#escaped!garret

[curseofpower]

Y'all ready for some 2009 Wind Waker art from me?? 18 year old me? Well too bad bc I'm posting it.

Concept of my idea for a WW beast Ganon. Idk why I thought boar dragon lion was a good idea but well. Also he's got Tetra snuggling in his mane.

Parallels I didn't even mean to make happen... happened apparently.

Another angle of lion boar beast Gan.

[vanillabeenflower]

g,gaerit, please, bbe real,,

[redcoralpot]

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

-

-

Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink. 

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.” 

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice. 

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right. 

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss. 

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color. 

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate. 

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare. 

-

Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

[mr-walkingrainbow]

CALLING ALL MONSTER HIGH FANS. I JUST MET GARRETT. AND I WAS ABLE TO SCAVENGE SO MUCH LORE AND CONFIRMED HEADCANONS TO YOU. THIS IS ALL SAID BY GARRET OR CONFIRMED. I HAVE SPOKEN TO GOD AND HE HAS SPOKEN BACK

#1. Robecca and Venus were implied and ARE dating!!! He said it was like. Just like other monsters they had tried putting hints and characteristics into monsters that we could see and relate too. (He also said it outright down here. Lol I got all the proof guys!)

2. They never actually came up with Jane Boolittles Origins. And yes Dr. Morou and Dr. Boolittle raised her. But it was always a thing to them they'd say ‘oh well get back to this’. And then they never did. When asked; he genuinely doesn’t remember what they had planned for her.

3. a REALLY big mystery solved and lore dump guys. This one’s juicy. I KNOW HOW SPECTRA DIED. I KNOW HOW SHE DIED. AND WHAT THE TRAUMATIC STORY WAS FOR HER. I ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW! Y’all ready? Drumroll…. It was, a, CAR CRASH! Yes you heard me. THE VONDERGEIST FAMILY ALL DIED IN A CAR CRASH. I think he said he she just came with her family off skirts and they got into an accident. I’ll reblog this with the video of him saying it!

4. Toralei lives in a monster high housing/boarding building when she is not attending school. This place is used for kids who do not have a place to go too, or if their home is too far to return to easily. I think there was an error somewhere where she mentioned parents? I mentioned that to him and he was very confused/didn’t remember. Reconfirmed that if she wasn’t in the monster high housing area. She would have been in either Jail or The streets.

5. Robecca was not rebuilt for 100 years due to Misogyny. Also because it had to go into the lines of her ‘mysteriously’ disappearing for her to have her comeback. I asked about how it was low key such a dark story, and he mentioned that since technically Monster high was the ‘horror’ genre. He was able to get away with things like that.

6. the Vampire Heart mystery! So remember how in Friday night frights we all see Ghoulia place a Robot Heart into Robeccas chest. Something that is very clearly not the Vampires heart? But then suddenly in Frights camera action it’s there? Well, technically that’s an official Error by the crew. He actually said he noticed it, and told management and stuff like ‘won’t people notice it?’ And they were all like ‘nah it will be fine no one will notice’. But then we all clearly did lol. He also said that because if this, he came up with the idea that the Vampires heart was ENCASED in the Robot heart we saw in Friday night frights. Ergo, explaining how Robecca had two hearts in one body! (It’s also confirmed Hexiciah placed the Vampires heart into her while he was building her. Which would explain why she didn’t remember it was their).

#7. Gooliope Jellingtons Origins. I asked what her origins were. And basically, she DOES NOT have any parents. She was CREATED IN A LAB. Which apparently didn’t treat her right. So she ESCAPED the lab and ran away to the circus! (Or blobbed away?) because he also confirmed, she was the blob. Or based off the blob. She wasn’t actually like. The daughter of the blob. She WAS the blob itself.

#8. Kiyomi Haunterly is Gay! I know this is was already somewhat canon and said before. But I asked and he confirmed it that she was in fact, Gay. And he tried to show it in her diary.

#9. We’re reaching some only implied/supported things. Not fully confirmed or intended. But Kala Mer’ri has BPD. I asked about if she has anything like BPD cause I relate and saw that a lot in her. He replied that he did try to make attributes for each Character specifically so we could related to them like that. And that it was to also make sure every character wasn’t a carbon copy of another. Basically. He didn’t like. Outright say ‘yes. She has bpd’. But he also didn’t disprove it. And he reacted positively to the idea and supported it.

#10. Robecca Steam has ADHD. It’s basically the same as above. Although he did like the note that I (someone with adhd) specifically had the same traits with Robecca, even more specifically, that we both are ALWAYS late. And can never keep track of time to save our unlife.

11. Dedyet DeNile Origins. He actually completely forgot about Cleo’s Mother eventually being reunited. I had asked how she had ended up in that same weird time loop Tomb thag Hexiciah was stuck in. (Which they were eventually freed by Robecca in her SDCC diary). He said he completely forgot about that. And genuinely didn’t remember anything about it. I basically re-explained the whole thing and he was very interested. Unfortunately. Not to much origins to go on.

11. here’s a canon one! What happened to Aamanita Nightshade after she left the DeNiles in the tomb. It was kinda funny, but he basically was like ‘Amanita went up and was just like ‘Peace!’’ And then never came back.’ She goofed around a bit, buuut it wasn’t entirely like her fault? She quickly went back to sleep after breaching the surface. So yeah. She was not awake for long. She quickly went back into flower mode until she woke up again at the Gloom and Bloom party.

12. He’s working on another one of his Monster prints! He sells them on his online shop here

He’s currently working on Toralei!!!!! He said he was working on her on the way over. And that he was trying to go in Order of the G1 doll releases. He mentioned he had only done Skelita out of Order because she was like ‘that one’ who was INSANELY popular with fans when she came out. Especially in Mexico. It’s also why she was the only Funko pop made who was not part of the main ghouls.

13. Random. But he actually didn’t create each backstory individually by himself. In the beginning he did A LOT. Like Frankie was the first backstory he ever created. And it got more help and divided as more and more characters were introduced.

14. he has read every single diary for every monster. Cool little fact cause DAMN theirs a whole bunch of them.

15. everything in the Ghoulfriends book series is CANON in the monster verse.

And that is ALL FOLKS! I had held those questions in for about 7-8 years. So it was everything to me to have them answered and confirmed! I really tried to ask everything that was a huge mystery to us monster folks. And I hope you guys are excited to see all these new CANON facts!!!

I’m sorry if this is not everything. Just like Robecca. I forget stuff pretty easily. I’m wracking my brain for every little detail. Unfortunately my father didn’t record as much as I would have liked. But he did get some perfect key moments! And I’ll make sure to reblog with those moments as proof of confirmation!

I love y’all! Make sure this goes viral so every monster high fan gets to hear the news!

Signing out, I’m Tumblr Spectra Vondergeist, and I report the news.

[captainmalewriter]

"Nooo WAIT!! Guys it's me, Garret!!! I'm the real one! That bitch swapped our bodies when nobody was looking!!"

The two cops dragging the screaming man stopped after he said that. Officer Jones was holding the door open for them. One of the cops looked up at Garret's eyes. He had a confident look in his eyes. As far as the cop could tell, this was the same calm, cool, and collected Garret he went through academy training with.

"Tsk! Can you believe this guy, Gary? Crazy what kind of shit druggies will say when they're all hopped on!"

"Amen to that brother!" Garret swiftly agreed. The three cops shared a hearty chuckle while the apprehended criminal's face dropped.

"Alright, let's go, buddy, you've got a long sentence waiting for you..."

"NOOOO!!!!"

The other two cops carried the criminal out into the next room for processing. Garret watched as they took him away, doing his best to hide his grin until they were completely gone.

"Whewww! Can't believe they bought it!!"

'Officer Jones' let out a heavy sigh of relief. Now that he was all alone in the room, he was free to relish the situation he found himself in. He thought he was as good as toast when the cops finally caught him. As he was getting arrested, he made a wish to get out of trouble in any way possible. As fate would have it, he wound up in the body of the cop who arrested him!

Officer Jones purred as he felt around his new body. His muscles felt firm and strong, and they felt amazing to massage through his uniform. His hands slithered down to his pants, then he gave his new junk a good squeeze and rub, causing a deep groan to escape his lips. He then stripped down to get a good look at his new goods. He whistled at the sight of his new thick tool. Even when soft, he was hung! Thankfully for him, he only needed to wait one more hour until he was off the clock. Then, he was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted as the new Officer Garret Jones.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Some things I’ve noticed on my second viewing of “Five Nights at Freddy’s” (2023)

(Some of these are obvious, don’t @ me, I’m autistic and I had work the day I first watched the film so my brain was all over the place)

Once again, SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT, PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS!!!!

On my first viewing I thought that showing the security guard at the very start loosening the bolts of the chair straps was a fake out to make us believe he’d escape, but actually he loosened the bolts which is how Mike was able to escape later on

Just want to say that the opening credits are fucking cool and I love them so much

In my previous post about things in the FNAF movie, I incorrectly said there was no Golden Freddy - Golden Freddy is in fact in the film, he’s the one who goes to the house/kills Aunt Jane/is in the taxi

Following on from the above point, I said last time that I thought the cupcake was the fifth ghost child but I actually think it’s Golden Freddy to be honest - the blonde girl was obviously Chica, the boy with the bunny ears was Bonnie, the ginger boy was Foxy, and then there was the blonde boy and another boy with a top hat on. I originally thought that the blonde boy who wore the brown shirt was Freddy because he seemed like the leader, but now I’m wondering if the boy with the top hat was Freddy and the leader boy was in fact Golden Freddy (given his blonde hair)? I’m interested to hear what everyone else thinks

This is obvious but the doctor foreshadowed the ending because she told Mike that drawings are powerful tools for children to express things and understand things, and that’s exactly how Abby communicated to the gang at the end that Afton was responsible for their deaths

^side note but as an early years practitioner at a nursery/for preschool children, it’s actually true that pictures are used to help children learn things even before they can read, write or talk. I don’t know, it just interested me to be like “oh yeah that’s true!!”

There was not that much focus on Mike’s dad, like he was seen so briefly compared to his mom, which makes me wonder if there’s something to it that might be revealed in a future film. Like maybe his “dad” isn’t his dad or something? Because in the game canon, William is his father, so… I don’t know. I also saw someone else point out that in the training video Mike watched, there was a man working on the animatronics who maybe looked like the actor playing Mike’s dad, so maybe his dad worked there with the animatronics?

