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Luxury Scarf Framing... Hermes
Elevate The Decor Custom framing a scarf is no easy task, let me tell you! It requires top-notch framing skills to get it just right. The process is like a delicate dance – one wrong move and the whole thing process could unravel. But when done correctly, it’s a work of art that can truly elevate a room’s decor. Framer Magicians The best framing experts are like magicians with framing materials. …
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trashmouth-richie · 9 days
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I feel like I’m really bad at prompts so I’m just gonna go with my “do’s” from costar today…
Stomping. Instant coffee. Cold* shower.
*“Cold” autocorrected to “come” and I almost didn’t fix it, soooo…do with that what you will.
OH MY LOVE.
hoping my slutty choices for this prompt find you well.
18+, no minors, acts of sex, yay.
**peep my little hints at 90s tv and movies—there are 4 🖤
<1k
send me a prompt from this post ! (writers block is killing me !)
Cold beads of water trickle like ice down your body. Making your already pert nipples stand at attention and harden in an instant. 
Cursing the boy you’ve been best friends with since diapers, you turn the faucet off in a quickened haste— exiting the tub in an anything but graceful fashion, stubbing your toes on the way out. 
“Eddie!” your shrill voice is clouded by the throbbing in your foot and the chatter in your teeth. “Did you pay the water bill?”  
One job, the menace had one job— one duty for the small shared apartment, and it was to pay the water bill each month. 
Wrapping yourself in a threadbare towel that had once been a swim towel for an uppity family— you stomp down to his bedroom, kicking open the door with enough rage to channel Jackie Chan.
You should have knocked. Fuck, why didn’t you knock? 
Eddie was naked.
Pale-moon colored ass on display. 
Thigh muscles rippled beneath dark patchwork tattoos, arms that never looked muscly suddenly flexed tight. A veiny hand wrapped tight around a black haired pony tail. Hips, his hips were— fucking, thrusting, pounding. 
His mouth was slack, slick like an oil painting, head back and eyes rolled to squinted ivory surrounded with a colossal woodland of thick lashes.
Sweat coated his brow, dribbling down until it collected on his cupids bow, a salty pooled tease. His rougey lips were spit coated, sheer— glossy— begging for your tongue to taste them. 
Your heart thumped loudly, heat in your core on its own tempo, hot and deep. 
And then you hear it. 
A whimper. Softer than silk, low, whiny, almost sweetly pathetic in its delivery from a deep space in his throat. 
Your cheeks warm, cunt heated like a fire, sirens going off for extreme temperatures. 
Oh—fuck.
His eyes meet yours and you hold his gaze for a second. The clouded look of a man being sucked dry took over his normal instant coffee colored irises. Glaucoma esque beauty in the dark swirls, and you wet your lips at the sight of him— at Eddie Munson— resident freak of Hawkins and your best friend. 
Jesus.
Both your lips explicitly mutter words with eyes wild doe like. His going from lazy pleasure to shock. Yours were covered with your palm, the other reaching, fumbling for the door knob. 
Apologizing profusely you suddenly stammer around clearing your throat and trying to leave ASAP. 
The towel around your middle, the only thing keeping you decent, glides to the ground—falling gently like that fucking feather in opening scenes of Forest Gump. Practically in slow motion but still too quick for your blind shut eyes to catch it. 
Fuck.
Pulling with both hands on the knob your heart races to shut the door, not registering that the towel is wedged tight between the frame, making it impossible to shut. 
Shit shitshitshitshitSHIT
With a last feeble attempt of yanking your arms, the latch clicks into place and you beeline to your room with a slam of your door so hard it ricocheted off the walls, making a framed picture of you and Eddie at a Metallica concert fall to the ground, shattering the glass.
What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!
Your heart boomed in your ears, back stuck to the door like you were holding it up. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Eddie naked, pretty sure your entire graduating class saw him naked on more than one occasion. But this?! This was so mouthwatering better than any other time. 
Goosebumps spread across your skin at the burned image of Eddie getting head on your retinas. The two of you had never crossed those lines. Each dating, fucking around it never once crossed your mind what he would be like in the sack, or what his sack would be like in your mouth. 
You’re pleased when you don’t cringe at the dirty thoughts of him— it felt like second nature, like eve seeing adam —lol okay maybe not, but still! What your mind was conjuring up was biblical. 
A giggle surpasses your lips and you wipe a line of drool from the corner of your mouth. Nerves finally settling as your realization hits— who was it?
It wasn’t Sarah, you hadn’t seen her since last fall. Eddie had said she started dating Steve—his comic book “arch nemesis” but in reality another bestie, who spent most of his time wallowing on your couch about Nancy than he did actually going on dates. 
Mary ended up being a virgin—preacher’s daughter, one of seven. He stopped seeing Clarissa after she wouldn’t stop over explaining every single minute detail of her day. Could it be the girl with the green leather jacket? Darla? Daria? 
The horny ache in your belly soured like curdled milk. 
How dare her (whoever she was!) The thought of someone other than you pulling those noises from Eddie suddenly set you on edge. Rage burned through your veins like lightning. Spidering and leeching to your skin. 
The pajamas you had taken off before your shower lay in a heap on your floor and you quickly yanked them on. Muttering to yourself about every vile thing you could imagine about whoever the lucky girl was who currently had a mouthful of your roommate. 
You needed to leave. The clouds of embarrassment eased overhead, colliding with the lightning making a storm brew deep beneath your surface and you be damned if you were going to let the rain fall whilst still in this apartment. 
Keys in your palm you throw open your bedroom door, ready to bolt through your apartment and down to your car— destination unknown. 
You nearly knock him over in your attempt to run. But you’re stopped cold by sweaty bangs, a heaving chest, and the same stupid pair of boxers that had small tears along the elastic from years of wear. 
“Sweetheart…” he coaxed, voice so sugary and laced with tiny shreds of venom it could ice a wedding cake— then strike you dead. 
You had seen plenty of Eddie today, your body screamed for you to leave, but your feet were stuck in the icing, waiting for the bomb to drop. 
Warmth from your cheeks from your shame could keep a trailer with broken windows warm in a blizzard—your stomach flipped— dropped like lead as his next words hit like a bullet. 
“We need to talk.” 
part two
steve tied up
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forevermoreharrington · 8 months
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Mine - S.H
Steve Harrington x female!reader
Summer break spent with best friend!Steve who’s secretly lovesick for his favourite girl
A/n: friends to lovers, college au
Warnings: none
Word count: 3.3k
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Summer break, 1987, 
And every time I look at you, it's like the first time
Steve had spent the last few days telling everyone how fine he was with staying on campus for the summer, how okay he was that he wasn’t going home but she just couldn’t believe him, he watched all there friends pack up and go on and on about how they had missed their families and there was just this look in his eyes. And it broke her heart every time she saw it. 
She told him he was coming home with her. She couldn’t leave him here and no one else had offered, he shook his head, like he was getting ready to say no. She remembered it clearly, he was leaning against his door frame, getting ready to politely say no but then she pouted at him. 
It was her small woodland creature look, that's what he called it, and he said it wasn't fair on his heart when she used it but it wasn't fair on his heart to spend his entire summer alone. He deserved kindness more than anyone she knew, he was always so sweet and kind to her. 
Her very first day Steve had helped her, he had walked her to the right building and carried her books, he had given her his number and met her after class, ready to help her in any way she needed. It had been flustering, having such a pretty boy be so sweet to her. He told her it was because it was his second year and her first that he had been so overly kind but she felt like Steve was just an overly kind person. 
He looked after those first few weeks and he never really stopped.
She had brought this map with her, this old map that was covered in sparkly blue and pink ink, drawing lines and stars around things. She flustered when he told her had spent the whole night finding the best way to her hometown. She stared at it feeling a little foolish, if she had known Steve had already thought ahead she would have left it, but even now, with his knowledge and her map, she selfishly wished they could get a little lost. 
He had all the windows rolled down in his car, and the air felt like summer on her skin, he smelt like the woods near her house after it rain, fresh sheets after drying in the sun and coke in a crystal glass, that was Steve all over, and she was finding herself not hating that they were stuck in a hot car for hours. 
“I really,” Steve started to say as she bent back, reaching for something in the backseat of his car, he put his hand back, handing her the book he somehow knew she wanted to read. Even something as small as that, as him reaching back to help her, made her heart ache. “I really don’t want to bother your parents.” 
She placed the book in her lap, she wasn’t sure she would read it, she wasn’t sure she could with Steve sitting right next to her. It was the way he said it that hurt her, like he could be a bother to anyone, she couldn’t believe that, she felt so lucky to know him, how anyone could feel any different was strange to her. Everyone adored him.
 “Oh, Steve you won't, I swear. I’ve told them so much about you anyway.” His breath hitched in his throat and his hand tightened on the steering wheel, she worried she had said something wrong. She had told her parents about Steve, she had spent hours gushing about him over the phone, and when she didn't, she was writing his name in her diary like she was thirteen again but she would never tell him that. “I think they were worried that I imagined you.” She pinched her brows together, looking a little disheartened. 
She didn't have a lot of friends, any really, not till she met him and he introduced her to his friends. It was like knowing Steve meant you had to know everyone he held dear and she adored that about him, she adored Robin and Nancy, Jonathan and Eddie. But Steve was her favourite. 
“I promise I’m real.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side, the way he was grinning at the road ahead was nothing less than adorable, it made her stomach flip, and her head spin when he glanced at her. Steve was real, very real. 
The car radio got quieter the more they drove, Steve had turned it down to listen to her talk, and even when she stopped, he kept it low, just in case she wanted to say something else. He glanced over a lot, and she started to wonder how girls did it, how they remembered to breathe while sitting in Steve Harrington's passenger seat while he kept smiling at them.
Nerves were setting in now, the reality that she would be spending the entire summer alone with him, that he would stay in her room. A boy had never been in her room before, her childhood bedroom was home to her, and she knew if some part of him hated it, it would break her heart in a way that made no sense at all. She felt like she just wanted him to like very little part of her, and for some reason, her room was a part of her.
They were in her town, all the streets were the same as they were over the winter break, just without the snow. It had been four or so hours of driving, of little conversations between the two, but he had been quiet for a while, he even sat at a stop light a little too long a few miles back. 
“Steve,” She pulled at the hem of her shorts, there was a loose thread that got her attention every time she got nervous to speak again, which was a lot. “You’ve been biting your cheek and smiling for hours.” She couldn't understand why he was acting so foolish, maybe it was a girl, that was what boys normally smiled about. That was how Jonathan smiled when he was with Nancy and they were very much in love, maybe he was in love too.
“I know.” He glanced at her and she felt it, that little hint that he may carry something more than just friendship for her. She saw it sometimes, but it was hard to catch and she laid awake at night wondering if she had simply made it up in her head. But she was sure she just saw it again. “It’s starting to hurt.” He pretended to press his hand to his lips, like there would be blood there. She wanted to laugh, instead she bit down on her bottom lip and turned to look out the window. If she stared at him anymore she would’ve imagined that he was in love with her, which, while being a lovely daydream, would only hurt her.
I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter
Steve hadn’t realised they were there, until they were there, he hadn't remembered what exits they took, or if he stopped at the lights, he had been far too busy thinking about her. His head was a mess the moment she walked to his car in those little shorts and a bag that was probably full of more clothes that would make his head hurt and his jaw ache as he tried to not do anything outside the lines of friendship. 
Her house, even her driveway, was just as he imagined it, flowers outside, the kind that were mixed in with weeds and tangled with vines. She had a little porch with lights strung around it. It looked warm and inviting, something his house lacked. And before even stepping inside, he knew her parents would be nice, they couldn't have raised such a kind hearted girl if they weren’t so inclined themselves.
He took her things for her from the car, not just so he could make a good impression but so he could get that sweet little thank you smile she did, the one that made him feel special and made his chest warmer. The sticky heat was nothing compared to the effect her smile had on him. 
There was a little china fairy sitting right next to the front door, she lifted it and took away the key that was kidding there. Steve breathed a little more evenly, her parents weren’t home right now so he had time to think of things to say to them. He wanted them to adore him the way he adored their girl.
“Stevie?” She stood in the doorway, the door open just an inch, her hands behind her back with the cutest look on her face. She was nervous. He nodded in response, to show he was listening, whenever she called him Stevie it always took a few seconds for him to be able to say something again. “You like dogs right?”
He did so he nodded again. 
“And cats?”
He wasn’t really sure about cats, but he knew she liked them, so he nodded again before saying, “You have three dogs and four cats.” She looked a little shocked, her gaze softening even more, but he remembered everything she told him, he kept it written down in his head like one day he would write a book about her.  Not that Steve was very good at writing, though she always liked to disagree. “Oliver, Benji, Dasher, Hyacinth, Lavender, Betty, Salem.” He was rather proud of himself for remembering all those names. 
And the way she slightly parted her lips and stared up at him like she had just fallen in love with him, made him very glad he did remember. It was like that moment in the old disney movies where the pretty girl meets the prince in the forest and just falls helplessly in love because of his kindness. Steve always wanted to be so kind that a pretty girl would just fall for him like that. When he was younger he learnt the dance in the woods from sleeping beauty, just in case. 
She let him in, it wasn’t a big house, not compared to what he was used to but it felt like a home, there were things, little things that held memories he would love to learn about everywhere, broken picture frames glued back together, shells on high shelves, a wind chime that made no noise. There was a soft sofa in the living room that had blankets for cuddling up, pillows with embroidery that probably took someone hours. In a way it was like every 1980s house he had ever seen, some things even reminded him of the Wheeler's house but it had something extra special. She had grown up there. 
Steve knelt in the entrance hall, untying her shoes for her and taking them off before he took off his own. He always did that, it started at parties and had become something he wordlessly did for her every time they entered a house. One time she had tried to take off her own shoes in someone's dorm and Steve practically grabbed her ankle to stop her. She had been wearing little white socks with frills on them and he just couldn’t miss the chance to toy with the hem of them, 
Then, rather suddenly, just as he stood there were paws on Steve in seconds, up on his thighs, pressing a little mud into his jeans. A dog, which he could only describe as almost as tall as a small horse, was rather excited by his arrival. Which of course led to two other dogs, a golden retriever and a black and white border collie jumping on him too. 
“Are you just going to stand there and laugh while I get attacked?” He kneeled down again to give them his attention but he didn’t miss the way she was laughing, petting a ginger cat sitting on the back of the sofa. She found it funny apparently, seeing him almost run over by three large dogs. 
He didn't mind the way they licked his face, they clearly liked him and gave him this strange feeling of validation. Her dogs liked him, that counted for something. 
“They like you.” Just the way she said it made his heart beat faster, hearing her say like and you in the same sentence was enough to give him a heart attack, they like you was very close to I like you and Steve could think about how that would sound while he tried to fall asleep tonight. 
He followed her up the stairs, it was carpeted with a light shade of pink that ran everywhere, she had one of those banisteres that you can look down from, Steve couldn't count the times he had sat at his own listening to his parents fight but he couldn’t imagine her doing that. There was a black cat sitting right at the top of the stairs, she simply stepped over it so he did the same. 
The first thing Steve noticed about her room was her bed, the white and pink flowered covered sheets and pillows that were heart shaped. There was another cat sitting at the end of it, white and fluffy, curled up and it didn't move when Steve sat beside it very carefully. He wasn't afraid of cats, he was just very unsure about them. 
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the guest room?” She spun around to face him, her fingers untangling the necklace that hung daintily around her neck, the smallest sun pendant sat on her chest. Steve often thought about reaching out and untangling it for her. 
“I like it here.” He sat back a little, he could see she was anxious, it was the kind of thing he just saw now, he had all her tells memorised. “It’s a pretty room, I doubt the guest room has an outsiders poster on its wall, or a cat-” He made a very slow and careful attempt to pet the cat beside him, and to his surprise he thought he felt it purring. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
She bit her lip thinking about it, Steve wondered if he held her jaw and pulled her lip from her teeth with his thumb, would she mind? “I want you too.” She whispered softly, holding her hands behind her back, like she was trying not to fixate on her necklace again. 
