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#this is a journey and will not just happen overnight but that is the point of life! to keep trying every day to build our relationship !

sabrgirl · 1 year

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7 tips in getting closer to Allah SWT

read the Qur'an everyday reading the word of Allah and understanding what you are reading will make you feel close to Him as you know that this is not a Book that anyone has just written - it has come directly from Allah SWT. subhanallah. reading and understanding what He says will make you want to practise what the Qur'an says and, in turn, be closer to Him.

be around people who remember Allah human beings have great influence on each other so it is important to have righteous people around you. their relationship with Allah SWT will inspire you to build and improve yours.

understand what you recite in salah knowing what you are reciting will help you understand how many blessings you are gaining with just a single prayer. take time to learn the translation (if you do not speak/understand arabic) of what you are reciting and why.

learn Allah's 99 names and attributes 'And to Allah alone belong all perfect attributes; so call on Him by these' (7:181) Allah likes it when we call Him by his names and it is important to recognise and understand Him. think of Him as your friend: when you get to know someone better, you get closer to them. it is the same thing, in fact, better, with Allah SWT.

have secret good deeds between you and Allah again, like having a friend, having something that is just between you and your Lord will make you feel closer to Him.

make lots of du'a - especially in sujood having your dua's come true is the best feeling, especially when you have been praying for something for a long time, alhamdulillah. praying for anything, no matter how big or small, will make you feel closer to Him as you know that He alone will make everything okay and knows what is best for you.

remember death and prepare for it this one can be very hard but it is important to remember that death can come at anytime so always try and do good deeds and live righteously in order to please Allah. when having this mindset that each day is a new chance to seek forgiveness and do good deeds, you will feel closer to Him by wanting Him to be happy with you.

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queenofcoquette · 2 months

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healthy habits i love :)

introduction:

hi loves! i wanted to share some healthy habits that i really enjoy for my body and my mind. these are things that make me feel better and work with my life :)

physical health:

staying active. i have practice for 2 hours on weekdays and like to do home workouts using small dumbells or just pilates on weekends.

stretching. stretching is so important to prevent injuries, improve mobility and balance.

eating 3 meals a day w/ fruits and vegtables.

taking vitamins. i have anemia so i've been taking iron tablets everyday w breakfast to help.

drinking enough water. i always track how much water i have- i usually drink a whole water bottle at school, 70ish% of one at practice, and more water at home.

having a skincare routine.

having a haircare routine & learning to style my hair.

at-home face massage. theyre just really relaxing

mentality/mental:

planning for the future. i like to think about what i'm doing after graduating high school (college) and how i'm going to get into my dream college. i make a plan to follow.

avoiding drama. honestly there's not much drama at my school to begin with, but either way i just avoid talking shit about people

reading! i read every night and when i finish my schoolwork and have nothing to do. it's relaxing

learning about current world events. i also like to stay up to date on what's going on in the world. it can be really sad but i think it’s important to be aware of what happens.

praying. i pray every night and i find it really peaceful and a way to be grateful by thanking God for all sorts of things in my life. sometimes i'll also just pray if i'm anxious, before a water polo game, or really whenever i feel like i should.

gratitude & reflection. i like to reflect on how i'm acting and also remind myself of everything to be grateful for. sometimes really small moments, like when i was getting my braces tightened i thought about how i'm lucky to even get to have dental work done.

journalling. i have a diary i write in every night which is just for fun, and then a spare binder w some lose paper where i vent when i'm feeling bad.

having hobbies. i like to keep myself busy so i have a lot of things i like to do at home like writing, reading, photography, sewing.

having a clean space. i keep my room clean (nothing on the floor, everything where it needs to be) and cleaning my backpack just so everything is easy to find and get.

beginning:

the key to growing is literally just doing small things everyday. overnight change is never attainable. if you want to add different habits/change something you need to make small, attainable, adjustments everyday.

do the best with what you have. this is the biggest point. there are certain things you might not be able to do because of your circumstances, so just do the best with what you have right now.

self respect. and of course, healthy self improvement is based in loving yourself and wanting to be better for the sake of improving your life. this is a whole journey within itself.

#that girl 2024 #that girl #self improvement #pink pilates princess #it girl #healthy habits #self care #queenofcoquette

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charmedreincarnation · 6 months

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When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

#sucess story #manifestation #law of assumption #dream life

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thisdreamplace · 9 months

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for those who struggle

i recently got sent an anon message about frustrations surrounding the law, and how non-dualism hasn't made it any easier for them, but actually just more frustrating to the point where they're officially walking away from everything and wanting to just go back to live as they knew it before any of this.

the truth is that, oversimplification runs rampant in this community. as well as, hiding behind the realities of how difficult it all can be, because people are afraid of affirming that it's difficult or identifying with difficulty... but when we hide from this experience and try to come off as if it doesn't affect us, while simultaneously trying to give out advice, there tends to be more damage than good happening. the oversimplifying isn't the fault of anyone, as the truth is most of this is simple. but in actually living it, it tends to not be simple at all. the ego will fight till the very end to keep things the way they are, even when they hurt us. and that is worth being honest about.

when it comes to non-identification and indifference, this is not meant to be used to as yet another way to pretend something isn't happening or push down your feelings or gaslight yourself. i see these posts like, "just ignore the 3d and don't identify with it and you would have already have what you wanted" ..... this doesn't actually really help anyone, unless you're a person who strives on that kind of mentality. but i think a lot of people need a little more gentleness and realness, otherwise this journey wouldn't have been so difficult and painful. we'd all just get it overnight, but clearly, this community stays extremely active for a reason. because the million ways its already been explained still leaves so many confused and frustrated.

indifference is a daily practice, and it is NOT one that includes pretending something doesn't exist in exchange for getting what you want. it is actually, the extreme opposite. it's by acknowledging what's there... and allowing that to be what it is. the non-identification comes in from how you choose to see YOURSELF in relation to whatever that thing is. "this is painful, this sucks, i hate it... but that doesn't mean tomorrow won't be better for me. it doesn't mean my life is doomed..." etc etc etc. it's this very small flip within yourself, that actually leads to results. not trying to force yourself into believing you aren't even who you are when you've identified as yourself this entire life. remember that god's name is I AM, and literally nothing else.

and doing something to get something else is just... not it. it's time for you to truly want to feel better, regardless of anything else. that's why so much of this starts to get trickier than it needs to be.

non-identification is literally as simple as realizing... you are bound to no past, and you have the opportunity of every future you can possibly imagine. why ? because non-identification is literally just non-attachment. when you're not attached to this idea of who you were, of the struggles you used to face, you're able to allow in different experiences. and y'all... this as simple as being able to say to yourself, "i am allowed to experience something new" and don't let your fear of the unknown stop you from experiencing something new.

here's where it doesn't feel so simple though. how can you just stop identifying with this whole human self when the traumas of the past keep coming back to haunt you ? thats the thing. you don't just stop identifying with it. you let this be a process, a non-linear path to liberation. slowly, but surely, if you keep at it everyday, even when you feel you're only going backwards... one day you will realize how much more free you are. how much more easier it is to move into a new beautiful story for yourself, one that isn't contiminated by your past. but let today be today ! and whatever may come, let it come.

this is why just focusing on yourself is so helpful because if you're simply doing the best you can for yourself and your feeling state, the daily dramas are no longer your ruler.

the gag is that, the more you just do these small daily practices of sitting with yourself, choosing to not engage in the stories you used to identify with in the past, and allow new experiences to come to you... the more easy it gets, the more the truth of yourself begins to show itself on its own. you have to realize that the days are going to keep passing by anyway... so stop counting them, and just commit to yourself.

i also want to quickly note that so many seem to leave out the fact that behind all of this, within the pure nothingness that is also everything. behind our human identifications and all the things we have experienced in our lives, there is unconditional love. and when we actually begin to stop identifying so deeply with who we thought we are, we are lead right back to unconditional love. love in its purest form. so, use love as your guide when things get too difficult. it's the truest thing to who you really are.

you have to let allow yourself to experience the beautiful, despite how strange it may feel. because it's going to feel strange if you've never really experienced it before, and the ego is going to fight because even when it's good, the unknown is still strange and scary. and you never have to be perfect at this to get to experience the things you want, believe it or not. i know that i still have a long way to go on this journey, there may be much more time before i ever get to fully experience the promise in full, but that hasn't stopped me from experiencing the desires of my heart on a daily basis. that's because i used these simple things, these small little flips in how i chose to see life. even if the anxiety never went away, or it was a more difficult day full of tears... this is way more possible for you than you realize. if only you're willing to allow your life to be different than it's always been. just that small allowance, opens up all the doors.

xo dream 🕊

#nonduality #nondualism #law of assumption

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wandas-lunchbox · 3 months

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so sick of you (chapter 3)

series summary: you and natasha have ended your relationship due to her cheating on you. it's been 5 years now. what happens when you bump into her at a bar on your birthday?

warnings: some swearing, but otherwise none

a/n: omg guys i’m acc so sorry this took 2 whole years to write. we’re gonna pretend that never happened…. you may end up having to wait another 5 years for the next chapter

finally i was on the plane. it felt like it took forever. it was an overnight flight which was good because i could finally get some sleep. wanda like the rich ass she is got us business class so we were pretty comfortable throughout the plane journey.

a couple hours had past and we were still mid air, wanda and i were sat next to eachother and in the chair next to me was a fairly pretty woman. ok i lied she was gorgeous. her hair was brunette with waves, she wore these black rimmed glasses and her lips looked so beautiful. i dont know why i noticed her lips but i guess i just did.

oh well.

i decided to get up and strech my legs for a bit, i felt some cramps in my legs so i needed to walk. wanda was snoring next to me while when harry met sally was playing in the background. i took a photo of her for evidence later. i walk up and head to the bathroom. it was occupied.

i stood there for a good whole 5 minutes till i heard faint moans coming from the bathroom. what the fuck. why are people having sex in an airplane bathroom, thats the most disgusting thing ever. they needed to hurry up bc a girls got to piss.

the beautiful brunette girl walks up to me, or well i guess to the bathroom. i admire her face.

“are people seriously having sex in an airplane bathroom”

i laugh and continue to look at her.

“honestly, like i understand doing it in your seat but the bathroom? seriously? thats the dirtiest place on the whole plane,” i said

“she laughs, are you headed to italy or is it a stop before another flight?” she asks

“yeah i’m going to italy, a friend actually planned this as a birthday trip, what about you?”

“oh, i live in italy, sorry let me rephrase i am italian and i used to live there, just visiting some family” she says

“oh nice, you’ll have to tell me some of the great places to go”

“of course!” she smiles at me

suddenly the bathroom door opens and a lady and a man walk out. both of them fixing their hair snd their clothes.

“after you,” the brunette says

“wait, i never ended up getting your name”

“we still have a whole 2 hours left of this flight, don’t worry you’ll figure it out” she laughs

i lock the door and began to do my buiness. i look at myself and i think i’ve seen death. my hair was a mess, and eye bags darker than ever.

i fixed it as a quick as possible before returning to my seat.

i smile at the girl before she goes in. when i sit at my seat i slap wanda a couple times trying to tell her what happened just now. she just slaps me back harder and starts snoring.

this girl could cause an avalanche with her snoring.

suddenly the girl returns to her seat and we continue to converse as if nothing had stopped us before.

we spoke as if we had known eachother forever. maybe we did?

the flight started to come to an end but our conversation definitely didn’t.

“you got a number or something?”

“yeah here let me type it for you.

i type in my number and write “your plain gf ;)” misspelling plane.

she laughs and points it out. “guess you’re a basic girlfriend then”

i look at her confused, only for her to show me i misspelled plane. i laugh and blush akwardly.

when the plane lands it takes forever for me to wake up wanda. this bitch just wouldn’t wake up.

after what felt like 3 trillion years, i get her up and we start to get ready to leave the plane.

we were in italy…

a/n: omg finally chapter 3 is out

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist making a new one

new year new me 😜

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whatsthethinking · 11 months

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Somebody's Lover - Lo'ak Ver.

Lo'ak x Fem!Taipani Reader

❧ Word count: 3.9k

❧ Warning: Lo’ak being called a demon (not to his face)

❧ Note: Based of this request. This isn’t the same as Neteyam’s because Lo'ak deserves his own story but I did try and keep a similar premise, I think.

After Neteyam had made it official to the clan that he was in a relationship with someone, who would ultimately become his mate. It was like the youth of the clan had been scrambling to figure out what to do next. If they can’t have Neteyam, who can they have?

Lo’ak.

It was almost overnight that the shift happened. Instead of people trying to win Neteyam’s favour, they were in search of Lo’ak’s and it was safe to say the boy was less than impressed. It was clear to him that he was the second choice. Lo’ak soon became hostile towards the people that would approach him with their false smiles and intentions.

Do they think I’m stupid?

Where Neteyam would decline people’s requests with regret in his voice, Lo’ak was harsh and to the point. But that didn’t deter them.

A good thing to come out of Neteyam’s relationship was that Lo’ak was able to make a friend, Kalä. The two boys had become inseparable. Kalä’s a few years younger than Lo’ak but that didn’t change anything. They treated each other as equals, Kalä was so interested in humans and their technology that he befriended Spider without hesitation. It was nice to see.

Lo’ak and Kalä joked with one another on their short journey; they hadn’t made a plan for the day. Kalä wanted to go swimming but his sister kept reminding the pair that the boy wasn’t the strongest swimmer but he was very insistent to the point where they had to ‘compromise’. They would go swimming but only in shallow water. Lo’ak swore to his brother and his soon-to-be mate along with all the adults surrounding them that he would watch Kalä closely.

“What about Yaro?” Kalä questioned, jumping over a low branch, “My sister said she’s nice… enough.”

“Absolutely not. She used to be so horrible to Kiri.”

