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sailor-aviator · 6 months

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Fool's Fare: Chapter Eight

Fool's Fare: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Cursing, Talks of a curse, Arguing, Feelings of Betrayal, Feelings of being used, Mentions of broken hearts, Verbal abuse (kinda), Mentions of death of a parent, Talk of the supernatural, Mentions of abandonment, Suicide mention, Reveals. I think that's it, but please let me know!

Word Count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

Guilt was almost never rational. It was the monster that crept into your emotions, turning sorrow into pain, anger into wrath. It didn’t care for things like logic or forgiveness. It fed on the destruction it created, leaving behind ruin and sometimes even catastrophe.

You felt guilty for the disappearance of your father. Maybe if you had begged him to stay that last day, had pleaded for him to not go like your instincts told you to, he would still be around and things would be better. Your mother would never have died of a broken heart, your brother wouldn’t be suffering the effects of a curse that were not his to bear, and the ache that lay inside your chest wouldn’t be throbbing from your conversation with Captain Jake Seresin of the Hangman.

Water lapped against the rowboat as two of the men pulled and pushed the oars through the water. You sat in between Mickey and Bradley, refusing to meet the gaze of the blond who sat across from you. His green eyes bore into your profile, willing you to turn and look at him, but you stubbornly looked out at the dark waters that surrounded you, the mist not allowing you to see very far, not that there was much to be seen.

Mickey fidgeted uncomfortably next to you as his gaze darted between you and the captain, his fingers tugging on his sleeves as he chewed on his bottom lip. You could feel Bradley’s eyes on you as well, drilling a hole into the back of you head. You let out an annoyed huff, tapping your foot gently against the floor of the boat as you crossed your arms.

You wished a rogue wave would come and swallow you whole.

The shore grew closer and closer with each passing moment, and soon the men around you were hopping out into the shallow waters, still eerily dark and murky despite being so close to land. Mickey and Bradley got out on either side of you followed by Jake and Javy, leaving you the last one to exit. You stood to get out, a hand coming into your line of sight. You paused to look at it before glancing up to see Jake still looking at you, eyes shining with something you couldn’t place. You scowled at him, batting his hand away and taking one step out of the boat and into the water. The sand shifted, causing you to stumble, and Jake’s hands wrapped around you to keep you steady. He helped you onto firmer ground before you pushed him away from you with a glare.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, brushing your clothes off, “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of you. His brow creased as he frowned, and you let out a huff, stomping over towards where Bradley and Mickey stood. His gaze lingered, but you didn’t turn look back at him, instead choosing to watch as the men dragged the boats further up onto the shore, weighing them down with nearby stones so that they wouldn’t float away once the tide came in.

It was then that you allowed yourself to look around, taking in the jungle scene around you.

Loud cries from the different birds sounded all around you, some squawking and others chirping as they hopped along the branches. You heard the chattering of other creatures as well, watching as shadows darted about above you as well as in the brush surrounding. The mist clung to your skin, and the air was surprisingly cool for what should be the tropics. Perhaps the ship had been blown farther off course than anyone had previously thought.

Rustling sounded from behind you, and you whirled around. Your hand flew to the sword that lay strapped to your side, unsheathing it a few inches as you waited for whatever was there to show itself. Your muscles tensed as more rustling sounded, the large leaves moving, and you sucked in a breath as your eyes widened, the creature revealing itself in one quick motion.

The sound of your sword unsheathing all the way and swinging in the air filled the small clearing, and Jake was met with the business end of the sharp weapon, tip stopping just shy of his chin. His own eyes widened as he stared at it, quickly darting up to meet yours. It took you a moment to process what was happening before you, and you scowled at him, lowering the sword and sheathing it once more as he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Little jumpy, huh Guppy?”

You ignored him, face still set into a scowl as you took a few steps around the clearing. A strange energy filled the air, one that set your heart hammering inside your chest and the blood in your veins zapping with energy. Your fingers twitched at your sides, everything becoming intense around you. The air started to feel almost suffocating, the noises becoming louder, the foliage becoming brighter. Your eyes darted around as an overwhelming sense of dread gripped you, your chest starting to rise and fall rapidly as the sensations grew. You took a few tentative steps around the clearing, willing the sensations to stop, to slow down. It was all so much.

“Guppy?”

A hand grabbed yours, and the steadiness of it grounded you. Your head whipped around to look at Jake, uncertainty coloring his features as he studied you. The colors faded back to normal, the sounds became quieter, and the energy swirling around you became less stifling. Your breathing returned to normal, and it was then that you realized that tears prickled at your lash line. You wiped them away quickly, clearing your throat and pulling away from the blond to inspect the far side of the clearing.

“Are you okay?” He pressed, taking a hesitant step towards you. You waved him off, schooling your features as you heard the sound of a river nearby.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. Of course you were still mad at him, who wouldn’t be after what you found out in the cabin? He had been using you for months, getting closer to you only to relieve the effects of the curse that plagued him. He had wormed his way behind your walls and into your heart, and you hated him for making you care about him. You had been played for a fool, and the very thought had you clenching your fists with rage.

“Guppy, please-”

“What do you want from me?” You snapped, whirling around to face him, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. “What? Are you upset that you let your little secret slip out? That I’m basically just some kind of pain relief for you, and that’s the only reason you’re interested in me at all?”

A frown tugged on his lips, brow pinched in distress as he shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant at all, sweet girl,” he murmured, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to you. You took a step back, face guarded as you watched him. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he regarded you.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes set in determination as he finished crossing the distance between you two. He made no move to touch you, but you sucked in a breath at the proximity. “I know you think I’ve been using you, but I haven’t. If I wanted to use you, don’t you think I would have gone farther than we ever did? I know what I’m saying may not mean much to you right now, but I swear it, Guppy. I swear on everything that I care about in this world, I was not using you.”

You studied him for a moment, mulling over his words. Perhaps he had a point. If he was using you, surely he would have done a lot more than just hold you? You pressed your lips together firmly, frowning at him.

“I’ll tell you what,” he murmured, eyes shining as they looked at you, “I won’t touch you again unless it’s to protect you or because you want me to.”

Your brow furrowed, frown growing deeper as you regarded him. He swallowed thickly, nodding more to himself than to you.

“I mean it,” he whispered, backing away just a step. “I won’t touch you unless absolutely necessary. When-if you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Before you could answer, the leaves began to move again, and both of you turned to watch as Javy stepped into the clearing. Jake stiffened next to you, a look of irritation flashing across his face before he schooled them into one of cool indifference.

“What is it, Javy?” He drawled, sounding almost bored as his quarter master glanced between the two of you, a look of knowing mixed with annoyance plastered on his own face.

“You’re going to want to check this out,” he said finally, fixing Jake with a hard look. Jake nodded, looking back at you and gesturing for you to follow as he walked after Javy back towards the beach. You moved to leave, stopping when you heard a strange noise, almost like a song. A shiver ran up your spine as you looked back, dread filling the pit in your stomach as the sound happened again, closer to the beach this time.

“Guppy, let’s go!”

You jumped at the sound of Jake’s stern voice, whirling around and following quickly after the two men.

The men were all gathered in a clearing of trees along the water, a wooden hut on stilts sat above the water, a set of steps leading onto firmer land while another set led directly into the water. You would never have known the structure was there unless you stumbled upon it. The trees hid it from view of the beach, the foliage packed so densely that you had to really push your way through it. You stumbled out onto the other side, Bradley reaching out to steady you as you tripped over a tree root.

You wondered why he never told you that your presence brought him relief like Jake said it did.

Jake inspected the structure, walking along the side of it before looking at Javy.

“Any of you been inside yet?” He asked, frowning at the surrounding men. The quarter master shook his head, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the area.

“No,” he answered. “No one has been in yet. I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

Jake nodded, turning his attention back to the group.

“Where’s Benedict and Joshua?” He frowned.

“No one’s seen them since just after we landed,” Javy replied. Jake cursed, shaking his head.

“Alright, let’s check this place out,” he muttered, already heading up the steps. Javy was close behind followed by two more men, then Mickey, then you, and finally Bradley brought up the rear.

“We’ll keep watch out here,” one of the men called out nervously. Jake glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow before shrugging.

“Suit yourself,” he drawled, waving a hand dismissively at them.

The hut was tiny, but still somehow contained item after items along the floors, the shelves, and every other surface that was available. A strange hum filled the air, not unlike what you felt in the clearing when you were with Jake. Several bottles held mysterious items suspended in liquid, and you found yourself clutching onto Bradley, fingers twitching nervously as your heartbeat picked up.

“It looks abandoned,” Mickey muttered, eyeing a spider as it crept across a dusty, old book.

“I wonder who lived here,” you whispered, worried that something might be listening. A floorboard creaked from the far side of the room, and all of you turned to see a haggard-looking woman standing in the doorway. Hands flew to swords, and the woman let out a low chuckle.

“You won’t be needing weapons here, sailors,” she purred, her voice surprisingly pleasant sounding despite her outward appearance. Her hair was matted, crawling down the length of her back in black strands. Her skin was pale like moonlight, skin pulled tight against the bones that lay underneath. Her eyes glinted dangerously in the light, like the eyes of a predator ready to strike at the first opportunity. Despite all of it though, you could see that she had once been a beautiful woman.

“Who the hell are you?” Jake snapped, voice gruff with warning as he glared at her. She flashed him a sharp smile, lips pulled back almost too far as she regarded him with predatory eyes.

“I am one who watches over this place,” she said sweetly, hands gesturing all around her. Javy took a half step forward to stand at Jake’s back.

“Where are we?” Thequarter master asked, eyes hard as they watched the woman glide around the table that occupied the center of the room.

“You find yourselves at the isle where broken hearts go to rest, the poor dears,” she smiled, dark eyes shifting to stare straight at you. You stiffened in your spot next to Bradley, shuffling to try and hide behind him as best you could. The woman’s smile grew even wider, skin stretching in a way that it shouldn’t as her eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Your heart is so heavy,” she crooned, moving towards you, and your hands latched onto the back of Bradley’s shirt as her eyes danced with glee. “You’ll make a fine addition to my brood.”

“Not happening,” Bradley hissed, reaching an arm back to push you further behind him as he puffed out his chest, eyes narrowing at the woman in warning.

“It must be so lonely,” she continued, ignoring Bradley and the way they others shifted around the room, “to know that soon it will be just you who stands in this world. Those around you have fallen, left you for either the hereafter. And soon what you have left will fall to a curse that has nothing to do with you.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, your heart lurching in your chest as the weight of her words hit you, the familiar prickle starting in your eyes as you pressed your lips firmly together.

“That’s not going to happen,” you whispered weakly.

“Oh my sweet girl,” she cooed, reaching a hand out to touch you. “It will. When it does, I will be here to comfort you along with the others.”

“Who are the others?”

Her finger stopped only centimeters from you, her head turning slowly to lock on to Jake who still glared at her. She cocked her head to the side, the smile fading from her face as her features morphed from friendly to cold and calculating.

“Were you not listening?” She rasped, eyes narrowing dangerously. “The ones who live here have all suffered broken hearts.”

“We didn’t see anyone else on the island,” one of the crewman muttered towards Jake, but the woman ignored him. The smile slowly crawled across her face once more, though this was held promise of malice rather than the half-baked attempt at comfort she had given you.

“You are also one who is familiar with disappointment and heartbreak,” she sighed, walking slowly towards the captain. “You almost remind me of my son, the poor boy that he was.”