She looked sweet, surrounded by pink wallpaper and flower curtains that were shut slightly to keep the sun out the room. She looked at home, the Yale dorms didn't compliment her like this, sure she looked pretty everywhere, but this was different. 
This was pulling at his heart sting and tieing little bows on them, this was making him daydream about sneaking through her window in high school, about kissing her on the bed he sat on, calling her on the phone that sat on her bedside table to tell her how pretty she looked.
He carefully stood from her bed, mindful of the cat, and walked two steps towards her. “So I'll stay in here, it will be like a sleepover.” He took her wrist from behind her back and held her hand, he was allowed to do that, he told her that friends held hands all the time.  “Okay pretty girl?”
She nodded. “Okay”
She is the best thing that's ever been mine
That first night her parents adored him. Steve had been his sweet charming self all through dinner. She had thought he might be nervous but he seemed to know exactly what to say, how to make her father laugh and her mother smile at him. He had this calmness about him, like he was confident in himself. 
He forced them to let him do the dishes, bubbly soap reaching all the way to his wrists, covering his clothes in that lemony dish soap scent. She was quite content, sitting up on the kitchen counter and just watching him, thighs pressed into the wood, legs dangling just above the floor, waiting for him to pass her the plates so she could dry them.
He had caught on to her staring but it wasn’t fair, the sun was setting through the glass window and it was making Steve all golden and soft. And he had a little soap in his hair. She brushed it off with the lightest touch of her hand. 
She had never touched Steve's hair before, not really, but was how she imagined, it was soft like white lace after it had been washed one to many times. It felt like something she dreamt she would never ever get bored of running her hands through. 
After, when her parents had gone to bed and she and Steve had said their goodnights, she was stuck again. Stuck in that anxious place where she didn't know what to do with herself, would he sleep on the floor or in her bed, she couldn’t expect him to sleep on the floor all summer but that meant sleeping right beside him. That meant waking up to him, seeing him in the morning, when his hair was a mess on the pillows and he was half dressed. 
It was night and there was a slight summer breeze coming through the windows but she felt very suddenly hot all over. Like how one felt the evening after spending the entire day in the sun. All dizzy and flustered from the heat. 
She stopped worrying so much when she saw Steve's clothes neatly folded on top of her dresser. She had given him the top drawer, but she guessed he didn’t want to mix his clean clothes with the ones he had worn all day. She smiled at the way he had neatly unfolded her bed sheets, placing her pillows carefully in a row on her rug that sat on her floor. She left her slippers there when she got into bed. 
“Goodnight Steve.” She whispered, turning her bedside lamp off, letting the room fill with the glow from street lights. She pulled her sheets over her just as he kicked them off himself. She couldn't help but laugh at the way he huffed, tugging his shirt over his head.
She found a quick fascination with her head board. 
“It's too hot to sleep.” He whispered too, turning on his side to face her, pushing the covers completely on her. She didn’t mind. “And you have too many pillows.” He was tired, she could hear it in his voice, it was all scratchy and whiny.
She pouted, eyes dropping from his. “You don’t like my pillows?”  
Steve saw right through her little act, she knew just from the smirk on his lips and the way he brushed his thumb over the tip of her nose. She sometimes wondered if he did that with anyone else, or if it was just their thing. 
“I adore your pillows.” He said it slowly, letting all the words stick to her, like they meant something else. Steve did that a lot, sometimes she felt like she was going crazy, because sometimes he looked at her like he loved her, and sometimes he said things like he loved her too.
"Just like I adore you." She was sure her heart stopped just so she could decide if she had imagined that, if she had somehow already fallen asleep and dreamt it. She pinched her eyebrows together and in the dark Steve must’ve seen because he smirked and then he carved himself into her heart by pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight.”
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In The Glade
Summary: Emissary to the Spring Court is sent to investigate reports of strange happenings in the forest bordering the Autumn Court. There, he discovers a curious creature long lost to ancient Prythian lore: a Woodland Witch.
Pairing: LucienxReader
Warnings: None
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Your favorite thing about the Spring Court was the weather. Warm sun, a balmy breeze, and the bright blue skies teaming with fluffy white clouds was an absolute dream. The icing on the cake was the stunning display of plants in every shade of green, peppered with flowers of buttery yellow and soft pink. The entirety of Spring was a beauty, but your home in the Glade was by far the most stunning. It was if it has been carved out in the forest by the Mother herself.
In the clearing of the trees sat a mossy pond of brackish waters teeming with crystals and creatures – for anyone who dared to look. The Glade was, thankfully, mostly untouched by Fae and Humans alike. Your small stone cottage was the only sign of human life in miles, and that’s the way you liked it. It helped preserve the natural resources, allowing the land to replenish and thrive. Being of the last of your kind, a Woodland Witch, you felt responsible to protect the land that you called home.
The Glade was seldom visited, located deep into the dense forest bordering on the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands, so you rarely encountered anyone else. On occasion, Spring Court Fae would make their way through, but you kept a watchful eye from a distance. Your Earth Magic was like an added sense – you could feel the land in your bones. You could feel their magic through the wind.
There was a comfortable warmth in the breeze on a day just a couple of weeks passed the Vernal Equinox when you found yourself at the edge of the Glade, high up in a tree. You were plucking sweet, ripe cherries from the branches. You sat on a branch, arm wrapped through the handle of a wicker basket, and as you reached to pick the berries.
You popped a cherry in your mouth and burst the delicate flesh of the fruit with your teeth. You hummed softly as you savored the flavor. After sucking the fruit away from the core, you spit the pit onto the ground. Instead of the soft rustle of the pit hitting the grass, you were startled by a grumble from below.
“What in the name of the Mother…” A male voice sounded. You felt your blood run cold. Your magic did not sense anyone around. And yet…
You peered down at the forest floor, and you took in the sight of a Fae male with blazing red hair sitting against the tree. His russet eyes met yours, as he looked up at you incredulously. You felt a swell of panic in your chest at the unknown person so close to your home. The rare times that you did get visitors, you usually sensed them quickly enough to hide. But this Fae male, you did not sense at all.
He was intriguing, of course. Long, red hair, tan skin, sharp features. He was enchanting. But just because he was handsome did not mean that he was harmless. In fact, his warrior-like wardrobe, featuring a host of weapons clear on his person, screamed the opposite.
The site of the jewel encrusted sword across his lap was enough to have you scrambling further up the tree. It wasn’t exactly the best defense, especially for a Fae, and a fit one at that, who could easily climb after you. It was hardly in your nature to use your magic for harming others, so you mostly trained in defense. You knew he could kill you in a second if it was his wish.
You abandoned the basket of berries, sending it crashing to the ground. Your expert fingers gripped the bark of the branches as you pulled yourself up the tree quickly.
The male below you stood, and you glanced down and took in his intimidating frame. He was lean, but muscular, and stood at over six-feet tall. He was a good foot taller than you, and you knew he could make it up the tree must faster.
You began blindly reaching for branches in the tree, climbing quicker.
“What in Gods name are you doing?” The male questioned, exasperated.
You deigned not to answer him as you reached again for a higher branch. The bark cut into your hand, and you yelped. The pain startled you, and you lost your balance in the tree. You tumbled down the tree, hitting several branches on your way down.
You managed to catch yourself, gripping on to a limb in the middle of the tree. Your feet dangled, and you kicked at the air trying to pull yourself back up on the tree.
“Be careful!” The handsome stranger called out, “What are you trying to do get yourself killed?”
You glared down at him, “I’m perfectly fine! I know how to climb a tree, thank you,” Your sarcasm was always your mother’s least favorite thing about you when you were a child. But you just couldn’t help it. The male did not seem to want to harm you, but that doesn’t mean you were about to just trust a stranger.
“Looks like you know how to fall out of a tree,” He retorted, “Let me help you before you splatter on the ground.”
You grimaced at his harsh depiction, but you still did not need the assistance of a Fae. This was your home, and you could manage just fine. Or you thought you could.
The branch that you were hang from creaked and you looked up to where the limb met the tree. You watched helpless as the wood splintered beneath under your weight.
“Oh, shi-” You were interrupted by a resounding crack from the branch as it finally released from the tree and sent you crashing to the ground.
You couldn’t stop the scream from erupting out of your chest as you squeezed your eyes shut and braced for impact. Instead of the cold, hard thud of the ground, your body made contact with a dense, warm object. You opened your eyes and found the dark eyes of the handsome stranger staring at your face. He had a curious look on his angular features – a mix between pain and amusement.
You had knocked him right to the ground, landed right on top of him, a mess of smashed berries and leaves surrounding you. Your cheeks flushed red, but you couldn’t help but study the face of the male. He was even more attractive up close. Your heart pounded against your ribcage so hard that you were sure he felt it.
The corner of his lips curled up in a smirk, “So it seems you do want to make my acquaintance after all.”
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I have one fantasy that I will always fall back on if I have a hard time… enjoying myself. Picture this.
You live in a village tucked far away in the mountains. Your home is surrounded by a dense forest filled with dangerous and ravenous beasts, phantoms used to fill children’s nightmares and offer caution to rebellion. There are very few defenses in place against this threat, but one manages to be the most efficient. Whenever someone comes of age, they must leave an offering for the woodland monsters in order to secure their safety for another year. And it must be valuable.
So you wait, watching as time moves up until your 21st year when you are considered an adult. And you are terrified. You barely manage to make ends meet with work produced by your hands and the generosity of other townsfolk. But you can’t rely on them for this. It has to be your offering. But what can you give when you have nothing?
With no more time to spare, you come to a disheartening conclusion. The most valuable thing you have to offer is yourself. So you take the gamble. After all, the worst outcome is death and without protection, it would happen anyway. You spend the day making yourself presentable, dressing in something to highlight your tasty features and dowsing yourself in some sweet fragrances. Of course you don’t know what forest dwelling beings like, but you do your best.
Finally, the hour is upon you. Not wanting people to look into you too closely, you bundle up and bunch up a blanket to act as your “gift” and make your way out of down and into the darkness of the woods.
You jump at every chirp and crackle that echoes around you. You know your imagination is rather active, but you could swear there are a host of eyes tracking you as you follow the dirt path towards where the “alter” lies. You see the trees part in an unusual circular clearing with the massive stump of an ancient tree at the center. You can feel your legs shaking beneath you as you approach. Unfurling the blanket, you lay it down across the smooth wood as your (potential) last bed. With another breath, you unclasp the cloak and let it fall to the ground before crawling onto the platform and settle on your back.
You don’t know how long you lie there, staring at then canopy of leaves framing the starlit sky. It’s anxiety inducing to imagine what will happen to you and how stupid this whole plan is. But it’s better than locking yourself away in fear and shame. Might as well look at your death head on. Despite the nerves in your veins, you manage to close your eyes and drift to sleep.
Somewhere in your slumbering consciousness, your imagination steers your dreams. You see tall shadows emerging from the tree line to approach you. They examine you curiously, sniffing and prodding you with long taloned fingers. Slowly their curiosity gives way to boldness while they nuzzle against your skin. Tongues and hands covered in fur and rough scales caress every inch of you, marveling at your body.
You jolt as you feel something wet and firm press between your legs. The shock pulls you out of your sleep and you look around to see multiple creatures surrounding the stump. Muzzled mouths lick your fingers and an unidentified face nuzzles against your sex, devouring you with hungry fervor. You gasp, leaning back into strong arms that cradle you through the pleasure.
The night continues and one after another, new hands and appendages exploring you in ways no man ever can. They are at least merciful, allowing you to breathe in between intense orgasms for a few minutes before the next round begins.
When the sun finally rises, your body has been wrung dry and you are left a trembling mess atop the stump. A few of the friendly beings remain behind, assisting in your recovery before slinking back into the woods.
More than happy and satisfied yourself, you tidy yourself up and walk back to the village, waving to the eyes watching you. You know what your gift will be next year.
.
151 notes · View notes
mikavlcs · 1 year
Text
Reverie
Pairing: Wednesday Addams x cryomancer!reader
Summary: In the midst of investigating, a figure from your past returns, sending you into a panic. Wednesday is there to help pick up the pieces (and maybe get some revenge too).
Warnings: panic attack, implied abuse and violence, blood, reader is a Simp, it gets a bit morbid near the end lol, abrupt ending
Word count: 5.5k (sigh)
Notes: this fic made me realize just how much i struggle with character descriptions... but anyways this is a long request for literally the nicest anon ever, whoever you are i hope you enjoy this! 
Masterlist | Part 2
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Silence was something that you cherished.
Throughout the years, the numerous group homes, revolving door of foster parents, and whirlwind of schools you attended instilled a yearning for calm and quiet. A need for peace to soothe your daily anxieties.
Loud noises were bothersome, they reminded you of things better left forgotten which is why you put forth your best effort to avoid them wherever you ended up.
Nevermore Academy was no different.
Though it was a school for outcasts, it was still a school. A place that housed hundreds of rowdy, unruly teenagers for the better part of the year. And teenage outcasts were still teenagers.
You learned quickly to avoid the quad at all times of day except after curfew, the only time when it was completely empty save for some roaming teachers. 
Lunches were spent in empty classrooms instead of the cafeteria and free time was spent exploring the campus for a place to claim as your own, like you have in every place you inhabited over the years.
But luck, it seemed, was not on your side because not a single place you found fit your needs.
Sure, there were quieter places like the library or the dorms (depending on the hour), but it was rare that found a place that offered actual meaningful silence.
Surprisingly, the solution to your problem came the moment you looked beyond the cramped campus of the school, and that solution was the forest.
The vast woodland that separated Nevermore and Jericho was thick, comprised of thousands of trees, and filled with life of all kinds—tall, vibrant green trees, a myriad of bird species, scampering squirrels, and even foxes during parts of the year.  
Unfortunately, not all of the life that resided there was welcome. You heard whispers of something in the forest killing unsuspecting hikers and truckers. The mayor said it was bears, but you knew better.
Knowledge of the danger that lurked amongst the trees only made the woods that much more enticing to you. You trusted your ability to keep yourself safe with your powers. A wall of ice was a simple thing for you to create, but not for someone (or something) else to break.
The forest became your safe haven. Because of the murders, both students and Jericho residents alike tended to keep their distance, which made your solitude nearly guaranteed.
The chirping of birds in the distance and whistling of the trees in the wind made for a beautiful ambiance to read in. And it remained unequivocally yours for the first part of the semester.
Then a new student arrived mid-semester.
You never went out of your way to look for her, knowing you would hate that kind of attention yourself, but you still managed to see glimpses. Truthfully, she was hard to miss.
A girl dressed head to toe in black, twin braids framed a permanently impassive face, dead eyes set on the path in front of her. With her came a sense of foreboding, like storm clouds on the horizon. You would’ve sworn she was also a cryomancer with the way she seemed to chill the atmosphere around her.
Students parted like the Red Sea when she walked through the halls, determined to avoid her wrath. Given the few rumors you heard in passing across the school, you supposed you couldn’t blame them.
But those glimpses were few and far between, mere moments when your eyes caught a flash of monochrome, then she was gone.
She shared a handful of classes with you, but she was always seated across the room from you, just out of your sightline. By the time class ended and you got your things together to leave, she was on her way to her next class.
The first time you truly saw her was in passing.
You were at your spot in the woods, resting your back against the broad trunk of a tree as you read when the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Curious, you glanced up toward the sound and sure enough, there she was a few meters away heading in your direction.
She paused when your eyes met but remained silent. The only indication of surprise was the way her eyes narrowed, brows lowering ever so slightly.
“It’s dangerous to be out here alone, you know,” she said. Her voice was cold as a winter breeze. You liked it, it suited her.
“I could say the same to you,” you shrugged, turning your attention back to your book. You kept your focus on your story, eyes dutifully scanning the sentences, but in your peripherals, you could see her still standing there.
