#i just think that even though abigail did feel comforted at times by will and hannibal

[appendectomy]

it’s so hard being a hannibal fan in the fandoms pace while disliking the murder family dynamic… like srry i think it’s a fundamental misunderstanding of abigail’s role in the show. as if it’s my fault.

[atyourmerci]

I hope your daddy doesn’t own a gun

Southern dbf!abby

Cw: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, subfem!reader, age gap (r! Is 20, abby is in her 30s), masturbation, phone sex if you squint and turn your head, lil sprinkle of degradation, fingering, voyerism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: I hate this<3

They all saw you as a child, still just daddy’s little girl in your pigtails and bloomers. Even at twenty, after ditching the pigtails and swapping the bloomers with mini skirts that let your ass peak out, didn’t deter their perception of innocence.

Your father was a wealthy man, charismatic and giving that drew the people around him in. Most of his friends watched you grow from childhood, through the ugly duckling phase, all the boyfriends, and growth of your now womanly figure. Not that they noticed. Not that you cared- other than her, Abigail, your father’s best friend from college. Abigail went on to work at your father’s company after college and frequented your life from birth.

You couldn’t recall when it shifted, when she went from your father’s best friend to a toy dangled in front of your face, so close yet unattainable. Clean cut, dressed in button ups, khakis, the cowboy boots that peaked through the bottom of them. Her hair neatly tied in a braid.

The only time you’d seen it down was when your dad held a backyard rager you snuck out to watch. Most of the party had dissipated late into the night, but you had spotted Abby and one of the receptionists in your pool. You watched as the pretty receptionist lazily dragged the strands out with her fingers as Abigail worked her mouth around her chest.

Thats when the heat in your chest began for her, watching her control. Seeing how she could have anything she wanted. You wanted her to desire you, need you so badly shed take you there, even with the risk of wondering eyes.

-

This night ended as they all did. At the end of the night you’d get sent to your room so they could smoke cigars and speak of vulgarities that you now were more than aware of. For fucks sake you were in college now, getting tossed around by pitiful girls that still couldn’t make you come. Abby would, you knew it.

You’d touch yourself at night to the thought of her for the past couple of years, she’d know how to take care of your needy cunt. You’d think of yourself in the pool that night, how your fingers would dance through her hair. The scent of musky pine still overwhelming your senses even though her skin was bleached of pool water. How her fingers would feel deep inside you, her hand covering your mouth to quiet you.

Your father would kill her.

“Alright hun, why don’t you head to bed,” your father says after a fit of laughter. Everyone continues the comfort, your eyes dart to Abby, who seems to be the only one privy to your father’s prompt.

“Dad don’t you think i’m too old for that now,” you try not to get defensive but it comes out bitchy. He gives you that stern glare, the ‘don’t make me ask you again’ look and you glance back at Abigail who gives you a pitied pout, “be a good girl, listen to your father.”

You huff out, making a scene and storming off. Slamming your bedroom door behind you, infuriated. Pissed at your father for treating you like a child still, pissed at Abigail for backing him up. Pissed that she looked so good tonight, the way she put her hand on your lower back to pass you, whispering a ‘xcuse’ me darlin’. Maybe it was her goal to work you up just to leave you helpless and begging.

Your window has a shot of the backyard, all your father’s friends laughing over cigars and bourbon. Pissed how she called you a good girl, right in front of your father, everyone, knowing the effect it would have on you.

She wanted to tease you, work you up in front of everyone? Then they should all watch what she did, a careless act on both ends.

Throwing yourself on your warm sheets, pulling up your sundress to reveal your bare cunt. Driving your head back into the sheets as your fingers work at the pulsing flesh, so tense from the slow incline Abby had you on all day. Your fingers slid so easily through your folds, pearly white slick coating your harsh fingers.

Your breath panting and eager, so ready to revel in your own pleasure after being ripped from it. You’re already close, feeling your stomach tighten in anticipation as you feel your phone buzz at your side. ‘Abigail Anderson’ illuminates your face, without giving yourself a chance to catch your breath you answer.

“Don’t you dare think of coming,” Abby says sternly. Your face flushes, fuck. You peer your weary eyes at the window next to your body, Abby stands a couple feet away from the men, staring dead at you through the glass.

“Wha-“ you pant out, staring dumbly at the woman that never gave you this extent of her control. Your head drops back down onto your pillow, too embarrassed to admit your shameful actions.

“I didnt tell you to stop, did I sweetheart?” Abby says with smugness in her tone.

“N- no ma’am,” giving into her so easily, running your hand down your body to meet back at your sopping cunt that buzzes at her words. “Good girl… you like that, don’t you?” She says doubling down- so fucking sure of her power over you, your mind, your cunt.

“Yes Abby- yes! please Im so close,” you bite down on your lip for relief, your hole clenches over nothing, fingers eagerly tracing circles around your swollen bud. Any moment you’d break, heels digging into your frilly sheets as your chest soaks with sweat. You hear the line go flat on your phone.

You were too fucked to stop, you were going to let yourself have this. Gripping into the sheets you prepare yourself, legs shaking as your door swings open to Abigail. Your legs wide open for her eyes to feast on, she takes a moment to gawk at the sight before locking the door behind her.

She walks over to the head of your bed, unbuttoning her shirt as she watches you drive lazy motions over your clit. She discards her shirt to the side, revealing her bare chest. Climbing so slowly up to you she places her hand on your sloppy cunt, cupping it as her other hand covers your mouth, “Don’t make a sound and I’ll let you come.”

Wild eyed you nod your head, letting her run her thick fingers down the slit of your cunt to collect your release. The smell of pine thick in the air, the sound of her fingers dragging in and out of you the only peep to be heard.

“you think about this all the time don’t you darlin? Turned into a nasty little girl, didn’t ya.” Abby begins to pick up her pace, fingers sliding in so easily. Your eyes roll back, mind going numb.

“Tight little cunt you got, swallowing my fucking fingers,” you try not to scream out, but her unrelenting pace at your hole was getting to be too much. The feeling of spilling over hitting you once again. Your screams are muffled by her meaty hands, but she can feel your pulse around her.

“You gonna come baby?” Abby coos, looking at you pitied and cruel. You shake what motion you still had left in your head.

“Be quiet so your daddy doesn’t hear what a whore his little girl is,” she laughs at how pathetic you are, all from just her fingers.

like that you’re set off, squirming under her heat as she fucks your pussy through it, watching you opened mouth panting as your head pushes into your plush pillows. Biting into the flesh of her palm cant block off the guttural scream you let out. She pushes down harder at your mouth but only pushes her fingers deeper. Every last drop she was going to get out of you.

Thats when you hear the ring of a jiggle on your locked doorknob.

[1980shorrorfilm]

sour times

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

btw to the requests in my inbox; i see u. i hear u. 🙏

pairing…jackson!abby x gn!reader x ellie

in which…you confront your not-so-great relationship with abby after she had stolen your best friend from you.

before you read…angst *sigh.* brief sexual content (for the plot!! no smut) you’re kinda mean here but i forgive you. 🫶

“do you like her?” “i don’t…i don’t know…i think so.”

her perfect blonde braid taunts you. you believe this is what hell is, following the lead of abigail anderson while the biting wind howls around you, snowflakes hitting your tender skin. 

the landscape is a winter wonderland, but you can’t seem to enjoy it in this state. perhaps if you were in the comfort of your bedroom, hot chocolate in your hand, and ellie williams by your side, you’d be in heaven. but that’s not even achievable these days. her time is spent with abby, the two in the woman’s garage, doing whatever when you’re not around, and you never are. 

it’s torturous to be the third. you had ellie first, your first real friend in the small town. you weren’t hers, cat had that blessing. but regardless, it appeared no one could even crack the bond you two had. and then she came along.

strolling into jackson like a puppy with eyes that resembled a stormy sea, her long hair adorned in a neat fishtail braid. she was sweet, but not in the naive way. she stood her ground when challenged, she showed her strength when needed, and she proved just how valuable she was to your community.

she also had a face you could admire for days, like some goddess one would worship many lifetimes ago. tan freckles scatter across her nose like lilies in a field, compared to ellie’s that are like stars in a busy midnight sky. they make their way down to her chest, sprinkled on her shoulders, and dancing over her biceps— her fucking biceps. god. abby was just fucking perfect. it aggravates you.

maybe that’s why ellie took a liking to her so rapidly. you get it— you hate it. and last night, you couldn’t help but ask your friend about their relationship, asking the auburn-haired woman if it was a crush. such a silly word, you had thought as it left your mouth. ellie even laughed quietly at it, avoiding an answer. then, you had asked again, ‘do you like her?’ 

and ellie had answered after hesitation, ‘i think so.’

i think so. jealousy coursed through your veins at the simple and uncertain answer; but you cannot pinpoint why, exactly. you never thought you liked ellie in that way. there was no doubt she was attractive, ellie happens to own that word, but your friendship was simply that. 

a friendship. no delving into romantic territory besides some lingering touches and a bit too deep all-nighters. there was nothing that made you yearn for her, when you already had her in such proximity to you, at your very fingertips. abby did a good job fucking that up, though. 

so you sat there, like a void was sucking you up at her answer. the idea of them…being a thing…sent chills down your spine. a nightmare possibly becoming a reality, if the feelings are mutual. and that scares you even more, abby finding herself enamored by ellie. somehow spending even more time with her than she already does. spending nights and mornings in her bed. it was all wrong. 

something that has yet to happen, already terrorizing you. it just can’t happen.

abby slows down her horse to walk beside you rather than in front of you, “you’re quiet…something wrong?”

you meet her eyes, legitimate concern within them. you were never the most talkative with her, but abby isn’t stupid and the tension in the air is almost as painful as the harsh weather you’re enduring. she wonders if she’s the cause of it. 

did she forget to wish you a good morning at the stables, something she did every single patrol? give you the wrong impression when she stared at you, utterly captivated by you? make you feel weak when she pulled an infected off of you, hands wandering your body making sure you were okay?

you answer her bluntly, “no.”

she tries again, “you can tell me if i did something…”

“you didn’t,” you insist, and surprisingly, it’s only a half lie. it’s the conversation with ellie that’s hanging over you like a dark cloud, and abby happens to be the focal point of it. 

abby seems to accept your response, for now, and tears her eyes off you. the wind has managed to pick up, and the horses are growing slower as they trudge through the snow. 

“that house up there,” abby motions with her head, a red house amongst the beige ones that surround it, “let’s hold up there.”

a stubborn part of you wants to tell her that she can wait there, and you will continue home. but you’re not a moron, and you don’t exactly feel like dying today, as much as ellie tempted you with the morbid idea. you’re freezing and crave shelter, even if that means being stuck another hour or so with abby. 

you follow abby to the home, waiting on your horse as she hops off hers, lifting the garage door for you to enter. when you do, there’s immediate relief in your body, abby behind you whispering sweet words to her horse, stroking the golden fur as she does so. it’s, unfortunately, cute. you keep your smile to yourself, patting your own horse when you get off her, then reaching for your gun before entering the home. 

“wait.” you pause and look back at abby, who walks in front of you, taking the lead yet again. an innocent yet condescending action that irks you deeply, watching the woman quietly slip past the wooden door, scanning the area for any sort of threat. 

you’re not as quiet when you follow behind her, stepping on some wrapper that crackles beneath your shoe, abby eyeing you like you spit on her. you brush it off, “i’ll check upstairs.”

“i’ll go with you.” “jesus— i don’t want you to.”

your sharp tongue takes her back, but there’s no anger in her eyes, it’s that same concern from moments ago. it makes you feel bad, but instead of apologizing, you leave her there, going upstairs like you said you would.

the old stairs creak with each quick step that you take, you forget the purpose of you coming up here. you just wanted to get away from her. that’s the reason why you’re immediately against a wall, snarling in your ear from a rotten corpse trying to bite it off. 

you resist, holding it at an arm's length away with one hand, the other reaching in your pocket for your pocket knife. your hands are cold and shaky, dropping it the moment you pull it out, when the splatter of blood meets your face. the thing is dead, falling before you, eyes meeting hers.

“a-are you—” “i’m fine,” you say coldly, bumping your shoulder with hers when you take a step forward and continue on. abby is really fucking confused, remaining frozen in the hall, staring at the dead infected at her feet. her eyes trail to your pocket knife, then back to you. 

you push open bedroom doors as you pass them, hardly searching them for any more infected. you assume if they wanted to, they’d attack you right then and there, and maybe if you’re lucky, a blonde knight in shining armor will save you. she had an annoying habit of doing so. 

“hey,” abby jogs toward you, trapping you in a doorway, “dropped this.”

the metal glimmers in her hands, and you’re quick to take your beauty of a weapon from her. oddly, you’re protective of the inanimate object, a thoughtful gift from ellie herself. the handle is a dulled shade of your favorite color, and the blade is a bit rusted, but that doesn’t bother you. “thanks,” you mumble, waiting for her to move. she doesn’t.

“wanna tell me why you’re acting like this?” “like what?”

“like that.” “what’s that?”

abby blinks at you, and you remain unfazed. you can tell her calm demeanor is deteriorating before you, patience running thin. “what did i do to you?” she asks, “since i showed up in jackson…it’s like you hate me.”

ouch. the words sting you more than her, and you cannot blame her for believing in such a thing. what have you done to show her otherwise?

held back smiles when she made kind remarks, generous gestures, and stupid jokes? left her out of conversations, not daring to spare eye contact when it was you, her, and ellie, sitting together? made weak small talk that made her feel like nothing but an acquaintance in town, when she just wanted more? 

you sigh, “i don’t…hate you.”

“you make that really hard to believe,” abby replies, crossing her arms. this close, you examine how the tip of her nose and cheeks are a hue of red from the bitter weather. it almost matches her lips…her lips. you’re watching her lips. you catch yourself, and whatever this is, pushing her away. you swallow the dusty air, fast steps taking you right back downstairs. 

of course, abby is on your trail. “you know we’re stuck here, right?” 

like a flip had been switched, you’re once again snappy with her, “no shit.”

“you confuse me, you know that?”

you pretend to ignore her words, focusing on the fireplace in the living room. there are enough logs to last as you wait out the blizzard, so you tug your backpack off and drop it on the distressed coffee table. you search for your matches, that are always in the first pocket in your bag, but they’re not there. 

you’re trying to remember when you took them out, or if they fucking ran away on their own. it doesn’t matter— abby is already ahead of you, and an orange glow suddenly illuminated the dim room. you turn your head, seeing the obnoxious sly grin on her face. “you’re welcome.”

you don’t thank her. you sit on the worn-out floral sofa a few feet away, eyes boring into the flames that are quick to warm you. “do you want a blanket?” abby offers, which you shake your head at. “you hungry?” again, you respond a ‘no,’ with your head. 

the problem with abby is that she’s genuine. she cares about you even if you have not shown the same worry toward her. and maybe that speaks for you more than abby. 

you don’t notice her reaching in her bag, pulling out some crumpled up gauze, until she sits beside you and reaches for your face. you move away when you feel her touch, furrowing your brows at her. “wanna be stubborn and keep that blood on your pretty face?”

your cool cheeks heat up, hardened appearance softening just slightly, then allowing her to wipe the nasty fluid off. she’s soft as she does so, taking her time, and the opportunity to adore your features at such close proximity. you’d probably give her a scowl if you realized so.

“is it her?”

“what?” “ellie. did she piss you off?”

abby is too observant for your own good. there’s only one…two people in jackson that can invoke such strong emotions from you, even if you hide them poorly. “no…”

“you kinda suck at this lying thing,” abby calls you out, large hand on your cheek, turning it so she can clean up any remaining blood on the other side of your face. “if she did, i could kick her ass.”

the somewhat joke leaves you with a puzzled expression. and then you laugh. “yeah, okay,” your tone is nothing but sarcastic, “like you’d ever take my side over hers.”

