#and when he finally returned after how many years he learns that friend has been dead (bc yves killed him) and allegedly yves’ mental | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sporadicbeans82 · 1 month

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Reader’s dad has really high standards for her like impossibly high for just a 16 year old, and she overworks herself to the point she passes out and all the girls are really concerned and she’s just like no i have to keep going i have to be better i have to be enough and then they all press her for more info and then when she eventually tells them about how she’s feeling they all comfort her and tell her playing pro soccer at that young is amazing and that she’s enough]” Barcelona Femini (mainly Alexia Putellas) or Arsenal WFC

You 100% do not need to write this just would love to see your talented writing skills give this a shot🫶

Enough || Barcelona Femení x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, toxic family relationships, lack of self care from reader, Swearing (probably?)

Word count: 4.3k words

A/N: I lied, this was next. Feel free to make more requests. I hope that this is alright, anon! I kind of strayed from the plot.

“You should have scored more, you didn’t try hard enough,” Your father’s voice was flat, the comments made offhandedly as if he were talking about what you were having for dinner. As if he weren’t stabbing you in the back with his words, the comment digging deeper and deeper and cracking your heart open. “That header was yours, you disappointed your team by letting that one go.”

Growing up, you’d always dreamed of playing professional soccer, and so your parents had supported your dreams. They drove you to each of your games and training, and helped pay for you to go to an academy. They helped you get to your national camps, made and packed nutritious food for you, and supported you in each and every way that they could.

You stuck to your dreams and overcame so many challenges to get to where you were. You’d learned from the best, had run into injuries, had laughed with friends and had lost those friends as they’d given up the dreams that all of you had had. You’d thought about giving up, too, especially when your mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

She’d fought tooth and nail to stay alive, working hard to still help you become the best player that you could. She continued to support you with your father, up until the point where she was far too weak to continue doing so. She’d gone to every single one of your games, even when she felt sick or like she didn’t have the energy, and for that you were determined to make it worth it for her. Little did you know that watching you was your mother’s greatest pride, and she would not allow her sickness to keep her from supporting you.

And so you stuck to the sport, even when your friends did not, and it had all paid off in the end. In the summer, you’d signed for Barcelona Femení, the day after your sixteenth birthday. Your mother was there for your signing, beside your father. That day, she promised you that she would watch your first game with Barcelona no matter what.

She hadn’t made it that long, dying only a few days later. You’d taken the loss hard, but it was your father who had taken it the hardest. Your father had hardened in ways that you hadn’t anticipated, becoming cruel and harsh. He seemed to have given up hope, the bags beneath his eyes dark and puffy.

He was a shell on the man that he’d once been, and it showed in the way he now treated you. After the loss of your mother, he’d drawn into himself and away from you, and you found yourself so much lonelier than you had ever been.

The team had been there for you, allowing you to take time off and letting you know that they had psychologists and people to talk to if you had needed it. It took you a week to return.

When you were finally mentally ready to move on and begin participating in training sessions, it was now your captain, Alexia Putellas, who drove you to practices.

Your father no longer attended your matches, no longer worked hard to ensure that you got all the support that you deserved. Instead, he sat at home and mourned the loss of your mother. The truth was, you were both hurting, but you had to be strong in hopes that your father would soon bounce back.

He never did.

You hadn’t told any of your teammates, but the stress of the situation was getting to you. It showed in your performance and the way you trained in all of the worst ways. You were exhausted, emotionally and also physically as you had troubles sleeping at night. You wanted a hug from your mom, wished that she was there to tell you that everything would be alright.

But she wasn’t there, which was the entire problem, and she would never be able to do that again.

And so things continued as they were for several months. The pressure grew onto you, far too much for your young shoulders to carry on their own, but you forced yourself to remain strong. You worked harder than you ever had in your life, attempting to be enough for your father and to try to make your mother proud as you’d promised her.

Foolishly, you dreamed at night that you could bring your father out of the deep pit of depression he’d fallen into. Maybe, if you tried hard enough, he’d realize that you really were good at soccer. Maybe he’d wake up and realize that you needed him still, but the truth was that a part of him had died when your mother had, and you would never be getting him back.

You’d basically forced him to come to your match, begging him for weeks on end to come to at least one. Ironically, it was the first time you were being trusted to start for your team as well. It was supposed to be a special match, commemorating everything that you and your parents had ever worked for.

You’d hoped that he would come out of his shell if he returned to a little bit of his old life. You’d been wrong, as the second you’d stepped into his car, he was throwing insults and critiques at you.

He was nothing of the man you’d grown up with, and it hurt you like no other pain you’d felt in your life. Even breaking two bones in your leg at thirteen didn’t compare to the pain in your chest, hollowed out by month after month of loneliness and pain. You felt like your heart, once full of love, had been scraped empty of any positive emotion that it had once felt, and your father held the scalpel.

You tried arduously to tune your father out, trying to focus on the positives of the match as your father drove.

You’d won the game!

“You relied on the other defenders far too much to cover for your careless mistakes.”

You’d made an amazing tackle on a player who had skirted past Ingrid Engen! It had earned you a shower of applause from the watching fans and a proud peck to your forehead from Ingrid herself!

“You were too slow, you need to be faster, like Batlle.”

Alexia had told you that she was proud of you!

“You aren’t good enough for this team, God knows why they chose you.”

You weren’t aware of the tears which fell down your cheeks, and your father ignored them. You didn’t know why he was so intent on breaking you down after years spent building you up. You missed how life was before.

You missed your mom.

As your father pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you hopped out. Before a sob could break free of your quivering lips, you were bounding up the steps to your room and closing the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, all of the emotions which had bubbled beneath the surface coming out in ugly, whiny gasps and cries.

Your heart burned, as if scorched. You had never felt so empty, so dark, and so lonely. You wanted someone to hold you, and you didn’t know who to turn to anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, although you only managed to get a few meager hours of sleep before you were awoken by some recurring nightmare.

-----

You barely managed to drag yourself to training, exhausted. The dark bags beneath your eyes stood out starkly against your pale skin. You were dressed in a jumper and sweatpants, both of which used to be an appropriate size but which now hung off of your tired frame.

As Alexia picked you up, she noted your exhaustion with a small frown.

“Hola, chiqui. Estás bien?” Her voice held a certain concern which was almost enough to break down your walls. You yearned so badly for a sense of comfort, and the which Alexia looked seemed to offer that.

You forced yourself to turn towards the window, not wanting to break down in front of your captain. Your father’s words from the past few months wore heavy on your mind. You were a disappointment and a burden, and you didn’t want Alexia to tell Jona that the team didn’t need you and decide to release you. You wanted to be enough, and you had promised yourself every night that you would be better, you just needed a little bit more time.

Alexia frowned harsher, nearly locking the car and forcing you to talk to her, but deciding against it. She didn’t want to push you, but she’d noticed that you weren’t okay for a while.

She’d taken note of the way you always did extra laps and repetitions of each of their workouts. She watched you participate in extra opportunities to practice penalties and how you stood behind after each training for at least an hour to do more work. She knew you were exhausting yourself, could see it in the way you could barely stand.

She didn’t understand why you pushed yourself so hard, given how good you were. She tried to give you advice, to compliment you whenever she could and saw how you absolutely beamed under any sort of praise or compliment, as though you didn’t get it enough.

Over the last few months, she’d taken on almost a mentoring role to you. You looked up to her, and she could see how you held each of your teammates in such high regard. For whatever reason, however, it just didn’t seem to stick in your mind that you were of the same caliber as each excellent athlete within the team.

As she watched you turn away from her, she realized she would need to confront you soon. It was obvious that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but she didn’t want to do it now, not when you were blocking her out as hard as you could. She would need backup, probably from the other captains of the team, and made a promise to herself that she would do it later that day.

Instead of confronting you like she yearned to do, she stayed quiet and allowed you your peace. She watched as, ever so slowly, your shoulders sagged and your body untensed. You’d fallen asleep, and Alexia turned the music down a little bit to try to make the atmosphere easy to sleep in.

Alexia noticed how the harsh lines in your face relaxed as you slept. You looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen you. She hated that she had to wake you up as the two of you arrived at the training center.

She parked as gently as she could before reaching over and gently shaking you awake. You groaned as she did so, almost turning away in such a careless, teenage way that Alexia had never seen you do. You always seemed so much more grown up than you were supposed to be, even more so than Claudia or Pina or Vicky, all of whom were older than you.

“‘M not ready yet, Mom.” You rumbled, and Alexia froze, the frown on her face deepening. She’d tried to be there for you, having lost her own parental figure in her father. She knew the pain that you felt all too well.

So not to be mistaken for the woman who you’d just lost, Alexia spoke up this time as she shook at you again.

“Despiértate, nena. We are here.” You startled awake, the barriers which had dropped as you slept appearing once more as your face tightened again, a frown set upon your face which mirrored Alexia’s.

You thanked her quietly before climbing out of the car, purposefully walking ahead of Alexia so that she couldn’t ask you any questions about your slip up.

You entered the locker room near-silently, the hood of your jumper up to cover the vast majority of your face. You ignored the looks you got from each of your teammates in favor of quickly getting dressed for training.

As you went to tie your shoes, you realized you were, yet again, crying.

You’re too emotional. Words of your fathers’. Your teammates wouldn’t like you if you showed emotion in front of them. You pushed the fabric of your sleeve against your cheeks, leaving red marks behind with how harshly you rubbed at the salty tears.

Then, to try to remain inconspicuous, you bent over to tug your shoes on to your feet. You thought you were successful, but hadn’t anticipated how much you’d struggle with your laces. Your exhaustion mixed with your lack of breakfast had caused your hands to shake.

Each time you’d try to make a loop, your quaking fingers would pull too hard or drop the lace altogether.

All of your teammates noticed your struggle, but it was Paños who stepped in. The older woman knelt down at your feet, hands wrapping around your own and holding them for just a second. Her eyes looked up into yours, noting the tear stains on your cheeks and giving you a comforting smile.

Then, she refocused on your shoes and began to tie them for you. The rest of your teammates watched on anxiously, although they continued to prepare for training and tried not to stare. The truth was, everyone could see that something was going on with you and that you weren’t okay, but they were scared to upset you by saying anything. You already seemed too tiny and isolated and they walked on eggshells around you.

Each of your teammates yearned to be there for you, but they didn’t know you well enough to know how to be there for you.

Paños finished with your shoes before standing, holding both of her hands out for you to take. She tugged you to your feet easily, one arm wrapping around you in almost a motherly manner.

The woman was usually seen joking with the younger kids, but with you she had taken a different role, like Ale.

“Listos, nena?” The goalkeeper asked you, voice soft and comforting. Like Alexia, her voice nearly caused you to break down. You felt your shoulders shake beneath the weight of Sandra’s arm and resisted the urge to turn and hug her like you would have your mother.

You wanted comfort, but your father had convinced you time and time again that you didn’t need it and that you’d be a burden if you sought it out, and so you nodded and pulled away.

You walked out onto the field and began to stretch. You kept your head down, suddenly more numb than you’d felt in months. You ignored the way your stomach clenched with hunger and the way your head had begun to ache and sting from your lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and all of your crying.

You didn’t look up, even as more of your teammates filtered out to join you. Claudia and Patri stretched next to you, trying to provide jokes for you to laugh at. They didn’t stop even as you didn’t react, continuing to try to cheer you up in the only way they knew how at the moment.

When a whistle sounded to signal the beginning of warmups, you stood instantly. Too fast, however, as your world tilted and spun around you. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever tried alcohol on your fifteenth birthday.

An arm wrapped around your waist and you regained your balance against the firm body of one of your teammates.

“You okay?” You heard someone ask. Looking up, you caught the concerned glance of Ingrid Engen, who had also taken you under her wing when you’d joined the team. You nodded, pulling away from her, too.

So many people had touched you in the past hour, more than you’d had since your mother had passed away. You almost didn’t know how to react to all the comforting touches and glances, having not received them in so long.

Ingrid watched on sadly as you walked away from her, the concern which swirled within herself increasing as she watched you wobble away. Ingrid had noticed how out of it you were, how tiny you had been in the clothes which had fit you a month ago. You were pale, more than normal, and the way you’d nearly passed out showed Ingrid that you were not fit to practice.

The Norwegian caught Alexia’s gaze from across the yard, shaking her head at the Spanish captain to try to convey that you shouldn’t be training.

Sensing that something was wrong, Alexia began to make her way over to you. As she did so, however, your legs finally seemed to cave in from underneath you.

None of your teammates would ever be able to get the image of your crumpled figure on the turf as Alexia and Ingrid both ran to you. The rest of your teammates watched on as the medics were called over.

You were turned on your back by Alexia, one of her fingers touching at your throat as they attempted to find a pulse. It was thready and uneven, but there, and Alexia wanted to cry. She cursed herself for not confronting you sooner, more worried than she remembered ever being as the medical staff pushed her back to give your crumpled form more room.

Alexia had been the one to recommend you to the team, having attended one of your matches for Spain’s U17 match. You’d played up and had still outclassed so many of your teammates, a solid wall in the backline which your teammates depended upon. She’d seen the glimmer of excitement and determination in your eyes, one that you’d lost since the passing of your mother.

She felt like this was all her fault. If she had just spoken to you sooner and had investigated what was going on with you… then, maybe, you would have been okay. She felt as though she had failed you and her responsibilities as a captain to ensure your safety.

You’d become a skeleton of the incredible human that you’d once been, and had watched all the life drain from you while being unable to do anything about it. As you were placed upon a cart to be carried off the field, however, Alexia promised that she would be there for you.

You were wasting your life away, and Alexia was determined to figure out why.

-----

You awoke in a dimly illuminated room, your throat dry and your eyes feeling like they’d been doused with sand. You groaned, attempting to lift your hand as you slowly game through to try and brush at your forehead. You felt cold and sticky all at once– you didn’t feel well at all.

Your hand was caught on something, and you attempted to bat at it only to have your hand caught by something else. As the room slowly began to swim into your vision, you caught the familiar brown eyes of your captain.

“Hola, capi.” You rasped, and Alexia’s concerned face brightened ever so slightly, a small smile gently pulling her lips upward.

“Hola, chiqui. Como estás?” Alexia inquired, her voice far gentler than you’d ever felt.

“Not very good,” You whispered honestly, feeling like shit. You were tired of fighting, tired of feeling like you weren’t enough. You were ready to be honest about how you felt, no matter if the people around you would stop loving you as your dad promised that they would. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” This voice was different, coming from your left. Slowly, your head fell sideways and you caught the glance of Ingrid. The girl looked more worried than you ever had seen her, and you felt truly terrible for worrying the older woman.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You knew that you hadn’t been feeling very well for a long time, but you’d been too scared to mention it to anybody but your father. The man who was supposed to keep you safe had failed you in all ways possible, but you didn’t see it that way.

You felt like you weren’t enough and that it was you who had failed, and that you didn’t deserve comfort or love because of it.

Alexia sat up, the motion causing your gaze to come back to her.

“Do you want to tell me why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Alexia speaking English took you by surprise. You supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but you knew that the girl seemed to almost avoid speaking the language. Her voice was still low, comforting, and still worked at lowering your barriers ever more.

You had to resist the urge to throw yourself in her arms and blubber like a baby. You reminded yourself that they would remove you from the team, that they wouldn't accept you, that they would see you as weak.

However, the way Alexia held your hand, her grip comforting and sure, made you think that… maybe… your dad was wrong. Maybe they did care.

“I…” you hesitated, and felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. Glancing over, you realized that Paños was there, too. You caught her concerned gaze, the small smile on her face, and heard her tell you that it was okay.

It was then that you realized, all of the adults that you trusted most in the world, that made you feel better when you were at your worst, were there for you. They were here for you when you were lower than your lowest, and if they hadn’t left when you’d fallen on your face on the field, then they wouldn’t leave now.

That thought gave you the courage to tell the truth, and so you did.

The girls listened throughout your story. You told them how low you felt, how scared you were. You told them that you missed your mom, but so did your dad. You told them that he’d become a shell of the man he’d once been, that he’d become cruel and harsh– everything that your dad was not. The girls’ faces were stormy, but still they worked to comfort and reassure you in every way that they could.

By the end of your retelling, you were crying, but so were they.

You were utterly exhausted as a yawn broke through, revealing your exhaustion to the other girls. It was Alexia who spoke first, frowning at you.

“We are here for you, no matter what. We will fix this.” Her words were hard, but not harsh. They were a promise, one that you trusted. “Sleep, we will be here when you wake up.”

“I’m okay.” You retorted. Truthfully, you were terrified. You were scared that they would leave after trusting them with the information and words that had burdened you for months, just as your father had promised you.

Sensing your nervousness, Alexia gently slid up and onto the bed, taking her time and giving you plenty of room.

As soon as the older woman had sat herself up, careful of the IV in your hand, you moved. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapping around her back as your face buried itself in her shoulder. Alexia, ever so carefully, wrapped her arms around you in return.

She pressed a warm, careful kiss against your forehead, and allowed you to cry into her shirt. She did not care about the way your tears wet the material, reassuring you in a spattering of both English and Spanish words. Ingrid and Sandra stepped out to give the two of you privacy, although they would be back for you. They would never leave your side, not now that they knew what you’d been going through.

Alexia continued to hold and comfort you in the ways that you’d yearned for months, her touch gentle.

That was how you fell asleep, and how you woke up hours later. Despite the amount of time you’d spent in the spare room of the training center, Alexia had stayed. She had not allowed anybody to wake you up, having come to the conclusion that she would never allow your father to speak to you ever again.

That night, she took you to her home, which she shared with her girlfriend, Olga. There, they cared for you.

Alexia made sure that you spoke to a therapist, and that you never saw your father again. She supported you in the ways that you deserved, and in the ways that you'd lacked since your mother had passed away.

Slowly but surely, Alexia saw you return to the kid that you’d once been: determined, carefree, and stronger than you’d ever been.

Freed from the confines of your father’s sorrow, you were able to soar. You rose to levels of success that you’d only ever been able to dream of, and you stayed true to your promise.

You made your mother proud.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #harper writes

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bowlofsoob · 4 months

Text

ACCIDENTALLY TEXTING YOUR EX BFF

choi soobin x gender neutral reader

where you and soobin were once close friends until he confessed a year ago and you rejected him because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. after that he asked for some space and you guys haven’t spoken since. one late night you wallow in your pity and reread your old texts and accidentally send one.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Truth was you didn’t have a meeting with any advisor, but you’d been up all night going through every scenario on how today would go. And most of them ended with Soobin hating your guts forever, so you made up a lie to delay seeing him.

