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moeitsu · 3 months

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp...

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now

“What began as a journey had become a retreat into the unknown. We were backing into the abyss; so worried our sins would follow us we didn’t bother watching where we walked. And behind us was a cliff.” ~ Elsa Dutton 1883

Arthur’s anger dissolved with the storm, replaced by a heavy sense of regret as he trudged back to camp that evening. All he wanted was to drown his shame in a few bottles of liquor, away from prying eyes, away from the disappointment he felt in himself. He hadn’t intended for Kate to see that side of him, not yet at least. And certainly not against a sickly innocent man. He let his anger and frustrations get the better of him. Like he switched on auto-pilot and let the outlaw in him take control. He worried now that Kate might actually leave, and he blamed himself for that.

Swiftly, he made his way to the crate of beer bottles behind the chuck wagon, grabbing a few before retreating to his tent. He craved solitude, a respite from the demands of camp life, from the weight of his own mistakes.

Seated on his cot, a beer wedged between his legs, Arthur opened his journal, the one constant in his life since Dutch and Hosea taught him to read and write. It was his confidant, his sanctuary in a world of chaos. John always gave him shit for it growing up, calling him a pansy and constantly trying to snoop in his personal entries.

Despite being in a gang for most of his life, he still felt incredibly lonely. There weren't many people he would truly open up to. So his journal became that person. It was the one thing that did not judge him, ever. But even as he poured his thoughts onto the page, he longed for a human connection, someone to truly understand him.

Hosea and Dutch had been like parents to him, raising him from a young age in the ways of the outlaw. They had their flaws, but they had also shown him kindness and guidance when he needed it most. He always saw Hosea as his father, he would consider Dutch his father too, although he was more like an older brother at times. Hosea was probably the only person who truly knew Arthur, and saw the things he wished not to speak about. Neither parent was perfect by any means, and Arthur could recognize that. But even as an adult, there is still a child inside that longs for the comfort of a father.

It was that fatherly instinct that drove Hosea to Arthurs tent that night.

“Evening Arthur,” he greeted, holding open the tent flap, “may I come in?”

He put down his journal and nodded. Gesturing for Hosea to join him on his cot.

“I noticed Kate didn’t ride back with you, is she okay out in this storm?” He inquired.

Arthur smiled with a slight shake of his head, that's Hosea for you. Always worried about others, here he was checking on his son but was more concerned about the lady he left behind.

“I’m sure she’s fine, saw her heading into Valentine,” he answered, taking a sip of his beer. He handed one of the full bottles to Hosea as the older gentleman sat down.

“I take it things didn't go well then,” he said with a hint of sympathy.

Arthur sighed, “when do they ever.”

As they sat together in the dim light, the rain drumming softly on the canvas roof, Arthur felt a sense of comfort in Hosea’s presence. He didn’t need to explain himself, didn’t need to justify his actions. Hosea simply listened, offering silent support.

“I don’t know why I do it,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man was sick and weak, I should've just given him a warning.” Arthur concluded with a shake of his head.

Hosea sighed knowingly. “I think you can blame your fathers for that son,” taking a sip to clear his throat, “Dutch and I did what we thought was best at the time and well, you were quite impressionable when you were young. We used that to our advantage to turn you into a grade A outlaw.” He said gently with honesty.

Arthur chuckled at the memories of his youth, before John came along he was the golden child. He used to love it when Dutch would teach him how to pick locks, or when Hosea taught him a whole book of curse words. Had he not been the son of outlaws, his life would’ve looked very differently.

“We’ll always be thieves,” he mused with a hint of nostalgia, “only difference now is that the world don't want us no more.”

Hosea nodded, silently agreeing, “We're doomed just like every other creature on this rock Arthur,” he remarked with a wry smile. “I just wish I had acquired that wisdom at less of a price.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Arthur spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "I just wish I’d done things differently," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. His remorse mixed with his actions at the Downes ranch, and for every mistake he’s made in the past that led him here.

Hosea laid a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, a silent gesture of understanding. "We can't change the past, son," he said gently. "All we can do is learn from it and strive to do better in the future."

Arthur nodded, the weight of Hosea's words settling over him like a blanket of reassurance. "I don't want to be the kind of man who hurts others for no good reason," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I want to be better, for Kate, for everyone."

Hosea squeezed Arthur's shoulder affectionately before rising to his feet. “She’ll come around, son.” He offered a parting reminder, “underneath it all, you have a good heart.”

Before he disappeared into the night, Hosea turned back with a final piece of news. “By the way, your brother wants to speak with you about using that oil cart you found to rob the train tomorrow night.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “He ain’t my brother,” he muttered disdainfully.

Hosea chuckled. “Well, you two sure argue like brothers. G’night, Arthur.”

He tipped his head to the old man as he left, “night Pa.”

Arthur laid back on his cot, tucking his journal into his satchel when something small and round fell out and made a soft pitter on the ground. When he looked down he saw the peach pit, the one Kate gave him on her first night. He reached to pick up the small seed. His thumb ran over its hard wrinkles.

He held it tight to his chest, and silently promised he would make things right with Kate. If he ever saw her again.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, reveling in the freshness that lingered after the storm had passed in the night. The scent of newly sprouted grass and moist earth filled her senses, while dew-kissed leaves sparkled under the gentle caress of the rising sun. A light breeze danced around her, carrying the promise of spring on its wings. It felt like the start of something new as if the world itself was awakening alongside her. It was the perfect day for a ride.

She met Charles in the early morning, exactly where he said he’d be. Waiting for her to begin their journey into the wild lands in hopes of finding a fresh hunt. They were a few hours into their journey now, heading north into Ambarino to hunt cow elk. Just one 200 pound elk is enough to feed the entire camp for a month. Maybe more. It was a day's ride there and back, short enough to keep the meat fresh in time.

With a satisfied sigh, Kate exhaled the tension from her shoulders, “this is exactly what I needed Charles, thank you.”

Charles smiled warmly, guiding his horse closer to hers. "Thanks for joining me, Kate," he replied, his own gratitude evident in his tone.

With her face tilted to the sun, she savored the moment. Allowing Lorena to guide her. A silent trust shared between them, that her mare will take her where she needs to go. “You know, I always thought you preferred hunting alone. I never see anyone go with you.” Kate remarked, eyes still closed in bliss.

Charles nodded thoughtfully. "Arthur and I have gone together a few times, but other than that, I don't seek much company from the others," he admitted, his words tinged with honesty. It was clear that while he valued his fellow gang members, solitude was his preferred companion in the wild.

“That why you’re always so quiet?” She inquired, innocently.

Charles chuckled softly. "If the choice is folks thinking I'm dumb but not knowing for sure, and folks knowing I'm dumb because I sound like them, I think I'd rather keep them wondering," he explained with a grin. The confidence in his voice a testament to his strength.

Kate chuckled, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I get that. Sometimes it's better to keep people guessing," she replied. Under her breath she added, “I know some of those men can be pretty dumb,” loud enough for Charles to hear.

Charles exclaimed in frustration, “tell me about it! All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?”

Kate pondered for a moment, she still didn't know what happened all those weeks ago that drove the gang of outlaws here. It was the one piece of information they didn’t talk about around her. Perhaps Charles would share the missing pieces. “What happened to everyone to cause you to run?” Her tone colored with genuine curiosity.

As Charles recounted the events of that fateful day, Kate couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for what they must have been through. The gang did not like to talk about Blackwater, and the consequences must have been devastating.

"It was a fucking execution," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "We thought it would a simple job robbing a ferry, carrying payroll. But there were civilians too." Kate could already imagine where this led. $5000 for his head alone, the words echoed in her mind.

“We raised a lot of hell that day, and things got out of control. Next thing we know, the Pinkertons are on us along with the law. And everyone just starts shooting. I don't know which one of us shot first but that's all it took. There were passengers caught in the crossfire.” He shook his head with disappointment. She couldn't imagine the terror those innocent people must have felt as they found themselves caught in the chaos.

“Dutch he,” Charles hesitated, “he killed a young girl. Just to get the law off him. And no one batted an eye.” His voice heavy with emotion. Her stomach churned at the thought of such senseless violence. “We lost three good people, and John barely made it out alive.”

He turned, facing her, "I don't kill for fun Kate; I kill when I need to," he urged, his tone pleading. It was clear that he was grappling with the moral implications of their actions, and Kate couldn't help but admire his integrity in the face of such darkness. One so hauntingly familiar.

“Arthur came out different after Blackwater,” he added with a sigh.

“Being an outlaw can’t be easy,” Kate added, trying to lighten the mood. She understood the hardships and turmoil that came with senseless violence.

Charles huffed and shook his head at the memory, “easy certainly wasn't in the job description.”

As they rode on, the weight of their conversation hung heavy between them. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were all running from something far greater than the law. A feeling she was not immune to.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Their hunt had been successful, tracking and swiftly killing a massive elk. They settled in for a fire and camped near a lake for the night. Enjoying fresh fish for dinner. In the morning they tied their game to the back of Taima, and began their journey back to camp. Kate’s spirit felt lightened in a way, the two of them spent most of the night sharing stories. And she realized she and Charles had a lot in common. A gentle reminder that she is not entirely alone in her struggles.

The ride home went by quickly, and with the sun tickling the horizon, they arrived at the great plains of New Hanover, and eventually, the familiar overlook.

As they rode into camp, the air was thick with urgency, Miss Grimshaw's voice cutting through the chaos. "Alright girls, everything into the wagons, now!" she barked, her tone sharp.

Charles swiftly brought their kill to the chuck wagon, while Kate hurriedly dismounted and rushed to join the flurry of activity. The girls worked frantically, packing crates with blankets and clothing, fear etched on their faces.

"What's happening?" Kate asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Mary-Beth paused in her task, her expression grim. "Arthur and John got into trouble with the law in Valentine," she explained, her hands moving quickly. "Dutch says we need to leave, fast."

A surge of panic swept over Kate at the thought of Arthur and John in danger. "Did they get caught?" she asked, her heart pounding.

Mary-Beth shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, sympathy in her eyes. "But we have to go."

As Kate’s mind began to spiral with the worst outcomes imaginable, a voice rose above the commotion. Speaking of the man himself.

Dutch's voice cut through the chaos. "Charles!" he called out, his tone urgent. "Find Arthur at Dewberry Creek, we need a new hideout." Charles turned on his heel with a nod, mounting Taima and taking off back down the trail they came in on only a moment ago.

With his words she felt a sudden sense of relief, Arthur is okay. Their last conversation weighed heavy on her heart. And she would be damned if that was the last time they spoke.

Dutch's voice commanded attention once more. "When they give us the all clear, we move out! Let's get to work, people!" he shouted.

Mary-Beth and Tilly went back to their work and left Kate alone with her thoughts. She returned to her belongings, packing quickly. But her moment of respite was short-lived as a sickeningly familiar voice cut through the air like a bullet.

“Well hello Kate,” Micah said with disdain and arrogance.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit Micah,” Kate retorted, her patience wearing thin.

Micah advanced, his eyes blazing with hostility. "Funny how you show up right when trouble finds us," he taunted.

Kate scoffed, the idea completely absurd, “you idiots robbed a fucking train, did you seriously expect a welcome home party?” She shot back, her voice filled with sarcasm.

Micah's gaze narrowed. "We were set up in Valentine, someone ratted us out," he growled, his words dripping with bitterness.

“I was just hunting with Charles,” she explained, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice, she refused to play his game.

Micah approached with malice, his fist twitched at his side, ready to pull his pistol any moment. "Well Charles ain't here now,” he gestured around the camp, “and we think it was you," he hissed, the accusation cutting through the chaos.

Realization dawned on her that he was setting her up, but the reason why was still unclear. “And when Charles comes back he can testify to that,” she spat, turning to continue her packing.

He closed the distance between them with predatory grace. In one swift motion, he raised his pistol. Before Kate could react, the butt of the gun connected with her temple, sending a searing pain shooting through her skull. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she stumbled backward, the world spinning dizzily around her. Darkness threatened to engulf her.

As she struggled to regain her bearings, Micah loomed over her, a twisted smirk playing across his lips, “we’ll be long gone by the time they come back princess.”

With a sickening thud, Kate's head hit the ground, the impact reverberating through her skull. As the world faded into blackness, she felt herself being pulled into an abyss of darkness. The last sound echoing in her ears was the distant whinny of Lorena, a mournful cry that seemed to fade into the void.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The commotion of the camp kept her drifting in and out of consciousness for the next hour. She heard Abigail's voice call out to Kate in concern, and Micah snapped back warning her to keep her distance. She also realized her wrists had been bound along with her ankles, with Micah standing guard over her like a dog. Like she could run away in this state anyways.

The darkness began to creep in again, and in a moment she awoke and Micah was gone. It was almost dark and she was in a different spot now, away from the center of camp and behind the tree line. That fucking bastard tried to leave me here. She thought with bitterness.

In the midst of the chaos, a familiar voice pierced through the camp, but Kate's mind was still swimming in a fog of confusion. Wagons rattled as they hurriedly departed the overlook, leaving Kate struggling to make sense of the commotion. Summoning all her strength, she pushed herself up onto her knees, squinting through the haze.

Then, like a beacon in the night, Arthur's horse appeared, Belle’s white coat gleaming amidst the darkness. With a surge of relief, Kate locked eyes with Arthur, who rushed over to her side, his expression etched with concern.

Her consciousness flickered like a dim candle in the wind as she slowly regained awareness. The throbbing pain in her head was a harsh reminder of what had just transpired. Blinking away the haze, her vision blurry.

"Kate? Are you alright?" Arthur's voice cut through the fog, filled with concern as he took in the sight of her bound wrists and ankles. Swiftly dismounting Belle and pulling a knife from his belt to cut her free.

Her head throbbed as she recounted what happened and she felt sick in the stomach. She couldn’t stay with them anymore, not after this. Micah was a real problem, and if what Charles told her about Blackwater is true, then Dutch is likely the same.

“I’m okay,” she answered wearily, “Micah set me up,” a hint of fear mixed with rage creeped into her voice. Arthur helped her rise to her feet, just as the last wagons were leaving the overlook. Without missing a beat she turned to find her horse.

Arthur was slightly taken aback, unsure if she was still upset with him from the nights before, all while trying to make sense as to why Micah had set her up.

“I-I’m sorry Kate,” he pleaded, “I shoulda been here,” his voice was laced with remorse. His strides quickened as he closed the distance between them. Kate's heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice, but she knew she couldn't stay.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured, “but I have to leave.” She decided in the moment, ripping the bandaid clean off. She longed to stay with Arthur and the gang, but she no longer wanted part in this trouble. “Goodbye Arthur,” she bid him a solemn farewell.

“Kate,” he called out, desperation filling the air. He wanted to stop her, to grab her and beg her to explain what happened with Micah. But the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, she had made up her mind. So all he could do was stand and watch as she rode off.

She clutched at Lorena’s reins, taking off in the same direction as the wagons, intending to ride past them and make her way to Rhodes, hopefully putting enough distance between them so she could get her bearings and be on the move again. Her heart raced with adrenaline and disappointment. Things could not have taken a turn for the worst.

She used the darkness to her advantage, slipping away from the wagons as they took a path down following the railroad tracks, while Kate veered off towards the twin stacks. As she climbed altitude she watched the wagons below, specifically watching Arthur take off behind them, his mare flying through the train of carts and horses like a butterfly dancing between flowers.

She paused for a moment, letting herself consider that perhaps she wasn't just running away out of fear, but something else as well. She thought about the girls, and Charles, who had just become a dear friend after their hunting trip. She thought about Abigail, who must be clutching little Jack close to her heart at this moment, praying John will see his family out of this alive. Her last conversation with Arthur still ate at her heart, so many words went unspoken that she wished she had said that night.

Memories of her past came back in waves along with the painful throb of where she had been hit with Micah’s gun. Her fear, mixed with her disappointment and anger. A reminder of her own weakness.

