#i just can’t sleep and can’t stop crying

[userchai]

𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 - 18+

𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘹 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵…. 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

word-count 2.2K

thank you so much for reading feedback is appreciated I love you all dearly! sorry if there are any mistakes! 🖤

“If you love me right then who knows?”

You knew this was a terrible idea, letting him back in, but when he had shown up at your door, shivering and crying you just couldn’t say no. The soft morning glow of the sun illuminates his face beautifully as you stand at your bedroom door.

His eyelashes flutter as he turns a little in his sleep, the long black curls you’ve always loved are wild and messy. “What are you doing to me Eddie?” You whisper, shaking your head and fighting back tears.

He came to you because he didn’t know where else to go, having moved away from Hawkins years ago. It was hours away and you were only fifteen minutes down the road, so Eddie did what he knew best, he came back to you.

This isn’t the first time he’s shown back up since the two of you split years ago, but for some reason in this moment the air feels different. He looks so peaceful in your bed, he looks like he fits, like this is his home too.

You glance at the calendar above your bed, it’s Sunday. You have nowhere to be but right here with the man that you’re still so in love with, it’s painful.

You slowly make your way over to your bed, gently setting yourself down on it, not wanting to wake him yet. The fight the two of you had gotten into last night when he just showed up was still fresh in your mind.

“You can’t just come right back Eddie! You always do this!” You had screamed, tears streaming down your face as you leaned back against your front door.

The night ended differently than you would’ve expected, Eddie had kissed you, and he didn’t stop kissing. You both knew this would only lead to more hurt down the road but neither of you cared.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t hear Eddie wake up until his hand gently brushes your arm. “Hey.. you okay baby?” He whispers. ‘Baby’ you wanted to tell him that’s not who you were to him anymore, but you couldn’t.

“I’m alright. Did you sleep okay?” You ask, brushing a piece of his hair away from his face. He nods slowly, sitting up. You both stare at each other for a minute, Eddie’s eyes are puffy with sleep and it only makes him look even more attractive.

You smile timidly, damn him for making you feel every single feeling you’ve been working so hard on pushing down for years. “Good, I was gonna make something to eat if you’re hungry?” You ask, going to stand up before Eddie’s grabbing your hand, pulling you back down.

His dark eyes may as well be looking right through you as he keeps you in place. He’s very obvious, you’ve seen that look a million times before, the only thing Eddie is hungry for at the moment is you.

“Ed, I don’t think that’s such a good idea-” you start off, chewing your lip nervously as he pulls you closer to where he’s leaning back against your headboard. “If anything, let me have you for just one more night, I understand if you want me to leave forever after that. I just need to feel you one more time.”

Your heart is pounding beneath your chest, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time, you knew you wanted him. You needed him. Your body reacts before your mind can make up words to say back to him, you straddle yourself over his lap and gently reach down to hold his face. “I’ve never stopped loving you Eddie Munson.” You whisper.

The prettiest smile breaks out over those pouty lips that you could kiss for hours, “Show me then.” He says back, it’s a challenge. You bite back a laugh at how desperately Eddie’s clinging to you right now. His big hands are gripping onto your hips, you hope they bruise you want to remember this forever.

Eddie can be soft sometimes, even if he doesn’t look like it, and this is definitely one of those times. You could break him, and he would let you. You wanted to wreck him and rebuild him after. He groans lowly beneath you as you slowly circle your hips, grinding down against his lap for just a few seconds before stopping.

“Please don’t stop, I need to feel you.” He almost whimpers out, so pathetic, how much he needs you. You lean down slowly and kiss up the side of his neck, biting down against his jaw hard enough that it draws out a little blood. You wanted pain, you wanted him to feel everything that you’ve felt, you wanted him to know that if he fucks up this time he will never see you again.

“Fuck. You little vixen.” He bites out as you run your hands down his shoulders, you keep them going as you shuffle back off of his lap. “Gonna ruin you, is that what you came here for?” You ask as he bites his lip. He nods quickly, watching you pull your sheets back away from his body. “Oh, how cute baby, look how hard you’ve gotten and all I did was sit in your lap for a minute, admit it, you need me.”

You pull the covers all the way off of him, shuffling down to lay on your stomach in front of him as you run your hand teasingly against his length that’s straining behind his tight boxers. “I-fuck, I need you, I love you, I’m sorry for being such an idiot and leaving before please, even if you don’t want me anymore just use me today, that’s all I want.”

You smile up at him, that’s exactly the answer you wanted. If he thinks he can just come back and instantly win you over he is sorely mistaken, he’s going to work for it. You dig your nails into his skin a little as a hiss breaks its way out of his mouth, before you’re pulling his boxers down. You must be going far too slow for his liking because you swear you hear him start begging as his cock finally slaps back against his stomach.

