#love & leashes wallpaper

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Baby fever Scenarios and Headcanons with Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley (Ghostie)

Thank my baby godson for this one, if it hadn't been for him having me take care of him for the whole day then I wouldn't have anything to write because as of now I have no motivation or ideas to continue my past wips. Render credits are all to the lovely @ave661 who keeps feeding us. My little godson still sleeping on my chest, drool, snore and all as I'm writing this. I can't move, please send help. This is so short too, sorry to disappoint you guys 😭

Y'all CANNOT tell me I'm the only one who thinks of Simon "Ghost" Riley having baby fever from his own children (I would give him more, all he needs to do is ask 😭). Also these are basically moments of Simon with Ghostie, just a bit more general in terms of the baby's gender since some of y'all want boy!dad Simon but originally Ghostie is a girl.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @trepaika @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who loves to toss the baby up in the air, simply just for amusement and both of them needed entertainment. Safe to say Soap never did that until the little one was a lot older because when he did it, he ended up with a glob of drool on his face.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who is always so vocal with his baby, you could just tell the influence of him talking to the baby. Just the rumble of his voice sends the tiny one into a fit of giggles while they're on his chest.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who was influenced by you to do that viral thing on the internet, people throwing a slice of cheese on their crying baby to make them stop. It worked and they ate it.. now he keeps the fridge stocked with sliced cheese for that reason.

❥ Babyfever!Husband!Simon who was determined to assemble everything, baby's crib, the car seat.. though the bottle sterilizer was something he needed your help with. Both of you trying to figure where the missing piece went only to find your little one chewing on it.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who comes home late at night yet his little one follows him like a mother duck, as much as he wants to, Simon refused to have contact until he's out and squeaky clean from a shower. Always worrying about how they might catch something from outside while the little one is directly outside the bathroom door waiting for their dad and peeking from the little space underneath the door, knocking every 3 minutes for dada to come out.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who has the time of his life teaching the baby CPR, it started as a joke between the 141 and now your baby knows the word and knows what to do in response to it, the bunny stuffie is the one receiving the medical attention with the little crisp giggle after Simon praises them.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who you find laughing his ass off at Soap who was forced by the puppy eyes of your little one to wear a pink tutu that was on the verge of breaking from his size, glittered fairy wings that were made of wire and horrid quality of pink mesh fabric, a plastic tiara and a light up fairy wand. They forced him to do ballet. (Gaz definitely had that as his phone's wallpaper for a month)

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who love cherishing little moments of how the world reminds him of how naive, dumb and gullible his little one could be. Having a leash kid yet for a completely different reason from misbehaving and being too hyperactive. Walking on a bridge with him over a river as a little family outing at the park when your little one pointed at the aggressive stream of water underneath, Simon jokingly asking them if they want to be tossed in and without a word they turn to you with their arms up and wiggling for uppies. When that didn't work they turned to their dad doing the same thing, making Simon chuckle so much that he almost coughed as they slowly let their arms drape back down to their sides, little pout in disappointment. You playfully glared at your husband, having to explain to a toddler why they can't swim in a strong stream of dirty water.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who is very much amused about how the baby likes his stuble, hoping he won't cause a rash to them because of how much they press their face into his. He makes sure it's extremely well kept after the very first time it happened 😭.

❥ Babyfever!Dad!Simon who loves seeing his toddler in their sleep shirt which is basically just his shirt drooping on the floor because it's too big for them but the they're chunky enough to keep it on themselves. Just thinking of Simon hearing the loud stomps of footsteps approving their bedroom, the short pause of silence before the frantic sound of the door knob jingling, he always knew who was about to enter the room. Holding their bunny stuffie while pulling on the blanket of their dad's side of the bed to ask him for help to climb up.

[shumyungho]

YOU AS THEIR LOCKSCREENS - ot13

(fem reader)

warnings: mentions of food, dying (of cuteness)

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choi seungcheol - i feel like it's just a stolen of you working in your bedroom… like you invited him over to your apartment but you forgot that you have to submit this paper to your boss, he goes “oh, it's okay, baby. take your time. i’ll just lay in your bed.” and you work peacefully. seungcheol just decided to snap a picture of you, the ambient lights, and the angle of your bed to your desk, he just had to take a picture. he found it cute, your scrunched-up face, eyes dedicated to your screen. he had to set it as his wallpaper. after you’ve finished, you cuddle with him, sighing. then you peek over his phone which was disregarded upon your presence, it lit up with a photo of you typing. you smile and snuggle a bit closer to him.

rest of the members under the cut!

yoon jeonghan - he is a very very mischievous man. you guys went out to eat since it was a tradition of some sort to your relationship that you guys had to go out weekly. you guys went to some cute bakery down the street. as you got your food, you started ranting about your week– on how your co-worker was so annoying while munching on a piece of bread. jeonghan was listening– but also snickering. he pulled out his phone when you weren't looking, too caught up with your drama and the deliciousness of the bread you were eating, he took fast pictures of you, making sure you hadn't caught him, then slid his phone back to his pocket. on the way home, he made that one picture of you; mouth full of bread and your eyes rolling, his wallpaper. he snickers while you always furrow your brows and complain about his wallpaper every time he shows it to you.

hong jisoo - you guys were out, strolling around a park around your guys’ home. you brought your dog out since you’ve figured you haven't been letting her move around your area. you let her sniff everything that’s around her, with a leash on your hand just so she won't go anywhere. it's the autumn season, and the wind is cold, so joshua let you borrow his coat. your dog was walking slowly, inspecting everything around her, finding squirrels or cats to meddle around with. the breeze is calming, and your hair is easily swayed by the air. joshua was mesmerized by you, he loved moments like these where everything is so calm with you. he snapped a couple of pictures of you without you knowing, letting your dog in his camera too, snapping a lot. before going to his settings and setting you as his lock screen. now he smiles like an idiot every time his phone lights up with you and your dog.

wen junhui - he loved taking you out to fancy restaurants for special occasions. either it's your birthday, or his, or your guys' anniversary, or his “just because.” he loved seeing your outfits whenever he said that he reserved a table at this formal-sounding place you've never been to. him saying that “dress fancy.” even though both of your birthday’s just finished and your anniversary is in 3 months. you want to question him, but he doesn't like being questioned. so you just shake it off as you prepare your fancy clothes. you guys arrived at his reservation, got your food and ate, and conversed happily. of course, he liked taking pictures. so you guys take a couple of selfies while he's asking one of the waiters to take a picture of you two. he asked you to pose as you automatically held up a peace sign. him chuckling as he takes a photo. he finds it cute the following day, further setting it as his lock screen and home screen. just you smiling with the restaurant lights is enough to make him flustered.

kwon soonyoung - you guys were probably cuddling, enclosed in the safe surroundings of hoshi’s bedroom, just so comfortable. you were on top of him, reading a book with your elbows around his head while he scrolls through his social media feed or chatting with the guys, sometimes seeing something funny and tapping your shoulder to show you the post. you hum while laying back down again. it goes like that for a while, him giggling and you laughing a bit, too. the blanket covering you both up as you guys try to snuggle into each other more closely. he lifts his phone up, taking a picture of you and him with your book at the side of his head while you cover your face while smiling. he sets his phone down, having a plan to tickle you instead. after you guys finish and lay down again, he sets it as his lock screen, grinning so wide.

jeon wonwoo - you brought him to your apartment, planning to just watch some of the dramas you guys promised to finish today. snuggling on the couch while watching the tv. but then, he heard a meow. the thing is, he doesn't know that you had a cat, he just figured now. he looks at you for some confirmation, “oh, him? i just got him like two days ago, just brought you here just so i can show you.” you got up, him internally pouting because of your absence in his arms. you brought your fur baby to the couch, babying him with your tiny voice. and he could literally die just because of cuteness right now. he never pulled out his phone so quickly, taking a picture of your cat– and you… putting it as his home screen, then coming over to introduce himself to your cat. now, you have two cats.

lee jihoon - he brought you to his studio once, and you figured he’ll work quicker with your presence. and you were right. not only he gets your presence around him at all times, but also you get to sleep soundly on the couch in the room. or the seat next to him since you wanted to hear some of the beats your boyfriend produced. but sometimes, if he wasn't talking to you due to how he's focused on what he's doing, you can get a little bit sleepy. and sometimes you do sleep, setting your head down on the table next to him. he chuckles, snapping a quick photo of you before carrying you to his couch, careful to not wake you up. he found the photo of you dozed off so cute that he had to make it his lock screen.

lee seokmin - you brought him out on a beach, the weather was nice and you guys haven't gotten out in a while. also, him suggesting that you guys could have a picnic there you accepted happily. you laid out the cloth on the sand while he brought out the picnic basket containing all of your guys’ food. you guys ate, chatting and giggling. a few birds came up to you guys and you fed them your bread while seokmin tried scaring them away. you stopped him before the birds could claw at him. you were wearing his long-sleeved shirt above your swimwear, and he found you so attractive in it. you went out in the water while he stayed sat, taking a picture of you, a grin plastered on your face. he made it his lock screen before standing up and going to you.

kim mingyu - he loved making you stay in his apartment when it was too late in the night for you to go out. he decided that you could just go home tomorrow, instead. you found no problem with it and just shrugged while putting your bag down on his couch. then he realized that you guys haven't eaten since your lunch. him offering to cook for you. you ask him “what are you going to cook?” he stays silent for a second… “ramyeon…” he almost whispers. “sounds good.” you smile. you always loved his ramyeon, it's your favorite, second to your mother's, of course. he cooked a serving for two and gave you a bowl while you guys were sitting on the island. he got his phone out, telling you that he needs to take a picture of you. you smile sheepishly while holding up your chopsticks with noodles in your mouth. and he swears he could just stare at you forever at this moment. he takes countless photos, even from different angles, then sits down again and eats his lukewarm noodles. letting you watch him as he sets it as his lock and home screen. turning the phone off and conversing again with you.

xu minghao - you guys found this one art museum in your city that he hasn't been to yet, and he wanted to walk around and look at art with you. you dressed up and went there. he really liked your outfit since it matches the aesthetic of the whole museum. you guys look around, pointing at some of the pieces and saying what you noticed about it while observing it. while you were staring at the piece, your boyfriend figured that your outfit matched the painting. he stepped back a little, the phone he used to picture the artworks, now used to picture you. and the longer he stared at your picture, the more he loved it. he made it his home screen that night while snuggled up with you while looking at the artwork.

boo seungkwan - his family really wanted you to visit them after a year of being busy. and of course, when you and your boyfriend are available, the plan is immediately decided. your boss gave you a 3-day break while they just finished everything they needed to do. packing your bags for a one-night stay at your boyfriend's house. bonding with his family is sweet, it's like they're your own family. cooking together with his mom, and hanging out with his sisters. seungkwan just laid back as you make conversation with his sister. his dog, bookkeu was in your hands as you rub his belly. he was enamored enough to take a picture of you. his mother lightly slapped his shoulder saying “you’re so in love with her.” while chuckling. that statement was enough to make that photo of you and his dog his home screen.

chwe hansol - of course, you know that your boyfriend lives for music. it's his career, it's his everything. so whenever you guys are doing anything of some sort, he needed music to be there. snuggling? soft music on the speakers. cooking? he's playing jazz. even if you guys are just hanging out, it's always mandatory for him to have something to fill in the silence. if he doesn't wanna disturb you, headphones are always there. and of course, he makes you like music, too. it's his love language anyways. so when you were playing something on your phone, and he's scrolling through his feed, earphones that he shared plugged into your guys’ ears. he asked you if it was okay to take a photo since it's kinda cute, you gave him a go sign since you didn't mind. he pulled the camera between you guys, framing your ears and the earphones, not including your faces. he found it adorable and set it as his lock screen. continuing scrolling through his feed with a new wallpaper.

lee chan - he brought you to his practice room since he had to get something before you guys went out for your date. you’ve figured it’ll be cute if you guys matched clothes, and chan liked it. you just stood in the room with walls that are mirrors, looking at yourself while you patiently waited for chan to get what he needs. this is a cute place to get a mirror pic at. you thought and pulled your phone out. posing a bit and taking pictures. chan saw you and smiled, stopping for a bit and letting you finish. when you were done, you looked at him and signaled him to come where you were. you took pictures of you both, forcing him to pose with you. he asked you to send those photos to him. as you did, he made one his lock screen while saving the rest of them. after that, he pulled you to him and you start discussing your lunch plans.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

@shumyungho . reblogs are appreciated.

a/n wowwowowowow i dont wanna write anymore T_T

[minus-plus-zer0]

Halloween Special - Trick-Or-Treaters

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader (You can also read my other Halloween Special - Giving Out Candy)

You and Bakugou prowled the neighborhood streets at night, decked out in your full costumes. You led Bakugou around by tugging on Bakugou’s ‘leash’, a chain attached to a dog collar that was part of Bakugou's werewolf costume.

