#late again but i am embracing the idea that late is better than never!

[thecapturedafrique]

HLAW: Day 6—Flowers/Throwback

Good evening everyone and happy Hana Lee Appreciation Week! For day 6 I’ll be sharing the character page I created for Hana since her name itself means flower lol. As with the page I shared for Liam during his appreciation week (here), there will be notes below the read more explaining the points specific to my AU.

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek and the marvelous hosts @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes!

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Full Name: Hana Lee Hua

In Hànyǔ: 李花 (Lǐ Huā)

In Greek: Ανθεια Λι (Anthea Li)

Nicknames: Meihua (Xinghai), Xiao Hua (Bao), ánthdáki (Floure), Ánnáki (Liam), Flora (Ally), Han (Maxwell & Penelope)

Noble Title: HG Hana Lee of House Ryuka, The Duchess of Chrysopolis, Guardian of the Realm, DOS, RC

Charge and Colors: sunflower; murrey and or (w/ bleu-céleste)

Epithet: The Ideal/Idol → Psyche Anthea

Age: 24

Date of Birth: September 24th, 1994

Place of Birth: Shanghai, PRC

Zodiac: Virgo ♍️ (Sidereal), Dog 🐶 (Chinese)

Gender: Cis woman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexual Orientation: Biromantic Demisexual

Enneagram: 9.3 (w1; Negotiator)

Optimistic, reassuring, supportive: have a healing and calming influence—harmonizing groups, bringing people together: a good mediator, synthesizer, and communicator.

Height: 5'6"

Race/Ethnicity: Han Chinese, Agni Hito, Malayali Nair

Nationality: Chinese and Cordonian

Face Claim: Vanessa Tevi

Education: Balissande Finishing School; Swiss Grand Diploma in Pastry & Chocolate Arts from Culinary Arts Academy Switzerland

Languages: Putonghua, Shanghainese, English, Cantonese, French, Italian (intermediate), Greek (novice), Latin (studied)

Favorite Color: pink

Tattoos: apple stylized as a heart with an A in its center on right shoulder blade; flowers growing from a book on inner left wrist

Piercings: single lobe; left nostril

Partner: Kiara Theron (girlfriend)

Best Friend(s): Ally Romiere

Family: Lorelai Lee (mother), Xinghai Lee (father), Floure Ryuka† (maternal great-grandmother), Bao Lee† (paternal grandmother), Qinghai Lee (paternal uncle), Yawen Lee (paternal aunt-by-law), Aparna Nair (maternal cousin once removed), Ganesh, Karthik, Ganga, Jyoti, and Manikantan Nair (second cousins)

Character Notes:

Hana’s Greek name is a transliteration based on the meaning of her given name 花 and her Western name Hana, as Anthea also means “flower”

As her House name indicates, she is a descendant of Sei Rhuka; I changed the surname to the correct spelling and covered up PB’s mistake in canon as being in-universe an incorrect romanization

Liam’s nickname for Hana is based off Anthea, which he chose to use in part due to the similarity between Ánnáki and the common Cordonian pet name “ánthdáki,” Greek for “little blossom” and previously used by Floure. Bao’s nickname 小花 was the Chinese equivalent, and her father called her 梅花 (“plum blossom”) when Hana was little.

Not so coincidentally, the plum blossom is one of her favorite flowers next to the lotus and the moonflower

Ally (my TRR MC) actually nicknamed Hana after the character Flora from the Winx Club due to their resemblance in both looks and personality

Since Liam mentions his desire to revitalize the old unclaimed duchies, I head canon that he also bequeathes one to Hana at the end of TRR2, both because she’s proven herself to be an excellent candidate and also because, like with the MC, he wants to ensure that she always has a home in Cordonia

Duchy Chrysopolis in particular is also significant because it was formerly held by his mother Queen Eleanor

Guardians of the Realm are members of the Order of the Seven, a knighthood which confers upon Hana the title of Dame (DOS)

The other post nominal letters RC indicate her status as a member of the Royal Council

Under Eleanor, Chrysopolis’s house sigil was a sun, and Hana chooses a sunflower as an homage to the late queen as well as her own House

During her engagement to Viscount Peter, the media dubbed Hana “The Ideal Woman” or “The Ideal” for short, and after an interview where she names Astrid Leong a fashion inspiration, the homophone “The Idol” becomes another version of her epithet when comparing her to Astrid (who is known as “The Goddess”)

Upon becoming a duchess, she’s given the new epithet “Psyche” (the goddess of the soul) appended to her Greek name, which she shares with the goddess of gardens

Hana’s enneagram is type Nine, also known as “The Peacemaker”: the easygoing, self-effacing type described as receptive, reassuring, agreeable, and complacent. She is a One-Wing, who are generally more idealistic and serious than other type Nines, and her level 3 is the level of social value.

Like their founder Sei, House Ryuka are members of the Agni Hito, the Fire Tribe’s name for their people; their lands are the regality of Antirrhinum, and their sigil is the cherry blossom

Lorelai’s father was born into the regality of Samsara’s noble House Nair, whose founders were Malayali of the Nair caste

In order to attend the Queen Charlotte's Ball, debutantes must be preparing for or enrolled at a university, so Hana is allowed to attend the Culinary Arts Academy in Switzerland where she earns her degree

In my HC, her parents disown her earlier in TRR2 during the Shanghai leg of the trip, and in a moment of pure impulse she winds up exhibiting her new freedom by getting her first tattoo while in NYC; it’s based on the ace of apples, one of the Cordonian card suits that is used within the queer community to represent demisexuality

Hana gets her next tattoo done by the same artist after Liam gives her Chrysopolis, this time choosing a regularly visible part of her body (symbolic of her sense of security)

When a body piercing is offered for free as part of the second tattoo deal, she elects to get her left nostril pierced, having always admired her mother’s own but not being permitted to have one since her parents feared it would “ruin her appeal”

Aparna is The Baroness Samsara and cousin to Lorelai, both of whom inherited the feud between their two Houses; as such, Hana doesn’t meet her until during TRR3’s timeline, and those details will be shared in Hana/Kiara’s love story B&tR

[inbarfink]

Okay, so here’s the thing….

We are still at a very early point in the narrative of ‘Fionna and Cake’ and therefore at a very early point in Simon’s character arc. It’s pretty clear that “I need to become Ice King again” is not the end point by any meaning of the word. But I am wondering where we’re going to go with this, cause… The series has yet to really tackle how miserable Ice King himself was a lot of the time. And how often he hurt people. 

Like, yes, I was an advent advocates for 'trying to bring back Simon Petrikov was a really really Bad Idea on Betty's part, it was more healthy to focus on making sure Ice King was as happy and healthy and harmless as he could be', but I am also fully aware that he started the show being both extremely lonely and extremely sad and also a serial kidnapper who was very much a danger to those around him. And as much progress as he made during the show, getting Ice King to that point was a very serious struggle with a lot of backslidings and problems.

'Friends Forever' is, for example, an episode that stuck with me for a long time as a really heart-wrenching demonstration how even in that late stage, when he has buddies and people trying to seriously take care of him - Ice King was still very capable of seriously sabotaging his own relationships and hurting others and himself.

And it does make sense narratively that, like, characters like Astrid and Fionna and Cake, all of whom lack the full context of what Ice King's life was like (Fionna and Cake really just saw Simon at his worst and only got snippets of clips of Ice King and since Astrid was born after Humans came to Ooo that means she was also born after the events of ‘Come Along With Me’) all see Simon as a downgrade. Because they really don’t understand how bad Ice King was beforehand. 

And thus is does make sense that with Simon's current mental state, and how he is surrounded lately with these kinda people who never really knew Ice King and don’t really understand how terrible and miserable he could be, and now hearing that his ‘sanity’ just took away magic and whimsy from some else’s whole universe, and how it feels like the actual gods of the multiverse are telling him that he should be Ice King, that he's supposed to be Ice King....

It makes sense that he might start kinda... romanticizing that time in his life again. 

You know, the big thing about the outlook that Betty should’ve accepted Ice King as who he is rather than basically destroy herself to bring Simon back wasn't about whatever Ice King or Simon Petrikov were better or 'cooler' than the other. It was about, like, embracing change. Not obsessing about a past where things were ‘Better’ but seeing what is the best you can do with things as they are. Moving forwards.

And we all know how Simon feels about moving forwards right now…

And obviously that's a pretty bad mindset, even if it's understandable how he got there...

And honestly, if we do explicitly acknowledge that, hey! Ice King’s life was often just as much of a depressive spiral as Simon's is right now! There might be an element of… resignation in Simon’s decision. 

Because Simon's downward spiral since getting cured is not a demonstration that he was better off under the Ice Crown's curse.... But, to him, more a demonstration that he doesn't need the Crown to screw up his own life anymore.

‘Cause as both as Ice King and as good ol’ ‘sane’ Simon Petrikov he is just as capable of being lonely and depressed.

And just as capable of losing his own identity.

And just as capable of pushing his loved ones away and ruining his own life.

And just as capable of becoming a weirdo obsessive.

And just as capable of making little girls cry.

He even started kidnapping people again! That’s the Ice King Classic!

So on some level, maybe Simon is resigned to the fact he’s always going to be SOME sort of screwed up lonely sadman who hurts others. And if that is his fate, he might as well be the screwed up lonely sadman who is mostly oblivious to how sad he really is and can shoot ice from his fingertips. And his arc is going to be about realizing that, whether he is Ice King or Simon Petrikov, healing and change ARE always possible for him.

But we’re gonna have to see where it goes…

[libby-for-life]

Idea

We’ve had a lot of yandere Lucifer where he captures Adam but what if Adam falls and wakes up in hell, realizes that he’s totally fucked and needs protection, and after a month or more of desperately trying to find another way out of it and getting murdered several times he admits defeat and goes to the one place he knows he’ll be… well, not safe but also not a homeless target. Lucifer’s castle

The journey there feels like a walk to his own execution. He turns around multiple times, desperately trying to find another solution but nothing works.

He finally makes it to the gates and is stoped by a pair of guards. “Tell Lucifer that Adam is here”

They do

The smile Lucifer greets him with could freeze hell

Overjoyed at the fact that he didn’t need to find Adam, his little lamb came to him.

Adam sobbed into his hands as he recounted his last horrific death. It was brutal and Adam swore he could still feel the phantom pains of those hands digging into his organs. How they ate them right in front of him.

He shivered and curled in on himself in the alleyway. Everything hurt and he just wanted to sleep. Preferably forever.

Of course, there was one idea...

Adam bit his lip. He swore to himself that he would never think of that option. There had to be a different way. He just had to be more careful.

'But that hasn't been working well, has it?'

Adam felt himself beginning to cry again. He was tired of dying. He was tired of being hurt and molested in an alleyway for the sick fucks down here.

'You could go to him. He would....well, it would be better than being homeless.'

Adam stood up, feeling dizzy by the sudden movement. He had to leave before dark. That's when they came out.

It felt like he was moving through syrup, his feet dragging as he walked to the tallest building in the Pride Ring. Lucifer's palace.

He hated how much pain and hunger he was in.

Several times he almost turned around and ran back to his alleyway. This was the only way though. He was tired of dying. He was tried of hurting.

He got to the entrance and came across a guard. They brandished their swords but Adam had seen enough blades being shoved into him for it to have little to no effect on him fear-wise

"Tell Lucifer Adam is here." The guards exchanged glances before one of them ran off to inform their king. Adam could feel himself shaking. Why did it feel like he was tying his own noose right now?

Lucifer walked outside and Adam froze at the sight of his expression. It was cold, dangerous, and obsession all woven together to form the smile that the devil wore.

"Adam. Looking terrible. Run into any cannibals lately?" Adam jerked at those words. Those words were specific. The last things he ran into was cannibals.

Lucifer was watching him suffer. Of course he was.

A gold chain wrapped around his neck and Adam yelped as he was pulled forward into Lucifer's embrace. "I'm glad you came, little lamb. Because I am never letting you go."

[usmsgutterson]

Hello!I saw your requests are open and I'm so excited because you're such a good writer!! If it's alright, could you please write "If we have to leave our bed today, I will kill the resin we have to" hugs from your prompt list with Kaz x Reader? Maybe when he's a little older maybe late 20's and is a lot more comfy with touch (still has bad days/moments of complete touch aversion of course) but maybe he's slightly touch starved if anything in this fic? Thank you xx

Autumn- K.B x gn! reader

Hi!! This request was very fun--I always love writing/reading these types of fics because what can I say, my favs deserve to grow and change--so thank you for sending it in!

I know I'm probably starting to sound like a bit of a broken record with it now, but I am also very sorry for how long this took! I've been meaning to write it since it came in but life and motivation slipped away for a bit there. I hope you like it despite how long it took and again, I am SO SORRY!!

Fic type- this is so so so SO fluffy!!