The air was thick with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia as you made your way towards the cafe, the bell chiming and notifying your arrival. You immediately spotted a head of blonde hair in the corner booth, where Soobin was waiting for you. He was dumping way too many packets of sugar into his coffee and looked just as you remembered. Like home.

It had been a year since the both of you last spoke, a long twelve months filled with the echoes of a friendship. You, fueled by a sense of longing and the accidental press of a send button, had reignited a conversation that had been put on hold for far too long.

As you made your way towards him the atmosphere tightened as you started to feel the weight of unspoken words brewing inside you.

Soobin looked up at the sound of your footsteps and mustered a hesitant smile, a mixture of relief and uncertainty dancing in his eyes as you sat across from him.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice a careful blend of warmth and reservation. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like.

“Hi,” you said, returning the greeting as a nervous smile played on your lips. A sense of awkwardness hung between you two, an unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation a year ago.

Soobin pushed a cup towards you, steam rising up from it as he placed some creamer beside it.

“I ordered for you, you still like it the same way right?” he asked.

“Yeah, you remembered,” you comment, looking up at him as you take a sip.

“How could I forget?” he laughed. A laugh you could recognize anywhere.

“It’s been a while,” you start, awkwardness still lingering between you both.

Soobin took a sip of his drink, his hands too big for the cup as he broke the silence.

“Yeah, it has,” he spoke, memories of a year ago still weighing on him. It was like a barrier that the both of you wanted to dismantle.

“You know, I’ve missed you,” you admitted, finally meeting Soobin’s eyes. The vulnerability laced in your voice was palpable, yearning for a connection that once was.

Soobin’s expression softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He hesitated before nodding, “I’ve missed you too.”

There was a weight of unspoken words hanging between them and you could sense Soobin’s guarded heart, a reflection of the hurt you caused him a year ago.

After a few more awkward glances you finally navigated the delicate dance of a conversation with someone who once confessed their love to you.

Soobin told you about Yeonjun’s crush on Beomgyu and how he called it months ago. He showed you new photos of his pet hedgehog and how he shit in Yeonjun’s room. You learned about all the gossip he’s heard from the semester and the professors he’s grown to hate. As you both chatted about the past year you couldn’t shake the desire to address the lingering emotions. You knew Soobin wasn’t going to bring it up, leaving you guys standing at the edge of a confession that neither was brave enough to voice.

Soobin feels it too, the precipice you both are on.

He wants to jump.

“Bin, there’s something I want…no. I need to say,” you confess, earnest.

Soobin looked up from where he was in the middle of showing you photos from his summer trip, curiosity and caution wavering in his eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, shutting off his phone.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and continued, “Back then, when you confessed your feelings, I was scared. Scared of losing our friendship if things didn’t work out. But over this year, I’ve realized I miss more than just our friendship.”

Soobin’s gaze on you intensified as he searched for the unsaid words.

“I missed you…because I have feelings for you too,” you confess, “Back then and I still do.”

Soobin’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his face as he set his mug down.

“Yn, I…,” Soobin swallowed, a hint of nervousness stopping him, “I never stopped liking you,” he admitted, his tone sincere. “And I wouldn’t let our feelings ruin what we have, I value our friendship too much to let it be overshadowed by my feelings. If you’re still willing, maybe we could figure this out together.”

As the weight of the confessions hung in the air you found yourself at a loss for words and could only dumbly nod back at him.

“I'd like that,” you managed to say.

Soobin’s gaze softened, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Yn, I want to add something,” he begins, voice tinged with shame, “I’m sorry for asking for space and leaving you for a year. I regretted it everyday and it wasn’t fair to you, I could’ve dealt with it better.”

You met Soobin’s nervous gaze, the air heavy with unspoken forgiveness.

“I understand,” you reply, “How could I not? We both could’ve done better but let’s just move forward.”

“I'd like that,” Soobin smiled, “Can I sit next to you?”

You scoot over and let Soobin join you on your side of the booth. His body was pressed against yours in the small booth as he kept sending you glances. You were still in a state of disbelief as to how things worked out, fully expecting Soobin to laugh in your face at your confession.

Instead here he was, cheeks turning pink everytime you guys brushed shoulders.

“I know we’re in public but…I really wanna kiss you,” Soobin whispers, turning towards you.

“I’ve been wanting to for a whole year,” you whisper back.

Soobin holds back a smile and fails. He cradles your head, his hands swallowing you whole, and leans in to give you just a peck.

“Not enough?” he asks coyly as you pout.

Soobin surges towards you again, this time licking your mouth open and tasting your coffee flavored breath. You’re both the same amount of desperate and assertive, a year’s worth of lust fueled into one kiss.

Soobin catches your bottom lip between his teeth and swells them prettier.

He feels like home.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

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jillianallen14 · 9 months

Text

Incredibly proud of Crowley and how strong/brave he is in the finale

This is gonna be really long, so if you’re in a rush, here’s a TLDR: Crowley is hella brave for confessing to Aziraphale even after Aziraphale spoke first, especially given Aziraphale’s track record of rejecting him, and I’m so proud of him. I’m also proud of him for standing his ground and not giving in because he usually always does whatever Aziraphale asks eventually. Crowley needs to learn to truly stand on his own two feet in order to have a successful relationship with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale needs to learn how to choose/put Crowley first just as much as Crowley chooses him and puts him first. Basically, in human terms, Crowley currently has an anxious attachment style and Aziraphale has an avoidant one, and they both need to get to healthy attachment styles in order for them to work.

See how long that tldr was? That’s what you’re in for if you read this whole thing lol.

Alright, here we go.

Disclaimer: I love Aziraphale so much, but I think he has a lot of work to do before he’s ready to “deserve” the kind of love Crowley is offering him. I also think he is 100% going to put in that work, though.

So Crowley’s tried to advance things forward with Aziraphale many times over their thousands of years together, and usually these advances are rejected, though sometimes Aziraphale does come around. He’s the one who suggests the Arrangement (and sort of gets rejected at first). He’s the one who is constantly pushing the idea that the two of them are on their own team. He makes grand gestures, rescues Aziraphale, and he makes a lot of sacrifices. In the 1960′s, he tells Aziraphale that he’ll take him anywhere he wants to go, just to be told, “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” I sort of count this as “run away together” offer #1 because I think that’s what Crowley is subtextually offering here. His second offer of running away together is also rejected during the almost-apocalypse. He suggests Aziraphale stay at his place when Aziraphale’s bookshop burned down and is once again rejected, though not as directly as some of the others. Aziraphale calls their friendship/partnership “fraternizing” in the 1800s. In the bandstand fight scene, Aziraphale tells Crowley, “We’re not friends” and “I don’t even like you.”

Of course, we as viewers know that Aziraphale says and does most of these things because he’s constantly trying to protect Crowley from Hell’s punishments. We know that Crowley is what Aziraphale loves most in the world, and honestly, Crowley probably knows it, too. But I’m sure that doesn’t stop the constant onslaught of rejection from hurting and from discouraging him from ever really wanting to have The Big Conversation (the “what are we and what do you want us to be” conversation, as it were lol).

Crowley has been relentlessly chasing Aziraphale for literal thousands of years, and Aziraphale never really gives all of himself to Crowley in return. That’s got to sting, and that’s got to be so disheartening, even though Crowley is definitely aware Aziraphale does love him/care about him. We all give Crowley shit about not communicating properly, but imagine how hard that would be when he gets that kind of a reaction whenever he does try to communicate? It would certainly not make it any easier.

In addition to the chasing that Crowley does, he is also the one to almost always give in and apologize. We’ve established that Aziraphale says no to many of the requests Crowley makes of him. And yes, often Crowley says no the first time Aziraphale makes requests of him as well, but Crowley usually comes around. And Crowley always apologizes, even when he really shouldn’t have to because Aziraphale was also at fault or, at the very least, they should both be apologizing. We rarely ever see Aziraphale actually apologize for the hurtful shit he says and does to Crowley. Yes, we know from season 2 that Aziraphale has done the apology dance, so we can infer apologies do happen from time to time, but how often do we actually see this? Not often.

I love Aziraphale to death, but he has a “my way or the highway” mentality, and Crowley gives in like every single time lol. (Because we know Crowley is so in love it’s not even funny and would do pretty much anything to keep Aziraphale around. #Aziraphale fell first but Crowley fell harder (or at least accepted it earlier) #I will die on this hill).

So now we get to their fight in the finale of season 2.

Crowley was so ready to confess. Our boy was prepared. He probably sat in that bookshop rehearsing what he was going to say over and over [just thinking about this hurts my heart lol, ouch]. Then Aziraphale comes in and Crowley literally asks Aziraphale if he [Crowley] can talk first, and Aziraphale still interrupts him (lol, Aziraphale, come on). [I really do wonder how that scene would have gone if Aziraphale had let Crowley speak first; fanfic writers, I’m looking at you]

Then Aziraphale proceeds to say Crowley’s worst nightmare lol. We can literally see on Crowley’s face that his heart is already breaking, and I’m sure he knows there’s a good chance he’s about to receive “let’s run off/be together” rejection #3. To be fair, Aziraphale is literally also telling Crowley he wants to be together, but all Crowley seems to be hearing is the “in heaven, as angels” part. So at this point, Crowley can be pretty sure the love of his eternal life is “choosing Heaven” over him once again [we, as viewers, know this isn’t really the case, but Crowley doesn’t].

Yet, he interrupts Aziraphale. He makes Aziraphale let him talk, he doesn’t just let himself be talked over or unheard this time, and Crowley proceeds to confess anyway and practically does the Good Omens equivalent of asking Aziraphale to marry him. Like holy shit, y’all. That takes some massive balls.

Crowley is “rejected” (kinda-sorta; Aziraphale isn’t rejecting Crowley this time, just the “running off” bit, but Crowley sees it as a rejection of him). Fighting ensues. Aziraphale says accidentally hurtful things because he’s just as bad at communicating as Crowley is lol (ie “Nothing lasts forever” instead of saying, “You matter more to me than this bookshop,” which is what he meant). Crowley is literally beyond heartbroken, you can see it all over his face, especially when he puts the sunglasses back on. And yet he still has the courage to kiss Aziraphale? BRO. BROOOOO. I want what Crowley has lol because he’s certifiably insane for having the balls to do that.

I’ve seen people say that the kiss was the wrong thing for Crowley to do in that moment, but I don’t agree. They were still talking past each other, and Crowley needed to do something to make sure Aziraphale knew exactly what he was offering (marriage). Crowley needed to do that because if he didn’t, there was still going to be ambiguity, which would make their eventual resolution harder in the end. I also think Crowley just wanted to kiss him out of desperation because he thought it would be his last chance and because he wanted to show Aziraphale exactly what he was saying no to, but that’s beside the point. And yes, the kiss broke Aziraphale’s heart, but I truly and genuinely think Aziraphale needed to have his heart broken this time in order for him to grow.

Then Aziraphale once again says something incredibly hurtful and rejects him again. And what does Crowley do? He doesn’t run away this time, like he usually does. He goes out by the Bentley and stands there and watches Aziraphale. I think he did this partly out of the desire to give Aziraphale one last chance and partly out of a desire to make Aziraphale sit there and look at him as he chooses Heaven again. Balls, man, I tell you.

And Crowley doesn’t go back to him, and he doesn’t beg him to stay. And he doesn’t give himself up completely to be with this person who can’t accept him as he is. He lets himself be known, and then he holds his ground. He doesn’t let someone fundamentally change him just for love. He doesn’t lose himself to love.

And this leads me to my next point, which is that this fight needed to happen because both Crowley and Aziraphale have lessons to learn.

Crowley’s lesson is that he needs to learn how to stand on his own two feet. He needs to learn how to put himself first sometimes so that he doesn’t completely lose himself to Aziraphale. He needs to learn how to say no, to really say no. He needs to learn how to hold his boundaries. He needs to develop an identity outside of Aziraphale and what Aziraphale wants/needs him to be, discover what he wants even when Aziraphale isn’t around. He also needs to learn how to clearly state and ask for what he wants and needs. I think him learning this lesson will also help with his anger issues because the kind of people-pleasing self-effacement that Crowley does for Aziraphale only breeds resentment, which comes out every time they get in an argument.

And Aziraphale’s lesson is that he needs to learn how to really choose Crowley, not try to change him, not try to pretend he’s something he’s not. He needs to learn how to take Crowley exactly as he is. He needs to learn how to give Crowley as much as Crowley gives him so that their partnership is on more of an equal footing. Essentially, his lesson is the opposite of Crowley’s: where Crowley needs to learn how to not lose himself completely to Aziraphale, Aziraphale needs to learn how to lose himself a little bit to Crowley. I’m not saying Aziraphale is selfish because he’s absolutely not, but I am saying that his sense of individuality is a little too strong and that doesn’t exactly work when you’re trying to have a long-term, committed relationship/partnership with someone because yes, you’re still an individual, but you’re also now part of a unit. And that requires making decisions together and genuinely hearing the other person out. It requires compromising, which Aziraphale is not particularly good at.

Crowley needs to let go a little bit and Aziraphale needs to hold on a little tighter so that they can meet in the middle. You can see this in almost all of their fights. When things don’t go Aziraphale’s way, he immediately resorts to telling Crowley he can leave. Think of this as the two of them holding on to opposite ends of a taut rope: Crowley pulls a little too hard, and Aziraphale lets the rope loosen, leaving Crowley to fall backwards on his own. Aziraphale needs to learn how to hold onto that rope just a little tighter so that him and Crowley are putting in equal amounts of effort.

And folks, they’re gonna do it. They’re gonna put in the work. They’re gonna learn their lessons. And then they’re going to kiss and make up (preferably with Aziraphale initiating the kissing this time lol, let’s give poor Crowley a rest and let him be chased for once). And then we’re going to get the most beautiful, loving, healthy relationship. But they just have to go through this first. It’ll make their resolution so much more satisfying.

So Aziraphale, it’s time to do some chasing.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #go2spoilers #go2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #Crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #neil gaiman

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ishaslife · 8 months

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Astarion has been breaking my poor heart.

This post will contain spoilers for the game and Astarion's romance/backstory. Before anyone comes at me, I want to say that you are the main character, you are supposed to change the fates and behaviours of your characters, especially if you are romancing them. It's a video game, that's kind of the point.

This post is extremely long and I apologise.

This analysis is based off my playthrough.

(*) means check notes at the bottom of the post.

I wasn't expecting to like him as much as I do. Don't get me wrong, I really liked him during EA and I thought he was funny, charming, flirty with a dark past and all that was just a means to cover his trauma but since the full game has come out and we've gotten to know more of him, it truly breaks my heart to see and know what he has been through. My sister and I were watching his reactions to be being rejected, being told that Tav only wants sex and forcing him to do things he doesn't want to do, it is truly heart-wrenching.

Many people expected Astarion to be this "I am so sexual and my romance will mostly be sex, also I will betray you the first chance I get." and it couldn't be further from the truth. Astarion is extremely loyal, and yes he has that air of flambouncy to him, will often make japes and say evil things but most of the time, it is just a facade. It's his shield in a way, he has been treated with utter cruelty for two hundred years of his life and now that he finally has some control over himself, he doesn't wish to be hurt again.

I don't think Astarion is ever completely evil, even in the beginning. He just wants to have fun and enjoy life after so many years of slavery. He likes it when you are snarky, say mean shit to people for fun but, he doesn't like to see innocents get hurt, and he doesn't support fighting for people who don't fight for themselves. Yes, he will support some of your evil decisions but they will lead to a bad ending, for you and your characters. It'll make Astarion wallow more in his greed and he'll lose the little humanity he has left. He doesn't really have a clear sense of direction in the beginning of the game as he's just found freedom and obviously wants to live life to the fullest, being evil comes naturally to him, it's instinct as its what he's been doing for two centuries.

This is my assumption since we don't know his actual age but since he's an elf who was well-respected in society, had a pretty prestigious job and was rich enough to be corrupt. I'd assume he was at least 70-100 years old before he was turned into a spawn. (EDIT - in a recent post by @deluxetrashqueen I saw the translation of the dates of birth and death on his tombstone:

"Astarion Ancunin

229-268 DR" to which he adds, "458DR - "

which shows that he was only 39 at the time of his death, which explains his emotional immaturity for an elf.) My point being, I believe he has been a spawn for longer than he's ever been a regular person. He has spent the longer part of his life doing evil things for an evil man, that was what his life was on a daily basis with Cazador. And his former work experience probably helped, he likely learnt pretty quick how much he took for granted as a living person and the harshness of his master, peers and people he seduced made him harsh and unforgiving in return.

Once you start getting close to him, you start to learn that he is only mean to people because of how life has treated him. In his romance, he says "no one ever looked out for me, no one ever said a kind word to me. You're the only one, no one is like that." Astarion starts to see, because of you that there is kindness in the world, and he finds kindness in you. Especially after his quest, as much as he'd hate to admit it, he also sees friends in your other companions as they do in him. By the end of Act 2, he starts to get more soft towards you and the decisions you make, often even disapproving of evil decisions. People often tend to forget that a lot of Astarion's evil personality is a front, it is not who he truly is.

These points will be better explained individually so I will talk about some themes.

Power: power plays a big part in his entire storyline. In the beginning, he wants to harness the powers of the tadpole to become powerful and at first, you think that it's simply because he's an evil character and he wants power for the sake of having it. Then later, he wishes to take over the power of the ascendant but mostly only to spite Cazador and take something important from him, not fully realising the true power of the rite.

As he slowly starts opening up to you, he tells you "the mind flayers tore me from that place" and you realise that its the tadpole that let's him walk in the sun, do things a vampire or spawn would never be able to, you learn that he hates being a vampire because he can't even remember what he looks like. He seeks power outside because he has had no power over himself for about two centuries, he thinks that having this power will fulfill his needs but it won't, we know it won't because in truth he only needs to reclaim his autonomy, physical and mental. Of course Astarion would never truly admit to this for a long while, even when he's romanced. I personally really love his good romance arc where he doesn't have sex with you, not because he dislikes you or doesn't want you but because, as he says "any kind of intimacy was something I performed to lure people back for him. While I know things between us are different... being with someone still feels tainted. It brings up all those feelings of disgust and loathing." He has spent 200 years or so bowing to Cazador's whims, done things to people he didn't want to do and I assume since it's heavily hinted at, were very sexual in nature. In a relationship, he simply wants to be seen as a person and I think that's really sad because that's how low the bar is for him.