She stopped when Jake’s jaw clenched, glee returning to her dark eyes as she continued.

“Look at you,” she cooed at him, her saccharine tone sending another wave of chills down your spine. “What would your mother think of you now? The poor, bastard son she raised in his father’s house. Working night and day to earn her place as well as her son’s, your father never once acknowledging you as his own despite his lack of an heir.”

Jake’s nostrils flared as he glared at the woman, her lips curled into a dangerous smile as she let out a low chuckle.

“Your kind, loving mother doing everything she could to protect you from the reality of your situation,” she cooed. “But then she fell ill, didn’t she? And then she passed, and there was no one left to protect the child that you were. You were cast out of the only home you had ever known at only seven years, forced to wander the streets with any scraps you could find as your meals. It wasn’t until that old captain took you under his wing that you had a place to call home again.”

Jake said nothing, but if looks could kill, you were sure the woman would have died ten times over already. The woman clucked at him, smile once again fading, lips turned downward into a disappointed frown.

“Nothing to say about your poor, dead mother, hm?” She taunted, looking mildly put out at his lack of a reaction. Her eyes lit up suddenly, the smile returning once more.

“But that wasn’t your first encounter with heartbreak, was it?” She mused. “Not only have you suffered your own, but you’ve inflicted it on another, haven’t you?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Jake spat, fists clenched at his side, fingers twitching with restraint.

“Broken hearts are my business,” she huffed, eyes slowly shifting back towards you. “Has he ever told you why he was cursed?”

“He slept with the woman that Davy Jones was in love with,” you replied uneasily, glancing at Jake. The color had drained from his face as he watched the woman contort with laughter, the sound echoing through the room as she cackled.

“Is that all he told you?” She grinned, eyes shining wildly.

“Be quiet,” Jake snapped, stepping forward with a warning on his face. Fear ensnared his features.

“Why should I?” The woman grinned. “I think the truth deserved to be spoken. Her story deserves to be told.”

“Please don’t,” Jake begged, eyes darting between you and the woman now. “Please.”

“Davy Jones is not the kind of man to curse another because his affections are spurned,” the woman continued, ignoring the captain. “No, he wouldn’t be so cruel as to curse someone with no just cause. Jones was in love with the woman, yes, but he respected her choice enough to let her run into the arms of the man she had chosen.”

“Stop,” Jake murmured quietly, leaning against the table for support as he hung his head.

“So you do feel shame after all,” the woman cackled, though no humor was laced in her tone. “You know what you did was wrong. You knew she loved you, and like the vain, prideful youth you were, you threw her to the side once you had had your fill. No regards to the love she gave you, nothing in your heart for that woman. Tell me, did you feel anything for her before Davy Jones cursed you? Or is it the curse that made you see the error of your ways?”

“Enough,” he whispered, eyes pressed tightly shut as his shoulders hunched in on himself.

“Or perhaps,” the woman hummed thoughtfully, “it was the moment she threw herself off the cliffs into the water below that changed your heart.”

A/N: Wow, what a reveal! Can't wait to hear what y'all think of that one lol Anyway, gentle reminder that I no longer do tag lists! If you would like to receive notifications on when I post, please follow my sideblog: @sailoraviator-library and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

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okkalo · 1 year

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the truth acknowledged

sae x reader

genre(s): angst

randomly remembered sae existed and suddenly felt a fog of angst overcome me. enjoy.

“you can’t keep doing this, you know?” sae’s voice rung out behind you. you didn’t need to look to know he was probably watching you with crossed arms and his usual lack of expression. so, saving yourself the extra trouble of turning around to spare him a glance, you continued tucking in the blanket you had stolen from the comforts of your shared bed into the cushions of the couch. “just come back to bed; i don’t see why you sleep out here after every argument.”

all plans of ignoring him had vanished at his last words, you now turning to face him with an expression that matched his own. “then what do you suggest i do instead, sae?” he seemed to have not gotten the annoyance in your tone as he opened his mouth to reply with some smart-ass reply; you were sure. “i can’t just go to sleep next to you while acting as if you hadn’t just said all of those things.” you quickly followed up with, not giving him that chance to make your annoyance worse.

he narrowed his eyes at your words, a sign that this wouldn’t be a simple conversation. “you’re making things way harder than they have to be, y/n.” you would’ve scoffed and thought of a witty remark to fire back at him had you not done it multiple times in the past. now, you could only frown at him with a sense of tiredness in your eyes. why could he not get it?

“i’m tired of arguing, sae. just go back to bed, i’m fine sleeping out here.” you sighed, turning your attention back to the makeshift bed you had created on the couch in the darkened living room; everything illuminated by only one lamp. he didn’t seem fond of your dismissal, however.

“i’m not.” he replied, countering your last sentence as his lips formed into a frown of his own. the tense air seemed to have fogged out the care behind his words; it didn’t help he wasn’t easy to read either. “just come back to bed for tonight then we can talk about it in the morning.” you felt something in your chest snap at his words, hopelessness settling in.

“we never do.” you couldn’t control the waver of your voice, your back continuing to face him. there was a moment of silence after your words. the truth neither of you dared to acknowledge finally spilling from your lips in a broken voice. it seemed the sense of hopelessness had reached him as well since he hadn’t given a reply back. “we’ve been fighting so much lately, sae. and…” you took a moment to think, trying to figure out the best way to explain your feelings to him without showing him your watered eyes. “and i’m not sure i can keep going like this, y’know?”

he could only stare at your back that had been hunched from the mutual feeling of despair in the room, your arms wrapped around yourself as an attempt to shield your pricked heart. his mind a mess as he tried hard to think of a possible solution or at least something he could say that would put your vulnerable heart at ease. bearing fruitless, the only image that appeared in his mind was his brother rin. the situation seemed too familiar to sae.

a few minutes of tense silence roll by that seem like forever to you and nothing to sae. you wiped the few tears that you were surprised even came out from your worn-out eyes, your cheeks just drying not too long ago from your previous argument with the male. “i think it’s best i stay somewhere else tonight.” you broke the tense silence once more, getting up from your seat on the couch before passing sae to collect your keys and slide on your shoes. you hadn’t even put thought into a change of clothes, too caught up in your decision to leave the darkened home that you swore you remembered shining with a love like no other. meanwhile, sae stood in place through it all, wishing his mind could think of something other than his brother and the regret he held deep. you hadn’t been willing to wait for his mind, however, wishing him a softened goodnight before exiting your shared apartment that sae wondered would hold the title after tonight.

unedited thanks for reading!

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kastlequill · 11 months

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ii/v. unearth without a name: the world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 1.8k synopsis: the second time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, blood and injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

II.

A semblance of a regimented schedule formed shortly after those first couple of days.

Two goons would begin the cycle with a visit, using you as a human punching bag until your ribs burned and your frayed nerves went numb. Then came the waterboarding and the breaking of bone, be it a rib or a finger. Last, but certainly not least, Rorke would work on molding your mind into something foreign, though whatever drug he’d administered on Day 1 hadn’t made a reappearance yet.

Yet.

You didn’t have it in you to treasure that simple blessing because your captors were constantly swapping one torture method for another, determined to keep you guessing. Recently, they’d started to get more creative; extreme sensory deprivation was still a favorite of theirs, but they had now added physically-intensive beatings into the mix.

Time elapsed strangely in this hellscape. With no sun to denote mornings and no moon to introduce nights, you had to measure its passage in terms of the damage inflicted upon you. Which was to say, what marked the beginning of a day wasn’t the sunrise; instead, it was the piece of stale bread that you received only after your captors made you beg like a dog.

And to determine when you’d reached the end of another day having survived, it was Rorke, not the setting sun nor the rising stars, who served as a useful metric. Night began in the moments following his departure from the chamber once he’d satiated his raging appetite for sadism, leaving you to succumb to your injuries and fall unconscious.

Eventually, those unfulfilling few hours of sleep would be interrupted by the force of the tossed bread hitting your head. Like clockwork, this cursed routine repeated again and again, though you couldn’t discern whether or not these recurring events were consistently scheduled at a specific hour. It would come as no surprise if they’d been staggered to hinder you from adapting to your new normal.

Such was the way of the Federation.

Regardless of the truth, according to your unconventional form of tracking time, nightfall was nearly upon you. Rorke had been here for what seemed like an eternity, putting forth a valiant effort in beating you into submission and breaking your will.

You just had to bear this pain a little while longer. Then, you could allow your body to recuperate through a bout of fitful slumber.

“Still got some fight left in you, eh?” Rorke wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Hands that had spent the last however many weeks tenderizing your flesh and splintering your bones. “First, let me express my gratitude. I appreciate you makin’ this fun for an old man.”

You wanted nothing more than to kill him slow, to watch the crazed gleam fade from his deadened eyes, but you’d decided on Day 2 not to engage him beyond what was strictly necessary. If you managed to keep the talking to a minimum, then perhaps Rorke wouldn’t linger for too long. A flawed logic built on desperation.

It worked on occasion, boredom striking him sooner rather than later, ending the interrogation session without much fanfare. Though that wasn’t always the case.

The man was a loose cannon. He lashed out on a whim then switched up before you could process what he’d originally done. Even his co-conspirators avoided being caught in his blast radius, but no such hope existed for you, the prisoner who still breathed only because he willed it.

“Now, with that out of the way—”

An uppercut collided against your chin, sending you reeling, doubling over, stretching the muscles in your arms as the ropes that dangled you from the ceiling strained under the pressure. The impact rattled your teeth, and the metallic taste of blood doused your bitten tongue.

The bastard possessed an absurd amount of power for his age. And you, half-starved and broken in one too many places, were the lucky recipient of said power.

“What are the Ghosts plannin’ to do near the Gulf?” He forced your gaze to meet his, yanking your head backward by the roots of your hair. Resolute in your fatal desire to safeguard your comrades to the best of your abilities, your mouth stayed stubbornly shut.

If you couldn’t be of use out there by their side on a battlefield, the least you could do was stop the enemy from obtaining crucial intel. You couldn’t give the Feds the upper hand, not when that ran the risk of landing Merrick, Hesh, Logan, Keegan in some shallow grave.

Rorke sneered. “So that’s the kinda game you want to play? Alright, little martyr, keep your secrets. But listen up, and listen good: when I find all ‘em out, because I will find out, you’ll wish you hadn’t been so blindly loyal to those damn mutts. Better hope you’ve still got most of your fingers when that day comes ‘round.”

The grip on your hair relinquished, and your head dipped low, too fatigued to support its weight on your own. You were content to stay like that, crumpled and weak, but the sound of rustling fabric bid you to remain present and raise your lidded gaze.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of Rorke pulling out a syringe from a pocket on his tactical vest.

“Remember this?” Its needle glistened menacingly in the dull lamplight. The man must have seen the brief panic that flitted across your face because he gave a wry chuckle. “Hell, of course y’do. No need for a reintroduction, then.”

Without further delay, Rorke jabbed the syringe into a bulging vein in your neck, dehydration making it appear more prominent than usual. Your fear spiked as he injected its contents into your already-fragile system. Compared to the previous dose, you began to experience the drug’s effects much faster, blood suddenly afire, choking on hurried gasps, jaw locked. It held your body hostage while it hijacked your biological milieu and scrambled your brain.

The bombardment on your five senses was so overwhelming that you had to close your eyes, the surrounding visual stimuli too abrasive to withstand in your compromised state. When you did finally blink them open again, the scene that greeted you was of a different man, a man whose presence you greatly welcomed.