Yet, she decided long ago that she would never live in that kind of world again, where the weak would rather guilt the strong than become strong themselves. This world doesn’t care what the weak want. This world eats the weak. Therefore, she became strong.

The sudden sound of gun fire dragged her from her thoughts, she rode farther up the slope looking for the source of the noise. She saw in the distance the tiny images of wagons and horses, and a group of raiders descending to their location..

Gripping the reins with such ferocity, Lorena reared on her hind legs as Kate spun her around and took off back down the slope. She would not let death sink its venomous teeth into the belly of another.

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nocturnalazura · 1 year

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Just a Little Celebration

Dabi x FemReader

Just a little birhtday post for our broken boy.

WC: 1883

Warnings: Oral (Fem Rec), Birthday sex

Summary: Dabi doesn't really celebrate his birthday, but you manage to convince him to have just a little celebration.

“Come on! It’s your birthday, let’s do something!” You chirp as you shake Dabi’s arm. He grunts and slaps at your hand. “I haven’t done anything for my birthday for years, now stop it.”

“Even more reason to do something now!”

“No.”

“Yes! Come on!” “Doll, I’m a known villain, what could we possibly do?”

“Ok, so maybe we can’t really go anywhere, but we can do something here! I can go to the store and get some stuff and cook whatever you want for dinner.”

“You can cook?” He questions as he peeks an eye open to look at you.

“I’m not going to win any awards or anything, but I’m not going to kill anyone with my cooking.”

“Fine. We can have dinner then.”

“And cake. You need a cake.”

“If cake will make you leave me alone and stop talking about my birthday then fine.”

Leaning over you kiss his cheek. “It will, at least for now. Katsudon okay?”

Dabi gives you a noncommittal nod and closes his eyes as he relaxes back onto the bed. Rolling your eyes at him, you quickly get up and grab your bag, heading off to the store to gather ingredients, a small cake and some of Dabi’s favorite snacks as a small surprise. Before you start the walk home a second idea hits you. Turning around, you head off further down the street of shops until you find the little lingerie shop tucked away in the corner. Grinning, you quickly disappear inside and pick out a blue set with black lace trim.

Happy with your findings, you make your way back home and check to make sure Dabi is still asleep before you get started on setting up his birthday surprises. Filling a basket with the snacks, you move on to a quick shower. Making sure to slip on your new lingerie before dressing in one of his shirts and a simple pair of leggings to not tip him off to what’s underneath. You take one last peek at Dabi, still passed out on your bed before getting to work on preparing dinner.

Just as you start to plate the food you feel warm hands slowly creep along your waist. You can’t help but smile as Dabi presses along your back, face tucked into the crook of your neck. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

“I was, but the food smelled good.” He mumbles into your neck.

“See I told you I could cook.”

“Just because it smells good doesn’t mean it’s going to taste good.”

“Keep up that attitude and I won’t give you your presents.”

“Doll, you didn’t have to get me anything. I don’t even celebrate this day.”

“Well I got you stuff so deal with it. There’s a basket of stuff on the table for you. Go look through it while I finish plating.”

Dabi lets out a small huff but lets you go and head over to the table to investigate the basket. The quiet sounds of bags of chips, instant ramen, and sweets rustling can be heard as he digs around. A small smile makes its way across your face as you listen to him mumble about the different foods you’d picked out. Grabbing the finished bowls of katsudon, you make your way over to the table and set a bowl in front of each of your seats.

“So? Like what I picked out?” You question as he pushes the basket to the side.

“Yeah, you got a lot of my favorites.”

“I know, I do pay attention to what you like.”

“I’m aware.” He says, pulling his bowl closer to him. “It actually looks good. Maybe you can cook.”

“I told you I can cook! Now stop being an ass before I take away your birthday dinner.”

He rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his food, nodding as the flavors erupt on his tongue. Smirking at his clear approval you take your own bite, humming happily at the taste. The two of you fall into a content silence as you focus on eating. There’s something very calming about watching Dabi be fully content that makes your heart flutter. Once you’re finished eating you set the dishes in the sink and turn to him.

“So, cake or your last present?” You question, leaning back against the counter.

“Mmm, last present I guess.”

Nodding, you walk over to him and quickly pull your shirt over your head and push down your leggings. “Last present it is.”

Dabi looks you over and eagerly pulls you into his lap, hands greedily grabbing at your ass. Resting your hands on his shoulders you smile down at him. Before you get a chance to say anything to him, he’s standing up and carrying you off to the bedroom. He unceremoniously drops you on the bed and crawls over you.

“I ever tell you how pretty you are?” He says as he leans down to kiss your neck.

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Always pick the prettiest things to wear too.”

“And I only wear them for you.”

“Better only wear them for me. I’ll roast anyone else who sees you like this.” He grunts before sinking his teeth into your neck.

You arch off the bed and moan as he squeezes your hip, teeth biting down a little harder. He grinds into you as he moves along your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. His hands slide up your torso and slip under the soft lace cups of your bra. Suddenly he sits up and pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it off to the side. He looks down at you then looks towards the kitchen.

“You said you got a cake, right?” He questions.

“Yeah, but uh can’t we do cake later?”

“Nah, I think I want some now.”

Before you can protest he’s climbing off the bed and heading into the kitchen to grab the little cake. You sit up in disbelief as he walks back in, already taking the lid off the little plastic container. He raises a brow as he looks at you and sets the container on the end table. Climbing back onto the bed he undoes your bra and tosses it off to the side.

“Oh, so this is how you want your cake?” You grin up at him as he grabs the cake and sets it next to the two of you. “You know, a few hours ago you didn’t even want to celebrate your birthday.”

“Yeah well things change. Now hush so I can enjoy my cake and present.”

Giggling, you fall onto the bed and nod at him. Dabi gives you a wide grin and swipes a finger through the frosting and smears it across the top of your chest. Leaning down, he runs his tongue along the line of frosting. Your body relaxes as he gathers more cake and smears it across your breasts. Cupping your breasts, Dabi eagerly leans down to lick off some icing, making sure to pay extra attention to your nipples as he moves. His tongue swirls around a nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, groaning around it as you arch up into him.

“Dabi, god that feels good.” You moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he switches sides. “It’s your birthday. I should be the one making you feel good.”

“And you will, I just want some more cake, then you can ride me like the good girl you are.”

“Deal.”

You can feel him grin against your breast before gathering more frosting and smearing it down your torso. Dabi follows it down, leaving open mouth kisses before licking away more frosting. He slowly clears all the frosting away and spreads your legs to fit himself between them. Giving you a quick grin he dives and licks a long strip up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it as his fingers dig into your thighs.

Looking down at him, you can’t help the loud moan that passes through your lips as he stares up at you with hazy blue eyes. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging softly as he sinks down a little more to lick along your folds again. He pulls you closer to your face, tongue swiping between your folds like you’re his favorite treat. His nose rubs and bumps against your clit as he goes.

“Dabi, Dabi! Gonna cum oh god.” You squeal, thighs shaking around his head.

“Good, that's kind of the goal here.” He grumbles against you.

“S-stop! I wanna cum with you in me!”

“I think that can be arranged.” That quickly gets his attention as he shoots away from your center and shoves his pants down. He flops onto his back and quickly pulls you over to straddle his waist. “Now it’s my birthday, and you said you’d take care of me.”

“Oh so now you want to celebrate your birthday?” You tease as you reach between the two of you to hold him steady.

Lining yourself up and drop down taking all of his cock in one go. Dabi chokes on a retort as your walls wrap tightly around him. Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself only a moment to adjust properly before you lift yourself up and drop down fast and hard. Planting your hands on his chest you lift yourself again and drop down, grinning as his hands squeeze your thighs in silent praise. Picking up your pace, you swirl your hips around and moan at the feeling of his piercings rubbing against your walls.

“Fuck, doll. You’re so fucking good, so fucking pretty.” Dabi moans.

“Yeah? You like when I ride you?”

“Fucking love it. Love you.” He groans out as he thrusts up into you.

“Love you too.”

Leaning down, you kiss him deeply as your walls clench around him, nails biting into his pecs. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room, mixing with your moans to create the perfect melody. You keep bouncing at a rough pace, occasionally clenching tightly around him when he hits just the right spot. Dabi’s hands sneak up your torso to cup your breasts, thumps circling over your nipples, occasionally tugging. Moaning loudly, you slip your own hand between the two of you to circle over your clit as you near your end.

“Dabi, I’m close. So fucking close.” You whimper.

“Go ahead, I’m not gonna last, doll.”

Nodding you sit up and circle your clit faster as you pick up the pace of your bouncing. Dabi meets your thrusts as they slowly start to lose their rhythm as your high gets closer and closer. Your walls spasm as his hips shift angle ever so slightly causing your orgasm to crash over you suddenly. Your walls clenching around him forces Dabi into his orgasm, cock twitching as he paints your velvet walls white. You collapse against his chest as you attempt to catch your breath.

“So do we do this every year for my birthday?” He mumbles as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Yeah, but only if we celebrate.”

“Alright, so maybe just a little celebration for my birthday will be fine then.”

“Happy birthday, Dabi.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha dabi #dabi bnha #mha dabi #mha smut #bnha smut

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reilly310 · 5 months

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Outlander: Blood of My Blood

art credit: @SimonWrightSays

I'm dusting off my blog for the first time in a looong time with some thoughts about the new prequel series.

I've been on the fence about the new series, but after learning that Claire's parents' story will be included, I found myself more intrigued. Then seeing this (amazing) sketch of young Jamie and Claire got my imagination flowing.

I'm mostly interested to see how the writers will integrate the two storylines, as I would think they'll have to do. Given at least one (and perhaps both) of Claire's parents can time travel:

Will one of them be from the past (her father, I presume) and, in a kind of reverse Outlander, meet/fall in love with the other in the future?

And/or will both of them travel back to Jamie's parent's time (purposely or by accident) and will they meet/be friends (or foes) of each other's for a time?

Will they give birth to Claire in the past or the present? Will Jamie and Claire know each other (or at least meet briefly) as very young children but be too young to remember that encounter/relationship? (See picture above..and yes, I know there's a 5 year age difference in OL but just indulge me here because that picture is so cute. Maybe, more realistically, when Claire is 5, they are present for Jamie's birth instead. Isn't one of the rules of time travel in OL that you have to have a connection to where you're traveling to? Since Claire went through the stones the first time by accident, could she have landed where/when she did because of that connection to Jamie / his family from her past even if she didn't consciously remember it?)

Do Claire's parents actually die in a car crash or was she just told this by Uncle Lamb as a way to explain their absence? Did they get stuck in the past instead and spend the rest of their lives trying to return to her? Do Jamie's parents find out their secret and try to help them in this endeavor to return to the future?

Or maybe they perish in the past and Uncle Lamb, a time traveler himself, brings Claire to the present to keep her safe.

Because (I don't think) there's any book reference to Claire's parents other than her mentioning how they died and that she doesn't really remember them, the possibilities related to their storyline are endless.

Having put these thoughts out into the universe, though, I'm likely setting myself up for disappointment if/when the series airs and does none of these things. However, a connection of some sort between the two couples will have to be established in order for the series to have a flow that makes sense and is not disjointed.

PS: I read the first 3 books and part of the 4th before setting them aside years ago, so I don't consider myself a book reader. Perhaps there's information in the later books that would make the potential connections I've imagined for this new series impossible. If so, please let me know.

PPS: . Do we know if this prequel is intended to be a limited series (like the Yellowstone prequel "1883") or a series with multiple seasons? If it's a limited series of 10 episodes, they might be able to get away with two separate storylines that merge in some way only at the end. I just don't think I would find it as intriguing as one that's interconnected.

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carcarcraziiv2 · 2 months

Note

hi!!!i wanted to do a request (im shaking as i write this bc this is my second time ever doing a request-) about Kayn having a crush on a reader that's part of Pentakill.Reader looks super mysterious and scary but in reality they're just shy and also have a crush on Kayn and both of them confess at the same time.Take your time and have a good day!!!

I am so glad you requested it! It's okay to be nervous! I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG I LOVE YOU AND I APOLOGIZE <//3

I LOVE THIS PROMPT- especially for someone who is in Pentakillllll like that is so exciting. I am so hyped for this! I hope you enjoy <3

Content / Warnings: Mature language (the 'b' word lol), Alcohol consumption. Not much else really....

Word Count: 1883

Kayn was never one to show his fanboy nature, even though everyone in Heartsteel already knew Kayn had a secret obsession- Pentakill. Specifically, the bands mysterious, cold and ominous bassist; you.

You on the other hand, although already being the bassist in a rock band, had somehow gained a reputation for being the "dark" or "moody" bandmember in comparison to Sona or Kayle. In reality though, you just liked keeping to yourself, rarely being the first one to speak, often sitting alone on the stage speakers or out back of the concert houses having a smoke before or after a show.

Regardless of the publics opinion of you, you loved your bandmates. You were just shy, so when Kayle approached you notifying you about a possible collab with your personal favorite band Heartsteel, you couldn't help but be incredibly anxious.

"What do you mean we are 'meeting' with them tomorrow," you inquired, glancing up from your book to see Kayle lean against the kitchen counter and take a drink from her cup.

"Oh, come on Y/N. Don't you like... oh which one was it?" She pauses and you take in a deep breath before letting out a sigh. "Kayn, right?"

You sit up from your spot and set your book down. Arching your brow and rolling your eyes at the winged woman, you chose to ignore her inquiry.

She scoffed before saying a little quieter, "Well Yone said Kayn likes our bassist. Guess it's not that big of a deal. I'll tell him we will pass on the meeting."

She began reaching towards her phone on the counter, causing you to pause mid-stretch and jump up to stop her.

"Wait!" you shrieked, cringing at yourself immediately thereafter.

"I knew it," Kayle smirked. "Our meeting is at noon by the way." As she walked away, you slumped back onto to the couch and let out another dramatic sigh.

Kayn was going to kill Yone. Rhaast on the other hand was threatening to constantly break through at any moment with sheer excitement.

They were meeting Pentakill today. They- more specifically- were meeting you today. He was terrified. What if you hated him? What if you thought he was weird, or worse- what if Rhaast made an appearance and said something outrageous or out of pocket?

Kayn shook his head and rolled his eyes before splashing his face with water. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, silent dialogue only heard by him plaguing his mind.

Do not do anything brash, Rhaast.

Oh, I would never, Kayn.

The meeting wasn't long. There was clearly some sort of friendship history between Yone and Kayle. Beyond that, everyone chatted like long lost friends aside from you - always silent and observant, and Kayn who sat at the large meeting table across from you.

You didn't fail to notice how he consistently stared at you. You were lowkey jealous because you wished you had started first. You weren't about to have a staring contest with him now.

You hadn't realized you were dissociating into the wall next to the large bay window until you were snapped out of it by Kayle's voice.

"Y/N, did you hear me? We are going to partner up for our song collab." Her lips rose in an evil knowing little smirk. "You and Kayn will be working together." Damn her for playing teacher right now.

A blush immediately erupted on your skin as you glanced at Kayn and gave him a shy smile. He let out a dramatic sigh and you were ashamed to think you were actually excited to have a real excuse to talk to him for an extended period of time.

"Alright everyone, let's start today and you can all figure out arrangements for your individual meetings. We will have our group meeting biweekly. Once we have a song, we will figure out our practice schedule and all the other details!" Yone smiled politely and everyone began standing and walking to their partners. As you observed, you saw both sett and K'Sante give looks to Kayn as they passed by him, almost teasing.

You couldn't help but be mortified by their social ques. Had Kayle spilled the beans about your silly little crush on Kayn? Oh Gods, what if Kayn knew and was staring at you because he was wondering how the hell he got stuck with the quiet freak from Pentakill as not only his partner, but his crush.

You sighed inwardly as you walked slowly towards him, looking anywhere but his direction. He was more confident than you thought, looking straight at you as you could see through your peripheral and starting the conversation.

"Hello, Y/N, right? I guess I should introduce myself- I'm Kayn," he reaches out a hesitant hand. You smile politely, shyly, in response.

