peace and quiet.”

Kevin knew he couldn’t say no. He’d kept the truth from Wymack for so long.

Selfish.

Kevin had agreed. He didn’t wake up as Andrew and Neil left; Aaron apparently, had arranged to retreat somewhere with Katelyn.

The dorm room was empty. It was unusual. The quiet was unsettling. No matter how much Kevin wouldn’t admit it, the voices, the bodies moving to an everyday routine, helped him focus.

Thankfully, Wymack had arrived early to pick him up from the dorms. They wouldn’t do anything special; just spend the holidays at the Coach’s apartment.

The first days were calm. Due to the awkwardness however, no talking was done. Not the kind of talking Wymack had implied at first, at least. The two men simply coexisted. The quiet became deafening in Kevin’s ears. Nights were the worst.

His fingers itched to be wrapped around the neck of a bottle. He didn’t like the way his thoughts – intrusive, nasty things – would fill in the silence when he was sober.

Relapsing however, would be yet another sign of cowardice. Kevin hadn’t drunk in months. He hadn’t felt like he needed it. The high of their victory, the busy start of the semester, training the new recruits, had all distracted him from the aftermath of everything that had happened in the span of a year.

Facing an identity crisis was not exactly what he needed.

Not when he blinked and saw Riko’s face during the night. Heard Jean’s screaming.

Christmas Eve was when it all reached its peak.

Homosexuality is disgusting, Kevin. Aren’t you happy you have Thea? Oh, don’t think I’ve not seen you sneak out at night to meet her. That’s why you will always be number two. You are so vulnerable.

Riko’s knife felt way too real, even as Kevin’s eyes snapped open and he jolted up from the couch. The lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest were definitely real.

“Kevin?”

Kevin had not realized that he had been screaming until he saw Wymack standing there, until he tried to speak but his voice was too hoarse.

“I- I-,”

Vulnerable.

He hadn’t had a panic attack in months. Almost half a year. He was aware it was happening at that moment, but he was too numb from shock to do any of the exercises Bee had shown him.

From shock or from the shortness of breath.

“Breathe with me, Day.” He felt hands on his shoulders, holding onto him, managing to only keep him grounded. He tried to match the pace of Wymack’s breathing but his own breaths would come out short and sharp.

“He is dead, Kevin. He is fucking dead. He can’t touch you.”

Kevin knew that. Knew he could be whoever he wanted to be now; he’d almost achieved that. He’d gone from Number 2, to Queen of the Exy court. He was no longer in Riko’s shadow.

Then why was it so hard to let the fuck go?

Kevin half expected Wymack to hand him a bottle of alcohol, like he’d done so many times in the past. Kevin wanted it as Wymack stood up, apparently to do just that. He clenched his left hand, waiting to feel the reassuring weight of a bottle as it started going numb.

Of course, that’s when he had to remember about Eric.

Stop clenching your fist like that. It’s better to have something to hold onto.

We all have our own weights. The question is whether you’ll allow someone to help you carry them.

Kevin rushed to the duffel bag he’d brought with him. He searched inside, making a curious Wymack halt when he noticed Kevin’s weird behaviour.

He found the puck and gripped it in his hand, as he sat down on the cold floor and threw his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and, with something to fiddle, he finally had the chance to do the breathing exercises.

Breathe, one, two.

Hold, one, two.

Release, one, two.

It took Kevin at least ten repetitions to calm his pounding heart and rapid breathing. When he opened his eyes, Wymack was still there, alert and clearly unsure of what to do.

“Kevin?”

You can’t lie and pretend you didn’t feel anything.

It was because Kevin felt too much, that he became numb. But finally, as he sobbed, he let himself lean against his father and let it all out, allowing someone else to help carry the weight.

Wymack gripped his shoulder and held on for as long as Kevin needed it. He wasn’t exactly one to comfort people with soothing words, but he’d faced enough broken kids to know how to hold on.

It took Kevin until morning to finally calm down and fall asleep again. The bottle of vodka was left forgotten on the coffee table and neither of them touched it.

Christmas Day was a bundle of mixed feelings. Kevin felt lighter, having faced something like that and letting everything out. He wasn’t sure though how he felt about having trusted someone with this.

As days went by, he realized that carrying the weight, not only helped preserve that feeling of lightness, but also brought him a bit closer with his father.

It was only after New Year’s, three days prior to the start of the semester, that things had settled enough to help him make a decision.

The Foxes had come back, and Kevin greeted them with:

“Drive me to Atlanta.”

Nicky was ecstatic, though Kevin was mostly irritated by Allison’s smug grin as she turned on her heel and went to find the hockey team and get them to give her Eric’s address.

“Finally came to your senses?” Matt asked with a fond smile.

Kevin said nothing.

Next morning, as Kevin got in the car, he looked at Neil through the rearview mirror. Neil gave him only a nod as Andrew finally started the car.

Kevin was still filled with doubt.

But at the same time, he felt the same sense of certainty as when he had held a racquet on his left hand and strode to face Riko.

179 notes · View notes

lunarkittens · 4 years ago

Text

supernatural fanfic rec list

hiii :)

GEN: 90% Sam-focused, no Character Death unless otherwise stated, mostly very angsty

Somewhere From Ashes by pixel_0 - Dean has always measured time by Sam until the day comes that Sam changes that measurement. (Warnings: Character Death) Time travel fic!

Sammyverse! by shangrilada - The link is not to one work, but to a masterpost for all the works in this ‘verse! It’s a light AU, pretty close to canon but has works pre-series and post-Season 4 that are different (Sam more or less peacefully goes to Stanford, for instance). Sam has very severe asthma and him and Dean deal with this pretty well. Feels like a warm hug and also makes you want to cry in that hot soup when you’re sick kind of way. Depends on which specific work you’re reading! Absolutely delightful.

Culpability by fascra - Sam knew his mother was killed by something evil, but he hadn't known it was his fault. Pre-series!

Some Peace of Mind by authoressnebula - Sam falls ill after a hunt in a marsh. Sick enough that Dean decides serious downtime is needed, not just two days rest in a motel room.And if he gets the chance to keep his little brother and kid in sight and taken care of, after Gordon, after Dad's secret, well. He could use some rest, too. (This author has like over 80 fics, all Gen AFAIK, would recommend!)

Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees by Lise - Hunting wears you down. John gives the ultimatum. Sam makes a different choice. (Warning: Suicide TW for the entire verse)

Everything Dies, Given Time by Lise - AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional. (Warning: Temporary Character Death)

Devil’s in the House by glorious_spoon - In which Sam hustles pool to pay for his textbooks, and an unexpected opponent turns up. Pre-series, outside POV.

Lost Highway by killabeez - This time, he's going to get it right. (Time Travel fic)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile - Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't. (Warning: Suicide TW.) Pre-series

Unthinkable by Glass Shoe - After a week of riding shotgun inside his own body, Sam needs to know that he’s the one at the wheel. This story takes place following the episode Born Under a Bad Sign. (Warning: Suicide TW)

Voice for a Soul by authoressjean - Sam manages to break Dean's deal and save him from Hell...at a cost. With no voice, he doesn't know if he can hunt anymore, but he gave his voice up for his brother and he'd do it again. No matter what that means for him. Fortunately, he's not the only one willing to do whatever it takes to stay by his brother's side.

The Day’s Running Down (Like a Tired Clock) by The_Bookkeeper - “What was that play that you did? That – what was it, uh, Our Town. Yeah, you were good; it was cute.” The Our Town fic! (Remember in Shadow when Dean commented on Sam’s theatre nerd past? This is about that) (I rec some of this author’s other fics too!)

All Work and No Play by ScrollingKingfisher - Jack might be only four and a half days old but he already knows a lot of useful things, like the way nougat sticks in your teeth, and what it feels like to be stabbed, and the way Sam’s forehead scrunches up when he’s trying to solve a problem.Sam tries to teach Jack how to lift a pencil. They both end up learning.

two basic motivating forces by sahwen - He can’t cry, it’s not allowed; even as a child he was hushed into silence, whether his tears were from a long car ride or a late night or a raging fever. It’s never been an option, it’s never been an available outlet, and it’s not about to start being one just because he’s having an emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor.Sam isn't only afraid of clowns. (Sick!fic/Warning: EMETOPHOBIA) (I personally like a lot of this author’s works)

bleed confusion by sahwen - Sometimes Sam's visions really screw him up. And sometimes Dean has to pretend to know what to do. (Warning: EMETOPHOBIA)

We As Human by inkandpaperqwerty - Sam has been struggling with depression since Stanford. Well, not really struggling. Excelling. He's been excelling at depression since Stanford, and it's only gotten worse since he started hunting again. Unfortunately, the relapses from John's death and Dean's trip to Hell were bad, but they had nothing on the downward spiral triggered by Sam starting the Apocalypse.But Sam has never come clean before, and he isn't about to start. He's self-medicating, he's suppressing, and he's handling things in the Trademark Winchester Way. He can do this. He can totally do this. Spoiler: No, he can't. (Warnings: Self Harm/Suicide)

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper - Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already. (A voicemail fix-it!)

Time Out by ratherastory - Sam kind of maybe has a little meltdown after the events of "Simon Said," courtesy of an ill-timed migraine. Dean helps, because that's what big brothers are for.