Decked out in full gear and face lathered in greasepaint wherever his mask failed to conceal skin, Keegan stood several paces behind Rorke. Arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart, cold stare devoid of any affection but flowing with disappointment. Before, he’d spoken everything you had never wanted to hear; this time, however, the apparition uttered not a single syllable.

A flash of white heat diffused throughout your body from head to toe as rage superseded pain.

Did he really think you were a failure, a disgrace? Was that why he opted to hold his tongue, finding you unworthy, an utter waste of his breath?

You recalled the days when he had barely spared you a glance beyond ensuring you weren’t falling behind. When he had gradually begun to reference you as an irreplaceable part of their established collective; when eliciting a low chuckle from him had been considered a victory and earning his praise had become something of an addiction. When he had listened to your whispered confession then offered up a weakness of his own; when he had agreed to learn bit by bit how to give you his heart and how to take yours in turn.

Looking back, the two of you had come so far. And yet, the fruits of your labor would go uneaten. You weren’t foolish enough to assume survival was still a possibility after a few more rounds of torture; if your mind didn’t break first, then your body would surely shut down.

Two good months. That was all you had gotten with him as a lover.

Just two months.

Another punch to your liver yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. “You ready to talk? No? Suit yourself.”

The onslaught resumed, ripping old wounds anew, further bruising already-sore skin, weakening calcium-deficient bones. Truth be told, you’d been ready to talk for the past eight cycles of this shit, but loyalty prevented you from squealing like a pig. Regretfully, this very same loyalty was beginning to feel misplaced.

Were they even searching for you? Was he? Had your comrades so easily written you off as KIA, unable to justify expending valuable, scarce resources on a mere stray?

Sure, Keegan’s last visit had been cruel, biting, but at least he had acknowledged your existence, your situation. The exchange, though agonizing, had reinvigorated you with purpose and determination to make it out of this hellhole alive. Now, if this fabricated Keegan would only address you, then the cracks in your composure and willpower could be rectified, bestowing upon you the strength to persevere, to suffer in silence until either your rescue or your death.

If he would only speak to you as a human being separate from this current timeline of misery and monsters among men, then maybe you had a real chance here. Maybe, you would again bask in the warmth of a glorious sunrise.

Say something.

He didn’t, of course. It shouldn’t have surprised you; he had never been the type to fill the quiet with nonsensical chatter. But you needed this, as starved of him as you were of food and water. You’d wait three seconds for him to correct himself, or else you would give him a piece of your mind, a proper tongue-lashing, scratchy throat and raw vocal cords be damned.

A well-aimed kick in the calf triggered a mental countdown.

Three. . .

Continuous heavy blows struck your temple, the resulting craters spouting a stream of blood, its damage producing a shrill ringing in your ears.

Two . . .

Forgetting the sound of his voice, struggling to replicate the unhurried yet impassioned cadence with which he spoke, gone was his deep tenor—

One.

“God, make it stop,” were the words that left your cracked, chapped lips. But there was no God to answer your pleas; not down here. Still, you begged. “Please, just make it fucking stop.”

Keegan said nothing, content to continue his silent appraisal of the scene before him. Scrutinizing your weaknesses, judging how much more damage you could endure before your total destruction. A sentinel, a voyeur of your rawest pain.

Rorke, looming above like impending doom, a deadly omen, simply laughed and laughed.

And in that moment, you couldn’t decide which of the two men you hated more.

tbc.

#keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ #cod x reader #cod keegan #cod ghosts #call of duty #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #my fic #fic: unearth without a name

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maidragoste · 26 days

Text

Hope

Viserys Targaryen & Adera Velaryon

Summary: Instead of choosing Lady Alicent Hightower as his second wife Viserys Targaryen marries Corlys Velaryon's youngest daughter. On the day of their son's name Viserys and Adera have a conversation.

A/N: If you already know Sea Dragon you know that this is not romantic because she never wanted to marry him.

Adera watched Viserys alone in front of the flames drinking what she assumed was more wine, throughout the celebration she had seen him asking the servants to refill his cup every now and then. With all the wine he drank it was obvious that he was drunk and he shouldn't be alone in that state, especially near the fire. The last thing she needed was for him to end up losing his balance and burning to death. What the young queen wanted most was to be free from her marriage but she didn't want him to die yet, not when he hadn't yet declared Aegon as his heir. So she forced herself to go to her husband's side while she caressed her stomach trying to calm the baby who wouldn't stop kicking.

Viserys felt his wife's presence but he didn't take his eyes off the fire and decided to wait for her to speak after all she had been the one who came to him. But it was the wrong decision because it only made her more upset.

“You are acting pitifully,” Adera declared, and Viserys laughed in surprise, though he shouldn’t have been because he knows his second wife has a sharp tongue, but Aemma never spoke to him like that. “What is making you act so pitifully? If it is because of Rhaenyra…”

“You know I named her to protect the realm from Daemon” he interrupted her abruptly and on another occasion Adera would have been upset by that but now she concentrated on listening to him attentively feeling that this was not going to be just any conversation. “She was my only child, the realm's delight. I named her that out of love because I no longer believe” Viserys stopped talking and a tear escaped from his left eye. For a brief moment Adera felt sorry for him, there was no need for him to say out loud that he thought Rhaenyra would be his only daughter, but then she remembered how tired Aemma looked in each of her pregnancies and any empathy she felt for her husband vanished.

Adera instead of pressing him to continue, waited and watched the king take a few breaths as if he was gathering strength to continue speaking.

“Many in our line have been dragon riders but very few among us have been dreamers,” he said, looking at his wife.

“Did you have a dream?” the young woman asked, completely surprised, and without thinking she moved closer to him, wanting to know everything. Viserys had never impressed her before, except for that time when she was just a little girl and he had given her a dragon egg in an attempt to fix things between him and her mother after the council of Harrenhal had chosen him as king. If it hadn’t been for that dragon egg then Adera would never have had Nightwing and who knows she might not have even been a dragon rider.

"When Rhaenyra was a child I saw it in a dream as vivid as these flames I saw it" Viserys smiled at the memory and when he saw Adera's bright eyes his smile was more expanded, it was not usual to see that expression in her or at least not addressed to him.” A a male babe born to me wearing the conqueror's crown. I thought I would be a son of mine and Aemma but now. "

“You think you saw our son,” Adera finished for him, feeling hope. Perhaps her unhappiness was worth it in the end if Aegon ended up being king.

Viserys wished he could feel happier at the thought of his dream coming true, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Rhaenyra. He didn’t know what to do with her. He didn’t think she would forgive him if he disinherited her, and he couldn’t bear to have his daughter hate him.

“I have already declared Rhaenyra as my heir,” he said, as if he needed to remind himself.

“Because at the time you didn't have a son,” she replied, not willing to waste this opportunity to at least make the king reconsider. “I will risk speaking frankly and making you upset with me but I am only trying to help you, husband,” she declared as she took his hand and began to caress it. “I believe that you actually named Rhaenyra as your heir because you felt guilty about Aemma’s death.” Adera tried hard not to fidget when Viserys rested his head on her shoulder seeking comfort, she wasted no time and continued in a soft voice. “You were the one who chose Aegon’s name and you could have chosen any Valyrian name but you decided on the conqueror’s because deep down you know that it is right for your son to be king.”

“I don’t want Rhaenyra to hate me,” he confessed, and perhaps Adera would be touched by the love Viserys has for his daughter if it weren’t for the fact that she is the mother of his son. She didn’t wish the princess harm; they had been friends in the past and she remembers with nostalgia the moments they shared together, but Rhaenyra stopped being her priority the moment Aegon was born. Adera doesn’t plan on allowing her son to be robbed of his inheritance.

“She won't do it,” the queen assured patiently as she caressed his hair with false affection. “She didn’t even want to be queen. She didn’t want that responsibility, she just wanted to fly on her dragon and eat cake without worries,” she said, remembering when she used to spend time with the princess and Lady Alicent in the gardens.

Any response from the king is forgotten when the sound of a horn is heard throughout the camp. Viserys moves away from her shoulder and looks at her. Any sign of drunkenness seems to have disappeared with this conversation and now in his eyes she can see that he is really thinking about her words.

“Thank you for listening to me” he said surprising her and kisses her forehead. Adera concentrates on ignoring the discomfort of feeling Viserys’ lips and clings to the hope that Aegon will be king.

A/N: I never thought that the first thing I would post after months would be something with Viserys lol

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @yn-jackson @jacesvelaryons @pictureofcaroline

#hotd #house of the dragon oc #house of the dragon #hotd x oc #house of the dragon x oc #oc: adera targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys targaryen x oc #viserys x oc #hotd fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd oc #hotd one shot #oc hotd #sea dragon! au #queen! sea dragon #velaryon oc #oc velaryon

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sulkysnape · 7 months

Note

How would Severus react to his s/o joining the Order?

How would Severus react to you joining the Order...

----------------

You were weary about telling him in the first place. Severus' reactions to news was always up in the air. You thought back to the time you told him you wanted a cat, by bringing a cat home. He did not take that news very well. But the news this time wasn't lighthearted like adopting a new furry friend.

You took your time closing up your classroom for the day. Having dinner with Severus was the last thing you wanted to do right now. Lying was not your forte, and lying to Severus was even more difficult. You knew that you would crumble the second he asked you how your day was.

You had nothing left to do in your classroom, so you had no choice, but to make your journey to your shared chambers. You dragged your feet as you turned the corner to the hallway leading to your chambers. You clenched your fist with one hand as you turned the doorknob with the other. The door swung open and you were instantly hit with the scent of roasted chicken. Closing your eyes, you took in the scent.

After changing into your evening clothes, you walked into the kitchen. Severus was standing behind the counter preparing two plates of dinner. He greets you with a smile and a kiss on the forehead before setting the dinner plates on the dining table. The two of you sit on opposite ends of the table. You each relish the silence for a few moments, enjoying the first few bites of dinner.

Severus breaks the silence as you take another bite of food.

“How was your day, love?” He asks.

You look up from your food and think for a few moments. You clear your throat before speaking.

“It was good.” You begin “We began talking about why muggle’s need electricity today… It was an amusing topic.”

You took another bite of chicken as you thought carefully about your next words.

“There’s something else I've been wanting to speak to you about, dear.”

“Hm?” Severus’ eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been speaking with Minerva lately…” You took a deep breath “Things are getting scary again… and I think…”

Severus let you speak. He’s always let you speak. You watched him take a drink of his wine as he let you collect your thoughts.

“I’m joining the Order, Sev.”

He swallowed roughly as he looked at you with a confused face.

“The Order?”

Your breath hitched as you tried to read his expressions to understand how he was feeling. Severus stopped looking at you as millions of thoughts raced through his mind.

“I’m not going to just stand back when things go to hell, Severus.”

“But do you not understand what position that could put me in, Y/N.”

You were aware of the possible danger that came with joining the Order. Your husband was doing his duty by helping Albus, so why couldn’t you do your part?

“It’s not that I doubt your strength or your courage.” His hands grip his wine glass.

The room is silent for a few moments. You watch as his eyes dart across the room as he thinks about what to say next.

“I walk on shards of glass every day. If Voldemort suspects… If he even hints that my loyalties are divided–”

“Do you doubt me, Severus?” You interrupt him sharply.

Severus pauses, his expression changing to one of quick regret as he turns to you, his eyes softening. There’s a moment of silence as he chooses his words carefully.