“Mmm, what about Moäì? She has nice eyes and she’s good at making stuff.”

“She’s friends with Tahé.”

“But she loves you.” The younger boy teased.

Lo’ak stopped abruptly, the forest had suddenly become eerily quiet. He stepped closer to Kalä, ready to shield the younger boy from potential danger. And that’s when he saw it, a thanator creeping towards them, low to the ground ready to pounce.

Lo’ak could hear Kalä breath hitch in his throat.

“Do not scream.” Lo’ak’s voice firm, “Do not move. On my command, you run.”

“Where?” He questioned, his voice quivering.

“Anywhere.”

Lo’ak didn’t have a plan but he knew Kalä was his priority, the young boy was shaking against his arm.

“Ready?”

As the pair ran, Lo’ak managed to hoist Kalä into a tree, hoping the boy would get himself high enough. Just as he was to climb himself, the thanator charged towards him, narrowly missing Lo’ak as he threw himself to the side. Rolling down a small hill.

“Lo’ak!” Kalä cried, Lo’ak could tell he was ready to jump out of the tree to help.

“No! Go back to camp, I’ll see you there!”

Lo’ak didn’t wait to see if the boy heard, taking off into the dense forest, the thanator close behind.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What is he meant to do now?

The thanator snaps forward, causing Lo’ak to duck through a narrow opening between tree roots hoping to catch his breath but the thanator was relentless. Clawing viciously at the intertwined roots to catch its prey. Lo’ak shuffled backward hoping there was a way to escape but just his luck, this tree was at the edge of a cliff. He quickly glanced around in a panic trying to weigh his options.

He could either: sit here and let the thanator get in here and rip him to shreds. Try to fight the thanator but he didn’t have his bow, dropping it when trying to help Kalä. Or he could throw himself off the edge of the cliff and pray to Eywa that he doesn’t die. No option was looking to be successful.

While Lo’ak was frantically trying to find a way to survive this encounter, he failed to notice that the thanator had stopped trying to eat him. It was silent, aside from his heavy breathing. Hesitantly, he leaned forward, trying to see through the gaps to see what was happening.

He was able to see the thanator slumped on the floor, a spear wrapped in thick twine embedded deeply into its head. Lo’ak paused in confusion before slowly making his way out of his hiding spot.

Standing there, on the other side of a thanator, was a girl Lo’ak assumed was his age. Clearly not from his clan. Her hair was braided out of her face and what seemed to be armour decorated her shoulders and chest. She stood tall, unnerved by the sight before her. The air around her seemed strong yet mysterious. The expression on her face is stoic as her eyes ran the length of Lo’ak body before stopping to meet his gaze.

“Come.” she voiced before turning swiftly, and walking away from Lo’ak. She left little room for him to argue, so he briskly trailed behind her. His sloppy movements made enough noise for the two of them.

He followed the unnamed girl until they reached the river connected to the waterfall, his original destination with Kalä. He spotted a lone direhorse grazing in the distance. The girl motioned Lo’ak to follow her as she squatted down, opening a small pouch that he had seen healers in his clan carry.

“Sit.”

Lo’ak followed her demand and sat down in front of her, crossing his legs. He watched as she took out a piece of fabric and dipped it into the river before lifting it out and squeezing the excess water out of it. Lo’ak noted that all of her movements were fluid and graceful.

She reached forward and the wet cloth to the side of Lo’ak’s forehead causing him to hiss quietly and pull away.

“Stop it.” She hissed, grabbing his chin lightly and bringing him back to face her.

Her hand didn’t move from its place on his face as she continued to dab his forehead. Lo’ak stared at her while she did so. Her face held no expression but her eyes were kind. She slowly moved the cloth down to under his eye, tabbing softly. Lo’ak wanted to recoil but the tender hold on his chin kept him in place.

Diving back into her small pouch, the girl pulled out a small jar and Lo’ak was able to recognise the smell as soon as she took the lid off. It was a salve that his grandmother often used on clan members when they would get injured. It stung like no other but it was able to heal wounds quickly.

“Wait!” Lo’ak stalled, his hand circling the girl's wrist before she was able to touch his face. Her face remained neutral as she shook her wrist free from his grip with little effort and dabbed the salve on the grazes on his face. Lo’ak winced every time but didn’t move away.

Unexpectedly, the girl raised herself to her knees, holding the sides of Lo’ak’s head softly, blowing on his wounds. The action made his breath hitch. It was comforting, something his parents would do when he was younger, he knew it didn’t do anything to take away the pain but he appreciated it.

The girl leaned back, studying Lo’ak’s face before standing and turning to the river, washing her hands.

“Come. I will take you home.”

The girl made a clicking noise, causing the direhorse to raise its head and make its way over. The girl muttered something to the creature before making the bond and mounting it with ease. She leaned over the side and held her arm out to Lo’ak, who took it without hesitation. Once he was settled, he kept one of his hands on his thighs, and the other lightly on her shoulder, not sure what he should do. The girl sighed before reaching behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Here.”

Lo’ak didn’t even have time to blush as the direhorse lurched forward, breaking into a gallop. The forest blurs around them.

—

After a while, the direhorse’s pace slowed before coming to a stop. In the distance, Lo’ak could hear a commotion coming from his clan. He internally winced at the idea of what could be happening.

“Thank you for helping me,” Lo’ak mumbled, eyes in the distance.

“You are welcome.”

Lo’ak relaxed slightly, his hold around the girl’s waist slacking causing his hands to slowly fall to the top of her thighs. Which the girl did not react to. Clan members started to appear in the area, circling the pair. Jake stepped through the crowd, a look of relief on his face before he raised an eyebrow at his son. Lo’ak face flushed, almost instantaneously. He moved his hands like they had touched a naked flame and he scrambled to get off the creature.

“Thanks again.”

The girl nodded, before commanding the creature to turn away from the gathering clan members.

—

Y/n dismounted the direhorse, giving it a brief pat on the side before it went on its way. Y/n skillfully manoeuvred between the trees until she made it back to her small village, coming face to face with her sister.

“You killed a thanator for that sky demon, why?”

“It was the right thing to do and he isn’t a dreamwalker.” Y/n mumbled, making her way over to her tent.

“We watched him together, sister. He has 4 fingers. A sky demon. Where did you return him?”

“Omatikaya.”

“Ah yes. They love their demons. Isn’t their Olo'eyktan one?” Her sister sniggered, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “The one you saved is probably his child or something.”

“Yes? But does it matter? He is one of the people. It doesn’t concern us.”

Y/n’s sister scoffed before she began to walk away, quickly turning with her hands on her hips.

“I retrieved your spear, by the way. Dad would lose his head if you lost it, again. Oh, the sky demons bow too.”

Y/n hummed and nodded her head in acknowledgement. When she arrived at her tent and away from watching eyes, y/n rolled her eyes at her sister’s behaviour while taking off her armour. The boy from the Omatikaya seemed nice and y/n had to admit that he was handsome, dreamwalker or not. Looking at the bow resting against her trusted spear, y/n thought of how she was going to return the bow to the boy, ultimately deciding to just take it to him.

—

A few days later, with her mind made up, she began her journey, slinging the bow into her back and her spear in hand. It did not take her long to reach the outskirts of the Omatikaya village.

Doing what she does best, she hid out of view high in the trees, keeping as still as possible which was second nature to her. Not long after she was settled, y/n spotted a girl her age slip into the forest beneath her, a smaller girl running behind her.

“Kiri! Wait for me!”

Y/n dropped down softly and started to walk around the edge of the camp before she finally spotted the Olo’eyktan. Just as she was about to take a step to approach him, y/n was pushed from the side, the force did little to knock her off balance, her lack of movement caused whoever pushed her, to toppled over.

“Who are you?!” The girl, now on the floor, screeched which brought much attention.

Y/n didn’t reply, instead firmly securing her spear into the ground, observing the girl before her.

“Why are you here?!” The girl questioned again, getting to her feet and into a stance that would ‘protect’ her. Y/n could sense the nervousness rolling off her in waves.

“Tahé! Put the knife away.” The Olo'eyktan’s authoritative voice rang through the air.

Y/n’s lip quirked up at the side and she watched Tahé step back, her ‘confident’ demeanour slipping away instantaneously.

The Olo'eyktan finally made his way to the pair, his eyes landing on y/n, a look of confusion crossed his face briefly before it settled on a neutral expression but his eyes were curious.

“Hello. We met the other day, right? What brings you here again?”

Without a word, y/n slipped the bow off of her body and held it towards the older man.

“Oh.” He voiced, taking it slowly, “Thank you.”

Nodding, y/n nodded, pulling her spear out of its place and began to walk away from the growing crowd, leaving the Olo'eyktan stunned. As she reached the tree line, a blur came bounding towards her, only skidding to a stop then the tip of y/n’s spear was inches away from their throat.

“Hi! Sorry. You walk really fast. I would’ve called your name but I don’t know it.” The boy chuckled, “Thank you for bringing my bow back, I wasn't exactly ready to make a new one. I’m Lo’ak by the way.”

“Hmm.” Y/n lowered her spear, ready to continue on her journey but Lo’ak had other plans in mind. Stepping in front of her.

“Why don’t you stay for lunch? You saved my life, fixed my face and returned my bow. It’s the least I could do.”

Y/n watched him closely as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a slightly nervous look on his face, his eyes sometimes flickering to her side where she noticed the two girls from earlier standing there. The younger girl looked nervous whereas the older girl looked hopeful.

“Okay.”

Lo’ak let out a shaky breath before nodding, “Good, good. Uh, follow me.”

—

The lunch was an interesting sight to see. Kiri had taken an instant liking to the girl, who had finally introduced herself as y/n. She had spoken briefly to Neytiri, the older woman seemed to be very approving of her. Kalä had come to join them, showering Lo’ak’s guest with gratitude. The younger boy even gives y/n a bone-crushing hug, the girl awkwardly patting his back in confusion.

“You don’t speak much.” Lo’ak pointed out.

“No.”

“Right, thank you again for the other day.”

Y/n nodded and Lo’ak grinned bashfully as she retreated into the forest silently.

Neteyam snuck up to his brother, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders, causing him to jump.

“My baby bro, in love,” Neteyam commented cheerfully.

“I am not.”

“Tell that to your face.”

Lo’ak shook his brother off, stalking back to the family tent, Neteyam laughing behind him. His soon-to-be mate coming up beside him, telling the older boy that it’s not funny.

—

The following day, Lo’ak woke up early to go on a walk. He wasn’t sure, he loved sleeping in but it felt like a need. He grabbed his bow, a few arrows and hopped over Kiri before starting his journey. There weren't many people awake, the sun was yet to rise.

Lo’ak absentmindedly walked through the forest, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Above him, the leaves rustled which caused him to pause, waiting for something to happen but there wasn’t a change in the atmosphere so he continued. He looked up slightly to see the sun peeking through the vast trees. Momentarily, the sun was blocked out by a dark figure moving swiftly.

Lo’ak readied his bow but before he could aim, a hand touched his back, startling him. Spinning on the spot, Lo’ak was met with y/n. He immediately noticed the difference in appearance, her hair was free of its braids. She wasn’t dressed in her armour nor was she holding her spear. Instead, she had her bow and arrow in hand and a hunting knife by her hip. It was a different look for her completely, she looked relaxed, and the air around her was still strong but less mysterious.

“Wow.”

“What?”

Lo’ak cleared his throat, taking a step back, “Nothing. Hi.”

“Why are you walking about at this time?” Y/n questioned, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I am going to wash my hair.”

“This early?”

“Yes,” Y/n nodded as she began to walk, “before my sister wakes.”

“Can I come?”

—

This is how the two interacted for the following months. Some days, Lo’ak would wake up early and go for a walk, y/n always found him. Or, the pair would go ‘hunting’ which was more y/n teaching Lo’ak how to be lighter on his feet and focus on his other senses.

Y/n checked the cloth covering Lo’ak’s eyes once more before standing in front of him again, placing small rocks that she had dipped in red paint in the palm of his hand.

“Explain this to me again please.” A defeated sigh left his lips.

“I’m testing your hearing and reaction time.”

“But I might hurt you.”

“I doubt that you will.” Y/n quipped, circling him.

Lo’ak pulled the blindfold up on one side with his free hand, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you doubting my skills?”

“No,” y/n teased, dragging out the vowel, “Of course not.”

Lo’ak huffed as the girl covered his eyes again. Y/n stood at a reasonable distance away before tapping two sticks together. Lo’ak’s ears twitched before he threw a rock, missing the girl completely.

“So, where are these skills?”

“I’m warming up.”

Y/n moved a few steps to her left and tapped the sticks again. Lo’ak managed to get the rock closer but still missed.

“Warming up?”

“Yes,” Lo’ak grumbled, a smile gracing his lips.

Y/n did what she did best and danced around Lo’ak until she was directly behind him. Lo’ak’s ears twitched and he spun on the spot immediately and faced her. Reaching out a hand and placing a single red spot on her arm.

“See, I have skills.”

Some days, Lo’ak would have dinner with y/n’s family. On occasion, y/n would find herself in the Omatikaya camp with her father. He had become fast friends with the Olo'eyktan which was a surprise to everyone since he had made it clear time and time again that he did not want to be associated with the sky people.

During these times together, Lo’ak would catch himself staring at y/n which he would try to disguise. This didn’t go unnoticed by his family, especially when he would return to the camp with a lovesick expression and his cheeks slightly tinted.

—

“So, y/n?” Lo’ak froze on the spot at his father’s voice behind him.

“What about her?” Lo’ak questioned back, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Nothing really, you two just seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

“So?”

Jake broke out into a smug grin, crossing his arms and putting his weight onto one foot.

“She’s nice,” Jake started, his grin growing wider and his son’s face flushed. “A skilled warrior.”