In the ending of his quest, you can persuade him and tell him that going forth with the ritual won't set him free even if he thinks it will and I agree. If he's a slave to Cazador now, later he'd be a slave to power and greed. Just look at Cazador, despite being one of the most powerful beings in existence, he still wanted more power. That kind of greed and hunger never ends and Astarion would lose himself and who he has become while he was with us. Yes, it makes him walk in the sun again and do things a regular vampire can't but at what cost? 7,000 lives and his humanity. He would never be able to enjoy this "freedom" because he'll only strive to seek more power. In his ascendant ending, he becomes everything he's ever hated about Cazador, the cycle repeats itself, from Vellioth to Cazador and from Cazador to Astarion. And it will never end. Astarion even refuses to turn you into a vampire and wishes to keep you only as a spawn. With an insight check, you can learn that he thinks you're degrading yourself and he doesn't care. He now sees you as something to own, something to possess, not love. All his good qualities, wants and needs get twisted. Astarion truly only needs to feel like a person again but he doesn't fully realise this until you show it to him, through good deeds and actions, through simple acts of kindness. As he says in his "good" ending "I've been dead in the ground enough. It's time to try living again. With all that life has to offer."

Safety: Astarion wants to feel safe. He is so scared of being found by Cazador, he knows he's looking for him and the only thing giving him some form of safety from Cazador is the tadpole so of course he wants to harness its powers that is until he finds out it'll turn him into another kind of monster, a mind flayer. He doesn't wish to lose himself and his freedom again hence is vehemently against taking on the tadpole's powers but he doesn't stop you because that is of course, your decision to make. He says "if such power would please you, darling, I won't stop you. But do be careful, I want you to remain you." Now the only thing left that can properly give him his freedom is Cazador's death and he wants to kill him himself which I think is perfectly acceptable, Cazador deserves to die and if it is by Astarion's hands, all the better. But, in his romance, he makes it clear that he's doing it for safety, and he tells himself that he wants to take the power of the rite for safety as well because in truth, he is terrified of being powerless again. He does want revenge yes, but he also wants to keep you and himself safe from Cazador, even in the dungeon, if you run an insight check, the narrator tells you that he is losing his mind because of the power that's on offer and the smell of blood in the air. It's almost as if to say "he's losing his mind, please stop him before he forgets who he is." Astarion NEEDS your guidance*, eventually he even thanks you for 'saving him from himself.' In his good ending, he sees that in taking the power, he would be no better than Cazador and would become everything he's ever hated about him, and inflict on others what his former master inflicted on him, starting with you. His ascendant ending is honestly a very sad ending for his character, all that growth, change and development you bring to him throughout your journey just gone down the drain as he becomes an unfeeling, evil, narcissistic arsehole who only craves for more power. In his good ending, he will be safe, with you and with the friends he has made along the way. He is proud of himself and so is everyone else, it offers him a kind of friendship that's afforded to very few in the D&D world, especially a vampire/spawn whose very existence is hated. It is a bond based on trust, loyalty and to a degree, even love instead of fear like in the ascendant ending.

Abandonment and Fear: Astarion is driven by fear but he also knows facing Cazador is inevitable and something he needs to face rather than avoid. Even if he isn't outright seeking it (but he does seek it) I think he is braver than he likes to think and he definitely has some anti-hero traits. He likes the tadpole because it helped him get away from Cazador's authority and he enjoys bending others to his will since it makes him feel more powerful compared to how he's felt the past two centuries. But if you choose to not do the same, he doesn't really care. He doesn't except it of you nor is he disappointed (since he neither approves or disapproves. He only disapproves helping people who didn't ask or didn't want to be helped) he only gives a snarky comment or two about what he would've done instead and follows you anyway. He realises you're a good person. If you indulge too much however, I would argue that he agrees simply because he doesn't want you to turn against him. Perhaps he believes that you can turn on him and kill him as easily as you killed the tieflings or other innocents. He probably thinks it's easier to turn a good person evil than an evil person, good (tbh he wouldn't be entirely wrong.) And making bad choices does negatively affect his character of course but I just thought I'd put that out there as I think it's very likely for him to do so. He is definitely extremely paranoid, he hardly ever says how he truly feels out loud but when you break up with him (it's so heartbreaking omg) he says "I was beginning to think someone truly wanted me. I shouldn't have deluded myself." and "From the start, I was rather counting the hours until it was going to end. Midnight chimes, eh?" As heartbreaking as it is, the latter line shows how terrified he was of being abandoned or only be used for his body, he kept obessesively worrying that Tav would leave him after he bore his heart out to them. There's another bit of dialogue in Act 1 where he is trying his lines with you to get you to sleep with him a second time and you can say no which he is fine with but if you outright reject him there, meaning "I never want to see you like that again" he gets extremely sad: "Well, excuse me while I die of a broken heart. [slight chuckle] In all honesty, it's a shame. That time was special to me. I've gotten on my back 10,000 times or more and forgotten half of them. But you, I'll remember. [long pause] Have a fine evening... dear." Mind you, this is after you've only slept with him once. His dialogue makes it seem like he was already catching feelings for you, and not realising that himself until this happens. Seeing this made me realise that you're the first person he's slept with of his own volition, even if it was to seduce you. For the longest time, I think Astarion doesn't even want to believe you'll like him as something more than someone to sleep with, he hopes you might as his rejection line says so but astarion is nothing if not careful and well, paranoid.

That's why he's so shocked when you choose to not let him bite Araj at Moonrise even if it gave you something powerful in return. He sees that you chose his comfort over a genuinely useful commodity. Biting people or using his vampire, well, anything makes him extremely uncomfortable since it reminds him of things he needed to do for Cazador. If he bites her, it makes him feel like being a slave again, but bending to your will and wishes instead of his former master's. He realises he doesn't know how to say no. Which is another thing he says if you wish to pursue only a sexual relationship with him. He feels played.

Freedom: this is probably the main theme to his character arc. He wants to be free, not only from his master but also free to make right decisions and make decisions for himself, something he hasn't been able to do for years. This is why respecting his decision to not sleep with you is important to him, he doesn't feel comfortable being physically close to someone in a sexual way as it makes him doubt the person's true intentions and feelings and of course, makes him feel loathsome and disgusted with himself. He needs that time where you just connect as people to really see that you are in fact genuine and he wouldn't be hurt if he trusted you or gave you his heart. Towards the end of the game, he is still quite ruthless, but mostly only towards people who do wrong and are criminals. Astarion has a very strong set of ideals, he believes that people who do wrong deserve to die no matter the crime. I don't think this is entirely true, every crime deserves a different punishment but most criminals, those who do severe wrong and still get away with it, do deserve to die but this is just my opinion of course. He is ruthless towards bad people because that's how people have been to him, at least Cazador and I wouldn't be surprised if he was treated badly during his sexual encounters with strangers while working for him.

Why I think the Ascendant ending is a tragic ending for Astarion's character and for you.

I won't lie, there are some aspects of ascended Astarion that are pretty hot and I'm a sucker for (pun absolutely intended) powerful, gothic vampires but this ending comes at the cost of way too much. One simply being: Astarion isn't Astarion anymore. All his snarkiness, playful nature and strange innocence is gone. In his ascendant ending, that is, when he takes the power of the Rite of Ascension for himself by carving the same rune on Cazador's back that's on his own, Astarion loses himself. In D&D lore, full vampires are unfeeling, ruthless and have all their good traits twisted into something more malignant and evil. If Astarion loved you, that love turns into possession, if he cared for you, it turns into obsession. He doesn't truly care anymore... as a vampire, he is manipulating you and telling you things you want to hear instead of what he's actually feeling. He never truly got that moment of catharsis by killing Cazador as he does in his spawn ending. That simple bliss of killing the man that enslaved him and worse all these years; he never gets to experience that because he ends up using Cazador for the same power Cazador killed Vellioth for in the past, albeit worse. It's a never-ending cycle. And if he turns you into his spawn, you will go through the same fate Astarion went through and probably turn on him the same way he turned on Cazador. He has absolutely no sympathy for you or for anyone that is not him, in fact he feels almost disgusted by you because he thinks you're degrading yourself in front of him. There is a conversation between him and if you refuse to become his spawn, and I think it sums up his character perfectly as a vampire, it goes like this:

(choosing different options will have different dialogues but they more or less lead to him saying the same thing.)

ASTARION: Just so you know, I have everything I've ever wanted. Everything lies ahead. I can see my path to a waking dream. From the Crimson Palace, I will govern day and night. Create a city of spawn who bow before me, cast a fog over the world for my children.

TAV: But the Palace halls will be lonely.

ASTARION: You'll be lonelier than I. Very soon I will discover how to call my legions of wolves, become a sea of mist, run wrongside-up on roofs. [laughs] Everything vampires do best.

You could have, too. [sniggers] What a waste.

TAV: You don't really have anything at all.

ASTARION: I can take anything I want. I should've made you a spawn just to teach you that.

And there we have it, that last bit of dialogue shows how Astarion is now everything he hated about his own master. He is Cazador's literal and spiritual successor, he thinks you need to be punished for rejecting him. He doesn't feel for you anymore, at least not in a human way. He has become someone else entirely, for the worst. His drive for taking the power of the rite was to be able to walk in the sun again but as a full vampire, he wants to "dominate it (the world) until the sun melts and give ourselves over to the night."

Astarion NEEDS change, he needs to see that the world can be a kinder place than the one he's lived in this whole time. Just a bit of care and love with him goes a long way. In his spawn ending, he comes to realise that you gave him his life back even if it was as a spawn because that is true freedom. He is free from his master, and greed & power which was in the disguise of safety. He may never be able to walk in the sun, but he is free to make his own decisions that are driven by his choices. One of them being; wanting and loving you, living a full life with you, whatever that may entail.

If you went into the game thinking that Astarion will betray you no matter what then giving him the ascendant ending brings your fears to life. Astarion doesn't learn anything, by making him a full vampire, you basically tell him that he can only be powerful and worth something if he has super vampire powers, and in turn, you lose everything too. Astarion may have gained unparralled strength but now he has no need of you, you gave him everything he wanted and nothing he needed so now he can do whatever he wants with you because you are lesser than him, literally, he is much stronger than you are and his power will only grow as he discovers more of it. He tries to manipulate you into turning you into a spawn. A dialogue being:

TAV: After everything you went through with Cazador, you're going to make me a spawn?

ASTARION: Oh that was completely different, I'd never hurt you. I love you. That's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it? That's what you want?

Which just shows you how he's only saying "I love you" because that's what you want to hear, so you agree to becoming his spawn. He doesn't mean it, it doesn't really have any feeling behind it whatsoever. And if he turns you into a spawn, you have basically lost everything. Because he is obsessive over you, he'll never let you go and since now he is properly evil, he likely won't turn you into a vampire either, even if he says he will.

This is just my take on the ending though, I think we can all agree the ascendant ending is the evil ending for his character, even if it is an ending you prefer. I'm not trying to hate on anyone who does like this ending, only stating that I think it is meant to be evil and I personally don't like it.

CONCLUSION

Once you get to truly know Astarion, he's a pretty decent guy. I can't speak much for people who didn't romance him, I'm not entirely sure how his non-romance route plays out. The good conclusion of his quest is so wholesome, where he says he feels "truly, honestly free" and tells you "you saved me from myself. This is a gift, you know, thank you. I won't forget it." getting full circle to the first time you let him bite you (the only time in my case.) It shows so much character development and pure joy in the way he thanks you (it doesn't need to be said but props to Neil Newbon for bringing the character to life.) He will always be a spawn and yet, he feels like "anything and everything is possible" because of you and the choices you made with him, you believed in him when he didn't believe in himself, you showed him that he is enough just the way he is and he doesn't need to become a full vampire to be strong and powerful. Astarion comes out of his finale, a much more positive person, who actually cares even if he won't show it and the best part is, he always keeps that tiny streak of evil and mischief within him. He hasn't lost sight of himself, he's just less spiteful now and feels free to actually enjoy life rather than constantly being scared of what might happen to him. He finds trust and happiness in you and it makes him happy that you find the same within him. You are his home and he hopes he is yours.

I understand that my analysis may not be perfect and my interpretation of the character may be different from someone else's but that's fine, he is a video game character that can be played so many ways and people can go around it however they like, interpret his character however they wish. This is just what I think.

NOTES

'Astarion needs your guidance.' - no, this is not gaslight-y. Astarion is a deeply troubled character and clearly finds it hard to differentiate between right and wrong. He often asks for your input and what you think by Act 2 which isn't a bad thing, he's asking for help and I think that shows how far he's come. In the final scene of his quest, he is overcome by the promise of power and the safety it would've provided which would've consumed him as it did Cazador, Astarion admits to this himself too later on once he can think clearly and is in a more positive mindset. There is nothing wrong with guiding your partner towards something that will eventually be better for their growth as a person in the long run.

#astarion analysis #forgotten realms #astarion and tav #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion baldur's gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x mc #tav x astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion #astarion baldur's gate

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xxsabitoxx · 10 months

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Keeping Secrets (Giyu Imagine)

A/N: I feel like I've seen a few imagines/headcanons where Giyu has a wife and baby and keeps it a secret from the other Hashira. Not intentionally, but like Giyu being Giyu sees no need to tell them about it cause these meetings are strictly business. This whole scenario was super cute to me so I've been drafting a full-on HC post for a while now with all the hashira. However, my main writing focus has been on Roommates so I haven't gotten a chance to work on it. Before I absolutely lose my mind...

You and Giyu met shortly after surviving the Final Selection. He's extremely heartbroken during this time in his life because he is trying to cope with the death of Sabito. You meet him one day during a mission and go out of your way to talk to him. You've always been good with reading people and their emotions so you can practically feel the weight of his grief just by being in his presence.

Giyu is reluctant, letting you talk to him a bit but not really saying much in return. It takes time, but slowly Giyu warms up to you and one night after finishing a mission Giyu opens up to you. Your seemingly one-sided friendship quickly blossoms into mutual feelings. Giyu hesitantly welcomes you into your heart, trying to ignore the fears of losing you the way he lost his loved ones.

Fast forward to the time when Giyu becomes a Hashira. This is a transitional period of his life, so many things are changing at once and the weight of getting older brings along new titles and new responsibilities. You two are stuck together like glue, regardless of your different titles, Kagaya sees the potential and continues to let you partner up with Giyu during missions. It's during this time that Giyu starts to realize he cares about you more than a friend. He's never really experienced these kinds of emotions before so he's not entirely sure how he is supposed to go about it.

Lucky for him, you're still good at reading emotions. It doesn't take long for you to catch on and take the initiative. Thanks to your openness and determination, within a few months of his Hashira promotion, Giyu begins to court you. It takes another year of proper dating, but Giyu ends up asking you for your hand in marriage shortly after your 18th birthday. You, of course, accept.

The two of you marry a few months later. A small ceremony with Kagaya, Amane, and their children. Urokodaki is there and a few important people from your life are there as well. It's quiet and private and no other corps members catch wind of the fact that the rather 'infamous' water pillar has taken a bride.

Within a few months of your marriage, you and Giyu stumble across the Kamado siblings. After a bizarre battle with both siblings knocked out, you and Giyu discuss ways to keep them safe, coming to the mutual agreement that Urokodaki would be able to help. It is a few months later that you end up getting pregnant, right before your promotion to Hashira. This causes you to cease corps activity almost immediately. You even like to joke that Giyu planned this, he had been hinting at you retiring from the corps since you got engaged.

You end up giving birth shortly after Giyu's twentieth birthday and a year later you're itching to get back to your duties. You have a beautiful baby, one who is still getting the hang of walking and learning to say more than just a babble of "dada". A baby that is the exact replica of their father, the only thing they got from you is your eye color. I mean really, you carried them for 9 months and they have the audacity to come out looking like their dad.

Much to Giyu's dislike, Kagaya awards you with the title of Hashira within a few weeks of your return. You had practically jumped back into training within two months of birthing your child, nearly giving Giyu a heart attack day in and day out. Now comes the day of your first Hashira meeting. To make things a little less obvious, Giyu left for the meeting before you. He had taken only a few months off to help you after your baby was born, but the other hashira had been told he was sent away for a mission that would take quite some time. Kagaya was willing to help keep your marriage and family a secret until you both felt ready to share.

You're getting antsy, the kakushi that you had requested to watch your child while you both attended the meeting was running late. So late that if you didn't leave right then, you'd arrive at the meeting after it started. The last thing you wanted was to make a bad impression on the other hashira. So, one hasty note later, you were hauling your baby into your arms and heading out for the meeting. You weren't quite sure how you would go about explaining this, never mind to the other hashira, but to your husband. "Dada is going to faint." You spoke to your baby, a bit of your nerves settling as they looked up at you with a gummy grin. Only a few teeth were beginning to poke up from their gums... which had been giving you and Giyu one hell of a time. Teething was certainly not your friend.

By the time you made it to the Butterfly Estate, you were settling your baby on your hip and trying to focus on your breathing. "You'll be good for Mama right?" You whispered to them, smiling as they just giggled in response. You adjusted your posture, taking one last deep breath before entering the gardens. You heard them before you saw them, the intimidating aura of the Hashira was certainly no joke.

Giyu's eyes landed on you first, his expression turning to one of mild shock when he realized your baby was in your arms. For a moment he was convinced you had lost your mind, but he couldn't dwell on that for long. "My, are you lost perhaps?" Shinobu walked past him, the chatter around him had quickly died. "No, that can't be the case, you're in a corps uniform." The last bit seemed to be more to herself than to you. "I-no I'm here for the meeting with Oyakata-sama. I'm the new pillar y/n." You nearly said your last name, which was Tomioka. Granted the baby in your arms looked just like him, you figured it wouldn't take long until they pieced things together.

"You're the new pillar and you have a child?" You glanced upwards, the serpent hashira was staring down at you from a tree branch, eyes narrowed. All eyes were on you and your baby, you had glanced at Giyu only once so far. "That would be correct. The kakushi who has been kind enough to aid me and my husband with our baby was running late and I didn't want to arrive after the meeting started." You glanced at everyone else, noticing that all but one pillar was looking at you. Shinobu was standing in front of you, her eyes trained on your baby rather than you. "Say..." her brows were furrowed as if trying to understand why the child in your arms looked so familiar.

"Yes?" you had a funny feeling she had already figured everything out. But, before she could speak, a bubbly pink-haired woman was bounding towards you. "OH! THEY ARE SO CUTE! IT'S SO NICE TO MEET YOU!" She smiled brightly at you, squealing as your baby began to smile and giggle at her. Mitsuri Kanroji had saved your ass for the time being. "Oi..." This time it was a male voice, one that effectively quieted the space. You recognized him as Sanemi, the wind pillar. "That kid looks exactly like Tomioka's lame ass." Your eyes nearly bulged out of their head, though you knew it was coming, you just hadn't expected it to be from him.

