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differenteagletragedy · 6 months

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So yesterday someone requested a swap AU fic with Baxter as the boy who moved across the street, Cove as his friend you met at 13 and Derek as the guy who rented the condo for the summer. I promptly lost my mind, so here is more.

This is the part in Step 3 when everyone goes to the restaurant and Cove tells everyone he's going to get an apartment and he and MC have a moment, except Baxter style.

"Tell your boyfriend to stop fixing his hair and come on, I'm hungry," Liz said impatiently.

"He's not my boyfriend and he has his process," you replied, looking across the street at your best friend's house.

You, Liz, your moms and Lee were all outside, waiting to go to dinner. Baxter had been invited as well, but it seemed he was running a bit late.

As you were pulling out your phone to text him, he finally appeared. He had a troubled expression, but once he saw you and your family already assembled by your mom's car he turned on a practiced smile and jogged over.

"My apologies," he said, coming to a stop by your side. "I won't hold us up any further. Shall we?"

He held his arm up for you to take and Liz snorted, then said, "We'll meet you there."

Baxter, for all his eccentricities that you'd come to know so well in then ten years you'd been friends, fancied himself a bit of a gentleman. He always offered you his arm when walking anywhere, and you always accepted. You'd had a crush on him for years but had always been too nervous to tell him, so being close to him in any capacity was nice.

Tonight felt a bit different though. Usually he gave off a warmth when you were together, a sort of easygoing gentleness that you'd always noticed was reserved only for you, but now he was tense. As you settled in the passenger seat of his car, ready to follow your family to the restaurant, you saw that his shoulders were tense, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn't look at you.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said a little too quickly as he pulled out onto the street. You kept looking at him, and eventually he let out a sigh.

"Family stuff again?" you asked.

"It's miserable there," he responded, keeping his voice low as he always did when he talked about his parents. Being vulnerable was difficult for him, but he was able to manage it with you.

"I'm sorry," you told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's only gotten worse since I've turned 18," he continued. "It's like all the expectations they've placed on me my entire life should have suddenly manifested as soon as I became an adult, and because they haven't, and they won't, they're taking it out on me."

Baxter's voice got even lower, and there was a pain to it as he added, "It's unbearable."

You tried to comfort him as best you could, but the drive to the tropical place was a short one, and soon he was pulling into a parking space beside your parents. He took a breath, shot you another fake smile, then got out.

After you'd been seated and your orders had been taken, Baxter cleared his throat. The attention turned to him, and he began speaking.

"I have a bit of an announcement," he began. "I've been keeping it to myself until all the details were hammered out, but now I can share: I'll be headed east to start college in the fall. Virginia, to be precise. For a degree in business."

Your mothers were quick to congratulate him -- he'd become like a third child to them, so it was natural they'd be proud. Lee clapped her hands together, and Liz even joined in, but you just stared at him in shock.

You'd talked about your future plans, of course, and you knew Baxter was going to college but you assumed it would be somewhere nearby. Moving across the country was something someone would discuss with their best friend, but he'd kept you completely in the dark. It hurt.

Baxter answered your family's questions and thanked them for their support, but then he turned to you. You shared a look for a moment.

"If you'll excuse me, I believe I'd like to stretch my legs for just a moment before dinner arrives," he said, standing. He looked down to you, and held out his arm. "Care to join me?"

Without a word, you took his arm once again and followed him to the entrance.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he said quietly, leaning in to speak to you. "If I'm being honest, I didn't know how."

"So you thought it would have been best to tell me like this? When do you even leave, in a month?"

"Three weeks," he corrected. You scoffed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, grasping your hands and pulling them up to his chest. "I truly am. If there was a way I could stay, I would, and I have to believe you know that. I don't want to leave you, I need to leave them."

His parents. That was the reason for the cross-country move. He was running away.

There was something about his closeness, his hands gripping yours close to his heart that became too much. You loved him, and he was leaving. And as long as his parents lived in the area, you doubted he'd ever want to come back.

"I have to go," you said, pulling your hands back. He began to say something, but you raised your hand to stop him, then left the restaurant.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes and decided to take a seat in your mom's car to have a moment to yourself. You unlocked the back door with a shaky hand and climbed in, then let everything out.

Baxter had been there for over half your life at this point. His presence was a constant, something you could always count on. You'd spent countless days together, and so many nights after he started sneaking in your window for impromptu sleepovers when he couldn't stand being in his own house anymore. You couldn't imagine things being so different.

After a bit, you steadied your breath and wiped your face. When you felt steady enough, you moved to get out, but then you spotted a flash of black and white illuminated by a streetlight.

There was Baxter, leaning against the trunk of his car, waiting for you.

You couldn't help but smile, and at that moment he turned back and caught your eye. He gave a cautious smile back, then tapped on the window.

"Care for some company?" he asked when you opened the door.

And so he crawled in the backseat with you, and before you could say anything, he had his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He laid a kiss on top of your head, then rested his cheek there.

"I'm not going to be gone for good," he told you. "And honestly I'm a little ashamed of myself if I've let you believe you could get rid of me this easily."

"You're going to be on the other side of the continent, Baxter."

"I'll visit you. You'll visit me. We'll have summer breaks." He kissed your head again and pulled you even closer, then said, "It's four years, darling. You're stuck with me for a lifetime."

You snuggled into him, basking in his affection. He wasn't always this sweet, finding it more comfortable to joke and tease, but in moments like these, it was harder not to fall more deeply in love with him.

A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence, then you told him that you'd better get back to the restaurant. He agreed, and you stepped out of the car. Just before you got to the door, he stopped and turned to face you.

"There is one more thing I feel the need to say," he started. "Something I should have told you long ago."

Taking a look at his expression, you got nervous. He was about to tell you something serious. His expression was hard to read, but when you saw his eyes dart down to your lips, you stopped him.

"We better get going," you said, stepping toward the doors. "Maybe we can talk about this another time."

Baxter looked at you a moment longer, swallowed, then smiled.

"Yes. Another time."

#our life beginnings and always #our life #baxter ward #baxter x you #baxter x mc #baxter x reader #baxter ward x you #baxter ward x mc #baxter ward x reader #our life swap au #olba #olba baxter #our life baxter

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orion4ever · 8 months

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Author's Note: I was inspired by a recent post of mine about Cliff's protective nature towards MC and how he reacts when Baxter and MC reunite and get back together. I believe Cove keeps Cliff updated on EVERYTHING!

This would take place after the events of the Baxter DLC, The timing is up to you!

Pairing: Baxter Ward x MC

Cliff Holden was currently unboxing some new shipments When he heard the store's front doorbell ring a few times.

He emerged from the backroom to see his son and his group of friends. He instantly had a huge grin on his face as he welcomed them.

"Hey, Bud." He greeted nonchalantly, earning a small 'Hey' from his son.

"Oh! Hello, Terry and Miranda! It's always nice seeing you two" he greeted warmly, earning himself an enthusiastic "Heeyyyyy!" from Terry and a small wave from Miranda.

"And of course, MC and-" he paused when he saw the new face standing next to MC with a sheepish smile. He looked familiar but he couldn't put a name to the face.

"Oh! Hey! It's always nice seeing a new face, I am Cliff" he greeted with a grin.

The 'stranger' smile grows a little. "Hello. We've already met before...I was staying in the condo next to yours five years ago..?" The black-haired man said. "Baxter Ward?" He added.

Cliff deflated for a minute. He had remembered, now that Baxter hiked his memory. Cove had updated Cliff on the entire series of events about Baxter and MC.

He was told how the eccentric monochromatic tourist had gotten together with his long-term neighbor and son's best friend.

He was also told about how the same eccentric monochromatic tourist had dumped MC at the end of the summer and vowed to never see them again.

Baxter had always been very neighborly and amiable towards Mr. Holden himself, always greeting him and giving tidbits about his plans for the day.

But...

He couldn't forget how heartbroken MC was over the breakup. It always seemed like they had some unheeded feelings that will most likely never be addressed or explained; leaving MC confused and sad over it all.

Like Noelani and Pamela’s first reaction to the reappearance of Baxter; His excitement melted in the California heat.

“Oh.” Cliff mumbled.

He then walked to stand behind the register took out a long box and continued to talk with everyone.

“So , What brings you back in town, Baxter?”

“Well.-“ Baxter was then promptly interrupted by the sound of a box opening and a metal clanking sound hitting the counter.

Cliff casually unboxed a box of fishing harpoons while staring right at Baxter.

“Well, we wanted to visit the shopping district again to relax.” Baxter finished , he had his usual grin but it looked a tiny bit wobbly.