“what do you mean?” 

you bite your lip, tearing your eyes off her and into the burning wood. it’s not a loaded question, but it’s a loaded answer. to explain to her that ellie is her priority, as abby is hers, and you’re just there. someone that was kicked to the curb, left for envy to grow on you like poison ivy. 

you keep it short, “you guys are close.”

“well, yeah, we’re friends.” for now, you think, a humorless chuckle quietly escaping your lips. abby catches it, opens her mouth, and immediately shuts it. she finally lets go of your face, tossing the crimson coated gauze on the floor, her pupils still trained on you. the loss of her touch almost bothers you. then she speaks again.

“do you…do you think i like her or something? because we aren’t…anything.”

seconds pass in silence as you debate the question dancing on your tongue, curious if it’s overstepping but more intrigued about the answer. even if it will hurt to hear, you simply need to know. “do you want to be?”

“no, of course not.”

guilt ruins through your veins at the relief that settles in your body, knowing poor ellie would frown at the unrequited feelings. but there’s something else that gives you hope…why the fuck do you have hope? you gulp, “okay.”

“do you like her?” “what?!” “is that what this is about?”

“no— no it’s not, it’s not that.” “then what is it?”

you, honestly, cannot give her a proper response. this isn’t about some stupid nonexistent crush on your friend, yet that would make the most sense for whatever these feelings of resentment are. 

you’re quiet as you try to think of something, and it doesn’t help that her blue-grey eyes are zoning into you, as if she’s trying to peel the complicated layers off of you. she’s trying to understand, she really is, and it painfully makes your heart swell. you truly do get ellie. 

your façade of disinterest is chipping away like the paint on these very walls, her gaze on you making you want to break— to give in —and the moment your eyes fall to her pink lips, you do exactly that. 

you close the space between you two, nearly crawling on the couch and in her lap when you gently grab the sides of her face, kissing her before you even realize that you’re kissing her. it was an urge you couldn’t simply couldn’t resist. and abby welcomes it.

she moves in sync, pushing her lips against yours deeper, surprised when you pull away. the moment hits you at once; you and abby. abby and you. it has your eyes widened and lips parted, searching for something to say. sorry? no…that doesn’t feel right. you’re not sorry. and abby doesn’t want you to apologize, she needs you to keep going.

as if you both read the others mind, you lean into each other, connecting your lips once more.

you think of ellie, what she had told you with such vulnerability, and then you think of abby. abby, who had a intense desire to taste you, and was making that evidently clear. the aftermath of whatever this is, will be dealt with when that time comes.

you swallow the guilt when your tongue mixes with hers, abby tugging you on top of her, gripping your shirt like her life depends on it. her eagerness sends shivers down your spine, more intense than the horrid weather outside ever could to you. 

it feels too good to stop, she feels too good. abby is unbuttoning her jacket, while you’re tugging yours off, the kiss suddenly messy as you’re both failing to multitask. you giggle against her lips when you both manage to do so, her callous hand cradling the back of your neck to draw you closer. if that were possible.

you deepen the kiss, your hands slipping beneath the knit long sleeve shirt she wears. you explore the abs you’ve only ever seen through tight shirts that had you in a daze, not that you would’ve ever admit that to her, though. she attempts to say your name against your lips, her voice weak and breathy.

you pull away and tilt her chin up with your fingers, trailing your lips down her jaw, to the side of her neck. the world outside vanishes as abby loses herself in the sensation of your lips on her neck, sweet kisses that shift to gentle bites.

it’s the tender spots that you suck, that earn hushed whimpers from her. and you make sure to do it over, over, and over again. like a damn vampire, sinking your teeth into her, and marking your territory, when she’s not even yours.

and then you stop, noticing the room was dark. the fire had gone out. “we should— uh,” you climb off of her, the woman catching the breath she seemed to hold still the entire time. 

“yeah…” she agrees, chest rising, licking her lips. 

the wind has calmed down by now, a tolerable ride home that’s extremely quiet, besides the occasional gust of wind. except it’s not awkward the way it was hours prior. you’re exchanging short glances at the other, small smiles when your eyes would meet. 

you make it back to jackson safely, both of you dropping off the horses at the stables, making small talk as you walk home. you’re not talking about what just happened inside that red house, both of you are too shy to bring it up, to ask if that meant anything to the other. 

it truthfully drifts from your mind as abby is explaining a childhood story, until your eyes fall on her. ellie, heading in your direction, toward you two. 

it’s when she gets closer, that her pupils fall to abby’s neck; the pale skin decorated with purple marks, caused by you. she had been so worried about you two, and now, she feels dumb. and hurt.

especially when you just give her a tight-lipped smile, knowing exactly what you have done. and more importantly, that you wanted her to see it.

[twilightnesss]

˚ ༘ ◝ are we still friends?

pairing: kate martin x bestfriend!oc

summary: after hooking up with one of her childhood best friends, kate finds it hard to keep the friendship.. friendly.

warnings: none

divider from @anitalenia

abigail’s eyes fluttered open slowly trying to take in her surroundings. the room she was in was very familiar, her best friend kate’s dorm. her nerves began to calm until she noticed that she was completely naked waist down. her breath hitched and her body froze. she sat up on her elbows quickly to see articles of both the girls clothing scattered around the room. as she looked around hastily, she soon heard footsteps coming towards the specific dorm room.

abi tried to put on her clothes quickly before having to run anto anyone she didn’t want to. she got up from the bed, ass still out looking for her under in the mess around the room. as she was bent over, she heard the door open and looked back ashamed.

kate didn’t look half as bad as eye did. her hair was tamed but her face was still puffy as if she hadn’t woken up that long before me. “morning g.” she muttered with a small smile. abi just nodded her head rushing to get out of there, trying not to leave anything. she eventually got all her clothes on but couldn’t find her cellphone for her life. kate just watched her every move, looking up and down for her phone.

they both knew how stressful the situation was but kate was taking it way easier. last night was everything she had ever wanted and more. the light haired girl paced in front of kate a few more times before kate grabbed her wrist so they could come face to face. for some reason, abi couldn’t get herself to look in kate’s face. almost like the was embarrassed from last night events.. knowing she’s not.

“talk to me abi.” kate’s voice was extremely warm and inviting as she rubbed abigail’s arm as a way of comfort. this action may have made her wanna go another round

but instead she let out a defeated sigh and shakily said “im just trying to find my phone kate. please.” kate’s hand fell by her side before she reached into her sweatpants pocket and pulled out abi’s phone, handing it to the shorter girl. “i was just sending our videos to myself” she said backing up to lay out in her bed. abigail stood there dumbfounded completely. she couldn’t even believe the had sex first of all but now there’s videos??? she was definitely gonna look at those later

the two were in this distanced position for a minute or two before abigail semi stormed out. it was expected but still hurt kate. she was scared of catching feelings but even more scared to lose her best friend all together.

few days later

today was game day. kate had found it hard to even focus on todays game. all she could think of was abigail. her face, her body, her voice, everything. they hadn’t been in contact since the other night. kate hoped and prayed that abi would show up to her game today even though she didn’t really expect it.

but to her surprise, abigail had shown up. she tried to hide herself but kate could spot her from a mile away. knowing that abi even showed up made her extremely happy and threw her back on her game.

by the end of the night, iowa obviously won but their captain wasn’t focused on that. she was focused on getting to talk to her girl by the end of the night. Kate quickly changed her clothes in an attempt to catch Abi leaving or even outside. unfortunately when kate came out of the locker room, she was stopped up by fans. taking pictures, answering questions, and signing merchandise. before she knew it she was in a post-game interview. her answers were rushed but that didn’t seem to cut the interview in half. if anything it made it longer.. having more questions to ask.

when the interview was over, kate sluggishly rose from her seat and continued to walk outside the arena. she was discouraged to say the least. her heart knew that when she went through those double doors, the person she wanted to see the most would not be on the other side.

but to her surprise, abigail was there.. waiting on the other side. kate didn’t get the reaction she wanted though. she expected abigail’s face to light up when she saw her best friend but instead it drooped into a deep frown. this was ignored tho.

“hey. glad you waited for me” kate spoke first. “yep. can we talk” abigail questioned avoiding the blondes gaze once again.

this sentence made kate’s stomach drop to her ass. there was no way this would end well.

“look i know you think the other night was a mistake and i thought that way too at first but i can’t deny it. i love you abi. like so much and we could work something out no matter what” kate expressed stepping closer to her best friend, rubbing her cheek gently.

“kate”

a/n: i was tired of writing this sorry it’s short (def a pattern for me) but there will be a pt.2. there’s been a lot of requests for a pt2 of “pool party” but idek what to do for that so if yall have any ideas

[peeweekey]

sweet like

word count: 1.5 k

synopsis: love confessions are not easy, having nosy neighbours isn’t either—but loving sam is different, it’s as easy as breathing.

a/n: samson my beloved, youre allergic to pollen but accepted my bouquet anyway. 😔❤️

edit: sweet like is now on ao3! here

today’s the day, you’re really going to do it. no ifs or buts.

you swear you will, but damn if it isn’t messing with your head. it’s definitely the nervousness or heat stroke symptoms causing the overly-conscious way you regard all other shoppers in pierre’s general store. you feel the uneven, erratic thrum of your pulse underneath your skin.

your hands are cold and clammy and disgustingly sweaty as a bright bouquet of tulips, poppies, sweet peas and fairy roses is unceremoniously slid across the store counter and bundled into your arms. the smell is dizzyingly perfumed. pierre doesn’t bat an eye though the knowing glint just tells you that he knows.

you and sam have been friends for as long as you started living in the valley. he’s a literal ball of sunshine compacted into a 5’10 body, and he’s sweet—maybe at times a little sloppy and forgetful but those quirks make him all the more lovable—to you.

and you admit yes, you did have a crush on him—and after watching his band’s performance in zuzu city, it got even worse. suddenly the ignition jump started the thrum of your heart—beating at race car speeds at the mere mention of his name. restless and anxious

so, here you are, buying a bouquet (one you could surely make yourself, but according to abigail buying this exact one is town tradition) at 10 am in the morning, in front of all your nosy neighbours.

you clutch the flowers tighter to your chest as caroline cranes her neck to take a peek. slowing down as she restocks the shelves. shameless, these people are sharks to blood when it comes to gossip.

you shoot her a wary glare, lips pursed together. pushing open the door to the shop, the little entrance bell rings with your exit.

after your realization, you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, the skies seem brighter and clearer, with soft fluffy clouds suspended in them. the breeze is soft and refreshing, while the sun is a comforting warmth at your back.

not even a few steps past the stardrop saloon do you feel any different.

adrenaline pumps through your veins as you see a flash of familiar spiked-up golden hair in your periphery. you feel your breath stutter as you reflexively stuff the delicate bouquet in your pack and snap it shut.

you turn your back, clutching a hand to your chest—you feel your heart racing underneath your fingertips as well as the heat rising up your skin. it’s fine, you reason, you’ll play it off as sunburn.

you slap at your cheeks, encouragingly.

the aforementioned man, skates towards you, calling your attention. turning, you nod your head in greeting, offering him a less than wobbly smile.

you wait until the skateboard skids to a stop, sam stops a few feet from you. his breaths slightly labored from the effort, he’s still as bright and cheery as ever

“sam,” you cringe as your voice cracks into an awkward pitch. he perks up at the mention of his name, giving you an enthusiastic wave. you swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“hey farmer,” he smiles, sam sets one of his feet down from on his skateboard. “it’s really bright out today. what’cha up to?”

“i was looking for you, actually.”

“and i’m here!” he replies before sheepishly adding. “that’s a coincidence. i was going to go visit you—well, before i forgot.”

“really,” your stomach traitorously flutters. “what for?”

“to give you something,” he says breezily, sam digs around in his pant pockets, seemingly looking for something. “i swear i have the thingy in here somewhere..”

you watch as he fumbles around looking for the thingy. Your mind drifts to the scrunched up bouquet sitting in your pack. you hadn’t expected running into him so soon—

maybe, you think. you aren’t as ready as you think.

“ahh, here it is!”

sam fishes out a rectangular shaped object from his back pocket, its slim and clear. you tilt your head in curiosity and he smiles wider.

“a cassette of the band’s song,” he tells you, grabbing your limp hand to stuff it into your palm. “listen to it! you have a cassette player on your farm, right?”

the momental brush of his hand against yours has you stumbling over your mess of thoughts and feelings. it is a little pathetic, to be acting like a lovesick teenager again—you groan to yourself. “yeah, i do.”

the cassette is light in your palm, the hard plastic case is covered in sharpied lightning bolts and smiley faces—along with the careful engraving of your name. the hand drawn designs are wonky and childlike (you suspect he asked vincent to draw them), but it’s yours.

he made this for you.

you feel the giddy warmth spread all throughout your body—concentrated in your chest and stomach which twists with some emotion you’re too confused to name.

“i couldn’t find you after the performance,” he confesses. you peek up from the cassette at his face—his cheeks are bright pink with bashfulness. “it was too crowded, i wanted to give you the first sample recording.”

standing on willow street in front of his family house with the sun beating down on you, sweat dripping down your temple, flowers haphazardly stuffed into your backpack. you’re literally buzzing with energy—the warmth, inside and out, is making your head spin.

you feel your mouth moving before you can even register what you’re saying, feverish words tumble out.

voice a tad strangled, you rasp. “sam.”

he looks down at his skateboard, his attention; short and slipping away. “yeah?”

“be my boyfriend.”

“sure!” he pauses, processing what you said, his eyes whip back up to stare into yours—wide and so, so blue. “waaait.. wuuh—”

“i was—uh, do you want to know why i wanted to visit you today?” you ramble on, tracing the cassette case edges with sweaty fingers. the beat of your heart is a resounding thumping sound in your eardrums. “actually, this is not how i planned things, but got nervous, you make me nervous.”

you shrug off your backpack, the heavy weight of it that once was grounding you groaned as it hit the ground. you open the flap and produce the now crumpled flowers—stems bent and broken, petals missing but the smell is still overwhelmingly sweet. you hold out the bouquet to him with shaky fingers, the cassette held in your other hand clasped behind your back.

“—i wanted to make this a little more special…” you sigh nervously, eyes squeezed shut while your bottom lip is chewed between worrying teeth. “it’s all crumpled, sorry…”

“i think this is plenty special already.”

you feel as he moves closer, plucking the flowers out of your hands. now, there’s barely any space between the both of you. your eyes snap open, mouth slightly gaping as he takes a long sniff full of flowers.

your heart sings for joy as he does—but the concerningly wet sneeze he lets out makes you furrow your brow in realization.

he’s goddamn allergic.

your eyes widen, reaching for the flowers. “sam, you’re allergic to pollen!”

your fingers barely brush the stems when he pull the flowers away from you. sam laughs, bright and pure—one that sounds like it came deep from his gut. you flush deeper in embarrassment, and a little in confusion.

“so? you gave me these. i like them!”

“i can’t believe it slipped my mind,” you cringe. “don’t keep them! the stems are all twisted and broken anyway.”

he sneezes again, shaking his head petulantly, his nose pinkened with irritation, a small sound of mortification exits your mouth. how can you be so forgetful?

digging through your backpack, you grab the small pack of tissues you usually use to dab off sweat easily. you take one out of the pack and stretch it out towards him.

instead of your offered tissue, sam grabs you by the wrist, tugging you to him. you follow with not much of a fight, a confusing mixture of nervous and giddy energy you’ve become. he holds you still against him, his arms coming behind you to wrap the both of you together tightly.

you go limp against him, head buried his shoulder. you think, you fit together perfectly.