You’ve missed him so bad, and you’ve missed feeling him inside of you almost more than the relationship you once had shared. Your mouth waters at the sight of his thick length, the head is leaking pre-cum against his stomach as you tap your fingers lazily against his thighs. “Why should I suck you off baby? I don’t know if you deserve my mouth anymore.” He moans loudly, pushing his hands against his eyes before he’s grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him.

You laugh quietly, he’s so hard it must be hurting by now. “Fuck…. Please I know I don’t deserve it okay? I don’t, but just, please I’ll be so good I’ll do anything to have you again baby.” You lick your lips slowly, before you’re spitting down onto the head. “Fine, but it’s at my pace, don’t you fucking move.” You can hear the air leave his lungs as you slowly wrap one of your hands tightly against him, stroking him slowly and spreading your saliva all over him.

You know just how he likes it, sloppy and loud, you are determined to make sure he remembers this, if today really is the last time. Focusing back on him you lean down and kiss up the side of his cock before you’re at the very top, you flutter your eyelashes up at him as his stomach tenses. He’s so beautiful, you sink your mouth down around him and the most beautiful sound comes out of his throat. Sure, Eddie is a good singer, but the sounds he makes for you have always been better than music.

It only takes a few more minutes of absolutely setting out to ruin Eddie, before his hips are threatening to lift off the bed. You know he wants to fuck your mouth, but you specifically told him not to move, so you pull off of him and slap his thigh. “I thought I said no moving, don’t you wanna be my good boy?” He looks like he’s on the verge of tears as he frantically apologizes, reaching to grip onto you. You can feel him shaking as you sit back up onto your knees.

“Don’t deserve my mouth anymore, you can’t even listen to instructions baby, but I’ll let you have my pussy. The only thing is, you’re not cumming.” Your stomach is already wound tight at the thought of having him inside you again, you waste no time in pulling your panties off and throwing them down onto the floor. Eddie looks like an absolute wreck already, his hair stuck to his face, eyes blown full of lust and love as he looks up at you. “Please just fuck me.” He whispers.

Reaching behind yourself to grab his cock again you rub the tip against yourself over and over, you can feel it pulsing against your hand. You knew how bad he needed to cum but for now things were going to be about you. You tense up as you slowly slide yourself down onto him, he’s so thick it almost hurts. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He gasps out, his hands gripping the sheets below you as you finally bottom out around him.

You wait a few minutes to adjust before you are lifting yourself back up, the drag of his cock inside of you is addicting and you don’t know if you’ll even last very long. You drop back down again, moaning loudly as every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. “Fuck, I’ve missed you baby, please, want you to fill me up when I say you can, need to feel you leaking back out of me for days Eddie.” His hands are all over your body, pulling, gripping, never wanting to let go. The both of you are breathing into each other’s mouths, crying out in pleasure and love.

It’s like nothing had ever happened, you wanted this for life, and you know at this moment he wants it too. He’s barely holding himself together as you bounce on his lap like some sort of angelic nymph. He can’t decide whether he wants to sing filthy praises or spill his heart out about how much he loves you as his cock rubs against that spot in you that sends both of you into a frenzy. “That’s it, fuck Eddie please, oh my god, cum now baby, fill me up, give me all of your love and let me feel it.”

‘Bad idea!’ Your mind was screaming, but your heart and body didn’t care, all the nasty thoughts of how much you hated what he did to you were slowly being stripped away from you. Eddie doesn’t know a lot, but right now he knows he is never letting go of you again. He stops holding back as you tense down around him again, leaning your forehead against his as he runs his hands down your back, gripping onto your ass. The neighbors must be getting a good show with how loud you both are.

You can feel him break beneath you, his body trembling as ‘I love you’ spills out of his lips over and over, your own orgasm washes over you quickly when Eddie bites down on your collar bone, sucking a bruise right into your soft skin. The both of you cling to each other as your highs slowly come down, you feel like you could nap forever with how spent your body is.

Another quiet moan slips past your lips as Eddie lifts you off of him slowly, you can feel his cum leaking out of you and down onto your thighs. “What a beautiful mess you are.” He whispers, leaning over to kiss you on your forehead as tears well up in your eyes. “Eddie?” You ask quietly, your throat hurts from how loud you’d been only moments ago. He doesn’t reply right away, instead he reaches for his Metallica shirt that’s on the floor, slowly pulling it down over your head and helping you put your arms through.

It smells like heaven, it smells like everything you’ve missed. “Yes baby?” He asks. “Please, don’t hurt me again. Don’t let me go.” You feel a tear slip down your cheek before it’s quickly being wiped away by his calloused fingers. “You’re never leaving my sight again, I was such an idiot when we were younger, but I want you, I want us forever.” He leans his forehead against yours as you both sit there in silence, maybe you could work again. Who knows?

The rest of the morning is softer, after you both had a moment to catch your breath Eddie had helped you into a bath, getting in behind you to rub your sore muscles as you laughed quietly while sharing things you’d missed out on since you’d last seen each other. This was easy, it was familiar, it was love. You couldn’t fight back smiling as you watched him standing at your oven, flipping a pancake over in a frying pan and almost dropping it onto the floor.