“No, Y/N. It’s not you I doubt. My fear… it isn’t of your loyalty or your capability. It’s the thought of you in harm’s way that I cannot bear.”

You search his face, trying to understand the depth of his concern.

“Severus, I know the risks. But I cannot let fear dictate our actions. We do this together.”

You gripped onto his hand for reassurance. You understood that this decision would most likely have its consequences, but it was a choice you were willing to make. You watched Severus think through his thoughts before finally looking at you.

Severus finally let out a sigh, the tension easing from his shoulders as he allowed a small, resigned smile to grace his lips– a rare and precious sight.

“Somehow, you always manage to convince me,” he admits, his voice soft, laced with a mixture of admiration and affection. “Your determination… it’s impossible to argue against.”

He squeezed your hand gently, a silent acknowledgment of the path you’ve chosen. “Together, then.”

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lvrdrafts · 1 year

Text

Crumbs of Cinnamon, Mended Hearts

Summary: You are in the hospital after an attempted suicide but you feel less alone than ever

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of suicide

A/N: Imma make a part 4 cus I wanna make Bucky suffer

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

You were at an all-time low, you couldn’t imagine a life without Bucky and it made you miserable. You started to have fewer customers since the negative attitude in the bakery was not one that made people want to come back. You couldn’t go back to your family, they thought the bakery was a bad idea in the first place and you could already imagine the shame on their face. You were all alone with no friends, family, and work.

You didn’t have enough money to pay for rent for the bakery or your home and now you were forced to sell your dream store. You felt as if your whole world was crumbling from one man.

Bucky had noticed your bakery had now been for sale and he was seeing you in the apartment less and less. He was starting to worry about you but every night Diana helped him forget about those worries. So the worry became more of a task put on hold.

You didn’t want to bear the pain anymore so you decided to end it. You had went to the bridge at the park at midnight. You didn’t want to be saved or seen.

You felt the whole world slow down, the cold breeze hitting your shoulder. As you jumped you felt your life flashed before you. The instant your body was completely submerged, you froze. The panic talking a complete hold of you. You realized you didn’t want to die but it was too late. As your eyes were beginning to close but you saw someone ,a man with wings, an angel, dive into the water. Then it all went black and you feel as if your body has given up.

At the hospital Sam was pacing around, worried if he was not quick enough to save you. That’s when Bucky came in asking everyone where you were.

“I’m gone for two weeks and I’m flying back home to see my best friend committing suicide. How the fuck does that happen” Sam yells at Bucky trying to hold back his anger as much as possible.

“I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and I pushed her away and I acted like a dick and I-“ Bucky starts ranting on but Sam ignores him. Sam had finally gotten on good terms with Bucky but it all seemed to crumble.

As Sam was about to comment, the Doctor came in and said you are able to get visits. Sam rushes in to see you.

“y/n/n what the fuck where you thinking. You scared the hell out of me" Sam admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she replied, "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to put anyone in danger. I just... I felt overwhelmed. I don't even know how I'm alive, it's like an angel rescued me. I don't know if it was real or just my mind playing tricks on me." you chuckle laughing at that foolish thought.

Sam looked at you with a gentle smile, hiding the truth behind his eyes. "That sounds like quite an experience. Sometimes, our minds can create extraordinary things in moments of distress. But what matters is that you're here, safe and sound."

Sam cleared his throat, looking at you with a mix of relief and affection. "Y/n, I can't tell you how happy I am that you're alive and getting better. I was so scared when I found out what happened, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Sam's eyes glistened with emotion, and he squeezed your hand gently. "You're a strong person, y/n, and you've been through so much. But I want you to know that you don't have to face anything alone. I have a friend who has a friend who is willing to pay for your bakery and I can help around the bakery." Sam says putting his hand on your shoulder as you look in his eyes thinking how lucky you were to have him "You don't have to do this alone."

Sam's grip on your hand tightened, and he looked into your eyes with such intensity that it took your breath away. "Y/n, I can't bear the thought of losing you," he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "When I found out you got hurt I realized how much you mean to me, how much I care about you."

"I was so worried, and I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I wanted to tell you," Sam continued, his vulnerability shining through. "If something had happened to you, and I never got the chance to say it, I would regret it for the rest of my life. So, here it is: I love you, y/n, with all my heart. And I promise to always be here for you, no matter what."

"I... I feel the same way, Sam," you replied, your voice filled with emotion. "You've been there for me through everything, and I can't thank you enough for that. You mean so much to me."

Sam smiled, relief was evident in his eyes. "I'm so glad you feel the same way, Y/N. I want to be here for you"

Before the two of you could say more, Sam's phone suddenly rang, interrupting the moment. He gave you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I need to take this call. I'll be right back."

As Sam stepped out to take the call, you were left alone in the room with your thoughts. That's when the door opened, and Bucky entered quietly. His expression was one of remorse, and he seemed to hesitate before speaking.

"Y/N, I... I'm sorry," Bucky said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I should have been there for you, and I should have realized what you were going through. I didn't mean to push you away, and I'm so sorry for not being the friend you needed."

You looked at Bucky, feeling a mix of emotions. Part of you wanted to hear his apology and accept it, but another part of you couldn't forget the pain of his rejection. You remained silent, not knowing what to say.

"I know I messed up, and I don't expect you to forgive me," Bucky continued, his voice filled with sadness. "But I just wanted you to know that I truly am sorry."

Before you could respond, Sam returned to the room, and you could sense the tension between him and Bucky. Sam looked at Bucky for a moment, then at you, his expression softening.

As Sam noticed the lingering tension in the room, he gently squeezed your hand and looked towards the door. "Hey, I think Y/N might need some alone time right now," he suggested, giving Bucky an understanding look.

Bucky glanced at you, his expression conflicted, but he nodded in agreement. "You're right," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll give her some space."

As Bucky turned to leave, you felt a mix of emotions, unsure of what to say or do. Before you could say anything, Sam leaned closer, cupping your face gently with his hand, and pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

Bucky paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, and then he turned back to look at you one last time. His expression was a mix of sadness and frustration, and without saying a word, he slammed the door shut behind him.

The hours passed, and Sam stayed by your side, offering quiet companionship and support. Eventually, the fatigue of the day caught up with you, and your eyes grew heavy.

"I think it's time for you to rest," Sam said softly, seeing the exhaustion in your eyes. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his presence. "Thank you, Sam. You've been amazing," you murmured, already feeling yourself drift off to sleep.

Sam smiled tenderly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Sleep well, Y/N," he whispered, his voice a soothing lullaby. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Taglist

@marygoddessofmischief @666yourmomdotcom @openup-yourmind @almosttoopizza @maddieislost @kentokaze @floralwslokicjand10 @vicmc624 @sunset90 @cjand10 @matchat3a @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @blueraspberryreader @that1nerd-20 @chemtrails-club @marvel-fandom23 @mewmeoww @niyah834 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @christinesdemoness1958 @matchat3a @kentokaze @mayusenpai666 @smplymrvl @chemtrails-club @emerald-writer @zeysartzone

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader angst

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catflowerqueen · 3 months

Text

A though occurred to me while playing some cozy games earlier.

Bearing in mind that it is very likely I’ve missed something due to backing off watching episodes, and that I am entirely talking about in-universe reasons for certain decisions, because I understand completely why the writers themselves might have had…

Why did Monty not bring Old Moon back earlier? Especially given that recent events have proven no one would have actually needed to die?

Earlier Monty said they were only considering this option now because they thought Nexus was too far gone and, essentially, wouldn’t care about killing them now where they would have felt bad before. But, like… Nexus is very clearly still alive. And if all Monty needed was, like… a code scan or sample or something that he probably got after he tortured Nexus to unconsciousness and went to talk to Old Moon again… why did they not do this back when everything was fine, possibly even before Solar died? Had they asked Nexus, Nexus would have probably agreed willingly! And probably would have roped Solar in to help design a new body!

Old Moon and Nexus both would have been up for expanding their family! Old Moon was the one who introduced Lunar as a brother to Sun, after all, and even told Nexus about how he would have loved to have Earth as a sister! Why would he not have done the same for Nexus, who was fulfilling the wish he’d had for Sun to have a good brother who cared and was “better”? Who more or less accepted KC's claim that Old Moon was his brother?

And if one or the other one had felt out of place/didn’t want to stick around… they still both would have been more than willing to help whoever left get settled in their chosen place. Nexus did that for KC! And one of Old Moon’s big worries about Earth’s eventual arrival was that he was still getting Lunar settled into being, like, an individual.

This all just seems… so unnecessary?? Like Monty only waited until now because they had some ulterior motive, possibly monetarily-based??

Or maybe they secretly don’t like how close Earth and Eclipse are getting, and was banking on Old Moon jumping the gun and killing him purely because Eclipse was still an enemy last he knew, and Monty wasn’t able to/intentionally neglected to tell him that this wasn’t even the same Eclipse anymore?? Just like Monty neglected to tell him the full story about what just happened with Nexus?

Again, I’m sure I’ve missed something… but I’m just sitting here right now thinking “Monty? What the hell???!" Even beyond the general "what the hell" this entire arc has been in general.

Though on that note—I really would like an explanation of what exactly I missed in Monty’s in-universe motivation/reasoning/ability that they couldn’t do this earlier. Because I’m fairly sure that if it were an issue of resources, ability, or timing, that they would have mentioned this earlier.

#honestly not sure how i feel about old moon coming back #i did like him #i do like him #i was very upset when he died #i just feel like if they were going to bring him back #they should have a long time ago #and not completely booted nexus out of the way to do so #it is just so cruel to do it now #after everything #cruel to both of them even!#tsams #tsams discourse #sun and moon show

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writeradamanteve · 2 years

Text

Anthony Lockwood Examination Post

So much of the deleted scenes have been such a delight, and many of them I’d wished they’d kept, this montage with Lockwood included, but when I first saw this scene, my heart did hurt.

I looked at this exact snapshot and saw the face of depression.

He’s lying in bed with his eyes open, and we know he doesn’t get enough sleep. He is willing himself to get up at that very moment, and when he does, it’s routine for the next hour it takes him to prepare:

He gets out of bed, puts on the same clothes, and when he’s staring at the mirror, he puts on his face—not makeup, but—: that disarming smile, that sparkling charm, and the bold confidence.

He steps out of his room and gives that unopened door one flight up—a pedestal, really—a half-expectant look:

Any minute now she’ll walk through that door.

Then

Oh, right. She won’t. She’s dead.

And he moves forward, as he always does.

He files that hurt away as he joins George and Lucy at the kitchen, thinking about the many ways to grow the business, outsmart Fittes, and get bigger clients/more prominent cases.

He makes plans, giving safety and caution a cursory thought. His agents are smart, they are good at what they do. George will tell him if there’s anything they need to know. Lucy’s razor sharp intuition, conviction, and more than adequate skill with a rapier bolsters his confidence on the field.

Then when they’re all there, fighting for their lives, that little voice he had ignored all this time will ring in his ears and the rare panic attack would consume him. When he staves off the panic attack, regret would inevitably settle in when the danger was passed.

Lucy is the one that either pulls him together or vehemently calls him out, and then he couldn’t bear it, having her angry at him.

There’s something about Lucy that propels him to do better. George does not have this immediate effect because George doesn’t storm off and he never turns his back on Lockwood. Lockwood knows George will bend a long while, and Lockwood knows just enough when to appease George to snap him back. Lucy is not as patient. Lucy does not hesitate, because Lucy knows that her hesitation once got her friends killed and that was not going to happen again.