Warnings- there's a couple of mentions of anxiety in relation to his touch aversion and kaz's touch aversion is discussed a lot. Kaz is also probably a little ooc, and this was written at around half past midnight and then queued for later, so the editing might not be as good as it could be

As Kaz woke, he found that the first day of autumn was to be your favorite kind of day. The kind where the leaves had already begun to change colors, the kind where a downpour hit Ketterdam, the kind where such a downpour still didn't manage to drive the pigeons away from the clubs and the two of you had not a thing to worry about in the world because you refused to allow yourselves that kind of worrying.

One of his arms was draped over your waist, his chin against your shoulder, and his heart kicking off at a racing pace because of it.

Waking up like that still sometimes sent his body off into a thousand different directions, each one more fervently anxious than the last, but the come-down from the anxiety and the anxiety itself had been easier to get through as time went on.

Kaz ghosted his lips against your shoulder. Everything is fine, he told himself. I am fine. I am holding the person I love, and they are alive, too, and we are alive together.

He felt you stir, wrap your arms around his waist, and effectively pull him into a hug.

You pulled away after a minute, and Kaz's hand moved up, gently tracing your lips.

"Any obligations?" You asked.

"None of note," Kaz said. "Or--none that I am unwilling to leave to tomorrow."

You grinned. "So, a day in bed it is, then?"

One of your arms moved to rest against his shoulder, your hand finding his hair like it were clockwork.

"If such is what you fancy," Kaz said. "I, of course, fancy it too."

You laughed. Kaz pulled you closer and you let him, content to be wrapped within the embrace that it had taken him a decade to be able to pull you into.

Kaz's touch aversion had been something that you never really minded. You loved him regardless of the fact that he couldn't touch you, and his actions made up for all of the hugs, kisses, and affections in the world anyway.

But, when you were eighteen and Kaz found that the mere idea of holding your hand was something with which he still struggled, he decided he was going to find a way to get better.

He wanted to do it for you, for every wistful smile you gave when you watched Matthias press a quick kiss to Ninas cheekbone, for every single one you gave when you would notice Jesper approaching Wylan, only to wrap his arms around Wylans shoulders and press a kiss to his forehead when Wylan leaned back and said hello.

But, on the other side of that coin, Kaz decided to do it for himself. Jordie had died when he was nine, and while he wasn't sure he would ever stop grieving the brother he'd lost to Pekka and his cons, he knew that he could not scorn the idea of touching others forever. He could not forever put off the idea of ending a business deal with the shake of a hand in his ungloved one, couldn't forever glare at people who'd dared touch his arms or hands or shoulders in passing.

A decade had gone by since he'd made that decision, and all in all it seemed to have paid off.

Sure, there were indeed bad days, but that was to be expected. Things like a long lasting touch aversion don't just go away overnight, and Kaz knew that. You knew it, too, and you didn't fault him for those bad days whatsoever.

"I love you," you said as Kaz pulled away enough to press a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Kaz said, part of him cringing at how long it had taken him to repeat the words back. The two of you had started dating when you were eighteen and Kaz couldn't say the words until you were twenty-three, when you'd already been saying them for a year and telling him that his actions spoke louder than his words and that you didn't need to hear him say it back.

He'd stopped viewing love as weakness at twenty-three, when an old but well respected gang associate had told him that trying to think love made him anything but strong was idiotic while the group was on a heist in Ravka.

The bloke was seventy, maybe, and had apparently adopted that mindset early on into his life. He'd kept it up til he was in his fifties and cost himself a family, a partner. Thinking of love as a weakness was something he'd gone on to regret, and while he'd indeed found the love of his life at fifty-two, he still regretted all else that the mindset had cost him.

Loving you, he realized, made him strong. On his most difficult days, you were there to offer a listening ear and a solution.

Love was not a weakness, as it turned out, and some days, despite what the seventeen year old Kaz Brekker might've said if he knew, love was what kept twenty-eight year old Kaz Brekker going.

One of your hands treaded through his hair before moving down his forehead, along the scope of his nose and his cheekbones, then his chin and his lips and the center of his neck, finding the divot at it's end that indicated the middle of his collarbone.

Kaz decided, in that moment, he would kill the reason you needed to leave your shared bedroom if one came up. He loved moments like those as much as you did, cherished them with everything he had because they were few and far between.

You pulled him down just a bit, pressed a kiss to his forehead and then a quick peck to his lips after he'd nodded and affirmed it was okay to, and Kaz looked at you and all that he could think of was the fact that you were so close.

You were so close to him, and he was so close to you, and he didn't want to do anything more than get closer.

"I love you," he said, breathless and touch starved and full of enough yearning to last five lifetimes.

"I love you too," you responded. Kaz's lips dipped near yours, and when you nodded, he kissed you.

It was kiss that said everything that Kaz couldn't manage to form into words, gratitude and joy and contentedness and sheer, undying and fiery love.

When Kaz pulled away, you were grinning, and so was he.

Eventually the two of you drifted off to sleep again, the only thoughts in your minds having been how much of a joy it was to be in the others company.

[lulusbabygirl]

Do you have any tips on how I can be more girly like you?

Thank you 🥺 this made me happy (and turned on) that other girls are looking to me for tips on how to be a better girl!!

1: Embrace your natural femininity. So many fakeboys have shoved their natural feminine traits down so much they can forget they’re there. Remember, you were socialized to be a girl for sooo many years and you can’t run away from that!!

2: Voice train!! It’s not just for trans fems, we shouldn’t have to have a male voice either!! You’re still a girl even if your voice is deep but passing as a girl again would be so amazing right??

3: Shave any masculine hair. If you have some hair that women usually have it’s okay, even though I love a fully shaved body, but shave off alll that gross masculine hair. It’ll make you feel so much prettier right??

4: Talk like a bimbo! Even if you want to have a more traditional feminine look, I think having a cutesy speech pattern is sooo adorable and girly!! Use multiples of punctuation, use cute emoji, and pay attention to how men talk and avoid sounding like them!

5: Play with your pussy everyday! I think paying attention to the part that separates you from real men the most is sooo important. Get big fat dildos to stretch out your vagina, play with your clit rubbing it in circles, get a clit sucker!! I love my clit sucker and I can’t cum any other way. You should be edging your pussy to stay a girl for longer, and if you’re able to fight the post orgasm clarity please don’t try to be a boy after you cum! Remember, it’s not good for you to be a boy even if you’re dysphoric.

6. Misgender and “deadname” yourself and find others to do it! Hearing your birth name and female pronouns will turn you on and also slowly fix you! Your boy name and male pronouns should be forgotten eventually. Just keep building up until you don’t respond to he/him or your boy name ever again! Btw anon if you want to tell me your real name I would love to hear it! Anyone who needs their real name exposed I want to hear it!

7: Watch sissy hypnosis or porn made for women. That stuff makes me feel so girly it’s crazy. I love when I open a video and it immediately knows what I am. I recently watched a gangbang video with my girlfriend and the whole video was talking about us being gangbanged and showing all these beautiful women on screen!! All I could think about it how much more I look like those girls compared to the superior men. It made me crave detransition more than anything has lately and I’ve been thinking about it all the time since I watched it~!!

8: Most obviously, wear makeup, grow your hair out, wear women’s clothes, and get off T. I know it’s easier said than done and you can fight me on it but it really is the way to go. I haven’t been able to get myself to stop hormones but I’m really trying and that’s all we can ever do! You just need to realize that you’re 100% supposed to be a girl and you need to stop making stupid decisions for yourself. Finding an owner who wants to detransition you is such a good idea!! It helps so much to have a rational person in your life who can guide you and push you to be who you were meant to be, a beautiful woman!!

I think I ran out of tips but if you have any more questions never hesitate to ask! I love helping other women find their true path and it makes me so happy that fakeboys can look up to me. Anyone who’s reading this and and wants to detransition you can do it!! You’re a beautiful woman and you deserve to see it too!!!

[jackchampiongf13]

Come Back… Be Here

Jack!Championx!reader

Warnings: Angst but a happy ending, swearing, kissing, let me know if I missed anything!

A/n: I’m not super proud of this but I need to post something. Also I am sorry that I haven’t posted anything! And a big thank you to all the love on my first post. Also lots of Taylor Swift references in this hehe😛(I didn’t proof read it too so I hope it’s all good)

This is when the feeling sinks in. You realize that this is happening. He’s breaking up with you?

“Y/n” he gets out barely because of the tears that were clogging his voice up. “I love you. I will always love you. I just am so busy and you deserve better than me. Way better then me.”

You look at him with disgust. It’s 4am and he’s saying it in a simple way. “I really told myself ‘don’t get attached’ what the fuck Jack” you couldn’t help but be mad. You don’t blame him though. Your mad at yourself.

“This is all my fault is it not?” You say looking down. “No it’s not, don’t blame yourself Y/n. I love you but with me now going on press tour and doing interviews we won’t have time for each other. You’re already super busy with senior year of Highschool and so am I, even if I am homeschooled, I still have to do all of that then go and talk about avatar to a whole bunch of strangers!”

“Jack, it’s okay! Take me with you” You plead trying to reach for his arm.

“No.. your not getting it.” He says pulling away from your reach.

“What am I not getting?” You just want him to hold you and never let go.

”This isn’t fair to the both of us. It will just add more pressure and stress to everything. Go to college and get your degree. You’ll meet someone better and marry them like you’ve always wanted.” It hurts him to say this.

“I don’t want anyone else I want you. Just you.” Pleading for the last time. You finally meet his eyes as you try to embrace him for a hug. He take your arm and rubs it for a second. “I will always love you.” He says as he gives a peck on your forehead.

You watch him walk away. Your jaw is dropped. How could he do that? And at 4 in the morning? A/n: Jesus Jack we just wanted to sleep🙄

————————-—————————————————

It’s been 6 months since the breakup. It took you awhile to be happy again, but it happened. Well for the most part. You had just graduated high school, it was now July. Even after the breakup, you were still his biggest supporter. Even if you never talk to him anymore, you still stalked his Instagram and TikTok.

He was in New York today. And so were you with your whole friend group to celebrate graduation. He had posted on insta. “Oh god, Betty!” You scream.

“Are you okay!?” She runs out of the hotel bathroom. “He’s here. In New York.” You smile a bit.

“No Y/n. Not again.” She snatched your phone to look at the post. “Holy shit isn’t the hotel he’s staying at just right down the road?” She questions herself. Your eyes widen. “Wha-“ you try to continue talking but get cut off by her horrible sheirk. “Shit Y/n he swiped up on your story.”

“Give me back my phone!” You take it and half swipe the chat. Jack: Hey! That’s so funny you’re here too! I’m right down the street maybe we should go get coffee? I mean if you’re ok with that. I miss talking to you.

You smile to yourself. “He misses talking to me…” you say with a hopeful tone. “No Y/n! Not again!” She takes the phone but it’s too late. You: Hey Jack! Of course I would love to go get coffee with you and catch up!

“Oh no no no. I’m deleting it” Betty says. “Support my decision Betty. Just go hang out with James today!” You say rolling your eyes and snatching the phone once more. “Fine this is me supporting you” She smiles and give you a peck on the cheek. “Text me if you need me! Love ya!” She says as she begins to walk out to her boyfriends room.

“Yup” you sigh as she close the hotel room door. Was this a bad idea? We’re just friends that’s it! You jump out of bed and put on the cutest outfit you could find. Which ended up being a blue crop top that brought out your eyes and black leggings. This was a basic outfit but it was pretty crappy out and you just felt good in it.

You text him letting him know that you’re free whenever. He texts back immediately. Jack: uh I can rn if that’s good

you: duh that’s fine lmao

Jack: want me to come over to your hotel and we can walk together?

you: sure! My hotel room is ts13 at the eras hotel!

Jack: Be there in 10

“Shit. I have to do my hair and makeup.” You say out loud You: can you maybe give me 20

Jack: lol gotta do your makeup I assume

you: you know me all too well

Jack: Taylor reference?

You: Duhhh

Jack: ok go get ready for me

get ready for him? Damn instant butterflies.

—————————————————————————

You finished your makeup and had one more section on curling your hair when you hear a knock. You run to the door and see him.

“Hey gorgeous!” You can’t help but say as he looks down and blushes. This is what always happened when you said that. He didn’t wanna show you he liked that nickname but you knew.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming, but instead of getting coffee together I just went and got your usual. I hope that’s ok.” He looks back up at you as you notice he looks you up and down. You blush at the thought of him remembering your favorite order

“Thats totally fine! Come on in” You say in a very loud and happy tone. “I need to finish my hair really quickly. Just give me 5” you smile at him. He smiles back with his perfect white teeth smile. You feel butterflies creep on in your stomach. “I can do it for you! Remember that time I did your hair.” He laughs as he recalls the past. “It was a disaster oh my god! I remember that so well!” You shout from the bathroom. He comes in the bathroom to help “I trust you Champion” he just smiles at the nickname and takes the curling iron.