You knew opening the door for him was potentially opening your heart up to be broken again, but for Eddie you would risk everything, even your heart.

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[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 7:Her Vulnerability

Summary: Wednesday blames you as the reason she let her guard down, for the vulnerability that came with you.

Warning: Light Angst. Wednesday is back. !Mentions of death of a parent! Slow Burn.

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

Worklist.

Your heart raced as you grabbed your phone, frantically dialing your dad’s number. This wasn’t a “handle it yourself” kind of situation. You had nine high people on your hands, one of them being Wednesday Addams, and you knew things could go downhill fast.

"Dad.." you began, your voice shaky..

He definitely sensed the panic in your voice. “What happened? Everything alright?”

“Uh, not exactly,” you said, glancing nervously at the group. “So... Dad, do you remember how you always said if I ever needed you, no matter how stupid the reason, you’d come?”

Your dad paused, immediately suspicious. “Yeah? What did you do?”

“Okay, first of all, this is not my fault.” You shot a look toward Rick, who was now trying to chase his own shadow in circles, laughing like a maniac. “But... everyone here might be, uh, high. And Wednesday, well, she’s... Let’s just say I need help. Fast.”

Your dad’s voice came back with a groan. “Hey! You told me you guys were camping, what kind of camps do they even run?"

“We were camping, Dad! It’s an accident!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “Stop asking questions and just get here!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. What do I even bring to deal with this?” he asked,

You blinked, unsure how to answer. “Uh, a tranquilizer gun?”

Your dad chuckled. “I’ll figure it out. See you soon. Try to keep the casualties to a minimum.”

“Great,” you muttered. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be here... herding drunk cats.”

As you hung up, you sighed in relief but immediately felt the weight of the situation crash back in.

“Y/n,”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone. “What the—Wednesday! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You need to lift the magic.”

“Magic? What magic?” You frowned, thrown off by the comment.

“The one that keeps making me think about you all the time. Like right now. Like when I sleep.” She leaned closer, "It makes me feel... weird. Like... like I should stab you. But I can’t. I try, but it doesn’t feel right. Anyone else, I’d stab them. Like... like Brooke.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral. “Okay, but let’s agree not to stab Brooke,” you said, gently taking her arm.

Just then you heard Alex shout from across the camp. “Oh, baby! You complete me!”

“Oh, for the love of—” you groaned, rushing over to see Alex, arms wrapped around a thick tree trunk, “Alex, what the hell are you doing?”

Alex, now fully invested in his "relationship" with the tree, was whispering sweet nothings into its bark. "You're so... strong. You never hurt me, even when I hit you. I think... I love you."

"Alex!" You groaned, "Stop groping the tree. It doesn’t love you back."

He glanced at you, wide-eyed and sincere. “She… she gets me. She understands me. I love her.”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering if you should laugh or cry. “Alex, it’s a tree.”

“Don’t insult her!” he cried dramatically, clutching the bark tighter. “She’s... she’s the love of my life.”

“Rick! Don’t get in the water!” you shouted as you caught sight of him staggering toward the lake.

Rick paused, looked back, and said, “But the water… it calls to me!”

“No! You’ll drown!” You sprinted over, grabbing his arm and yanking him back just in time. He stumbled but managed to stay upright, looking at you as if you’d just ruined his dreams.

“Aw, come on! I just wanted to see the dolphin.”

“It's a lake Rick! There are no dolphins! Stay away from the water!”

You sighed, glancing around the camp to see what fresh disaster awaited you. And then, your heart stopped.

"Wednesday, don’t stab Brooke!" you shouted, seeing Wednesday approaching Brooke with a knife in hand.

“Why not?” Wednesday replied, her voice dangerously calm. “She looks stab-worthy.”

For a second, you thought you were in the clear—until Wednesday moved behind Brooke and, with one swift motion, sliced off her ponytail.

Brooke just kept laughing. “Hey! Free haircut!”

“Wednesday, what the hell!" you cried.

She turned to you with an unsettling smirk, eyes still glazed but sharp. Without warning, she threw the knife at you. You yelped, dodging just in time as the blade embedded itself in the tree behind you. “Seriously?!”

She grinned, grabbing another knife from god knows where. “It’s a game, Y/n. You dodge, I throw.” You ducked again as the second knife sailed past your head. “How many knives do you even have?!” “Enough,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. Before you could react, she pulled out another knife from her coat. “Okay, stop!” You ducked as the third knife soared past. “Are you done?” She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “No.” And out came knife number four. You barely dodged it as it flew past your head and stabbed Alex's newlywed wife... "My love! Noooo" Alex cried holding onto the tree.

“You’re really good at dodging,” Wednesday mumbled, her words slurring together. “I might like that about you.”

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified.

“Wednesday! Are you done?”

She frowned, swaying on her feet. “I’m out of knives."