“Yeah, she is,” Lo’ak mumbled

“You must be learning a lot from her.”

“I am.”

Kiri walked into the tent, raising her eyebrow at her brother.

“Is Lo’ak in trouble?” She questioned curiously.

“No, just in love.”

“I’m not in love,” Lo’ak said, his voice slightly wavering.

“With y/n?! Finally! Does she know?” Kiri beamed which caused Jake to chuckle slightly.

“Of course, she doesn’t know, Lo’ak doesn’t have the guts to tell her.” Jake taunted, Lo'ak's mouth flying open.

“That’s fine, I will help you, dear brother.”

Lo’ak looked between the two in disbelief.

“If I want help, I’ll ask Mum.” Lo’ak grumbled.

“So you admit it. You’re in love.”

Lo’ak gave Kiri a pointed look before stalking out of the tent, leaving his father and sister to laugh at his expense.

—

The next morning, Lo’ak woke up early but did not leave the tent, he lay stiffly as he thought back to all of his interactions with y/n. Was he in love? It was just a crush, at most. He thought.

How could he not have a crush on her? She’s beautiful.

Lo’ak heard shuffling from the other side of the tent. Someone bent down beside him, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go for a walk,” Neytiri suggested.

Lo’ak nodded sleepily and slowly the two made their way out of the tent.

“Your father tells me you’re in love.” Neytiri started once they were a distance away from any prying ears.

Lo’ak’s cheeks flushed as he ran his hands over his face.

“I’m not ‘in love’, but I do like her.” He confessed without hesitation.

“What do you like about her?”

“She’s kind. She doesn’t speak a lot but that’s fine. She listens to me. She’s been teaching me how the Tipani hunt, it’s so fascinating, she’s fascinating...”

Lo’ak continued to list all the things he has grown to like and admire about the Tipani girl, Neytiri was sure he didn’t realise what he was truly confessing to.

“But I am not in love with her.” He concluded, looking at his mother.

“I’m sure you’re not.” Humour is evident in Neytiri’s voice, “but you should tell her of your feelings, she may feel the same way.”

“And what if she doesn’t, I don’t want to make it weird.”

“And what if she does?”

—

That evening, Lo’ak sat stiffly on a thick branch, his legs hanging over the edge. Y/n lay next to him peacefully, watching the sky.

“What’s the matter, Lo’ak?” The girl questioned, turning slightly so that she could see his face.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Y/n sat up, turning her body fully towards the boy beside her.

“Lo’ak?” Softly, y/n placed her hand on his chin, moving his face towards hers. “What is wrong?”

Lo’ak studied the girl’s face carefully. Before he could register what was happening, his lips met hers, eyes fluttering closed. The kiss was over before it started.

“Sorry.” Lo’ak’s face felt as though it was on fire as he looked away.

“It’s fine.” For the first time, y/n’s voice sounded timid.

“I didn’t mean to-.”

“Lo’ak, it’s fine.”

The pair sat in an awkward silence, neither knowing what to say or do.

Y/n cleared her throat, standing up slowly.

“I should go.”

Lo’ak looked up at her, ready to apologise again but the words were stuck in his throat as a single woodsprite floated down from the trees, followed by several more. As if she heard them, y/n spun around, shock appearing on her face. Lo’ak scrambled to his feet, almost falling over the side of the branch but he managed to steady himself as woodsprites circled him as well.

Y/n turned to face him, a smile lighting her face.

“I really, really like you, y/n.” Lo’ak confessed, lowering his gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed, “I, uh, just wanted you to know.”

“I really like you too, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak’s head perked up, his eyes widening, “Really?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Y/n stepped forward, taking his hands in hers, gently brushing her thumbs over his knuckles. The small act of affection reassured Lo’ak, any fears he had melted away.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Y/n questioned humorously.

Lo’ak nodded with a smile before placing a gentle hand under her chin, leaning in for another kiss.

—

“Finally!” Tuk yelled in the distance before Kiri slapped her hand over her sister's mouth.

“Shhh!”

Neytiri grinned to herself at the sight, little Tuk giggling behind her hand trying to keep quiet. Jake and Kiri high-fived silently behind them. Neteyam nodded to himself, kissing the back of his soon-to-be mate's hand.

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beyondthesefourwalls · 9 months

Text

This Love Came Back to Me (6)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Six Word Count: 3.6K

Part Five :: Series Masterlist

-----

Bradley made a point of locking his apartment door behind him, sliding the chain into place with more emphasis than he probably usually did. You knew you were being too quiet - the silence in the room was so loud it was almost stifling. He had kept a tight hold on your hand the entire journey from the parking lot, almost like he was afraid if he let go you’d turn around and leave after all. It caused even more anxiety to churn in your stomach, because the last thing you wanted was him questioning your desire to be here or not. But you couldn’t figure out what to say just yet, and the more you tried, the harder it became.

“Do you want to get ready for bed?” he asked, disrupting the silence. You nodded, adjusting the grip on the overnight bag you had stopped by your car to grab on the way upstairs.

“I’ll wait out here. Take all the time you need, okay?”

It was silly, but the words made you want to cry. Bradley was the best man you had ever known. He deserved so much better than this.

You forced another nod and a small quirk of your lips and took a step in the direction of the hallway. You hadn’t gotten far when you stopped, spinning on your heel to go back to him. You could see the question on his face but before he could voice it, you raised on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. You gave him another smile before retreating to his bathroom.

After you had taken your makeup off and changed your clothes, you stared at yourself in the mirror. There was a bitter taste in your mouth that you couldn’t get to go away.

The night had started so wonderfully, just like you knew it would. You had been looking forward to seeing Bradley all week after the beach date on Monday. You had been slightly surprised when he asked you to go to the Hard Deck, but hadn’t hesitated in agreeing. Sure, you were anxious to remeet all of his friends, knowing how important they were to him. But he hadn’t been lying when he said none of them held ill will toward you from your breakup. After shaking off the initial nerves, you were having so much fun drinking and hanging out with them with Bradley at your side. You were so happy and you knew the night would only get better when it was just the two of you later on.

And then Paul had just…appeared. Again. You had told Nat you would wait in line at the bar while she washed her hands in the bathroom, and suddenly there he was, pouncing during the one moment you were alone. His voice rang like an alarm in your head as he talked about buying you a drink and taking you out for dinner, like the events of the week of you throwing his flowers out and reporting him to HR - again - hadn’t even happened. He had grabbed onto your arm so tightly and started pulling you along with him before you could even fathom a response. Then Natasha had showed up and pushed him away, immediately going off about respect and personal space.

And then Bradley was there, arriving in the midst of your shock, making you feel safe despite it all.

You had tried so hard not to let it ruin the night. You thought going back to all of Bradley’s friends and pretending that nothing happened would make you feel better, but the interaction stayed there in the back of your mind.

It was hard for you to really tell what you were feeling now that a few hours had passed. You were upset at the whole situation, certainly. You were angry that he wouldn’t leave you alone and that he had picked you to have this stupid crush on. More than that, though, you were embarrassed, both at the fact that it had happened for everyone to witness and that you were letting it affect you so much.

Paul was persistent and he was a creep, but did he really pose that much of a threat? When you had met with your manager a few days prior, she had echoed the same sentiment, saying that some men just couldn’t take a hint, and maybe you should be flattered that he’s paying you this much attention.

“It’s certainly not as big of a deal as you’re making it,” she had said with a roll of her eyes.

You tried all week to convince yourself that she was right, but you couldn’t. If you were honest with yourself, you were starting to get scared that this just kept happening. Especially now, when all you wanted was this second chance with Bradley to work out.

Instead, you felt like a burden. It was why you had suggested you return to your own home tonight. You didn’t want to be too much for him, particularly not this early on, when you were both still figuring out how this was going to work.

But one look at his expressive dark eyes and you were getting out of the car with him.

With a shuddering breath, you finished up in the bathroom. You could hear the soft sounds of the tv on in the background from the living room when you stepped out. When you rounded the corner, you could see Bradley sitting on the couch. He had stripped out of the Hawaiian shirt and jeans into a pair of sweatpants and his undershirt. He looked up when you walked into the room, offering you one of those small smiles that made you feel warm inside. Without saying anything, he raised his arm, inviting you to sit with him.

When you settled into his side, he pulled down the afghan on the back of the couch to drape over both of you. For a few minutes, you watched the cooking competition show that he had turned on. You could almost pretend that it was just a normal night of winding down together. But you could feel how Bradley was sitting stiffer than usual, and how his fingers kept flexing around the remote in his lap. You knew it was inevitable, and in the next commercial break, the need to say something had finally won out.

“How did he know where we were tonight?”

Your eyes squeezed shut at the question. He had asked it in a regular tone, if anything quieter than was normal for him, but it might as well have been screamed at you with how loud it rang in your head. You hadn’t let yourself consider that particular question, pushing it as far down as you could.

“I don’t know,” you whispered in response. You were so quiet that for a second you hoped that whatever ad was playing through the speakers would mask the sound of your voice. But you knew he heard you by how he raised the remote to mute the tv. You sat in silence, and you felt worse with every passing second.

“I’m sorry if I derailed our night,” you finally said, unable to stand it anymore. Bradley shifted so that you weren’t leaning against him anymore, sitting beside you and turning your face to his with a gentle hand so he could meet your eyes.

“You didn’t derail anything,” he insisted, and you could tell he meant it. Still, you felt the guilt swelling. He let out a long sigh, the frustration in it evident and painted all over his face. “I just…fuck, Bug. I don’t understand.”

You chewed on your bottom lip and snapped the hair tie on your wrist as you contemplated your response. You didn’t understand either, and you wished you did. “I’m not sure what else to do,” you admitted quietly.

“Call off work on Monday,” he said immediately, like it was something he had been thinking about before you posed the question. “Or quit, even.”

You sighed. You wanted to. You did. But you knew you couldn’t - it wasn’t realistic. You had rent and bills and while you had some savings, it wouldn’t sustain you forever. “I can’t do that, B. I can’t let him and his stupid creepy crush start impacting me more than it already has. That’s my job.”

Bradley spoke your name as he shook his head. “This isn’t just a stupid creepy crush anymore.”

“I know that!”

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but the words came out sharp anyway. You felt jittery all of a sudden and so you took a deep breath and threw the blanket off of you, standing from the couch. To his credit, Bradley didn’t try to stop you as you walked the few paces to the kitchen. You poured yourself some water to try and cool yourself down, but when you tried to bring it to your lips to drink it, your hand shook. The glass thudded against the countertop when you set it down with more force than necessary. Frustrated tears filled your eyes and when one escaped, you wiped it away harshly.

After giving you a moment to breathe, Bradley followed to your side. You were leaning against the counter with your head in your hands when he rested a big hand on your back.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said gently, rubbing his palm up and down your spine. His touch was always so soothing to you and left you feeling warm.

“I know. You didn’t,” you assured him, turning your head to look at him.

“We promised we’d do better at talking, and being honest with how we were feeling,” he reminded you, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at where he was going with this. “Right now I feel like there’s someone who is unhealthily obsessed with my girl, and she thinks it’s her fault, or that she’s ruining things, but she’s not.”

You wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong. But you knew that you couldn’t. He had voiced exactly what was going through your head.

“I don’t want to be too much for you,” you admitted quietly. Bradley opened his mouth to respond, already shaking his head, but you held up a hand to stop him. You swallowed the lump in your throat and exhaled deeply. “I want this to work. So badly. And it’s not fair that this is something we have to be worried about - that you have to be worried about. Because I am, B. I’m worried. And I’m scared.”

Your voice cracked as you finally said it out loud, and it seemed that once you started, you couldn’t stop. “I don’t want this attention from him. But until I find another job there’s nothing else that I can do. I’ve done everything I can think of. I’ve told him to stop, I’ve reported him at work. And it’s not like he’s made any real threats, so I can’t even go to the cops. Him showing up at the same bar won't be enough. They’ll mark it off as a coincidence, even if deep down I know it’s not. So I have no choice but to deal with this.”

“I know. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you aren’t,” he sighed. “I want this to work, too, Bug. And it will. I can’t…I can’t explain how strong my feelings are for you - how I need to protect you. So it’s hard for me, too, that I can’t do anything. I know you’re doing everything you can. But you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I’m here. For whatever you need.”

His gaze was so full of tenderness and understanding, it made you want to cry for a whole new reason. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes by the time he finished. He wanted this to work, and was so sure that it would. He wanted to protect you - needed to, apparently. And you wanted that too. But god, you wished he didn’t have to.

“A hug would be a nice start,” you decided, and your boyfriend didn’t hesitate to draw you into his arms. You buried your face in his chest and held onto him as you mumbled into his shirt. “And I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I want to focus on us.”

He kissed the top of your head, squeezing you tightly. “Okay.”

____

You spent the next hour or so cuddled up on the couch, just like you wanted. When your eyes started closing longer and longer during blinks, Bradley chuckled softly and clicked the tv off, shuffling you both back to his bedroom. It took your tired, heavy eyes a moment to register what was in front of you but when they did, a quiet gasp escaped.

“You kept it?” you asked softly. You looked across the bed at Bradley to see his face pink as he pulled down the covers.

“Kept it in with the rest of my spare sheets,” he responded with a shrug, and you knew he was trying to play it off as no big deal, but to you, it meant everything.

Warmth filled you as your fingertips touched the soft, silk material of your pillowcase. You had made a passing comment once early on in your relationship about how you preferred this material to rest your head on and Bradley had surprised you with an exact match to the one you kept on your bed at home the next time you stayed over. You had never expected him to keep it once you broke up.