“Ow!” You scream as he burns your neck by accident. “Shit oh god I’m so sorry beautiful” the pain disappears as you focus on him for a second. He used to call you that when you guys dated. It was your favorite nickname. “Are you okay?!” He quickly asks as he turns the water on to put cold icy water on the burn. “Y/n?!” You smile at him. “I missed this a lot Jack. I missed you” he stops trying to put water on your neck and looks deep into your beautiful eyes. “I still love you” he quickly lets out but then covers his mouth. You can’t help but smile. “I still love you too.” You don’t care about the pain in your neck anymore and jump into his arms as you kiss him. “We will make it work this time” you smile to him “I’m not ever gonna let you go” he says into the kiss. “I didn’t want to miss you like this” you laugh after breaking this kiss. “Come back, be here in this kiss” he says again as you laugh knowing it was a Taylor reference.

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (12)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: sexual tension, injuries and injury aftercare, references and nightmares about 90s comic run canon events

Word Count: 2.4k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

a/n: deepest apologies for this series' absence! i hope this (only slightly) shorter chapter and the knowledge that i am already working on the next and hope to return to semi-regular updates will tide you over.

Your brief trip across town leaves you more winded than you hoped and less tired than you feared.

Your apartment is empty but for the presence of warm midday sun and green leaves when you return, kicking your shoes off and carefully setting yourself down on the couch, bones heavy with the weight of grief and exhaustion. There’s nothing to do now but rest, and so you don’t resist the warm embrace of sleep when it curls around you like hungry arms.

Brrring brrring!

The ring of your phone wakes you, the light now coming more brightly through your balcony doors.

A disoriented grumble escapes your throat as you shift, lifting yourself back up to lean against the back of the couch and immediately checking your side.

Sore. Sore, mostly dry, and unopened. Good.

Brrring brrring!

You find your phone in your coat pocket, having fallen asleep still fully dressed. Karen’s name lights up the screen. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and clearing your throat, you answer the call and hold the phone to your ear.

“Karen, hey.”

“Hey!” She chirps through the line. “Matt and Foggy just won a case today, and–”

“Come drink with us!” Comes Foggy’s voice, shouted from somewhere in the room Karen has called from.

“I’m assuming you caught that.” You can hear the bemused expression on her face.

You try to chuckle, and fail, body too tired to force any levity. “I shouldn't tonight,” you say, wrinkling your nose and trying to roll out the stiffness in your neck. “I, uh—sick. Not feeling great.”

“Oh no!” Karen says, sympathetic. “Are you okay?”

You can hear the sudden silence from Foggy.

“Yeah, just uh. Out of it. Probably gonna just rest up for a few days, it’s a little rough.” You wince.

“Do you need anything?” She asks. “I don’t think it’s too far out of our way if you need some food. Some soup?”

You smile, heart warming at her thoughtfulness. “No, no, I’m all set. That’s really sweet though, thank you Karen.”

“Of course,” she says. “Rest up. We’ll see you when you’re feeling better.”

“Take an extra shot for me tonight.”

“Not like Foggy needs the excuse,” Karen laughs.

“What? What don’t I need an excuse for?”

“Wow, nosy,” you joke, smiling. “I’ll see you all next time.”

“Alright. Text if you need anything. I mean it.”

“You’re too nice. And I will, I promise,” you can’t help but smile. “Now go celebrate.”

Farewells are exchanged and the call ends. You drop the phone onto the couch, a heavy breath leaving your lungs. You linger for a moment before finally mustering the will to pull yourself off the couch and trudge into your room to change into your loosest pajamas.

Sleep pulls you back under its currents again.

Something pulls you from your slumber hours later, your cheek stuck to the pillow with dried spit, your vision blurry.

You haven't been this tired or slept so much since the spider bite that changed your life.

Your spider-sense pings and seconds later your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel in the open sliver between door and wall. His eyes meet your own, your head lifted slightly off the pillow from the surprise ping moments before.

“When’d you get here?” You ask, voice muffled and slurred.

“About an hour ago,” he replies, opening the door further. “You needed groceries, and I know you weren't going to be getting them anytime soon.”

You groan, letting your head fall back to the pillow. “You didn't need to do that for me.”

He crosses his arms, leans on the doorframe.

Now, with the door open, the smell of cooking finally reaches you and you rub your eyes. “ And you cooked?”

“I did.” There it is, his disproportionately endearing, pleased little half smile. Miguel crosses the distance from the door to your bed to help you up. “ Vamos, come on.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, when your feet finally find the floor. And again, after you’ve eaten and you sit side by side on the couch, sleep dragging down your eyelids once more: “Thank you, Miguel. For dinner, and… everything.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, and you slip into dreams once more.

The next morning, thankfully, finds you less fatigued. Miguel changes your bandages again, makes you breakfast, again, before leaving to fulfill his self appointed duties.

It continues like this as you heal. When Miguel isn’t at Spider Society HQ he’s in your home, cooking your food and cleaning your dishes and changing your bandages (You try not to go insane from the feeling of his hand on your bare skin). You don't ask, but you’re fairly certain the only sleep he gets is in your bed—a place you have to yourself less often than ever before.

Not that you’re complaining. Neither of you mentions it, of course, that he's visiting more while the skin over your ribs heals. You both seem to immediately accept this new normal and move forward as if it has always been the way things are. For Miguel’s part, he knows you don't have anyone here to take care of you properly—he knows you’ve lost family and more friends than most Spider-People usually had to start with—and so he takes the responsibility of you upon himself, and does so happily.

And mostly things are the same… mostly.

He learns about your favorite color, the watering schedule of your plants, how you miss having a pet but with the life you lead it doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do. He tries not to think about how it feels like learning more about someone you’ve been with for years, because he already knew which spoon was your favorite out of the somewhat mix-and-match selection, already knew about your aunt and your aunt's girlfriend on the force who still checked in on you up until her own death, your personal ASM-97 event.

He starts to feel disconcerted about how little he's shared in return, and tries his best to give something back. He mentions Gabriel in passing when talking about his childhood one day, during lunch.

“Gabriel?” You prompt.

“Ah,” he pauses, lowering his fork. To his plate. “My brother.”

The two of you are sitting on your couch, the balcony doors open wide to let in the fresh afternoon air that meanders through the open glass. Miguel holds his plate in one hand, you rest yours on your lap and your feet on your coffee table.

“I didn't know you had a brother,” you say. You want to rest your arm on the back of the couch, but despite your wound being at less risk of opening and bleeding, you’ve still been advised not to stretch the skin. So you pick at the couch cushion by your thigh with your nail instead, glancing at him.

Miguel nods. “Gabriella was named after him.”

Your heart squeezes. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive and well,” Miguel gives a reassuring, if rueful, smile. “It's just us two now.”

You nod. “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, smiling at you. He rests his plate on his lap now, like you, and rests an arm on the back of the couch to angle towards you.

“Ah, oldest brother,” you raise your eyebrows and nod sagely. “That explains a lot.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow back at you.

You gesture at him vaguely. “I mean. Come on.”

Miguel scoffs, smiling, and then he tells you more about his family. About Tyler Stone and the secret his mother kept, how he’s not a true O’Hara but still carries the name. You sense he’s still keeping some things to himself, but you don’t press the issue, happy enough to even be let in this small amount. You hope that your adoration doesn’t show on your face too much as you watch him talk, lit with warm afternoon light.

Miguel feels lucky when he wakes up and can’t remember his dreams, because the nights that he does…

Flesh torn and shredded under his fingertips as gravity pulls the arm from his grasp, the man attached dangles infinite stories up from the streets and even farther to Downtown. The writhing gasp and scream of a man in pain and Miguel trying to save him and only making it worse. His father, angry and raging and taking it out on his mother. The smell of rotting flesh from his Vulture’s pantry, rotting cadavers stored haphazardly in a dark room in the underbelly of downtown waiting for—

No. Even in dreams it’s too sick to name.

Sometimes the horrors of his early days as Spider-Man blend with his life now. Gabriella’s rotting body in the pile in Vulture’s pantry. Gabriella, caught in an attack on his apartment, or in the crossfire between him and the Public Eye. You, hanging from his desperate grip after the lab explosion that changed him forever, your face twisted in fear and your arm shredded under his finger-pad talons as you slip from his grasp and fall to your death. You, in the pods for the long discontinued Corporate Raider program and killed in a fatal human-animal gene splicing test. You disappearing into the air, turning to less than ashes in his arms, or sometimes worse: You, holding Gabriella and reaching for him and the both of you disappearing when he reaches out, unable to so much as touch either of you one last time.

It’s not every night. Sometimes he dreams nonsense like everyone else, surreal landscapes with changing figures and storylines that mean nothing. Sometimes he dreams of happy memories or past almosts as if they had followed through on their potential. Schooldays with Xina or childhood games with Gabriel, or taking Gabriella to the Spider Society HQ like Peter does with May.

Sometimes he dreams about your skin, and your sheets, and your breath. Those ones always leave him distracted, off kilter and embarrassed through the rest of his day. He wishes he could bury them properly, leave them in his subconscious where they belong. Wishes he could keep himself from wanting to cross that line.

But tonight brings no dreams of pleasant pasts, no surreal landscapes, no ecstatic gasps and tangled sheets. Tonight he dreams of loss and pain.

A sudden jolt uproots you from sleep, dreams turn to evaporated particles in the air. At first you think there might be a threat, that perhaps your spider senses were what woke you, but the shallow and forcefully measured breaths in the bed next to you quickly inform you otherwise.

“Miguel?” Your voice is but a whisper as you prop yourself up, mindful of your ribs, your hand searching for him through the blankets. “Hey, hey, it's okay–”

He starts to say something, his voice dying in his throat before the first letter can even form on his tongue. His hand finds yours, wrapping tightly around palm and fingers alike. You scoot closer, doing your best with one hand now out of commission, and then you're partially hovering over him, your held hand supporting your weight.

“It's okay,” you whisper, and you begin to pet his hair back from his face. “You're okay.”

Even in the dark your eyes find each other. Before you can blink his arm is around you and you're pressed into his chest, his face hidden in your neck. You can feel each thundering beat of his heart through your chest as it slows, still beating too hard to fall into rhythm with your own.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

His arm tightens around your middle at that, a brief squeeze pulling you closer to him. His shuddered breath gusts across your skin where he’s buried his face.

“Bad dream?” you whisper into the hair above his ear, shifting above him to rest on his chest properly and rest one arm on the pillow by his head, the other sliding around his side to hold him in return.

“Sorry,” he whispers, ignoring your question, loosening his grip. “Your ribs-?”

“They’re fine, Miguel,” you say, your arm on the pillow by his head shifting.

As his heart slows, as his breath steadies and you wake fully, you become conscious of your body pressed into his. His face is still buried in your neck, and you feel his ribs expand under your body, raising you into the air.

His head falls back from your neck, resting on the pillow, and you lift your head to look at him in the dark.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He pauses, eyes flitting between each of yours before he looks away. He pulls his arm back from around you, hand sliding to rest on your waist under your ribs.

“No.”

“Okay.” You prop yourself up further. “I’m here, though.”

He sighs, nods, closes his eyes.

Silence returns to the room, pressing in on your chest, squeezing your ribs like the bandages around your calf. You are too aware of your position nearly atop him, body pressed into the side of his chest with his hand still resting on your side, yours on his and your other bracing you above him on the pillow beside his head. You've been this close before, of course, and held one another much tighter in the dark. But something about this is different. Perhaps it's the way his fingers begin to unconsciously stroke your side and the way you've never gotten to look at him like this, above him, his eyes closed under you—

Your breath catches in your throat, and you lift your hand from his side to touch his face. His brow twitches, his hand tightens and relaxes on your side, and he sighs again as tension slowly drains from his body. You let your hand rest on his cheek more solidly, and his eyes flicker open to meet yours in the dark.

You hope he can’t feel the way your heart skips and then beats just that much harder. You swallow, hold your breath, and let your hand slide into his hair.

His eyes flutter shut, and everything freezes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and the pressure of the air eases.

“Of course,” you finally say, your mouth dry, stroking your thumb back over his temple into his hair. You shift, settling down into his side.

His arms wrap around you once more. Neither of you speak, and you don't fall back asleep for a long while.

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[swiftsdelucaa]

HEYYY i haven’t been here in ages!! but i’m back here at 1 am with headcanon requests and i cannot wait for them to be done (no pressure, ofc)!

how about fem!reader dating/being married to callie torres or jackson avery while also being a surgeon?

i think that would be great especially as you’ve already done two of my requests and they were amazing… i’m just addicted to your blog HAHA

have a great day <3

i’m also season 7 now and i remember when i was at the end of season 1/beginning of season 2 and first seeing your blog; time fliesss

❛ 𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑻𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Callie Torres x f!reader ♡

𝘼/𝙣: Hi! I'm happy you're back ahah, yes time flies :) omg I'm glad to knowing that someone apprecciates me and my blog 😂💕😭 Sorry if it took a little long, I'm just busy with school and other things, but soon I'll post this one for Jackson too! Have a good time bestiee <333

Your wedding will never be forgotten by anyone. It was an awesome ceremony, all the people you cared about the most were present and made that day even more special than it already was.

You loved Callie so much, you still didn't believe you were married to her, and she made you feel the same way. There have been ups and downs in your relationship, but what you felt for each other was so strong that you had gotten you all this far together, and would have you bonded for a long time to come.

