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whileiamdying · 5 years

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Emily Brontë’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS; Chapter XXVI

Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our place of meeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads. On arriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger, told us that,—“Maister Linton wer just o’ this side th’ Heights: and he’d be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.”

“Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,” I observed: “he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at once.”

“Well, we’ll turn our horses’ heads round when we reach him,” answered my companion; “our excursion shall lie towards home.”

But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came within a few yards. Then he walked so feebly, and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,—“Why, Master Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning. How ill you do look!”

Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on their long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse than usual?

“No—better—better!” he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the languid expression they once possessed.

“But you have been worse,” persisted his cousin; “worse than when I saw you last; you are thinner, and—”

“I’m tired,” he interrupted, hurriedly. “It is too hot for walking, let us rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick—papa says I grow so fast.”

Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.

“This is something like your paradise,” said she, making an effort at cheerfulness. “You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the place and way each thought pleasantest? This is nearly yours, only there are clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than sunshine. Next week, if you can, we’ll ride down to the Grange Park, and try mine.”

Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of; and he had evidently great difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation. His lack of interest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity to contribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not conceal her disappointment. An indefinite alteration had come over his whole person and manner. The pettishness that might be caressed into fondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there was less of the peevish temper of a child which frets and teases on purpose to be soothed, and more of the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed invalid, repelling consolation, and ready to regard the good-humoured mirth of others as an insult. Catherine perceived, as well as I did, that he held it rather a punishment, than a gratification, to endure our company; and she made no scruple of proposing, presently, to depart. That proposal, unexpectedly, roused Linton from his lethargy, and threw him into a strange state of agitation. He glanced fearfully towards the Heights, begging she would remain another half-hour, at least.

“But I think,” said Cathy, “you’d be more comfortable at home than sitting here; and I cannot amuse you to-day, I see, by my tales, and songs, and chatter: you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; you have little taste for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse you, I’d willingly stay.”

“Stay to rest yourself,” he replied. “And, Catherine, don’t think or say that I’m very unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make me dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me. Tell uncle I’m in tolerable health, will you?”

“I’ll tell him that you say so, Linton. I couldn’t affirm that you are,” observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion of what was evidently an untruth.

“And be here again next Thursday,” continued he, shunning her puzzled gaze. “And give him my thanks for permitting you to come—my best thanks, Catherine. And—and, if you did meet my father, and he asked you about me, don’t lead him to suppose that I’ve been extremely silent and stupid: don’t look sad and downcast, as you are doing—he’ll be angry.”

“I care nothing for his anger,” exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be its object.

“But I do,” said her cousin, shuddering. “Don’t provoke him against me, Catherine, for he is very hard.”

“Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?” I inquired. “Has he grown weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?”

Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and annoy.

“Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?” she whispered in my ear, at last. “I can’t tell why we should stay. He’s asleep, and papa will be wanting us back.”

“Well, we must not leave him asleep,” I answered; “wait till he wakes, and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon evaporated!”

“Why did he wish to see me?” returned Catherine. “In his crossest humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious mood. It’s just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform—this interview—for fear his father should scold him. But I’m hardly going to come to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for ordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I’m glad he’s better in health, I’m sorry he’s so much less pleasant, and so much less affectionate to me.”

“You think he is better in health, then?” I said.

“Yes,” she answered; “because he always made such a great deal of his sufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell papa; but he’s better, very likely.”

“There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,” I remarked; “I should conjecture him to be far worse.”

Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if any one had called his name.

“No,” said Catherine; “unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how you manage to doze out of doors, in the morning.”

“I thought I heard my father,” he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nab above us. “You are sure nobody spoke?”

“Quite sure,” replied his cousin. “Only Ellen and I were disputing concerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we separated in winter? If you be, I’m certain one thing is not stronger—your regard for me: speak,—are you?”

The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered, “Yes, yes, I am!” And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its owner.

Cathy rose. “For to-day we must part,” she said. “And I won’t conceal that I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I’ll mention it to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff.”

“Hush,” murmured Linton; “for God’s sake, hush! He’s coming.” And he clung to Catherine’s arm, striving to detain her; but at that announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who obeyed her like a dog.

“I’ll be here next Thursday,” she cried, springing to the saddle. “Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!”

And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was he in anticipating his father’s approach.

Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened into a perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubts about Linton’s actual circumstances, physical and social: in which I partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journey would make us better judges. My master requested an account of our ongoings. His nephew’s offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathy gently touching on the rest: I also threw little light on his inquiries, for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.

#Wuthering Heights #Emily Brontë #Project Gutenberg

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trainingtobeaprat · 5 years

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kodzumie-archived · 3 years

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Komaeda eating out a shy fem reader for her first time? She’s nervous but really wants to do this 😔😔

❝PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE❞

Synopsis; Going down on you had always been a fantasy of Nagito’s, and—if you were being honest—yours as well. But will your anxieties allow you to pursue your mutual desire?

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x Fem! Reader

Warning(s); (N)SFW and cunnilingus (oral sex).

Kodzumie’s Note; Of course I will! I apologize for the delay of your request! Thank you so much for requesting and your support. Take care! Muah <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Truth be told, going down on you had always been a thought situated at the back of his mind when engaging in such erotic intimacy with you.

⤷ It’s a sexual fantasy of his; to swipe his tongue along your slit, collecting your dew and suffocating his senses in your clenching cunt. He dreams to taste you; to indulge in you.

⤷ Though despite how much he yearns to please you, and even follow your wishes of indulging in his own fantasies and pleasuring himself as well, he understood to respect your hesitancy to that particular act.

⤷ Nagito was one of many things, but he wasn’t going to force you into something he knew full well you weren’t comfortable with just yet.

⤷ He knew such a position was one that brought flourishes of vulnerability, and an uncomfortable exposure that you wished to ease into rather than dive in head-first.

⤷ You wanted time, and Nagito was more than willing to let you take as long as you need. Because honestly, he assumed you’d reject the idea without hesitancy, so he was more than willing to be patient.

⤷ At first, Nagito had assumed that you didn’t want him to go down on you. His mindset spiraling into the oh-so-familiar state of degradation that he put upon himself. He assumed that he was the problem, but thankfully, you relentlessly reassured him of otherwise.

⤷ Truthfully, you wanted to do it and, of all people, you’d prefer Nagito to be the one you’d allow to see you so vulnerable. You trusted him, you truly did. But there seemingly was always an inkling of fear; insecurity. What if you didn’t live up to the expectations of his fantasy? What if it didn’t feel as good as you assumed? What if something went wrong?

⤷ It was this seed of worry that lead you to avoid such ministrations. Guiding his head back up to press kissed against your neck rather than any lower.

⤷ Months after the first time he’d proposed the idea, and you’ve yet to engage. Postponing further and further as the urge grows suffocatingly tempting. You want to, you truly do, but...to this point, you begin to wonder; what’s holding you back?

⤷ You question this as you find yourself laid atop the blanketed mattress within your shared bedroom, bare and exposed to Nagito’s eyes as he looms above you with a tantalizing hunger in his eyes.

⤷ As his eyes interlock with yours, they soften for a moment before he buries his head in the crook of your neck, capturing a patch of skin between his lips as he licks and suckles. He marks your skin, staking his claim as he continues to travel farther down.

⤷ But once his lips reach between the valley of your breasts, peppering your chest in fleeting kisses before moving to take your right, hardened nipple within his mouth, he doesn’t dare travel further. Even as he loses himself in the curves of your body, he firmly ingrains your comfort with each fervent kiss.

⤷ You notice this. You’ve always noticed this; the way he puts your comfort and wishes as his priority, even when dazed by his craving to ravish you.

⤷ So that’s why, as you reluctantly swallowed back the anxious lump in your throat, you cup his cheeks and direct have a gaze back to you. Confusion sparks within his ghostly green hues as you refer to him with a shaky grin. “I think I’m ready.”

⤷ It took a moment or two before he managed to muster out some sort of reaction. His eyes widened as his mouth gaped open; his visage was composed of pure surprise. Yet there were tracings of ill-disguised happiness as the corners of his lips twitched into a smile.

⤷ “Are you sure?” He questions. His eyes fixated on your expression of bashfulness, attempting to decipher any traces of possible regret. But you nodded with a smile that seemed much less restless, putting forth faith in your decision; faith in your trust within Nagito.

⤷ At your confirmation, his lips begin to explore realms of your frame that he restrained himself from setting upon before. Kissing and sucking on the plush skin that his mouth had yet to discover. The sensation of his moist mouth clasping over your thighs was electrifying.

⤷ Yet even as his tongue drags over your thighs with such zeal, you couldn’t help the anxieties that bubbled within you, tearing your gaze away from him, muffling your whines.

⤷ And after a few moments of teasing bites and particularly harsh sucks, he noticed your lack of audible moans.

⤷ His first thought was that what he was doing wasn’t what you enjoyed, hence your silence. But as he lifted his quizzical gaze to meet yours, he discovered that your hand had been firmly placed over your mouth; stifling all your harmonious cries.

⤷ Not only that, but your eyes were cast to the side, avoiding his countenance. As much as the sight caused Nagito’s heart to flutter—having always been a sucker for your shy nature—he wanted you to gaze upon him as he devoured you; he wanted to hear you as he pushed you to unravel from the sole use of his mouth.

⤷ Thus, he pushes himself up from between your legs and gently wraps his fingers around your wrists. This causes you to momentarily meet his eyes before hurriedly clenching yours shut, attempting to hide your flustered face behind your hands.

⤷ But Nagito pries them away before you could; his grip gentle yet firm, to assure that you don’t try to hide your beloved face from him.

⤷ “Love,” He begins, waiting for you to open your eyes. But you don’t. Chewing on your bottom lip in nervousness as you try your utmost best to not look at him. Everything in that moment felt so overwhelming, and your poor little heart was struggling to handle it.

⤷ “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You know I only want what you’d enjoy most, right?” He reassures you. His hands atop both of yours as he cradles them so gently. And there it is, again.

⤷ Once more, you wonder what you continuously allow to hold you back from fulfilling your mutual desires; you want this just as much as him.

⤷ And even so, he’s respected every denial and even the current temporary false hope you’d provided. He’s been so patient with you, he’s been so good to you. It’s truly ludicrous that someone as considerate as him even exists. Much less that he also degrades himself constantly; degrading the person you truly believed to be the most respectful significant other to ever exist.

⤷ “No, no. I want to, I promise! It’s just...I’m just—“ You stumble over your words in an attempt to piece together why you keep prolonging this. But you couldn’t formulate the words. Even as you stuttered and tries to come forth with a decent explanation, you couldn’t. Did you even know why?

⤷ Upon your silence, Nagito leaned forward to meet his lips with yours, drawing you in for a kiss. Finally, you open your eyes to meet his softened pair as he pulled away. Time seemed to still as you accepted that you didn’t truly have a reason other than the turmoil of emotions within you.

⤷ “I’m just nervous.” The words that fell from your lips were like mist, so subtle you almost assumed he didn’t hear you. But he did, and a breathy chuckle escaped him as he pecked your lips once more.

⤷ “Is that so?” He hums. You nod, tempted to break eye contact as embarrassment seeps into you. Your mind pacing with a flurry of anxieties. What kind of excuse is that? Nervous? Surely he sees you as pathetic now. What did you have to be nervous of? You trust him, don’t you?

⤷ Wallowing in remorse and self-pity as you suffocated within your shame, you tear your gaze away. But a sigh of relief forces your head to whirl back to gaze upon Nagito; the bearer of that sigh of relief.

⤷ “My hope, it’s okay to be nervous. Honestly, I’d be more alarmed if you weren’t nervous.” He admits. You’re thrown into a state of disbelief; confusion.

⤷ Over and over, he reassures you and promises that your feelings are valid and normal. He promises that it’s okay to be nervous, you’re trying something new, after all.

⤷ His delicate words and consideration cause your heart to swell as your worries have relatively eased up. The fears—the anxiety—that seemed to cage you were eased, almost as though they were never there. It’s almost terrifying how easily he could calm you.

⤷ Nagito allowed his words to hang in the air as you processed it all. He respectively awaited your answer, pleased, regardless of what it’d be. Because Nagito’s relief had stemmed from your ability to confide in him, and that means more than any form of sexual pleasure.

⤷ As you exhale, sighing out the last of your contemplation, you meet his eyes with a much more confident visage.

⤷ “I want to do this. I really do.” A voiced affirmation, and one that you felt assured of. You wanted this and, even through your nervousness, you genuinely wanted this.

⤷ Once again, he trails kisses along your body; from your jaw all the way to your thighs. Each kiss brushed over with a swipe of his tongue, teasingly stimulating you.

⤷ With each peck, he lowers. Closer and closer as you begin to anxiously squirm. It’s still so nervewracking, but you’ve culminated a determination to follow through. Despite your bashfulness causing you to tear your gaze away from Nagito.

⤷ This time, he’s not so forgiving as his teeth gently clamp down onto your thigh. You yelp, moaning out in slight pain and surprise as you turn your head back towards him; gazing as his head was tucked between your thighs, breath fanning over your pussy whilst his green orbs pierced into yours.

⤷ “Keep your eyes on me.” He ordered before tentatively rubbing his tongue over the bite mark as an unspoken apology. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as arousal overcomes you at his unnaturally assertive nature.

⤷ You oblige; keeping your eyes trained on his face as he returns to his ministrations. Heart thumping and ringing in your ears, you gasp as a Nagito dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit.

⤷ He hums, a serene chuckle resonating from the back of his throat before he circles his tongue around your clit. Soon enough, his lips curl around the bud, suckling gently as to avoid hurting you, yet stimulating you enough to release a small shriek.

⤷ After the initial slurp—the testing of new water—Nagito found himself encapsulated within a trance; his lips popping off of your bundle of nerves before plunging his tongue into your tight, drooling cunt repeatedly. Over and over, he continuously yearned for more of you; more of your flavor. You tasted heavenly.

⤷ Restlessly circling his tongue from within you, familiarizing himself with your walls as he douses himself in your juices; his senses engulfed with you in your entirety. And he adored every second of it.

⤷ Just like he adored the squeals of euphoria followed by your alluringly baritone moans that eagerly shot blood to his erection, straining against his pants with full intent to be sheathed within you. But he, too, wanted to savor your tastes.

⤷ With each slurp, you found yourself edging towards your release. Your toes curling, spurts of shock stunning your legs as you twitch and squirm, attempting to make some distance between the nearly unbearable waves of pleasure.

⤷ But Nagito kept a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. His mouth relentless upon his ravishing; he wanted to taste you as you reach your high, and he wants you to ride it out as his tongue swirls within you.

⤷ It only took a mere few seconds before you let out a particularly loud whine, tremors wracking through your body as your cunt squirts your juices; your cum drizzling down Nagito’s chin as he hungrily laps it up.

⤷ “Nagi—Ah!” You attempt to speak—voice hoarse and raspy—but the aftershock of your orgasm causing your pussy to be far more sensitive. Every kitten lick Nagito takes is intensified as you pant.

⤷ And soon enough, everything stills. Your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as Nagito finally arises from between your thighs, his bottom lip and chin drizzled with your cum.

⤷ The sight flusters you as you gaped. His tongue dragged over your nectar, eagerly relishing in the remains of your orgasm as he grinned.

⤷ “So, how was it?” He asks, curious to your perspective; after all, you were very hesitant prior. It warms your heart how, even after everything, your well-being is the main thing on his mind.

⤷ With an exhausted sigh, you wrap your arms around your lover’s neck, tugging him down onto the bed with you. His clothed chest pressed against your bare one as you held him close, the delicate pulsating of your hearts sloppily synchronize. “It was amazing. Thank you, ”

#cunny licker komaeda lol #sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito hcs #nagito imagines #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa scenarios #danganronpa imagines

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lostmousemaid · 3 years

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Return to St. Ninian’s

A Redwall fanfiction by Lost Mousemaid

Approx. 2,500 words

****** ****** ******

The multitude of freed slaves and rescuers had spent the duration of the day traveling north toward Redwall Abbey, but Matthias knew they would still be unable to make it to his home by nightfall. Matthias and Orlando discussed briefly whether to travel until they reached the Abbey later in the night, but Matthias decided against it.

“We should rest and return home first thing in the morning. There will be a great deal of excitement once we return, so we should all at least have had enough sleep.” Matthias smiled at Mattimeo and placed a paw on his shoulder. He found himself doing this often since they were reunited in Malkariss.

Orlando looked behind him at the creatures following in their wake. The woodlanders appeared much healthier since their rescue, but still they were thin and weary. Every meal he had shared with his daughter he had scooped an extra portion to her while she was glancing away. Still, she was much thinner than when they had shared their home in the mountains. “You make a fine point, warrior. I’m sure we will all enjoy the food from your legendary tables when we arrive in the morning.”

Matthias called to the woodlanders behind them, “My friends! We will travel north a while longer. When we reach the old church of St. Ninian’s we will settle there for the night. The building is running down, but it may be nice to have a roof over our heads tonight. We will return to my home Redwall in the morning, and you are all welcome to call Redwall home too.”