The danger of dying does not scare Lockwood as much as it should, at least not in The Screaming Staircase/The Whispering Skull/Lockwood & Co. Season 1.

He was, until Lucy, too reckless. Lucy has managed to talk him down to “just reckless enough”. She also impressed upon him that he had a responsibility to stay alive because if anything happened to him, she and George would be devastated, and if there was anything that motivated Lockwood more than winning a case at all costs, it was to spare Lucy and George any suffering. He could not bear the thought of Lucy or George getting hurt, especially because of him.

Before Lucy, he was numb, his ability to truly love dormant, but she woke him up, and I’ll tell you exactly when Lucy first punched a hole through that barrier.

In the Netflix series, I think it was the possession scene, and there were about dozens of moments where we saw it happen over and over again, but IN THE BOOK, The Screaming Staircase, it was after the well was exploded in Combe Carey Hall.

I knelt by him, brushed the ash from his forehead.

His eyes opened. He looked at me with a clear, unclouded gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Hi Lockwood…”

Awareness returned. I saw bafflement first, then gradual recognition.

“Oh… Lucy.” He blinked, coughed, and tried to sit up. “Lucy. For a moment I thought you were… It doesn’t matter. How are you, Lucy? You’re okay?”

This scene, knowing what I know now, is exactly the moment Lockwood remembered what it was like to be loved again. He thought she was you-know-who, and then he realized she wasn’t, but oh, it wouldn’t be the last time Lucy would remind him what it was like to be loved and looked after.

Lucy knew it, too, in her bones, even if she didn’t identify it, and—poor George, he saw it. He even said he saw it.

I stood abruptly. “Yes, I’m fine.”

George was watching me through cracked spectacles. “I saw that.”

“What?” I said. “Saw what? Nothing happened.”

(Lucy, so guilty)

“Precisely. Where was his slap in the chops? Where was his firm shaking? There’re double standards at work here.”

Ah, George.

So Lockwood isn’t exactly suicidal. The danger is there, but he won’t perform the act for its own sake, he just, until the events of the Bone Glass, convinced himself that his priorities were: defeating Visitors and Lockwood & Co. besting everyone else.

It was an easier focus than the dread of losing the people he cared about, yet again.

Thankfully, Lucy and George are setting him on a different journey.

So in a way, George is wrong. Lucy does slap Lockwood awake, just in a different way.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood

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wendytestabrat · 1 year

Text

a subtle kyman moment no one talks about

ok i’ve talked abt this a lot before how cartman & kyle have A LOT more in common with each other and are more similar to each other than they are to stan with a lot of moments of those two either gaining up on stan together or selling him out some good examples are “all about mormons” when they made fun of stan for being friends with gary and made all those gay jokes (wow projecting much), the obvious betrayal in “you’re getting old” & “ass burgers” when kyle replaced stan with cartman, & ofc in the black friday trilogy when stan wanted to be on the ps4 side but cartman & kyle wanted xboxes. in fact stan was the first one to initiate not wanting to be friends anymore in “south parq vaccination special”, which goes to show imo that stan is the real outsider of the group at this point and doesn’t feel supported by the other boys in the dynamic. but what i wanna talk abt is that scene in “the pandemic special” where they’re at build a bear and stan has that breakdown and cries and shit bc that was lowkey a kyman moment too but ya’ll didn’t see it. what really stood out to me in that scene was how much cartman & kyle fucking gaslit stan and made him out to be crazy….for you know HAVING NORMAL HUMAN EMOTIONS ABOUT THE PANDEMIC. it pisses me off bc stan is way more rational than cartman & kyle are and he keeps his emotions in check way more often and then puts up with all of THEIR bullshit when they’re constantly acting out and throwing tantrums like a baby in every episode, so it’s like they couldn’t let stan have this ONE moment where he got to express his feelings and act out and do something bad??? even tho cartman & kyle do dumbass reckless immature shit and act on their emotions all the time???? they make him out to be the bad guy for going to a build-a-bear that’s closed and trying to stuff a bear for butters (even tho he was just projecting his own feelings abt the pandemic) with no employees there. like bitch please, i mean yeah breaking into a closed build a bear is a dumb thing to do but cartman & kyle shouldn’t be acting like they’re the saints here bc they’re not and they’ve done WAY worse shit lol. i mean that holier-than-thou attitude can be expected of kyle but it was surprising to see it from cartman too. and there are so many moments were stan goes along with their bullshit when they wanna do something that’s illegal or fucked up, but the one time stan gets the idea to do something fucked up they’re like “noooo that’s wrong”. the part tho where cartman is literally backing up KYLE and not stan and is like “stan you really need employee assistance for this” had me like

bc u would not expect that from cartman considering he’s a sociopathic maniac so if another boy gets an idea to do something fucked up and illegal he would be totally on board LOL like how he was willing to help stan steal the baby cows in s6 but at this point in the series you can see how the chemistry between cartman & kyle has grown so strong to the point that it’s like neither of those two give a shit about stan anymore and wanna support him on anything, when before stan was like the glue that kept the group together and it seemed like cartman & kyle wouldn’t even had been hanging out with each other if it wasn’t for their mutual friendship with stan. i think that goes to show that cartman has developed A LOT and he’s become more similar to kyle and values kyle’s opinion above the other boys when the dynamic used to be more of cartman getting stan & kenny to gain up against kyle. ESPECIALLY that scene in “bebe’s boobs destroy society” where cartman suggests they kick kyle out of the group or all those times when he’s like “ok guys i guess we just have to kill kyle” LOL

#kyman #south park #stan marsh #cartman x kyle #KYMANRANTGARBAGE

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dutchvanwinkle · 1 year

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Mr Van der Linde Pt. 10 - Dutch x Reader

This is it, angels! The last chapter of the Mr Van der Linde mini-fic. This has been an absolute joy to write, thank you for allowing me to indulge in my fantasy and for being the most wonderful group of enablers a writer could ever ask for. The response to this story has been much more than I expected, and I’ve had the best time sharing it with you. Thank you endlessly for your support and hype <3

It's on ao3, if you'd rather read there!

Summary: You deal with the consequences of your actions.

Word count: 9,037

Content warnings: smoking, drug use

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You’d blocked Dutch’s number. It was the only thing left to do.

It was the first action you took upon getting on that train. You knew that if you heard his voice or read a single word from him, you’d cave.

The level of agony you felt was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Your heart was broken, so much so that you were surprised the thing was still able to beat. All of a sudden, two of the most important people in your life were strangers. The man you loved, and your best friend.

God, you missed them.

You missed John’s laugh down the phone, or the way his eyes grew heavy after he’d had one too many drinks. You missed the way he’d snuggle into you while hungover or come and see you just so you could sit in a comfortable silence together. He was about to become a father, and there you went piling more stress onto his already heavy load.

It didn’t bear thinking about how much you missed Dutch. It was too painful to even list the things you loved the most about him, that you knew you’d never get to experience again.

It was a miracle that your other friends were still speaking to you. The boys had been quiet, siding more so with John but not quite willing to cut you out completely. The girls still got in touch with you regularly, and you weren’t sure what you’d do with yourself if they didn’t.

Abigail updated you on her pregnancy over the next few weeks, and it was like a knife to the chest at the realisation that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her baby, at least not for a long time.

She and Karen had been distraught when you announced the news that you weren’t going to attend graduation, but you’d thought it through for long enough. Everyone would be there, family members included. You daren’t even think about how awkward the whole affair would be. Not going was the most sensible thing you could do, and being sensible was at the top of your current list of priorities.

You’d received a call a week after the party from the job you interviewed for and were offered a place. Without the ability to share the news with those you wanted to hear it most, it’d only made you more depressed.

It’d taken you a few days to type out the message to John. You started off by saying you were only going to try getting in touch with him this once since you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for his forgiveness; you knew it wasn’t something you deserved. Then, you’d explained how it happened. Sparing him the details, of course, you ran through the timeline of your and Dutch's relationship and gave him the full truth. It felt false and cliché when you started talking about how you hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it was true. To a point. You’d finished off by saying that you would always be there for him, should he ever decide he wanted to interact with you again. Then you clarified that you’d never expect him to and offered him one final apology.

He’d read it not long after, and you were already prepared for him not to reply, so it wasn’t too much of a bluster when it went unanswered. There was a small, naïve part of you that clung to the possibility that he could, though.

Graduation was one week away. You wanted it over with, even though you weren’t going, and had planned to take a social media break while everyone posted their smiling photos with relatives and friends.

Curled up in bed, hiding from the world under your duvet was your most recent pastime as of late, you huffed and shut the book you weren’t able to read. Ever since that day at the Van der Linde’s, you had an awful tension headache that wouldn’t shift no matter what you did. So instead, you shut your eyes, hoping you’d fall into a nap to pass the time.

After a few minutes, your phone began vibrating and with a tired grunt, you leaned over, becoming instantly more alert at the name that was on your screen.

John.

You held the phone in your hands like it would explode if you moved it too harshly, staring at the screen until the call rang out and the vibrating stopped.

It had to have been an accident. You didn’t want to deal with the awkward scenario of picking up, to be faced with a spluttering John explaining it was a mistake. Then your phone buzzed again, this time with a message.

Call me when you’re free.

It was the longest you’d gone without breathing, your body forgetting its most basic survival instinct and going into complete shock. He was finally ready to yell at you, to call you all the names under the sun and explain how badly he wished he’d never met you. You wanted to throw the whole phone away, but he deserved the chance to have a go at you if it’s what he wanted, and you took a deep breath before pressing the call button by his name.

Time had never moved as slowly as it had during the three rings that elapsed before they stopped, and then John spoke through the phone.

“Hey.”

Hearing his voice was enough to make you tear up, but you cleared your throat and willing yourself to remain steady. “Hi.”

John sighed, and you could only imagine how nauseating it was for him to have to interact with you. “Abigail said you’re not coming to graduation.”

“No, I’m not.”

He sighed again, finding his words. “That don’t seem fair.”

Your eyebrows pulled together, unable to make sense of where this conversation was going. “I don’t reckon I deserve fair,” you said, immediately hearing how self-pitying you sounded. “It’s fine, I don’t want to go anyway.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“It doesn’t matter.” After a beat of silence, your emotions got the better of you. “John, I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t.” He was stern but softened his voice for his next sentence. “I know we need to talk, but not like this.”

Unsure what to say, you decided to allow John some room to speak further.

“Come to graduation. We’re all staying at the house the night before,” you knew that already, just because you didn’t respond in the group chat didn’t mean you weren’t reading the messages, “before we have to pack up and leave.”

The mere thought of being there with everyone, seeing them all with their families and then seeing Dutch too was enough to send your brain into overdrive. “I can’t.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

You pressed your lips together, hoping to keep your composure just a little while longer. “John, I’m confused. Aren’t you mad at me? Don’t you hate me?”

“Yes. Mad at you, I mean. I don’t hate you though. Trust me, I tried to,” he sounded reluctant to admit to it. “I’ve had time to think. And I know I’ll regret it if I know I didn’t at least try to get you to come.”

“You know, I think I’d prefer it if you yelled at me.”

John laughed mirthlessly. “Part of me wants to, but... it won’t do no good.”

The silence hung between you, and despite all the things you wanted to say to him, you couldn’t find a single word.

“Look,” he began. “You still mean a lot to me. You worked hard on this degree and truthfully... I wouldn’t have got mine if it weren’t for you. I want you there with me.”