"Thank god," you muttered but before you could catch your breath you saw Mike, who was trying to roast marshmallows... without the stick. He held the marshmallows directly over the fire with his bare hands, completely unaware of the flames licking at his skin.

“Mike!” you ran over and pulled him away. “Are you trying to set yourself on fire?!”

He blinked at you in confusion. “I was just... hungry.”

“Use a stick next time!” you cried, handing him one.

You sighed as you glanced at Wednesday, who had wandered off again, staring at the moon like it had personally offended her.

You jogged over to her, grabbing her by the arm before she could do anything else drastic. “Wednesday, stay with me, okay? Get a hold of yourself, stop acting weird.”

“I’m not weird,” she muttered, looking up at the sky with unfocused eyes. “The moon is weird. Look at it... all smug up there... thinking it’s so important. I could take it down if I wanted to.”

“Sure, Wednesday,” you said, humoring her. “But let’s not fight the moon right now, okay?”

She blinked, swaying slightly. “Why not? It deserves it. It’s always watching... judging... Like Weems, Can we kill Weems when we go back?”

Rick was running back toward the lake again, you rubbed your temples. “Wednesday, please just sit down, we can kill Weems later, okay?.” you said before going for Rick.

“Rick! No!” You sprinted after him, pulling him away just before he could dive in.

“Man, you’re no fun!” Rick slurred, pouting like a child.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to keep you all alive!”

Returning to Wednesday, you found her surprisingly obedient for once, sitting by the fire.

“You,” she muttered, pointing a finger at you again. “Why are you always fixing things? Its annoying.”

You sighed, catching your breath. “Trust me, I know.”

“But…” she paused, her brow furrowing in drunken confusion. “I also kind of like that you’re always… there.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, your heart doing a weird little flip despite the chaos. “Oh yeah? Well, I kind of like that you haven’t stabbed anyone yet.”

She smirked, getting up on her feet. “Give me some time.”

Just as you were about to respond, the distant ruffling from the woods.

Your dad had arrived, along with a few camp staff members who clearly had no idea what they were walking into.

“Okay,” your dad said, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened here?”

You crossed your arms, gesturing to the group. “This. This happened. Rick spiked the coffee. So… good luck. I’m getting Wednesday out of here. Give me your car keys.”

Your dad hesitated, his brows furrowing. "You don’t have a license yet, Y/n."

"I don’t care," you said firmly, glancing over at Wednesday, who was eyeing everyone with a dangerous gleam. "I need to get her out of here before she really does something."

He stared at you for a moment, then sighed, digging into his pocket and pulling out the car keys. "Here. And take this." He handed you a flashlight. "It’s dark out there."

"Thanks, Dad," you said, pocketing the keys and flashlight.

"Good luck," he called as you started to lead Wednesday away from the mess.

You led Wednesday through the dark jungle, her hand gripped tightly in yours, her steps unsteady but stubborn. Every twig that snapped had you jumping. “You’re scared,” Wednesday observed bluntly. You stiffened. “No, I’m not. I just don’t like… unexpected noises.” “You’re scared,” she repeated, her voice softer now, less mocking. “I can tell.” You sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. It’s dark and creepy" You walked in silence for a few moments, the jungle seeming to close in around you, the air thick and heavy, but what felt even more dense.. was Wednesday's proximity near you.

“I’m scared too.” her voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

You blinked, “What? You? Scared? Of what?” you asked, half expecting her to say something completely ridiculous, like hugs.

“I’m scared… of getting close to you.” Her words came out slowly, as if she were forcing herself to admit it.

That made you stop in your tracks. You turned to look at her, your heartbeat suddenly louder in your ears.

“I’m scared about that too,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the sounds of the jungle. “I’m scared for you. That you’ll get close to me, and it’ll be... selfish.”

“Selfish?” she echoed, her brow furrowing. “Why would it be selfish?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn't.. you didn't want to lose her... not yet.

Wednesday’s gaze bore into you, waiting for an answer, but you squeezed her hand lightly, leading her forward through the jungle.

"Let’s just get out of here," you murmured.

She didn’t press further, just followed your lead, her steps slow but steady, her grip firm in yours. After what felt like an eternity, you finally saw the road ahead, your dad’s car parked at the edge of the road. Relief washed over you as you reached it. You helped Wednesday into the passenger seat before climbing in behind the wheel. Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel.

There was no way you were driving two hours to Nevermore in this state. Your house was only half an hour away, and you were way too tired to push through for that long.

“I’m taking you to my place,” you said, glancing over at Wednesday. “It’s closer.” She blinked slowly, her head resting against the window. “I don’t care… as long as it’s quiet.” You started the car, pulling onto the road and heading toward home. The drive was mostly silent, save for the occasional comment from Wednesday. “You’re a terrible driver,” she mumbled at one point, her eyes half-closed. “Gee, thanks,” you muttered. “And why is your car so… bright?” “It’s a normal car, Wednesday.” “I prefer hearses.” You chuckled, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest despite the exhaustion. Even drunk, even high, she was still Wednesday Addams.