Climbing into the bed, you bypassed your side completely. Bradley huffed out a sound of surprise as you straddled his lower abdomen, but as you leant down to kiss him, it turned into something more pleasant and eager.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you murmured against his lips. He squeezed your thighs in his big hands as he kissed you back.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, baby,” he whispered back. You hummed happily in response, tasting his lips again. It wasn’t long before he was rolling you onto your back so he could hover over you instead, never once breaking the kiss.

Suddenly, you weren’t feeling all that tired at all.

_____

You were glad when the weekend passed without further incident. You didn’t talk about Paul again, and you did your very best not to think about how the weekend had started. Instead, you slept in on Saturday morning and woke up in Bradley’s arms, followed by a day of doing little more than just being together before he surprised you by taking you out. You had figured you would be staying inside of his apartment all weekend, and when you voiced as much, he gave you a soft look filled with so much sincerity it nearly took your breath away.

“I want to take you out,” he said as he trailed the back of his finger down your cheek. “Let me?”

He knew how much you didn’t want your relationship to change because of what you were dealing with. So you knew what he was really asking. Let me give this to you. Let me keep you safe - don’t be scared with me. Be with me.

So you spent Saturday night out, first at dinner and then at a karaoke bar, laughing at off key renditions of 90s pop and ballads from the early 2000s. When you got back to his apartment, you sat on the counter as he stood between your legs, sharing a drive thru milkshake that had quickly been abandoned in favor of tasting one another. You went to bed with a smile on your face, his body wrapped around yours, feeling safe and warm.

Bradley didn’t bring up you calling out of work on Monday again, though you could tell as he bid you goodbye on Sunday night that he was reluctant to let you go for reasons more than just missing you.

“You can stay another night,” he murmured against your mouth. His body was flush against yours, pressing you into the side of your car in his complex parking lot. He nipped at your bottom lip as you hummed in pleasure. “Or I can come stay with you.”

“Traffic is terrible in the mornings between our places,” you replied distractedly, raking your fingernails down his back as he kissed your jaw. “And work is in the opposite direction for both of us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted, “I’d do it.”

You whimpered and drew his lips back to yours, losing yourself for another few minutes in the feel of him, his tongue tangled with yours and his large body surrounding you where you stood.

The kiss slowed gradually, both of you reluctant for it to end but knowing that it had to. You breathed in deeply once you settled back onto your feet. His dark eyes were almost pleading as they stared into yours.

“I’ll text you when I get home?” you asked quietly. You toyed with the hem of his white t-shirt.

Bradley sighed, his eyes closing momentarily, and you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You tightened your arms around him and let your forehead fall to rest on his chest. His chin rested on your head and you stood there for a long moment. When the orange and pinks in the sky started turning more purple and inky blue, you knew you had to pull yourself away, whether you liked it or not.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, smiling softly. “I had an amazing weekend, B.”

He leant down to capture your lips in one more kiss. “Me too, Bug.”

When you got home nearly thirty minutes later, you wondered why you hadn’t just agreed to stay. You locked your front door and flipped on the light and couldn’t help but sigh as you took in your small living room. It was just as you had left it on Friday morning before you went to work, not that you had expected any different. But looking around, you couldn’t help but admit that it felt…different. Truthfully, it had for a while now. You weren’t sure when it started, but this little house that you loved so much didn’t feel as much like home as it had in the last two years you had lived here. You had tried to push away the feeling, but it gnawed at you now.

If you were honest with yourself, the most at home you had felt in this space you had crafted so carefully was when Bradley had been here with you. Briefly, you wondered what it would be like if you never had to say goodbye to him like earlier. You only let yourself consider the thought for a second being pushing it away - it was too early to think about that. There was too much going on.

You groaned out loud, dramatic and drawn out, pushing yourself off the door. You grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen before making your way into your bedroom to start getting ready for bed. It wasn’t late, but your bed was calling your name, and you’d rather curl up underneath the weighted blankets with your tv on as you texted your boyfriend than try and do anything productive tonight.

Why had you been so insistent on coming home again?

You jumped when a movement behind you in the bathroom mirror caught your attention while you were brushing your teeth a little bit later. You breathed out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just your gauzy curtains rustling as a breeze floated in the window. But then you cursed when you realized the latch must have shifted sometime during the weekend. It was barely cracked, hardly enough even for the wind to get in, but you still hurried over to slam it down and lock it again. It had been giving you trouble since the moment you moved in and your landlord had been insistent that you just weren’t locking it properly, though you knew he just didn’t want to pay for a replacement.

“Cheap bastard,” you muttered around your toothbrush.

You unlocked your phone once you were safely burrowed amongst your pillows, Dateline playing in the background. You smiled when you saw Bradley had texted you already, asking if you had gotten home okay.

You snapped a quick selfie and sent it back in response. The three dots appeared immediately and it made your heart flutter knowing that he must have been waiting for you to respond, even if he had sent the message five minutes ago.

Bradley🐓✈️❤️: Damn. Can’t believe I’m jealous of your pillows right now.

The bubble popped up again before you had a chance to type out a response, and when you saw the selfie he had sent you back, you squealed in pure delight. He was in his own bed, chest bare with one arm folded under his head. When you looked closely though, it was your pillow he was resting on.

Bradley🐓✈️❤️: I’ll keep this warm for you until you come back. Miss you already❤️

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

Part Seven :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I just want to give Bug a hug. Girlfriend is so hard on herself. I hope you enjoyed this little bit of fluff! I'd probably not get used to it.

Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

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@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @greatszu @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

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wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

in secret | w. maximoff

summary: after spending all of her youth trapped in HYDRA's labs, Wanda Maximoff had no contact with outsiders, and therefore never knew the nuances of human pleasures. but when a young amateur photographer travels to Sokovia, in secret, Wanda discovers more about herself than she ever has done before.

warnings (18+): mentions of tragedy, sexual discovery, masturbation, mentions of sex, voyeurism.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 2k

A/N: guess who finally saw In Secret? lol

this is basically Wanda's journey of discovery about her sexuality and maybe her body as a whole. it's more of a character study than anything else, really.

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Wanda Maximoff couldn't have pinpointed with unerring clarity the first time that dazzling spark flickered in her fiery center when facing another female figure. When she had started to feel that peculiar way around someone like her – when her gaze had started to take too much of its time just scrutinizing the contours of rosy lips and gentle chins, lingering on the newly conceived idea of the fact that she wanted to touch – she needed to feel – something that she also had.

At some point, as in a summer breeze that comes in the form of an announcement of warm and restrained days, like a verging innocent desire to know something new, the curves of pelvic girdles became more attractive than the prominent muscles and roughness of stubble beard trails, when the softness and the fragility were enough to make her want more of that new idea. For Wanda, there was nothing of an assorted nature that would be able to attract her like that feeling did.

It certainly wasn't, however, during the early years of her pre-adolescence, all carried away in poverty worthy of the structures of a country devastated by war, that she realized this outlandish distinction flourishing within herself. A need. A crave, perhaps. Not like other girls, but for other girls.

At the time, the unfaithful hunger had allowed her senses to arise in no other way than to beg for something other than food to digest within the walls of her stomach; there was no room there to consume the dying butterflies of love, for the hunger was cavernous even when her mother barely tried to keep it from being so – her father worked to keep everyone pleased and healthy, it’s true.

But, at that time, there was a girl a little older than Wanda who lived in the apartment next door, next to that scrawny, tiny room in which she lived huddled together with her parents and her older twin brother – a room that wasn’t quite enough to shelter within itself, in four scraggy walls that barely prevented the frosty draft from outside, the size of a family of four. But they had a small television, a handful of old American sitcoms to watch, and a teenage daughter trying to make sense of the unintelligible.

The Maximoffs made it happen because they had no choice but to share the same bed to stay warm through the cold, algid Sokovian nights. When Wanda had to hug her own hands and only hope she didn’t die of hypothermia overnight.

The neighbor at the time was a rather appealing young woman, tall, typical of Slavic Europe, about nineteen years old, who had been babysitting her and Pietro some seasons before in the summer sun. She was a stunning image that captured the senses of a young Wanda at the height of her fifteen years of age, when things began to blossom like a rosebud and the notion of a child's world was slowly fading away from her cognition, every day a little beyond an ingenuous notion.

When she started fancying to have her own room and own bedsheets like the American kids did in these old shows from the last century – the pinnacle of the American Way of Life, a blatant lie for impressionable eyes –, realizing the unfair limitations of poverty and the true meaning of it in one's life, having lonely teenage nights to discover what hadn't been discovered yet.

There was a need effervescent in Wanda’s spirit, as if her lungs were crying out for oxygen to breathe. It was as if she was shedding her own skin without realizing that she was doing it; until it was too late to turn back. Wanda found the girl buried in the ruins of the popular residence after the second bomb fell on the building's terrace.

Only a pale, unresponsive forearm could be seen dragging itself out of the concrete and splinters, but Wanda recognized the silver bracelet buttoned to the length of her skinny wrist that had sporadically caught her attention when that pretty girl passed her in the hallways, always to offer her a fond, complacent smile that made Wanda's little heart, still so foreign to amorous feelings, flutter strangely when her cheeks heated up like an ignition in a fireplace, burning greedily inside her nerves.

On the lonely teenage nights she liked to daydream about, Wanda began to think about what it would be like to sleep next to the warm body of her striking neighbor; how the silhouette of her sinuous body would look under the covers when it was lit only by the silver moon, and how unsettling her sweet, honeyed scent would be when she bent over her straining guts. It made the hollow half withing her thighs quiver beneath her nightclothes every time.

Maybe she wouldn't snore as much as Pietro did, always so loud and so unkempt, or kick her shins under the thin blankets in her sleep. Her skin would be soft and delicate against the hollow of her calves, like a second mantle, silky and subtle to the touch. Wanda would certainly like to know what her sleepy sighs would sound like tenderly in her ear.

She was armed with the best of intentions when she took the bracelet for herself from that frozen dead arm (unlike the image her unconscious had become accustomed to idealizing in dream lines when flanked by the coming sleep, of that warm forearm encircling her waist and bringing her closer and closer) because she liked that girl enough to keep her memory close even after she passed away.

But crying for her parents, she didn't remember shedding any tears for the girl. She was then made an orphan, after all. She was a lonely girl, absolutely helpless.

Wanda lived to grow beyond the age when her neighbor was faced with the abrupt end of her life robbed by a war she hadn't started, and in which she would never be the one to end it. Even in an orphanage, crammed into a single room in the company of dozens of other little orphans, that girl in the next door still made her think and turn in the uncomfortable sheets overnight.

But she was barely twenty years old when she and Pietro (the orphaned twins then imbued with unusual gifts, Mind Stone energy pulsing in fiery golden color within their blood cells) fled the clutches of the HYDRA organization once and for all, after a few years of a poorly misguided volunteering that only resulted in abilities beyond what a normal human would have, the two of them headed into a world they would no longer see in the same way as they did before.

It didn't take long for Wanda to realize that she didn't truly understand the ranges of her new capabilities and how they shaped and transmuted her as a being, just as she didn't understand that ecstatic feeling that took shape, grew and expanded inside her like a crimson mist. The sun of her childhood had set, and it was time for something new to emerge from her insides.

She wanted to be in Pietro's shoes when he narrated to her, always so pompously, about the secret nocturnal encounters he'd been having with some girl and some other boy in the villages they frequented as they traveled across Sokovia with only each other’s company – the long journey only tarnished with a winding trail of experiences through the still shaken country, Wanda curious, dreamy and experimenting at that point among a collection of shabby maps, disjointed guides and fantasies late at night – every night – as soon as she realized that Pietro was falling asleep.

Wanda couldn't care less about the young man's summaries of what boys were like exposed in the minimal, voluptuous light of a dark room, indeed.

Just how they could be rather filthy when stripped of clothing and guided only by the will of their desires. But something in her craved to know more and more about how a girl reacted to being touched in a way that she had never been touched, nor had she ever touched anyone else before. How would it feel at her fingertips.

So she touched herself in the dead of night, in one of those where Pietro ventured out of their rented room, just rehearsing the idea empirically in her actions.

Idealizing the subtlety of a girl’s gentle touch even though her own probing fingers were amateurish and naively sloppy against the middle of the old sensibility that used to throb between her partially spread legs, so elusive against her panting skin.

There was something wet and pulsing that she brushed lightly with her fingertips, still testing, still knowing, but it caused an awakening of chaos inside her that she didn't want to let go of at that moment.

It felt good, as good as something that shouldn't be that good. If she was a person devout in faith, she figured, maybe it was a sin, because sins seemed to be good to taste. But there was nothing to stop her from moving forward, and everything in her screamed for her to keep going until that knot formed below her belly button came undone.

And then, in a rush of scarlet pleasure that sailed hard through her ruffled veins (her brow furrowed as if in pain, her heart racing like a marathon runner, her wrist aching in that newfound position of the tendons in her joint), with her mouth agape, Wanda understood. She truly did.

It was a sweet secret she had kept to herself. Something she secreted to the four walls of a dark room again, again and again. Everything about it, about the cravings of girls, always seemed to be something to be kept in secret – a secret that no soul seemed to dare to reveal.

A few weeks passed then since a new discovery, you showed up in her life. A photographer from another country, someone at the inn where the two of you temporarily settled down clarified the doubts that were circling Wanda's mind when her mouth opened to ask about you, a foreigner who just didn't seem to be from there – because you really weren't.

You were there to capture on screen the feeling of witnessing the pleasing Sokovian spring landscape, to present the result of a project and get your college degree.

Being a college student, then, you were a couple of years older than she was, but you were a new figure for her to discover and you were just as intriguing in Wanda's eyes as a foreigner could be. You, the idea of what you would be – what you could be –, aroused something exciting inside Wanda.

And she devoted her hidden attention to you like a believer who follows a god, always biting her own lips in a veiled excitement for the times in which you looked so intently with your camera and took a picture of some situation unfolding in your lens, preserved for posteriority in the light of your attentive gaze.