“Uh-huh,” Cliff said, placing another fishing harpoon on the table casually again. “Ignore me. These are new shipments.” Cliff reiterated, with a slightly forced smile.

Not wanting to stay in this awkward and slightly threatening silence, MC speaks up.

“Mr. Holden , me and Baxter are back together; don’t be too hard on him” they said both in a jokey and genuine sense.

Cliff chuckled a little. “I won’t , don’t worry!” He smiled , shining the threatening harpoons.

Miranda giggled a little , either out of nervousness or whatever was going on. Terry being the social butterfly he is bounced right back.

“B-man invited everyone to lunch so we gotta head out soon!” He stated , giving Baxter a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah. We just wanted to stop by , Dad” Cove said with a smile. Cliff nodded to that. “I appreciate you for thinking about your old man, Cove.”

“Your not old , Mr.Holden. Your only like 49.”

“Pfft-, 49?!? MC. I promise ,I am not that old” he cackled lightheartedly. Before he started waving the group off. “You kids go on now, You don’t have to stay to keep me company.”

As they all began exiting , he stopped Baxter. “Uh , Baxter. A word?” He asked , a serious tone in his voice.

Baxter didn’t say anything but he did move to properly look at the older gentleman. He had a abased frown.

“I don’t want any funny business with you,” Cliff said, crossing his arms. “MC has been a massive support to both Cove and myself for a long time. It would be sad to see them be heartbroken again.” He continued, he wasn’t joking around.

Baxter Ward stood up straighter and said. “Mr. Holden. I assure you that this time, I am here to stay.” He said, putting a pale hand to his purple button-up.

“I understand your concern. I haven’t made a good impression by doing that years ago. I am sorry for that. I truly do care for MC and I want to be with them.”

He finished it off with a slight bow of his head.

Cliff unfolded his arms and gave Baxter’s shoulder a strong but not painful squeeze. “Good. I hope we can become good friends then.”

Cliff then let Baxter go to join the rest of the group with a small hopeful smile.

#olba #our life beginnings & always #olba baxter #baxter ward #fanfic #our life beginning & always Baxter #olba mc #baxter ward x reader #baxter ward x mc #olba cliff #cliff holden #gb patch #cliff casually threatens Baxter with a harpoon #casual protective behavior #fr #☺️#orion fic

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monstersandmaw · 10 months

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too.

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’.

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons.

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be.

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man.

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was.

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#selkie #bucca #polyamory #polyamorous romance #poly story #o #historical fantasy #shifter romance #poly shifter romance #18th century romance #shapeshifter romance #m/m/f

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rui-drawsbox · 4 months

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hmm im curious. whats olba about :0?

Oh anon you have no idea of what you just asked-- let me get my teacher costume

AHEM

OLBA or Our Life: Beginnings & Always it's a visual novel where you can play the perfect life you never got and cry about how much you wanted it after you finish it :DD (available on Steam for pc and Itch.io for both pc/mac and android!)

You play as-- well, you (or not, you choose)! You can choose your name, last name, pronouns, appearance, personality, hobbies, everything except your family, but you wouldn't like to change them for anything after you meet them.

You start the game as an innocent 8 years old kid that meets a random guy that tells you that he just moved across the street, he also tells you about his son: Cove! who has the same age as you. This guy tries to bribe you with 20 dollars, you can accept or refuse (or run! i like that option), either way you end up in a poppy hill behind your house and find the so famous Cove! He tells (cry) you that his parents just divorced and that he miss his mom ( :c ), you can comfort him or not, but you two still will be found by both of your families and have to go home.

That's the prologue! Gameplay aspect: it consists in 3 Steps of your life: 8, 13 and 18 years old! Each Step comes with 5 Moments, where you can spend time with (mainly) cove, if you're playing the base game. Talking about base game! You can complete it in around 5 hours (that's what took me the first time i think), and it comes with a 4th Step that work as an epilogue!

There are 6 paid DLC's (and a free one that is a name pack), 3 are other 15 moments for the first 3 Steps, 1 is a wedding dlc for our lovely Cove <3 (we'll get to him in no time), and the last 2 are extra content for two characters you'll meet in your very first playthough: Derek in Step 2 and Baxter in Step 3 (you should know this one very well if you follow me lmao), each with 5 moments extra for their assigned Step and their own Step 4 where you can follow and give proper closure to their stories!

I'll try to not ramble a lot because it's something you just need to experience yourself to get it but-- i will introduce you to the love interests! (or friendship interests, you don't need to crush on anyone to have a great time)

Cove Holden! Our lovely neighbor that we see almost everyday for like 10 years! You could also call him the second main character after you, since you learn more about him and his family during all the game. He's an introvert and ocean nerd (in the cutest way possible), depending on your choices you can shape his personality/style and become best buddies, the sweetest couple or just remain neighbours that never really got along. (you'll learn to love him, platonic or not, trust me)

Another perk of the game is that no matter what you do there's not "wrong or right" (unless you feel bad for the characters, like me), your actions does have consequences but there's nothing like a "bad ending/good ending", after all it's just your life, it goes on no matter what! Unless you want to reach a specific scene you found online you'll never have to use a guide for anything.

Derek Suarez! A caring guy! mabye a little too much, he's the oldest brother of 3 and that shaped him in a way that he always feels responsible of everything😔. During his storyline you'll help him to learn how to relax and lean on other people :D!

Baxter Ward! A monochromatic gentleman, mischievous as a cat and emotionally repressed like a pressure cooker <3. Struggles a lot with making deep conections and being emotionally vulnerable, you can imagine about what goes his storyline lol.

He's my favorite, if you haven't noticed. He has that infuriating charm that only someone that unironically says "Hallelujah" has. A very dramatic route, he's a very dramatic guy, you should see how he texts in step 3 aghsdas.

Also! all the side characters are super likeable, from your family to the baker of that bakery that is metioned a few times!

ANYWAYS, in conclusion: this is a very relaxing game! If you like visual novels you should definitely give it a try, the amount of replayability this game has is insane. My recommendations for when you play are:

Try the base game first! If you like it you can buy the moments dlcs (theyre only 3$ each!), mabye the wedding dlc after that (if you want to marry cove that is, this one is 2$ btw), Derek's dlc and Baxter's dlc (5$ each) for last. Those are pretty much the release order but i that's also the order i enjoy the most!

(play this game at least 2 times trying different choices/personality, the differences are ughhhh/pos)

When you're playing for the first time you should play the moments left to right. On later playthroughs you should change the order to find new dialogues! theyre small things but omg theyre so fun

Have fun! do whatever you want, i literally said there's no bad or good ending, take advantage of it and be as foward or shy as you want, be a little shit or a literal angel! That is your life we're talking about.

#rui thinks loudly #just left 2 hours and half of my back's hp in this post #totally worth it #our life: beginnings & always #our life #olba #cove holden #derek suarez #baxter ward #gb patch #gb patch games #visual novel #honestly if there's anything i can do to make more people play olba i'll do it bc this thing literally healing #im full of love for this game bitch

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

Text

The Break is Never Easy

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,175

Synopsis: You were invited as an artist to showcase your work at the bi-anual ball thrown for the marines. A decade has passed between you and your severance from your ex-fiance, old flames reigniting as tension builds throughout the night.

Themes: Marine!Bogard x Artist!Reader, right person wrong time, dance series fic, lost love, love reignited, angst, domestic angst, military themes, death suggested, love found once more, dancing, miliary ball/gala.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the beautiful @i-am-vita, creator of the banner for the storyteller au collaboration for Mihawk's Sapsorrow. Bogard’s angsty chapter for the dance-fic series is all for you, dear!

Tag List: @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here

"You had my heart // I had yours too // My fight’s withdrawn, believe me // The break is never easy"

Staring at the ornate canvas encrusted in gold, you allowed a warm smile to rise against your lips to highlight your face with its mastery. This, your prized creation in the entirety of your collection, was the reason you had been invited to showcase your artistic skill within the ballroom of the upper class admirals within their bi-anual commemoration ball.

The imagery within the oil painting showcased the grief of war: the violence within battle, alongside the families they left behind as they ran off to rid the world of the ravenous plague of piracy. A valley of skulls littered alongside the crystal shores of a cove you knew well in childhood; the woman within held resemblance to yourself, distant enough to not draw similarity within the crowd; the version of yourself a decade your junior as she clung to her marine lover.

Her back had been riddled with bullets, the blood cascading down her back, as she shielded her Marine lover from their incoming carnage. Holding the woman by the waist, the expression of immense bittersweet adoration and sorrow, resembled the younger version of your ex-fiance.