After what felt like both an eternity and a blink, you finally pulled into your driveway. You hadn’t been gone long, just a week, but somehow it felt like you’d been away for months. You missed it. You helped Wednesday out of the car, guiding her toward the front door. She blinked at the house, her lips curling into a half-frown. “It’s… too clean.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Where are the cobwebs? The dust? It’s too… colorful. It offends me.” You laughed softly, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Sorry to disappoint. Maybe I can add some cobwebs for you later.” Wednesday grunted, following you in. “You should.” You led her upstairs to the bathroom, handing her a towel and some spare clothes—luckily, you had some black ones. No way were you risking putting her in anything with colours. That might be the last mistake you ever made. "Just… take a shower. I’ll be right outside if you need anything," you said, standing awkwardly by the door. There was a pause, and then the sound of water running. You heard her muttering something under her breath, but you didn’t ask what.

After a few minutes, she emerged, dressed in the black shirt and pants you’d given her. She still looked disheveled, her hair damp and wild.. and... human? "Better?" you asked. She nodded once, her eyes flicking over you. "Tolerable." "Great." You led her to your room, where you helped her onto your bed. "You can sleep here. I’ll take the chair." Wednesday stared at the bed with disdain. “It’s too colorful.” “Would you prefer I get you a coffin?” Her eyes lit up "You can?" “No, I’m fresh out of coffins, so you’re stuck with this.” You said, watching as she reluctantly climbed onto the bed. She lay back, eyeing the bright blankets suspiciously. "Sweet dreams Wends." "Bitter nightmares Y/n." You sat down in the chair, resting your head on the table, exhausted from the day. As your eyelids grew heavier, you couldn’t help but feel… content. Despite everything that happened, the chaos, the stress—it was nice. It was nice… with Wednesday.

Wednesday woke up with a pounding headache, one that reminded her of the few times she'd experienced her visions—but this one was worse. Her skull felt like it was splitting in two. She blinked slowly, squinting against the unfamiliar light filtering through the room. Her mind began to sort through fragments of memories. The camp… those insufferable therapy sessions… the lake… She sat up abruptly, clutching her head as the pain intensified.

Her eyes flicked around the room, landing on your slumped figure, asleep at the desk. You were hunched over, your head resting on your arms, your breathing slow and steady. For some reason, her mind didn’t leap to the worst-case scenarios like it usually did. Normally, she would have assumed she’d been kidnapped or poisoned or worse, but this time, her immediate reaction was different. You were there. And for some strange, infuriating reason, that put her mind somewhat at ease. She quickly squashed that feeling, she needed answers.

“Y/N.” You jolted upright, startled and confused, your eyes wide as you tried to get your bearings. “Wednesday?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes, still half-asleep. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “And why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train?” You stood, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “You’re at my house,” you said, a bit sheepish. “Uh, sorry about that. After everything that happened last night, I figured it was easier to bring you here instead of taking you all the way back to Nevermore.” Wednesday’s gaze narrowed. “And what, exactly, happened last night?” You grimaced. “It was Rick. He spiked the coffee, and… well, everyone got pretty messed up. You were high.”

A flicker of memory hit her like a punch to the gut. The coffee. Rick. Her emotions spilling out. She had been...drunk. And not just any kind of drunk—emotionally vulnerable drunk. A wave of nausea hit her. "I was what?"

"Yeah, you were... not yourself. And I had to, you know, keep you from stabbing people or throwing knives. At me, mostly." You gave her a nervous chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "So I took you home before you killed anyone."

Wednesday’s face darkened, her expression unreadable. She could vaguely remember the feel of the knife in her hand, the sheer frustration bubbling inside her, and then...she let her guard down. She had felt things—for you. Her hands tightened into fists.

"This was your fault," she said, her voice low, dangerous. “You. You're the reason this happened.”

You blinked in surprise, then frowned. “What? How is this my fault?”

“You.” Her eyes burned with anger, her lips curling into a scowl. “Yesterday, I let you in. And look where that got me—drunk, vulnerable, and completely out of control.”

Her words stung. You had never seen her so agitated, so vulnerable, and yet so defensive at the same time. Your heart sank a little, but you stepped closer to her. “Wednesday, it’s okay. I was there, wasn’t I? I’ll always be there if you need me.”

“That's not the point!” Wednesday snapped. “The point is that I’m never like this. I never allow myself to be anything other than in control. But you... you make me lose that control. You distract me. You’re the reason I wasn’t on guard, the reason I didn’t see it coming.”

For a moment, you were speechless. It wasn’t often that you saw Wednesday like this—raw, emotional, admitting that she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to be. But instead of backing down, you felt your own frustration rising.

“So, what? You’re mad because I’m not a threat to you? Because I make you feel something?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes!”

You stared at her, genuinely taken aback by her admission. “You’re blaming me for something you’re not used to dealing with that I had no control of.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You had control, you entered my life. I never asked you to get close to me," she hissed.

You stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. You shook your head slowly. “You know what? Fine. Be mad. Blame me for all of it. Blame me because you’re scared to admit that you actually care about someone. Go ahead.”

Wednesday’s eyes flashed a bit of emotions, but you didn’t stop.

“Because I can’t do this,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “I can't keep taking the fault just because you’re too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to be alone all the time.”

“I am not alone,” Wednesday said coldly. “I choose this.”

You looked at her, and for a second, something shifted in your expression. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. “Fine. Then go. Be strong and alone, just like you always do.”

The words stung more than she cared to admit. She felt her anger surge again, but this time, there was something else beneath it—an ache she couldn’t name. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her mind racing.

Back in your room, you groaned, burying your face in your hands. The frustration, the anger—it was all swirling inside you like a storm. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but damn it, Wednesday knew how to push every button.

Still, you couldn’t just leave things like this. Not after everything that had happened.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, running a hand through your hair as you headed out to find her.

Wednesday stood outside, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as the morning air bit at her skin. She stood rigid, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. What part of Jericho is she even in?

She was stuck in this place—your place. A house that felt almost too normal for her liking, too...warm. It was unsettling. And yet, it wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the setting that rattled her. It was you.

She wasn’t going back inside.

Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could navigate the situation on her own—she didn’t need help. Wednesday Addams never needed help.

You were the one person she could blame for her current predicament. Yet, somehow, you were also the only person she found herself thinking about.

Her head was still pounding, the remnants of the drug-fueled haze clinging to her like a persistent shadow. It was disorienting and left her feeling unusually out of control.

And that—more than anything—infuriated her.

She wasn’t used to this. Losing control, feeling vulnerable, feeling anything.

It was your fault. You had wormed your way into her life, into her mind, and now, into her emotions. And for what? You were unpredictable, infuriatingly cheerful, and entirely too comfortable in her presence. No one had ever made her feel this conflicted before. And she hated it.

No, she hated you. Right?

What had she said last night? What had you seen? She remembered the rush of emotions flooding her mind, the dizzying sensation of being drunk—something she never allowed herself to be.

And somehow, you had been there, in the middle of it all. And you are still here now...

“Is it really that bad to let someone in, Wednesday?” She stiffened at the sound of your voice, not bothering to turn to face you.

“Yes,” she replied coldly, the answer immediate and sharp. “It would make me weak. Vulnerable.”

You sighed softly, taking a few slow steps toward her, careful not to intrude on her space but just close enough that she couldn’t ignore your presence.

“Vulnerability,” you mused, glancing down at your feet before looking back at her with a sad smile. “I wish I felt vulnerable sometimes. The vulnerability of a mother’s love."

Wednesday’s sharp gaze turned to you, a question forming in her eyes but remaining unspoken.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” you continued, "Talk about being born only to murder your mother,” you chuckled, though it wasn’t filled with your usual warmth. It was tinged with something deeper—pain.

That hit harder than she anticipated. Wednesday wasn’t one for empathy, but something about the way you said it, the way you tried to laugh off the tragedy, made something in her chest tighten. She wasn’t sure why, but the pain in your voice resonated with her.

“I watched as the others played with their mothers,” you continued, your eyes distant now, as if you were seeing something far away. “Dad tried, he really did. But he had work. The cars in his garage weren’t going to fix themselves.”

Wednesday stayed silent, her eyes locked on your profile. She could see the sadness in your eyes now, the weight of it pressing down on you like a dark cloud. You were trying to make a joke of it, trying to downplay the loss, but she could tell how much it still hurt you.

“Why am I telling you all this?” you asked, your voice softer now, more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “Because, Wednesday... sometimes, the thing we think will make us weak or vulnerable... is actually the thing that’s missing. The thing that could make us whole.”

She remained silent, the words hanging in the air between you both. For the first time in a long time, Wednesday didn’t have a sharp retort, didn’t have some sarcastic comment to throw back at you. She just...stood there. Listening.

What the hell am I even doing?

Her mind raced, and she felt an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. You clearly had nothing to hide, no ulterior motives that she could detect. Maybe...maybe she could trust you. But trust was dangerous. She had built her life around never needing to trust anyone. Why should you be any different?

Still, something about your words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her resolve. Vulnerability wasn’t a weakness, you had said. It was the missing piece.

For a moment, she considered the possibility. Maybe, just maybe, letting you in didn’t mean losing control. Maybe it was something else entirely.

She clenched her jaw, finally turning to face you. “Where does this leave us?”

You met her gaze, your expression unreadable for a moment. Then, you gave a soft, almost tired smile.

“What even is this?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. It was a rare admission of uncertainty from her, and it made her feel exposed in a way she hated.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “But does it really need to have a name? This...whatever this is...it can just be ‘this’ till we enjoy each other’s company.” You smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I clearly enjoy yours. I don’t know about you.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, but there was no real malice in the gesture. “You aren’t entirely intolerable,” she muttered under her breath, her voice softer than usual.