Bakugou hated trick-or-treating. Bakugou wanted nothing more than to stay at your house or his with the lights turned off to pretend nobody was home. But you loved trick-or-treating, and Bakugou had to tag along to scare off any bad guys who might do you harm. But he also scared off any and all homeowners you visited, and you scolded him every single time. The last person you visited was a small child handing out candy on behalf of their parents and they ran away screaming after seeing Bakugou.

You violently ruffled Bakugou’s hair. “Stop that! Stop doing that!”

“But we can get even more candy now!” Bakugou grabbed a fistful of candy and shoved it into your bag.

You apologized to the homeowners every time afterwards, and thankfully they all took it as a joke. You were still ticked off even as you were walking away from the crime scene. Bakugou reluctantly tuned down his nasty behavior, if only to avoid making you upset.

Other trick-or-treaters gave you and Bakugou a wide berth to avoid your constant playful bickering. The only ones who could tolerate you were the other 1-A students, who you occasionally bumped into on the streets. Vampire Todoroki met you two at an intersection while you were waiting to cross and even jokingly offered to ‘suck your blood’. Bakugou would’ve offered to ‘smash his face in’, but he was supposed to be on good behavior today. Instead, he body blocked Todoroki from coming near you and stuck his tongue out at the vampire as you two walked away. 

Near the end of trick-or-treating your legs grew tired, so Bakugou gave you a piggyback ride while returning to his house. You nearly fell asleep on the ride over, still clinging to Bakugou as he set you down on his couch. He didn't dare break away from your hold, so he instead patiently held still in your grasp until you woke up, despite desperately having to pee. 

Afterwards, you both counted your candy haul in his living room. Bakugou dumped all his candy into your bag without a second thought. His mother also dumped some extra candy into your bag. You’d be feasting on candy for weeks afterwards, including all the other goodies you got. Somebody handed out a rotisserie chicken to trick-or-treaters and Bakugou’s mother got to work on cooking yours.

Once you finished your late dinner, Bakugou’s mother drove you home. Bakugou tagged along for whatever reason, handing you his jacket to warm you up. He dutifully walked you up to your doorstep like a puppy with separation anxiety. 

As you unlocked the door, Bakugou finally found the courage to ask you something.

“Hold up,” he said. “Before ya go, wanna take a picture together?”

You gasped. “You’re asking me for once? You’re no longer camera shy?”

“I was never shy… I just wanted a fucking picture before ya change out of that costume.”

There wasn’t any innocent way you could’ve interpreted that comment, and Bakugou knew it. That was why Bakugou hadn’t said anything all night. But you didn’t mind.

“Well, come on!” You tugged on his leash, pulling him towards you. 

Bakugou took the picture on his phone, totally out of his element but still determined to get this moment immortalized. Bakugou kept the photo as his phone wallpaper for months afterwards, always loving the way you looked in the photo while trying to ignore his own face. Bakugou couldn't wait until next Halloween, where he could catch you in that costume all over again.

[fernpetals]

In This House #3

Masterlist

Yandere John Wick x Reader The library in the house is a place of solace. Perhaps not as comforting as the room dedicated to your skills with the pen, but close. The second-best. The library, though, has no line drawn to keep John out. No corner of the house has it.

Your personal study used to be but since your last attempt, John has broken yet another promise. He gave you his word, the study would be your space and yours alone. He promised he wouldn't step foot in it if you didn't want him to. But the promise, a 'privilege' as he makes all his false promises seem, was taken away.

So, it does not really matter whether you are in the library, the study, or the bedroom, John can walk in anytime, anywhere he pleases. "What are you reading?"

Of course, he is here. Looming over to catch a glimpse of the story that has kept her occupied all evening. "The Yellow Wallpaper." You respond quietly.

He hums before languidly rounding over the couch and taking a seat.

"Do you feel trapped?"

You do not answer, just glance at him. His deep, dark eyes try to read you, rip off your veils, and your walls like he has always done.

"Who's fault is that?" He raises an eyebrow

You are surprised at the lack of flare in you. No anger, no surprise, or even frustration. You are finally accepting that he will never truly acknowledge that he has brought the two where you both are.

"Keep telling yourself that," You whisper to yourself.

You feel him stiffen beside you, you feel the weight of his gaze. The glare that promises consequences. But you are not bothered anymore. How worse can it get?

-----

The Reader's Cafe.

A typical name, for a typical place. Stuffed with books at every corner except the counter, behind which the magic of teas, coffees and mocktails happens, along with little snacks like sandwiches, cookies, pies, fresh buns and every other lovely thing that goes perfectly with the suggested drink in the menu, put right before the price.

You like tea along with cookies, and sometimes, simply the beverage. This place is convenient---blocks away from your home, warm, cosy ---though stuffy during summers sometimes, the cafe is your little bubble where you can read.

You are halfway through Blake's 'Songs of Innocence', casually looking up at the shelves surrounding you for the 'Songs of Experience'. Reading every twin poem by Blake has a thrill of its own,. 'The Lamb' and 'The Tyger', for instance.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the cafe."

"I understand, but, it will take only a minute, I will keep him leashed."

Usually, you do not care. Usually. But you have been distracted all day, and this conversation floats in with a 'woof' in between an you find yourself getting up and following the voices.

Right at the entrance is the same man you stumbled across weeks ago, and his adorable companion.

"How about this, you take back this book, lend me the one I want and fill in the records? I will leave him home when I return."

He is a soft-spoken man, with perhaps softer eyes. Sweet whirls of brown. Dark, brown, almost matching his black hair. The woman hesitates before asking-

"Which book it is?"

"Songs of Experience."

You perk up at that, taking a few more steps forward and catching his attention.

"Uh..."

Well, even though his eyes seem soft...there's still something that makes you squirm.

"Actually, I was looking for that too,"

You are by no means an orator. But the way you struggle to hold his gaze, makes you want to dig up a grave for yourself. He hasn't spoken yet and your throat is parched.

"This one? I just wanted to return it. And get a companion book."

"Songs of Innocence? I was reading it. Here."

You take a few more steps, reaching him and offering the book with your finger still between the pages. His adorable companion his tail furiously as you near him, woofing and trying to reach you. Perhaps he remembers you.

"Oh, no it's alright, I can get it sometime later."

"I've read this before. Please, insist. I was searching for the other anyway. In fact, I suggest that you keep this one too. The twin poems are best read together."

You stop yourself just short of rambling longer. He seems to be a quiet man, and you might be weirding him out. But smiles kindly.

"Then you should keep them." You shake your head, ready to refuse but he beats you to it.

"The next time I find myself here, we both can read the companion pieces."

You do not even realise it when you agree, but you end up going home with both books in your possession. You are going to the bookshop every evening, you decide. Every evening until he appears again.

[seafullofpeace]

maybe something with cg!matt, little!reader, and trevor please? love this blog sososomuch already!! :) <333

little!reader with trevor <3

an: okay this is so adorable!! :(( I love it so so much thank uu for this request! I tried my best, sorry if it's not really good and sorry for bad english <3 enjoy

- I just know matt would have a wallpaper of you and trev! just little you laying in bed with trevor cuddled up to you <3 adorable

- you and trevor are basically best buddies ever

- when matt hear that it's too silent he can just guess thar you're on one of your special missions with trev. like a secret mission when you steal a cookie sneakily and trevor get a dogs treat

- at first you were a little scared of trevor but matt always comforted you and showed how to pet him gently and act with him

- matt see you very often having a nap with trev <3 and you're resting your head on him a little

- walks with trevor and matt is something that you absolutely adore. matt hold your little hand while you're holding leash in your second

- little races with trev! like when matt lets the trevor out into the house yard and you go with them too. usually trev is happy to be outside so he's doing zoomies, but if not- matt throw Trevor a toy so he want to run for it, and at the same time you run next to trevor and see who can run faster

- buying new toys for trevor brings you so much joy so matt know that you're two gonna for sure go to pet shop at christmas,etc. so you can pick something for trev as well!

- matt also bought you a trevor look alike stuffed animal so when you're not with trev, you can cuddle with plushie!

divider credits : @kodaswrld <3

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Heyyy there💖 First off i’d just like to say how obsessed i am with your fics🥹 they are perfect and you really nail the characters perfectly so here’s my request if you don’t mind:

Could i request an angsty fic with Arthur where he and the reader used to be together when they were teenagers and they joined the gang together but the reader left after a few years because she has such an innocent personality (kind of like Mary-Beth) and she just didn’t want to live in the gang with criminals so when she leaves she breaks Arthur’s heart. But they stumble into each other in Valentine (where she works as a waitress) when Arthur, Javier, Charles and Bill go to the saloon. At first their interaction goes very good until that fight breaks out where Arthur beats Tommy, after that the reader is in tears because she hates violence so she storms off behind the saloon but Arthur follows her and it’s there where they start arguing and throwing insults where the reader says that she left cause she didn’t wanna be associated with criminals so Arthur calls her naive and is extra mean to her because he can’t hold all his built up anger and judgment towards her decision to leave him anymore. When he returns to camp that night he can’t stop thinking about their heated interaction so he returns to Valentine to find her and apologise for his rough words.

Sorry for this extra long request but i just love how perfect and detailed your fics are so i knew you would be the best to turn to for this request😊🫶🏻

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything

(Arthur Morgan x Ex!Fem!Reader Angst/Fluff)

No smut sorry didn't feel like adding it, also thank u so much ur compliments mean so much to me 😭

Warnings: arguing, depictions of violence, blood

Intimacy is the art of licking wounds. And the way Arthur loved was akin to the way a dog nurses an open wound, laving tongue and bared teeth and all. The truth was, Arthur longed to be loved so much that it made him sick. The smallest gesture of affection would bring a lump to his throat, and when he would inevitably fall into his grave, it would seep with all the longing he’s ever done. But like a dog, he dangles on his leash; and his need grows teeth. There are teeth marks on everything Arthur has ever loved.