“by the way, i like you too.” he murmurs into your hair. “a lot more than you think i do.”

“even if i forgot you were allergic to flowers?”

he snorts, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead, you feel your cheeks flush. “especially because you forgot, it was kinda funny.”

your head shoots up, nearly bumping his chin. “sam!”

he laughs and you can’t help but smile in return. your gaze returns to the sky, and suddenly you can’t quite recall what you were so worried about. really, life in stardew valley has never been so bright.

(and if you see some of your neighbors watching at the corner of your eye, you shut your eyes to ignore them.)

[drabblesandimagines]

Sweet & Salty

I'm feeling a bit sad today so wanted some comfort... Sebastian x (afab) reader, Stardew Valley, Fluffity fluff Warnings: Mention of recreational drug use

-

It’s been a day. You’d sat down heavily on your porch steps, trying to keep the tears at bay. You should probably go mope in your bed, instead of staring at the land that is causing you so much distress. Despite your carefully placed scarecrow, you must’ve miscalculated the distance because the crows have still had a go at your most recent plantings and that’s hard-earned money down the drain - again. You’ve been here two months now and, surely, by now you should know better. The farm has been somewhat transformed since you arrived - a mass of weeds, stone and dead branches - but it’s nowhere near how you remember it in your grandpa’s heyday. He would’ve never made such a rudimentary error in his scarecrow placement.

Some of the fences around your crop patches have started to erode too – it won’t be long until they need replaced, but you’re trying to save up your wood supplies to put in a coop from Robyn. You desperately want to add chickens to the farm as eggs would be steady income – or at least you reckon – but you also don’t want them pecking at your crops alongside the crows, so having a fence seems important too. Your endless to-do list swirls around your head again. Why’s everything so hard?

It's not just your failings on the farm on your mind, but also your lack at making any real friends around here. Shane glared at you this morning as he headed off to work. That’s not unusual, despite your best efforts of a smile and a friendly greeting. Then Haley looked you up and down, judging your dirty dungarees. You’d only popped into town to get some seeds from Pierre’s. It didn’t make sense to get changed… Elliott is sweet but locked away in his cabin most of the time, Emily in her own little world… Sebastian, Sam and Abigail have invited you to play pool with them, but they’re such a tight-knit group and you always feel like you’re missing out on the joke, especially when you were partnered up with Sebastian. He’d been teaching you how to hold the cue correctly, leaning over you, his breath tickling your ear. Sam and Abigail kept nudging each other and whispering, but you couldn’t catch what about and it was clear Sebastian was becoming irritated. You’d begun to think they were making fun of your abysmal pool skills.

Ugh. Your emotions are a rollercoaster and the twisting pain in your stomach reminds you why – stupid period. It emerged with a vengeance this morning. It had stopped in your last months of JoJo Corp. There was no chance you were pregnant, your last intimate relationship fizzling out a year previously, though you’d taken tests just to be sure. The doctor in Zuzu City said you were stressed, burnt out… that it would return once you were feeling better in yourself. So why had it returned now, of all times? You feel more stressed and burnt out than ever before, regretting ever moving here. Why did you think you could become a farmer…?!

The barrier finally breaks and you let out a sob, hugging your knees.

To your shame, there’s a scuffing footstep and your heart stops as you look up, worried who’s seen your breakdown.

“Sebastian?” You sniff. You’re tempted to rub the tears from your cheeks but maybe he hasn’t noticed in the evening light. The black-haired man is standing there looking sheepish, a brown paper bag from Pierre’s clutched in his hands.

“Er, hey…” He’s not meeting your eyes. Poor boy probably wants to run. “Sorry, I… I was just leaving Sam’s and I didn’t want to go through town and see everyone, so I thought I’d take the scenic route back home through your farm…”

“Oh.” You mumble, waving him on. “That’s okay. Go ahead.”

He takes a step as if to go on his way, but then hesitates. “Are… Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you plaster a smile on, which you’re sure makes you look ridiculous as the stupid tears are still flowing. “I’m just being silly. Don’t let me keep you.”

He stares at you for a moment, before a sympathetic smile graces his lips. “You’re a terrible liar, you know?”

“I’m not ly- Ow!” You flinch as your stomach cramps terribly and you squeeze your arms around it, hoping in some way it might alleviate the pain.

Sebastian is suddenly at your side – the paper bag from Pierre’s dropped to the ground. He’s kneeling down on the first porch step with a frown on his face. “Whoa, are you hurt? I can get Harvey…” His hand hovers over your arm,

“No, honestly, I’m fine…” You try and wave him off again with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around your stomach.

He stares at you, a raised eyebrow. He seems to be putting the clues together – the wincing, clutching your stomach, the tears… He nods, making up his mind and gets to his feet, picking up the discarded bag from Pierre’s as he does so.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He offers you his free hand.

“Thank you, but I’ll be okay. You get on home…”

“Farmer, I know I’m probably not the person you want to see right now, but let me help you out, okay? I can’t go home and just leave crying on your porch.” He waves his offered hand again. You look at Sebastian, hesitantly. He looks genuine, at least, but there’s something a little off about him tonight… Heck, you’ve already made a fool of yourself enough, so what’s one more thing?

This time you accept his hand and he easily pulls you to your feet and leads you up to your door. He opens it – you’d easily adapted to the habit of leaving the front door unlocked since moving to Pelican Valley.

You go to open your mouth, to tell Sebastian thank you, but he can go now. You’re inside, you’ll go to bed and pretend this never happened.

“Sit down.” He orders, pointing at your bed. “You like hot chocolate, right?” You wonder how he knows that, how he knows you have a stash. Had you mentioned it at the saloon before? “I’ll make you a cup.”

“But you don’t know where…”

“I’ll find it. Sit!” He pushes you gently towards the bed and you do sit, keeping a wary eye. To be honest, it is quite easy to find your cups and kettle. Robyn had advertised an extension to you but you don’t even want to think about the price and the materials needed. For now – perhaps even for the rest of your life - you’ve got a cupboard filled with crockery and silverware. The fire’s roaring away, you’re thankful you’d lit it earlier to try and make it cosy ahead of going to bed later on. The cabin always had a slight chill at night. Sebastian retrieves a mug and spoon, scooping the hot chocolate powder into the mug, fills the kettle with water from the jug you keep besides the cupboard, before taking it over to the fire to heat.

“Do you have a hot water bottle?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Hot water bottle.” He enunciates.

“Y-yeah, I think it’s under my bed. Let me…” Before you can bend down, he drops to his knees and Sebastian is now crawling under the bedframe to retrieve it. You pull your legs up off the floor to the bed, not sure what to say.

He reverses back out, holding the fluffy hot water bottle in the air triumphantly, and gets back to his feet. “Finally, where do you keep the snacks?”

“I don’t have any. Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting to entertain.”

“Not for me,” a chuckle – it sounds a little odd coming from him - “..for you!”

“For me?” He’s acting so weird.

But he’s not listening, already rummaging around the brown bag from Pierre’s. He walks over to the sofa and empties the contents besides you – there’s a couple of packs of chips, cookies and candy. “Ta-da!”

You look at the assembled junk food and back up at the black-haired man, noticing his blood-shot eyes.

“You’re high.”

Sebastian laughs again, rubbing the back of his head. “Guilty. Is that a problem?”

“No, it just… explains a lot.” You wince again as the kettle on the fire whistles. Sebastian grabs the mitt you keep nearby for that exact purpose and places it on his hand, removing the kettle from the fire and placing it down on the hearth. Methodically, he pours some hot water in the hot water bottle, tightening the cap, before pouring some in in the cup he retrieved, stirring the hot chocolate powder until it dissolves. Once he seems happy with his work, he brings the two over to you on the bed.

“Okay, since you worked out my thing, it’s my turn. Time of the month, right?” He flops down next to you on the bed, ripping open a bag of chips. “My sympathies.” It feels surreal as he holds the bag towards you and you take a handful – maybe junk food would make you feel better, and the warmth of the hot water bottle is soothing too now against your sore tummy.

The only sound for a few moments is the rustle of the chip package and the crunching of said chips. You take a sip of hot chocolate, probably a weird combination at that moment in time, but it’s working.

“Sebastian…”

“Mm?” You’ve caught him with his mouth full.

“How are you so good at this?”

“Erm…” He swallows. “Well, I guess cos I have a sister and a mom… and a friend named Abigail.” He replies in a teasing tone. “Maru and Abi usually just get super pissy though. Mom’s the crier.” Sebastian leans forward and grabs the blanket off the end of your bed, throwing it over the both of your laps in a smooth motion. Who knew he could turn into a right chatterbox? “Wanna watch some TV?” He picks up the remote control and turns it on without waiting for a response, flipping through the channels. “Do you have a preference? Nothing deters Abi from horror, Mom and Maru go chick-flick mad…”

You burst into tears again.

“Whoa, okay, no TV! That’s fair too.”

“N-no, it’s n-not that.” You let out a shuddering breath. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Because we’re friends…?”

“No, everyone hates me here.” You know you’re being irrational now, but the floodgates have well and truly opened.

“Come on, you know that’s not exactly true.” His face looks serious now.

“It is. I don’t know what I was thinking – I worked in customer support, why did I think I could farm the land? I’m going to be broke by the end of winter if I lose another batch of crops and this town is so tight-knit that they’re never going to like me being here.”

“I like you being here.”

“No, you’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me.” You go to take another handful of chips, but he snatches the bag out of your reach indignantly.

“I am not.”

“You are.” You clip back.

Sebastian lets out a huff in frustration and he acts before he can even consider the consequences. He puts a hand on the side of your face, turning it slightly and presses a gentle kiss on your lips for a moment or two, immediately causing your tears to cease.

“Would I kiss you if I didn’t like you?”

“I…” You don’t have any words.

He swipes his tongue over his lips. “Mm, salty. That’s not how I expected our first kiss to go, I’ll be honest.”

“Our first kiss?” Your face is on fire. It has to be on fire, why else would it feel so hot?

“Yeah, well, I told you I like you, didn’t I?” He grins, before it drops. “Though I’ve just realized that you probably don’t like me like that, I’m high, and now I’ve made this a hundred times wor-…”

You cut him off, caressing his lips with your own for a moment.

“No. I like you too.”

“Well, that’s that settled, then, isn’t it?” He leans back, a smug look on his face before he grabs the packet of candy. “Shall we see what a sweet kiss tastes like next?”

-

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi I'm also running an event for x reader fics to celebrate 200 followers, so please check it out and send in your requests.

[brainwalk3r]

Sdv Bachelor hc's

Prior note, these are my own personal opinions :D also not doing Elliot because I don't really have any hc's for him tbh.

These hc's do not include the farmer and are all sfw

Will be doing the Bachelorettes later <3

Sam

Sam is trans, I believe he came out at a young age and while jodi was confused at first and thought that he was going through a phase she eventually came around and has became really supportive of Sam and his transition.

As Sam got older he made friends with Sebastian and Abigail, he didn't intentionally come out to either of them but rather forgot about it and casually mentioned one day how much periods suck only for them all to go silent before Abigail broke the tension with a "fuck yeah they do" before ranting about how period products should be free. Sebastian came up to him a bit later and gave him a hug before telling him how he was glad Sam was comfortable enough to tell them (even if it was an accident)

Shane

I think that Shane is also trans however it took him far longer to realise, accept himself and then come out.

When he went to live with Marnie, Marnie had been expecting a girl rather than the scruffy broken man that showed up however she very quickly got over it and did her best to try make him feel safe and comfortable. Shane had expected Marnie to turn him away however when she instead hugged him and told him how glad she was to see him and how big he had gotten he broke down crying.

Over time Shane accepts his gender identity more and also comes to accept his bisexuality, he eventually starts therapy after Harvey refered him and starts to improve his mental health and even gets sober. After talking with Marnie he quits his job at JoJa to start working with her at the Ranch, raising his chickens and enjoying his life.

Sebastian

Sebastian is autistic, he was diagnosed fairly young and while Robin did her best to support him she was too busy with work to really build a relationship with him. When she remarried and moved to stardew with Demitrius and got pregnant with maru Sebastian felt isolated especially with demitrius's favouritism of his daughter.

Sebastian never hated Maru and while I don't think he will ever be that close with her, he doesn't blame her for Robin and Demitrius's actions.

Overtime he became friends with Abigail, with him bonding with her over their mutual distaste of their parents. The pair then also became friends with Sam through a mutual love of music (though more of an obsession on Sam's part)

Sebastian started developing feelings for Sam early on into their relationship though they weren't that strong, more of a casual crush, however as they got closer and he came to trust Sam more they grew stronger and when Sebastian took him out for a ride on his motorcycle Sam ended up just blurting out that he was in love with him, with Sebastian responding that he loved him too. (Abigail noticed them holding hands the next day and congratulated them both for "taking so fucking long")

Harvey

Harvey is a bisexual man, his sexuality has never really bothered him and he accepted it quickly however I think he is probably on the aromantic spectrum. Not any specific identity but rather he has a complicated relationship with romance and romantic feelings for people.

While his dreams of being a pilot never came to fruition he moved to pelican town and set up the clinic, he wasn't that torn up about it and became far more interested in the engineering of planes rather than the idea of piloting one. He's also a total history nerd.

Alex

Alex is also bisexual but with a preference for men, he had alot of internalised homophobia and while he loved Haley growing up with a 'girl best friend' had resulted in everyone around them expecting them to be dating or to start dating even if they insisted that their relationship was platonic.

Evelyn was never too bothered about his sexuality however when Alex accidentally slipped to George that he thought one of the gridball players was handsome George had told him that it wasn't right for him to think that. While George would eventually come around to accept Alex's sexuality it still puts a significant strain on their relationship.

The first person Alex came out to was Haley, after she came round for dinner one night George and Evelyn had talked about how good of a housewife Haley would be, how they'd make such a good couple, ect; all while the pair looked extremely uncomfortable with Haleys eyes looking considerably damp at the mention of her being a housewife.

After dinner they both went to Alex's room where Haley started crying and told Alex she was sorry but that she could never be that for him, Alex (also crying at this point) hugged her and told her he never expected her to be. Once they both stopped crying, sat on the floor of Alex's room in silence, Alex quietly spoke out that he thinks something is wrong with him continuing to talk about how he knows that he probably should have a crush on her but instead he can't stop looking at the poster of the strong armed gridball players he has up. (It took Haley a moment to get it, once she did she harshly told him that there wasn't anything wrong with him before muttering out about how if he was wrong then she was too. After that Alex noticed how much she stared at the purple haired girl who seemed to always be staring back)

[shadowsof-thenight]

Bound for Ruin

Summary: When Jenna meets Bucky it takes her a while to realise they both want very different things. But Bucky is a stubborn man, who rarely hears no and he's not about to take it for an answer now.

Ship: Bucky Barnes x OFC 

Warnings: Angst, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, some toxic attitudes.

Words: 4949 (just under the max amount!)

A/N: It's been a while since I entered Suz' (@targaryenvampireslayer) Blind Date challenge. The quote is bold.

She really put me to the test as the trope she gave me was Sugar daddy and that's far from my usual work. But instead of asking for something more familiar, I liked the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone. This isn't at all like I first imagined though, so I hope you'll like it.

And I apologise for any mistakes. This wasn’t beta’ed. 

She stalked into the club, paying no mind to the bouncers or security. They knew who she was and wouldn’t bar her entry. Her strides were powerful and confident, despite the fact that she’d realised there was no plan upon entering. She hadn’t thought that far ahead at all. She’d simply been too angry to think when she’d left her house, clutching the letter that tipped her over the edge. 

