#lonesome-fret

[ladybirdswritings]

INVISIBLE STRING, AU — clark kent x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you lock eyes with a charming stranger at a party you’d rather not be at. NOTES - leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one…

What am I doing here? The words echoed in your head like a pulsing poison, eating away at your brain like ants to honeycomb.

Your brother was off sitting in a circle, fawning over cars, football, and all else that fueled testosterone and silly male enjoyment.

And then there was you, hugging the corner like an old lover, its shadows mirroring your open embrace.

“We should go over there,” declared Kate, a ringlet of her curl dancing with the springtime breeze. “You know, to see what the boys are talking about.”

No. No no no no no no—

“Yeah, we should!” Oh, if people wouldn’t see it as odd for you to slam a hand against your cheek…

There was a glaze over your pretty, fretting eyes and restless mind, a honeyed glaze slick with doubt and dissociation. You’d pushed yourself enough by coming here, and now you were being led like lamb to cleaver—ready to face your slaughter at the hands of—oh.

So busy was your mind that you might have kept your head bowed if not for subconscious pleasure.

His boots were shiny, and his denim tailored—and it’s all you paid attention to before your gaze shifted upward to find two remarkable blue-gray eyes peering in curiosity.

“Clark!” he blurted, offering a strong hand, and if you had half a mind, you would have realized it wasn’t politeness but interest.

You, always so caught up in doubts and hyperfocusing on imperfections. So caught up that you never quite saw what mirrored in men’s eyes when they gazed hungry at you: intimidation. You were strong, intelligent—and God—so pretty. Yet you could only breathe in your lack.

So no, when the handsome flannel boy with glasses far too big for his chiseled face and unruly raven hair—when his southern-kissed greeting met your ears, you had no idea it was a game.

A game between the men.

First to catch her interest would be first to have her.

But Clark was different. He wasn’t interested in feeding off the competition, he wanted to beat them to it. To offer you what they could not. But you knew none of this. You only knew that he greeted women as if a fire was forcing his hand.

“Y/N,” you warmed with a smile, shaking his hand in turn. He pulled back, gazing at his palm for a moment before a pinch settled between his brows.

“This is my sister, everyone. And this is my girlfriend, Kate.” Your brother strung Kate to him like a fly to spiderweb. She became smiley again, saying, “We got bored and decided to eavesdrop.”

“Be our guest,” Clark offered, the southern tang to his voice so soft you had to drown out the world to catch it. His eyes were on you, but your head was too bowed to realize.

Your gaze flickered to Kate sitting atop your brother’s lap. You shifted on your feet.

Vance, your brother’s friend, whom you had an insufferable crush on, stood in unison with Clark.

Their gazes locked in a silent contest you were too innocent to realize before Vance, frustrated, laughed breathily and sat back down.

“Oh no, it’s fine—” you began, but Clark shook his head, stepped aside, and motioned to the armchair. His gaze was so severe you had no choice but to comply.

You shuffled over awkwardly, finding your seat—only Clark stood beside you. He smelled of honeyed whiskey, chai, old books, and firewood. You stared at his veined hand on the arm of your seat, your mind wandering for a moment… What might that hand feel like against your skin?

“Surprised you guys aren’t over there yapping about books,” Vance began, his coal-colored eyes blanketing your face like a sinful dare.

It would never work. He was the moon, and you were the sun, warm and bright opposed to cold encased by darkness. But for months, his subtle flirtations evoked a lonesome part of your heart. Perhaps it was the lesser part of you, used to unhealthy men, that made you bend toward his attention like a starved flower. Regardless, you did, and it never made you feel less awful after parting.

When your gaze broke from his, you giggled shyly in unison with Kate, but that strong voice sliced through, commanding your attention again.

“You like to read?” he asked.

You flicked upward to Kate, only to find her chocolate stare upon you.

Oh… he was asking you.

“Um—” you began, nervous to have attention on your voice. “Well, yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of?” he tested with the lazy beginnings of a smile. You realized then how silly you sounded.

“Do you read?” you asked Clark, allowing your curiosity to bring your eyes back to him. As if he were a marionette, and you his new puppet, being pulled by an invisible string so he might study your pretty eyes. Were they always so warm and doe-like? Or had the wine made them more gentle? He wondered as you turned the question onto him.

“I do,” he replied, but when you grew shy and quiet again, he winced at himself. His icy gaze stuttered toward Vance, and he knew then that he’d have to open his mouth if he wanted your attention. He’d just have to work a little harder, and that was okay.

Usually, pretty girls like you would flock to him with no effort needed. Something about him looking like a Pinterest boyfriend, and all he had to do was sit and attract. But you… something about you told him you weren’t like the rest.

“I uh— I do.” He continued, breaking the stretched silence. “Sally Rooney—” he began, but you cut him off immediately.

“You read romance?” Your eyes widened, and your body turned toward him, and for a moment, you were completely lost in his words.

He didn’t pause or flicker with annoyance at your enthusiasm but instead gave you a lopsided grin.

“I do,” he confirmed. Though not a lie, he found himself a fisherman who’d hooked you with the most irresistible bait. Pretty, mysterious, shy girl you were—now he’d get you to talk. “Do you?”

Kate cut in, “We read about fairies and dragon riders.” You flushed a pretty pink with an embarrassed laugh. He peered down at you, giving Kate only a ghostly laugh of acknowledgment.

“You like fantasy, then?” he said so low it was as if the conversation was reserved for only the two of you.

As if fate were aiding his hand, the others fell into comfortable conversation. Not you, though. You were pinned under his grayed gaze.

“I read anything with a good love story,” you answered, so honestly, it surprised you.

“I like that,” he said simply, as if he were talking to himself. When he realized it, a pinch snaked between his brows, and you couldn’t help but softly laugh. He mirrored you. “What?”

“You’re likely the only man alive who does, if you’re telling the truth.”

“Well I—” he began, but your brother cut in.

“Ready to head out, Y/N?” You noticed just how entranced you’d been in this handsome stranger, not for his pretty face or interests, but for his words. The rest never mattered—not for you anyway. You often found it hard to capture any man’s attention, let alone the handsome ones. Even so, a lick of disappointment thrummed in your heart.

You dared to wonder what might happen if you offered your social media so he could contact you again. But the idea sped your heart and widened your eyes, so you stood with a nod.

Vance offered you a warm hug, and you merely waved at the others before turning to Clark—well, Clark’s chest. He towered over you, his honeyed whiskey scent licking your senses as he pulled you into a warm embrace. Gentle, curious, as if testing the feel of your body against his. Stranger to stranger—but he was so warm, so confusingly familiar.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N,” he spoke first, pulling away. Swayed by his warmth, you could only nod.

Now was your chance. Your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ask for a way to keep in contact with this mysterious stranger. But you cowered when you glanced up at his pretty face.

Fate wasn’t kind, and in your mind, you decided there was a model waiting for his warmth at home—and you were only allowed to entangle with him for a moment, never again.

“You too, Clark…”

Then you were off, never to see the mysterious stranger ever again.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

[miirohs]

no body, no crime [o.p.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Oscar Piastri x GN!Reader wc: 1.8k cw: reader shoots someone, poor hurt/comfort an: this one is dedicated to the local piastri lover em because that Danny Ric fic is never leaving the editing stage,,, had to change it up a bit tho bc the beginning was hampering the rest of it, but anyways I’m continuing the 2 am shitposting tradition 💀

The clock ticked softly in the background, a cold breeze filtering through the room as you curled further into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to drown out the noise. The nightlights shone through the thin curtains, the light of the bright neon billboards cast onto the floor.

Oscar wasn’t home again, leaving you to your lonesome in his penthouse in London, something about an emergency meeting at eleven in the night.

You weren’t worried much about the call time, but you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach as your head rested on his shoulder, still too tired to make out what he murmured in a low voice on the phone.

Whatever it was sounded important but he didn’t let you hear anything, herding you back to the bedroom with the promise that he’d be back sooner if not later. You held onto his hand, eyes shutting for good as the warmth of his hand slipped away once again.

With that, you fell into a fretful sleep, waking up at odd times for no explainable reason.

You felt dreadful as your eyes opened again, apartment eerily quiet, vision blurring as you read the clock.

2:45 A.M. It read.

You crawled to the end of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you reached out for your phone. Not a single notification on the screen and you sighed, opening up the messages app.

As you opened Oscars contact, something outside clicked faintly, making you jump. You slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden flooring as you wandered into the hall.

You didn’t see any guards posted, even as you called out names you could barely remember hoarsely, getting no response back even as your voice bounced around the hall. It was slowly starting to freak you out, but you figured it was just the lack of sleep getting to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this paranoid, and it wasn’t just for nothing.

The lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and you turned on the flashlight on your phone, your free hand pressed to the glass window. Your hands trembled slightly as you returned to tapping against the screen, typing up a message to send to Oscar.

where are you rn? heard something outside, can’t see guards anywhere.

The screen lit up, speech bubbles popping up for a couple moments before diapering entirely.

lmk when you’re on your way.

You sent the message, sliding onto a chair and hunching over the granite countertop. The phone rang only moments later, and you snapped out of your stupor, looking at the caller id.

[Osc].

You swiped, sliding off the chair and walking into the kitchen.

“Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

“Mmm, it is,” You mumbled sleepily, fingers running along the countertops as you reached to open the cabinet, "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back," Oscar replied, tone relieved. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

“No, I thought i heard something,” You paused, anxiety thrumming under the surface of your skin as something clicked again, “And the guards aren’t here, they-”

“What do you mean not there?” You held the phone away, eyes widening as he cussed softly. The shock and fear in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

"I don't know," you stammered, glancing around the dark kitchen, "I called out for them, but no one answered. I thought it was just me being paranoid but…"

"Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. I'm almost there, and if anyone breaks through, there's a gun in my nightchest. Don’t use it, just scare them if you have to." He instructed, voice panicked. You paused as he rambled further, eyes landing on a glass half full sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

“What the…”

Your head was slammed into the counter, blinding white pain licking across your temple as you dropped the phone.

The glass shattered as you flailed, crumpling onto the floor. Your world spun, something wet staining your hand as you clutched your head.

Oscar was now frantically shouting through the phone, and your vision blurred as you scanned the floor for the bright light. The sound of your phone cracking made you scramble back, trying to stand up as the world spun under your feet.

You could barely see the assailant in the darkness of the apartment, barely illuminated by the lights of the city.

They lunged for you, barely missing as you scrambled to the side, back hitting a wall. It was barely seconds before they came for you, pressing you up against the wall with their gun, cutting off your circulation.

The cold metal dug into your neck, and you clawed at their clothed arms, aimlessly flailing. Your kicking paid off, as the intruder gasped in pain as you landed a kick to the crotch, gasping for air as you slid down. Despite the throbbing pain, you dogged again when something flew at your head, crawling to the living room and pulling yourself up against the coffee table.

The intruder closed in once again, swearing loudly as they limped towards you. Grasping blindly, your fingers closed around a metal vase, swinging it in their direction. It connected with a resounding thud and you got up, shoving past them in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You’d stunned them, but you weren’t sure how long it’d last, locking the door behind you as you fell to your knees, crawling over to his side of the bed, slumped against the bed as you opened the drawer.

Your fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun Oscar had mentioned, hand tensing and untensing as you stared down the shiny silver. Suddenly, the door banged again, and you froze.

The rush of blood drowned out the taunts, positioning yourself in a far corner of the room, eyes straining in the dark as the doorknob jiggled.

That didn’t last wrong, the wood of the door splintering and cracking. "Come out, you-" the intruder's voice was cut off by another loud bang on the door, hand reaching down to the handle through a crack in the door.

There was nothing but the bed between you now, the door finally giving way, allowing them to stumble into a room with a malevolent look.

Panic surged through you and you raised the gun as threateningly as you could.

He grabbed your wrist, wrenching the gun from your grasp and throwing it to the side. You struggled, kicking and clawing your way out of his grip, diving for the gun. They tackled you once again, and you both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, your finger dug into the trigger, losing circulation as he pinned you down, gun shaking uncontrollably.

A shot rang out, followed by an intense ringing in your ears, the grip on your hands loosening. Something warm splattered against your face, blood pooling at your sides and you could only stare in horror.

There was nothing but a ringing in your ear, staring into the darkness as if expecting something else. The door burst open and Oscar rushed in, his eyes wild with fear. It was the first time you’d seen him so unkempt, eyes widening in shock as he connected the dots between the smoking gun in your hand and the body on the floor.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying, only as he pulled you closer to him, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

You couldn’t really make out what he was saying, slumping down against him as tears escaped your eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time passed till you could hear him again, blanking out for a couple of moments before you could remember again, sitting on the bed once again.

You could hear Oscar shouting in the other room, probably on the phone again. Something had gone terribly wrong for his composed self to be shattered.

He had Lando sitting in the room with you, monitoring you as your legs dangled off of the edge of the bed, staring down at hands crusted with blood.

Both of you didn’t say much, only nodding to any questions he asked, not even listening entirely.