Valentine was bleak, but it still maintained that hustle and bustle of a well-oiled machine. The town saw the daily passage of horse drawn carriages and hard working folks. Though everyone seemed to be there unwillingly, as though they had nowhere else to go; as though this was the only option they had. Such was the case for Arthur. He found himself left with no choice but to acquaint himself with the people of Valentine as the gang moved further east. The main road down Valentine had taken on the pungent weight of horse manure and wet earth. Arthur’s heavy leather boots stomped through mud, leaving deep, smeared imprints that proved he had been there. They traced him all the way towards the saloon, where he so ungracefully tracked more mud up the wooden steps and inside the establishment. He heard Javier’s voice call out distantly from inside.

He pushed open the dusty wooden doors of the saloon, the hinges groaning and squeaking as it let in another customer (it seemed even the furniture was equally as weary as the townspeople). The poignant scent of sweat, body odor, and what could otherwise simply be described as testosterone hung lowly amidst herds of inebriated men. The low hum of chatter and the lively playing of piano was nearly drowned out by Javier’s obnoxious hollering. He eyed the ox skull hanging decoratively on the wooden pillar ahead of him, as well as the dull, peeling wallpaper. The place was kempt, but just barely. Similar to the town outside, with folks just as tired and hard working coming through here. He approached Javier and Charles at the bar, who were accompanied by two women. Even with their backs turned to him, Arthur could tell they were escorts. With one of them having an off the shoulder blouse, a beguiling attempt at appearing more enticing; her burnt orange hair tied lowly into a bun that rested just above a black choker. Her counterpart was of a darker complexion, and she sported a floral top with a singular black braid cascading down her right shoulder; they both wore long purple skirts. Arthur sneered. ‘Unbelievable’ he thought to himself.

“Oh, Arthur!” Javier looked surprised to see him, his enthusiasm suggesting ulterior motives. Javier was not yet reeling drunk, but he was working on it (Arthur could tell the moment he saw the group raising shots together when he walked in).

“Arthur, Arthur, come here, come here, come over here” Javier pulled Arthur in by his shoulder, the rest of the group turning to face him. Wordlessly, he looked at Charles and gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“I want you to meet our new friends.” Javier added.

Arthur looked utterly unimpressed by Charles and Javier’s ‘friends’. Arthur stood to the side, eyeing the women up and down, the ginger one busty, exhibiting her cleavage almost proudly. He could tell the two men were here for a lay. Though perhaps, he supposed they were fulfilling their duty of acquainting themselves with the townspeople after all.

“Pleased to meet you.” Arthur greeted flatly, nodding his head.

“Well ain't you just the tough as teak mountain man.” One of the women teased coyly.

“Oh, you be quiet, Anastasia! Anyone can tell this one is a pussy cat!” The other one added.

Javier seemed to butt in overzealously.

“Exactly, yes he’s a pussy…cat. Ain't that so Arthur?” Javier seemed entranced by these women, his judgement clouded by lust. Arthur thought it only bothersome. Charles said nothing the whole time, but Arthur knew he was just as enraptured as Javier was; spanning one of his hands behind one of the women's backs.

“Whatever you say.” Arthur murmured. “How much you cost anyway?”

The women looked at him scornfully.

“Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady?” One of them said sarcastically. Javier and Charles looked on awkwardly, unsure of how to aid the situation.

“Oh, I didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” Arthur put emphasis on lady, even stepping forward to punctuate his sarcasm. That seemed to be the last straw, as the two women excused themselves and walked elsewhere, their unwillingness to stick around any longer suggesting that years in their business had diminished their tolerance for such derision. Javier and Charles looked on in disappointment, watching as the objects of their desires made themselves scarce.

“Well, I must say, you got a fine way with the women amigo…” Javier sighed in defeat, retreating back to the bar and leaning his elbows on the counter.

“Yeah, a regular and dandy charmer.” Arthur humored. He picked up one of the abandoned shots of whisky on the counter, throwing back the liquid and letting it simmer its way down his gullet. He cleared his throat, not expecting it to be quite so potent. Valentine's saloon didn’t feel quite as dismal as Arthur had expected, despite its appearance. Valentine had its fair share of shady gray alleyways and sordid, dodgy customers ducking in and out of low dark doorways, but the bar seemed lively enough.

“Is there anything else I can get you boys?” A strangely familiar voice called out. It was soft, but very sharp. It cut through Arthur’s tedious judgment like a serrated knife through butter. Pleasantly easy, but jarring. Arthur looked up, blinking away disbelief, as he beheld what he thought might’ve been a mirage in the middle of this stalemate of a town.

Arthur’s eyes squinted as he studied your face, noting with fondness the familiar way your eyes looked at him with a deep seated compassion. Your hair seemed to float around you almost angelically, the wispy ends of your hair illuminated by the gentle lighting coming in from the saloon windows— making it appear as though you were materializing from a dream. But when the hardness of your silhouette came into focus, you proved to be very real. Your hands maintained the same gentleness they had years ago. Your skin had matured wonderfully into a sophisticated womanhood. You had matured wonderfully. Arthur could still see teeth marks all over you.

“(Name)?” Arthur whispered. He watched the way your face hardened with realization before melting into a warm smile.

“Arthur?” You breathed, tightening your fists and digging your nails into your palm as if it would wake you up from this dream-like sequence. Charles and Javier looked at each other knowingly, a silent agreement between the two of them to move away from the obviously intimate scene. Arthur barely took notice of their absence; he was too entranced by the sight before him.

“Oh my god…” Your disbelief turned into happiness, your gasps turning into airy laughs. “How long has it been?” You exclaimed, becoming suddenly very excited. Part of you wanted to jump over the counter and pat Arthur down, unable to fathom that this was really him. Out of some sort of second instinct, you placed your hand over his, as if touching him would ground you in reality. He flinched, but he did not move his hand away, rather, he felt a sprinkling of butterflies in his stomach. Unlike yours, his hands had a new roughness to them, decorated with scars and calluses. These hands held stories; memories.

“How have you been?” You asked, feeling the faint but familiar feeling of tears well up in your eyes. Arthur was bashful, you could tell from the way he was hiding his face with his hat, not quite capable of looking you in the eye again.

“I’ve been just fine.” He smiled politely and nodded, fully taking your hand into his and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. There was a shakiness in the way he did this; you felt his hands tremble softly. In another act of familiarity, you placed your other hand over his, cupping his own fully. There was a noticeable tension in you as you contemplated your next question.

“You still ride with…uh…” You did not complete your sentence. Both of you knew you didn’t need to. He nodded in response, his smile hardening.

“Yes, still do.”

“Well… it’s good to hear you’re doing good Arthur.” You smiled. The two of you exchanged committal half smiles, not yet letting go of one another’s hands. You seemed to study each other for a moment, and despite customers calling for you, Arthur did not want you to go. And you seemed in no hurry to go either.

You shook your head gently in contemplation.

“Arthur, I… I’ve missed—”

In the not so far off distance, you listened, then watched, as two men bumped into each other. Your stomach dropped in fear as you watched the bigger of the two head-butt the other man, knocking him into a table occupied by patrons. Your hands tightened around Arthur’s as you heard a bottle break, and in a split second, the hammer dropped; the entire bar dissolving into a brawl. All around you, fists began flying and chairs were picked up, as men knocked into eachothers and swung in their clumsy, drunken haze. The testosterone in this saloon alone was nearly tangible. You looked to your left and watched the few women there flee out the back door. With Arthur’s hand still in your own, you began walking towards the back, half expecting him to come along with you.

But to no one’s surprise, and to your disappointment, you watched as he turned his back and threw himself headfirst into the fight. As the only woman there now, you felt safest behind the bar. You feared that if you stepped out, you’d be caught in someone’s flurry of fighting. You backed into the mahogany cases of liquor behind you, feeling the way the bottles vibrated and shook with the far off slamming of bodies against the floor. Your eyes remained fixated on Arthur, and you felt your blood run cold when you saw a man come at him, putting his entire body weight into swinging at him.

His name caught in your throat, but it quickly died down when Arthur dodged the punch, stepping to the side before landing a flurry of punches to the man, kicking him away with his boot. You watched in morbid mesmerization as Arthur continued to fight the man, the fight bordering on unfair as Arthur easily out did the man with skill born of experience. His face was already beginning to bruise a nasty red and deep purple after each punch he took, but Arthur never faltered. Eventually, he knocked the man out cold against a chair, and relentlessly, Arthur moved onto the next. He headed to a group of three men this time, seemingly on his way to help his friend; the same man who started this entire fight.

Arthur’s determination seemed to be helping his friends out of losing fights; it appeared this was something he was used to. Like it was just another daily occurrence for him. But to you, this senseless fighting had no other meaning than to prove who could punch harder.

“What the hell is going on down here?!” Another burling man came stomping down the stairs, his ego just as big as he was, it seemed. Only a man with an inflated sense of self would insert himself into this mess, you thought. You ducked behind the counter, but peered over just enough so that you could see what was going on. You looked to your left, briefly, and saw another one of Arthur’s companions fighting a man. Another man pleaded with this “Tommy” to not involve himself. Your throat became dry as you saw him, with ease, knock back Arthur’s other friend.

Arthur tried to approach Tommy and Javier, but was promptly jumped by another man who wrapped his arm around his neck from behind. Arthur had to continually jab his elbow into the man in order to get him off, the struggle ensuing for excruciatingly long. As soon as Arthur threw him off, he made sure to turn around and land a punch in his jugular, knocking him out. Arthur’s fighting would’ve impressed you, if not for the fact you were terrified.

“Javier could use some help, Morgan!” Bill called out from across the bar.

You watched in terror as Arthur confidently, and calmly, sauntered up behind Tommy, who was ruthlessly slamming Javier into a table over and over, before landing a punch behind Tommy’s head. The impact barely seemed to phase Tommy, before he calmly turned around and punched Arthur across the jaw. The sound of fist meeting flesh made you squirm, especially when it was Arthur’s. You nearly shrieked as you watched Tommy grapple Arthur’s shoulders brutishly before throwing him over the same table. His body tumbled over the surface before landing on the floor with a grunt and a thud. To add insult to injury (and even more injury), Tommy walked around the table and picked Arthur up off the floor once again, before sending his body crashing through the saloon window.

“Oh my god!” You screamed, not caring for your own safety anymore as you followed the scene outside.

Arthur crashed through the glass, gaining new cuts and bruises as he rolled off the wooden porch and onto the mud. He skid across the earth, smothering his jacket and pants with filth. He stood wearily, taking notice of the crowd forming around them. Cold rain poured down on him, only making the surface beneath him even more slippery.

“Come on, pretty boy.” Tommy’s voice was gravelly as he marched down the wooden steps, a parallel to the way Arthur had marched up them earlier.

“Pretty boy? You’re kidding me. Pretty boy?” At this point, Arthur wasn’t sure why he was fighting. To not die, he supposed. He could’ve stepped away at an earlier point, but pride did not allow him to. Now he was stuck in this. The two sized each other up as they got into fighting stances, then Tommy stepped forward and grabbed Arthur’s neck, throwing him to the side.