You choked, because you didn’t deserve him being so kind and he repeated your name for you to just nod, even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “Sorry,” you whispered, and while it was an apology for your lack of response, you used it as a chance to let out some of the apology hoard you had stored up.

“Just come, alright? You can leave early if you want. Besides, the others want to see you too.”

After a shaky breath, you decided it was worth a shot. Even if you went to the house the night before and didn’t attend the ceremony, it was worth a try. You said you’d try to rectify it if you could, and this could be the chance to take the first few steps towards that goal. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Some of the tension dissipated through the phone, and you waited for John’s response. “Okay. See you next week.”

Then he hung up.

After the call ended, your phone navigated to the most recently used app, and you were met with your recent search history, mainly along the lines of can a person run out of tears and is anyone close to inventing time travel yet.

Had that just happened? You checked the call logs to confirm that yes, it had. John had called you. He hadn’t yelled at you. He hadn’t so much as berated you. He said you meant a lot to him. He said he wanted to talk to you and see you at graduation.

Holy shit. Your apprehension about not going was immeasurable compared with your apprehension about actually going.

The entire train journey back to university had been spent with you fidgeting, your mind going a million miles an hour at the prospect of what you were about to face. Karen and Abigail were overjoyed you’d agreed to come, and you had a sneaky suspicion Abigail had played a part in convincing John to get in touch with you, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Instead of taking a bus to your rented house like you usually would, you decided to take the walk to stretch your legs, get some fresh air, and prepare yourself for whatever greeted you when you got there.

But when you did, it still wasn’t enough time. Panic seeped into your veins and your breaths grew short, so you took a seat on the half-wall that acted as a border around your poor excuse for a front garden. No matter what, you couldn’t still your hands, and reluctantly pulled a cigarette out of the pack that resided in your pocket. You lit it, and once you were halfway done, you heard the front door open behind you.

You daren’t look around, not wanting to face whoever had caught you wallowing in your guilt.

But the door clicked shut, and footsteps down the front path preluded John taking a seat beside you.

“I thought you only smoked casually.”

“It helps,” you flicked the ash away, not meeting John’s face. “A little.”

“I see.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor with not a single clue on how to have this conversation.

“How long you plan on sitting out here?” John asked.

“Not sure,” you mumbled.

“You know you can’t stay here forever.”

After a short nod, you plucked up the courage to shift your gaze from the floor and to John. Your dismal state must’ve shown on your face, as he looked at you pitifully. “It's so fucked up,” you began, the tension needling under your skin. “I know it is, I’m so sorry. Sorrier than I know how to express.”

“I believe you.”

Why must he be so calm? Where was the John you knew, the one who’d pick a fight at the first opportunity – the one who’d slammed the door open when he’d caught you in the act? “Just yell at me or something, please. I can’t take it.”

“Don’t rightly think I can, you looking all forlorn as you are,” he hummed, drumming his fingertips on the wall.

Your face was already a permanent frown, but you felt it deepen. All you wanted to do was cry, even if that was the only thing you’d done over the past few weeks. It seemed a person couldn’t run out of tears, after all.

John edged closer, and you immediately shook your head. “No, don’t comfort me, I don’t deserve it.”

“You always do beat yourself up over stuff,” he scoffed gently.

“No, John. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“You don’t gotta keep saying that.”

“I don’t know what else I can say.”

He let out a short breath, stretching his neck out. “I do have one question for you.”

Your nod in response was almost eager, willing to answer anything he asked.

“Would you take it back if you could?

“I –” you stopped to take a breath. “Yeah, of course.”

“Funny.”

“Why funny?”

“Dad said he wouldn’t. And he said that’s what he was the sorriest about, that he’d do it all again given the chance.”

You weren’t sure what to say, your heart clutching to hear such a thing but not wanting to show it on your face. You’d wondered how he’d taken the whole thing, the urge to ask Abigail had been strong but you knew you wouldn’t have been able to bear the answer either way. It didn't bear thinking about how much you missed him.

“I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“More of a clarification.”

“Okay.”

“You really are in love with each other, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, shaking your head to look at your lap but you weren’t saying no, and John knew that. “It’s... I...” you sighed, having no more lies left in you. You met John’s concerned gaze.

“It's okay,” he reassured stiffly.

“No, it’s not okay. Nothing about it is okay. You mean the world to me,” you pressed your lips together to stop them from quivering as tears gathered in your eyes once more. “None of it matters now,” you added dejectedly.

John shifted beside you, finally taking his gaze away and instead planting it somewhere ahead of him. “I think it does.”

“What do you mean?” you asked quietly.

“He’s been... Well, he’s not been good. He’s sorry, to me, but mainly he’s... Heartbroken, I guess. He’s been so happy recently, we’ve all noticed it, and now he’s just... Not.”

It pained you to hear how hurt he was. Knowing you were the cause of his pain, denying him even a single word turned your stomach even more. “Oh, I’m... Sorry.”

John sighed. “I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy. That’s what means the most to me.”

“I’m sure we’ll both be fine, eventually. Like I said, it’s not important how either of us feel. We did an awful fucking thing, and I guess we both deserve to feel like shit.”

“That’s just it,” John paused as you stubbed out your cig with your foot, “maybe being happy is what you deserve.”

You glanced at him, trepidation and anxiety set into his features. He looked so much older, somehow.

“I’m not saying I’ve forgiven you. Certainly ain’t forgiven him. I’m not saying I’m your biggest fan right now, either. But I just need a bit of time to get used to it. It ain’t worth losing you,” he said pointedly. “You know what my momma said to me, before she passed?” John seldom spoke of his mother, and your ears perked up at the privilege of being his audience. “She said one day, he was gonna love someone again. Said she knew it was hard to hear, hard to imagine him moving on, but that he wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t have someone to love. He loves love. Just the way he is. She also said it’d take him a good long while, and it did – I ain’t never seen him in a relationship since her. In her eyes, that meant that when he finally did move on, it would be with someone I could trust. She told me when the time came, to trust him. And to trust that the person he chose would be someone who cared for me, someone I could rely on.”

Your eyes were brimming by that point, but you didn’t want to do him the disservice of looking away while he was being so raw.

“She was right,” John shrugged.

“You really look at what I’ve done,” you said hoarsely, fighting away a sob, “as the action of someone who cares for you? John, if I cared about you I would never have even let the thought cross my mind.”

“Alright,” he nodded, a challenge, “what about everything else you’ve done in the last few years?”

You blinked at him.

“What about when you set me up with Abigail? What about when you convinced me to carry on at uni, even though I wanted to drop out? What about all the times you’ve looked after me when I was too drunk to see? What about all those deep chats we had late at night? What about when Abigail said she was keeping the baby, and you stayed up with me half the night until I finally slept?”

You didn’t have a response for him.

“I can’t forget all of that,” he said evenly, “even if right now I am mad at you. I know you, I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me with any of this.”

“When did you get so grown up?” your face scrunched, John’s words a soothing balm over your open wounds.

“Can’t expect my kid to turn out alright if I’m still acting like one.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m not saying it won’t be weird, but... I can learn to deal with it.”

You looked at him with mild incredulity, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

Again, your eyes filled up and you couldn’t stop the tears, holding your fingertips under your eyes to catch them.

John shuffled closer once again and hesitated, but then put his arm around your shoulders, and you didn’t have it in you to resist nestling into his embrace. “Goddamnit woman,” he scoffed, his voice lighter and more familiar, “will you quit crying already?”

“Can’t help it,” you sniffed.

John rested his head on top of yours and you squeezed your eyes shut, wondering what you did to deserve such a wonderful friend.

After a time, when your tears had dried and your breathing regulated, the two of you ventured inside and were greeted with the sight of your four other friends lazing around in the living room.

You looked at them sheepishly, but they smiled in response, seemingly relieved to see you and John on the way to being on good terms.

At first, it was uncomfortable. The situation was somewhat of an elephant in the room, but it didn’t seem like anyone was up for bringing up the topic. These were your final days altogether, the last remaining part of your lives that made you students. After this, while you’d remain friends, you’d never be living together all under the same roof again. You didn’t need another excuse to cry, so you didn’t spend any more time chasing that train of thought.

Eventually, the conversation flowed easier, and it was almost like you were existing in a time months ago, where you hadn’t made any terrible choices and your friends hadn’t found out about them.

“Still can’t believe we’re meeting your infamous da,” Abigail mocked Sean, who grinned back at her.

“Oh, he’s excited to meet the lot of you, too. I assured him you weren’t all a pompous bunch.”

“My dad’s coming too. Hey,” Javier pointed at you, “make sure you don’t fuck him.”

You glared at Javier, but at the snorts of laughter around the room you couldn’t help but break into a reluctantly amused smirk. “I have no intention of doing such a thing.”

“Did you have the intention to fuck Mr Van der Linde?”

“Can we not.”

Thankfully, even John was laughing, and while you thought the subject was still too tender to poke fun at, you agreed that this may be the easy way of getting it out in the open.

“Hey,” John said, “part of the deal with you fucking my dad is that we’re allowed to tease you for it.”

You shrunk into your seat. “I was not aware of that condition.”

“No? Would you like my permission to be revoked?”

You huffed, thoroughly left without a leg to stand on. “No. Fine.”

Denying John the right to hold this over you, likely for the rest of your life, wasn’t something you could do. If he had to pick on you and tease you, then you’d allow it, so long as it meant the two of you could remain friends.

The six of you settled into a familiar rhythm, laughing and joking until you were all too tired to continue.

When morning came around and you and the girls began getting ready together, your heart tugged at just how much you valued your sisterhood with them. Despite it all, they’d remained your friends, checked up on you, and attempted to provide a sense of normalcy in your life.

“Are you nervous?” Abigail spoke into the concentrated silence, all three of you working on your makeup.

You glanced in your propped-up mirror to see her reflection behind you, awaiting a response. “I assume you’re not talking about walking across the stage.”

She shook her head in the negative. Given the past few weeks, you’d had enough practice banishing thoughts of Dutch from your mind that you’d grown rather good at it. That had included today, where you’d disallowed yourself to picture the ways your reunion could play out.

“I suppose I am a little.”

“Surely you’re excited, though?” Karen added on, sounding rather excited herself.

“Why would I be?”

“Well,” she drawled, “you clearly love the man. Ain’t there a part of you eager to be all lovey-dovey with him again?”

You turned to frown at her face-on, instead of through the reflection in your mirror. “What? No - I’m not going to carry on seeing him.”

They observed you, puzzled, and Abigail decided on a response. “But I thought that was what you agreed on, with John?”

“He said he’d find a way to deal with it. He shouldn’t have to do that,” you turned back to your mirror and continued preening. “I’m not going to start things up with Dutch again,” you lamented.

They didn’t question it, but you could feel their confusion in the air. You couldn’t blame them. They decided not to probe the subject further.

Sure, John had said he’d deal with it. He’d said he wanted you both to be happy. But before all that, you vowed to yourself that you’d do anything to have a friendship with him, and would you really be true to your word if you actively extended his discomfort?

John’s blessing had been music to your ears at first. But being so forgiving was easier said than done – who's to say he wouldn’t grow to resent you, the damage to your friendship being irreparable? It wasn’t a risk you could take.

Thankfully, the ceremony was the first thing on the agenda that day. There were no awkward encounters to be had, and you got to walk across the stage without falling over and receive your degree in relative peace. Again, you’d actively pushed the prospect of seeing Dutch again out of your mind until you were forced to deal with it in real-time.