You swallowed, watching as the other pillars looked between you, your baby, and then over at Giyu. You shifted nervously, waiting for the dam to break and the realization to come out. “Say, Shinazugawa isn’t wrong…” one of the taller men spoke, if you remembered correctly, his name was Tengen. Giyu talked about him from time to time cause the man was a shinobi with three wives. “Do you have something to confess Tomioka?” Shinobu was looking right at you as she spoke, because of your nerves you actually responded. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” Her brows raised at that, which caused you to realize your fatal mistake, the nail in the coffin if you would. “Oh? I was referring to Tomioka Giyu… however it seems you’ve confirmed my suspicions… Tomioka y/n.”

Just thinkin lol

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer headcanons #hashira #demon slayer fluff #kimetsu no yaiba imagines

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cinnamostar · 5 months

Text

02: home

part one.

pairing : minho x gn!reader

summary : “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

wc : 7.3k

cw : childhood friends, arguing, angst, sadness, mentions of bullying + racism/xenophobia, best friends to lovers, fluff, sappiness, its so doooomed

a/n : pls read part one before this! i was in so much pain as i wrote this, so im sorry in advance, my dear reader. please let me know what you think! likes and reblogs appreciated

tags: @im-on-a-hellavator , @httpswilloww @atinyniki (its not letting me tag so i hope this works ;w;)

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Maybe that was a little too harsh, Minho thought to himself as he remembered your glassy eyes and the guilt that painted your face a depressing blue, the bashful glowing smile of yours he adored nowhere to be found. Oh, how his heart soared to the heavens when he saw you back at the pond you both once called home years later, the same vibrance you carried as a child seemed to have never left you even after so many years. How he missed seeing you smile so timidly, yet lovingly, at the tadpoles who swam underneath the pond's surface, how he missed seeing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked as the wind bellowed through your locks, and how he missed you.

It didn’t matter how many times the earth had rotated around the sun, it didn’t matter how long it had been, his heart could never let you go.

The instant he saw someone standing at the pond, his body and soul knew it was you, there was no way he’d ever mistake that nostalgic, comforting presence of yours as anyone else’s. The way the soft rays of the sun highlighted your features nearly made his heart skip out his chest, as if he just saw an angel standing before him; the cherub he once knew as a child had grown up.

How he hoped you’d finally come back home to him, how he desperately wished for years to relive the sweetest moments of his childhood, how he wished you were there for each and every milestone in life, and how he wished you two could finally make up for lost time. And while his heart yearned for you, the abandonment he felt in his childhood festered inside him, as if he had taken a swig of poison that sought to destroy the love and adoration he had for you in a bitter, resentful, rage. He couldn’t help it, the pain and misery he felt growing up had never truly left and your presence reawakened those wounds he never learned to heal. His heart stretched painfully in this twisted game of tug-of-war, unsure on whether he should feel thankful for your return or relent to the enmity that had rotted within him for god knows how long.

Yet, it was so easy to submit to the indignation he was feeling as it overpowered any sense of gratefulness, choosing to ignore the miracle of you being back as his mouth soured over the taste of resentment.

Had his prayers finally been answered? Has he finally wished you back into his life? I’m an idiot, he cringed as he began to regret his behavior. Maybe his anger wasn’t justified, maybe he should’ve met you with more grace. After all, you weren’t wrong, you were just a kid who knew no better. It wasn’t fair to him, but neither was his treatment to you after the fact. Ah. The guilt you must’ve felt over the years could not have been easy to manage on top of the stress of living in an entirely foreign country, as your tearful eyes showed him how much you had been agonizing over this. For so long, he had convinced himself you had forgotten him entirely, no longer cared for him as he mourned over you as if you had died, yet the years of the youth you both shared came rushing in like a tsunami the minute you both made eye contact. The overwhelming emotions of nostalgia and regret was a feeling only you two could ever understand, and my, was it complicated to choose how to feel with thousands of nameless emotions competing with one another.

The love Minho had for you never left, almost as if it laid dormant for years as it hoped for the day you two would meet again, the familiar butterflies of his childhood crush blossoming once again at the sight of you. Somehow, everything and nothing about you changed, it was something Minho didn’t have words to explain or couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. You were the Y/N he knew and doted on as a child, but you had grown into an astonishingly beautiful adult version of yourself and he found himself falling in love the instant his soul recognized you.

For so many years, Minho had tried his best to erase any memory of you, but his heart couldn’t deny the love it had for you and no matter how hard he tried, it was always you. Through the trials and tribulations of life, you were his safe haven, the very thought of you bringing a sense of peace and tranquility no other could, and during the lowest points of his life, his body always instinctually took him to the same pond as a refuge. He coveted you and your presence, yet the pond was the closest he could get to you and the feelings he had longed for.

Just maybe Minho was being unfair to you, he thought. After all, you both were just kids.

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Since your run in with Minho, you had been suffering with an overwhelming amount of guilt, carrying the weight of shame on your shoulders as you came face to face with him for the first time in years. Having to finally confront the pained and saddened expression he wore was something you could have never prepared for, and the very memory of it was enough to make you break down in tears.

You knew what you had done to Minho was extremely hurtful, and you couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, no matter how hard you try. But knowing and witnessing it were two completely different things, and after seeing Minho’s watery eyes, you weren’t sure if you could ever forgive yourself. He was right, though. Maybe you shouldn’t have come back, maybe coming back was only reopening old wounds you both didn’t need to be dealing with all because of your selfish need to reconnect with your culture.

Though, after spending most of your life overseas, you were starting to feel like you didn’t belong in your home country anymore. You had lost touch with cultural traditions, basic etiquette, and even struggled to speak your native tongue as well. You still spoke like the eight year old that had moved away long ago, and it was becoming increasingly embarrassing as you compared yourself to everyone around you. You stuck out like a sore thumb and for the first time in your life, you began to realize you didn’t fit in anywhere. Not here, not in the states. You were too much of your ethnicity to be considered a proper American, and you were too American to be considered a true citizen of your country, despite spending the first eight years of your life here. Coming back home didn’t reaffirm your identity, but only left you more confused and questioning who you even were.

Minho was right, this was a mistake.

You so desperately craved a sense of belonging, and you became certain you weren't finding it here anymore, but you had to make it through the rest of your trip at the very least. You were just going to try to continue business as usual though, hoping you would not run into Minho again and would simply forgo the pond entirely. It should be simple enough, you thought. No one needed to know about your accidental meeting with Minho and you were sure he’d avoid you like the plague. It should be fine.

Well, that quickly changed as soon as your mom told you Minho’s mother invited your family to dinner at their house. The color from your face immediately drained as a cold sweat formed all over your body, your mother seemingly ecstatic at the news, “Oh, it will be just like old times! And you can finally see Minho after so long, isn’t that great, sweetheart?” she beamed, your father also nodding alongside her.

You cleared your throat as you forced a fake smile, “Yeah, that does sound great, mom. When are we going over?”

“Tonight! So make sure to be ready to walk over by seven, okay?”

Tonight? Oh, god, no, that was far too soon when you had just barely recovered from seeing Minho yesterday, and now tonight? Breathe, Y/N. Just one night, then you’ll never see him again, you ressaured yourself, trying to find a way to make this news manageable. You honestly should have seen this coming, your mom was also best friends with Minho’s mom, but for some reason that detail had escaped you.

Just one evening, just one dinner, then it would be all over, right?

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Dinner was going as well as it could have. Minho’s mother spent a great deal of effort preparing a feast for your family and she showered you with compliments as soon as you walked through the door, commenting how you had grown into such a lovely young adult.

Minho and you only exchanged an awkward hello, which didn’t raise any alarms in either of your parents as they somewhat expected this, especially considering how your friendship ended as children. Nonetheless, it did not stop the onslaught of questions each set of parents asked in attempts to catch up, nor did it stop them trying to force a conversation between you two.

“So, Y/N, how was university in the states? Did you like it there?” curiously inquired Minho’s father.

“Oh, it was great! Definitely got to meet some life long friends there and had lots of fun,” you politely responded, “I didn’t exactly live the typical all-american college experience, but it was still nice. Excited to start my new job once I get back though! I got a really good offer and the position I wanted.”

Minho’s mother gasped as she congratulated you, “That’s amazing! I remember your mother telling me how stressed you were about those interviews, but I’m glad you got it,” she then turned her head to Minho while giving him a slight nudge, “Minho also graduated, he got a job offer as well. Tell them about it, Minho.”

Minho awkwardly cleared his throat, “Uhm, yeah, I just got an offer with a bank here as an analyst, but I’m waiting to hear back from another company before negotiating.”

You nodded as he spoke, looking anywhere, but him as your parents also commended him, you weakly congratulating him as well. Wow, this felt painfully awkward, but somehow neither of your parents seemed to care too much about the tension between you two.

“How about a special someone, Y/N?” Minho’s dad asked, the question catching you by surprise. Your eyes landed on the boy who sat across from you, who looked just as surprised, but fully interested in your response.

“Ah, no, not right now… Kinda focused on myself for now,” you respond, a stiff smile on your face, feeling nervous under the sudden intensity of Minho’s gaze.

Your mother let out a chortle, finding your embarrassment endearing, “What about you, Minho? Any girlfriends?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows as everyone else joined in laughing.

“Minho does have a girlfriend! It’s such a shame she couldn’t make it tonight, she was a lovely girl,” his mom piped, “Reminded me a bit of you, Y/N, if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t know why, but something inside you sank, an indescribable wave of disappointment washed over you at the words girlfriend. Of course he had one, he’s, well, an attractive, smart, man. Of course, but why were you so bothered by it? You haven’t spoken to him in years, you virtually had no relationship with him and only had remnants of the past to hold onto, yet your stomach began to twist and turn inside you, almost as if you were jealous? Ah, no, this is weird, this isn’t right. Maybe the food just isn’t sitting with you well, maybe you caught a stomach bug that just so happened to show its symptoms just in this moment.

The boy coughed, “We, uh… We broke up, that’s why she isn’t coming.”

Everyone stood in silence, not expecting that kind of news over dinner, both sets of parents shooting him an apologetic look, but for some reason, you felt relieved to hear that. The pit that was forming in your stomach suddenly vanished, as if Minho’s words just cured you of your ailment.

“What, you never told us!” Minho’s mother exclaimed.

“It was a few weeks ago, it happens. I’m fine, really.”

Maybe that explains the tired look in Minho’s eyes when you first saw him yesterday, maybe that explains the somber look he carried that day, and perhaps he went to the pond for a moment of peace, just as you did, except your very presence ruined it. There returned the familiar hand of guilt that rested its heavy hand on your shoulders, never giving you the chance to take a deep breath.

Beside that, dinner did move on relatively well as everyone took turns to catch up or reminisce on the olden days, all while gossiping about who was up to what. As dinner came to a close, both sets of parents decided it was best for you two to be left with washing the dishes alone in the house, as they moved to the patio area to chat amongst themselves.

Minho and you silently stood next to each other as he washed the dishes, handing them to you for them to dry with a rag, much as you two did while growing up. Although you two were much older, there was a comforting air that hung around you two that allowed you to relax the tension your body had been carrying over the dinner, humming a quiet tune as you dried each plate.

“You still hum while doing the dishes?” Minho asked, a small amused smile taking over his features.

You froze in place, not expecting him to willingly speak to you, much less take the time to ask you a question. “I guess I still do,” you replied lightly, afraid that the mere sound of your voice would somehow upset him.

A quiet lull returned after your response, neither of you knowing what to do or even say around another as guilt nibbled away at each of you, but for your own different reasons.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry”

You both turned to each other, eyes widened in surprise as you both rushed mumbled apologies to each other at the same exact time. Neither of you knew what to do in this unexpected situation, awkwardness filling both your eyes as you both struggled to stammer out a response.

“I… I’m sorry for never telling you I was leaving, I should’ve known bet-”

“No, no, we were both kids. Neither of us knew better. I’m sorry for being so… rude. I don’t know what got into me. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered anxiously, continuing to dry the glass cup in your hand, “It’s a lot to handle all at once. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“It really isn’t okay. We were both hurting in our own ways, I think we both did the best we could at the time,” he smiled reassuringly at you, the same one he had flashed you the first day he dragged you out to the forest to find the pond, a smile you had come to miss.

“Oh, and sorry about… your ex? Break ups suck…”

“It’s fine, I actually am glad we broke up… she was, well… it wasn’t great for either of us,” he mumbled, not willing to divulge any further, “Break ups suck? Sounds like you’ve had your fair share.”

You laugh lightly, “Unfortunately. Mine weren’t as peaceful as yours. You sound a lot happier than I was.”

“Well, you’ve always been a crybaby. Guess not much has changed about you, huh?” he mused, a teasing smirk forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes as you snorted, playfully nudging him with your hip, “Shut up. You’re still as annoying as I remember too.”

“I bet you missed it.”

“I did. A lot. Moving sucked.”

He handed you the last of the dishes to dry, deep in thought as he leaned his back against the kitchen counter, “Was it hard?”

You sighed as you put the last dish away, turning to him as you swallowed thickly, “I think I cried nearly every day for two years straight,” your gaze was stuck looking down at the floor as you fiddled with your fingers, “It was really hard. I didn’t have friends for a long time. No one understood me when I tried speaking English, and I didn’t understand the other kids a lot of the time, but I always knew they were laughing at me.”

Minho’s heart ached hearing how your voice slightly quivered as you recalled the memory, he could tell it was your first time ever saying any of it out loud. There was an icy sadness surrounding you as you spoke, yet no tears were to be found. Maybe you were good at hiding them, or maybe you had grown too tired to cry for your younger self at this point, but it didn’t take away from the scars the loneliness had left on your heart. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been there for you.”

You shook your head, an exasperated laugh left you as a resigned smile took over your face, “It’s okay, it was years ago. I’ve learned to deal with it. Besides, I did end up making friends and I ended up learning how to speak English.”

Minho was amazed at your ability to force a cheerful expression while discussing something so traumatic, something he would have never expected you to be able to do. He couldn’t help but wonder what you had endured all these years on your own, wondering where the sensitive and delicate version of you he had once knew had gone, feeling angry that you had been hurt so much that your tenderness was forced to become a callous exterior.

The child he had once known was so fragile, he had to wear gloves when handling your porcelain heart, nervous his very own touch or breath could crack it if he wasn’t careful. Minho hated seeing you cry. He would defend you, fighting tooth and nail, like his life depended on it if anyone ever upset you, even going as far as angrily huffing and puffing at your parents if they ever raised their voice at you. And every time, he would comfort you right after in a gentle embrace until you calmed down, making sure to glare at anyone who tried to disturb your peace. How much did your little heart break over the years? Who was there to pick up the pieces and comfort you through those moments? Had you really dealt with it all by yourself? The thought alone made Minho’s heart writhe in despair, aching as he mourned this realization.

You reached out to grab Minho’s arm as you saw the downcast expression on his face, “Hey, it’s not your fault. I learned how to defend myself and I think I turned out pretty okay at the end of it,” you reassured before laughing, “Unless you think I’m lame now.”

Your laugh was enough to bring Minho out his incessant thoughts, a mischievous grin returning, “I never thought you were cool in the first place.”

“Minho!”

“Kidding, kidding. I’m just glad to have you back. I missed you lots.”

“I missed you too.”

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Over the past few days, you and Minho had become inseparable, spending nearly every minute of the day with one another, much like how you two did when you were children. For the first time in years, you finally felt that you belonged somewhere, no longer feeling out of place like you have since the day you moved away. It didn’t matter where you were, but as long as Minho was there, you felt like you were at home. He knew this too, he noticed the change from the first day he found you at the pond again to now. You were much more relaxed, as if all the worries in the world disappeared while you both were together, giggling over whatever stupid joke was made. You weren’t on edge as you were before, and the walls you had surrounded your heart with slowly crumbled away through his affections.

And even though over a decade has since passed since you two last spoke, it was as if time had paused since the moment you left, and only resumed from the day you both made up. Nothing has changed, except everything about the two of you changed. Your childhood friendship continued like it was nothing, playing like a song that had been paused, waiting to sing its tune, except you two were much older, more matured, and had experienced so much of life. Whatever you each went through shaped you into the adults you were today, yet the kids you each knew hid behind locked doors that only the two of you had accessed.

Yet, there was a more complicated matter that you had to address before it snowballed out of control. Your feelings. Love was never a word you and Minho shied away from, as you often told each other ‘I love you’ while growing up, it seemed natural during that time of childlike innocence. You knew you loved Minho, and you knew he loved you, but saying it as adults had an entirely implication and your feelings were indicating something much deeper than platonic love.

It was no secret that your childhood best friend had grown into a rather handsome man, and the childhood crush you once had on him was flourishing into something greater than just a crush. The smallest of gestures would send a frenzy of butterflies and warmth rushing throughout your veins, hoping to god Minho had not noticed just how much of an effect he was having on you.

If you two were walking through a crowded area, he’d grab your hand without hesitation as he led you through the swarms of people. If you had food stuck on the corner of your lips, he’d grab a napkin and wipe it off. If you saw a small trinket at the shopping mall you wanted, the very next day he’d come back with the item in hand, saying he bought it so you could remember to text or call him when you went back to the states. It was moments like those that felt so incredibly intimate to you, but part of you wasn’t sure if it could all be explained away by how comfortable you two were with one another.

And here you were again, sitting on the couch of Minho’s living room after he had begged you to watch a new scary movie with him, insisting this was to make up for the pre-teen years you both missed out on and that he would’ve forced you to watch one then. You tried to protest, saying that you guys weren’t kids anymore and there was no need for these ‘tests of bravery,’ yet you couldn’t resist the way he would pout and whine, begging you to do so for him just like he would as a child.

You were barely watching the movie, just peeking out from behind a blanket as Minho’s secure arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head laying on his chest as you cowered in fear over the pure suspense of the movie. Each time you’d flinch, you could feel a soft rumble come from Minho’s chest, doing his best to stifle a laugh and hide the fact that he was enjoying every moment of this.

“I fucking hate you,” you scowled, still recovering from the last jumpscare.

Minho giggled at your face, finding your attempt to look upset absolutely adorable, “No, you don’t,” reaching his other arm over you as he squeezed you into an affectionate embrace, “It’s not my fault you’re still a giant baby after all these years.”

You grumbled while doing your best to shove Minho off you, but there was no way you’d be able to overpower him. You’ve hugged Minho so many times throughout your life, but this time, it sent your heart racing so loud that you could hear it drumming in your own ears, silently praying that he couldn’t hear it too. Something about this hug felt different, especially when he kept you close in his arms, refusing to let you go as he snuggled into you. This trip was going to be the death of you.