Due to different specialties, you didn't see each other often at work, and waiting for the evening to come home was so frustrating every day! So you often took advantage of it during the breaks, even if you almost always didn't notice how much time was passing and ended up being late, consequently you missed some surgeries...

When you came back later she liked to surprise you in any possible way. She always managed to impress you, making you think every time "Wow, I can't believe this woman it's my wife", and they always ended the same way, with long nights of fun.

Not being great cooks, often when you can, you order take-away food, sit on the sofa and watch films and TV series, which you usually choose by making one evening each. But since you are exhausted after long shifts, you end up falling asleep in an embrace, feeling each other's presence and making you feel safe.

When one of you was sad or angry, you did everything to improve the other's mood. If one of you didn't feel well, it was even able to make the other feels almost broken, because happiness was one of those things you cared about the most, and that has always accompanied your relationship. In short, in times of need you were always available.

Kids? It's something you've talked about often. Becoming a mom was one of your greatest wishes, you even planned to get pregnant at the same moment!

One thing you didn't agree on was the type of vacation to plan. You were the type of beach and sea, you would have loved to spend time in places like Spain or Italy. While Callie was more of a tourist type who liked to visit new and interesting places, surely caused by her great curiosity. Yes, you had completely different ideas about this, but you promised to do both someday. It would have been an interesting experience, also a great way to understand each other's tastes.

"I love you" you repeat it to her often. You're sure she knows it, but you also know that she just need to hear it over and over again, and you always like to repeat it.

Of course, always reserving special moments for your anniversaries. Well, in addition to good sex that gets better on that day, you fill yourself with gifts, go out, have fun, even if the presence of the other is enough for you, and that's why you continue to remember that day with joy, that's all you do than to be thankful for what you have.

[razorblade180]

9 Days of Lancaster Day4: Nightmare

After a long trek through the desert and day full of reunions, the time to rest finally came. Ruby did her best to unwind and frankly that included late night eating. She didn’t realize how badly she missed Remnant food until she tasted it. Charmed by the taste of a sandwich, she was caught completely off guard noticing Jaune quickly stand up from the couch. Poor girl nearly joked!

Ruby:J-cough Jaune!?

Jaune:Oh…it’s just you. *sits down* Sorry. Hearing you spooked me.

Ruby:Are you sleeping on the couch?

Jaune:No. I was…deep in thought.

Even from here, Ruby could see the tiredness on his face and under his eyes. Leaving her sandwich on the counter, she walked over to Jaune and sat by him.

Ruby:Can’t sleep? Looks like we’re in the same boat. Though I would’ve turned on a little light.

Jaune:Didn’t want to wake anyone. It’s fine. You can keep eating. I’ll head to bed soon.

Ruby:…I thought we were passed putting on brave faces. It’s not like anyone won’t understand, right? A lot has happened. Too much; especially for you.

Jaune:Don’t sell yourself short. Are you…okay?

Ruby:I feel better than I used to and I know I’m capable of feeling even greater with time. I’d like to think I’ve gotten over the biggest hump.

Jaune:That’s good to hear.

Ruby:What about you?

Jaune:I’m trying not to dwell on past mistakes. Frankly, the things I see when I close my eyes are more about the countless days that followed. All the nights when I was…alone.

Ruby:…This isn’t me kicking myself or trying to deflect, but I really am sorry my plan didn’t go smoothly. I know we can’t plan for everything and there is good that came out of it. Still, the Ever After caused harm too.

Jaune:I’m sorry again, about yelling at you I mean. I’m also sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me for-

Ruby:That’s on me. Really, it is. I can’t help but think back to before all of this. At Beacon, I told you we couldn’t afford to make mistakes because we’re leaders now with people that count on us. Looking back on it, that’s pretty bad advice. At the very least it’s damming.

Jaune:You spoke earnestly and said what I needed to hear to try my best. I’m thankful for that. Neither of us could’ve had known just how much we’d cling to that idea. Life is messy.

Ruby:Life is scary. Jaune, do you…see them in your nightmares? Sometimes I do.

Jaune:Not in a long time. At some point nightmare was what tomorrow brought. Also…I was more afraid of you. Of how you might look at me for…

Ruby:…

Jaune:Ruby? How can you look at me? How can you forgive me? At the end of the day, it’s me who-

Ruby:I could never blame you.

Her voice was so gentle as her eyes watered at the sight of Jaune’s tormented gaze. Ruby slowly reached out to run the side of her face before pulling his down onto her lap. Her fingers played with his hair, the focus on the white strands.

Ruby:I will never blame you. It’s not your fault. I wasn’t there but I know in the end you did everything you could, both you and Weiss. We’ve been apologizing a lot, but I do want to say than you. *crying* Because I know deep down I wouldn’t have the strength to honor that plea, so let’s stop hurting ourselves with what we did or didn’t do. Jaune, thank you for easing Penny’s pain. I will fight tooth and nail to never leave you alone like that again for both our sakes. So please…get some rest. We need some rest.

Warm tears hit her legs. The two leaders couldn’t help but cry silently in the dark, Jaune’s hand reaching up to hold Ruby’s. Though sadness filled their soul, so did a sense of relief. They were still here for each other despite it all. It was a comfort both of them cherished deeply. Tears eventually stopped but neither of them moved from their spot all night. Instead they clung to that comfort, finally falling asleep in each other’s embrace.

[alpaca-clouds]

History ain't linear

Okay, based on the little rant from last week, let me talk about another big misconception people have about history. And that is this weird idea that history is linear.

What do I mean by that? Well, in general there is this idea, that history went from undeveloped people living horrible lives to super developed people living good lives. And that in this things got better constantly every step of the way.

With this comes the idea that people in medieval Europe lived horrible, miserable lives and that obviously people always were super racist and sexist and homophobic, for it to only get better slowly over time.

Now, this idea - of history being linear - are actually rooted in propaganda. Part of it comes from Enlightenment propaganda, where the folks wanted to be seen as better than anyone before. But most of it comes from pro-capitalist propaganda, that after the end of the Cold War decided that this was "the end of history", aka "humanity has reached their peak stage".

Anyone reading my ramblings here will know, that I am not of the opinion that capitalism is peak anything - or at least anything good. But even outside of the discussion we need to have about whether capitalism should end, maybe, this idea of linear history is just plain wrong.

Excuse me for going all medieval on you again, I am just currently hyperfixating on the late medieval period.

See, we have this idea of the middle ages that everything was backwards. Woman doing her own thing would get hanged. Homosexual would get burned. Witch hunts all around. Probably some racism going on as well.

And while it is not wrong that the era was most certainly sexist and that the crusades for certain brought in the roots for later racism... It was not quite like that.

One big problem we have with the middle ages is, that we got a lot of the history through either the lense of the Enlightenment age - a time during which they wanted to propagade the idea of the horrible middle ages, while they were themselves horrible sexists, homophobes, racists and so on - or of the church, because the church is responsible for a good chunk of the written sources we have from the times itself.

But... we still have other sources, even though they are few and far between. But we have for example stuff like letters send by "normal" people. We have some popular media surviving. We have also pictures and what not. A ton of additional sources. And what we learn from that is, that for example medieval homophobia was by far not as bad as later projected. Because it was a topic that people talked about in their letters.

Or not even to go at homosexuality and just tackle sexuality in general. If we were to believe the church sources, people in the middle ages had no sex for fun. And if we look at so many other sources, this is just... plain wrong.

And, of course, let me say one thing loud and clear: The Witch Hunts were not a medieval thing. The Witch Hunts happened after the end of the middle ages. Yes, a few early ones happened during the last few years of what we consider the middle ages today, it was mostly an early modern thing. And it was closely linked to the church gaining power - not to it loosing it, as one would believe when looking at how we look at history.

History is not linear. There is never going to be an "end of history". Because there is always going to be change. Both to the good and to the bad.

Which means, that no fight is ever truly lost. But it also means that no fight is ever truly won.

Things change. Things will always change. But something that most certainly has gone forward ever since the medieval period is technology. So we should embrace technology in some degree. Because it allows us to learn and to communicate. It allows us to organize. And that is a good thing.

[faithisyours]

A Salvaged Night

Mountain x fem!reader

Summary: Mountain comes home after a long day of band practice to find you in the kitchen making dinner. Things go slightly awry, but you make the most of your night together.

Warnings: comfort fic to smut, reader has some negative feelings about self, established relationship, knotting (cause who do you think I am?), PIV, oral both receiving, praise kink I guess, unprotected sex, use of tail, a little bit of aftercare

Word Count: 2.7k

Note: This got off track a little but that's what I get for not having a plan when I start writing. This is my first time writing smut so be gentle. If I missed any warnings please let me know. I forgot to write this in my last post but minors DNI. I want to write more so if you have any ideas you want to share feel free to request them. Hope y'all enjoy.

It had been getting late and Mountain still had not come home from band practice, so you decided to start making dinner for the both of you as a surprise. Pasta had sounded like a good idea at the time, but your time management had gotten away from you, and now the pasta water was nearly boiling over, the sauce was getting everywhere, and the chicken was close to burning. In your frazzled state you did not hear the door open, so when two arms slid around you from behind you almost punched the culprit. Almost.

“Oh my Dark Lord! Mountain,” you exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you come in.” You gave him a swift kiss on the lips, then turned back to the disaster that was supposed to be dinner. You moved the pot with the sauce off the hot burner and onto a vacant one, then moved out of Mountain’s embrace to put the colander in the sink. The kitchen had progressively been getting more smokey, but now the smoke alarm decided it needed to go off that instant. You hated the noise, hated how loud it was. The blaring made you want to crawl out of your skin, and Mountain knew this. While your hands flew to cover your ears, Mountain went to get your headphones, which were never far from where you were. He quickly put them on you, then turned the oven off, took the boiling-over pasta and poured it into the colander, then took the slightly-more-burnt-than-is-acceptable chicken out of the oven. He fanned the smoke detector, which finally relented and stopped blaring.

Naturally, you were now upset. You had wanted to do something nice for your partner but instead had made a mess and had to have someone else clean it up. It seemed like this always happened, but today especially, you were not in the mood. Mountain noticed your distress and came closer to you.

“Can I take these off?” he asked gently as he reached up to your headphones. You nodded, and so the headphones came off. The commotion had finally died down, and now what was left was the mess. A tear had worked its way out of your eye and was now slowly making its way down your cheek. Mountain brushed it away with his thumb, then pulled you into a tight hug, a hug that hit all the right pressure points, the ones he was so good at giving.

“I just… I just wanted… to make dinner for you,” you sniffled. Mountain hugged you impossibly tighter.

“I know, my love. And you did. Nothing is ruined,” he assured you. “We can fix it together, okay?” You nodded, sniffling still. His embrace loosened, but he did not fully pull away. You both turned to the stove, the source of all the previous commotion. “I’m gonna open a window, okay?” Again you nodded. He kissed the top of your head, then went to open the window.

You moved to the stove, made sure all the burners were off, then took the drained pasta and mixed it with the sauce. Once that was done, you moved your attention to the chicken. It was pretty burnt, but there were parts that could be saved. You worked to salvage those pieces, starting to feel a little better about the situation. Mountain came back and stood close to you, offering his help in any way you wanted it.

Once the table was set and the food was on the plates, you began to relax. Both of you sat and began eating dinner, which hadn’t turned out too bad. Finally you were able to focus all your attention on Mountain, and you found that he looked drained and slightly annoyed. Internally you began kicking yourself. How could you have not noticed? Was the dinner debacle to blame? Were you to blame? If so, you wanted to fix it, needed to fix it. You couldn’t stand being the reason the love of your life was annoyed at you.

“Are you alright Mounty? You look kinda drained. I hope the dinner fiasco didn’t cause that. If it did, tell me how I can fix it.” You were starting to grow concerned.

Mountain sighed and shook his head. “No, no, darling, don’t worry about me. Practice was just a lot today. Copia was grumpy, which made Dew grumpy, which then made everyone grumpy. It was just long and irritating,” he explained. “But I'm glad to be home now, with you. Thank you for making dinner. I really appreciate it.” He gave you a soft smile. You returned it, reassured by his words.

“Do you want to watch a movie after this? Your choice,” you offered, in hopes it would brighten his mood. He nodded.

“How about Howl's Moving Castle?” he offered. That was a favorite of both of yours. You smiled and nodded in agreement.

Once you had finished dinner and the dishes were in the dishwasher, you both made your way into the living room. Mountain pulled the movie up while you grabbed extra blankets and turned the lights off. You both got settled on the couch, snuggled together and covered in a questionable amount of blankets.

The movie was good, like always, but your attention was on Mountain. On where his hand was, what his fingers were doing. He was just tracing innocent circles on your thigh, but it was distracting. You mirrored his movements with your fingers on his arm, slowly tracing circles, feeling his warmth underneath your touch. He shifted his hand higher up your thigh. Your breathing became shallow. You shifted your hand slowly down to his stomach, continuing to trace invisible circles. Now it was his turn for shallow breathing. Two could play at that game, you thought.