But once the ceremony was finished, it was time for everyone to socialise in the sunny courtyard while the graduates took photos with their family and friends, leaving nowhere left for you to hide. Unless...

Thanks to your newfound habit, you excused yourself once the six of you had taken a group picture, proof that you had in fact been there, and had at least waited a few minutes before running away.

There was a quiet alley round the side of the main building, the wall of which you leaned up against and brought your newly lit cigarette to your lips. It was nice to decompress, and with all that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours alone, it was nice to have some peace.

You took your time, eventually lighting a second cigarette and deciding this would not be a healthy habit to keep up.

“When did you start smoking?”

That cigarette was nearly choked into your mouth at the baritone of Dutch’s voice, one you hadn’t heard in a longer while than you cared to admit.

You had to face him at some point, you supposed. At least this wasn’t in front of a whole group of people.

Slowly, you turned, the man himself coming into view. His hands were casually in his pockets, and as always, his suit was immaculate, and hair perfectly styled. There was one noticeable difference though; he looked tired.

“Gives me an excuse to escape. Plus,” you shunted the cigarette up a bit, “I miss the taste.” You looked at his lips, the hundreds of drunken kisses the two of you had shared that always had an underlying hint of tobacco. Dutch brushed his fingertips over your hand, and you pulled away, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Please, I can’t.”

“Didn’t John speak to you?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not okay with it, regardless of what he says.”

Dutch’s shoulders dropped, and he leaned on the wall opposite you. His gaze was fixed on you, and you eventually met it.

The two of you looked at each other for a short while, and it was like you could read his mind, and tell him what you were thinking and feeling without saying a single word.

You missed him, you were sorry, he missed you, he was sorry.

More than anything, you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go, kiss him until your lips ached, and make a home in the crook of his neck.

“You blocked my number.” It wasn’t a question.

“I had to,” you took a drag and rolled the cigarette between your fingers once you’d dropped your hand back by your side.

“Did you really? You couldn’t have at least said goodbye – after all we’ve been through?”

“Don’t make me feel bad,” your tone came out angered, and you swiftly reeled yourself in. “I couldn’t feel any worse about the whole thing if I tried. There was no other choice, not if I wanted a chance at earning back John’s friendship.”

“The way I hear it, the two of you are already getting on.”

“He’s being kind. Kinder than I deserve and we’re a long way off repairing our friendship.”

Dutch nodded, and it hurt to see the pain that’d made camp on his face.

“How are things with the two of you?”

“Long way off,” he echoed. “He didn’t speak to me for a while, but he’s starting to be civil. I’m surprised by him, truth be told.”

“Why?”

“He’s been real grown up about it all,” his lips twitched with an unmitigated fondness, “we talked it all out, and he actually listened to my side of it. That’s two of my boys out-manning me, now.”

“Is Arthur okay?” you asked at the mention of him.

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, “not happy with me either, but can’t say I blame him. Especially not after the Molly business.”

“I did try telling him you weren’t to blame.”

“I know.” The look he gave you was grateful, and you couldn’t only imagine the grief he’d received from the two men.

It was surreal to see him standing there. You wondered if you’d even remember this conversation in a week's time, or whether it’d be some lucid recollection you wouldn’t be able to pick out words from.

“Did you hear back about that interview?”

You nodded. “They offered me a job.”

Despite his saddened expression, a glint of pride broke its way through. “Congrats. You’ll do well there, should you decide to take it.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d pictured in your mind before all this nasty business, instead, it’d be Dutch pulling you into a boisterous embrace and immediately coming up with a schedule to ensure the two of you saw each other regularly enough.

His pained eyes glanced down your form and made their way back up to your face. The crease between his brows was permanently etched there now, it seemed.

“I’m sorry they found out that way,” he said.

“Me too. I don’t blame you for it.”

“Please,” he took a hesitant step towards you. “Reconsider. Is it not worth us trying, at least? John’s okay with it -”

“He is not. He’s only saying that because he feels obliged.”

“That’s not true, he came to me to talk about it, said he wants us to be together -”

“Do you not hear how insane that sounds? Why would he want his father and b- friend to be in a relationship?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” John’s voice broke into your conversation as he strolled over to the pair of you, “but my ears were burning.”

You both just looked at him, simmering back into your own spaces – it wasn’t a conscious decision to edge closer to Dutch.

“You’re arguing,” he observed.

“I -” you sighed, itching your brow, and abandoned your unformed sentence in favour of another drag from your cigarette.

“This is meant to be a happy day,” Dutch said guiltily.

“No, I know. I think I should go –”

“No,” John put a hand on each of your shoulders, stopping you from walking away from the situation. “Look, I’ll be honest, I’m tired of him moping,” he gestured his head towards his father.

Dutch slipped the cigarette from between your fingers and brought it to his mouth for a long drag. It was like static where his skin had brushed against yours, and your eyes lingered on his lips as he took a drag. He went to hand it back to you, but you shook your head.

“Keep it.”

“And I’m tired of you being so hard on yourself,” he narrowed his eyes at you, before looking between you both once more. “You shouldn’t have done what you did. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back for so long.”

The pair of you glanced at each other, scolded but in agreement with him.

“But I understand why you did. For the pair of you to do this, to take it this far – it must be something genuine.”

More genuine than you cared to admit. Being without Dutch was like being without a limb.

“You deserve the chance to test it out in the open. Ideally,” he huffed in mild amusement, “not too open. I don’t wanna watch you canoodling. But still. You do have my blessing,” he squeezed your shoulder, “and I’m not just saying that. I’ve thought about it, and I mean it.”

There were no words, so you rested your hand over John’s that was still planted on his shoulder.

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, his voice cracking despite his hardened demeanour.

“Now,” John lightened his tone and the mood, “from what I hear they’re about to open the bar. And I don’t know about either of you but I sure as hell need a drink.”

“I sure do,” you agreed quietly, and Dutch beckoned for the two of you to proceed, and you all made your way over to the bar.

After John’s talk, you began to settle into the idea of trying again with Dutch. You were still hesitant, but since Dutch had reminded you to unblock his number, he’d messaged you regularly and gently brought you around to the idea.

So, you’d started talking more frequently, general chitchat and while it wasn’t quite the same, you found yourself valuing his conversation much more than you had previously. Still, you were hesitant to visit him, but Dutch agreed to ease back into the relationship, and going long periods without seeing him wasn’t an alien concept to you considering that’d been the norm for over two years.

It was only a few more weeks until John messaged the group chat saying Abigail had gone into labour, and he’d sent you a private message saying it might be a good time for you to go to his house, considering nobody would be there and you could have some alone time together.

Dutch too had messaged you, and you allowed your chest to grow warm at the thought of them colluding to convince you to come round. He’d confirmed the house was empty save for him, Tilly spending half of her summer staying at Arthur and Charles’ place.

You decided to bite the bullet and agreed, getting the train that same day before you had a chance to chicken out. Unsurprisingly, Dutch stood firm in his decision to pick you up from the station.

The car journey to his house had been quiet, the two of you not knowing where you stood or how to approach the situation. Arriving at his house and seeing the big stone driveway was enough to make your heartbeat quicken, the memory of your last visit resurfacing.

Dutch had made you a hot drink, and the two of you were sat outside in the late evening summer sun, thankful for the chirping birds that filled the silence.

“If you’re uncomfortable, please tell me. I’ll take you home, and I won’t be offended,” he said gently.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you settled him, “it’s just a little strange as all. Didn't think I'd ever be here again.”

After a long sigh, Dutch shifted in his seat, angling himself towards you as though he had a secret he wanted only you to hear. “I have a plan.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “A plan for what?”

“Making you a little more comfortable.”

“Let’s hear it.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blunt.

You couldn’t resist laughing, looking at him in shock. “You want to get high?”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you began, though no reason came to mind why you shouldn’t. “Because - is that a good idea?”

“Course. Might help us loosen up a little.” His charming smile made you feel all fuzzy – his under eyes were less dark than when you’d seen him last and he looked overall more like himself. He was dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and you were appreciative of the delightful view of those hairy forearms of his.

“I didn’t even know you got high.”

“Where do you think John gets it?”

“You sell drugs?” your face shifted from shocked to understanding, “no wonder you’re so rich.”

“I do not sell drugs.”

“No. Just to your son?”

“No, I don’t want him buying overpriced shit from some sketchy dealer. If he’s going to do drugs, he’s going to at least do good drugs. Besides, I don’t support the criminalisation of it.”

“Right,” you laughed, not wanting to spur him onto his well-worn soap box. “Well then,” you plucked it from his fingers to rest it between your teeth and reached into his pocket where you knew he kept his lighter, relishing in the tensing of his thighs, and flicked it on to light the end of the joint. “Let us not waste any time.”

You blew out the smoke and handed it to him, his face looking close to boyish with his grin in response. “I like your attitude.” Dutch took an inhale of his own, and either you really did have a thing for guys when they smoked or this was some strong stuff, because you began to feel all tingly.

Relaxing back on the bench, you took in the view of the garden and tipped your head back, allowing the sun to graze over your face. “I have missed being here.”

“I’ve missed having you here,” Dutch said, and you cracked an eye open at him, to see him observing you fondly. “I’m glad, in a way.”

“About what?”

“It happening the way it did.”

“Why?”

“We don’t have to hide it any longer,” he rested his arm on the bench behind you, “the sneaking around was growing tiresome.”

“I suppose,” you took the blunt from him and brought it to your lips. “Still, not sure I’ll ever recover from that look on John’s face.”

“Let’s not go back there right now. I’ve spent too much time in that space recently.”

You handed the joint back to him thoughtfully. “Has your mental health been okay?”

Dutch chuckled knowingly. “It has not. Thankfully, I’ve learnt to recognise the unhealthy thought patterns, and I was on a higher dose of medication for a while.”

“You’re not now?”

“No,” he shook his head, blowing out the smoke. “After John’s talk, after I could speak to you again – it all calmed down.”

“I see. I’m sorry you were suffering.”

“That’s alright,” he shrugged, passing the joint over to you. Dutch was going to say something else when your phone buzzed, and you pulled it from your pocket, expression brightening at what greeted you on the screen.

“Congratulations are in order,” you tilted the screen towards him, and he looked over your shoulder at the photo of a baby clutched in Abigail’s arms with John leaning over, a tired grin on his face.

Dutch’s face softened into excitement, and he took his reading glasses from his pocket to place them on his face and get a better look. “Oh my, look at that.”

Another photo came through, a close-up of the baby accompanied by a message from John sent to the group chat.

Jack’s here. Abigail had a tough delivery, but she was great, and we now officially have a healthy son. Can’t wait for you all to meet him.

Very to the point, and very on-brand for John. “Jack,” you crooned, “that’s lovely.”

Dutch patted his pocket, scoffing. “My phone’s in the kitchen, let me go text him.”

“You remember the weed, but not your phone while your grandson is being born?”

“Oh hush,” he muttered as he walked into the house.

He returned a few minutes later, while you’d messaged your congratulations along with the rest of your friends.

“How’s it feel to be a grandfather?”

“Good, oddly enough,” Dutch settled beside you, noticeably closer than he had been previously, but you didn’t mind. He took the joint from you and had a couple of drags.

“He’s gorgeous,” you smiled, and the two of you settled into a rhythm of smoking and chatting while the sun bathed you in its rays.