Without fail, every time you jolted in your seat, Minho was quick to chuckle at each of your reactions and tighten his grip on you gently, not skipping a beat to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead while whispering to you that it was just a movie. If you were two kids, this would be something normal and innocent, but right now, it left you feeling like a flustered mess who was melting under the heat of his affection.

You were slowly feeling yourself short-circuit, your body starting to sweat from the heat of embarrassment that was washing over you. Surely, Minho would feel the amount of warmth emanating from you at this point, yet he seemed completely unbothered as his eyes were trained on the movie ahead of you. You were relieved that he seemed aloof to the distress you were experiencing, but also mildly insecure that he seemed so… relaxed despite the proximity you two shared. Maybe he had only seen this under the same childhood innocence and nothing more, maybe it was only you making a big fuss over this.

It was becoming too much for you to bear as you started to shift uncomfortably, slowly getting up while excusing yourself to the bathroom. Minho’s eyebrows furrowed with concern, “Are you okay?”

You nodded your head hastily as you made your way to the bathroom, “Uhm, yeah! Just not feeling well suddenly, not sure why. Just gonna splash some water on my face.”

He didn’t seem too convinced, he could sense there was something more to it, but decided to let it go. You raced to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you to finally catch a breath, shaking your hands as if you were trying to remove all the nervous energy out of you. Your face was hot to the touch, thankful for the cold water from the faucet as you splashed it onto your warm cheeks. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough for Minho to come knocking at the door, “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You swung the door instantly, startling Minho as he backed up from the door, his eyebrows raised at your change in behavior, “What’s wrong? Don’t lie to me, I can tell something’s up.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed as he looked into yours, trying to search your eyes for an answer as you bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes entirely avoiding him, “It’s nothing, I’ll be fine-”

“Y/N.”

“I promise, I’m probably just overreacting, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

He stared down at you with his arms crossed, pursuing his lips as he watched the corners of your lips twitch, a telltale sign that you were lying, “Am I making you uncomfortable? Was the movie too much for you? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head panickedly, “No, no, it’s nothing like that, I swear! Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

You gulped, you knew there was no way out of this. Minho knew you better than anyone else, he knew you weren’t randomly feeling ill over nothing, he knew it had nothing to do with the movie.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Minho. It’s okay.”

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with me?”

The stubbornness you found charming as a child was definitely an absolute pain in the ass as the adult man in front of you analyzed every microscopic detail you, trying his best to get to the bottom of what had you acting strangely. You couldn’t lie to him, no, he would know as soon as you opened your mouth it was a lie. Sure, you could tell him he was the cause of your unsettledness, but would that even go well? There were too many factors to consider, too much to think about and your long pause told Minho everything he needed to know.

He sighed, taking a step back as he started to make his way back to the living room, “It’s fine, I can tell. If this is too much, we can stop here. We can talk about it tomorrow morning.”

“N-no!”

The words flew out your mouth before you had the chance to even think. Oh, you were mentally cursing at yourself as Minho turned to you again, his face furrowed with confusion, “No?”

“I just… I mean, it’s just a lot, but it isn’t at the same time?” you sounded so unsure as you said it, which only caused Minho to tilt his head to the side as he tried to understand you.

“It’s too much, but it isn’t…” he mumbled to himself, his mind straining to figure out the riddles you were speaking, “I know I said we don’t have to talk about it, but you do realize you’re not making any sense, right?”

You forced a tight-lipped smile, inhaling sharply, “Uhm, yeah… It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“You’re lying. You know exactly what you mean, you just don’t want to tell me.”

You winced at his bluntness, not really surprised at how direct he was being with you, “Do you not trust me anymore?”

His eyes glossed over with insecurity and worry as he asked that question, your heart dropping immediately, wanting nothing more than shoo those feelings away, “What? Of course I still trust you.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s complicated?”

“But why?”

“Why can’t you just drop it?” you raised your voice in frustration at his insistence, not willing to budge as he tried to pry his way into your mind.

“Well,” he hesitated, “The last time you hid something from me, you left. So forgive me for being a little scared.”

Your mouth dropped open at Minho’s statement, not expecting him to be so vulnerable with you out of nowhere, “I… Minho, I’m sorry,” you whispered tearfully, your stomach flipping onto itself as it digested the grief Minho had just voiced. You stepped towards him, reaching for his hands as you clasped them between yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t really know if I should be saying this.”

“Trust me this time, please? I don’t want to be left in the dark again,” he pleaded, his mind reminding him of the day he waited for you as the amber sunset turned into the night sky.

Your hands started to tremble in his, your nerves taking over as you unexpectedly found yourself about to confess your feelings to a man who lived thousands miles from you, a man you had only started talking to a few days ago, a man who had somehow known you your entire life, despite missing so many crucial years together. Your breath hitched as the butterflies in your stomach got caught in your throat, your nerves signaling off as the electrifying feeling of adrenaline took over, “I, uh… I am really happy we’ve made up, I’m really happy to have rekindled our friendship with one another, and I’ve loved all the time we have spent with each other over the last few days, but…”

Trepidation ran through you, biting your lip for a brief moment as you hesitated to continue your sentence, “Maybe I’ve come to love it a little too much?” At this point, you were looking for every way possible to avoid saying your actual feelings, hoping Minho would connect the dots for you, but his face told you he had no idea what you meant. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me I’m still not making sense, I can see it in your face,” you sighed. He nodded, urging you to continue with patient eyes.

“I… like you?”

It was quiet, so quiet you swore both Minho and you could hear your heart thumping, your hands clamming up as you held his, terrified eyes examining his face for his reactions. He stilled for a moment, as if he was processing your words before breaking out into a grin, a hearty laugh escaping him.

“I already knew that.”

You froze in place, disbelief painting your face as you stared at him incredulously, “What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re also still clueless after all these years,” yet he took your silence as confirmation, shaking his head as he giggled, “Do you really think I was being overly affectionate with you for no reason?”

Your mouth dried up from nerves, stuttering over your reply, “I… Yes? I thought you were just… I don’t know, I thought you were just treating me the same way you did as when we were kids.”

“And do you know why I treated you like that growing up?” he questioned with a candied smile.

You blinked slowly, your head shaking cautiously as you tried to decipher his words, “Because… I don’t know? We were best friends.”

“Sure, that was part of it, but it was more like me having a giant crush on you.”

“...”

“... That means I still like you, if that wasn’t clear enough for you.”

There was no way this was real, this all had to be a dream, you just couldn’t believe your ears. Your childhood crush, the man that caused our feelings to go absolutely haywired in a matter of a few days, felt the same exact way for you this whole time and you just somehow missed it? No, no, this was certainly a dream, why on earth would he be into someone like you, someone who-

“Y/N,” he removed his hands from yours, resting them on top of your shoulders as he leaned down to come face to face with you, effectively waking you up from your reverie, “Let’s make up for lost time,” he whispered, his breath fanning on your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You stared back with doe eyes, all your vocabulary escaping you as you gulped, nodding your head perhaps a little too excitedly. Minho’s smile only widened at your reaction, his rough hands traveling to cup your face with half-lidded eyes, his head leaning forward as his chapped lips closed the gap. His lips melded against yours, your hands grasping at his t-shirt as you felt your knees buckle under him, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. You felt yourself weaken under his touch, becoming prisoner to his affection as the world around you quieted, much like the moment of silence that existed between the end of a performance and explosive applause of the audience. Everything stalled, as if the expanse of the universe took a pause and the supernovas’ violent bursts slowed to witness feverish kiss between you two. You were becoming lightheaded, pulling away from the dizzying kiss as your chests heaved in an attempt to catch your breath. Minho’s cheeks and ears burned a bright scarlet, a sweet smile grazing his features as his eyes brimmed with love and affection, softly whispering:

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Once again, the familiar, low, hum of mosquitos filled your ears as Minho’s firm hand led you down the same dirt trail you’ve traveled down hundreds of times, leaves brushing against the skin of your arms as you cautiously followed his grasp. Today, Minho told you he had one last surprise for you before you traveled back home, blindfolding you at the entrance of the forest as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, temporarily distracting you from the fact that this was your last day here before returning to the states, returning to your mundane life and leaving this mind numbing summer romance behind.

He slowed down his pace, signaling to you that you had arrived to your destination, his hands slipping out of yours as you felt his presence behind you, gently removing the blindfold as he softly whispered, “we’re here.”

As soon as the blindfold was off, your eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the change of lighting, scanning the scene that stood ahead of them as Minho made his way into your vision, a saccharine smile beaming at you, “Do you like it?”

Like was an understatement as a grin broke out onto your face, your heart filling with an overwhelming amount of adoration as you took in the surprise Minho spent so long preparing for earlier this morning. There, beside the pond, laid a small plaid blanket with a picnic basket centered atop of it, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bottle of wine propped up against the basket. You gasped with delight as your heart softened, “Oh, Minho, I love it.”

His shoulders relaxed at your words, no longer feeling nervous as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the blanket, sitting down next to you as he gingerly laid out the food he prepared in front you. “I made you some of your favorites,” he added, gently opening the bottle of wine and pouring you a glass, “I hope its as good as it looks,” he laughed anxiously, handling you a small bento box with the a serving cutely prepared, the vegetables cut out into small hearts decorating the rice. You took a bite of the food as soon as you had the chance, a small moan escaping you due to how delicious it was, your eyes widening in surprise, not expecting it to be so flavorful, “Minho, this is so good, you made this?”

He proudly nodded, pride bubbling up within him as you complimented the meal he made for you, one where he spent an agonizing amount of time to make because it just had to be perfect for you, especially today of all days, a day he wanted to send you off with the happiest memories.

You both continued to enjoy the date Minho had put so much effort in, occasionally teasing one another or chuckling at whatever lame joke the other made, both of you trying to avoid the looming topic at hand, the inevitable ending of this summer love story that was doomed to last for only a few weeks.

“So…” Minho anxiously drawled, “You’re leaving tomorrow…”

You smiled weakly as you cleared your throat, “That I am.”

He pursed his lips, struggling to ask the question you both knew you needed to address, “So… what does it mean for us?”

A heavy sigh escaped you as the tension in the air thickened, both of you intently staring at one another, trying to decode what the other was thinking before speaking, “What do you want it to mean?”

“I asked you first,” he responded a little too fast for your liking, not willing to voice his thoughts without hearing yours first.

“Well, uhm…” you paused, debating with your mind and heart as you decided your next words, “I am going back to the states, back to my friends, back to my job, back to my life.”

“Right,” he mumbled with a crestfallen expression, “Your life is there, not here.”

“It is.”

“What about me?” he whispered in a quivered voice.

“Well, your life is here, my life is not here. I don’t really…” you took a deep breath, tears starting to prick your eyes, “I don’t know how we would work.”

He nodded tearfully, knowing he couldn’t deny the difficulty of managing a long distance relationship, especially one like this, “What if I moved with you? What if you moved back?”

You shook your head, your heart breaking at Minho’s attempts to find a solution, “Minho, you don’t even speak English, you wouldn’t be able to find a job there and use your degree-”

“I can learn! I promise, I’ll start studying-”

“Minho.”

He stopped mid-sentence, his stubbornness refusing to let him accept the reality you two had found yourselves in, “Minho, you already have a job offer here, your friends and family are here. You wouldn’t be happy in the states, it’s so hard living there as a foreigner.”

“I’d be happy anywhere as long as I’m with you,” he begged, praying you’d at least try to see the glimmer of hope he was trying to conjure up, “I don’t care where, as long as I’m with you, I’d be happy.”

You bit your lip as you tried to suppress a sob, “You know that’s not true, you know your happiness can’t be dependent on me alone.”

“You don’t want to come back here?”

“I… can’t, Minho. My life isn’t here anymore, it hasn’t been in years.”

Crystal tears fell from Minho’s eyes, his eyes no longer being able to meet yours as the your words crushed his soul, the love he felt for you expelling into his tears as he began to mourn your loss once more, sobbing much like he did all those years ago. Through hiccups, he blubbered “Please, Y/N. Please don’t leave me again.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you sniffled, no longer being able to watch the man you love completely fall apart in front of you, cursing yourself for your cruel words that stabbed over and over again in his bleeding heart. “I’m so sorry, Minho. I don’t want this either, but what choice do we have? You and I both know our lives would never cross paths, we would never be able to come together.”

“We can try-”

“For what? To only cry years later to have this same exact conversation again?” you snapped, your frustrated tears and guilty conscience no longer being able to handle his pleading, it only wounding you more. You’ve already spent the past few weeks trying to scour for a possibility, a fragment of hope that showed you a timeline in which you two would be happy together, but it simply didn’t exist in this life, no matter how many times you flipped and turned the story. This wasn’t a movie, this wasn’t some romance novel where love would triumph it all, this was the bitter and harsh realities of life, and you hated it with all your heart.

You let out a despondent sigh as you lamented over the situation, your hands gingerly reaching out for Minho’s chin, forcing his teary-eyed face to look at yours, “Minho, I’m sorry, baby.”

He sniffled, his nose reddening as hot drops cascaded down his cheeks, “I’m sorry too.”

“I love you with everything in me, Minho, and I always will no matter where life takes us,” you murmured heartbrokenly, “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

His hands reached out to hold yours, removing them from his face as he grasped them tightly, as if he was fearing you’d fade away if he loosened his grip, “I just wish we worked in this one,” he trembled.

“Me too, but…” you heaved, “Maybe in the next one, right? You’ll find me again?”

He laughed melancholily, “Always. I’d chase you to the very end of the universe if I had to.”

“Kiss me one more time? So I don’t forget?”

He smiled with anguished eyes, not hesitating to tilt his head as his lips captured yours once more, in one last, passionate kiss with all the devotion in the world, leaving the taste of your bittersweet love, one where only the two of you would know and understand.

You were leaving him again, but at least he got to say goodbye this time.

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the-24-7-lawlu-library · 4 months

Note

Can you rec me the lawlu must-read classics?

Also, thank you for creating this!! You rock!! ❤️

Hey there, thank you for your aks! We actually collected some classics already so here you go:

Into the Sea by shishiswordsman (E)

He looks around, but the Sunny and their broken off battleground are both vacant. His crewmen and the Straw Hats are far away already, probably congratulating each other for their triumph, which means… No one else saw it happen. No one else knows that Luffy’s — Luffy’s sinking. And Law can’t swim.

talk without speaking by trell (qunlat) (G)

They’ve been fighting for days, in that complicated sort of way where everyone wants to be on the same side and can’t be.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T)

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

Your Pain on My Skin by GinnyRose (T)

In a world where you share your pain with your soulmate, Law had spent many years believing his soulmate probably hated him. And he wouldn't have blamed them – Law had been sick, beaten, shot at and had gone through hell not just once, but several times from when he’d lost his family to when he lost Corazon and in the struggling years after that. But now, at 24 years old, he knew better. Not only did his soulmate hate him, they were bound and determined to pay back every scrape, bruise, and cut ten times over. When Law finally found the bastard, soulmate or not, he just might kill them himself.

Luffy's Law by JadedCoral (G)

Law thoughtlessly starts a rumour about himself, and it doesn't take long for it to boomerang right back to him in the form of a bloody-nosed Luffy.

The Twillight Phone by huliganships (T)

Ace has a shitty handwriting. Is that a 9? A 0? An 8? Who even knows. Certainly not the person that Luffy accidentally texted.

Acclimating by justira (E)

There are things that Law learns the hard way. One is that, if you involve yourself in Luffy's life, the Strawhats will involve themselves in yours. The other is that he is allowed to want, sometimes. In which Luffy is goodness, and light, and love, and the Strawhats all saw it coming.

no matter how much everything hurts by Tsume_Yuki (T)

In a universe where you can accept half the pain your soulmate is feeling, Luffy wishes he could take it all on.

Curiouser by xairylle (E)

Law wondered whether there was any sense to doing this—reading to a younger pirate stripped down to just wearing boxers straddling your equally as naked self. And expected to be turned on while doing so. [LuLaw]

and all the things that keep us here by trell (qunlat) (G)

In which there is an invitation, and Trafalgar Law gets a second chance. (Or: the one where they get married, in secret, at someone else's wedding, and make Usopp late to his.)

My Love For You Is Choking Me by ObsidionWingsofMidnight (T)

Hanahaki disease: an illness born of one-sided love that causes flowers to grow within the infected patient’s lungs. If left untreated it will suffocate the host and kill them. The growth can be removed through surgery, but it will also remove the feelings along with the flowers. It can be cured without side effects if the feelings are returned. Law wished he had died back under Doflamingo’s gun more than ever.

Dots by petiteneko (T)

It all started out as a joke. But, there was some legitimacy to it too… (Soulmate [AU] where your tattoo shows the first thing your soulmate thought when they saw you, but same universe)

What's A 'Closed' Sign Between Friends by teaandtumblr (G)

A tired, hungry surgeon drops in after hours once and Sanji doesn't have the heart to turn him away. What he doesn't expect is for his friend and this doctor to fall in love right under his nose. A 5+1 story.

heartstrings by hopipp (fancy2na) (NR)

A retelling of events had the Ope Ope no Mi given Law a little more than he bargained for. AKA: the red strings au that's probably been done already

Meat Cute by marimoes (T)

“Meat? I’m hearing you correctly? Your dog is named...Meat?” Law asks putting together everything for the first time. His mind swimming much like his dignity at the moment. The man laughs ruffling Meat’s ears, “Yeah. Meat. Because she’s red and white like a good marbled piece of meat.” “And your name?” Law asks, twisting water from his shirt. “Luffy.”

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (M)

Law sneaks into the men's quarters of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro contemplates on how to deal with it. And Luffy, well, Luffy is just Luffy.

Sating Hunger by xairylle (M)

At the end of the day, even with all the major blunders that almost cost him his life, Law decided that this alliance had been worth it. Until he fucked it up by not being able to hold himself back from kissing Monkey D. Luffy.

This Is What Personal Looks Like by JadeFlicker (G)

So Law had thought the Straw Hats had taken the battle with Kaidou as a personal vendetta for all the tears shed by Momosuke and all sorts of new Wano friends. The Hearts captain had been badly mistaken. Apparently, this was what personal looked like. (In which, Law and the Straw Hats will get angry for Luffy when he's not able to.)

Exchanging of the Hearts by KivaEmber (G)

Post-Dressrosa AU. All they did was exchange hearts, just to make the alliance 'til death did them part. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

Falling by chenziee (M)

The timing for Law's heat couldn't have been worse; their attack on Doflamingo was just days away, and here he was, too busy fighting tooth and nail against hormones and disgust. Law would really rather jump into the sea and drown than deal with one minute of this.