Another moment passed before she resumed walking, heading off in the direction she had been going before and you couldn’t help the way your eyes lifted to the retreating figure, following her until she was completely out of sight.
A curious encounter, but not one you ended up giving much thought to.
Then she showed up again.
Only the very next day did she appear once more, the circumstances exactly the same as before. You read, she walked. Except this time she didn’t pause, just kept marching past you.
Same with the next day. And the next. And the next. You were almost convinced that you two had a pseudo routine when, with no warning, it changed.
One rather humid afternoon, you heard her footsteps and didn’t bother looking up, knowing she would just continue on her way. But today she didn’t. Today, her steps faltered as she went by you, and above your book, you saw her pivot.
Your eyes were drawn up by the unfamiliar movement. Brows furrowed, you watched as she settled against a tree opposite of you and rummaged around in her bag, pulling a textbook and paper out.
From where you were, you couldn’t see what the paper was, but the book you immediately recognized. It was a textbook for Botany—one of the few classes you shared with her. The paper must’ve been the homework that you finished in class.
You were almost tempted to offer your help, but you knew she had no need for it.
So you turned your attention back to your book, reading a bit slower with the distraction of the girl across from you.
The worksheet, unsurprisingly, took Wednesday all of ten minutes to complete, but she stayed there with you for the better part of the afternoon, pulling out a book after she finished the homework.
Not a word was spoken between either of you, not even an exchange of names. Just you, her, and the blissful, silent serenity of the forest around you.
She left at sundown, packing her things and walking away without sparing a glance your way. You left soon after, a smile pulling at your lips.
When she returned the next day, that same smile appeared. Even when she didn’t stop to sit.
Your pseudo routine had shifted.
Some days she left to venture into the forest, some days she stayed with you. And though you were content to just sit with her when she allowed it, you couldn’t help but wonder where she went off to on the days she chose to keep walking.
Your answer ended up coming from Enid. The girl had asked to sit next to you in Vampire Anatomy class and you didn’t have the heart to say no.
Through the blog posts that Enid insisted you read, you learned that her name was Wednesday Addams, and she was trying to find the “monster” that lurked in Jericho’s forest.
Your existing interest was piqued after that. The urge to tag along with her pulled at you every time you watched her disappear into the forest, but you tried to ignore it. 
Though true crime had always been a passing interest, it wasn’t something you knew quite enough about to be of any actual use to Wednesday.
Still, you couldn’t help but try.
When you asked to join Wednesday in her investigation, you expected a cold and firm no. Instead, she neither accepted nor declined your offer. Simply looked at you, normally dull eyes shining chaotic as lightning, then walked off into the forest, leaving you scrambling to catch up.
Thus began your actual new routine. You’d head to the forest after class, read until Wednesday arrived, and wait until she informed you of her afternoon plans.
If she sat against the tree that you’d begun to call hers, then the afternoon hours would be spent together in blissful silence. But if she didn’t, she would walk past you, only pausing briefly to spare you a glance, extending a silent invitation that you always accepted.
Afternoons that weren’t spent in the serenity of the forest were spent acquiring evidence, gathering information, and sussing out any potential suspects.
Weeks of slow, but steady progress were made (mostly by Wednesday) and you enjoyed every second of it.
She still didn’t offer up much information about herself—her likes and interests (aside from general morbidity) were never so much as alluded to during your time investigating, but you liked that. 
In your mind, she was like a puzzle that not many had the patience to put together. But you enjoyed the intrigue, savored the challenge.
You kept much of your own history to yourself as well. If asked you would say that you did it in a bid to make yourself seem more mysterious, but really you just didn’t like talking about it.
The past was something you desperately just wanted to forget and Wednesday excelled at making you do just that, even if she didn’t know it.
Before you knew it, you found yourself falling for her in a way you never had before. But who could blame you, really?
A short, but statuesque figure with eyes like black ice and a constellation of freckles scattered across her cheeks that put the stars to shame. How anyone couldn’t be entranced at first glance was beyond you.
Your closeness with Wednesday, even if only for professional purposes on her end, served to further the distance between you and your classmates but you didn’t particularly care. What they feared, you admired and while you could understand their fear, you couldn’t fathom ever being afraid of Wednesday. Even at her most grotesque, she was enchanting.
Stupid as it may be, you’d follow her anywhere. You knew that, once you exhausted your welcome, she would likely discard you, but until then you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride with her.
This sentiment led you to Outreach Day.
To put it simply, Outreach Day was a goddamn mess.
Part of your day was spent in a pilgrim-themed dystopian hellscape trying to find information on Joseph Crackstone, another deep in the forest behind Jericho, searching the dilapidated remains of a meeting house from centuries ago.
Naturally, this culminated in the two of you getting chased by the very monster you were trying to investigate, which certainly wasn’t part of your plans for the day when you woke up, but with Wednesday you never really knew what you were going to get.
Fortunately, your near-death experience wasn’t for naught because you had learned one incredibly important fact.
The monster, whatever it was, was human. It was someone that either lived in Jericho or attended Nevermore Academy with you and Wednesday. Likely, it was someone they had already interacted with, knowingly or not.
That thought haunted you the entire long walk back into Jericho. So much so that Wednesday had to tell you to calm down because you were freezing the rain around you into snow and leaving icy footprints wherever you walked.
By the time you stepped back into the town, you were ready to go to your dorm and call it a night. Thankfully, the day was almost over. The only thing standing between you and your bed was the stupid statue unveiling everyone was forced to attend.
You were walking to the town square when it happened.
Thoughts about the monster’s identity were just starting to abate, boredom taking its place as you entered Jericho proper. Wednesday was beside you, matching your strides perfectly while she talked with Thing about something you couldn’t quite hear.
Even in the middle of the day, the town wasn’t bustling (though when was it ever?). A few residents peppered the streets, going about their day quietly while you and Wednesday passed them.
You idly scanned the town goers, eyes snagging on a woman on the opposite end of the road who looked oddly familiar.
The woman had her head turned, appearing to be on the phone with someone. You watched her carefully, slowing your pace slightly, and when she finally turned her head, it instantly clicked.
Walking down that street was your former foster parent, Mary.
You could remember the day you met her like it was yesterday.
It had been years since you’d been adopted out and swiftly swept back into the system once your last family found out that you were an outcast. You’d been told that someone was finally interested in you again and you were overjoyed to meet them.
Mary was a tall woman with a kind smile and the name of a catholic saint. You weren’t religious, but you figured (hoped) that it had to mean something.
You thought her your savior, your ticket out of the system forever, and she ended up being responsible for the worst years of your life.
When you snapped back to the present, you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Wednesday was a few steps ahead, giving you a strange look. You wanted to explain or, better yet, grab her and drag her out of the town entirely, but it was too late. Mary was already looking your way.
Your eyes met and suddenly, you were twelve again. Angry shouts reverberated in your ears, mimicking the way they echoed off the cramped walls of the house. You saw yourself cowering in the face of her anger, shrinking into yourself as much as you could.
There was a flurry of movement, a sharp crack, and even now you swore you could feel the sting of the impact on your cheek.
She hated you, and you could still see remnants of that hatred now, even from across the street.
Distantly, you could hear Wednesday say something, but the sound was muffled by the roar of your blood in your ears. Despite the cool temperature, you were beginning to sweat, heart rate gradually picking up as you stared at the ghost from your past.
Mary hung up the phone and started toward you. That was all you needed.
The last thing you felt was the brush of cold fingers on your wrist before you ran.
You ran and ran and ran, feet carrying you as fast as physically possible. There was no real destination in mind, just away from her.
When the burning in your chest became unbearable, you stumbled into an alley. Your chest heaved and just as you were going to try and catch your breath, your legs crumpled beneath you, sending you careening into the nearest wall. You slid down to the ground and squeezed your knees to your chest.
Clarity evaded you no matter how much you tried to find it. You had seen people you knew in public before, even your other former foster parents, so you had no idea why seeing her was affecting you so badly.
Your heart pulsed endlessly in your chest, blood pumping through your veins like you were moving at a million miles per hour, yet you were frozen, your body permanently suspended in motion. A living contradiction that you couldn’t make any sense of.
The pain in your chest intensified, drawing your limbs in to try and relieve the ache. It felt as if your body was trying to collapse in on itself, like a dying star.
Tears gathered in your eyes, and you were helpless to stop them from streaming down your cheeks as the ache grew.
For an awful moment, you genuinely thought you were going to die.
A flash of movement and suddenly there was something—no, someone in front of you. They crouched before you, their face coming into view and familiar dark orbs stared at you in a way you’d never seen before.
Wednesday.
Relief momentarily cut through your misery. You figured she would find you at some point, likely after the ceremony, but the fact that she was here now made something other than agony bubble in your chest.
Suddenly, you noticed that her lips were moving. She was saying something. You tried to focus your hearing against the chaos, but nothing could be heard over the erratic beating in your chest. Frustration mounted, making you further curl into yourself.
Wednesday moved a bit closer, stopping just short of you so she was the only thing in your line of sight. This time you were just able to catch the tail end of her statement. “-st look at me.”
You complied.
“Identify five things that you can see. You don’t have to say them out loud,” she instructed you, slowly and firmly.
You took in her words, but your eyes never strayed from her.
The first thing you saw was her eyes. So dark that they appear black in most settings, but under direct sunlight they reveal themselves to be the most beautiful shade of brown you’ve ever seen. Second was her hair, the way her wet fringe clumped together, forming short tendrils on her forehead.
Next, you were drawn to the starry sea of freckles on her cheeks. The temptation to try and count them tugged at you. You disregarded it, wanting to complete the task at hand for Wednesday.
Your eyes moved to trace her jaw, number four on your list. It was clenched, the way it always was when she was either angry or worried about something. You briefly wondered which one she felt now.
Her lips were the fifth and final feature you saw. You didn’t let yourself think about them for long, simply cataloged them.
Once you mentally documented all five, you looked to Wednesday, your breaths coming somewhat more consistently.
“Got it?” she asked, voice sounding a bit clearer now. You nodded. She continued. “Alright, now four things you can feel.”
You stiffly unclasped your hands and set them on the ground at your sides.
Surprisingly, the first thing you felt beneath your fingers was the solid frigidity of ice. In your panic, you must’ve partially frozen the alleyway around you. The warmth of the air around you told you that you hadn’t frozen too much, thankfully. You counted the temperature as your second.
Third, you felt the weight of your soaked clothes. The way they clung to your skin pulled a small grimace from you. That segwayed directly into the fourth thing you felt—your wet hair. Droplets of water were still running down the back of your neck from it, making you shiver. Lastly, you felt the rough, uneven texture of the brick wall at your back.
Moving up slightly, you turned back to Wednesday, who was watching you attentively, and gave her a firmer nod. The tension in your chest was beginning to dissipate.
“Three things you can hear.”
Your ears perked and you tried to focus on the noises around you. Even on its busiest days, Jericho was a relatively quiet little town, so it was easy to hear things you normally wouldn’t be able to in more densely populated places.
The first thing your ears picked up was the chime of a ringtone a block or two away. A pop song, the kind that Wednesday detested. Second was a loud giggle from someone that sounded suspiciously like Enid. The sound of it almost made you smile. And third, the clatter of a cup onto the ground and an angry curse that immediately followed it.
Someone must’ve dropped their coffee. Again, you almost smiled. Your heart began to slow in your chest, the ache there subsiding as well.
Eyes returning to the girl in front of you, you nodded.
“Two things you can smell.”
That was easy. Wednesday’s usual scent of old books and incense was present, mixed with traces of wet grass, a reminder of your earlier excursion. Another smell you could identify was the pungent odor of days-old garbage. Your nose scrunched. Of course, you chose an alleyway with a dumpster.
Your posture loosened, muscles relaxing as you sent Wednesday yet another nod.
“One thing you can taste.”
The metallic taste of blood on your tongue almost made you startle. Pain flared in your cheek, an answer to your question of where it came from. You weren’t sure when you bit it, and presently, you didn’t really care.
Swallowing harshly, you gave the girl before you a shaky thumbs up. The firm set of her jaw relaxed as she continued to observe you. You returned the favor, gently resting your chin on your knees as you watched her.
“Who was she?” she asked, tone softer than usual.
Not expecting the question, you blinked. “Hm?”
“The woman, who was she?”
You swallowed. This was never something you wanted Wednesday to know about, but you supposed she deserved some sort of explanation after helping you. 
“Former foster parent. Just one of the many people to hurt me over the years,” you admitted with a wry chuckle.
Wednesday didn’t laugh.
The faint sound of instruments caught your attention. It seemed that you were officially missing the unveiling.
“Shouldn’t you be playing?” you asked, remembering Weems’ comment about Wednesday’s cello earlier that day.
“The Jericho high school band doesn’t need me. You do. Weems will get over it.” She maneuvered herself to sit down next to you, bringing her knees up to mimic your pose. The space between you was virtually nonexistent, but she still wasn’t quite touching you, which you appreciated.
A few minutes passed in silence. The lingering effects of your panic began to fade, leaving behind an all-encompassing tiredness that nearly made you slump over. 
Beside you, Wednesday sat perfectly still, occasionally sending glances that you pretended not to notice for her sake.
The chill she emanated was too soothing for you to really care about it anyways. You resisted the urge to lean closer, to steal more of it for yourself. But you just further lowered your body temperature with your powers instead.
You rested your head back against the wall. Honestly, just being within such close proximity of Wednesday was nice. You swore you could stay sitting there all day with her if time allowed…
An explosion in the distance made you jump. Concerned, you turned to Wednesday who looked much too unsurprised for it to be a coincidence. Only now did you notice Thing’s conspicuous absence. Brows furrowing, you leaned forward. “Wednesday, what did you do?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she replied easily, lips quirking at the screams of terror that arose from the town square. Promptly, she stood and tilted her head down at you. “Come on, we need to secure our seats at the back of the bus.”
A soft nod was all you could manage in response. Standing was more of a struggle than you anticipated, your exhaustion so heavy it felt as if it settled into your very bones and weighed your limbs down, but after a few attempts, you were on your feet.
The moment you gained a semblance of stability, Wednesday snagged your sleeve and tugged you out of the alley, her grip gentler than you’d expect as she guided you back to the bus. You didn’t miss the joyful spark in her eyes at the chaos unfolding around the town.
When you arrived at the bus, the door was wide open and your companion wasted no time hauling you both inside, immediately making a beeline for the back row. She stopped in front of the seats you occupied on the ride into Jericho, dropping your sleeve as she stepped aside for you to sit.
You gave her a tired smile, grateful that she was giving you the window this time, and collapsed onto the seat. Wednesday slipped in right after you, sitting noticeably closer this time. Close enough that her arm lightly rested against yours.
Heat flared in your cheeks, but you didn’t dare point it out. You just rested your head against the window and closed your eyes.
The slow arrival of other students and staff barely registered, your focus altering between the events of the hour prior, and the comfortingly cold weight of Wednesday’s arm pressing against yours.
The bus ride back to school passed by in a blur and you were being pulled off the bus by Wednesday before you even realized it had stopped.
In a similar fashion, Wednesday dragged you by the sleeve to your dorm, all but shoving you toward your closet once inside.
“Get changed and get some rest. I will return in a few hours after I deal with something,” she said, eyeing you as she edged back toward the door.
“Where are you going?” you asked, concerned that she would try to continue investigating by herself. Wednesday turned to you, and for a moment you were convinced she would tell you that “what she did was none of your concern” or just leave altogether without a word, but at the last second her demeanor shifted.
“It’s nothing to do with the monster. I won’t be putting myself in danger in any way, you have my word,” she assured you, tone firm. There was no room for argument, and if you were being honest, you were compelled to believe her anyway.
You nodded slowly. “Ok.”
She held your gaze for another second then turned and strode out the door. You stayed standing in your spot until her footsteps faded completely.
Fatigue weighed on you once more and that was enough motivation for you to quickly shower and change into dry clothes. You abandoned your discarded uniform in the bathroom to dry, halfheartedly trudging to your bed and flopping down on it.