A cheer rose from the creatures at the knowledge that their journey would soon end. Elmtail and Sam spun in circles with excitement. Sam called to his new friend to climb a nearby tree with him to see if they could spot the Abbey from a distance. Jess smiled fondly at the pair as they scurried off the path and rushed up a nearby oak tree, their chattering fading into the foliage above them.

Matthias had seen Mattimeo’s carefree expression change upon mention of St. Ninian’s, but he did not press him at that moment. He motioned to Orlando to give him some space, and the warrior mouse pulled ahead of the group, knowing his son would follow his pace.

Once they were out of range and could not be heard by those behind them, Matthias asked, "What’s the matter, Matti?”

Mattimeo opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it firmly. He looked back over his shoulder at Cynthia, who was walking beside Cheek. The two had become fast friends. Cynthia enjoyed his lighthearted mischief and found comfort in his company.

Not so long ago, not so far from this place, Tess had chided Mattimeo for his ill treatment of the young vole. Although he was not much older, he had been careful with the way he spoke to others and expressed his emotions and intended to stay on his best behavior, just as he had promised. He looked up at his father with a weak smile. “I’m fine. I’m just concerned for my friends. That morning after the feast, that is where they kept us. St. Ninian's. I don’t know if they would want to go back.”

Matthias felt a lump form in his throat. St. Ninian's had been crumbling into decay even when he was young, but once it had been the comfortable home to his friends the churchmice before it has been overrun by Cluny and his rats. It had not occurred to him that Slagar would have held the young ones in the church before continuing south. He wondered at the strength of the Churchmouse twins who had been born there and once called the church home. Even now they were laughing between themselves as they listened to Basil exaggerate the story of adopting the name Stag Hare. Matthias might have enjoyed a laugh too, as the story was much more elaborate than when he had met the retired foot fighter many seasons before, but he was not in the mood for laughter.

The warrior mouse was surprised that his grief for Slagar's scheme had not waned, even though Mattimeo was back safely in his company. He was aware that his son was trying his best to follow his example, but Matthias knew his young one: Mattimeo did not want to go back to the church.

“Where would you think your friends would like to sleep tonight?” the warrior asked quietly.

All around them was the peace of Mossflower woods. Moths had begun their lazy flight in the warm autumn air and crickets chirped their afternoon song in the distance. Mattimeo’s eyes wandered over the scenery before him.

“Why don’t we camp in the grass beside the road again? It hasn’t rained and the ground is dry. It’s warm too, after today.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea to me. You should ask our friends what they think.”

Mattimeo turned on one paw and made his way back to where Auma and Orlando were strolling quietly with one another. “Orlando, Auma, what do you think about—”

Walking quickly up behind him, Matthias cut him short. “No, Matti—ask everyone.”

Confusion crossed the young mouse's face for a moment. “But dad, you’re in charge.”

Matthias placed his paws firmly on Mattimeo shoulders and slowly turned him toward the crowd. “Not tonight, Mattimeo.”

…

The freed slaves relished at the idea of resting under the bright stars instead of the confines of a ruin. Suddenly, they all fell into their nightly routine. Jess led a group of the squirrels and otters in search of ingredients for their evening meal while others prepared the clearing for their night’s rest.

Tess ran up to Mattimeo and grabbed his paw. “Come on, Matti, let’s find some firewood. Orlando says he’s making a wild vegetable soup tonight!”

Basil watched the two mice run off together and nudged Matthias gently. “Did you notice, old chap? He hasn’t let go of her paw yet.”

Matthias could not help but laugh at his old friend. “Don’t get started, Basil. Don’t do to him what you did to me and Cornflower.”

Basil’s ears stood straight up in indignation. “What! Me? I say, sah, I never once made a comment regarding you and your goodwife.”

“As I recall,” Matthias taunted as he began assembling a fire pit, “You said something to Cornflower about being a 'pretty little filly' who anyone would be lucky to settle down with. You said it pointedly to someone. I wonder who that was, again?”

“You, of course,” the hare chuckled. “I bet you’re as anxious as a beetle in a bottle to get young Matti back to his mother.”

Matthias nodded sagely. “I’m just as anxious to get back to her, myself.”

…

Orlando’s cooking was as good as Auma had said it was earlier that summer. The young badger wrapped her paws around her father’s forearm. “I told them that it’s our secret that you can cook, dad, but I guess everyone knows now.”

“As long as everyone is fed and no longer hungry, they can say whatever they’d like about my cooking to anybeast.” Orlando wrapped his cloak around his daughter's shoulders. “But now, it’s time for rest.”

Slowly the weary travelers settled down for the night. Moment by moment, the increasing sounds of soft, deep breathing and loud, raucous snores filled the air. Mattimeo had laid down near his father but sleep evaded him and he rolled about restlessly. When he opened his eyes, he saw his father lying on his back, wide awake and staring at the quarter moon.

Mattimeo sat up and looked skyward with him. The moon hung luxuriously in the velvety darkness surrounded by wisps of clouds.

Careful not to wake any nearby creature, Matthias whispered, “Are you having trouble sleeping, Matti?”

Not taking his eyes from the sky above him, Mattimeo nodded.

The warrior stood and held a paw out to his son. “I can’t either. Let's go for a walk.”

…

The warriors walked silently side by side further north along the road. When St. Ninian's came into view, Mattimeo stopped suddenly and made to turn around until his father’s voice stopped him.

“Do you remember when you were young? When you couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t either. We would stay awake all night in the gatehouse. We would play games, and I would tell you stories, and most importantly—we would talk to each other, Mattimeo.”

The young mouse turned slowly back toward his father and kicked languidly at the dirt of the path. Matthias did not know why he was struggling to begin this conversation, but he knew he could not postpone speaking honestly to his son any longer.

"When did we stop talking to each other? I've always loved you. I want to know—I need to know—why? I don't want to go home without knowing that I'm the best father I can be to you, Matti."

Mattimeo looked at his father's expression. For the first time in many seasons, he felt he could speak sincerely. The words burned his throat, but he began to speak. "I don’t know what happened, dad, I don’t. One day I just—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate the stop the tears from welling in his eyes. “One day I didn’t feel like I could tell you the truth anymore. I felt like everything I said was wrong, like I couldn’t do anything right and I would never be a warrior because I couldn’t be like you.” Mattimeo turned toward the darkness of the woodlands while fidgeting nervously with his paws. “I started talking to Martin instead."

The words broke Matthias's heart. He saw so much of himself in his son. He remembered how he felt sitting dejected under Martin's tapestry while Abbot Mortimer lectured him on his deepest emotions, telling him that the days of warriors had long passed. He wanted to encourage his son to speak further, instead of silencing his passions. “You talk to Martin?”

Mattimeo began casually walking forward again. “Yeah, I mean—not always. But for a long time I have. Whenever I was alone in Great Hall I would feel his presence there and I would talk to him. Now I talk to him no matter where I am.” He paused. “You must think that’s strange.”

“No, Mattimeo. I talk to Martin, too. I have since I was young.”

Mattimeo turned back toward his father, a look of awe on his face. “You did?”

Matthias smiled as he saw the spark of admiration in his son’s eyes.

“I still do.”

Mattimeo suddenly increased his pace toward St. Ninian's. Matthias followed behind, careful not to interrupt his son’s lead.

Upon reaching the church, Mattimeo pushed the doors ajar to allow the moonlight to flow into the lobby. He stood silently inside the entrance until his father stopped beside him. The inside of the building was dark, with crumbling architecture illuminated by the light streaming from the door. Even with the fresh air from the woodlands blowing in, the two mice could smell the molding books and rotting wooden furniture from where they stood, along with other smells more abhorrent to imagine. The glum reverie was only broken by the hushed breathing of the two mice until Matthias spoke solemnly.

“Mattimeo—I will not ask you to tell me anything you want to keep to yourself, but if you want to tell me something, I am here to listen to you.”

His son pointed to the far wall that was completely shrouded in darkness. “There. The fox chained us there.” His paw dropped back and his side. Matthias heard his son's voice break.

It made Matthias sick to his stomach to see the place where his son had woken in a stupor after the midsummer feast only to find that his life was forever changed. Although the fox was defeated, Matthias felt rage building in him anew.

“I didn’t want to come back here because I didn’t want to see it again," Mattimeo whispered.

Fighting the image of the harlequin mask from his mind, Matthias brought his thoughts back to his son, who was standing beside him, free and safe. “Why did you?”

“Because, dad, I want to be as strong as you are and not be scared of anything.”

Matthias stepped in front of his son and looked earnestly into the young mouse’s eyes. “Can I tell you a secret, Mattimeo?”

The seasoned warrior waited for his young son to nod in approval before continuing. “I am scared of many things, Matti. I was scared of Asmodeus. I was scared of Cluny. I was scared of losing friends that I have lost. And mostly, I was scared of ever losing you.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the images swirling in the darkness around him. He knew they were figments in his mind. “The moment John told us you were gone was the most scared I have ever been in my life, and the most disappointed and angry I have ever been in myself. Matti, it is not wrong to feel these things, and it’s alright to be honest with those close around you who can help you. And even if you defeat your enemy, sometimes that still isn’t enough to take that fear away.”

Mattimeo had never seen his father so vulnerable. He swallowed, struggling to bring forth words. “What do you mean, dad?”

“I barely had the courage to walk into the bell tower again after the battle with Cluny. Just the memory made my heart race, but they named a bell after me so I felt a responsibility to be there when they hung it. It was difficult for me, and as far as I know no one knew how hard it was for me to be there, except your mother. Sometimes even the memory of fear is enough to open deep wounds. If you fear the memory of Slagar, or of this place, there is no shame in that. You are a stronger mouse than I am to walk here on your own.”

Mattimeo stared into the darkness, his eyes unable to focus as they watered. Matthias continued. “There is a very heavy burden with being a warrior, and I'm sorry you have to bear it. Many of our closest friends do not have the fortune to return home with us or celebrate our victories. Many creatures around you expect you to put on a brave face even when you are falling apart in your heart. I truly believe that is a quality in a good leader, to hide how you feel to encourage others—but Matti—you do not have to fall apart alone. Please remember that. If you felt you couldn’t speak to me before, I want you to know that you can. I never wanted you to feel as alone as I did when I was becoming a warrior.”

Mattimeo’s jaw began to tremble, and Matthias wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

“There is more than one way to be a warrior, son. I need you to see that because you are one, too.”

#redwall #redwall fanfiction #mattimeo #matthias the warrior #st ninians #I'm just saying that Mattimeo would need some serious therapy after that summer #and I don't think Redwall has a therapist #so Matthias needs to step it up #especially considering they should have been having these conversations anyway #also imagine how traumatic it would be to walk back by these places where they were seriously emotionally scarred #WARRIORS CAN FEEL THINGS OK

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mooifyourecows · 2 years

Note

hi just checking in to tell you i'm reading gun metal blue again it cheers me up so bad ! how were the drugs with your brother ?

we did our normal chill drugs but then we held off on the other drugs (psilocybin/shrooms) because we were too stressed to do them without most likely having a terrible trip haha so we are postponing it for next time. maybe Christmas 👌

Quick drug PSA from your friendly neighborhood cow:

remember kids, recreational drugs are only fun if the conditions are right!

if you are going to do any type of hallucinogen like shrooms, you gotta make sure your mental/emotional state is good and happy and your physical environment is safe and calm. If you don't have those things (BOTH are vital!) then you don't do the drug!!!

There's other stuff too that you gotta keep in mind. Some hallucinogens can trigger a bipolar break for people who might possibly have it running in their family. There could potentially be permanent damage done to your mind if you 1) take too many, 2) have a horrible trip, 3) have certain mental disorders/illnesses, dormant or presently known

It's also important, when taking these types of drugs, to have a guide with you. AKA a trustworthy sober person who can watch over you while you are tripping so that you don't do anything to hurt yourself and who can possibly soothe you if things go balls backwards.

Hallucinogens can potentially be an amazing experience that changes your outlook on the world, but there are always risks. So for anybody out there who is contemplating taking some one day, please be safe and careful and do lots of research ahead of time to know the risks! make sure that you aren't taking any other drugs/medications that could react poorly to the drug. And only ever do it with people that you trust and who make you feel happy and calm!

Most importantly, if you're even a little anxious about it, don't do it! Peer pressure to do drugs is bullshit created by the war on drugs campaign to vilify drug users so it's absolutely fine to turn someone down if they offer something to you. most people are TOTALLY fine with you saying "nah" because that means more drugs for them 😌 (obviously there are probably people out there who would try and pressure you but if that happens, remove that person from your life because that's fucked up and Not Okay)(then again, that's true for anything. if someone tries to get you to do something you don't want to do, they're a bitch and I'll spit in their eye for you bby just ask and I'll be on my way in a jiffy)

but anyway, that's just a small psa lmao

stay safe and healthy out there 🖤🌈

#tw drugs #tw drug mention #minors look away #or actually don't look away #because this is educational sorta #be safe #don't do drugs with people you don't trust #or don't do drugs at all if you are scared or worried about it #drugs can be fun or helpful #but they can also be scary and harmful #so always take the time to really think before you do anything

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captain-kingliamsqueen · 4 years

Text

Diary of A Star Crossed Lover Part 2

just a short series ...well not really a series...but still a series! , that ive been working on! there are a few series i’’ve had to put on hold as im just not feeling them right now, and i only want to put my best out for you to read! hope you enjoy this series as much as i have enjoyed writing it!

Pairing: Liam x Riley, Liam x MC

Summary: Liam dives into riley most inner thoughts and dreams...

Word Count: 2,655

Masterlist

ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE!

I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance!

Tags aren’t working so I will be tagging in the comments. Ive tried to tag everyone, please don’t hesitate to msg and let me know if i forgot to tag you!

June 14th

Dear Diary…

Here I am…sitting in the middle of a foreign country…Cordonia, When Maxwell appeared at my apartment and asked me if I wanted to come to Cordonia and compete for Liam's hand in marriage…I mean…is there really a choice in the matter…stay and be a waitress for the rest of my life…come and have the time of my life, with an amazing guy! I’ve never been one to shoot my shot or anything, but this is a once in a lifetime chance, Liam is Amazing, Exciting and extremely handsome, how could I possibly say no?

Love you Muchly…Riley x

Liam placed Riley's diary down on the table as Drake entered his office.

“Drake” Liam greeted him.

“Hey, I just came to see if we’re still on for Poker night tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to postpone for about 30 minutes but we’re definitely still on for it!!”

“alright, I just wanted to check, I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing”

After Drake left, Liam lifted the diary again.

June 26th

Dear Diary,

After the derby and the picnic today, we all went out for cronuts, I can’t believe they’ve never tried them! getting to spend some time with Liam was amazing, even though there were others there, just getting to be with him outside of the court was just amazing. My heart just about jumped out of my body, when we were sitting in the café, and I felt his fingers brush my hand, then his hand linked with mine, he gave it a gentle squeeze then smiled when I looked at him. God I love his smile!

Love you Muchly…Riley x

Liam smirked as he turned the page over,

June 27th

Dear Diary,

Today we are heading to Lythikos, Olivia’s neck of the woods. She has the upper hand here; I need to be careful. Well that’s what Max said anyway…I kind of like Olivia, she’s a strong, bold woman…I cant fault her for that, I mean of course she could be a little nicer but, I think she and I could maybe get along one day.

The thing that scares me about this whole situation…is I’m falling in love with Liam…but it doesn’t matter…its all down to who he chooses, so we could get to the end of the social season and he chooses one of the other ladies…I feel like a prize to be won…I’m not sure how I feel about that… I’m no one’s trophy, and I know there’s no ill intent on Liam's part, but in the end…it’s his decision that’s going to either make or break my life…if I am the one he chooses, I become his wife, the countries queen! But if he chooses someone else, I go home, with nothing, just the embarrassment of going home, known as the “foolish” woman who followed a total stranger to a foreign country after spending a few hours together, hoping he would fall in love with her. I want to believe he will choose me, he has never given me reason to think he wouldn’t, but at the same time, I have to be realistic, I have only known Liam for a matter of weeks…

If it’s a choice of fear or hope…I think ill choose hope, hope that Liam is feeling the same amazing connection that I am, from the moment we met I felt some kind of magnetic pull towards him, and I know he felt it too…I don’t want to live in fear of what might possibly happen, I want to have hope…that he’s falling in love with me too.

Love you Muchly…Riley x

A frown found itself upon Liam's face as he reread the last entry, she was right…the ladies were basically put on a buffet table for him to take his pick of whoever he wanted… Riley had very rarely spoken about her thoughts if Liam wasn’t to choose her, was she really that scared that he wouldn’t and that’s why she didn’t mention it, or did she just have that much faith in him? he loved her from the minute they met, he would choose her over any woman in the world, without a pause for thought, it was always Riley, and he would spend the rest of his life, showing her, she was always the one, she will always be the one for him.

He turned the page over and began the next entry.