The film appears to be set in 2000; I’m 90% sure the security cam of Mike in the careers office showed the date as being in 2000, but if someone else can clarify or confirm the exact date then that would be great. It would make sense though because Garret presumably went missing around the same time as the ghost kids (in the 80s), so the film being set in the present day (meaning Mike would be in his 50s) would make zero sense. Also the mobile phones/computers all seem like they come from the early 2000s

Someone on Twitter pointed out that one of Abby’s drawings on her wall appeared to be a red airplane, which could just be an indication/foreshadowing of her knowledge of Garret’s disappearance (his toy airplane) but also someone else said it could have been 9/11 which….?!?! If this film is set in 2000, then that’s FUCKED

(I think it’s either a random drawing or to do with Garret’s toy tbh but the idea of her having foresight of 9/11 is fucking horrifying)

I’m still not totally sure which animatronic the gang were going to force Abby into, like it’s one with spring locks and at first I thought it might be Circus Baby but it doesn’t really look like her. It looks almost like a marionette or something? And I mean, yeah, it could be that they changed the design a bit but they literally stayed faithful to the designs of all the animatronics in the series so… you know.

Desperate to know if Matthew Lillard is aware of the fact that his DILF status has been multiplied by one hundred after this film like can someone check in on him and see if he’s alright? 💀 the FNAF girlies fans are frankly RABID about Afton

On that note, I wonder if Josh Hutcherson or Matthew Lillard have ever played any FNAF games, like were they fans before being cast or…? I really wish we could have content of them talking about the film or promoting it, but Hollywood refuses to pay their actors fairly so 🤷‍♀️

Listen, I ADORE both Josh and Matthew anyway but in this film I feel like Matthew especially stood out??? Maybe it’s just the character he’s playing but he ATE this role up (so did Josh but still)

I feel like the springlock scene was actually more terrifying upon a second viewing like at my first one I was like “that’s not as bad as I imagined” but this time I was like “holy shit he’s in agony” like his screams were PAINFUL to listen to

Speaking of painful to listen to, Freddy gave this really guttural and pained roar/scream at one point during the ending and it really made my heart hurt, it’s like the child inside of him was reliving the memory of their murder or something??? I can’t describe it but it was such an intense moment

I honest to god feel like I enjoyed it more on a second viewing and I don’t know why??? Maybe it’s just because the other people in my cinema weren’t laughing every five minutes but still.

I now have the urge to rewatch ALL of Markiplier’s playthroughs of ALL the FNAF games so… yep!

Once again begging for people to talk about FNAF because I’m not the most knowledgable on the series but I do enjoy it!

[ki11cupib0]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 [part 1]

𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲!𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳

~part 2~

691 wrds

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

He was everything you wanted…

The way he smiled had the power to brighten anyone's day.

Eddie Munson was undeniably handsome. Wherever he went, he seemed to make the room come alive, or at least that's how it felt to you. From a distance, he warmed your heart. Though you were part of the same friend group, you didn't interact much. It wasn't shyness that kept you apart but rather a sense of unease about being your true self.

Growing up as an outcast wasn't easy. There were always expectations of what you should be—“normal.” But you weren't. You were simply yourself.

That doesn't mean you’ve fully embraced it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Eddie sauntered over to the picnic table where the group was lounging and took a seat with his usual ease. “What’s the plan for today?” he asked, flashing his signature grin, his dimples making an appearance. That grin.

“Besides band practice? Nothing much,” Ryan replied. He was a trumpet enthusiast who enjoyed going out, though the others usually scattered to do their own things.

Brit and Kyle were caught up in their affectionate bubble, while Ryan and Garret were huddled over Calculus homework. I was sprawled out on the grass by the tree, indulging in my favorite pastime: people-watching.

Eddie’s gaze landed on me, and I cringed internally. I’ve never been good with eye contact. “How about we… go to a party?” he suggested, still looking my way. I was the only one who seemed to be paying attention. I shrugged, and Eddie turned his attention to Ryan and Garret, slapping his hand down to gather their focus.

Ryan and Garret exchanged glances, and Ryan’s smile widened. “I think you’re onto something,” he said, his enthusiasm evident. He had a knack for embracing the most outrageous ideas if it meant escaping from schoolwork.

Garret rolled his eyes. “You’re fai—” Ryan cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “Shhh, my sweet angel… The man is speaking,” Ryan said, his wicked grin matching Eddie’s.

Eddie’s eyes shifted back to me. Oh no. “What about you, princess? Are you in?” he asked, his gaze fixed on me. Anything for you… Wait, PRINCESS?! His pet names made me want to roll my eyes.

“I don’t kn—” I started, but Ryan interrupted. “Come on, you need to party more. We’re in college, and you haven’t been to a single party!” he said dramatically.

Caught between their insistence, I relented quickly (they wouldn’t stop until I agreed). “Fine… but what should I wear?”

“Something sexy~,” Ryan chimed in, wiggling his eyebrows before Eddie could respond. Eddie’s eyes remained on me, making my stomach flutter.

He held my gaze a moment longer. Trying to avoid reacting to either Ryan or Eddie, I glanced over to see Brit lifting her head from Kyle’s shoulder. “Do you know who’s going?” she asked.

“Nope, but it doesn’t really matter if we all go together. It’ll be fun, I promise,” Eddie replied. Brit took a moment to consider before speaking. She liked to think things through, unlike the boys, except for Garrett, who was always practical.

“Y/n, you have to come! We can get ready together at my place!” Brit said suddenly excited, her smile bright. Kyle squeezed her affectionately, clearly enjoying her enthusiasm. They were the epitome of couple goals, and it made me sigh.

“Okay, Brit. Should we meet up around five or six?” I asked, checking the time and noting it was just an hour until five. The thought of having to look good and let loose made me anxious, but the idea of spending time with my friends—and seeing Eddie in those cropped shirts—made it worth it.

“Yes! I’ll text you with the details and pick you up. Let’s get going, babe,” Brit said, gathering her things as Kyle did the same. They both bid their goodbyes and headed out. I followed suit shortly after, the boys saying their farewells. As Ryan made another “sexy~” joke, Eddie playfully smacked him on the head. I shook my head with a smile and left.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Was suicide really seen as noble during the French Revolution? Was there any recorded tension regarding this cultural shift with more religious or less revolutionary people/groups? Thanks!

In the book La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député 1792-1795 (2015) can be found a list of all the deputies of the National Convention that died unnatural deaths between 1792 and 1799. Of the 96 names included on it, 16 were those of suicide victims, and to these must also me added a number of botched suicide attempts as well. 

Only a single one of these suicides appears to have been driven by something outside of politics, that of the deputy Charlier, who shot himself in his apartment on February 23 1797, two years after the closing of the Convention. The rest of the suicides are all very clearly politically motivated, more specifically, deputies killing themselves just as the machinery of revolutionary justice was about to catch up to them. There’s those who killed themselves while on the run and unsheltered from the hostile authorities — the girondin Rebecqui who on May 1 1794 drowned himself in Old Port of Marseille, Pétion and Buzot who on June 24 1794 shot themselves after getting forced to leave the garret where they for the last few months had been hiding out, Maure who shot himself while in hiding on 3 June 1795 after having been implicated in the revolt of 1 Prairial, Brunel, who on May 27 shot himself after failing to quell a riot in Toulon, and Tellier, who similarily shot himself on September 17 1795 due to a revolt directed against him in the commune of Chartres. Barbaroux too attempted to shoot himself on June 18 1794 but only managed to blow his jaw off. He was instead captured and guillotined. There’s those that put an end to their days once cornered by said authorities — Lidon, who on November 2 1793 shot himself after having been discovered at his hiding place by two gendarmes (he did however first fire three shots at said gendarmes, one of whom got hit in the cheek) and Le Bas who shot himself in the night between July 27 and 28 1794 as National guardsmen stormed the Hôtel de Ville where he and his allies were hiding out (according to his wife’s memoirs, already a few days before this he had told her that he would kill them both right then and there wasn’t it for the fact they had an infant son). In an interrogation held two o’clock in the morning on July 28 1794, Augustin Robespierre too revealed that the reason he a few hours earlier had thrown himself off the cordon of the Hôtel de Ville was ”to escape from the hands of the conspirators, because, having been put under a decree of accusation, he believed his death inevitable,” and there’s of course an eternal debate on whether or not his older brother too had attemped to commit suicide at Hôtel de Ville that night or if he was shot by a guard (to a lesser extent, this debate also exists regarding Couthon). There’s those who committed suicide in prison to avoid an unfriendly tribunal — Baille who hanged himself while held captive in the hostile Toulon on September 2 1793, Condorcet who took poison and was found dead in his cell in Bourg-la-Reine on 29 March 1794 (though here there exists some debate on whether it really was suicide or if he ”just” died from exhaustion) and Rühl, who stabbed himself while in house arrest on May 29 1795. On March 17 1794, Chabot tried to take his life in his cell in the Luxembourg prison by overdosing on medicine (he reported that he shouted ”vive la république” after drinking the liquor) but survived and got guillotined. Finally, there’s those who held themselves alive for the whole trial but killed themselves as soon as they heard the pronounciation of the death sentence —  the girondin Valazé who stabbed himself to death on October 30 1793 and the so called ”martyrs of prairial” Duquesnoy, Romme, Goujon, Bourbotte (in a declaration written shortly before his death he wrote: ”Virtuous Cato, no longer will it be your example alone that teaches free men how to escape the scaffold of tyranny”), Duroy and Soubrany who did the same thing on June 17 1795 (only the first three did however succeed with their suicide, the rest were executed the very same day).

To these 24 men must also be added other revolutionaries that weren’t Convention deputies, such as Jacques Roux who on February 10 1794 stabbed himself in prison, former girondin ministers Étienne Clavière who did the same thing on December 8 1793 (learning of his death, his wife killed herself as well) and Jean Marie Roland who on November 10 1793 ran a sword through his heart while in hiding, after having been informed of his wife’s execution, Gracchus Babeuf and Augustin Darthé who attempted to stab themselves on May 27 1797 after having been condemned in the so called ”conspiracy of equals,” but survived and were executed the next day, as well as two jacobins from Lyon — Hidins who killed himself in prison before the city got ”liberated,” and Gaillard who did the same thing shortly after the liberation, after having spent several weeks in jail.