Crafting this depiction of war caused you to experience the pain over and over again, feeling the exact moment your heart shattered into a million pieces as he left you. The words he spoke to you, the tone he used, the feeling of his hand caressing your cheek to wipe your tear stricken face of the falling droplets of sorrow - all depicted in the utter chaos within the portraiture.

You raise your glass of sparkling wine to your lips; the amber hue bounding from the glass as you take a small sip of the liquid within. The beading of the bubbles tickled against your tongue, the bitterness of the tannins dancing with the sweetness of the juice as it trickled down your throat. Feeling a presence beside you, you withdrew the glass from your lips and crossed your arms.

“Is this one of yours?” the familiar brogue of the man who stole your ex-fiance from you caused your spine to tingle and the bile coat your tongue with its flavor.

“Does it surprise you to be informed that it is?” you retorted, refusing to break eye-contact with your painting to spare the gentleman at your side the luxury of a glance. The warm chuckle felt oddly comforting despite your disdain for the gentleman. His voice held a brutish warmth within, almost pride in standing next to such an accomplished artist within their field.

“Not in the slightest,” he confessed with the small shake of his head. At this comment, you turned to face him. Your dress danced at your feet, the slit from ankle to thigh flashing a moment of exposed skin to him as you drew yourself closer to the man who stole your love from you. He extended his right hand to you in a gesture for you to take it, an action you reciprocated by placing your right hand within his palm.

“In fact, love,” he uttered, drawing your hand up to his lips and brushing them against your knuckles, “I have never been more proud to be proven wrong.” He withdrew your knuckles from his lips, the tingling sensation of his stubble remaining behind as he released your hand from his.

“Wrong in what capacity, Vice-Admiral Garp?” Your narrowed eyes held your question with more venom than what you had originally intended, the sting of the break festering beneath your skin the longer you stayed within the aura of your painting. The dryness of his humorless chuckle stung against the rapidly reopening wounds of your sorrow; both of your attention being recalled to the painting of the defeated woman within the arms of her Marine lover.

“Artists serve a purpose in war,” he commented, bowing to the painting before turning and bowing further to you, “And I was wrong to trigger such a break in union from my right hand and his bonnie lass.” Upon hearing those words, you felt the swell of vindication in your blood swell to your heart and mind.

If you remained the person you were ten years your junior, you may have yelled, screamed, hit, slapped and gnashed your teeth at the highly decorated vice-admiral at your side. In your decade of severance from your lover, you had learnt to navigate the upper class and to smolder the flames of your raw emotions enough to articulate your meaning verbally alone.

“How honorable of you to repent a decade in the latter to the event, sir,” you nodded, your lips curling up in a smirk hidden by your chin’s tilt. Rising from your stoop, you held the brutal gaze of the vice admiral and remained unflinching in your resolve, “May the next time you assume weakness amongst the arts, you think back to this moment and make the wiser decision.”

“Aye, that I will,” he nodded, a knowing twinkle held within his intense and wild eyes, his decorum faltering as the beast within him lurked beneath, “And should Bogard ever attempt to push back on a hard boundary again, I may yet acquiesce to his request.” The sting of the name of your ex-fiance had your blood swelling, the hurt remaining and resurfacing the longer you stood next to Vice-Admiral Garp. You stepped toward him, your body smothered by his great height, but unwavering in your resolve.

“May your heart be open to receive such pushback, Vice-Admiral,” you nodded, awaiting dismissal from one so high in the commanding chain against a meager civilian.

“Rest assured, bonnie,” he stepped closer to you, clapping a hand over your shoulder in a gesture of familiarity, “It will be.” At that, and a brief nod, you both departed from your proximity to the painting while watching eyes held firm to your departure from the shadows of the corner of the room.

Bogard held onto your every word; his heart swelling at every syllable departing from your lips. He had not heard a whisper of your voice in over a decade, the silence plaguing him with each moment that passed in your absence. His eyes stuck to your frame at your departure from his commanding officer, and captain, Garp. The way your dress swelled at your feet, the way the hem cascaded down the exposed skin of your back to the hue of the material illuminating beneath the lights.

After all this time, Bogard’s heart belonged to you. His soul screamed at him to rush forward and hold you in his arms, smothering you with open adoration and affection; regardless of who’s eyes were watching. The unspoken concept that was holding him from sprinting to your side, was the mystery surrounding your correspondence to the letters and calls he attempted to reach you with.

He had stretched his resources until they snapped, breaking off relationships with communicators and transponders that held only silence in response to his heart dissected upon the pages of the parchment paper sent to you. For the first three years of serving Vice-Admiral Garp as his right hand man, he was an emotionless drone and lackey. His only outlet was sketching and scribing his mind to you and sending you his thoughts from the corners of the blue sea he had found himself traveling within.

Nothing. Not a semblance of a whisper of a word. His heart was met with a cold, hard nothing. No simple “okay,” no complex hatred and rage scrolled onto a tanned page of scrap paper. Nothing. In that uncertainty, he had no idea how you would respond to such a swell of affection.

Have you moved on? Were you married? Did you have a beau or a spouse? Did they court you the way he did? These questions remained unanswered, even as you reached for another glass of sparkling amber wine and drew up your emptied former glass to place on the tray. He had to know. Moving forward from the shadows, he glanced up at the painting his superior and the former holder of his heart were glancing at.

His breath was stolen from his lungs as his eyes met the painting. The imagery was so intensely intimate, he felt a blush begin to litter his face with its warmth. He didn’t know how to feel, angered that his likeness was depicted in such a way, or proud that this moment of time was artistically captured within the brushstrokes within each injury depicted within. It was beautiful.

Each movement within the piece had his heart cracking like porcelain meeting concrete at a harsh velocity. He could see your heart, your soul; his ex-fiance and holder of his affection depicting such unjust injury upon the canvas.

You smiled at the attendees. Young marine cadets who sparked and jittered in place with their hands clenched and nervous had your heart swooning in memory of the man who held your heart in your youth. The small string orchestra swelled their melody, your body swaying in response to their bow-strokes and finger-picks almost against your will.

Several members of the attendees had joined the circular dance floor, swaying jovially to the rhythmic beat and swell of the melody with precision. You smiled a vocalless laugh in encouragement of a pink-haired cadet out of their depth dancing with a skilled marine dancer, Vice-Admiral Garp also spinning a widow on the dancefloor within his skilled arms. Although you had reservations about the vice-admiral, you did appreciate the intention behind the break he caused with your beloved.

He wanted to protect you in a multitude of ways, your youthful wonder being your downfall in assuming the best in those around you. Your artistic soul was not meant for war, no matter the individual who held your affection. But in time apart from Bogard, your heart began to harden and turn wrathful. You changed your familial name, fled to a new beginning to make something of yourself as you processed your grief.

With no name nor family to hold you back, you thrived in your artistry. Your popularity gained and nurtured you with each piece created by those rallying to your support. The first item you produced with a piece of your soul scribed within the canvas was the piece you were staring at with Garp moments prior. In the silver healing of your scars, you silently thanked Garp for prying you apart from your beloved Bogard to allow you to depict such pain upon the page.

As the serenade concluded, you applauded the musicians with your hands and a joyous cheer flung from your lips. You also applauded those brave enough to dance, nodding to Garp in respect with a small smile he reciprocated.

A presence fell to your side, the familiar cologne drawing up to your face and alerting you of his presence before he had even spoken a word. You tensed, your newly emptied glass clutched firmly within your strong grip before an attendee wordlessly collected it from your fingertips.

Neither of you could find the words to articulate to one another, feeling the tension gathering between your bodies with each inhale and exhale you took silently beside each other. You refused to be the one to break the silence. He was the one to end your union, he should be the one to apologize.

Bogard did not know how to approach your silence: the same silence he was met with for each letter he sent to your residence depicting his heart; piece by piece. He wanted so desperately to cast all decorum and title aside and simply escort you outside and fall to his knees and beg for an answer to a single question be asked within the pages.

Questions you had no knowledge of. No parchment paper, scrap nor call had found you on the other end of his many stretches from his base to your home. How could it have? You had changed all you were to become who you are. No name tied you to your history, abandoned alongside your heart cast aside by Bogard now standing beside you.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked after clearing his throat, prompting you to turn your chin towards him to meet his darkened eyes.

After all this time, his aura still held the same pull it always had. You felt your soul call for him, your body almost moving against its will to be pulled into his arms. You curtseyed deeply, prompting a small click of his tongue and turn of his head in displeasure.

“I would be honored,” you uttered monotonously, extending your right hand to him for him to claim within his left. Your breath hitched at the contact, prompting you to mentally scold yourself at such a response.