Days and Counting by ratherastory - What with Dean going with Dad on more hunts and Sam having to keep their absence and their work a secret, Sam's getting more lonely and disconnected. Pre-series

One Saved Message by ratherastory - After a hunting accident puts Sam out of commission for a couple of days, Dean decides to surprise his brother with a new phone, since his old one is toast. Even better is when he finds that he’s been able to save all of Sam’s old information and restore it to his cell. That’s when he discovers an old voicemail that Sam has kept saved for the last two and a half years

Last Resort by Rirren - Dean keeps dying and Sam can't change that. But Sam's last resort might just be the last thing he ever does. (Warning: Suicide TW) Tag to Mystery Spot.

#supernatural #spn #i will come back to this and update it with more but here you go for now!!!#long post #chloe why do you read so much angst #ok well have you ever considered that maybe i have problems?#i have a lot to rec but these posts unfortunately take actual time to make who knew?

147 notes · View notes

bunnyywritings · 4 years ago

Text

a good night’s sleep

katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

prompt #1- “I just love you so much...” & prompt #8- “You’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me...”

requested by @swankiifiied - can i get 1 & 8 from the fluff prompt list with bakugo please? 🥺

[a/n: I really loved writing this, thank you for the request sweetheart! I made it a little angsty but I promise it’s a fluffy ending, enjoy! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

It wasn’t something that usually happened but as time went on, Bakugou’s ptsd and anxiety got progressively worse. He was pretty good at hiding it since everyone was so used to his sudden outbursts, no one had really noticed that they were happening more frequently. He hid it so well that not even you knew. That was until he had an outburst at your guys’ home room teacher. That had left everybody stunned.

No matter how rude he was, he still had some semblance of respect for the teachers and other faculty on campus. After that though, he was sent back to the dorms and he had missed the second half of the day.

“Hey don’t you think Bakugou’s been acting a little, I don’t know...strange?” You asked as you sat with Denki and Shinso during lunch.

“What do you mean? Isn’t he always like that?” Shinso quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Hmm no, I think (y/n)’s right, he’s usually a handful but not like this.” The blonde took a sip of his drink, “Come to think of it, Kiri said he hasn’t been sleeping well at night. He said he could hear how much he was tossing and turning or something. Maybe he’s just grumpy.”

You frowned before your eyes were wide open as everything clicked for you.

He was jumpier than usual, he snapped easier than before, not sleeping well, and he was distancing himself from you and everyone else. He was struggling. Terribly.

Your heart ached through the last half of school, so much so that you rushed off of campus to get to the dorms. Almost tripping over your own feet as you kicked off your shoes. Stopping at your room and haphazardly tossing your bag to the floor and heading over to your boyfriend’s room. You knocked twice before slowly opening the door. “Katsu?” You called softly, eyes falling onto his figure that was slumped over his desk. Textbooks and a notebook or two sprawled over it. You frowned when he didn’t even acknowledge you.

“Katsuki?” You called a little louder, thinking that maybe he was wearing earphones.

“The hell do you want?” He growled as he turned to look at you, scowl ever so present on his face.

“I- uh I just wanted to check in on you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, now leave me alone. I’m trying to do work.” Your own frowned deepend as he turned his back to you. You noticed his textbook was open to the chapter from the lesson he missed.

“I could help you, since you missed the-”

“I SAID TO LEAVE! Are you that dense (y/n)?!” He had turned to you once more. His glare made a shiver run down your spine.

“I just wanted to-”

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN! GET OUT, YOU’RE ANNOYING ME!” Your eyes widened as his palms popped in warning. You knew he’d never use his quirk against you to cause you any harm but the gesture frightened the daylights out of you. Your eyes watering as fear filled your chest. His eyes softened the slightest when he saw that he scared you but it was too late to take it back. “What?! Are you deaf too?!” His heart broke as he saw you jump and run back into the hall. He got up, gripping the door and slamming it so hard that the wood splintered.

Everyone heard the shout and the door slam, all frozen in their spots as you appeared in the common room with tears running down your cheeks and a protective hand over your heart. Iida and Izuku quickly moved to see if you were okay.

After reassuring everyone that you were fine, you went up to your own room and not coming out till dinner. You thought that maybe Bakugou would've calmed down and want to join everyone for dinner but you’d be wrong. He was nowhere to be seen.

“He hasn’t come out of his room once, just in case you were wondering.” Mina sighed as she sat across from you, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “Kiri already tried luring him out.” Said redhead sat beside you and patted your shoulder.

As you all ate, you listened to everyone talk but your mind was still preoccupied with Bakugou.

Did he not trust you enough with his problems? How long has he been struggling? Did he think you just didn’t care because you hadn’t realized it sooner?

Once dinner had ended, you made a plate and took it up to his room. You stood in front of the door, contemplating on whether to leave it at the door or risk angering him by going in once more...a sudden wave of determination washes over you before you knock and open the door. You expected to be thrown out or yelled at once more but you were met with a crying boyfriend, curled up on his bed. He was frozen in his place as bloodshot and puffy eyes looked up at you. Your heart shattered at the sight of his tear stained cheeks. You closed the door behind you and put the plate down onto his desk.

“Katsuki please tell me what’s going on.” He sat up as you approached, his knees brushing against yours as you stood in front of him. “ I can’t stand to-oof!” You were cut off by him wrapping his arms around your middle and burying his face into your stomach. His shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his body once more.

This wasn’t the outcome you were expecting when you walked in.

Holding in the tears that pricked your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and gently ran your fingers through his hair, fingers scratching his scalp every so often.

“Baby please, tell me what’s going on.” You pleaded softly, feeling the way he clutched onto you even tighter.

“I-I can’t believe I did that to you...I-” He choked back a sob, nuzzling further into your stomach.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you’d never hurt me like that.”

“No! (Y/n), you don’t understand…” Your hands moved to cup his cheeks and tilt his head up so he was looking up at you. His ruby eyes looked so broken as they peered into your own eyes. “You’re the greatest thing that’s happened to me and I did that to you, I made you scared, I-I threatened you!” He was shouting but his throat was so sore that it came out as a squeaky whisper. “You’ve been with me since our first year, you stuck around when people told you I was a lost cause. Why?”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears rolled freely down your cheeks as you climbed onto his lap and properly wrapped your arms around him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you leaned back to see his face. A small smile coming to your lips as you felt his hands supporting your lower back.

“I, well... I just love you so much. I love you so damn much Katsuki Bakugou. Sure you have your faults but so do I. You’ve grown so much since our first year and I’m so proud of you. These little relapses and setbacks are normal and absolutely nothing to be ashamed about.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He chuckled breathlessly.

“I am a pretty good catch huh?”

“Don’t make me regret it idiot.” He spoke softly.

“Now what’s this about you not getting enough sleep?” His eyes widened in shock before he frowned.

“Did that spiky haired bastard tell you that?”

“No..well it was Kaminari, he heard from Kiri and told me.” You smiled sadly as your thumb smoothed over the darkened skin of the bags under his eyes. “You're usually already getting ready for bed right now and I’d watch you brush your teeth and call you an old man.” There was 5 minutes till 9pm.

“I-yeah, I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.” He avoided looking into your eyes, clearly embarrassed about admitting his struggle.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” You didn’t want to force him to tell you anything if he wasn’t ready.

“Yes...please.”

So the both of you got ready for bed. You were laid back on his bed when he shut off the lights. He watched as you got comfortable and opened your arms for him. The moonlight making your eyes shine brilliantly, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought of falling asleep in your arms. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Grumbling about being the little spoon, he plopped down onto you, chuckling at the grunt that left your throat. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he settled in between your legs and snuggled into your chest. You slipped your hands under his shirt and lightly scratched his back, littering his face with kisses before relaxing into the pillows and closing your eyes.

“I love you…” he muttered, pressing a kiss against the base of your neck.

“I love you too Katsuki, now go to sleep.”

That was the best night’s sleep that Bakugou had gotten in a long time.

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @yuiji-yuiji @ohbois-biggay-bnha

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x gn!reader #bakugou katsuki x gn!reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x gn!reader #asks #request

276 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Careful

Takes place after 5x01 because I love that angst of that episode and I love hurting Hotch but also Reid so...

No warnings

Dozing in and out of anesthesia it takes Spencer several hours to recall the full events of the day. He’s in too much pain, too distracted to note the lack of people at his bedside. Penelope holds his hand and he knows it’s her because he cracks an eye open and sees that someone dressed as the embodiment of the rainbow is softly asking him if he wants another ice chip. As time moves on, minutes feeling like hours, his sense comes to him and he sees the room around him. Feels a pang of hurt when he realizes that while Derek is eating his jello he does not see the typical crowd of three always waiting just at the edge of his bed.

“Where’s Hotch?” he asks sleepily. He can’t disguise the pain in his voice at this realization that Hotch hasn’t shown up. Hotch is always here. Lingering just out of reach but watching, Hotch always watches. Maybe not every time that Spencer wakes up but there are always blurry memories of the older man. Sometimes resting or pacing the room or just sitting and waiting but something. There’s always something.

Derek clears his throat but Garcia’s softly muffled sob beat him to it.

The heart monitor jumps as Spencer’s anxiety skyrockets, the pieces of his memory filling in as he recalls the conversation he had with Emily. Foyet and blood and the hospital. He can’t fight his tears, no amount of quick blinking abates them. “Is he…”

Derek sits up, shushing him before he can find the words to fill in the heavy blank. “No, no,” he cups Spencer’s cheek, shaking his head. “No, pretty boy, he’s okay.” Derek shakes his head at his own exaggeration of the truth. Hotch is anything but okay right now but he’s alive and that has to count for something. “He’s a little banged up,” Derek amends. “He’s alive.”