She took a breath as the loud music, the amount of people and the heat washed over her. Jenna never really liked clubs like this, preferring smaller bars where conversation was an option. Alas, this was where she’d find the object of her anger. It was his first business, the place where it all started and he came here every Saturday as it was the busiest day. Jenna looked to her left and saw girls dancing on the various platforms, as they did every weekend. 

She couldn’t suppress a smirk as an idea sparked in her mind. She could’ve sat down at the bar and he would’ve noticed her quick enough, but this might just be better. 

A devilish smile played on her lips as she walked over to one of the higher platforms and climbed up. Stepping on it, she told the girl already dancing to take a small break. The girl looked utterly confused and her eyes sought out the security guard that always stood nearby. He probably signalled for her to agree, because she backed off towards the steps.

“Don’t go far, you’ll have your spot back in no time,” Jenna added with a smirk as she took of her coat and threw it aside. She then looked straight at the camera and flipped it off, before unbuttoning her blouse to show some cleavage. Just enough to get a reaction from the one man she was doing this for.

As expected it only took Bucky mere moments to respond. He was out of his office and making his way towards her, scowling as he did so. Jenna schooled her expression as best she could, feigning innocence as she smiled and waved. She kept dancing, finishing the song that was playing, before signalling the girl to return. 

As she stepped back down, the security guard that had been quietly observing handed her her coat. She thanked him with a wink—knowing it would annoy Bucky further.  That was Bucky’s cue to grab her arm and pull her none-too-gently back to his office that was situated behind the bar. Inside the confines of his office he released her arm with a huff and began pacing the space between her and his desk. Seeing his frustration gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. She saw it as payback for all the trouble he’d caused her these last few months. 

She took a moment to quietly observe him. His handsome face was twisted into a grimace, his blue eyes hard and his beautiful soft lips pressed to a tin line. He really was an impressive specimen, she thought to herself, if only he was less stubborn. 

When Jenna had lost her job four months ago, she hadn’t imagined her life would become entangled with the man before her. Bucky Barnes had been nothing but an enigma to her. One of the most successful men in the city, incredibly private and therefore mysterious. Even though she’d met him several times through her friend Abigail, she never quite got a read on him. She still didn’t feel like she really knew him, but at least she knew which buttons to push for a reaction. 

For years Abigail had had an arrangement with one of Bucky’s best friends, Sam. He treated her like a queen—luxurious gifts, trips, a stellar apartment in their expensive city and a generous allowance. All she had to do was be available to him at all times. Abigail had tried to make the arrangement sound enticing to Jenna. Tried to convince her that this was a great deal, but Jenna care for it. She was ready for something more serious. For love, equality—freedom. The arrangement that Abigail loved so much, felt too limited to Jenna. And constricting. 

When she’d first gone on dates with Bucky, she wasn’t aware that he had expected the same arrangement. He’d buy her drinks, take her to dinner and charmed her better than anyone had ever done before. Jenna was certainly beguiled. Then he had offered to pay her rent and she’d gotten the gist of his intentions. It felt wrong. She had diploma’s, a good resume and interviews lined up—she didn’t need his money. She didn’t want to be a kept woman. Bucky had obviously been disappointed. He’d even offered her a job with one of his companies, but that didn’t seem all too different to Jenna. 

Then one by one her interviews were cancelled. People didn’t want to cross Bucky. They didn’t want to risk doing wrong by her and invoking his wrath. While she couldn’t really blame them—he’d proven himself a ruthless businessman—it still hurt that her abilities no longer mattered now that he was involved. She’d achieved everything before then on merit. She studied hard, worked hard and pushed through when things got tough. Yet none of that carried any weight now. 

Bucky hadn’t been ready to budge–unable to accept that any of her current state was due to his interest. He was enthralled. She was beautiful, smart and headstrong. Her ability to say no to him made her more interesting. He had been convinced that she’d come around to the arrangement he wanted. He was used to getting his way. 

When he discovered her financial strain, he’d imagined himself swooping in like a knight in shining armour, while she simply wanted to be her own saviour. She liked him, but she wanted to be an equal partner, not subservient. The massive mismatch had caused strive. 

He refused to help her get a job and she had fought his desires. But now, without a job and an eviction notice to boot, she was getting desperate. Going into his place of business and antagonising him had been her last attempt to get the upper hand. Just so she wouldn’t feel weak for bending to him. 

“What was that?” He growled. He stood straight, breathing deep in an attempt to curb his anger, but she could see him clenching and unclenching his fists. He was simmering, anger still close to the surface. Funnily enough, she thought he looked rather sexy. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” She asked, her tone haughty, the fingers of her right hand playing with her still opened buttons. 

“Are you here to accept my proposal? Or a job?” He asked, stepping close to her. 

“You really haven’t given me much choice,” Jenna exclaimed, pulling the eviction notice from her pocket and pushing it in his hands. Looking it over quickly, he had the good sense to cast his eyes down. 

“This was never my intention,” he said gruffly, taking a step back from her. 

“Then what was? You wanted me at your mercy, did you not?” She asked. “To control everything.” 

“I wanted you to want to be here.” He looked rather defeated as he still stared at the letter in his hands. 

“That doesn’t happen by forcing my hand,” she said, her words icy. She stepped closer to him as she spoke. “You arrogant asshole, why couldn’t you have left me alone?” 

Her words made him snap his eyes back to her. She stood close, perhaps too close she realised as she looked from his eyes to his lips and back. Why was he so hot? 

He closed the gap between them quickly, pressing his lips to hers before anything else could be said. They were soft as they moved against her own. His movements held no urgency as he pulled her close. She pulled back at first, but he moved with her—trapping her against the wall and she sighed into the kiss before returning it. She did like him, regardless of their issues. Not to mention that she was here to accept his conditions finally, to be his sugar baby. At the very least she could enjoy herself. 

Her hands found his shoulders, fingers gently tickling down his arms and he groaned into the kiss. The response intrigued her. If a simple touch could make him increase his eagerness, what else could she do to him? Her hands explored further, heat exploding inside of her as his actions mirrored hers. 

The following hours were spend mapping out what the other liked, wanted and was good at. Jenna wouldn’t call it mind blowing exactly—that was reserved for their first night together months ago—but it was good. Really good.  

“I don’t think control is that bad,” he said as he put his shirt back on, his back turned to her, and she smiled bitterly. How a few simple words could ruin her mood so quickly. She shook her head as she remembered that this was a business deal, even if she couldn’t help but feel like she caught the short end of the stick.

***

Five weeks later 

Jenna pulled away reluctantly. She was tired. She hadn’t had many full nights sleep in weeks. Bucky liked seeing her after work, but insisted on sleeping alone. Leaving her to pack her things and go home every night, while he turned around and slept. During the day, he was a gentleman. He took her on dates, listened to her, asked for her opinions, used her insights to make decisions, made her feel important to him. But at night, he kept her at arms length. Never quite opening up to her. That was until now. 

“Stay,” He whispered. 

She was already dressed, so she knew he’d been debating this. Standing by the door, she looked back in surprise. His arm was tossed over his face, so she couldn’t see his expression. Still his words had shown a kind of vulnerability he hadn’t offered her before. 

She assumed it was to protect himself. Still, this was him trying, wasn’t it? Jenna moved back towards the bed and sat down on the edge, pulling his arm away from his face. 

“You don’t want to sleep alone tonight?” She asked, looking him straight in the eyes. When he tried to look away, she gently took hold of his cheek and held his gaze. “Talk to me,” she added softly. 

“I don’t,” he said. The look in his eyes had never been quite as open as it was now. In all the months they’d known each other, there’d been a mask. One that didn’t falter, even during their arrangement. Not until this moment and her heart warmed at the thought of really moving past his walls. She knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up, shouldn’t read too much into it, but she wanted it so badly. 

Jenna took a deep breath, kicked off her slippers and climbed on top of him, holding him tight. He sighed, pulling the covers over the two of them and melting into the hug. His eyes closed and he fell asleep holding her tight. As his breath slowed, she allowed herself to ponder this change in attitude. He didn’t open up as a rule. She’d realised a while back that it was why he preferred their arrangement over a real relationship.She wondered what changed tonight—apparently he needed more than he’d been asking for and she wanted to give it to him. 

She knew this was a messy situation that would bite her in the ass soon enough, but she couldn’t help herself. She was falling for him, despite his attempts to keep a firm distance. With him now opening up to her even a little, that distance grew smaller.

***

Three months later

“You’re gorgeous,” his lips were close to her ear as he spoke. His warm breath sending shivers down her spine, as his fingers lightly danced over her lower back which was exposed in her dress. 

One thing she’d found in the last few months was that he liked touch. He liked being close, physical, even when it wasn’t sexual. Jenna definitely didn’t mind. Even if it complicated her feelings, she didn’t fight his proximity. Since that night where he’d asked her to stay, she hadn’t spend a single night alone. The distance between them seemed to have evaporated and her heart was ignoring the reality of their situation. 

They walked around the banquet greeting other guests. He was soft, gentle and comfortable and she liked being here with him. He knew how to make her laugh, how to make her swoon and how to make her cry out his name in ecstasy. She wasn’t just getting comfortable, she was falling in love. And it was dangerous. 

With his hand still on her back, he went back to the conversations around them. Business people discussing new plans or boasting about their latest successes. She smiled as she observed him, he was in his element and it looked good on him. Bucky was strong and confident as he explained his own latest venture. He was charming, making sure everyone around him felt seen. And when he smiled, it lit up the room. So she stared, she couldn’t help it. 

“You’re staring,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. He pulled her even closer. 

“I was admiring the view,” she winked. Bucky smiled and leaned in for a kiss. 

“Thirty more minutes,” He promised with another kiss. 

“I’m okay. It’s a good view.” 

“Idem, but I know a better view,” he said and she didn’t need to guess what he meant as the fingers on her back teasingly dipped beneath the fabric of her dress. 

True to his word, Bucky pulled her from the conversations thirty minutes later. He told the people they’d been speaking too that they had an early start the following morning and it was time to go. She didn’t protest, even though there was nothing that would urge them out of bed the next day. 

His hands were on her sides as soon as they left the large hall. His lips tracing a feather light trail from her ear to her cheek as they waited for their coats. His lips found their way to hers as he first kissed the edges, first left, than right, before he smushed her lips and pushed his tongue inside her mouth. There was an urgency to his kiss, like he needed it. 

When he stopped, he looked deep into her eyes—a hauntingly enthralling look in those dazzling blue orbs of his—and he smiled happily. With a sigh he touched his forehead to hers, keeping eye contact and creating a stillness between them. It felt like he could see into the deepest part of her soul and she felt heat creeping up her neck and cheeks. 

“I want you,” he finally whispered, placing another kiss on her lips, this one more sensual. 

Their coats were brought out then, interrupting them, and they made their way outside where his driver was already waiting for them. Her hand warmly clasped in his as they walked and his lips close to her ear, whispering sweet little nothings. 

Bucky gallantly opened the door for her, before quickly walking around the car to join her on the backseat. Once seated the driver drove off and Bucky turned his attention back on Jenna. It started slowly, one hand trailing up her leg, finding the hem of her dress and then moving past it. His lips found her neck, finding the little pressure points he knew would make her sigh when he kissed them. Her hands made their way to his chest, playing with the lapels of his three-piece suit. Then she placed on hand on the back his neck and playing with the tips of his slicked back hair. 

“I love you,” she spoke the words before she could think. She meant them in that moment, more than she ever had with anyone in the past. But that wasn’t want this was and she quickly pulled back with a gasp. He still held her close, staring at her face while the seductive heat on her skin changed into cold sweat—had she ruined it? 

He cupped her cheek, not saying a word, the look in his eyes unreadable. Then he plunged his lips on hers and kissed her deeply, the urgency to his actions a stark contrast to the languidity of before. When he pulled back, his pupiles were enlarged. Jenna imagined hers were as well. Neither of them seemed to realised that they were still in the car. Not until a small knock alerted them of the driver’s presence. 

They offered apologetic smiles as they got out and quickly moved across the sidewalk and into the apartment building where Bucky lived. Thankfully the lobby was empty at this time of the night and they were able to walk through it and into the elevator without anyone speaking to them. Once in the confined space he pushed her up against the wall, pressing himself against her. She could feel his hard length pressed against her thigh and it ignited a heat in her core that could only be quenched by him. She pulled his face towards hers and hungrily kissed his lips, while his hands freely roamed her body over her dress. 

***

By the time Jenna woke up, Bucky was gone. He was supposed to have a day off, but he was nowhere to be found in the apartment. It wasn’t until she walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, that she saw his note. He’d gone into the office regardless. 

She sighed, they hadn’t spoke about her confession yet and she was eager to know what he thought. How he felt. Eager and scared. So instead of waiting, she looked at the clock and decided to visit him for lunch. No sense in postponing the inevitable.  

“Hey, love,” she said walking into his office after the secretary had let her in. Bucky was on the phone and held up a finger to silence her. She held up the bag of food to tell him what she was doing there and he pointed at the small seating area by the window. He soon ended the phone call and walked over to her. 

“We have to make this quick,” He was brusk. She hadn’t seen him like this before. “I have a meeting soon.” He added as he pulled her into him. “Lets eat then,” she offered, pulling back slightly. 

Bucky ignored her words and kissed her neck while his hands roamed over her body. His movements were rough, rushed and Jenna pushed his hands away. He halted his movements momentarily, looking at her and showing her that the wall they’d been breaking down was back up completely. Instantly she knew her words the night before had scared him off.

“Buck, what’s going on?” She asked, not ready to face her reality. 

“Are you saying no?” He questioned and suddenly she wondered what his intention was. Did he want her to walk away?

“I want to know why you’re acting like this,” she pressed. “This isn’t like you."

“I’m horny, you’re here. That’s how this works,” he stepped back from her, his fingers angrily combing through his hair. He’d been letting it grow out these last few months. She focussed on his movements to ignore the effect his words had had on her. ‘That’s how this works’. She’d thought or hoped that last night had changed things, but it hadn’t. This was still a business arrangement to him. Which wasn’t sufficient for her, not anymore. Her eyes pricked with unshed tears as she really let it sink in. 

He stood in front of the large windows that overlooked the city below, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. His silhouet in the weak winter sun was beautiful and she wished she could walk up behind him, like she had done many times before in this very room. She wished she could wrap her arms around him, just to feel him close. She wished to see the gentle side of him that he had shown her. Still, she knew better than to set herself up for failure. Fighting the tears that were burning her eyes and throat, she walked around the seating area and grabbed her wintercoat, her trendy tote and walked towards the door. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as she looked back at him—part of her hoped that he would stop her, but he didn’t even turn around. Finally she let the tears fall. opened the door and walked out. 

She knew what she had to do, even if it hurt. Jenna knew she could not ignore the situation they were in and she needed to act. She was not some damsel in distress—even if she let him put her in that position for months now. It was time to change that and get back to who she truly was. 

Getting back to the apartment felt heavy. It would be the last time she viewed this space. Walking in she moved quickly, grabbing a trash bag from the cupboard underneath the sink. Moving through the place, she grabbed everything that was hers from before and put it in the bag. Part of her was angry that she’d tossed her old tattered travelbag, even though she knew it had been on his last legs years ago. She could’ve used it now. Instead the trash bag would have to do. She didn’t take anything that he’d given her.

She wasn’t left with much, but she hadn’t entered their arrangement with much either so it seemed only fair. Looking at her cheap wallet, all hers, she took out the money and cards that were his. She only kept a little money to help her move—promising to pay it back as soon as she was able. 

She wrote as much in the note she left him, along with much more mushy comments. She apologised for the destroying their house of cards, for ignoring their initial agreement and trying to make it more than it was. And when she was done, she placed her copies of the keys on the table and left. 