As your eyes met, you almost looked past the man he was now to the boy who held your heart a decade ago. His eyes held a similar reflection, meeting with the person you once were behind your eyes. Refocusing both your gazes on one another, you were met with an unfamiliarity you had no map, nor compass, to navigate.

The hazelnut glow of his eyes still held you breathless within their depths, as much as your parted lips held his similar focus. He led you onto the dancefloor, the music swelling as he began to twirl you within his arms in front of his superiors, colleagues and underlings. You had no idea where to begin the unspoken conversation, feeling almost awkward within his arms the longer the silence was held between you both.

Being the first to break the silence, you held your gaze firmly against his after huffing out a breath of frustration. Smiling, you darted your eyes between focusing on each of his, feeling incredibly exposed beneath his focus.

“Are those new medals, sir?” you asked him, gesturing with your chin to his left breast pocket.

“Sir?” he asked, his left hand gripping yours a little more firmly before relinquishing its intensity on your hand while holding firmly against your hand. “My darling, I don’t know what you-...” his words rushed out of his lips without restraint, a small cough from his throat refocusing his mental state with a deep inhale and exhale.

“It has been a few years since last I held you in my arms,” he nodded, ushering you out to the side of him before twirling you within his arms. Your back fell flush with his torso, his every essence overwhelming you with emotions you thought to have buried a decade ago. “I have earnt a few titles over the years, yes. I appreciate you taking the time to notice.”

“Of course I would notice, Bo,” you answered him with as much hase as he did earlier, taking a moment to collect yourself as he swayed you within his arms. You briefly shook your head, allowing him to wield you as an extension of himself with another twirl; this time ending with you facing him. “I always notice.”

He hummed in response. There was no way he could ask all questions plaguing him for each swell and step of the melody from the orchestra. In lieu of interrogation, he opted to focus on you externally. He focussed on the ornate way your hair was drawn up, the way you held your face beneath its painted and accented appearance, the way your dress clung to your body and held an illusionary barrier between tastefully covering the necessities while leaving little to the imagination for what falls beneath.

Both closing your eyes, you fell almost organically against one another. The automatrons beneath your inhibitions had your chests pressing against one another, your foreheads holding a similar fate with their proximity. As soon as his forehead was pressed against your own, you felt the person you were a decade ago resurface and lean towards him.

“You-...” his voice fell short, the stutter and waver in his voice had your heartstrings tugging like a wolf leashed beneath its owner's muzzleing. Opening your eyes, your brows arched up in the center as they fell on Bogard’s lengthy eyelashes. You witnessed his eyes darting beneath the small shield of flesh, dreamlike in its make while searching for a word or phrase.

“We were perfect, weren’t we?” you smiled through your sigh, his eyes opening to meet yours at your words, “We were the right people for each other, but the wrong time. You were a Marine in the prime of your life, while I was an experience-.”

“-You were everything to me,” his voice cut your sentence like shattered glass through tender flesh. The raspy tone of his voice matched with the intensity of his eyes had you truly wanting to believe his words. Your breath hitched, unable to find stability within the large gathering of people on the dancefloor.

Bogard continued to lead you through the dance, silent and brooding through each twirl, spin and sachet. His questions continued to swirl behind his lips, his brow furrowing and deepening the more the dance continued to leave his questions unanswered.

“You never gave me a whisper of where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay or struggling,” he began, his heart pouring from his lips in a hushed whisper, “You were to be my wife. My love, I would’ve never accepted the promotion should I have known the agony I would endure at your silence. I would have become a sword for hire, a bounty hunter-.”

“-And I would have never asked you to make such a sacrifice, my heart,” you confessed, feeling the music begin to decrescendo its swell and teeter off, “I loved you, and you held my heart within your hands,” you drew yourself closer to him, feeling the final dip in his movement before he drew you into an embrace against his body, “You were my love to lose, and I will be forever grateful to be a chanel for your affection.”

Applause resounded within the hollows of the room and reverberated from the dome of the room. You broke from Bogard’s embrace and bowed to him, and he to you.

“We would have been best side by side,” he confessed, his lip stuttering beneath his words, “I would have had you with me. My light,” he continued, stepping towards you and reaching to reclaim your fingertips to brush against him, “My heart. You were mine-.”

“-I was yours, Bogard,” you nodded with a false smile to mask the pain resurfacing, “And now our light is gone, and the break was not easy on either of us.” You stepped away from his outstretched hand, subtly shaking your head at him and attempting to stop the rapid rise of familiar sorrowful emotions within your heart.

Taking your bottom lip beneath your top teeth, you held your widened eyes fixed on his to warn him not to pursue you in your retreat before you left the dancefloor - a warning he refused to follow, even if it was commanded by the most superior officer in the chain of command. He had lost you once, and the memory of you was once again slipping through his fingers in each moment he watched you turn away from him.

“Let her be,” Garp’s voice broke him from his silent brooding, Bogard’s jaw clenching as his teeth ground behind his firmly clasped mouth, “Just let her be for a moment before you chase her.”

“Sir?” Bogard asked, his brow arching up at his superior officer in question. Garp’s stern expression began to falter beneath his hardened exterior. A grin rose to his lips, his eyes holding a foreign twinkle usually reserved for the pursuit of a particularly difficult adversary.

“She is a rare soul to walk among us mere mortals,” he confessed, his eyes fixed on the retreat of your body as it disappeared through the threshold of the exit, “And she needs to be treated as such.” Turning to his underling, Garp clenched his firm hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze beneath his wide grip, “Allow her the luxury of navigating her own feelings first before you confess your own to her.”

Bogard nodded, his broad hat covering his eyes to shield the emotions gathering behind them. He could see how you were struggling beneath your learned hardened exterior, truly unsure as to who the person you had become really was after all this time. All he knew within his soul was you were his, and he is still yours.

Upon exiting the central floor your dance was held upon, you breathed in a heaping gulp of air unoccupied with the sting of unnatural perfumes, colognes and lotions within the dancefloor. You hang your head back, lulling it upon your shoulders within the solitude the gardens provided for you.

“May I join you?” the familiar voice of your ex-fiance asked you, prompting you to both repress a groan of frustration within your lungs while your heart cried out in affirmation of his presence. Your internal conflict did not provide you with any resolve within your being, prompting you to provide a half-hearted shrug and a nod in response.

Stepping closer beside you, he felt uneasy in your radiance. He took the opportunity in your own internal argument to look over the way your dress clung to your body. Raking his eyes slowly, he drew them up from your shoes, to your calves, to the split in material against your thigh which prompted his breath to hitch. He slowly withdrew his gaze from the small glimpse of flesh to your hips, chest, exposed neck and face - your brows continuing to be knit with a mixture of confusion, rage and sorrow.

Before he could utter a single word or compliment your way, you spoke with your sharpened tone, causing him to stumble in his own mind.

“What do you want from me, Bogard?” you asked him, turning to face him with your heart weighing heavy within your chest, “I gave you everything. I gave you my youth, my body, my time, my heart, the prime of my life - leaving me in this shell of the person I once was, no longer an object of desire-.”

“-You never answered a single letter,” he interrupted your train of thought, prompting your frown to deepen in the centre of your forehead, “I sent you mountains of wasted paper for you to not return a single scrap of a word, nor semblance of a phrase. I would have appreciated a simple reprimand, a crude expression telling me to leave you alone-.”

“-Bogard, need I remind you that you left me?” your voice elevated to a small and firm argumentative tone, your jaw clenching with your every word, “You left me. You left me on that island with a simple relaying of the word from your commanding officer. One that he relinquished tonight, in fact: ‘Artists have no place in war. I shall leave you now so we are not burdened by the loss of one another’,” you mocked him, stepping closer to his body diminishing within the shadows.

You allowed a dry and humorless laugh to escape your lips as you stepped closer. Allowing a moment of tension to continue to swell between you, you snarled at him with your eyes narrowed.

“Did you enjoy my painting of us?” you asked him, your brow and lip twitching in anticipation for his response. You expected anger and wrath at the depiction of his likeness within the canvas, his passionate ignition of flamed fury directed at you. In its stead, you received a small whisper in response.

“I saw your heart reflected on its page,” he uttered, stepping closer to you with his head bowed, “A heart I have tried so desperately to reach in the decade that has held us apart.” Your heart fluttered with its rage within you, desiring to both shove him to the side and leave, but also draw him close for an embrace.

“After all this time, you continue to chase me?” you spat at him, your heart now elevated to a heightened pace of anxiety and a rush of rage, “Tell me. What do I have that a flurry of others do not? What do I have that another cannot return to you? That another that would be more suited to provide for you, could not? Tell me, Bogard. What do I have to offer you-?”