They dodge his questions for the rest of the day. Using just how touched starved he is against him, turning his attention away from his thoughts with a hand pressed to his forehead. Fingers sweeping through his hair until he’s safely nestled back into his blankets and pillows, losing to his exhaustion.

The sunrise of the next day brings the pain he hadn’t felt under the mental fog of the other drugs. He curses Tobias Hankle and hates himself as he fists the sheets in his hands and shakes his head. Turning away their offers. Thankful he doesn’t have to explain how life has left him here chewed up and spit out and deprived of the drugs that would soothe this pain. Derek tries to help but Spencer doesn’t care that it’s not technically a relapse and no one would blink an eye if wanted something, hell anything but he shuts his eyes and refuses.

He’ll be fine.

The pain… After a while, he struggles to keep his cool. Penelope comes up early and wipes sweat from his brow where it’s accumulated in his strain. He tries to keep silent, answer her questions as nicely as he can so that he doesn’t say something mean. He hates the way that the words come out of his mouth. The way he takes his pain out on everyone else around him.

He just wants to know how Hotch is and after a while of their brief answers and shrugging, half-assed mumbles he can’t take it. Secluded to this bed, having no say in anything happening to him, all he has is time to get lost in his head. Which is okay for a while, he can think about books to take his mind away from the pain but that does get boring quickly. Daytime television is ass and he’s not nearly tired enough for a nap.

“How’s Hotch?” he asks knowing already what they’re going to tell him. Never direct answers because he suspects they’re trying to protect him but it’s really because they don’t know. They’re afraid to really know. He would be afraid too if he could see but he can’t see and he can’t know and he’s really, really fed up with it.

JJ shrugs. “He’s just--” she crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head. Guarding herself. “You have to be careful around him,” she mumbles. That’s all that any of them seem to be able to agree on. This careful that they all seem to ache with. The way that they can’t even look him in the eyes to say it. Even Penelope, she looks down and tears glisten in her eyes and there’s that word again: careful.

And he mistakes JJ to mean that he has to be careful around Hotch. That they’re saying that he is at risk of setting Hotch off and it’s childish and a simple misunderstanding but it drives him crazy. Of all of them, they’re worried about him? He and Penelope are the only people who don’t go out of their way to piss Hotch off. Derek yells at him all the time, the two of them never get along. Hotch has known Spencer twice as long as he’s known Emily and Hotch hated her for the first year she was on the team.

But he needs to be careful? As if they aren’t torches lighting him ablaze.

So, he goes to see for himself.

It’s late and he’s working with a small time frame. Needs to wait for Dave to head home after dinner but before Emily can come to sit with him for the night. It’s about twenty minutes, he knows only because Derek aired the concern two days ago. Was afraid of what could happen in that amount of time but Dave had won out and the twenty minutes remained. Hotch needs a break from them and he likes the twenty minutes, so they’ll give him that.

So, twenty minutes it is.

The moving makes him tremble, the pain nearly overwhelming but he’s got a plan and he needs to move. Needs to do it fast.

He doesn’t know where Hotch’s room is but he knows it’s on the second floor. He’d heard JJ and Emily talking about Hotch getting moved from the intensive care unit to a general floor but not one like Spencer’s. Someplace still close to the nurses who often need to get to him quickly. Emily had dropped that it was the second floor, twisting her fingers anxiously in her hands. She hadn’t liked the idea of the move but it wasn’t up to her.

So Spencer makes his slow way down the hall of the second floor. His bracelet and crutches get him far, it just looks like he’s been sent by another floor’s nurse to get some exercise in. That and he’s aware that his overgrown hair and thin body makes him look younger, innocent so he gets smiles and the occasional wave and one says anything.

Finding Hotch is harder than he’d thought it would be but he finds the room. A giant stuffed bear sitting in the windowsill-- the same one, if not smaller he notes with a jealous frown, Garcia brought him. Stepping into the room he’s not sure what he’s expecting to find but it’s not this. Careful, they’d said, and he’d thought of Hotch’s performative anger. The way he sends paper flying through the air. Thought of the way Hotch had fussed with him over the years for his dangerous stunts.

Careful and he’d assumed Hotch would be hardened. Guarded.

He’d never thought careful could be mean weak.

There’s a walker sitting by the bed, discarded Spencer knows when he realizes that the wheelchair is physically closer to Hotch. That the tiny amount of space between the chair Hotch sleeps in now and the bed was too great a distance. Even though it’s no more three feet, no more than a step or two.

He’s paler than Spencer has ever seen him, held up by pillows, and breathing heavily even with the aid of the oxygen canal sneaking under his nose. Entirely limp, lifeless with his head turned into the raised side of the chair. To his left is the dinner he’d left nearly untouched, unable to stomach even a bite of unseasoned chicken or the steamed carrots that should have been easy on his stomach. He’d had a few sips of apple juice and fallen asleep, exhausted from just being moved from the bed.

Spencer stands there so frozen that he’s glad Hotch is asleep. He can’t imagine the ways in which he’d hurt his boss if he were awake to see the emotion in Spencer’s eyes. To see the tears and sympathy as his eyes move over Hotch’s chest. Taking in the dots of blood on his chest, the gown pulled down to show far too much. To see the staples peaking through where the gauze isn’t thick enough. That he’s being held together like a broken doll and he looks their measures just aren’t enough. He’s broken beyond compare.

“Reid.”

He jumps and turns to see Emily standing outside the door and he wonders just how long he’s been standing there. He steps out into the hall, flinching at the grip she has on his elbow as she steps close to him. There’s something about her eyes, the sneer he hasn’t yet heard in her voice. He’s afraid of her and she wants him to be. “Don’t let him see you looking at him like that,” she warns but it’s not the way you reprimand a misguided child. She’s pulling his hand from a red hot burner and she means to scare him. “Do you understand me? Do you think that’s what he needs right now? Seeing you look at him like that?”

She releases him and he resists the urge to rub where her fingers dug in. Only then does she soften, just a little, and sigh with a shake of her head at him. “Pull yourself together,” she mumbles, brushing past him to step into the room. “Don’t come in here unless you can handle it.” He sees her pain now, the way she looks at the floor. “He needs you to be strong, Spence. It’s not easy but he can’t do it right now.” She pulls in a deep breath, “I’ll tell him you came by--”

He shakes his head, “no, no I--”

She stops him, “please? Take tonight. Feel. Let it sink in and come back in the morning. He’ll… he’s better in the morning.” But her tone makes him think that’s probably not true.

He watches her go into the room, watching from where he’s hidden as she walks up to Hotch. Cherishing a soft moment while he sleeps to press a kiss to his temple and wake him, gently like she’s sorry. They exchange soft words, Hotch’s too slurred for him to make out but Emily’s clear and kind. She’s walking him through the last few days, reminding him until he can nod and fill in the pieces himself.

He turns away when he sees Emily preparing to get him up and he realizes that he really isn’t strong enough for this. She was right and he can’t imagine… he doesn’t want to even think about Hotch right now.

Curiosity killed the cat and now he's dragging his sore ass back to his room. Left to sit on the image of the man who's always protected, the man who never leaves slumped and hurting because he can't stomach it. He's too weak.

Spencer's always too weak.

What does that say about him? That he can't think of a single time Hotch left him alone in the hospital, no matter his condition, but when Hotch needs him...

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner

45 notes · View notes

thewickeddevil · 4 years ago

Text

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

#Jean Moreau #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #Jeremy Knox #Kevin Day #USC Trojans #Healing #i love him too much for my own good #this man deserves the whole world and i'll stand for that #Kerejean #Jerejean #Kevjean

83 notes · View notes

rpf-bat · 5 years ago

Text

Scream Out ‘What Will Save Us?’

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 15. Prompt: “Catharsis.”

Your band just broke up, and you’re trying to force yourself be okay with that. But, when you visit Frank, at his home in New Jersey, he advises you to be honest with your feelings. You find that he has some things to get off his chest, too.

It had been six months now, since My Chemical Romance broke up. You hadn’t done much since then, except move back to your house in New Jersey, and….sit there. For the last eleven years of your life, you’d drummed for a living, and life had moved to a frenetic pace. There was always another city to travel to, another show to play. But, now? Life was suddenly at a standstill.

You didn’t have to do anything for a living now, you supposed. The royalties alone, could probably sustain you, for years to come. Perhaps a millionaire like yourself, had no right to complain. Bullets You would, after all, kill to have Current You’s problems.

But, having lived at both extremes, you found that being functionally homeless, in a dirty van with your four best friends, was more enjoyable, than being all alone, in this spotless mansion. You hadn’t joined My Chemical Romance to make money. There were other things that mattered more - the joy of spending time with friends, who slowly became more like family. The creative fulfillment, of writing a piece of music, and then having ten thousand fans sing along with the tune. These were the things, that made your life meaningful.

These were the things, that you had now lost.

The Way brothers - who, up until recently, had felt like your own brothers - were still residing in Los Angeles. Ray, too, had stayed on the West Coast. You hadn’t seen them since the decision was made, to disband. You weren’t sure that you even wanted to.

But Frank - good, old, loyal Frank, who had known you longer than any of them - was merely a few miles down the road. Perhaps today was a good day to pay him a visit.

You called him on your cell, and he answered the phone, almost immediately. Like you, he probably had nothing better to do.

“Hey, Y/N,” Frank said in a tired voice. “How are you doing?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Just bored, I guess. How are you?”