“Is she doing okay?” You turned at the sound of Oscar's voice, opening then closing your mouth as Lando shrugged noncommittally, murmuring something about how he hadn’t heard a peep in the hour he’d been there.

You phased out again, only coming back to your senses as he gripped your hand, kneeling in front of you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, high contrast to the way he had been yelling earlier. "Can you look at me baby?"

You blinked, slowly focusing on his face. The tears were coming back, and you swallowed them down again, digging your nails into his hands instead.

He didn’t complain, running a soothing thumb over your knuckles. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to," He continued, "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Even when you didn’t answer and stared blankly, he continued, listing things aimlessly to catch your attention.

“We’re going to increase security detail for you by the way. I won’t be leaving you on your own for a while…” He paused in his explanation, tilting his head at you. “Please talk to me, baby, I’m worried.”

You swallowed hard, feelings like a mess of strings as you opened your mouth. "I don't know what happened," You shuddered, voice barely above a whisper, "I just... I had to… I just killed someone. Oh god, I'm a killer."

Oscar's expression softened further in contrast to the steely tone he used as he gripped your hand tighter. “No, you didn’t. If anyone questions you, I was the one who did it. Not you, me. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to scum like that.”

“But then- then you’ll get in trouble,” You whispered, haunted by the thought, “they’ll arrest you.”

He smirked, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face as if he was contemplating something.

“Osc baby, what-“

“Whoever sent them,” He spoke with slight disgust, although you could tell that wasn’t at all the full gist of what he was feeling, “Started this trouble first. They can’t arrest me if there’s no body to be found. No body, no crime baby.”

You could only stare at him, heart aching slightly as he pulled your hands to him, allowing you to run your fingers through his messed up hair.

“You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence, allowing him to stand up and hover over you.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he wiped your unshed tears. “You’re strong, we all know that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sniffled, hands looping around his own as he cradled your face.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead, arms holding you down almost possessively, “Never when I’m here.”

[yandere-sins]

Wriothesley didn't smile much.

Occasionally, he felt his features being torn into a grimace of faux pleasantry, his eyes as cold as the sea that his prison lay beneath while he bared his teeth to pretend a mood he wasn't in. People liked it when he appeared friendly before them; he felt nothing. Only the most perceptive amongst them would have noticed his smiles never reaching his eyes. And those few knew better than to run their mouths. There simply wasn't much to smile about when he kept himself busy by dealing with the problems and conflicts that kept rising around him. No matter how hard he worked, he always woke to a new day of challenges. It was how he wanted it, as it allowed him to forget the memories he didn't want to ponder.

And though Meropide forged unique relationships amongst its prisoners, the same couldn't be said about Wriothesley.

Even respected and, occasionally, admired by others, his life was more lonesome than it would seem to some. Good company was hard to come by when he spent all his time below the surface, running his prison and enjoying tea in his office with only his own thoughts to listen to. Every day was bittered by the uncertainty of the future he never thought he'd live to see. That same bitterness robbed him of genuine smiles to decorate his face with.

That was until you came along.

If he was the gasoline keeping the machines working, you were the match setting them ablaze. If he was the hot water to make his tea, you were the sugar sweetening his day. There was no friendly banter to have with you, no matter how little Wriothesley cared for the cold shoulder and snarky rejections you gave him every time he sought you out. And yet, the thought of seeing you again was enough to put a spring in his step, his lips parting in a grin more becoming of a little boy than a grown man.

Undoubtedly, you'd be there, in his office, sorting through his paperwork or glowering at the tea cups as you counted down the seconds the leaves needed to seep. You were meticulous like that, although Wriothesley would have drunk straight-up poison if you had served it. He knew you would welcome him with a sigh and your attention diverted towards other matters than him—you liked the credit coupons way too much that this work earned you. It was a privileged position, and you sought after any work Wriothesley handed you, even if you harbored no other feelings but indifference for the 'Duke'.

But how could he not adore you?

It had been a while since Wriothesley felt as alive as he did when he met you. You might have turned down any offer to join him for a meal (on his dime, mind you) or to give you a paid day off. Still, the way you fretted over a minor, completely irrelevant mistake you made was too adorable to send you away. He loved your serious ways, loved your hardworking mindset. He kept replaying your focused expression and grimaces in his head, chuckling into the darkness while he laid in bed at night.

There was no particular reason his heart chose you. Or perhaps his heart chose you, which made the reason special? But either way, he watched you over the edge of the report he should have been reviewing. Watched your hand guiding the feather over the paper you were working on, wishing you'd come over and hold his hand instead.

Wriothesley observed how you furrowed your brows tensely, wondering if you'd let him massage the tension away. He caught the way you nibbled at your lips, wishing he'd be able to have a taste of them instead. Working with you was torture. Torture he enjoyed a little too much.

"You're going to stare a hole through that paper, your grace," you noted, not even looking up at him as you spoke. You two weren't on the best terms since you still hated him after he thwarted your plans to escape the prison. But the way you called him by the respectful title he didn't care about didn't send a shiver down his spine because of the vitriol you spat it with. The grin curling the corners of his lips was evidence of that, but Wriothesley quickly hid it behind his hand, clearing his throat.

He went to grab his cup of tea, but it was already empty. The sinking feeling of disappointment curled in his stomach as he realized what this meant.

"It's past your work hours," he reminded you, secretly hoping you'd not care. It was past his work hours, too, but he'd rather sit in silence with you, working, than at home with only the memory to keep him company.

"You're right," you noted, no indications of your next move from the sound of your voice. Would you stay? Would you leave? You kept scribbling the itemization he had you create, and a glimmer of hope lit his world up. That was, until you set down the feather, gathered your documents, and created order on your table that Wriothesley had squeezed into his pretty crowded office.

Before you could say anything, he had gotten up, standing even before you did. "I will see you out," he explained as you glared at him, knowing fully well that with his gaze so strangely fixated on you, his reaction was not normal. And it wasn't, not when it made his heart beat incredibly fast, Wriothesley hoping you couldn't hear it break out of his ribcage the closer he got to you.

"My, someone's in a hurry," you commented snidely, and Wriothesley's grin jerked back into place. "Are you invited on a date or something...?"

"Depends," he started, quickly catching his composure after the initial surprise over your question. Was it jealousy, perhaps? A man could dream. "Are you free tonight?"

Taking a quick step forward, he stopped you in your tracks, coming to a halt in front of you. You two stared at each other in silence, displeasure written over your face that was just inches away from his. Your breath caressed him, swirls of your scent fogging his mind. Wriothesley could have leaned forward, abused this situation in ways unbecoming of his position. Risking it all just to brush his lips against yours. But his heart might have burst into a million pieces had he done so. Instead, he stood and waited, hoping for you to be the first to break the charade of your hatred. Give him the signals he so desperately hoped for.

Maybe it was all false after all. Perhaps you felt even just the smallest piece of love for him, too.

But instead, you rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, gesturing for him to go down the stairs first. He was your superior, after all, although he would rather squeeze up next to you than walk before you. Even if his heart clenched with your simple and justified rejection, it was unthinkable he'd miss out on the chance to walk beside you and watch you like a hawk until the very end.

"Funny," you finally replied, and it brought the heat to his face as you complimented him. Wriothesley was not trying to be funny by asking you out—again—but he'd take what he could. "But I fear I'm too busy for that. I'd rather get out of this prison faster than waste my time."

The laugh that escaped him was one he had practiced for years, barely distinguishable from a real one. It covered the hurt of your rejection and the fear of losing you. Inside this prison, he had the power to keep you by his side. But outside of it? His reach didn't go much further than these walls.

"You're very optimistic about your time here. How refreshing."

It was rare that you smiled in his presence. In fact, Wriothesley seemed to cause your mood to sour with the whisper of his name alone. So when it was your turn to grin, he noticed it immediately. He watched your lips curl in awe as if you were bestowing him with a blessing rather than your pity.

"It's already been a year, your grace. And don't try to tell me my behavior wasn't anything but perfect. I don't think my sentence will be much longer than what I've been given after the escape."

Time slowed as you moved forward, passing Wriothesley as his steps halted. You noticed quickly when his shoulder stopped bumping into yours, standing still at the bottom of the staircase before turning around.

"Don't tell me you thought I'd always be here."

Of course, he didn't. He knew your time would come. But not so soon... had it really been a year already?

"I'm glad for you," he mumbled, more out of reflex than from his heart. Wriothesley only ever strived to have his prisoners redeem themselves, but did that really mean he had to let you go? "Your hard work will be missed."

"I'm sure," you replied, turning back to the door before heaving open the heavy metal as he trudged after you slowly. The news hit him like a fist to his face, breaking, shattering. But it was his heart that received the blow. Perhaps in all this time, he enjoyed himself a little too much by your side, the end of your sentence seemingly so far away. And now that you were slipping out of his grasp, the panic began to fester—feelings he could not control.

"As always," you suddenly chimed up, and although his eyes didn't stray from you, Wriothesley noticed you two were no longer alone, activating the false persona you liked to display in front of strangers. It always made him feel special that you didn't put it up before him, but right now, he wished the conversation wouldn't be interrupted. That he had time to convince you to stay here. With him.

"It was a pleasure working with you, your grace. I look forward to our next meeting. Don't let me keep you!"

And with a smile and a wave, you bounced off to enjoy your evening. Away from him. Happy without him.

Wriothesley could barely pull himself together to greet the prisoner who walked up to him. The man tried to get his attention, but Wriothesley watched you disappear into the crowd even long after you were gone.

"Your grace!" the man suddenly yelled right next to his ear, and although it was not as angelic and beautiful as what came from your lips, it tore him right out of his thoughts.

"That person," the man mumbled, pointing the way you left and indicating he was talking about you. He leaned in closer to whisper, and Wriothesley curled his hands into fists, holding back from punching him after he dared mention you. "There's something I have to tell you about."

"Sure," Wriothesley said, wincing at his own soundless answer. He couldn't help the annoyance that someone knew something about you that he didn't. But he'd listen and learn.

"To say it frankly, they've not been conducting themselves properly. Many of us have suffered from their actions, and now that they will be released, I think we should speak up about their misdeeds."

Oh, Wriothesley thought, the tension falling off him. He raised his hand to pat the man's back, inviting him inside his office. Wriothesley couldn't pretend not to be happy, a gentle smile creeping over his face. It was a little less fake than any other smile he had given the countless prisoners around here, but the real ones were still only reserved for you. "These are some serious accusations. How about we take your statement inside?"

He sent the man inside, looking back into the crowd aimlessly for the sight of you before he shut the door. You were somewhere out there, still thinking you'd get to go home soon. Wriothesley smiled. Unless there was a reason as to why you'd need to stay.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"It's good to see you again."

It was impossible to wipe away the big smile off his face as you stood before him, frowning deeply.

"I'm really, truly sorry that your sentence has been prolonged. But alas, it will be nice to work by your side once again."

He watched with the greatest satisfaction as you bit your lip, the thought of kissing you right on the mark popping into his head again. However, fear crossed his features as he noticed you didn't stop, even as it started to bleed. Wriothesley wondered how your blood tasted before he focused back on the situation at hand. He knew you had to hold back every inch of your being to not scream and cry and shout at him, although he would have liked to be given a reason to shut you up—any way necessary.

You knew fully well he was the one signing your final sentence. Buying and selling illegal goods didn't warrant another five years of imprisonment. But your conduct had been too good to push for the ten years Wriothesley wanted—believe him, he fought hard for justice that day. Even Neuvillette was surprised that Wriothesley was so intensely interested in your redemption. However, the Ludex still went against the pleading of an old yet desperate and needy friend and just gave you five.

It was disappointing, but Wriothesley didn't plan on letting the time he had been given go to waste.

Picking up his cup, he held it out to you, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile that reflected nothing of the malice he had to harbor to get you to stay. After all, he was delighted, thoroughly pleased even. The day had only just begun and his mood was already through the roof just having you back in his office again.

"Cup of tea?" he asked innocently. Your eyes dropped to the cup, a hint of uncertainty about why he was treating you so kindly even though you misstepped again.

"On it," you mumbled, taking the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing over his, feeling much too soft for such a bad criminal as you were. But before he could imagine those fingers wrapped into his hair and clothes in an intense make-out session, you shocked him as you whispered, "Thank you, your grace," as if to thank him for not kicking you out from this job that definitely benefitted you. You were still snide, still angry you had to do it in the first place. But apparently, a part of you recognized his innocence as goodwill. At least, he could make himself believe that besides the perceived snark.

Off you went to brew some tea, standing barely ten meters from him. But at least with your back turned, you missed the heat spreading over Wriothesley's face, into the tip of his ears and across his cheeks. And even when you turned back, the hand clasped over his mouth didn't give away the genuine smile of adoration he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. Wriothesley would enjoy the time spent with you, day after day, waiting for you to make another mishap so you'd have a reason to stay with him forever. Otherwise, Wriothesley was sure he'd find another way to keep you all to himself.

But for now, he'd start by making you smile at him first.