Scattered thoughts littered your brain, taking you from one turbulent topic to the next. Crackstone, Wednesday’s vision, the monster, Mary—until Wednesday herself came up and instantly everything else was irrelevant.
You thought about the way she treated you today, how she helped you, how she touched you. It made you much happier than it ought to.
As your eyes slipped shut, you wondered about where she could be. You just hoped she was safe.
Finally, your exhaustion overtook you, thoughts of Wednesday sending you into a deep slumber.
-
Hours later, you were woken by a sharp knock on your door.
The harsh sound nearly sent you tumbling out of bed. You were half-tempted to not answer it, but Wednesday said she’d be back later and the last thing you wanted to do was keep her waiting.
So you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, smiling when you were met with Wednesday’s usual deadpan stare. She walked past you into your dorm, not bothering to wait for an invitation she knew you’d give her, and while you shut the door, you took the chance to look at her.
She appeared unharmed. Her uniform, now dry, was perfectly situated as always and not a single hair on her head was displaced. She looked as if she’d just returned from a peaceful walk through the woods, but something told you that was far from the truth.
Wednesday walked over to set her bag down on your desk, carefully slipping something out of it before turning to face you. She beckoned you over and you complied.
“I was told to give this to you.” She extended an envelope in your direction.
A brow raised as you took the envelope, inspecting it closely. You never got mail, so you were immediately suspicious, but it looked harmless enough. A simple, white envelope, entirely blank besides the small writing of your name on the back.
Curious, you ripped it open and to your surprise, it was a letter from Mary. The scrawl was messier than usual, almost panicked, but the handwriting was distinctly hers. You read through it slowly, your initial apprehension turning to disbelief.
The letter detailed all of her transgressions against you and how genuinely, unerringly apologetic she was for hurting you.
Under the body of text, her name was written in a red ink so dark, you’d think that it was blood… And there was a smudge of crimson at the bottom of the page. As if the ink had been crudely spilled onto the paper.
You knew you shouldn’t be finding enjoyment in this. Frankly, you should be terrified but the feeling that bloomed in your chest was the furthest thing from fear.
“Is it to your liking?” she asked, jaw set in determination. The look in her eyes told you that if you said no, she would go back to Mary and make her write another one. If she was still alive that is.
“Yes, it is,” you said, dumbfounded, “but you really didn’t need to do anything, Wednesday.”
“She deserved it,” she retorted, a touch of hostility in her tone. A beat. Then, “You said there were others. If you give me their names, I will hunt them down and seek retribution on your behalf.”
The declaration shouldn’t have made your cheeks warm, nor should the bloodthirsty look in her eyes, but it did. It was equal parts horrifying and charming—the perfect cocktail of emotions to get your heart racing.
Maybe Wednesday was starting to rub off on you more than you thought.
“That…won’t be necessary,” you said slowly. You knew you should just leave it; you really did. But you couldn’t help yourself. “How exactly did you find out where she was staying?”
The ghost of a smirk appeared on her lips, all traces of hostility replaced with blatant self-assuredness. “I have my ways.”
Her blatant cockiness pulled a laugh out of you, the first of the day in fact. You wondered if you were imagining the relief in Wednesday’s eyes at the sound. Turning back to the paper, you sobered a bit.
“Wednesday, seriously, thank you. This is more than most people have ever done for me,” you admitted. The ethics of whether you should be thanking her be damned, this was a touching gesture in your mind. Shameful or not, you were going to properly thank her.
The sudden emotional vulnerability seemed to catch her off guard, eyes widening slightly. But she caught herself quickly. Her eyes darkened a bit and her smirk softened, turning into something suspiciously akin to an actual smile. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.”
Another wave of warmth rushed through you, and you prayed that it wasn’t visible on your cheeks. It struck you that this was the first time you’d ever seen a (possibly) genuine smile on her face. 
With that, the room lapsed into silence and like always, you let it sit between you.
She, too, let the quiet linger, holding your gaze with a confidence only she possessed. For just a moment, her eyes flicked downward, the movement so fast it was nearly imperceptible.
Nearly.
It was over just as quickly as it began and by the time you properly registered it, Wednesday was straightening up, dark eyes fixed on yours once more.
“Our investigation will resume tomorrow assuming there are no more unplanned interruptions. Meet me in my dorm after classes tomorrow.”
“Of course,” you responded automatically, still trying to figure out if what you saw was real or another possible figment of your imagination.
She headed for the door, and you panicked. You wanted to say something, anything to get her to stay for just one more moment. But nothing came to mind (nothing you had the courage to say, anyways).
Suddenly, she paused, turned to face you once more.
“Good night.”
You smiled. “Good night, Wednesday.”
A final nod and she was out the door, closing it behind her with a soft click.
Again, you stayed there until the echo of her footsteps was no more. You looked down at the letter in your hand, pursing your lips. Reluctantly, you set it down on your desk. You would unpack all of your feelings regarding it later. Now, you had more pressing things to deal with.
For the second time, you flopped onto your bed, but this time, sleep was the last thing on your mind. In its place was the girl that chilled you with her presence mere minutes prior.
The smile on your face was immovable, as if it were permanently etched into your skin. You replayed the conversation over and over again in your head, highlighting the moments before she left.
You wondered, maybe pointlessly, if she could possibly like you back… Either way, you supposed it didn’t really matter now.
Even if she didn’t feel what you did, today’s ministrations proved that she at least cared for you on some level. That simple fact was enough to send you into a high unlike any other. 
The idea of her actually reciprocating your feelings only propelled you further, your giddiness threatening to swallow you whole as you lay in your bed.
You spent the remainder of your night in a quiet daze, your mind consumed with nothing but familiar obsidian eyes and an addictively deadly smirk.
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kotir-propaganda · 9 months
Text
Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.
-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.
-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?
-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!
-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.
-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack
-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.
-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!
-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.
-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy
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h3110-dar1in9 · 3 months
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Hi, hello, I'm back <3
Okokok so since you write for Brahms I have a request 👉👈
So when I first watched the movie(s but the second one was meh) I thought Gretta (I think that's her name ??) Was kind of a b^tch like ?? She was so mean to our sweet baby wall boy
So....Brahms with a reader who's like sweet n motherly even before they knew he was living in the walls because our baby needs some love..
Make sure you drink some water and have a wonderful day/night
Mwah <3
Ooo I love this! I do agree that the second movie was bleh but Brahms deserves love! He has so much messed up trauma he just needs love!!
Brahms x Motherly Reader
Word count: 😬
An: I may have went a bit overboard on this.
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I had always loved children from a young age. I was used to raising my siblings and cousins alike, so babysitting was no problem for me at all. I had just recently moved to rural England, and sadly as it may seem finding work was a tad bit… complicated. Through it was my luck that I miraculously found an ad in the paper for a lovely couple needing someone to babysit their young son. Now I expected many things a quaint little cottage with an old frame maybe, but what I didn’t expect was a two story building that looked like it was from the Victorian era. The couple were very sweet. Although, I did find it albeit strange that the child I was supposed to babysit was a doll. I didn’t voice these thoughts, as it was quite obvious some sort of trauma coping mechanism was in the background with this ‘family’. All I did was simply smile and say hello to the young boy.
“Hello Brahms. I think we are going to be good friends!”
The parents paid me well, and to keep myself occupied they had a large and vast library with an astonishing assortment of books and novels. I had a very set schedule that I was to follow as I cared for Brahms. I was to get up and wake him gently and then get him ready for the day. I then had to prepare him breakfast. Alongside caring for Brahms I had to tend to the garden slightly as well as resetting the mouse traps in the basement. I continued this routine for what seemed like months before the sounds started. I first noticed it as I was reading to Brahms one day in the library. I had picked a simple book of fables and I was giving voices to the characters within it. I would show Brahms the pictures that were in the book and every so often I absentmindedly caressed the boys head. The strange thing was that when I did this I would hear a bang within the wall closest to me. Now it was merely me being curious after it had happened a couple of times. I had just thought that the home was old and it creaked and cracked every so often. I started to notice however that the thud would purposefully happen on the dot every time I caressed Brahms’s head. I paused in my reading momentarily and stroked the dolls head again.
THUD!
This one was louder than the others.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
I heard movement within the walls.
“It’s alright.”
I assumed the sounds that I was hearing was simply just a woodland creature that had slipped into the walls to avoid the cold.
“You can come out I won’t hurt you I promise.”
Now I expected a possum or even a raccoon to come out, but I wasn’t ready for a fully grown man to step out of the walls to stand in front of me.
I tried my best to remain calm so that I could think of a way to call the cops.
“Oh um hello there! Was it you making the noises?”
I heard a faint noise come from the man in front of me.
“Pretty.”
I flushed slightly. Well I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe violence or anger, but certainly not him calling me pretty!
“W-would you like to read with me?”
I panicked. I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do!
These events have now led me to having a grown man with a mask listen to me read as I stroked his head.
Well… at least the pay is good.
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dearsnow · 3 months
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WON’T STOP RUNNING (‘TIL WE REACH THE SUN)
- it’s just you, your best friend, the sunset, and a heap of buried feelings in a big grass field. (jacaerys velaryon x gn!reader, modern au, fluff)
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word count: 808
a/n - a fic for a fandom i’m not hyperfixated on anymore 🤯 it’s a bit rushed and not proofread, but i hope someone can get some enjoyment out of it anyways 😭 somewhat based on woodland by the paper kites
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You smile, squinting at the pink and yellow sky. Jacaerys is in front of you, hair set alight by the dying sun and a sparkle in both of his eyes. “Come on, don’t waste the moment!” He shouts, urging you forward.
The grass field around you is large and slightly slanted. Wild grasses cover the expanse, tall and blowing in the breeze. It’s nearing the end of spring, but the flowers and weeds are still in full bloom. As you move forward, legs picking up speed and wind whipping around your face, the stalks and leaves around your feet brush against your ankles.
Jacaerys is leading, running so fast you think he would be flying if he wasn’t firmly stuck to the ground. You, of course, like always, follow.
It’s been four years since you met the boy in your 7th grade chemistry class, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since. You were fourteen and awkward, and in all honesty, so was he. 
He seemed like the coolest person in the world; he had money, friends, these glasses with thick frames that were just beaten-up enough to be “stylish”. His hair was parted to the side, he had a little bit of acne, and his front tooth was twisted. Despite that, despite everything, no person could deny that he had a certain charm- you least of all. When he was seated next to you, your heart began to pound in your chest.
You also had an awkward phase. Multiple, if you really wanted to dig into it, but he stayed by your side the whole time. You just clicked like that, in a way neither he nor you had ever clicked before. 
He’s changed a lot since then. He discarded his glasses for contacts, though he still keeps a pair of thin frames tucked inside his backpack, he has a nicer, longer haircut, and his mom forced him into braces the year after you met him. You will always see him as younger, though, and the redness around his cheeks and forehead will never let him forget it.
“I’m coming, slow down!” You pant, stumbling over your own feet. “You’ve been insufferable since joining track.”
“And yet you suffer me.” He jokes, turning around to walk backwards. “Wrestling just wasn’t enough.” He’s strong now, something you so often forget. Gone are the days of being able to beat him in an arm wrestling competition.
The sun shines over him. He looks ethereal in the light; it makes you want to push him over to make him stop being the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. So, like a best friend would, you do.
He grabs onto your hand at the last moment, but the damage is done. He falls backwards, landing on a soft plush of grass. In a moment, you feel a tug on your arm and see the world spinning out of view. You fall on top of him, laughing so hard you think your lungs might explode. He’s got a grin on his face as you roll to the side.
“Getting violent, huh?” He laughs. “And here I was, thinking that you loved me too much to try and kill me.”
“Oh, I love you, sure. That’s why I always want to kill you.” You stare up at the sky while he stares at you. “It’s like when you see a cute baby animal and just want to squeeze it.”
He squints his eyes. He’s always been able to see under your words, getting through the cracks in your voice like he was meant to know something deeper. But, like the gentleman he is, he’ll never call you out on something that he wasn’t supposed to know. He’ll savor the moment for now. The comfort of knowing you love him in one way or another, just like how he loves you, is a quiet reassurance. 
“That’s sweet.” He scoffs. He gets up slowly, looking down at you still enveloped in the grass. His hand reaches out, offering an easy trip up for you. Your heart starts beating wildly at the idea of his palms touching yours, as if you’ve never touched him before. Of course, though, he has a trick up his sleeve.
He pulls you up and spins you around, causing you to trip on the side of his foot. Your footsteps stutter and he takes off, sprinting down the field while you’re still trying to regain your balance. 
“No fair! God, fuck you.” Your eyebrows are furrowed as your voice rings out, but the sound of his panting laughter puts a smile on your face. 
“You better catch up, ‘cuz I’m not stopping ‘til I reach the sun!” He calls. 
You roll your eyes as you chase after him, the sun sinking lower and lower on the horizon.
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Taglist (bolded are unable to be tagged): @mmmimilan @its-halleys-comet @savagemickey03 @persephonesportal @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @spaceandstars @bbosica @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy @ghostheartbeat @cecespizza01 @panelhone @writervaul-t
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maraschinomerry · 9 months
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Dinosaur Plasters
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Pairings: George Karim x fem!reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)
Summary: Years after being forced to say goodbye to your best friend, you join Lockwood & Co and one of the members seems awfully familiar...
Content: childhood friends reunited, emotional goodbye, misunderstandings, small mentions of blood, one instance of mild bad language
A/N: inspired by finding some cute heart print plasters I forgot I bought and immediately deciding George would be the clumsy kid who needs his own personal first aid kit
Word count: 3.6k
Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea
As a child, from almost as soon as you could walk, your mother would take you to the park near your house every week without fail. This was nothing particularly special as most children in the town, situated on the outskirts of London, ended up there at some point in their youth. You were unusual, though - your favourite was not the swings, nor the roundabout, nor the huge wooden climbing frame. In fact, it was not a part of the playground at all. It wasn't even the duck pond. Your favourite part of the whole park was the sprawling patch of woodland at the back of the playground. Only the most inquisitive children dared venture beyond the treeline, and even then many turned quickly back to the safety of daylight when faced with the gloom of the towering, tightly packed branches. Anything could be lurking in the darkness, and all it took was one unfounded rumour of a mysterious figure for it to become almost completely neglected. You didn't believe the stories, and actually thanked them for giving you uninterrupted access to your own personal den: a clearing a little ways further in. The first few times you visited, your mother accompanied you to make sure it was safe, and the two of you had gathered fallen branches to build a makeshift hut which still stood to this day. After that, she was more than happy for you to go alone, especially since there was no risk of you falling foul of any other children.
You were six and a half years old the day it happened. The call of the woods took you from your mother's hand as she veered towards a bench with her book, and you raced excitedly through the trees. The path to your den was second nature by now, and you allowed your attention to flicker to the intense scent of a fresh patch of wild garlic as you wove between the trunks. The edge of the clearing coming into view spurred you onwards. You didn't see the twisted root which had been uncovered by the weekend's storm disturbing the dirt around it. With a yelp you pitched forwards, body following the momentum of your outstretched foot and the other one yanking you back to where it had caught under the obstacle. Thankfully the force of your fall pulled it free, saving you from a sprained ankle, but your outstretched palms skidded roughly across the ground and something sharp and painful dug into your right leg below the hem of your shorts. When you pushed yourself into a sitting position and dusted off your hands, you winced at the droplets of blood forming in a sort of lattice on your grazed knee, a couple having already been left on the rock you'd collided with. This was supposed to be your safe, magical space. This wasn't supposed to happen. Your lower lip trembled as your vision grew blurry.
"Whoa, are you okay?" a small voice asked from behind. Frantically blinking away your tears, you looked up at an equally small and rather owlish boy, haloed against the soft rays filtering through the trees by a mass of black curly hair. In reality, he probably wasn't staring that widely, but the absurd thickness of his glasses magnified his dark, worried eyes to almost comic proportions.