You heard a cacophony of horrified screams, disapproving howls, and cheers for either Tommy or Arthur. You saw the rage sizzling in Arthur, and felt a combination of pity, horror, and disappointment. It’d been so many years since you last saw him, so many you had lost count, and this was the first time you had seen him since then. The only thing that had changed was how his eyes and hands had hardened. And suddenly, the calluses and cuts on his knuckles that you had seen earlier seemed to explain themselves.

For a moment, Tommy seemed to have gotten the upper hand on Arthur, and you feared the worst. You weren’t sure how far this would go, but your body flinched with each punch you saw Arthur tank. But against all odds, Arthur clambered on top of Tommy.

A smattering of blood and mud smeared all over Arthur’s face, he grunted with each brutal punch he landed onto Tommy’s head. He felt Tommy claw at the thick leather of his jacket, attempting to shove his face away, but Arthur persisted. Arthur got some sort of wretched exultation out of watching the way Tommy’s face turned into one of helplessness. His body thrashed and his limbs flailed as Arthur continued to strike his head, the skin breaking and bleeding from the repeated impact.

Arthur grit his teeth so hard he swore a tooth nearly cracked. He had tuned out the cheering surrounding him, an uninterrupted ringing replacing any other discernible sounds. The only thing he could focus on was the way he would slam his fist, over and over into Tommy’s head, as if in hypnosis. The man below him was a pitiful, bloody pulp; reaching his arms up as if he were begging for some unlikely act of mercy. But Arthur would punch again, and again, and again…

“Stop! Stop! Please!” You watched as Mr. Downes bravely stepped forward, pleading desperately with Arthur to stop. Arthur raised his fist, but did not connect it, instead looking at Mr. Downes. Arthur and Mr. Downes exchanged a few more words before Arthur pushed past him, covered in mud and all, limping away from the scene and pushing past people.

He caught sight of you looking on tearfully, and the gravity of what he had just done crashed down on him all at once when you turned your back and scurried down the alley besides the saloon. Arthur abandoned any resolve he had and followed you. You heard the rugged breathing and heavy footsteps behind you, which only terrified and spurred you on to run deeper into the alley. You turned the corner, back pressed against the rear wall of the saloon. You held your breath, and for a terrifying few seconds, heard the footsteps approaching. As if it were some sort of deliberate jump scare, you yelped when Arthur turned the corner and faced you. Normally you’d find the mud revolting, but now it served to scare you. It made Arthur seem all the more savage, traces of seething rage still present in his eyes. His hair was wild, face bruised and beaten; his blood mixed with mud and smeared his face in a grim unfamiliarity. He took a step towards you, and you flinched, trying to back away but you could not; you could only shuffle to the side.

At once, Arthur was overcome with an unfathomable sense of self hatred and disgust upon seeing the fear present in your face. He felt sickened with himself, and was given a moment of clarity as he looked down at his dirtied hands, his mud smeared clothes, his bruises and bleeding knuckles. Arthur saw his reflection in the window next to you, the person staring back at him unfamiliar, yet startlingly recognizable all the same.

“(Name)—”

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!”

Arthur’s eyes began stinging, a deep pang hitting his chest. His shoulders slumped and his body sagged, contracting your squared and tensed shoulders, your arms lifted and crossed over your chest protectively.

“You… You… I… I thought maybe you might’ve changed! But you proved me wrong.” You were sobbing at this point, and you weren’t sure whether you were trembling from your anger or fear. Probably both. Arthur could not find the words to respond.

“How dare you! Come into our town, into our businesses, and start a fight! And beat on us like you own the place! You beat that man half to death! WHAT FOR?” Your body buzzed in anxiety, unable to hold in any more of your anger as you shook.

“(Name), he was going to kill Javier back there if I didn’t—”

“You’re an animal!”

Arthur seemed to forget himself once more, feeling rage upon being called an animal. But perhaps it was more than just being insulted. Perhaps it was years of hurt and heartbreak behind his words.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Listen to yourself—.” He spat through grit teeth.

“Oh I know!” You huffed, lowering your arms now. “Which is exactly why I left in the first place. Why I left you.”

You both felt that one, Arthur the most. The sting was reminiscent of being stabbed in the chest. He turned his sadness to anger, fueling the burning flame inside his chest. It kept him going.

“You left what we had, the good thing that we had, so that you could come and work at some dead end town? Is this really the life you want? Is your way of living any better than what we do?”

“I live a good honest life now!”

“You’re just a naive girl who doesn’t know that sometimes, this is all we got. Some of us don’t have the luxury of being able to just turn away and start anew. For some of us, we only have each other!”

You were enraged at this point, enough to let your guard down and walk up directly in front of him, sizing him up almost.

“I’d rather die working than live my life as a despicable criminal living with a lowdown gang constantly on the run. If that’s your idea of a life, then good god Mister Morgan, I pity you.” Your every word dripped with venom. And you made sure Arthur felt every bit of it, even going as far as to jab your finger in his chest.

“You’re a brat.” He growled. “You seem to forget where you come from. You were once a part of the gang, you went through exactly what I went through and you knew what it was like. And now you wanna act like you’re better than me? Like you’re above me?” He looked back down at you with malice, a hidden layer of hurt and sadness just beneath the surface. He looked somewhere between a kicked puppy and a crazed, rabid dog who’d been rolling in mud.

You said nothing in return, instead falling into some sort of stare off. He looked at you expectantly, but did not anticipate an answer. It was as if by looking into your eyes or expression, he could catch a slight change in your expression that indicated, just maybe, that you did not mean what you were saying. That this was all some adrenaline fueled attack on him after having watched him savagely beat a man. But even he could realize the irony in that line of thought.

But not once did your face soften, or look away from him in a show of discomfort or even intimidation. You stood your ground, heels firmly planted on the mud beneath you both.

Wordlessly, but with a grunt, Arthur moved past you, his arm brushing past and saturating some of your skin and clothes with mud. Arthur grumbled lowly to himself as every fiber in his body urged him to turn around and look at you one last time, to throw himself at your feet and ask if you really meant what you said, but his pride did not allow him.

Even as Dutch spoke to him at the front of the shop, his ears ringed and obstructed any other words from entering and being processed (He hadn’t even questioned Dutch’s sudden appearance with Trelawny). Arthur seemed to look past anyone who spoke to him, only nodding in response when they asked “are you listening?”. It was only when he was able to dunk himself in a nearby barrel of water, did the striking coldness snap him back to reality; the gritty veil over his consciousness being washed away.

The ride back towards camp was a gap in Arthur’s memory. He fell back into a pit of thought that tunneled his vision once again. He was all at once, keenly and uncomfortably aware of every sound and movement around him, but he could not be bothered to give it any thought. The shockwave of impact that traveled up through his body as he got off of his horse rather clumsily did not shake him from his pensive state. He wearily returned the greetings that people sent his way, not in the mood to entertain any sort of conversation with anyone. Arthur wanted nothing more now, than to rest his sore and aching muscles. He changed out of his caked, filthy clothes and changed into his union suit, the clean fabric feeling angelic in comparison to the squalid state of his clothes. His joints began to throb suddenly, as if the pain was triggered at once by laying on his cot, which suddenly seemed to sky rocket in comfortability. A deep ache settled into his side; the side he had landed on after being thrown.

His bed echoed his groan as he rested his weight on it, a large sigh leaving him as pain settled into every cell of his body. His exhaustion overtook him as he slid his eyes shut; his head hitting his pillow like there was a weight tied around his neck. Every bit of his being screamed for sleep, but his racing mind would not allow rest. He thought of you: the terrified look in your eyes after he followed you behind the saloon, the way you looked akin to a wild, injured animal backed up into a corner. He was sure he looked the same.

His bodily aches were accompanied by the pang in his chest as he remembered your heavy words. He squeezed his eyes in an attempt to prevent tears from surfacing, but the pressures in his nasal passages proved to be too much. He turned his back away from camp so that no one could see just how pathetic he looked.

The insults on him, his gang, his way of life. They were all too much to bear. He did not anticipate seeing you at all. He looked back regretfully on how the sweet encounter had turned so sour so quickly; part of him blamed Bill. He could at least find solace in the fact that you had missed him after all these years. As he did. Though he had had women since then, he never did quite forget about you. A boy never forgets his first love. And now that he was a man, those feelings amplified, and he knew it had been more than just puppy love. Part of him could not understand your rejection of the lifestyle. When you initially left the gang, and Arthur by proxy, you explained you could not withstand the violence and bloodshed, but that you respected and understood that this was his way of life, the only way of life he had known, even before he met you and joined the gang. But with the way he had heard you speak so lowly of the gang, he could not understand where all your compassion had gone, especially since you had been part of it.

Part of him still held onto a childlike sense of anger, feeling as though you wronged him in leaving him. But he could at least understand why you decided to up and leave. Perhaps his own judgment of your life had been harsh. You weren’t wrong in saying you lived an honest life, objectively it was better than his. You got to live freely without fear of the law, you made honest clean money, and as far as he knew, you only had yourself to support with the money you made. Arthur hadn’t even considered the possibility you were seeing someone, his stomach dropping at the thought. He was guilt ridden and anxious, nauseated by the thoughts. His temporary solution would be falling asleep to quell it.

When Arthur awoke, it was nighttime. The sun had set, the sky tinged with dark purple that faded into night. Most of the activity around camp had calmed, but many people were still awake. Arthur stood at once, bee lining towards his horse. He ignored any gang members that attempted to come forth and ask him if he was okay, where he was going. Wordlessly, he mounted his horse and spurred it on, riding back towards Valentine.

Perhaps it was unwise to go back into town so soon after raising hell there. But Arthur couldn’t care less. His objective at the moment was to see you. And he hoped to god you’d still be at the saloon. His heart thrummed in time with his horses running, and he began to pant as if he was the one doing the physical activity. Perhaps it was the anxiety that made him so short of breath.

He saw the promising glow of Valentine as he approached the small town, pulling on his horse's reins to try and slow down. His horse trotted down the streets of now dried earth, the prints of shoes and wheels having dried up into casts. He cringed internally when he saw the still broken window of the saloon, the glass having been cleaned up long ago. Luckily for him though, the lights of the saloon were on, and he heard the same lively piano from before. From the outside, it was almost as if nothing had ever happened, but he knew that as soon as he stepped inside, all heads would turn in his direction and stare him down. Arthur was used to looks, he would pay it no mind. But it was the thought of you sending him a disgusted look his way that had his head spinning in apprehensiveness.

Arthur was not a man who was scared of confrontation, and when it came to violence, he was best at letting his fists speak for him. But for more emotional matters, he sounded as eloquent as a child learning how to read for the first time. He would get stuck on using the right combination of words, and would opt towards not saying much at all. But this was something he wanted, and he knew that if was going to ask for your forgiveness, he’d have to put effort into sounding decent.

The hinges of the saloon doors creaked, and as Arthur expected, the volume level of the saloon lowered, the lively chatter dissolving into whispers and grumbles of threats. He looked over towards the bar to see if coming here had been worth his time. And there you were, standing in your confused, and frankly appalled, glory. You were wiping down a glass, continuing for a moment too long as you stared at him.

You had not expected to see him back here, grimacing at the tender purple skin of his cheek. Part of you felt pity, but it was replaced by indifference as you remembered he brought the injuries onto himself. As he began walking towards you, you slammed the glass down on the counter with a sigh and rolled your eyes. The sudden slam startling, but not fully waking, the passed out patron slumped against the counter.