“Not so good,” Frank confessed. “I’ve been having, like, the worst stomachaches.”

“Oh, no,” you said sympathetically. “Do you want me to bring you some medicine?”

“The doc says I have a bacterial overgrowth of the small intestine,” Frank explained.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“It means your drug-store Pepto ain’t gonna do shit for me,” Frank chuckled bitterly. “I got prescription pills for it, but it still hurts like a bitch. Some company might take my mind off the pain, though.”

“So...I can come over?” you asked hopefully.

“Please do,” Frank agreed. “It’ll at least give me a reason, to get out of bed.”

You chose not to mention that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, you had yet to find a reason to get out of bed yourself.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Frank’s house was nowhere near the main road. You had to drive through nearly half a mile of trees, just to reach his front door. He had selected this property partially because he loved nature - and partially because hated people.

You supposed you couldn’t blame him, for trying to avoid having nosy fans show up on his doorstep. The only person who always seemed welcome on his doorstep, no matter the hour, was you.

You found him sitting on his front steps, his acoustic guitar in his hands. The melody he was playing drifted over the air, as you got out of the car, and approached him.

“Is that...Disenchanted?” you recognized instantly.

“,,,..Yeah,” Frank sighed, his inked hands ceasing their strumming. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Frankie,” you frowned. “What made you decide to play that one today?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said sadly. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you? Knowing that we’re never going to play that song onstage again?”

“Or any of them,” you noted. “If I had known that set at Bamboozle would be the last gig we ever played, I would have tried harder, to make it count.”

“You and me both,” Frank said wistfully. “But, anyway….it’s a nice day. Do you want to take a walk with me?”

“Sure,” you nodded, extending your hand to help him up. “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Frank assured you, groaning as he stood. “C’mon.”

You followed him, around the house, through his backyard, and from there, into the woods, that sat behind his home. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves, and the sky has turned overcast, and grey. Summer, you supposed, was just another thing that wouldn’t last.

“Careful,” Frank warned, “there’s a brook up ahead.”

You saw that was what he said was true. The small body of water separated the hill from the valley, in the same way that a garotte wire separated a head from a neck.

“Take my hand,” Frank offered. “I don’t want you to fall.”

You found yourself blushing, as his calloused fingers, intertwined with your own. He pulled you up onto a rock, in the center of the brook.

“Are we going to have to jump?” you guessed.

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Frank said softly, “I got you.”

He leapt from the rock, to the other side of the brook. Still holding hands, you leapt with him. Just as he’d promised, you made it to the other side safely.

“It’s just a little further now,” Frank assured you.

“What is?” you wondered.

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically. He could have let go of your hand, but instead, he kept it held tightly in his own. You didn’t mind.

“....Whoa,” you gasped, as you realized, that you’d arrived at your destination. You were at the top of a cliff. From here, you could see the whole city, stretched out before you.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank admired.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Thank you for bringing up here! The view was totally worth the hike.”

“I’m lucky as hell, to have a hidden gem like this, on my property,” Frank confessed. “I like to come up here sometimes, when I need to think.”

“....What have you been thinking about lately?” you asked, sitting down on a boulder.

“What happened with the band, of course,” Frank admitted, sitting down beside you. “I just….I don’t know. Gerard’s decision felt so sudden. It was like having the wind knocked out of me.”

“Yeah,” you recalled. “It was like….it wasn’t fun anymore to him, so he just….dropped it. Like it was nothing.”

“I’m not gonna pretend, that being in My Chem, was sunshine and roses all the time,” Frank acknowledged. “Sometimes, touring sucked.”

“It did,” you admitted. “I hated the early bus calls, and the jet lag, that never seemed to go away. But, I don’t know. It was worth it, to go through all that, if it meant I would end my day, on a stage with you.”

“I guess it wasn’t worth it to him anymore,” Frank frowned. “But, what can you do? You can’t continue a band, without its frontman.”

“I guess our time was just up,” you shrugged. “All we can do, is move on.”

“I know it was messing up his mental health, trying to write the new record,” Frank said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “It’s not right for us to ask him to keep doing something that’s hurting him.”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “It’s not fair, to risk causing him another relapse, or something, just because we thought the album could’ve gone somewhere.”

“But now, you and me?” Frank grumbled, lighting a cigarette, and taking a drag. “We’re not gonna go fucking anywhere.”

“We’re right back where we started,” you realized. “Stuck in the same little town in New Jersey, where it all began.”

You and Frank, had been in another local band, called Pencey Prep. That band had broken up, and then Gerard, had asked you two, to join My Chemical Romance. Even before you’d become a member, you’d known just from listening to the demos, that this band would be something special. They’d captivated every soul, in the shitty dive bar, where you’d gone to see them play.

After you and Frank joined their ranks, things began to pick up speed so quickly. Local bars, turned into clubs on the other side of the state. And then you’d attracted the interest of a major label. And then, the next thing you knew, you were playing in fucking Japan. Clubs turned into arenas. Obscurity turned into infamy. You’d done things, you never thought, you would have an opportunity to do. It was a wild ride. And it was….over now.

“It makes me want to scream sometimes,” you said honestly.

“So, do it,” Frank said, exhaling smoke.

“....What?” you blinked, staring back at him.

“Go on and scream,” he suggested. “I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to hear you, except for me.”

“You’re serious?” you gaped.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “Honestly? I think it would be cathartic.”

He had a point - you’d been trying to hold a lot of emotions inside you, since everything went down. Maybe what you really needed, was to let them out.

You went and stood, on the edge of the cliff, and looked out, onto the horizon. You took a deep breath, and tilted your head back.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” you cried.

You turned back, and saw that Frank was laughing.

“....Did that feel good?” he grinned.

“....Honestly, yeah, it did!” you admitted. It felt even better, to see a smile on his face, for the first time today.

“You should just...feel what you feel, Y/N,” Frank advised. “You say we’re supposed to move on, and maybe that’s the narrative the fans want to hear. Like, they’re sad that they’ll never hear their favorite band live again. And it makes them feel better, to think, well, the band members did this, because it’s what made them the happiest.”

“But, we don’t feel happy,” you argued. “At least, not all of us do.”

“What do you feel?” Frank asked seriously.

“I feel….lost,” you described. “Like, I don’t know what my next move is supposed to be. The whole world knew me as My Chemical Romance’s drummer, for pretty much all of my twenties. Now, I’m hitting my thirties and...I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where we go from here.”

“Well, I know that I want to keep making music,” Frank decided. “Even if nobody else wants to hear it, I’ll play it for myself.”

“I want to hear it,” you said seriously. “Did you write something recently?”

“Yeah,” Frank said shyly, stubbing his cigarette out into the dirt. “I actually did start writing a song, the other day.”

“Play it for me,” you pleaded.

“I don’t know,” Frank blushed. “I wrote some lyrics, but….you know I don’t have the gift for singing, that Gerard does.”

“You sang in Pencey,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, that was twelve years ago!” Frank scoffed. “Who knows if I even remember how?”

“I know you can do it,” you encouraged him.

“The lyrics, they’re not all that nice,” Frank warned. “I didn’t write them to be radio friendly. I just wrote them, because I needed to get the thoughts out of my head.”

“You needed your catharsis,” you nodded understandingly.

“Yeah,” Frank sighed. “But….if you really want to hear it, Y/N, I’ll play it for you.”

He took out his guitar, and set it on his lap. Hesitant fingers plucked the strings. You listened, with rapt attention, as he began to sing:

Some things change but they don't get better

I'm so sick and so tired of trying to tell them that

I'll never do it, no I'll never make it alone

But pay no mind, it fades in time

Don't we all?

Someone I love threw me away

But I don't mind, no I don't mind at all

“That’s bullshit, Frank,” you interrupted. “You do mind.”

“.....Of course I fucking mind,” Frank snapped. He looked up from his guitar, and you realized, that he had tears in his eyes.

You moved over to where he sat, and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay,” you told him gently.

“It’s not,” Frank shook his head. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears….my heart and my soul, to that band. I thought you and I were going to be in My Chemical Romance for the rest of our lives.”

“What, like Mick Jagger?” you tried to smile. “Rocking out, even in his sixties?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said, burying his face in his hands. “Maybe I’m the stupid one, for thinking that something like that, could last forever.”

“You’re not stupid,” you said softly. “The truth is….I wanted it to last forever, too. It was the best thing I’d ever done. And now, I don’t know what else I can do with the rest of my life, that could even come close.”

“If I decided to play that song, in front of other people, someday,” Frank asked, “would you play the drums for me?”

“Of course,” you promised. “Frank, I’d jump at the chance to get onstage with you again. You should know that.”

“I feel like I don’t know anything anymore!” Frank said vulnerably. “Everything I thought I could count on, is slipping through my fingers. I feel lost. Just like you said. And I’m aching all the time, Y/N. What if you’re the next thing, that I lose?”

“I’ll never leave you, Frank,” you vowed. “It’s been you and me, from the very beginning. I couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have you in it….in one way, or another.”

“You met me when you joined Pencey. But now, for the first time in my entire life, you’re not my band mate anymore,” Frank choked. “So…what am I to you?”

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered, pulling him close. “And you could be more than that, if you wanted to.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Frank gasped.

“Frank….,” you took a deep breath. “The truth is, that I always wanted you. I never told you how I felt, because I thought, if we got into a relationship, and broke up, it would destroy our ability to work together. But….you’re right. We’re not bandmates anymore. So, I have nothing left to lose. I...I love you.”