With all that said, I think you could say taking your life was considered ”noble” in a way, if it allowed you to die with greater dignity than letting the imposition of revolutionary judgement take it instead did. It was at least certainly a step up compared to before 1789, when suicide (through the Criminal Ordinance of 1670) was considered a crime which could lead to confiscation of property, opprobium cast on the victim’s family and even subjection of the courpse to various outrages, like dragging it through the street. To nuance this a bit, it is however worth recalling that this was only in theory, and that in practise, most of these penalties had ceased to be carried out already in the decades before the revolution, a period during which suicide, in the Enlightenent’s spirit of questioning everything, had also started getting discussed more and more. The word ”suicide” itself entered the French dictionary in 1734. Most of the enlightenment philosophes reflected on suicide and the ethics behind it. There’s also the widely spread The Sorrows of Young Werther that was first released in 1774. Furthermore, most revolutionaries were also steeped in the culture of Antiquity, where suicide was seen as an admirable response to political defeat, perhaps most notably those of Brutus and Cato the younger, big heroes of the revolutionaries. Over the course of the revolution, we find several patriotic artists depicting famous suicides of Antiquity — such as Socrates (whose death is considered by some to have been a sort of suicide) (1791) by David, The Death of Cato of Utica (1795) by Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, and The death of Caius Gracchus (1798) by François Topino-Lebrun. According to historian Dominique Godineau, the 18th century saw ”the inscription [of suicide] in the social landscape, at least in large cities: it has become “public,” people talk about it, it is less hidden than at the beginning of the century,” and she therefore argues that the decision to decriminalize it in the reformed penal code (it didn’t state outright that suicide was now OK, but it no longer listed it as a crime) of 1791 wasn’t particulary controversial.

Furthermore, that committing suicide was more noble than facing execution was still far from an obvious, universal truth during the revolution. In his memoirs, Brissot does for example recall that, right after the insurrection of August 10, when he and other ”girondins” discussed what to do was an act of accusation to be issued against them, Buzot argued that ”the death on the scaffold was more courageous, more worthy for a patriot, and especially more useful for the cause of liberty” than committing suicide to avoid it. The feared news of their act of accusation did however arrive before the girondins had reached a definitive conclusion on what to do, leading to some fleeing (among them Buzot, who of course ironically ended up being one of the revolutionaries that ultimately chose suicide over the scaffold) and some calmly awaiting their fate. In her memoirs, Madame Roland did her too consider going to the scaffold with her head held high to be an act of virtue — ”Should I wait for when it pleases my executioners to choose the moment of my death and to augment their triumph by the insolent clamours of the mob to which I would be exposed? Certainly!” In his very last speech to the Convention, convinced that his enemies were rounding up on him, Robespierre exclaimed he would ”drink the hemlock,” a reference to the execution of Socrates. The girondin Vergniaud is also said to have carried poison on him but chosen to have go out with his friends on the scaffold, although I’ve not yet discovered what the source for this is. It can also be noted that the number of Convention deputies who let revolutionary justice have its course with them was still considerably higher than those who attempted to put an end to their days before the sentence could be carried out.

According to Patterns and prosecution of suicide in eighteenth-century Paris (1989) by Jeffrey Merrick, there was indeed tension regarding the rising amount of suicides in the decades leading up to the revolution. Merrick cites first and foremost the printer and bookseller Siméon Prosper Hardy, who in his journal Mes loisirs ou journal des evenements tels qu'ils parviennent a ma connaissance (1764-1789),  documented a total of 259 cases of Parisian suicides. Hardy saw these deaths as an unwelcome import from the English, who for their part were led to kill themselves due to ”the dismal climate, unwholesome diet, and excessive liberty.” He also blamed the suicides on "the decline of religion and morals," caused by the philosophes, who in their ”bad books” popularized English ways of thinking and undermined traditional values. He was not alone in drawing a connection between the suicides and the new ideas. The clergy in general ”denounced the philosophes for legitimizing this unforgiveable crime against God and society, which they now associated with systematic unbelief more than the traditional diabolical temptation.” In practice, many parish priests did however still quietly bury the bodies of persons who killed themselves. The future revolutionary Louis Sébastien Mercier did on the other hand blame the government and its penchant for inflated prices and burdensome taxes for the alleged epidemic of suicides in his Tableau de Paris (1782-1783).

In La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député, 1792-1795 it is also established that there weren’t that many participants of the king that killed themselves once the wind started blowing in the wrong direction, but that is not to say they didn’t exist. As example is cited the case of a man in April 1793 shot himself on the Place de la Révolution, before having written ”I die for you and your family” on a gravure representimg the head of Louis XVI. There’s also the case of Philippe Nicolas Marie de Pâris, former king’s guard and the murderer of Michel Peletier, who, similar to Lidon, blew his brains out when the authorities had him cornered a week after the murder.

Sources:

Patterns and prosecution of suicide in eighteenth-century Paris (1989) by Jeffrey Merrick 

Pratiques du suicide à Paris pendant la Révolution française () by Dominique Godineau

La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député, 1792-1795 (2015) by Michel Biard, chapter 5, ”Mourir en Romain,” le choix de suicide.

Choosing Terror (2014) by Marisa Linton, page 276-279, section titled ”Choosing how to die.”

[jubiilee13]

I am begging for jealous Mike either angsty or fluff

But just imagine him pouting because we are focused on Abby and he wants our attention

But angst hes suddenly back to when the house was hollow and his parents barely uttered a word to him

YEA YEA YEA YEA NOW WERE TALKING OMG

this literally made me emotional writing it my poor pookie bear hes so wifey he doesnt deserve that

this is not proof read so it may be a bit ass so sorry

love you anon 😍

—

It was summer break for Abby, and by this point you and Mike had been dating for a few months.

Mike was… clingy to say the very least.

Not that you minded of course, you thought it was quite cute when he clung to your side at every oppurtunity.

It did interfere at times however...

Now was one of those times.

You sat beside abby at her desk, listening carefully as she explained each little bit of her drawing which was currently in progress.

A gentle smile formed on your lips, and you watched her carefully, your hand combing through her hair as she works.

She continued her rambles, and you cant help but chuckle at her eagerness.

A knock on abbys door tears you from your thoughts, yet abby doesn't flinch, continuing her work as you gently pat her back, telling her you'll be back in a moment.

When you open the door, you meet mikes tired gaze, and you frown a bit, stepping out and closing the door behind you. (to ensure abby's masterpiece making isnt disturbed)

"You ok my darling?" your voice asks, concern evident in your tone.

Mike nods, but it is hesitant, and he immediately begins to ramble nervously "it-its stupid nevermind" he whispers, sounding almost embarrassed as he turns on his heel to leave.

Your gentle hand reaches out to grab his own, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

"Its not stupid, talk to me mike, im here to listen" You say, your grasp on his arm gentle, yet enough to cause him to break.

He lets out a quiet sob, and you dont hesitate to pull him into your arms.

"Hey hey hey im here mike, im here, talk to me, ive got you" you say gently, one hand combing through his hair as he cries into your shoulder.

You let him cry, leading him to the living room couch where he rests his head on your shoulder as he sniffles.

"You wanna talk about it" you mumble, still caressing his hair

He nods softly, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself before he begins to speak.

"I-i- i wasnt g-given much attention as a kid... after garret a-after all my... my mom and d-dad were too wrapped u-up in their grief to... to care... there were nights w-when i had to cook my o-own dinner... i-i i didnt even know how... but burnt food was b-better than starving. even before the w-whole garret thing, he was t-their golden child" he says, taking in another shaky breath as he continues.

"Ever... ever since i started dating y-you... i felt... i felt loved... cared for... but s-sometimes i get... scared that... one day you'll just... stop caring. I-i mean you love abby s-so much- and i d-do too dont get m-me wrong... its s-stupid i know but s-some days i get scared abby w-will be just like garret... and you'll leave me like they did" he whispers, a bit embarassed by his jealousy of his younger sister.

Your face softens, and you pull away to cup his face with your gentle hands.

"Your problems are not stupid, and i love you so much mike, more than i think words can even portray, i will never, and i mean NEVER stop caring about you, you are my sun, moon, and stars, you know that?" you say gently, a smile on your face as you wipe any stray tears that escape his beautiful eyes.

"Im sorry it seems like ive been neglecting you for abby, that girl is just the sweetest and shes like a daughter to me, but never will i ever stop caring for you over her" you say eyes never leaving his own

he sniffles again, and another wave of tears takes over him as he engulfs you in his arms now, body shaking as you comfort him.

The two of you would be ok

It takes time to heal, but deep down mike knew that he had found a keeper, and he wouldnt want to heal with anyone else but you

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Stuck With You

i wrote this blurb to compensate for the fact that it’s January and there’s no snow in NC :(

Word Count: 400

Content Warnings: None :)

You giggled as Spencer laid kisses along your neck inside the warmth of your little living-room fort. You and Spencer had casted blankets between the top of his couch and his coffee table and made a little fortress to read in with a flashlight. Clearly, though, you’d gotten distracted. 

His fingers tickled your stomach again, causing you to throw your head back further in a fit of laughter. “Spence-” You pushed his chest away, laughing. “The book!” You said as you nearly rolled over it to escape him. 

Spencer pulled away, gathering himself in a few breaths. You turned around and snuggled into his chest inside your little pit of blankets and pillows as he clicked on his flashlight and turned to the first page of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

You rested your head over his heart so you could hear its steady beat rather than the rattling thunder that had knocked Spencer’s power out. “On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged…” Spencer trailed on, whisper-reading the book aloud to you. 

You listened to his words, feeling them tickle your brain and tug on your heartstrings. His sweet little whispers put you to sleep easily, calming any nerves you’d had earlier about the storm.

________________________________________________________________

When you woke up it was to the sound of a large snap that ended with a thwang, the vibration of a tree hitting the ground in front of Spencer’s apartment. You propped yourself up against Spencer’s chest, shaking him awake- but he’d already heard it.

“Spence-” You began to shake in his arms, but tried to hide it.

You immediately felt his soft hands rub your back slowly and soothingly. “Everything’s alright. I’m going to look out of the window for a minute.” 

You tugged on his sleeve in protest. “You shouldn’t be close to the window.” Spencer simply smiled at your worry, lifting your chin up to give you a sweet kiss.

“Only for a minute, okay?” Damn his kisses and how they silenced you. 

You poked your head out of the tent so you could watch your boyfriend sleepily walk towards the window above his sink that overlooked the building’s parking lot. 

“Shit, it’s blocking the entrance.” He whispered to himself, unaware that you had now snuck up behind him to have a look for yourself.

You placed your chin on his shoulder, “That’s too bad. I guess I’ll be stuck here with you.” You whispered. Spencer wasn’t even frightened by your surprise presence, just warm inside. He was warm and happy and almost glad you were stuck together.

“What if I told you I was glad you’re stuck here?” Spencer turned around to face you, resting his hands on your hips. 