Wanda wanted you to look at her in that same intense way; that you studied her behind a camera and immortalize her in your memory.

She was like a red specter behind you on a particularly warm afternoon, heading into the scrawny beech trees of vegetation that skimmed the edges of that tiny village situated somewhere in the heart of Sokovia.

Like an animal looking for its prey, Wanda followed you along the lines of a shy little bunny, only being guided by the long pauses made by your sloppy feet, all directed to photograph the vibrant landscape or peaceful nature, some humming bird exotic in a funny pose.

Curly trees and elemental rusticities encompassed the natural landscape around you, a mist filled with the slow two-dimensional heat of morning hovering over your slow path, trickling through the tall row of trees clustered before the edge of a silvery-surfaced river like a long mirror.

You had taken a shortcut through the forest overflowing with so many emblems of nature and crossed the river before the dew, and at one point, amidst the vegetation, Wanda got on her knees (her fingers crunching fresh grass between the extensions of silver rings, she on all fours like a child still in the beginnings of that primordial phase of crawling, still not being able to walk properly) behind a tall pasture that served as a direct audience for you, as oblivious as you were just around the corner across the river, so far from the one who wanted you, yet so close that her gaze burned at your silhouette in front of a golden pool of sun.

From somewhere deep within that dark vortex, Wanda felt a new awakening of desire; so monstrous was her appetite for such a distinguish figure that, just a few feet away from her hiding place in the tall vegetation, you only raised your camera before your eyes and then snapped a well-articulated photograph.

Sweat ran in hot drops on the milky pale skin of Wanda’s neck, feeling so suffocated even under the damp shade of tall trees, and a hissing sound broke in the hollow of her parched, parted peach lips as she shifted position on the grass, the hem of the scanty maroon dress clad in the hollow of her crotch skimmed lightly against that secret place of hers reserved for lonely nights only.

“S-shit…” she moaned, half shivering, snatching her lower lip hard between a row of upper incisors.

And Wanda wasn't even at all surprised when she realized that, there, that nerve was throbbing, begging to be brushed again against the thin material of her secondhand dress. She spread her legs a little wider, fitting her pelvis better against the grass, the pale skin of her knees, then scattered here or there with small leaves and twigs, brushing against the grass mat down her inner thighs.

Charm and vulgarity clenched at Wanda's core when it was that she daringly rolled her hips forward one more time, in test form then intentional, only to feel the bun of fabric press against her panties beneath the dark layer of the dress. And it was good.

Then she rolled her hips again. And again. And stronger. And more exasperated. And more excited. And she rode out in search of what she already knew, secretly honoring you, that unknown photographer whose name she didn't even know.

Then Wanda lifted her clouded gaze, tilting her chin at a broken angle, the emerald green veiled by a shroud of sullen need that melted into the anticipation she'd compelled herself to feel, only to find you, right next to her in that bank of the river parallel to the one she was on, fiddling with the camera dangling from your neck, so absorbed in your ecstatic actions.

A nervous lump of hidden arousal formed inside Wanda's larynx – something pressed inside her as the notion descended upon her that you, far away, so beautiful and so immaculate, were just ignorant of her there, brushing nervously with the hollow of her inner thighs against the fabric of her own dress and the dewy grass on the ground like an animal in heat.

There was something bestial about the raw brutality that aroused her; Wanda discovered it there, snarling against her clenched teeth, watching you from afar, the knot about to burst.

“Fuc– fuck–! Fuck!” she grunted as that lump untied, her eyelids partially threatening to close against her eyes that would never dare leave your vision.

As Wanda rode, prolonging that vibrating red burst between her legs as long as possible, she never stopped holding her neck to watch you there, practically salivating, wanting it to be you there beneath her — she could rub herself against your hand, maybe your thigh, or even all over your pretty face.

And something in her shuddered, as you raised your camera in front of her face, even if so far away, and pointed the lens right at the place where she was hidden within the tall grass.

Later, the incitement of an impending night crept in, which dawned behind the avenue, between the tops of comfortable trees and along the green hill where the sun set behind the mounts, in the bliss of a due leisure, to which the moonlight of summer alluded to the amenities surrounding that small Sokovian village.

The candid air was clear, dewy, and humid to the lungs, yet a bit chilly in its European essence. The windows around the inn had all been closed. Wanda was lying on one bed and Pietro on another.

“So,” began the older twin, getting better under his covers, “What did you do this morning when you disappeared? I looked for you everywhere, you know? I was worried.”

And a small smile allowed itself to mischievously slip into Wanda's rosy lips.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered to her brother, like a child who holds an enigma, “It's a secret.”

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strangermarvelss · 2 years

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second best- e.m (pt 2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Female!Reader

Summary: with chrissy now off to college with her boyfriend, jason, eddie turns to you and wants to begin a relationship, making you feel a certain way about being his second choice.

Warnings: angsty angst, second choice, eddie being dumb, confrontation, crying, steve being the best mom friend

Request?: No

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: i got the most amazing request to do like a little women type of thing between chrissy, eddie, and chrissy’s sister inspired by the jo, laurie, and amy relationship and i thought it was absolutely brilliant, so here it is! also i’ve aged chrissy up to about 19 and reader is 18, while eddie is 20 :) enjoy! -sava

part one | part two | part three

One week.

One week has passed by since you’ve seen your best friend. The man you’ve been used to sharing stories with during spontaneous sleepovers in his stain-filled bed and falling asleep on his shoulder during your movie nights. One week since that same man crushed your spirits, stomping and pulverizing them in front of you. No calls, no visits, just the empty house you’ve known since your parents brought you home from the Hawkins hospital.

Your parents decided to extend their trip a bit with Chrissy overpacking and needing some more help getting adjusted to living on her own for just a little longer. You weren’t complaining, as with the circumstances that left you being alone overnight for the first time ever made you well adjusted. Plus, you felt as if you needed some more time to wrap your head around everything, and your parents finally coming home won’t help the headspace you needed to avoid. The comparisons would start the minute they walk in the door and the absence of Chrissy settled in.

As much as you loved your sister, it hurt to be constantly in her shadow. She was your parents favorite child, star athlete thanks to being captain of the cheer squad, and now going on to do great things at a great university, while you weren’t sure what it was you wanted to do with your life yet. You loved running the paper and being in debate club, but you weren’t sure if those would still stick with you once you walked the stage of the Hawkins High auditorium. That was what you admired most about Eddie, his determination and drive towards his ultimate goal.

He knew he was going to be a big rock star since he was in middle school, he would remind you and Chrissy of that any chance he got. He wand his band were going to take off any minute now, soar the charts and become overnight sensations, selling out a world tour and headlining every venue and music festival. You vowed the moment you became his best friend you’d be by his side and support him during his entire journey. Now, you weren’t sure that was still a possibility.

Being second best to Chrissy was something you had grown used to, but never did you think it would happen with Eddie. You had accepted the fact that a romantic relationship was never in the cards for the two of you, opting to stay happy and content with a friendship that couldn’t be broken by anything, at least, that’s how it used to be. But then he tried to kiss you and settle for you, as if it was just some thing that needed to happen now that she was off to college and out of Hawkins for good, settling for the crumbs that were leftover from the delicious Thanksgiving dinner. And it hurt.

It fucking hurt.

On top of everything, you felt as if you had no one to really go to about this. Only a few people knew about your crush on Eddie, and you had no desire to spill your guts about your dilemma at the moment. In most stressful situations you encountered, Chrissy was always the person you’d go to. Being your big sister, she always knew exactly what to say to get you to think clearly or point you in the right direction. But with this situation involving her directly, and her off at college living her new life, it wasn’t an option. So here you were, left to your own devices, a week of thinking and stressing about the future between you and Eddie, platonic or not.

You park the car in front of Family Video and make your way towards the entrance. The allotted time for the videos you rented to your movie night with Eddie was up, and maybe seeing your friends would cheer you up a bit. Steve and Robin always knew what to say to get your spirits high, or even higher if you just wanted to hang.

“Welcome to Family Video how may I-oh! Hey Y/N,” Steve greets you, his smile stretching from ear to ear. You return his smile, your lips tight and teeth remaining behind the barrier of your mouth as you approach the counter. You place the tapes in front of Steve and tap your nails against the surface.

“Just here to return those,” you say simply.

“How’d you and Munson like them? I’ve been meaning to check out this specifically,” Steve asks, picking up the tape that had just began to play when everything went down between you and Eddie. You look down at your hands, trying to avoid eye contact with the man known as ‘the hair’.

“We, uh…we didn’t finish that one. Some stuff came up,” you let out lightly. You sigh to yourself as the silence around you and Steve begins to thicken. You hear the gears and ringing of the cash register as you continue to look away, all around the video store.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks you. You knew Steve had grown into quite the understanding person within recent years, finally growing out of the asshole popular kid who only cared about reputations and looks. You knew it had something to do with the kids he looked after, the kids you had grown closer to since they became friends with Eddie last year through Hellfire. You always appreciated his advice, but you were still in a funk about the entire thing, not in the mood for talking much.

“Nope, just need a distraction. Any new movies come in since last week?” You deflect.

“Unfortunately no, but I know you said you wanted to finally check out the Star Wars trilogy, and the person who had Return of the Jedi just returned it, so I saved all three movies for you,” He tells you, reaching beneath him and pulling the three tapes onto the counter. You gasp and jump a bit, excitement surging through your body for the first time in a week. You were so thrilled that you didn’t hear the bell to the door chime, alerting everyone that someone new had arrived.

“Steve! You shouldn’t have. This is going to be amazing,” you exclaim, beating your fists in excitement against the counter.

“What’s going to be amazing?”

Suddenly, you felt your blood turn cold and shivers run up your spine at the sound of that familiar voice. You turn slowly to see the frizzy curls that you to fill you with as much excitement as just felt with getting to watch Star Wars. All happiness that you were temporarily experiencing was gone, taken away by the sheer sound of his voice.

“Uh, Y/N is going to finally watch the Star Wars movies, that’s all,” Steve says, trying to break the tension in the room.

“That’s great,” Eddie says, faking enthusiasm. You hear his heavy footsteps walk around the other side of the counter and off to the horror section. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in, shifting your attention back to Steve. His features soften at the sudden change in your demeanor.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re ok-“

“Just ring me up, Steve. Please?” You mumble out. He simply nods and begins to process of ringing you out. You keep your head low, but every so often you watch Eddie walk about the store. You had no idea what was going on in his head, but his lack of reaching out to you made your heart sink. Did he not realize what he had done to you? Or did he just not care?

“Alright, Y/N, you’re all checked out,” Steve tell you as he passes you the tapes. He gives you a soft smile and you just look at him as you grab the tapes.

“Thanks Steve. See ya later,” you tell him quickly, before running out the door and towards your car. You’re quick to open the driver’s side door and jump inside, tossing the tapes gently on the dash. You jump out of your skin when you see the passenger door flip open, but quickly calm yourself when you see Eddie jumping in and slamming the door shut.

“Get out of my car Eddie.”

“No, not until we talk,” he tells you, his body facing you and eyes boring into you. You know you have to be strong and talk things out with him. He’s been part of your life for so many years, but he also broke your heart when he called you by your sister’s name, essentially settling for you while still thinking about her.

“Spit it out then,” you say coldly. Your keep your eyes ahead of you looking out towards the hood of your car. You hear him sigh and the clanking of his chains as he shifts around a bit.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he begins, letting out a sigh. “I know you probably hate me for what happened last week, and I’m sorry for the way things went down. I shouldn’t have had that much to drink and I shouldn’t have put your feelings on the line,” he tells you. His voice was soft and you felt as though it was sincere. You turn to him and look at his big, round, brown eyes, the ones that always left you in a puddle on the floor.

“I could never hate you, Eddie,” you tell him simply. You watch the serious look on his face creep into a smile, his eyes gleaming at your words.

“Really? Good, because I was thinking-“

“I’m not done,” you tell him, holding your hand out to try to stop him. “Just because I don’t hate you, doesn’t mean I don’t hate what you did. Eddie…you really hurt me. The feelings I had for you, they were real and strong and clouded all my judgement most of the time. I thought I could handle you having a crush on my sister and pushing my own feelings aside in order to be your friend-your best friend. But when you said what you said last week, it broke me in ways I can barely fathom into coherent words. You called me Chrissy for crying out loud Eds,” you explain to him. You watch him nod and look to your floorboard, the look of shame and guilt you hadn’t seen much from him seeping into his features.

“Had?” He asks, quirking a brow at you.

“I’m sorry?” You question, confusion smeared across your face.

“You said the feelings you had for me. Do you not think of me that way anymore?” He asks, turning his body towards you once more and looking back into your eyes. You let out a soft sigh and shake your head.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in pain for a week and it’s given me a lot of time to think about the situation, how it all went down, and so many outcomes from how we can go on from this,” you tell him. You feel your eyes prick with tears and you swallow down a sob, the raw emotions coming from this conversation really hitting you. “I don’t think I can continue loving someone who doesn’t truly love me the way that I love them. Hell, I’m not even sure I can move past it and be friends.”

You watched Eddie’s face fall at your words, his eyes full of sadness and his jaw hanging open. He grabs your hands and holds them in his own.

“Y/N, please. I-I can’t lose you, I need you. Please just listen to me-“ he begins to say, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“Eddie, I’m sorry I can’t. Not right now. A-and I’m not sure when. But I do know I need you to get out of my car because I can’t take this anymore right now,” you explain, letting the tears race down your cheeks as you choke out the words to him. You’re breaking your own heart at this point, but it might be better this way.

Right?

“Y/N, please-“ he chokes out, tears of his own welling in his eyes.

“Eddie, please let me go.”