27th June

Dear Diary…

I’ve been here just about two weeks and my god, it is AMAZING! I mean, I wish I could spend so much more time with Liam but he says he has to spend time with the other girls too so it doesn’t look to obvious…I won’t lie, I won’t deny it…it makes me kind of jealous, I wish I could spend every day with that man, whenever I’m around him I just feel…free…I feel like I don’t have to hide anything, I don’t feel self-conscious, I don’t feel anxious, or nervous! He just makes me feel at peace. I’ve never felt so comfortable just being in a room with someone. We managed to sneak a kiss or two, I want to spend the rest of my life feeling the way his kisses make me feel. when Olivia kissed Liam…boy did my heart sink, I know he didn’t want to kiss her, he told me that himself, but seeing someone else kiss him just made me feel…some kind of way. He invited me up to his room after the ball, which I happily agreed to! I could never turn down more time with Liam. When I arrived at his room and he had lit candles oh my goodness, I don’t think ive ever had someone be that romantic…when I asked him and he blushed, my god! Liam and I spent ages in the hot tub, we kissed, we y’know…messed around a little bit and we had a real deep conversation about love, about life, Ive never seen him as relaxed than he was last night. Being in his arms…it just felt so right. When we got out of the hot tub and he made us hot chocolate to sit and drink Infront of the fire, its just turning 2am and I’m only just getting back, if I’d stayed any longer the two of us would have fell asleep, as much as we would have both loved that, it wouldn’t have looked very good anyone seen I was leaving Liam's room, in his clothes after spending the night with him then stayed over. Let it be known, if we could have…we would have.

Love you Muchly…Riley

Liam grinned as he remembered that night all too well. That night he spent with Riley was one of the best nights he ever had.

June 27th

Riley sat with her eyes closed, cuddled into Liam's chest, with his arms wrapped around her. The hot bubbly, steamy water keeping them warm on the cold night. Liam pressed a gentle kiss to Riley's head “Riley?” he whispered, as he gently ran his hand through her hair. “yeah” she replied

“What does Love mean to you?” Liam gently traced his fingers over her cheek as he looked down to see her so relaxed. Riley opened her eyes as she looked up at him, giving him the sweetest smile.

“Love means accepting you for who they are, and not wanting to change you. it means loving you and standing by you through the worst times. It means loving you even when you are in a bad mood, or too tired to do the things I want to do. It means loving you when you’re down, not just when you’re fun to be with. Love means, that I know you’re deepest secrets and do not judge you for them, asking in return that you do not judge me for mine, it means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go, it means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly and hoping…just hoping that you feel the same way for me …I think Love is just a word…until someone comes along and gives it meaning, and when that someone comes along, Love becomes this…whole new adventure.”

“Riley…” Liam whispered with a smile as he leaned in placing the sweetest kiss on her lips, her fingers lacing through the hair on the back of his neck.

Not long later, Liam whispered, breaking the peaceful silence that the two had fell into.

“do you want to get some hot chocolate and we can sit in front of the fireplace?”

“that sounds like a great idea”

Liam climbed out of the hot tub, then offered Riley his hand to help her out. She thanked him as he lifted a towel and wrapped it around her, then got himself one.

“I don’t have any dry clothes Liam; I only have my dress”

“I’m sure I have something you can put on” Liam assured her. They made their way into Liam's bedroom; Liam went to his suitcase where he pulled out a t shirt and a pair of shorts.

“I hope these are alright for you”

“they’re perfect, thank you”

Riley moved into the bathroom where she changed out of her soaking undergarments and into the fresh, dry clothes then she made her way back into the bedroom. Liam was in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t shirt; he was stood in his little kitchenette just finishing the hot chocolate. He brought them over to Riley, placing them on the floor beside where he had sat some cushions on the floor for them. Riley sat down, whilst Liam grabbed a blanket from the bed, he sat beside Riley, wrapping his arm along with the blanket around her.

The two spent the next while sipping away at their hot beverages.

By the time the clock hit 1am, there were two empty mugs, Riley sat cuddled into Liam's chest, drifting in and out of sleep. Whilst Liam sat running his fingers through Riley's hair, their legs entangled under the blanket that had made its way round to lay over their legs, Liam could barely keep his eyes open.

“we can’t fall asleep” he whispered as he held her that little bit tighter.

“I know…we’re just resting our eyes for a little bit” Riley smiled tiredly “I should head back to my room soon”

“I wish you didn’t have to; I could lay here with you all night”

“me too, but sadly it’s the way it has to be”

Liam nearly caved that night; it took everything he had in him to stop himself from just climbing into bed and falling asleep beside the woman he was falling deeply in love with. With a grin on his face just thinking about the night, he closed the diary over, then he got up and headed out of his office and down to the royal quarters. He always had this diary with him, every chance he got, he would read a page or two. He wanted to really understand how Riley felt through the whole social season and engagement to madeleine.

Liam had made plans to have dinner with Riley, well made plans as in, on the plane after they got engaged Liam told Riley, they would never have to eat dinner alone again, so every night since and every night going forwards the two had dinner together. Once Liam got to the apartment, he showered then changed into some more comfortable clothes before heading down to Riley's room where one of the staff would be bringing the two take out. Liam and Riley sat on the sofa, with the tv on in the background whilst they ate.

“so, I was thinking about wedding cake earlier” Riley stated as she put a shovel of Chinese noodles into her mouth

“really? You have something in mind?”

“Lemon cake…” she grinned

“that’s a great idea, I think it will go down really well with everyone!

“I was also thinking maybe we could go for a walk on the beach after dinner, if you don’t have any engagements that is”

“nope, I cleared the night, I would love to go for a walk on the beach with you”

After the two finished their food, they wrapped up and pulled their shoes on then headed down to Liam's car, with Bastian following closely behind in the SUV, they made their way to the beachfront.

“it’s so cold…but it’s so peaceful” Riley whispered, she squeezed Liam's hand as she cuddled into his side.

“so, I’ve been reading your diary” Liam whispered

“you have?” Riley grinned with a soft blush hitting her cheeks.

“I have, I wasn’t going to, I wanted to respect your privacy, but then…I wanted to fully understand what you went through, how you felt.”

“so how far have you got?”

“just earlier today I was reading about the night we spent in the hot tub in lythikos”

Riley smirked when he mentioned it. “one of the best nights I had, that was one of the first nights I felt truly connected to you, we had no interruptions, no engagements, he really talked and got to know each other a little better… just us”

“me too” he smiled as he squeezed her hand.

The two sat down on the sand, Riley sat between Liam's legs leaning back into his chest.

“do you have it with you?”

“your diary?”

“yeah” she smirked

“yes, I have it”

“we should read some”

“right now?”

“yeah right here, whilst we have peace and quiet”

Liam pulled the small book from the inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped the book open and began to read.

June 29th

Dear Diary

I had the best day at the beach, there was a sailing competition, then we spent the day on the sand, I got burnt to a crisp and I don’t even mind! Liam hates sailing, when he told me he only really takes part because his father’s love for boats is most important than his dislike for them! He is so selfless and kind…ive never met anyone that would put as many people before themselves as he does. He’s a really good man! What I did learn though, is my hopefully soon to be husband doesn’t like the taste of salt water, I’m not surprised!

Liam chuckled as he remembered his awful boat ride with Drake.

Today was the day Liam found out his father would be stepping down as king at the end of the social season, meaning, he would be choosing a wife and becoming king all at the one time. I really felt for him, his profession can’t be easy, being rushed into finding a wife, then being told he only had a few weeks before he would have the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, it’s an extremely stressful situation and I hope I have shown him, that if he ever needs someone to just sit and listen or just distract him for a little bit, I will be there, no matter what.

Liam took me to the forgotten falls, my god it was absolutely stunning there, and the story behind it was just…wow! Two people forbidden from falling in love with each other…sounds all too familiar…though I’m sure Liam and I won’t let anyone get in our way. When Liam said he wanted us to take the leap of faith off the edge of the waterfall, I couldn’t say no!

When he kissed me in the water…my god, it was like no other kiss ive had before! Then he nearly said he loved me…god I wish he had…because I love him too.

Love you muchly…Riley x

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hysterialevi · 4 years

Text

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 5

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

TWO DAYS LATER

AURORA BASIN

Making haste across the camp, Arthur strode over to Dutch’s cabin with an uneasy spring in his step as he joined his fellow gang members, his mind racing with incessant thoughts of doubt.

The Van der Lindes had spent the entirety of the previous night preparing for today’s robbery and equipped themselves with every possible weapon, completely armed to the teeth.

They were carrying shotguns, rifles, pistols, knives -- hell, even dynamite. Arthur had no earthly idea how they were supposed to sneak past all the lawmen while looking so conspicuous, but he assumed that Dutch would have some sort of “miracle” plan to work things out.

He always did.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch announced, approaching his men as they waited outside the cabin. “Today’s the day. We’ve been plannin’ this robbery for a long time now, and I am well aware that there has been some skepticism...” he threw a glare at Arthur, “...about how this is going to work. But trust me -- we’ve been doin’ robberies like this for decades now. We was born and bred as outlaws. We live for jobs like this. This ain’t nothin’ new to us.”

Dutch held up a reassuring hand. “We are gonna be just fine. Just follow my lead, lie low, and don’t do anything stupid. Now, as for the plan...”

He gestured to two gang members. “Cleet and Joe are gonna stay behind to guard the camp while we’re away. They’re also gonna help pack things up since I do plan on movin’ once we’re finished in Blackwater.”

Arthur raised a question. “Where we going?”

“I don’t have an exact location yet,” Dutch answered, “but I’m thinkin’ of heading east. I’m not fond of civilization -- you know that -- but it’s clear to me now that this gang ain’t ready to run itself. If there’s anyone out there who can cure my illness, or postpone my death at the very least, it’s a chance I have to take. And I doubt we’re gonna find any fancy doctors over in New Austin.”

Micah joined in. “And what about the robbery?”

“Just keep your wits about you.” Dutch advised. “As you all know, there are many lawmen guarding this bank. According to Mackintosh, we can expect roughly a dozen. I don’t want any of you firin’ your guns unless absolutely necessary. Understand? Let’s try to keep this as quiet as possible, and as quick as possible.”

“Now, as for who’s doin’ what... Arthur, you focus on gettin’ the vault open. I don’t care how you do it. Whether you wanna beat the teller, or figure out the combination yourself, just make sure you don’t draw the law’s attention too quick. Micah and Bill, I’m countin’ on you two to keep any unruly customers at bay. We got enough to worry about as is. I don’t need any surprises. Shay, you be on the lookout for anyone that tries to stop us.”

“What d’you want us to do if somethin’ goes wrong?” Arthur asked. “Where should we meet?”

“If we get separated, head to Quaker’s Cove. It’s a jetty just south of Blackwater. But do not ride straight back to camp. We can’t risk leadin’ the law into the heart of our gang. Now... is everyone clear on the plan?”

The gang exchanged looks with each other, all of them nodding in agreement.

“I think we are, Dutch.” Shay replied.

The older man grinned deviously. “Then let’s goddamn do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

TALL TREES

Galloping through the forest at full speed, Dutch and his small army of men carved their way through the thick woods as they hurried to Blackwater, anxious to get this robbery over with.

Not only were they expecting to see heavy resistance at the bank, they also had to ride straight through Skinner Brother territory in order to reach it in the first place. And they weren’t exactly the type to cower in the shadows.

There were toppled stagecoaches lying on the side of the road, people hanging from trees, rotting horse carcasses leaned up against the rocks, and columns of black smoke just above the horizon that pinpointed their other camps throughout the region.

It was no wonder the Pinkertons took an interest in this place. Anybody who wandered into Tall Trees was essentially signing their own death warrant, and even the local law had been spooked away from this area.

Arthur just hoped they didn’t get roasted alive before they reached Blackwater. Dealing with a few cowboys who had badges slapped onto their coats was one thing, but these Skinner Brothers... they were no joke.

They were crazy, but clever. Wild, but organized. Nowhere to be seen, but everywhere at the same time. They had been targeting travelers and lawmen alike for years now, and Arthur doubted their gang would be any exception.

Unbeknownst to him however, there was another, much more urgent threat that awaited them in the forest.

And he was far more familiar with this one than he realized.

Holding his rifle close to his chest, Isaac attentively observed the gang from behind a boulder as they traveled along the narrow paths, completely oblivious to the man watching them from afar.

The young man had been waiting in the same spot for nearly two hours now and already set up a few traps in order to delay the gang’s return, but he didn’t plan on killing Mackintosh just yet.

He was surrounded by too many people. Too many obstacles. The Van der Lindes had a reputation of being some of the deadliest outlaws in the country, and Isaac knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to tackle all of them single-handedly.

If he was going to kill Mackintosh and escape West Elizabeth with his life, he’d have to eliminate the men protecting him first.

That was why he was going to poison their food.

Peering through the scope of his rifle, Isaac scanned the gang as they breezed past the trees, riding like a bunch of bats out of hell. At first glance, none of them seemed to stand out, but upon taking a closer look, Isaac suddenly spotted Mackintosh himself riding alongside another man.

“...There you are, you piece of shit...” He muttered under his breath, tempted to pull the trigger and be done with it.

But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Isaac wanted Shay to know who was coming after him, and he wanted his face to be the last thing that pathetic murderer ever saw... but he was going to do it right.

He didn’t spend fifteen years hunting Mackintosh down just to shoot him like a bird in the breeze. If Isaac was going to kill him, he’d do it in a way that neither of them would ever forget.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the young man lowered his rifle and forced himself to stay back, allowing Mackintosh to ride away with the rest of the gang.

It pained Isaac to just let him slip out of his fingers like this, but if everything went according to plan these next few days, then he’d get his revenge sooner than he even knew it.

He just had to wait a little bit longer.

Standing up from the ground, Isaac tugged on his horse’s reins and led him through the woods, trying to stay as low as possible while he headed for the entrance to Aurora Basin.

“C’mon, Aldo...” he whispered, getting the poison ready. “We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

BANK OF BLACKWATER

Gathering near the edge of town, Dutch and his men all huddled up in a straight line as they observed the bank standing in the distance, their hearts pumping with adrenaline.

It didn’t look like anyone in Blackwater had taken an interest in their activities just yet, but considering the horses’ restless whinnies and the way they struggled in their bridles, a storm was on its way.

They’d have to move quick.

“There it is.” Dutch said, observing the tall building. “The Blackwater bank.”

He glanced side-to-side, checking on all his men. “...Are you boys ready?”

Micah rolled his shoulders. “Ready, Dutch.”

“Good. Then let’s--”

“--Hold up.” Arthur suddenly interrupted, gaining Dutch’s attention.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What is it?”

The other man narrowed his eyes ominously. “This don’t feel right...”

“What doesn’t?”

Arthur gestured to the bank’s entrance. “Look. There’s hardly anyone here. No guards, no Pinkertons, no local law...”

Dutch was already bored of his skepticism. “So...?”

“So, where the hell is everybody? When Shay and I were last here, we counted at least a dozen people. Ain’t no way they’d just leave the bank unguarded like this.”

Micah mimicked a snore. “Doubt, doubt, and more doubt. Do you ever stop worrying, Morgan?”

Arthur glared at him in annoyance. “I’m just tryin’ to keep what few people we have left alive, Bell. You wasn’t there when we scouted this place out. They had a goddamn army of lawmen protectin’ this bank.”

Shay jumped in. “It’s true. We saw a shit ton of men here, Dutch. It wasn’t pretty. If we stayed any longer, we woulda gotten caught.”

“And now...” Arthur continued, “they’ve all suddenly disappeared. On the same day of our robbery, no less. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Dutch shrugged casually. “Whether it’s coincidence or fate, I won’t complain. You was worried that we wouldn’t be able to find any openings, weren’t you, Arthur? Well, here it is. Now, put on your mask and set aside your worries. We’ve wasted long enough bickering about how we’re gonna rob this bank. I say it’s time we goddamn do it.”

Bill pulled his bandana up. “Right behind you, boss.”

Arthur let out an irritated sigh but followed Dutch’s actions nonetheless, preparing his pistol. “Fine. I’m with you. But I ain’t celebratin’ anytime soon.

Dutch dismounted his horse. “Then keep your gun close, and follow my lead. We have only one chance at this. Let’s not waste it.”

Prowling towards the bank like a pack of wolves, the entire gang steadily approached the front doors while keeping their eyes peeled at the same time, admittedly somewhat unnerved by Arthur’s observations.

Even though the two of them didn’t get along in the slightest, Micah couldn’t deny that he did find it a bit strange that no one was guarding the bank. Nobody outside the gang knew about their plans for the robbery -- except for the young man Micah spoke with -- and he was fairly certain that none of the other members had been in contact with the law.

If everything was at it seemed, then that meant the little rascal had gone behind Micah’s back and given the Pinkertons a tip about their next move. He was probably trying to buy himself some time by trapping them in Blackwater, and using the law as a way to delay their return.

...Goddammit, Micah cursed to himself. He was going strangle that boy if he ever saw him again.

“Alright, cowboys...” Dutch said lowly, flattening himself against the wall. “You all know what to do. Keep your guard up. Grab as much money as you can. We go in, and we go out.”

He pulled his mask over his nose. “Follow my lead!”

Whipping out both of his revolvers, Dutch planted a firm foot in the door and kicked it open, causing it to swing loose as everyone inside jolted their heads in his direction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery!”