"I'm Y/N- well you already know that anyway, heh..." you stutter, flustered due to the close proximity between the two of you. You give another awkward smile, and then let out an exasperated breath before continuing. "So, when and where would you like to meet up for these brainstorming sessions?"

Kayn seems to pause for a moment, putting his hand under his chiseled chin in a thinking pose. His gaze leaves you for a moment, before returning to your own.

"Dinner, you pick where you want to go. I will schedule if you send me the name of the restaurant. Here, put your phone number in my phone," he pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and handing it to you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise, not even second guessing the dinner suggestion. There's no way he could be asking you on a date, right? No, you're not delusional.

You input your number and quickly bid your farewell as Kayle waves at you from the door. You hadn't realized everyone was gawking at the two of you as they waited to leave for the evening.

"You know you don't have to do this at dinner Kayn? May as well have asked her out at that point," Sett smirks at him from his seat on the couch.

I told you, Rhaast hissed in Kayn's mind. It's too obvious now.

"Nah, don't worry. It is just a lunch between colleagues to brainstorm for a song. Nothing more, nothing less." Kayn glares at Sett, before walking into the bathroom to spray on some cologne for the first time in a very long time.

You were so nervous. Even more nervous than you had been previously. And when you get nervous, you babble.

So before leaving for dinner with Kayn that evening, you gave yourself a pep talk in the mirror.

"Do not say anything stupid." Yeah, right.

"Do not be a clumsy mess as per usual." Will probably stumble trying to sit in the chair.

"Do not be ominous and awkward." Can't change your nature, baby.

Gods, your inner dialogue was a bitch.

You had chosen to wear casual yet flattering attire to your dinner, sticking to your usual all dark fabric and accessories. After getting ready and checking yourself out in the mirror once more, you went outside and got on your motorcycle with your backpack slung over your shoulders.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you began the not so long journey towards the restaurant. You had suggested one close by that you did enjoy, although the nerves in your stomach suggested you probably wouldn't be doing to much eating.

Upon arrival, you hung your helmet on the handle of your bike and stepped off. Before heading inside, you spared a glance at one of the windows only to see Kayn openly gawking at you stepping off of your ride.

Unbeknownst to you, he was thrilled to see you on a motorcycle. It was a thing with him, something about being rebellious or dangerous compared to the norm always caught his eye.

Quickly averting your gaze you let out a deep sigh to ready yourself and walked into the restaurant- ignoring the hostess and walking the corner to seat yourself in the booth across from Kayn.

Placing your backpack on the bench next to you, you let out a breath.

"Hi, Kayn," You smiled politely, your voice quieter than you had intended.

"Hi, Y/N," He smiled back. This evening his expression was eager, his eyes alight with dare you say- mischief. And you couldn't help but notice the slight blush that caressed his cheeks under the yellow lighting of the lamp above.

"So, do we want to order first or get right to business?" The question tumbled out of your mouth casually, and it took you a moment to realize that you actually felt quite comfortable sitting across from him in this moment.

"Well, I already ordered us both a drink. I hope you like Gin and soda," A gulp audibly escaped his throat and your lips twitched up in an almost smile.

"Actually, one of my favorite cocktails. Thanks, Kayn."

Gods, he liked the sound of his name on your lips.

The evening went on without a hitch, the two of you talking casually. By the time a few hours had passed, your food long since finished on the table in front of you, you realized you hadn't actually gotten to any brainstorming.

The drinks had started getting to you, loosening up your nerves. Before you knew it you were blabbering on and grabbing your backpack to pull out your notebook.

As you were looking down, Kayn was staring at you.

Just tell her, you coward. Rhaast was yapping again, but the booze had Kayn tuning him out. He was planning on it anyway.

"Sorry, I knew if I spent this much time with you I'd end up talking too much. Must be because of how much I like yo-," you paused. Were you saying this out loud?

You heard Kayn pull in a sharp breath, before softly saying,

"That's interesting. I was just trying to hype myself up to say that I have had a crush on the cute bassist from Pentakill for awhile now. Please tell me I didn't hear you wrong..." Kayn's eyes were wide, one eyebrow raised as he bit his lip.

Your jaw fell open, before you promptly closed it and blinked a few times.

"Wait, really?" You smiled. You couldn't help it. And as Kayn looked at you, he knew all of the assumptions the public made about you being dark or ominous or mysterious were bullshit. You were like starlight shining in a dark sky with that smile.

"Really. I swear it. Yone and Kayle I think did this specifically to set us up, actually. Everyone else on my side has known I've liked you for awhile. Lucky for us Kayle and Yone have... a friendship." He grinned sheepishly, running a ringed hand through his pink hair.

You laughed out loud then, having had made the same assumption yourself. "I thought the same thing!"

And as the night waned on, the restaurant eventually closed and the waitress was forced to kick the two of you out. The drinks had worn off over the time you had been there, opting for water instead.

As the two of you walked down the steps back to your motorcycle, Kayn looked at you and pulled you in for a hug. You melted into him momentarily before he released you.

"So, I have a request," he stated. You nodded for him to continue, your brows scrunched in question.

"Can I have a ride on your motorcycle?"

The End! I hope you LOVED IT AND AGAIN IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! I have basically been AFK irl lately lol. Thank you for the lovely request!

#Heartsteel Kayn x Reader #Kayn x Reader #Pentakill Reader #Pentakill League of Legends x Kayn #League of Legends x Reader

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year

Photo

Was wondering why this big, Gothic 1883 church in St. Louis, Missouri was only $335K, then saw that it’s a 2bd, 2ba. condo w/a $503mo HOA fee. But, they did leave a lot of original features and added some Gothic elements. Give it a look.

Interesting how they saved this gorgeous newel post, by inserting a large pole.

So, I’m thinking that this would be the condo’s entrance hall.

Okay, I can see that the top of that pole is carved and is holding up the condo above. I would also say that the railing is original.

The only thing I can figure out about this narrow, swooping thing above is that they saved part of the choir loft. Well, they were really trying.

So, at the top of the stairs, is a dining table and original church windows on the right.

I must say that in their effort, which is commendable, to save things, they really cut the place up. The doors and moldings are magnificent, though.

This is cozy.

The owners have this room set up as a TV room and small library.

It’s one open space that ends with the kitchen.

In the kitchen they built a small pantry and used a Gothic door, which is a nice touch. The colors match the rest of the decor.

Details of the beautiful original doors. I would say that they added the decorative wallpaper, though.

Look a the spring - the door must close itself.

Like the faux worn wallpaper they chose for the bath, but now the ceiling and wainscoting look too new.

This is nice- a row of closets with Gothic doors and faux-vintage lamps. Gee, this condo is on so many levels.

Aha, so here is the remnant of the choir loft going into a new wall. Well, at least they saved part of it.

Up a few more stairs is an open bd. with an en-suite bath. Notice the original beam above- they built the bath under it, to save it.

There’s an original door and the windows are cut off, but they’re still there.

And, this is the en-suite.

Ah, there’re the original beams. Okay. It looks like they also saved the original wood railing, but also added a metal one, so you can see thru it. They went around the window, but protected it w/a rail.

You can see some of the old wood on the left, here.

So, it’s choppy, but they really saved whatever they could.

Here’s the 2nd bath.

Nice, bright office space. It looks like they replaced the stained glass with clear and kept the original metal design. A wall, however was put up in the middle of that big window. It could be another room or a neighboring condo.

Okay, well, there’s a nice view and they saved part of it.

You don’t get any land or outdoor space, even a communal one, but there’s a park across the street. So, what do you think? Yay or nay? I appreciate that they made condos, but saved as much as they could.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1505-Missouri-Ave-APT-2B-Saint-Louis-MO-63104/67397112_zpid/

#church conversion condos #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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lulubelle814 · 2 months

Text

In Every Life - Part 1

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

In Every Life

Masterlist

It was late September of 1883 when they met. Some would call it kismet. Others destiny. The miserable ones would call it coincidence. He needed to go into London for a few weeks to work on some business prospects and handle some estate matters with his lawyer. Lucille stayed back as she did not care to leave home but was not happy to be without her brother for so long.

Josephine and her mother were on their way to the hospital when she had a sudden dizzy spell, causing her to fall to the street but found herself saved by a beautiful stranger, rescuing her from being hit by a carriage riding too close to the sidewalk.

"Are you alright?" her mother inquired.

"I'm alright mother, thanks to this kind gentleman." She was shy and blushing, unbelieving that she made a fool of herself in front of this handsome man.

Her mother looked at him, thanking him profusely. "You may have saved her life, mister…."

"Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe, baronet, madame."

"Thank you so very much, Lord Sharpe. I am Victoria Morrow, and this is my daughter, Josephine. How can I ever repay you?"

His words failed him as he locked eyes with Josephine. In that moment, he felt as if there was something linking his heart to hers. His heart, nay his soul, screamed to not let this beguiling creature to depart from him.

Unbeknownst to him, Josephine was similarly affected.

He responded to her mother without looking away from Josephine. "There is no need, madame. I am more than happy to assist." Josephine smiled at him causing his heart to skip with joy. "If it is not too forward, might you be available for dinner this evening Ms. Josephine?" He held his breath, praying she would accept his offer.

The way her name rolled off his tongue could soothe an angry lion, and she would do anything to hear him say it again. Looking at her mother for approval before answering, she said, "I would love that." They let him know where they were staying, advising he would pick her up at 7 pm.

That evening, he arrived promptly on time, having arranged a carriage to drive them to a nice restaurant he knew nearby. His breath escaped him as she descended the stairs, thinking her to be an angel descended from the heavens in a beautiful dark blue dress. “You look breathtaking.”

Josephine found her heart beating so loud thinking he must be able to hear it. Blushing, she reminded herself to breathe before taking his arm. “Thank you Lord Sharpe.”

“Thomas, please.” He wanted nothing more than to run away with her to some far off place or at least back to his home.

She nodded. “Thomas. You look very dapper yourself.”

She scolded herself. ‘Dapper? That’s the best you can come up with?’

“Shall we?” He held out his arm which she took. He aimed towards the door, and she followed him, a willing captive. When entering the carriage, it took all his strength to tell the driver to take them to the restaurant rather than what his head and heart were telling him.

At dinner, they exchanged stories. He told her the joke about why his estate is called Crimson Peak.

"That sounds extraordinary."

"It is fascinating but sometimes also a bit macabre when someone walks around and leaves what looks like bloody footprints."

"That must be a sight to behold. Oh how I wish I could see that." She froze. She had not meant to be so bold and admit that last part, but he simply smiled and said, "I would love for you to see it. You are most welcome to come observe the sight any time you wish."

She felt a bit relieved. They continued to talk and walked leisurely back to her hotel as they did not want the night to end.

"I would very much like to see you again tomorrow, if that is alright?" He didn't want to let her go, yearning to whisk her back to Allerdale as his.

"I would like that as well. My mother and I have an appointment, but we should be back by 1."

"1 o'clock it is. I look forward to it." He smiled, taking her hand in his and placed a kiss across her knuckles before departing.

Arriving at her room, she found her mother was pulling out the metallic syringe and an opaque bottle of liquid. "Did you have fun?"

She smiled and nodded. "He's wonderful and incredibly kind. He has asked to see me again tomorrow when we get back.”

"I see no problem with that at all, my dearest daughter, but it’s time for your medicine."

Josephine was not a fan of needles, but her mother insisted it would help with her deteriorating health.

When she awoke the next day, the front desk brought flowers that had been delivered early that morning.

My Dearest Josephine,

These flowers pale in comparison to your beauty. I very much look forward to seeing you again today.

Sir Thomas Sharpe

She placed them by her bedside, smiling like a loon. Her left hand began to shake and held it with her right to help control the tremors.

The visit at the hospital took longer than anticipated as they wanted to run a few tests to get a diagnosis as they felt they were close. By the time they arrived back at their hotel, it was half past 1.

Thomas waited patiently in the lobby. He had not been to the hospital much but knew appointments of any nature could run longer than expected. When she arrived flustered, he tried to give an air of calm and understanding.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright. No need to explain. If you need to take a moment to freshen up, I am happy to wait."

Josephine appreciated his offer and went up to her room to fix herself quickly and was back down ten minutes later. She was sure to wear a dress with a larger skirt to help hide the tremors in her legs that were becoming more frequent.

He took her to a shop that prepared a picnic basket for them which they took to a nearby park. He laid everything out on the blanket, and they spent the afternoon enjoying each other's company, talking about various things such as nature, science, hopes, dreams. Before they knew it, evening fell upon them, the picnic food gone hours before.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your hotel?"

She felt a pang of disappointment, not wanting to leave just yet. As if he could read her mind, "or, perhaps, we could get some dinner?"

Thomas wasn't ready to take her back but feared she might be tired of him. He hoped she might accept his second offer, his heart almost refusing to beat.

"Dinner sounds delightful."

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief, his heart relieved. As she went to stand up, the tremors began again, causing her to lose her footing; however, Thomas caught her before she fell to the ground. She tried to brush it off. “I’m so sorry. My legs must have fallen asleep.” She smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll help you to the restaurant. It’s nearby.” She took his arm, using it to steady herself, trying her best to ignore the looming headache.

They continued to enjoy one another's company through dinner and dessert, not realizing the late hour while looking at the stars in the park until they arrived back at her hotel to her frantic mother who calmed the moment she saw her daughter was with Sir Thomas.

"Thank you so much for escorting my daughter. It appears she had a lovely time." This caused Josephine to blush profusely.

"My apologies for keeping her so late. I do so much enjoy spending time with her." He couldn't help but shyly smile as he spoke. “If your mother permits, I would love to see you again.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, trying to hide the pain from her headache that seemed to only be getting worse.

“Would tomorrow be too soon?” He was hopeful she’d agree. It was too soon, but if he could, he would see her every day; however, he did not want to scare her, unsure if she felt the same. Little did he know, she did. As much as she loved her mother, she wanted adventures with him. She’d run off with him at that very moment if she weren’t worried about leaving her mother alone. Maybe he’d allow her to come with them? Or would he disappear when learning of her declining health? ‘No, Josephine. You mustn’t let your heart get ahead of your mind. Perhaps he merely wants company while he is in town.’

Taking her hand, he turned it, kissing her palm and felt her hand shaking a bit but brushed it off, believing she was likely as nervous as he.

Arriving back to her room, her mother was ready to give the next dose of medicine. “Do we have to, mother? How many more of these treatments must I endure?”

Her mother approached with caution. “It is only for your benefit. Do you not wish to be well?”

She sighed in defeat. “Yes, mother. It’s just that the treatments have become more difficult to handle. I just want to be well and hope the doctors here can find a solution.”

“I am sure they will, but in the meantime, you need to continue this course of treatment. The doctors have not been opposed to it, and I feel it has slowed down at the least. I am truly sorry for how difficult this has been for you, but it’s not any easier watching you be forced to endure. You are a strong, capable woman. As your mother, I only want to see you succeed.”

Josephine relented and allowed her mother to administer the needle treatment.

“I must also say this. Sir Thomas seems like a capable young man, but I am not sure he is right for you. I fear he may take advantage of you due to your health. I do not believe I can abide his visits much longer. I want to see you happy, but I also want you to be safe.” She put the needle away with the future treatments, placing them in the drawer of her nightstand.

She rubbed her arm at the injection site, momentarily forgetting her headache. “I know, mother, but there is just something about him that I cannot explain. I feel connected to him on a spiritual level, and if he were to propose tomorrow, I would say yes, but….”

Sitting on her bed, her mother looked nervous. “But what, Josephine?”

“But I fear leaving you alone. Father passed so long ago, and I do not want you to feel as if I am attempting to abandon you, but I feel I must follow my heart. I am hoping, perhaps, that if he does propose, that you may come to live with us. I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. Just wishful thinking.”

Her mother moved over next to her, holding her from the side. “Darling daughter. I am in awe of your desire to see me happy, and I feel the same for you. I just………..want you to be safe. The thought of you running off with that man scares me. There is just something about his countenance I cannot trust. I mean, what do we really know about him?”