Bogard stepped in, claiming your waist within his left hand and holding you flush against his chest, while his right hand claimed your left cheek within his gentle caress.

“You still hold my heart,” he whispered, his breath dancing on your lips on each syllable, “You rule my heart,” his words drew you in, your eyes swelling with the emotions of your youth. “I would build a citadel around your leadership, as queen of my heart,” he continued, his eyes dancing between your own. Your breath hitched as his eyes met with your parted lips, his own parting as his body swelled to join yours all the sooner.

“You command my every being, in all these years apart,” he continued, reaching his right hand up and weaving his fingertips within your hair, anchoring the heel of his palm against your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet with his, “I never stopped loving you.”

At that, his body surged forward; his lips claiming yours beneath his in a slow and firm movement. Your eyelashes were immediately flooded with silent tears spilling from the corners and littering your cheeks. Your soul yearned for him, surging your body to react to his touch with your own desperation.

You had never stopped loving him either.

Hooking your arms around his neck, you pulled him into yourself with your heart pulsating with a dangerous rapidity for each second you continued this embrace. He ushered you over to the darkened corner of the wall, coaxing your body to respond further to his ministrations within the shadows to hide from prying eyes. His tongue darted out to dance with your own, a groan siphoned from his lips as you reciprocated his advances.

You unhooked your arms from his neck, choosing to grip at his collar beneath your fingertips and drawing him impossibly closer to you. The ruckus from within the halls had you pay no mind, too swept within the arms of one another to have a thought or care cast at its elevation. The music swelled within the room, Bogard continuing to operate with his lips collecting each scrap and semblance of affection you allowed him to skillfully claim.

It was as if the pain of the decade ceased to exist at this moment. The two of you pictured the life you would have had within the arms of one another: marriage, stability, equality, relationships being at the forefront of this illusionary divergence.

At the booming voice of Vice-Admiral Garp within the ballroom, addressing the soiree of Marines within, Bogard broke his lips away from yours while panting desperately against your lips as he listened to the orders of his superior officer. At that break in caress from the word of Garp, the illusion shattered and you were swept back to your position as the ex-fiance to the right hand of the Vice-Admiral.

Bitterness swelled within your heart, you opting to push Bogard away from your arms as his attention was pulled elsewhere. His eyes quickly darted back to you upon this action, your own eyes refusing to meet his as you wallowed within your own disgruntled fury.

Bogard felt a similar choice was to be made, akin to the decision he made a decade earlier. He could choose to rejoin the ceremony at this stage, leaving you out here to wait for him to return - should Garp let him; or to remain out here with you. You: the light of his life, the person he gave his heart to in youth - and its current owner as queen over his body.

As he felt you pull away and begin to shepherd him to return to the halls, his eyes snapped as he made his decision.

“I lost you once,” he uttered, his hands grasping your hips and holding you firmly in place, “And I refuse to lose you again.” At this small utterance, you would be a fool to admit anything other than the swell of your heart within your chest and your eyes softening at such a notion. Putting aside your own selfish desires to keep him further with you, you shook your head and reached up on your toes to place a chase kiss against his cheek.

“I will still be here if you choose to return to me,” you ushered him with a small smile, “And if you don’t, I will not hold it against you this time.” He leaned forward, the tip of his broad, gray cap circling the crown d your head as he placed his forehead against your own.

“I will never break from you willingly again,” he confessed, his tone holding all of the emotion resurfacing from the decade taken from him, “Nor would I ever allow the light to leave us. You have my heart,” he nudged his nose against your own, “And I desire nothing in return-.”

“-Should you desire it or not,” you spoke over him, ensuring your voice was heard over his inner monologue, “My heart has been with you from the moment we first met,” his eyes met with yours as you continued, “And was only returned to me when you shattered it upon your departure.”

He claimed your lips beneath his, feeling the roll of your raw emotion within your lips the longer he held you against him. Breaking away, he gazed intently into your eyes and uttered his final confirmation.

“No matter how long it takes: I swear to remake your heart and treat it kindly should you offer it once more.”

“My heart is yours, Bogard,” you sighed in response, the swell reigniting within your chest as you allowed him to cradle you against himself. Ignoring the calls and words of Vice-Admiral Garp within the hall, addressing the marines and tailoring their awards to them without his right hand beside him, Bogard was intent on showcasing how deeply he loved you regardless of the time that departed.

Garp continued his relay, his eyes darting to meet with the image of an entanglement with his right-hand man and your body pressing romantically against one another with a twinkle in his eye. He remained relishing in the fact he was able to right the mistakes of his past and reset it to shepherd it into a promising and fruitful future; Bogard finally able to meet with his bonnie lass once again and treat you with the utmost respect you deserved.

He refused to come between you again, swearing at that point to never offer an ultimatum to an underling in return for their loyalty.

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #bogard x reader #bogard #op bogard #one piece bogard #one piece bogard x reader #one piece dance series #Spotify

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 13 days

Text

05/15/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Rhys Darby; The Cryptid Factor; Taika Waititi; Max News and Polite Menacing; June 3rd: Adopt Our Crew; Petition Status; Fan Spotlight; Mermay; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

Hey Lovelies, things got a little cut off cause my son decided to be awake all darn night so I didn't get to finish til this morning I know there's some stuff that wasn't included but I'll try to make sure it's in there tonight! <3

== Rhys Darby ==

Rhys and Dan are back on the mics doing more podcasts! There's a crossover podcast happening too!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Instagram

Also, new Cryptid Factor short Tiktok! If you've got Tiktok, please go over to The Cryptid Factor Tiktok page and send them some love! If you don't have tiktok, here's that video for you below:

Source: The Cryptid Factor Tiktok

== Taika Waititi ==

Pretty sure this picture has been out for a long while but it was recently reposted by Stephen Langdan on his Instagram so I thought I'd share it because it's a great photo of Taika.

Source: Stephen Langdan Photo

More Taika out and about with Rita <3

Source: VIP Magazine Albania

== Max "MakeItHappenHere" ==

In case you're unfamliar with what "Upfront" is (I certaintly was): "In TV advertising, the Upfront is the decades-old practice of buying and selling TV advertising time months in advance. Traditionally, these deals have taken place in the spring of each year, involving ad spots that would air in the coming television broadcast year." - Src: SimulMedia So yesterday Max was pushing for people to buy ads with them and as you can imagine, OFMD Twitter was not having it. I'm just including a few screenshots. Thank you to @neverleftpod and @singletureen on twitter for the polite menacing and capture of the WBD stocks not getting any better.

= June 3: Dont Stream On Max =

Adopt Our Crew is announcing June 3rd "An Excellent Day" to be another great day to push #DontStreamOnMax! (Just so happens to be that's the day that Stede plundered the infamous plant!) Thanks for continuing to fight the good fight @adoptourcrew!

Source: AdoptOurCrew Twitter

**More Under the Cut**

= Petition =

Hey all, we are getting surprisingly close to 89K on the petition... I know there are some newer folks to the fandom that have joined recently, would any of you be kind enough to sign it? I realize we're not sure how much it's helping at this point, but 89K would be a nice round number in case it does help David and the cast somehow :) Petition Link

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

@melvisik I'm always impressed how you can track down all these cast members! I'm going to include your note since I realize it's less easy with Nancy Lantis below as it was a quick shot: "Tonight is a wealthy woman from the party boat, doomed for daring to insult the future husband of the Gentleman Pirate. I think she's the one giving Ed that devilish grin when Gabriel calls him 'Fascinating' and helps him to his feet"

Source: @melvisik's Twitter

== Because The Night FanZine ==

The new NSFW Gentlebeard Zine "Because the Night" opened preorders today! They'll be open until June 15th, and you can learn more on their post below!

== Mermay ==

More Mermay! We're half way through the month! I would love to bring some other artists in too, I've been trying to reach out on socials to see if anyone would like their submissions included but haven't heard back a whole lot-- if you're interested please shoot me a dm!

= erostheartist =

Day 9: Revenge / Day #12: Moonglow

= Hannah's Handmade Magic =

Day 12: Moonglow

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by hannahs_handmade_magic (@hannahs_handmade_magic)

instagram

Source: Hannah's Handmade Magic on Instagram

= Snejpowa =

Day 13: Roads To Moscow / Day 14: Orange / Day 15: Blind Man's Cove

= Blueberreads =

Day 14: Orange / Day 15: Blind Man's Cove

== Love Notes ==

Can I just say I love being weird? What is "normal" anyway? Normal can be weirdness, normal can be social norms, normal is based entirely on who's perspective you're talking about.