Your eyes were watching his side profile in the dark, his soft lips and strong nose glowing from the screen. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. You knew what he was doing. He knew you knew. And you knew he knew what you were trying to do, too. His eyes shifted to look at you from the side, but before they could land on you, you turned your face back to the screen. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his smirk grow.

His hand shifted even higher, taking liberties in exploring your soft skin. Heat was pooling at your core. The couch shifted, and before you knew it, Mountain was leaning in close to your ear.

“You trace once more circle on my stomach and I’ll show you all the things I thought about doing to you while at band practice today,” he growled out in a hushed voice. Your cheeks proceeded to heat, your breath hitched, and your hand stilled. But only for a moment. You turned your head and looked directly at him, your eyes locked onto a set of endless green. And you traced one more circle.

His smile grew, his eyes sparkled with mischief, every sign of him being drained or annoyed from earlier was gone. His lips crashed into yours for an all-consuming kiss. It was messy and wet. His hands came up to cup your face, yours went to his waist to pull him in. Your tongues tangled together, turning from quick and lustful to slow and passionate.

Mountain leaned into you, pushing you down onto the couch. He broke the kiss only to push the blankets that were in between the both of you onto the floor. Now there was nothing between the two of you except your clothes. Your need was growing fast, and you could feel Mountain getting harder between the both of you. You continued to kiss and nibble, but you were growing impatient. You reached down to cup Mountain, giving him a soft squeeze, which granted you a groan.

“Not yet, love,” he murmured against your lips, then pulled your hand away from him. Through kisses and licks and bites, he worked his way down your body, giving special attention to your breasts and love handles. Mountain was obsessed with your body, always wanting to touch it or kiss it or lick it. His happy place was at the altar of your body. He worked your clothes off one article at a time, slowly exposing your skin to the air and his lips. Finally you were naked underneath him, while he was still fully clothed, albeit disheveled.

“Spread these for me, would you?” he asked, taping your thighs. You did as you were told, which rewarded you a long lick up your core. Mountain ate you out like it was his favorite thing to do. Probably because it was one of his favorite things to do. He licked and sucked, using his hand to keep you open for him while the other kneaded your thighs and your breasts and your belly. Occasionally he would groan against you, the vibration only adding to your pleasure. Your release was growing closer, evident by the increased frequency of your moaning and whimpering. Mountain picked up the speed a little, his pace remaining strong and steady. He slipped a finger into you, which earned him a loud moan. He then added a second, which was your undoing.

Pleasure coated every sense, blurring time and space and consciousness. You rode the wave of your release for minutes or hours or days, you couldn’t tell, but when you came back to reality, Mountain was still lapping at you. You pushed him away, oversensitive and blissed out. He chuckled, then relented, kissing your thigh then moving back over you.

He kissed your swollen lips, then moved to your jaw, waiting for you to gain your senses back. Once you could finally see straight, you pushed to sit up.

“Your turn,” you whispered into his ear, a grin playing on your lips. You pushed him into a sitting position, then straddled his hips. While your hands worked to undo the buttons of his shirt, you kissed him anywhere you could. His lips, tasting yourself on them, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. You couldn't get enough. Mountains hands roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading and sliding anywhere they could. It was very distracting, but finally you got his shirt off, exposing his long, golden torso to you. Next to come off were his pants. You could feel him hard and ready for you, it seemed almost painful. You kissed your way down his chest and belly, sliding off his lap to in between his legs. Your hands worked fast unbuckling and unzipping his pants. You worked his pants and boxers down his legs, throwing them to the side once they were fully off. Finally he was naked before you, just how you wanted him.

You looked up into the earth ghoul’s endless green eyes to find them blown out with desire. Eyes locked with his, you slowly worked small kisses and bites along his thighs, getting closer and closer to where he needed you. He was already a whimpering, moaning mess, and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

Finally you took him into your mouth, his salty-sweet taste coating your tongue. Both of you moaned at the same time. Not all of him fit in your mouth, so you covered the rest of him with one of your hands. Mountain was restraining himself from touching you, afraid he would snap and hurt you. You would have no such thing. With your free hand you guided one of his hands into your hair, making sure your eyes, still locked with his, were full of reassurance. Slowly you began to move, setting a slow and steady pace. His grip on your hair progressively got tighter, the profanities and groans spilling out of him more frequently.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my dick in your mouth,” he babbled. “Your mouth is a blessing from Satan, I swear.” His hand was starting to move your head faster, making you take him deeper, nearly gagging on his length. “Fuck, babe, your mouth feels so good. Taking me like the good girl you are,” he breathed. You moaned at his words, which made his grip on your hair even tighter. His pace grew quicker, his release growing closer and closer.

“Wanna put my knot in you,” he ground out. “Need it.” He pulled your mouth away from him, lifting you up to straddle his hips. He brought your lips to his, tasting himself on you, tangling his tongue with yours. Need was building back up inside you. You lined yourself up with him and sank down, his large size stretching you, the perfect amount of pain and pleasure.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his hands gripping your hips for dear life, you began to slowly roll your hips. Mountain let out a long, low moan, a noise that only added to your own arousal. You loved how vocal he was with you. The first time you had experienced him in this way, it had surprised you how much noise he made. The quiet ones always have tricks up their sleeves, you thought. But now you couldn't get enough of his noises. Every grunt and groan and whimper only made you more wet. Mountain knew this, too.

You could feel his knot growing, the pressure building every time you took him fully into you. Both of you were panting and sweaty, the only thing both of you wanted was release. Mountain shifted his hand down to play with your clit, knowing you weren’t as close as he was to finishing.

“Want you to come on my knot,” he whispered. You moaned, picking up the pace, chasing your high. Mountain kissed down from your lips to your jaw to your neck, surly leaving marks. Good, you thought, you wanted everyone to know you were his. Your pace grew sloppy and more urgent, so Mountain took over, gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark. His tail replaced his fingers on your clit, circling and flicking and teasing. You were close, and so was he.

The pressure from his knot was growing, making it difficult to move. Finally, when you felt so full and stretched by him, you came, hard, screaming his name, along with a plethora of other profanities you don’t remember. Not long after, you felt Mountain tense, his grip on you impossibly tight, and come with your name on his lips. You felt his warm release spill inside you, held in by his glorious knot. You were both breathing hard, fucked out to oblivion, leaning on one another for support.

You came back down sooner than he did, so you just held him and played with his hair until he finally came back to reality. He pulled away slightly to look at you, his eyes half lidded and sated. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, then caressed your jaw.

“Do you need anything, love?” he quietly asked. “Any water or anything?” You shook your head. You didn’t want to move, content with staying where you were. But you wanted to make sure he didn’t need anything either, so you asked the same. He shook his head as well, planted a kiss on your forehead, then snuggled you closer to him.

You watched the rest of the movie like that, tangled in each others arms, til you both nodded off to sleep.

[saint-augustines-pears]

Saw the post that mentioned samhain and wanted to toss in some info (if you ever wanted more info about it, because I don't do discourse on tumblr) from a recent info thing I put together recently, because this misconception with the samhain debate drives me nuts

Samhain was a harvest festival that marked the start of the dark half of the year. Along with its springtime counterpart Beltane (which marked the growing season/light half of the year), it was announced based on the weather and was facilitated by and only by the Druids, a blood-identity pagan religion of upper class priests.

Samhain would be announced whenever the weather got cold enough. It was sometimes in early October or late September. It was sometimes in early November.

October 31st was never a thing for Samhain because the date always varied, and because the Druids, being Celts and existing before the Roman occupation of their lands, didn't use the Roman calendar nor did they use our modern Julian calendar.

You'll also hear how the Celts had a celebration on the last day of October unrelated to Samhain. This is true; on the last day of almost every month they had a minor celebration. Again, keep in mind too that the date was particular to the way their own culture counted months, not how Rome did it back then nor how we do it now.

it's true that the idea of "baptizing" traditions and holidays isn't unheard of when people and cultures convert from one religion to another. What's good to note is that this is not a forced thing, the baptizing of traditions; it's a practice that embraces older traditions and doesn't eradicate them. Conquerers would just eradicate them.

Technically, it is possible that the original date of All Saints got its chosen date, May 13th, via baptism of Lemuralia, a Roman holiday where spooky stuff happened regarding spirits and the dead. Christians instead chose to celebrate the joy of the Saints in heaven, because Jesus defeated death and the gates of hell won't prevail, etc, then the pope made stuff official calendar-wise.

However, when it comes to the Samhain debate, it's a myth that the Church picked that date to overtake it.  Pope Gregory III switched up the date of All Saints in the 700s to commemorate a new oratory (special chapel) at the Old St. Peter's Basilica that was built to honor the saints and martyrs.

At a time when there were pagan religions and holidays all over the place, to try and outdo one harvest festival of one religious cult in the far north of the known world thousands upon thousands of miles away from Rome and Constantinople simply wasn't a reason to change an established date of a major, international, intercontinental religious celebration. 

Most of these myths, along with a romanticizing of pagan religions much like modern-day's romanticizing of Norse religions and wiccan stuff, arose in England and Western Europe during the 1600 - 1700s by anti-Catholics and misinformed historians/the wealthy.

Anon I just want you to know that I am your biggest fan

Also, how did I not know it was called baptizing traditions/holidays??? That’s so awesome and I love it???

Thank you so much, this is so well put together and honestly kind of better than my post lmao

[sequinsmile-x]

Home - Chapter One

Revenge - (re·​venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Well, it took longer to get this out than I hoped, but better late than never! I love The Way Home and I am loving writing this version of them.

A quick shout out to @aubreyprc who, no matter how much she screams at me over the next several weeks for this fic, was involved in planting this very firmly in my head when we were in Blackpool for the weekend last year.

I do have some ideas for a series of one shots between The Way Home and this fic. Just a series of moments in the 16 years between them meeting in college and the start of this sequel. Let me know if you'd be interested!

Chapters will be posted every Friday.

-x-

Words: 3.1k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Fall 2007 - Arlington, VA 

Emily wakes up to the feeling of small hands pressing into her cheeks and the comforting scent of her daughter's shampoo surrounding her.

“Daddy says it’s time to wake up, Mama,” Eleanor says, her attempts at whispering somehow louder than her usual voice. She opens her eyes and looks at her little girl, who smiles widely at her, “Morning!”

“Good morning, Ellie,” she replies, her voice rough with sleep, and she looks briefly at her husband's side of the bed and is unsurprised to find it empty, the sheets cold to the touch indicating that he’d been up for a while. He’d always been a morning person, even back when they were in college, and it was something he had passed on to their five-year-old who was already dressed and ready for school, her hair in perfect braids that Aaron had clearly paid close attention to. “You look pretty.” 

The little girl beams, her smile getting impossibly wider, “Like Mommy.” 

Emily chuckles, knowing that was absolutely not the case right now. That she likely had remnants of yesterday's mascara smudged under her eyes, never quite coming all the way off no matter how many steps there were in her skincare routine, and her hair would be a mess. 

“Thank you, sweet girl,” she says, sitting up just enough to pull Eleanor into her arms, something that the little girl needs no encouragement for. It had become part of their morning routine all the way back when Eleanor was a tiny dot of a thing, content to be in her mother’s embrace for a while before the day began. Emily knows thats why Aaron would always send their daughter up to wake her up just a few minutes before her alarm went off, so they could start the day in a way they both loved. 

It was strange to think that Eleanor was now the age Jack had been when Emily first met him. She hoped that the years would go slower this time around, that it wouldn’t feel like she blinked and then had a teenager going off to college, but time had always been a thief and she knew it always would be. The vague fear that Eleanor would be her only chance at motherhood always lingered in the back of her mind. The losses she’d had before she had her little girl were enough to make her anxious just at the prospect of getting pregnant again, but they were trying. Both she and Aaron keen to have one more child. 

She pulls her daughter closer just at the thought of it, excitement and anxiety bubbling in her stomach in equal measure, and she smiles as Eleanor wraps both of her hands around one of hers before she starts to trace one of her fingers up and down the scar on Emily’s forearm. The now thin silver line stretched from her wrist to halfway to her elbow. It was the only physical scar she had from that time, the only reminder etched onto her skin. She always found herself oddly grateful for it, a physical manifestation of the worst time of her life, because it was proof it happened.

Something she needed when the mental scars, which she knew would never fully heal, reared their ugly heads. She hated that every time her throat was sore she could feel Ian’s hand wrapped around it. That whenever the first sign of a cold would enter their home, Eleanor coughing as she came home from school, she knew it was only a matter of time until she’d feel the familiar scratchiness. The nightmares would follow shortly afterwards, they always did, and she’d wake up to Aaron talking her through it, knowing from experience that if he touched her before she was fully awake and aware of her surroundings he’d only add to the torture her subconscious had lined up for her. A grim showreel of things she wishes she could forget. 

The hardest thing to grabble with was that she couldn’t wish she had never met Ian, because without him she never would have moved and met Aaron. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, a joke of sorts from the universe that had no punchline, that the very worst thing that had ever happened to her had led her to the best. 