" 'm fine," you sniffled, trying to tame where your hair had fallen out of its pigtails.
The boy moved further into the light, peering anxiously at your knee. Now you could make him out more clearly you could tell he was about your age, dressed in a vibrant orange coat and blue jeans and with the straps of a backpack fastened across his chest. "That looks sore," he frowned, nodding to where the droplets had merged into a thick red pool.
"I think it's not bad underneath, it just stings."
"I can fix it, if you want."
"Like a doctor?"
He nodded enthusiastically, unclipping his backpack and rummaging through the front pocket. "Yep, I'm going to be Doctor Karim when I grow up!"
It sounded so professional that you couldn't help but trust him as he found what he was looking for: a green pouch and from within that a thin white packet. He tore open the packet and pulled out a wipe which he pressed to your knee. It was cold and damp, and gave a biting sensation which made you draw breath in a hiss through your teeth.
"Sorry," the little doctor mumbled. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Oh, I'm going to be an agent." Your Talent had been apparent from the beginning and your mother had been trying to gently prepare you for the inevitable. Perhaps that was why she was comfortable letting you go off into the woods alone - you were quick enough to sense any threats and sensible enough to run from them.
"Whoa," the boy said again, this time drawn out in awe. "Well you're really really brave so you'll be a good agent." He gave you a bright, gap-toothed grin. The sharp pain disappeared from your skin, and he stuffed the now pinkish wipe back into its pack before taking out a large plaster. A hint of bluish colour was visible through the wrapper. That was odd, all the ones you had at home were plain skin tone. He peeled and pressed it to your knee with mastered ease, and you glanced down to see a square covered in blue and green triceratopses.
"Thanks, you're already a very good doctor."
He grimaced, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a slim rectangular plaster of a stegosaurus on his forearm. "I get lots of practice. Mummy says I'm like a baby giraffe."
You giggled, picturing him wobbling about. "We match!"
He helped you to your feet, watching intently how you placed your weight on your injured side. "Yeah, now we can be dinosaur buddies!" He paused, expression growing serious. "Is your mummy or daddy in the park? I can walk back with you."
"My mummy is." Your father wasn't in the picture. You glanced towards the path and thought about heading out of the woods, about your mother taking you home immediately to check over you, of saying goodbye to your new dinosaur buddy and maybe never seeing him again. You turned back into the clearing. "I'm okay, I can stay. Do you want to see my den, Doctor Karim?"
"Yes please!" he grinned. "And my proper name is George."
You took his hand and led him into the hut. "Mine's (name)."
Nearly 18 months was spent with you and George at one another's houses on every given opportunity. After emerging from the woods you'd managed to get both your mothers to meet and they got along well enough for regular play dates. Quietly, they were relieved the two of you had finally found a proper friend.
"Mum, can George come round for tea?" you asked one evening, bounding into the kitchen. Your mother was putting the finishing touches on a chicken pie she'd made, face flushed from the heat of the oven and apron covered in flour.
"Sorry love, not tonight. Brian's coming and we're going to have a family chat." Brian was her partner of almost a year. He lived in the Midlands, and came to visit whenever he wasn't working or you two would go up to see him. He was a great guy and you loved how happy he made your mother, but you were still disappointed to be kept away from your best friend.
"Family chat? About what?"
"Patience," she chuckled, "he'll be here soon, it wouldn't be fair to leave him out, would it? Just stick with us on this and then you can go and see George after tea, deal?"
The family chat turned out to be more of an ambush than a chat. Brian had proposed, and you were all going to move to his place up north. Immediately. Your mind was reeling.
What about school? As if the concept didn't exist outside of London.
I thought you wanted me to join one of the big agencies. A weak argument at best; you'd been adamant from the offset that you'd rather join a smaller, more personal operation.
Are you selling the house? Of course she was, otherwise the move would really just be an extended visit.
You were running out of ways to avoid the inevitable. A cold weight settled in your bones as for the first time in your life all the fight left you. You finally voiced it, the words coming out quiet and cracked, "But that means I have to say goodbye to…" You couldn't bring yourself to finish.
Brian glanced over apologetically as your mother laid a gentle hand on your arm. "I know, love, I'm sorry. We'll wash up, you go and talk to him."
You were in tears by the time you reached the Karim household. George's father answered the door, and by the pitying look he gave and the way he invited you in without questioning your emotional state, you knew your mother had already told both his parents.
You trudged up the stairs, every step harder to take than the one before it as they led you closer to the hardest thing you'd had to do in all your eight years. Maybe if you never reached the top, you could pretend it wasn't real, that you'd never have to face such a definitive ending. But that wasn't how it worked, and you steeled yourself as you reached the landing.
George was laid on his bed reading a comic when you nudged his door open. The moment he saw you, he shifted upright and rose to meet you. "What's wrong?"
"Brian proposed to mum."
"Oh." He knew how well you got on with the man. "That's a good thing, isn't it? Why are you sad?"
"Because we're going to move in with him."
"But he lives hours away."
You nodded slowly, resolve crumbling against his confusion. How else were you supposed to break it to him? Tears began to form again, and the sinking realisation dawned across his face. "You're leaving?"
The dam burst, and you collapsed onto his bed with a sob. "This weekend."
He sat down next to you with a sigh, crushed expression all the more apparent when he took his glasses off to wipe them angrily on his T-shirt. "It's not fair!" His anger subsided. "I don't want you to go."
"Me neither." You scanned the room, taking in the stacks of books, the cartoon posters on the wall, the half-drunk glass of orange juice on the side table. Looking everywhere but at him. It was the only way to stop it from hurting.
"It'll be okay. You can come and visit whenever you want, we can have a sleepover. Mum and dad say my big brother can't have a girl stay in his room, but you can stay in here if I ask nicely." He was trying so hard to be optimistic, you couldn't bear to tell him otherwise. It would be easier for him if he thought you were coming back. It would be easier for you if you could pretend he was right. You nodded shakily, wiping your eyes as you held your arms out. He buried himself in your shoulder, and you clung to him as though you could give him a lifetime's worth of hugs in one go. When you let go, you quickly stood and moved to the door before he could react to follow. You turned back with an unconvincing smile.
"Bye bye, George. See you soon."
London was just as busy as you remembered it. You hadn't been back even once since you left but now, stepping onto the bustling platform, it felt like only yesterday. But it wasn't. It had been many years, enough for you to grow up, join an agency and become a fully trained agent. Oh, if only George could see you now.
You'd thought of your best friend a lot since you parted ways. There had been other friends in that time, sure, but none you connected with as well as him. A small part of you wondered if he was still in the city, if you'd find him again by chance or by design.
A taxi took you from the train station to Portland Row. Word of the famous, or infamous, Lockwood & Co had spread throughout the country and you knew as soon as you read about the odd little agency, spearheaded by its namesake and the incredibly talented Lucy Carlyle, that it was where you wanted to work. Small enough to be what you'd always planned on, but big enough to give you the right opportunities. You'd written to Mr Anthony Lockwood and he'd invited you for a sort of interview. With the sun beaming down, you crossed the iron line and knocked confidently on the door. A shuffling sound preceded the clicking of the lock, and as the person inside revealed themself your breath caught in your throat.
Before you stood your childhood all grown up. Light brown skin, unruly black curls, dark eyes shining behind much thinner glasses, orange checked shirt. George. You faltered. This was too good to be true. It couldn't be true. Could it?
The boy peered at you curiously, and the hopeful part of your brain almost convinced you there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. Oh my god, it's you. I can't believe you found me. I never stopped thinking about y-
"Can I help you? Miss…?"
You snapped back to reality. He was still peering at you. "Oh, um, (last name)." His expression dropped a little, and your heart sank. He didn't recognise you after all; it wasn't him. It had been so long, it didn't occur to you that the name you gave, which you and your mother took from Brian after the wedding, wasn't the one George had known you by.
"You're here for the interview. Come in."
The boy led you into a cosy sitting room, where people you recognised as Lockwood and Carlyle were deep in discussion. They looked up when you entered and smiled.
"Ah, Miss (last name), welcome," Lockwood gestured to one of the sofas for you to sit. "Thank you for coming, it's an honour to have our agency so in demand. I believe you mentioned in your letter that you've heard of my associate? Lucy, meet (name)." The girl, Lucy, gave a friendly wave, which you returned. The other boy had disappeared, and you fought the urge to look for him. It would be weird, he wasn't your friend, he was a total stranger. That total stranger, as if summoned by your thoughts alone, returned with a tray of tea and handed you a cup. "And of course," Lockwood continued, "you've just met George." You almost choked on your tea. It wasn't possible. Of course it was, George was a common enough name. But to look so much like your George? Still, he hadn't recognised you. He'd forgotten all about you. Or perhaps he was choosing not to acknowledge you, that was how much it had hurt him when you left. How could you possibly say anything to remind him of that pain now?
Those first few days at Lockwood & Co were the most beautiful torture. You grew more certain by the minute that the boy who met you at the door was your George as the memories of his little quirks and habits came flooding back. The way he wiped his glasses when he was annoyed. How he couldn't always make a 'th' sound. His slightly messy handwriting. But it had also been so many years that things had changed, just enough that you couldn't be absolutely certain it was him. It wasn't like you could ask, either. You'd ruled out talking to him about it that first day, but you hardly thought you could approach your new colleagues and ask "is it possible that the boy currently roasting a skull in a jar is my long-lost childhood best friend who doesn't seem to remember me or care that I'm back?" All you could do was be grateful that you had him, or at least a semblance of him, back in your life.
You were on your way up to the attic room you shared with Lucy when a loud banging ahead made you pause. Tiptoeing onto the landing, you found the source of the racket: George, in only an oversized T-shirt, pounding on the bathroom door and drowning out the roar of running water within.
"Come on, Lockwood!" he yelled, slumping his forehead against the door with a thud. Your George had done that once when you locked him out of your room. He'd taken the last piece of cake from the kitchen and you'd stormed off in a sulk until he headbutted your door enough for you to let him in, where he promptly presented it to you because he'd taken it to share.
The water continued.
"Anthony John Lockwood, stop hogging the shower or so help me god!"
The water continued.
Glowering, George stormed past you and down the stairs. You began to follow, intrigued by what he had planned. Seconds later, you heard the squeak of the kitchen tap, and seconds after that a shrill yelp came from the bathroom.
"You're a bloody dick, George Casper Karim!"
Oh god. It was him.
Butterflies exploded in your stomach and fireworks in your chest as you raced down the stairs to the kitchen. George was nowhere to be seen, but a stack of papers had appeared where he normally sat at the table. You moved closer. On top was a brochure about Fittes. You pushed it aside to find CV templates, an article about one Quill Kipps, a news clipping about Marissa and Penelope Fittes, a stapled sheaf entitled "application form". You slumped into the nearest chair in disbelief. You'd finally got confirmation that a miracle had occurred and brought your best friend back into your life, and he was preparing to leave it all over again. This must have been how he felt. It was unbearable. Not much wonder he was acting like he never knew you if this was what you'd done to him.
"Whoa, are you okay?" that oh so familiar voice came from the entrance to the basement. George was at your side in seconds, one hand on your back and the other clutching worriedly at your arm as you tried to suck in enough breath to fill the hole in your chest.
"It's nothing," you lied.
"It doesn't seem like nothing. Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He traced down your arm to your hand, feeling for a cut or bump.
Every feeling you'd been holding back finally burst free in a helpless cry. "You're leaving! I just got you back and now I'm going to lose you all over again! I can't believe I put you through this, it hurts so much and not in a way that Doctor Karim can fix."
The hand in yours stilled and he took a sharp, juddering gasp. You turned nervously, terrified of how he might be looking at you. The face you found, incredibly close, was soft with amazement and as close to crying as your own.
"It's really you," he whispered.
You squeezed his hand, your lungs slowing with relief. "I didn't think you recognised me, or didn't want to remember."
His hand stayed in yours, and the other wiped away your tear. The brimming of his own tears had fogged up the bottom of his glasses. "Why wouldn't I want to remember you? You meant… mean everything to me, and when I heard your name I hoped it was you, always knew you'd make a great agent, but then your surname was different and you didn't seem to know me so I started doubting myself."
"Sorry," you mumbled. "We took Brian's name."
George chuckled lightly. "And, what, you figured I was mad at you for leaving and that's why I didn't say anything? (Name), I know it wasn’t your choice, and even if it was I'm not going to risk you walking away, I can't lose you again." His thumb rubbed tenderly across your cheek, but you averted your gaze to the documents on the table.
"But you were planning to leave."
He followed your gaze. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I've had these forever, I just put them out when Lockwood's winding me up. Drives him up the wall to think I might quit."
"I know the feeling."
He laughed, then suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room with only a "wait there" shouted back over his shoulder. You frowned, puzzled. Moments later he returned, shoving the papers to the other side of the Thinking Cloth and replacing them with a thin off-white rectangle tinged with blue. A dinosaur plaster.
"It's stupid, but I've been saving this ever since you left. No more hurt, right?"
You picked up the plaster with a smile and pulled him into a hug that you thought you'd never let go from. He pressed a quick kiss into your hair as he leant in.
"Not unless you're there to patch me up, dinosaur buddy."
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creepling · 2 months
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To Devour is To Love
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A Texas Chainsaw Massacre (The Video Game) Fanfiction
synopsis: winona has been wanting to run away (again). and an altercation with her mother finalises her decision to leave for good.
tags: original character. animal death. childhood memories/trauma. domestic violence. neglect. depictions of corpses. canon-typical cannibalism. 4k words.
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Chapter One: Tainted Meat
January 26th, 1961
Snow threatens to fall, the dry grass crisp as the small girl padded her tiny feet through the field. A boy stormed in front, animal traps swinging in his idle hand, his chin tucked between the fur collar of an aviator jacket.
“Johnny, Johnny!” The girl cried, her eyes blinded by a woollen hat slipping down her head.
Johnny halted, turning to watch his sister’s struggle, letting out a huff. “I’m away to hunt, Winona. Go back inside,”
“No, no. I’m coming- I wanna come!” She chanted. Johnny compressed a chuckle at the sight of his little sister bubbling and jumping, her oversized jacket drowning her small frame.
You would think they were blood-related, born from the same mother and father. They think they are bonded by blood, and the kids have never known anything else. They look the same, so eyebrows were never raised. Dark hair and eyes, warm ivory skin. Winona’s hair had a kink compared to the slickness of Johnny’s mop. Nancy picked carefully on what kids to claim as her own.
Johnny gave up convincing Winona to return to the house, crouching and presenting his back. “Come on then, ya rascal,” He groans at the impact of her jumping on him. She clung to him like a chimp, peeking her face over his shoulder, ready for the adventure ahead.
Woodland was scarce in the Texan country, but Johnny knew the little trees where the rabbits liked to go. Determination was his fuel to keep light on his feet, his eyes alert, and be two steps ahead, all the things Drayton taught him. When Nubbins was not robbing graves, he was a good hunter, too. But Johnny wanted to be the best. He had to start proving himself as he ‘became more man by the minute’.
Winona did not have to prove anything. She was still the baby, after all. Running barefoot along the hardwood and crying over splinters wedged in the balls of her feet. Picking daisies and smacked on the head if she touched Nancy’s flower beds. A mixture of laughter and terror when Nubbins and Robert dangled her over the well by the ankles. Learning how to braid hair with Sissy and getting into trouble if she stole her lipstick. Nancy didn’t let the other side of the family over regularly, letting the family bond wear thin until it was time to reconcile for meat. So, it was mostly Winona and Johnny, venturing off and checking the traps.
Winona bubbled and gazed, her chin resting on her brother’s shoulder. “Where are all the rabbits?” She couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s quite right.
“More down yonder,” Johnny mumbled, hiking her body further up as she threatened to slide off. The crackle of his boots on the dry leaves, crystalised by the omen of cold weather. Winona watched it sparkle in the dull sun, the grey clouds hung low like a dirty cotton blanket.