Rushing into the bank, Bill and Micah immediately got to work and started waving their guns around, making sure that all the customers were on the floor.

“Stay down!” Bill exclaimed, slamming the butt of his rifle into someone’s head.

Screams of panic could be heard throughout the building as the gang swiftly took control of the bank and cornered people into the walls, keeping them trapped behind the threat of getting shot.

“Don’t do nothin’ stupid!” Micah snarled. “Or you’ll get a bullet in your head! Understand?”

“Mr. M!” Dutch called out amidst the chaos, beckoning Arthur to the vault. “Go on and do your thing! We’ll keep an eye out for any law. Just get those bags full!”

Charging to the back of the bank, Arthur instantly aimed his pistol at the teller’s head and pulled down the hammer, forcing him to follow his every command.

“What’re you, deaf?” He barked, grabbing his collar. “Open the goddamn vault!”

“O-Okay!” The teller cried out. “Okay! J-Just... don’t hurt anyone!”

Reaching for the vault’s knob with a shaky hand, the teller frantically began to put the combination in while cowering under Arthur’s intense stare, his breath trembling uncontrollably with fear.

So far, everything was going according to plan, and neither Shay nor Dutch had raised the alarm yet, but Arthur just couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming.

Why else would the law leave the bank so vulnerable like this? This town was no stranger to criminals. Even in the busier parts of the city where things were more civilized, Arthur would still see at least one or two lawmen strolling about.

The only logical explanation he could think of... was that the Pinkertons were hoping to lure them all into one spot before wiping them out.

They must’ve known how Dutch’s mind worked by now, and they must’ve been able to predict that he’d hit the bank eventually.

Arthur’s only question... was how they knew it would happen today.

“There!” The teller whimpered, throwing his hands in the air. “I-It’s open!”

“Good, now get outta my way.” Arthur shoved the man off to the side, pushing forward into the vault.

“It’s open!” He announced to the rest of the gang. “Someone get over here and make sure this fool don’t try nothin’ funny. I’m gonna get the money.”

Stepping over the unconscious body of another customer, Arthur grabbed the bag dangling from his shoulder and began shoveling bundles of cash into it, wanting to get out of this godforsaken city as soon as possible.

He could already hear the whistles of police officers blaring in the distance, and if the amount of footsteps storming their way was anything to go by, Arthur imagined they were about to have one hell of a fight on their hands.

He just prayed they’d live long enough to see the end of it.

“How’s it lookin’ in there?” Dutch shouted across the bank.

“Good!” Arthur replied, not sounding too confident. “But it ain’t as much as we expected!”

The older man dismissed his comment. “Well, take it anyways! Now is hardly the time to be picky, son! We got lawmen headed our way!”

“I know! I’m goin’ as fast as I can!”

Moving onto the next stack of cash, Arthur opened up a second bag and began piling money into that one, hurriedly trying to swipe every single note he could see.

It sounded like someone was giving orders outside of the bank -- most-likely positioning their men to surround the building -- and just by listening to the scattered sighs of relief coming from the customers, he guessed that their gang was probably in the least favorable position right now.

How did they arrive so fast? Arthur wondered. He knew that something was amiss just based on the absence of any lawmen at the bank, but it still seemed odd to him that they were this prompt.

There was no way in hell that any of this was a coincidence like Dutch suggested. Someone told the law where their gang was going, and when they were going to be there. Someone here was a traitor.

Now they just had to figure out whom.

“...Van der Linde!” A man’s voice bellowed, causing the entire gang to fall silent.

Arthur froze in the vault, glancing over his shoulder at Dutch.

“Who the hell is that?” He whispered. The older man gave him a puzzled look.

“No idea.”

Readying his guns, Dutch crept his way over to one of the windows and peeked through the dusty glass, subtly taking a closer look at their unexpected visitor.

He couldn’t see their face from this distance -- what with all the sand billowing around -- but it didn’t take long for him notice the array of Pinkertons that had gathered outside.

They were in more trouble than they realized.

“Dutch van der Linde!” The man repeated, sounding much more aggressive this time. “I know you’re in there! Get out here! Now! There’s nowhere for you to run!”

Dutch kept himself hidden behind one of the walls, making sure that none of the Pinkertons could sneak a shot in.

“...And to whom do I have the displeasure of speaking with?” He called out, earning a few snickers from the gang.

“Oh, you know me.” They replied, evidently not threatened. “Much better than you think, old friend.”

A single man emerged from the crowd on horseback, holding a shotgun in his grasp.

He was dressed in a black suit and bowler hat -- similar to the rest of his comrades -- and he donned a familiar-looking mustache that instantly led Dutch to recognize his unforgettable face.

“It’s me,” the man said, “Edgar Ross. You remember, don’t you, Mr. Van der Linde? Your people shot my partner Milton in cold blood all those years ago. Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

Dutch scoffed. “Well, I must say, you certainly have a... unique approach to reunions, Mr. Ross. Normally when I greet people, I’m holding their hand. Not a gun.”

The Pinkerton’s expression remained flat. “Oh, I doubt that. Your lot are murderers, Dutch. Savages. You’ve become just as deranged as those Skinner Brothers, and everyone knows it. But not everyone knows how to deal with it. That’s the one mistake Milton made that got him killed.”

Ross cocked his shotgun, prompting the rest of the agents to follow suit.

“I told that man, time and time again, that if you want to cage a wild animal, you have to treat it like one. You can’t show mercy to those who don’t understand the concept of it. Otherwise, they’ll just perceive it as weakness.”

Dutch decided to hold his fire for now and warned the gang to keep calm, despite their itchy trigger fingers.

“Oh, come now, Mr. Ross.” He bargained, his tone sharp with caution. “Must this day end with even more bloodshed? You pride yourself on being a civilized man, after all. Do you not? So why don’t we conclude this situation with civility... and put our guns away? Like gentlemen.”

Agent Ross didn’t budge in the slightest. “Civility was damned the minute you walked into town, Dutch.”

Dutch’s entire demeanor shifted at the response, and Arthur could’ve sworn he saw something snap inside the old man. Something akin to a fire being ignited.

He had this look about him that said he was going to do something bold, and judging by the way he scanned the room, Arthur had a feeling it was going to be dangerously reckless, too.

What on Earth was he planning?

“Y’know what, Mr. Ross...?” Dutch said darkly, his voice rumbling like magma. “You’re right. Civility be damned.”

Without giving anyone time to react, the man suddenly grabbed one of the women in the bank and held a gun to her head, presenting her to the lawmen as she shrieked in fear.

“What the hell are you doing...?!” Arthur questioned through gritted teeth, completely forgetting about the money.

“Saving our lives...!” Dutch growled under his breath. “Just let me handle this, son.”

Dragging the woman so that she was visible through the windows, Dutch tightly held her in his grip and kept the pistol aimed at her temple, practically drilling the barrel through her skull.

“Shit!” Edgar’s partner Fordham exclaimed. “He’s got a hostage!”

Dutch chuckled at that. “Oh, I assure you, mister! I’ve got far more than just one! There are plenty of souls in here ripe for the taking, and I will most definitely take them all.” A malicious glint twinkled in his eye. “...Unless, of course, you let us go. We are... civilized folk, after all.”

Micah and Bill both laughed at that, but Arthur wasn’t anywhere near being amused. If their gang managed to survive this mess of a robbery, he and Dutch were certainly going to exchange a few words later.

“Shay,” Dutch whispered, gesturing to the explosives on his person, “plant a stick of dynamite on the rear wall, would you? It looks like we’re blasting our way out of here.”

Mackintosh nodded, bolting over to the other side. “Alright. Just keep ‘em distracted.”

The outlaw grinned. “Oh, don’t you worry, my boy. I will.”

Bringing his attention back to the Pinkertons, Dutch continued to restrain the woman as she frantically struggled in his grasp, sobbing due to the panic.

“Now, Mr. Ross,” he carried on, “I hate to put you in such a tough position, but if you want me to let these people go... I’m afraid I’m gonna need some assurances in return. A few favors, if you will.”

The Pinkerton glowered at him, refusing to comply. “Hubris will be the end of you, Dutch. Let that woman go. She isn’t a part of this.”

“Wasn’t.” Dutch corrected. “But now, I’ve made her a part of it. So, what it’s gonna be, agent? Can we come to some sort of understanding? Or shall we skip the small talk,” he pulled the hammer down, “and get straight to the shooting?”

Fordham turned to Ross, his face plastered with concern. “...We have to do what he says, Edgar. For now, at least. He’ll kill her otherwise.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...No. He won’t. A hostage is no use if they’re dead.”

“But you heard Dutch,” the young man persisted. “He has more than one. You’ve seen how far this gang will go. Who’s to say they won’t shoot them one-by-one until they get what they want?”

Ross sighed in annoyance. “Do not believe the lies that these savages throw at you so easily, Archer. You really believe he has more than one? Dutch is just saying that to get the exact reaction he’s getting out of you.”

Fordham remained staunch. “Are you really willing to bet their lives on that? We can always recover the money stolen from this bank, but we can’t bring those people back once Dutch pulls that trigger. Whether he’s lying or not, we have to comply.”

In spite of the reluctance he harbored, Ross listened closely to Fordham’s words and reconsidered his stance on the situation, finally deciding that perhaps, his partner had a point.

Even though letting Dutch run away was the last thing he wanted to do, saving the lives of innocent people was more important. Dutch was most-likely going to die off soon anyway, considering the state of his health, but if there was any chance of having him face true justice, Ross was going to take it.

Still, he had to prioritize the safety of those hostages before anything else. They were completely defenseless in that bank, and if Dutch was actually telling the truth, then Ross didn’t want to be the one who simply stood by and watched as they died.

“Fine.” Edgar conceded. “We’ll stand down for now. Just make sure that he doesn’t--”

Before the man could even finish his sentence, a sudden explosion erupted from the bank and shook the entire city around it, causing the Pinkertons’ horses to rear out of fright as smoke polluted the air.

“What the hell?” Fordham blurted out, his eyes popping wide open.

“Goddammit!” Ross yelled. “They’re escaping through the back! Don’t let them get away!”

Whipping the reins on his horse, Ross and the rest of the Pinkertons immediately began galloping after Dutch as they charged towards the Great Plains, running like there was no tomorrow.

They didn’t hear any gunshots prior to the explosion, so Fordham assumed that Dutch had spared the hostages, but even then, their chances of survival were pretty slim. That bank certainly wasn’t the biggest one in America, and there was no way to guarantee that the dynamite hadn’t gotten them instead.

“They’re heading west!” Ross shouted, keeping his eye on the horizon. “Stop them!”

Opening fire on the Van der Lindes, the Pinkertons began showering the gang with a storm of bullets as they barreled their way across the open fields, leaving a trail of gun smoke and dust behind them.

A symphony of screams and shouts could be heard throughout the region as Pinkertons were sent tumbling off their horses by the Van der Lindes’ attacks, causing them to leave trails of blood on the golden grass below.

“You see them anywhere?” Fordham yelled over all the commotion, reloading his rifle.

Edgar did his best to peer through the smoke.

“...No.” He said in disappointment.

Ross yanked on the reins and slowed down to a halt, commanding the rest of his men to do the same.

“Shit...!” He cursed, attentively scanning the tree line. “Those bastards are quick. I’ll give them that.”

Fordham caught up to his partner, slightly out of breath due to the sudden chaos.

“Well, what do we do now?”

The other man gazed at the carnage behind them, more fervent than ever to take Dutch down.

“Keep searching for them. While their trail is still hot. We’ll push them all the way to Armadillo if we have to, but it won’t be easy. There aren’t as many of them nowadays as there were before. It’ll be harder to pick up any tracks.”

Fordham gave him a firm nod. “Understood.”

“But first,” Ross said, stopping Archer before he could leave, “I want you and a few other men to check up on the hostages at the bank. Some of them could’ve survived. If they did, they’ll need someone to look after them.”

The young man felt a sense of relief upon hearing Edgar say that. “Right. Of course. On my way.”

“Then make it quick.” Ross ordered. “I don’t want to give these animals the chance to flee the state. We have them by the neck. It’s time we took them down for good.”

Turning back towards Blackwater, Fordham called out to some of the other Pinkertons and beckoned them to follow him, breaking into a sprint as they all rushed to the bank.

Meanwhile, Ross stayed behind and continued his search for the gang, admittedly feeling sour that he let Dutch slip from his grasp once again.

Why was that man so difficult to catch? He was nothing but another lowlife terrorizing the American countryside, and it wasn’t as if the Pinkertons hadn’t dealt with his type before. In fact, Edgar was even willing to wager that they had fought worse.

He supposed it had less to do with Dutch himself, and more with the people who surrounded him. They were loyal. Well-trained. Bred for killing. The type of men who would rather die than let their leader be taken.

That was why Milton’s methods never worked. He gave the other members a chance to leave Dutch behind without realizing that he was the only world they ever knew. He bet his survival on the assumption that those people had something to go back to when, in reality, the gang had become their new family.

In Edgar’s eyes though, they were all monsters. Every single one of them had to be eradicated if the Pinkertons ever hoped to find peace, and despite how he may’ve clashed heads with Fordham occasionally, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to catch them alone.

The Van der Linde gang was dying, yes.

But that was what made them so dangerous.