[brummiereader]

Sweet Dreams, Darling (Part One)

Summary: August 1907. The beginning of a whirlwind romance that would see you and Tommy separated then reunited again for years to come. But when you unexpectedly reappear one rainy morning back into his life, Tommy's distracted eyes have your reunion starting off on the wrong foot. In a desperate attempt to refresh your memory of the summer you spent together, Tommy patiently waits for the penny to finally drop.

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, sexual assault.

Word count: 3.5K

Authors Note: The song John sings to irritate Arthur with is an old cockney song called "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" by Merv Griffin. This first chapter is loosely based off the song "The Tunnel Of Love" by the Dire Straits, and how my grandparents met each other in the 1950's.

[Masterlist] [Trailer]

Birmingham, 1967

" We'll leave in an hour, Nan" your granddaughter softly smiled at you, chestnut brown locks falling in front of her rosy cheeks as she placed the small porcelain cup of freshly brewed tea on the doily covered table beside you.

" Thank you, dear" your eyes drifted solemnly from the black and white photo of you and Tommy next to the steaming cup of English brew. The captured moment, and its weathered edges, tucked safely behind the glass of it's silver-plated frame.

" Time doesn't half catch up on you when you're not looking" your eyes drifted down to your aged hands, to the wrinkles and patches of wisdom dotted across your skin as you reached out with shaky fingers to brush the pad of your thumb over your husband's youthful face staring back at you.

" Nan?" your granddaughter shifted towards you, hand resting gently on your back as her eyes darted to the bouquet of wrapped carnations, lonesome on her grandfather's leather upholstered chair of choice. "Nan, are you ok?"

" Hm?" you turned to see the concern in her eyes, to the feeling of her hand clutched tightly around yours in a pang of worry.

" Oh, don't fret lovey. All is well" your fingers brushed the ringlet of hair from her face to see the crystal blues of her eyes she and every member of your and Tommy's brood had inherited.

"Ok" she quietly caved in to your smile of reassurance as she watched your attentions drift back to her suited grandfather, sat stoic beside you in the portrait taken many moons ago.

" How did you and Grandad meet?" she was eager to lighten the mood. To one of happy memories. To the many stories she had been told by her grandfather when Sunday dinner had been eaten. When the dishes had been cleared, and she sat patiently by his chair, waiting for him to tell her about the tales of his youth while they both indulged in the stash of black liquorice sat in a ceramic pot by his favourite seat, neither one of them had a liking for. All but one story that was. A story he'd left for you to tell. One she was eager to learn before it was time to leave.

" Which time, my dear?" you turned with the milky cup of black tea perched between your lips, welcoming the warmth of England's remedy to all of life's hardships settle in your chest as the drizzly weather dusted the tips of your freshly cut grass with beaded droplets of rain.

" Nan, you must be confused. Surely you could have only met once?" your granddaughter's head lowered with a blushing smile at your usually sharp memory succumbing to your old age.

" Oh, but we didn't, dear. Even though your Grandfather's stubbornness on the matter often insisted otherwise" a youthful giggle erupted from your chest as a flurry of memories about both encounters swarmed back to you in a warm hug.

"The first time I met your Grandfather, he wasn't that far off from your own age" you adjusted yourself in your floral recliner for the long tale ready to be told as you placed your cup of tea down on its silver coaster.

" And the second time...well, I didn't recognise him at all" you watched your granddaughter eagerly nestle in, pulling one of your hand-knitted cushions into her lap.

" Tell me about it, please?" her eyes beamed with curiosity. Her buoyant energy and keenness to learn about how you had met, awakening the sounds of spinning carousels, the melodies of your youth being played from the intricately placed chimes of a wooden music box.

" It was the summer of 1907, the hottest day on record. And the fair had come to town..."

August, 1907

" I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" John, burdened with the title of middle child sang with the intention of irritating his older brother as giggling children ran by with fluffy clouds of sugared treats, whilst the sounds of a wooden music box being turned by a tattooed armed man, played through the buzz and excitement of the fair.

"Shut it, John" Arthur grumbled, eyes narrowing in on the stack of tropical fruits as he rolled the metal ball in the palm of his hand.

" There they all just standing in a row" the cockney classic continued as he plonked himself down on top of the table.

"Would ya bleeding shut it!" Arthur growled, squeezing the iron ball he was seconds from launching at his brothers head.

"Big ones, small ones" John cupped his shirted bosom with pouting lips as he slid into Arthurs line of sight.

" Idiot wants me to kill him" Arthur quietly smirked as his aim shifted to his brother's cackling face.

"Got too many brothers anyway" the eldest Shelby mumbled under his breath, squinting eyes curling at the obnoxious noise accompanied by Johns flamboyant dancing as his arm stretched out beside him, weapon firmly grasped between his fingers.

" One less mouth for Aunt Poll to feed, ay Tommy? Tom?" Arthur's murderous intentions went unheard as Tommy's remained elsewhere to a young girl with rebellious whispers of hair blowing in the summer breeze. A perched basket of freshly picked apples resting on her hip, ready to be dipped into their delightful syrupy mixture.

"Shit..." Tommy mumbled under his breath, eyes darting to find you disappearing among the swarming crowd as he wiped the beads of sweat from his brow before taking off in search of you.

"You won!" John jumped off the table, head snapping back to the tumbling sound of fuzzy coated coconuts falling to the ground.

"What d'you mean?..." the eldest brother sniffed, prize in hand as he turned to see the confusion knitted between John's brows.

"...I missed" Arthur's Cheshire smile grew at the slouching one of John's as his stuffed win landed with a hard thud across the back of his head before his darting eyes searched for his now, favourite brother.

"Where's Tom at?"

Swerving through the teeming crowd of people patiently waiting for a spin on the galloping horsed carousel, Tommy's searching eyes finally landed on you.

" You in line, Mister?" a young boy, cheeks full of candy floss tugged at the cuffs of his shirt as the line of fairgoers moved forward, pushing Tommy to the front.

" Ay?" Tommys eyes darted to and from the small child to you disappearing behind the wooden stalls of prizes yet to be won as he held up the huffing crowd.

" You getting on or what, son?" the stout operator grumbled with a flick of his head for Tommy to step onto the rickety ride, its wooden frame decorated with weathered looping twirls from the many summers it had seen.

" 'ere" Tommy reached into his pocket, handing the last of his tickets to the sticky cheeked boy before setting off in search of you for a second time.

" Thanks mister!" a squeaky call of gratitude saw Tommy off to the back of the brightly covered stalls, to you stood with a young man hovering over you.

" Go on, give us a quick kiss then" the towering lad, dressed down in only a vest and tweed trousers kept you in place as the scorching heat of the sun beamed down on your backs.

" Fuck off, O'Connor " your attempts to push past his strong build were rendered useless when his quick footing had him slip in front of you, thieving fingers delving into the basket of apples sat on your hip.

"Little tease" he bit down onto the freshly picked fruit with a smirk. Fingers lifting the ends of your dress for a peak under the frilly fabric, you hastily slapped away.

" Gonna ask your daddy for your hand in marriage. Won't be able to say no then" the teasing tone in his voice was suddenly replaced by his reaching hand, grabbing hold of your arm as he threw the half-eaten fruit behind him to the feet of Tommy, stood watching behind the wooden frame of the stall.

" He'll put a bullet through your chest before you get the chance if you don't let me go" you battled with his grasp with a stiffened bottom lip. Eyes watering at the stinging hold of his leathery hands searing your skin.

A good foot taller than him. Muscles as big as fucking boulders. Shit, Tommy thought to himself as he watched with rolling shoulders, pumping himself up for the scrap undoubtedly about to take place.

" Your pretty little head forgotten who owns this fucking fair?" his fingers cupped your cheek, forcing the back of your head against the wooden barrier separating you from aide.

"My old man was kind enough to give your family work when you lot came knocking. Can take it away just as quickly" he played with the fragile state of your family's finances, knowing how much you depended on your jobs at the fair to make ends meet.

" Come on, darling. Loosen up a bit, yeh?" his hand glided over your clothed breast in a hushed voice. Nestled head in the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of desire down your skin with moans of want as you squeezed your welling eyes shut, waiting for it to be over.

" Ay! Get the fuck off her!" Tommy raced forward, lean body ducking past O'Connor's turning shadow with a fist full of taught vengeance ready to be delivered in one mighty blow to his cheek.

And a mighty blow was dealt, one Tommy was sure had broken his hand when his stifled cries of pain had him swiftly turning his back to you in an agonising attempt to save face.

" You knocked the bastard out!" your back stiffened against the wooden stall as your widening eyes snapped down to the body of Sean O'Connor, slumped unconscious on the cracking earth of summers drought.

" Fuck!" Tommy's voice shrilled with a strangle bellow, succumbing to the stabbing pain shooting through his hand.

"Wha...what's his head made of? Fucking metal?!" he turned with a reddened face contorting in pain as his shivering hand, bloody and bruised, wiped his sweaty brow.

" Well, he is as thick as a brick" you stepped over the slumped body, heel of your shoe conveniently finding its way onto Sean's limp hand.

" Let me see" you slowly approached, gently cradling his hand in yours with an urgent need to inspect the damage that had been done.

" One of many battle wounds, I'm sure. But not broken" you quietly noted with a brush of your thumb over his battered hand, eyes locking with the besotted blue gaze staring down at you and the smile your own curling lips couldn't help but match as a blissfulll silence settled between you both.

"Thank you..." your gratitude came in a faint murmur against the sound of fairground melodies as you waited for him to introduce himself.

" Tommy Shelby" his freckled cheeks dimpled with a smile, bruised hand still cradled between yours in a hold so gentle, he'd all but forgotten about the throbbing pain he felt only moments before.

"I'm Y/N, Y/N Y/M/N" your cheeks blushed with a subtle sway of your hips as you melted under his crystal stare.

" Y/N" he echoed back in a whisper, eyes taking in every delicate feature that had captivated him from afar on the hottest day of August that was set to be the most cherished summer of his life.

" It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N"

For two months the fair had come to Birmingham. And for two months Tommy had visited you almost every day, spending a small fortune on tickets to go over looked by the watchful eyes of your family and those of Sean's who was laid up inside by the window of his family's wagon in search of the peaked cap boy who had bruised his ego.

But like most traveling folk, the time had come to move on. News the love-struck teen battled to swallow as he watched you clear the stall of trinkets and stuffed bears through the setting sun of the fair's last day.

" Can't you stay? Just one more day?" Tommy asked the impossible as he sat perched on the table next to you, picking at the splintering wood with eyes downcast at your shuffling feet.

" You know how it is, we never settle for too long" you caught his sorrowful gaze darting up at you as you placed the arms worth of prizes into its crate for his hand.

" Was just trying my luck, eh?" a faint smile and pull of your body had you settling yourself between his legs when a rowdy voice saw you both squinting through the fading sun.

" Come on, wrap it up, ay Tom! We've got a train to bloody catch!" Arthur called for his brother to hurry his goodbyes as a disgruntled Tommy mumbled his displeasure upon seeing him and John stood impatiently waiting for him.

" Here" you turned back with a blushing smile, fingers reaching into the wooden crate of treasures for a small box as Tommy's hands dropped to your waist. Eyes committing to memory every inch of your glowing face illuminated by the orange hues of the dying sun.

" Remember me by this" you pulled his hand in front of you, placing a small gold buckled ring on his thumb when your impending farewell got the better of you and a steady stream of tears began to roll down your cheeks.

With nothing left to say that would reassure your broken hearts you'd see each other again, your intended promises fell silent to the feeling of your lips meeting in a first kiss. A final goodbye to your summer romance.

" Don't forget me" you pulled away, cheeks dotted with tears when your shaky body was suddenly pulled back into a passionate embrace encouraged by the whistles and cheers of Tommy's hollering brothers before he left you stood where he'd first met you.

" Now how could I ever forget that, eh!" he called back with a boyish grin, adjusting his peak cap as Arthur landed a slap of approval to his shoulder before they ran to catch the last train of the day back to Small Heath.

High on the world, Tommy had already begun the count-down to when the fair would visit next year. But youth's wishfulness would be met with disappointment when life's hardships changed fate's trajectory and Tommy found himself hopelessly searching for you every summer as your face began to fade from his memory with each passing season. That was until an unexpected rainy day in 1914, when you'd meet again, for a second time.

Small Heath, 1914

"Easy on the breaks there, Tom. Easy now" Arthur held onto the dash of the chugging truck with a grunt. Regretting handing over the reins of designated driver to his younger brother

" It's a piece of shit!" Tommy protested about the dubiously sourced vehicle Arthur had scavenged.

" Yeh well, this piece of shit will see that this delivery finds its way to Charlie's yard" the two brothers shared a mischievous smirk as the sound of a truck's worth of nicked train tracks rattled behind them the Shelby boys would use to line their pockets for their growing family business ran out of their Watery Lane home.

" Turn 'ere" Arthur's eyes narrowed in on the end of the cobbled road, to the officer stood inspecting the goods of each passing vehicle after having learnt of the missing tracks that saw every train out of Small Health stranded that morning. " Tom, bloody turn!"