Johnny lowers Winona to the ground when he spots the first trap, the flash of white fur startling his senses. Hurrying over, he collected his first prize, considering how dry the season has been. Nancy’s words echoing his mind, think of it this way, son. Our hunting season is when they are out driving on that main road, hitchhiking, road trips, coming home from college. Prime hunting season, that is.
As Johnny collected his third catch and reconstructed the traps, Winona threw leaves in the air and showered in the fall. Johnny side eyed her, a grimace on his thin lips. “You ‘gon eat tonight, Winnie?”
In her own world, humming a tune, Johnny stood up and stared hard at her blatant innocence, “You better eat. You want momma hittin’ ya again?”
Winona stopped, fumbling with a leaf in her hand, shaking her head. She adjusted her hat and squinted at him. “No, I will, I will,”
Johnny didn’t believe her, but he smiled anyway. Before he could suggest heading back home, a wail echoed in the distance.
Winona grew tense, retreating to clenching Johnny’s trousers. Instinctively he rested a hand on her head, but paid no mind. “Sounds like an animal,”
“It might be dying,” Winona said airly, her eyes big.
The promise of a larger prey perked Johnny’s interest. He told his sister to stay put, but she trailed along, following the dying whines of the prey. Johnny gazed down the dip of the ground, identifying a deer’s beige fur camouflage in the decayed leaves. Winona caught on eventually but she was frozen, her face unmoving. The deer was alive, but looked to be dying throughout the day, its blood watering the earth. Johnny inspected its skin, checking for maggots and signs of infection.
“This could feed us for a whole month,” Johnny suggested, “Momma might want us to bring it back.”
Winona wanted to protest, but Johnny was strong enough to lift its back legs and drag its dead weight. “I want you to push how you can, got it?”. As she feebly pushed it up the terrain, Winona was overwhelmed by the smell. Rotten, earthy, but refrigerated enough in the cold to pick the good bits out of it. Flies pestered its unblinking eyes. Winona’s arms short and weak, she used her back to push with all her might, her face pressing against the coarse hair on its chest, her eyes locked on its expression. The smell was so strong she could taste it on her tongue. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew it suffered. The stress and full age of the animal poisoning the meat, bittering its sweet taste. It was the first time the repulsion was overbearing, no hope of avoidance.
August 14th 1972
That day in ‘61 is the pinnacle if you wanna know what kind of person I am. It made me unique within my circumstances, for worse more than anything. Then again, I never had a chance at a normal life. I can’t just tell you right off the bat, because there is more to it than the macabre. It was a lethal nature to be raised in, and the poison was thick in my veins. I never had a chance at a normal life. But I tried, I really fucking did.
The family had the biggest catch of the season.
Bubba slammed the meat on the wooden table, the one in momma’s basement for chopping. Drayton and Nubbins were watering at the mouth. I hung by the doorframe, out of sight, the smell already disgusting me. I peaked around, wanting to size up the catch. I was overcome with nausea.
From the smell I knew this meat came from tainted flesh. The image of the victim came to my mind. It was a guy, for sure. Smelled like piss and cigarettes. He was aged, in his forties. A trucker sleeping in the passenger seat by the road. I looked at Nubbins, the wiry smile on his face. Surely it wasn’t him that caught him.
“I- I just jabbed the knife right in him, yeah,” Nubbins tripped over his words, “I drove the truck close enough and he was bleeding all over!”
He was as built as a woodlouse, but I suppose he was quick. Kept the guy on edge for long enough, then went in with the strike. His swiss army knife poked an incision in his neck, letting it pour, jiving for the steering wheel as the man clutched his wound. The stress contaminates the meat, peppering its sweet taste.
Johnny was in the room. He wasn’t a boy any more. My brother, further in age, that driven look in his eye. He scared me most days. “The meat got too much fat on it. Who’d you catch, Curly Howard?”
“You shut your bleedin’ mouth, boy,” Drayton cursed tiredly.
“Y-Yeah. Maybe if you were good at catchin’ we’d be eating some nice girls, yeah?” Nubbins chirped, ready to bounce if Johnny squared up. And he was, until a looming presence entered. Plugersville was still a touchy subject, anyone who brought it up had Johnny’s blood running hot.
“Now, don’t go teasin’ my Johnny,” Nancy drawled, entering casually, b-lining the meat. She had already told Bubba to go wash up, who was hiding in the shadows throughout the conversation. Maybe I could’ve done the same if it weren’t for the glances my presence received, asking why are you here? Momma had Johnny’s back every time, yet I was to not exist.
“What’s you say, sis? Gettin’ some? We came all this way, so don’t let us down,” Drayton said. A deal had been made a while back because of Johnny’s reckless behaviour. We had no meat coming from our end, so Nancy has been trading with the men for some time. Drayton didn’t mind it, meant he had some power over our reliance. Nubbins and Bubba’s bloody hands dominated Johnny and I’s bare, dry ones.
“Can’t you get any better?” Nancy said, dissatisfied.
“You got no room for luxury, misses,” Drayton drawled, “Your boy let the good ones run off. How many times do I gotta remind ya?”
“I know you got better, and stop bringing my boy into this-” Nancy was riling up.
“Your boy is in this, he is the reason why we’re doing this. You're running dry. Get lil’ Winnie to get a catch, instead of making her docile!”
The mention of my name pinged my attention, and my stomach sank at the sound of momma’s scoff. “Winona? The one that don’t like blood getting spilled?” Nancy mocked, “But sure, I’ll take your rotten ass meat. But once we get the catch, you’re eating the dregs, y’hear?”
Drayton only smiled, mocking a handshake, before shoving his hands in his pockets. He announced their departure, scraping by me as they left. Drayton stopped by my side, his firm hand clenching my arm.
“Help the family out, whatcha say Winnie? Prove that darn momma of yours you got it in ya,” his words echoed against my ears, laying rest deep in memory. I neither nodded nor shook my head, all I did was look at him, trying not to seem so hopeless.
I took some alone time in what momma called the ‘man cave’. When supper comes along momma knows to find me here, staring at the deadshot eyes of the men. Cross-legged on the floor, the television static drowning all the noise above, focusing my mind in other places. The first man, skeleton and bone, he was the first man momma ever killed. Only his state can assure me it was a long time ago. The man in the armchair, his skin like leather. He was a recent one, preserved to be a lump of muscle, slouching with his head bound.
I heard momma’s steps coming down the stairs, grunting as she slid open the heavy metal door. “Why you always wasting time down here?” She said with a heavy voice, laced with annoyance. She doesn’t like me thinking about them, it’s none of my business according to her.
“You never told me which one was papa,” I muttered, a little afraid to ask. But what did I have to lose? If I stick to my plan, this could be my only chance to find out.
“Is the love I show not good enough?” Nancy jumps into defense, “I raise you and you wanna know which one of these bastards is your father? You ungrateful-”
“It ain’t about that, momma.” I sigh, getting annoyed. I rub my temple, “I just wanna know, is all. It ain’t gonna mean much, just curious.”
She studied me for a while, motioning towards the couch before pointing at the man with the leather skin. “He was a low life. Living off his papa’s money to drink and gamble and cause trouble. I’m so hard on you because I don’t want you turning out like him. Once I had you, he wasn’t much better. Killing him was like pest control, the darn rat.” I listened to momma, took in every word, my eyes piercing the dead man before me. My dad, replicated for his sins, limp on the armchair. Instead of looking dead, he looked drunk, falling asleep while watching the television. Momma did us a favour keeping him asleep.
“You did good, momma.” I say, meekly smiling up at her. Her face stayed straight, giving me a stern nod.
“Now, enough chit chat. Supper time.” She hurried me to my feet and we met again by the dinner table. Fidgeting with my cutlery, I wonder why I always gotta be the one to come up on time. Johnny hasn’t turned up yet, he could be out in the town for all we know. He had a habit of doing that; straying off. I suspect he doesn’t like being the only man in the house. He soon left my mind, and entered the house, his boots heavy on the hardwood. I studied his face as he took off his gloves. Is he angry today? Ever since Plugersville he has been on edge, possibly insecure. The uncles never praised his achievements, but they sure taunt his mistakes. Momma’s coddling doesn’t help much either. He shuts down her advances, but sometimes I catch a glimpse in his eye, as if he’s giving a second thought. Any other man would just get a girlfriend to make him feel good, but Johnny has a habit of killing his. I suppose that’s why he doesn’t lose his temper with me much. I don’t pay attention to him, but I miss the days when I looked up to him. I keep quiet around him, and I nod when he barks orders. I know he senses my fear, but he rarely uses it to his advantage. It’s one of the many things I cannot make sense of.
Momma planted supper on the table. This is when things get tricky. I’m known as somewhat of a ‘picky eater’. Mind that day with the deer? Ever since then I can’t swallow down my food. It only happens with meat, and you could class me as vegetarian. They never understood it, they always think I’m overreacting. Momma had it laid out like a steak, and I circled round the meat for the vegetables, trying my best to ignore the smell. Like I said before, I can envision the meat, the way one might think of a cow when eating beef. But humans are much more complex, they have different smells, tastes, they wear stylish clothes and have different hair types. I could still smell the piss and cigarettes, the musk of a male. The meat has to be washed before carved and skinned, rid of all odours. Even then, it all depends on the age. What do you think tastes better, lamb or mutton? This, in all ways, applies to humans. I wouldn’t go around eating newborns, even just a twenty-something is just as tender.
When I stomach tainted meat I think of the last good meal I had. Two summers ago, Johnny picked up a couple on the road, offered them the house for a pit stop. Momma was in town, so he relied on me to prepare the meat. I took my research into practice. Johnny locked the women in his ice room, so I had the man. Washing his bare skin, rubbing the grooves of his muscles. He had soft brown hair, hazel eyes; an absolute dream boat. He was all natural muscle, he must have been a swimmer, the scent of salt water lingered on his skin. His fingers were callous at the tips on the left side, I guest him more a guitar player than a fiddle one. His face was calm and vacant, since the death was quick. No tense bones or rubber loins, he never lived through stress in his short life. He was perfect. I was calm during the procedure, and through taking my time I finished him by supper. I kept his liver and bones, wrapped the meat of his thighs and breast. His dregs in the ice room for safe keeping. I cooked him with momma’s herbs and red wine, slow cooking in a pot. By the time it came to eat, the meat broke apart with the knife. The first bite was intense, and the last exhilarating.
The smell of the tainted meat outweighed my fantasy. My vegetables off the plate and in my system. I glared at the steak, swallowing the lump in my throat, and got to cutting the first bite. The knife pierced the rough meat, I added elbow grease to break the fat, but it only released the foul smell like opening the door to a public bathroom. I gagged, quickly concealing it. It caught the attention of momma.
“Winona, eat that meat,” Nancy said.
A wave of sickness gurgled in my stomach, and I retaliated. Momma set her cutlery down, her eyes stern and mean. I shook my head, fighting back the overwhelming feeling gradually taking over. I felt like I could cry.
“What’s so bad about it, huh? I cooked it real nice. I guess nothing is good enough for ya,” Nancy was going on the way she normally does. Most times it was bearable to eat to keep her calm, but this time was different. Maybe it’s because I’m mad we haven’t gotten a good catch in months. Maybe it’s because she’s never thought of what’s best for me. Maybe I’m just fucking sick of this.
“I ain’t eating it,” I recoil, “How can you not smell that? It’s rancid!”
“Momma’s cooking ain’t rancid!” Johnny defended.
“It's not momma’s cooking, it’s the meat! It’s the goddamn fucking meat!” I broke into a yell, slamming the table. The cutlery clanked and my hands were shaking. “I’m sick of eating goddamn roadkill. I’m sick of eating the whores you bring home, and I’m sick of eating men that smell like shit.”
Johnny clenched his fists, but momma lay a hand on his arm. She was gonna deal with this. My eyes wide and dried out as I looked at her, ready for the beating. This time was different, this time I felt I might actually fight back.
Momma rose in her chair, circling around the table slowly, keeping me small as she towered over me. My gaze never left hers, her milky eye vacant, her jasmine eye piercing my soul. My dark eyes glared, my cheekbone twitched, refusing to cower.
“Fine, if ya not gonna eat it,” her voice was oddly calm, and her hand reached for the plate. In a split decision, it grabbed the meat into a fist, her other hand grabbed my neck, as she stuffed the meat into my mouth. “I’ll make ya eat it!”
The force toppled me over in the chair, my back colliding with the floor. Momma pinned me down, pried my jaw wide and choked me with the meat. My screeches were muffled, the meat’s fat stuffing the back of my throat. It’s tainted taste poisoning my taste buds and engulfing my sense of smell. I gagged, my hands gripping momma’s arms, my nails digging into her skin. She did not wince or flinch, not even a blink as her eyes glazed in madness.
“You ungrateful fucking bitch,” she swore, “If I’d known you’d be this bratty, I woulda drank moonshine until your tiny heart stopped beating while you was in the womb.”
Johnny rose in his chair, calculating momma’s abuse, not showing any signs of stepping in. My wide eyes locked onto him, begging for mercy.
“He ain’t gonna help ya, sweetie! He knows just as much as me you’re in need of punishment,” Nancy began to yell, “Don’t look at him, look at me! You dirty fucking whore!”
With every insult my adrenaline pumped through my veins. My heart racing, building a collusion of strength. With a yell, I mustered it all into flipping momma onto the ground, gaining my short-living dominance. I spat the meat out of my mouth, my hands clawing and punching her face. Johnny grabbed my arms, flying me off her, but I swiped the steak knife from the table and pressed it to his neck. I must have looked like a wild dog, as his eyes flashed with fear, then settled into a dark, impressed stare.
I flinched the knife in momma’s direction as she got to her feet, massaging her jaw, glaring me daggers. Johnny stepped between us. “Alright, enough of this cat fight. It’s over.”
“I should kill you right now, girl.” Nancy drawled, spitting venom.
“Enough! If any of ya start again I’ll finish ya myself.” We both stood in bated breath as Johnny settled the fight. “Winona, go to your room.”
My fizzing stillness tested Johnny’s patience, and he yelled at me again, “Now!”
I storm off, heading to my room, slamming the door and pacing the room. If any moment was ever a better sign, it was now. I grabbed my luggage from under the bed, pulled out the drawers, and began packing my belongings.
I was to leave before sunrise and I lay restless in bed, my shoes and daywear on. I took a shower and washed my hair, brushed the matting out my hair, and got ready for the city. I twirled a knife in my hands, the stimulation easing my restlessness. I checked my watch, three twenty six in the morning. I had to leave before momma and Johnny woke up. I want to vanish into thin air, it’s the best for all of us. They ain’t going to be looking for me.
I sneak out the front door, tip-toeing over the creaks in the floorboards. I had them known from all the other times I snuck out, all the failed attempts of running away. This time was real and I was determined to keep it permanent. I unlocked the front door, locking it behind me, checking momma’s bedroom blinds were shut before I booked it for the gate. Shuffling through the flowerbeds, holstering my bag over my shoulder. Before I jumped the gate, I heard a scrape in the gravel behind me. Johnny emerges from the driveway hill.
“I had a hunch you’d do this again,” he sighed, but didn’t seem too bothered.
“I ain’t staying here,” I say, “You can’t make me.”
“Who says I was gonna make ya?”
Johnny dangled the keys to his truck in his fingers, giving them a swing before he jumped the fence. “Where ya thinkin, huh? Austin, Dallas?”
I was too stunned to speak, but my legs followed suit and I jumped the fence, walking towards his truck. I studied him, awaiting a flash of perception, but it all seemed genuine. “Why ya helping me?”
Ignoring me, he unlocks the truck, badgering on, “I’d say Austin. I think you’ll like it there. Good fer the uh, young ones, you can say.”
“Johnny-”
“Just get in, I’m taking ya to the nearest station.” Johnny finalised, not ready to negotiate anymore. I reluctantly entered the truck, keeping my eyes forward as Johnny started the engine and pulled out into the dirt road.