And this time, the Pinkertons were prepared.

~~~~~~~~~~

HALF AN HOUR LATER

AURORA BASIN

“D’you think we lost ‘em?” Micah asked as he brought his horse to a stop, his heart still racing from what happened at the bank.

Dutch let out a deep breath and slouched in his saddle, coughing a few times before spitting on the ground.

“I... I think so.” He confirmed, slowing to a trot. “I doubt the Pinkertons will give up easily, but it doesn’t seem like they know where our camp is yet. We should be safe for the moment. Just keep an eye out. They already took us by surprise once. We don’t want it to happen again.”

Arthur grumbled at that and immediately hopped off his horse, almost tempted to hightail it out of West Elizabeth right there.

“Well, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you’d have just listened to me!”

Dutch looked at Arthur with a cautionary glare, his eyes wild from the fight. “I do not have time for this right now, Arthur...!”

But the younger man wouldn’t let up. “And when do you have time, Dutch? Huh? I tried to warn you twice about the risks that this robbery entailed, and twice you decided to ignore me!”

Arthur pointed outside the camp, his tone rough with disbelief. “You nearly killed that woman, Dutch. An innocent woman. Just like the one in Guarma.”

Micah scoffed. “Oh, you’re really gonna pull that one out, Morgan--”

“--Stay out of this, Micah.”

Dutch raised his voice, shouting over the two of them. “Enough! Stop it. Both of you.”

He brought his focus to Arthur, evidently furious with the man’s constant doubt.

“Listen to me, son. I did... what I had to. It ain’t pleasant, but sometimes, survival comes before morality. You saw the way those Pinkertons scrambled once I took that woman hostage. Their hesitation is the only reason we managed to escape. What else could I have done?”

“You could’ve listened.” Arthur said. “You could’ve listened to all the people who’ve warned you ever since the beginning, but over and over again, you chose not to. And now look where we are!”

“We are still alive, Arthur!” Dutch replied.

“We’re dying!” He yelled back.

Falling silent after his sudden outburst, Arthur sighed in exhaustion and removed his hat, wiping some sweat off his brow as Dutch approached him.

“Arthur,” he said, his voice much gentler now. “I... I ain’t got that much time left. You know this.”

Dutch put a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“I need you to be with me in these final moments. Not against me. These Pinkertons -- they don’t care who they kill so long as they’re killing one of us. All they want is to destroy our gang, and that’s why we need to stick together in this fight. We cannot let them win, Arthur.”

The other man’s face sank with despondency. “...They’re already winning, Dutch. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with us. That’s just the way it is now. Civilization is gonna be on top of us soon, and we’re gonna disappear someday, too. Whether we’re ready for it or not.”

Having no more desire to argue with Dutch, Arthur hurriedly pulled the bags off his shoulders and slung them across his horse’s saddle, not even bothering to grab his own share of the take.

“Here’s the money we got.” He showed Dutch. “Do with it what you will.”

Contrary to what Arthur expected though, the other man didn’t throw himself at the cash and, instead, simply gazed at Morgan, his eyes lost in sorrow.

Arthur could tell that Dutch felt a little apologetic for pushing him away like this, and they both wished there was some way they could get through to the other, but with all the pandemonium surrounding them these days, it seemed like their words often carried next to no weight.

Their conversations usually had about as much progress as Manifest Destiny did in New Austin, and considering the fact that Dutch didn’t pull out his gun this time, Arthur wondered if the man was truly sorry for his actions.

“Arthur...” the man whispered, “I--”

Before he could say anything though, the disgusting sound of someone retching abruptly interrupted them, and upon turning to see where the source was coming from, Arthur saw Cleet clutching his throat in the distance, his face turning into an alarming shade of blue.

“What the hell...?” Arthur murmured, still trying to process the view. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?”

Shay took a closer look at him, suddenly breaking into a panic once he realized the man was dying.

“Oh, shit. He’s choking!”

Putting his things down, Shay instantly jumped off his horse and rushed over to Cleet in an attempt to help him, only to screech to a halt when a gush of blood came spurting out the man’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” Mackintosh exclaimed, staring widely at the horrific scene.

Meanwhile, Cleet collapsed to the stained grass beneath him and continued to writhe in agony, his lungs desperately gasping for oxygen, but to no avail.

His lips were purple, his eyes were bloodshot, his teeth were red, and the veins in his forehead protruded to the point where Arthur thought they might burst through his skin. There was a yellowish foam bubbling around the corner of his mouth now, and despite the gang’s efforts to help him, his condition only seemed to deteriorate.

Eventually, within a few short heartbeats... he was gone.

Just like that.

All because of one untimely meal.

“...Lord above...” Dutch breathed out, still in shock.

“What... what the hell just happened?” Shay asked, gazing down at Cleet’s body. “Did he really choke?”

Arthur examined the man’s hellish-looking face, almost immediately coming to a conclusion.

“Of course not, dumbass. Look at him. Foam ‘round the mouth, bloodshot eyes, blue skin. Somebody poisoned Cleet.”

Bill called out to them from the supply wagons, adding even more problems to their already long list of concerns. “Yeah, and they also stole everything we have!”

Dutch strode over to him. “What’re you talking about, Williamson?”

“Look!” He pointed at the empty crates. “Our food, our money, our ammo -- it’s all gone! And our weapons are destroyed, too!”

Dutch glared at Joe with a deadly expression, clearly on the verge of killing someone. “Mind telling me what in the actual hell happened here, Joe?”

The poor man was at a loss. “Cleet and I didn’t see anyone in the camp, Dutch! I swear! There was no one here the whole time!”

“Is that so?” He snarled, grabbing Joe by the collar. “Then explain to me how Cleet was poisoned and our supplies were destroyed if nobody was goddamn here!”

Joe had no answer to offer. “I don’t know, Dutch. Truly, I don’t. I swear on my life--”

“--Good.”

Whipping out his gun, Dutch aimed the weapon straight at Joe’s forehead and nearly pulled the trigger, only to be stopped when Arthur intervened.

“Dutch, don’t!” He insisted.

“Why not?!” The older man asked, his jaw clenched in anger.

“Because we have no evidence that it was him! It could’ve been someone from outside the gang, for all we know!”

But Dutch wasn’t having any of it. “That’s what you believe? Oh come on, Arthur! How else could the Pinkertons have known when to corner us? How else could someone have snuck into our camp -- while we were all gone, no less -- and destroyed our supplies? Someone in the gang is helping the rat, and right now, I don’t see any other obvious suspects except for the one standing in front of me!”

Arthur rested a hand on Dutch’s arm, urging him to lower it.

“Even if it was Joe, we don’t have time to deal with this now, Dutch. The Pinkertons are still lookin’ for us. We’ve got a fresh trail leading straight to the camp, and if we don’t leave soon, we’re all gonna be hanging from a noose by the end of the week. We’ll find out who the rat is once we’re in a safe location. Or safer, at least.”

Dutch took one last look at Joe and ground his teeth together, deciding to hold back for now.

“...Fine.” He complied. “But don’t think I’m just gonna drop this, Arthur.”

“Oh, I know, Dutch,” he agreed. “I won’t either.”

Returning to their lives, Arthur and Dutch finally calmed down and started helping the other members pack up the camp, both of them extremely disturbed by the events that just transpired.

Not only did they lose one of their men today, they also had a plethora of new issues to worry about.

The Pinkertons were on their tail, Dutch was losing his mind, their supplies were all destroyed, and now, it was pretty clear that someone among the gang had turned traitor.

Why would they do this? Arthur questioned. What did they have to gain by killing a group of people who were already knocking on death’s door? Money? Power? Freedom from the rope? He had no idea.

Well, whatever the answer was, Arthur imagined they’d all probably be dead before they found out. The whole world was fighting against them now, and without anywhere else to run to these days, it felt like the walls were closing in on them.

Hope continued to wither away like a flickering candle, and seeing as how their family just got a little bit smaller, Arthur assumed it wouldn’t be long before the flame was completely snuffed out.

That was how the world functioned now. Civilization was bigger than all of them combined, and soon... it would consume them too.

Such was the way of life.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #isaac morgan #dutch van der linde #Micah Bell #Bill Williamson #edgar ross #archer fordham #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oc

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mandelene · 4 years

Note

England is taking care of young America and Canada but comes down ill. Cue overly concerned colonies calling France to come and make him better. England is secretly a bit glad that France cared enough to come. Bonus: Stubborn and in stiff upper lip style, England keeps insisting he is fine when it is clear he is not. Bonus 2: America and Canada try to help on there own first. Bonus 3: America and Canada weigh up the pros and cons of calling France (eg. Making England angry or upset vs having a

Here it is! :) Hope you enjoy it.

Unlikely Ally

Word Count: 1658

“England! I’m so hungry I could eat a whole buffalo,” America whines, swinging his feet back and forth from his seat at the kitchen table.

“I can’t keep up with your voracious appetite,” England grumbles in response as he starts serving them the chicken, potatoes, and carrots he cooked for dinner.

Cooked is a generous term, in Canada’s opinion, but he admires England for his effort nonetheless. The food his caretaker puts in front of him is laughable compared to the mouthwatering culinary delights France once fed him, but being wasteful is rude and childish. Thus, Canada forces himself to swallow a forkful of dry, unseasoned chicken. He has offered to help cook before, but, as with most things, England always insists that he’s too little and shouldn’t worry — he has it under control.

“Yum!” America exclaims, digging right in. He has a stomach of steel. Does he not mind England’s cooking? Or is it all just for show? “This hits the spot!”

England manages a soft smile and picks up his glass of water with a pale, trembling hand. “I’m glad.”

So, Canada wasn’t imagining it then…

England has been acting strange since yesterday night. It seemed he had a headache before bed, and he must have felt quite weary because he didn’t have the same amount of enthusiasm and energy he normally exudes when reading their nightly bedtime story.

Today, there are gray bags under his eyes, his nose is faintly hyperpigmented with tones of red and pink, and he looks disheveled rather than tidy and put-together. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair is untamed, and he’s been wearing his wool coat indoors.

Canada doesn’t think America has noticed any of this, given that he’s not exactly a very perceptive person. He wants to ask England if he’s all right, but he doesn’t want to anger him, and besides, if he was well enough to cook, then it must not be anything serious.

Still, Canada can’t untangle the knot of worry tightening in his gut. He’s started growing closer to the man — not nearly as close as America is with him — but close enough to not want any harm to come upon him.

So when England tucks them in that night and asks if they can postpone their bedtime story because “I have important documents I really must finish tending to,” Canada is immediately concerned that he is going to overwork himself and become more ill.

America shrugs it all off and goes straight to sleep, but Canada stays up a bit longer. No more than twenty minutes after England has left the room, he hears the man coughing in his study.

Canada promises himself that if things aren’t better in the morning, he’ll devise a plan of action.

*******************************

As he feared, England worsens. The bags under his eyes darken significantly, his nose turns cherry red, and he doesn’t change out of the clothes he slept in.

At breakfast, even America begins to realize there’s a problem.

“England? You okay?” he asks without any hesitation, giving voice to the question that’s been hanging off Canada’s tongue for two days now.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” England instantly replies in a nasally voice.

“You don’t look okay…”

“Oh, it’s all right. I think I’ve caught a chill. Nothing to concern oneself with,” England assures, but given how downright exhausted he looks, Canada has a tough time believing him.

“Are you sure—?

“Why don’t you boys play by the river today? It’s a beautiful day for a swim,” England interrupts America, quickly changing subjects. “Just be cautious.”

“Yay!” America cheers, his concern already forgotten. “Hurry up and finish eating, Canada. I’ll race you there!”

Canada frowns. If they leave to go play, then England will be all alone in the house, and is it a good idea to leave him when he’s like this?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a choice in the matter because as soon as he swallows his last bite of charred eggs, America drags him outside by the arm, blissfully unaware.

*******************************

This is bad. Very bad.

When they return for lunch because America complains of starvation again, they find England fast asleep in an armchair in the sitting room, looking even more ragged than before. His breathing has become louder and shallower and he’s flushed with fever.

“What do we do?” America asks, eyes glistening with tears. “What’s wrong with him? Should we wake him up?”

“I think it’s probably better to let him sleep,” Canada reasons. ”We should get him a blanket or something…France used to put a cold rag on my head whenever I had a fever.”

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

Canada fetches a quilt and covers England with it, pulling it up to the man’s shoulders. America, meanwhile, readies the damp rag and places it on England’s forehead, but the dramatic cold sensation rouses him.

England’s emerald eyes snap open, and he immediately jolts into a more dignified, upright position in the armchair.

“What’s all this?” he demands, and Canada takes several fearful steps back.

“We’re trying to make you better since you’re sick,” America explains, rocking on his heels.

“What in the world are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You need help,” America says more firmly, standing his ground.

“I am fine. A bit tired, but that’s all…I think…I think I’ll have a brief lie down and then I’ll prepare lunch.”

“You shouldn’t be cooking when you’re ill,” Canada timidly adds.

“For the last time, I’m perfectly all right! What has gotten into you both? You’re being pests,” England gripes, casting the cold rag and quilt aside before standing on his unsteady legs.

He’s absolutely hopeless.

*******************************

“He’s been sleeping in his room for three hours.”

“I know,” Canada says, just as anxious. He wrings his hands and tries to think. “Hey…France should be here any day now. He’s supposed to be meeting with England about a trade negotiation soon, right? He might even be somewhere in town already. He’ll know what to do.”

“France? But England hates France. He’d be angry at us for even talking to him.”

“I don’t think he really hates him…And we can tell one of England’s officers in town to send France over if he’s here.”

“I don’t know…Maybe he’ll feel better after he wakes up.”

Canada shakes his head. “He’s just getting worse.”

America angrily rubs at his eyes, trying to hide his tears, and says, “Okay. I’ll go into town and find out if he’s here or when he’s gonna get here. You watch England.”

“Okay.”

While Canada is terrified by the idea of having to be alone with England when he’s clearly not in the best of moods, having to go out and speak to one of the British officers would have been even worse.

While America goes off on the search, Canada brings a wooden chair into England’s bedroom, places it by the window, and sits down. If he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, he’s distracted from his anxiety.

England’s breathing is labored—another worrisome sign that his health is continuing to deteriorate. Why would he be so ill? Economic or political trouble at home? Or is it just an ordinary human virus?

Please hurry, America, he thinks.

*******************************

“Where is he?”

“In here.”

“It’s going to be all right, Amérique. Don’t cry or fret."

France comes barging into the bedroom, startling Canada but also making his heart swell with glee.

It’s been over a year since Canada has seen France, and while he would like nothing more but to hug the man, he knows it will have to wait. There will be time to reconnect later.

“Salut, Canada, mon cher. What has this old fool done to himself now, hmm? Let’s see…Angleterre? Mon Dieu, he has a high fever…Arthur…Wake up.”

England stirs slightly and groans but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Big Brother France is here now to nurse you back to health, dear. I’m going to bring cold compresses and water.”

It’s unclear whether England registers anything that’s said to him. He merely continues heavily breathing.

It isn’t until France starts running another wet rag down his arms and chest that he finally becomes more alert.

“What’re you doing here?” is the first thing he mutters.

“The little ones called for me and said you’ve been ill. You haven’t been taking care of yourself and it shows.”

“Ughhhh.”

“You’re fortunate that Amérique and Canada have more sense than you do. Here, take a few sips of water…You’ve caught something again, haven’t you? You’re so prone to human illnesses. Or is there something deeper going on?”

England wheezes and coughs. “Just a cold…”

“Hah—a cold. Look at yourself. It’s more than a cold. You owe the boys an apology—they’ve been worried.”

“M’sorry to have frightened them…” England tiredly looks over at Canada first and then America before offering them a strained smile. “Thank you both…”

He then has a coughing fit, and for a split second, Canada genuinely believes that the man will stop breathing.

France sits him up, pats his back, and passes him a glass of water again. “Finish it all, and I’ll bring tea. A spoonful of raw onion with honey will have you feeling better in no time.”

“God no. Please.”

“Works every time,” France promises, squeezing his shoulder. Then, he looks at the clock and glowers, “Is it that late already?”

“Are you leaving?” England whispers, and it almost sounds like he wants France to stay.

“No. Not until you’ve recovered. But I do have to go into the kitchen to cook for the boys and prepare your medicine, so go back to sleep and shout if you need me.”

“…Don’t need you.”

“Of course not,” France grins. He gives England’s back a final pat, helps him lie down once more, and beckons for Canada and America to follow him to the kitchen.

Nothing seems scary anymore.

#hetalia #aph england #aph france #aph canada #aph america #aph face family #drabbles #drabble #sick england #torturing arthur #posting stories at 2 am because that's what i do best lmao

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starscheme · 4 years

Text

Lost Stars

A/N: This is a SodaLars Fanfiction involving an Original Gem I created and introduced in another FanFiction titled "With All My Heart." Though I still provide Sodalite's background in this story, you may be a little confused if you haven't read the other. Still, Hopefully you can read this story and follow along even without having read With All My Heart.

Chapter One: To Help You

The sun was setting along the horizon of the ocean water and the day was finally coming to an end. This was a huge relief to the pink young man who was sitting on the sand, his appearance rather disheveled from a nasty fall he'd taken earlier. After closing his bakery for the evening, Lars had spent the last few hours trying to locate and calm a Gem named Sodalite.

This Gem was the only one of her kind. A Gem created by Blue Diamond to ease the negative feelings of Pink Diamond. With the ability to absorb dark feelings and purify them within herself, Blue thought Sodalite would be of use in keeping Pink calm and happy. However, Sodalite was only able to absorb Pinks fears and anxieties, not her anger, resulting in many more temper tantrums than before.

Because of this, Sodalite was deemed useless. It was decided that no others would be made and the one remaining would be shattered as she no longer had a purpose on Homeworld. Fearing for her life, Sodalite fled the palace and managed to hide herself away. When Sodalite heard of Pinks new colony, she hoped to seek refuge there. Unfortunately, during attempt to get to Earth, Sodalite's Gem was cracked. As a result, Sodalite was unable to control her ability and would absorb all the fears and anxieties of all the Gems near her. She also found herself unable to purify those emotions. Instead, they filled her to the brim, until the poor Gem was frightened of just about everything. Not to mention that when those dark feelings overflowed, any Gem close by would experience their worse fears, nearly causing their own demise with the pressure on their gems.