Your stomach whirled. It’d been months and you still couldn’t make eye contact with him sometimes. You had him and you were still crushing on him. “Then I’d tell you I’m glad I’m stuck here too.” You whispered back, closing the space between you and Spencer’s bodies with a kiss.

[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

Chapter 3

Previous chapter here

Summary: Eddie has come to a striking revelation

Tag list: @daisyridleyyyy @silky-luxe @bl00d-puppy @ttsbaby01 @kennedy-brooke @sadbitchfangirl @abzzz3 @josephquinnschesthair @aislinnclifton @sashaphantomhive @aestaethicvante @madaboutjoe @bonehead-playz @mystic-mara 

A/N: Sorry this took so long and its kinda short! I hope you like it :')

--

Eddie’s jaw dropped. Never in his life had he seen a girl throw a punch at a guy much less right in front of him. This girl had more balls than anyone in Hellfire did. 

"What the fuck, bitch!"

“What’s going on?”

An authority figure yelled from across the lunch room. Whether it was a teacher, faculty member, or parent, Eddie knew she was in for it with punching a football player. Eddie peeked up at her through his bangs and she didn’t look like she did earlier at the lunch table. She was frightened. He didn’t know someone like her could get scared even though he had only known her for a couple of minutes now. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. However, she didn’t seem like the damsel in distress type. Seeing her like this made his heart ache. He couldn’t stand to see her like that.

Eddie promptly took her hand and escorted her to the courtyard while the football player stumbled his way up and toward the teacher heading his way. Eddie would take the blame for her. He knew the teacher would be on the side of the senior who hadn’t repeated his last year of high school several times rather than Eddie, that was no question. If he were to blame her, they may yell at her for bending over the table and wearing a short skirt. It made Eddie sick how pieces of shit like that got away with being shitty. She didn’t deserve to be scrutinized by anyone after being harassed. 

He stumbled over his own feet while pacing to the park bench in the nearby woods next to the cafeteria, his prime drug dealing spot. He was in such a hurry to escape the madness of the lunch room that he didn’t even know how she felt to be swept away like this. What if she hated him for it? What if she wanted to explain herself to the teacher?

He reluctantly turned to face her. She looked up at him with bright eyes filled with surprise. She seemed so much smaller now that Eddie was standing. She had presented herself as Eddie did but it was all a facade. It was a way to frighten people off so they wouldn’t get too close. Of course, he loved each and every single band tee and patch he wore but he also enjoyed the amount of people who were nervous around him at school because of these bands. He knew he would never have to worry about getting his feelings hurt if he didn’t let anyone in.

Eddie gestured to the bench and she sat down.

“Thank you for that. I didn’t know what he was going to do to me after I hit him. Probably best I don’t find out.” 

“I won’t let him do anything to you, I promise.”

A smile crept onto her lips and a warm blush spread across her cheeks. Eddie choked. He just met this girl and he was in this deep? He couldn’t look at her without being an awkward dweb like his friends were. He shook his head, he had to think straight.

“Is your hand okay?” 

Her knuckles were a rosy red, and she clenched her fist as if in pain.

“His face was harder than I thought.”

Eddie moved down on his knees, the fall leaves caressing his jeans. He took her bruised hand in his and stroked his thumb over each knuckle. Her skin was so soft even though she had just punched someone. He wondered if the skin on her hands was as soft as other parts of her. Fuck! What was he doing?! He grabbed her hand without even asking. He looked up to seek a sign of approval from her.

Her face was like Garret’s when her chest touched his arm. She was beet red in the face and her body was as stiff as a board. So she was real. She wasn’t just an idea. She had blood rushing through her veins and she felt what he felt. Eddie’s heart began to race and fear started to creep into him.

She was everything. She was a walking, talking angel who could break his heart with the touch of her hand. Should he even take the chance? What if she hurts him? What if she hurts his friends?

Those eyes wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was fucked. He didn’t used to believe in love at first sight but he did now.

[lucygxybaird]

imagine a romeo & juliet-sort of-ish scenario where billy gets arrested and thrown in jail, and he hears someone -- a guard and pat garret, maybe -- talk about how you died in a shoot-out between your gang and jesse's, trying to get to the jailhouse to break him out. so he thinks you're gone and all the fight goes out of him, so he just...doesn't try to escape, and he goes to the gallows thinking he'll at least get to be with you again.

but the story was garbled in the telling, probably because the fight was so hectic that it truly was difficult to be sure who survived and who didn't. you and the regulators ride like the devil is on your heels, intending to break billy out once again, only to arrive just in time to hear the crack as the rope goes taut.

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch 10

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read the story from the beginning here. [this won’t make sense otherwise.]

ao3 version here

You fire one, two, three, nine shots. There’s a roaring noise in your ears. Amidst all the chaos, however, you can still sense Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at you with a sickening smirk on his face. 

“See?” The man asks, as the light fades from his eyes and his body slumps against the cabinets. You’re too rattled to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer until there’s a hand on your shoulder. Dr. Lecter and you lock eyes and, even in the swirling mess of emotions running through your mind, there is overwhelming clarity.  

…… 

How did Hannibal get your business card? You swallow past the trepidation building in your core and stare down at his rolodex in disbelief.  A choked laugh escapes your lips. You let your guard down. You had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. You let your guard down and, now, your name rests amidst the names of current and future Ripper victims.  

“Is everything alright?” Hannibal walks in as you’re looking at his rolodex and you quickly turn around, trying to shield it from his view. You’re not sure what expression is on your face, but it must be suitably harrowed, because his face twists in concern— mock concern, your mind supplies. “You look rather shaken.” 

“Yes, of course,” you answer. 

…… 

“Building a collection?” You can’t help but ask, after the quiet begins to grow painful. The compulsion to voice the thought was itching at your skin. Hannibal finishes setting Chilton’s business card in his rolodex, before turning back to level you with a complex look. You try your best to manifest an expression of innocent curiosity.  

“Something of the sort,” Hannibal agrees, after an uncomfortably long halt in conversation. 

A day has passed, yet you’re still unable to sort out your thoughts. Memories flicker before your eyes. You can’t stop thinking about the events of the past month or two—and how chaotic your life has grown to be. Abel Gideon, Frederick Chilton, Freddie Lounds, Hannibal himself… These figures are all fluttering about in your mind, taking precedence over anything and everything else. 

You feel unsettlingly vulnerable. Your psyche feels… weaker, as if it’s slowly corroding and disintegrating before your very eyes. Your mental defenses aren’t as strong as you remember them to be, and the monsters you thought you had banished are returning. One person in particular is wreaking havoc on every moment of your waking life. In some ways, this person is like your shadow. He is always present, yet he doesn’t choose to make himself known unless your thoughts are clear and unfortified. 

Garret Jacob Hobbs stares at you from across your dining table. You grow accustomed to being in his company for meals. The bullet holes you gave him tear through his skin and spill blackened blood. The man’s eyes are glassy, yet his gaze is piercing in an unsettling manner. Hobbs didn’t entirely die that night—he lives on in your memory, preying on your fragile psyche. You blink and rub your eyes roughly, trying to rid yourself of the image of your victim. The killer simply smiles at you, his teeth dirtied and dangerously sharp. For a moment, you swear his eyes flash in the dim lighting of the room. When you make a movement, he mimics it. Your mirror image. He is the darkest of your shadows, the loudest of the skeletons clattering in your closet. You find yourself losing your appetite more frequently, and those changes are reflecting on your face—in the form of dark circles under your eyes and an unusually gaunt pull to your cheekbones. 

Time is a fickle thing. You’re starting to lose the concept of it entirely. The light and the darkness seem to morph together. You can’t define the passage of time anymore. There is only… after. You’re stuck in an unfeeling void, and it stretches far past your eyes. You throw yourself into work in an attempt to fill that void. You catch criminals, solve cases, but you can’t rid yourself of this cloying, desolate hopelessness. 

You leave for work, witness horrible, gruesome things that stick in your thoughts long after you return home for the day. You rest and these horrors follow you into your nightmares. You dream of rivers of blood, fields of undiscovered graves, mountains of corpses. You wake to rub your hands raw with scalding hot soap and water, but the dirt of the bloody sins you’ve seen never quite comes off.  

You’re broken from your seemingly unending trance when you return home from work one afternoon. You’re locking the front door, shedding your jacket and moving to your kitchen when you see something on your table—the same table that had been spotless when you left the house. You frown and walk closer. There’s a TattleCrime article resting innocently in the center of the table. You find yourself reaching out to interact with the newspaper before you can contemplate the consequences. The headline immediately jumps out at you in boldface text. 

TattleCrime

Criminally Insane

By Freddie Lounds

[Picture 1: A fuzzy picture of you exiting the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It is blurred and the branch of a tree can be seen in the top right corner of the photograph. Dr. Lecter is hidden behind you—obstructed by the rather large entrance door of the building.  

Picture 2: A picture of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The photograph is angled upward to make the building appear taller. The gaunt and grim building sticks out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds. The entire exterior of the hospital is pictured.] 

Resident killer Abel Gideon found himself being taken to the interrogation room in BSHC1 just yesterday morning. The very same agent whose office housed the corpse of Franklyn Froideveaux, alongside accomplished medical professional Dr. Hannibal Lecter, met with Gideon to discuss the resurgence of the Chesapeake Ripper. Gideon did not provide a statement elaborating on the presence of the federal agent and the psychiatrist he met with. Currently, public opinion is split between fervent beliefs of Abel Gideon as the Chesapeake Ripper and rampant denial of Gideon’s ability to commit the recent murders, since he has been incarcerated for several months. The stability of the federal agent—the same one to track down Garret Jacob Hobbs—is still in question. Despite the questionable mental sanity of the aforementioned agent and the division of public opinion, one thing is clear: the Federal Bureau of Investigation is desperate for information on the Chesapeake Ripper.

Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane's Head Administrator, Frederick Chilton, did not respond to TattleCrime’s request for comment. 

For inquiries, reach out to generalinquiry@tattlecrime.org. 

If you have more information surrounding the killer widely known as the Chesapeake Ripper or the criminal profiler mentioned above, reach out to freddie@tattlecrime.org.

You place the article back down on your table, feeling vaguely unsettled. Freddie Lounds has written far worse about you—the defamation is nothing new. However, something feels off. Your hands shake with anticipation and your heart’s beat creates a haunting rhythm in your ears. You look down at the article once more. You know you should be concerned with who left it here, but your attention has been ensnared by the pictures. There’s something off about them, but you can’t discern what it is. You stare. What are you missing? What do these pictures tell you? 

You brush your teeth and get ready for sleep. An hour later, you’re reclined in bed and staring up at the ceiling restlessly. Sleep is eluding you once again. Hobbs is lingering by your bedside, tauntingly ripping you from slumber whenever you try to approach it. 