She knew her mother was right. She was always right, but something in the back of her mind said her mother was wrong about this.

As he walked back to his hotel, he could not stop thinking about the feel of her hand, the honeysuckle smell drifting off her hair. He knew what needed to be done. Once back in his room, he pulled out a pen and parchment.

My Dearest Sister,

Please forgive my neglect of you. I have been so thoroughly occupied of late, and have so very much to tell you. Foremost, that I send you my love and sincerest well wishes for you in my absence. All is well here, I have been meeting with Mr. Westridge regarding the estate. He has been kind enough to assist in clarifying the terms of the paperwork so we have nearly concluded our business; however, I must confess that, while I do miss you, I am not eager to return home just yet.

I have had the absolute pleasure of meeting a most outstanding lady. Her name is Josephine. She is here in town with her mother. With her mother’s permission, I escorted her to dinner. She is such a remarkable woman. She gazes fondly at the stars as if they were her dearest friends. I showed her the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda, telling her their tale. Dear sister, I would slay every beast in the world just to stand in her presence.

She adores reading the poets and makes spirited defenses and criticisms of every page she consumes. She listens tirelessly to my myriad mechanical ramblings and discusses my ideas with a curious and open mind. Never has a woman taken such an intellectual interest in my work. I must admit that while her face caught my attention, it was her mind that has kept my interest.

Oh, how I wish you were here to help guide me through this. The very sight of her makes my heart flutter. This strange feeling is beyond my comprehension, yet I do not wish for it to dissipate. What must I do, dear sister? Please, I beg for your guidance in this matter.

Your loving brother,

Thomas

Sealing the letter, he called upon the front desk to have the letter delivered to his sister, eager for a response as he was eager for his sister’s council. They ensured him that short of unexpected, disastrous weather, they would have the letter delivered post haste.

While a cold cloth to her forehead helped alleviate her headache, Josephine suffered another night of unrest. Rather than toss and turn, she quietly took out her diary to write, always addressing her entries to her father as it helped her feel close to him even though she never had the opportunity to meet him as he passed shortly after she was born.

Dear Father,

I must tell you of the noble gentleman who came to my rescue yesterday. His name is Sir Thomas Sharpe. I felt faint and began to stumble, but he saved me before I could be injured. Dearest father, he is an angel, both in action and countenance. When our eyes met, I knew in that instant he was my soulmate.

I know you never truly believed in soulmates and love at first sight, but I felt whole for the first time in my life. I thought for so long that the missing piece of my soul occurred when you passed. I realize now that the missing piece was him. The cracks running deep to my core now feel as if they are mending each time we meet.

Father, I know you would approve of him. We share similar interests. He loves to read, star gaze, dance, and invent. Yes! He’s an inventor! His mind creates these extraordinary ideas for machines. His latest idea is for one that would make the harvesting of clay easier and more efficient with less likelihood for injury to the workers. I find myself completely fascinated when he spoke of it

My first hesitation is mother. I do not wish for her to feel abandoned. She seemed amenable to come with me to Thomas’ estate, should he propose. I have only known him for two days, but I would marry him at this very moment should he ask. I do not care if he has money or not. If he does not have an estate then the ground where we lay would become our home and the stars our blanket.

My second hesitation is my health. I have not yet told him of my ailments and am afraid to do so. My fears tell me he will reject me, not wanting an ill spouse, but my soul tells me he will not care.

I know not else how to describe this feeling, but I cannot deny it. Mother reminds me that a lady does not openly express her feelings to a gentleman. I wish you could meet him, see him as I do, but I know you watch over me.

I also fear that I have created this imaginary scene in my mind, that my heart has overruled my mind to the point where I live in fantasy.

I beg of you for your help, courage, and wisdom to know what to do. I miss you so much.

Your loving daughter,

Josephine

Putting her journal away, she climbed back into bed. It was another hour before she was finally able to sleep.

The following morning, Thomas readied himself, going by the florist first. Looking for the perfect flowers, he looked for ones that might be worthy of her presence. Once he found them, he paid the proprietor and left swiftly to her hotel and waited for her patiently in the lobby.

Josephine was lost in a fitful slumber, but her mother was awake and ready, knowing Sir Thomas would be arriving shortly. Descending the stairs, she saw him holding the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen.

“Good morning Ms. Morrow! How are you this fine morning?” The joy in his face was evident to any who saw him.

“Good morning, Lord Sharpe! I am well, but I’m afraid Josephine is still resting. Her rest was very troubling last night, which is to be expected.”

“I am so sorry to hear that, but I do hope she is well. Do you know when she might awaken?” He was very eager to see her.

“I could not say, but I do not wish to disturb her as her health has been poor, especially as of late. I will ensure she receives these.”

When she put her hands forward, he hesitated. “I would be happy to wait until she is awake as I would live to give these to her myself. I must confess. I am eager to see her again.” He wanted to see her so much, even if for a moment.

“I cannot say when she may awaken and feel well enough for a visitor, but I assure you I will take these directly upstairs.” Reluctantly, he handed her the bouquet.

“I thank you for doing so. If there is anything I might do to aid in her recovery, please do let me know. I am very……..fond of her.” He could not help but blush.

“You are too kind, Lord Sharpe. We are fond of you as well.” He smiled at her response.

“Please do not hesitate to call upon me should there be anything I can do to assist in her recovery.”

He waited until Ms. Morrow disappeared up the stairs and out of view before taking his leave.

As her mother returned, she found her daughter to be awake and brushing her hair. Turning at the sound of the door, she saw the flowers her mother held. “Those are the loveliest flowers I have ever seen! Where did you find them?”

Her mother walked over to the vase in their room, discarding the old flowers and placing the new ones in there with some water. “A handsome gentleman gave them to me. They are pleasing, are they not?”

“They truly are, and you deserve them. You have been so kind and helpful with my health. It’s the least you deserve. I do hope he calls upon you again.” Josephine turned around and continued to brush her hair. She was feeling exceptionally unwell this morning but did not want to alarm her mother, keeping her thoughts to herself.

As her mother went to place the flowers in a vase with some water, she removed the ribbon from the stems, placing it aside as a keepsake. “I communicated your increasingly poor health to the hospital. They recommended bed rest and valerian tea until your next appointment in 3 days.”

Disappointed, she returned to her bed, already plotting her escape. She could not stand to be cooped up, preferring the fresh air and sunshine, or the stars at night. In the meantime, she placed her head on the pillow, knowing she could use some more rest.

That was two days ago. Thomas paced back and forth around his rooms wondering what to do, how he could capture even a glimpse of her. Perhaps he could return back to her hotel in the evening with more flowers? Or would more flowers be too much? Maybe a new pair of gloves?

Then it occurred to him. He knew exactly what she would like, departing for the desired object he had seen just the other day. When he exited his hotel, he looked around to realize it was later than he thought, not having realized he had been pacing around his room for hours.

Holding himself back from running, he reminded himself of social protocol, trying to keep an acceptable pace as there was no emergency. Upon arriving at his desired location, he spoke with the shopkeeper, describing the item he was looking for. The shopkeeper knew exactly what he was describing. “Would you like me to wrap it for you sir?”

Thomas smiled. “I would be most grateful. I am very grateful for your help.” Pausing for a moment, he had another idea. “Might you have a piece of parchment and ink I might use?”

The shopkeeper smiled and retrieved the requested items. “This must be for someone very special.” Thomas smiled back at him. “Yes, for someone very dear and precious.” It took him a few moments, but the words finally came to him.

My Dearest Josephine,

Words fail me to accurately portray the bewildering spell you have cast upon me with your beauty and intellect. I hope this may help convey what I am unable to express. For I am unable to retain a singular thought when simply near you. I yearn to see you. To simply breathe the same air as you is a privilege that not even God himself is worthy.

I pray you can accept this humble token from an unworthy man such as myself.

Yours Always,

Thomas

Gently folding the note, he placed it inside before the shopkeeper who then safely wrapped the item, securing it with twine. Holding it carefully, he departed.

As he neared her hotel, he noticed a woman become unsteady, falling to the ground and hurriedly made his way to assist her.

“Madam, are you alrigh………Josephine?” Her face was contorted in pain. “What is wrong? What can I do?” She could hear his voice off in the distance; however, she was more focused on her prevailing issue as her extremities continued to tremble. Lifting her bridal style, he started towards the hospital.

She turned to look at him. “Thomas?” She sounded weak. “Dear Josephine! Do not worry. I will get you to the hospital posthaste.”

She placed a hand on one of his lapels. “Please no, not the hospital.”

“But you are unwell. You must see a doctor! If nothing else, I should take you back to your hotel to rest. You cannot be out here in your state.”

“I beg you. Please do not take me back, at least not yet. Can we delay a little? Perhaps sit on a bench at the park? I yearn for fresh air and sunshine.”

He could not deny her request, heading for the park nearby as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Gently placing her on the bench, he sat next to her. She held onto his arm. To provide her better support, he wrapped an arm around her, finding her leaning into him. They stayed like that for sometime, receiving odd looks from passersby. Finally, Thomas broke their peaceful quiet.

“Darling Josephine. If I might implore, what is ailing you?”

This was it. She was about to be confronted with her fear of his rejection of her due to her health. “I’m afraid, Thomas.” she turned her face up to look at him.

“What are you afraid of, my dear?”

there was nothing she could do to hide or deny it any longer. “I have been unwell for sometime. Mother thought it best to come to London to see if the doctors might know what is affecting my health. No one has been able to uncover the cause. They’re only able to treat the symptoms.”

Thomas listened attentively as she looked away and continued.

“The doctors here have hope for a diagnosis and solution. In the meantime, mother has been administering medicine to help me, but I fear it might not be working well enough.”

“Why have you not told me of this before?” His worry increased, not wanting her to suffer.

“I’m afraid you might not want to see me anymore. No one wants to be saddled with an ill person.”

Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her face back towards his. “My dearest darling Josephine. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

She blushed and attempted to bury her face in his chest, but he would not allow her to do so. “If God himself told me I had to choose between you and the heavens, I would dwell happy as a dead man in hellfire for having known you.”

She could not help a tear or two from falling. “Please, Thomas, do not take pity on me. I could not bear it.”

Using the back of his finger, he wiped them away. “Please do not cry. I am not worthy of your tears.”

He brushed some falling hair out of her face, and she leaned her face into his palm as he did so, yearning to stay close to him. A gust of cold wind fell upon them, and she began to shiver. Against society propriety, he removed his coat and placed it around her to help keep her warm. She confided in him her desire to be a dancer. “I’ve always wanted to dance, but my health never allowed it.”

“One day, you will dance. We will dance, even if I have to sweep you off your feet and hold you while I carry you around the dance floor. Come, love. We must get you back to your hotel for some rest.” She agreed but found she was still unable to walk. The tremors were affecting her more and more as time moved on. Seeing her distress, he picked her up bridal style once again and moved towards her hotel. As he carried her, she found herself warming between his coat and their close proximity, allowing his calming scent to envelop her.

They arrived at her hotel moments later, finding her mother running frantically down the stairs. “Where have you been? Are you alright?”

Josephine nodded, looking up at Thomas. “I needed some air and fell, but Thomas rescued me.”

“We need to get you back to bed.” Thomas began towards the stairs but was stopped by her mother. “It is not appropriate for you to be in her room. I can help her back to our rooms.”

He looked back at Josephine, not wanting to leave her in such a state, but Josephine knew once again that her mother was right. He placed her down gently, her mother moving to help support her.

“Thank you again for rescuing me, Thomas.” She gave him a weak smile, her energy still draining and began to remove and return his coat, but he stopped her.

“No, my dear Josephine. Please use it to keep yourself warm. I can come back and retrieve it tomorrow or the day after when you are feeling better.”

He leaned forward to wrap his coat back around her, using the moment to whisper so that only she could hear. “There is something in the pocket for you.”

She looked at him and smiled once more. “Thank you again, Sir Thomas. You have been most kind.”

He stayed and observed to help ensure her and her mother had no problems ascending the stairs, not leaving until well after they were out of sight.

Arriving back at his hotel, he found there was a letter and small package awaiting him. Seeing his sister’s hand writing, he swiftly took the items to his room, eager to read her response.

Darling Brother,

I am beyond delighted to receive your letter. What you describe in your letter is nothing short of love. I have been worried for so long to find someone worthy of your time and attention, to be a partner, a friend, and a confidante.

She sounds to be the most exquisite creature. It warms my heart with how you talk of her. I have never heard you speak of anyone in such a manner, not even your childhood love, Angelica.

From what you’ve told me of her, it appears she feels the same as you. The only guidance I can give you is this. Your heart already knows what to do and will not lead you astray. All you need now is to listen to it.

I have enclosed mother’s ring. While it is ghastly, use it to purchase a ring for my future sister. Go, dear brother, and ask her to be your Andromeda.

Your loving sister,

Lucille

He knew she was right, always providing the truest insight and finest guidance. In all the times he thought he was falling in love, none compared to his affection for Josephine.

Opening the small package, he found their mother’s ring encased in an intricately carved jewelry box. While the box was beautiful, he agreed with his sister that the ring was frightful. Gazing at the ring, he pondered where to go. Placing the ring on the desk, he decided to begin his search for the perfect ring the next day. All night, his mind stirred with ideas of how to ask his dear Josephine to be his Andromeda once a worthy ring was found..

Back at her hotel, Josephine placed Thomas’ coat over the back of her chair and bided her time to check the inner pocket until her mother had fallen asleep. As she climbed into bed, her mother brought her nightly remedy. Not wanting to anger her mother, she gripped the bedsheet tightly as the needle was administered in her other arm.

As the needle and bottle were put away, Josephine noticed the flowers again by her mother’s bedside. Whomever sent those must truly be enamored, and it delighted her heart, giving her hope that her mother would finally find someone.

She gently turned over to see her mother gazing at the flowers once more. “Mother? I am so sorry to have worried you like that. It was not my intention to cause any harm.”

Looking back to her daughter, the smile on her face dropped as she prepared the valerian tea. “You know, daughter. I only wish the best for you. The instructions from the doctors are only for your betterment.”

Although crestfallen, she knew her mother was right, as always. “I’m just so tired of doctors and hospitals.”

“I know you are, my daughter. I wish I could make it all go away, but they are necessary. The physicians here seem to have better ideas on how to help you, and we must let them do it.”

She knew there was nothing else to say. Taking the tea from her mother, she drank it without complaint, falling asleep soon after.

Waking up to the sound of song birds, Thomas yearned to see his beloved. Taking the time to bathe and dress, he decided to surprise her at her hotel and take her to breakfast. Taking the ring, he placed it in his breast pocket.

Swiftly arriving at her hotel, he inquired with the desk clerk if she was awake. Having one of the staff check, it was only moments before Ms. Morrow arrived downstairs.

“Sir Thomas! How delightful to see you this morning.”

“Ms. Morrow, it is a pleasure to see you. I was hoping to take your daughter to breakfast? If it’s already with you, that is.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir Thomas. She is still slumbering and will not be awake for a while, but I would be delighted to join you. This would be an opportune time to get to know one another. I feel that we may be spending more time together in the near future.”

He smiled, trying to hide his disappointment in not seeing his darling. “That would be most wonderful, Ms. Morrow, and a most excellent idea.”

Taking his arm, she led him out of the hotel. “Please, call me Victoria. I insist.” They arrived at a restaurant just minutes later, being seated without hesitation. They discussed hobbies and interests. He asked questions about Josephine’s upbringing, wanting to know her better.

“To be honest, she was never a well child. Her father passed when she was an infant, and I took the burden of being mother, father, and nursemaid.” She proceeded to tell him how her daughter’s health has been poor since she was little and has steadily declined over the years. “I’ve had to play nursemaid by myself.”

They chatted away a while longer before Thomas escorted her back to her hotel, taking his leave in search of a prize.