“What are you doing here.” You asked, hand on your hip. It came out as less of a question and more as a statement professing your annoyance. Arthur leaned on the counter, moving his head to the side so he could look anywhere but at you as he attempted to find the right words to start off with. He opened and closed his mouth, and you were beginning to get impatient.

“I’m sorry…”

You were about to demand Arthur either leave or speak up, until you heard his meek apology. You felt your facial muscles relax from the scowl you had held for so long.

“What?” You asked in disbelief.

Arthur fidgeted where he stood, occupying himself by drumming his fingers along the counter. You lowered your arms to your side, fidgeting as well.

“I’m sorry too.”

A moment of awkward silence hung over the two of you before you grabbed his hand; bruised and callused, taken into soft and gentle. You pursed your lips in a half hearted smile before nodding your head towards the stairs. Before Arthur could even understand what you were implying, you were leading him past the bar counter and up the stairs towards a private room.

“What do we need this for? I just wanted to apologize…”

“I know. I just didn’t want my patrons hearing, y’know…” You laughed awkwardly. “A little privacy is nice, they don’t exactly keep their noses to themselves.” You fumbled with your keys, a sweat forming on the back of your neck as you struggled to jam the key into the lock before turning it. Arthur found it rather suggestive, but he decided to move along anyway. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have the hots for you anymore.

The two of you stiffly scooted over towards the bed; first you, then him, the bed dipping significantly from his weight. The sudden dip caused you to bump into his arm, which neither of you wanted to acknowledge outright. Your thighs rubbed against each other, and at last, you were able to see side by side how much Arthur had grown since you last saw him. Seeing the way he dwarfed you tugged at your heart strings.

“Oh, Arthur… How I’ve missed you… I’m so sorry for saying all those nasty things. And I know it’s no excuse but I was scared and… I felt a little betrayed that you had gone off to fight instead of… coming with me.”

Arthur nodded as you spoke, processing each word.

“And I know I shouldn’t have expected that. They’re your gang afterall, they’re your family. And I don’t think you’re all lowdown, or any of those nasty things I said.” You were gripping Arthur’s arm by now, as if holding onto him at that moment might better help him understand and accept your apology.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He began. “I’m a fool and fighting’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known. I ain’t the smartest… but…” Arthur seemed to lose his train of thought, physically pained by his own mental fumbling. “I’m just trying to say that I’m sorry. I especially don’t have any right to judge your lifestyle.”

It was your turn to nod, slowly breaking into a smile.

“I’m glad you came.”

“I wanted to see you.”

The two of you slowly began to intertwine hands, shyly at first, until you fully sent it and gripped his fully. You felt his arm go tense against you as he looked back and forth from where you two conjoined to your face. The tension in the air had a nostalgic feel to it. It brought you back to all those years ago when you and Arthur had first gotten together. You were so young then. Holding hands also allowed you to feel the size difference, causing the both of you to blush.

“You’ve uh… really grown.” You giggled together. “I mean, you always were much larger than me but my my…”

Arthur nodded, looking down at the noticeable differences between you.

“Yeah, I always did love giving you piggy back rides.” He added. The recalling of the juvenile memory had you laughing even more.

“Oh, how I missed those! And you were always so helpful. Could be really helpful to have you around the saloon, can intimidate some guys away like you did for me when we were younger.”

“Gladly will, sweetheart.”

As the laughter died down, you hesitantly leaned upwards, looking for a sign to stop on his face. Though with more hesitation, you abstained from kissing him.

That is, until he went ahead and did it himself. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face, using the other arm to wrap around your waist and hold you close, as though you might disappear if he didn’t. Your lips molded perfectly against one another. It felt like the reunion of lips that should’ve always been together. And even though you had attempted to peel away from Arthur for so long, the meeting was like two sides of a wound finally mending back together.

The muffled chatter of the downstairs saloon was drowned out by your and his heavy breathing. You pushed your own lips hard against his teeth, gripping the downy tuft of hair at the base of his neck. He was taken aback by your enthusiasm but returned it nonetheless. The men you had had in Arthur’s absence were insipid compared to his passionate kisses. The two of you idly palmed and groped each other, the same tenderness as when you two were younger, but with the renewed passion of lovers long separated, finally reuniting with a more carnal desire.

Memories come in waves, and tonight, you were drowning.

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PHEW this took me days, I can finally work on all my other requests. Thanks for being patient y'all

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All We Ever Wanted Was Everything - Bauhaus

[sodaliteskull]

The Gods Of Marenkes

The pantheon of Marenkes, going clockwise from the upper rightmost (red), we've got:

Coraxborax, the god of the arts, craftsmen, and revelry

Tarnagaar, the god of prophecy, destiny, and dreams

Zhadhul, the god of justice, law, and truth

Xanghul, the god of the day, harvest, and animals

Vulrani, the god of trade, travel, and seasons

Ransaran, the god of the afterlife, karma, and perseverance

Grelthor, the god of knowledge, innovation, and gratitude

Lyrrath, the god of the sky, storms, and forests

Quasvina, the god of duty, celestial bodies, and history

Pelexal, the god of night, the sea, and mystery

Jendrosia, the god of war, victory, and faith

Ahazhada, the god of love, passion, and courage

The gods have made sure that they are omnipresent in the lives of mortals on Marenkes by making their domains as all-encompassing as possible. Under their rule, they demand that every action a person takes is a prayer to their glory.

(I go into more depth about what each god's domains cover below the cut)

These gods are parasites (lol that fact is established in chapter 3 of this thing!), usurping the place of the actual Gods of Marenkes for their own ends. While their domains cover a wide array of concepts, there is no one god of Life or Magic, or even of the world as a whole, as all of the gods claim joint custody of these things.

There aren't any gods to "evil" concepts (things like Asmodeus, Bhaal, or Shar of D&D fame), as they are purposefully painting themselves as being benevolent, parent-type deities. That doesn't mean that they don't accept prayers from people offering them up for nefarious purposes. On the contrary, someone would have to jump through some serious hoops to justify why their prayers should be answered for evil, and these gods are in it for the energy put into a prayer, not its intent!

"Art" is subjective, and so Coraxborax has a lot of wiggle room when it comes to what it can consider prayers to itself. Anything from a composer's magnum opus, to a toddler's unsupervised crayon wallpaper scribbling are "art" enough for Coraxborax. Those who create owe their prayers to this god. And what is a celebration but another creation? This is the logic as for why parties are under this god's domain.

The hazy hopes and dreams of a people are what Tarnagaar dines upon. Anyone who hopes, or wishes, or dreams, must offer themselves up into prayer for this god's use. Any kind of divinatory practices (tarot, runes, entrails, cootie catchers, etc.) are just another form of worship as far as this god is concerned.

The rule of law, the meting out of justice, and what truth actually means are what Zhadhul feeds upon. All of these concepts are governed by this god, and so it has final say over what is (or isn't) considered a crime. Judges and criminals alike both pray to this god.

The glory of the sun, and all that grows under its divine light, Xanghul claims credit for all of these things. Food, resources, pets, a perfect day at the beach, prayers should be offered up in thanks.

Getting people and goods from one place to another in the world is highly dependant on what time of year it is, and so Vulrani takes advantage of this interconnected system when harvesting prayers. Farmers looking to ship their produce are as likely to pray to this god as vacationers looking for favourable weather are.

Death is a scary concept, but knowing that there is someone standing at the precipice between that and life is a comfort, which Ransaran takes full advantage of. Rebirth is a known fact on Marenkes, and so the people offer up their prayers that the departed will get what they deserve in their next life, for good or ill. Continuing on in the face of adversity, knowing that your next life will be better, is something that keeps people praying.

Technological advancement is something that the gods keep a tight leash on, and so the people better be grateful for what they allow to come to fruition! Grelthor is the arbiter of what can or can't be developed, and so this god, more than any other, has a heavier hand in controlling what information mortals have access to. The knowledge that it is doing this is certainly not one of those pieces of information!

The natural world can be a scary place, the forest a beast at your back while the weather above is a fickle monster, Lyrrath demands prayers in exchange for safety when dealing with these forces. Fear of uncertainty, and fear of the unknown, this god will have its tithe.

The iron clad oath and the one who upholds it, the past made immutable thanks to the passage of time, and the perceived eternity of the heavens above, Quasvina is the overseer of all these things, an immovable force that will have its due. Those who pray for change and those who pray for things to stay the same will both bend in supplication to this god.

Things that are vast, deep, and conjure an existential dread in the soul are the things Pelexal holds domain over. Sailors hoping for an easy journey, the child afraid of the monster under the bed, those who revel in the wonder of the unknown, all of them pray to this god.

For Jendrosia, war and faith go hand in hand, as both lead to the other. Under this god's control, that is. The stability of peace times and the chaos of conflict are fertile grounds for prayers, and with all sides praying for their own successes to the same god, it means there's never a shortage of prayers coming in.

Matters of the heart are Ahazhada's source of prayer. Familial love, romantic love, the love of a little treat after work, all these things fall under this god's domain. Passion could mean lust of the flesh as much as it could mean a drive in one's soul for some cause or desire. As for courage, well, you need that to pursue both what you love and what you are passionate about.

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

Ninjago characters as things me and my friends have genuinely said pt. 2 (+Old lady from PT)

Misako *seeing a problem arising*: Seems like a personal problem

Lloyd When people say ace people aren't real: welp if I'm not real then I guess I'm a dragon

Zane/Pixal: sometimes I forget where I put my limbs

Kai: Wallpaper is outdated

Jay: I vitamin C death

Garmadon: I have to do a séance every time I want to get y'all attention!

Cole: If you like F so much name every F word, fuck, fox, uh... pharaoh

*continuation of previous conversation* Cole: Finland Jay: Fruit Kai: Fruit-y Cole: Oh like me!

Nya: Can you be 5'12... fuck that 6'0

Zane: Height is a competition and I am winning

Misako: I used to be homophobic and that's probably why god took my knee caps

Lloyd: See they can't mark me absent because in reality they just have hostage situation

Nya: Gold fish make it so that I want to die a little less

Kai: YOU'RE FUCKING COLOR BLIND Cole: SAYS THE ONE WHO SAID SUNSETS WERE MONCHROME

Jay: I'm gonna shimmy shimmy doo bop off a clif

Zane: It's about time for me to detach my knees

Pretty much all the ninja @ this point: My pain might be chronic but this ass is iconic

Zane @ literally everyone: DON'T EAT FOOD OFF THE FLOOR WE''VE BEEN OVER THIS

Lloyd: My biggest accomplishment is NOT being a leash child Cole: That's cause we didn't know where to buy one

Pixal: I'm very sexy I mean look at me fix the wifi box

Cole/Zane *after dying/getting very hurt AGAIN*: I may or may not have haha funnied a little too hard

Lords have mercy I love making these and getting an excuse to scroll through my quotes book. Anyway I was planning on having Zane's vouge cover out tonight then my chronic pain kicked in right alongside a headache and that threw out all plans for doing anything that takes anymore than minimal effort. So instead you get more haha funnies. Hope y'all enjoyed, peace!