It was a lovely evening, and it wasn’t long before the joint was burnt out and you’d slowly slipped to be nestled into Dutch’s side, his head resting on yours and fingertips running over your palm. The two of you remained like that, fully relaxed and happy just to be near each other, the odd shift in position the only thing to break the peaceful silence.

The movement of Dutch’s fingers had transmuted to the brushing of his palm up your arm, and you tilted your head to look at him. His hands felt so good, so firm and warm, his rings leaving a cool trail in their wake.

He glanced down at you, face content, and you couldn’t help but admire how gorgeous he was.

“I’m hungry.”

“I can order -”

You cupped his jaw and attached your lips to his, not sure you could wait a single moment longer. The two of you still hadn’t shared a kiss since you’d arrived, and the weeks of longing to have his lips on yours had been agonising.

“Oh,” he said once you’d pulled away.

You laughed softly, edging closer despite already being pressed up against him. His eyes had already grown hungry too, and you realised you weren’t hungry at all. You were ravenous.

The two of you demanded the next kiss at the same time, one not nearly enough to make up for all those you’d missed out on. He gripped your waist, and you twisted your hand into the collar of his shirt, the two of you not willing to part with the taste of each other's mouths.

“Darlin’,” he breathed when you both finally surfaced for air, and you touched the tip of your nose to his. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed that.”

“Believe me,” you pecked the corner of his mouth, “I do.”

He ran a hand over your hair and tilted his head when your expression turned devious. “Do I even want to ask?”

You shook your head and stood, leaving him still leaning forward where your body was now absent. “I’d rather show.”

With that you walked into the house, Dutch’s rushed and uneven footsteps soon following behind.

“What are we doing?” he said, excited, as you led him towards the study.

Once there, you sat on his desk and parted your legs. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”

“Oh,” he smirked and stopped in his tracks, running a hand through his hair and visibly less rigid thanks to the herbs in his system.

His eyes were fixed on the spot between your thighs as he stalked towards you, reaching his hands out and gripping your thighs once he was close enough, pulling them even further apart and growling from his chest as he nestled his crotch between them. You bit down on your lip when you felt how hard he was, becoming acutely aware of how much wetter you were than usual, likely a mix of your heightened senses and the given circumstance.

“I do admire your thoroughness, miss,” he murmured into your ear, trailing his lips over your lobe and down your neck.

You sighed weakly into the air and let your eyes fall shut, thighs attempting to tighten around him, but his grip was like iron as he kept your thighs in place. Then his lips were gone, and you opened your eyes to see that he was too. You looked down to find him knelt between your legs. “Thirsty?” you teased, and he grinned up at you, black pupils taking up almost all of his iris’.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he pushed the material of the dress up your legs and nuzzled his nose into your mound. “I do love you in a summer dress,” he murmured, and you could feel the vibrations from his baritone.

Dutch chuckled at your feeble attempt of pushing your hips closer to him, not relenting with his grip.

“Don’t worry sweet girl, I don’t have it in me to tease you right now.”

There was no time to answer before his mouth was on you, pressing over the wet material of your underwear. Dutch licked up your slit, tangling his tongue with the fabric and you whined, placing your hands behind you on the cool wood of his desk.

“That’s it,” he said, taking your underwear between his teeth to move it to the side, “let me hear you.”

You glanced down at him, the infatuation plain on his face as he stared at your dripping pussy. “What happened to not teasing me?”

“This is not teasing. Do you want to see teasing?”

“Dutch,” you warned, and he could hear the seriousness filter through your playful tone.

“Not tonight,” he decided, and dived right into his favourite meal.

Dutch kissed and sucked your skin, the responsiveness of your pussy providing him with more hydration than he could manage to take in, but he appeared up for the challenge. Gentle flicks of his tongue over your clit turned into a deep drag of it over your inner walls and you gasped his name repeatedly as he thoroughly lavished you with his tongue.

Your ecstatic orgasm came around fast, and you were sure you didn’t breathe for a minute straight as he drank up all you could give him. His hands had you trapped in place so you were powerless to buck your hips and instead had to let it all go right there, and Dutch was panting when he removed his mouth from you.

“Du -”

He pulled you into a kiss by the back of your neck, using his other hand to undo his jeans and shuck them down far enough to pull out his cock and ease into your accommodating cunt.

“Good lord,” he groaned, unable to focus on kissing you as your walls tensed, begging for his cock to never leave the home it found itself nestled in. “I never,” he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger once he’d pulled himself together, “want to go so long without your pussy again.”

“Deal,” you kissed him, spotting the small window of opportunity while he was distracted to pull your legs from his grip and wrap them around his hips, coaxing him even further in and he let out a pained whimper.

His hands grabbed the swell of either side of your ass, experimentally offering a few slight thrusts, but the sensation was enough to drive you wild. His thick cock felt perfect, and you mused whether that was the extra limb you’d been missing all this time.

The small thrusts turned to longer, languid ones that had you whining, Dutch obsessive with the way he clung to your body and began fucking you stupid.

Nothing else mattered aside from the euphoric pleasure racing through your body, being drilled into and marked by Dutch in what you assumed was every way he could think of. Nips to your collarbones, fingertips digging into your flesh, pussy fucked so deeply the skin felt raw. You didn’t care. The two of you were together again, and as was always the case when you fell into each other’s arms, the world was right again.

“Shit,” Dutch grunted, blinking his eyes tightly as he watched himself disappear into you at a reckless pace, now not the time for tender loving. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your nose against his neck and breathing in the sheen of sweat on his skin. He was being greedy, his brain chasing one thing, the only thing that mattered at that moment. “It’s like you were made for me,” he began to babble to himself, and you knew he was close, so you held your own approaching orgasm until he was ready, “you’re so perfect, s-so fucking -”

Even words began to fail him as your body overtook every one of his thoughts, and that was a sentiment you shared as he fucked you deep and you cried out Dutch, because what other words were there?

He came hard, leaking into you as he pressed his hips forward, the desk jolting with the motion and you allowed your release to finally come too. His hands searched for an anchor, landing on the small of your back as he held you to him until he was completely empty.

The air around the two of you hummed, your bodies becoming soft and pliant at the familiar comfort of having your arms wrapped around each other. Eventually, each of you inched away to get a good look at the other.

Dutch’s eyelids were heavy, lips still shining with the remnants of you, and his hair had fallen around his face. He took in the view of you too and relaxed into a content smile, leaning forward to press his lips to yours, a tender act considering how hard he’d just defiled you. Neither of you had anything to say that would surmount the feelings you were experiencing in that moment.

So, you remained silent, breathing in one another until you were finally ready to face him pulling out.

As he tidied himself up, you leaned back on his desk and glanced to the side of his desk, noticing a picture frame. You took it in your hands and laughed minimally at the subject of the photo. “I can’t believe you have a picture of me here but not John.”

Despite the situation, Dutch'd made sure you get a photo with you at your graduation, you not realising he’d intended for it to take pride of place on his (now tainted) desk.

“I look better in this photo,” he said matter-of-factly. His expression softened when you raised your brows in questioning. “Or, perhaps you just make me look good.”

You shook your head, for him to shrug himself of judgement and join you in admiring the photo after he’d planted a kiss on your forehead.

It was true; you did look good together.

You’d intended to only stay at Dutch’s for a few days but found yourself not wanting to leave his side. In the end, you’d gone home for a single night to grab more stuff and made your way back to him first thing the next morning.

The day finally came when Abigail and John returned, and you watched them from the window as they made their way up the driveway, a carrier in hand. Dutch’d been fretting about the nursery – which the blue spare room had been turned into, and you were glad you hadn’t needed to part with ‘your’ room even if you did stay in Dutch’s - and whether it had everything it needed, despite already buying far too much stuff. Little Jack was surely going to be spoilt.

While you were overjoyed to get to spend so much time with the baby, Abigail and John were also happy to have you and Dutch on hand to take over when they needed a break, you ended up returning home for a time after being there for a couple of weeks, the start date at your new job just around the corner.

Since you spent the majority of your time working from home, it didn’t matter whether you stayed at your house or Dutch’s. Not wanting to rush too much into your relationship, or crowd the new family under the roof, you and Dutch agreed to a few nights a week at his place, then you'd spend the rest of it at yours. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t attempt to convince you to stay one extra night every time you had to leave, though.

Being around John while staying with his father had been awkward at first. But soon, as with all change, it became the new normal. It was nice, really, having him and Abigail so close by. It hadn’t taken long for Jack to become your favourite member of the family.

It was a few months down the line, and the Van der Linde house was full. John had worked through his nerves, but having family on hand, he’d begun taking fatherhood in his stride. He’d been grateful for you too, and you couldn’t deny that you were secretly pleased about having the advantage of the chance to be Jack’s favourite Auntie, aside from Tilly of course.

You were all in the garden after Dutch’d done a small barbeque, you stood by the table bobbing little Jack in your arms. “I do love being an auntie,” you expressed to the group, infatuated with the baby’s gorgeous cheeks.

Abigail turned to you; her face pensive. “Wouldn’t you be his step-grandma?”

Not that you’d expected anything less, but even Abigail had taken to the now-popular hobby of teasing you. Somehow, even Dutch had gotten in on the action. He snickered, John’s laugh echoing from the kitchen (his selective hearing was truly a wonder) before he walked outside and gave Abigail a proud kiss on the head.

“Isn’t your momma just the funniest?” you said down to Jack, after taking an offended pause.

She grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but return the smile.

Eventually, you’d parted with your nephew (no, he was not your step-grandson no matter what anyone said) and began taking the plates into the kitchen, loading them up into the dishwasher.

Dutch seized the opportunity to pat your ass as you were bent down, and you scoffed at him. “Perv.”

He laughed easily, bringing in the cutlery and loading it in himself. After you’d turned on the washing machine, you both took to watching the small family through the window, sitting on a mat on the grass and marvelling at Jack who’d recently learnt how to roll over.

“Now that kid will be a genius,” hummed Dutch, and you tutted at him.

“Will you leave the poor boy alone before you start locking him up with the books?”

Dutch ran his hands around your waist, holding you comfortably from behind, his warm and inviting torso a perfect cushion for your back. “I’ve half a mind to lock you up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry – do I not allocate enough time to you?” you quipped, and he chuckled into your hair.

“Not nearly enough to satiate me.”

You tsked through your teeth, resting your hands on top of his.

“I’m serious,” he added, and you glanced round to catch his eye.

“Oh, come on, what now?”

“I’ve been thinking...”

“I’ve learnt to view that sentence as a warning.”

Dutch’s eyes crinkled with his amusement, and he placed a kiss on your temple. “All I’m saying is I would love to have you here permanently. I say it not as a demand, not for something to do right now, but something to let brew in that wonderful mind of yours.”

“And you say I’m the one always jumping to the next step,” you kissed him sweetly, and he tightened his hold around you as you looked back out the window.

“It’s a mere suggestion, darlin’. Something for you to ponder when you find yourself bored.”

All you could do was smirk, this irrevocably charming man always willing to prove his need to have, which you’d deduced was just another name for a more potent form of desire; a thing he seemed to have in bucket-loads for you. You rested your head back against him, revelling in the promise of comfort and belonging that kept you company whenever you found yourself in his arms.

“Whatever you say, Mr Van der Linde.”

a/n: hopefully none of you need the reminder but pls don't fuck your best friend's dad, author does not condone it. also I know Dutch would probably be an absolute nightmare on weed given his paranoia, but in this universe that’s not a thing because I don't want it to be :)

#dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x f!reader #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfiction #my stuff

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