That Tattle Crime article refuses to depart from your thoughts. There isn’t any justification for why it’s dominating your headspace with such vigor. You’ve read many of Freddie’s articles before. Why is this one different? What sets it apart?

You’re not getting any closer to sleep. You push the covers off and get to your feet, walking in the dark to your dining room. You turn the lights on and sit down at the table, considering the article again. You feel as if you’re on the crux of a realization—perhaps even a piece of evidence. But what on earth could it be? There’s nothing significant about the article itself, and the pictures are rather unassuming. The photograph of you isn’t very flattering, but thankfully it’s pretty blurry. You have to wonder how Lounds took that picture. She must’ve been hidden behind the bushes across the street. The thought is rather disquieting. You force yourself to move your attention to the second picture. 

This picture is stranger than the first one. It’s disquieting and you can’t quite figure out why. The doom and gloom of the BSHCI building looks even more dramatic pictured here than it does in-person. You squint to look at the smaller details of it. The sky is clear with a few clouds. There’s a time stamp on the bottom corner, dating this picture to be taken mere hours after your visit to Gideon that same day. That’s a little strange, but you suppose it makes sense. There are only windows on the first floor of the building, and they all have their curtains drawn aside to let natural light in. At least, all of them except one. You frown and count across the row; the window with drawn curtains is the third room on the right. You think back to the layout of the building. The third room on the right from the entryway…. It takes you several moments to remember the inside of the building. You close your eyes and try to visualize it. 

The pieces of this particular puzzle finally begin to fit together. You’re suddenly assaulted with an overwhelming combination of dread, hopelessness, and guilt. You run back to your bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, dialing the desired number with practiced precision. 

Ring. No answer yet. You wait, your anxiety only solidifying as time drags on. Ring. Maybe you won’t be getting a response after all. Ring. Just as you’re about to groan in frustration, the ringtone ends and there’s someone on the other end. 

“Crawford.” Jack announces, not sounding the least bit surprised to be evidently roused awake by a phone call. You suppose that he’s grown accustomed to late-night calls about murder cases. 

“It’s me, Jack.” You respond. You can’t get another word out before he’s interrupting. 

“What did you find?” Of course that’s his question. You wonder (not for the first time) what you did to deserve Jack’s faith in you. The moment you said your name, he pivoted to asking you about evidence. Thankfully, you do have some evidence for him—but he isn’t going to like it. 

“Did you see Lounds’ TattleCrime article?” You ask. 

“You know I don’t read that garbage,” Jack says with a slight scoff to his voice. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. You have to cut him some slack, ultimately. You’re reaching out to him past midnight and he responded to your summons within three rings of his ringtone.

“Did you see it?” You ask again. 

“Yes,” he begrudgingly admits. TattleCrime is far from a trustworthy news source, but Freddie Lounds is almost always the first one to release any information about events. In this case, of course, an event never occurred—it’s merely speculation from the journalist. “What about it?”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the second picture in the article—the one of the BSHCI building?”

“Just tell me what you found, Agent.” Jack responds bluntly. 

“Right,” you sigh resignedly. Jack doesn’t like to be led on in such a manner—it’s better to just rip the bandage off here. “Pull up the article on your phone.” You pause for a few moments to give your boss the time to find the article. Jack lets out an affirmative grunt and you continue. “Look at the second photo. The hospital is in the foreground. I want you to look at the third window from the right on the first floor.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. Jack is going to be furious. You’re rather furious at yourself for not noticing the discrepancy in the picture until now. “That’s Chilton’s office.”

“I’m not following.” Jack says. 

“When we went into the office, the windows were open,” you continue. “From the two meetings I’ve had with Chilton, I’ve deduced that he keeps his curtains drawn open to let the light in when he’s in office.”

“I’m failing to see how this is relevant,” Jack says with a slightly aggravated edge in his voice. 

“Patience, Jack,” you snap, before taking a breath to regain your composure. “See the timestamp on the bottom corner of this picture? It reads 1:42 p.m., on the same day that Hannibal and I visited. We saw Chilton, which meant he was working that day. Assuming that the man follows some sort of normal working schedule…”

“The curtains should’ve been drawn open,” Jack finishes for you. The line goes silent as he evidently takes a closer look at the picture. You take the opportunity to do the same and run your finger along the place where the third window—Chilton’s office window—sits. In the photograph, the curtains are closed. “I’ll have some agents head over to the hospital now. Someone will try calling Chilton, too.” But he won’t be there to answer lingers uncomfortably in the air. 

“Thanks, Jack,” you respond. Jack gives no inclination that he’s heard you. He says your name a few moments later and you nearly bristle at the sudden cold tone to Jack’s voice. 

“What is it?” You ask apprehensively. 

“Have you seen this?” Jack asks. “‘Murderer Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement, Kills Three.’”

“What?” You choke out. Those words promptly rip up any fragile sense of stability and safety you developed today. “No, that can’t be.” You take your phone away from your ear and put Jack on speaker, before going to your browser and searching TattleCrime. The website pops up and when you click on it, the page buffers for several seconds. Your heart is thundering in your chest. There’s a tense silence between Jack and you. Finally, the page loads and you immediately see what he’s talking about. There’s a small box reading: Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement. When you tap the box, it sends you further down the page until you’re looking at an entire article. 

TattleCrime

Murderer Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement, Kills Three

By Uriah Larksen

At approximately 6:56 pm, convicted killer Abel Gideon escaped his prison transport vehicle. Gideon had previously been institutionalized in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, following his conviction of first-degree murder regarding the deaths of his wife and her family. 

The three officers assigned as escorts were killed in the ensuing conflict. Gideon fled in the transport vehicle, which hasn’t been seen since. 

For inquiries, reach out to generalinquiry@tattlecrime.org.

If you have more information surrounding recent sightings of Abel Gideon, reach out to uriah@tattlecrime.org.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there in silence, reading over the same words over and over again. Abel Gideon escaped. Abel Gideon escaped. Abel Gideon- You take a deep breath, your chest feeling tight. 

“Jack…” You finally manage to say. Your voice sounds slightly raspy and broken. Jack seems to be feeling the same; his side of the call has been silent for several minutes. You both know what Gideon’s escape means. Abel Gideon is dangerous. It’s not out of the question to think that he’ll be focusing on vengeance once he escapes. Gideon’s escape and Chilton’s disappearance must be connected. 

“Did Gideon hold contempt for Chilton?” Jack asks. You both already know the answer. 

“Probably,” you acquiesce. It takes a few moments for you to organize your thoughts into a somewhat comprehensible list. You rub at your temple, trying to soothe your impending headache. “Chilton manipulated him, made him think he was the Ripper. I’m sure he holds contempt for all the mental health professionals he’s interacted with.”

“All of them,” Jack repeats, a note of something indiscernible in his voice. “Agent.” You stiffen. The weight of that statement comes crashing down on you.  Jack doesn’t need to elaborate—he does anyway. “Dr. Bloom is in danger. The same goes for anyone else that interacted with Gideon in a similar manner.” 

“Jack…” You break off, suddenly overwhelmed. 

“I’ll send a team down to Alana’s house and transport her to a safehouse,” Jack says, answering the questions you haven’t uttered yet. He sounds perfectly calm and collected. You can’t exactly find that same steely composure. Despite the events of the last few weeks, you can’t help but feel concerned for Alana. You’ve been stuck with a rather polarizing opinion of her recently. Yet, the more you think about Alana, the more you begin to remember all the good times you’ve shared with her and everything she’s done for you. Alana was a great psychiatrist, friend... Things may not be exactly the same between you anymore, but you still care about her enough to fear for her safety. “She’ll be alright.” Jack asserts, dragging you out of your thoughts. 

Typically, Jack’s reassurance is enough for you. Right now, it isn’t. “Jack, you’re in Quantico,” you frown, rubbing at your eyes and fighting off your exhaustion. You feel extremely restless, so you get up from your seat and begin to pace around the room. “There’s no way the team you send will make it in time.” 

“It’s the best we can do,” Jack responds diplomatically. You recognize that sending a task force is indeed the best protection Jack can provide. However, that’s not the best you can do—you can do better. Your silence must be telling, because Jack immediately switches tunes. “Don’t go to Alana’s house.” You remain quiet, knowing that you’ll incriminate yourself otherwise and feed Jack’s suspicions. 

“Agent,” Jack breaks off, his tone assertive and demanding. Despite the authoritative nature of his voice, you can sense an underlying concern coating his words. Surely he isn’t worried for you—that feels out of the question. “Promise me you won’t go to her house.”

“I promise,” you respond without hesitation. There's no response for one, two, three seconds. 

“Alright,” Jack then says warily. The TattleCrime article on the table burns a hole in the corner of your vision. Abel Gideon has escaped. Alana is in danger. Hell, you could even be in danger. You take a deep breath. “Keep in touch.”

Your goodbye goes unheard as Jack hangs up the call. You lean back in your chair and inhale slowly. That promise slipped from your lips without hesitation. One fatal recognition is lingering on your skin: 

You’re a liar. 

Jack places too much trust in you, you think to yourself. Right now, you’re betraying his trust—and you may never get it back. For a second, you contemplate your next course of action. You don’t have to go to Alana. You could stay here. The thought sickens you—remaining complicit in Alana’s potential murder. Sure, you’re not on the best of terms with Alana right now, but she was a good friend, psychiatrist—hell, girlfriend —in the past. If something were to happen to her, you’d never forgive yourself. 

You get to your feet, grabbing your jacket and car keys. 

The drive is monotonous and uneventful. You’ve been simmering in your own dread since your phone call with Jack; the unsavory emotions only make the ride pass faster. Before you can back out, you’re parked down the street from Alana’s residence. It’s dark outside now, with no source of light except for the pale moonlight. 

Alana’s house sits in the darkness. Her outside lights aren’t on just yet. You can see light peeking through one of the shutters on the side of the house, indicating that she’s home. You bite your lip and take another few steps forward, trying your best to avoid anything on the ground that could make a sound when you step on it. The night air is brisk and cold; your exhales leave your lips in small puffs of vapor.

You don’t know how much time you spend lurking on the outskirts of Alana’s residence, watching in the shadows. You eventually come to the conclusion that Alana is fine. You know you should go to the doorstep and tell her that you stopped by, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead, for an immeasurable time, you remain a silent shadow outside her window. You split your time between checking on Alana and looking for Gideon over your shoulder. The night air is still biting, but you find warmth in the knowledge that Alana is safe. 