[facefullofsadness]

hi:)) love your works so much 💞💞 i was wondering if you saw the "love chain" thing that's being advertised on tiktok, the one where it's a necklace & when you pull it, it turns into a leash- JUST IMAGINE PUPPY YUJIN PANTING AND DROOLING AS YOU TEASE HER HOT, BLUSHING DICK INTO OVERSTIM FOR HOURSSSS, HER CRYING EVERYTIME YOU MAKE HER DENY HER ORGASM, USING YOUR LIPS TO MOUTH AGAINST HER SHAFT & THE PINK TIP OF HER DICK, EDGING HER & TAKING AWAY THE PLEASURE EVERYTIME SHE'S ABOUT TO CUM AND WHEN YOU FINALLY DO LET HER CUM, YOU TAKE PHOTOS TO USE FOR YOUR WALLPAPER OR SOMETHING PLEASE AUTHOR I'M ABOUT TO CRY SHE'S JUST SO PUPPY I CAN'T DEAL W THIS ANYMOREEE

(this started out tame & i lost control 😭😭)

oh my goddd anonie ur MINDDD!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 I just know when you finally make her cum after hours of edging, her dick absolutely explodes and she makes an insane mess all over herself and you, insulting and scolding her for being such a messy puppy 😞 then she whimpers and whines, apologizing bc "mommy, I'm so sorry, I couldn't hold it in, too good..."

[lazypanartist]

Been really tired today and idk why but

Cameron as a Father Headcanons

Featuring season 3 or older Cam bc I feel like any earlier he'd be too immature

---

He won't stop the villain lifestyle for just one or two people (immediately, at least)

But he WILL try and cut down on risky behavior as soon as he's in a serious relationship

And when he finds out he's gonna be a dad?

He's ecstatic!

Planning their bedroom, looking into parenting books, doing what he can to ensure safety anywhere the kid *could* go

Might need reminded to slow down every once in a while

(Kid's wallpaper is icy blues and purples, even before he actually has them)

Refuses to treat the kid anything like his father did to him

Vows to be patient and actually care about his child

Something breaks?

He grits his teeth if it was valuable monetarily or emotionally, but teaches them to clean it up and be more careful

They run off?

Full-blown Panic Mode™

Will NOT stop looking until the kid's safe

And by safe, right in his arms

Or on a child leash

Even with a s/o HE needs to have the kid before he calms down

Loves spoiling them!

Even if the gifts or money to buy them are stolen, it's the thought that count

Funds all their hobbies

Artist?

Brand new sketchbook, paints, whatever

Photographer?

Here's a Polaroid and instant-print film!

They like sports?

Well, he'll do his best to help them practice

All in all, 10/10 minus the possibility he gets arrested and ruins it 🙃

[barbex]

Well @pinkfadespirit, in typical hellsite fashion, tumblr lost your ask. I still have the email, even though even from that button in the mail, I can't reach the ask. Amazing. This is surely a website.

Screenshot to the rescue:

Thank you! I wrote you a fenders scene for @dadrunkwriting but I have to warn you, it got a bit sad because of the boys fighting and Anders missing Karl. It's complicated. When is it not with them, right?

Fenris x Anders, with a bit of Merrill x Hawke.

---

Four days ago, Danarius died. Three days ago, Fenris stopped drinking. Two days ago, he stopped pacing. Yesterday he stripped the walls of the mansion bare and dragged the corpses out into the back, and piled them up with the broken furniture. Today, Hawke comes by with Merrill, and they burn the pile of corpses, old wallpapers, and splintered pieces of wood.

Merrill lets the barrier around the fire drop, now that it burned down enough to not light up the sky with an orange glow. She kneels down, gently brushing over a yellow flower, blowing ash away from the bloom. The fire still smoulders at its core, like a wild animal hidden under a bush. Like Fenris feels, deep inside, where he buried his fire. 

"Why is Anders not here?" Merrill asks, looking up at him from the ground where she kneels. 

Fenris catches Hawke's pained flinch before he expertly hides his expression. He has gotten good at that. Merrill must have seen that flinch too, but she either doesn't understand or doesn't care. Or a third option of Merrill being much more attuned to their dynamic than one would think. 

Merrill turns to another flower, blowing ash away. "Are you cleaning the mansion so you can better hide from him?" 

The third option, it seems. He nearly snaps at her, but he promised Hawke to be nicer to Merrill. He already fucked things up with Anders, he can't disappoint Hawke now. "I don't know?" he says truthfully. "I needed something to do and this needed to be done." 

Merrill stands up and steps in front of him. Even though he is taller than her, it feels as if he should look up at her. "You cannot hide from what you feel," she says, and the barely controlled fire in his gut wants to break out.

"Nobody asked you, witch," he hisses at her.

Hawke narrows his eyes at him, but Merrill steps closer, putting her hand on Fenris' chest. "I'm not afraid of you. I don't care what you think of me. You are miserable and it's your own fault and you have to fix it. Burning corpses will not solve this problem." With that, she turns around towards the backdoor. "I'm going home now," she says to Hawke.

"Wait, I'm coming with you," Hawke calls after her. He looks over his shoulder at Fenris. "You know she's right. You love him and you have to apologise." 

Four days ago, Danarius died. And Fenris called the man he loved a monster. 

A mage. A monster. Just another magister waiting to leash him. Anders looked at him and left without another word. Just after he risked his own life fighting a powerful bloodmage, Fenris called him a monster.

Maybe he is the monster. The look of pain in Anders' eyes should have woken him from his anger, but the fire kept burning. Like poison in his veins. Monstrous.

"Fenris?" 

Anders' voice coming from the hall. He runs inside, skidding to a halt in the middle of the room. Anders stands in the doorway, looking around with wide eyes. "You cleaned?"

He doesn't want inane small talk, he wants to... he wants to know why the fire still burns in his gut. 

Anders hasn't moved, still standing in the doorway, as if he wants to make sure that he can leave quickly. "It looks good," he says, not looking at Fenris. "I wanted to ask... are we okay?"

"No!" Fenris yells. "How can you ask that?" He whips around, turning his back to the hurt in Anders' face, pacing again. "Nothing is okay after what I have done. I poured my anger on you, I called you a monster, I... I should have apologised but —" He looks back to see Anders' reaction but — he's speaking to an empty room. Anders left. 

"Anders?" Running through the hall, he reaches the front door, nearly ripping it from its hinges. He sees Anders' coat disappear near the stairs to the Chantry and only grabs his sword before he runs after him. But by the time he reaches the stairs, he lost sight of Anders. He slowly climbs up the stairs. As he passes a decorative pot with flowers, he catches a glimpse of something hidden behind it. Anders' staff. 

If Anders left his staff behind, then he must be inside the Chantry. A massive risk. Even without his staff, people could recognise the mage healer of Darktown. Fenris hurries over to the doors, slipping inside with a handful of Sisters as the bell rings. They look at him with suspicion but leave him alone. Fenris keeps to the side, in the shadows. A few people kneel at the statue of Andraste, but the Sisters move up the stairs. As he follows them, he sees a speck of blond hair and feathers on a coat. 

Hidden from view behind a column, Anders looks at an altar, flanked by red tapestries with the chantry symbol. Fenris steps to his side, careful not to scrape his sword against the balustrade. 

"What are you doing here?" Fenris whispers.

Anders is silent for a long time. "I could ask you the same," he finally presses out. Tears fall from his eyes, but he makes no other sound.

"Anders —" Fenris starts, but Anders shakes his head. 

"Don't. Don't say that you're sorry." He takes a small object from his pocket and places it on the floor in front of him. It's a small stone, red with blue sprinkles. Pretty. Anders must have picked it up on some adventure on the Wounded Coast. He wipes his thumb over the smooth surface of the pebble. "Do you know where we are?"  

"The chantry," Fenris says.

Anders points towards the altar. "There, that's where he died. Where I killed him."

At last, Fenris realises. Back then, he didn't know Anders at all; it was one of the very first missions with Hawke. Anders was supposed to meet with a mage in the chantry, it had been a trap of course, and the man, Karl, spoke without emotions. Without a soul. Tranquil. He remembers the heartbreak, the horror in Anders' face and then the exploding anger, his Spirit taking over, killing the templars and how Fenris feared for his own life.

From the corner of his eye, Fenris notices a Sister whispering with a templar, looking over to them. He grabs Anders' arm and pulls him up. "We should move on. It's not safe here."

Anders lets himself be dragged away, only looking over his shoulder once, when they step through the doors. Fenris retrieves his staff from its hiding place and hurries Anders forward, aware of several templar helmets turning to them and following their movements. 

In the shadow of an alley near the chantry, he stops. Anders leans against the wall next to him, closing his eyes. Another tear runs down his cheek. Fenris listens for footsteps and creaking armor, but nobody seems to follow them. 

"That was dangerous," he says, leaning his head against the wall. "Why did you..."

"I miss him." Anders looks down at his hands. "He always knew what to do, how to calm me down. It was easy with him." 

Because he was a mage. Because he understood, better than Fenris ever could. "I am sorry," Fenris says. "I was angry and lost and I lashed out. I shouldn't have —"

"That's fine, I understand that." 

"You do?"

Anders laughs out, even though tears still run down his cheek. "Your whole world was blown apart and it didn't feel like a victory. These things never do." He looks at Fenris. "I gave you time, I left you alone to gather your thoughts. You are a thinker, always. I thought you would come to me when you were ready." 

"I wanted to. But I was so angry."

"I know." Anders wipes the tears from his face. "It sounded like you were taking the whole house apart." 

"You were there?"

"Yes. I thought I could help you, but then I realised..."

Fenris takes Anders' hand, a gesture so familiar and yet so foreign right now. "What?"

"I'm your problem. Because I'm a mage." 

Anders' eyes blur in front of him. Only when he wipes at his face, he realises that he's crying. "That is true." At Anders' hurt expression he hurries on to say, "but I want that. Exactly that."

"Problems?" A smile pulls at Anders' lips. "You want more problems?"

"I killed my master. We killed my master. Freedom would be too easy now."

Laughter breaks free from Anders' mouth and he laughs until his laughter turns into sobs. Fenris pulls him close, crying with him. 

"I'm sorry," Anders says as he calms down.

"No, I am sorry," Fenris says. 

"We're really good at saying sorry, Merrill would be so proud of us." 

Fenris winces. "I have to apologise to her, too. I was not nice."

Anders presses closer, pushing his nose behind Fenris' ear. "Can we go home first?" 

"Yes." Fenris takes Anders' hand and he doesn't let go until the door to the mansion closes behind them.

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 3: Mirror Images

Lucie lies low for the next couple of days, only leaving the sanctuary of her downtown hotel for necessities.

She’s not hiding. It’s what she tells herself, repeating it like a mantra until she believes it. Still, it’s all too easy to find an excuse to order takeout, to settle into the floral wallpapered confines of her second-floor room.

It’s been three nights since the encounter with Marcel and his posse -three nights since she found Jane-Anne dead- and she’s passed the time alternating between watching mindless television on the ancient, staticky set and staring out the window.

This morning, she’s engaged in the latter, watching people and cars buzz by with rapt interest. A woman weaves through sidewalk foot traffic, her heels high and her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She has two coffees stacked on top of the other and her cell phone is pressed between her shoulder and her ear. It’s a bold choice, but her stride is smooth and confident as she chatters to someone on the other line. She does not know that the city is crawling with vampires.

On the other side of the street, a man crouches down with a plastic baggy while he zips his windbreaker to his chin. The leashed Labrador flits between him and the nearest passerby, seeking pets, as his owner scoops his leavings off the sidewalk with a wrinkled nose. He could never imagine a coven of witches ruling the neighborhood.