" It's...stuck!" Tommy battled with the wheel as the rattling truck rumbled towards the policeman eyeing up the chaotic scene of Arthur manhandling every leverage, every button in attempts to save themselves from driving head first into the baton-handed officer.

" Bloody thing!" the eldest brother leaned over, straining with Tommy to turn the stiffened wheel when the metal discs finally loosened and they swerved around the corner, narrowly missing the discovery of the tonnes worth of metal concealed in the back of the car.

" Fuck, that was a close one!" Arthur fell back into his chair with a chuckle as Tommy shot him an irritated glare at his useless ability to source the equipment needed to commit their petty crimes.

" Next time, I'm in charge" Tommy huffed as he turned his grinding jaw back to the road when something, or rather someone, suddenly caught his eye.

" Yeh, yeh" Arthur waved off his brother with a sniff, stretching his gangly legs along the foot of the car as Tommy found his eyes slipping to the cobbled path and the approaching sight of someone he never thought he'd lay eyes on again. You.

" Tommy. Ay, Tommy" Arthurs' heavy hand alerted his brother with a pat across his chest at the drifting wheels heading for the large puddle ahead.

Oblivious to the foolish cockup he was about to make. Tommy couldn't seem to drag his longing eyes from you after the seven years he'd gone without seeing you.

But a joyful reunion was off the cards for Tommy, whose frazzled thoughts had him forgetting that he was in fact, in control of the hurtling vehicle speeding your way. So frazzled that he had no time to react when the swerving wheels saw him drive into the large puddle, dosing you in a wave of muddied rain water.

" Shit! Shit!" Tommy's eyes darted to the rear-view mirror to you stood drenched from head to toe with waving arms as he slouched into his seat with reddening cheeks. His embarrassment only made worse by Arthur's perfectly sought choice of words.

" Well done you bloody idiot"

With a change of dry clothes and a frown permanently settled between your brows for the day that had started in a puddle of disaster, you began to tidy the countertop of the corner shop you now worked at. Unbeknownst that the very cause of said disastrous day, had inquired around the soot-covered town about your whereabouts, and was about to stroll through the door to the sound of the ringing bell hovered overhead.

You, you glared at the three men, eyes quickly hunting out the careless driver you remained oblivious to his connection to your youth.

With the sudden realisation that you didn't recognise him, Tommy casually drifted from shelf to shelf, to each boxed product and canned good while watching you in the corner of his eye as he swallowed back his disappointment.

Almost a decade later and you looked almost the same as you did on that sweltering summer day he had met you. A true beauty, one that had managed to turn him into a pathetic puppy-eyed boy like it had all those years ago. His enamorment with you, something he desperately tried to conceal from your glaring eyes, watching him over the newspaper in your hands.

With a roll of his shoulders, Tommy placed the can of beans back onto its dusty shelf, gold ring you had offered him all those years ago catching his eye. The same gold ring that had made its way across each growing finger, until it sat comfortably on his pinky.

" Packet of Sweet Aftons" he cleared his throat as you pulled your head up from the newspaper, forcefully folding its flimsy pages in half Tommy was sure would see the side of his face if he didn't say anything, if he didn't apologise for his small detour into you that morning.

" Of course...sir" your forced smile came with a hefty amount of exaggerated politeness that didn't go amiss by his sniggering brothers stood behind him.

" I erh, I didn't see you there...this morning, that is" he cleared his throat as you stepped onto the small wooden stool to the shelf of neatly arranged boxed cigarettes. The hung mirror reflecting off the wall, capturing Tommy elbowing his giggling brothers who were intent on making your reunion as painful as they possibly could for him.

" I would've stopped, but we were in a hurry" Tommy refrained from reminding you of who he was on a whim that you'd save him from further embarrassment when you finally recognised him. Or so he hoped.

" Five pence" you slammed the cardboard packet of rolled tobacco onto the counter, unimpressed with the strangers' attempts at a half-assed apology.

"Right" another wave of disappointment quietened his voice as he jostled in his suit trousers for the brassy coins.

" It's usually on the house, love" Johns ill timed remark left Tommy internally crippling at the smirk growing on your lips.

" That so?" your brows raised at the youngest's nodding head as you tossed each coin into the silver dipped till.

" Have a nice day, gentlemen" you shot a pursed smile at Tommy's lingering stare as you shut the metal draw with a loud clang.

With a knitted brow you watched each sharply dressed man leave the small corner shop, when the clouds parted, capturing the illuminated face of the sole culprit to your bad day. The blues of his eyes and freckled face causing a forgotten memory to emerge in the forefront of your searching mind. One you had no time to puzzle together when the hollering voice of your boss suddenly boomed in your ear.

" Oh bloody Christ! Jesus bloody Christ, Y/N!" your boss waddled towards you, your and Tommy's mutual gaze broken as he strolled past the shop window out of sight.

" What have you gone and done, you silly girl?" your employer paced back and forth, eyes nervously darting to and from the bustling street outside.

" Made you five pence is what I've done" you protested, hands coming down onto your hips with a knitted brow of confusion at his unexpected reaction at you doing your job.

" You're gonna have to go give them their money back. And...and apologise!" your mumbling boss brushed the film of sweat from his brow, fumbling fingers pulling the knobbly ended leaver to open the till.

" And why would I do that?" you watched him turn your hand in a panic, placing more than double the amount of the sale in your palm.

" You may be new here, but you'd be wise to learn about the people who run this shit hole we call home before you lose your eyes" your boss spoke of the emerging razor gang that had begun to slowly gain notoriety in the Birmingham district.

" And who might those people be?" your rolling eyes at his exaggerated worry about a group of petty chancers had you huffing as you pulled your coat over your shoulders, when he grabbed hold of your arm, whispering the name of the cutthroat gang you had encountered.

" The Peaky Blinders, that's who"

With stomping feet and locks of blowing hair trailing behind you in the bitter wind, you marched through the sludge of Small Heath to the pub the locals called the Garrison on the orders of your boss.

" Come on..." you grunted, straining to open the heavy doors of the tavern that's hinges had frozen in the frosty weather when you unceremoniously flew into the smoke-clouded pub with a tumble.

" Great" you mumbled under your breath at the murmur of low chuckles, the crowd of eyes glaring over their shoulders at your dramatic entrance.

Head held high above each following stare, you sought out the man you had been begrudgingly forced to apologise to. The very same man you found smirking at you over his pint of ale in a dimly lit corner of the pub.

" I hope you don't think I'm gonna pull out the red carpet for you" your apology fell short as you tossed the pennies onto the wooden table, fearless of him and his family's growing status in the town, having already lived a hardened childhood among petty criminals such as himself.

"Keep it. Buy a toffee apple" a boyish smile peaked at the corner of his mouth as he pushed the money back across the table to you. His attempts to refresh your memory only leaving you with a tilting head of confusion at his peculiar suggestion.

" You don't remember me, do you Y/N?" your brow scrunched upon hearing your name, when your attentions darted to the sound of a spinning coin coming to a stop, to the pinky-ringed finger tapping against its bronze printed front that suddenly caused a wave of memories to hurtle back to you about the boy you had shared a fleeting teen romance with.

Tommy Shelby. Your summer love.

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 💚*

[Next part]

Tag list: @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @jbrownta @youngbananamilkshake @meadowshelby

@dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @novashelby

[2-dsimp]

Ok so everyone and their mother has yandere CEO/ boss x a secretary/assistant/intern blah blah blah

BUT! Hear me out...what and a yandere assistant x boss darling??

Cw: slight blood/gore, obsessive/possessive tendencies, self-sabotage, lack of self worth,

Synopsis: 【You are the overseer in charge of the finance floor of the company SupeCo. And you happened to be issued a brand you employee who was albeit a greenhorn. But nonetheless passionate in preforming his duties as your assistant. You’ve in the short couple days you’ve grown a soft spot for him. And constantly prayed that he’d make it through his job, in one piece since you discovered that he tended to be accident prone.】

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere assistant! That’s always in attention whenever his darling boss is ready to put him to work. He’s practically twitching from getting withdrawals of receiving less than the amount of orders he’d like to have from you.

Yandere Assistant! Whose mind is buzzing 24/7 and is utterly pathetic all by his lonesome. And craves for you to throw whatever tasks you’ve got at him, anything at all, to satisfy his dream of being your personal lap dog.

Yandere assistant! Who loves hearing your voice calling out for his support from across the office hall. He just cannot relate to how his other coworkers cower at their names being announced by their own superiors. Since you were the best in his humblest opinion. And the only one he’d deem to be of importance to be more precise.

Yandere Assistant! That subtly does self sabotage if only to hog your time, in making you giving him lengthy instructions. On what to do since he clearly couldn’t fathom how to print out a piece of paper.

Yandere Assistant! Who swears that he’s not incompetent on purpose. But it’s just that he adores the way you’re so kind with your words. And oh so patient when it comes to correcting a member of your staff. Even going as far as to touch him to show exactly how to maneuver the printer. In short all of your lovely gestures made him jumpy. As he was sweating bullets trying not to turn into a feral degenerate and bend you over the broke ass printer to properly “use it”.

“Tem? Temothy~? Hello? I’m sorry Am I going too fast for you or—“

“Ah nonono absolutely not! Y-you’re fine B-boss I c-could hear you j-just fine!”

Your new hire assistant, Temothy, stuttered as he blinked out of whatever daydream he got afflicted with. Fixing you a mousy smile as he haphazardly fixed his messy overgrown bangs which obscured half of his face from view. You noted that He always had a soft spoken voice along with his habitual stutter speech pattern. Whilst he fidgeted a bit underneath your explicit worrisome expression as you fretted over his wellbeing like a mother hen.

“I only need to cut these stacks of paper for y-you with this cutter r-right? I’ll get on T-that right a-away!”

He managed in a squirrelly tone as he shakily grabbed ahold of the paper cutter. Lining up some blank pieces alongside the dotted lines with an unsteady hand.

It was his first couple days on the job and you found him to be quite the ditzy klutz but an endearing one nonetheless. It was refreshing how eager he is to always lend a helping hand even after he had just gotten off his shift. Which made you feel bad to ask him to come in to work when it was his day off since some of your employees decided not to come in for their shift.

“Wait Temothy dear you’re holding it the wrong way—!”

“Ouch! Oh my stars I’m t-terribly sorry B-boss! I got it all fuckin b-bloody! Ah paper towels… where’s the paper towels?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes and what you were hearing. Was this man seriously worried about how he dirtied the cutter station to which he earnestly tried to clean. While the skin on his palm was sliced open from pinky to thumb. And was bleeding rapidly as bloody rivets ran down his inner wrist.

“Temothy forget about the cutter and papers okay? You don’t need to worry bout none of that. What we need to do is patch you up first and foremost”

You cooed as you briskly took his uninjured hand in yours and ushered him to your office where you always had a health kit stored underneath your desk. Completely missing how his breathing slowed and his wide eyes dilated into small heart pinpricks.

“Y-yes Boss…thank you for c-caring I’ll be sure to return this d-debt”

His usual timid expression darkened into something more depraved as a small fanged smile made its way onto his chapped lips. Of which he licked as he gave an experimental squeeze to your hand only to shiver in delight when you responded back in kind.

No one had ever been this kind to him, due to his bad luck he’s always the type to be scoffed at without as much as a second glance. Hell it was a miracle that he even landed this job as your assistant in the first place. But now that he was here he intended to stay permanently and serve you for the rest of your days as your loyal assistant. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t ever get rid of him not when you’ve already gave him your hand to hold near in dear to his heart.

[enviedear]

A request throught for billy the kid.