It was sunrise by the time Johnny dropped me off at the station. I sat in the truck for a moment, getting one last look of him to understand all this.
“You got money?” he asked.
“Saving up my whole life,” I chirped, feeling my jacket pocket with the crinkled up notes. “It’s enough for the ride, then I gotta find work.”
Johnny nodded, leaving more silence between us. I look at him again, his gaze over the dashboard and beyond to the horizon, a million miles from me. Never had I felt so distant from someone, so unrelated, than my own brother, no matter the proximity.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.
“And what, have you been one of those hitchhikers? That’s what Sissy did, and look how she ended up.”
That was a name I hadn’t heard in years, and for a moment I felt fingers plaiting my hair, a song lulling my ears. My paint-stained fingers painting pictures with the heat on my neck, laughter beside me. I have the faintest memory of her mousy hair, the strands around her eyes that were either hazel or blue.
“You better get goin’,”
I snap out of my trance, collecting my bag and opening the door. Johnny hands me a napkin with writing on it. “You call me if you’re in any trouble, not momma.”
I gathered it wasn’t an invitation for weekly catch ups, only for emergencies. I take the napkin and stuff it in my pocket. His act of service now came more as an obligation, to get me out of there before I cause more trouble. Anything to keep momma happy.
I leave without a goodbye, shutting the door and heading inside. I did not look back, only forward. The truck rumbles and fades as Johnny drives off. I buy a one way ticket to Austin, board the bus, and catch up on the sleep I lost.
Wake me up when I get to paradise.
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March Madness Has Arrived!
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A Royal Affair - Chapter 4 (Kylo RenXOC)
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The First Order is looking to expand its allies and Corellia is known for its great Starships and the royal family. Princess Cora Ardmore is less than thrilled about her future marriage to General Hux, and even less thrilled to have Kylo Ren as her temporary bodyguard.
AN: I just want to warn people that this is definitely a darker fic from me. Plus I do not hate General Hux at all regardless of how I’m portraying him in this fic, I love him but have some dark headcanons about him. I also want to thank @neeharlow and @kittyofalltrades for helping bringing this fic to life with our roleplay thread :D
Warnings: None, Perhaps a lil fluff if you squint really really hard.
Chapter 4
Cora Ardmore
Eventually, it was becoming clear that Kylo wasn’t going anywhere, and he wouldn’t have a replacement, either. Neither of us were happy about it, but I figured we had to make the best out of the situation. So, considering he wasn’t as insufferable as Hux and that he would be spending more time with me than my future husband, I wanted to get to know him better. If he were my bodyguard, we needed to trust each other and reach a better level of understanding. My handmaidens helped me dress, Flora keeping guard on the other side of the privacy screen. It seemed she trusted Kylo Ren less than me, not that I could blame her.
Now dressed in a lightweight lilac floral gown, Thomasin, the youngest of my handmaidens, led me over to the dressing table where she made a start on my hair. Thomasin was the best at hair, managing to work it into intricate styles within record time and making sure it was as comfortable as possible. She tied most of my hair back, leaving a few ringlets free to frame my face. Makeup was added and finally, they deemed me ready for the day. Flora glanced over her shoulder at me, her expression softening with kindness. “I’d like to go to the gardens today,” I declared, glancing between her and Kylo.
I didn’t like that. It seemed I needed Kylo’s permission to wander the grounds of my own home. Kylo remained unphased by my request, or at least that’s the aura he gave. Frankly, I had no idea how he felt or what he thought about me most of the time because of that helmet he wore constantly. I’d never seen it removed and because of that, I began to wonder if he might be disfigured, and the helmet was to hide that. Or maybe he wasn’t even human. Humans weren’t so cold, they showed emotions. But his helmet hid his face and his voice. It was like I was constantly guessing with him.
Kylo gave a single short nod to how he would allow my visit to the gardens. I let out a small breath of relief and took the lead. Kylo by my side and my handmaidens behind me, Flora leading them. The castle grounds themselves were huge, acres upon acres of land. A large greenhouse was off to the right, filled with all sorts of plant life from across the galaxy. It also acted as a butterfly house for various species. Straight ahead was a giant patio with outdoor dining furniture within a spacious gazebo. And off to the left was a hedge maze with a secret sun house in the centre. Surrounding all of that was a thick woodland, the trees seeming to stretch on for miles.
A wave of anxiety washed over me as I second-guessed my plan for the day. I hoped that Kylo wouldn’t make me regret trying to extend an olive branch, nor would he betray my trust by exposing the sun house to the likes of Hux. It was a big gamble, but Kylo seemed to dislike Hux almost as much as I did. Continuing forward, I led us to the entrance of the hedge maze before dismissing my handmaidens. Flora eyed me suspiciously, clearly not comfortable leaving me alone with Kylo Ren. “Are you sure?” She asked.
I nodded softly, Flora lingering a few seconds longer before going to join the others. Kylo took a step closer, now invading my personal space as a form of intimidation. I’d seen him do it to others. I did my best to remain calm externally, focusing on my breathing. “I hope this isn’t another poor escape attempt, princess,” Kylo warned. My gaze flicked up to the visor of his helmet, “not at all, Ren.” There were a few seconds of silence from him as if he were reading me before finally, he backed off. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the return of my personal space.
Heading inside the maze with Ren hot on my heels, I remembered every twist and turn not once getting us lost down a dead end. Soon we were in the centre. Unlocking the doors to the sun house, I stepped inside and felt a small tension lift from my shoulders. This place had always been here, and it had always been a secret. It had always been a place I could feel completely safe and at ease. I’d played here all the time as a child and used it as a place to hide when I wanted to avoid princess lessons or royal duties. This place held a lot of fond memories.
It remained untouched from the last time I had been a few months ago now. There was a coffee table between a small two-seater baroque-styled couch and a fainting couch. There was a small kitchen area at the back, nothing special but enough to partake in afternoon tea. A small bookshelf was in the right-hand corner, with a few books and some childhood toys that I hadn’t wanted to part with yet. “What’s this? Some little hideout you had as a child?” He asked, almost as if he wanted to mock me. “Something like that.”
Kylo glanced around the small space, taking everything in. Suddenly he seemed to stiffen, as if offended by something. “What is that?” He demanded. On the wall opposite him was a corkboard filled with various cutouts of Padme Amidala and Leia Organa from magazines or newspapers. Padme was my fashion inspiration. Leia, on the other hand, was what I aspired to be when I was queen. I suppose as Leia was now one of the rebellions generals, he would find it offensive. Gently, I removed the corkboard from the wall, glancing down at the images on it.
“It’s just something I made when I was growing up. I’ve always looked up to both of them. Padme Amidala was fourteen when she became queen of Naboo. I couldn’t imagine taking on that responsibility at that age. It was rumoured that Padme and her handmaidens could change her whole outfit and appearance within ten minutes. She was just an impressive senator as she was a queen, it’s a shame what happened to her. And Leia Organa is someone I’ve always aspired to be, she’s so strong-willed, never backing down in the face of dan-“ “I’m aware,” Kylo snapped, cutting me off quickly.
Perhaps I had gotten a little carried away. Why would he want to hear me talk about something so childish? I placed the corkboard back on the wall, surely a few pictures weren’t offensive to him that I needed to take it down completely. Kylo sat down awkwardly in the centre of the fainting couch, he looked too big for it. Still wanting to try to be civil with him, I went over to the kitchen area to prepare some tea. Tea usually helped. That’s when I remembered the helmet, my shoulders slumping in defeat. I continued to make a pot, even if it was just for myself.
Taking a seat on the couch opposite him, I poured myself a cup and added two sugar cubes and a little milk. “I would offer you some tea, but I’m fairly certain you won’t drink it,” I spoke. “You would be right.” Taking a sip from the cup, I set it back down on the saucer and studied Kylo for a few seconds. “Why do you wear it? The helmet,” I asked. Kylo didn’t seem to know how to sit comfortably on the fainting couch, completely rigid and becoming more so at my question.
“As the master of the Knights of Ren, it’s something I’ve worn since I joined them. But it’s more than that…it…I’d rather not talk about it,” Kylo declared. I found myself interested in what he had to say, leaning forward a little to show I was listening. Whilst I wanted to know more, I also wanted to respect his boundaries. “And why aren’t your knights with you now? Knights normally remain with their master to protect them. Like my handmaidens are always with me,” I asked. Kylo paused, his head tilting an inch before he spoke, “currently, they’re on Ando searching for an ancient Sith temple. Once they have found the exact location and I have the time, I will join them there. Usually, they are with me, but this would be a waste of their time.”
I couldn’t help but feel that was a small jab directed towards me, considering he also found this to be a waste of his time. “How many of them are there?” I asked. “Six, each one of them has their own different skills that make them an important part of the team.” I suppose it was similar to my handmaidens, in a way. Each one of them had been handpicked for their skills. Thomasin was the hair and makeup expert, able to transform my face in twenty minutes. Minthe was my eyes and ears, which made her an excellent lip reader, and then there was Flora, who was trained to defend me from any close-range attacks and always carried a hidden blade should the occasion arise to use it.
“Do your knights have the force like you?” I asked curiously. “They are force sensitive, but not strong enough to wield it.” “And is the force something you were born with? I’ve never met a force user before, so I find it all so fascinating.” Kylo huffed as if my questions were irritating him now. “I’d rather we didn’t get so personal, princess. But yes, I was born with them,” he said shortly. Kylo had put a wall up, allowing me a small glimmer into whom he was before putting up his defences. My shoulders slumped in defeat. I had thought that perhaps asking him about himself would get us on more civil terms, but now he just seemed tense.
A silence fell between us, as I was unsure what I could talk to him about now. I took another sip of my tea, scrambling for anything to fill this uncomfortable silence. “Princess, I understand what you're trying to accomplish. But it’s not a good idea. That being said…I will keep this place a secret from Hux. If he ends up finding out about it, I can assure you it won’t be from me,” Kylo said firmly. My gaze met his visor, a little stunned by his words. He was willing to keep this place a secret for me. To keep it safe and untainted. “That is the whole reason you brought me here, isn’t it? If you didn’t want me to know about it, if you didn’t trust me to keep it a secret, then you wouldn’t have brought me here?” Kylo questioned, his head cocked.
He was right, there was no denying that. “How did you know?” I asked. “Your thoughts are loud.” Clearly, that was the force at work. A part of me didn’t like the idea of him being able to hear all my thoughts, and having access to things that should be private. But then it struck me as odd that he was willing to keep this place a secret. “Why would you do that? Why would you keep this a secret from Hux?” I questioned. He had nothing to gain from this secret and we weren’t friendly enough for him to do something ‘nice’ for me. He’d made that clear enough.
“Would you rather I tell him?” Kylo replied, the threat clear in his tone. “No.” Kylo nodded once, and that was the last either of us spoke about it. Finishing my tea, I took my cup to the sink. With my back to Kylo, I allowed myself to smile softly at his small act of kindness. Whilst Kylo had many unlikable qualities, perhaps he wasn’t a complete monster.
Taglist: @jana-banana-fana​​​, @kittyofalltrades​​​, @sweetfictionalworld​​  
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springfallendeer · 1 year
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Happy Birthday Juicy! (Wholesome)
A wholesome little story for @juicyyyboxxx to celebrate their birthday! (Would you believe we’re only a day apart?)
3300+ words
Loneliness has a way of sneaking up on people.
It lays in wait. Watching for the worst possible time to make itself known.
Regardless of the shape it arrives in, it is always recognized. Always known.
It is the echo of an empty home. The heavy sigh of a tired mind. The ambient chatter of an unwatched television screen.
Loneliness made the quietest things seem so unbearably loud. It made the emptiest rooms feel the most suffocating. It made everything into something unpleasant.
So unpleasant that it practically triggered some primal form of fight or flight. Whether you chose to fight the loneliness or flee from it was irrelevant. The best way to do so was to get out of the house. So get out of the house you do.
You haphazardly throw on a coat and go outside. There isn’t really a plan beyond that.
The loneliness is eating away at you and all you really want to do is clear your head. You can’t do that if you stay at home.
Home is where all the painful memories are.
Home is where all the reminders of better days lay waiting.
So you just pick a direction and start walking. And you keep walking. You use the idle sounds of the world around you as a distraction from your own muddled thoughts. From the roaring of passing cars to the quiet chirping of birds. Anything that could be of a distraction, became a distraction.
Though nothing made for a good enough distraction to keep you out of your own head.
Sorrow has a way of keeping itself at the front of your thoughts. To the point that you fail to even realize when you’ve wandered off course.
The concrete path you walk suddenly transitioned into grass and soil. Buildings gave way to trees and bushes. The ambiance of the city became the chorus of the wilderness.
You notice your change of surroundings only when you find your hair getting tangled in the low hanging branches of a tree. At which point you turn about in your confusion.
Everything that you might have recognized is gone. Gone is the city. Gone are the roads. Gone are the paths you might have been able to follow. Its as if you’ve unwittingly passed through some sort of gateway.
A gateway which decided to dump you in the middle of the woods. You don’t even have the chance to try and reorient yourself before the rustling of foliage draws your attention.
You turn to look at the sound, rightly startled. Both from the sound itself and from the confusion of your situation.
What emerges from the surrounding woodland is an entity that doesn’t rightly belong in such a wild area. A hulking metal beast peeks out from behind a tree. Glowing violet eyes settle upon your frame.
You want to say that you recognize this entity. It resembles one you already know. One you already miss. Its so similar and yet so different.
Eclipse, but not Eclipse.
Pointed metal arrows form a crest around its head. A head which rotates idly from side to side as the entity studies you. You hear the clicking of its crest as each individual ray retracts. One after another. In then out. Flowing as if replicating a buffering symbol.
A bright purple light flickers on when its face stops rocking.
The rays upon its head form a halo of light around its dark, almost featureless face. Wide robotic orbs lock with yours. Its lower face parts into a smile.
A wide, sharp smile.
The jaws of a bear trap effectively grin at you. Wide and unnerving.
All at once you feel the dread. Alone in the wilderness with a giant animatronic peering down at you. Fight or flight kicks in again when this entity fully emerges from behind the tree. It reaches for you with two of its four large, clawed, robotic hands.
You run.
You run because that thing that’s found you isn’t the Eclipse you know. It isn’t your friend.
It is a warped, twisted depiction of the animatronic that you miss. Just a nightmare created by your lonely thoughts. An illusion made to validate the fiction created by your own mind.
But illusions aren’t real. They lack a solid form. An illusion cannot catch you. It cannot grab you or pull you back.
Yet somehow this one did.
Those massive, metal hands wrap around your frame and yank you into the air before you can make any reasonable distance. This massive metal beast catches you so easily that its as if you never ran at all.
Tears well in your eyes as your body is jostled about. You lock eyes with the beast as it turns you towards it. The smile it once wore is gone. Replace by an obvious frown.
Against your will your body is lifted higher into the air, held tightly by the animatronic limbs.
You clench your eyes shut, anticipating the worst. You feel your body being moved, and you tense in response. You tense in fear of the pain that is clearly to come.
But the pain never comes.
What comes is the alarmingly gentle embrace of the animatronic body. For as large and unyielding as the beast is, it handles you with utmost care. You’re pulled to its chest. All four arms carefully tangle to wrap around you. Your head is positioned to rest against its chest.
Then you’re simply held. Held and gently swayed. Swayed and rocked like a child.
You open your eyes, confused by the sudden change in attitude. For as ominous as the entity is, it handles you so gently.
Cautiously you peek up. That same, unnerving face is still there. The same dangerous looking smile has returned to its features.
But now you can see the gentleness in its eyes. Because now you were taking the time to actually see that gentleness.
Whatever this thing was, it was very, very real. For as terrifying as it looked, it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.
A clawed hand moved to the back of your head. You tentatively relax into the touch as the entity begins to lightly massage your scalp.
This alternate Eclipse doesn’t say a word as they proceed to carry you off. You don’t say a word either.
What can you even say?
You’re lost. Physically and mentally.