Going from store to store, he felt more and more despondent. The staff at each store tried to be helpful, but nothing was good enough for his dear Josephine. Before returning to his rooms for the evening, he tried one last store: Hatton Garden. The gentleman behind the counter introduced himself as Harold. Harold was not much to look at, a short balding man in his fifties, but he had an immense talent for helping people find the perfect piece. He showed him his mother’s ring, hoping he could sell it to purchase a ring fit for a goddess.

“Tell me about your fair lady.” This was his trick, to use how the person felt about their beloved and match it to a ring.

“She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld. Her eyes are blue like the ocean and sparkle like the finest stars in the sky. She loves poetry and astronomy. She is like no other I have ever met before. I want to find something unique and individual that will compliment her beauty and show that she is nothing short of a queen among peasants.”

Harold smiled. Never before had he heard such an elegant description of a fine young lady, and he knew exactly the ring for her. Retrieving it, he placed it delicately on the counter.

This was the ring. THE ring he had been searching for. The smile on his face told Harold he had chosen wisely.

“May I see the one you brought in?” Thomas placed his mother’s old ring on the counter. “Unfortunately this is all I have, but I cannot give her a ring that does not befit her beauty.” Harold picked it up to inspect it. Taking out his jeweler eyepiece, he looked closely at the stone and inspected the silver holding the gem.

“I hope you do not find me impertinent, but this setting does not do justice for such a fine ruby stone.” He looked at it further before placing it back on the counter.

“Not at all. To be honest, I find the ring itself ghastly, but I know it must be worth something.”

While the setting itself was considered junk these days (it was made mostly of cheap aluminum), the stone was worth something; however, the value fell short on the cost of Thomas’ chosen ring. There was something about him he only rarely saw in others who came to him for help and came to a decision. This young lady described sounded not only enchanting but also one of the only women worthy of a ring like this. While the gentleman in front of him would not be able to pay the actual cost of the ring, he wanted to help him.

“I do believe we can come to an agreeable arrangement.” Harold described the value of the stone in the ring brought to him. While he could not use the current setting, he could have a new setting created that would be more appealing and appropriate for the stone. “You came on a most auspicious day, my boy. For today is the only day this particular ring is on a special sale.” He told Thomas that with the sale price of the ring, it would match the amount he would pay for the ring Thomas brought in. “In fact, I would be most glad to exchange the ring you brought to me for this one. It is most fortunate you arrived this evening.”

Thomas was elated, finally having found the perfect ring for his (hopefully) future wife. Harold included a ring box befitting such a ring. To avoid theft, he placed the ring box in his breast pocket where the previous one resided.

“I cannot thank you enough, sir. You have been a tremendous help!” Harold gave him well wishes as he departed.

It was late in the day, perhaps too late to call upon his dear Josephine. Regardless, he walked to her hotel, stopping in front and peering up to what he believed to be her window. He had to stop himself from running inside, up the stairs, and to her room. He didn’t care that her health was poor and would take any time God would grant him, be it years, months, days, or even minutes and would love and take care of her.

Before the constable could be called, Thomas went back to his own hotel and spent hours working on his proposal.

The following morning, he was ready. Placing the ring box in his jacket pocket, Tom went to the florist first. He wanted to have the perfect flowers to give her as he proposed. The florist was kind and helped pick the right flowers that would show love and affection and created a one of a kind bouquet of peonies and roses.

“Any girl who would turn you down after giving these flowers is not a girl worth having,” the florist told him.

“She’s worth much, much more than these, but I think she’ll find them adequate.” His smile was big and bright, lighting up the shop. It wasn’t hard to see how hard he had fallen for Josephine. Anyone who looked at him knew he was a man in love.

Now armed with the beautiful bouquet, he made his way to her hotel.

Once arrived, he asked for her at the front desk. “Might Miss Josephine Morrow be available? I do not wish to disturb…….”

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the grim look on the concierge’s face. “Normally, I would not share such private information, but I have seen you and her together. She’d want you to know.”

The smile on his face dropped, his heart racing with fear, the flowers dropping to the floor. “Know what?”

The concierge took a moment to compose himself. “It was very late last night, her mother came running, asking for help to get her daughter to the hospital. I was able to find someone to take her to hospital, but when I saw her? To say she looked poorly would not do it justice.”

Before the gentleman could finish, Thomas was out the door and running to the hospital. He had to see her for himself. If she was that ill, he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. He’d never run so fast before, but it also seemed to take forever to get there. The nurse at the desk confirmed she was there and took him to her room. When he entered, she looked deathly pale. Tremors were happening at random intervals, and it was obvious she was having breathing issues.

“Her mother stepped out a few minutes ago. We urged her to get some rest. You must have just missed her.”

“What is wrong with her? Will she be alright?” She had to be alright. He refused any other outcome.

“Honestly, we don’t know. We cannot figure out the source of her ailment. If we had some idea, we might be able to do something, but I fear it may be too late.”

He was now sitting at her bedside, holding her hand. “She told me her mother had been administering medicine. Has that not helped?”

The nurse looked puzzled. “What medicine? The doctor has been very hesitant to prescribe her anything except to help her rest. If we knew what she was being given…..”

He was out the door before she could finish, knowing he needed to find the medicine her mother was administering. Why had her mother not told them? Would it not benefit to give the doctors all of the information in order to help her daughter?

Arriving back at the hotel, he told the concierge to call the police as he ran up the stairs to her rooms. Rather than knocking, he barged right in. The room was unoccupied. There were no thoughts as to where her mother might be, but he began searching every bag he could find. As he neared the desk Josephine regularly used, her mother entered the room. “I beg your pardon. What do you think you’re doing here? Why are you going through our personal things?”

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where is what?” She retorted.

“The medicine you’ve been administering to her? ” He continued to shuffle through papers.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, sir. I demand you leave at once!”

He turned to look at her, fury evident in his eyes. “Your daughter told me you’d been administering medication. The hospital has no record of it. Where is it? What have you been giving her?”

Ms. Morrow was frozen in place, speechless. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the flowers he’d given Ms. Morrow to give her daughter on his behalf. They were not on Josephine’s bedside table. Rather, they were by Ms. Morrow’s. Why were they there?

He moved swiftly to the flowers. “Why are these here? They were for Josephine!” He started searching through the drawer of the nightstand, finding the items he was looking for. He pulled out the needle and a bottle of silver liquid. “What is this? What in heaven’s name have you been giving her?”

“I’m her mother! I take care of her. You have no right to question me. I demand you leave at once!” They were both flustered. Thomas examined the bottle of silver liquid, looking for any sign of a label. It wasn’t until he turned it upside down that he found a partial label that said “....cury”.

“You’ve been injecting her with mercury? Why would you do such a thing?” Ms. Morrow launched herself at him, trying to get the bottle back. He held it above her head to which she responded by slapping him several times. Before she could get in the next blow, police blew in through the door.

He directed the police to arrest her. “She’s been poisoning her daughter. I must get this vial and the needles to the hospital before it’s too late.” While two officers arrested Ms. Morrow, another officer gave him a ride to the hospital. Thomas hoped it wasn’t too late. He couldn’t bear to live without her.

Rushing to her room, he found the doctor there examining his Josephine. “This is what her mother has been administering.” He handed the bottle over to the doctor who examined it, and then sat by Josephine, holding her hand and kissed the back of it.

The doctor turned to his patient. “Is this true, Ms. Josephine?” She let out a breathy ‘yes’, unable to speak much more than that. Even in the short time he’d been at her hotel, she continued to deteriorate.

It didn’t take the doctor more than a moment to recognize the contents: mercury. Now having the missing piece of the puzzle, the doctor turned them. “This explains your symptoms, but I’m afraid they’ve progressed too far.”

“What do you mean, too far?” Thomas was angry.

“If we had known much sooner, the effects could be reversed, but at this point, there’s nothing we can do. She’s not much longer for this world, I’m afraid.”

The tears poured out of him. He gazed into his darling’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

She gathered what strength she had left, placing her palm on his face. “It is alright, darling.”

“How is it alright?”

“You’ve given me the greatest gift I’ve ever wanted. You showed me what it is to love and be loved.”

He held her other hand with both of his, tears continuing to fall. “We haven’t had enough time. We need more time!”

“Do not worry, darling. I will always be with you.”

At that moment, he remembered his original intention that morning, and pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket. She may not be long for this world, but he wanted every moment he could get.

“Dearest Josephine, I love you more than life itself. I do not care if it is only for a few minutes or a few days. Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?” He opened the box to show her the ring.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could gather. He removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger. What he had not noticed when he purchased the ring was that the jeweler had placed a matching silver ring under the cushion, a ring for him; however, it fell out of the box, creating a clunking sound as it hit the floor. He picked it up before turning to the doctor. “Is there a parson here? I wish to marry my fiance as swiftly as possible.”

The doctor sent the nurse to find the vicar who had been visiting other patients and brought him to Josephine’s bedside. Thomas expressed his wishes, and Josephine confirmed. Both her engagement ring and the groom’s ring were placed on the open bible held by the vicar.

While they did not have a license, the vicar did not care. He quickly understood the situation and gave them a brief ceremony, marrying them in the eyes of God. At this point, no one in the room cared about the legalities. Within moments, they were married, the rings placed on their respective fingers.

From that moment on, they were not parted. He refused to leave her side for anything, standing vigil day and night, wanting to spend every possible moment with her that she had left. The only thing she asked of him was to hold her. He and the nurse moved her carefully so that he could join her in bed. Giving her a sweet kiss, he held her for the next few hours as she continued to deteriorate.

The doctor came to check on her that night. When he came back the next morning, he let Thomas know that she did not have much longer. He continued to hold her, forgetting all else. In her last moments, she looked at him. “Thomas….”

“Yes, my love?”

“I…..” She had to regain her breath for a moment. He waited patiently for her to continue. “I will always love you.”

He dared to hold her closer. “And I will always love you, in this life and the next.”

“And the next,” she repeated. “I love you.” And with those three words, she took her last breath.

The funeral was small but nice. His sister did not have enough time to be there for her brother at the funeral, but she arrived that night in order to help him pack. At his request, the concierge and staff helped to pack up her belongings so that Thomas may bring them back to Allerdale Hall. While he could no longer bring his wife, he could have some part of her there with him.

As it got deep into winter, Lucille found him up in his attic more and more to the point where he refused to leave. He had his favorite gown of Josephine’s on a mannequin in his workshop so she could watch him work. He’d explain to the mannequin what he was doing and how he was doing it, as if she were truly there with him. The most he would allow from Lucille was a blanket for warmth and the occasional tea.

He’d not been home for a month when he caught a cold. Lucille tried to urge him to take the medicinal tea and treatments to help him recover, but he had lost his will to do anything. Melancholia and grief had such a tight hold on him that he could think of nothing else but his wife and his desire to be with her again.

Lucille returned about 20 minutes later with the medicinal tea and the determination to force her brother to take it and get better. Arriving in the attic, she found he had passed, holding on to Josephine’s dress.

Knowing what he would want, she had his body brought to London and had him buried next to his wife. As there was no proper headstone for Josephine, Lucille had a double headstone fashioned for her brother and his wife, finding it the very least she could do for her dearest brother.

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viric-dreams · 3 months

Text

Grand Geode, 1883. Lieutenant Roberts sees a familiar face. Or at least something wearing that face.

There’s a storm coming. Heat and humidity hang in the air, adding strain to each breath. Sweat pools at the back of Roberts’ neck, the droplets sliding down the curve of his spine beneath his uniform. He does his best to ignore the discomfort, gripping the folder in his hands yet tighter as he follows a familiar set of turns down the hall to the Commodore’s office.

In a previous life, he may have regarded his current position as gruntwork–dull, administrative minutia, a world away from any action on the Zee, but in moments like these he finds he doesn’t mind. Any moment now, the heat will break, and the Zee will roil under a torrent of foetid-smelling rain, befouled by the Wax Wind. He does not envy the men on their ships when the storm inevitably hits. Carrying documents up the chain is fine by him, if it means stable stone under his dry feet, and a bed that does not sway with the tides.

He turns the corner, and before his hand can even touch the office door, Roberts feels the sudden charge in the air, white-hot and electric, and the hairs on his arms stand on end. The sensation calls back to something familiar, half-forgotten in the back of his mind. He wonders if he should leave, perhaps come back later. But before he has time to properly question it, the Commodore’s voice rings out through the door, as if able to sense his presence through the thick wood.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Lieutenant Roberts, sir,” he says.

The Commodore is silent for a beat, then answers softly, as if forgetting the heavy door between them.

“Elias, why don’t you come in.”

It’s not framed as a question. And so he does.

The Commodore sits at his desk, in the exact position where Roberts has seen him hundreds of times before. But this time is different. This time, he has a visitor. Radiant. That’s the only way he can think of to describe her. A singular point in the centre of the room, the axis around which so many golden threads warp and turn. She does not look happy to see them. In fact, she doesn’t look much of anything, and he struggles to make out her features through the brilliant haze she emanates.

“Elias, you remember June, don’t you?” There’s a placidness to the Commodore’s voice that he so rarely hears. The man has not taken his eyes off of June since Roberts had entered the room, and he can hardly do so himself.

Indeed he remembers her. If he squints into that light he can even make out her features, unchanged from when he’d last seen her, nearly two decades prior. He feels warm. Not the muggy heat smothering Zelo’s Town, but a glow, spreading from within his chest out into his limbs.

“Of course,” he says. How could he forget?

June does not greet him. She does not take her eyes off of the serene face of the Commodore. When her mouth opens, the sound that comes out is otherworldly, timbres not possible on human vocal chords. The sound reverberates through Roberts’ body, like the bass tones of chugging machinery.

It was something of importance. He’s sure of it. She wouldn’t be here, speaking to him, to them, to the Commodore, were it not. A Zee captain will return, and when they do, the Admiralty will be ready. She leaves her instructions. Her voice is so warm, all-encompassing, a rumbling static beating a tune against his eardrums. He will complete the Work. Whatever it is she needs, he will do. They will do.

He tells her this. At least, he thinks he does. Whether or not he speaks the words out loud she must know this of him. Her eyes are on the Commodore, whose head nods in a slow daze. Of course they can manage. He’ll personally ensure they have the supplies they need. More heat. Pride, this time, that they can do what she requests of them.

And then she turns to him, golden eyes boring directly through him, setting him alight. Her lips open to speak and–

He comes to at a raucous peel of thunder. June is long gone, and he shivers at the unexpected cold left by her absence, despite the muggy air. Yet despite the chill of her absence, he feels… calm. A slow satisfaction at having done… something right. At least, he feels so. Something worthwhile.

It’s only several minutes later, when he stands under the building’s awning, the rhythm of rain pounding a frenetic drumbeat into the steel roof, that he realises he’s still clutching the missive meant for the Commodore.

#roberts/nite #this was going to have a very different tone #but burning and yearning muddles us all #running with my 'the dawn machine has consumed june and she's become its mouthpiece' headcanon #though the more time i spend here the more i feel like she's been vaporised to kickstart the thing #but maybe something with her shape still walks its rings #and on very special occasions makes its way across the zee to make its thoughts known #i feel so naked sharing writing on here #this is not my world #what a weird feeling #right here goes nothing #my writing

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rock-swag-tournament · 11 months

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Rock Swag Tournament Round 1: Igneous Rocks Part 11

Tuff is an igneous rock...or maybe a sedimentary rock based on who you ask! It is made of lithified volcanic ash (lithification is the process by which particles of stuff become rock, and volcanic ash is sand grain-sized pieces of ejected volcanic matter).

Tuff generally also has pieces of all kinds of other stuff, as well. As long as stuff that is 2 mm or smaller makes up 75% of the rock, it will be considered tuff. Anything less than 75% volcanic ash, and the rock is described as "tuffaceous."

Fun fact: the Moai on Rapa Nui (Easter Island) are made of tuff! Also, according to one submitter, "this is one of the few volcanic rocks that can be made into a really lovely paint. Specifically a vaguely purplish gray" COOL!