“You….love me?” Frank repeated, eyes wide.

“Yes.” You put it all out there. “Yes, Frank, you’re the one I love. And if you would have me, I swear to you, I would never throw you away.”

Frank surged forward, grabbing you by the collar, and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Your startled mouth was suddenly full of his tongue. It felt so good.

“....Frankie!” you gasped, pulling away. “You...you actually want me back?”

“Of course I do,” Frank breathed. “It drives me absolutely fucking crazy, that we’ve both been burying our feelings this whole time, to protect a career, that no longer exists.”

“...Then at least I still have you,” you whispered, and pulled him in again. He tasted like smoke and desperation.

His body pressed against yours as he kissed you harder, pushing you down, against the hard rocks. His hands found the buttons of your blouse.

“....Frank,” you stopped him. “We should go back down, to your house, if we’re going to do this.”

“You’re right,” he chuckled. “My bed is a lot softer.”

“Take me there,” you begged, laying your lips on him again.

“Oh,” Frank promised, “I’ll take you all night.”

#frank iero x reader #frank iero imagine #gothtober #band member reader

115 notes · View notes

ladycatofwinterfell · 4 years ago

Text

Dealing with the consequences, part 1

Here it is, the long awaited sequel to “Consequences”. It’s been a while since I was last this excited to post something and I hope you share this feeling. I usually write happy married nedlyn, so just digging into the more complicated and messy relationship that is nedlyn in this little modern AU I created last year is quite fun. And if you were with me when I was writing “Consequences” you might remember that I posted a chapter every other day, it WON’T be like that this time

Summary: One day, six months after they move into their new house, Ned and Cat wake up to an unfortunate surprise. This small and seemingly insignificant event sets things into motion, and they try their best to repair what they can despite that they have messed up before. Because maybe, just maybe, they can do things a little bit better that time around. And you know what they say, third time’s the charm.

The baby had made her an incredibly light sleeper. So she was fully awake in a second when it knocked on her door. She looked at Sansa’s crib to make sure of that she was still sleeping. Waking her before she woke on her own was just a very bad idea. She had also already been awake once that night. So Catelyn wasn’t too happy about being woken for a reason that wasn’t to feed her daughter. Whatever it was that Ned had on his mind. She knew that it was Ned, Robb wouldn’t have knocked and Jon always avoided her as best as he could on the weeks when he was with them.

She wrapped a robe around herself and tiptoed through the room. Ned definitely had something on his mind. And he didn’t look happy about it.

“Who died?” she whispered.

He did not appreciate the joke. Had someone actually died?

“The dishwasher is broken” he said. “And there is a lot water in our kitchen.”

“Seven fucking hells.”

She wished so badly that it would have been a lie. Damnit. She had to close her eyes for a moment, take three calming breaths. And then she walked down the stairs, crossed the living room and found that Ned had not been lying. It had been very much true. There was water. A lot of it. On their floor.

She heard him come up behind her. She didn’t really know what to do. What could she do? There was so much water. What were they supposed to do with all the water?

“What time is it?” she asked, because that was all she could come up with.

“Around half past three, I think” Ned replied.

Half past three in the morning. What could they do? What the hell could they do when it was the middle of the night?

“We’ll have to do this ourselves, then” she sighed. “We need to turn off the water.”

“I already did that.”

“Of course you did. Now what?”

“We need to get the water away.”

“And how do we do that?”

She had never dealt with a flooded kitchen before. She had never dealt with any kind of flooded room before. And from the look of despair on Ned’s face she guessed he hadn’t either.

Right then Sansa seemed to have woken only to notice that she was alone. And she was screaming bloody murder.

“I’ll go get her.”

She half ran back up to her room, had some small hope of that if she was quick enough maybe there was a chance of that Robb and Jon would sleep through it. They wouldn’t be of any help, it was better if they slept until their alarms rang. But of course they didn’t.

She had just picked Sansa up and was bouncing the baby in her arms when Robb poked his sleepy little head into her room.

“Has something happened?” he asked, quite loudly so that she would be able to hear him over the screaming baby.

“No” she told him. “Everything is as it should be. Go back to bed.”

She could take that with him later. When things were a bit calmer.

“Are you hungry? Is that the problem?” she mumbled to Sansa. “Robb, please, go to bed.”

He muttered something and went back to the room that he shared with Jon. They got along quite well. Well enough to share a room, at least. Jon was still a bit shy around Robb though. Ned said that it would pass, but she was unsure. He was probably confused about the weird situation, the poor child. And that she was around didn’t make anything better for him.

She walked downstairs again once Sansa was done. Tried to hold onto what remained of her sanity. It wasn’t much. She couldn’t do much either. She didn’t know what to do. It was in moments like those she wondered how anyone managed to be an adult because it was very hard.

“Just why?”

Ned sounded very miserable. And Catelyn couldn’t even be some sort of moral support because she was just as miserable.

“I bet it’s because I’m living with a divorced man” she said. “This is the gods’ punishment. That is what my father would say.”

“Can your father tell the gods that we are parents and nothing more?” Ned muttered.

Her father did absolutely not believe that they only lived together to take care of the kids. In truth, it seemed like no one believed it. Especially Edmure. He wouldn’t shut up about it. But it was true. They had lived together for almost six months, and they had done very well. They had made it work. It had been a bit strained in the beginning, but as time passed it had gotten better and better. And there had been no relapses. Not even a kiss. She was proud of herself. If they had managed to see each other every day for so long without acting on a single little thought they could probably manage it all the way through. It would be empty though, when the kids were older and they could part again.

”Could you get some towels from upstairs?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, darling.”

She stopped and turned to look at him. He looked back at her, didn’t seem to realize what he had just said.

“Darling?” she asked, chuckling.

He sighed very deeply and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m very tired, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.”

She really didn’t mind. He could keep on slipping, she would enjoy every word. As long as it didn’t go further than that they were fine. Hopefully. She didn’t love Ned. She didn’t. She couldn’t after what had happened. But would that completely erase everything that had been before? No, it wouldn’t.

~*~

The floor was very water damaged. Gods, they had been living in that house for six months and they already had to deal with water damage in the kitchen. They would have to tear out the floor to check for further damage and replace it. And they needed a new dishwasher.

They had dried up as well as they could and carried out the table, the chairs and the carpet to the living room so that there wouldn’t be any mold. Once the time was reasonable they would have to call someone that could do the work needed in the kitchen.

But still all Ned could think of was the way she had smiled when he had accidentally called her darling. He really hadn’t meant it, it had been an honest mistake. They weren’t together, they definitely couldn’t call each other that. And still she had smiled. Damn her.

“So what are we gonna do while we can’t use the kitchen?”

Catelyn laid flat on her back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Her hair was like a fiery cloud around her head. None of them had been eager to go back to bed after that so they had just sat in the living room. There was still more than two hours until they had to get the boys up and get them ready for school. And he had to go to work. Catelyn was on maternity leave, but they would switch in two months so that she could go back to work.

“I’ll talk to Ashara, see if she can take Jon even though it’s not her week” he said. “I think being able to properly feed a kid is bare minimum and we currently can’t check that box.”

Ashara probably wouldn’t object to that. She wasn’t too happy about that Jon lived in the same house as Catelyn every other week. She was pretty pissed about it, actually. Understandably. Rightfully. Not that she really liked that Jon was with him every other week either, but that she had to agree to.

“If I ask I think Edmure could have Robb with him until we have it fixed. And if he can’t, my parents probably can. It shouldn’t take too long, should it?”

“I guess that depends on if the floor is the only damaged part.”

Catelyn closed her eyes and sighed.

“It better be. It better fucking be.”

A tired smile appeared on her lips when she opened her eyes again. Both Robb and Sansa had her eyes. A wonderful blue shade that wasn’t like anything else.

“I guess it will be just you, me and the little lady upstairs for a while then” she said as she rolled to her side so that she could look at him where he sat in his armchair.

And what exactly did she mean by that? It was a true, and maybe that was all she meant. But she could also mean something wildly different. Or maybe he was just overthinking it. That was most likely it. There was nothing.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, still smiling.

How breathtakingly beautiful you are, was what he wanted to say at first. That was not what he said. Because saying that was a bad idea. They lived together for the sake of the kids. Nothing else. But he could acknowledge that she was pretty, he wasn’t blind.

He had not forgotten what she had done. No, it still stung whenever he thought of it. And that was almost every time he looked at Robb. But a part of his mind was betraying him. And that part did backflips whenever she smiled at him. Did she feel the same? Was there some part of her mind that did the same? He couldn’t help but wonder. Wondering would do no harm to anyone.

“Nothing” was what he said in the end.

“Liar” she chuckled. “I know you, I could tell it wasn’t nothing.”

“Nothing of importance” Ned tried and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Though it was important. Very important. But he couldn’t let her know what it was.

“Oh it looked to be incredibly important. And don’t tell me it was about the kitchen, I know it was not!”

“Terribly nosy today, are we?” he asked and rolled his eyes.

“Every time you leave like that I want to get into your head and see what you’re thinking of. But I can’t so you need to tell me.”

Ashara had said the same half a million times.

“Do I now?”

“It would make me happy.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

She sat up, looked deeply into his eyes. All he could do was look back at her, trying to keep his heart from beating so fast. It was the lack of sleep, he decided. He didn’t need much sleep, but he had slept even less than usual that night. That was why his body reacted the way it did. He did not love Catelyn Tully. He couldn’t. His feelings for her were dead.