She finds she’s jealous of him, of the woman, of every person who passes by on the way to complete mundane tasks in average lives and loved ones waiting at home. Right now, she’d give anything to trade places with any of them, if only for a day. Twenty-four hours in which the supernatural exists only in stories. 

A pickup rolls up to a stoplight, honking its horn at the sedan in front of it the second the light turns green, and Lucie imagines another life. One where she kicks off her shoes after another day in an office. In this universe, she’s greeted at the door by a dog and maybe even a partner. They smile at her and ask about her day over dinner and fall into bed together at night. And when she closes her eyes to rest before another average day, she feels safe. In this place, no one murders women to prove points and no one pushes children to embrace powers they don’t understand.

She presses her eyes closed, resting her forehead against the cool glass, and allows herself a few moments of indulgence. But before long, her thoughts stray back to the situation at hand. She runs it over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.

How could Marcel Gerard possibly know any time a witch practiced magic in the Quarter?

And, knowing the consequences, why would Jane-Anne risk her life?

No matter what angle she looks at it, she can’t seem to find any satisfying answers. All she can do is wonder what had happened here in her absence. She shakes her head, like her brain is an etch-a-sketch and the motion might wipe the slate clean. She moves to turn away from the window when she catches something out of the corner of her eye. Down on the closest street corner, a man stands with hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. His face is too shadowed to know for sure, but his head seems to tip up towards her, like he knows she sees him. 

The phone rings, vibration loud as a gunshot against the lacquered end table. She jolts as the device continues to ring, cutting over the sounds of traffic and the low garbled conversion of a TV infomercial. Stepping over a takeout box, she grabs the phone and glances at the screen.

Incoming Call: Arabella

Her finger hovers over the green button as the ringtone starts from the beginning again. A few seconds tick by as she stares at it, then a few more until finally it stops.

It had been only a week ago that Lucie had received Arabella’s late-night phone call. Seven days since she’d listened to her cousin tell her in a tearful, halting voice that the only mother she’d ever known was dead.

Truthfully, she isn’t sure why she’d been dodging her cousin’s phone calls, only that she’d spent all the time since that night in a state of emotional free fall. 

Phone still in hand, she glances over her shoulder and towards the window. Whoever she’d thought she’d seen, he’s gone now. It strikes her as odd. Despite being at the opposite end of the street when she’d first seen him, there’s no sign of him and she knows none of the nearby shops are open yet. It’s like he stepped off the curb and vanished. She concludes he was never there at all, just the light playing tricks on her exhausted mind. Then she drags a hand over her face and through her hair, which is far, far too greasy, even for her own company. Still, skin prickling with the sensation of unseen eyes on her, she jerks the curtains closed before she turns her back to the window. 

She pads the length of the room towards the adjoining bathroom. There isn’t much in the way of square footage and it doesn’t take her long to navigate the minefield of discarded styrofoam boxes, coffee cups, and stray clothes strewn haphazardly across the place; the impressive accomplishment of only a few days. In actuality, it’s not all that different from her norm. Replace the floral wallpaper with tacky stucco and scatter a few more bottles across the room with some past-due notices, and it could almost be a dead ringer for her apartment back in Albuquerque.

Lucie winces as her feet hit the cold linoleum and flicks the light switch, bathing the room in a sterile, white light that flickers overhead every couple of minutes. She blinks against the intrusion, adjusting to the brightness. Her reflection blinks back at her behind streaks in the mirror, eyes red and punctuated with deep smudges. 

Yeah, she looks like shit. 

It’s no real surprise, given the sluggish lifestyle of the last couple of days. But knowing is different from seeing it -or feeling it. She pulls at a lank strand of hair and winces before turning to start the shower. The sound of rushing droplets bounces off the tiles in a way that promises decent water pressure. Only after waving a hand under the flow to check the temperature, she undresses and slips in. The water is warm, beating a steady rhythm against the knotted muscles in her neck and back. It’s enough to make Lucie groan.

She reaches for the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, lathering a generous amount between her palms and massaging it into her scalp. It’s like magic for her mood. The feeling lingers even as she turns the tap and wraps the towel around herself, still glowing with remnants of warmth. 

She steps out into the thick cloud of steam that permeates the confined space and drinks in the humidity with greedy breaths. She’s careful not to slip as she approaches the mirror, squeezing the excess water from her hair. A sheen of fog coats the glass, veiling everything but the sharper lines of her silhouette.

She reaches for her hairbrush, running the bristles through her hair, methodically untangling the more stubborn knots. The plastic handle clatters when she returns it to its home on the counter. When her eyes drift up to the still-steamy mirror, she goes still. 

But the reflection does not.

Instead, its blurred form seems to move on its own accord. Its arms extend, beckoning to her, and it squares the broad lines of its shoulder: the posture that is too long and too perfect to ever belong to her. 

The side of her hand catches the hairbrush, knocking it from the counter and onto the tiles with a clatter.

Against the speckled beige counter, her phone buzzes. She jumps, tearing her eyes away from the mirror and towards the source of the noise. Arabella’s name flashes across the screen again. This time, she only lets it ring twice before she answers, swiping up with clumsy fingers.

“Hello?” she says, breathless and uncertain, as if she didn’t already know who was on the other line.

“Lucie!” Her cousin’s warm voice sounds in her eye, contrasting with the impersonal neutrals of the bathroom. “You answered. I’ve been trying to catch you all week.” |

Arabella’s voice sounds shaky. It’s enough to make her feel guilty for dodging her calls. 

Lucie leans against the sink, the porcelain cool against her skin, and tries to soothe her thumping heart. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is everything okay? You sound…off.” She doesn’t miss the edge of concern. “You’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

She barely catches the question, eyes trained on the foggy mirror. Absently, she raises a hand. The reflection follows suit.

“No, no.” She waves it off. ‘I’m just…it’s been a long week” “

The line goes quiet, but she knows her cousin is still there. She can feel her presence on the other end.

She nudges the damp towel she’d employed in lieu of a bath mat with her foot, encouraging it flat, and debates whether to tell her about the man in the suit or the mirror. She decides against it, chalking it all up to stress and lack of sleep. Instead, she asks what’s been on the back of her mind since she got the news of Violette’s death. 

“What happened, Bella? You never told me.”

“You never asked,” she replies softly. It’s not a rebuke, just a statement of fact. “Pneumonia. That’s what the doctor said.”

“Pneumonia,” she repeats. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It’s underwhelming in a way, to imagine her formidable great-aunt put to rest by something so common. But she’d been an old woman for most of Lucie’s life and larger than life though she may have been, she was only mortal in the end. 

“Listen, Lucie. I know your default is to carry this alone, but don’t. We can do this together.” Arabella offers gently. Then adds, before she can protest, “Let’s grab coffee tomorrow. I’d love to see your face before the funeral.” 

She wants to argue, to turn her down on instinct. But she can feel the wide smile on the other line and, to be honest, she’s had more than enough being alone to last her a lifetime.

So she agrees and after settling on time and place, she hangs up the phone with trembling hands and glances at the mirror, now free of fog. Her reflection blinks back at her, pale and apprehensive.

____

Under a canopy of ageless trees, wedged between a tax office and a brewery, sits The Lazy Bean. Once a double-family shotgun, the pale orange coffee house now serves as a haunt for bleary-eyed commuters and hipsters looking to finish their screenplays. 

The shop is half full, energy winding down after the lunchtime rush, but she only spends a minute in line before the barista takes her order. 

She posts up against the far wall to wait. The interior is painted a sunny, chipped yellow, but it’s nearly impossible to tell; each wall is covered floor to ceiling in painted canvases and flyers advertising local events. And any spare corner or window sill has been repurposed into a home for a mishmosh of potted plants. In a strange way, it reminds her of the cluttered quiet of the Jardin Gris. 

The barista calls out her order. Sidestepping a young man in a fringed coat, she retrieves the steaming ceramic mug. It’s purple and, by the imprints along the handle, likely homemade. She murmurs her thanks and slips through clusters of tables and mismatched chairs.

Arabella is there, waiting, when she steps out onto the back patio. But she doesn’t see her right away. Lucie takes the opportunity to drink her in, unobserved. 

Seated at a corner table, she taps at her mug with pale, anxious fingers. She’d never been able to sit still. Even as a child, she’d always been twiddling her fingers or pulling a lock of copper hair. It’s darkened with age, she notes, eyeing the deep, rich auburn that spills over her shoulders. She worries at her lip with her teeth. There’s a pronunciation to her cheekbones and a wariness around her eyes that wasn’t there before, but otherwise little has changed. A smattering of freckles stretches across her nose and her round cheeks are flushed in the sun, the same as the girl she remembers. 

A surge of insecurity washes over her. after all, ten years is a very long time, especially spanning over that critical junction between adolescence and maturity. Lucie knows that for all she might look like her cousin, Arabella and her sixteen-year-old self might have little in common. She wonders what the woman tapping her foot under an oak might think of her wayward cousin. Will she like who she sees?

It’s enough to make her reconsider. She hasn’t been seen yet. There’s still time to leave before she-

“Lucie!” Arabella’s cheerful voice rings out, waving to catch her attention. Her pink lips curl in a smile that reveals the charming gap between her white teeth and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. Despite her uncertainties, Lucie’s smile widens at the sight of her.

The wooden planks groan beneath her boots as she makes her way to the table.

“Hey,” Lucie greets softly, sinking into the chair opposite her.

“Hey,” Arabella responds in kind, matching Lucie’s shy demeanor. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

Lucie hesitates before admitting, “I wasn’t going to.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters,” Arabella says, a hint of relief in her voice, as she sets down her tea and reaches across the table to squeeze Lucie’s hand. “It’s so good to see you, Luce. I can’t believe you’re here.”

If she had been worried about ill-will or uncomfortable reunions, there’s none to be had. Not from Arabella.

“It’s been good to see you too, Bella. You look great.”

“Thanks. And you look rough,” Arabella says, then quickly amends, “I mean, you look good, just tired.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Lucie nods. “It's been tough, to say the least.”

Arabella offers a sympathetic hum, and the conversation lapses into a shared moment of grief. Lucie admires the way the dappled shade of an oak paints patterns across her freckled skin, and how the sun picks out strands of her hair in gilded orange. 

Eventually, Arabella breaks the silence. “She asked for you, you know - right at the end.”

Lucie doesn’t need to ask who she’s referring to. Violette’s presence is as corporeal as if she were occupying a chair beside them. Unsure of what to say, she takes a long sip of her drink, feeling the warm bitterness spread through her.

“Honestly,” Arabella continues, “I don’t think you were ever far from her thoughts. Sometimes, she’d get this faraway look in her eyes, and I just knew she was thinking about you.”

Lucie snorts softly. “You mean thinking about what a catastrophic failure I turned out to be?”

Her tone may be flippant, but the sentiment chafes. The second she had left the city limits, she might as well have been dead to Violette. She was sure every trace of her had been struck from the record with a methodical precision. If she had been so desolate in Lucie's absence, why hadn’t she ever called? 

“Oh, Lucie,” Arabella says, dismayed. “It’s not like that at all. You know that, right?”

“I don’t really know what to think anymore, Bella,” Lucie says, feeling the weight of her uncertainty.

“I know things are different,” Arabella reassures her, “but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean bad. It just means ‘different.’”

Lucie cants her head, acknowledging the truth in her cousin’s words. “I wouldn’t exactly call being shunned a positive.”