Ignimbrite could be considered a type of tuff, but it is more specifically a rock formed from a pyroclastic flow deposit. Pyroclastic flows are one of the deadliest geological phenomena as they are burning hot clouds of gas and debris that race down the sides of volcanoes during some eruptions!

Ignimbrites can have more and larger pieces of volcanic debris, but they could also simply be tuffs that have welded due to the high heat from an eruption. Ignimbrites also may contain fiamme, which are "flame-shaped" lapilli (volcanic tephra or debris between 2 and 64 mm big) that have been flattened or sheared during deposition.

More on pyroclastic flows under the cut, because they are fascinating in that they are dangerous and I must talk about them.

Pyroclastic flows are blisteringly hot and terrifyingly fast clouds of volcanic gas and assorted tephra: volcanic material that can include ash (particles less than 2 mm), lapilli (between 2 and 64 mm), and blocks and bombs (greater than 64 mm).

They flow (violently rocket) down the side of volcanoes after explosive eruptions. You generally don't have to worry about pyroclastic flows on Kīlauea any time soon because those eruptions are mostly lava flows (which you can usually outrun). However, some of the most famous volcanic eruptions from recorded human history--Mount St. Helens in 1980, Krakatoa in 1883, and Vesuvius in 79 CE--were accompanied by pyroclastic flows.

Pyroclastic flows can be triggered a number of ways. Some examples are lava domes collapsing and causing an avalanche of sorts, part of the volcano exploding or collapsing in one direction (like Mount St. Helens), or the plume of debris and gas that is shot vertically into the air during an eruption collapsing back down to the surface (like Mount Vesuvius).

There is no outrunning a pyroclastic flow. They flow down the side of volcanoes and across the surrounding landscape at typical speeds upwards of 80 km/h (50 mph), but they can reach speeds of several hundred km/h. These clouds of debris are also several hundred degrees Celsius. You do not survive a pyroclastic flow!

If you would like to see what one of these looks like, I have two videos. Please be warned that because pyroclastic flows are so deadly, one of these two videos discusses deaths related to a specific eruption.

This video is from a documentary (I do not know the name of the film) and the beginning shows the genesis of the pyroclastic flow: the lava dome collapses and causes an avalanche. The pyroclastic flow then moves along a stream valley and close to a nearby town. CW: This video mentions the number of deaths directly related to this eruption and pyroclastic flow. There is footage of a vehicle and a person fleeing the pyroclastic flow, but the town they are in is are far enough away that the pyroclastic flow does not reach their location, and they survive. The potentially triggering part of the video begins at 0:24.

This video shows a pyroclastic flow going into the ocean. CW: As far as I can see, there are no people or animals in the path of the pyroclastic flow in this video and so there are presumably no deaths associated with this eruption.

#rock swag tournament round 1 #rock swag tournament igneous rocks

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wintervalewritersecond · 2 years

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immortal she - wednesday addams

requested: yes! requests: open! is it possible for a Wednesday x Reader where Reader is cursed immortal that is one of Nevermore Academy's Board that sided with Weems on letting Wednesday attend to the Academy (Reader's look is young) and the reason sided with Weems is that Reader is curious at the Addams girl that was prophesied to be the one who will end Reader's long immortal life then Reader pretends to be student and hangs out with Wednesday and Enid then times past Reader is slowly gaining feelings for her?

wordcount: 4.188 (quite long compared to my other work!) warnings: talk about (wanting) death, talk about the negativity of being immortal, they/them pronouns, characters are aged up to 18, Wednesday may be quite ooc toward the end, possible character death, cursewords.

You have been living since the year 1863 and you have attended Nevermore for most of your life. Though, there might be a change to that, as you have never seen a human as fascinating as Wednesday Addams.

"Alright, alright," Weems puts up her hands. "I will be sending the message to Morticia. I guess that miss Wednesday Addams will be starting here sometime next week. The meeting is dismissed, thank you."

You pack up your binder and pens before shoving them in your bag, exiting the stuffy room, and walking to your own dorm. You are not quite a student, but also not quite a teacher. You do have your own room at Nevermore, hidden in the tallest tower that barely gets visited by anyone. You would consider yourself an assistant; you have been helping out the principals of Nevermore since 1883. You started your school journey here at just twelve years old. But then, at the end of your education, your powers really started kicking in. Your appearance still looks like that of an 18-year-old, though you have been living for much more than that.

Other board members were freaked out by the Addams family. Gomez and Morticia attended Nevermore as well, and you clearly remember their entire drama that even got the police involved. After that, the school swore to never let any Addams attend Nevermore ever again.

But, people voted to let the girl come to school; including you. Weems had given you a look, hearing you and the other members out before making the final decision. Wednesday Addams will be a Nevermore student next week.

You had told Principal Weems. You often walked around in the Nightshade library which is filled with old books, though one, in particular, called your name. It was filled with prophecies, and two of those stood out to you. One was of the Nevermore school being destroyed, but the other one included you. Your long, immortal life ends after nearly 160 years. What do both of the prophecies have in common?

Wednesday Addams.

Wednesday Addams was the one that would end Nevermore and would end your life.

But, how believable has the book been? It has been drawn years ago by the mother of Rowan Laslow. You had seen her before she passed, just after she went crazy thanks to her powers. Could you trust whatever it was that she put onto paper?

Nevermore shall see in less than a week.

"Wednesday is certainly a unique name. I'm guessing that that was the day you were born?"

You stood to the side of Principal Weems as Wednesday, Morticia and Gomez had sat down. You greeted Morticia and Gomez with a smile and a handshake. You weren't exactly friends when they attended Nevermore, but you had hung out multiple times.

"I was born on Friday the 13th."

A small smile is on your face as you look down at the ground. Weems keeps talking, though you don't pay attention.

"Did you know that your mother and Y/N used to be roommates back in the day?"

You look back up, looking from Weems to Morticia before nodding. Morticia and you shared a dorm for a semester.

"You don't look a day older than 18," Wednesday replies, her face stoic. "I wonder how you graduated with your sanity intact."

"Now," you wave your hand. "It was not bad, Wednesday. Your mother made me gain interest in the dark and the dead."

"Nevermore usually doesn't accept students mid-term," Weems continues, flipping through the pages of her clipboard. "But given Wednesday's perfect grades and your family's long history with the school, I've spoken to the board and we've made an exception."

You have never seen someone so emotionlessly show that they were disappointed, yet you can see it in Wednesday's eyes. Though her parents are ecstatic about their daughter finally 'fitting in' at a school, Wednesday certainly wasn't having it.

"Now, Y/N will lead you to your dorms, you have been assigned a spot in Ophelia Hall, just like your mother once had," Weems smiles sweetly. "You can introduce her to the school, Y/N. I will stay behind with Morticia and Gomez to go over some small things."

You only nod, looking at Wednesday before exiting the room. The girl follows you, not saying a word.

"Nevermore was founded in 1791 to educate people like us. Outcasts, freaks, monsters."

It almost sounds like you are reading it off of a piece of paper. You have been tasked with introducing new students for a while now, as you seem to know the school better than any of the teachers or even Principal Weems. To be fair, you have been here the longest, except for maybe some vampires.

"You can save the sanitized sales pitch," Wednesday reacts. "It doesn't suit you well. Besides, I don't plan on staying here for long. This was my parent's idea."

You only hum in response. She does not know what she has been destined to do.

"Well," you nod. "Rumors have been swirling around that you killed someone at your old school, and that you have been sent here by your old principal."

"Actually, it was two people, but who's counting?"

You let out a laugh before opening the big doors that lead to the Quad. It just so happened that it is lunchtime, so the entire place is roaming with people.

"So, Nevermore is the place for outcasts. We have different groups, actually. There are four main groups."

"I am not interested in participating in tribal adolescent cliches."

"Oh, believe me, I know. But this isn't like normie school. I have attended this place since 1875 and I never really mingled with a lot of people."

You point to Bianca who is sitting at the fountain, dipping her hands in the water.

"We have sirens, vampires," you point to the table with Yoko. "I tend to hang out with them. Some of them have been here for quite a bit of time as well. Then we have-"

Your sentence gets interrupted by howling.

"Werewolves. Full moons are quite loud, so earplugs are needed. And lastly, we have Gorgons."

Ajax coincidentally walks up to you, a distressed look on his face.

"Y/N! Good to see you. I just heard some dirt and I know that you know basically everything. Enid's roommate eats human flesh! She totally chowed down on that kid she killed."

You awkwardly step to the side, revealing Wednesday standing next to you.

"Quite the contrary," she says. "I actually fillet the bodies of my victims, then feed them to my menagerie of pets."

"Ah," you nod. "And she actually killed two kids. Not that I am counting."

With a smile, you walk away with Wednesday, into Ophelia Hall.

You knock on the door, revealing the excited Enid. Her room has been unshared for the entire semester, and she really wanted to meet her new roommate.

"Hi! I am Enid," she squeals, trying to embrace the girl. Wednesday takes a big step back. "Not a hugger. Got it."

"Well," you clasp your hands together. "It was nice to see you, Enid. I guess I will leave Wednesday here to unpack. I will see you both tomorrow!"

With a wave you close the door, walking to your very own tower. Wednesday surely is a very special person. It leaves Wednesday, stuck in the colorful room which looks like a rainbow threw up on it.

"What's their deal?"

Wednesday asks after unpacking her stuff, making it clear to Enid to not let anything brightly colored close to her, insisting it would make her skin peel off.

"Y/N? Oh, they have been here for the longest time. Can't age at all. I would have left Nevermore a looong time ago," Enid lays down on her bad, typing away on her phone. "Not that popular as they hang out with Principal Weems a lot, but they are actually very nice. You might like them. They are into the same creepy stuff as you are. But, less scary."

Wednesday surely proved her difference from the others. Everyone seems to be mesmerized by her, and for good reason. You had been hanging out with her and Enid quite often. You didn't really have anything else to do, except to help out Weems or a teacher sometimes during a class. You would sometimes give studying help for History, but besides that, nothing.

You were sitting on the balcony, listening to Wednesday play the cello. Your balcony was almost attached to hers, only a mere meter between the two. Besides her music, you also heard people cheering and singing to music. Another party in the Quad, another one you haven't been invited to.

Your life has been going on for so long, yet you can count on one hand how many parties or outings you have been invited on. Once you had graduated, the principal at the time asked for your help and you just... stuck around. You had nothing to do.

You had outlived your parents and siblings, and even your friends after they had left Nevermore. The vampires were one of the only ones that were around your actual age, but they didn't stay forever either. Not to mention that they also just genuinely didn't want to invite you. You were known as the assistant, the one working with teachers and Weems, not as someone who could have fun.

It hurt. It did. You have not been able to experience normal teenagehood, even though you have been 18 years old for this long. You didn't want to be popular, but you aren't against partying or having a get-together once in a while. You haven't even been to any Rave'n dance as a visitor.

You thought of dying. You tried poison, hanging, but nothing worked. You could never convince someone to try and stab you, either. At least, it didn't seem to work.

"Aren't you supposed to be partying?"

You let out a huff.

"Not invited. No one wants to invite the right hand of the Principal. Always just hanging out on my own."

"Sounds perfect."

You had expected nothing less. A laugh escapes your lips as you stare up at the moon and the stars.

"Sometimes it is," you admit. "It just sucks because it seems like I outlive all of my friends. Hard to make new ones."

"I'm failing to see that problem. You don't need friends, they will only drag you down."

Silence. You only shrug before sitting down on the stones, your legs dangling off of the edge of the balcony.

"You're not the best at cheering people up, Wednesday," you laugh shortly. "At least you are realistic. I guess it's just a fear. Never dying."

She hums, placing her cello on its standard before walking to your side of the balcony.

"Sounds absolutely horrible. Better than a fear of being the center of a big catastrophe. A bad one, of course."

More days pass as it is time for the Harvest Festival. It is mandatory to visit, but you have been tasked with keeping an eye on the students. Again. The responsibility is not hard, but you wish you could just go and have fun, even if for once.

You did sit down with Yoko and Enid, though. You had ordered donuts for yourself and for them, sharing them while listening to the drama that Enid had found out.

"Hello, girls, Y/N," Weems's voice can be heard from behind you. "Can I steal Y/N for only a second?"

You stand up from the seat, sighing as you push your donuts to the middle of the table, following the tall woman. She turns around, a smile on her face though you can see it is a cover-up.

"Wednesday Addams has sneaked away. I kept an eye on her, but she is gone. If you see her, report it to me."

After only nodding, Weems walks away, probably trying to find the dark-haired girl. But, after a few minutes, you get pulled behind some cars, a hand covering your mouth as you are being shushed.

"Wednesday?"

She shushes you again, crouching down on the ground.

"You are the only one I can trust right now," she hisses. "One word to Weems and I will make sure you regret it."

You just shrug and nod.

"She has been looking for you," you whisper. "Where were you?"

"I followed a sound in the woods and was met with Rowan Laslow. He tried to kill me."

"What?!" You whisper yell. "Wednesday, are you okay?"

"If he did better, I wouldn't be here," she rolls her eyes before shoving a piece of paper in your face. "He ran off, but before that, he dropped this. He said that I am destined to destroy Nevermore."

You shakily take the paper in your hands, seeing the illustration that you know well. Wednesday Addams standing in the Quad, flames around her as she holds some sort of weapon.

"You have been here the longest," she says. "Tell me what you know."

What are you supposed to do? You can't just tell her that she also is supposed to kill you. But at the same time, the drawings may not be as it seems.

"Come with me."

You fold up the paper before grabbing her wrist, pulling her with you as you try and stay hidden. Once you reach the Edgar Allan Poe statue, you turn to the girl, letting go of her wrist.

"One word and I will report it to Weems. All of it."

She sternly nods as you turn back around, snapping your fingers twice as the statue moves back. Once in the library, you point to a book.

"It has the same symbol," Wednesday whispers, grabbing the book before sitting down on the dusty chair. "It matches it perfectly."

The left side of the picture matches the loose piece of paper that Wednesday had. It confirmed her greatest fear; she would be the one responsible for a catastrophe, and not the good kind. She is the one that would change everything.

"How do you know this?"

"After years of roaming around here, I have read every single book. Even the one of Rowan Laslow's mother. He will be expelled, no doubt."

"Why are you helping me?"

You lean against the stairs, shrugging. You can't help it, you just hope that she proves the prophecy wrong.

"You mesmerize me. In a weird way," you admit. "I have seen a lot of prophecies. I wish you prove this one wrong."

Wednesday only hums before stuffing the book in her bag, walking past you and up the stairs. She pauses for a second, looking back slightly.

"If I prove it wrong, don't think that I don't have the power to destroy the school."

You let out a laugh, nodding your head.

"I would never."

"Come on, Wednesday! Rave'n is the party of the year!" Wednesday throws up her arms. "I will help you pick out a dress! Or a suit! Please, just go!"

You nod, looking up from your book.

"Enid is right, you know. From what I heard, it's a blast."

"Finally!" Enid cheers. "Someone who understands! Thank you, Y/N."

"Enid, I would rather stick pins in my eyes than step foot in the Rave'n. Although I might do that anyway."

You laugh, closing your book before placing it next to you. Enid has been trying to convince Wednesday for a week already, insisting that she needed to go.

"I might even go," you nod, making Wednesday look at you. "Weems gave me this time off. The new teacher, Thornhill, is keeping watch this time."

"Alright, well, if Wednesday doesn't want to go, then I will just go dress shopping by myself. Care to join me, Y/N?"

"Sure, I have nothing else to do."

Enid squeals before grabbing her phone, wallet, and bag, sprinting out of the room already.

"We have to go together."

You frown, looking at Wednesday before buttoning up your blazer. Not a student, yet still wearing the Nevermore outfit.

"You know more about the prophecies than I do. We can find out more about the prophecy, and more about that monster in the woods."

"Wednesday Addams," you grin. "Are you asking me to the Rave'n?"

The girl's jaw clenches as she just stands there, already slightly regretting mentioning the Rave'n dance.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Sure, I will help you."