Luckily, Lars was able to help this Gem when she finally came looking for Pink Diamond. Since he was human, Sodalite didn't feel his fear or see the dark feelings that surrounded him. Though she had caused some trouble for Steven and Spinel in her need for healing, eventually, Sodalite was fixed. However, after nearly eight thousand years of being filled with fear, Sodalite wasn't so easily fixed. Like Pinks first Pearl, she was left with a permanent defect. Sodalite couldn't help being afraid of nearly everything and was too anxious to go near Gems again. She'd also found that her power could now extinguish all light around her, covering everything in pure darkness. Which happened often when she panicked.

Since Lars was the only one Sodalite was not afraid of, he was often called on by a Gem from little homeworld when Sodalite was having a bad episode. Today seemed to be no exception. Sodalite had fallen down on her way home and when several Gems tried to offer help, Sodalite blacked out the area and caused a bit of an uproar before running away. It took some time, but Lars finally tracked her down and took a terrible tumble in the dark while trying to reach her blind.

"I'm sorry..." Sodalite began, her voice soft and trembling as she hugged her knees to her chest. Finally feeling at ease as she stared out at the setting sun.

With a sigh, Lars reached over and gently pat the Gems head. Sure, he was tired and needed a shower after that fall he took in the dark, but he didn't hate her for it. "You're fine. Hey, you went a whole week without a blackout this time. I think that's pretty good."

Sodalite glanced cautiously at the pink human and felt even worse when she saw his dirt patched. He was always so kind to her. Even when she caused him no end of trouble. Surely she was making his life difficult. "You...didn't call my Steven this time..." she pointed out quietly, turning a bit and reaching for his face to brush some of the mud from his cheek.

"We don't have to call him every time. It would just stress you both out," replied Lars, stiffening his shoulders a bit as Sodalite's fingers gently wiped the dirt from his face.

"Every time this happens...My Steven seems disappointed in my lack of progress. ...I just can't seem to fit in here. I didn't belong on Homeworld either..."

Lars was quiet for a moment, glancing down at Sodalite's sullen expression. For all the trouble that Sodalite caused, some wondered why Lars bothered to help her. She wasn't his responsibility after all. However, the reason Lars was fine with Sodalite staying near him, was because she reminded him so much of himself and how he used to be. Never feeling like he had a place in this world, feeling alone, always being afraid. "It's only because you're not used to it yet. Remember what Pearl said? It's gonna take time to adjust. You're not the only Gem having trouble."

"..." Sodalite pulled her hand back to herself and stared down at the sand. "...I guess."

Lars felt at a loss. He wanted to cheer her up, but he still wasn't sure how to do that. She wasn't like the others yet. There wasn't anything on Earth that she enjoyed. Was it always this hard to make a girl smile? He wasn't ever very good at that. "H-hey, why don't you try helping Blue Lace at the front counter tomorrow? It would be good practice interacting with people and you know, mostly humans come in, so you won't have to see that weird, fog, smoke stuff that you normally do."

Though Sodalite liked having an excuse to see Lars, she worried about her impact on his store. "What if...I make a mistake and something bad happens? I could black out the store and ruin something again. Remember what happened before...?"

"That...was different?" Lars tried again. "I mean, you had just—-no, yeah, it was pretty bad." He admitted finally. "But I think you'll do better this time. Why not give it one more shot?"

The freckled Gem was apprehensive, but eventually nodded her head. If Lars really thought she could do it, she wanted to try her best and make him proud. Even if the idea of greeting strangers made her stomach turn. Satisfied with her answer, Lars stood up and proceeded to pat the sand from his pants before offering her a hand up.

"Cool, now let's get you home so that I can shower and change out of this ripped shirt."

"I'm sorry," she said again, allowing Lars to help lift her from her seat on the sand. "If only I could heal like My Steven. You must feel rather sore after a fall like that..."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to slober all over my face and—-" as the words came out, Lars felt his cheeks begin to burn and he quickly cut himself off. "—-I mean—-you know, cause he uses...never mind. Forget I said that." Lars stammered slightly, glancing away from her silver eyes as she stared up at him.

"I understand. You must be feeling ill from all the stress. That...I cause," added Sodalite, feeling slightly downhearted by her own words.

"I'm not sick. Now that I think about it, I haven't gotten sick since...I changed color." Lars thought aloud, turning to walk Sodalite towards the nearest Warp Pad that would take her home. Depending on how nervous she was, Sodalite traveled with him in two ways. If she was still feeling scared, the blue Gem would cling to the back of his shirt and stick close behind him. If she had calmed down, she'd hug tight to his arm. Each option made it a little difficult to walk comfortably, but it was a way he determined her mood. Considering that Sodalite had hugged his arm, she must have felt better.

Though it was always a good thing when she was calm, Lars was still a young man and Sodalite was quite well endowed in the chest, which always pressed against him while she hugged herself close. It often made their walks rather quiet since Lars would be replaying old wrestling matches in his head to distract himself.

"Oh, hey Lars," greeted Sadie as she was just leaving the boardwalk.

Lars stopped and Sodalite felt him tense up as the blonde human approached them. "H-hey, Sadie. How's it going? I thought you and Shep already left town..."

"Ah, mom sort of strong armed us into staying a little longer. Who's your friend?" asked Sadie, leaning to the side so that she could get a better look at the Gem who was slowly edging herself behind Lars to hide.

"Huh? Oh, um, this is Sodalite. I was just uh...walking her home." Lars answered awkwardly. Should he have phrased it differently? Walking her home nearly sounded as if they had just finished a date or something. "Sodalite, this is Sadie."

Sodalite hugged Lars' arm a bit tighter, staring back at Sadie cautiously. She'd heard some of the off colors mention that name before, but Lars had never said anything about her. So why did he seem so nervous? Regardless, since Lars was introducing her, Sodalite didn't want to appear rude. "...h-hello..." mumbled Sodalite quietly.

"It's nice to meet you, Sodalite. Are you staying in little Homeworld too? I bet you guys will have to expand soon with all the Gems that keep coming. Do you like Beach City?"

"I don't like it," replied Sodalite, her voice just above a whisper. "I only like Lars."

With a sharp inhale, Lars froze in place. Stunned still by Sodalite's choice of words. Sadie also seemed a bit taken aback. "Y-yeah?" Sadie began, feeling slightly embarrassed now.

"N-no! She doesn't mean it like that!" Lars added frantically, his blush burning all the way to his ears. "She-she's just a little attached to me! I was the first human she met, so, ya know, I'm just kinda...looking out for her."

Sodalite couldn't help noticing how panicked Lars was now. Had she said something wrong? She thought if she spoke with the human girl Lars would be proud of her. Instead, he seemed upset.

Sadie took in his words and appeared confused now. "Is...this why you postponed going back into Space?"

"...back into space?" repeated Sodalite.

Once again, Lars panicked a bit, pressing his finger to his lips to insist that Sadie not go any further. If Sodalite knew he might leave earth, she would just freak out. It would ruin all the progress she had made and he was trying his best to help her adjust before he left.

Sadie was quick on the uptake, but she didn't exactly approve. Why was he hiding such a thing from this Gem? It was a little disconcerting. "Um, sorry, guess I was confused. Well, I should head back. We should talk more soon. See you later, Sodalite."

Lars nodded his head and waved slowly as Sadie walked away. Glad that she didn't spill the beans, but always a little disappointed when he had to watch her walk away.

Sodalite said nothing, glancing up at Lars to examine his expression. He didn't look sad, but he didn't exactly look happy either as he watched the human girl get further away. In fact, it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but Sodalite wasn't sure what that could be. "...Lars?" tried Sodalite, tugging on his arm lightly to get his attention.

"Huh? ...oh. Sorry," Lars began with a forced smile. "I was thinking about something."

"About what?"

Now Lars felt stupid for lying. Of course she would ask him a follow up question. He should've expected that. "Ah, um...I was thinking about how well you did just now. You didn't panic at all. I'm really proud of you."

The blue Gems eyes brightened and a warm smile laced her lips. "R-really?" Sodalite asked hopefully.

The way she looked up at him, so happy to be praised, it made him feel even worse for lying. Though he was proud that Sodalite did well, it wasn't what he had truly been thinking about. He wasn't about to admit that and ruin her mood. "Y-yeah," Lars began, using his free hand to reach over and pat her head lightly. "I know you don't think so, but you have been doing a lot better."

Sodalite's Gem began to glow as she raised her chin, happily accepting Lars' small show of affection. Nothing made her happier than when Lars praised her. Since being deemed useless almost immediately after being created, Sodalite had always felt useless. Almost more so now that she had left over damage from being broken. She was always messing up even here on earth. So when Lars told her she was doing well, it made her feel as though she might actually be useful to someone. "I'll do even better tomorrow, I promise." replied Sodalite with an elated smile, more determined than ever before to do a good job.

Lars smiled back at the Gem. Though he felt guilty, he was glad she seemed so determined. He didn't want to go back into space until he was sure that Sodalite could function without him around. Once she got used to things, she'd make more friends and she wouldn't need him as much anymore. That was the goal anyway, but the thought that she wouldn't depend on him anymore did feel a bit lonely. "Let's get you home so you can res—I mean, so you can prepare for tomorrow."

With that, Sodalite nodded her head and continued to walk with Lars towards the nearest warp pad. Though Lars' conversation with the human girl concerned her a little, she convinced herself that it was simply the normal paranoia that she often experienced. If she told Lars it made her anxious, he would find out that she didn't actually do as well as he thought. For now, Sodalite would attempt to put it from her mind and focus on what was to come tomorrow morning.

A/N: Well thats it for the first chapter. I hope you will follow Sodalite and Lars for a while. Also, don't worry, I'm working on my Other Fic's too. I've just been out of Insulin for a little while, so focusing on anything was nearly impossible while trying not to die. lol

However, a new chapter of Change My World and Only You will be out in the next few days. Thank you for all the support and love! Love you all!

#Steven Universe #su #steven universe fanfic #Lars #Lars barriga #Sodalite #sodalars #Lost Stars #chapter 1

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pokemonswshbutionlyplayedsword · 4 years

Note

Sick Obstagoon I need more goofy badger in my life

Anon, you’ve combined the two most common things I get asked about in one. It’s like a magic act.

Pokemon sicknesses are not all that different from human sicknesses. Maybe it’s because pokemon have more awareness and sentience than animals in the real world, but they get colds just like humans do. The bigger the pokemon, the worse experience the trainer is going to have when they’re sick. Which poses a problem for Piers.

Marnie has taken the executive decision to isolate herself and Morpeko from Obstagoon’s cold (and snot). Piers, however, is his trainer, and thus it is his responsibility to take care of his bud.

Obstagoon is feeling lethargic and cranky. He feels hot and his fur is too thick and it’s bothering him. His nose is running yet is also congested, so he’s breathing out of his mouth, but that makes his throat dry and it hurts to roar so he’s trying to drink a lot of water.

Piers knows his pokemon better than anybody, so he picks up on what his partner is feeling pretty quickly. He runs down to the pokecenter with him in his pokeball and they give him some medicine that should help him feel better. Unfortunately, they can only heal injuries rapidly with their machines. Illness is another thing entirely.

Poor Piers, he needs like 7 showers a day. His Obstagoon is sweating, but is so clingy. He gets damp fur all over Piers when he hugs him. When he sneezes it’s like a shower and that’s just gross. Piers is exhausted keeping up with Obstagoon. No human can outrun them, so when Obstagoon gets a random spike of energy in the middle of his hazy tiredness, he’s going off and Piers just can’t keep up. Of course, all battles that might have been scheduled are postponed and his other pokemon are quarantined to their balls to protect them. He spends most of his time caring for Obstagoon and cleaning the house.

Piers has to help his bud feel better, though, so he wraps a blanket around his shoulders and puts on the TV for him while he does work (aside from chores, Piers also has a lot of work on his laptop to do like writing up requests to send to Rose about renovating Spikemuth and stuff like that.) He brushes out Obstagoon a couple times a day because he feels hot and his excess fur is bothering him. He’s got a huge pokemon brush just for his furry little friend. His nose is running, so Piers has to help him blow his nose like a baby and it usually just makes a mess so they go outside to do it. It helps, though. I clears up his nose, too. He’s got lozenges made specially for pokemon to help their throats stop hurting, which is important to Obstagoon cause he’s a loud boy. He also gives Obstagoon as much water as he wants. Piers spends a lot of the time he has not taking care of him with him just to make him feel better.

Obstagoon gets anxious when he’s away from Piers for too long, especially when he doesn’t feel well. So even though it’s gross and unsanitary, Piers lets his pal hug and cuddle him to his heart’s content. Sometimes Obtagoon will watch the TV while holding Piers against him with his arms. This is fine with Piers because he can get some of his work done anyway. Marnie thinks it’s cute and takes pictures.

Without Piers, Obstagoon wouldn’t get better nearly as quickly. Piers always pours his heart into making his crew feel as best they can at all times. Obstagoon just…

he loves…

he loves Piers so much…

#pokemon swsh #pokemon piers #obstagoon #ask #anon #nothing warms my heart like scary threatening bois being real softies #sickfic

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accio-kitty-malfoy · 4 years

Text

A Breath of Fresh Hair

Chapter 9: First Name Basis

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633025/chapters/60625606

When they got back from the hospital Harry knew the only place he was going was to bed. It was nearly ten and he felt tired to his core. He took his potion and was asleep before his head had hit his pillow. When he opened his eyes again, everything was dark. He looked around and as his eyes adjusted, he noticed how small the space he was in appeared to be. There were three toy soldiers neatly lined up on a tiny shelf and he was sat on his bed. A feeling of loneliness welled up in him so profoundly that he though he was going to cry, but tears did not come. He heard a voice in the back of his head telling him that he was a silly boy, and that real men didn’t cry. He closed his eyes again, shutting them tight to block out the overwhelming darkness. When he opened them again, he was stood alone on a train platform. He felt lost and he realised that he had no-one to ask where to go. Everyone was avoiding him and getting on with their life. He tried to speak but no sound came out of his mouth. He screwed his eyes shut and opened them again. This time he was stood next to an archway, watching a tall, rugged man slip softly through the curtains. Harry tried to grab him, but his arms went through the man like smoke. He screamed, trying to let the world know how unfair it was. His eyes slid shut once more. He opened them defiantly, wanting to see the man one last time, but instead he just saw bodies. All around him laid the bodies of his friends and family. Remus, Tonks, Fred, his mum and dad, Dobby and Sirius were all staring glassy eyed up at him. He fell to his knees and beat the ground, shouting until his throat felt raw. Gentle but firm arms wrapped around him and pulled his face into their chest.

When he awoke, Ginny was cradling him, making soothing noises to try and calm him. He woke up screaming less and less, but it still happened, and when it did Ginny was nearly always there to help him. His heart began to slow after a while, and he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

“Cup of tea in the kitchen?” Ginny always knew what he needed. He nodded, grabbed his glasses and they made their way downstairs. When they got into the kitchen Harry noticed the letter that was addressed to him on the table. He opened it carefully, scanning the beautiful writing.

“Mr Potter,

I hope you’re feeling somewhat better than you did at our last meeting. If you still wish to meet, we can either try again at the coffee shop, or I can travel to The Burrow and meet you there if you’re still feeling under the weather. I don’t usually travel to meet my clients but I’m willing to make an exception for you due to your illness.

Fleur let me know that you had the flu. You really shouldn’t have made yourself more ill just to attend the meeting. I would have understood if you had postponed our meeting for a different date.

Get well soon, Mr Potter.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy”

Harry couldn’t work out whether the letter was genuine or if Malfoy was being sarcastic. He sighed and rubbed his temples, handing the letter to Ginny to read. He told her that he didn’t think he would be attending another meeting with Malfoy.

“I don’t think I can face him after what happened. He’ll never let me live it down. And I don’t know if I’d be able to work with Malfoy even if I hadn’t fallen onto my face in front of him and had him carry me in his bloody arms back to The Burrow.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Ginny replied, “Malfoy is actually incredibly professional. He hasn’t let past issues be a problem or stop him from working with individuals and doing a bloody good job too.”

“But it’s Malfoy, Gin. What the hell is he doing with a job anyway?” Ginny frowned.

“What would you think he’d be doing?” They asked.

“I don’t know, flouncing around the manor being a pretentious twat.” Harry scowled.

“You do realise that he lives in a two bedroom flat with Pansy right? I think Hermione said they lived above some coffee shop in London.” Ginny sighed. “Look Harry, you either work with Malfoy and get this idea off the ground and live the life you want, or you let the fact that it’s Malfoy ruin what you could have. You never know, maybe he’s grown up a bit since school.” Harry was slightly taken aback by Ginny’s tone, but he guessed they were right. He shouldn’t let old rivalries stand in the way of his happiness. He’d just have to maintain a professional relationship with Malfoy and only see him when it was absolutely necessary. He took a long drink from his mug of tea to avoid having to respond to Ginny. Harry’s silence was a perfect confirmation to Ginny that they were right.

Harry felt much better that day, but he still took his potion as instructed by Fleur. She would be staying in the hospital for a few days for observations as a precaution because the baby had been born just over a week early, but they both seemed fine. His appetite was fully back, and he ate his breakfast outside while he watched Ginny train, giving them pointers here and there. Their try-outs were getting closer by the day and they’d taken some time off for the wedding and the birth of the baby, so they were on a very strict routine. It was still warm, and Harry lounged in the sun, enjoying the rays on his face. He watched the members of the Weasley household coming to and fro and decided that he should reply to Malfoy’s letter. He said goodbye to Ginny and went up to his room.

“Dear Mr Malfoy,

Thank you for your concern, I’m still not 100% but I am getting better. I think Fleur is a miracle worker with her Potions. It’s probably best if we meet at the coffee shop again as Fleur has just given birth so it’s somewhat hectic at The Burrow.

If you let me know when you’re free, I’ll be there. My schedule isn’t particularly full at the minute.

Sincerely,

Harry”

Harry read over the letter a few more times before he sent it off with Pig. He made himself another cup of tea and settled down in the reading nook to half read-half nap and enjoy the sun coming through the window. He kept checking the sky, looking for signs of Pig. He was worried about the meeting with Malfoy, but he supposed Ginny was right. If Malfoy could be professional, so could he. He wondered who else Malfoy had worked with and what their experience of working with him was like. Ginny seemed to know a little bit about Malfoy’s work so he decided to ask them after they’d finished training. When the letter from Malfoy arrived, Harry’s stomach flipped a little. He read it quickly.

“Mr potter,

I am free at one in the afternoon tomorrow. If you’re feeling up to it then we will meet then at the same coffee shop as last time. If you aren’t feeling up to it, please send an owl on the day and we can re arrange the meeting for a more suitable time and date. I’m sure you’re anxious to get the ball rolling with your idea and the sooner we can meet to discuss the basics, the sooner I can formulate some plans for you.

Please also pass on my congratulations and best wishes to Fleur and Bill on the birth of their baby.