“You’re rather predictable, aren’t you?” A familiar voice whispers in your ear. Your momentum careens forward and you feel a gun pointed at the back of your head. You turn around, only to find your shadow staring back at you. 

“Hobbs,” you choke out. The man’s expression is blurry and it morphs into a cruel smirk. His gun is pressed against your temple. You raise your hands in the air, which only deepens the maniacal grin on his face. His lips are falling away to reveal pointed teeth and, when a beam of moonlight glimmers against his face, black blood trickles down his incisors. 

Garret Jacob Hobbs can’t be alive—he’s dead. You know that; yet, when you stare at the figure in front of you, all you can see is the murderer— your victim —’s face. His eerie blue-green eyes are piercing through the darkness, latching onto you with fervent madness. The hand that holds the gun to your forehead is steady. His breaths are calm and measured, an antithesis to the shaking, shivering mess of limbs you left him to be.  

You stay locked in an unspoken stalemate for an immeasurable amount of time. You’re forced to inhabit the uncomfortable quiet with harsh breaths. Your assailant got the jump on you; you curse yourself for being so focused on Alana that you neglected your own surroundings. Vaguely, you wonder if this was a trap set for you. You can’t ponder the thought long, because, with lightning speed, the man pulls back and connects the butt of the gun to your skull. Suddenly, your sight swims and you fall to the ground. You try to push yourself up—your arm reaching for the dagger you have concealed on your form—but the swift kick to your ribs robs you of breath. Your assailant kicks your prone form one more time, twisting you so that your back now meets the ground. He stares down at you with an incomprehensible mix of glee, satisfaction, and something…darker. 

Your vision spirals and fades around the edges as the man mercilessly drags you behind him. You desperately try to fight the overwhelming  vertigo tugging at your core, but it doesn’t quite work. Your assailant lets out a cackling laugh and continues to drag you along as if you weigh nothing at all. You stare up at the moon, glittering in the pitch-black night sky. The pain is nearly unbearable. Your assailant doesn’t have any qualms about dragging you haphazardly, letting your form be jostled by the rocky ground. Something hot trickles down your face. You’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. Your eyes are burning and, before long, the curtain closes and you’re falling into unconsciousness.

next chapter

taglist [comment if you'd like to be added]: @its-ares

[eggymf-archived]

no place like home;

ft. garreth weasley with f!reader/mc (one-shot)

themes: hurt to comfort, angst to fluff, established relationship, aged-up characters, post-hogwarts, fiance!garreth, ex!dark!mc, slytherin!mc, 3rd person pov

warning: two idiots in love arguing, mc being the bigger idiot for once, implied traumatic events, implied violence, not spoiler-free, get a load of this sap

summary: she couldn't bear to make him suffer with every horrific danger that constantly chases her, hence she decides to run away one rainy summer night.

word count: 3.2k

a/n: happy weasley wednesday! this is my first entry and fic of garreth actually. i’ve decided to frankenstein the [lyric prompts] sent by @applinsandoranges​​ a while back along with the weekly prompt for weasley wednesday, “wet”. also, if you have read these two smut oneshots (pt.1 and pt.2), this fic features the same mc (just older). that aside, enjoy? :D

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

bonus: audio

It was during the summer of 1892 — the year when they finally graduated from Hogwarts. 

She never expected to be given the privilege of spending the summer after her 7th year with Garreth. It was undoubtedly what she truly needed: an opportunity to escape from the utter chaos of the life she has within her own family home in London: specifically her father's seething wrath after that stunt she had pulled, which almost destroyed their own family’s stellar reputation within the wizarding world's pureblood society. 

Family drama aside, not only was it the perfect time for her to rest and recuperate, but it was also the chance for her to contemplate the future now that she has broken free from the shackles of her responsibility as an heiress (temporarily, that is). Perhaps in the midst of it all, she could also make amends for her past wrongdoings.

Oh, but [what on Earth can atone for all the wrong things that she had done]? 

It wasn’t an easy task, to say the least, for the blood that was spilled on her hands all in the name of the greater good has long stained her psyche. There was an insurmountable amount of filth that resides within her as the vessel of accumulated pain, and all she could do was endure the ordeal. The moment she had made that dire decision in the repository during her 5th year, she was doomed to a life of loneliness, but all of that changed during her 7th year when the threads of her own fate were intertwined with his.

She never would've expected that Garreth Weasley out of all people would serve as the beacon that would lead her back to all that had been long forgotten — her own happiness. 

Truth be told, she wasn't the most forthcoming with the notion of romance in general due to her unsavory experiences and personal issues, opting to steer clear of the entire topic in general. In fact, she was better off alone, but for some miraculous reason, the fiery-haired male had managed to creep into her heart, taking his rightful seat on its long-abandoned throne. It was truly a mysterious outcome, for nobody would've foreseen the unusual relationship to even happen, much less prosper.  

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor; the celebrated hero and an aspiring potioneer. They were like day and night; the sun and the moon — ever so different, yet fell in love too soon. Perhaps the irony of it all was what truly brought the both of them together, regardless of all their atrocities, differences, and follies combined. 

But even the greatest of love stories always had their own fair share of trials and tribulations, and the silly, dramatic little tale of her and Garreth weren't an exception. She remembered it all vividly: the times when she'd discourage him from pursuing her, only for her to fall harder and harder for him in the end.

“You'll never know peace a day in your life once you decide to be with me, Weasley.”

“I'm not good for anyone, lest you want a head full of gray hairs before you reach the age of forty.”

“You're better off without me, I assure you.”

“Garreth, please don't. I'll ruin your life.”

Yet her words, no matter how grim, threatening, or incessant, would always be met with his adorably goofy little grin along with the same simple reply that held the undying promise of his devotion and loyalty.

“I know.”

If only things were that simple.

From this moment onwards, ["I know" is never good enough] — not when she's aware of the dire consequences that would soon follow should she decide to pursue the yearnings of her poor, naïve heart. It was too huge a risk to gamble the life of the man who had brought her solace and joy amidst the pandemonium that rages within her blackened soul, for he was all she had left — the only person who would never treat her as a pawn across the chessboard; her most trusted confidant, companion, and lover: her chosen family.  

The musical incantation of Vulnera Sanentur from his Aunt Matilda's lips was all that she heard whilst she silently wallowed in her own thoughts of self-blame, her eyes darting around the damaged parts of their humble abode out of pure guilt. She glances at Garreth's father, who winces as several hands aided him to sit more comfortably on the sofa. His younger sister and older cousins scampered around to repair the several damages within the house whilst checking up on the others after the incident.

It was an ambush by dark wizards: the ones who sought to covet the corrupted power within her. Despite her not being a family member of the Weasleys, they fought gallantly alongside her, defending her as if she was one of their own. Although they are well capable of empathizing and understanding her prior violent display of magic within the heat of battle, it did not quell the bubbling shame that stews within her being. 

It was almost the norm for her to be targeted by the enemies that she had made in her past battles, but to be attacked while she was in Garreth's family home? To put the Weasleys in danger? Preposterous. Utterly preposterous. She'd never forgive her enemies for it. Hell, she'd never forgive herself for it either. 

The warmth of Garreth's palm on her arm startled her from her train of thought whilst she was in the middle of repairing the broken walls, offering her a kiss on her forehead the moment her head turned. 

“Garreth…” her voice, uncharacteristically small and hesitant, trails off while he cups her cheek, tracing his thumb over her delicate face as a form of reassurance.

“It’s not your fault, so please don’t think about it too much, alright? We’ll handle it from here,” he reassures.

Despite her evident disagreement with her fiancé's words, she bit her tongue, not wishing to add any more fuel to the fire. She gave the Weasleys one final glance as she headed to the kitchen to help his mother prepare their dinner for tonight while the others focused on either healing their mild injuries or fixing the damages within their house.

The Weasleys were a beautiful family. It was the ideal family that she would truly love to be a part of in a heartbeat: they were kind-hearted, selfless, and honorable, never swayed by the adversaries that came their way. It was for this very reason that she decided to protect them with all that she has, and she would never allow a single soul to harm even the hairs on their head even if it means that she has to bring herself out of the picture in the end.

Thus, she has made her final decision. 

[She's only safe when she's alone], just as they'd be a whole lot safer without her presence. She could easily slaughter anyone who stood in her way without fear of disappointing anyone with her ruthlessness, and none of her loved ones would be used as ammunition to make her submit to her enemies’ bidding. This painful choice was truly for the best — such as the fate of all fallen “heroes” who walk a lonely, dark path.

Yet despite all the danger he'd have to face and the sought-after coalesced filth of humanity that literally resides within her, her departure was Garreth’s greatest fear.

It was on the same day of the incident that he received the heartbreaking news in the middle of that particular rainy night. His sister was about to pay her a visit for their usual heart-to-heart session, only to find out that she was no longer in their home.

“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?!” he bellowed, fear lacing his voice as he sped towards the guest room with soft footsteps trailing after him.

“Garreth, I'm sorry. I went to her room and—”

Not giving his younger sister a chance to finish, Garreth barged into the guest room with evident panic, only for his heart to sink at the sight of a room that was entirely bare of her belongings except for a note that she had hurriedly scrawled before she left.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Garreth quickly ran down the flight of stairs and straight to the exit of their home. The shouts and cries of his name fell on deaf ears as he bolted out of the house, racing into the chilly night with a million panicked thoughts buzzing unpleasantly within his head as raindrops drizzled upon his form.

[She had his heart, and he could only hope that she wouldn't hurt him] permanently with one measly written goodbye. He was angry and dismayed with her drastic decisions that lacked his consultation, but he simply couldn't allow all that they'd built to just disintegrate in a blink of an eye. She was, after all, his dearly beloved — the person he'd give his all without a second thought.

As soon as the thunder rumbled, he hurriedly took out the piece of parchment that she had left, casting a tracking charm with his wand. The piece of paper immediately bursts forward, leaving a trail of glittering golden dust for him to follow before the increasingly damp piece of parchment falls to the ground. The spell worked, and it only meant that she hadn't wandered off too far.

He knew exactly where she was from where the trail was heading. With the location clearly visualized within his mind, he apparates to their usual spot, hoping that she was still within the particular vicinity.

Needless to say, he was right.

There she stood in front of the tree where they often frequented for their usual picnics — the place where it's usually just the two of them, gazing upon the meadows of the countryside whilst enjoying the summer breeze. She looks upon the ring that was on her left hand, admiring the ruby and two small diamonds that glimmered under the moonlight. With great reluctance, she attempts to slide her engagement ring off, intending to keep it within their box of little keepsakes before she leaves, which was contained within the tree's hollow.