Enid's reaction to Wednesday joining you for the shopping was insane. You have never seen a girl that excited. You had quickly found an outfit you loved, but Wednesday insisted on not needing one, she had a dress already. But, once you pass Uriah's Heap, Wednesday stops walking.

A beautiful, black gown, which fits her personal style perfectly. She would not be caught dead wearing one of the dresses that Enid proposed to her, but Wednesday insists she doesn't need the dress.

The day of the Rave'n. You stood in the hallway, waiting for Enid and Wednesday to come out. The door opens, revealing an excited Enid and a less-than-happy Wednesday. You let out a laugh, greeting them before walking down the stairs, the music of the party already heard even from a small distance.

The party was everything Wednesday hated. The music, the lights, all of it.

"I am suspicious of Xavier," she says, staring the poor boy down. "It always seems like he is in the exact right space. It is too convenient."

Time went by where you sat with Wednesday, talking about all her theories and who she suspected could be the reason for her destroying the school, or who could be the monster.

"Have you heard anything of any other prophecies? There must be-"

Wednesday stops when she feels a splatter on her face, soon followed by a downpour of red liquid. This is the first time you have seen a smile on her face, though it disappears fast when she finds out it isn't what she thought it was.

"They couldn't even get real pig's blood."

Her eyes fly back to you, seeing your once white clothes drenched in red. It made her feel something, something unknown and something she hated. The blood, though fake, suited you. You grab her arm to take her out of the red rain, but once you do, her head flies back.

It looks like she is having a seizure, and that is certainly not what you need right now.

"Wednesday? Wednesday!"

She jumps back up, her eyes big and her eyebrows frowned.

"Are you okay?"

She looks at you for a second before looking at the exit, walking through the layer of red liquid without a word, leaving you behind confused.

The red was finally washed out of your hair and off of your skin, though slightly staining it still. You had sat down on your bed, just reading again when your door flies open.

"Why did you not tell me?"

Wednesday stood in your room, dressed in a simple black outfit while holding the thick book that was found in the Nightshade library.

"Told you what?"

The book gets thrown on your bed, opening on a specific page. It has the drawing that you know all too well. You, on the ground in the middle of the Quad, with Wednesday next to you. Both are covered in blood, though you look more lifeless than Wednesday ever did.

"You knew that I was destined to kill you," she hisses, pointing at the two figures. "This. This is in the same book that Rowan kept spitting about. You knew that the prophecy was in there."

You are at a loss for words.

"Why did you not tell me?" She repeats.

You close the book, pushing it back to her.

"Wednesday," you sigh. "It's nothing. Destroying the school is a prophecy that should be avoided. This one does not matter nearly as much."

You have never seen the girl this emotional, even if the emotion is anger. She was often very reserved, and though her comments are often dark and mean, she always kept her monotone voice.

"I will decide for that myself," she hisses, taking the book before turning away, leaving the room without any more words.

You had not talked to Wednesday in a while, as it almost seemed like she tried to avoid you. Wednesday was busy enough, and there was no reason to bother her.

Your room has been quiet for hours if not days, but that gets changed when you hear screams. Even from the top of the towers, it still sounds like it is next to your door. You look out of your window, jumping out to stand on your balcony. People are running, screaming, and trying to escape.

After grabbing shoes and slipping them on fast, you run out of your door. The halls are empty already, what the hell is going on? Is there a fire? You run to the Quad, trying to see what is going on from a distance. A random man walks out of the door, dressed in what seems like a costume from Pilgrim World. When you look closer, you see the rips in the clothing and the ghostly look that it has. Wait, is that Crackstone? What the hell?

You run down the stairs, being met by Xavier.

"Xavier!" You run up to him. "What the fuck is going on?"

He is out of breath, holding a bow and arrow. He grips his side before pointing to the wooden doors.

"Crackstone. He is in there, he wants to destroy the school."

You look at him shocked before looking at the door.

"Wednesday- Wednesday is in trouble," you whisper before rushing to the door and kicking it open.

"Get away from her!" Xavier screams, pointing the arrow to Crackstone before letting it go.

It doesn't hit him, though. Instead, the arrow turns right back around, back towards Xavier. You dash forward. Neither of them can get hurt. You don't allow it. Before Wednesday has time to react, the arrow hits you, right in the middle of your torso.

"Y/N?!"

You fall to the ground, hissing when you feel the stinging pain.

"Get them out of here, Xavier," you groan, breaking the arrow before throwing the end back on the ground. "You too, Wednesday."

Xavier tries to drag her away but receives a punch to his shoulder.

"Get everyone out of here, Xavier. Leave me."

Wednesday helps you up, the sword heavy in her hands. She has been doing fencing ever since she could walk, and defeating a dead guy can't be too hard.

"I distract, you stab."

"That is my specialty," Wednesday hisses.

You charge at the figure again, holding one of the metal pipes that lay on the ground. You hit him, though he seemed good at deflecting every single thing you did. But then, you finally got him down. You pin him down using your hands and knees. God, he smells.

"Get him, Wednesday!"

"You're in the way!"

You groan as you try to keep the man under your grip, kicking his staff out of his hands.

"I don't fucking care, just stab!"

Wednesday's mind is racing. She can't just stab through you to try and get Crackstone. If you would just move-

"Now, Wednesday!"

She closes her eyes tightly as she drives the sword through your chest, right into the heart of Crackstone. She has never felt this disgusting while holding something sharp. It usually filled her black heart with joy, but right now the only feeling in her body is her heart squeezing together.

Wednesday twists the sword and Crackstone gasps underneath you. Your breathing is heavy as you hold him down, just long enough to see him turn into ashes and flames, blowing away in the wind.

The Quad looks horrible, patches of grass are on fire and everything is destroyed. But Wednesday only has eyes for you. She drops down on her knees as you had fallen down, the sword still in your back and your breathing slowly getting more desperate.

"Y/N!" You barely respond, only a faint sound falling from your lips.

"If you die," Wednesday hisses, balling her hands up into fists. "I will kill you."

Her eyes are brimmed with tears, something that happened only twice before. You let out a pained laugh, your hand gripping hers.

"Oh, Wednesday, don't cry," you mumble. "It doesn't quite fit you."

"Xavier!" She shouts, hoping that the boy is still close by. "Xavier!"

After a few seconds, he hears his footsteps running toward her, but she doesn't look up. Her grip is tight on your hand.

"Get someone, they-they need to go to the infirmary." Xavier stands shocked at the sight in front of him. You, on the floor, the Quad in flames. "Now!"

Wednesday never cried. Not since the death of Nero. Not since Thing. She vowed to never cry again, insisting that the act of showing emotion made you weak. But she did.

Wednesday cried. Not hysterically, no screaming, just a lone tear sliding down her cheek as she can only hope. Hope to get you to the infirmary on time, hope that you are still with her.

Return to me.

#wednesday addams #wednesday imagine #wednesday x reader #wednesday oneshot #request #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams oneshot

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schmergo · 9 months

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I've recently done a little bit of research for some stuff adjacent to the production of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes that I'm in right now and, in checking whether certain scientific institutions and inventions would have existed during the time of the play, I discovered something kind of interesting: many of the ones I've looked up were coincidentally established within 5-10 years of the setting.

The first bunch of Sherlock Holmes stories, the source materials for this play, came out between 1887 and 1893. The Natural History Museum? Opened fully in 1883. The Prime Meridian? Officially established in 1884. Tower Bridge? Built between 1886-1894. The Tube running northwest from Baker Street? 1880. London's first electrical power station? 1882. Those are just the ones I happened to look up. Telegrams are common in the Sherlock Holmes tales, and by the later Sherlock Holmes stories, he's using a telephone and even automobiles are mentioned.

Reading the Sherlock Holmes stories with that context of a world full of rapid changes and advancements, I feel like it comes across differently. It seems to say, "There's a scientific answer for everything." His unique detecting style, based on simple observations, made it seem like the age-old problems of crime and criminals could be defeated by logic and reasoning. I think there's a level of idealism, that even the most difficult crimes are solvable and bad actors are no match for modern scientific knowledge.

Reading Sherlock Holmes cases often gives the comfortable feeling of order and justice being served. I think that's the same reason true crime content is so popular today in another age of rapid digital advances-- and if we guess the solution, it's doubly satisfying. It's also why Sherlock Holmes is so easily translated to modern day.

But that also makes me think about another book and another equally iconic character that came out around that same time period: Dracula, published in 1897. And Dracula takes a lot of the same themes and seems to say the exact opposite.

I think one of the biggest things that surprises first-time readers of Dracula is how modern Dracula feels and how much technology is used in the book. Like the Sherlock Holmes stories, it was set in roughly 'modern day' when it was written. The 'good guys' use trains, telephones, typewriters, and even blood transfusions. But when Dracula, an old-world monster, arrives in their modern newfangled city of London, all of that technology is useless against him. And so is any ability of theirs to deduce a simple scientific explanation for what's going on.

When Dracula starts sneaking into their friend’s house and sucking her blood each night, the signs are obvious, right down to the puncture marks on her neck. The reader and audience knows what’s up waaaay before the characters do. It’s infuriating! You want to jump up and down and yell, “A VAMPIRE IS KILLING HER!” But why don’t they see what’s right in front of their faces? Because they’re thoroughly modern upper-middle class British people who live in a scientifically advanced world and believe in reason.

The chaos of true evil is more powerful than logic and reason. To defeat him, they need to get on his level and use superstition and religion and folklore. It's the polar opposite of a story like "The Hounds of the Baskervilles," published five years later.

All that said... I would love to see a Sherlock Holmes and Dracula crossover. How long would it take Holmes to deduce that he had run into a real vampire? Would he make all the correct observations and keep coming to the wrong conclusions? Would he be able to accurately predict the patterns of Dracula's behavior when his opponent has superhuman abilities and can transform into multiple different types of animals?

Or, given Holmes' somewhat addictive and adrenaline-driven personality, his superior attunement to his senses, his surprising revival from the dead, and his innate instinct to 'catch his man' at any cost... would he himself make the most dangerous vampire of all?

#sherlock holmes #dracula #literature #books #mysteries #novels #classic literature #english major

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gaykarstaagforever · 5 months

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FREE ON YOUTUBE

Murder by Death (1976)

A weird little guy invites five world-famous detectives to his spooky mansion for the weekend, to see if he can outwit them once and for all. Silliness and charmingly lame jokes ensue. And if you're at least a casual fan of 20th century English-language detective fiction / movies up to 1976, you'll appreciate the characters and genre tropes being parodied / taken down here.

While not as raucously funny as other comedy movies from this era (like Airplane! and Blazing Saddles, assuming that era's comedy works for you at all), the Neil Simon script is consistently chuckle-worthy, with some genuine lol moments. There is one joke involving Peter Falk firing a gun and having to go to the bathroom that is one of the stupidest, funniest things I have ever seen, almost entirely because of how he delivers it. Seriously, the whole movie is worth watching just for that.

Speaking of Peter Falk, the cast is Hollywood royalty, many of them reprising crime-solving characters in parody that they were at this point famous for. Special note to James Coco as the Hercule Peroit parody Milo Perrier, one of the few actors who seems to get the tone the screenplay is trying for, so he is perpetually funny. And of course Peter Falk as Sam Diamond, being absolutely perfect as Columbo doing Humphrey Bogart doing Sam Spade. Falk was never not 110%, and that's also true here. Truman Capote, playing the principal antagonist, is...well. He was never a great actor. But he's certainly being Truman Capote and that kind of makes up for it.

Also special shout-out to Estelle Winwood, who at 93 is bright-eyed and sharp enough to make an extended fart joke funny.

(That woman died eight years after this, two years after I was born. She was born in 1883 and debuted on Broadway in 1916. Amazing.)

The big black mark on this is Peter Sellers as Sidney Wang, doing his awful stupid Charlie Chan Tojo "me so solly" yellowface garbage. Obviously his history of doing this character like this, to pop culture acclaim, was enough to get him into this movie doing it, WELL PAST the point where it was in any way acceptable. The movie knows that, sort of, and tries to Tropic Thunder it by making his behavior an object of (too) light scorn, while also pairing him with an "adopted Japanese son," played by Japanese-American actor Richard Narita. It is still utterly awkward and gross, redeemed only slightly by the fact that Sellers is a good actor so he gives Wang genuine depth of character, despite the rest of this. That is in no way a defense, and it is still terrible. Just slightly less terrible, maybe? Relatively?

With all of the magical realism and trope tear-downs in this plot, I kept expecting by the end that someone would reveal Sellers as a character perpetuating a racist fraud. But they aren't brave enough to do that. Real shame.

Also there are no Holmes and Watson parodies here, which seems like a glaring omission. Wikipedia says they cut scenes from the original screenplay which would have had them either show up right at the end, after the crime has already been solved, or near the end, and then solve it. These were apparently cut because it was decided they would distract from and overshadow the plot at that point.

Fair enough. But as the plot by the end is purposeful convoluted goofiness mixed with a meta-commentary on the whodunnit genre in general...would it have made THAT much of a difference? I don't think so.

It is a breezy 90 minutes. And while the first half drags purposefully bad jokes out a little too long and has trouble settling on a consistent comedic tone, it ramps up and is really solid by the end.

There are also some surprising jokes about sexuality and gender identity here. I don't want to oversell that, because it is all played as just more wackiness. But I didn't expect anything quite like this in a Hollywood movie from 1976. A welcome surprise.

Oh and the paper caricatures of the cast at the beginning and end were drawn by Charles Addams. Yes, THAT Charles Addams.

Rotten Tomatoes gives it a 67%. I'd go higher than that, at least the high seventies. That Peter Falk bathroom joke at like an hour and seventeen minutes is really goddamn funny.

#free on YouTube #free movies #murder by death #1970s #racism #peter falk #whodunnit #mystery fiction #detective #noir

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mariana-oconnor · 11 months

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Black Peter pt 1

Haven't heard of this one either. Let's hope that's down to the fact it's a later story and not because it isn't popular anymore because of *looks at title* reasons.

I have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and physical, than in the year '95.

Watson does keep waxing poetic about the year 1895. Must have been an epic year.

Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable services.

Do we know the Duke of Holdernesse? I don't remember his name. How rude was he to Holmes that Holmes took his money? I feel like that must be arsehole tax.

So unworldly was he—or so capricious—that he frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the problem made no appeal to his sympathies...

More evidence for the Sherlock Holmes hates the rich theory. It's not that he's unworldly or capricious, Watson, it's that usually they're the bad guys (please see King of Bohemia). Not to put modern biases on a historical fictional character or anything.

down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer

What did he train the canaries to do?

Was it, like, an entire hoard of pickpocketing birds?

Did they murder people for him? What?

Google tells me it might have been a euphemism for brothel-keeper. Or a singing teacher. So... honestly that story could go any number of ways. I think I'll stick to actual canaries, though. Probably in Canary Wharf.

During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil...

Watson pining at home while Holmes is out with rough-looking men and having them call him Captain...

...made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity.

Honestly, I feel like this is character development. Before Watson would have just been 'Holmes is away' and 'Who is Captain Basil?', two entirely separate lines of thought. Now he has connected the dots. Proud of you, buddy!

...he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.

“If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow."

Everyone needs a hobby.

I recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high hopes...

Oh hai, Hopkins!

"However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more."

For the sake of Watson and us, the invisible audience, please to be info-dumping exposition policeman!

"In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, of Dundee."

"He has been known to drive his wife and his daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, and flog them through the park until the whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams."

Can't say I'm entirely sorry Captain Carey is dead. In fact, maybe just chalk this up as self-inflicted and leave it at that. Whoever did it probably had a good reason.

However, the nickname doesn't seem to really be racist, so that's better than it could have been. Swarthy, as far as I'm aware, refers to tanned/weather beaten skin usually, which makes sense for a longtime sailor.

"He had built himself a wooden outhouse—he always called it ‘the cabin’—a few hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten."

The original man cave?