I have been "weird" my whole life and I love being weird! All it means is we're different than what people originally expected, and you know what?

That's fucking awesome!

It makes us unique and it's so nice to be a member of a community of other weirdos (said affectionately, I actually think it's a compliment).

Your weirdness is amazing, and I adore every inch of you for it!

Shine on weirdos! You got today and you're gonna kick it's ass!

Source: KatieAbey's Instagram

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just really feeling in the mood for some Hunt For the Wilder People today.

Gif's courtesy of the ever lovely @bizarrelittlemew and @transjudas!

#Instagram #ofmd daily recap #taika waititi #rhys darby #the cryptid factor #ofmd mermay 2024 #our flag means death #ofmd #dont stream on max #petition #save ofmd #sofmd #adopt our crew #long live ofmd

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sugar-omi · 10 months

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okay, so i've been doing some thinking. i've been scrolling through your blog and i stepped upon these "cheating on cove with Baxter and the other way around" scenarios. (i'm sorry, i wasn't able to read them, my heart couldn't take it ;-;) but!

what if mc was like, in a normal relationship with Baxter. you know, a couple, maybe married later and stuff, while of course still being besties with Cove. later mc and Baxter have a kid together, maybe still a small baby but! plot twist! Baxter gets into an accident or something and dies. (i'm sorry, he's my favourite man but i had to kill him for that scenario:'))

mc is completely devastated and also a little panicked, because what about the baby? and then Cove stepps in, deciding to help his best friend take care of the little one and basically becomes its father. i recently watched a video of a dog "helping" a cat take care of her kittens, and there you have it.

this one may be boring, so feel free to ignore, but i can't stop thinking about it.

ITS OK<333 I figured some ppl didn't read it bc angst n pain</3 trust me I skip over angst all the time

(I even have the tag blocked😬 sorry angst writers but I will read it and not be the same for months, I read a kiribaku angst fic years ago, and was devesated for 4 months afterwards LMAO)

okay i... I cannot expand too much on this bc OUCH

(eta now that I've finished. who am I fooling? I rlly said that like I haven't wrote a whole novel 💀 anyway <3 this clearly made me pop off more than I thought I would bc I read this at first n was devastated!!! I had no words!!!! well clearly I found them LOL)

ALSO BORING??? ANON PLEASE.. BORING WHERE<///3

n im gonna fix the format later but for now here is the bare minimum. I'm going to bed rn so nini everyone enjoy a bit of angst I promise its fluffy as well<333

tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

p/n = parental name, since I wanted to leave flexibility for all the readers here <3

but anyway yeah cove would so step up for you

will follow you to the end of the earth and do whatever you need to help you work through this and to adapt to this sudden and unfortunate change

if/when your relationship starts becoming something romantic, cove would absolutely put the brakes on everything and you'd go so slow...

I imagine he'd probably move in with you or you with him, and he'd stay somewhere else (if you're living in his house he will leave anyway, he's a gentleman like that fr) so that way you can figure out if it's not just bc he's doing all these things n you're mistaking admiration for love

you'd spend the first year going super slow, as if you've never known each other before

which technically you haven't, since you've never dated before. but cove would go so far as to find out your favorite color, song, animal, food.. all over again, even though he has it memorized and knows your likes better than his own.

once cove is sure you're ready for this (after much talk between the two of you and even with your therapist that yes you've made enough progress and are emotionally ready for this) does he finally put a label on it

now if you get married...

I imagine cove won't propose at all

like I think you'd have to talk n almost beg him...

in that case he would do a small but grande gesture to propose. or he'd propose to you before you've even left the bed for the day... no inbetween

but like 8 times outta 10, you're gonna have to propose to him

he'd cry and hug you n say yes of course.

and unless you want to keep this outta your wedding, I think cove would include baxter in your wedding.

first, ofc you'd have the picture to honor his memory

but I think he'd even go so far as to have smth in his vows. but to start, he'd say smth like:

"I know the reason we became closer was unfortunate, but I'm so happy to be able to call you and [Child] my family. and I hope I can be a good father and husband"

and "baxter will always have a place in our hearts. even though he and I didn't get along at first (watery chuckle)... I'm glad he got to love you, and I hope he trusts me to love and cherish you the same way as well.."

also if you don't want to give up your wedding ring from baxter, I think cove would even go so far as to suggest combining it with his.

!!! omg I was gonna say your and baxter's wedding bands would be black, but I have another idea

okay now, for YOUR bands, I imagine they're either black or silver and yk those infinity(?) bands? that has the 2 types of metal or whatever

that's what cove would suggest doing. and if you are worried abt people asking why your bands are different, he'd get the same twisted band but silver with say a black diamond or smth. just smth to make it look like it's intentionally different colors but same design or smth

(im overthinking a bit but it's an idea right?! I'm not crazy??<////3)

or if you don't wanna do that, I imagine you can just slip it on a necklace or leave it as is, whatever you want. he wouldn't mind even if you kept wearing it, cove would never ask you to get rid of baxter's image or memory in any way, not unless it was a real problem and your attachment to him/his things was unhealthy anyway.

now for baxter's band... well if you didn't bury it with him, I imagine you'd give it to your child

another thing I think you could do w your wedding band as well, and give them both your bands to do whatever they want with. or if they don't want it of course you're not forcing them to keep it

even though they didn't get to know baxter, the way you and cove still cherish baxter's memory does help them feel something of a connection.

I also imagine baxter would take lots of photo n video w the kid, even though they're young n just a babe, theres so many videos of baxter looking n acting so loving w them

and even a couple where he's teary-eyed n all "imma do you right by you. I love you so much.."

of course, if the kid doesn't feel that connected to baxter since they were too young to know or rmbr anything, and they don't feel anything much other than sympathy and the occasional sting when they see how much baxter loved them, you don't force it.

you both know that baxter was basically a stranger to them and even though they still respect baxter and he has a place in their heart, they don't feel like they're lacking anything.

"I don't really know what to say.. or how to feel... I see how much [P/N] misses you sometimes, and we have pictures of you, and they talk about you and stuff...

but I don't feel like im missing a dad. I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings, I wish I knew you too. sometimes I wish you were still here, so I got to know you as well, even though I'm still happy to have dad cove for my dad.

I just wanna know what you were like. I wanna experience what you were like. I... I wanna miss you like everyone else misses you too...

anyway, just know that dad is great! he takes care of me and [P/N] really well! he makes breakfast in bed, and he does/used to do this thing where he lifts me in the air before bed! he's so cool. I see how he makes [P/N] happy as well, so don't worry. although, [P/N] said you always thought cove was reliable and a good guy so maybe you aren't worrying anyway.

well... that's it I guess. i hope ill get to know you one day, and maybe you can tell me you're glad to see dad took good care of us. goodbye,

baxter."

pa."

cove happily listens to anything they have to say on how they feel abt baxter btw. he accepts any of their feelings, be it that they don't feel anything at all, sympathy for others, or they feel sad abt losing him.

if they do say smth like how even though it's unfortunate and they feel bad for everyone who mourns baxter (for example/especially you), they see cove as their dad and don't feel like they're missing anything and they're happy to have cove for their dad.

ofc he cries n hugs them n tells them he loves em and he's happy n he comforts them if needed of course

I also think cove is very scared abt being a father

especially in this way... even if the kiddo doesn't remember anything, or it's hazy at best, he worries about replacing baxter.

he'd probably worry abt not living up to baxter

baxter was always much more mature, at least it seemed that way most times. cove just worries about if he has the backbone and the ability to parent the child well and be someone they can look up to and/or appreciate for being a good father

cries if they call him dad btw

if they do it before you start dating, I imagine it's one of the catalyst that cause you to talk abt your feelings for each other. or if it's in the early stage..

cove prbly freezes and runs away to the other room n freaks out, definitely cries. if you don't talk to him like right after he calls his dad n cries n shares his worries n fear

either way, when you do talk he's biting his nails n trying not to pace around the room and he's like "if you wanna distance yourselves so that they don't call me dad any more I totally understand, I mean idk it's prbly weird for you-"

n he just rambles. like none of it makes sense n u have to physically shut him up. kiss him, yell, throw a pillow, hit him w the child's stuffed animal, throw a single lego brick at his back and watch him fall to the floor like he just got a nuke thrown at him

if it's later on n theres nothing to worry abt bc youve talked abt this or saw it coming or its just the otherwise most natural step, he cries of course

but he doesn't fall apart from being his in the back w a single fucking Lego as if it hurt 🙄🙄🙄🙄 (I hate this man he's DRAMATIC)

well... actually no he does

hit him, kiss him, hug him, run him over w a hotel wheels truck.... he just cries harder

adopts them like immediately basically

I imagine you do it soon, like maybe before the wedding just so that way you can have a private moment (just to save him some embarrassment from ugly crying in front of your families. in fact he just might faint fr)

n you + the kiddo surprise him w adoption papers (depending on how old the babe is at this point, they have like no idea what's going on but they know that cove is now officially recognized by the whole world (even by the unicorns n wizards n warlocks) as their daddy))

imagine laying in bed w cove n the kid in between you two

and when you wake up, cove is alrdy awake and was watching you two. he was petting the kids wild hair and he had pulled the two of you in and kept you under his arm..

and the sunlight is coming in, the day is just perfect. n the look on cove's face is full of so much love but also a bit somber this time

(cove feels awkward being here like this sometimes. during times like this you have to remind him it's okay, and you pull him back in. of course he does the same for you on those days.)