He slowly lets go of your hands and sits in the passenger seat for a moment, his head hung in defeat. You turn to look out the driver window, trying to muffle your sobs by putting your hands over your mouth and choking them back more. The passenger door opens once again and you feel the movement spread throughout the car, and the door closes softly. You watch as Eddie walks around to your side and hops in his van that was parked in the space beside you, starting his engine and speeding off down the road, not caring if he’d get pulled over or crash the damn thing.

You finally move your hands away from your mouth a grip your steering wheel as you let the cries escape the barrier that is your lips. Resting your forehead against the wheel, your whole body shakes as you let your true feelings out, screaming and tears streaming down your cheeks. No one ever said heartbreak was easy. Maybe it would for the best that Eddie wouldn’t be in your life anymore. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #steve harrington

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theflyindutchwoman · 4 months

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The list just arrived. You're number 8 out of 140. Yes! I knew it. Congratulations… Sergeant Bradford. Not a sergeant yet. At eight on the list, it'll probably take six months or so. Actually, there's a position opening in North Hollywood. The captain there owes me a big favor. If you want, I can make it happen. You'd start in two weeks. T-Two weeks? Uh -- Uh, can I think about this overnight?

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.13 - Follow-up Day

Moments like this one are exactly why Grey saw Tim and Lucy's relationship coming from a mile away… And really, it is no wonder that these two were so bad at hiding it : they've always been so transparent and it's particularly the case here.

Tim's journey to becoming a sergeant is quite interesting for several reasons. Mainly because it is intrinsically linked to Lucy. From how she was helping him unwind after work, making sure he wouldn't just be consumed by patrol and studying… To the audiobooks - plural - she made for him… To the way she was trying to be supportive when he was doubting himself… To this moment when Grey announces the results… And let's talk about how proud the man is that Tim scored this high. He couldn't even wait to tell him - to the point where he is even ready to cash in a favor to help him get a great position right away. Their dynamic is so underrated, the show focusing more on Grey and Nolan, but you can genuinely feel the respect Tim and Wade have for each other.

And Tim looks so proud of himself as well, despite how muted his reaction is. We saw earlier a sneak peek of his nervousness, of his worry about the scores. And this is so different from the way he is going to react upon learning that he is joining Metro later on. Lucy, on the other hand, has absolutely no qualms about being overtly enthusiastic in her response. She is proud and loud… And she is the cutest bean here. The way she radiates happiness for Tim is so pure… And so is her 'I knew it'. It truly shows how she never doubted him, how much she already believes in him. Her enthusiasm is so blatant - until Grey and Tim turn towards her and she suddenly remembers where she is. But even once she tones down her response, trying to be more professional, she can't help but bounce on her feet a little and congratulate him. And of course Tim immediately downplays his achievement, warning her that he won't be promoted right away. The way she fondly rolls her eyes at him when he says this… And most importantly, the way their faces fall the second Grey offers him a position in another station… One that he could get in two weeks, instead of having to wait for months… Something that neither ever envisaged. Lucy's stuttering… How their smiles just drop… This is honestly so much louder than her previous reaction. Especially once Tim asks for some time to think about the offer. What's so telling is that not once he asks Grey about the job itself. Not once does it come into consideration. This is all about the fact that he might have to leave the station in two weeks. That he might have to leave Lucy behind. And judging by Grey's own reaction, when he shifts his gaze towards her, he knows exactly what is bothering Tim… And I have a feeling that he wasn't surprised at all by his final answer.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #2.13 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 months

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Gentle and Kind

Title: Gentle and Kind

Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)

Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.

A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.

When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.

You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.

Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield.

You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.

“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”

In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.

“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.

You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.

The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.

Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.

“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.

Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.

You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?”

You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.

You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.

Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.

“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.

The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.

Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.

“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.

The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.

Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.

“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.

He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.

“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”

You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.

Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.

“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.

Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”

Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.

The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.

“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure.

“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”

“You? Not your father?”

Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”

“I see.”

You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.

“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”

He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”

“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.

You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.

“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.

“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”

If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.

“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”

You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.

The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.

“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.

“Very.” You don’t say anything more.

“And handsome, too,” she prods.

“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”

She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.

“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”

You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.

Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.

The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.

Both men stand as soon as they see you.

“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.

“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.

Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”

Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.

His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”

“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.

“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.

“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”

He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.

“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”

Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.

“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”

You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.

The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention.

Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.

You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.

“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.

“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”

“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”

You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.

As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall.

“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.

“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”

“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.

“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.

There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.

John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”

Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.

“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.

You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.

“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”

She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.

You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.

“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”

He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall.

Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”

Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”

A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.

You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”

Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.

You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”

This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.

“Nice?” Charlie teases.

You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”

Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”

She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.

“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.

“Shall we?” Sam asks.

You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.

You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.

“Would you like to skate?” he asks.

“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”

Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life.

You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”

He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.

“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.

It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.

“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.

“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”

You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”

Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”

Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”

“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.

“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.

He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.

You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.

Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.

You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”

He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”

Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.

You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”

“I did,” Sam replies.

You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.

He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”

Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.

You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.

After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.

Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.

A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room.

“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.

“Do you like to paint?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”

“What would you like?” he asks.

You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.

“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.

The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.

“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”

He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.

“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.

He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.

“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?

Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.

The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”

“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.

“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”

“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”

You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.

“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”

Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.

You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”

John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.

The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.

“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”

The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.

“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”

The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.

“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”

Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”

You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.

The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside.

Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.

Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.

“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.

“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.

“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”

Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face.

“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”

You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.

Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.

“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”

You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”

He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.

“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.

“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”

“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”

He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.

“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.

“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”

At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.

“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”

John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”

A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.

“You called for me, Father?” he asks.

“I did.”

John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.

“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”

“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.

Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.

You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.

John scoffs. “Samuel—”

“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.

Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”

He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”

John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”

Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?

There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree.

“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.

A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”

He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.

“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”

“Did you dream of marrying someday?”

Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”

“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.

“It’s my duty as queen.”

Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.

“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change.

“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”

Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”

“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks.

“I don’t wish to force you—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”

You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.

“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”

Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.

“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”

You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.

“Y/N?”

Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.

“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.

“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.

She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.

“He’s a good man,” she tells you.

“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.

“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.

This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”

She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”

Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.

Finally, you nod and stand.

She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”

“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.

“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”

A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.

Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.

“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.

“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.

Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep.

The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them.

A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.

“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.

Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.

Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.

“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.

“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.

“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.

“But your father—”

Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”

You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”

He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”

You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”

“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers.

Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.

“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”

Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.

John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.

“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.

“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”

Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.

“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.

You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”

Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.

Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.

Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.

The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.

Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.

After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window.

The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.

“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.

“Let me go!” you bark at him.

He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.

Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.

You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.

While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,

“Make way! The Queen is here!”

There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.

When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.

“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”

After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.

“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.

You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”

“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction.

“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”

“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.

“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”

He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.

Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.

“Let me show you my home.”

Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.

You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.

As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.

Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.

“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.

Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”

You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”

He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix.

You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth.

Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.

“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”

“And I am prepared to face them.”

“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”

“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”

You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.

When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.

You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”

He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?

“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”

“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.

“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.

Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.

“So it is,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“We’re married,” you murmur.

He hums. “So we are.”

“What do we do now?”

“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”

You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”

Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.

“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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laylajeffany · 2 months

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hello, me again.

I finished Chaos for the Fly yesterday and I’m still recovering. It was absolutely incredible. I already know watching season 2 of Wednesday will be weird because I’ll be expecting to see all your amazing OCs.

In the sequel, are we going to see more of Wednesday exploring her mimic abilities?

Thank you again for writing such an incredible story!

Thank you so much :3 It is the first time I’ve managed to finish a million word plus story, and I’m so glad I posted this one, otherwise I would have probably stopped writing back in about September of last year and it would have been one of my many abandoned, epic-length WIPs in my Cloud. I’m pretty proud of this story. I learned so much about myself writing (and finishing) it; I’ll forever be grateful I spent a year pouring all of my free time into a silly little fanfic project for what I got out of it.

If you loved OC Dr. Holly Gallor, check out Lovely Thorns for the love story of her and Larissa. There’s an update to that one coming this week! I also have a prompted Emiliana one-shot that will be here coming in the next week as well.

SPOILERS and a TINY sneak peak for the Chaos sequel, Karma in Glorious Splendor, below the cut ;)

Spoilers: We will absolutely be exploring Wednesday’s Mimic abilities in the sequel. In fact, it’s a point of contention. Within the first 10k or so of Chapter 1 we see they’re not always as simple (or consequence-free) as simply copying someone else’s power as she might’ve thought and anticipated in the first installment. We’re going to dive into more of the Raven lore as well.

There will also be a more heavy focus on the ‘homespun magic.’ Writing parts of the Frump family history made me fall in love with the idea of witchcraft again - reclaiming what’s been appropriated and sold to a mass market and making it all about intentions and what has meaning to the user…it’s certainly gotten me more in touch with my own sense of spirituality over the last year and I’ve appreciated it. I intend on having at least the same amount of time with Morticia as I did in Chaos. She doesn’t always understand what Wednesday’s experiencing, but just like Wednesday learned about intentions - it’s what you make of something that can change the outcome.

I think just by the nature of how Wednesday is growing, the Wenclair pairing will absolutely be more of a focal point in the sequel. Enid was critical to her journey, but she had to learn a lot of skills and history from others to be on the ride at all. Moving forward, she gets to pick her own path a little bit more, and with roadblocks in every single direction - she will be turning to Enid for what to do about it, rather than so many of the adults around her.

There will still be heavy themes of Wednesday’s idea of justice differing from what the reality of living in a system and the real world. An era of reconstruction is that - it doesn’t happen overnight, and we’re going to have to see Wednesday mature to make it through the slow-moving wheel of bureaucracy (even in the Outcast world). That ‘gift of time’ that she received for her birthday at the end is as much a curse as it is a blessing.

Her relationship with Larissa Weems has also changed so much. It isn’t the driving force behind any of Wednesday’s motivations in the sequel, and it’s going to take her remembering what they went through to keep stability between them.

As for OCs, Josie/Dr. Zypher will for sure have more of a backseat role in Karma - but Emiliana is going to be going through it, in terms of her Raven abilities and other struggles, even by the first 30k of chapter one that I’ve written so far. I have no intention of creating any more aside from any who are needed for the Werewolf Council.

Speaking of, we’ll be seeing tremendous growth from Enid through Wednesday’s POV as she faces her future and makes peace with her past. So much so, that it might just be a point of angst and contention for the girls as it seems like she’s moving so much farther ahead of Wednesday, who feels traps by a myriad of forces against her will.

Does this sound enticing? I hope so ;) I’ve enjoyed getting back into it - I’ve got very strict rules about when I’m allowed to work on writing it and I’ve been following them very well as not to let this one take over my life.

SNEAK PEAK (1,300 words) Featuring Morticia, Wednesday in the ether - bumping into Goody Addams Morticia obviously sensed that Wednesday was stewing in thoughts that day as she suggested, “A detaching meditation, to help you focus more on the present and less up here.” She tapped her own head and Wednesday scowled but didn’t disagree. “The midsummer solstice is just a few days away – so I am grateful you are dwelling on things that require extensive thought. However, it is possible the earth isn’t quite balanced enough and ready for you to explore them so deeply without the shift in the cosmos that the season will bring.”

Not sure entirely how much she subscribed to that, Wednesday also recognized that it wasn’t safe to spend so much time in her head, and agreed to a unique meditation with her mother. Morticia tried not to look too eager as she brought Wednesday out to the back porch closest to her study; the evening sun still had plenty of time to bathe her in the brightness that her nature tried to defy.

Morticia tucked a black string of beads over Wednesday’s shoulders, and she lifted a sunflower charm at the middle to examine it. “Holly says that Larissa is like a Sunflower.”

That made her mother give a knowing smile. “Tall, radiant, and always looking towards the sun, the light. I suppose that’s an accurate simile. Sunflowers are an old symbol for our solstice, as you know – though the perennials here won’t be in bloom for us until late July. Still, as we recognize the light of the season, I believe the symbol is appropriate.” She tucked herself beside Wednesday, her hands in her lap, her shoulders back – posture always immaculate. Wednesday tried to mimic her, shaking her head as she even thought about that word. “You spoke a powerful piece during supper, darling. But I know that’s not all that is on your mind. Would you like to release it, before you attempt to clear it?”

Wednesday moved the sunflower around on the string of beads, refusing to let out the heave of a sigh that threatened her. She really didn’t want to discuss physical intimacy with her mother on the back porch of their family home on a warm night in June…or, really – ever, if she could avoid it. There had surely been a few necessary conversations that had been had after her traumatic visions that past year regarding the topic, but that was a little bit different. She knew that Morticia would do her best not to gross her out with personal anecdotes – she’d gotten so much better at figuring out how to talk to her daughter…

“No,” She finally decided, seeing just the faintest twinge of disappointment in her mother’s still-gentle, mostly understanding smile. “I’m grateful you recognize what I need. I’m simply not ready to vocalize it. But – if I want to enjoy the next few days and try not to give into melancholy after the inevitable loss of time with Enid, I do need to let these thoughts go.” She let out the breath, finally, squaring her shoulders a little more to match the Dove beside her. “Teach me how?”

Morticia reached into a prepared basket, pulling out a small bundle of wildflowers. She placed three, five-sided thimbleweed plants in front of her, explaining, “Thimbleweeds are long since said to ward off negative energy. You are going to follow your usual light seeking breath work. Just before you slip into formal meditation to enter the ether, you are going to pluck each petal, and release your thoughts as you do so – three times. After you achieve peace in the ether, bring me your petals. We will steep them overnight, and then pour that negative energy down the drain in the morning.”

Wednesday wanted to merely accept what she’d said – but her always looming desire to be ornery won out as she corrected, “Sure, but – thimbleweed plants don’t have petals, they’re technically sepals.”