He goes to a bar where a barmaid owns and works there, and they sleep together, and when he comes back, she has a little boy running around that looks a whole lot like him....

girl from the north country — billy bonney

request

i got this ask and my brain immediately went 'bob dylan rendition of girl from north country' because this trope has that song written all over it.

tw— allusions to the deed, hidden baby trope, use of, 'momma' as a pet name.

less than three years ago, you made the grave decision to bed an outlaw. he was sweet and soft with you, sweet talking his way into your britches. it had been a fun night, but despite your delighted evening, a sinking feeling took hold of you the minute he caught your eye.

his name was billy. or at least, he went by billy. he was a mess of dark brown hair, kind blue eyes, and honest nature. it felt like fate when you saw him. he had been sitting at the bar, quiet and lonesome. you found it easy to talk to him.

he had given you a bright smile, engaging you in casual conversation as the night turned to morning. slipping out with you when you closed down the bar, only to follow you up the road to your small homestead.

you had never seen him before, but after he left town, you soon learned exactly who he was. wanted posters with his likeness followed his trail, leaving you tight-lipped about the entire situation.

it was about six months after his visit that your lips finally began to move, coming up with fruitless excuses for the townspeople. by then, your stomach had already started to round, bulging into something plain and inescapable. at first, you were terrified and even considered fleeing to another town and opting to try and pass as a widow. even now, despite yourself, the thought lingers in the back of your mind.

you've been lucky though, the town is nice enough to not ask you questions. just watchful stares and a few upturned noses. you kept your job at the gin mill, working through the night while your married friend watched the baby.

you've found yourself a quiet life—a growing meadow of life hidden in the hellish and desolate west.

with a sigh, you turn your attention back to the clothesline, grabbing at the last of the dry garments and flinging them in your basket. there's a storm brewing close in the distance, and a loud crack of thunder has the small child at your feet fretting.

you pick up your fussy toddler, his pink lips curled into a frown, "c'mon bubba, s'just a little storm."

you glance at the darkening sky, feeling the first droplets of rain on your skin. the wind picks up, causing the clothesline to sway with a creak. cradling your son in your arms, you hurry inside, leaving the clothes in your haste of trying to beat the approaching storm.

inside the cozy warmth of your small homestead, you try to soothe the worried toddler in your arms. the distant rumble of thunder grows louder, and you decide it's best to stay cooped up, work be damned. as you settle into a rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby to the sweet boy in your arms, the rain begins to patter against the window.

the hours pass slowly, the storm raging outside, when a sudden knock on the door startles you. with caution, you approach and peer through the small window and see a tall figure drenched in rain, barely recognizable underneath his sopping hat.

you open the door, and the man looks up. his eyes are kind, and eerily familiar. looking like a drowned man, standing at your door, is billy. he looks apologetic and somewhat sheepish. rainwater drips from the brim of his hat as he mumbles, "m'sorry for showing up like this, i wasn't even sure if you were still here."

you eye him cautiously, memories of your night shared with him resurfacing, but the storm outside softens your resolve, "what brings you here, billy?" you inquire, staring up at the rain-soaked outlaw before you, taking in his genuine expression.

his voice trembles as he confesses that he never meant to stay away for so long— but life on the run has its cruel complications. now, drenched and shivering in the midst of a raging storm, he pleads for refuge in your home, desperation etched onto every word as he begs for forgiveness and a safe haven from his pursuers.

hesitating for a moment, you look back at your toddler playing on the floor. with a sigh, you relent, "alright, billy, you can come in, but just until the storm passes."

as he steps inside, you notice the surprise in his eyes when he sees the boy. he's donned in a darling little linen onesie, your own hands had worked tirelessly over the garment. his bright eyes look between you and billy, the hue of your own eyes evident and the blue of billy's scattered throughout. a perfect blend.

a silence hangs in the air as realization slowly dawns on him. his gaze shifts between you and your little one, and in that moment, he connects the dots.

his voice softens, "is he... is he mine?"

the question sends a shiver down your spine and all of your carefully constructed defenses slowly crumble around you. there's no denying it now, the truth of what had happened was laid bare for both of you to see, innocent face staring up at the both of you. you stand in place, your feet rooted to the ground. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you realize the confession you're about to make. taking a deep breath, you finally relent.

a nod is all you can manage, the weight of the unspoken truth lingering in the room. billy takes a step closer to the little boy and you start. but his intentions are gentle as he reaches out to touch the top of his child's head, "i never knew." he murmurs, a mix of regret and wonder in his eyes.

you watch as billy kneels down to meet your son at eye level. the child looks up at him with innocent curiosity, and you can't help but feel a twinge of anger mixed in with the guilt that had been festering inside of you for so long. you had carried the weight of this secret for years, the fear of the townsfolk finding out and ostracizing you and your child from the community. but looking down at billy's face, you know that it's time to come clean.

"he's almost three now, billy," you say softly, the regret in your own voice almost palpable, "i didn't know how to find you...i didn't even know your name back then."

billy's expression softens as he turns to look at you, his eyes full of sorrow, "i understand," he says, his voice gentle. "m'sorry i wasn't there for you. for both o'you."

you nod, knowing his words are earnest, "you couldn't have known." you say quietly.

billy stands up and walks towards you, his arms open. his eyes are sad, but they hold a fierce longing that you can feel despite any attempt to deny it. his body radiates with a warmth that you can't help but feel drawn to, despite all of the fear and regret that fills your heart. you close your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his embrace, feeling his arms wrap around your body and pull you close.

"i'm sorry," he whispers into your ear. "god, m'so sorry for everything."

you nod, unable to find your voice. the storm outside rages on, but inside, the atmosphere is one of acceptance and forgiveness. you have both been through so much, but now, with the truth out in the open, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. you look up into billy's eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

"i forgave you a long time ago," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "figure i can't keep hiding this little one away from his father. not now, wouldn't be right."

billy nods, his eyes now filled with hope, "i want to be a part of his life, if you'll let me," he says, his voice filled with a conviction that sends shivers down your spine.

you nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, "of course," you say, your voice filled with a mixture of relief and sadness. "he deserves to have his daddy."

billy smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, cupping your cheeks, "what about his momma? seems like she's been gettin' on fine without a man around."

you hum, trying to ignore how easy your heart skips for him, "i reckon she'll make him grovel 'fore she'll be his sweetheart again."

your outlaw lets out a soft chuckle, "then i best get to grovelin', momma."

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[eightstarr]

baby — abby anderson.

summary: you're on patrol with abby and you make her squirt for the first time. you don't mean to make a habit out of distracting her, but in your defense, it's hard to focus on anything else when she looks so pretty all serious and focused on keeping you safe! and you are only so strong!

notes: i don't ever really write smut and it for sure shows but anyway here it is! what no one asked for! yet again! also excuse the surprising amount of feelings that are in this considering it's technically supposed to be porn? it wouldn't be me if someone didn't say i love you at least once tho

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

"Do you have a danger kink or something?" Abby asks, trying to sound cool, but her breathing's a little too staggered for that. You've got her backed up against a counter in a random kitchen of a lonesome, old house.

You smooth your tongue over her pulse and feel her shudder, your hands sneaking under her loose shirt to cup her waist, fingers squeezing adoringly. "Can't I have some fun with my girl?"

"Yeah, but—" Abby cuts herself off with a moan that's almost embarrassing considering how little you're touching her. "You did this last time, too. It's like you want to get caught."

"Caught by who?" You scoff, lifting your head to look at her, nodding once as a silent way to say up. She abides without thinking, her palms against the counter as she pushes herself up to sit on top of it. You're needy enough that you don't bother teasing, no 'good girl', no 'what would your soldiers think if they saw you be so obedient?'. You slot yourself between her thighs and continue your assault on her neck, fingers brushing over chest. "There's no one here, baby."

Baby is perhaps your biggest tell. You call her baby when she's been away for too long, when you've had a long day and show up at her door unannounced, in the morning when you've woken up from a dream that left you aching that you refuse to share the details of no matter how much she asks. 'Baby' means you're desperate. And 'baby' makes Abby pull you closer, because nothing makes her need you more than you being desperate for her.

She lifts herself up enough to let you pull her cargo pants and boxers off in one motion, and her heart skips a beat as you sink to your knees, guiding her legs over your shoulders. She used to fret about that, fret about a lot of things— but the admittedly ridiculous thought of accidentally squeezing you to death was up there. You'd made the stupid joke, as anyone would, at least I'd die happy. But when that didn't quite work besides earning a roll of her eyes and a slight smirk to her lips, you'd simply gotten back to work on making her cum on your mouth until she had no choice but to close her legs around you. And when she did, the movement mindless and needy, you groaned and left loving fingerprints on her thighs enough to reassure her that you liked it. Loved it. You loved a lot of things that Abby used to be insecure about.

The point is, she shouldn't be shocked to see you get down on your knees. It's not an entirely unfamiliar sight anymore, you've made sure of that. But even on the first time you fucked, with all the eagerness and want and sense of overdue of your affections, Abby doesn't think she saw you quite this ravenous.

It's like you're drunk on it, like you didn't have her in a way not too different from this just a mere two days ago. You eat her like you're fucking starving. Not pulling away to breathe, your nose brushing against her clit just right, moaning every time she bucks her hips or pulls your hair.

When Abby cums, she feels it in her chest. It sinks on top of her, a lovely heaviness, and then drops off of her all together and leaves her weightless. When you don't stop, she breathes out a chuckle that turns into a broken moan and buries her fingers back in your hair, half expecting you to pull away still. But time passes, drags on and speeds away much too fast all at once, and you don't.

She's saying your name, she thinks, or a sound as close to it as her mind will allow her to formulate. Abby knows she's loud by the way her noises are echoing through the empty room, mocking her. Before she can feel embarrassed by it, as if you can read her mind as easily as anything else, you drag your mouth down and fuck into her with your tongue in a way that she didn't know could feel so good before she met you. As quickly as it came, the shame is gone. Her lips part and her sounds grow louder still, spilling out of her carelessly. You want to reward her, you think somewhere in the back of your mind, want her to know how much you love it. It's a privilege to make Abby Anderson a mess, and it always makes you lightheaded with need.

You wrap your mouth around her clit and suck, and Abby lets go of your head for once to grab onto the counter and make a lame attempt to keep herself still, her knuckles white.

The pressure building in her low abdomen is familiar, but then your hand comes to lay flat against the exact spot and something about the weight of it makes the feeling twist into something different.

Abby gasps quick breaths, her eyebrows furrowed in vague confusion and enough pleasure to drown it out and soothe the meaningless pain of bumping her head back against the wall.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, barely legible. And it's fine, she thinks, it's just like every other time. But then she feels it start to unravel, finally, and it's the same but also not at all. "Fuck, wait, I think— fuck!" she's panting, shaking and forcing her gaze to refocus just to watch the way your eyes fall closed, the way your eyebrows furrow. You moan against her and the sound is loud even while suffocated, even though you've somehow managed to push your face closer to her, press your tongue deeper. Abby feels it gush out of her and it's nothing like anything she's felt before, so good and so much and she doesn't want it to ever end, even as she blabbers, "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You don't seem to hear her, hungrier than she's ever seen you— you look fucking possessed. You pull back and the sight of you is dizzying, embarrassing, and it's the only thing Abby wants to look at for the rest of her life. Your lips are glistening, yes, but so is your chin, your cheeks, her cum dripping down your neck. Your eyes are dark, more pupils than anything else, and they swallow her whole. You haven't pulled back too far, your breath still hot against her, but it's enough that you can replace your mouth with your fingers and rub on her clit. What's left in her comes out in soft spurtz, dripping onto the floor, and you couldn't tear your eyes away if you tried.

But Abby doesn't know that, doesn't know what you're thinking at all. You're surprised, but is it in a bad way? It must be. Are you disgusted? You're so covered in her that it feels like you'll never be able to wash it off, and Abby can't read your mind like you do hers, so she doesn't know that the thought thrills you, that your heart is fucking pounding in your chest, that your underwear is utterly and completely fucking ruined. You lick your lips and swipe your chin with the back of your hand, absentminded. Abby's thinking, begging, say something.

"Holy fuck," is all you can manage, a quiet mutter, breathless. Your fingers haven't stopped rubbing, but a whine and an especially forceful quiver of her legs makes you blink and you stop like you've just come out of a trance, your hand moving instantly to soothe up and down her thigh.

"I'm sorry," Abby repeats, and then you look at her face like you've just remembered it's there.

Look up at her like she's fucking crazy, like she's grown a second head, mumbling, "What?"

"I didn't— I tried to warn you," she says, even though she doesn't know that she could've. It felt so foreign, she wouldn't have known how to explain it, really.

You lower her trembling thighs from your shoulders carefully, not before pressing a kiss against each one, and then you stand up. Abby wonders if this is where you'll tell her you didn't like that, where you'll help her put her clothes back on and then you'll promise each other to never speak of it again. Instead, your eyes grow impossibly gentle, impossibly loving, and you tuck yourself closer between her legs. The hem of your jeans brushes against her core and she gasps, but doesn't move away. "Baby," you call softly, pecking her lips. "Has this never happened to you before?"

Abby feels a little like she's suffocating, the breeze coming in through the window you'd opened when you first came in not enough to soothe her anymore. But you brush your knuckles over the faint scar on her cheekbone and her shoulders grow limp, her body relaxing except for where she's shaking— fuck, she is still fucking shaking. She remembers your question and shakes her head.

You don't show her how embarrassingly proud that makes you, that you made that happen before anyone else did, because it's not the time. You tuck the feeling in your pocket for later and hum, barely resisting the urge to kiss her, to get back on your knees until they're bruised and make her cum in whatever form she'll give you all over again. "Did it feel good?" You ask, not mocking, but curious.

If she wasn't so embarrassed, Abby would've laughed. It is very possible, and the thought does nothing to ease her shame, that nothing has ever felt so good. But admitting that feels like too much, so instead she whispers, "Yeah."

You smile, happy, genuinely relieved. "Then what are you saying sorry for?" You ask, kissing her again before you can help it. "That's my fucking job. I want you to feel good."