Amidst the soothing pitter-patter of raindrops, the sound of an audible crack was soon heard from a distance followed by several thuds of footsteps, effectively stopping her. She whips her head in the direction of the sudden noise, only for her eyes to meet a pair of emerald-green orbs. 

[Sometimes, she forgets that she was his] — he'd always find her wherever she may be simply because he knew her that well. She should've expected that he'd figure out her whereabouts within minutes after she had left the Weasley family home. He was, after all, her dearly beloved — the keeper of her heart; the one who knows her better than herself.

“Blast, I shouldn't have loitered around…” she thought ruefully as she faced him completely, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she braced herself for an earful. Instead, he runs towards her with a relieved expression, pulling her into his embrace before kissing her fervently. 

As if it were right on cue, the rain began to pour harder, just like those dramatic little romance novels written by Muggle authors. His touch, although scorching against her cold, damp skin, brought relief to her mind, body, and soul. 

It was only he could bring her such solace, nobody else.

As soon as his lips parted from hers, he grabbed her bag nearby before turning to her direction once again with a tired sigh. Before she could retaliate, he swung his arm around her, engulfing her in his arms before apparating back to his home — specifically into the living room, where the rest of the family was awaiting their return. A blush crept up to her cheeks upon feeling their eyes on her and Garreth, who held her by her waist. The both of them were soaked to the bone with their clothes and strands of their hair clinging uncomfortably onto their skin.

Wordlessly, Garreth set her bag on the ground before flicking the tip of his wand at both of them, casting a drying spell before making his way to the kitchen. She winced at his deathly silence, while the others glanced at each other with an evident grimace as well.

“... Alright, you lot! Off to bed, we go. Come along now!” his mother urges, pushing the other family members right towards the staircase, much to his younger sister's and cousins' chagrin.

“But mum—!”

“Shhh!”

She received several apologetic looks and pats of good luck from his cousins, for she was obviously going to need it. Garreth was upset — abysmally upset to be precise. It was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happens, it was a painful punch to the gut.

Silence looms over the living room, the thumping of footsteps dying out as they scamper to their bedrooms, leaving her and Garreth alone on the first floor of their home.

“Garreth…”

Silence.

“Garreth, please say something?” she pleads, all to no avail. He remains tight-lipped, averting his gaze from her as he grabs the nearby teapot to pour each of them a cup of tea.

She hated it when he was like this, but his reticence was definitely warranted. She sighs in defeat, finally deciding to stop beating about the bush.

“... The attack from earlier—”

“—Was, again, not your fault. And you ran away because you didn't want any of us to get hurt. I know that,” he cuts her off bitterly before he sips his cup of tea in hopes of calming himself down. 

“Then you're aware of the dangers, Garreth. You've seen what they're capable of. You've experienced it for yourself.”

“Yes. So?”

“So why did you bring me back? You know that chaos ensues whenever I'm around, and it's never the good kind.”

“Really, now? Seems like a pretty peaceful night to me until you decided to leave,” he sarcastically snapped, much to her exasperation.

“Garreth, for god's sake—”

He slams his cup on the countertop, nearly shattering the object. His frown deepened, finally looking at her with a glare.

“A note with no explanations? Sneaking out right under my nose? Is that how trivial our relationship is to you?” he asks with a tone mixed with anger and hurt. She visibly pales at this, panic evident within her eyes that he would even think of such a thing.

“Garreth that's not—”

“—what you meant? Oh, believe me, I know. But it certainly feels that way and it's really upsetting. I'm not mad though. I could never be mad at you, but I'm sick and tired of you pushing me away at every bloody inconvenience!”

“I'm doing this for your sake! As long as I'm around, you and your family will always be—”

“I didn't ask you to play hero for us!”

“So you'd rather thoughtlessly sacrifice everyone else just to keep me around?!”

“YOU'RE MY FIANCEE FOR GODRIC'S SAKE!” 

She was stunned into silence by his raging outburst, all retaliations within her head immediately disappearing as he ran his mouth, pouring out every single trace of frustration that had accumulated within his chest.

“Don't you know you're just as important as everyone else in here?! I know what I signed up for — mum knows, dad knows, my little sister knows, every single relative knows! You're already a part of this family at this point!” he continues exasperatedly, running his fingers through his hair out of sheer agitation. “Gods, you’re always like this! I hate that you feel the need to constantly tell me I shouldn’t be with you! I’m still here, aren’t I? Is that not enough for you?!”

She looks away, letting out a shaky exhale while she clenches her fists, her eyes becoming glassy with tears. His heart was thumping loudly, his chest heaving as his emotional hurt slowly descended from its peak. His glare soon faltered the moment he realized the aggression of his words, his fiery anger slowly dissipating as he stared at her with guilt simmering within his gut. Her eyes were downcast while she chewed on her lip, desperately keeping her emotions under wraps while placing her arms gingerly around herself to soothe her nerves.

With an aggravated sigh, he gently pulled her into a warm embrace. She whimpers at his display of tenderness despite the prior exchange of heated words, finally letting her tears run free as she wraps her arms around his waist, a string of apologies pouring out from her lips. He pressed his lips at the side of her head before parting from her as he cupped her face with both of his hands.

“Darling, listen to me. Look at me.”

She acquiesced, her bleary sight slowly trailing up to meet his verdant-hued eyes, which gazed upon her with pure love and adoration despite his recent display of anger. 

“I know I may not be the best man for you, but you best believe that I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe. When I swore to you that I'll accompany you to the ends of the earth, I meant every single word,” he whispers with heartfelt sincerity, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “But all I ask of you is to please have a bit of faith in me; in us — that we’ll manage all of this just fine. Please, I love you too much to let you go...”

“But… Your family…” she meekly sobs.

“Then we'll live alone together, just the two of us.”

“But what about you?”

“Then I'll be stronger for you! Hell, I'll beg Sallow to teach me how to duel better if I have to so please…” he begs, his voice cracking. 

“Don't ever leave again. Stay with me until the very end.”

At that moment, she finally caves into her heart's desire, standing on her tiptoes to urgently plant her lips on his without hesitation while his hand flew to the small of her back, the other placing itself at the back of her head to press her further into him. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally parted, gazing at each other's eyes with a smile of relief etched onto their faces. A surprised yelp escaped her lips as he scoops her up into a bridal carry, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Well then, now that's done and settled, let's get you to bed, shall we?” he grins, his anger completely appeased by her response.

“At least let me bring my bag upstairs first, love. I need my clothes,” she laughs.

“Clothes? For what?”

“...To change in?”

“Oh, trust me. You won't be needing them tonight,” his voice drops into a teasing whisper. 

Her eyes widened, warmth creeping to her cheeks at his insinuation. He chuckled at her reaction, planting a kiss on her cheek before heading upstairs with her in his arms. The tense aura that loomed over the entire building was now completely gone, her soft giggles of sheer elation filling the halls before a peaceful silence ensued the moment the door to her room was closed shut.

Like the moon and stars that reside in the night skies, this was where she truly belongs — right in the arms of her dearly beloved; her most cherished abode.

[doingitforbokuto]

The White Knight - Chapter Seven

-> KNIGHT!KITA SHINSUKE X PRINCESS!READER

-> Previous Chapter

-> Series Masterlist

Summary: Worrying about your friend was taking a toll on you. What happened to her? How badly did she get injured? Would she survive? Or was she dead already?

Words: 3,017

Warnings: talks of death/sickness (brief), parental death, depression

Kita's Point Of View

Another groan left your throat as you tried to find a comfortable position on the bed. The wet cloth on your forehead slipped down a bit as you turned to your side, facing Kita. Not long ago, Clara had changed the cloth that she placed over your eyes and forehead to ease the headache that had developed, but you apparently did not feel the promised effect. Frustrated, you ripped it off of your face.

With a grim expression, you looked over at Kita. Right beside your bed, he had placed a chair and taken a seat to make sure you were actually resting. Right after he had told you that Garret had attacked your best friend, he had had to carry you back to your bed. Everything had just become too much for your already exhausted body and mind to bear. Kita and Clara had hoped that you would find some rest, but the moment that you had come back to your senses, you had tried to go and see your friend. Your legs were shaking and your forehead was damp with cold sweat, but you were still determined to go and see her. Only, they had orders not to let you go.

It hurt Kita to see you in such a state and perhaps he would have even let you go against his orders if he knew that Alysane was alive and out of danger. But he didn't know. He didn't know what exactly had happened to her, he didn't know if she was going to make it out alive. The mere thought made his heart sink. What if she was really going to die? The nice Lady that always smiled at him when they passed each other in the hallway, the one that always asked you if you were alright whenever she saw you, the one that threw stray dogs a bite of her food when she saw one. Kita didn't know her well, but it was obvious that she was a kind woman who did not deserve to die at the hands of a man like Garret. If the thought of her dying made him feel this bad, what was it doing to you? And what was it doing to Osric?

So, as long as there were no news about what the situation was, he could not let you go. It would be hard enough if your friend were to pass away, you did not need to burst into her room and see her dead body. That was why every time you tried to get up and out of bed, he gently caught a hold of your shoulders and pushed you back down, even if he knew that it was not what you thought was the best for you. But sometimes you don’t know what is best for you. Maybe Kita did not know what was best for you either, but he was there to protect you from any harm and he would stay true to his oath of keeping you safe. Even if it made you angry.

And it did. For the very first time, you were actually angry with your knight, glading daggers at him any chance you got.

“She will be fine, princess.” His voice was low and gentle. He hoped that it would be true. It had to be.

The information he had received on what had happened to Alysane was very sparse: Garret had tried to escape the castle and as he did, he stole a dagger somehow. And when he - unfortunately - ran into Alysane, he attacked her. He had been angry with her when he had spoken to you and apparently, he had seen an opportunity to release that anger. But the extent of her injuries and whether she would make it or not was still something he did not know anything about.

“You don’t know if she’ll be alright. Stop lying to me.” You sighed. “I don't know what to do, Kita.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I want this all to be over.. please.”

His heart squeezed in his chest, it hurt to hear you talk like this. You were supposed to be happy. If there was anyone in this whole world who deserved happiness, it had to be you. And he was supposed to make sure that you were. Why was he such a failure? “It will get better.” It had to be. Just like Alysane had to live, you had to be happy. That was just the way things were supposed to be. And if the universe would not let that happen, there had to be no order or justice anywhere left in the world.

“Nothing will get better, Kita. Nothing will ever get better. Everything went down the drain after mother's death.”

Your mother had not been dead for long, less than ten years now. Still, that was a long time to be sad. Though, he knew that feeling.