-Mod Raiya

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thebestofoneshots · 6 months

Text

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | The Interlude | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.3 K Warnings: None Prompt: New Friends, new adventures to come and one Halloween Party to prepare. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Chapter 16: Boogie Wonderland

The next day, you charmed your restricted section book cover, just like you had done with the spicy one, making it look like another casual spell book. You then spend most of your classes devouring its content, it was way more than the two pages you’d found on the 5th-year DADA book, although a good deal of them focused solely on how to defeat a werewolf.

Tips on how to kill werewolves, spells against werewolves, weapons against werewolves, a particular line irked you so much –if you see a werewolf hex to kill, don’t bother incapacitating– that you were about to throw the book on the ground and cast incendio on it. But it wasn’t until about the second half of the book that it finally started to talk about its qualities. Especially with the section titled “How to spot werewolves in your daily life”. Of course, while most of the things in the book were about spotting and hurting them, you were more focused on learning which things you should never do.

On a small piece of parchment, you started documenting everything that you had learned so far. You’d even use a codeword to refer to Remus, in case your note was misplaced or lost.

My Knowledge on WW:

Silver burns them (throw away or alter the ring mom gave me once Puppy returns it).

Silver and Dittany could save someone after being lethally bitten by a werewolf, turning them into one regardless.

Bites are contagious only if the werewolf bites someone in werewolf form, not outside of it (Luna could bite whoever he wants without turning them, as long as they’re in human form, maybe they’d get a bit of a raw meat affection for a couple of days, but nothing more). Why is this relevant to me?

Werewolves do not remember who they are once transformed. They can be very aggressive, and they have killed friends and loved ones in wolf form; they will remember what they did once they’re back in human form. If Luna turns into werewolf form and you’re around, turn the fuck away.

Any bite or scratch obtained from a werewolf, whether in human or animal form, would leave a permanent scar. (Luna probably has a bite mark somewhere. I wonder where?)

Werewolves rarely have children. If a werewolf has a child with another werewolf while in wolf form, they’d have a normal wolf, except they’d be beautiful and nearly as smart as a human.

Werewolves don’t really attack animals, they seem to target exclusively Humans.

There’s little to no medicine developed to help treat werewolves. -> Racist wizards going at it again.

They can be a little aggressive, touchy or moody as the full moon approaches.

They have a crazy good sense of smell (even in human form apparently; maybe I’ll get to ask Luna about it someday)

THEY AREN’T ALL EVIL.

You read through your list a couple of times, wondering if you’d missed anything from the book. But you were certain you had narrowed down the most important clues the book had. There was a section of the book that had a couple of spells to defend yourself from werewolves, but they were all incredibly aggressive attack spells, most of them to severely damage or kill the werewolf, when you finished reading you ripped the page from the book, threw it on the floor and whispered “incendio,” contemplating how the fire slowly consumed the old piece of paper. You might have not been able to burn down the entire book, but that was pleasing enough. And you had to get rid of it before anyone read through it and tried to use it on Remus, or any other good werewolves. Because no matter how many times the book tried to frame Werewolves as being inhumane, and immoral beasts, incapable of feeling remorse, you knew it was all bullshit.

Remus was kind, gentle, and incredibly caring, he’d been the first one to approach you when you were feeling off after divinations, he’d shared chocolate with you when you were injured, he’d held you when a quaffle had been thrown your way, and he’d even taken you to his quiet spot when he thought it might help you feel better. Remus had, even in the short time you’d met him, always been there for you, and you wanted to be at least half as good of a friend as he’d been. Remus was nothing like the harrowing picture the book painted of werewolves. And while you were sure actual evil werewolves existed, you’d heard of them in the news, with wolves like Fenrir Greyback and its followers, you also knew there were evil and good wizards. It wasn’t a matter of what you were, but a matter of who you were. You’d know, your mom had told you about the hard times her mother had had with her being half fairy, the Wizarding Community just wasn’t very accepting of diversity.

As you walked back from the courtyard where you were reading, book back in your backpack and parchment gently tucked in the book you had in your hands, you accidentally bumped into someone, and whoever you bumped into had been walking with so much force, the books you were holding fell to the ground. The boy –a Ravenclaw you hadn’t met– leaned down and helped you pick your stuff. But the page on your book had slipped and fell a little further from your grasp, he walked towards it before you even had the chance to react, and he eyed it as you gulped. Thank Merlin you’d used codenames.

“You’re into werewolves too?” He asked.

You frowned, thinking of a quick excuse, say it was an assignment, say it’s homework, a part of you said. On 6th year? about werewolves? who would ever believe it?, responded the other. But there was something about the question that caught your attention then, “What did you say, sorry?”

The boy turned to you, “Oh- um… I asked if you were also into werewolves…” he said, as he handed the parchment over to you. There it was: also into them.

“Uh… yeah, I’ve been doing some research.”

He nodded, and motioned to the paper, still in your hands “Who’s Luna?”

You were caught off guard again “It’s a… character, from a story.” You said, making it up on the spot “I’m writing it, the story… I’m writing the story.” How on earth did I become such a shitty liar?

“Oh, that’s amazing! I’m actually really interested in them as well.”

“You are?”

He nodded “Yeah, I’ve been working with Professor Slughorn to develop a potion.”

“To make them human again?” You asked with a frown.

He shook his head “It’s… That’s impossible… But Slughorn and I think It’s possible to create one that will allow them to remember who they are while in wolf form, to reduce the risk of attacking humans.”

“What really? That’s brilliant! I’d love to help you!” You said, almost a little too excitedly, so you cleared your throat “I mean, it would be a really good way of getting knowledge for my story…”

“Really?” He asked, with a smile “You’re (Y/N), right? New transfer student? Gryffindor’s new keeper?”

You nodded “I’m afraid I don’t know your name…”

He extended his hand, and you shook it “Damocles Belby, most people just call me Kless, I’m from 7th…” he seemed to think about the next thing before deciding to ask “Are you really as brave as they say?”

“They say I’m brave?!” You asked, in disbelief.

He nodded “You stood up against some nasty Slytherins in class, and they say you fly like a daredevil, or so I’ve heard…”

“Well, I –gossip sure travels fast here– Why?”

“I’m more of a books and potions kind of person, you see…” he started, moving one of his arms up to the back of his head, to scratch it, it looked like Kless wasn’t too eager to ask for this particular favour “…but I really want to test out the effect of Moonflower on the potion, see if it helps. The issue is, and you might not know this but Moonflower–“

“–only blooms in full moon.” You finished.

He exhaled, “Yeah, and I’ve been told that there is a chance to find them in the forbidden forest.”

“You want me to get it for you, don’t you?”

He nodded, “Only if it wasn’t too much trouble. And if you helped with it, I could finish the first draft of the potion in a couple of weeks and we could probably test it together, and if the position works, I could get a brilliant recommendation letter from Slughorn to study at Cauldronwell, the School of Advanced Potionry. Maybe we could even get one for you.”

You took a deep breath, considering the situation, the forbidden forest must be forbidden for a reason, and the boys had warned you about it too. Eventually, you spoke again “If I do this, will you let me have some of the potion?”

He looked at you, as if thinking about it, probably wondering if he should ask why you’d need the potion, but in the end, he only nodded “Deal.”

You smiled at that, pleased with the answer he’d given you, “Pleasure to meet you Kless, I’ll see you around.” You said before waving at him and resuming your way to the common room since you’d be helping Remus and Sirius finish up the decorations for the party. But just before turning on the corner you turned your head towards him again “I’ll find you when I get it.”

He nodded, “I’ll send you a copy of my research through owl mail.” He responded.

Sirius and Remus were already in the common room when you arrived, you smiled and took the book with the parchment, grabbing the piece of paper and hiding it deep within one of the pockets of your backpack. While you were busy, still packing stuff inside your bag, you felt Sirius’s arms wrap around you as he hugged you from behind. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek before pulling away again, grabbing a piece of candy from the bowl next to your bag on the table and popping it into his mouth. “What were you up to?” He asked, noting you were late.

“Sorry, got really caught up in this book.” You told him with an apologetic smile as if Sirius could actually be angry at you. You then looked around, the boys had already gotten a head start. James, who was supposed to help, was still locked up in his room, adding some final details to his Hamlet costume while Peter was in the kitchens, making sure the treats were ready for the party.

“Marlene’s gone to get a fog potion,” Remus said, as he grabbed onto a piece of cloth neatly folded on the table, “Beth and Tom went to Hogsmeade to buy some last-minute treats.”

You paid close attention as he started to unfold the cloth “Is that the banner Lily made?” You asked, walking closer to him, Sirius was looking at you with a smile as you moved towards his friend.

Remus nodded and said a quick “Yeah.” Handing a corner of the cloth over, so you could help him, the two of you extended the banner together, finally opening it up. The Banner was long and, it was black with orange letters over it, and it had two Jack-o-lanterns on each side that screamed “Happy Halloween” when you looked directly at them.

“It’s brilliant!” You said with a smile, as you helped Remus levitate it closer to the ceiling near the entrance. Sirius was busy placing the jack-o-lanterns you had carved during the week all over the common room. Once the banner was hung, you walked towards the table and pulled out a bag you’d left there a couple of classes ago.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked, walking closer to you again, shoulders brushing against yours. You smirked, and took a skull from the inside, throwing it towards Sirius, he easily caught it and looked at it, before turning back to you.

“You thought it would scar–“ he started, but then, out of nowhere, the skull started laughing maniacally, Sirius jumped and let it fall on the floor.

The skull said “Auch,” while you and Remus started laughing.

“Did you see his face?” You asked him.

“Absolutely priceless, wish I’d gotten a picture of it!” Agreed Remus.

Sirius just looked at you both with a pout as he picked the skull back from the floor and gently placed it on the table. The skull started to laugh again and Remus silenced it with his wand “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Remus shook his head, and you answered “We just took advantage of the opportunity to test them. Rem and I’ve been working on them for a while.”

“Them?” He looked at the bag wearily “How many did you make?”

“About a dozen,” Remus answered casually. You opened the bag again, and you carefully took the skulls out. You then handed them to the boys, who started to place them all over the common room, one near the sofa, one close to the fireplace, some over at the stairs, and in general, just spread out in rather inconvenient places, the kind of places that would have people jumping from their skin when they started screaming at them. Sirius decided it would be a good idea to have one floating over the fruit punch, and he placed it in the bowl before adding the fruit juice. You saw him take a bottle of rum out too, and pour about a quarter of it onto the drink.

You shook your head, a little smile playing on your lips as he did “Why not add a bit more?” you teased.

“Sirius!” Remus admonished him. “What did we say about adding alcohol to the main beverage? Last year it was chaos!”

“It was only a little bit,” he retorted, and then turned to you “Barely a trickle, right Statshine?”

You nodded “Not even a quarter of a bottle.” Remus shook his head, looking at both of you disapprovingly. “Come on Rem,” you said persuasively “let’s leave it like that, you don’t want to throw out such a good punch do you.”

“She’s right, Moons, come on,” Sirius said, now he was standing next to you, both looking at the taller boy with puppy eyes.

Remus looked at the two, both so pretty trying to convince him to do something, he almost couldn’t think of anything else. In fact, he wasn’t sure there was anything in the world you’d ask of him that he would deny, not with that expression on your faces. He took a deep breath, trying not to focus on the fact that he had somehow developed a crush not only on his best friend (which he had been pretty aware of already) but on his girlfriend as well, “Just so you know, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Both you and Sirius smiled broadly, looking at each other and throwing a high-five between yourselves. “You’re the best Rem!” You told with a dashing smile and then you walked back, pulling the bag up.

“There’s more?” Sirius asked Remus, he shrugged in response, he didn’t know.

Slowly, you pulled out a whole skeleton from it. “What the hell?!?” Asked Remus surprised, “You didn’t tell me you also had one of those…”

“I didn’t have it, I found it.” You told him “It was in one of the old classrooms on the 3rd floor.”

“Is it… real?” Remus asked cautiously.

“Didn’t ask him,” you responded with a shrug while looking at the skeleton. Remus raised his eyebrows, amused at your answer.

And a diverted smile appeared on Sirius' lips before he asked. “Did you charm it as well?”

You ginned “‘Course I did! Who do you take me for? I’ve got a whole plan for it.”

“And where are you going to place it?” Remus asked, from next to you now as he curiously looked at the skeleton.

You turned your body a little, shifting the weight of the skeleton onto one of your arms, and pointed at a wardrobe in the far side of the room.

“In the closet?” The taller boy asked in disbelief “You’re going to put the skeleton in the closet?”

“It’s a joke in and of itself,” you said with a smile “every now and then the skeleton will drop smoke or random sounds, that way guests are inclined to investigate. And then boom, the skeleton in the closet will jump out and scare the shit out of them.”

“That’s wicked…” Said Sirius, a smirk playing on his lips “See Moony? I told you she was like us!”

“I was certain when you told me about the day of the library,” Remus said simply.

You looked at Sirius, eyes wide in shock “You told Remus about the library?”

“Of course I did, your Howler was genius!” Sirius responded matter-of-factly.

“Certainly,” Remus agreed.

Right, the Howler, he told them about the Howler, not about the snoging. “It was just, a spur-of-the-moment idea?” You said, tugging in a hair behind your ear shyly as you walked towards the wardrobe with the skeleton –Steve– as you’d named him. You knew how seriously the boys took their jokes and escapades, if Sirius and Remus were complimenting you on something, they weren’t just sweet-talking you. You slowly but surely accommodated Steve inside the wardrobe and closed the doors.

“What are we missing?” Asked Remus as he looked around the common room, trying to get a look at the big picture.

“Marlene’s still coming with her smoke potions, right? Spooky music? Maybe…”

“Got that taken care of,” Sirius said, and waved his wand, on the corner, a small violin, a flute and what looked like a piano started playing music.

You were surprised “where did you get those?”

“Stole them from the music room last year,” Sirius explained “It was a dare to prove to James that Remus was way stealthier than him, even if he’s taller.”

You nodded, a little impressed, you then heard the portrait open, Beth and Tom walked inside with bags filled with candy; from slug worms to dancing skeletons, all the Halloween theme candies from Honeydukes were there. Tom walked all the way to the table with the punch and emptied his backpack there. Beth, on the other hand, started to neatly arrange the candies she’d gotten into different vases and floating trays, she ended up also taking the stuff Tom had dumped and finished decorating the sweet’s table, as she’d prompted everyone to call it that from then on.

“You guys did a brilliant job,” Tom said as he looked around in awe, there were spider webs coming from the ceiling, shiny black and orange streamers swirling in the air, black flamed candles levitating all over the ceiling, cauldrons filled with candies. The skulls you and Remus had charmed together still lurking on certain spots, a table filled with potions, “for potion pong,” as Beth had told you, and overall, an eerie but fun atmosphere. You had even told Moaning Myrtle and Richard Jackdaw to come over as special guests, even if you warned them not to tell any other ghosts about the party, especially Peeves, who would definitely attempt to make some kind of prank, or tell the teachers about your shenanigans. Suddenly he tilted his head. “Do hear that?” He asked.

Beth frowned “Hear what?”

“It’s uh… coming from…” Tom started walking towards the wardrobe. You threw a look at the boys, Sirius held your stare with his icy grey eyes, the hint of a smirk drawing on his lips. When you turned to Remus, he was also looking at you attentively, eyebrows raised, clearly looking amused.

As you exchanged glances with the boys Tom approached the wardrobe “None of you hear it?”

You shook your head, it wasn’t a lie, the spell only worked for one person at a time, so really, not even Beth would hear the same thing Tom did. Tom was now right in front of the closet, and he hesitantly placed his hands on the handle, like he was considering whether he should open it or leave it alone. But Tom was curious, almost too curious for his own good and in a fast pull, he opened the door.

The skull jumped out and clang onto Tom, eyes glowing a shade of green and screaming so loud even you winced, perhaps I overdid it, you thought. Tom screeched, jumped back and ended up on the floor, fighting to get the skeleton to unwrap its bony arms off his shoulders. When he finally did it, he threw it to the side and crawled away from it while looking at it with dread. He stayed there, panting as Steve finally shut its bony jaw, the screams and shrieks slowly dying out.

Everyone started to laugh, including Beth, who had been just a little scared at the beginning. Still with his eyes open wide, Tom turned back, a slight frown on his face as he turned to Sirius “What the fuck mate?! That was bIoody horrifying, what did I ever do to you?”

Sirius raised his hands and shrugged, “That wasn’t my prank.”

Tom’s frown deepened and he turned to Remus “It was you?” He asked again, still trying to gain his breath. Remus shook his head as a reply, there was no way it’d been James or Peter, Tom knew they’d be pretty busy today so he slowly turned his head to you, almost unsure “(Y/N)?”

You took a deep breath, raising your shoulders, lips tightened in a line before, letting a bit of a smile appear. Guilty, you looked guilty. “I see you’ve met Steve.”

“You gave that horrid thing a name?” You shrugged, nodding your head as an answer. He sighed “Why me?”

“Oh, that’s on Steve, he chooses the person he calls, not me.”

“You put a randomizer spell on it?” Remus asked then, surprised. You nodded “How? I’ve been trying to master those for a while…” he said, walking closer to the skeleton.

“I found it on The Refined Art of Mild Hexes, it’s somewhere on the first couple of pages,” you told him, and then started waking towards Tom and helped him up “Sorry bout that,” you said, giving the curly haired boy a light pat on the back, he just stared at you, squinting his eyes in distrust, he then scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at the skeleton on the ground.

“Looks bIoody realistic,” he said, the edges of his lips finally curling into a little smile.

“Yeah, Remus thought the same, and asked me if it was real.”

He turned back to you, a slightly concerned expression on his face “Well… Is it?”

“She’d got no clue,” Sirius answered for you.

You nodded in agreement “Found it lying around in an abandoned classroom.”

“And you just took it? What it if was a ghost’s or something?”

You shook your head “I asked Richie Jackdow, and he said it didn’t belong to any of the ghosts in the castle.”

“You really have gotten accustomed to Hogwarts, haven’t you?”

You smiled “I guess you could say I have.”

The portrait opened itself again, and Mary and Marlene came inside. Marlene carrying a tray with potions and Mary with some more treats, this time saltier stuff from the kitchen. “I brought the fruit for the punch,” she said as she walked towards the sweet’s table.

“Great, you guys prepare that, Sly sprite,” he said turning to you “You’re helping me with this,” he said pointing to his canines, he’d asked you to turn them into fangs earlier that week, when the party was being planned, you’d both found a spell that would be useful, and had decided it’d be the one you’d use.

“I think I left the book in my backpack,” you said as the two of you walked towards a further away table.

“Sly sprite,” Sirius scoffed, he was standing next to Remus.