"I love you two. so much..." he whispers, tears sticking to his lashes

the kid flips over, curling into cove and they stop their sleepy mumbling now that they're tucked into cove's chest, feeling warm, happy, and safe.

you whisper equally as tender. "we were meant to be like this too."

also!! smth I just thought of...

imagine the kid looks mostly/very much like baxter. they act very much like cove's kid

like you would think cove n baxter had a kid together LOL

(if the resemblance is too much, they ask if you're the step parent </3 pls Ik it may not make sm sense but I just think it'd be so fuckin funny)

#olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #baxter ward #baxter ward x reader #angst #baxter ward angst #cove holden angst #angst with a happy ending

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 2 months

Text

ROUND 4 MATCH 8

Derek propaganda:

“Extreme hot take but Derek is the best OL1 love interest. He has the best and sweetest confession in the game. You play video games together. He seems reserved until you actually start dating and find out that he's actually just a gentleman who didn't want to be overly forward with someone he's not in a relationship with. He's a family man. You get to blatantly abuse your 'dating' privileges in front of his brothers. He's just so insanely sweet and caring and makes me wanna cry whenever I play his DLC.”

“- Impossible to dislike

- No, like, literally impossible. OL1 will allow you to be indifferent to it's two other LIs, Cove and Baxter but you actually can't pick that option for Derek. Game decided that You Will Be (at least) Friends With Derek

- This boy is so good!!!! He's a sweetheart and has your back in the best way and he's constantly doing his best to make sure the people around him (especially you) are happy

- This is also a complex flaw of his because he feels like he needs to be the best that he can be and to be worth something

- This both manifests in how he treats others (he's exceedingly well-mannered and does everything for others because he secretly hopes that someday someone will do the same for him) and his career prospects (he takes on excessive practice to get good at football/soccer so that he can potentially get a scholarship and become famous all so he can potenially feel like he's worth something. This is actually a major conflict in his Step 4)

- His DLC also has some of the best moments in the game

- He also has a family and they're also really good and you get to see a lot of them

- His dad is hilarious, his mom is gorgeous and their relationship is very cute

- Meanwhile, Derek's brothers are great. I wanna gush about them because I love them but also play Derek's DLC yourself!!! See how good they are for yourself!!!!

- I will say that these three have a really good relationship dynamic and the development it takes in the 10 years between when you first meet Jorge and Nico as little kids to Step 4 where they're adults (and a teenager, Nico is 16 in Step 4) is genuinely very well written

- If you're into the steamy stuff, Derek also has the best make-out session out of all of the boys

- He's also just. Very funny. This boy will invite you to a waterpark and then ask you if its a date so he knows whether or not it's ok to check you out in your swimsuit

- Or, if you aren't dating by that point (but you do want to to date him), the narration will note how he's trying so so hard not to check you out, he's just trying so so so hard

- Puppy dog face. Look at it. Tell me you can look at that face and not want to smooch him

- His confession is also the best, did I mention it's the best? Because it's absolutely the best one in the entire game

- He has a whole thing about having to confess to you on a ferris wheel and he's so committed to it that he actually avoided ferris wheels for a long time before this confession because he promised himself he'd do it the next time he went on one

- And then he went on one...and he literally doesn't confess when he does it because he lost track of time and he had to get off

- so he asks you to go on the ferris wheel with him again so he can actually confess this time

Just. Just vote for him!!!!”

“He's sweet, polite, and out-going and is always willing to put you first (sometimes too willing).”

“polite responsible jock u r NOT immune to this”

Zen propaganda:

"Extremely handsome, HES A MUSICAL ACTOR FKFNKSNSJ, deep and relatable family trauma, He's genuinely a good person behind the vainness <3"

#derek suarez #our life #our life: beginnings & always #zen mystic messenger #hyun ryu #mystic messenger #mysme #Round 4 #MDDC 2

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

Text

Warnings: Language, NSFW, piss kink, watersports, dom!Eddie, sub!Reader, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, and MORE!

Summary: You and Eddie try out a kink that you just can’t deny.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

A/N: Listen, I already know I’m going to hell, so why not add to it? This is something I’ve been hesitant about, because I know a lot of people don’t like it and will be very judgmental. But I ask that if you don’t like it—KEEP SCROLLING! Eddie with this kink is one of my favorite tropes and I’ve been wanting to write a fic like this for some time. Gotta thank @corrodedhawkins for encouraging me to share this (join me in hell, yeah?), and for listening to my ramblings on the subject.

PLEASE, PLEASE don’t send me nasty anons! I get it if this isn’t your thing, but no one needs to be kink shamed, yeah? Anyways, for those who will read, I hope you enjoy! <3

Side note: I didn’t tag anyone that I didn’t know if they would be reading this or not. I’m sorry, I just don’t want to tag anyone that doesn’t like this kinda content. :(

~*~

You’re splayed out on Eddie’s bed on Saturday night, his next day show looming like the promised hangovers of those who will be his drunken crowd at The Hideout, focusing heavily on making sure those nails have a perfect shining secondary coat. Once finished, you blow on the midnight colored polish, smiling up at your boyfriend as he chews a Marlboro filter between milky white teeth.

“All done, baby?” His questions, a smirk on his features that you love so much.

You nod rather proudly, leaning down to peck his wrist bone with a chaste kiss, sliding back into a cross legged position, confirming. “Good to go, love.”

He admires your handiwork, flexing his fingers, twisting his hands back and forth. “Looks bitchin’.”

You reach back to pick up his vest that you’d been working at prior, helping put your home economics sowing skills to good use, threading on some new patches Eddie had bought for the denim. He winces a little, gripping his crotch and causing your eyes to dart in concern. “You good, Eds?”

“Yeah, just gotta hit the can real quick, babe. You’re doin’ great, by the way. Couldn’t do all this shit without you.” He’s comically hopping around to show his eagerness to find that small bathroom in the trailer’s hallway, making you snort, then he quickly leans in to peck your forehead. Your eyes close in sheer happiness, those butterflies clawing at your insides.

He leaves and you continue your task. That is, until he’s calling for you moments later. “Uh, babe?”

Lifting your head towards the direction he’s calling from, you place the vest off to the side. “Yeah, Eds? Everything okay?”

“Would you… can you give me a hand, please?”

You’re a little concerned, hoping he didn’t trip over his own two feet (as he is prone to do), but he sounds exasperated and winded, so you’re following his voice and heading into the cove of the tiny bathroom, bare feet cool against the peeling linoleum that decorates its floor. “Eddie?”

He’s got his belt halfway undone, shirt bunched above his navel, making your brow raise. “What’s wrong?”

“This’ll teach my dumb ass not to drink so much beer before you come over. I didn’t think.” He wiggles his ringed hands, as if to show you something, his nails still wet and sticky. And it clicks in an instant as to what he’s implying, or rather, requesting.

“Wait, you want me to—“

“Help me piss? Yeah, I know. I’m a grade A asshole for asking.” His cute chocolate eyes do that wide eyed thing and you can’t resist him or his banter.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and step forward, jerking the belt apart and helping him with the button and fly, that zipper a resounding echo in the confined space.

Eddie has to force himself to be a gentleman when your hand slides into his boxers and tugs his soft cock out, cutely looking at him for instruction.

“You just, kinda… aim it?” Eddie directs, making you both laugh at how incredulous it is, and that relaxes you.

His palm lays flat over top your hand that is curled around him, an immediate groan toppling off his lips once you’ve got him where he needs to be as he lets go, his other hand propped on the opposite wall. It’s an everyday thing, but it’s loud. And you’re staring. Confused and ashamed, you force yourself to look away when Eddie brushes your knuckles with his fingertips—a simple intimate action he’s done countless times before. Once he’s finished, you make quick work of helping him tuck himself back in and try to work through no eye contact as you thread his belt together, leaving him alone.