The words alleviate like water to a small fire, and Abby feels silly for having forgotten that it's you who she's with. She's had the thought before, but it suddenly becomes more present than ever, practically breathing down her neck— that she wants to keep you forever. Keep is maybe a bad word for it. She wants to be around you forever, for as long as you'll let her, wants to move into your shitty apartment and make you breakfast and sleep every night in your cropped shirts that fit slightly too tight and make her look ridiculous. She ought to say she loves you more often, she thinks. You say it nearly every time you see her now, like the words have been bubbling inside you for too long and now they can't be kept away. It's a fairly fresh relationship, but the feelings are ancient for both of you, and it shows.

"I love you," Abby sighs, and presses her lips against yours before you can say it back. It's sloppy, she's barely starting to come down from her high, but you don't complain. You kiss her with vigor, like you're trying to spell it out with your tongue, I love you. When you pull apart, her eyes fall from your eyes to your chest and she winces, eyes squeezing shut as her forehead falls on your shoulder.

"What?" You ask, a hand coming to cradle the back of her head immediately, without thought.

"Your shirt," she mumbles against you. You glance down and let out a soft oh. The white fabric of your tank top is soaked, mostly near the neckline, sticking to your skin. You hadn't noticed. Abby lifts her head to look at you, freckled face flushed red, so pretty that you forget about the mess she made of you all over again. "You have to change. We can't go back with you looking like that," she says— or begs, more like.

"I didn't bring anything else with me," you tell her, humming appreciatively as you look back down at your chest, grinning. "Besides, this is my favorite shirt now."

Abby groans, the kind of whiney, timid sound that you could've never imagined her making before you become her girlfriend. The kind of sound that makes you weak in the fucking knees, needy and cotton-mouthed. "It's not funny," she hides her face in her hands and huffs, "'S embarrassing."

You're chuckling, but biting into your lip to stifle it when she lowers her head further down, chin against her chest. With careful touch, you wrap your fingers around her wrists and guide her hands away from her face, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Her skin is hot beneath your lips, and you hum at the feeling of it. She's usually so cold, your Abby, freezing fingers sneaking under your shirt at night and making you shudder. It's a pleasure to make her warm, an honor to see her shy. You love her so much it tugs at you, a constant reminder.

"You're a dream, Abby. Fucking perfect," you say, as clearly as you can while dragging your lips down her neck. She's the hottest thing you've ever laid eyes on, so beautiful that sometimes you can't sleep, too excited that she's there next to you to ever close your eyes. And you need her to know, but you're not really one with words, so all that comes out is, "Nearly made me cum in my fucking pants, you know that?"

Abby moans. Her breath gets caught in her throat as you suck marks into her neck and she finds that she couldn't care less right now, about the evidence that'll be left on her skin or your stupid wet shirt. She guides your face up with a hand on the back of your neck, and kisses her flavor off your lips until she can't anymore, until her lungs burn and her lips tingle. Your voice echoes in her head. Nearly made me cum in my fucking pants. Nearly, she thinks. That doesn't sound very fair.

Thick fingers make quick work of your zipper, trailing over your lower tummy and sneaking under your underwear. She's a little fast, but you've never minded. Sometimes she'll notice and force herself to slow down, to savor, but most of the time her mind doesn't let her catch up to it. Like now. She can't worry about looking clumsy or overly-enthusiastic, because she just needs to feel you. Because she wants to check that you weren't lying, that she could've made you cum without ever touching you— and it's there, the overwhelming fucking truth of it soaking her hand. You gasp at the contact, and Abby's thighs squeeze you in place, as if you'd ever leave. "Jesus Christ," she pants. She finds herself saying it a lot lately. Jesus Christ. Oh my fucking God. Calling upon figures she doesn't believe in, delusional enough to think for a second that they'll bring some kind of comfort, release her of her sins.

You're so wet that it doesn't take more than a minute for her confidence to slowly grow back, so wet that it doesn't take more than two to make you cum. It's the fastest she's ever seen you fall apart, and it wouldn't be Abby if her immediate thought (right after that was so fucking hot) wasn't bet I can make it quicker. Her ego fizzles in her chest, warm and euphoric. Abby thinks she doesn't remember the last time she felt as proud about something as she does every time she makes you feel good. Isaac's occasional pat on her shoulder and mutter of 'good job' is laughable in comparison, as is the high of working herself till she's covered head to toe in sweat at the gym, as is everything else.

It might be the honeymoon phase the movies talk about. You slowly catch your breath and raise your head from her shoulder to look at her with the same adoration as you did when she kissed you for the first time, and Abby has a hard time believing that the feeling will ever go away. Movies get a lot of things wrong, anyway.

She's walking slower than usual on your way back home, her steps sluggish, and you're sweet enough to only make fun of her for it a little bit. One comment here and there, earning a scoff when you lean closer and offer to carry her bride style, a badly stifled laugh when you hum thoughtfully and wonder out loud about what Owen must be doing right now.

Her fingers are interlaced with yours and normally she would've let go by now, a little sheepish to show that much vulnerability in front of the people who are supposed to respect her, but the thought doesn't even cross her mind. You crack another stupid joke and she giggles like she did when she was a kid, silly and sweet, tugging your hand to her lips to kiss the back of it.

Manny looks you up and down as soon as you cross the gates, dark eyebrows raised. "The fuck happened to you?" He asks. You look at him with a confused frown and wait for him to clarify, "You're wet."

Abby's stiff as a board where she stands next to you, her quick blinking the only evidence that she hasn't actually been frozen in place by some kind of magic spell.

You're much more casual. "It's fucking hot. I poured some water on myself to cool off."

Manny hums. He's seen you do it before, maybe that's why he doesn't question it. He does note, though, the suspicious way in which Abby walks silently and swiftly past him with her eyes pointedly on the floor. Her hand is tight around yours still, and you follow because— well, of course you do.

[true-lavender]

The beauty of Zhongven is that they've been married for centuries and when you have someone for so long you have your time periods of being so incredibly close and time periods of when you need some space from each other so I interpret their relationship as one of the open type.

Time to time they both go to other people but they always come drifting back to each other. Mortal lives are fleeting and should be cherished while they last. They, on the other hand, will have each other for all eternity.

Like, fuck bro, they introduce their partners to each other time to time and when they speak about each other they can't even mask the deep-rooted fondness of centuries so their partners sometimes have to do a double take and question whether they're witnessing a friendship or some irl soulmate bullshit. They're bad at hiding affection for each other so they have to evaluate which partners they're willing to take the risk of introducing.

Sometimes it leads to occasional threesomes or more... Gods ought to have some fun, you know And they value all their partners greatly too, even if at the end of it all they'll always find each other in a familiar embrace of one another.

Like, they didn't like each other at first. Or more accurately, Morax didn't like Barbatos because to him Barbatos was an enigma. Even while being surrounded with gods like Guizhong who had their fair share of unorthodox ways of rulership, Barbatos was completely and utterly different. He claimed he had given his nation freedom but to Morax it seemed like nothing more nor less than abandonment of a cowardly or lazy God.

So when he showed up in Liyue Harbour purely to invite Morax for a drink, he was flabbergasted and kept searching for Barbatos' true intentions. Which turned to be futile because for some reason, this weak and irresponsible God had been telling the truth and kept fleeting around Liyue purely for entertainment and morax' company. And no matter how much he denied it, he couldn't help the feeling of fondness whenever the wind tides in Liyue turned and Mondstadt's god of freedom descended to his abode with another drinking invitation. Or simply a request to walk among the humans, just them in the crowd of strangers. Of 'his children' as Barbatos has cheerfully proclaimed them to be with deep fondness straight from his hearth. Morax' children. And he thinks faintly that somehow, even if Barbatos officially has nothing to do with Liyue, they are his children too. He had never before thought of his people like that. But it fits. Painfully so.

So how could one not grow terribly fond of a god who manages to bring out the best in everything he frets around?

As time passes they both face losses, in from of friends, acquaintances, fellow archons, their people, their children, and Morax terribly dreads the day he'll find himself alone, when the wind of his mental stability will cease playfully spinning around him and be laid down to rest, replaced by some other soul who, no matter how much it'll strive to do so, will never be able to reach even close to the warmth of Barbatos' words and actions, whose winds will bring nothing but pain accompanying memories.

The cataclysm is the first time in all of the long years of companionship that he clearly sees Barbatos break down. He can't blame him, he has a feeling that much like he himself, Barbatos is weighted down by the same worries. They're just pawns to celesties, now the last remaining archons of the original seven. Two lonesome souls left alone in this world.

He knows he wouldn't be able to bear losing Barbatos too and he suspects Barbatos is much the same.

They find solace in each other's company, much like always, but there's something different to it. They're the last two. The only remaining ones. And Morax knows he'll hold onto Barbatos not only for how long the Celestia will allow him to, but beyond that. They're complete with each other, no matter how much time it'll pass before they see one another again, no matter who gets to warm their way to their hearts in the meantime, they'll always end up in an embrace of soothing winds and stable rocks, support to many and to each other.

And if anyone intends to take the blessing that is Barbatos away from this world, they'll have to suffer Morax' wrath first.

[storydays]

Floyd X Male!Country! Pop! Troll

After coming back from the dead (a frightening experience to be honest,) while resting in Rhonda on the way to Pop Village, something sparkled in Floyd's peripheral vision. Glancing down, he looked at the ring on his hand. He smiled softly, thinking of the one who gave it to him.

"Woah, bro! That's some nice drip! Where'd you get it from?" Clay asked, flopping down next to the magenta haired Troll, catching the rest of the group's attention.

"I got it from someone special." Everyone ooh'ed seeing his light purple blush cover his cheeks and ears.Noticing where they were, he suddenly got a burst of energy. "Wait! We need to make a stop." Tiny Diamond yelped, as Floyd took a hard turn towards Lonesome Flats, aka the home of the Country Trolls.

As soon as they arrived at the entrance of Lonesome Flats, Floyd hopped out of Rhonda towards Delta Dawn's office, ignoring the calls of his brothers to slow down and wait.

He was actually stopped by the Sheriff herself, demanding to know where in the seven hells he'd been.

Floyd cut her off her, looking worried. "Where's (Y/N)?"

The Mayor raised a perfect eyebrow before gesturing to an (h/c) male Troll, wearing a flannel around his waist, blue jeans, and a big white hat resting next him who was sitting under a nearby tree, eyes focused on the journal in his lap, headphones over his ears, a grin on his lips.

Floyd smiled before walking over to the mysterious Troll. He sat next across from them, and took tapped his shoulder.

The Troll smiled looking up before freezing, eyes wide. He slowly took his headphones off, still wide eyed.

"Hey, beau."

"SUGARCUBE!" The other troll screamed, tackling Floyd into a great big hug, into the sun, before setting Floyd down, and moving quickly as he searched him for any injuries, while the sensitive Troll laughed, letting him fret over him.

"What is happening?" John Dory, asked the question they were all wondering.

Delta laughed softly, shaking her head, watching the two before turning to the group to talk to Poppy and Branch.

"(Y/N)...(Y/N)? Beau! I'm okay.....now. My brothers saved me." Floyd gestured to the group, holding (Y/N)'s hand, and leading him over to the others.

"Guys, this is (Y/N)....my fiance." Floyd smiled as (Y/N) waved shyly. For such an energetic Troll, he was still pretty shy.

"Your fiance?!" Everyone gasped looking at (Y/N), who upon closer inspection, was wearing a ring matching Floyd's.

"Yep! Now let me see if I remember whose who..."

----------------------------LINEBREAK------------------------------------

You and Floyd have been friends since he'd stumbled into Lonesome Flats.

You are the town's architect, and try to find new ways to make the town safe and functional for everyone, while leaving space for the town's weekly square dancing.

You are the mix of a country troll (Mama) and a pop Troll (Daddy) and strangely enough are one of the shyest Trolls in Lonesome Flats but everyone knows you and is super kind.

Lonesome Flats is the type of place where everyone knows everyone, so....

Floyd calls you Beau as a nickname bc your daddy ;) and you call him Sugarcube bc this dude has a serious sweet tooth and is incredibly sensitive.

@vacayisland

[caitchercatlady]

Not Having a Good Time

-Octavinelle Version

Azul Ashengrotto

As you drag your feet down the halls, you can hear the Leech twins advertising the Monstro Lounge's weekend discounts. This is quite the bad timing because the moment they see your sourpuss face, they make you an example target for bringing in business. Begrudgingly, you follow them to the Octavinelle Dorm, which was already busy enough, the type of place you'd rather not be. You take a booth by your lonesome, wishing you were somewhere else, until the dorm's Housewarden, arrives, making his rounds around the Lounge.

"So the rumor was true. You elate me by coming this evening. Now, sing me your troubles, and in return, I will make you the best offer of the night."

You doubt Azul's statement, but if there was any good time to rant, it was now, where the Headmage couldn't hear. As you give him the lay down, Azul takes in every word with interest. Once you finish ranting about schoolwork and the Leech twins' antics, Azul makes the most unbelievable offer: you will receive anything you want for no cost at all.