The taller boy raises his eyebrow “You jealous?” he teased.

“Of Tom?! No way!”

“Why not?” Remus asked and turned to you and Tom at the table where you’d left your backpack, you had one hand on the book and the other on your wand, Tom was staring at you attentively “Tom’s handsome, maybe just as handsome as you.”

Sirius frowned, “You’re not helping,” he added flatly.

Remus knew very damn well you had no interest in Tom, but he was enjoying himself while looking at a jealous Sirius, thinking back of all the times he’d been jealous himself. “I’m just saying… he’s charming, comes from a wealthy family, and his curls are really nice.”

“Remus!” Sirius whined, turning his back to look at the hazel-eyed boy instead of at you since you already had both of your hands on Tom’s face as you pulled it back to check on his canines.

“Do you know what this is for?” Asked Mary, taking a potion bottle with a golden cap. Remus shrugged.

“Must be the sugar syrup for the punch,” Beth said “I asked Peter to bring it over in the morning.”

Mary looked at it, swirled the liquid around inside the bottle, and uncapped it. She gave it a whiff and shrugged, it certainly smelled sweet enough. She didn’t think it twice, and dumped the entirety of the contents inside the punch, then grabbed the bottle and placed it on the potions table, since it fit the aesthetic.

Meanwhile, you and Tom were still working on his fangs, “Stop moving for fucks sake,” you complained, as Tom looked at himself in the hand mirror he took from your bag.

“But make them longer, yeah luv?” He answered, his voice already had a little lisp from the fangs.

“They’ve got a great length Tom, you won’t be able to eat!”

“Food doesn’t matter, aesthetics do!”

You sighed, “Don’t dare come whine with me if you cannot eat.”

“I swear I won’t Sly Sprite,” he said while placing his right hand over his heart. It made you wonder: If both Sirius and Tom entered a drama contest, would they tie? Eventually, you nodded and performed the spell again, grabbing the mirror and placing it in front of Tom’s face. He smiled, checking himself out as he slid his tongue under the fangs and winched at how sharp they were. You gave him an “I told you so” look, but he just shook his head. “Aesthetics (Y/N), aesthetics!”

You just rolled your eyes and started to stand up but he stopped you by grabbing your arm “Hold up! Man liner!”

“Man liner?” You asked with a frown.

“Yes! Eyeliner for men, like rock stars! Would you mind doing it for me?” He then looked through the pockets and pulled out an eyeliner pencil.

You shrugged and nodded, taking the pencil from his hand, and leaning closer to Tom’s face, “Don’t move, all right?” He nodded and you started to line his water line. Softly gliding the pencil. When you were about to finish the first eye you felt someone looming behind you. When you turned you realised it was just Sirius, and you gave him a quick smile before going to line Tom’s second eye.

Sirius was attentively looking at you as you lined Tom’s eye, both curious at the way you did it and also pretty jealous of how close you were to the other boy. Which prompted him to walk even closer. Once you were done you smiled and pulled away from Tom “There you go Mr. Vampire.”

“Brilliant!” He said, placing both hands on your shoulder “Thank you Sly Sprite!”

Sirius cleared his throat from behind “Mind if I borrow my girlfriend away for a minute.”

Tom, being as oblivious and carefree as he was, nodded with a smile “I’m actually going to go change.”

Once Tom was gone, you turned to Sirius with a quizzical expression “What was that about?”

Sirius, who had spoken without thinking, was taken aback by your question “I… uh— Can you line my eyes too?” He improvised.

You frowned, “What are you dressing as?”

He was about to open his mouth, but shut it before he could speak. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Oh… that’s right. You haven’t guessed. You get 3 more tries,” you told him playfully, as you placed your hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit on the same chair Tom had been in.

He sat there and looked up at you, your breath got stuck in your throat, how was it possible for a boy to be this pretty? You leaned in closer, a lot closer than you had been to Tom, which made Sirius feel a lot better already. “Look up at me, All right?” You told him softly. He did, and you swore you felt your legs wobble, but you took a deep breath and while holding his chin with one hand, you gently placed your other hand on his cheek, to stabilise it while you lined his eyes. You were a lot more careful than you’d been with Tom. Softer, taking a lot longer to drag the eye pencil under his lower lashes. You honestly enjoyed being close to Sirius, more than you’d ever dare to admit to his face, especially since it’d go straight to his head, feeding his already pretty big ego.

“Are you gonna be a mermaid?”

“No, I’m not.” You replied and continued with your task.

“What about a princess? You certainly fit the look.”

“Puppy stop moving!” You reprimanded, as a blush threatened to spread on your cheeks, “And no, I’m not going to be a princess, that’s two tries out of three.” He huffed, he really wanted to win the bet “What about you? Are you gonna be a rockstar?”

“Nope.” He responded, “3 tries for you too.”

You leaned in a little closer, narrowing your eyes as you tried to be as accurate as possible, “Will you come as a prince? It’s also something that would suit you.”

He shook his head “I’m letting James take the spotlight with the mediaeval clothes… You think I look like a prince?” He asked, a little smirk playing on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, “Everyone thinks you look like a prince, Sirius.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you just said you think I look like a prince.”

You playfully hit his shoulder before going to the other eye. Almost losing yourself in the frosty blue of them before focusing on your task again. Sirius was still looking at you attentively as you continued to paint his waterline. “Aren’t you gonna try and guess again?”

“I’ve only got one try left.”

“And you’re not planning to use it?”

“I am… just– I want to… think it thoroughly.”

“You know, you could just tell me whatever your wish is.”

“It wouldn’t be the same thing,” he retorted. “You should also do Remus’ man liner since he’s going to be a pirate.”

“I’m not sure he’d like it…” you said, a little insecure about it.

“I think he would, we should tell him,” he said, very sure of himself. “Hey, Remus!”

“Mmmm?” the mentioned boy asked from the sofa, where he was arranging some more cauldrons filled with treats.

“Come over! Will ya?”

Remus turned to the boy, gave him a look like he did not want to move, but stood up and walked up to the two of you.

“You’re up next,” Sirius informed him.

“For what?”

“(Y/N) is doing your manliner.”

“If you want to…” you added. Finally separating from Sirius since you had finished, smiling at how handsome your boyfriend looked.

“It’s for your costume.” Sirius said, “It won’t be finished without it.” He then stood up and placed Remus right on the chair in front of yours.

Remus just took a deep breath as he stared at his friend, before turning to look at you, expectantly.

“You sure you’re ok with it?” You asked, with a little frown. There it was again, the concern and care you always seemed to show Remus, the same concern and care that had his heart fluttering from how close you were standing to him. From how close both Sirius and you were to him, in fact.

He cleared his throat and nodded, and you leaned closer to him, grabbing his face just as carefully as you had grabbed Sirius’. His skin was a lot softer than you’d imagined, you unintentionally brushed your fingers over one of his scars, but Remus didn’t flinch, which surprised him, since he usually detested when people did it. In fact, he remembered a particular time when he was making out with a boy and he snapped at him for touching his face.

“Look up at me Rem,” you told him softly, he complied, looking at you through his lashes, Sirius was right next to you, Remus could see his satisfied expression from the corner of his eyes. You finally leaned in, and started to glide the pencil over his lower lashes. You somehow ended up focusing on his eyes, how they had these little specks of amber tones in them, they were bigger, and somewhat softer than Sirius’, very doe-like, in fact. “Tell me if it hurts,” you added later. Remus was nothing like Sirius, the latter would make a fuzz if you pricked him on the eye accidentally. Remus, on the other hand, he’d probably endure it without even wincing. He nodded, and you had to quickly pull the eye pencil away from his face. “But don’t move!” you admonished, grabbing his face a little more sternly now.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled.

“What do you think (Y/N)’s costume’s gonna be?” Sirius, who was still very close to the two of you, attentively watching the way you lined Remus’ waterline, asked. He seemed pretty content, falling to notice you were standing so much closer to Remus than you had been to Tom.

“You haven’t guessed yet?” Remus asked, a diverted smile playing on his lips “That’s unfortunate for you.”

“MOONY!” He whined, “I asked you to help me choose, not to make fun of me.” Remus shrugged. “She said she’s not gonna be a princess, or a mermaid, also not an alien, or an astronaut, from what I asked yesterday. Mmmm.. and she also said she wasn’t dressing as a superhero, though I’m sure she’d look great as Wonder Woman.”

“Who would’ve thought Sirius would be into costumes…” you teased. Remus instantly chuckled, but it took a little longer for Sirius to understand the joke.

“Hey! I’m not– I– I just want my prize!”

“Well then guess by yourself, If Remus guesses for you, he gets your prize.”

Sirius gasped “You wouldn’t.”

“I so would,” you teased again. Then pulled back from Remus “There we go,” you smiled at your work, slowly letting your fingers glide over his skin as you pulled them away from his face, Remus really did work that man liner out.

“Damn, mate!” Sirius said as Remus stood, looking up at him “You look absolutely dashing, and you don’t even have the rest of your costume on.”

“He’s right,” you nodded “Remus’ getting bitches tonight.”

Remus gave you a reproachful look, but nodded, “I think everything’s pretty much handled already.”

You saw Tom walk down from the stairs in a puffy shirt and a dark green vest. He’d brushed his curls back, only one gently falling on his forehead, he was definitely working that vampire costume.

You approached him quickly “Tom! It’s brilliant you’re ready. Deal with everything while we go change, yeah?”

He nodded, and then smiled mischievously. “I’ll go find the potion, I probably left it somewhere when I dropped all the candies on Beth’s Sweets Table.”

You raised your eyebrows “Just don’t down it all in one go. Save some for the rest of us.” He winked as an answer. “Tom’s taking care of this, we can go change,” You said, turning to Remus and Sirius, who were just a couple steps behind you.

Sirius approached Tom first, and handed the eyeliner over “Your eyeliner.” He said icily.

“Thanks for borrowing it,” Remus added politely afterwards, feeling like he wanted to punch Sirius for being such an idiot to Tom. You clearly weren’t interested in the boy, in fact, anyone would tell him how head over heels you were for him, but he had such a thick head he dared to be jealous. Maybe it was from how much hair he had.

Tom, being Tom, just smiled, almost mischievously. “No problem, you both look smashing, by the way…” He then eyed the taller boy up and down “Remus,” he said with a nod, before walking away to the centre of the room.

You frowned slightly at the exchange, remembering Tom’s words: “You’d be surprised, most of them hide it quite well though, you wouldn’t expect it.” Would it be possible that Remus was also-

You felt a hand press to the small of your back, “let’s go, love,” Sirius said, as he pushed you up the stairs.

“Uh.. yeah sure,” you said, allowing Sirius to guide you, turning your head back towards the front.

“Are you gonna be a lady knight?” He asked as you walked up the spiral staircase, Remus trailing behind just a little.

You shook your head “But that would’ve been a brilliant idea!”

“Well, you’d certainly look great in silver armour,” He replied with a little smirk. You playfully shoved him off as you rolled your eyes.

“Will you be… a prisoner from Azkaban?”

“I would look great in those white and blue stripes, wouldn’t I?” He teased confidently “But no… I’m not gonna be that!”

You sighed “We both lose then. What was your wish?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he said with a wink. Eventually, you parted ways, waving a hand as the boys walked toward their rooms while you walked to yours.

Series Masterlist | The Interlude | Next Chapter

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concretevampire · 1 year

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Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes.

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight.

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight.

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky.

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily.

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat.

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions.

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet.

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin.

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name.

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it.

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal.

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind.

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that.

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child.

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith.

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly.

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass.

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago.

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women.

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure.

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse.

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm.

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?”

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste.

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.”

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots.

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.”

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning.

His smile widens.

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?”

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.”

“So that’s how I get you to talk.”

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive.

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel.

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue.

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.”

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?”

“Jealous she ain’t with you.”

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air.

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you.

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads.

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth.

It’s quiet again.

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember.

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work.

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily.

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss.

Abigail’s raised him well.

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.”

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.”

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?”

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.”

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.”

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile.

“So you are worried.”

“Whatd’ya mean?”

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.”

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose.

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.”

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.”

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile.

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles.

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking.

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted.

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals.

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers.

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling.

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart.

You help Tilly with the laundry.

Karen and you care for spare guns.

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love.

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it.

You don’t blame her. You used to too.

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning.

Javier and Bill from a home robbery.

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis.

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand.

But no Arthur.

It’s a bit disheartening. Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then?

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave.

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet.

You thank him with a glance.

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week.

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide.

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out.

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for.

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return.

“Yer mutterin’.”

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore.

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.”

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you.

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most.

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing.

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now.

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning.

“Yer mad.”

“I am not mad.”

“Sure ya are.”

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct.

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you.

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello. Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike.

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning.

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message.

For a second, you think he doesn’t.

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry.

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants.

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze.

You’re sure he wishes.

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines.

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning.

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.”

You look up, raising a brow.

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words.

The only way he failed Hosea.

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again.

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.”

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better.

And you look up, less angry this time.

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills.

Finally, you acquiesce.

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat.

“Your hair’s gotten long.”

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does.

“Want me to cut it?”

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles.

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?”

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.”

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly.

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too.

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks.

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained.

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder.

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like.

But you don’t. You never would.

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop.

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another.

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours.

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out.

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return.

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you.

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead.

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other.

That was you.

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people.

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together.

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie.

“You’re not gonna ride?”

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you.

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.”

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?”

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking.

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.”

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.”

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang.

They make Arthur laugh.

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.”

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You would if there was money in it.”

“Is there?”

“I’ll say no for my own sake.”

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch.

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame.

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge.

“You gotta get out more.”

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.”

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.”

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.”

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh.

“What do you mean I’m not?”

“You hate Saint Denis.”

“I know but-“

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.”

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder.

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do.

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way.

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room.

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself:

Talk to Dutch.

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen.

Help with any last minute chores.

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too.

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard.

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization.

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched.

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times.

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper.

It’s strange when he gets like this.

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head.

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse.

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan.

“Are you serious?” But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees.

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there.

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again.

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar.

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything.

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.”

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles.

“And whose fault is that?”

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it.

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly.

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.”

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.”

“Sure.”

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.”

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated.

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul.

But you let go, and turn away.

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten.

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before.

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair.

He’ll need a wash tomorrow.

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade.

Obviously, you wake before him.

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams.

His soft snores ensue. You drift away.

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted.

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee.

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze.

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard.

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it.

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back.

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically.

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue.

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once.

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all.

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?”

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him.

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been.

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family.

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron.

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?”

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other.

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery.

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts.

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.”

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?”

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power.

In hatred. In violence.

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land.

It had confused you. Hurt you even.

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die?

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you:

��For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.”

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too.

You stare at Dutch.

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth.

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch.

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked.

“Read it.”

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?”

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense.

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.”

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?”

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking.

“And how often is that?”

“More than I’d like.”

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up.

“Isn’t that the truth.”

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains.

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye.

And it’s all very domestic.

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary.

When dreams rule the plain of existence.

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months.

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret.

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it.

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have.

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay.

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile.

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?”

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.”

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!”

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket.

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.”

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.”

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.”

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.”

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?”

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.”

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt.

Little brown capped soldiers.

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?”

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.”

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?”

“It was before you were born.” You add gently.

“Ohhh. Was it scary?”

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?”

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.”

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is.

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says,

“There she is.”

Micah’s back.

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside.

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated.

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?”

A sock is hung up, next a union suit.

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?”

You’re running short on clothespins.

“You gettin’ tired of him?”

There’s still enough for now.

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?”

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung.

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.”

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins.

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.”

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly.

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean.

Washed away of filth and stress.

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over.

“Good afternoon,” you say.

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers.

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?”

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.”

“We could rent a room.”

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide.

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.”

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.”

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate.

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly.

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page.

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words.

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what.

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more.

Not until night falls.

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night.

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out.

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave.

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped.

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?”

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.”

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose.

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.”

“Was he angry?”

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.”

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars.

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight.

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves.

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out.

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.”

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts.

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?”

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together.

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him.

Only him.

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something.

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light.

He’s struck gold.

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche.

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers.

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers.

The gift of walls.

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets.

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties.

Not since Mary.

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered.

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent.

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to.

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name.

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too.

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started.

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours.

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts.

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second.

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache.

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily.

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good.

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop.

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress.

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does.

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea.

You’re a woman, of course you have.

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer.

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint.

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch.

It’s intoxicating.

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple.

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier.

You all but melt.

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly.

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated.

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance.

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants.

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.”

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant.

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper.

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do.

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off.

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm.

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset.

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further.

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him.

And finally, you slide onto his length.

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely.

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist.

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again.

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you.

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being).

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder.

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else.

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck.

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach.

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown.

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him.

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out.

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful.

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress.

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves.

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does.

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress.

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please, what?”

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours.

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum.

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set.

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen.

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy.

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot.

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation.

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would.

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant.

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly.

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck.

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself.

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over.

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock.

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties.

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated.

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders.

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is.

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name.

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss.

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like.

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.”

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say.

“No it ain’t.”

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.”

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created.

“Okay.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfiction #reader insert #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #might get a part two

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yuurei20 · 2 months

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Hi Yuurei!!

Same anon asking about stipends -

We're going down a whole rabbit hole with this one!

My friend asked if there's anything about Crowley Actually being stingy in game, or if that's actually something the fans came up with.

We could only think about chapter 2 Crowley saying he didnt promise to pay for living expenses, but that was to get MC and Grim to do what he wanted.

Otherwise, while not as generous as he humorously claims, I can't really think of much where he's genuinely "nickle and diming" things

Do you know of anything?

Hello hello!! I am so sorry for the delay, I can finally answer this question! (for the curious, anon's initial questions about stipends is here!)

There have been multiple examples of Crowley taking advantage of opportunities for financial gain, but there may be more going on than it seems!

Crowley allows Azul to run Mostro Lounge on school properly in exchange for Azul returning the powers he stole from students in his first year, and for contributing 10% of the lounge's proceeds to NRC. (Jack: "Wait, so you're gettin' something from it?!")

In Book 4, Crowley himself insinuates that he allowed Kalim to be appointed Housewarden of Scarabia in exchange for generous support from Kalim's family that help with the costs of providing education. In Book 5 Jamil says that he suspects the opportunity to get "generous Asim family donations" is the only reason that Kalim was sent a letter of acceptance at all.