You laughed at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to lift some of the tension between you. “High praise coming from you,” you teased.

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. The fact that she hadn’t immediately insulted you or walked away was enough of a response.

Then, after a moment, you stretched and yawned, clearly still recovering from the night’s chaos. “Anyway,” you said, “I clearly need coffee. Preferably not spiked" You took a few steps forward, then paused, looking back over your shoulder at her. “You coming?”

She sighed, her expression impassive as she finally moved to follow you.

Whatever this was, it went deeper than that. The things she did for you, the things you made her feel...they weren’t just born from friendship. But no, this wasn’t something romantic either, at least not yet. She wasn’t sure what it was.

And maybe, just for now, that was okay.

This didn’t need a name.

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)

[shima-draws]

What the FUCK Furina’s backstory is so fucking sad??? The absolute TORTURE she’s been through. Shit dude,

[alluralater]

just finished moving around/reorganizing my entire bedroom. i have cried three times today but now i’m laying in bed, my room smells of roses, and i’m eating french bread. this was not the bipolar hot girl mania i was promised but damn if i don’t do it well

[swordmaid]

prev also not to mention there was NO broken man speech !!!!! no elder brother to guide her decision..!! no one telling her what happens to the knights who just mindlessly follows their vows. she doesn’t get the other perspective to jaime’s so many vows confession. like the no chance and no choice hits so hard for ME bc she gets two perspectives on what being a knight entails, and what following your vows could mean to you, and do to you as a person, and the fact that she’s seen both sides and actively choose to follow the vow of a True Knight and protect a bunch of orphans from a fight she knows she can’t win makes the whole scene hits more.

[babyfairy]

it takes about 5 seconds of thinking about my personal life before i start to cry now i think that’s really cool and good. fun too

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[artnerd1123]

im so goddamn tired.

[partycityistotallyofficailguy]

does anyone ever stop and think about. Art. Like how pretty life is that some guys like me had to just go and represent it through silly little shapes and designs and intricacies that can barely even begin to represent the beauty and love that surrounds life despite the hatred in the world. Life is beautiful and art is beautiful and I think sometimes people forget that when they make art because sometimes it’s just nice to let go and draw things. The creative process is beautiful and awesome just like life

[crossbackpoke-check]

about to be sooo nosy so. my apologies. but. morgan frost? girlfriend? do share (or don’t! again this is so nosy i’m sorry)

for legal purposes i can neither confirm nor deny anything about morgan and his girlfriend but afaik i think he’s single right now? at one point (within the past four years 😭) he did for sure have a girlfriend and that is the extent of my wag knowledge

[heybaetae]

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[just-rogi]

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[arionawrites]

1. it’s my 24th birthday today, so my goal of being published by the time i’m 25 is now a one year looming monster, but i never specified what kind of published and am currently looking in various literary magazines that are recommended for writers who have yet to be published, so i’m surprisingly confident that i can make it work? and tbh even if whatever i write isn’t officially published before my 25th birthday, if i have someone in the process of being published then i’ll be happy!! no matter what though, i’m gonna try to be proud of myself for at least giving it my best shot!!

2. i honestly love that my birthday is on the ides of march because the ides of march meme shitposting is only a thing on tumblr but it also being my birthday makes it easier to like. be excited about the ides of march outside of tumblr. like even in person i can be like “it’s my birthday! i’m an ides of march babe (:” and if someone is like oh what’s that? or if they say something along the lines of oh like julius caesar? i can be like yep!! and even if it’s a small thing outside of tumblr it brings me immense enjoyment and amusement being able to bring it up off of tumblr

3. transportation situation has been very rough since june 2023 when i totalled my car, my gap insurance are being assholes and i ended up putting my foot down on the phone with them yesterday which i’m pretty proud of because i am NOT a confrontational person (something i’ve been working on this past year, so seeing some improvement with my ability to hold my ground and not be a pushover yesterday was very cool!!) i was told i’d get a response from them by friday next week no matter what, and if i don’t then friday of next week i will continue to wreak havoc upon them. but my moms car which i’ve been using since my accident broke down yesterday, hopefully it’s fixable but my parents were saying it might be done for, so trying to think of how i’m gonna get to work next week is kind of stressing me out lmao, but for now i’m just gonna focus on enjoying my birthday the best i can because i don’t want to start off being 24 with an overwhelming anxiety for something that won’t be a potential issue until monday. plus i already messaged my boss today to let her know that i’m going to do everything i can to make it work out but just so she’s in the loop and knows of the potential of me not being able to make my morning shifts (one of my coworkers said she’s more than happy to give me a ride for our afternoon shifts which does help relieve some of the stress!) and i told her i’d let her know for sure sunday so that if necessary she can have time to figure out someone to fill in for me in the mornings!

overall: life is weird and i ended being 23 yesterday with a shitty situation but a positive outlook and i am going to enjoy my first day of being 24 no matter what because honestly i fucking earned it. happy friday everyone, i hope it’s a good day for you and me both!