At that, her mother let out a throaty laugh that ended with a half a groan and a kiss to the top of Wednesday’s head as she stood up, squeezing her shoulders in a hug. “Release yourself of the burden of overthinking, my darling girl.”

Agreeing, Wednesday began her usual sequence of deep breathing, her eyes closed, doing nothing but counting, holding in air and letting it go. It was nearly ten minutes before she was almost at the point of visualizing her light and entering the ether. With enough pluck, mentally and physically, she tugged each of the sepals off the thimbleweeds, letting them fall into her lap as she thought to herself: release the hesitation of physical intimacy, release the fear of Enid being alone, release the sensation of inadequacy.

Repeating it as directed, Wednesday disassembled the final plant before picturing a sunflower, searching out the sun, finding herself tumbling pleasantly into a field full of them.

She stood up, feeling small as she wove through rows, trying to discern meaning from being there – why the universe brought her to such a place alone –

Except as she turned a corner, Wednesday crossed her arms, recognizing she wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t anticipate running into you outside of Jericho, particularly, in the light end of the ether,” She spoke with a little bit more cockiness than probably necessary.

Goody Addams looked her up and down with a bit of the same attitude. “I might not have much concept of time here, but even I feel a pull when it is nearly a solstice in your realm.” She ran her fingers over a fuzzy stem. “You shall soon be welcoming back the darkening days after the longest time of sun.”

Giving a dumb nod, Wednesday stared hard, wanting to be combative. She hadn’t sensed Goody in Jericho after putting up her monument, and certainly hadn’t tried seeking her out. It was their first interaction since she’d released the remnants of Quinton’s evil into the nether. Taking her in, she noticed. “You still have the Beanie Baby,” She said with the faintest twitch of her lips up, as Caw the blackbird stuck out of Goody’s apron pocket.

Her ancestor lifted it out, holding it in both hands, like it was as precious and fragile as a newborn baby. “I confess, this seemingly innocuous tchotchke has become meaningful to me,” She said in a confession that Wednesday didn’t anticipate. “I have not been able to access a place like this in what I assume to be hundreds of years. Yet, since our last interaction, since you gave me this children’s toy of comfort – I have found myself able to once again visualize places that have been long cutoff from my former psyche.”

“I suppose that’s encouraging,” Wednesday chided. “I told you it was not as silly as you wanted to think it was. Being comforted by someone or something we love is a very powerful magic. I am sorry that opportunity was taken away from you.”

Goody lifted her shoulders, stroking the yellow-orange beak of the bird. “If I was allowed to give into light without hiding it in the dark, you would not be here, Wednesday Addams.”

“I guess that’s something I share with my mentor, then,” Wednesday muttered, thinking about Imogen and Josie for a moment. She shook her head. “I recognize the privileges I have. But that doesn’t mean my life is easy simply because I’m not at risk of being burned at a literal stake every time I leave the house. Believe me, there are plenty of modern problems we face that I have yet to find solutions for.”

Goody tucked Caw to her chest with one hand, the other resuming the journey of feeling the different sunflower stems. “Yet – that was not what troubled you to bring you here.” Wednesday glared, wondering how she knew that. “Your face may be blank, but I can read you easily. You are troubled by personal demons, not societal ones.”

#layla answers fic questions #chaos for the fly #sneak peak!#I'm so excited but I'm not allowed to work on this today it's against the rules lol #Seriously a big thanks to everyone who's been giving this story all the love it's entirely kind and I very much appreciate it #I'm trying to reach out more I'm just super Wednesday coded and that's not like me haha

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sorchathered · 1 month

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Heard it through the grapevine

A/N- SNB Chapter 8 is coming on Wednesday, but to tie you all over here is a one shot of what’s been going on with Bradley in the aftermath of Mirage’s pregnancy announcement. Thank you guys for sticking with me on this journey!

Pairing- Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Mirage/Erin Riley)

Warnings- language, drinking, Bradshit being an idiot

Summary- Bradley is hungover as hell the morning after Mav’s wedding, what the did he get himself into overnight?

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Bradley had fucked his social life up to the highest degree in the past 6 months but even he had to admit this shit took the cake.

He’d gotten completely trashed last night, after months of trying to get sober, because his biggest insecurity played out right before his eyes. He’d be an idiot to deny he’d never been worried about Jake getting in the middle of his relationship over the past few years, the man had an ego the size of his home state and he wasn’t bad to look at either. But you had always insisted it was platonic, never given him a single reason to doubt you, yet it somehow never stopped the jealousy that bloomed in him when he saw the two of you together. It was stupid really, he’d been the one to cheat on you in the end and burn everything he’d thought he wanted to the ground, but watching your former fiancée make out with the guy he’d always worried about and then get whisked away to no doubt fuck each others brains out stung a little. So he did what he knew best, drown himself in bourbon and promptly pass out at home, or at least that’s what he thought had happened.

He woke up the next morning feeling worse than he had after that rager in his frat house right before graduation, every step had him convinced he was going to throw up everywhere but his tiny french bulldog was a force of nature and she was insistent that they go outside. He was half dressed in his suit from the night before, no idea where his phone could be but that was a worry for future Bradley, right now he needed aspirin and coffee. Still trying to piece together what had happened in the aftermath, it looked as though he’d made quick work of destroying the leftover pizza and most of the lasagna he’d made earlier in the week, clearly couldn’t be bothered to close the fridge as the damn thing was wide open when he entered the room. The last of his expensive bourbon was gone, and it looked like he was out of beer as well. What a mess. As he set about to clean things up he heard his doorbell go off, then someone beating on his front door, what the hell could possibly be this important on a Sunday morning? He grumbled all the way to the entryway, flinging it open to find his best friend Natasha Trace looking even more pissed off than normal, clearly he’d fucked something up judging by the rage on her features.

“I’ve been calling you for HOURS! What did you do just fall off the face of the damn planet?!” She said as she elbowed her way into his living room, he didn’t have the energy for this he was sure but there was no point in stopping her now.

“I was asleep, and honestly I don’t know where the hell my phone went, I’m hungover as fuck right now Nat so can we just skip to the part where you tell me what I did wrong and yell at me?”

She rounded on him and he staggered back, a little nervous until he saw the look of pity across her face. “Bradley we need to find your phone, but first I need to show you something.”

He was going to pass out, he was sure of it. As she scrolled through her instagram to the profile of the girl he definitely shouldn’t still be sleeping with he was almost hopeful that she’d decided to move on from him and posted a new boyfriend, but he knew he couldn’t be that lucky and after all she had just been at his house earlier in the week, if she was seeing someone else she would’ve told him. Right?

What he most certainly didn’t expect was to come across a set of photos, pictures the two of them had taken and never posted because it didn’t seem right, and at the end a picture of a onesie and a positive pregnancy test. Oh he was definitely going to be sick.

Nat had shoved him into the bathroom to shower while she made a pot of coffee and Bradley was frozen in place as he watched the bathroom steam up. How the hell had he let this happen? Why wouldn’t she have said something to him before posting about it? He picked up his phone and looked at the photos again, he did like Mirage despite the circumstances that had started their entanglement, she was funny and very pretty, impulsive yes but he wouldn’t have thought she’d do this to him. He opened his texts to message her, they needed to sit down and discuss this in person, but as he opened them he realized just how drunk he’d been last night. There in the messages were all the answers he wanted, she had in fact told him first and he had told her to go for it about posting the announcement. He was such an idiot, how did he let himself get this way? He needed to piece together the rest of his night and fast, so he shot her a quick message to come over and jumped in the shower. He didn’t know how to fix this, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it this time.

Nat was furious with him, she’d found out through Stormy about everything leading up to their breakup and now finding out that he’d somehow green lit this pregnancy announcement while black out drunk had her fuming. “Do I need to pack you up and send you to a rehab facility Rooster?! What the hell has been going through your head lately?” She was shaking her head between death glares, in his entire navy career he’d always had Nat, since they met in training as young kids, and she’d never been angrier than she was right now. “I know Nat, I know I fucked it all up, but I can’t change it now. All I can do is sit down with Mirage and see how to go forward with this, I-I’m going to be a dad…Holy shit how the hell am I supposed to do this? What if I fuck this kid up? What if I-“ she puts her hand up to silence him, he’s spiraling now and that’s not going to help anyone.

“We are going to work this out ok? Just take a breath, we also need to find you a better therapist because this guy is obviously not teaching you anything beneficial.” She wasn’t wrong, the guy clearly just phoned it in and received his paycheck, Bradley had been going through the motions but not making any real progress. It was times like these he longed to have his parents around, maybe then everything wouldn’t have gotten so out of control.

Within the hour Mirage was at his door, Bradley let her in with a small smile and gestured for her to sit down, but when she saw Natasha she wavered; looking back at Bradley like a deer in headlights. “Relax Erin, I’m not here to whack you, I’m just moral support.” She says with an eye roll, and the girl, albeit irritated, finds a seat on the couch. “So I take it from your texts you drank a little too much last night, I had a feeling you’d be upset after the wedding but I didn’t think you’d forget our conversation entirely” she was frustrated, he knew she would be, especially considering how important that conversation was. “Look, Erin I know I keep fucking it up. I’m a mess, I never should have dragged you into it in the first place but here we are. I’m going to try at this, and you give me all the hell you need to because I really do want to make this work. If you want us to be a real family we can work at it, or if you just want me to co-parent I’ll respect your choices, but no matter what got us here I’m not going to keep letting you down.” He knew he didn’t have a right to promise anything, and he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t make a mistake again, but he knew what life was like without a dad, and he couldn’t let that happen to his child. His child. He was going to be a father.

——————————————————————

Before he knew it 6 months had passed, He and Erin had been going to couples therapy on top of seeing a new therapist for himself and Bradley could say with confidence he’d been sober for all of it. He wasn’t going to the bar like he used to, instead choosing to come home in the evenings to binge tv and cook dinner with his girlfriend. They had found out just last week that they were having a little boy, Nicholas Bradshaw jr. and truly Bradley couldn’t believe how well things had been going.

He’d been transferred to the Golden Warriors, still working out of North Island but no longer actively working with the Daggers, and while initially it had hurt he knew it had been for the best. His relationship with Jake had boiled over into his work life and he agreed that it was best that they work apart. Life was going well, which usually meant the other shoe was about to drop but he was feeling pretty confident. Until one fateful evening when he received a call after work from a distraught Maverick, Stormy’s plane had gone down over the Atlantic and she was in critical condition. Jake and Admiral Simpson were heading to Walter Reed in Maryland to meet her and they didn’t know when or if she’d wake up. He didn’t know what he could possibly do to help, and without realizing he had already dialed the number of his old wingman. No answer, which he expected but he left a voicemail of support nonetheless. Whatever happened now all he could do was pray that the kindest girl he’d ever met would be ok.

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Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @attapullman @roosterforme @floydsglasses @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @pinkdaisies9285 @nouis-bum @86laura11 @angelbabyyy99 @dizzybee03 @mygyn @jostan456 @dempy @its-the-pilot @kmc1989

#sacred new beginnings #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun rooster #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #jake seresin

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sgiandubh · 10 months

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Waypoints, Take 1: POV Complete Outsider

A little something, before we begin. In the history of this fandom, S's book was a critical juncture point. To explain my speculations and findings, it felt appropriate and fun to split it in two parts: the first, written from the POV of a complete outsider who happens to stumble upon Waypoints. The second would be a shipper's view, simply because this is who I am. Under no circumstances should it be understood that I recently took a flight to Bangkok, as I will immediately tell you (I wish I had!). Last time I used this rhetorical trick it went in flames, and I had to explain myself at length: you have been warned. Here goes and I apologize already - this is going to be LONG:

Hi, I am Sgian-Dubh and I have just boarded the LHR-BKK twelve -hour flight, after four years of forced COVID abstinence. I am brimming with anticipation for five o'clock tea at the Mandarin Oriental's Author Lounge, the speedboat transfers on the Chao Phraya and the first real Thai mango sticky rice.

Lo and behold, somebody has forgotten a book in the pocket in front of my seat, undetected by the cleaning ladies. It is written by a certain Sam Heughan. I have no idea who that guy is, but I am quickly informed about its topic: My Scottish Journey.

Ok. A travel book. Favorite genre. This guy is no Pico Iyer. No Robert Byron. And certainly no Freya Stark. But I've got roughly ten hours to kill: where's the harm?

The cover intrigues me. Not my type, but a very good-looking gentleman, with a rather determined, almost stern attitude and a dram of whisky in his left hand. Is he a unicorn entrepreneur? An inventor? The next UK astronaut? Impossible to tell. But hey, never judge a book by its cover.

It quickly becomes apparent that Heughan is the male lead in that lengthy Outlander series of already cult-ish reputation, that my mother watches with gusto ("call me in half an hour, I am watching The Wedding": might I add, for the 455th time in documented history) and The Guardian TV critic calls raunchy.

Six hours later, roughly by the second round of refreshments, I have questions.

The beginning is peculiar. This guy has a busy-busy-busy life and lives in a large country house all by himself, with a hissing coffee machine he just bought. There is something havishamesque about this premise, clashing with the self-assured, conqueror pose on the cover:

But there is hope: a decision is made on the spur of the moment to skedaddle and walk the 96 mile West Highland Way, rather than brood in front of the telly with Chinese delivery food and more alcohol, Bridget Jones style. Fair enough. Adequate equipment is immediately acquired in a frenzy and outside it is nasty raining. The new tent is mounted and dismounted in the living-room (who does this? who eats scrambled eggs with ketchup?).