In Book 6, Crowley explains how he could not refuse the Shroud family's request that Ortho be formally enrolled as a student after they paid to repair the buildings destroyed by STYX, as well as making "substantial contributions toward expanding the school's facilities."

When the Firelit Sky team leaves for the fireworks event in Jamil and Kalim's hometown, Crowley says that he will graciously accept whatever souvenirs Kalim brings back. Trey comments, "I knew there was no way he'd let us do this for free."

When the students leave for the Glorious Masquerade event Crowley sees them off with, "Don't worry about getting any gifts for me. As a side note, I prefer treats with subtler flavors rather than overpowering ones."

During Halloween we learn that the souvenirs provided to campus visitors are "just little bags of candy that cost less than a thaumark each in total" and Crowley insists, "it's all about the sentiment!"

But for all these examples of Crowley seemingly being very interested in money, there are just as many where he is not as stingy as he could be: visitors to school during Halloween tour the campus free of charge, and Crowley gives away multiple VDC tickets so that the members of NRC Tribe can invite friends and family, despite how they are "hot commodities" that he could presumably sell.

He also buys Sam's entire stock of goods for seducing Eliza during the Phantom Bride event (including tuxedos for the remaining suitors), fairy dust for the Fairy Gala event and club equipment for the winning teams of Vargas Camp.

Costs pertaining to expenses such as setup and food supplies are all charged to the school during Port Fest, with half of profits donated to the restoration of Craneport.

Upon Azul's recommendation Crowley voluntarily decides to give the rest of the profits to the students themselves, even encouraging them to host a post-festival celebration with whatever money is leftover rather than trying to keep any for himself.

As mentioned in the response to your initial question, Crowley also gives the prefect and Grim funds that are mentioned during Glorious Masquerade! (And they also buy things during other events so this was, presumably, not a one-time exception.)

In short, I think you are right and it is possible that Crowley has become infamous for a level of stinginess that might not be entirely accurate! It is also interesting how he never seems to mention taking money for himself, directly: it is always in the form of donations to the school, repairs to campus facilities, etc., with the exceptions of the snacks he overtly requests from Fleur City, and the souvenirs he encourages Kalim to bring back for him.

As you say he does mention money as a way to pressure Grim and the prefect into helping him in the main story, but also as you say these are only two of many examples of the various ways he gets Grim to cooperate, such as promising him a role in the Spelldrive tournament (Book 2), renovating Ramshackle's plumbing (Book 5), and tempting him with attention and food (Glorious Masquerade).

Overall, while Crowley certainly has a reputation for being stingy both inside and outside of the game, he may not be as cheap as he seems--or as he wants people to think he is? 👀

#twstask #Dire Crowley #twisted wonderland

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radioappleheadcanons · 2 months

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@nunalastor I was going to send you this as an ask, but then it got long and I figured, I'd just make it its own post.

Human AU

Charlie is taking a break from school after her first year because she doesn’t know what she wants to do. Or rather, she doesn’t know which of the many things she wants she should follow. She wants to run a non-profit to help people, anyone who needs it. She wants to run a hotel. She wants to be a businesswoman like her ‘Aunt’ Rosie. She could take over any of her aunts or uncles from her dad’s side. There is just too much to choose from. Her girlfriend Vaggie is in the other boat, not knowing what she wants to do, but because she has no clue what she wants now she’s finally free of her family.

They move in with Charlie’s dad and ‘Uncle’ Alastor. They aren’t quite sure what the relationship between them is, because they know it’s not biological, and they don’t act like a normal couple. But they’re clearly more than good friends (They’re in a QPR, but the girls don’t learn that until later). Nifty, Alastor’s ward is there. As is Husk, who refuses to explain why or how he got there. Alastor just smiles somewhat evilly when they ask him. It’s Luce who explains to them that Alastor paid off a large amount of Husk’s debts from a time of drinking and gambling and that part of the terms was that he had to stay with them to prove he could get and stay sober. He tells them not to mention it because it’s a touchy subject.

Charlie thinks Alastor is wonderful for that, and it helps her warm up to the man whom she had started to have mixed feelings about. She knows Alastor and has known him for several years, but she never realized how close he was with her dad. It’s because of this story that Charlie feels confident that she can bring the thin and very white blond guy she found getting beat up by drug dealers home. Alastor has very very mixed feelings about this, because it was funny when he did it. It’s less funny when Charlie does it. But Luce helps pay off the guys and promises that if he behaves he can stay with them. Nifty is the one who recognizes him as the Adult film star who went missing some weeks ago. Alastor demands to know how she knows that because he could have sworn he’d found and destroyed her collection/any accounts she had. (He never gets an answer)

Charlie and Luce are glad that he had never sold and moved out of the large house he had bought when Luce’s siblings had still been under his care. It’s the home she grew up in, and if it felt a little too big when it was just her, her dad, and her mom; it had felt 10x worse after her mom left. She still has a little hope she’ll come back, and her dad does too, even if he’ll never say it. That’s why he kept the house. But now, that dream doesn’t seem so heavy anymore. Not with the seven of them living together, and the frequent visits from Rosie, and Angle’s friend Cherri. Somehow Cherri’s not-boyfriend ended up staying with them too. No one is really sure how that happened.

This fluffy, hurt/comfort (with a little bit of angst) AU features such things as:

Forcing Alastor to get a new coat because the one he has is a vintage 20s piece that really needs to be retired

Helping Angel fight his addiction to drugs and reconnecting him with his twin sister

Charlie and Vaggie figuring out what they want to do with in life

Lilith returning and them figuring out how she fits in their lives now

Luce finding non-traditional jobs he enjoys and can do while working around his depression (he’s very well off, so he just started living off savings after Lilith left and his depression got worse)

Cherri and Pentenoius getting together

Alastor ticking off his ex-friend and coworker Vox

And More!

#qpr radioapple #💚 aka mine #AU HCS #charlie morningstar #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin nifty #hazbin husk #angel dust #hazbin rosie #lilith morningstar #hazbin vox #long post

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months

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Every Time You Lie-Ch 2 || Lloyd Hansen

Character: dark!Lloyd Hansen x female!reader, dark!Husband Lloyd Hansen x Wife!reader.

Synopsis: Any woman is jealous of you, especially with the status of being the wife of Lloyd Hansen—the CEO of the biggest pharmacy company in the country. From the outside, everyone sees you as a perfect family, a successful husband, two kids, and living in a big house.

But the truth is different. You are trapped in this marriage because of the mistake you made. You are willing to give everything you have to get your freedom. Free from him. Free from your vicious mother-in-law. Free from your snobby son.

This story has manipulation, tragedy, and drama.

Both of them shouldn’t be together.

Warning: Betrayal, suicidal thought, harsh language, tragedy. Minors do not read. 18+

Author Note: I do not consent to copying or translating my work.

Any reblog, comment, and feedback are appreciated. I want to know what you guys think about this one.

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5,Chapter 6 , -

Main Masterlist || Ko-fi

Lloyd always gets what he wants. He learned his ability to manipulate when he was a teenager.

He never stopped doing it, and it benefits both sides.

Good at manipulating, negotiating, and most of all, a football championship. That's how Lloyd got accepted at Harvard Law School.

Every man and woman was jealous of his success, and he noticed that, too. And he enjoyed their envied look. But what can he do? There's only one winner.

However, they were surprised when they discovered Lloyd worked as a corporate lawyer at the pharmaceutical company.

Because many law firms are interested in recruiting him.

The truth is, it's been Lloyd's plan from the beginning to work in Laurent Pharmaceutical.

The story will go back to when he was 9 years old. He just returned from playing with his friends when he heard his mother scream. He went to see his mom, who was already on the floor. She's kneeling and her head facing down. Mail letters and bills are scattered around.

His house and his mother, Krystal, became a mess after his father died of lung cancer. Lloyd has learned about death and accepted that his father has gone.

But Krystal didn't accept this. She crawled to Lloyd, her hands clenched on his shoulder. Her teary eyes and messy hair make her like a lunatic.

"Lloyd, remember this. It's all Laurent's fault your father is gone. It's all his fault!!!"

Lloyd clenched his fist, holding the pain because of her hand gripped. "Yes, mother."

Since then, he has studied, made friends and used his charm to manipulate people.

When he got accepted at Laurent Pharmaceutical, it was really easy for him to get promoted. Lloyd finally met the CEO, Ralph L/N. He is a humble man who prefers to work at the lab with his team rather than expand his connections.

Such a waste, to be honest. This company has potential because of the quality of medicine it makes. It's cheap, effective, and has loyal consumers.

If he becomes the CEO, he will make the company bigger and more successful.

Lloyd discussed expanding the company with Ralph, but he wasn't interested.

That's where he met you, Y/N L/N, for the first time at the lab. You were looking at the microscope when your father called your name.

Lloyd met with your sister and your younger brother. He tried to hang out with them, but he failed. Mia, the second child, in her head, only filled the wedding plans with her fiance, while your brother didn't let anyone enter his friend circle.

The only choice he has is you. You are the eldest child and want to continue the company after Ralph retired. It's perfect. That means you know everything about the company.

He tried getting close to you. He started as your advisor, became a friend, and became a lover. It wasn't easy, but he loved challenges.

When both of you became close, he discovered an internal fight between siblings. You, Mia and Theo, are fighting to become the next CEO.

Lloyd thinks how sweet and cute you are when you come to him, telling him all your problems. That's how he knew everyone's secrets and weaknesses.

He used all the information to make L/N siblings fight with each other. At the same time, he continued his plan to make Laurent Pharmaceutical company bankrupt. To finish his job and fulfil Krystal's wishes.

But decided not to bring down the company after you told him, "I love you Lloyd."

That's the first time he felt guilty. You were innocent, kind, and gentle. He knows what the company means to you. It wasn't your fault, but you got into this mess because of him.

When Krystal heard his plan, she didn't agree. He doesn't want to stop halfway, too. "I'll change the company name to Crystal Pharmaceutical."

His mother didn't say anything, but a smile appeared. It's the first time he sees her smile after his father died. He never saw her smile when he made any achievements. Turned out revenge is the answer.

Then, the judgment day came. When he signed the letter to make it official, he became the new CEO and changed the company name to Crystal Pharmaceutical.

That's the first time he saw hatred in your eyes when you looked at him. He doesn't like it. He longs for the loving eyes. Lloyd understands that you hate him. He will make it up to you.

But he lost his patience when you wanted to publish the company secrets that could end everything. He doesn't want to do this but must make you listen to him.

He threatened your family life. That's enough to make you obedient.

After exchanging vows and kisses on your wedding day, you told him, "I've stopped trusting you."

Nobody from your family or friends at the wedding. Only Lloyd, his mother and people you don't know.

He smiled and kissed your cheeks. "Everyone has their secrets."

Since then, both of you have become a married couple. He watched every move you made. Lloyd knew you still hated and blamed him, but that's life. Nothing is fair in this world—only the strongest survive.

You didn't try to do anything; after becoming a mother, you stayed home and did your duty as a good wife. He had nothing to complain about. His life is perfect.

Time passes, and under his management, the company has expanded and has a billion in profits. It made him own the world.

Successful company, perfect image, and perfect family.

When becoming successful, there's always a temptation. Lloyd has ignored it because he got you.

But in the end, he got tempted by this one girl. Her name is Zoey. She reminded him of when you were young.

What impressed him was that she didn't want anything else from him. She just wants to know how it feels to be with him. He must admit he lost control when he tasted the forbidden fruit.

Every time they were together, Lloyd felt guilty towards you. And he wished you would never find out.

But his fear became true on the wedding anniversary.

You knew.

He doesn't know how you found out; he will check on your daily agenda.

He thought you would slap him and went to hit Zoey, but instead, you said, "I want a divorce."

No. Oh no, he didn't expect that. The only woman who he only loved in this world. You're his perfect wife in his golden cage, and he can't let you go.

He should've chased and apologised to you rather than continued the damn party.

Lloyd almost lost his mind when the head of security suddenly barged into the party and said, "Mrs Hansen got hit by a car."

He immediately went to the hospital, but you were already in the surgery room. He wasn't allowed to get in. Lloyd calmed down when he heard Emily was inside with the team.

"Hiks…hikss…"

Lloyd didn't realise his son, Lionel, was sitting near the waiting room. He sat in the corner, lifted his knees to the chair and hid his face.

The bloody shoebox is beside him. It's your blood.

Lloyd gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. He approached his son and put his hand on Lionel's shoulder.

Lionel lifted his head; there was relief on his face when he saw Lloyd. "Dad…"

Before he said something, his neck was grabbed, and Lloyd pushed his body to the wall. "Uurghh…"

Lloyd no longer cares. Because of this kid, you got into an accident. "If you weren't mine, I would end you right now."

"Put him down!!!" Krystal screamed in the hallway. She was shocked to see her grandson being strangled.

Lloyd clicked his tongue; he threw Lionel to the ground like trash. Krystal ran and helped her grandson. She looked up to Lloyd. "How could you do this to your son?"

Lloyd didn't bother to look at her. "It's your fault for making him so irresponsible like this."

This is the first time Lionel saw his father this scary. He hides in Krystal arms.

The surgery went on for 4 hours. Finally, the head doctor and Emily came out from the surgery.

The senior doctor removed his surgery mask and explained the result of his surgery: "12 broken bones, her head got hit badly. We have stopped the blood in her brain and lungs. It's a miracle she was still breathing when she arrived at the hospital. But she already lost so much blood. I'll be honest. There's a low chance she could wake up."

When Loyd heard that, his knees became weak. He grabbed his phone to make a call. "Gather all the best doctors. Tell them, it doesn't matter how much it costs."

After he made the call, he sat on the floor and looked at his wedding ring. If the damn doctors couldn't help you and you leave this world. He will chase you to heaven or hell and bring you back.

With all the doctors he gathered, none of them can cure you. It's been 4 months, and Lloyd almost lost his mind when he saw you looking lifeless like this.

Your best friend Amelia was heartbroken, and she blamed this on him and Lionel. What's new?

Then your brother Theo came too. Lloyd never saw him after he took over the company. And it takes a lot of work to track him down.

The first thing Theo did when he met Lloyd was punch him. "I have lost Mia and my father. If I lose Y/N, I will torture your mother in front of you until she dies.'

Lloyd never thought Theo would threaten him. After 20 years, he looks different. Lloyd saw the look in his eyes before. Veteran army. Seems like Theo has secrets.

He needs to be on guard when he's with Theo.

Lloyd prayed every single night for you to open your eyes.

His prayer was answered when Lionel told him, "Mom just opened her eyes!"

Both of them ran fast to see you.

Oh, how bright his life was when he saw you looking at him. Finally, you're back.

But he wasn't ready when you avoided him, and you asked, "Who… are… you…?"

It felt like thunder just struck him. Then he realised the way you look at him is different. Lloyd was too stunned to speak until Emily asked you.

"Do you know what today's date is?"

"21st July 20XX."

Lloyd's hand dropped down when he heard the date. Because it was one day before he met you, that means…

You don't know him.

To you, he's just a stranger. All the memories both of you had made together are gone.

You moved your head left and right gently. "Where’s Theo?"

"How did you know he's here?"

Your head tilts toward the flower vase near you. "The flower. He will buy this for me everytime he apologises to me."

There’s a flower vase beside you with white orchids. That flower symbolizes apologies. Theo learned it when he tried to impress girls. He always gave you this flower after both of you fought. And it always has 3 stalks, an odd number representing his siblings.

You don’t understand why, when you think about Theo, you miss him because you met him last night.

“Is he with my father?”

Lloyd sighed.

"I'm sorry but Ralph L/N died on 11 April 20XX.. And today is not 21st July 20XX but 8th August 2023."

You widen your eyes. It's impossible. "This is a fucking joke, right?"

"A joke with you lying on the patient bed? It's a tragic joke."

Is that true? Is that why these two youngsters are calling you mom? And this man, is he your husband? What happened to your boyfriend?

This question made you have difficulty breathing. "Haah…Haah…"

You need help understanding what's happening. You remembered that you went out with Amelia last night, and now you woke up in the hospital?

"Uurgh…"

Suddenly, you feel a painful headache. When you closed your eyes, you saw a blinded car headlight, heavy rain, and darkness.

You fainted again.

Lloyd, hold your head. Seeing you didn't recognise me, his blood boiled. He screamed, "Get the doctor, or I'll burn this place to the ground."

Emily ran outside. "Call the neurologist department!"

The hospital went into chaos for a moment. All the senior doctors gathered to discuss. It's obvious what happened, but they fear Lloyd since he is the biggest donor to this hospital.

In the end, Dr. Gilbert stands beside Emily. If Lloyd is mad with the result, at least his daughter can calm her father.

"Dissociative Amnesia."

When Lloyd and Lionel heard that, they felt lost. Amnesia. It's a difficult word to accept. That means you have no memory of them.

"This type of amnesia is forgetting a specific period of time. It is caused by stress or trauma. That's reasonable since the hit she got because of the accident. It's even a miracle her eyes are still working. The shattered glass from the car also got into her eyes."

Lloyd rubbed his forehead. "She forgot who we are. Her family. She only knew she was 21 years old."

Lionel felt scared, thinking his mother didn't remember him. He regrets everything he did towards you.

"At this moment, try to be patient. If she is too stressed, she will get a stroke. There is something that medical can't explain but I will keep saying it's a miracle Mrs. Hansen is still alive."

Dr. Gilbert looked at his note "When she calms down, we will try hypnosis therapy to trigger her memory."

After saying that, both of them left the room.

Lloyd keeps watching you asleep. He hopes you will remember him and tell him it's just a nightmare when you wake.

But no, the second time you woke up, you asked him, "You're my husband?"

Ahh, he lost you.

He felt empty when he heard that. You are his biggest achievement. And now, in this situation, his hard work turns into nothing.

Even though Lloyd felt empty, he still showed you the wedding photo from his phone.

You looked at the photo; no one from your family or friends. You don’t know all these people. And your face in the picture, you know it's a forced smile.

You know this since you have always been asked to get photographs for a magazine. You used this fake smile.

But why, on your wedding day, you don’t look happy?

"Why does my face look like that?"

Lloyd was speechless because you were right. It's a forced marriage. You don't have any choice but to marry him.

He smiled and said, "You missed your father and felt sad he couldn't be beside you. In this photo, you tried to be strong, my dear."

When he called you that, your skin shivered. It made you uncomfortable. You pushed away his phone and looked at him. "Are you sure I married you? Because you're not my type."

Lloyd bites his tongue when he hears that. You went back to your old self. It would be nice if you just kill him now.

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Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || Ko-fi

#chris evans characters #soft!dark lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #soft!dark lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #husband!lloyd hansen

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