I hope you are well,

Draco”

Harry stared at the letter for a while. The word ‘Draco’ stood out to him and made him feel weird. He’d signed his last letter to Malfoy ‘Harry’, but that was just out of habit. Had Malfoy signed his letter using his first name because Harry had done the same? Would Malfoy expect him to call him Draco? Or would they be ‘Mr Potter’ and ‘Mr Malfoy’ to one another? He supposed they would develop some familiarity with each other if they were going to be working together. He said the word out loud and it even felt weird on his tongue as he said it. He couldn’t ever imagine calling Malfoy ‘Draco’, especially not to his face. He sighed and shook his head, writing in his response that the next day would be fine, and he would see him then.

When Ginny came back in from training, he asked who else Malfoy had worked with. Apparently he’d worked with Luna when she’d taken over the Quibbler to help her reform the business and make it work more smoothly. They’d since become friendly and went out for a drink occasionally. This eased Harry’s worried slightly, as Luna was a very good judge of character and, if she liked him and got on with him, he supposed he could too. Ginny said that they knew he’d worked with some other people and their businesses were all pretty successful so far and that eased his mind further.

The rest of Harry’s day was spent lounging. While he didn’t feel particularly ill anymore, his energy levels weren’t very high, so he took the opportunity to rest, eat and drink tea. He spent a lot of time in the reading nook in the front room. It was one of his favourite places to be because he could alternate between reading, napping and watching the chickens out in the garden. It rained in the evening and he went out to a sheltered place and relished the feel and smell of freshness in the air. He hoped it was a sign of good change coming to him, even though he’d never really believed in omens or divination. When he went to bed, he slept much better. He couldn’t remember his dreams but they weren’t nightmares, and for that he was thankful.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fandom #harry x draco #gay draco malfoy #bi harry potter #non binary ginny #trans luna #black hermione granger #aromantic asexual charlie

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sidesofnightvale · 4 years

Text

A usual message from the sponsor ends abruptly on the last word. However, this does not cause irritation, as the most important things has already been said.

"Dear listeners,” comes from the receivers after a brief beep, “it looks like Logan is planning to head to the library.”

Virgil temporarily removes his finger from the emergency button to inhale. He holds his breath. Then he exhales. He can't let his voice break — he is a radio host and it's unprofessional — but the trembling palms and the shroud in front of his eyes are no less preventing.

“I remind you: inhabitants should beware of the library. Keep children away from it. And, if you are not lucky enough to get there, avoid librarians.”

Why does he say these meaningless phrases? From infancy, children know what libraries are – how can Logan, who looks so smart from a distance, actually turn out to be a chronic daredevil?

Virgil sighs, pauses for a moment. It can't be that bad, he is probably thinking about the worst outcome again.

“But as you know, the building doesn't have a visible entrance, so maybe there's nothing to worry abo...” the radio host is choking on air.

In Night Wale hedges have eyes, walls have ears and both of these belong to Virgil.

“We received information that a door with a welcome mat on the threshold of the library have just appeared.”

Virgil understands that it is unlikely that unobtrusive hints will be enough — everyone has their own business, no one will rush to save a stranger, the scientist himself might not hear anything. That is why, as soon as sounds of the weather replace the crackling voice, the presenter undermines from the spot. With long, rapid strides, Virgil moves toward the exit. His feet carry him in no time, while the weather continues to ring from street speakers, he does not notice how he gets to the ill-fated building, if only everything is alright, if only Logan is alright, if only Log-

..Logan is found sitting on his knees at the library steps. He is holding something buzzing in his hands, and seems completely absorbed in what is happening. A scribbled notebook is lying peacefully on the ground, and a pen is hooked on an arm of Logan's glasses — everything is filled with calmness so much as if nothing and never occurred.

Virgil is not quite sure how to react.

Everything that boils in him can be safely equated with fear and anger — but these feelings disappear when Virgil takes a look at this recklessly calm scientist.

Oh.

Virgil realizes that this is the first time he sees Logan in real life.

On the radio, he can speak calmly. Feeling relatively safe, the presenter easily talks about everything that is not prohibited by censorship.

Virgil always tries to be chill and slightly sarcastic, but here is a fine scientist right in front of him — and the sounds get stuck in his throat.

This happens, yes, sometimes he is anxious, but here the lack of words feels special, for the sake of Secret Police, Logan starts to turn around...

How would their conversation have started otherwise? Perhaps Virgil could make a joke or vent his feelings in the form of anger, perhaps he would put himself on his best side, but all he says is:

“So you're not dead.”

Virgil wants himself a hundred feet down in the earth. Who knows what lies behind those purple hair and beautiful glasses, who knows how he will respond?

Logan is predictably puzzled, still not getting to his feet. He adjusts the glasses which have fallen off the bridge of his nose, and it is clear from his face that this is just a postponement of the conversation, that he is collecting all the bad things he could say. At least, that's what Virgil thinks, until Logan nod back at him, his eyes still searching the other man's face uncomprehendingly.

“..yes, I like facts either.”

Oh. Logan doesn't seem like the kind of person who would say such a thing out of a wish to make fun of him-he looks as confused as the radio host himself, and honestly, it's a little sedative.

In truth, Virgil still doesn't know what to say.

Fortunately, the scientist has words! (unfortunately, not exactly the words Virgil wants to hear)

“With your permission, I will continue my work. This is a truly fascinating object not only for architects and historians, but also for scientific figures of our society, because..”

The radio host can no longer hear the continuation of the phrase — the former calmness is bursting at the seams in his ears. Virgil may be forcing too much, because the weather is starting to hiss louder and louder from the speakers (which are far enough away), but God, you're a moron, you could have died right here, and you're still-

“Who are you, by the way?”

“I am your bloody savior,” Virgil snarls. Oh, he's making progress! usually, communication with people he cared about at such a stop was limited to inarticulate and quiet mutterings. “Don't wander around Night Vale — and especially places like this - alone, unless you want to be in a cozy room alone with a librarian ready to charge you a debt.”

Logan frowns, grimly clicking his pen, and Virgil thinks there's no escaping the conflict: but the scientist takes a couple of deep breaths and nods understandingly with his eyes closed.

“It was really unwise of me. In my defense, none of my colleagues decided to come here.”

“It's obvious,” Virgil grumbles, “that anyone with any sense of self-preservation will not go to the library building to look at its steps. Do you even listen to the radio?”

Logan, to Virgil's surprise, just shrugs.

“No. While I'm working, I can't fully grasp the meaning of the messages: I'm busy with other things. In addition, radio is a slightly outdated form for transmitting information.”

“But if it is extremely important?”

Logan grins and just looks at the small crowd in white coats hurrying toward the library.

“I have my team of scientists for this.”

Virgil makes an understanding appearance, and, taking advantage of the distraction of the interlocutor, decides to leave without further words. He hears Logan being moved away from the library, and his hands shake a little less. A sigh of relief escapes his lips: the scientist is safe, and what is even more pleasant, he has not heard all the epithets that the radio host himself flatters Logan with. Maybe it's a little sad that the praise won't reach him directly, but it's much calmer.

What Virgil doesn't know yet is that his questions prompted Logan to record radio broadcasts and listen to them in his free time.

#could be gayer #sanders sides #sides of Night Vale #thomas sanders #ss #tss #sanders sides au #tss virgil #virgil #sanders sides virgil #tss logan #sanders sides logan #wtnv #welcome to Night Vale #analogical #fanfic #writing #logan

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slowlyshytheorist · 4 years

Text

I wanna tell my story

This is gonna be a long post and I don’t know who will read this and maybe those of you who do will already know most of it, but for the first time i will tell the whole story in one stretch.

My name is Alex. My name has always been Alex, but i didn’t figure that out till about 6 months ago. To tell this right i gotta go back a little further than that though. I have a friend who just finished her bachelor i psychology and every time I have told her about my family and how i was treated growing up she’d say that it’s a wonder i don’t have a mental illness. The first times I laughed with her at it, but eventually there was this little voice that kept saying “but maybe i do”. A little over a year ago i started noticing it. The symptoms. I was struggling with making it through my every day life. Struggling to get out of bed, to cook, to eat, it was all just too much. But due to the bagage from my childhood, i just kept it to myself and pretended that nothing was wrong. In the middle of this dark period where i could barely survive i did something. I was drinking one night and ended up sleeping with some random dude at my dorm. I barely remember, all i know is that the next day i felt horrible. I thought back to a question that my friend once asked me, about my sexuality, and i found myself googling “How to know if you are asexual”. It took me about a day to build up the courage to text my friend and tell her what had happened. I felt wrong for days after. Not because I’m ace, but because I’m sex negative and I had violated my own boundaries. A few months passed and i accepted it, I even learned to be proud of my sexuality. It was harder to admit that i’m aromantic as well, because it felt like that was the same as giving up on the notion that i would ever have a SO. I do want that some day, and i know now that i can find that person, my person, as i like to refer to them. I came out to my family and they took it... not bad, but not what i had expected either. My sister’s reaction was the worst. At first she laughed as if it was ridiculous. I tried to explain that i was serious but she kept laughing. It wasn’t until her husband, who was there too, told her that it was real, that she stopped laughing and started listening to me. I thought that was the end of it, but one day she made a homophobic comment and i called her out on it. Her “defense” was that anyone who is not straight is a biological mistake. That there is nothing wrong with it, but that it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mistake, a flaw in our DNA. She still believes this. The rest of my family just didn’t care. not in a “we don’t care what your sexuality is, we love you anyway” way, more in a “we don’t care about what happens in your life” way. Still it was better that my sister, i suppose. Through all this, my depression was still undiagnosed, but raging and incapacitating me on a daily basis. Luckily i had found a support system. I found a server of likeminded people. They were becoming my family, since my “real” family had let me down. It wasn’t long till the next big life altering revelation hit me. I’m not cis. And the feeling i have had my entire life relating to my name, has a name. It’s called dysphoria and it explains so much. My server family helped me find my real name, Alex. Well technically Alexandria, but most days are Alex days. It wasn’t long after this that i hit rock bottom, i snapped at the people i care about and acted like a huge jerk because i was miserable. I decided to get help. I got diagnosed with depression and I started treatment almost immediately. A few months passed where i went by Alex online, but not irl. I felt more and more dysphoric about being deadnamed, so i decided to tell my family that i was changing my name. I kept my gender to myself because i doubt that would be received better than my sexuality was. I got one response, my mom saying that it would be hard. That is all, the rest ignored me. A few more weeks and i got confirmation, my name had officially been changed and i had a full day of euphoria. Which is saying a lot considering i still had a depression. A couple of days later i went to visit my family a weekend for my little brother’s birthday. I made it through a day and a half of being deadnamed and being ignored when i corrected them. My sister would send me annoyed looks though, but that was the most reaction i got until she snapped. She told me straight up that she would never be calling me Alex and that she was furious with me for doing this without consulting with them first. She told me that I was being rude and inconsiderate and forcing this upon them. I was expecting a confrontation, but not one this bad. Even so, I had my reaction ready. I got up and calmly said “Fine, then i will be leaving now” My mom tried to stop me, but she took my sisters side and after some yelling and some tears i ended up storming out of there. i spent the 15 minute walk to the busstop sobbing uncontrollably. I sent a text to my brother, apologising for leaving before his birthday party, but promising to make it up, then i called my dad’s girlfriend, who does accept my name change, and told her what happened. Then i called my friend and told her too, i was crying most of the way to the train station, but by the time i got home (3 hours later) i was out of tears. I since talked to my mom about it all. She will try to accommodate my name change, but she still hasn’t admitted that she was in the wrong. I fear that our relationship won’t ever be the same. My sister refuses to acknowledge my existence and hasn’t said a word to me in 4 months. That brings us to the present. My medication is working and i am getting through my depression much better now. I am surrounding myself with people who respect me enough to actually call me my name and letting the rest be. I am learning to stand up for myself. The next step for me is something i have been planning since before my name was officially changed. I am gonna have a funeral for my deadname, i’m gonna bury all my old id cards and some other stuff i have with that name on it. It started as a goof, but I don’t have any more reason to postpone it and suddenly I am anxious about it. I realise that it has come to mean so much more to me and even thinking about it makes me tear up. I can’t put words on my feelings, but my friend did quite a good job guessing: “I am thinking it is because it is all of it at once. It is a farewell to, but also a reminder that, you have been living as something other than yourself for more than 20 years, and the box you have been put in always. It is a manifestation of your entire process where you have figured out who you are. It is a symbol of your entire battle to be allowed to be you and to get others to respect the human you actually are. It is the relief over having figured out why your deadname has always felt weird. It is the joy of actually being named something that feels right and feels like you. It is the symbol of so many fundamental things by you that is finally being allowed to live in the world, and that is a big package of emotions in one action”

So this is my story. I have been through some things. I know many have it worse, but that doesn’t mean my experience wasn’t bad. It doesn’t mean i don’t get to tell my story. I am going to start planning the funeral and i will mark that day in my calendar, like i marked the day i officially became Alex. I will use these two dates as reminders of what i went through. Every year i plan to take a moment and think about where i have been, but more importantly, where i wanna go. I don’t think i will ever come out as nb to my family, but i won’t hide it either. those who see it, may see it, i’m not gonna hide who I am anymore. I am not going back to suppressing myself for anyone. I am going to learn to just be me.

#tw: depression #tw: sex mention #tw: homophobia #tw: misgendering #tw: family problems

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samaraclegane · 5 years

Note

If you’re still taking prompts from the dialogue thing, 35, 75, and 76 with ineffable husbands maybe? (Preferably Crowley saying the first thing and Aziraphale saying the other two but honestly however is fine)

author’s note: I am indeed! always feel free to send any prompts, I’ll work through them at some point. thanks for these numbers, anon, they worked so well together in my mind! loved writing this little piece; hopefully you like it too! :)

-war is waging, still. heaven and hell have come together on earth’s plains, and even though they’ve postponed the apocalypse for now, they’re still awaiting their trials. Aziraphale is beyond panicking; the time to panic was eleven years ago, when this all started. now is the end and, in the end times, he finds himself where he’s always been; right beside Crowley.

-the pair sit side-by-side on a bench. they’re shrouded by darkness, as though their on-goings still need to remain in secret. he can’t stop himself from shaking, though he’s not sure if Crowley can tell. if he sees, he doesn’t say anything.

-”we have to do something,” he tells the demon, turning suddenly to face him, “we have to. we can’t just sit here and wait to-”

-”the prophecy, angel,” Crowley speaks with a level voice, sounding calmer than Aziraphale could ever even hope to be. “that’s what we’ll do. we’ll swap faces; we’ll swap bodies.”

-Aziraphale sits back, relaxing just slightly. he sighs, then casts his eyes away from the demon as he says, “well, let’s get on with it, then.”

-he isn’t trying to be short with Crowley, but he can hardly help it. he can’t form a coherent sentence in his head, let alone speak it aloud. he feels constantly nauseous, like he’s going to throw up all of the food he’s ever eaten, which is a substantial amount, especially considering the fact that he’s an angel.

-”alright,” Crowley shifts to face him, then stretches out his hand. Aziraphale knows vaguely how this works: they touch, usually via a handshake, and somehow, in some magical fashion with both of them transferring their souls, they’ll squeeze past each other in the makeshift channel. easy peasy.

-this, however, only works smoothly in theory, as when he goes to take Crowley’s hand and have it over with, the demon suddenly pulls away. he looks nervous, sheepish almost, as he watches Aziraphale with a tentative look in his eyes.

-”before I do this, angel,” Crowley sounds suddenly serious, and the angel’s ears perk up upon hearing this shift, “I need you to know that I’ve always loved you.”

-before Aziraphale has any time to comprehend the words he’s just been told - the six thousand year old confession, proclamation of love - his hand is being grasped. he can’t stop it, can’t pull back and tell Crowley that they need to talk about this, can only watch as a blinding light comes between them, and then he’s sat beside himself, looking into his own eyes.

-he casts a look down, confirming that he’s draped in black. his vision is impeded by tinted glasses and, though he hasn’t got a mirror to prove it, he’s pretty sure he has Crowley’s face now, too; the spell has worked.

-he watches Crowley-as-him, their eyes holding onto one another before the other being’s eyes visibly cloud over and he’s falling. he lands right atop of Aziraphale-as-Crowley, and from the sheer force of it he can tell almost immediately Crowley’s out cold.

-he feels the panic begin to rise in his chest again, and once more he feels drastically ill. he shakes his head, grasping Crowley’s shoulders, hoisting him up by the lapels of his beige overcoat - wow, this was going to get confusing.

-”no, no, no,” he spluttered loudly, feeling emotion welling in his chest as he looked down at the virtual (and perhaps, his anxious mind imputted helpfully, literal) corpse that had become of his friend. “no, Crowley, you need to wake up. you need to wake up because I can’t do this without you - I can’t do anything without you.”

-there’s a painstaking moment in which the world stops spinning. there’s no movement whatsoever, not even from Aziraphale whose chest stops rising and falling, his brain almost willing himself to join Crowley should he lay dead then and there.

-however, after the most devastating waiting period of his long life, Crowley begins to stir. it’s gentle at first, barely even noticeable signs of life, but then he’s groaning and opening his eyes - actually opening his eyes - and Aziraphale thinks he might cry then and there.

-”oh, Crowley,” he cradles the head in his lap, refusing to let him go even when the demon protests, “you scared me. never ever do that again.”

-”well, ‘m not planning on it,” Crowley sounds rough, and that makes it just that much harder to let him go, though Aziraphale eventually does. Crowley sits up, newly in the angel’s body, and brushes himself down.

-”what happened, Crowley?” Aziraphale can’t stop the worry from seeping back into his voice. he can’t take his eyes off of Crowley - off of himself? - because it feels just like a miracle that he’s up and moving again. just seconds earlier Aziraphale had been certain he was a goner.

-”fainted, I think,” Crowley is characteristically vague, then predictably shifts the focus, “what happened while I was out?”