“No, you’re not” she said after a moment.

“No, I’m not.”

She got up on her feet and stretched. He wasn’t supposed to watch her the way he did and still he couldn’t turn his eyes away. He didn’t love her, but denying that there was some attraction still left wouldn’t help anything. She was pretty. And he knew way too much about her to not think of it sometimes.

“I think I’ll go back to bed, if I’m lucky Sansa will let me sleep a bit more.”

He wouldn’t have complained if the moment had lasted longer, but he couldn’t keep her there.

“You do that” he said.

Maybe it was good if he went back to bed too. He did have a day of work ahead of him, being as well rested as possible would probably be good.

As Catelyn walked past him she leaned down and kissed the top of his head. It was a quick motion, over in a second. But Ned was so startled by it that he didn’t know what to do.

“Goodnight” she said with a smile and then she walked upstairs.

~*~

Had she overstepped? Maybe. But she had wanted to kiss him so badly after their conversation that the thought of not touching him in some small way had felt unbearable. Just earlier that night Catelyn had told herself that as long as it didn’t go any longer than an accidental affective term here and there it would be fine. And then she had immediately initiated physical contact that was more than platonic. What was she doing? She didn’t love him, she couldn’t love him. It wasn’t good for anyone. It would be better if she just stopped feeling so much.

He was most likely still angry with her for what she had done. They had not talked about it yet, but she knew. And she did deserve that and pressuring him wouldn’t make it better. And she had told herself that it wouldn’t end well if they slept together. But what was actually the worst case scenario? He wasn’t married anymore, she had no secrets, they already had kids together. And the chance of getting into a fight was there even without the sex. They were basically living like a married couple already, sleeping with him wouldn’t really change anything.

“Self control, Catelyn Tully” she muttered to herself. “You said you wouldn’t so you won’t.”

She had gone so long without those feelings. Everything had gone so well. And then they put their claws into her once more. But she would resist. She had not acted upon it and it would continue that way. For everyone’s best. Because they had not talked about anything. Even though they were living peacefully they had really not solved anything. And she would not do that to him, she would not take another step forward until she was sure of that he was fine and they had all cards on the table. They probably would never have. And that had to be okay. Because she had fucked up in gigantic proportions, and she could not expect him to be okay with it. One reaps what one sows. And unfortunately she had sown some bad seeds.

But it was hard seeing him. She would not say it wasn’t. Though she kept up a good expression. Like the good person that she was. Or at least half decent person. Maybe calling herself a good person after she had slept with a man she knew was married was taking it a bit too far.

Edmure of course found it incredibly funny when she explained the situation to him in the morning. She probably would have called him a number of things if not Robb and Jon had been in the same room. Their unusable kitchen really wasn’t funny at all.

“Could Robb stay with you and Roslin while we get the kitchen fixed?” she asked, using all her energy to keep calm. “It really would help a lot.”

“Of course” Edmure said

She breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief passed a second later when Edmure kept on talking.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean? We’re gonna see if there’s more water damage and get the floor changed.”

“That was not what I meant.”

She could hear his smirk. Had he been there she would have smacked the back of his head, but she couldn’t do that.

“Then what did you mean?”

“Oh you know... if Robb is with me and Jon is with Ned’s ex-wife... the house will be almost empty except for you two.”

Catelyn was thoroughly tired of him and his remarks. But that one was at least partly on her, she had actually asked.

“If I murdered you no one would judge me” she hissed, in a voice that was low enough for Robb and Jon not to hear her.

“The law, sweet sister, would judge you.”

“I’d take twenty years in prison just to be rid of you.”

“Your man at home wouldn’t be very happy though, would he?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“I’ll pick Robb up after work. Love you.”

“Idiot.”

And then she got the boys ready for school. Jon accepted her help without complaining but in his grey eyes she saw how he disliked that it wasn’t his mother helping him. Robb seemed oblivious of it though, he talked just as much as he always did. About most everything. Ned just chose to not acknowledge it.

He felt bad for what he had done, she knew that. He probably regretted it as well, but she didn’t allow herself to think too much about that. It was as it was. And dwelling upon whether Ned regretted it or not wouldn’t take her anywhere. They had their baby. So at least something good had come out of it.

Once Ned and the boys were out the house was oddly quiet. Sansa cooperated perfectly that day so she wasn’t too much trouble. Catelyn spent the calm hours looking into what would be best for their water damaged kitchen. Once that was done she packed Robb’s things so that it would be done when Edmure came to pick him up. She glanced at Jon’s side of the room. Could she pack his things too? Or would that be overstepping? She wasn’t trying to replace Ashara. Not in the least, she knew her place. It would just be easier if she packed for him too so that he was ready when Ned was going to drive him to Ashara. Surely no one could be too angry at that? In the end she decided to do it. No one could blame her for her intentions, could they?

“Thank you, Catelyn” was what Jon said when she handed him his bag.

At least he had stopped with calling her Ms. Tully. That was always something. And he didn’t seem to feel much about it at all.

“You’re welcome.”

“Has Sansa been nice today?” he asked.

Catelyn was surprised by that question. Not that Jon didn’t care for Sansa, he was very sweet with her. And he sounded very proud over it whenever he talked about her. But he very rarely talked more than strictly necessary to Catelyn.

“Yes, today she’s been very nice.”

“Good.”

“Then maybe she’ll sleep better tonight” Ned said.

“Let’s hope so.”

For the sake of Catelyn’s well-being. After she had gone back to bed she had barely slept a second because Sansa had decided that sleeping was overrated. Just then the doorbell rang and Robb practically came flying down the stairs. He reacted to the doorbell like a dog. So even though Catelyn, Ned and Jon were in the hall they let Robb open the door. It was Edmure, as expected.

“Hello everyone!” he said as he stepped inside, grinning like an idiot.

“Edmure” Ned muttered for a greeting.

Just as Jon usually avoided Catelyn when it was possible, Ned avoided Edmure when it was possible. He got very uncomfortable around her brother. And it wasn’t strange considering Edmure didn’t have any limits. She had just learned to live with it.

“Edmure. No” Catelyn said when he opened his mouth to answer.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“It’s better if you don’t say anything at all.”

“How do you stand living with her?” Edmure asked Ned.

Ned pretended not to hear that. Maybe he barely could stand living with her. It didn’t matter. As long as they were friendly for the children the rest didn’t really matter. But the thought of him disliking her felt worse than she wanted to admit.

Jon slipped past Edmure and went outside to wait for Ned while she made sure Robb had everything he needed.

“Give Uncle Edmure hell from me, will you?” she said as Robb picked up his bag.

“I promise” he smiled.

“That’s unfair!” Edmure exclaimed.

She pulled Robb into a hug.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

It wasn’t often she was separated from Robb more than a few days at a time. When she thought of it she couldn’t remember if it had ever happened. Surely it must have, but she still didn’t like it when he was with Edmure or her parents for too long. She had to keep reminding himself that he was getting big. There wouldn’t be many years until he no longer wanted to be with her. But he had been her only child for so long, it was hard.

She let go of Robb and expected him to run outside after Jon, but instead he turned to Ned.

“You take care of her” he said, serious as death. “And make sure of that she doesn’t worry so much.”

Both Catelyn and Ned stopped at that. He glanced at her for just a second, then he looked back at Robb. She wanted to say something to Robb, but nothing came out.

“I promise to do that” Ned responded, sounding just as serious as her son.

“Good.”

Then Robb walked out the door. The sweet boy.

“I shouldn’t be too long” Ned said. “And I’ll buy food on the way home.”

“Sounds good” she said. “Bye.”

And, seemingly without thinking of it, he leaned down and kissed her. It was just a peck, quick, as if it was a routine. Something they did every time one of them left the house. But it was a kiss all the same. And Catelyn didn’t know what to do.

She backed away a step, just to do something. Ned realized what he had done and she had never seen a more panicked face in her life. She didn’t really know how she felt. Mostly shocked. She had not imagined that their first kiss in over a year would be like that. She had not imagined there would be a first kiss at all. Or, well, she had imagined it more than a few times. But she hadn’t actually believed it would ever come true.

“What are you doing?” she asked, unsure of what else to say.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I was doing” Ned apologized.

When he had apologized for calling her “darling” he had just sounded tired. At the moment all she could hear was pure panic. And she knew that he genuinely had no idea of why he had done it. He was just as shocked as she was.

“Cat, really, I have no idea of why I just did that. And I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to– oh my gods, Edmure, shut up!”

While all that had happened Edmure had been laughing hysterically in the background. But she had not really been aware of it until just then. Her attention had been directed towards Ned and the fact that he had kissed her.

“Do you really want me to believe that you two are not together?” he practically howled. “You don’t accidentally kiss someone, you do that often!

She really couldn’t deal with him at the moment.

“Get out.”

“You take good care of my sister now, Ned, give her everything you know she likes.”

“Shut your seven times damned mouth and get out!”

He actually did so, still laughing to himself, so that was a small relief.

“You know there’s nothing to forgive” she said to Ned once the door was closed. “But that was very... out of the blue. To say the least.”

She had thought of doing that about a hundred times since he came home, but she had never been even close to acting on it. And then he just kissed her out of nowhere. Was it because he wanted to kiss her?

“I know.”

~*~

He was undoubtedly the stupidest person he knew. He had not been aware of that he had done it at first. But then she had looked at him with wide eyes and asked him what he was doing. And Ned hadn’t even known what he had been doing. That was the second time that day he had done something like that. What was happening?