She repeated much of the process at her own place. Thankful that one of her old suitcases had not been thrown out yet. It was old and ugly, but it was all hers. She opened her laptop and devised an email to be let out of her lease and anything else that could keep her in this city. Then she booked a bus ticket for that evening and wrote another letter. A longer one this time, telling him to let her go. She couldn’t remain where her love wasn’t wanted. 

***

Five months later 

It had taken her a some time to find her bearings. A broken heart was tougher than she had imagined it to be. She hadn’t felt the energy to do much of anything. None of the activities that used to bring her joy, felt more like a chore now—shopping, going out with friends, it was all too much. 

Jenna did manage to get herself a proper office job, not unlike the one she had last year. It paid the bills and even restored her savings little by little. After two months she could move out of the motel she’d been staying at and into a small but modern studio apartment. She was lucky that the cost of living was lower in this city. 

Then last week, some of her co-workers even invited her out for after work drinks. She found out that her co-workers were actually pretty fun. So much so, that she was meeting them tonight as well. 

It was Friday evening and in about thirty minutes she would be able to close her computer, freshen up at home and meet them at the diner across from it. Afterwards, her and Stacy were having a drink at a local bar. Stacy had been the one to show her the ropes at work. She was bubbly, eager and fun-loving. She reminded her of Abigail. 

Jenna missed her friends and made a mental note to call them this weekend. When she first left, she’d postponed calling them for a full week. Despite knowing they’d worry. She was crying too much to talk. But, Abigail hadn’t been mad at her sudden disappearance. She also promised not to tell Sam or Bucky where she was. And just to be sure, Jenna hadn’t given her a precise address either. Now, they tried to talk weekly, but they’d missed each other last week. 

In the first few calls, Abigail had kept her informed of Bucky’s movements, but eventually Abigail had realised just how painful it was for Jenna. So she stopped mentioning him. She barely even spoke of Sam and Jenna was grateful for it. 

“Are you ready to go?” Stacy asked, interrupting Jenna’s pondering. 

“Just about,” she said. 

“I have to run to the store quickly, meet you at the diner?” Stacy offered and Jenna nodded in agreement. Turning back to her screen, Jenna quickly saved her work and closed the program. Time for the weekend to begin. 

***

It had taken him quite a few months to finally find her again. When Jenna had gone, she really wiped every trace of herself from him life. She hadn’t taken her phone or the creditcards. She didn’t rent anything in the city, hadn’t applied to any companies as far as he could tell. Finally he had to accept that she left town. That’s when the real work started and he hired a private investigator—telling himself that it was just to ascertain that she was alive and well. Bucky tried to convince himself that all he needed to know, was that she was fine. He told himself that if he found her, he would let it go. 

Instead, this Friday evening, he found himself standing on the street where she lived, watching her greet people in a diner. He realised that she had rebuilt her life, to create it much like the life she’d had before him. A life where he wasn’t footing the bill or having any say. Just as she had wanted from the start. 

He couldn’t even be bitter about the turn of events. He knew he had ruined it himself. She said she loved him and pulled up a wall. It’s what he had always done before. Though he hadn’t quite regretted it as much without anyone else. One month after she had left, Jenny had sent him a check for the money she had taken with her on her hasty departure. The money had been the last thing he wanted. He wanted her back. To tell her that he loved her too, that he’d just been too scared. 

He realised that even in his fear, he managed to make it all about him. Like a spoiled child, used to getting his way. He’d gotten so comfortable in his life. People rarely said no to him. Only Sam and Steve wouldn’t join the yes-sayers. In the last five months he had realised that this wasn’t enough. He needed to have more people opposing him, willing to be honest with him.

As he watched her sitting down in the booth with her friends, he noticed the bright smile on her face. One of the woman had stood to hug her before scooting in to make space in their booth. He couldn’t interrupt now. He wasn’t sure he could interrupt her life at all. 

She deserved to be happy. His heart broke as he stared a little longer, before finally hailing a taxi and leaving. It was time to let her go. 

Except, unbeknownst to him, Jenna had seen him get into the taxi. He didn’t see the mad dash she made from the diner or the single tear that slid down her cheek as she watched him drive away from her. 

It made the surprise that much bigger, when he got a knock on his door one week later. 

“Why didn’t come talk to me?” Jenna asked as soon as he opened the door. He looked a tad confused, so she added; “ I saw you last week.” 

Bucky didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t expected her to see him, he’d been so careful. And he certainly hadn’t expected her to show up at his door. Jenna didn’t exactly know what she wanted him to say either. She’d gone back and forth all week in her mind, would she go see him? Would she keep her distance? What did she want? Had he changed his mind about what he wanted? 

Eventually Stacy had told her that she would never know, unless she asked him. And living with the doubt could easily become too much. So at the risk of ripping open old wounds, Jenna had books another busticket. This time in the opposite direction. 

“Well, are you going to say anything?” She asked.  

Unable to form any coherent sentence, Bucky did the only thing he could think off. The one thing he truly wanted—he stepped into the hall, his hand cradling her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss. Jenna smiled into the kiss and kissed him back happily. 

“I love you too,” Bucky said as he pulled back for a moment. 

“Well, it’s about time,” Jenna smiled and pulled him in for another kiss. 

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 29

So what happens after AOTD?

The best part about AOTD is the potential of what can happen next! And one of the parts I was looking forward the most was how the band would deal with what happened to Toki, so I took the chance to write a little about it today. And yes, it's Skwistok, lol.

Side note: This drabble takes place in the same timeline than all of these drabbles, yes (not that you need to read them for this one, though, just a fun fact!)

Drop.

Toki heard it the first time.

Drop, drop.

And the second time.

Drop…drop, drop.

And the third time too. 

Drop.

He heard them all, he just didn’t know how to react. Skwisgaar had come by earlier and sat next to him, making no noise besides the fretting of his guitar, when suddenly tears started pouring down his face. 

Toki could see him with the corner of his eye. He could see Skwisgaar wiping his face only for more tears to be shed. Silent sniffles and heavy swallows, Toki wasn’t sure if Skwisgaar wanted his crying to be acknowledged or not, so he pretended not to notice still.

He had an idea what might have been causing it, though.

After they defeated Salacia and successfully prevented the end of the world, things had been slowly going back to normal. Cities were being rebuilt, survivors were reuniting, governments were slowly reestablishing. Little by little, Earth was healing from its tragedy. 

For Dethklok, however, things were a bit different as they were starting to recover memories they had no recollection of losing in the first place. And for Toki, well, it meant reliving his capture, his kidnapping. It was relieving what someone he thought of as a friend did to him. The countless hours he spent clinging to Abigail, not ready to die yet. The never-ending days he waited for Dethklok to come to him, only to fall asleep amidst dreams of their first meeting.

In all honesty, it hadn’t been as shocking as it should’ve. Maybe because of his childhood, or maybe because things hadn’t been entirely normal after he was back with his brothers. He kept having confusing, unsettling nightmares about being locked, about a dark scary figure, about feeling on the verge of death. So when he started recovering his memories, it was like the missing pieces in a puzzle finally fell in place. 

As strange as it might sound, Toki found comfort in understanding what had happened, even if the truth was horrifying. All this time he had thought those nightmares were presages from the future, but turns out they were reminders of the past. That, he could deal with. 

He was just…numb to it. Yeah, that was probably it. Not angry or sad, or even relieved. Just numb to it all.

Just that. 

“Ams sorries…” Skwisgaar said. 

Toki turned to him. “Whats?”

Skwisgaar’s face was soaking wet, yet he still managed to barely show emotion. “Ams sorries.”

“What ams you sorries for?” Toki was confused. 

“I forgots everything.” Skwisgaar shook his head lightly. “I didn’ts…undersktand why you were so touchies and I was a dildos abouts it.”

“Oh.” Toki smiled and turned to look at the wall. “Don’t worries about it. I didn’ts really understands either. It ams okay.”

“And we should ‘aves…” He trailed off. “…dones somethingks…earliers…”

“It ams okay.” Toki repeated it, still staring at the wall. “You saveds me and ams glad you dids.”

“We were dildos about it.” Skwisgaar grumbled to himself. “Dildos. I was scareds-”

“Skwisgaar, it really ams-”

“I was scareds I’ds never sees you again.” Skwisgaar let out softly and Toki turned to stare at him, agape. However, Skwisgaar avoided his gaze when he continued. “I was so scareds I droggeds myselves all de times not to thinks abouts it.” His lip quivered. “De idea of losings you…” Skwisgaar closed his eyes, his voice breaking the next time he talked. “I couldn’ts takes it.”

Toki had known Skwisgaar for a long time. He was more aware than anyone else at how bad Skwisgaar was talking about his feelings. Often, he had gotten the short end of the stick because of it. Because of that, he knew it had cost him a lot to say all of that. “Does you want to know whats I thoughts abouts whens I was deres?”

Skwisgaar raised his eyes slowly, like he was scared to meet Toki’s. “Ja…” He whispered.

Toki smiled, already fond of the memory. “I thoughts of my auditions…playings with yous…whens you saids you wanteds me in da bands…” He looked down, almost ashamed. “I thoughts of everyones, of course, but I thoughts of you mosts, Skwisgaar…of us…it gaves me de strenghts to keep goings…” He shook his head. “Soes embarrassings, I know...” 

Because Skwisgaar wasn’t saying anything, he glanced at him. Skwisgaar was looking at him, with something in his eyes that Toki hadn’t seen before.

“Skwisgaar?”

Wordlessly, Skwisgaar grabbed the sides of Toki’s face and meshed their lips together. It lasted for barely a second before Skwisgaar pulled back, seemingly disconcerted by his own reaction. “S-Sorries, Toke, I…”

Toki shook his head. He didn’t want Skwisgaar to apologize over that, but he also wasn’t ready to process it yet. Not right now. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Skwisgaar’s, who for once, didn’t try to put space between. Trying to collect himself, he inhaled deeply. 

“I really ams–”

“Stops.” Toki said without opening his eyes. “Don’ts says anythings.”

He heard Skwisgaar swallow. “Okays.”

Toki smirked. “And holds me.”

Awkwardly, Skwisgaar placed his hands on Toki’s waist. “L-Likes dis?”

“Yeah.” They remained like that for a while. He could hear Skwisgaar’s labored breathing, it was a little funny. What was he so worked out about? “Skwisgaar?”

“J-Ja?” 

“Don’t lets me go.”

“I won’ts!” Skwisgaar said a bit too enthusiastically. “I won’ts…” He repeated, more sober.

Toki smiled. He had a long road ahead and he knew it. And it wasn’t going to be easy. When had his life ever been easy? But he had a feeling, it all would be okay in the end.

“Goods.”

[viola-ophelia]

reason #1780 (lol) why john andre is the hottest turn character: he died for love, and he died with dignity and grace. let's talk about 3x10

(disclaimer: obviously, we all know that andre was far from perfect when it came to his relationship with peggy - i'm not going to bother defending his behavior except to say, characters can be flawed/make mistakes and still be hot, and andre is an example of this. ;) <3)

HOWEVER. at the end of the day, andre did everything, literally EVERYTHING he could for the woman he loved, even after he realized that the scheme that BOTH of them had concocted (because it's doing peggy a massive disservice to argue that andre manipulated or "used" her; she's far too intelligent for that and she was just as much the engineer of the arnold seduction plan as he was) had gone majorly wrong and she might be beyond saving. he was willing to throw away his entire career and reputation to get her back - because that's what would've happened if arnold had accepted those ludicrous sums of money andre was trying to offer him in exchange for peggy; he'd have been directly defying his orders and at risk of being labeled a traitor himself - and when that proved to not be enough, he was willing to lay down his LIFE if that was the only way to ensure peggy's safety permanently.

and he wasn't just thinking about peggy either. one of andre's last actions was to comfort abigail and thank her for all she'd done for him. a less kind man would definitely not have bothered to spend any time at all talking to servants in his final hours on earth, let alone a servant who he may or may not have known contributed to his capture. ALSO, though this isn't in the show, the historical andre took time in his final hours to write a heartfelt letter to general clinton, his commander, telling him that what happened to him wasn't his fault and to not feel guilty for it. both of these actions really illustrate how, flawed as he may be, john andre is fundamentally a caring and selfless person who was only ever trying to do the right thing for all.

i also want to talk about andre's bravery, because he's often labeled as a coward since we don't see him doing much physical fighting. i think this is completely false, and that andre is actually potentially THE bravest character in the show. after all, he's the only character who we see face the ultimate test of courage - a freaking PUBLIC EXECUTION - with calmness and composure. in real history, this was a big part of why andre became an enduring hero after his death: he really moved audiences with how graciously he accepted his fate. it takes SERIOUS guts to own up to one's own mistakes, and andre did that in the worst and most finite scenario possible. he also had the good sportsmanship to face ben, his enemy and the man who ultimately beat him, with kindness and congratulate him on winning fair and square. how many other characters - caleb included, who let's be real, would probably go down punching and cursing - can you truthfully say would have the strength and dignity to do the same?

let's give andre some credit where he's due!!

[vittoriaisfuckingpathetic]

save me from the nothing i've become ch 2

rated M | read it on ao3 | 3.9k words | prev chapter | next chapter

Reeling from the shocking information he received, John tries to go about his day as normal as he can. Plagued by his thoughts and grappling with his own feelings on the matter, he tries to get some space to think.

John felt like he was trying to inhale a lungful of water. He forced himself to exhale, the action coming out shakily. 

“Marston,” John carefully repeated, voice eerily calm. “Like me?” he breathed. He stared at Jack as if the boy had three heads. In return, Jack simply stared back.

Jack Marston.

Marston.

Abigail’s son. 

Her son, Jack Marston.

His son, Jack Marston.

Their son, Jack Marston.

“Maybe we should talk somewhere private.” Abigail replied evenly, trying to keep the situation under control. “We’re livin’ at the women’s home. It’s that big house up the road from the church. I… um, I was on my way to work, but we can talk after. I’m off at five o’clock, and then I’ll explain everything, I promise.” She assured him. 

John swallowed hard. “I…” Really, what could he even say? He could hardly look her in the eye, let alone form full sentences. All of his thoughts seemed to form excruciatingly slow, too busy trying to process the bombshell she’d dropped on him. “Alright,” he replied weakly after a few more moments. 

Abigail did not say anything else to him, but she did give him a hopeful kind of half smile. Then, she ushered the boy along. John stared at the two once their backs were turned, the gears in his head sluggishly moving along.

She had to be fucking with him. This had to be some sick joke, that’s all it was… wasn’t it? 

But he knew Abigail, and he knew she wouldn’t lie to him. Not like that, not over something so major. She’d have nothing to gain from it. 

Maybe she expected him to be angry. Maybe he was angry. He didn’t know. After all, how was someone supposed to feel upon discovering they had fathered a child and didn’t know for five years?

Five fucking years. And if the gang hadn’t fallen apart, he may have never known.

Yeah, maybe he was a little angry.

Angry at what, though? Himself, for not piecing together that something was wrong and running away with her all of those years ago? Angry at Abigail for not telling him? Angry at Dutch and the rest of the gang for stealing away a part of his life? Maybe a combination of the three? 

When just about the sixth person had practically shoved into him, John forced himself to start walking. He moved aimlessly, ignoring all of the sights and sounds of the town. His boots kicked up sand and dust as he walked — or rather, trudged.

A son. It wasn’t the most unlikely thing that could have happened. He remembered what it was like. The two of them would be giddy after a robbery, or eager to sneak away from camp, stealing quick moments and being less-than-careful. That was when nothing in life felt truly pressing — they were young(er) and irresponsible, and neither of them was thinking of any kind of consequence. 

He found himself back in front of his horse. 