What you didn’t know, is that Eddie saw your wondrous stares and your brief thigh clenching, the words, “Fuck, you’re into this?” Dying on his lips.

~*~

Around midnight, you and Eddie had laid down in a serene calmness that one of Summer’s last remaining storms can bring. And he can’t stop thinking about that glazed look in your dilating pupils, the way you tried to completely ignore helping him in the way that you did. And he’s upset that you are embarrassed, especially with how much his cock has been twitching in his boxers at the entirety of this newfound kink. You’ve been in a committed relationship for years, so why this? You’re still awake—albeit—silent, your neck tucked into the curvature of his jugular, fingers playing with his pick chain.

He pokes your nose with a manicured nail, causing you to peer up, still wide awake. You’ve been frustrated all night, something else that he’s noticing, unbeknownst to you. Eddie isn’t sure how to broach the subject matter, so he goes right in for it, no sugar coating shit. “I love it that you’re so fucking filthy.”

You’re absolutely horrified, tears burning your lash line to the brim. He knows. You let go and automatically turn over, hands wrapping around yourself and tucking beneath your breasts.

His heart constricts painfully, his arm elongated to reach for your waist. “Hey, hey. Baby, c’mon.”

“Eddie, just stop. Forget it, please.”

He can hear the desperation in your voice and it has him scooting impossibly closer, his arm tossing completely over your waist and pulling you back against him, his mouth finding that particular spot on your neck, a hot whisper coming off his mouth. “What if I liked that you liked it?”

“I’m a fucking freak.” You whimper.

Eddie chuckles, a throaty and soft rasp. “Listen, baby. I can assure that, out of the two of us, I’m the only real freak here.” Eddie’s hand splays across your abdomen, drifting, pressing. You squirm and your hips gravitate towards his backside.

He’s getting hard… Fuck.

“But Eddie, what normal girl gets off on seeing her boyfriend piss? Like… I’m fucking disgusting.”

“So you do get off by it, baby?

“I…” You heartbeat pulsates rapidly beneath your breast, feeling as if you’d skipped a step. “That’s not, no I don’t.”

Eddie is amused, not buying it. “You’re tellin’ me that if I checked your panties right now, you wouldn’t be soaking wet? Hmm?”

Your eyelids flutter closed and you take Eddie’s fingers as they press against your now open mouth, sucking them inside. He rocks you back into his cock, rolling his hips so you feel what this is all doing to him.

“Shit. That feels so good.” You hiss around his guitar playing digits.

“Yeah?” He’s nipping at the shell of your ear. “Know what feels even better, Y/N?”

You turn to face him, his fingers falling out with a wet pop, his other hand cradling the nape of your neck. Your voice is trembling when you answer him with a question you already know. “What?“

“Letting go. And I don’t know about you, but I need to.”

Your thighs wrap around the leg he’s slotted between them, tightening. He groans into your flesh, kissing you harshly, tongue finding yours in a wet slope of slippery domination. Moments pass and when you break to breathe, Eddie is pushing down on your abdomen, tone light and airy, yet heated and heavy. “You gotta go, baby?”

Like a true submissive to his gravitational dominance, you incline your head in a confirming nod.

“Yeah? Real bad?”

“I… don’t know.” And it’s a truthful answer. There wasn’t a pressing need on your bladder, but you felt… something. And not just that insane amount of slick coating your swollen cunt now.

“You wanna try for me, sweetheart? Be a real good girl?”

Your irises glistening have Eddie stroking your cheekbone with his thumb pad. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, honey. You know I’d never—“

“Yes, Sir. I wanna be your good girl.”

His cock throbs, his night wear suddenly too confining. He pushes off you and waves his hand towards his bedroom door and the open hall. “Go.”

You clamber out of the bed and down the corridor, with your heartbeat galloping full speed ahead, feeling as if it’s dusting your bones to ash. You aren’t surprised when you pull your pajama shorts and panties down after you get seated, to see that arousal stringing from the crotch to your pussy. A ring covered hand taps idly at the framework of the door, Eddie’s nude form standing in your sights, black polished fingernails at attention, his fingers wrapped around his girth. Your body heats up, eyes trying not to look at his demolished irises. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Fuck.

He’s stepping closer, a command clear. “Scoot back and spread your legs.”

“Eddie…”

“What? I have to go too. And I can’t do it when I’m fuckin’ hard, so you better hurry, because I can see how wet you are, and that’s not doing me any favors right now.”

Kicking off your shorts and underwear, you shift back a little on the seat, widening your legs. That ridiculous ache latches on and punches your insides, helping you let go in front of your boyfriend, who watches with a head tilt, his knees bending to a slight kneel between your open legs, as he too relieves himself. You have nothing to hold onto, so your fingers reach out and rest across the meat of your bare thighs. Eddie finishes before you, his cock swelling in his grip as he watches you, a wild smirk coating his flushed features.

Leaning in, he captures your mouth, his hand sliding down between your legs, two fingers pressing into you with an ease that sucks them inside your sopping wet walls. He’s moving his mouth down your jawline, to your neck, his fingers scissoring inside, thumb finding your clit. You’re reaching for his wrist, crying out, begging… you aren’t quite sure.

“You’re so fucking soaked that you’re dripping, baby. And I’m not just talking about the piss.”

Your toes curl, tipping into a point on the flooring.

“Please, Eddie…”

“Please, what? Maybe, please do… this?” He curls his fingers against that spongey spot, making you let out a scream that you didn’t know was in you.

That coil is beginning to tighten inside your stomach and Eddie feels you soaking his wrist with your cream and piss, clenching around his fingers. He pulls them out and orders you to stop, yanking you up and pinning you against the wall, lifting your right leg around his slender waistline, ripping your camisole down the middle to palm your tits. You’re discombobulated.

“Fuck,” You’re caught between a complain and a plea. “I wasn’t finished yet, Eddie.”

“You’re gonna finish on my dick, baby.” He taps his pre-cum slick head into your clit, drawing it down the damp seam of your pussy, before resting his forehead against yours. You slide a hand up his back, his necklace resting over your knuckles, your other hand brushing through his messy curls.

“Think you can do that, princess? Soak my dick before you cum all over it?”

You aren’t able to be vocal, head lolling back, receptive to his kiss as his fat cock parts your drenched folds and sinks inside your cunt, beginning an immediate rhythm. He doesn’t say anything for a few beats, letting you get used to his length as he always does, but then, oh then he is.

“Start going again for me, baby. Show me that you can be good.”

He doesn’t let you hide in his neck this time, tilting your chin in a tip, his eyes on yours. Your lashes are soaked in tears of a desire so high that you won’t come back down for days. And Eddie, his chest is heaving, his chocolate irises gone beneath a murky lake of black, skin sheathed in sprinkles of red flush. He bounces you into a particularly hard thrust, and you clamp down on him, making his swollen lips part. “Fuck, m’ gonna cum for you, baby. I’m right there.”

“Have to. Eddie, please, can I? Just, let me…” Is all your garbled frame of mind can come up with it.

“You wanna cum too, sweet girl? You’ve been the definition of a galactic goddess for me. Fucking do it, Y/N.”

Every cell in your body splits apart, you folding in and imploding, outwardly exploding in screams that dig from the depths of your diaphragm. The last bit comes from you in his plunging thrusts and it’s intensified by your orgasm that causes your vision to white out, your hand to pulling Eddie’s hair down to the roots. He swells inside your cunt, balls heavy and drawn, your arousal and spray soaking him down to his happy trail, and he cums, harder than he’s ever came in his entire twenty years of life, filling you full of him as he holds and helps you both ride it out until it subsides. It’s heavy breathing and holding each other, your leg being stroked softly by Eddie’s fingertips before he releases his grip on it. Your muscles are softly pliant, sated.

You hum with closed eyes, head back against the wall paneling. “Fuck, that was intense.”

Eddie chortles, your eyes opening to see him in time for another passionate kiss. On the saliva-strung break away, he’s checking in with you. “Was that okay, baby? You’re not too overwhelmed from it?”

“Did it feel like I was?” Still shy, but no longer ashamed, you giggle after responding.

Eddie shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair and looking down at the floor. “We should probably clean this mess up and take a shower before Wayne gets home.”

Though you both know, with shared and agreeing Cheshire grins, that the night has just begun.

~*~

Tagging: @corrodedhawkins @ethereal27cereal @boldlyvoid @chaossmoonlights @prettyboyeddiemunson

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