You take it to see if Azul's being honest, and much to your surprise, your order comes in without a bill. You indulge in the meal, and once finished, you so happened to fall asleep in peace. Azul comes back to the booth to check on you, and his heart happens to melt at the sight of you. Without wanting to to disturb you, he lays his Housewarden uniform trench coat on top of you as a blanket. No need to fret about when you wake back up; Azul will take care of everything.

Jade Leech

You feel bad for not wanting to keep your promise on helping Jade out with his mushroom research, but a promise is a promise. You feel better that you two don't speak for the first few minutes as you are searching for shrooms about campus. This quiet search ends up as tiring because as soon as you find a tree, a chunk of your memory is gone. You wake up again to see Jade laying right next to you, taking in the peace and quiet. Guilt immediately rushes through your body and you apologize profusely. However, you're surprised at Jade's response:

"Be still, Yuu. No apologies are required here. I happen to quite enjoy the quiet out here. Nevertheless, if you feel the need to explain, I'll be more than interested to listen."

So you explain your stressful, sleepless days due to studying and helping others during the week. As Jade promised, he keeps his focus onto you until you grow tired from talking. You apologize again as you unconsciously fall asleep again under the tree. Finding this cute, Jade doesn't mind and he also takes a nap with you under the tree, hoping this would help you after a long busy week of work.

Floyd Leech

Floyd notices that you haven't been your usual self today. As someone who experiences mood switches on the daily, he believes he has the best idea to help fix your energy tank. He takes you to the lake, though you were still not in the mood for anything, but this is Floyd we're talking about. He doesn't seem to take no for an answer. As you hesitate, Floyd gives you an encouraging push into the water. He jumps in after you to show you the proper way to relax like a merfolk.

"Be with the water. Close your eyes and think of nothing."

Whatever that was supposed to mean, you follow those instructions unless you wanted Floyd to constrict you to understand. To your incredibility, you're no longer floating on water, but you're resting on a cloud instead. Floyd joins you in the float from the opposite direction just in case you relax a little too comfortably. It's too bad that humans shrimp up too quickly in water or else you would've enjoyed this experience forever.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Okay, since you’re rereading the books and your up for this request, can I request headcanons with the same hades reader you wrote earlier where she meets Nico di angolo when he arrives to camp and from the moment they met, they hit it of instantly and Nico clings to the reader his entire time there, and even hangs out with Luke cause Luke is the readers bf?

This was long as shit as I got carried away…oops. Not so much on Luke and Nico spending time together but more so reader and Luke talking about Nico.

The moment Nico was brought to camp, a wide eyed boy who was so full of awe and wonder and excitement, you just knew how special he was and you couldn’t help but feel a familial sense when it came to the boy.

Almost as if you knew him your entire life when in reality this was your first ever meeting the boy, but something deep down told you that you would do anything to keep this boy safe and happy for as long as possible before it would be taken away from him; after all life as a Demi-god wasn’t all glory and valour and you all had to learn that rather ruthless lesson one way or another…oftentimes prematurely.

Then again, you chalked this feeling down to you being protective towards the younger Demi-gods that entered camp but this feeling was a lot stronger then that, a hell of a lot in the sense that a older sibling would fret over their younger siblings…but Nico wasn’t your sibling…well not that you were aware of seeing as he was still unclaimed but you guessed being a child of the big three had made you envious of what children of other gods had; family. You were alone and have been alone for quite a while…

Luke, your beloved boyfriend, was able to fill that void for a while, but sooner or later the realisation of just how lonesome you have been would come to consume your every thought.

Mythomagic. You hadn’t heard of that game for quite some time but you had a deck of Mythomagic cards locked within a box, underneath one of the floorboards inside your windowless cabin. Why? They had become so severely damaged and worn with time that you were scared that if you were to pick one up, it would crumple to dust within your palm. Plus it was a sentimental gift from your mother before she…never mind.

The memory was still too painful for you to recollect.

So when you saw Nico fiddling with a Dionysus card -the weakest card in the card game- between his fingers out of nervous habit, you almost didn’t recognise yourself speaking until Nico’s dark eyes looked directly at you with excitement.

‘A Dionysus card, haven’t met anyone who played Mythomagic that genuinely liked that card, you like Mythomagic kid?’ You had asked.

‘Do you?!’ Nico exclaimed as his smile matched his dark obsidian eyes in how brightly they shined.

‘Does Hades have 4000 attack power, 5000 if the opponent attacks first?’ You quickly corrected your self as Nico moved to sit next to you under the tree. ‘Who’s your favourite?’ You added, wanting the lad to feel at ease with you despite what everyone else might’ve told him about you in terms of unapproachableness.

‘Dionysus obviously!’ Nico replied, showing you his card as if to emphasise his point. ‘People think he’s not all that good but I think his powers are pretty cool and to find out that he’s real?! Even cooler!’ He adds on as he looks down at the card as if he was debating whether or not he was going to ask Mr D to sign it. However if Nico was the type of player that you assumed him to be, he wouldn’t dare tempt the idea. ‘Who’s yours?’

‘Hades.’ You said point blankly before continuing, ‘and it’s not because he’s my father.’

‘Hades is your father?!’ - Nico near enough shouted to ear you both the eyes of a couple of campers but you shot them a deadpan glare and they were quick to go back to whatever it was that they were doing beforehand. You softened your face as you looked back at Nico and answered his question. ‘Yeah, he is. He’s not as bad as people make him out to be, he doesn’t get in other people’s business like some gods and goddesses, considering he’s got his own dealings that take presidency but he’s more accommodating then most seeing as I’ve visited him on multiple occasions.’ You finished, shrugging your shoulders, you didn’t want to add on the fact that he had even gifted you Dvir, a hellhound, just yet. In due time you would but, some people would consider that too much.

‘Wow, you’re so cool.’ Right then and there you decided that you would have Nico’s back no matter what, for he was the only one besides Luke that didn’t fear you for your father and by god was it the most reliving thing ever!

You became someone Nico felt comfortable being his true self with, and would even try to sneak into the Hades cabin whenever he needed you to give him comfort and reassure him that you wouldn’t leave him for the Hunters Of Artemis like Bianca did; despite it being against the rules and all but it’s not like you didn’t do the exact same thing with Luke whenever you needed his presence to sooth and put your mind at ease.

He even tried to sit next to you during dinner time at the pavilion, another camp rule he had broken in order to be by your side, but no one dared to speak up upon it and instead bite their tongues, seeing as you and Luke were equally challenging anyone to speak about this to Mr D or Chiron but, nobody dared to do so. Meanwhile Nico was completely obvious to it all and was showing you all of his Mythomagic figures, Mythomagic expansion packs and bestowing every last drop of his knowledge of the card game onto you, all the while you were storing it within your own head as though it was something you were going to have to use later on.

No matter where you went, Nico wasn’t far behind following you like a lost puppy. Needless to say that whenever anyone saw Nico on his own, they knew better then to try anything for you were often lurking within the shadows nearby, watching over the boy with such a fierce protectiveness whilst giving him his freedom to better aquatint himself with camp. When it came to Nico, it seemed as though you became a complete different person, you didn’t know why but all you knew was that you weren’t going to let anything harm Nico while you were able to do something about it.

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Having him cling onto you all the time?’ One brave camper asked once and in all honesty? You didn’t care that he clung to you do suffocatingly. If anything you were glad that he choice you to be the one he relies on for anything and everything, it made you feel an whole assortment of things, the main one being happy knowing that someone openly sought you out because they viewed you as someone who’s opinions are worth listening and taking head to.

Nico felt safer with you than he ever did elsewhere, which was saying something considering he was within a camp built to protect people like him but he felt his most safest with you; Someone whom he quickly began to form an attachment towards and would oftentimes find himself clinging to your side like a second shadow. So much so that Luke would playfully tease you about it whenever he saw you both.

When in actuality Luke loved the fact that Nico was so attached to you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that even with him by your side you still felt like you were alone, and could only hope that Nico would be the one to fill in that void within your heart completely. He was also happy for Nico for having you to fall back on because there was no one in camp that he would have to watch his back then yourself.

‘He’s asleep.’ You mused, looking at Nico, who fell asleep against Luke’s shoulder and was snoring softly.

‘He’s a good kid.’ Luke replied, ruffling Nico’s dark hair as a smile appeared on the younger boys face as he readjusted himself before falling still. Still like the dead Luke once playfully commented.

‘He really is.’ You said aloud, grasping Nico’s hand upon watching it reach out for you, squeezing it in hopes of showing him that you were with him. Luke pressed a kiss to your forehead as he saw the variety of emotions that flashed through your eyes as you kept watch over the sleeping boy. ‘You’re a good influence on him babe, don’t doubt yourself, the boy practically idolises you.’ He tried reassuring you but still the thoughts wouldn’t let up.

‘What if there’ll be a time where I can’t reach him, where I can’t save him from himself and he’ll resent me for it.’ You asked, needing Luke’s guidance more than ever in your time of uncertainty. Luke pondered this for a bit before finally responding. ‘There won’t be a time where Nico would ever resent you and even if that did ever happen, I just know that he would hate himself even more for pushing the one person who had his back and cared for him like their own flesh and blood.’ He then squeezed your thigh reassuringly. ‘That and you’d dive into the depths of the labyrinth to bring him back no matter what and he knows that better than anybody that you’d endanger yourself just to save him, even from himself.’

He was right. You knew he was right. You would wholeheartedly throw yourself into harms way if it meant Nico came out unscathed and that terrified you and Luke could see this. ‘So don’t doubt yourself because if you doubt yourself then Nico will doubt himself by extension. For if the person he admires doubts themself then he would feel like he should too.’ Luke then rests his forehead against yours, his eyes staring deeply into yours. ‘I know you can guide him down the right path, be the kind of person you needed when you were in his situation, be the person you know you’d feel safe with, be his protector because I know you can. He needs you.�� He finished.

You looked down at the peacefully sleeping Nico before looking back up at Luke with a look of determination. ‘I promise to protect him and help him in whatever he may need.’

Like smirks. ‘That’s my baby.’

[lordofmelancholy]

Timebomb HC: Songbirds

Timebomb HC after hearing Reed sing on my spotify that Ekko and Jinx often sing to each other but their very weird about it. Instead of serenading each other to songs you would think couples would sing normally, they sing shit like this too each other.

Bonus points if their really fuckin great at it and love doing it in alleyways cause they know it spooks the shit out of people when it echo's off the walls. It was normally Jinx's idea to do that specifically, but Ekko likes the fun so its easy to convince him to join right on in

Nah cause like honestly, hearing these two sing/harmonize off of each other when their in "spooky mode" much be the most haunting thing to hear in Zaun. It's just the pair echoing off of each other on top some high structure STREETS away from one another

Like they just *hear* each other and even if it's in the beginning when they on opposing forces with each other due to Silco and shit, it's near muscle memory how easy it is to slip into song with one another. But then Jinx tries to sing it after the bridge fight scene hoping that "boy savior" survived because he can survive anything, its been like that since they were kids. She starts off her part of the song and waits for him to pick up his part and waits. . .and waits. . .and waits. . .

But she doesn't think anything is wrong, not in the beginning at least. The bridge fight was huge, big noise, maybe he went underground (so to speak). So she waits; a day becomes two, two becomes three, and soon three becomes a week and still nothing.

Fun fact about certain bird species. Those who mate for life will often always carry a song specific for their mate that they will repeat for the rest of their lives especially renewing breeding. Penguins use it to find their mates in colonies and certain song birds repeat it every season. When their mate dies, some will actually keep on singing hoping their mate will return, sorta like the Last Male Kauai 'Ö'Ö, whose melody he kept on singing for a female who would never come because of course, he was the last of his species.

Just like Jinx and Ekko were the last of the original group up right up until Vi came back. After the bridge fight, Vi leaves with Cait and Ekko seemingly disappears, and all Jinx just keeps doing is keep on singing for day's. She haunts the streets of Zaun but no matter how much or how long she sings, she get's no response. That poor little songbird simply seems to be singing for a mate who may never come back for she now may very well be the last. . .

But oh oh! Do not worry nor fret. For she will not forever be the last. For when at her lowest and at her most dire, that missing part of her song shall return. And though she may not sing the first time around, too heart broken and bleak, that missing part will always serenade her. For picture Ekko, if you will, taking Jinx back to the firelight hideout. The tree still stands strong. It's still a home, but also now it's the greatest perch for a proud man to sing his song. Only now the song sounds different. Doesn't sound as sad like it use to. Or bleak. Instead it sounds happy as if he has finally learned something that has changed it's meaning. So he sings it proudly too her from atop the tree branches, when he see's her all by her lonesome. Because he remembers how happy they both were even before when they sung together, even though it was at a point where they both simply sung to give meaning to the mess their lives had become. Instead now, he sings solely for her. And he loves when she turns and listens and for a moment, she might even give him a smile for the last songbird isn't alone anymore. .

[visceravalentines]

cold blue summer

a slasher movie AU for The Passenger (2023)

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record.

An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

Read the intro below and read the first chapter (and the rest as it updates this summer) on ao3! Mind the tags--suicide, implied/referenced child abuse, graphic depictions of violence.