John sighed. “Hey there, Missy,” he greeted her softly, deciding then and there that Missy was a fine name for the horse. He’d grown quite fond for her for the short time he’d had her. Perhaps it was a bit odd, she was the closest thing to a listening ear he had. 

Missy nosed at his palm in search of treats. 

He chuckled lightly despite himself. “I know, I know. I’ll remember your peppermints next time, promise.” He was quiet for a moment, petting her mane thoughtlessly.

Maybe a ride would clear his head. When he was younger he used to peel out of camp, Grimshaw yelling after him, going as fast as his horse could comfortably go. He’d embrace nothing but the air flowing through his locks and impulsivity in his heart. He usually didn’t go far, especially when he was a teenager (being secretly frightened that everyone would leave camp and he’d get left behind), but it was just a way to get away from it all. After spending his developmental years in the slums of Chicago, he had become fond of the open wilderness. 

Of course, he was older now, and a little significantly more jaded. 

“Why don’t we go for a ride, huh? You wanna explore?” John said, earning himself a strange look from a passing stranger. 

Naturally, Missy didn’t reply.

The vast sea of sand and cacti surrounding him certainly calmed his mind. It was a monotonous view, but it lacked the stressors of town. 

Not to mention, it felt a little less unbearably hot with the constant movement. 

It was on the open road that he could finally sort out his thoughts. He’d been wandering aimlessly for a while. It was lonely, quiet. 

He hadn’t checked his pocket watch, but if he had to guess, it had probably been a little over an hour. 

He clicked his tongue, slowing Missy’s pace to a walk. “Take a break, girl,” He said, not wanting to push her too hard. He slid off and hitched her to one of the only trees nearby— a joshua tree. 

Sitting underneath the limited shade of a joshua tree, John tried to think of what Arthur would tell him to do. 

“Don’t understand what her problem is,” a 20-year-old John muttered. The song and dance had gotten old at this point. Him and Abigail would fight over something stupid and immature, and John would go and sulk in Arthur’s tent for a while. 

“You can’t just hide in my tent for the rest ‘a your life, Johnny. So you best figure out what the problem is,” Arthur replied disinterestedly, clearly more interested in scribbling something in his journal than listening to John whine. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he retorted, getting needlessly testy with Arthur. “She’s impossible to figure out.”

Arthur sighed and hefted himself off of his cot. He placed his hands on John’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Listen to me. You need to step up, be a man, and go to your woman. Talk things out with her. And for Christsakes, take some responsibility for once.” 

“Hey!”

John glanced up to where a grizzled-looking man stood just a few feet away, hands on his hips in an effort to look intimidating.

John sized up the man in front of him. He was visibly disheveled, with a long, dirty beard, shirt half-tucked, and caked in mud below his knees. “You need somethin’, partner?” he asked indifferently. 

“Yer trespassin’ in this here land. There’s a hefty fee for that, cowboy.” 

“That so?” 

The man smirked, pistol now in hand. “‘Fraid so.” 

It would take more than some hillbilly with a dirty gun to scare him into handing over his money. 

With lightning quick speed, he drew his revolver, aiming at the man squarely in the chest. “I don’t think you wanna do this,” John warned.

The idiot aimed his own gun. 

With precise speed, John pulled the revolver’s hammer. Time seemed to slow.

Inhale….

Finger on the trigger.

One…

Two…

Three.

Pull the trigger.

…Exhale.

The bullet hit him squarely in the chest. The man crumbled to a heap on the ground, sputtering. 

John sighed. He supposed he ought to be getting back to town anyway.

A few hours later, John waited anxiously on the doorstep of the women’s home, hat in hands. It was a large house, likely once an old manor, with a weathered wood exterior. 

The door creaked open, an older woman with graying hair appearing behind the door. “Can I help you?” 

He smoothed his hair back nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m here to see Abigail.”

She looked him up-and-down suspiciously. “Hold on a second,” she stated curtly, then closed the door in his face. 

After what felt like several minutes, she came back, still with a slight scowl on her face. “Follow me,” she said, not waiting for him to follow. 

He walked into the house. It was well kept, but he cared little about the finer details, his mind focused on Abigail. She led him up a spiral staircase and down a dimly lit hallway with red carpeting. She stopped in front of the final door, gesturing to the door, then turned on her heel.

John inhaled deeply and poised himself to knock.

But Abigail beat him to the punch and opened the door. 

“Hi, John,” she greeted, tucking a flyaway hair behind her ear timidly. ‘I’m glad you came,” she sidestepped to let him in.

The space was small, but it was cozy. A double bed was in the corner of the room, pressed against the wall. There was a green-painted nightstand with an oil lamp atop of that. In the middle of the room lay a decently sized plush rug — some sort of animal skin, in a shade of dark brown. In the center of the left wall sat a small fireplace, which currently wasn’t burning. An empty bookshelf was to the right of that, housing trinkets, blankets, and a few of her son’s toys. On the opposite side of the room there was a small table with two chairs pulled up to it. The room was kept neat, just like how Abigail always liked her space to be. 

The sun had started to set, casting the room in golden hour’s glow. 

“Evenin’, Abigail,” He greeted. Internally, he winced. There was a considerable level of awkwardness between them. “Where’s the kid?”

“He’s in the next room over, there’s a woman here with a daughter about his age. She usually watches Jack while I’m at work,” She explained, shifting her weight. “I, well— I made tea.” She said, gesturing to the table, where two teacups sat, steam curling upwards into the air. “Why don’t we sit down?”

She made tea now? He distinctly remembered her being preferential to coffee. 

He sat down at the table, and she sat opposite to him. 

God, the last time they’d been sitting face to face like this, it was the night she’d left camp. 

They were so different now. 

“Did you know?” He asked. It was perhaps the question at the forefront of his mind. He had to know. “When you left, that is? Did you know?” he clarified.

She was quiet for a moment, staring down at her teacup as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Yes, John. I did.”

She knew. Had he done something to make her not trust him? Why didn’t she feel the need to tell him something so monumental, so life-changing? 

“And, what?” He huffed out an indignant laugh. “You just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

She crossed her arms. “Will you stop? It ain’t like that.” 

“Yeah? Then how is it? Because from where I’m standin’, it don’t make you look like a saint.” He bit back. It probably was harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t help feeling resentful.

“It weren’t right, I admit it.” Abigail said, sounding just a touch bitter. “But I was scared , John. And I knew you wouldn’t leave the gang. I also knew you had no interest in bein’ a father. So… I thought it was the best thing to do — I know it was wrong. But when I tried to find you, the gang was already gone.” 

John was quiet as he digested this. She had looked for him, but it was too late. He knew that part wasn’t her fault. 

He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself level-headed. 

“...For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. But like I said, I was doin’ what I thought was best for me.”

He still couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “You sure he’s mine?” he asked calmly, gaze directed at the wall.

She raised an eyebrow. “You really think I’d’ve bothered with all of this if he weren’t?”

John said nothing in reply, knowing she had a good point. It wasn’t the brightest question to ask, but he had blurted it out anyway out of a sense of morbid curiosity. Almost as if her confirming it would make it more real. 

And make it real, it did. 

There was a pregnant pause. The only thing that could be heard was the faraway noise of the cicadas outside.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re plannin’ on doin’. I know you’re on the run. But… if you want to see the boy…” she trailed off, seeming to struggle with how to finish her sentence. “We’ll be here.” 

A part of him wanted nothing more. He’d spent these last five years dreaming of her, dreaming of what could have been. This could be a fresh start, a chance at normalcy. She was once again extending the olive branch. She was open to having him — a wanted criminal, back into her life, even though she had once left him for, well, being a criminal. 

That was an oversimplification of things. It wasn’t just that John was a criminal, it was that she was surrounded by degenerates and wanted safety for Jack. She didn’t want her baby to be raised in a gang, and a part of him couldn’t blame her, either. Would he have wanted any child of his to be raised in the gang? They may have been his family, but that was a dangerous life. One a baby had no business being involved in. Hell, he considered himself decently scarred by growing up in a gang, and he only fell into that life when he was twelve.

He supposed he didn’t blame her. The life she was pursuing seemed fairly decent in comparison to the shitstorm he’d been in as of late. 

And she was offering him a place by her side. At least, he was pretty sure that’s what she was offering.

But he had those little nagging fears, the same things that had stopped him from pursuing a life with her before. The concept of fatherhood was fucking terrifying. Even worse, he was being actively hunted by the law now. He had one of the highest bounties in the entire country, second only to Dutch. 

He rose from the table, a dull headache already beginning to manifest at his temple. “I need to sleep on it,” he said tiredly. He had much more to say, but his mind was so clouded.

“I understand,” Abigail replied. She followed him to the door. “Goodnight, John.” 

There was a pause between them, neither of them quite knowing how to end the interaction. She was closer to him than she’d been since that night all of those years ago. Close enough to touch. To hug. To kiss. 

None of those things happened. He was torn between leaving so he could dissect his thoughts in peace and staying so he could try to understand more. He desperately wanted to understand the situation. He wanted her , wanted things back to normal, he never wanted to tear his eyes from her ever again and yet he needed some space from it all.

“You too,” he finally muttered back. He was forcing himself to walk down the hallway and not look back. 

He knew if he looked back, he’d never leave.

John Marston — a father. He had a son. What a frightening thought. 

John had no fond memories of his father. He was an angry, bitter, disturbed man. Sharp-tongued (when sober) with a sharper backhand. The man did the bare minimum to keep John alive, and even that seemed to be a small miracle. Some of his earliest memories were of pickpocketing and scrounging for food — in general, his early years were spent struggling to survive. In no small part, thanks to his father. 

Eight-year-old John waited in a dark corner of the saloon as his father gambled what little money they had saved up. 

It wasn’t like that money was going to be used for anything better. It was always used on either gambling or whoring, with the occasional bit used on food. Generally, Pa let John scrounge for his own food, saying, “There’s food everywhere, boy, you just ain’t know how to find it.” 

As a result, hunger was no stranger to John. He could be crafty when necessary, sure, but finding food wasn’t always the easiest task. 

Still, Pa made sure he had just enough so he didn’t keel over, and rarely ever did he allow any sort of luxury. On his birthdays — when Pa was sober enough to remember, that was — he’d get a peppermint candy tossed at him, and to John, it was special. It absolutely the bare minimum, but it was some sort of acknowledgment at the very least.

He savored those moments. It was one of few times Pa would pay any positive attention to him.

Today wasn't one of those days. John was lucky the saloon owner had taken pity on him and let him stay inside. Though maybe the sight of John shivering in the winter storm had convinced the man.

He knew that people weren’t always heartless. There was usually some sucker out there that would take pity on him enough. Enough for him to keep surviving to the next day.

Unsurprisingly, Pa’s blackjack game didn’t go very well. The cursing and yelling surprised the boy very little. He only became concerned when gunshots began to echo throughout the room. Familiar with this song and dance, John kept low to the ground, and crawled past the chaos and behind the bar. It was unlikely a bit less likely that he would catch a stray bullet there. He curled up in himself, knees pressed to his chest, as he waited for the violence to end. Pa always collected him after it was all said and done. 

Only, Pa didn’t collect him this time.

That had been the last time John had seen his father alive. He had seen the aftermath: when he made his way to the gallows and saw his father’s corpse hanging from the noose, neck broken. 

The apathetic crowd had already begun to dissolve, their bloodlust satiated for the time being. The sheriff had shoved his father’s meager belongings into John’s hands and left, leaving the child alone to stare at the corpse. 

It was bitterly ironic, John thought. Jack could likely be in the same position as John was once. Saddled with nothing but a deadbeat criminal for a father. One who was bound to be tried and murdered just as his father before him.

There was also the entire matter with Dutch, who could be arguably viewed as his non biological father – but the damage Dutch had done to him was an entirely different beast. 

Then there was Hosea who was the closest thing John had to an emotionally stable parent, but that would require him to unpack all of the painful emotions he’d shoved away when the elder man had died.

Of course, John could change the tide. He could simply vanish. He’d thought about it many times over the course of the day, of simply leaving. The kid could grow up without knowing his pathetic excuse of a father. Abigail would raise him well. She was a good person.

John was not.

But still, he desired to at least meet the boy. He felt like he owed it to both Jack and himself, in a way. One positive interaction was all it took to be better than his own father. 

He’d meet Jack. Talk things out with Abigail, too. Then… well, he’d figure out to go from there.

Resigning himself to the idea, he let his eyes shut. He was weary from the day’s events; as anyone would rightfully be. It wasn’t everyday you learned that you had an illegitimate child.

Eventually, he finally drifted into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

The next morning, John woke with a splitting headache and a crick in his neck. He hadn’t even bothered undressing the night before, mind elsewhere. 

He stumbled out of bed and walked to the mirror, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was mussed, pieces of it sticking up at unnatural angles, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, too — in general, he looked like he’d seen better days. He set out to make himself look a little less like a ruffian, if for no other reason then so Abigail wouldn’t think he was a complete slob. 

Abigail. What a strange thought, that she was in his life again. 

He supposed he’d go and see her and the boy after she was finished with work. Besides, it gave him a bit more time to process his feelings. Or even figure out what to say to the kid, at least.

He fixed his hair, combing through the greasy locks with his fingers (part of him bitterly wondered why he even bothered with washing his hair, when it got oily the next day) until it didn’t look like a rat’s nest anymore. He took off his ridiculously wrinkly vest, tossing it uncaringly on the floor. He smoothed out his shirt, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. 

Well, it was a slight improvement. He didn’t look like scum stuck to someone’s boot anymore. 

Finally, he placed Arthur’s his hat on his head, as he did every day, and made his way downstairs. 

Aside from a couple of sad drunks and a bartender, it was virtually empty in the saloon. He walked over to the bar, placing a coin on the counter.

Was drinking the best way to greet the morning? No. Did he care? Also, no.

“Startin’ the day off with liquor, partner?” The bartender chuckled, in the middle of toweling off a glass. “Must be havin’ a rough time,”

That was the understatement of the century. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ignoring the man’s comments completely, he instead asked, “You know where a feller can get work ‘round here?” 

The bartender hummed thoughtfully as he rummaged around for whiskey. “Well,” He paused to pour the drink. “The sheriff’s lookin’ to replace a deputy. Last one got shot for foolin’ ‘round with another man’s wife. Weren’t nothin’ pretty. Think he’s lookin’ for a couple new deputies, if I recall,” He added, then slid the shot over to John.  

John grimaced, the action pulling at the scars on his cheek. “Pass. Anything else?” He was reminded of Dutch’s plot back in Rhodes, posing as deputies in a hare-brained scheme that ultimately blew up in their faces. 

That, and personally, he wasn’t too fond of law-enforcement types.

“There’s a ranch ‘bout ten miles north that could surely use some help. Almost all of the farmhands are indisposed, on account of part of the property catchin’ fire,” 

John snorted. Him? A rancher? The idea was laughable. “Eh, don’t think that’s quite for me,”

“I’m sure you could ask in town, partner. Folks round here is always lookin’ for someone to hire. People ain’t comin from farther away no more, so there’s some jobs open.”

John tilted his head, interest mildly piqued. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Gang’s been terrorizin’ the area. They don’t come into town, thank the Lord, but folk are just scared to leave town, now. Ain’t too safe to go into the desert. Surprised you didn’t get robbed on your way here.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You must be real lucky, Mister.” 

John didn’t say anything at first, not feeling a need to divulge that someone had attempted to rob him yesterday. He didn’t need to draw any undue attention himself. 

Instead, he finally brought the shotglass to his lips. “Hm. My brother used to always tell me I’m lucky.” 

[menciemeer]

The thing about Hannibal's punishment of Mason is that Mason was delighted the entire time.