[binders-and-beanies]

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[emmebearpaw]

“What do I do when I’m angry?” You ask without even asking. You are small, these emotions are new, the people around you teach you about each. Being happy is yellow and you show you are happy with a smile. Being sad is blue and you show you are sad by crying. Being mad is red. “How do I be angry?” They don’t really answer it.

You learn later that being angry is being loud and scary. Being angry is when your parents yell at you for doing something you shouldn’t have. Of course your parents yelling is scary. Being angry is being scary.

But being scary isn’t exactly an action to do. You can yell. Yelling is a good way to be angry. People already tell you are loud a lot though, like when you are excited! What’s another way to be angry.

The animal inside of you responds. Being angry is to be violent. The best way to get rid of the pain of holding the boiling pot of rage is throw it on someone else.

You scratch the girl you were mad at in first grade. You really should have gone to the principals when she told on you. You realize in that moment and dozens before you can’t hurt someone when you are angry. You lie to the teacher and say it was an accident, your nails were long and you didn’t mean it. But you didn’t have to hold that pot. You don’t do that again, being a good girl means you can’t be hurting anyone.

You are holding the boiling pot yet again and it hurts and it hurts and you have to do something. The pressure is mounting with deadlines for projects and extracurricular activities and now you need to do all of that work all over again and you kick a fucking hole in the wall at your middle school.

You know you shouldn’t have done that but nothing chills the pot like guilt sliding down your throat. You already knew by then that the boiling anger can’t go onto objects either. Only special objects can be hit. “You can punch your pillow if you are mad.” Your parents say. You can’t punch your fucking pillow when you are at SCHOOL. You can’t punch your pillow on the bus you cant you can’t.

So you learn to hold the boiling metal. You scream about it next time it begins to boil. Everyone looks at you and goes silent. Your friends tell you they were scared you’d hurt them.

you can’t do that. You can’t do that.

You go silent as the anger seeps through you. That’s weird. Why aren’t you talking. You talk. You sound angry, why are you angry. You leave the room. You can’t do that, we are busy right now, you can’t leave without permission.

You are trapped there. You have enough brain power left as the rage seeps into your skin to realize you are the only one who is angry in the situation you are in. Because you are angry at things you did and didn’t do. Because you have to be a good girl. That’s who you are. You set expectations for yourself and for others and you can’t even get yourself to meet all of them, how could you ever get someone else to. The kettle whistles louder and louder as the kids around you in class get off topic as the teacher runs to grab something. This is a discussion you want to scream. We have a topic to talk about you want to beg. You are sitting criss cross applesauce on the fucking floor with a hot iron pressed to your chest and you can not leave. You can not fix it.

So what did you learn to do? The anger has to go somewhere. It doesn’t sit in you well. You know you should be able to handle the searing metal but you can’t. It has to go somewhere. It can’t go on others, they’ll hurt. It can’t go on objects. They’ll break. It can’t go in the air it can’t be pushed into the ground it can’t leave the room all the time.

You pour the boiling hot anger onto yourself. It’s the only place for it to go? Isn’t it. It doesn’t solve the fact the water is still boiling. Now more is burned, but your hands don’t have to hold it. The sound of your fist hitting your own head provides some relief. The rattle in your brain after you slam it against something can distract you from the rage. You can punish yourself for the fact that no one else seems to have this problem that you do.

You know you picked the wrong way to pour out the water. it’s too loud. Too noticeable. You get in trouble for doing it. People get angry at you. Concerned for you. Scared of you. You look one of your best friends in the eyes and you want to punch them for something they said. You don’t remember what it was at this point you just remember you thought you should punch her.

But that was the first thing you learned wasn’t it? You can’t hit someone. You look her dead in the eyes and punch yourself with the force you wanted to hit her with. You get in trouble with your parents for doing it, grabbed by the arm to stop you from giving yourself a concussion in a parking lot as you sobbed over not knowing what item you wanted at the craft store.

they still haven’t answered what you should do instead.

You still don’t have a better answer. You become an adult, far past the point of learning that anger is red and you still don’t know what to do about it.

you learn to be quieter about it though. You try counting how many times you wanted to do it in a day. The people around you ask you to stop the ominous counting at the things you used to get mad about. You stop doing it on the second day. You try not to think about how you didn’t hit yourself at all yesterday, despite the rage. You start doing it again.

You learn that biting isn’t quite as good as hitting but it’s quiet and clean and easily hideable as you twist your hands to hide the teeth marks.

You stop being as angry when you leave high school. It turns out not being locked into rooms with the things that make you angry, helps a lot.

and yet.

One day you realize your sibling got to go to therapy for their anger issues. They went to therapy for it because they didn’t learn. They kept hitting and breaking and yelling. They got cards to give their teachers to take a walk when their pot started boiling. The reason you didn’t is because you learned. The reason you didn’t is because you hit yourself instead of others.

At that realization, the pot starts to simmer once more.

this time you cry.