-”you fainted, straight into my arms,” a delicate, adoring smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. “you know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

-there’s a slight pause, in which Aziraphale can feel Crowley deliberating over what this means. “I didn’t?”

-some part of Aziraphale understands that Crowley doesn’t mean he fainted on purpose. he can’t say with absolute certainty what he does mean, but there’s a pleading look of ‘don’t break my heart’ that fills Crowley’s - his? - features that convinces him not to say anything further about it.

-”so, in fact, you...” Aziraphale’s about to bring up Crowley’s confession, but changes his mind at the last minute, deciding doing so felt wrong. he promised himself he’d ask later. “you feel quite alright, then, I take it?”

-”I’m fine, angel,” Crowley’s tone is dismissive, almost as though he knows what question lies on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue. then, casting a meaningful side-eye over at the angel, he sighs and resigns himself to a softer tone, adding, “thanks for looking after me.”

-”of course,” Aziraphale nods, unsure of where to look now, unsure of what topic to broach and when, though still smiling. “any time.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic #mine #writing #prompted writing #prompted works #send me prompts #crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #send me anything #send me stuff #send me asks #send me questions #SEND ME REQUESTS

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cyclicallife · 4 years

Text

dépression nerveuse

Traveling does wonders for the mind and spirit. Each traveler has such a unique and individual experience, this, to me, is where the power of exploration lies.

It has always been a way for me to reflect. I can step back and observe my life from a different perspective. It has a sort of meditative quality in that I, from that place of outside observer, can sit with choices made or actions taken or even, more importantly, choices at hand. Perhaps it is because when traveling I can just be. I can strip away the layers and titles and personas and simply be. In doing so it is easier to stand back and look at one’s life and look at the past, look at one’s present. Without the smothering layers of what one is, what & how one should be, etc., things become a little clearer.

My mother, the sweet and generous lady that she is, lumped together not only my graduation gift but my Christmas gift and birthday gift as well so as to allow me to travel a bit. she would say that my graduation gift, when all was said and done with my illness and things stabilized enough, would be a ticket somewhere - anywhere. I think we both held onto the idea of future travel to also hold onto the idea that I would one day return to the carefree, vagabond lifestyle I once lived. Her gift allowed me the chance to rekindle a sense of independence I was unsure if I’d ever have again.

I felt so fortunate; there was this sort of giddy, childlike joy rising up in me. I have a thirst for traveling and, after three years of a life revolving almost entirely around medical appointments and clinics, my great thirst was finally quenched. Naturally, because of said health issues, panic, stress and anxiety, etc. were never too far behind. Mostly, this anxiety and stress issues revolve around my seizure activity. If a place is too busy or overwhelming I become anxious and in turn stressed that the anxiety will trigger a seizure… it’s a bit of a downward spiral unless I can catch it before hand and keep myself calm. At times the anxiety levels were rather acute, though certainly a small price to pay for the ability to travel once more.

However, there was also this other feeling, too. Something that had yet to present itself sent a different swell of fear and anxiety through my being. I felt a nervous tingling that was running alongside the feelings of glee and gratitude. It was emotion thus far unfelt and one I could not label.

My favorite way to travel is walking. City walking is great, but I’m referring to setting out on foot and just… walking. A lot of the paths I choose are well worn footpaths that often pass through many small villages and cities that are well off the tourist itinerary. These, to me, are where the real culture lies.

During this Trip I set out from a small city in southern France along a footpath used by pilgrims who were walking to Santiago de Compostela, a city in northwestern Spain. On other adventures I have walked different parts of this same route, however those were within Spain.

The term pilgrim might have been used at one time to denote a monk or other such religious devotee trekking hundreds of grueling miles to reach a small shrine or holy site. The modern “pilgrim” however is trekking for a number of reasons and not solely those of spiritual devotion.

I initially went to Le Puy en Velay, a city in southern France, because I had heard about in 2006 while traveling in Spain. A Frenchman told me, “you have to go to my hometown, it is beautiful!” I thought, ‘if anyone speaks highly of their hometown I should probably visit.’ While there I came across a symbol that has guided pilgrims for hundreds of years across various parts of Europe to a city in north western Spain. It was the same symbol, a scallop shell, that I used, that I followed rather, during my many treks to the same destination. The saying “all roads lead to Rome” can easily be said about the numerous footpaths across Europe, all paths lead to Santiago de Compostela.

I believe in such events and other serendipitous occurrences in one’s life. So, with very little hesitation, as per usual with my travels, I packed my rucksack and started out walking.

Walking is all about allowing the mind to enter that previously mentioned meditative state. The reflection, at least for me, begins with the rhythmic movement of the physical being. After this it seems as though the mind follows suit and the pattern begins to move in a spiritual direction. It is also about passing through quaint little towns and cities, many of which aren’t yet jaded by the onslaught of tourists. I think this is really why I love it.

It is also very hard. I’m not talking about blisters and a sore back, I’m talking about the mental and emotional side effects that the simplicity of walking stirs up. In the past this is precisely why I would walk. To me it is sort of purge. After a long hard semester – walk! After a shitty break up – walk!

However, this time the difficulties were beyond those of a sore back and blisters began to emerge. The darker emotions that ran alongside the glee and gratitude, that which had yet to present itself, the emotions that were thus far unfelt … These are inescapable and they too were in my rucksack.

Somewhere neither here nor there as these treks often go, those things crawled out of and stood before me, blocking the path, blocking any forward movement, any advancement of mind and body. Literally, I was unable to take another step. I could feel everything within me shifting and pulsating as though I had spent the last several miles ascending a peak. I wasn’t sure how to react or what to do. I began to think I had hit a wall. Considering the deconditioned state I was in from my years of relative inactivity, this would make sense. I removed the water bottle from my rucksack’s side holder and took a long drink. After which, I removed my hat so as to run a little fresh water over my head thinking this might revive me and allow me to set out again. As I did so my fingers ran over the scar, the wrinkled creases and little divots where my brain had been operated on. I paused, then I began howling and screaming, “I had fucking brain surgery! I had fucking brain surgery!”

I cracked. I broke down. Right there, right there between somewhere and nowhere in southern France, along an ancient footpath upon which I had spent the entire day briskly walking, I broke. I crumbled slightly and then came crashing down! That which hadn’t presented itself stepped forth, looming over me

The weight of three years fell upon me; fear, pain, both emotional and physical, anger, and despair…

The weight of spitting into the sink and seeing blood.

The weight of the first seizure in Chicago and subsequent diagnosis.

The weight of my MFA studies being disrupted just a matter of weeks before graduation.

The weight of endless nights full of fears, of waking from nightmares, of waking up both enraged and saddened simultaneously,

The weight of looking at myself, at my reflection in the mirror, when I was bald and bloated, a gray form with sunken eyes stood there looking back. A figure trying to come to terms with life, trying to put the pieces together in hopes of making sense of everything.

The weight of my girlfriend at the time looking at me with loving and compassionate eyes, but also fear and longing for me, for us, to begin something that we had barely just started.

The weight of being told that the cancer had returned only six months after initial treatment, six months after my life was gaining stability.

The weight of postponing a course I was set to teach only days from the new of my recurrence.

The weight of a stroke and the brain surgery that followed.

The weight of an entire summer spent in a hospital room, cut off from the world, spending each day and night in a chemo induced nightmare, praying I’d make it through two, back-to-back transplants.

The weight of the seizures returning shortly after my transplant, rendering me a fear filled recluse, scared of walking down the street without being full of Ativan.

Right then and there, I fell apart in every way imaginable.

I cried. I cried so hard and wailed so much that my throat hurt. I don’t know for how long I cried. I heard myself screaming but it didn’t sound like me, it was deep and guttural, animal-like and completely unnatural. I don’t know how long I remained in this state. I was shaking, both from the fast approaching night, but also from the overwhelming emotional release, from crying so much.

After that I must’ve been in a state of delirium, because things are very hazy and not really adding up, time seems very distorted. There are many gaps that will fill in with memories over the coming months I’m sure. I remember an older French couple, Louise and Clément, who must have found me while trekking along. I remember Louise was giving me tea and cookies but I couldn’t hold either one down and kept getting sick. Evidently we had made our way to one of the many hostels that are along the route. There they had wrapped me in a blanket and dressed me in a thicker, woolen shirt. Eventually I was able to slowly sip tea. It began to warm me but I couldn’t yet manage the cookies. I just kept hugging Louise and crying. She must have known that I spoke sufficient French to maintain a dialogue and proceeded to tell me that they had found me only a short distance from the hostel. I was kneeling on all fours, pack still on, in the middle of the path crying and screaming. Through her hand movements and gestures, I could tell it was a little bit more than just crying.

The tea was warming my body and my head was becoming a little clearer. Things started to make a bit more sense. I remember the invasion of emotions and thoughts and how it felt as if they were choking me; I remember physically gagging.

I remember having this desire to tear opened my own body, to open up my chest cavity and remove something, to get it out– to pull out every last bit piece by piece of it, I envisioned strands of hair like substance. Though what it was exactly I didn’t know.

Perhaps it was due to my crying but it seemed I had reached a sort of hallucinatory state where strange and nightmarish events were happening. I felt as though I was falling but never reached the ground, it was this continuous feeling of vertigo and the constant fear and uncertainty of when or if I would make contact with the ground. In another Hallucination I could just barely move my legs, but they were stuck, being held back by something. These hallucinations were broken up by my sobbing, as if my crying was holding them back.

I was lost in a terrifying, daydream,-like state recalling all these events, when Clément Sat down beside me and said, in English, “we go now to the hospital.”

They put me in the backseat of a car, to whom it belonged I did not know, then they covered me with blankets. I drifted in and out of sleep, only waking now and then to hear them speaking softly. The warmth of the blankets and the sound of French, which I always found soothing, pushed and pulled me from consciousness.

My sleep was tormented by nightmares however, again they were filled with strange hallucinations: of being in a room where my thoughts were echoing, reverberating within the space. I was not speaking aloud but could hear within the room my stream-of-consciousness- like thoughts.

Again I had this desire to break open my chest and pull forth some substance. This was the strangest of all my hallucinations. I could feel my hands both upon my chest and moving within it. I don’t know what I was seeking or what I was hoping to find therein, I just knew I was looking with a frantic desperation for something.

I deduced later on that The Louise and Clément found me just outside of Golinhac. So it would make sense that we went to a hospital Rodez. At the time however, I didn’t know where I was.

They sat with me in the emergency department until I was admitted. I kept holding Louises’ hand. Now and then she would give mine a gentle squeeze so I would know she was there.

Nurses drew several vials of blood and the doctor ordered an MRI. Several doctors came in, shook all of our hands, and then proceeded to ask various questions. Throughout it all Louise held my hand and continued to gently squeeze it now and then.

The psychiatrist introduced herself as formally as everyone else had. We spoke at great length about all that had happened, the feelings and thoughts, my health history, life and family dynamics - it seems the questions were endless.

At this point I was close to tears and had already broken down a number of times during the conversation.

Evidently I didn’t pose a threat to myself or others so they allowed me to stay in the room I was in. After she left I heard her speak with Louise and Clément Just outside the door. When they came in they too said they would be back in the morning and hoped I would be able to rest. Clément had family in Rodez, so they wouldn’t be far if I needed anything.

The following day, one of the doctors entered the room. He said the MRI was fine, which I knew as I had one recently in conjunction with my CT scan for routine cancer screening. The bloodwork was also normal. I knew this as well, but I also knew they were screening for illicit drugs. That didn’t surprise me considering the state I was in upon arrival. Even though many things were becoming clear, I wasn’t entirely sure of what state I was in or how I was acting when I arrived the night before. How was I acting? How did I look upon arrival — how did we look upon arrival? This older French couple bringing in a foreigner into the emergency room sometime in the dead of night. A foreigner who was sobbing and describing surreal, nightmarish like events. A bleary eyed foreigner undoubtedly speaking mixture of gibberish, French, and English… It only makes sense that they would order toxicology screening.

I drifted in and out of sleep. Louise and Clément arrived and also looked tired, nonetheless, their eyes held such compassion.

Louise Brought in cups upon cups of tea. I’m not sure if she just really enjoyed tea or if she was still concerned that I needed to be warm.

The Psychiatrist arrived sometime later and, as formally as ever, as though she were just meeting us, said good morning and shook our hands. She asked how I was feeling and nodded understandingly when I mentioned how tired I was. She spoke at great length about her theories regarding the night before and the state I was in upon arrival. Much of it was lost on me as my head was still fuzzy both from the events of the previous night and also from the tiredness that seemed to be intensifying. She described it as a nervous breakdown, a dépression nerveuse. She studied me as though looking for an understanding of her words. I just nodded. I tend to do this, I just nod when the subject of my health, mental or physical, arises. She nodded as well and this became the language we shared.

With that she began asking logistical questions regarding my stay in France. When I told her I was leaving from Geneva on October 23 she looked relieved but also a little concerned. Then she proceeded to ask a number of questions regarding my travel plans. It was evident her feelings were mixed both about my upcoming travels as well as the fragility of my mental health. She kept her gaze fixed upon me. I remember looking away several times only to look back to find her still staring at me with such intensity. This unnerved me. Though, each time my eyes met hers it seemed as if she was trying to understand something, it was a questioning look more than anything. There is so much haziness around my stay in the emergency department, but I am certain about the depth of her attention on me.

Louise and Clément lived in Lyon and invited me to stay with them until my departure. They were also comforted to hear I would be leaving from Geneva opposed to Paris or some other airport that would require a lengthy journey.

Breaking her formal manner, the psychiatrist placed her hand upon mine, which was resting in my lap, and said, “It is no wonder this has happened, I am surprised it is just occurring now.” Perhaps that is why she held her gaze upon me with such unwavering intensity, maybe she was trying to find the words, any words, that would help explain all of this to me.

Oddly enough this seemingly simple comment made me feel better. It validated something inside of me. Though still very much unclear, it began dragging things out into the light. Not everything, of course. Events and emotions will present themselves over time, but they will do so nonetheless. Not only will they do so about this particular incident, but in terms of the illness as a whole and the life I have constructed around it. The wall has been breached, this breakdown was the catalyst… it only took a horrific experience and the guidance of two strangers who bravely stood-by never once questioning my emotional or psychological state. Two guardians who seemed to understand the screaming, sobbing and guttural language I was speaking. Two caretakers who continuously brought me an insane amount of tea!

Her comment let me touch down; the continuous fall, the constant vertigo, began to come to an end. The multiple voices within the room - my own unspoken voices — began to speak clearly, presenting as one, solitary voice with which I would one day learn to communicate with. My legs incapable of moving, those being held back, shifted slightly - ever so slightly - a barely perceivable amount. The unknown thing I desperately wanted to rip from my chest... this will take more time to understand and come to terms with. I’m ok with that, I’m patient and am certainly not going anywhere.

She was tagging them, defining them, placing a label on them.

Perhaps when we put a label on something we are forced to recognize it. It is no longer some-thing, but rather, in this particular context of the psychiatrist’s comment, a matter of permission. I am permitting this to happen. I am allowing this to take place. I am relinquishing control. I am letting go.

I’ve always perceive letting go as weakness, the antithesis, of course, being strength. I would stubbornly hold on, I would not be weak, I would hold on and fight to the bitter end to prove it!

Well, my stubbornness led me to emergency room in Rodez, France.

She could have just as easily said, ‘It is no wonder this is happening, I am surprised you’re permitting it to do so now.’

I want labels. I want to define things in order to recognize, grow and heal from them. At least then, when I fight to whichever end comes for me, I’ll know what I was fighting for.

My return… How would I make the journey back to the states? Who would I turn to for help and comfort? Who would watch me and allow me to open as Louise and Clément had? Now, just two days until my return flight was set to depart, with the recent events still very present and raw in my mind and soul, I felt frozen with fear. I felt alone. I felt alone in so many ways. In the presence of Louise and Clément I felt safe and comforted knowing, not only that they were there with me at present to protect me, but that they had seen me in the state in which they had found me just a few nights before.

I wrote to my older who, thanks to the gods, was also in Europe at the time. She had seen me in tears many times over the course of my journey with illness, she had never seen me in my current state. Though the dépression nerveuse allowed for the wall to be breached, I was presented with yet another wall. Advancement is happening, but the process is slow.

Within 12 hours she was in Geneva. She had changed our tickets and arranged everything to ensure our journeys home would be the same. There is no way I would have been able to make the trip alone. The entire way I held her hand; from Geneva to Heathrow and onward to Boston, I held her hand.

This is a form of letting go. This is relinquishing control. Another part of the wall, or perhaps a wall in and of itself, is permitting others the ability to offer assistance. I am stubborn, as mentioned, it is hard for me to accept this. I have always relied on myself to manage various situations in life as I find others to fall short when called upon. Louise and Clément showed me that self reliance isn’t always possible, there are times when help must be accepted. They showed me that help and care come from a place of unconditional love, too.

Just as Louise held my hand throughout the dark night, gently squeezing it now and then so I would feel her presence, so too did my older sister when she guided me home.

#dépression nerveuse #nervous breakdown #life #cancer #growth #cancer recovery #spiritual #spiritual development #personal #personal growth #jeremiah ray

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