The alarm on her nightstand rings out, and she reaches to turn it off before pressing a kiss to Eleanor’s forehead, “Ok honey, you go downstairs and tell Daddy I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Eleanor nods before she scrambles off the bed, talking over her shoulder as she goes, “Love you, Mommy.” 

“Love you too, Ellie,” she replies, smiling as she watches her daughter run down the hallway, her footsteps slowing as she reaches the stairs. Emily stretches her arms over her head as she climbs out of bed, sighing as she rubs at her eyes before she leaves the room, ready to go downstairs and join her family. 

She yawns as she walks into the kitchen, distracted by the thought of work and everything she needed to get done that day, and she almost walks straight into Aaron. He stops her just in time, his hands on her shoulders as he holds her in place, a wry smile on his face. 

“What is it with you and always walking into me?” He asks, his tired eyes sparkling with love for her as he leans down to kiss her cheek. 

She rolls her eyes at him but can’t help but smile as she remembers the first time they met. How she’d walked straight into him, distracted by moving to a new town and the things she’d never quite been able to escape. He always brought it up, exaggerating how they met for all of their friends, false claims that she’d literally knocked him over, the first impression so strong he’d had no choice but to fall in love with her. 

“Any excuse to get caught by you,” she quips, winking at him as he kisses her cheek before he lets her go, “Do you have a busy day today?” 

Ever since he’d successfully prosecuted George Foyet a year ago he’d become one of the Attorney General’s favourite prosecutors and was now often given the most high-profile cases in DC. It was everything he’d trained for, those long nights in law school when she’d switch between helping him study and distracting him to give him a well-earned break, paying off. There were rumours the Attorney General was training him up to eventually replace him. 

“No court, thankfully,” he replies, turning to the kitchen counter where Eleanor was sitting to finish pouring the milk into her cereal, “But a lot of casework to look over,” he puts their daughter’s cereal in front of her and then turns back to Emily, “You?”

“Just a lot of meetings,” she says, grimacing as she thinks of her day. There were times when she missed being more actively involved in social work, but mostly she was grateful for what she did now. Working closely with government officials to help create policies to protect the most vulnerable in society. It was a change she made when she had Eleanor, something that allowed her to spend more time with her family. “But I’ll be able to pick up this one from school,” she says, playing with one of Eleanor’s braids, “How about you sweet girl? Busy day at Kindergarten?” 

Eleanor shrugs and continues eating her cereal. Aaron chuckles and kisses his wife’s temple before moving past her to make coffee.

“You go get ready, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at his wife, “I’ll get your breakfast sorted.” She nods and turns to head back upstairs, ready for the day ahead of her. 

When she looked back on that morning in the coming weeks, she was grateful for it, for the last taste of normalcy before their lives were turned upside down.

___

“A spokesperson for Red Onion State Prison has confirmed that the riot is now under control-”

Emily switches the tv channel from the news, something Aaron liked to watch when he couldn’t sleep, to a cartoon for Eleanor.

“Right, sweet girl,” she says, kissing the top of her daughter's head as the little girl settles on the couch, “Mommy has to do a little bit more work, ok? And then when Daddy gets home we’ll have dinner.” 

Eleanor nods, her focus on the tv already and Emily kisses her head once more before she heads towards the dining room. She sits at the table, about to read over some paperwork, when she hears the doorbell ringing. She stands up and shakes her head at the thundering footsteps from her daughter, who seemed to always create a lot of noise despite being small, running down the hallway. She reaches the front door seconds before Eleanor and raises her eyebrow at her. 

“Eleanor Brooke Hotchner, what have we said about you answering the door?” She says, grateful that she’s able to hide her amusement at her daughter's enthusiasm. Eleanor was such a happy little girl, always excited to see the people she loves, and Emily couldn’t help but wonder what she herself could have been like if Elizabeth had been a little more like the mother Emily always strove to be. 

Eleanor looks up at her, her eyes wide in a way that Aaron always said she got from her, “Not to do it because it could be anybody.” 

“Exactly,” Emily says, squeezing her shoulder, “We’ve got to be safe, right?” 

“But Mommy it’s not just anybody it’s Aunt Haley, I saw her car,” Eleanor exclaims, almost bouncing back and forth on her feet with excitement at the prospect of seeing her favourite person outside of her direct family. 

Emily shakes her head, and smiles, “Well, I guess we’d better let her in then, huh?” She turns and opens the door, smiling at her friend as she comes into view, her arms loaded with Pyrex dishes, “Hi Haley, sorry about that.”

“It’s ok,” she chuckles, the sparkle in her eyes letting her know she’s heard their conversation from outside, she looks down at Eleanor who smiles and rushes to Haley, wrapping her arms tight around her, “Well hello to you too, El.” 

“Let Aunt Haley in the door at least, Ellie,” Emily says, reaching to take the food Haley had brought for them from her hands, “I’ll take these,” she says gratefully, “You know, you really don’t have to cook for us.” 

“Well someone has to,” Haley replies, wrapping her arms around Eleanor and guiding her into the house, closing the door behind her, “Neither you nor Aaron can cook anything apart from boxed Mac and Cheese,” she quips, following Emily into the kitchen, Eleanor still wrapped around her, “Besides, it took my mind off of things.” 

Emily pauses just before she puts the casseroles down and she turns to look at her friend. There was tension in her shoulders and a sense of sadness in her eyes, her smile a little tighter than usual, and Emily sighs. 

“Ellie,” she says, turning her attention to her daughter, “Why don’t you go play for a little bit and then find all those drawings you did at school for Aunt Haley? I know she’d love to see them.”

“You did drawings for me?” Haley says, looking down at Ellie, her voice full of enthusiasm that was only partially exaggerated, “I’m excited to see them.”

“Ok!” Eleanor says, dislodging herself from Haley and running out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she is out of earshot, Emily leans against the kitchen counter and looks at Haley.

“Is this a glass of wine conversation or a coffee conversation?” She asks, and Haley chuckles humourlessly, sitting on one of the stools at the counter. 

“Rick moved out today.” 

Emily groans sympathetically, “Wine it is,” she says, placing her hand over her friends before she turns to the fridge, “What happened?” 

Haley had met Rick several years ago at a work conference, and they’d hit it off. At first, Aaron had been unsure about the relationship, worried about his son spending so much time with someone he barely knew, and Emily had been the one to point out he’d moved on to her. That Haley had accepted someone else in her son’s life even if the road to where they were now was rocky at the start. Their friendship was forged the day Haley saved her from Ian. A case of being in the right place at the right time that led to where they were now - Emily and Aaron’s daughter calling the woman he once would have married ‘aunt.’ 

More recently, especially since Jack had left for college the year before, Haley’s relationship with Rick had seemed to slowly unravel. Ever since Haley was twenty her entire life had been about her son and doing the best for him that she could, and all of a sudden she had time to do what she wanted. It’s when the differences between her and the man she’d been with for 6 years started to show. She wanted to get married, but he didn’t. He wanted a kid, and she didn’t want to start all over again. 

“We just…didn’t want the same things,” Haley says, smiling gratefully when Emily passes her a glass of wine, “He kept talking about kids and I’ve been so clear from the start that I didn’t want any more. I guess he thought I’d change my mind.” 

“I’m sorry Haley,” she says, sitting next to her, “I know you love him.”

“Yeah,” she chokes out, “I do,” she shakes her head at herself and has a sip of wine, “I’m sure he’ll move on. Find someone a bit younger to have a family with, I seem to be a good practise long term girlfriend” she looks at Emily, and clears her throat, “Sorry, no offence.” 

Emily smiles, “None taken.” 

It was easy to forget sometimes that Haley and Aaron had ever been together. She wondered if it was because she’d never seen it. She’d come into their lives after they had already broken up. There were no romantic feelings between the two of them, but Emily knew that Aaron loved Haley as a friend and the mother of his son. 

“Anyway, I came here to distract myself,” Haley says, “How are you?” 

Emily blows out a breath, “Ok, I guess,” she replies, shrugging, “Work is pretty steady at the moment. Aaron is doing really well with his work.” Haley smiles at her indulgently, her eyebrow raised, “Are you really asking me about the baby thing?” 

“Yes,” she answers immediately, her eyes sparkling, “I don’t want a baby of my own but I want to spoil another one of yours.” 

Emily shakes her head, “Well, we are trying,” she says, “And if…” she swallows thickly, a tight smile spreading over her face, “If it happens you will be the first to know. Apart from Aaron of course.” 

Haley reaches out and places her hand on Emily’s arm, “It will happen. I’m sure of it.”

Emily chuckles, “Well I’m glad someone is.” 

A door flys open upstairs, and the time Eleanor had allowed them as she played had clearly come to an end. 

“I found the drawings!” 

Emily and Haley exchange a soft smile and then Emily shouts towards the stairs, “Come and show us, sweetie.”

___

Aaron picks up his briefcase and rolls his neck as he prepares to leave his office, excited to get home to his wife and daughter. 

He’s barely made it into the hallway, still standing in the doorway of his office, when one of the assistant attorneys approaches him, a grim look on his face. 

“Grant,” Aaron groans, “Please don’t tell me it’s a new case. Surely it can wait until morning. I’d quite like to get home.” 

“No,” Grant says, shaking his head, “Nothing like that. Have you heard about what happened at Red Onion State?” 

Aaron nods, “Yes, there was a riot. It’s being reported that it’s all under control now.” 

“It is,” Grant replies, clearly choosing his words carefully, clearing his throat, “But…two prisoners escaped. Cell mates. The prison guards believe that the riot was started so they could get out.” 

Aaron feels a pit form in his stomach and his chest gets tighter, a sense of foreboding that he can’t describe washing over him. 

“Why are you telling me this? Is it someone I put away?” 

Grant nods, “It’s George Foyet.” 

Aaron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking back at the other man, “He escaped custody before his trial, he knows what he’s doing,” he shakes his head, “I assume they’ve followed the usual procedures.” 

“State troopers are checking all vehicles in the surrounding area and every cop has an up-to-date photo of him, we’ll capture him.” 

“Ok, thank you,” Aaron says, “I appreciate the heads up, at least I can tell my wife before it ends up on the news.”

George Foyet had made some pretty distinct threats towards Aaron when they were in court, and had twice had to be removed from the courtroom by order of the judge. When he told Emily about it she’d worried. Concerned that on the off chance Foyet did get found not guilty, he’d come after Aaron. 

“Of course,” Grant says, and he turns to leave, but Aaron stops him. 

“Who was the other prisoner? His cellmate?” Aaron asks out of curiosity, sure that whoever it was wouldn’t compare to the danger that George Foyet would pose to the general public. 

“Oh,” Grant says, “Some guy who got put away for attempting to murder his ex-girlfriend,” he adds, shaking his head, “He tried to choke her to death in the middle of the street.” 

Aaron feels everything slow down around him, his throat going dry as he tries to swallow against the fear that climbs up it, the taste of it bitter against his tongue. 

He hoped he was wrong. That his instincts that were kicking in were incorrect. He couldn’t tell her this. Couldn’t tell his wife that the man who had caused her such pain, who still managed to sneak his way into her subconscious and haunt her in her dreams even after all this time, had escaped. It couldn’t be him. 

It couldn’t be him.

“What’s his name?” He demands, his fists tight by his side and his jaw tense. 

“Uh, I’d have to look again, he’s not-”

It couldn’t be him.

“His name, Anderson.” 

Grant flinches at the use of his surname, at the way Aaron spits it out like its poison, “It’s Irish. Donavon? No. Doyle. His name is Ian Doyle.” 

-x-

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[audrey-carr1]

The Heiress and the Lady of the House (Part 8)

A/N: Sorry for the late updates. I got a new job, and it takes up my weekdays leaving me the weekends to rest and write. You know I did not think this would end this way when I first started. I hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far. There may be an epilogue coming soon. Someone also suggested that I could write this from Hetty's point of view, and that doesn't sound like a bad idea.

warnings: fem!reader, Hetty x Reader

Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Want to Read on Ao3? Click here

“I’ll give you two time to talk, but I want an answer soon,” Death says before disappearing

Hetty nods solemnly to herself, thinking about what she was told. She looks at me, a look in her eyes that I cannot place. 

“I want you to be happy, truly,” Hetty says.

“Hetty, please-” She places a finger over my lips shushing me before brushing her thumb across my lips. Her hand cups my cheek, and I place my hand on top of hers. 

“You can be with your parents, it’s okay. You’d have peace, the night terrors would stop. You deserve to be happy without loss, my love,”

“But I am happy with you!” I say teary eyed. 

“If we are meant to be we’ll find each other again.” Hetty begins to cry, “I know what it’s like to not have your parents around. Especially not growing up with a mother. If you have that chance, I’d give it to you without a shadow of a doubt. I want you to have every good thing in the world. You have been running from what happened for years, and I have come to believe that you are using us to help you not face your problems. I know it’s not malicious, but I cannot watch you lose yourself to us. I’m telling you ”

“You’re leaving me?” I ask. 