Despite the initial question she didn’t seem upset about it. Mostly confused. And he had to admit that he was confused as well. He had thought of kissing her before, but had never acted on it. It had only been a thought, safe deep in his mind, and never something that would be reality. Or that was what he had thought. And then he had kissed her.

“Go” Catelyn sighed. “We can talk more when you get home.”

“Are you sure it’s alright? I really didn’t mean to do that to you” he said.

He wouldn’t want her to think of him like that. And he would rather die than do something to her against her will.

That actually brought a smile to her face.

“Yes. No need to worry, it was a mistake. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

For some reason that thought made something twist in his chest. Pretending it never happened would probably be the best. But still. It had been a mistake but he knew that he wouldn’t have objected to it happening again. But that clearly wasn’t what she wanted. And they still had not figured anything out. Building things on top of a broken base was a terrible idea. But did he really want to fix that base? He didn’t know. If they fixed it the temptation would be even bigger. And more temptation really wasn’t what they needed. They needed to move on despite that the conditions for that were bad.

“Yeah.”

“Jon is waiting for you” she said.

“And so is Edmure, most likely.”

Edmure would never let them hear the end of it. As if though the rest hadn’t been enough. He had asked Ned how he could stand living with Catelyn. Living with Catelyn was quite easy, Ned’s biggest question was how Catelyn had managed to stand out with Edmure for so long.

“No offense, but I really don’t like your brother” he said.

Catelyn laughed.

“I assure you, no one finds my brother more annoying than I do.”

“I actually might beat you on that one.”

“You definitely don’t. Now go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sighed and almost pushed him towards the door when he turned to leave.

“You’re such a dork, I can’t take this.”

But she was smiling. That beautiful smile that made her shine. He had been afraid that he wouldn’t see that smile for a while after that mistake. But he did. And he loved that smile.

“Bye” he said as he stepped outside.

She only shook her head and closed the door behind him. To his great relief Edmure was not waiting for him. He had never been happier about being wrong.

The ride to Ashara’s went fine. Jon talked a little bit about how school had been, what he had learned and what they were going to do on Monday. Ned treasured those moments with his son. Because he knew that once he got older he wouldn’t be as happy anymore. He would most likely hate his father for what he had done.

Ashara had stayed in their house after the divorce. And despite that he had lived there for years it felt weird when he walked up to the door with Jon. The little boy bounced forward with his bag in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other. It only took Ashara a few seconds to open.

“Hey, sweetheart!” she said and pulled Jon into a tight hug which he happily returned.

“Hi, Mom!”

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too!”

Before he would have been a part of that. Just a bit more than a year ago. But he wasn’t. Because of his own idiotic mistakes. Or could he really call it a mistake when he did not regret it? He had his daughter, Sansa. The most lovely little girl ever. He could not regret that. Even though he wished Ashara would not have been hurt. She deserved better than to be hurt in the way he had hurt her. But he had done it, he had gone to Catelyn knowing what it would do to his wife.

“Is Dad going to come inside?” Jon asked and looked up at his mother.

“No. Dad isn’t coming inside.”

That she could keep her face from going hard when she said that was a miracle. But no matter how much she wanted to kill him she would smile for their son. Just like he would smile for Robb no matter what his mother had done.

“You can go inside though, Jon” Ashara said and ran a hand through the boy’s hair. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Okay” Jon said and turned to Ned. “Bye, Dad!”

“Bye, Jon.”

Ashara waited for Jon to get inside and then she turned to him as well.

“How is your daughter?” she asked, her tone neutral, as if they were speaking about the weather.

“She’s fine. Healthy.”

“Good. And how is her mother?”

“She’s fine as well.”

Talking about it was hard. He had created all that on his own, but still talking about it was hard. He had hurt people for Cat, including Cat, and then she had hurt him as well in the process. It was so much hurt. So much pain that had been unnecessary and avoidable. But they were human, they did stupid things for all sorts of reasons. That was the only explanation he had, because it didn’t really make sense. He had tried to make sense of it all and had realized that he understood very little. He had loved Cat, he had loved Ashara, he loved his children. Had it all been for love? No, that wasn’t it. How could it have been for love if he hurt people he loved?

Ashara looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and it hadn’t rained in days.

“Catelyn” she said after a moment of silence. “I wish I could like her. She seems very likable. Maybe we could have been friends if it had not been for that she decided to go for my husband. Or maybe you’ll be her husband soon.”

He could hear the question in her words.

“No” he sighed. “And it will stay that way.”

Ashara chuckled.

“You know, that kinda pisses me off. Fine if you had left me for someone you loved more, but now you just left me.”

“I asked for a divorce because you deserve better than someone who cheats on you. I didn’t leave you, I wanted you to have better than me. Staying in the marriage would have been unfair, I couldn’t do that to you. And when my daughter came into the picture I had to do it for her as well.”

He had loved them both, and because of that he had let Ashara down. She deserved so much better. He deserved someone who wasn’t weak for some old flame, who loved her and her alone.

“Then why even sleep with her in the first place? If you couldn’t do that to me?”

He had asked himself that question a thousand times. He had known that he would ruin his relationship with Ashara, and still he had done it. Why?

“Because I’m weak” he ended up saying. “Because sometimes I’m a bad person. I have no excuses and no good reasons for doing what I did. But I’m sorry.”

He had told Catelyn that as well, even though it felt like it had been ages since then. They were weak. They had always been. But they had to put an end to it.

“As you should be.”

“I am. Truly.”

Ned wasn’t the best at expressing things, he was well aware of that flaw, but he really was sorry for putting Ashara through that. Divorce had been the only reasonable thing to do, but they had not needed to get to that point if he had not cheated in the first place. But it had been Catelyn. And Catelyn was... Catelyn. His Cat.

“That’s always something, I suppose” Ashara said. “Well, good luck with the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

It was a relief when she followed Jon inside and closed the door. Ned had not expected to have that conversation, and it had been difficult. All of it was difficult. Oh how Ned wished it could have been different. In what way, he had no idea. Because the mess had given him his children, and he couldn’t regret that. Without Ashara he wouldn’t have had Jon, and without Cat he wouldn’t have had Sansa. And Robb.

He liked Robb. The boy was so much like his mother, there wasn’t a trace of Ned in him. And he wished he could have known Robb from the beginning, he wished he could have been a proper father to him. There probably would have been more of him in Robb if that had been the case. If Catelyn had let that happen.

He still couldn’t understand it at all. Why she had decided that keeping their son a secret was a good idea, and it made him both angry and sad. But some part of Cat had always been a mystery, some part of her he would never understand. She was human, she did illogical things all the time. And even though it was hard to accept that he had to, because what had been done had been done. Nothing could change it.

When he got back in the car he noticed that Catelyn had sent him a message.

My mom came here because Edmure told her about the kitchen

That didn’t exactly make Ned overjoyed, Cat’s family had no love for him. But her mother was probably the one he got along with best out of all of them. Her father didn’t even try to hide his dislike and her siblings either made jokes or just pursed their lips at him. Not that his family loved Catelyn particularly much, it was just Lyanna. The rest of them seemed weary.

Is she staying for dinner?

No but she’ll be here when you come home. Just thought you wanted to know

Thanks for the heads up

No problem

He sighed and leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes for a moment. It really wasn’t his day. But it couldn’t get any worse, right?

~*~

this is so much fun to write and people were so engaged in it last time, so i hope i didn’t disappoint and that i can deliver on the same level as last time this was a thing on my blog

Thanks for reading <3

#ned stark #catelyn tully #catelyn stark #ned x cat #robb stark #jon snow #edmure tully #ashara dayne #consequences #dealing with the consequences #more memes might come when I'm not insanely tired because it's the middle of the night

29 notes · View notes

shyrose57 · 4 years ago

Note

2nd part than.

8: (This ones longgggg) Their rooms all have the same beige (like brown mushroom color) walls and floors. As their not allowed to change that. But Watson has some bookshelves in his room along with a old adventurer cape that goes in front of his body and hangs to his ankles (Item-Ya Adventurer Cape is a perfect example. Idk the actual name for the kind of cape it is), some display cases featuring his strongest bows and arrows, along with a sword and axe, along with pictures of the group toghere and pictures from his travels on the walls, he has a single lone desk that is only used when designing new bows or arrows. Ran also has bookshelves, but his is bigger and takes up a whole wall, he also as a winter cape with fur on its shoulders hung up (he lived in a snow biome for a little while and made the cape himself), along with a single weapon case that features a lone damaged neitherite sword, he also has chests stacked along a wall filled with random stuff that he sometimes gives as gifts or uses to throw at people. Jackie has a few paintings and posters in his room, along with the only carpet in any bedroom (that he totally didnt steal from Grievous), a panting easel, he has a single display case in his room that displays the sword Porkius gave him for winning, theres also pictures of the group toghere and a small chest next to his bed filled with things that belongs to someone in the group. Grievous has a small bookshelf (one book is a naming book Watson jokingly gave him), a chest filled to the brim with blankets and pillows (cause for him comfort is a necessity), he also has a desk that he tends to fall asleep at when doing literally anything on it. Everyone also has a good sized wardrobe somewhere in their room that is filled with different outfits and w statue stands with either iron armour or empty. There is also a four-way-bunkbed in the living room/area, they typically use it when someone is having or had a very bad day and needs comfort, or when Jackie's separation anxiety is bad and needs to sleep with everyone nearby.