“I lost my parents, too.” Kita's confession made you look up and he greeted you with a smile. A soft, sad smile that he hoped would help calm you down. “It happened a long time ago, when I was very small. My grandmother raised me after that.”

“I am so sorry.” You moved your hand from under the covers and reached for him.

“It's alright.” His hand met yours. “I am alright now. But I know what it is like to think that nothing will ever be good again. When my parents died, I was so young, I couldn't even understand what was happening. But the longer I stayed with my grandmother, the longer I waited for my parents to come back again, the lonelier I felt. When I finally realized that they were never coming back, I thought I would never be happy again.” He looked down at your joined hands, sadness evident on his face. “It was a cruel thing to think, I know. My grandmother was there for me day and night, making sure I was well-fed and safe, and I still felt alone. I still could not find happiness in her love. But that was just the way I felt, I could not change it, no matter how much I wanted to be happy. It took me a long time to start seeing the good things in my life again. But when I started, I couldn't stop. I saw children playing outside. I saw my grandmother cooking our dinner. I saw our neighbor helping my grandmother with her garden.” His eyes locked onto yours. “I saw good things everywhere. And you will, too. It feels horrible to be alone. It is horrible, but it is not forever. Things will get better. You will get better.” He looked at you intently for a moment, carefully considering his next words. His hand squeezed yours gently as he proceeded to speak. “You will be loved.. and happy. If I have any say in it.”

There was no room for any doubts. You would be loved. You would be happy. He knew you would be because it was true. It had to be true. If it wasn't true that a woman so good like you would find love and happiness , there was nothing good left in this world.

You looked up at him with glossy eyes, an unidentifiable emotion in them. Your hand gripped his a little tighter, pulling him closer to you. You opened your mouth, took a deep breath and said - nothing.

Just when you were about to say whatever it was you were going to say, there was a knock on the door.

“Princess?” a guard called through the wood. “I have news about the Lady Alysane.”

Immediately, your hand pulled itself out of his in order to push your upper body up, trying to get yourself into a sitting position.

“Come in!” You shouted.

—

Your Point Of View

Clara had tried to stop you from leaving but without Kita's help, she could not contain your sheer will and determination to finally, finally see your friend again.

Since the guard had announced that your friend was not dead or about to die and that her injury had been treated, it seemed that Kita was no longer opposed to you seeing her. He probably knew how much you wanted to see her. Of course he knew. As much as he held back his own emotions, as composed as he was all the time, it was obvious just how compassionate he was, how much he cared. How did you get so lucky to be able to choose him as your knight? He was a gift sent from heaven just for you. He had to be.

You reached the door to Alysane's door quite quickly, even though you weren't supposed to overexert yourself. You tried to calm your breathing so that Kita would not realize how exhausted you already were. Though he did not say anything, you were sure that he noticed anyway. But that did not matter. What mattered was that the only thing standing in between you and your friend was a door and a guard with a worried look on his face. What did he want now? Couldn't people just let you through to your friend?!!

“Move.”

Usually, you did not speak to guards or maids in such a harsh manner, but your patience was truly about to become nonexistent. If he would not move and let you through that goddammit door, you would - well you didn't know what you would do. Maybe ask Kita to punch him. You'd hope that your personal knight knew how to knock people out good.

“Yes, princess.” The guard bowed slightly and looked back up at you with the same worried expression. “Just.. keep in mind that she needs rest. And that the wound that she was dealt is quite-”

“Yes, I get it!” You were about to truly yell at this man. And you knew that no man likes it when a woman makes a scene. Especially when that woman is the princess. If you had to be composed all the time and keep all your emotions to yourself, you might as well use these annoying rules in your favor once in a while. Threatening to make a scene, it was an easy way to get what you wanted - and let off some steam.

Quickly, the man moved to the side and allowed you to finally open the door and walk into the dark room.

The curtains were drawn close and the already dim light of the already low sun was blocked out of the room almost entirely. A few candles were lit throughout the room and the soft light allowed you to make out Alysane's form on the bed. Her body was covered by her blanket, leaving only her face exposed. Or well, it would have been exposed had it not been for the bandages covering most of her face.

“Alysane..” Your feet brought you to her side as quickly as your exhaustion allowed them to. What had happened to her? “What did he do to you?” you whispered, not expecting a reply from your passed out friend.

“Garret slashed her face. It will take time to heal,” the guard that had been outside said instead. Both him and Kita were slowly following you into the room.

“Will.. will she be alright?” As disturbing as she looked right now, you could not bring yourself to look away from her. How could a single man hurt you both so bad? How could this happen? And how could you help?

“She will heal. Luckily he did not injure her eye but it will still take a long time until she will be able to go out in public again.”

“Did you see the wound?” Kita asked him.

“I did. It.. it is very big. From her jaw over her cheek up to her nose. I doubt she will look as beautiful as she did before, which is a real shame considering-”

“Get out!” Now you were truly angry. “Is this all that you care about?!” You got up, stalking towards the man who looked terrified by your sudden outburst. “My friend was almost murdered and the first thing that you care to talk about is how she won't be beautiful anymore?” What was wrong with this man?

Defensively, he raised his hands. “I - I did not mean-”

“Sir Kita?” You were done.

“Yes, princess?” You could hear his metal armor clinging as he moved beside you, his voice low and composed.

“Remove this man from my presence.”

“With pleasure.”

It was the first command of this kind that you had given your knight. Usually, you did not enjoy making other people hurt someone else for you. You did not like to overreact and potentially hurt someone too much or to do them wrong. But this man deserved to be removed from this room. Maybe be pushed into a wall on the way out. And Kita wanted to protect you from any harm in any form right?

You didn't even bother to keep looking at this man. He was not worth your time, he was not even good enough to be in the same room as you.

You turned around as Kita grabbed the man and pushed him out of the room as you resumed your previous spot next to your friend. This time, you knelt down next to her, brushing through the few exposed strands of her hair. What did it matter if she was beautiful? She was your friend. She was alive and you loved her. That was all that mattered.

You could not tell how long you sat next to Alysane’s resting form. It probably was not that long, but you could feel the exhaustion seep into your bones. Every muscle in your body was begging you to take a rest, to lay down, but you refused to leave your friend. Sitting next to her on the bed, you stroked over the outline of her arm underneath the covers. You listened to her quiet breaths and watched the part of her face you could see, monitoring her for any sign of discomfort or pain. Quietly, you prayed that she would wake up. But you knew that that would probably take some time. She needed to rest - like you were supposed to.

Kita returned to your side, stepping away from his spot by the window. For the past few minutes, he had been standing there, the curtain pulled just a bit to the side to allow him to peek outside. What he had been looking at you did not know, nor did you particularly care. All that mattered right now was Alysane. If it was something important, you were sure Kita would tell you, anyway. If he didn't, it probably wasn't something you needed to be thinking about. You were thankful for every small concern he kept away from you, allowing you to fully focus on the situation at hand.

“Princess?” He carefully approached you. “It is time to return to your chambers. You need to rest.”

“I can't leave her alone.”

You were hunched over, your neck hurt, your eyes hurt. But you couldn't leave.

“We'll find a new guard to keep an eye on her. And tomorrow we will come back and visit her again.”

You gave in. Of course you did, because he was right. He was always right. And you already knew who you wanted to keep an eye on Alysane.

“I need to find out where Osric is.”

Kita smiled at you. “I think I can help you with that.”

Just a few minutes later, Osric was standing in the doorway of Alysane's room. Kita had opened the curtains of the window he had been standing in front of before and motioned for Osric to come inside. Apparently the knight had been outside in the courtyard already, looking up to Alysane's room. It shouldn't surprise you as much as it did but with all of the chaos inside your head, you had not had the time to think about Osric too much.

Careful not to make too much noise, he walked into the room slowly, eyes only ever trained on Alysane.

“Is she alright? I heard that something had happened but..” He swallowed. “I didn't know exactly what. They wouldn't let me in and.. and I didn't know what was going on.”

“Garret attacked her after he attacked me,” you explained. “There is a large wound on her face, but she will live.” If the wound does not get infected, you added in your head, but did not dare to say out loud, scared of speaking it into existence.

“Oh, right.” Osric's eyes snapped over at you. “He - he attacked you too, right? Are you-”

“I'm fine,” you reassured him. “And I would be even better if I knew my friend in safe hands.”

Osric nodded slowly, his eyes panning back to look at Alysane again. He looked uncertain, almost scared. Like a deer caught in headlights.

Kita walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She will be fine. Just keep an eye on her, alright?”

With the dim light in the room, you could not be sure, but for just a moment you thought you could see tears glimmering in Osric’s eyes when he looked at Kita. Then, he nodded and went to sit on one of the chairs placed close to the bed.

“A maid will come and check in every now and then, too,” you told him as you tried to push yourself up from where you were still sitting on the bed. Kita somehow appeared by your side, a strong hand under your arm helping you up. He held out his arm after that, offering it to you for support as you made your way back to your room on wobbly legs.

Before you left your friend, you shot a last glance at her and Osric, who's eyes were still focused on Alysane.

She would be alright.

-> Next Chapter

[yandere-blushblush-writer]

Hello! ^w^

I love your Yandere Blush Blush Headcanon. I got and being delulu when I read it :D

Well, can you make yandere Cashew headcanon? He is my favorite besides Garret :3 (I like the other boys too btw)

And, maybe I prefer if the reader or Y/N is a female. Cuz yeah... I'm female, heheh 😅

But if its GN, I guess its fine (Perhaps :'v)

Bye and thanks <3

[Of course! I’m so sorry for the late reply!! I’m very bad at time management so please forgive me dear! I think you want romantic yandere but if not tell me!]

Request: Yes

Gender?: Female

Romantic or platonic?:Romantic

TW/CW: Yandere behaviors, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship,abusive relationship,abusive behavior,pre established relationships for one of them, all for entertainment purposes only

CASHEW HAS SIGNED ON

-I haven’t gotten him yet but he gives me very soft Yandere vibes because I think he knows he physically cannot break someone’s legs or harm them without a weapon

-He does physiology damage as he realized that was much more easier

-If you behave then it’s almost a normal relationship! If we forget the fact he is going to threaten everyone who gets to close to you and flirts with you

-He will always get you period products when you need and he will pamper you (more than usual) as he knows from stories how much periods HURT

-He says wear anything, not because he can fight, but because he has a gun and he’s going to kill them if they say shit. Yes he got a gun just to protect you, how lucky you are!

-If you keep trying to escape then he’ll have to break your legs even though he hates seeing you in pain

-So overall I think he’s sorta the safest option since he’s the softest yandere but that’s just me going off of looks