The description of him is not crying out the sort of man who would keep tobacco on hand just in case his friends wanted some. It's not crying out the sort of man who has friends, for a start.

“Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near the door.”

Hopkins really is the smartest of the police officers we've met. And I still haven't noticed Watson comparing him to an animal.

So we have a terrible man killed by a harpoon in his man cave and no one noticed for ages because no one wanted to talk to him. I'm kind of hoping that all the women were in on it and they just... harpooned him together.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #Black Peter #long post

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yourgoodfriendjh · 1 year

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Six

1883

Six knew right away when the man entered the workhouse, because Matron never used that shrill tone for anyone but visitors. The syrupy sweet cheer didn’t blend well with her hard voice, and it grated against her ears. Two sets of footsteps clanged around the workhouse floor until they reached the children's ward--it was just a corner of the women’s dormitory where two bunks had been pushed over a few feet to make space. Every day, when they weren’t working, she and seventeen other small children sat on the floor and were ordered to be well behaved.

Six didn’t look up from her pile of cogs she was sorting, (idleness bred corruption), but she could see his shoes, scuffed brown with some squiggly symbol on the heel, stop a good few feet away. His footsteps were light; he must have been small.

Matron was talking again, and Six could practically hear Fourteen and Nine holding their breath. Both of them talked constantly of their fathers, who worked at the docks, and were certain that they would come back for them any day now. She chanced a glance upwards and saw the man was foreign, except that he had blonde hair, so she didn’t think he wanted anything to do with Fourteen or Nine.

“This one,” the man interrupted.

He was looking at her. His eyes on her face made her skin crawl, but she made herself look down again. She would not cry.

Matron only made that sound, humph, and came to haul her up by her armpits like a sack of flour, setting Six on her feet right in front of the man. Matron sounded mad. Six wondered if this man was going to hit her.

“You’ll have her back by five,” Matron was speaking again. “Stop staring, children, back to work. Good day, sir.” She walked away.

“Hello,” the man said, incomprehensibly.“Would you like to come with me for the day?”

She didn’t say anything because she knew this was the kind of question you weren’t supposed to answer. She wasn’t interested. That feeling of waiting for someone to come back for her had faded a long time ago-- rather, she had shut it off-- when Ma had gotten sick.

He seemed to know that she didn’t like him because he only raised his eyebrows, then turned and made towards the door.

It was a taunt. He was making fun of her, and she wasn’t going to let him win. She scrambled after him even as she heard Fourteen sniffling behind her.

February was not a nice time to be outside. Blustery wind ripped right through her dress and icy water splashed her ankles when she ran through the deep puddle that always barred the front door. The man stopped for her to catch up to him at the end of the walkway, hands clasped behind back. He bent his neck down all the way to catch her eyes, but she kept staring at her shoes so she couldn’t look back at him. Anytime anyone looked right at your face meant you were being too loud, or too slow, and you were probably about to be punished.

He must have been rich, because the scarf that he unwrapped from his neck and tucked around hers was warm and soft like a cloud. She couldn’t help but shrug into it. It made her nervous that he kept doing things she didn’t expect.

“It’s this way,” he guided her with light taps against one shoulder or the other through winding, smoky streets until the sky opened up and they were on a wide avenue. Then they were going down a narrow street again, this one lined with tall, creaky houses and shops. He brought her inside one of them, through a workshop that sparkled with all sorts of moving metallic things and into a kitchen where he told her to wash her hands.

“My name is Keita Mori.” He sat across from her at a small table. There was a blue and white teapot and a plate of biscuits on the table. She stared at them and not at him. Her feet didn’t reach anywhere near the ground, so she swung her legs and kept swinging even when she kicked the table leg.

“The matron told me your name was Charlotte.”

“No!” Six could remember being called Charlotte, but only fuzzily. That name made her skin feel tight and itchy, like she was trapped inside it. “Six is called Six.” She stuck her chin out like a challenge.

He froze for a second, then said, “I see.” Then he started to speak using words like apprentice and foreseeable future, which Six didn’t understand.

Six was not going to cry. Crying was for babies.

Maybe he saw that she was overwhelmed. He stood up and said, "Come along, please,” and led her back into the shiny room. Everything about him was calm and slow, like he thought about all of his movements carefully before he made them. He didn’t talk to her like she was a funny dog or a baby, like most adults did.

He had said he was a watchmaker, and he would like if she could help him with the sorts of things that his hands were too big for. That she understood, at least. He showed her around the workshop and told her the names of all the tools he used, let her hold one of the bronze birds that flittered around the rafters until he caught it and opened slid aside a panel to expose the inner workings. Its insides were made up of gears and sparkling joints barely big enough to see.

All of it was too warm, too wonderful, too interesting to be real. At five o’clock, she remembered, she was going back. It was almost reassuring, because then she could tell Eleven all about the birds and the biscuits, and she would know what to do with herself.

He gave her a heavy pile of cogs to sort, which she liked a lot more than talking. He went to work as well at a broad desk scattered with all sorts of things, his back to her. She didn’t know why, but the little hums and clicks of the clockwork was calming.

She told herself not to trust any of it.

After maybe an hour, something started to bang around in the kitchen. He went away and came back with a lumpy, round thing that whirred and clicked just like the other clockwork things. It writhed out of his arms and onto his shoulder, a plated tendril curling around his neck. She had seen a picture of something like it before, in a rare children's book that resurfaced once in a blue moon from someone’s personal stash.

“You know what this is?” It didn’t seem like a question, but she answered anyways.

“Octopus!” She remembered vividly tracing the illustration’s eight long legs and bulbous head. She laughed when he tried to set it on the table, but it clung to his wrist and twisted about until it finally settled in the crook of his elbow.

The man was smiling. “He’s called Katsu. I made him, like I made the birds. I thought you two would get on nicely.”

“Katsu,” Six repeated. She liked the name immensely. She wanted to say it again; Katsu. Kat-su. Katsu. She liked it more than the birds by far, and she said so.

This made him chuckle, though she didn’t really know why. He held the octopus out again and she pet his shiny head. She could see her hands reflected in the polished metal, warped pink palms scrubbed clean. They almost didn’t look like her hands, though there was still grime under the fingernails. Her hands were never that clean in real life.

From his pocket, an alarm went off. It made her jump, and the man looked annoyed. His whole face had flipped, just for a second, from happiness to disappointment. She desperately hoped she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“We should be going,” he said, but told her to first get another biscuit for the walk and then gave her a little blanket to wear like a coat because he said the state of her other one was horrendous.

The sun was already starting to set they rounded the corner back to the workhouse. Matron stood in the doorway while the man-- Mori, he had reminded her--put his hand on her shoulder and said it was very nice meeting her and that he would be back next Saturday.

She hoped that wasn’t true.

#is this a ridiculously long post? someone help me im new here #twofs #natasha pulley #the watchmaker of filigree street #tlfop #the lost future of pepperharrow #pulleyverse #dad number 2 will come in later I promise

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sapphire-dreamsky · 2 years

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Le Festival Des Rêves

Starring: Oda Sakunosuke | Reader | Dazai Ozamu

Pairing: Oda Sakunosuke / Reader

Words: 1883

Synopsis:

‘‘Are you craving some pink and blue cotton candy? Or maybe you have nothing planned for the weekend? Don’t worry! We got you! Le Festival des Rêves will be in town on Saturday and Sunday! Bring your children and partners! We can guarantee you will have a good time!’’

It was a peaceful day, one which only happened once in a blue moon. These days were rare and far in between but Oda appreciated them nonetheless. On these days off, the man would often wake up a little bit later than usual. He would snuggle a bit closer to his girlfriend and if he felt motivated enough, would even prepare breakfast for the two of them. The afternoon would then be spent with the kids. However, that day, Oda already made plans. The day before, when he was on the way to Bar Lupin, he saw an advertisement that would immediately catch the eye of any passer-by. The bright colours would attract anyone’s attention. But if you missed the colours, you wouldn’t miss the big marquee in the middle of the advertisement with lights hanging around it to make it attractive.

‘Tomorrow is Saturday and is my day off...maybe I could bring (Y/N) there…’ While he was contemplating their plans for tomorrow, he didn't notice Dazai creeping up behind him. ‘‘BOO!’’ There wasn’t much which could startle the man. That was something Dazai learned very early on in their early days. SO he wasn’t very disappointed when Oda failed to jump in surprise as Ango would. Despite this, however, he still pretended to be sad that his little prank didn’t work out. Oda, bless his soul, tried to cheer him up by awkwardly patting the back of his ‘sad’ friend to cheer him up.

‘‘Why are you outside, OdaSaku?’’ Dazai tried to peek around his friend’s frame to see what caught the stoic man's attention. Upon seeing the sign, his eyes lit up.

‘‘Oooh! A festival is coming into town! Will you go OdaSaku?’’

Oda glanced back to the sign, before nodding. ‘‘Yeah. I will bring (Y/N) there.’’

Dazai’s eyes lit up even more, ‘‘your girlfriend, right?! Here, come, come OdaSaku. Let’s go inside and I will tell you all about what you can do to make her swoon! You will see! With my advice, nothing will go wrong! And who knows? Maybe you will even get lucky!’’ Dazai winks obnoxiously at Oda, trying to hint something at the older man. However, Dazai must have overestimated how Oda could be clueless sometimes. So instead, he only dragged Oda towards the bar, sighing dramatically at his friend’s oblivious expression.

‘‘Now, now OdaSaku! You can’t pretend that you have never thought about this!’’

Oda didn’t have the heart to ask his friend if he has ever been on a date before. Or that he, in fact, knew what his wink meant. But the man had no desire to walk on that road. He had no desire to divulge any private information to his friend about his relationship status. And so, for an entire night, the poor man only nursed drinks after drinks as Dazai tried to give him ‘the talk’. This was a long night for him. Possibly one of the longest one.

When he woke up, he was immediately attacked by the light. Oda groans at the disruption. Once the morning fog cleared up, he realised two things.

He is in his bed and in his pyjamas. He must have either walked all the way here, changed clothes and crashed in bed after the long talk at the bar, but that was highly unlikely. He didn’t remember anything after the sixth whiskey. Either Dazai helped him and took him back to his place, but even that was a stretch. He made sure to not divulge any information on where he was living to anyone in the mafia for security purposes. And even if he mumbled his address in a drunken haze, Dazai had no key. The second key is with (Y/N). She must have let them in. ‘She saw me drunk,’ was the only thing running through Oda’s mind amidst the pounding headache.

(Y/N) is not beside him. The sun is too high for it to be seven. He must have slept in. ‘Not only did she have to take care of me drunk, but she also had to prepare breakfast for the two of us.’ Oda mentally chided himself. Next time, he would cut back on his drinks. He will make sure of it.

With a groan, Oda’s head fell back on the pillow. ‘So much for a planned perfect day.’ His groan must have been loud because his bedroom door opened. A head peeked inside. (Y/N). Letting out a slight giggle at the sight of her defeated boyfriend, she nudges his lying form. Oda peeked from the pillow he was using as a shield against the sun. He quietly observed his girlfriend as she recounted last night’s event. ‘So he did tell Dazai where he lived,’ Oda mentally notes that he needs to call the man the day after.

‘‘What happened to you to drink so much last night? Bad day?’’

She gently plays with his locks. He leans in a bit closer, but upon noticing that his new position wouldn’t do it, he decides to just lay his head on her lap. ‘Soft…’ Oda snaked his arm around her middle. He was rarely clingy like this, but in the morning, when Oda had nothing much to do, he would cling to her side as much as he could. For (Y/N), these days were the best. They were quiet, peaceful, and for a moment, she could forget about all the dangers Oda exposes himself to every day. For a moment, he belonged to her and not to the mafia. He was hers to cherish and care for.

‘‘...a festival in town. Want to go?’’

‘‘Hmm? Why not? It’s been ages since I’ve been to one.’’

Oda nods in her lap, letting himself fall into the welcoming arms of Morphe once more. ‘Such a sweet place to be…’

The festival was beautiful. The lights were bright and illuminated the streets. The smell of greasy food wafted in the air. The place was noisy. There were children running after each other while laughing wildly (Oda smiled at the sight), funny looking clowns walking around handing animal-shaped balloons to old and young alike while singing the festival’s theme song, making children sing with them. The atmosphere was good. While it was not as peaceful as staying at home, Oda couldn’t help but like it. People here were happy. They were escaping from their day to day life for a moment. ‘A moment of respite from daily life,’ the man muses. He smiles slightly, looking down on (Y/N). She had such a happy grin, it was really infectious.

‘‘What do you want to do first?’’

The woman shrugs and yet, despite her dismissive attitude, still drags him towards a stand of cotton candy.

‘‘Let’s get one first, yeah? Then we can walk around.’’

After buying cotton candy for his girlfriend, they went on a stroll. In the back of his mind, Oda couldn’t help but remember what Dazai 'advised’ him to do. ‘Listen, OdaSaku! This is the moment! The moment where you make her swoon! The moment where you impress her and show her who you really are! Win her a plushie! She will love that!’

Oda wasn’t certain how many drinks he already had back then, but if he still remembers that ‘advice’, then it must have been before their conversation strayed away from innocent advice.

Oda looks around the stands looking for something memorable. (Y/N) casually broke off some candy and nudged Oda. He looked down at her, flashing her a smile, accepting the sweet candy.

While looking in her direction, he notices something on a stand. ‘Is that a dog? It’s cute like (Y/N)...’ Grabbing her, he led her towards the stand.

‘‘Welcome, welcome! What a lovely pair do you two make!’’

Oda feels blood rushing to his cheeks but pays no mind to them as the man gushes over them.

‘‘Ahh! I remember taking my wife to these fairs! And now, look at where I’m working!’’

The man began laughing at the fond memory. His eyes scan the price shelves while (Y/N) converses with the man.

‘‘Ah, no, we are not married!’’

The old man leans into (Y/N), winking at her before murmuring.

‘‘Yet.’’

He leaned back into his place while (Y/N) looked embarrassed.

‘‘Is there anything that is catching your eyes, miss?’’

His girlfriend looks up, her eyes immediately falling upon the dog Oda was glancing at earlier. She points towards it. Oda nods slightly.

The man hands the two of them a fake gun, telling them about the objectives. But Oda cared little for that. He used to hold guns in his younger days. With a small confident smile, Oda aimed at all the targets effortlessly. (Y/N), who completely forgot about her own gun just gawked at him. Oda patted himself on the back.

‘‘Whoah! Young man, this was perfect! I wished I was as good as you when I was younger! It would have saved me face and money, hahaha!’’

The old merchant hands Oda the price. Upon close inspection, the dog plushie looked even more adorable. He hands it to (Y/N), who fell in love with it instantly.

‘‘Thank you, Oda! Hmm...It kind of looks like you!’’

She points at the eyes of the plushie.

‘‘He has the same puppy eyes that you do when you pout!’’

Amused, Oda started to lead her to the ferry wheels.

‘‘He?’’

‘‘Yep! I’m naming it OdaSaku!’’

‘‘Should I be jealous?’’

‘‘Only when you are working.’’

She winks at him. Oda shakes his head, paying for the attraction while (Y/N) admires his features. The lights cast an almost magical glow around the man. ‘He looks majestic…’

The trip to the top was slow but filled with playing jabs at each other. As their cart moved up, (Y/N) began snuggling up to his side, hugging her plushie in her arms.

‘‘Thank you for today.’’

Oda merely smiles.

‘‘Thank you for being patient with me…’’

(Y/N) looks up at the man questionably.

‘‘The man earlier...The one with the plushie stand...I wouldn’t mind marrying you.’’

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. She knew Oda was not one to speak lightly. He was honest, never played games. His intentions were always clear. Never one to lead his partner astray on anything or leave misunderstandings brewing for too long. This was a trait that (Y/N) admired with him. If she had to name one quality of his that made her fall for him, it would his honesty. He never aimed to hurt people intentionally.

‘‘I would happily marry you then.’’

#oda sakunosuke x reader #odasaku x reader #bsd oda x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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