Hetty sighs. Of course, that’s the only thing you heard from her speech. Hetty grabs your shoulders and waits for you to look her in the eyes. 

“I can’t offer you anything in our world,” Hetty says, “This relationship would go nowhere. Literally.”

“Hetty you came all of this way to get me only to try and leave me?” I say. 

“If it means giving you something better then yes, I will let you go.  If I let you go, I can give you more. Does it hurt? Yes, and it’s taking every fiber of my being to not be selfish and keep you all to myself,”

“I do not want for anything, Hetty,” I beg, “Only you. Please don’t let me go.”

“I will not allow you to wait idly while your life passes you by. Do more than I could, live your life beyond Woodstone. I’ll be okay…we’ll be okay,” Hetty kisses me chastely, “You’ll be okay.”

“Hetty please do not make me choose. I don’t…I can’t” My face is wet and warm with tears. My fingers clutch the fabric of her dress fearing that if I let go then this will all be over. 

“It’s okay,” Hetty says wrapping me in an embrace.

“I thought you loved me,” I sob. 

“I do love, so much if I were alive it would kill me. You have made quiet the impression,” Hetty says wiping away her own tears. 

Hetty couldn’t bring herself to say that she knows what you’re night terrors are about. How in your sleep you still call out for your mother. How you’ll mumble about your dad sometimes in the wee hours of the morning. She would never tell you that one night she asked Sass to enter your dreams, and she’ll never forget the empty expression that was on his face when he relayed what he saw. 

Hetty couldn’t allow you to live like that any longer. Sure she would go back to life as it was before you. She’ll miss having her arms wrapped around someone. She would miss having someone who understood the multiple complex layers of her personality. She’ll miss watching you interact with everyone and hearing your infectious laugh. She’ll miss catching the hijinks that you and Trevor would cook up. Hetty hates that it took losing you to realize how much joy and life you brought to Woodstone. Something that wasn’t there even when Hetty was alive. 

Hetty knew that if she were to allow you to come back with her, you would never leave. You’d never grow into the person that you are destined to be. Stifling your growth would be worse than breaking your heart. At least in Hetty’s eyes, it would be. As selfish as Hetty wants to be, she has to let you go. At least this way it doesn’t cause either of you pain you would remember. 

“Hetty?” I ask, “Hetty, what happened that day when I crossed the boundary?”

Hetty’s mind flashes back to that day. Her stomach is twisted in knot as she replays the image of you layed on the floor being worked on my paramedics. The feeling of losing you so intense it makes her spin even now. Hetty takes a shuddering breath before she finds the words to speak. 

“It was a very painful ordeal to watch. It all happened so fast. I woke up to noise downstairs, and I saw you being carried in. You stopped breathing,” Hetty stops her voice too shaky to continue.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue,” I say taking her hand. 

 “What did it feel like for you?” Hetty asks.

“I didn’t feel a lot really. Apparently, the reason I felt so crappy before is because my soul, or what was left of it, was trying to attach to Woodstone. Since the other part was here, when I crossed the boundary I cam here. This is the place where-”

“Where the girl pushed you. Riley told me after I had asked,” Hetty says, “It’s okay you don’t have to talk about it,” Hetty says. 

She pauses for a moment, and then continues,“So this was inevitable, you would have had to cross the boundary at some point.” 

“Yeah I guess so,” I respond.

“And I’m at the hospital now?” I ask already knowing the answer. I just want the confirmation that I’m still alive. 

“In a coma,” Hetty nods, “I only found you because we did a reverse seance,”

“A reverse seance?” I ask. 

“The ghosts sent me to you instead of asking you to come back. We were afraid that if your soul came back to Woodstone it would be trapped as a soul forever. This whole ghost thing can be very tricky,” Hetty laughs before her lips go back to being pressed in a fine line. 

At some point we find ourselves sitting, and I watch as Hetty draws mindless shapes in the sand. 

“I can’t remember the last time I played with sand,” Hetty says a bit amused by her own actions. 

I watch her a little longer before speaking up again. 

“You’re not going to let me come back with you, are you? I ask looking at her. 

“You are a woman who can make her own decisions, but I would advise against it,” Hetty says not looking up from the drawings. 

I don’t respond. My mind wanders to the possibilities that lay infront of me. I lean against Hetty and she wraps her arm around me.

“If you could leave Woodstone, what would you do? What would you be?” I ask. 

Hetty's smiles at the question, her eyes staring out into the distance as she ponders her answer. 

Hetty laughs softly before saying, “Here’s something I haven’t told you. I used to design dresses. I never made them, but with drawing skills, I could sketch some of the best designs. I had a few of them made, and I wore them. It felt nice to have original works that no one else could get their grubby little hands on,” 

I laugh at the last comment. 

“I think you would be a great designer,” I say. 

—--

“When did you first know you liked me?” I ask. 

“I’ve always liked you,” Hetty says smiling. 

“I mean romantically,” I say nudging her, and Hetty laughs. 

“Well, I remember seeing you for the first time. That was the first time I think my heart skipped a beat without it being cocaine-related,” Hetty says, “I think I knew I liked you when we would go on our walks together or when we would have our moments alone. I looked forward to those moments more than I would have cared to admit in the past. I knew I was in love with you the night we danced. When I had you in my arms…I think about that moment all the time. Especially since that is when we first kissed. I knew from that moment that I was head over heels in love with you.”

“When did you know you liked me? Hetty asks me this time. 

“I’ve always liked you,” I reply grinning. 

“Using my words against me I see,” Hetty smirks. 

“I knew I liked you the moment I laid eyes on you. I fell for you literally, and you caught me. I saw our forever in your eyes,” I lean in closer to her laying my head on her shoulder.

“You are rather clumsy,” She says matter of factly leaning into me. 

“Hey!” I say in self defense, and we both laugh. The laughing dies down and gives way to silence. The sound of the water and wind rustling the leaves the only things making noise. 

“What are you going to choose?” Hetty asks looking at me this time. 

“I’m not sure,” I reply softly,  “Hetty I don’t want to lose you.” 

Tears begin to fall down my face, and I bite my lip to keep from sobbing. 

“You won’t lose me. I promise you won’t lose me. No matter what memories may be lost, we’ll still have each other someway,” Hetty says wiping the tear from my face, “My love is so strong for you. Though you won’t remember me, and I won’t remember you my love will always be there. I can feel it.”

Hetty has to fight back tears herself, “I’ll be the sun that kisses warmth on your skin, I’ll be the clearest day when the rain is done. Not even a shake of an earthquake could break my love. That’s how strong my…our love is. We’ll find a way to each other again. In some other lifetime, we’ll be together. I know it,” 

Hetty leans in, and I do the same. Our lips meet in a kiss. This kiss is different. It is uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time. Filled with sweet memories and regrets. We pour ourselves into kiss grasping for just a bit more of each other before the inevitable happens. We hold on to the other almost afraid to let the other one go. I break away from the kiss and look at Hetty. 

“I love you,” I say

“I love you too,” Hetty says

—----

In some other life - June 2025

We walk inside the shop, the bell above the door sounding above us. We are greeted warmly by the staff, and given complimentary glasses of champagne. Movement at the top of the stairs brings our attention in that direction. A striking pair of blue eyes meet mine. I feel as if the air has been sucked out of the room, and my heart skips a beat. I take in the woman’s appearance.

Curly red hair, piled into a messy bun with a pencil sticking out from it. They are dressed in black slacks and a dark teal top. A string of pearls around her neck. A tape measure hanging carefully from her fingers.

There is something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. I hate that feeling when you think you’ve seen someone before, but you know you haven’t. I’m brought from thoughts as the woman descends the final step and walks over to us. 

“Welcome to House of Woodstone, I am the Lady of the House, Henrietta, but you can call me Hetty.”

Nadine and Riley both introduce themselves taking her hand in greeting. 

Hetty gets to me, and my heart flutters again. 

“You must be, (y/n),” 

I’ve gone mute, and I can only nod. I’ve never been rendered speechless by such beauty before. She outstretches her hand, and I take it in greeting. 

“Her skin is so soft, and she smells of bergamot, my favorite,” I think to myself

“Well (y/n), we must get you fitted for your dress,” Hetty says placing a hand on the small of my back to lead me into the dressing room. I try to fight the blush that threatens to overtake my cheeks at the gesture.

The blushing gets harder to fight when her hands work on the dress. I feel like I may die just by her being this close to me. I feel the warmth of her hands as she smooths over parts of the dress. 

“We’re going to get some more champagne, we are all out,” Nadine says taking Riley with her. Hetty and I acknowledge their departure before Hetty goes back to working on the dress. 

“Why don’t you try walking in it for me,” Hetty says. 

I nob taking some of the dress in my hand to have room for my feet. Ofcourse in my clumsy nature I trip trying to come down from the raised platform. Before I hit the floor, I’m wrapped in a pair of strong arms. 

“Clumsy?” Hetty says. 

“Awfully so,” I reply as he helps me into an upright position. Her hands rest on my hips, and I steady myself, resting a hand on her arm. 

“We’re back! We got the whole bottle this time,” Nadine announces. 

Hetty and I move from each other quickly as if we had been scalded by the other’s touch. Hetty clears her throat and gestures for me to walk. 

“Well seeing you don’t have trouble walking in the dress, I think the final alterations will be quite simple,”

“Did she ask about the bust?” Nadine says sitting on the couch.

“The bust?” Hetty asks, quirking an eyebrow up. 

“Don’t listen to her,” I say quickly. 

“No please do. She is a little shy, but we both think,” Nadine gestures between herself and Riley, “That she has a killer rack and it should be displayed but you know tastefully. Is there a way to help accentuate that,”

“Please forgive her she’s had too much champagne I think” I  apologize.

Hetty turns to me a look a mischief in her eyes before turning to Nadine, “Yes, I think I can do that. Especially if we-” 

I nearly choke on my spit when I feel Hetty’s hands on my under bust. She does some more adjusting, and I am practically squirming. I exhale sharply when her hands come to adjust my chest a bit. 

“Are you comfortable with this?” Hetty asks a faint look of concern in her eyes. 

“No, no I’m fine. It’s just uh I’m not used to dress fittings.  I’m just a little flustered, but I’m fine. Keep going,” I say and then I realize my words, “ I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” That mischievous gleam is back in her eyes. 

Once she finishes we all look in the mirror.

“How’s this?” Hetty asks. 

“It’s perfect! The cleavage is impeccable. My mouth is watering already,” Nadine laughs

I groan to myself. This is the last time I allow Nadine to come with dress shopping. 

“Well, I would hate for a killer rack to go to waste,” Hetty says her hand lingers a bit on the exposed skin of my shoulder. She winks at me in the mirror, and I feel weak-kneed again. I take the glass of champagne from the table next to me, and I down it one go. I’m a goner. 

I look to Riley and Nadine, and the two of them are walking amongst themselves. I don’t they’ve noticed anything, especially the flirting. 

“I’ll have the dress ready for you by tomorrow,” Hetty whispers to me before leaving the room. I can’t help but watch her walk away, and I do not fight staring at the extra swing in her hips as she leaves. 

—--

The Ball - Still June 2025

The night of the ball is more exhausting than I thought. Meeting and talking to people I really do not have much interest in. The only person I can think of right now is Hetty, and her eyes. The feel of her hands and the sound of her voice. 

I press my drink to my chest, hoping the chill of the glass will help fight the warmth I feel. 

“The dress looks like it was made for you,” A voice says from behind. 

I turn around to thank the person, and to my surprise it’s Hetty. 

“Hi, Henrietta, sorry I mean Hetty,” My cheeks flush, and I kick myself for stumbling over my words.

“It’s okay…” She pauses,” I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I quite like the way you say my full name,”

“I’ll admit. I also like the way you say mine,” I add,”  I love the dress too.”

“I’m glad you do,” She smiles and I do the same, “ I never thought I would make a dress for an heiress,” 

“Aren’t you one?”

“You’ve done your research,” She says a bit impressed, “It’s different when it’s a new silhouette.” 

We stand in silence watching the room and the people in it. I rack my brain to find something…anything to say. I’ve never been rendered speechless by someone before, and it is awfully frustrating. 

“So…” Hetty says breaking the silence. 

“So…” I repeat trying to find something to say to fight the awkwardness in the air. I could facepalm myself for how dumb I must sound. 

“Where is your girlfriend?” Hetty asks before taking a sip from her wine glass. 

“Girlfriend?” I ask.  I look at her and I notice her cheeks turn pink. 

“The woman you came to the dress shop with,” She says casually 

“Nadine?” I ask. 

She nods. 

 “Oh no, she’s not my girlfriend just a friend that is a girl. She is very flirty with and without alcohol,” I clarify. 

Hetty tries not to react strongly to the news that you may be single after all. She schools her features and prepares herself for the next question.

“My apologies, I assumed that since she called looking for a dress for you that you two were together,” Hetty clears her throat before continuing, “And the boy? Is he a friend that happens to be a boy?”

“Yes, in fact he is,” I reply with a small smile. 