Hannibal could have done absolutely anything he wanted after murdering all of Mason's bodyguards and spiriting him back to Wolf Trap. One assumes that Hannibal doesn't carry his insane psychedelic mixture with him everywhere--the fact that he uses it on Mason implies that he had an opportunity to go to his office or his house. He could have disappeared Mason into his basement if he really wanted to. His plan is hardly discreet--even if he didn't want to kill Mason without Will, there's any number of fun surgical activities he could have got up to while Will was making his way back home.

He doesn't, though.

Mason has a great time being Hannibal Lecter's victim. "I am enchanted and....terrified," he says, but the terror doesn't truly seem to bother him. He says it playfully, and with laughter. His fear is only one aspect of his experience, and his enchantment is the thread that runs much closer to the surface.

The only complaint he offers the entire time, in fact, is "I'm hungry," and he seems more than content with Hannibal's proposed solution to that problem. (I suppose "a taste and consistency similar to that of chicken gizzard" might not be complementary--I wouldn't know; I don't carnivore.)

It's sweet, actually, and horrifyingly sad, the way he interacts with Will's dogs. "I just love your dogs," he says, and he genuinely seems to enjoy feeding them and petting them, but the story he tells about his own dogs is, well--

I adopted some dogs from the shelter once, two dogs that were friends. I had them in a cage together with no food and fresh water. One of them died hungry. The other had a warm meal.

The question, then: What was Hannibal getting out of this? He was more than willing to let Will kill Mason. He would have let Mason die happy--the happiest, maybe, that we ever see him. Hannibal's decision to paralyze him reads more like whimsy to me than like a continuation of his plan to bring Mason to Wolf Trap--I honestly think he expected Will to kill him. And he didn't suspect Will of being a double agent yet; leaving Mason alive is a much riskier choice than killing him and hiding the body. (And, in fact, it's a choice that ends up having consequences down the line.)

"I employ an ethical butcher," Hannibal says, in Coquilles. On the face of it, the statement is absurd, but through S2, between Gideon and Miriam and Mason and even James Gray, it starts to make sense. It seems much more important for Hannibal to be able to exert control over the subjective experiences of his victims than for those experiences to be painful, in particular. Even Gideon, fresh from his own amputation, seems to be mostly bothered by just the idea of eating himself.

I'm fiercely curious about all the murders we don't see, about Cassie Boyle and Jeremy Olmstead and Andrew Caldwell--and, and, and. It's hard to imagine that he managed to do everything he did humanely--but then again, in Naka-choko, he says, "Apart from humane considerations, it's more flavorful for animals to be stress-free prior to slaughter." --Implying that humane considerations is actually something he thinks about. If anyone could manage to cut someone's lungs out and keep them comfortable the entire time, I suppose it would be Hannibal.

The really interesting thing, for me, is the way all of this breaks down in Mizumoto and S3. Gutting Will wasn't about exerting a lofty control over Will's experiences--it was about making Will hurt in the way that Hannibal was hurt. Then, slitting Abigail's throat--and then, much later, bludgeoning Antony to death, slowly enough to allow him to allow him the faint hope of crawling towards the door.

Those are, to my memory, the times when we see Hannibal actively trying to cause pain (--and not in the middle of fighting for his life). The striking thing about them is of course that all of them are inexorably bound up in Will and his feelings about Will.

There's something perversely delightful to me in the idea that Will awakened a particular kind of cruelty in Hannibal, parallel to the kind of cruelty Hannibal awakened in Will. Every time Will imagines killing Hannibal, he imagines Hannibal calm and even pleased by what's happening to him. Will's brand of bloodlust goes outwards. He wants to rip Randall Tier's mechanical suit off his body and kill him with his hands--make him die afraid. He wants Clark Ingram to fight back before Will murders him.

Hannibal's sadism, on the other hand, seems to have a very specific target. "Did you think you could change me?" Hannibal asks, standing in the bloody wreck of his own kitchen, while Will gasps and hurts and struggles to hold his guts together. Well--didn't he?

[samandcolbypost]

▪️My thoughts on the Conjuring Video▪️

I’m going to start on the skeptic side of what I’m thinking first and then go into the rest of what I believe.

First, I love the new owners and their thoughts on how one should keep an open mind because most spirits are just going off you vibes. I also really like Satori and Cody. Okay I’ll finally get into my skeptical side, cuz come on, I feel some of us still are at least a little bit. When they started doing the arm holding thing and started naming off Sam’s grandma, I began to get a little skeptical. Especially when they stated they tend to get through to family members. I know there’s the feeling that “no one would even known that name” or, who that member is, but it’s not that hard to find someone’s family history, especially social media people if you look up their last name like “Sam Golbach” for instance and search for those who’ve died. Also “Libby” was in the obituary title. So if it wasn’t there I would feel a little less a skeptic of what they’re doing. Now for Colby I can’t really say how they could find something 2 generations before, unless they looked on some ancestry site or something 😂 I can’t say for that one. But what I’m trying to say is it isn’t a hard to do a little digging on people and see their past. Everyone had to put their name on the conjuring booking website for them to come, especially overnight. The other thing I wanted to get into was the taps. At first I did have a thought that came across that someone could be around them doing that but then that went out the window when they moved places. Second thought, someone mentioned a box type thing in Cody’s pocket. I’m not sure what it is or if it’s possible for “taps” to be coming through it, and something is hooked up to it for someone to hear and know when to tap ect. I’m just going to leave it at that because I think it’s really hard for that to happen but anyways, this is just my skeptical side.

Now onto the my believable side

If I didn’t watch their uncut video, I would have a harder time believing. That’s so insane though, I wonder if Sam and Colby could try that if anything would happen. The fact all their past relatives came through is a very comforting thought especially knowing someone is looking over you. I did just watch the video but did they ever get much conversation with Abigail? (My minds blanking right now). So far everything has been super positive and I think that is a good way to set things straight for a hopefully peaceful, yet safe time for them to be there. The people who let them stay seemed very lovely. When those 2 started the arm thing I thought it was crazy how S&C could feel the vibrations of the taps happening everywhere and it was coming from all over. It made it even more believable watching the uncut footage of them getting a random location to go to, and still get those 2 names from each location. (I did look those 2 people up before they even posted it in the video lol) I’m really curious how that spiritual connection works. I didn’t really find anything online to see if it’s like a connection with the other side, but I kinda think I’ve heard of that before? Anyways, I know those taps aren’t coming physically (not including an object that could make the noise) from Cody or Satori because as S&C debunked, it’s not just 1 location and it’s not their shoes or noises from their mouth. The looking up the 2 names from each location would be hard to even look up since it was random and the taps were connected with what she was saying. I think it would take a bit to look up a name and then have the taps connect with, so I don’t think it’s possible they knew the names ahead of time. I hope you guys understand where I’m coming from and feel free to post your thoughts too! Overall, I think this was a really good video and actually one that could change those that don’t believe into believing that the afterlife/paranormal exist.

Sorry this was long 😬

[12timetraveler]

Stars In Your Multitudes

Summary:

Hosea sits down with Sadie to offer her comfort and support after losing Jake.

Notes:

I was talking with a couple of my buddies and I brought up how it's such a missed opportunity to have Hosea the widower sit down with Sadie the widow to help her deal and give her advice. Per their request, I wrote a little something.

I know I should be working on the next chapter of Something In The Orange but this idea just wouldn't leave my head.

You can read the full story below or on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There she sat, on the edge of camp, tears streaming down her face. Not the loud, heartbroken sobs she'd let out in Colter. The sobs that Hosea felt to his very soul. There was no sound this time. Just tears streaming down her face as she clutched her arms to her abdomen, like she was trying to physically hold herself together.

Hosea knew that feeling. He'd spent plenty of time trying to hold himself together, afraid of what may happen if he let go and fell apart. Nights lost to the drink, days spent huddled under blankets trying to shield himself from the world. He understood all of this all too well.

He glanced down at the two bottles in his hand, both unopened. He'd need to be careful. It would be easy for Mrs. Adler to slip like he did. But one drink wouldn't hurt, and maybe it would help his words sink in.

Ever since Arthur explained to him the state they'd found Mrs. Adler in, he'd known he needed to speak with the fresh widow. He could relate to her in ways that no one else could. Maybe his wisdom and experience could help her.

Others had been there for her. Mary Beth and Abigail had both spent time sitting with her and comforting her. But neither of them had experienced a loss like this, and there was only so much comfort they could give from imagining how it felt. But he knew. He knew.

Taking a deep breath, he strode across camp to where she sat. She didn't even hear him approaching, or if she did, she didn't respond until he cleared his throat. Then she peered up at him like a lost lamb, though the wild look in her eyes warned him not to judge her as such.

“Mrs. Adler,” he greeted her, voice low and respectful. She seemed to flinch at the name. Her husband's name. “Mind if I sit with you?” He asked. She only shrugged in response, so he came and sat beside her, unable to suppress the groan as his joints protested to sitting on the ground.

He popped the tops off of the two bottles and placed one in her hand. “That is the only one of those you'll get from me. It's far too easy to fall into the bottle when you're feeling emotions like this.”

“Seen enough people do that,” she mumbled, taking a sip of the whiskey.

“I've been there myself,” he hummed, sipping from his own bottle. “When my wife died.”

Sadie looked over at him in surprise. “You were married?” Hosea nodded in response. “For how long?”

“Not nearly long enough,” he sighed. Sadie understood what he meant. Though she thought even 50 years of marriage to her Jakey would have been too short.

“After she died... The pain I felt was...” Hosea shook his head and took another sip. “I've been shot, stabbed, hung, beaten to an inch of my life. None of that was as painful as losing my dear Bessie.”

“That's a sweet name.” Sadie murmured.

“I always thought so too.” Hosea chuckled. “In the days that followed, I could hardly move from my bedroll. I just lay there, weeping and praying to a god I don't know that I believe in. Just to have her back in my arms. Finally after about a week I pulled myself out of bed, only to stumble into the bottle. I was drunk for a year after that. Honestly. I don't think a day went by where I could have been called sober. Eventually I pulled myself out, else I'd be stumbling around like the Reverend. But that doesn't mean it's been easy.”

Sadie hummed in response.

“Mrs. Adler... Sadie... Can I call you Sadie?” He asked. She nodded. “I'm not going to sit here and tell you that everything is going to be okay or that things will work out. Because that's not going to help you feel better, and those words are hollow,” he said. “But I am here to listen, if you want to talk. And if not, I'm happy to sit here with you as long as you'd like, in solidarity. A sort of vigil for those we both lost.”

Sadie only nodded, taking another sip from the bottle. The two sat in silence for a while, sipping from their bottles on occasion, but otherwise functionally ignoring the rest of camp, just looking out over the horizon as the sun began to creep down in the sky.

“Does the pain ever stop?” Sadie finally asked. “Or... Lessen?”

“Not really,” Hosea sighed. “But you grow, and you learn how to live with the pain. You... You find ways to honor them, and keep them close. Find time to remember the good times. The wound their passing left behind heals, but the mark on your heart never goes away. But would you really want it to?”

“Suppose not,” Sadie mumbled. “Sometimes it feel like it would have been easier to never know him but... God my life would never have been right without him. Jake and I was always sweet on each other.”

“That's beautiful,” Hosea hummed.

“My daddy died when I was a kid. 12, 13 something like that. That hurt but... I don't remember it being like this.”

“It's one thing to lose a blood relative. But it's an entirely different pain to lose someone you chose to love. One is not more painful than the other, but it’s different.” Hosea mused, tapping the neck of his bottle with his finger. “I think that's why the others don't really get it. We've all lost someone. But losing parents, siblings, it's different.”

“Mr. Matthews...” Sadie's voice cracked, and the tears started anew.

“Call me Hosea,” he soothed. He reached an arm out, resting it on her back. Only when Sadie leaned into his touch did he pull her against him, offering her his shoulder.

“It hurts so damn much, Hosea,” she gasped, allowing the older man to hold her close and comfort her.

“I know it does. I know,” he soothed.

“Jake was a good man. He died so terrible. He didn't deserve it.” She sobbed.

“No, he didn't. They rarely do.”

He held her as she cried. Not the hysterical weeping she'd done in Colter, but a heart wrenching round of sobs. For her love, the life they'd built, now lost, the things that had been, the things that should have been, all of it. He held her as the sun dipped down below the horizon. No one bothered them. If anyone could help Sadie, it would be Hosea.

Slowly her sobs died down to sniffles, all cried out. But she seemed a little more... Alive. Like she'd finally started to process it all.

“How did you meet?” He asked quietly.

“I knew Jakey my whole life. Ever since we were kids. Like I said, we was always sweet on each other. Even as kids. We'd play in the crick nearby, catch frogs and scare turkeys. He never treated me differently just because I'm a girl. Never told me I couldn't do something or should act more ladylike. He saw me as human. As equal.

“We didn't get married right away though. He wanted to serve in the army, like his pa had. He didn't serve long though. It sort of hit him part-way through his service that he weren't killing some big bad enemy. Just boys like him. When he came back, I think he expected I'd’ve moved on, met someone else. But I waited. He was broken after all that. But we got our little cabin in the mountains, got married. It was peaceful. Things were hard, sure. But we had each other and that was enough.”

Sadie wiped the moisture from her eyes, sitting up-right. “He was too good for this world.”

“So was my Bessie,” Hosea sighed. “Always saw the good in everyone. Even some skinny, feral conman with hopes of changing the world and righting wrongs far beyond anything one single man could hope to achieve. She took one look at me and it was like she saw to my soul. Past all the bounties and crimes she saw... Me.”

Both took a sip of their drink.

“I took one look at her and I was smitten.” Hosea sighed. “Bessie wasn't naive mind you,” Hosea continued. “She was a strong woman. She did just fine running with us.”

“Jake was the same. He was strong, and he'd seen how the world was. But still he tried to see the best in everything. He had to believe there was good in the world. I think he'd have lost his mind if he didn't.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“I think I would have liked your Bessie. Not enough ladies like her in the world.”

The two fell silent for a time, finishing up their drinks as the stars began to speckle the sky. For the first time in weeks Sadie began to feel something akin to peace. It was nice to be able to mourn Jake like this, and remember the good things with Hosea.

“I think I need to head to bed,” Sadie eventually said. “But... Thank you, for this. It... It helped.”

“Any time, Sadie,” Hosea said, smiling warmly at her as she stood up. “I'm glad I could help. Please come find me if you ever need anything.”

A lot of the gang had said something similar to her, but with Hosea she knew she might actually take him up on that offer. She nodded a final goodnight before walking away, skirt swishing in the grass as she went.

Hosea sighed deeply as he looked back out over the canyon below. As he'd done many times, his eyes cast upward, to the sky. He wasn't sure what sort of afterlife he believed in. But it was easier to think there was something beyond. And he found himself talking to his beloved often.

“Look out for Jake Adler, my love,” he murmured. “And let him know I'll do everything I can for his Sadie.”

[thenobleprincex]

fanfic roundup ✨

I haven't done one of these in such a long time and I've actually posted quite a lot since then! So here is a brief description of all my fanfics by fandom. If you're a rareshipper like me, you'll probably find something to read? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it <3

Black Sails

💮 a great comfort in you - Slice of life, very domestic Miranda/James feels. If you don't know me, I'm Miranda's no 1 fan and I love writing her and this is just a (bitter)sweet meditation on her and James' relationship. (I got so many amazing comments on this one when I first published it which I absolutely did not expect and still makes me very soft when I think back)

💮 a house you can build - mostly canon compliant, Miranda lives, fix-it fic. This pretty much sums up my feelings about Miranda/Flint/Thomas (I love them!!!) and was the first longish fic I wrote which I'll forever be proud of.