The constricting feeling in her chest belies her nonchalance. Even at a distance of ten years, the memory still stings. The absence of the connection throbs like a phantom limb.

“So you can’t tap into ancestral power, so what?” Arabella shrugs. “You still have your magic, and more importantly, you still have family.”

“Do I?” It’s a question she’d asked herself many times in those early days of exile. And as months stretched into years of near radio silence from all except the woman across from her, it was a foregone conclusion that the answer was a resounding: No.

Arabella insists, “Of course you do.”

Her optimism is unyielding, like looking into the sun. It clashes with the tender angst in Lucie's stomach. Feeling a flicker of irritation, she shifts in her seat. “I don’t think the coven is going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“They only just found out you’re here. Just give them time,” Arabella offers by way of explanation. “The Elders have been a little preoccupied lately. There’s a lot going on-”

“Like getting Jane-Anne’s body back from Marcel?” Lucie interjects.

Her cousin is taken aback. “I… How did you know?”

“I found her in the middle of Royal with her throat cut, Arabella,” Lucie says, something sharp seeping into her tone at the confirmation that she'd known too. “Something like that is hard to miss.”

“Shit,” Arabella curses softly. “I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. I was getting around to telling you, honest. But I wasn’t sure how to bring it up and I thought it would be kinder to drop the news gently.”

Lucie’s patience wears thin. “You know what would’ve been better? If you told me what was happening so I didn’t have to hear it from Marcel-fucking-Gerard.”

This time it’s her cousin’s turn to fidget in her seat. She passes the cup back and forth between her hands, chewing at her lip as she seems to be mustering up the right words. “It’s been hard around here for a while now. I need you to understand that before I tell you what I’m about to tell you.” |

She can’t help the involuntary flutter in her stomach. “Arabella, what are you-?”

“You have to promise me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind,” she says in a shaky rush, “or I’m not going to say another word.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

She hesitates, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she begins. 

“Since you’ve been away, things in the city have taken a turn. It started with small incidents - a shop in the Cauldron vandalized, a few witches harassed. But then it escalated rapidly. Nightwalkers began patrolling the streets, monitoring our every move and word. The safe areas for practicing magic shrank until all nine covens could only operate within five city blocks.”

“One night, the Elders convened at Greataunt Violette’s. They had a heated discussion behind locked doors. Violette stormed out, pretty upset. When she came back, she told Viv and I that the Elders had reached a decision.”

Arabella pauses, her cup nearly empty, prompting Lucie to inquire further. “What decision?”

“To proceed with the Harvest Ritual.”

Lucie’s world spins at the revelation. “The Harvest Ritual,” she repeats, her voice flat.

“Our powers were diminishing, and it had been centuries since the last Harvest. We needed to renew our bond with the Ancestors,” Arabella explains.

“I know how it works,” Lucie snaps, immediately regretting her tone.

Arabella continues, undeterred. “Four girls were chosen: Abby, Cassie, Davina, and… Monique.”

Lucie feels sick. “Monique Deveraux?”

Arabella nods solemnly. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Lucie demands, gears turning. “Tell me everything you know.”

And she tells her. She tells her about how the Elders showered the chosen girls in honors and praises; she tells her about how they were marched like lambs to the slaughter, expecting a prick on the thumb up until the moment Bastiana slit Abigail’s throat. And finally, she tells her about Marcel Gerard’s intervention and his swift, furious retribution upon the witches of New Orleans for what they’d done. 

Lucie doesn’t speak for the duration of her story, only listens as Arabella tells it in faltering pieces. 

By the time she finishes, hands shaking and eyes weary, the sun is beginning its descent into the west. The diminishing rays cast the patio in streaks of gold and orange that fall across Arabella’s face as Lucie watches her.

“Lucie, say something. Please,” she says when the weight of the silence becomes unbearable. 

Lucie’s arms instinctively wrap around her chest. “What do you want me to say, Bella?”

Arabella’s voice trembles, thick with emotion. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

Lucie’s hand cards through her hair in a futile attempt to find the right words. “I...,” she struggles, the words slipping through her grasp. Finally, she manages, “I need to go.”

The chair protests against the patio as she stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Where?” Arabella says with a note of desperation.

“I don’t know,” Lucie admits, her head shaking in numb disbelief. “I just... I need some time to think.”

Arabella’s expression wavers between concern and resignation as she nods in reluctant acceptance and Lucie disappears down the street.

[thanksforthedinosaur]

june 2023

1. natalie evans - sleeping in 2. dsps - 二分之一的我 3. pynkie - spiral 4. daisy the great - glitter 2 5. miette hope - if a tree falls 6. jason mraz - pancakes & butter 7. this is the kit - more change 8. the japanese house - sunshine baby 9. jenny lewis - cherry baby 10. the rocket summer - m4u 11. ajj - a thought of you 12. isabel pless - jude law 13. hozier - francesca 14. maty noyes - lighter thief 15. ichiko aoba - space orphans 16. gabby's world - fabby 17. unflirt - out of time 18. sir chloe - leash 19. blü eyes - street noise 20. tegan and sara - girls talk 21. arlo parks - pegasus (ft. phoebe bridgers) 22. miya folick - cockroach 23. benee - bagels 24. izzy camina - alprazalam 25. junior varsity - share ur feelings 26. juliana hatfield - don't bring me down 27. caroline loveglow - strawberry 28. chloe moriondo - celebrity - blood bunny version 29. glen check - mind surfing 30. amazombies - 1955 31. boilermaker - alone 32. record setter - outdated wallpaper 33. glass bones - january embers (supernova) 34. waveform* - freak me out 35. hot mulligan - shouldn’t have a leg hole but i do 36. bully - change your mind 37. mint green - body language 38. hannah jadagu - dreaming 39. jess kallen - ink 40. jeff rosenstock - liked u better 41. tsosis - snake eat tail 42. a day at the fair - maxwell's two thousand seven 43. sophie meiers - high beamz 44. juliet ivy - breakfast song 45. carr - sick bro 46. sydney sprague - smiley face 47. heather sommer - wanted 48. babebee - stranded 49. madelline - i don't wanna be ur fucking friend 50. yen strange - best friends 51. bishop briggs - baggage 52. dominic fike - ant pile 53. girli - cheap love 54. ukiyo - ctrl alt delete 55. lova - popstar 56. iri - season 57. ralph - pain relief 58. post malone - mourning 59. ayelle - for me 60. thuy - i got it 61. okthxbb - sickly 62. kučka - cry cry cry 63. kesha - peace & quiet 64. misogi - pink noise (feat. dream, ivory) 65. miraa may - big mistake 66. keke palmer - waiting 67. summer walker - to summer, from cole - audio hug 68. atmosphere - still life 69. sampa the great - mask on [feat. joey bada$$] 70. beyoncé - america has a problem (feat. kendrick lamar) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6nYW9esnOxCKtaRpcdYioI?si=4e630c7230624274

[fenharel-enaste]

Get to know a blogger!

Tagged by the lovely @aeide Tysm!! I almost forgot about this one 😂

Share your wallpaper: It's a cool art of Gandalf fighting the Balrog!

Last song you listened to: Coraline by Maneskin

Currently reading: Heretics of Dune (part 5 of Dune)

Last movie: Love and Leashes (the cute Korean bdsm movie I talked about in other post like this)

Last show: Castlevania (I'm starting season 4 now)

Craving: Inspiration to write ajsdqjhfH

What are you wearing right now: Black pyjama pants with pink flowers and a Doctor Who t-shirt

How tall are you: 171cm (5'7")

Piercings: None but I want a few on my ears

Tattoos: A little tree of Gondor below my nape and three little minimalist dragons on my ribs. I'm planning on getting more but I have to think about them

Glasses? Contacts? Glasses at home and contacts outside

Last thing you ate: Chicken soup!

Favorite color: Purple and emerald green

Current obsession: Tolkien stuff, always Tolkien stuff. Also Dragon Age and Star Wars

Any pets: None! But I'd love to have a cat in the future

Favorite fictional character: This is impossible to answer okay?? But I'd say one for each current obsession to make it easier (there are many more lol)

Gandalf (LOTR), Solas (Dragon Age) and Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars)

The last place you traveled: Madrid to visit a friend

Tagging with no pressure <3 @vellichormybeloved @thesolarangel @coraleethroughthelookingglass

[diazsdimples]

Buddie are house flippers

Calling on all my Block NZ knowledge for this one.

- They got into house flipping because they moved into a new place and wanted to renovate it to make it more accessible for Chris. Buck fell in love with the design aspects of it and Eddie loved drawing out plans so they talked about it and decided to give it another go

- one time they lived in the house while they were flipping it, just for fun. It was going super well until a rat ran over Buck during the night and he freaked out. They move back to their place the following night and Buck swears never again

- Eddie is in charge of finances and keeps a tight leash on Buck because if he had his way, Buck would blow their budget on cute wallpaper and flooring. He once spent half their budget on a marble countertop (with Christopher's encouragement) so Eddie's been on his case ever since

- Christopher has final say on the design elements. If he doesn't like the colour then they change it. Last time they flipped a house, Eddie put him in charge of design and by the end of it, Christopher was saying he wanted to do it as a career. He's even started doing drawings on a computer programme online

- Eddie had to call Bobby out urgently the first time they flipped a house because Eddie had forgotten how to use a jig saw and almost cut his fingers off. He swore Bobby to secrecy because he didn't want Buck to know and he still doesn't to this day

Send me an AU and I'll tell you 5 things that happen in it

[faustiandevil]

I’m barking, I’m howling, I’m clawing at the wallpaper this is so good!!! YES YES YES!!! Let him put those nasty dogs on a leash!! He deserves to be the master!!

I love that Wilmer has a spikey collar it suits him, he is Cairo’s nasty little attack dog, who growls at the evil detective~ He is just like me fr fr~ Also those colors look so tasty~

So I drew this group of "owner and dogs"（Cario,Spade,Wilmer)..... just because I want to see it.

OK,I'm going to start my speech.🎤

P1：Obviously, this is the master-servant play.This is The Gay Falcon.

Our Cairo is always bullied, so how about making him the boss for once?...Or "dog owner".And our Spade and Wilmer were honored to be chosen as Cairo's dogs.

So you can see how triumphant Cairo is. Wilmer's malicious eyes are just because Spade is here. He doesn't like this "uninvited guest."Spade's smile, I think, is a little helpless and spoiled. "I'll let you go this time."is probably the feeling. "

Regarding the choice of dog collars for Wilmer and Spade, I think Wilmer is a young strong dog that needs to be controlled, so it needs a rivet collar with a chain to control it.Spade, on the other hand, an ordinary collar fits his appearance, and he doesn't need flashy things. (Although Cairo tugged at Spade very hard)

Also, I hope someone will notice Cairo's pink eye shadow and pink nail polish, which I think is really sexy.💅💅💅

p2：It seems that our Mr. Cairo didn't last long, and he was quickly countered by Spade and Wilmer and forcibly put on a dog collar.Oh no ... This is your ending, Cairo, but it doesn't matter, now all three of you are dogs.

But maybe Wilmer and Spade won't just let him go ... Spade will want to punish Cairo…… severely ... and Wilmer, I think he is more innocent and doesn't want to see this scene of explosion.

Well, I may publish more detailed nonsense in ao3.

Here is the Cairo eyeshadow-free version and the filter version of the first picture.

Thank you for watching.