Hetty gives an internal utterance of gratitude. Again silence overtakes the both of you, but neither of seem to mind in this moment. You both enjoy each other’s company even if words aren’t being exchanged. 

Hetty can’t describe the feeling she has just by standing next to you. She tries hard not stare, and keeps her eyes trained on the others in the room. 

The orchestra begins to play, and I immediately recognize the tune. Lana Del Rey’s rendition of Once Upon A Dream. 

“I must be feeling very bold tonight, but would you like to dance?” Hetty asks extending her hand for me to take. A feeling of nervousness overtakes Hetty as she realizes that you could say no. That she could have been overstepping a bit. 

I look at the outstretched hand.

“Yes, I would. I have to tell you that I am not well versed in the art,” I reply

“It’s okay, I’ll lead,” Hetty says

I try to fight the butterflies in my stomach that flutter when Hetty places my hand on her waist and then places her hand on my waist. Her other hand skates down my forearm, and I gasp softly at the sensation. Her other hand slips into mine easily, and we begin to waltz with the rest of the crowd. We move around the room as if we are the only ones here. 

The air feels heavy, and the tension around us could be cut with a knife. 

“I have been trying to recall where I know you from. You seem awfully familiar,” Hetty says 

“As do you,” I say, “I have never felt a strong connection with someone I’ve just met before. ” I say.

She smiles, “Neither have I.”

As we dance we prattle places we could have seen each other, but nothing rings a bell for the other.

“Are you single?” I ask. 

Hetty smirks at the question. Her tongue darting out to quickly dance across her lips. My breath hitches at the sight. I breathe sharply through my nose, and I tear my eyes away from her lips. 

“I am,” Hetty says matter-of-factly. 

She looks me in the eye, and I am thankfully she has a decent grip on me otherwise I’m sure my clumsy feet would have the best of me again. She pulls me in closer closing in any of the remaining gap between us. I’m not sure who’s heart could be the one hammering. 

Her eyes look to my lips, back to my eyes, and then my lips again. 

“May I be bold once more?” Hetty asks. 

“Please,” I reply.

Her lips meet mine, and it feels like my soul has finally found its missing piece. The cliches about the feelings of true love’s kiss finally make sense. My world finally makes sense. To anyone else, we would look like a couple instead of two practically strangers. 

The kiss breaks, we are in public after all. 

“I apologize, I have never been so forward before,” Hetty says 

“No it’s okay. I wish I would have been as forward,” I say hoping she doesn’t leave.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Hetty asks again. 

“Maybe in some other life,” I say. 

Hetty smiles, kissing my lips again before continuing to lead the dance. I hum the lyrics and laugh to myself at the irony and slight accuracy of the lyrics. 

But if I know you, I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

-Fin-

A/N: Ah the final installment! I should probably get to work on the other stories huh?

[saltygirafe]

when woe speaks part 1

Wednesday has a new obsession, and its name is Enid Sinclair

I had expected my first real brush with death—one neither at my hand nor my brother’s—to be thrilling. It must be said that feeling all the warmth pool out of my body was a riveting experience I was ready to embrace.

But as I was going cold, before Goody came to my rescue, something felt wrong. I was afraid—who wouldn’t be, even one as much at peace with their own mortality as I am. More than anything, I was afraid to leave the school unprotected, the case forever unclosed. A new fear, among all of the world-changing ones, surprised me.

I could feel my heartbeat. Far from its usual slow pulse—slow enough to trick medical personnel into pronouncing me dead on a whim, it was instead pounding in my bones. What was I missing? There was nothing else I could do. I had failed already, what was the point in rehashing my failure?

Holding onto fears in our last moments is futile. They bring nothing but torment we can never resolve.

I was unable to chase the thoughts away. Not only had I failed myself and everyone, I had failed Enid. Despite our spats and disagreements, she had believed in me more than anyone. Supported me even though I had hurt her—even though I didn’t deserve it. Now I was leaving her behind with all my problems to solve.

I think—I think from that fear burgeoned the unthinkable: yearning. I, Wednesday Addams, found myself yearning for another chance. One more go to save Enid, to prove my worth; to gain my own place in the world.

It was hard to believe how eagerly I jumped at the occasion to evade death a little longer. It remains to be seen if Death will ever forgive me. I do hope this rejection hasn’t burned any bridges for the future. I would hate to find myself living longer than what I had decided, simply because I wanted to protect…friends.

***

Enid’s arms were fragile. They could be snapped with the right amount of tension, or ripped apart with a simple knot tied to a weight, thrown out a window.

Her body could be shredded with blades, trampled by horses, or cracked like an egg dropped on pavement. She might be small enough to survive the iron-maiden I received for my birthday last year, fitting snugly between the spikes—just like I fit in the crook of her neck.

The stench of wet earth mixed with the salt of fresh blood filled my lungs with every breath as I allowed her to hold me. It was the least I could offer, after she’d fought the Hyde to protect me. I allowed it—even going as far as to reciprocate.

Not out of affection, or friendship. No. But she did deserve it, after everything she had been through because of me. My being haunted by the scent of her wet hair, covered in muck and hemoglobin, was unrelated.

***

Ever since that night, I would wake with the scent of rain on my mind. Musky, petrichor scent clinging to my senses even as I was wrenched from my nightmares.

“I would rather start the day impaled,” I told Thing, as his fingers inquisitively tapped on my bedside table. Had he still been in possession of his body, he would have cocked his head to the side—instead the knob of wrist left on him twitched with intrigue.

I didn’t feel like elaborating on my most recent woes, so I simply uncrossed my arms and rose out of bed.

No doubt my parents would soon appear to remind me we were to depart for Nevermore promptly, and I had no interest in enduring their doting longer than necessary. I had been packed for days—not for any particular anticipation of my return to campus, or enthusiasm at the idea of seeing everyone again, it was simply a practicality. To accelerate the process of leaving the manor and spending as little time in a confined space with father and mother—watching them be at each other’s beck and call, filled with overt affection and never ending hormones — had been especially grating to my sanity as of late.

I could wait to return to school, but I would rather not. The faster I was out of the house, the better. Mother had insisted on holding regular sessions to refine my gift as best as possible, but the visions had never been a pleasant process for my psyche—in the torturous way that would render me vulnerable, and not the fun way that would inevitably drive me to psychosis.

Even Enid’s incessant nagging felt like better torture to subject myself to. 

Against all logic and rational thought, I got in the car with a beat to my step worthy of a funeral procession.

“My, Wednesday, you seem in a less sour mood than usual today,” Mother told me, no doubt referring to the way I had sat down without first adjusting my skirt to avoid creasing it.

“Banish the thought,” it was intended as a dismissive statement, but even I had no choice but to notice the lack of any bite in my tone. It only drew a wider, more twisted smile across my mother’s face. What a pain.

As I closed my eyes to ignore my parents overt displays of affection, my skin tightened at the memory of Enid’s spine-breaking hold. She had run to me with such relief I hadn’t the strength to move out of the way. The matted strands of her hair still tickled my nose.

I wiped at the phantom sensation as the car slowed in front of the gates. My chest shrunk over my lungs, giving me hope I was asphyxiating due to a severe allergic reaction to the fall colors, but I quickly realized my hopes were in vain. This was merely the result of my senseless daydreaming, now coming true.

I had missed these grounds, ironically. After all, never had I encountered such diverse dangers until I stepped foot on them. What could this semester have in store for me? I was dying to know.

Perhaps this time, I would witness death in a whole new fashion. I had already dated a psychopathic serial killer, so I could check that off the bucket list, but there were still so many entries left.

I still had to discover a new disease, outsmart a tortured evil genius, and be burned at the stake for sorcery before I turned 20. I could not afford—

“Wednesday!” Enid’s form appeared in my peripheral vision as I disembarked from the family vehicle. 

At once, I was back in her blood soaked arms, the night we defeated Crackstone, taking in the metallic smell coating her body. What a sight it had been—of course it would become a recurring vision. She was perfect, in that moment, and I—

“Wednesday?” She sounded worried, then. I realized I hadn’t acknowledged her presence, or flinched away when she approached with open arms.

She’d stopped on her own before touching me, now concerned by my lethargy. “Enid,” I droned, planting both my feet into the ground and letting go of the door. “It seems there are still shades of pink you hadn’t assaulted my eyes with yet.”

A righteous smile illuminated her features again, curving the pale lines across her left cheek along. “I see you’ve taken good care of your wounds. They’ve barely left a mark. How disappointing.”

Her hand rose to the scars, as if suddenly they’d started hurting again. “Oh these? Yeah…” The smile was gone already.

“Are you embarrassed by them?” She didn’t reply. An uneasiness settled in my stomach at the feeble twitch of her lips as she tried to recover. “Scars are tales carved into flesh,” I assured her, “you should be proud of them.”

“That’s what my mom said too—”

“Plus, you got them protecting” me. Fighting Tyler off me, putting herself in harm’s way to save me even though I hadn’t shown any similar inclination previously, instead putting her and the others in danger myself. “ —your friends. They are proof of your courage, and your loyalty.”

My hand twitched with an instinct to reach over and remove hers from her face. It was imperceptible to the untrained eye, but I had learned to always be aware of every movement of my body, in the case one of my appendages decided to rebel and I had to cut it off before the insubordinate member spread its sentience to others. I knew.

Enid beamed again, this time enveloping me in a tight embrace without leaving me a chance to recoil. I don’t know that I would have, either way.

Instead of her usual overbearing perfume, she smelled of autumn leaves and cemetery grass. Had she buried someone recently? 

I decided not to unearth that body, just yet. It would be a topic for another time. My parents were already unloading the car of my belongings, and I refused to let them imagine for even a second I was anything but neutral about returning to Nevermore.

My eyes found Enid’s prim face following me like a lighthouse every time I looked over. When it was time to walk to our room, she turned to my family before I could.

“I got it from here. They’re being very strict about who we let into the buildings after well—oh, I’m sure you’re not up to anything, but the school, uh”

“We can never be too cautious after what happened, yes.” Mother looked at father with playful eyes. What was she imagining? “Well then, Wednesday, we’ll see you on the crystal ball next weekend.”

“Goodbye, my Wilting Flower. Do your worst.” My father kissed my head, and they were off. Thing climbed up Enid’s shoulder to wave at them.

“Thing! Oh, I can’t wait to show you my new nail kit, I got it for my birthday and—”

Enid picked up one of my bags as she talked, unprompted, and made her way into Ophelia Hall, expecting me to follow.

She seemed to have grown over winter break. Her shoulders were broader, and her hair a little wilder. How many full moons had it been? How many new scars could she hide under makeup and clothing? I found myself more intrigued by her than I had been before, still thinking of the way blood dripped into her eyes as she saw me alive, tears mixing with dirt on her face.

I followed inside, grabbing the rest of my luggage stiffly. Perhaps the first mystery to solve was of my newfound obsession with Enid Sinclair. How quickly could her claws empty a human of its blood? How thrilling. My stalker could wait. If they tried anything I had a werewolf to protect me, after all.

[gorbeytheheretic]

I've been thinking about writing to you for a while. A friend told me at one point it would help, since I'll never get the opportunity to speak with you again. I don't know if they think it'll provide closure - it won't. But I think in some way they're right. In some way it's a method for me to pay some respect to you, maybe.

I miss you. I miss you a whole lot. You were gone way before I could've been ready for something like this; but lately, I've been figuring out that you're never really ready for anything. Things happen, and you navigate them to the best of your ability, or not, and then more things happen. I wish I could tell you all the stupid things I've done over the last six months and laugh about them with you. I wish I could see the soul in your eyes embrace mine, because it never mattered how much I fucked up. Shits been real wild since you've been gone. I've gotten some experiences (and am still experiencing things) that not even most of my friends have. It's real strange because I think we've had this idea that I was too small or too stuck in this little place to go through some of these things - but here we are. I've never wanted to leave this place more, but you beat me to the punch. I'm still planning on moving after all this blows over, I wish you could see it happen. I'll probably write to you again then, too. I thought about writing this under my writing blog, I know you were one of like 5 people who would read my stuff, but it felt too personal. I've been figuring shit out, probably owe you a big thanks, but I'd like to believe a lot of it has been on my own. I've found a group here that's like family, and I know leaving that is going to be hard too. Maybe I'll be better at keeping in touch by then. Maybe I should be writing to them like I'm writing to you now. Not maybe. Definitely. You know I've always valued memories and sentiment more than money or ego, and that's truer now than ever. I'm struggling financially more than I ever have but I think you'd be proud to know I've sold some art finally and I'll be an artist of the month at that local book store we liked. Selling originals and paintings. I'm going to put whatever I make from that towards a tattoo machine. Ian and I have been practicing with his. Passions are high, stagnant routines are low. My heart is lower. But I'll be damned if you didn't fill it up first. I guess that's what makes anything sink, eh? Too full of anything and you'll drown with it. Did you feel that way too? I wish I could've known how you were feeling and doing before you left. I wish you could tell me what to expect from here on out, but you and I both know that's not something I need. I love you so much, thanks for showing me all you did, you clairvoyant bastard. I'll see you on the flip side.