School lets out early that year.  

The kids don’t question it, no matter how many times they catch the adults cutting conversations short when they walk in the room.  You don’t look too hard at a gift like that, four extra days of blue sky and no schedule.  

The school makes a statement that says everything and nothing, tries to keep the details vague, but word spreads anyway like kudzu.  The parents sit and fret, cancel camps, extend family vacations.  Stand in the hallways late at night and peer through cracked bedroom doors and swallow their dread down whole and kicking.  Read statistics.  Count their blessings.  

It’s a weird summer, gets off on a weird foot, like trying to hopscotch wrong-foot-forward.  

It’s early Monday morning, too early for teachers to arrive yet.  The schedule change allows extra time to tear down posters, enter the final few grades.  Nobody’s in a rush, though, to sit alone in the empty classrooms.  To sit in the silence of that building and let imagination run wild.  To be there, in the place where it happened.  In proximity to the unthinkable, guilty by association.  By ignorance.  By inaction.  

Elliot Sheppard has been missing for three days.  

The playground for the younger grades sits on the east side of the school at the base of the hill.  The kids call it the Little Toy, relative to the Big Toy, which is on the other side of the building and reserved for the older grades.  Weeds have already started their seasonal conquest, bursting up at the edge of the wood chips and in the shade of the slide.  The foursquare courts need repainting.  A kickball sits half-deflated in the grass at the bottom of the hill.  

The lonesome call of a mourning dove trembles over the dew.  The sun stretches its arms over the lowlands, rosy and resplendent.  In the pale dawn light, blood drips black onto the wood chips.  The gun sits mere inches from the thick-fingered hand that dropped it.  Very little of the man remains above the bridge of his nose, mouth rent asunder, a tooth fairy’s bounty.  Flies already swarm around the pale blue sinkholes of his eyes.  

He will be found in less than an hour by the secretary who bid him good morning every day since she started at Central.  The police will identify him immediately and do their damnedest to keep these details out of the media too, in the name of protecting privacy, protecting dignity.  In an effort to shelter the soft and innocent from the uglier parts of life.  

This time, at least, they might succeed.  

-

Three miles away and twenty years later, Benson Rousseau jolts awake with a scream in his throat.  

[munchmemes]

hozier lyrics, hozier (expanded edition)

❛  i should've worshipped them sooner. ❜

❛  we were born sick. ❜

❛  the only heaven i'll be sent to is when i'm alone with you. ❜

❛  i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

❛  good god, let me give you my life. ❜

❛  there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. ❜

❛  it's toying somewhere between love and abuse. ❜

❛  no more alone or myself i could be. ❜

❛  [i/you] lurched like a stray to the arms that were open. ❜

❛  i lay my heart down with the rest at [your/their] feet. ❜

❛  i wonder if it's better now having survived. ❜

❛  i'm so tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes. ❜

❛  no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight. ❜

❛  [they/you] found me just in time. ❜

❛  cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done, i need to be youthfully felt cause i never felt young. ❜

❛  it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometimes. ❜

❛  we tried the world and it wasn't for us. ❜

❛  you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

❛  would things be easier if there was a right way? ❜

❛  honey, there is no right way. ❜

❛  i fall in love just a little bit every day with someone new. ❜

❛  there's an art to life's distractions. ❜

❛  love with every stranger, the stranger the better. ❜

❛  all i've ever done is hide. ❜

❛  when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, i feel ike a person for a moment of my life. ❜

❛  but you don't know what the hell you put me through. ❜

❛  it feels good to be alone with you. ❜

❛  there are questions i can't ask. ❜

❛  now, at last, the worst is over. ❜

❛  i know that you hate this place. ❜

❛  there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree? ❜

❛  there's something lonesome about you, something so wholesome about you. ❜

❛  innocence died screaming. ask me, i should know. ❜

❛  there's something broken about this but i might be hoping about this. ❜

❛  we'll lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand. so still and discreet. ❜

❛  i'd be home with you. ❜

❛  any way to distract and sedate. ❜

❛  i'm somewhere outside my life. i keep scratching but somehow i can't get in. ❜

❛  don't you stand there watching me, won't you? ❜

❛  don't you join in, you're supposed to drag me away from it. ❜

❛  i'm so full of love, i could barely eat. ❜

❛  [they/you] are sweet as can be. [they/you] give me toothaches just from kissing me. ❜

❛  no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to [them/you]. ❜

❛  you never asked me once about the wrong i did. ❜

❛  [you/they] would never fret none about what my hands and my body done. ❜

❛  if the lord don't forgive me, i'd still have you and you would have me. ❜

❛  why were you digging? what did you bury? ❜

❛  i will not ask you where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

❛  just put your sweet lips on my lips. we should just kiss like real people do. ❜

❛  i know that look, eyes always seeking. ❜

❛  i will not ask you why you were creeping. in some sad way, i already know. ❜

❛  you know better than to smile at me like that. ❜

❛  i know who i am when i'm alone. ❜

❛  you don't understand. you should never know how easy you are to need. ❜

❛  don't let me in with no intention to keep me. ❜

❛  it can't be unlearned. i've known the warmth of your doorways. ❜

❛  i'll find my way back to you. ❜

❛  my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man's beliefs. ❜

❛  screaming the name of a foreigner's good is the purest expression of grief. ❜

❛  i feel no control of my body. i feel no safety in [your/their] arms. ❜

❛  all that i've been taught and every word i've got is foreign to me. ❜

❛  it looks ugly but it's clean. ❜

❛  your fight and fury is fiery. ❜

❛  it's worth it, it's divine. i have this some of the time. ❜

❛  you called my name til the fever broke. ❜

❛  i heard a scream in the woods somewhere. ❜

❛  i turned and ran to save a life i didn't have. ❜

❛  i need you to run to me. run to me! ❜

❛  when i was a child, i heard voices. some would sing and some would scream. ❜

❛  don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash. ❜

❛  you've done me wrong for a long, long time. ❜

❛  after all you've done, i never changed my mind. ❜

❛  please, try to love me. ❜

❛  my love will never die. ❜

[brujahinaskirt]

You know, when it really comes down to it, the main thing that tears me to pieces about Arthur & John is encapsulated so nicely in the trope of the Lonesome Cowboy.

RDR2's storytelling is particularly masterful as it shows us that everyone is the mythic Lonesome Cowboy... but at the same time, I believe it manages to quietly suggest there is one true Lonesome Cowboy of the series.

And it ain't Arthur Morgan.

DEEPLY overwritten explanation below!

On the surface, Arthur is clearly set up by RDR2 to be our Lonesome Cowboy. He even sings the song. But is he really? Really, truly? Or is Arthur's brand of lonesomeness a clever model to help us, through comparison and contrast, begin to notice and understand another, deeper type of loneliness?

Arthur thinks he's unlovable and alone because he lacks one specific type of love, romantic domesticity, which he has dreamed throughout his life and consistently been denied. But though his pain is genuine, the idea that Arthur is alone and unloved is almost laughable. R* shows us every single game day that Arthur is surrounded by people who love him, live with him, and depend upon him.

But that's the great irony of the RDR Lonesome Cowboy, right? Arthur feels lonely and believes he is alone because he is a "bad man" and nonbeliever whom "no one will have" (not even God, and he remains true to his atheism through the bitter end [and thank god for that honestly because the last thing I needed was a Come to Jesus cowboy game...]).

But the inverse is true, and his depression is lying to him; Arthur is almost never alone and pretty much everyone in his family unit actively enjoys his company and wants him around. And yes, many of these people are damaged and have trouble communicating that (though fewer than you'd think). And no, it isn't the same as getting married to one person and raising a family with them for the rest of your life. But lonesome? As in, emotionally and/or physically alone?

Nah! Come on, man! Not even close.

Arthur is more than just loved and needed: he's actually understood by those he chooses to let in, because Arthur is definitely capable of telling his closest confidants how he feels and what is lurking in his heart. We see him do this many times. Sometimes with surprising ease and honesty.

When Arthur is physically alone in RDR2, he's wandering at the player's command, and if he wanders for too long, he's eventually retrieved & lambasted by the people at camp who quite openly/forcefully tell him they missed him and worried about him. Even Low Honor Arthur is a popular man at camp, in his own way, the support beam of his strange family (though LH Arthur is more likely to selectively deny that support, or to provide that support with the caveat of verbal cruelty).

A messy run-down of some obvious examples to illustrate my point:

Despite Dutch's deterioration and manipulations, Dutch and Hosea openly dote on him and relish telling embarrassing family stories about their Big Man Old Guard son to each other. Hosea especially frets about and tries to care for Arthur, mostly physically but sometimes emotionally as well. Susan can be abrasive at best, but she also clearly favors Arthur, thinks often about his well-being, and is one of the primary worriers when he's away from camp for too long.

Abigail and Jack completely rely on Arthur for a significant period of their lives, and though Abigail struggles greatly with showing affection & vulnerability, I would argue her primary and most extraordinary mode of care and affection for Arthur is allowing him to help her raise her son. Sure, she needs the help... but Arthur needs the nuclear family experience of being heavily relied on, too, and Abigail makes it clear she understands that about him better than anybody else. (I'd go on to argue that being relied on in a family way is essential for Arthur's self-esteem and is how he can continue to function despite the massive clash between his true nature and his violent lifestyle, for which he constantly berates himself. But that's neither here nor there...)

The Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) actively worry about his mental health and invite him to share his burdens with them, comfort him (each in their own unique way), play games, dance, etc. They do this for Arthur we don't see them do for anyone else in camp (apart from each other, which leads me to believe Arthur is sort of an honorary member of The Girls, though I won't get too much into that here).

Sadie: "Aside from my [BELOVED HUSBAND AND SOUL MATE] Jake, you're the best man I've known."

Though Arthur seems more likely to trust & befriend women/non-masc men, he has masc men friends & confidants too, and most of the men at camp seem to rank Arthur as somehow more reliable than other members. Charles very obviously loves Arthur & vice versa to the point where I tried to pick one demonstrative example and couldn't figure out where to begin. Uncle is a pain in Arthur's ass, but when shit hits the fan, he knows (and tells him) that Arthur is the best man of them all. Lenny, while young, enjoys Arthur's company (though I would argue Arthur feels more strongly about Lenny than the inverse due to Arthur's tendency to protectively fuss over young people). Hell, Sean constantly tells Arthur, word for word, "I love ya, Arthur Morgan!!! I really do!!! I love ya!!!!" He's being goofy, but he's not joking! He said that!

And that's just a surface-level sampling of gang members. These threads run much, much deeper and we could spend essays analyzing each one, but my god this has gone on too long already.

One could argue that Arthur's story aloneness is at the moment of his death, but I can't quite agree. With Save John + High Honor Arthur path especially, I would argue Arthur has never been less emotionally (even spiritually) alone than when he chose to change the very nature of his death from a random consequence of his hard life to an act of love that gives his surviving core family (John, Abigail, Jack) a chance at happiness. In less peaceful endgame scenarios, Arthur might not actually die alone, or even have time to linger on his approaching departure from the world.

So I posit that Arthur is not, was never the Lonesome Cowboy. Arthur is loved as much as he loves others.

I posit that the true Lonesome Cowboy of RDR is John.

John Marston, who on the surface has everything Arthur ever wanted... but who, due to the nature of his heart and what he's seen, cannot bring himself to fully open up in a way that enables him to be truly understood and embraced by anyone, not even the person he comes to love most in the world (Abigail). There's a reason the epilogue feels so shocking and lonely, and while I do think Rockstar could have done a better job on the transitional cinematics from playing as Arthur to playing as John, that crushing loneliness and sense of discomfort and incompleteness is vital.

It feels awful. It feels like we just lost a limb and were thrown back into everyday life with no fanfare, no true honorable sendoff, no closure, no greater understanding of the world, no peace or contentment. And it feels that way because that discordant, jarring dis-allowance of grief is the ONLY mechanism that helps us feel how John must feel now. Because unlike Arthur, John cannot express or unfold or understand his own pain and loneliness. Not to us, the player, and not even to himself. He never grieves.

Of course, when Sadie and Micah drift back into his life, John snaps. He's never grieved! He's been emotionally alone through all of that, even when he has his family and friends, because he can't open up and let them in! He risks destroying his family in a way that would have undoubtedly caused Arthur extreme horror and anger because John's family is not and has never been a cure for John's loneliness, even though John truly loves them more than anything at the end.

John can't express it, so it's these lyrics themselves that serve as the fount of his grief: I ain't got no brother. No wonder Abigail has her own quiet epilogue rendition of this song (and she, too, is a profoundly Lonesome Cowboy in her way, just like Karen, Hosea, Javier, Jack, etc....). Once Arthur is gone from the world, so too is the only person who knew this deeply damaged kid well enough from his wild childhood to really even hope to see into John's heart.

tl;dr: Arthur thinks he's the legendary Lonesome Cowboy, but he's not. He's just lonely, not alone. In reality, the character who is fundamentally alone, truly lonesome, has always been John.