💮 Rarepair Week - This is actually four fics but I'll just sum it up like this. I wrote four fics for BS rarepair week earlier this year, all set in the same modern au. They're very queer and I adore them all. Pairings include Abigail/Idelle (which I continue to be obsessed with), Miranda/Madi, Madi/Flint/Silver, among others

Downton Abbey

💮 something gave you the nerve (to touch my hand) - Tom-centric, canon compliant (series + DA1). Chetwode/Branson/Lucy with lots of Tom feels and Tom (finally!!) breaking free from the Abbey.

💮 it's a love story - I'll forever be in awe that I actually wrote this. It's over 200k, and follows DA's seasons 2 and 3 - Edward lives. Extreme wishful thinking in the best way. Lots of polyam and queerness all around.

💮 thank you for the music (for giving them to me) - Mamma Mia time!!! Basically, DA but to the plot of Mamma Mia 1 (I even made a poster lol). Thomas-centric, Thomas feels, Thomas gets all the love. Polyam. Perfect summer reading

Gilmore Girls

Both of my GG fics are Jess/Rory/Logan, which is as rare as a rareship gets, but I fucking love them. These fics are so near and dear to me 🩷

💮 but i knew you'd linger - Technically canon compliant (including AYITL). Jess-centric. Non-linear timeline.

💮 i can see us (lost in the memory) - Canon divergent: Jess never goes to Stars Hollows. Very summer themed. Probably my only fic with a bittersweet ending (I said at the time that I inteded to write a sequel and I DO but that hasn't happened yet sooooo.... No promises but you can still hold out hope)

Others

💮 Hollywood (TV): when i kissed - I always forget I wrote this fic for some reason lol, but I love this show so much and wanted to create a little something out of it. Jack-centric, baby queer feels.

💮 F.R.I.E.N.D.S: denial is my greatest skill - Chandler-centric. Canon compliant. Future fic. I wrote most of this during my first year of college when I was extremely depressed and it kinda shows haha I love it a lot though. Also, I think the title is so on point, I fucking love it

💮 Babel: tough, tried, and true blue - I read Babel at the beginning of the year and was throughly destroyed by it, but at least I wrote this. Canon compliant, stolen moment kind of fic. Robin pov, Griffin/Anthony

💮Merrily We Roll Along: there is nothing important (that does not include you) - my most recent fic, which I am currently writing! I love it so so much and can't wait to continue it. Canon compliant, all the soft, nostalgic feels, redemption arc, etc. Lots of Frank/Charley/Mary love. I love it

[starlight-and-whiskey]

More People than Ghosts: Ch6 - Where to Find Me.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Chapter 6 of the story that started off as a dream and ended up so I had to put it figurative paper. I hope you enjoy.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the camp, already oppressive in its heat. Eleanor sat on the soft grass beneath the shade of a wagon beside Karen and Mary-Beth, her fingers deftly mending a tear in one of the boys’ shirts. She mused, as she often did these days, that their clothes were more patches and stitching than actual material. Karen was busy washing union suits in a metal basin, nose turned up and hands moving rhythmically through the soapy water.

“Once again Abigail got out of scrubbing duty…”, Karen grumbled under her breath.

“She’s tending to John”, Mary-Beth sighed absently. “Besides, the quicker we get done, the quicker we get to enjoy the sun.”

“We’d get done a lot quicker if you actually worked”, Karen drawled, splashing her with suds.

“Hey!” Mary-Beth rolled her eyes as she smoothed down her skirts.

Eleanor worked on autopilot, a soft smile on her lips at the playful argument. Times like this brimmed her heart to the point she thought it just might burst. This mundane, everyday normality. A family.

“When have you known Grimshaw to not have more work for us when we’re done, anyway. Huh?”

“Not today! I heard Dutch wants to have a party this evening!” Mary-Beth announced with that broad contagious grin, before exhaling in a contented sigh. “I ain’t danced in what feels like forever.”

Karen grimaced and rolled her eyes.

"So, Eleanor," Karen began with a sly grin, nudging Mary-Beth with her elbow, "when you gonna dish the gossip on you and Arthur?"

Eleanor felt her cheeks flush immediately, only daring to glance up for a second before turning back to her sewing. "What? There’s nothing to tell."

And there wasn’t. She couldn’t possibly tell them that she’d found herself looking for him in camp often, the flickering glow of the campfire in his eyes as they found hers, before she nervously darted them away. The way her chest fluttered when she caught sight of Arthur carrying haybales through camp, his muscles straining the seams of his shirt and beads of sweat glistening on his skin. That his mere presence alone brought more comfort in a single instance than she’d known in her entire lifetime.

Often, Eleanor pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. Besides, Arthur couldn’t possibly think of her that way. She was just a broken cavern of secrets and pain and a tortured past - or so she felt.

But sometimes, every once in a while, his hand would linger a little too long and her heart would soar. On those nights, she would lay in bed and let her mind wander to those forbidden thoughts. Wondering what it would feel like to be held in those strong arms, in passion as opposed to comfort, and feel those plump lips tenderly pressed against hers.

Mary-Beth giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, come on, Eleanor. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. It’s like something out of one of my novels!"

Eleanor shook her head, letting out a nervous chuckle as she focussed on the shirt in her lap, rolling the needle between her fingers as Mary-Beth continued.

“It is though, ain’t it Karen? I can imagine it now-“, she spread her hand out in front of her as though surveying the horizon, her other fist clutched tight to her bosom. “-A sullen outlaw saves a woman from a perilous past. Strong silent type, but they fall hopelessly in love and live happily ever after!”

“Maybe you should write it”, Karen snickered.

Mary-Beth huffed defiantly, dropping her hand and shaking her head at the blonde woman. “Well, maybe I shall!”

"There ain’t nothing going on. Arthur’s just… he’s just Arthur. We’re friends, that’s all."

Karen laughed, wringing out the shirt and throwing it at Mary-Bath to hang up. "You keep telling yourself that, honey. But we all know there’s more to it, even if you can’t see it."

Before Eleanor could respond, Molly strode over, her face a mask of barely contained anger. "Just look at you. Sat here like butter wouldn’t melt. Haven’t even gone to check if they’re okay!"

Eleanor looked up, confusion knitting her brows. "I’m sorry?"

Molly crossed her arms, her voice sharp as poison dripped from her tongue. "Dutch came back all bloodied this morning. Won't talk to me about it, of course! But I know. All because of you and your secrets. They could’ve been killed!"

Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. "I… I didn’t - what? I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Of course, you don't. You're too busy being coddled by everyone to notice the chaos you bring."

Eleanor looked over at Karen, dumbfounded and mouth hanging open as Molly stalked off towards the river, the confrontation ending as quickly as it had begun.

As Molly stormed away, Karen shook her head, throwing another shirt into the basin with a defiant splash. "Don't worry about her. Sour puss.”

Mary-Beth leaned closer, her voice soothing. "Well, I think it’s awful romantic. Arthur defending your honour like that. Against the Blackthorne’s of all people!”

Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face, a cavern opening up beneath her as her brain tried to catch up. When Mary-Beth caught Eleanor’s expression, she quickly added, "Oh, I wouldn’t worry, he’ll be back soon. Arthur always comes back, and he’ll be just fine!"

“Arthur’s not back yet?”

Karen swatted Mary-Beth on the arm with a crack. “Ow! What?” Karen just glared at her.

Mary-Beth’s surprised expression turned to one of guilt as she surveyed Eleanor’s face. She looked as though she were about to be sick, eyes wide and face pale. “I thought you knew”, Mary-Beth said quietly.

“That look like the face of a woman who knew?” Karen snapped.

Panic was welling in Eleanor’s chest, her heart hammering so hard that she thought it just might burst as waves of nausea churned through her stomach.

“Please, excuse me ladies”, she said as calmly as she could manage before hauling herself upright on trembling legs and making her way over to Dutch’s tent.

"Eleanor, wait!" Mary-Beth called after her, but Eleanor was already hurrying across the camp, her heart pounding in her ears.

“You and your big mouth”, Karen grumbled at Mary-Beth as she threw Eleanor’s discarded sewing into her lap, shaking her head.

***

“Ah, Miss Moore!” Dutch’s voice carried a warm smile as he set aside his worn book, his fingers lingering over the cover for a moment as Eleanor burst into the tent, her face a canvas of anxiety.

"What happened?" Eleanor’s question cut through the air abruptly, voice trembling. When Dutch hesitated, she continued. “Last night. What happened, Dutch? Why did nobody tell me?”

Dutch’s gaze softened. "We ran into some old friends of yours in town," he replied softly, before holding up his hands. “Everyone’s okay.”

The forming scabs on his knuckles and exhausted deep-set eyes betrayed him. Dutch sighed deeply, leaning back in the creaking wooden chair as he watched her trembling fingers pick at her bottom lip, legs nervously pacing the tent. "It was just a few of the Blackthorne boys in town. They were causing trouble, boasting about what they did to you and the other girls. Arthur overheard and, well, you know how he is.”

Eleanor's heart sank, her thoughts spinning out of control as she conjured the scenario in her head. The Blackthorne’s were brutal – her own scars and the modest graves of everyone she once held dear stood testament to that. In her mind’s eyes she could only imagine the brutality of it all. Arthur in the mud, bloodied and broken. The laughter. The callous, ringing laughter.  She was spiralling.

"Is he hurt?"

He shook his head. "He's fine.”  The words didn’t seem to reach her. Dutch hauled himself from the chair with a wince at his aching muscles, gripping her upper arm and forcing her to look at him, his voice firm. “Eleanor, he's fine.”

“But he…he ain’t back yet.” Her voice cracked as she stared pleadingly into Dutch’s eyes.

“We split up on the way back. He won't be far. Hell, John only got back an hour or so ago."

Eleanor’s breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes darting around the tent as if she might find answers in its dim corners.

"What if they've got him?"

"They ain’t got him." Dutch said firmly.

She pulled her arm from his gentle grip and resumed pacing the tent, her lips pressed into the thin line and hands on her hips.

"How… how close to us was it?"

Dutch glanced up, unsure how to deal with the panicking woman. He considered calling for Hosea. He was always better at this.

"They’ll come. They'll want revenge, and they’ll come for us”, she continued, more to herself than to Dutch.

"We're okay."

"You don't know them like I do, Dutch. They're relentless. They'll send word back. They won't stop."

"Trust me, Miss Moore. They'll have a hard time. They're dead."

"But-"

Dutch caught her wrist, firmly grabbing her shaking hands in his and bringing them close to his chest.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. We're okay." Dutch said slowly, setting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Arthur will be back soon, you have my word. In the meantime, just… try to stay calm. I’ve got everything under control. Have a little faith."

Eleanor took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she blinked up at Dutch with unshed tears and nodded slowly.  The words Arthur spoke often to her rang clear as day in her ears.

Trust. Loyalty. Faith.

Though they’d always been Dutch’s mantra, if Arthur believed them - and by extent in Dutch - so fiercely, then maybe she should take a leap of faith. She forced in a trembling breath, grounding herself with the warm feeling of Dutch’s hands around her own.

***

Each minute of waiting seemed to stretch into an unbearable eternity. Time itself felt suspended, the midday heat and Eleanor’s worry growing steadily with every passing second. Then, echoing over the hustle and bustle of camp, the steady thrum of hooves reached her ears. She ran to the edge of camp, body feeling light and her heart pounding, and saw Arthur’s familiar silhouette approaching.

Relief flooded through her veins like a rush of cool water against the summer sun, prickling at her skin. There he was, battered but alive, groaning as he dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching post.

"Arthur!" Eleanor exclaimed, dashing towards him.

She barrelled into him, her embrace almost knocking him off balance. Arthur let out a sharp, surprised "Oof" as she threw her arms around him, stumbling as he regained his footing and biting his lip against searing pain. He forced down the immense urge to envelop her in his arms, instead weaving a single arm around her shoulders, willing away the butterflies in his stomach.

"Easy there. I'm alright," Arthur chuckled, undermined by the pain crinkled around his eyes. His heart lilted as he pressed his lips to her soft curls, taking in the scent of her.

From their short distance, Mary-Beth nudged Karen with a knowing, wistful smile at the two of them embracing, silhouetted against the sun.

As Eleanor pulled back, her wide eyes traced the deep crimson blood stains on his now ruined shirt. Her palm reached out to rest upon it before Arthur hooked a finger under her chin, dragging her face up. "Ain't my blood", Arthur said softly, catching her wide-eyed look.

"Oh my God, your face", she whispered. Arthur winced as her gentle fingers lightly traced the swelling of his jaw.

"Looks worse than it is." Arthur caught her hand, pulling it from his jaw with a soft smile. That boyish grin did nothing to weaken her resolve as she tugged gently at his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Not caring, or not noticing, the stares and hushed whispers as they passed through camp, Eleanor guided him to his tent, fetching a bowl of water and a clean cloth. Settling down in front of him from his position on the edge of the cot, her hands hovered, unsure where to touch, afraid of causing him more pain.

Dipping the cloth into the water, she began to carefully and tenderly clean the dirt and blood from his face, noticing the awkward way Arthur’s fingers gripped at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t need to do this”, he mumbled softly, the cool water soothing against his throbbing jaw.

“Hush”.

She noticed the way his hand moved to cradle the side of his chest, the wince that glanced ever so subtly across his face.

"Let me see."

"I’m fine."

She looked at him sternly, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. Peeling away the ruined fabric, she was confronted with the dark, mottled bruising that covered his side, blooming angrily outwards across his chest and back. "Jesus", she murmured, her breath hitching as she hesitantly wiped the smears of blood from his chest. "Think you broke your ribs."

Her delicate fingers against his side made his skin prickle and he hoped she couldn't feel just how hard his heart was hammering.

Words stuck in his throat like tar, almost too terrified to speak in case his voice came out quivering.

Thankfully after a long silence, it was Eleanor who broke it.

“Who did this?” She asked quietly, gesturing to the bruising

"Man called Gibson?"

Eleanor's heart skipped, blood running cold as a hollow emptiness opened up in her chest. She focussed on slowly rinsing the cloth, watching the whisps of red dance in the water.

"He dead?" she asked flatly after a brief pause, eyes fixed on the cloth in her hands as she wrang it out.

"Yeah. He's dead."

"Good."

Arthur stooped to look at her face, immediately regretting the movement as it sent a shockwave of pain prickling through his body. Biting his lip, he swallowed down the pain, easing himself back.

"You okay?"

Eleanor thought for a long moment, turning the cloth over in her hands. With a soft smile, she sniffed and nodded, meeting his gaze. The feeling that surged through her chest, filling that cavern with ease, confirmed it to her. She was okay. The joy at Arthur’s return overtook any sadness she may have felt, pushing the memories firmly back where they belonged. The past.

Wordlessly, she lowered herself down onto the cot beside him, the damp washcloth still wringing in her hands.

"I hope it hurt."

“Made sure it did. After the way he was talking ‘bout you, he deserved it.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could have been killed.”

“He hurt you.” Arthur said matter of factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As though there was no alternative course of action.

He gently placed his hand over hers, a gesture of unexpected kindness that left her momentarily stunned, eyes fixed on his fingers wrapped around hers.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

Eleanor looked up at him with dewy eyes, a hint of a sad smile playing on her lips.

“Nothing. Just...never knew outlaws to have a heart.”

“Oh, I ain't so sure about having one of those", he chuckled.

“You do, Arthur. More than you realise."

Arthur’s eyes softened as they caught hers, his hammering heart stilling completely in his chest for a brief moment as she leaned towards him, pressing a soft kiss to the stubble of his cheek.

He wouldn’t tell her – wouldn’t tell anyone – that long after she left, he would find himself with the heat of a blush tingeing his cheeks, his rough fingertips gently brushing the spot where her lips had been.