Ran loves reading and sometimes gets mad when someone intrupts his reading. Watson loves designing new bows and arrows and just designing weapons in general (Grievous does too and helps him sometimes). Jackie likes to paint and has a interest in adventuring one day. They are well known but only in Subbin and surrounding cities. Though word does travel about them at times which can bring people to Subbin. They have 2 titles actually! First is used in typical matches, while the second is used in more formal or serious matches (like those for general). Ran: The Enderman, Partikel Tari (Dancing Particles, referencing how when he fights when serious its like he's dancing as he teleports around the field). Watson: The Archer, Multi (Referencing how he has more experience than anyone in the use of all kinds of weapons and can quickly adjust to situations). Grievous: Multi-Named, Unpredictable (referring to how he is by far the most unpredictable person in serious battles). Jackie: The Child, Diremehake (Underestimated, referring to how he gets underestimated a lot during any battle). They get recognized quite often and get called their stage names, when they dont want to deal with people recognizing them they often either yell at them to go away or just run away.

9: They do all of the above! It depends on the match up (Jackie and Watson stay out of eachothers way mostly, Ran and Grievous make it one on one, and Ran and Jackie take them out quick). Oh the first time Ran threw Jackie was hailours. You could hear Watson screaming from the stands in fear and Jackie just head-butted the guy in the stomach. Then when Jackie recovered he just yelled for Ran to throw him again, and once again you could hear Watson screaming no and threats at them from the stands. Ran agreed and threw Jackie at the last person, who he just bear hugged as he hit and held them down. Then after the battle Watson smacked the two and chastised them.

10: At first he drops stuff and trips over his feet on a regular basis. But after about 3 weeks he fully regains his balance, and is able to finally walk without tripping at the start. While the attempts at bonding do work to get Ranbob and Cletus closer the two never get as close as the rest. Neither can really name what's stopping them from getting closer though. For the first week people need to constantly remind Ranbob to do all of those things. As he thinks the constant hunger, thirst, and tiredness is all normal when its not and their trying to get him to understand that. And while he eventually starts to do it himself, theres still some nights where he doesnt eat or drink or sleep. They just leave the two in the house, but later they do start to expand the house a bit to fit the new addition. He does not get his own place up, he just gives up after some time. He doesn't fall asleep out there to often thankfully, but since the house keeps falling on him he does get cuts and bruises quite often. He gets stuck in a rain storm only 2 times which isn't bad, but he does get semi-bad burns from them sadly that Benjamin has to sit him down for and have Charles distract him for long enough to wrap his wounds properly. And it only took Benjamin like 4 weeks before he finally got fed up and forced him inside and had him stay with them. He has dealt with a storm before when he was young! But it was when he was about 12 so its been a long while.

11: He spends all of his free time glaring at them. And for the first few days whenever he sees someone from his group hanging around his brothers, he'll go over and pick em up and just carry them away. The fishermen worry for a bit that Ran may hurt them, but Watson assured them that Ran knows the two groups like eachother and wouldn't hurt them incase that could hurt his families feelings.

12: Ranbob is extremely happy about potentially getting new members of his family! And eagerly tries to talk with them. But Ran is far less happy and actively avoids them (and drags his family away at times).

13: At the start they have no idea where their going. But when Grievous brings up about Rans damaged sword they decide to find a nether portal so they can find whats needed to repair his sword! And Watson decides on the way he can show them all the different biomes in the world, which Jackie is extremely excited for.

14: If the fishermen get separated from Ranbob for too long he actively goes and searches for them. And refuses to stop until he finds them. When upset Ran loves to pick up members of his Haunting, though he doesnt do them often as he knows his Haunting doesn't like it when he does it to often. He and Ranbob also pick up blocks though as it's a comfort action and soothes them. Cuddles piles do happen! They happen more for Ranbob to comfort him after a nightmare or just a bad day, or when he basically relapses and wants to go back to Dream. But cuddle piles are more rare in Rans group, as cuddle piles only happen when anyone is doing really badly mentally or physically and just need comfort, or when they all just need some comfort. But their much more sentimental and have more meaning than Ranbobs groups.

15: Oh definitely. I forget if I included it when I first introduced my Au. But soon after Ran escaped Mizu, he was hunted for his pearl and respawn ability. Though he killed the people hunting him. Every year he was out of Mizu and every year before he entered Subbin he was hunted by multiple groups. He's become legend just for avoiding so many groups and killing a vast majority of them. He's known as the "Green Eyed Enderman." and is a top goal amongst hunters. There are some times Ran got jumped in Subbin for being a hybrid but he quickly defeated them.

Karl has played his role in this! Though maybe I could make it so he comes in later on during a really difficult part between the brothers, and helps out. Using his own experiences in the SMP and seeing what ruined relationships like brothers does to someone and others, to make sure their relationship doesn't stay so broken and hurt so many people. Maybe at the end I'll have them go back and face Dream so Ranbob (and even Ran slightly, with how Dreams presence affected him) can finally be completely free. As of rn no one has a pet. But that question made me really want to give someone a raven and idk who. I want to have bits of the other Tales in it! Im not quite sure how yet but I want this to be a mostly Tales ONLY au (no main SMP stuff unless needed or necessary) as the Tales don't have enough love. He does write down the experience he had with the Dream Experience and writes down very important things, but other than that he leaves it behind.

Im really happy to hear that you like my au. I love world and story building a lot and can't control how much I write sometimes, again im sorry this is so long and I'll do my best to not make anything this long ever again. Sorry if this bothered you

8: Sounds pretty interesting, overall. Was Watson-as his cape suggest-perhaps an adventurer? And he designs his own bows and arrows? Very cool. What kind of things does he come up with? Ran also sounds like he’s traveled a bit. He knows how to sew? Has he ever made anything for anyone else? Where did he get his sword? Jackie’s got a carpet? Very nice, he deserves it. And a painting easel? How good is he at painting? Or is it more of something he’s just trying? Grievous sounds like he could build a very good pillow fort, and honestly, good for him. How often do they camp out in the bunk bed room?

Ran not liking being interrupted is understandable. Does he ever read to anyone, or is it more some alone time for him? Grievous and Watson must design some terrifying weapons. Where is Jackie looking at adventuring to? Anywhere specific, or just around? And what language(s) is Ran and Jackie’s secondary titles in? Latin?

9: Very smart of them, means it’ll be harder to pick up a pattern. And hearing about Ran tossing Jackie-I’m laughing. I’m not going to lie, kind of assumed it was planned pre-match, but hearing that they just decided to throw him? Watson’s reaction? Just...hilarious. Was Jackie even prepared for it, or did Ran just toss them without warning? Honestly, it kind of sounds like people might come to the Pit for the comedy just as much for the fighting. If this was the kind of thing that went down, I’d probably come to watch.

10: Oh no, Ranbob! At least he’s getting better. So Cletus and Ranbob never quite click, huh? Well, that’s alright. Sometimes people just don’t. Doesn’t mean they don’t care about each other! Ranbob thinking it’s normal, oh god. Does he ever say something along those lines, or get confused why the others are so worried about it? If so, how do the fishermen react to that question, and how does Ranbob react to the answer. As for the house, well. He can say he tried if nothing else-and hey, funny story to share with the gladiators later on. It’s good that he wasn’t caught in too many storms, less that he was caught in some at all. I’m sure that was a big help in convincing Benjamin to finally just put his foot down, which, honestly good for him. You go, Benjamin!

11: Ran, bud, chill. I like how you said his free time though-my first thought was that he immediately finished a book and went over to glare at them. Probably not true, but a hilarious mental image. Very glad Watson has reassured the fishermen-how did Ranbob react to that worry of theirs?

12: Ran’s actions are pretty understandable, but still a bit sad. How does Ranbob feel about them? Is he resigned? Determined? Upset?

13: Adventure! Into possibly dangerous places! How fun! Can’t wait to see where it goes. What do they see? What’s the first stop? How long are they heading off?

14: He won’t stop? Like, potentially will work himself into the ground won’t stop? Ran just picks up his members like blocks. And, oh boy. Ranbob wanting to go back to Dream? That’s just. Oof. Very much oof. How do the fishermen deal with that, and how do they feel about it?

15: Ran sounds like he’s had a less than enjoyable time out there. Do these hunters ever go after them once they leave Subbin? Do they target Ranbob? I mean, he’s another Endermen hybrid, and one who definitely isn’t as skilled as Ran, or as used to them. He’d be a much easier target.

So Karl’s gonna come in towards the end. Nice. Ran was also affected by Dream? How so? Obviously less than his brother, but did he ever notice? Did Ranbob? Sounds like it’d be a good final showdown, over all.

As for that pet raven, may I offer some suggestions? You could give one to Jackie and Grievous, so it can help them cause havoc, or maybe one to Benjamin, so it can help him keep an eye on his dorks. Maybe even Cletus, to help snag things, and mess with people, or Isaac, maybe to help find things. Even Watson, or one of the brothers, to help keep watch over their groups. Really, you could give any of these guys a raven. Depending on said bird’s personality, it could fit anywhere. Just depends on what you want to do with it.

I completely agree with you, we need more Tales AUs. Ranbob and Ran did come from what was basically a city of historians, perhaps you could use that to tie in the other Tales? Or even have them across the old ruins of areas on their adventure. Even chunk in more time travel, via Karl or otherwise, if you want to toss in more characters.

Ranbob pretty much starts over then. Good for him. How does Ran feel about that? Actually, who was Ran’s idol, and his general life on Mizu, before the Dream incident?