Lost and being whisked away by an absolutely massive animatronic that you didn’t know, but recognized purely due to an association with a close friend. You were carried through the woodland. What must have been a long walk for you was made so much shorter thanks to the wide gait of the animatronic.
What he carries you too is something rather surprising.
What lays before you is a small lake. There’s swans swimming about in the water. Near the pond is a picnic.
A picnic with two additional animatronics, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman.
If the animatronic which carried you was some alternate version of Eclipse, then it was easy to tell who the two new animatronics were. An alternate Sun and an alternate Moon.
The woman, Sun, and Moon took notice of you right away.
Eclipse carried you closer. He set you down upon the blanket that had been laid upon the grass. You’re immediately offered a cup of tea and a sandwich.
“Lost?” The woman inquired, casting you a knowing look.
For a moment, you can’t help but just stare at her. All of this was so strange.
Somehow you had managed to walk miles in the span of a few minutes. Somehow, you had stumbled across this futuristic Eclipse. A futuristic Eclipse that both terrified and comforted you.
Then he brought you here. To this mundane little picnic out in the middle of the woods.
And the people and machines that were already here didn’t bat an eye. They approached the situation as casually as a cat might approach an unguarded lap.
You stare at the offered food and drink for a moment.
“Yeah...” You utter quietly. Lost describes your situation pretty well. Physically and emotionally, you were lost.
Eclipse proceeded to take a seat in the grass behind you.
“Found.” Eclipse states in turn. You turn to look up at him. He’s still got that dangerous looking grin. That dangerous grin made comfortable by the kindness in his eyes.
“We have a knack for finding lost folk around here.” The woman comments, gently pushing the plate of food closer to you. “Not usually folk like you, though.” She adds. You look to her, confused. She just sort of motions towards the animatronics with her eyes.
It takes a moment for you to register what she means. She means that animatronics keep finding their way to her. Maybe even the same ones that now sit around you eating sandwiches and cake.
Cake.
Your eyes start to water as you observe the scene. The broken wording on the already cut cake made it clear what this was.
You had just unwittingly stumbled upon a birthday party. A birthday party that reminded you of what you didn’t get to have.
Try as you might, you can’t keep the first tear from falling.
Sun reaches to wipe away the tear before you can do it yourself. You peer up at him, and he smiles. He smiles a soft, reassuring smile.
“So. What brings you here?” The woman asks, now ushering a piece of cake in your direction.
More tears spill from your eyes as you stare at the cake. In trying to escape your negative feelings, you had found yourself in a place where you had no choice but to confront them.
And it hurt. It hurt to be confronted by the things that tortured you so.
Still, you don’t feel a hint of malice from the woman or from these animatronics. There’s an aura of understanding around the space. One that both comforts and terrifies you.
You take a shaky breath.
“I-I needed to clear my head.” You admit, albeit reluctantly and with a quivering voice.
The woman lifts the cup of tea to put it in your hand.
Somehow, the glass is still warm. You wrap your fingers around it. It feels so pleasant.
“Rough day?” She asks in turn. You nod.
Yes. Yes it was a very rough day for you, all things considered.
“Talk about it. You’ll feel better.” She requests, her tone soft and knowing. She speaks as if she’s been in your shoes before. Its reassuring, to say the least.
“I-its my birthday, today...” You admit, bringing your free hand up to your face to wipe your eyes “I-I have to celebrate it alone, this year.”.
The woman offers a soft hum in response as she takes a sip of your tea.
“Not as alone as you’d think.” She muses, a slight note of playfulness entering her tone. “We might not be the company you wanted. But we’ve got decent food and cake and all the privacy in the world. You could scream or cry if you wanted. The swans won’t give a shit either way.” She states, cracking something of a joke at the end as she reaches into a bowl.
The bowl is full of peas and grains.
She casually tosses a handful of feed to the swans, who swim to the edge of the pond to enjoy their snack.
You purse your lips slightly, trying to hold back the tears.
She isn’t wrong. Somehow you’ve gotten far enough away from town that no one would notice if you screamed. No one here would be bothered if you cried.
The woman sat beside you seemed like she would let you throw your head in her lap and let you bawl your eyes out. The unspoken offer proved quite tempting, but you held back.
She was a stranger to you, after all. A stranger that gave off ‘wise old sage of the woods’ vibes. It was as if you had wandered into a modern age fairytale.
She laughs softly to herself just as you make this mental comparison.
“Look, sweetie. Life is hard. The world is a cold, bitter, unfeeling place that would have no problem sending you adrift. Most days, the only comfort you get out of it is the people around you.” She speaks, looking back to you.
You sit, stunned, as she proceeds to take up the role of the ‘wise old sage of the woods’. Maybe you had walked into the world of fairies and there were just the forms they chose to take for the sake of comforting you.
“Its hard, those days that you have to spend alone. Those days where the only friends you have are your own thoughts. And your thoughts often make the worst friends. Especially when they’re left alone with you.” She further elaborates, coaxing you into taking a drink of your tea.
You do so. Its warm and sweet and leaves a minty taste on the back of your tongue. The calming effects are near immediate.
Still, the tears make their way down your face.
She says and does nothing to make you self conscious of your tears.
“What’s important is that you abuse those negative thoughts right back... But that’s easier said than done. Intrusive thoughts know all your insecurities. They know how to take the things you love and twist them into weapons used to hurt you... And sadly they’re gonna hurt you. Your emotions don’t care about logic and reason. You can know for certain that the people you want to see desperately want to see you as well. But those evil little thoughts still find a way to make you second guess that. And it sucks. Its painful and its stupid and it leaves you feeling worse, because you know those thoughts are wrong and you’ve still gone and gotten upset over it.” She continues to speak, describing the ways and methods of your internal demons to a T as she encourages you to eat and drink.
The sandwich is nothing special and the cake is just a cake. But for some reason you start to feel better the more you eat and the more she speaks. Because she describes your plight so well that its as if she’s just another part of you.
At this point you think she might be some other version of you. Though there’s so little for you to have in common.
She pauses for a moment to sigh.
“Its okay that it hurts. Painful as it gets, its just another part of being alive. You miss the people that you want to see. You think back on better days and wish that they could come back. And you worry that they won’t come back... But they will. Maybe not right away. But generally speaking, things will get better. As long as you put in the effort. Loneliness is only as strong as you allow it to be. You can be in the room full of people and still feel isolated. The silence can be deafening. And the tears sting so much more when there’s no one there to help you dry your cheeks. But the way to fight loneliness is to find companionship. It can be something as simple as a pet or something as great as a spouse... And it takes time. Loneliness is a beast that tends to linger. It waits until the room is empty. It waits until the space is silent. And it comes creeping back. You can fight it. But you can never beat it. Because its just as much as part of you as the joy you feel, and it can be just as fleeting as the air you breathe... To be lonely is to be alive. No matter how much you hate it, its important when its there. So long as you’re willing to fight it, you’ll eventually find the way to overcome it.” She speaks, going off on a bit of tangent as she lets her thoughts take the form of spoken word. She speaks harsh truths and words of comfort in random patterns. All the while her words encourage the tears to continue flowing down your cheeks.
Still she reaches to dry your tears, her eyes soft and knowing.
“I-Its so hard...” You eventually manage to choke out, your voice cracking from the quiet sob that wracks your body.
She responds in turn by taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I know its hard. Staving off loneliness is a constant, unending fight... A fight that can leave you exhausted. Sometimes you need a break. Sometimes you need to rest. And that’s alright. Its okay to be tired. Its okay to be sad. These emotions are a part of you and for as ugly as they feel, they’re part of what makes life beautiful. Just like the sun or the rain. Sometimes they’re pleasant, and sometimes they ruin your day. You need them, all the same. For as tragic as they can be and for as exhausted as they can leave you, they’re important.” She hums, idly scooching closer to you.
You in turn let your face fall against her shoulder. She doesn’t move or shy away, even as you stain her shirt with your tears.
“The hardest part of loneliness is not knowing how to escape it. It makes you feel pathetic. It makes you feel weak. It makes it hard for you to ask for help. Because it makes you feel stupid for getting so worked up over something so trivial... But its okay to ask for help. Something as simple as sharing small talk with a stranger can give you that feeling of relief when the people you need the most can’t be there. There’s nothing wrong with needing company.” She murmurs, rubbing your back as you continue to cry into her shoulder.
“Does it get easier?” You can’t help but ask between the hiccups. She gives your shoulder a squeeze.
“Eventually. But you have to put in the effort.” She responds. “Not everyone will want your company. Not everyone will share your interests. You have to be willing to branch out and meet people on common ground... And it takes time. But so long as you keep at it, you’ll be bound to find the company you crave. And it won’t keep the loneliness away forever.” She states.
You nod against her shoulder.
“Is any of this real?” You murmur. The whole situation feels overly convenient. For as real as the moment feels, you logically know it can’t be.
A walk in the city doesn’t just dump you in the middle of the woods. You don’t just stumble upon strangers that conveniently have all the words needed to describe your suffering.
You listen as she laughs quietly to herself.
“I ask myself that a lot.” She replies, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Maybe you’re a dream. Maybe I’m the dream. Maybe all of this is real and we just can’t explain it. Life is full of things we can’t quite understand. Either way, we’ll have these memories. We might forget each other’s faces. We might forget this talk. But we’ll remember how we felt. And that makes this real enough for me.” She states.
You pry yourself away from her shoulders, your tears having finally stopped.
Again, she coaxes you into drinking your tea. Somehow the glass seems just as full as when you started. The cup feels just as warm, despite the time that has passed.
“Happy birthday...” You murmur, not quite sure what else to say. She offers a soft laugh in turn.
“My birthday is tomorrow.” She states, before taking a sip of her tea. Your eyes widen as she smiles at you. “Happy birthday~” She replies in turn, her smile soft and knowing.
How peculiar it all was to have found her here. How peculiar it was to find this total stranger who knew so much yet explained so little.
You smile to yourself, feeling the moment fade away.
A dream, but not a dream.
You blink and suddenly you’re home. As alone and isolated as before. Yet the emptiness feels less suffocating, thanks to the memories.
The memories of her words. Of her understanding.
The taste of mint tea still lingering on your tongue.
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uk3d · 8 months
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Long eared bat sketch | Limited edition fine art print from an original drawing. The grey long-eared bat is a fairly large European bat. It has distinctive ears, long and with a distinctive fold. It hunts above woodland, often by day, and mostly for moths. In captivity, it has also been recorded to eat small lizards. My sketches start life as hand-drawn graphite images made on cartridge paper. I often work on these with charcoal, oil pastel or Caran d'Ache to create the look I'm after. The artwork is then scanned and finessed digitally ready for fine art printing. This process often referred to as Giclée printing uses the highest standard of printing methods to give gallery quality results that maintain all the details of the original sketch. The graphite pencils I use are Faber-Castel, the oil pastels are Sennelier and the china-graph is Caran d’Ache. The inks are pigment based archive quality (100years+). The heavyweight specialist papers I use are of the best professional quality having a wonderful surface designed specifically for fine art drawings and illustrations. Very limited editions with only ten per size printed. All artwork is signed and includes a certificate of authenticity. The A5 are 5.8" x 8.25" (14.8cm x 21cm) The A4 are 8.25" x 11.7" (21cm x 29.8cm) The A3 are 11.7" x 16.5" (29.8 cm x 42cm) The A2 are 16.5" x 23.4" (42 cm x 59.4cm) Frames not included in price. Free shipping on artwork to UK destinations.
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wixelt · 1 year
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Was going through some notes I archived on my PC when I got my new phone, & found something I wrote years ago & never got around to sharing.
Basically, many years ago, I wrote the loose outline of a rather grim Gravity Falls AU, & while it’ll likely never go anywhere, i’m impulsively deciding to share what I wrote, now.
Broken Falls AU
Alternately After Falls, Afterword, Afterworld or Gravity World, as I couldn’t make up my mind.
Technically this is a post-show AU, but only by virtue of the time-frame.
The Prologue:
In the final battle with Bill Cipher, he does the 'eenie meenie' murder thing with Dipper & Mabel when he catches them, & settles on Mabel.
Via some means, he's learned Ford - at least in this AU - doesn't actually know how to break the barrier around the town, so he intends to kill Mabel out of spite.
Dipper, in desperation & panic, pleads with Bill, telling him without thinking that he'll take any deal the demon wants to make if he spares his sister & frees everyone.
Unexpectedly, Bill agrees, seemingly concocting a new plan to spread weirdness... via possessing Dipper.
This time, Dipper's soul is sealed away inside his body rather than being forced out, as Bill exists physically, literally fusing his entire being into Dipper.
While this makes Bill physically weaker, it actually makes him even more powerful as a reality warper. Something about the pact involving physical flesh.
Regardless, it also stops Dipper’s ghost form being a nuisance for him.
Bill keeps his word, at least for now. Mabel, Stan & Ford, with everyone freed from the Fearamid’s decor & the Shacktron, flee.
Mabel tries to stay for her brother, but is convinced she won't be any good to him dead, & concedes in fleeing.
The Main AU:
Almost an entire year has now passed since Weirdmageddon began.
Human!Bill has utilized some loophole in how the barrier works via push his powers through his human body, forcing the barrier’s area of effect to gradually increase.
This is gradually spreading weirdness further & further without breaking the region’s weirdness magnetism law. At present, the area's a little over twice its original size.
Bill & his Henchmaniacs mostly ignore the humans inside the barrier now, or don't actively pursue, only occasionally hunting out of boredom or if they run into them.
With the Mystery Shack a wreck & far from where it was originally, Ford's woodland bunker was the next sanctuary for the locals.
However, shortly before the present it was attacked, & while most survivors escaped, they're now on the move constantly.
Ford has considered trying to clear out the UFO under the town & make a base there, as Bill either doesn't know it exists or just can’t touch it.
With a year, an apocalypse & a stubborn grand-niece, Stan & Ford have largely made amends, but still bicker, as siblings do. It... can get heated, at times.
13 (now almost 14) year old Mabel, despite all that life has thrown at her, is still somewhat optimistic, cheerful & determined.
The past year’s given her the experiences & skills -both good & bad - to use her passion for more things.
She’s developed a bit of a dour & cynical streak, though, often seeing the worst case scenario before even getting to a preferred best case.
She wears Dipper's hat constantly, only taking it off to sleep & reacting violently if anyone tries to take it.
She’s also picked up her brother’s habit of chewing pens.
Oh, also, because its me we’re talking about, Mabifica’s a thing, either before or during the AU. The alternative wouldn't work here, anyway.
Due to his deal with Dipper, Bill can't harm Mabel without first releasing his hold on Dipper’s body, nor can anyone knowingly working for him.
There are loopholes he tries to exploit whenever Mabel’s antics irk him, but the key one’s always to get others to go after her without them knowing he's involved.
As Bill had already begun trying to kill Mabel as Dipper stopped him, Mabel was directly exposed to chaotic energies without actually dying.
This manifests by giving her what Ford calls 'Oddsight'. When active (it can be turned off) she's immune to & can ward off some weirdness types.
This is only one among a number of other abilities that develop later.
In this state, Mabel’s right eye turns black with a yellow, elongated iris - a colour flip of the eyes of someone controlled by Bill.
Using this curse often strains her heavily at first, so it comes out rarely.
Wendy, Soos, Candy, Grenda, Pacifica & Gideon all survived, & all but Gid - who left with his surviving bikers - have stuck with Mabel’s group.
No word on anyone else, though. Past me didn’t get that far.
For safety, Ford’s compiled new copies of the journals from a set of backup notes he made just before things went down & stored in a secure locker in his bunker.
He’s also begun writing a 4th journal documenting Weirdmageddon. He still plans to throw them all in the bottomless pit once they get through this, though.
Mabel always has at least one journal on her at all times, most often the 3rd.
And that’s pretty much where past me got up to with this idea. As I said, I probably won’t do anymore with it, but I wanted it to finally see the light of day.
Enjoy! :D
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