Pitter-patter. And more pitter-patter. Damp, but heartwarming overnight stops in cozy hotels along the way and short conversations in Halloween-themed bars, surrounded by Highland zombies and banshees. Parritch and grit. The harsh encounter with homelessness along the way prompts the Good Samaritan reflex:

More pitter-patter. Entwined with the self-reliant feat, we start to follow a parallel trail to the narrator's past, by far the most interesting part of the book. Challenging beginnings, in a single parent family surrounded by love and dignified penury. A real shyness due to truly heartbreaking, unfairly absurd, almost debilitating circumstances:

Details like the above quickly grab the reader's attention, and how could they not? There is a lot of sensibility in there, rather aptly balanced with a whiff of Dickensian morality (stay true to your self) and of course, with one of the favorite Victorian refrains: play up, play up and play the game. Obstacles are patiently conquered with uncommon resilience and a true stubbornness, but for a very long time, life is a haphazard succession of opportunities and rebukes.

For such a good-looking man, women are sparse and far between. Ae fond kiss and then we sever at 10. Stage partners. A stage production assistant. The one who didn't last more than one week once moved in together. No explanation is provided and we sense this is an uneasy topic. I wouldn't insist, as a casual reader, but my curiosity is piqued.

At this point in time, breakfast is served. I have long lost track of the zip-a-dee-doo-dah trekking part of the book, involving a sulking, but nice bearded guy and his wife, chance brief encounters and mushrooms. But the Underdog Tale surely got my attention, even if we spend an extravagant amount of time between the London neo-slums and the glitter of Tinseltown: skipping to the essential, it eventually paid off.

With instant fame comes exposure and the lottery winner syndrome. What to do. How to cope. Women multiply as by magic, but only one is singled out and discussed in a strange, contrived, almost lackadaisical manner:

If this made me, the assumed Complete Outsider, stop in my tracks and scratch my head, I can only imagine what would happen to these people's fans. Why address folklore and conflated nonsense, at all? Why give space to hearsay? Why "it", when it should logically be "them"? Why the ambiguity? Why the uneasiness, spinning like floating wood in a sea of positivity? Why worry about that, when you drum the march of success and explain your bachelorhood by an unsolved Oedipus complex, thwarting any potential pairing?

I sip the horrible airline drip coffee and I ask:

Who is Caitriona to you, Mister Heughan?

You wrote a +150 pages long book beating around this bush. There are no such things. You are either life-long friends and this is a non-existent topic, or you are lying to yourself, lying to your readers and hiding in plain sight.

Time to disembark. I am keeping the book. I am not buying the whisky (naïve product placement on top). But hell I am going to watch that series on Netflix!

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mazzystar24 · 14 days

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I’m respectfully about to lose my mind at some of the fandom rn with the way buddie shippers are being treated… It’s like no one understands the whole point of shipping a couple is to want them to be together, so duh if something happens that could potentially lead to that pairing they’re going to get excited and theorize? Yes it’s absolutely important for Buck to explore his sexuality outside of buddie but the way people are trying to say that buddie shippers are homophobic for wanting endgame buddie….. when buddie is literally a queer ship? it doesn’t make any sense to me as a queer person myself because it’s like- y’all do realize that buck dating eddie would in fact mean that he is still bisexual, and that people have wanted thst for years, so A) why are we shocked and appalled at buddie shippers for being happy that they are one step closer to endgame buddie, B) why are we calling people homophobic or biphobic when they are quite literally shipping two men together, C) why are we all acting as if buddie endgame hasn’t been simmering just under the surface for YEARS and that if they were going to give us buddie, then thag means buck and eddie would both have to come oit as queer…

I’ve seen so many prominent blogs in the community who have made posts like “buck’s bisexuality has nothing to do with buddie and you are a horrible human for even insinuating that” and so many people are agreeing??? And not to mention the fact that now these same people are trying to villainize and trash on Eddie when in all honesty Buck’s behavior in 7x04 was NOT okay- physically harming someone because they’re not giving you attention is never okay (and i’m saying this as someone whi ADORES Buck, he still needs to be held accountable.)

It just reads very icky to me that so many people are screaming “bi pride” but then spewing all of this vitriol over a ship that would fit within Buck’s bisexuality…

It worries me that the writers are going to see this negativity from people and they’re going to just completely back-burner Eddie’s character in favor of Buck and it disappoints me because even outside of buddie, a major tv show portraying a repressed gay poc with religious and family trauma would be EQUALLY as powerful as Bi Buck is……

but i guess that’s just people only caring about the queer storylines when it’s about a white man since these are also the people acting like Hen and Karen or Michael and David haven’t been there the whole time

but that’s just me i guess….

I’m bullet pointing not to be curt by the way just because I prefer addressing part by part🫶

1. Agreed like this fandom was relatively peaceful then BAM it fully shifted overnight like in the words of Taylor swift THIS IS WHY WE CANT HAVE NICE THINGS

2. Yesss exactly like I’m very much a dont yuck someone else’s yum type of person so like even ships I don’t like I’ll be like okay respect 🫡 enjoy your fandom space love that for you AS LONG AS THEYRE RESPECTFUL TOO and I’m not gonna lie to you I see the primary source of negativity and stuff in the fandom be people who legit never watched anything other than the bucktommy related content (which I kinda have a whole other rant about but I don’t wanna give you miles and miles to read in one ask)

3. Yes to that 100% - buddie is a queer ship the cognitive dissonance it takes to call someone homophobic for shipping them is honestly fascinating atp, Buck is bi canonically now and y’all do realise that who he’s with or if he’s single even doesn’t take away from that right??? Like the rep is THERE and will always be THERE

4. You worded it a bit weird but I got what you meant (I hope) so anyone who didn’t may require a little clarification, the sentiment of bucks bisexuality being separate from buddie I think is 1000% correct and I agree wholeheartedly that a persons sexuality and their journey shouldn’t be just about their love interests but about themselves as a person, the issue people are taking is that 1. The people saying this are saying it on every buddie post even when the same blogs posting it have 177283 posts talking about buck as an individual and as a bisexual man outside of buddie and bucktommy, so it’s sort of become a weaponised statement if that makes sense 2. The buddie shippers are the ones who have been advocating so hard for the show to give us canon bi buck like that’s just fact no one can deny so to the og fans who’ve been here for YEARS (I’ve only started like 2023 ish so I’m not counting myself there) this must be such a total slap in the face to be receiving so much hate now

5. Oh yeah the Eddie bashers can personally come fight me

6. If I’m 100% honest I choose to interpret the basketball injury as being mostly accidental like I think he got too into it and forgot himself and his own force for a second rather than intentionally hurt Eddie, like it so happens in sports, I think it’s like just the after guilt that made him question himself and his motives, idk that may just be me denying canon because it just felt too out of character for me to believe

7. I think the fake bi pride stuff also irks me BAD like some of these people are looking for very surface level superficial representation and if you don’t push for more and more substantial and meaningful representation then you’re gonna get constant variations of the same exact thing and these are also the same people ignoring every other queer character in 911 which is just🙃

8. Idk how much the writers take fandom into account but I constantly say like if they were to listen to fandom they’d go the route they know people wanted for years

9. YES about Eddie’s character like I made a whole post about gay and comphet Eddie and how meaningful it would be because it’s just so so unique and unprecedented

10.HAHSKDK THE CROSSED OUT PART IS WHAT I JUST SAID BUT I DIDNT READ IT GAJSKDKFM

#thanks anon!#can’t remember if I left you long but flowers for you too💐💐💐#eddie diaz #911 abc #911 fox #evan buck buckley #911onfox #911 spoilers #buddie #buckley diaz family #evan buckley #911

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owmylasagna-blog · 4 months

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Headcanon: I guess post-BPS, Eddy would be really depressed and in a indetity crisis for at very least two weeks (it's too much of a drastic change to him), Edd would do his best to be a sensitive, empathetic friend and help him out while struggling with his own flaws and his bitchy side (I figure they would stop bickering SO THAT MUCH after BPS, at least for a while). tbh I guess Ed would be too happy making friends with the kids or rebulting a sibling relationship with Sarah to notice for some while (He always had been somewhat oblivious to the others' problems, and I figure him being the most popular, beloved, accepted one post-BPS).

What do you think?

Oh yes let’s talk about it! I could see quite a lot of what you’ve mentioned happening for sure. I’m just gonna go into more detail because I can’t help myself and you asked so…

BPS obviously is meant to be THE groundbreaking moment for Eddy’s character. So let’s get into it.

Eddy is a survivor of abuse. And a fighter. He’s got a little of that Childhood Trauma™️ and it does in fact “build [his] character”. See what I did there? Anyway, the point is that just because Eddy has this major turning point, his trauma isn’t going anywhere overnight.

Rachel Connor, one of the writers of the movie who worked specifically on the scenes with Bro, wrote a post where she described Eddy as the Great Pretender which… BIG OOF! As the show progresses Eddy loses sight of who he is more and more as he digs himself deeper into the Bro hole: emulating him more, wanting to impress him more, lying about him more (or perpetuating lies. Who knows!). The whole Great Pretender act isn’t exactly fulfilling. It’s putting more stress on his actual friendships with his pals. His depression in the 5th season (@book-o-scams has written about this) feels like a result of all this.

So when Eddy’s scam goes so horribly wrong that he and his friends are run out of PC, he almost loses Edd’s friendship, only to get publicly abused by his big bro, Eddy is faced with the reality of the person he could become. And that’s when he knows it has to end. This epiphany should be liberating for him in some ways but also sets off a whole self discovery journey. Of course he’d feel a little lost at the start, trying out lots of different versions of himself, before ultimately embracing his multifaceted self into adulthood. Aren’t we all a little lost in our teen years?

After all he’s been through with his brother, the guy has major trust issues. It's clear that Eddy is anxious to belong and be popular, but attempting to fleece the other kids for quarters at every turn isn’t exactly the best way of making friends (except that it’s a bonding activity with the other Eds). And that feels intentional whether he’s conscious of it or not, that what he’s really after is status instead of acceptance. Because if he doesn’t get too close with others he can’t get hurt. Trust issues are really hard to shake. That’s always going to impact his relationships and specifically his interactions with the other kids immediately following the events of BPS. It’s going to take him years to work through that. And I think he will, with time, get better at trusting and getting close to others.

My interpretation is that Eddy would be pretty bummed and depressed for a while despite all the new acceptance from his other peers, just because he’s having to analyze his own behavior more, question his relationship with his bro, with his family at large, with his best friends, with everyone else around him. I often add a layer of him struggling with the realization he might be gay during the year or two following the events of BPS, and that's not the easiest pill for him to swallow either. I think he’d still put up walls to protect himself and try to find ways to be liked and accepted, to be entertaining or prove himself. I don’t see him immediately being as outgoing with the other cul-se-sac kids as he is within the Eds, but I think at his core he is actually a cool and interesting guy and that comes through. On the flip side, I think he’d mostly work on being more honest and vulnerable with Edd and Ed in the months and years following which just strengthens their bonds more and together they learn to be better people to each other! Woohoo!

We’re moving on: Edd. BPS is a trial of his friendship with Eddy and they came out the other side much more sympathetic to one another. The tension that grows between them during the series run is as much a result of Eddy’s desperation as it is a result of Edd’s anxiety getting way worse. So yes, where I do see Edd helping Eddy through some of his depression following BPS, I also see Eddy helping ground Edd with some of his own issues that are percolating to the surface more. Just two little emo outcasts being there for eachother. Couldn’t be a recipe for a little gay awakening. No chance. (I’m being sarcastic, y’all. You know my schtick). I still think they’d bicker, though. Like a lot. It’s just core to their personalities. Fights just wouldn’t come to blows in the same way. It’s a lot harder to stay mad when you can see the clearly labeled buttons you’re pushing, you know?

Outside of his relationship to Eddy, Edd also seems to be shifting away from being blindly obedient towards authority like in the series. Nothing like seeing a man-child beat on an actual child to really wreck your world view. Up until that point, Edd is a textbook rule follower. I think there is an interesting perspective shift, seeing the world as Eddy has, that will shake his idealism and optimism ever so slightly. Thus starting a tiny little rebellious streak. Again, can’t reiterate enough that turning 13 is such a bitch. The mental toil.

Ed. Oh, Ed. Ed kinda has his whole thing figured out already. I sometimes describe Ed’s heroic act in BPS as him getting his brain back a bit after the school season episodes. I think the kid just dissociates especially hard when he is at school which makes him seem extra random in these episodes. We all gotta cope somehow. Anyway, I do also weirdly think Ed would get on with the other cul-de-sac kids pretty well on his own: he already has decent rapport with the likes of Jonny and Rolf so it would be interesting to see these relationships explored more. In the show he already seems the floater type. Maybe Ed becomes Jonny’s only friend when he becomes the new “outcast” of the cul-de-sac.

I think his consistency is really going to help Edd and Eddy through whatever ups and downs they go through. He’s the type to lighten the mood or give a sympathetic ear or listen to a rant without judgment. He has and always will accept them just as they are, and himself just as he is, and that does wonders for the group’s morale. Also, with Eddy dialing back on the Bro act I can see Ed also being kinder (he’s often feeding off the bad examples) and really embracing the surrogate big brother role for Eddy. I’d love for that relationship to be strengthened more too, and Ed to come to his defense and protection more readily in the way he does with Sarah. At first it would probably annoy Eddy to no end but he’d reluctantly get over it because deep down it feels good to be cared for. Soft like mashed potatoes indeed.

More than Ed rebuilding the relationship with Sarah is Sarah sticking up for her brother to her parents. I think she’d definitely come around to recognizing she’s abused her privileges as the favorite child and also grateful that her brother didn’t turn out That Bad considering. While she’s mending things with Ed I think she’d still take out her younger sibling rage on Eddy (I like to think she sees him as a bonus brother she never asked for). I don’t think they necessarily hate each other or anything, they just have that energy of two scrappy alley cats who have to hiss and swat before parting ways.

#I feel like I both answered the question and only scratched the surface #lots to chew on #yap yap dribble dribble

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