requests open!

27 she/her a nurse just trying to keep her whimsy

[bonelessghoul]

Masterlist

So because starting a new blog after one was hacked is like criminally hard to do, I decided to go ahead and compile a masterlist between both the new and old one to hopefully motivate me to be more active on this one :) this certainly isn't everything but I'll try and put some of my best ones out there!

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Widows Bay

Tom Loftis Ghost on the Shore {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} Don't Look Out the Window Worst Week of Summer Weathering the Storm and One Bed The Driftwood Don't Leave My Sight First Date Headcannons

The Pitt

Jack Abbot Home Run Don't Be Cruel (multi??)

Harry Potter

Tom Riddle The Lion and the Snake Monster Fix the Broken

Regulus Black Winter Sun New Years Resolution

Felix Rosier Every Breath You Take Don't You (forget about me)

Avatar: TLA & LoK

Mako The Real Threat (4/?) The Last Stand

Zuko When the Sun Met the Moon

Ghost

A Prophecy (ongoing?)

Star Wars

Poe Dameron Undercover Jealousy Balance (1/? someone give me motivation to finish this) Mandalorian It Can't Be the Only Way (12 parts) Don't Be Stupid I Can't Protect You

Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove Beach Boy (8 parts)

Henry Creel dream lover (masterlist)

Steve Harrington Run Away (2 parts) Mistletoe and Spiked Hot Chocolate

Shadow and Bone

Kaz Brekker Tides Saint of the Shadows (2) (3) Break a Leg id kill for you

The Witcher

The Witcher and the Sea (multi?)

Gladiator

General Acacius In The Generals Shadow Tangled in Chains

[bonelessghoul]

First of all, I’m so obsessed with your Tom Loftis stories, especially the chapters ones. I just keep rereading them.🩷 I was wondering if I could request one where Tom and the reader are longtime friends. She’s been crushing on him forever. Then the woman from that one ep. comes to the island, and the reader gets jealous after Tom tells Patricia about the woman he helped/drove…and then that dinner scene (😭) where she just walks in please.

an: sorry this took so long but i hope tis enjoyable <3

Worst Week of Summer

The walk from your home on the island to the town center was much more crowded this summer and you had to remind yourself to be grateful for the tourists that flooded the streets. 

Holding two cups of coffee in the paper tray, you said your good mornings to everyone you passed; the fishermen rolling in from their morning out on the water, Rosemary who sat by the historical society’s sign with brochures and a cigarette, and finally Tom who was beaming out towards the incoming ferry.

Tom didn’t notice you approaching, giving you a moment to gaze at him in peace as you walked to him. He stood tall and proud, a subtle smile on his lips while his hands rested in the pockets of his blue vest. Even the overcast skies couldn’t cloud his excitement for all the tourists coming in and as you got closer, you couldn’t help but notice how it brought out that sparkle in his blue eyes. 

You found yourself smiling at it just in time to hide it before he noticed.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you look this happy as mayor in years.” you announced yourself, holding out the cup of coffee.

Tom’s head immediately spun to you, brought out whatever daze he was in, and looked down at the coffee in your hands. He smiled, taking it, and your fingers brushed. It lit up the nerve endings in your fingertips all the way to your heart.

“Well, get used to it,” he said, still beaming as he looked back at the ferry. “Because if this fourth of July week goes well, I think we may have ourselves a repeat destination spot.”

You stood next to him, centimeters away from being shoulder to shoulder, and also looked out at the sight before you. "It's always the best week of summer here. I'm sure everyone will see that."

You enjoyed it a little too, as if his excitement was contagious. Tom nudged you then, glancing back down at you with a warm smile. 

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“A morning would not be complete if one of us didn’t bring the other a cup.” 

We tapped our lids together and chuckled as we faced back out at the ferry. The historic part of Widow’s Bay was growing more crowded by the minute and you knew you’d have to pull away to go help Rosemary soon. 

“Do you want a ride to the office? Maybe get some breakfast on the way?” Tom suggested. Even on his proudest day, his voice still managed to shrivel up in the slightest at the mention of doing something together. Maybe it was a pitch only you could pick up on, maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You huffed out a sigh. “You ask on the one morning I am going to be tied up with all these visitors?” 

Tom’s lips parted slightly, eyes darting back and forth over you and the crowd behind your head. You gently placed a hand on his arm, feeling his muscles beneath the shirt stiffen slightly.

“I’m kidding.” you assured, watching the guilt settle across his expression. “I have to do a few things and I’ll find my way over.” 

“You are the best.” Tom sighed. “Thank you.” 

You dropped your hand, wishing it could have stayed there longer, and started to peel back. 

“You owe me breakfast though.” 

Tom didn’t argue that. 

~

“Hey, are we getting the word out about sunset cocktails?” Tom asked at the meeting table in town hall. “I just feel like no one knows about it.”

Patricia inhaled slowly through her nose. “I have personally been spreading the word and Rosemary’s been passing out flyers all morning.” she answered sharply, hands waving slightly.

“Yeah, I think she’s just been smoking outside,” Tom winced. “You really need to stay on top of this ‘cause I spoke to a woman, hadn’t heard about any of it.”

“What woman?” Patricia asked, cocking her head.

“Just a woman.” Tom shrugged.

“Where did you speak to her?”

“Uh, in my car.” Tom’s eyes went to his lap. 

“I don’t understand,” she shook her head.

“Well, she was lost.” he answered slowly. “So I offered her a ride because it seemed like the right thing to do.” 

Patricia smiled. “Of course. Excuse me.” 

Tom continued to talk about the inaugural swim and the plans surrounding it, but the gears in Patricia's head didn’t cease. 

“Was she attractive?” she interjected. 

Tom’s lips rolled into a thin line. “I didn't notice one way or another,” he replied without skipping a beat. 

“How old was she?” 

His patience was thinning. “She was–she was age appropriate.”

Patricia hummed, nodding, the scrutiny growing thick. 

“What an odd way to describe someone who you’re just giving a ride.”

Patricia gave you the rundown that evening about the conversation that transpired at the town hall meeting that you missed. At first, you felt guilty that you had been caught up with things in the historic society but now, a heavier weight sat in your chest. 

The two of you were sitting at The Salty Whale, going over plans for the sunset cocktails. Your hand remained clutched around your drink and for a moment, the weight was so profound that you didn’t even move or speak.

“I shouldn’t have a problem with that.” was all you could say. 

But Patricia shrugged, a grimace on her face. “Um, who says?” 

You sighed. The weight grew heavier, uglier, and spun a web of sadness that only sunk deeper. Every rational part of your mind wanted to shrug it off and think of it as nothing, but this was impossible to fight off. 

“Any reasonable person. Which I am.”

Patricia threw back her drink. “Whatever you say.”

The feeling went away by the next morning, only to come back rearing its ugly head in the form of a beautiful woman who came by looking for Tom. 

You were at the copier, printing out something for Gerrie’s new exhibit for the kids to enjoy, when you overheard the woman’s voice asking if the mayor was here. In the most discreet way you could, you slowly backed away from the copier, looking at pages of blank paper and leaning against the door frame that opened up to the main hallway. 

“No, sorry dear.” Ruth sweetly replied. “Can I pass along a message for him?”

“Oh, no it’s okay.” the woman waved off. “I guess, could you tell him maybe I’ll see him at the swim today?”

The weight slammed into your gut. When she turned away, you finally stood all the way out in the hallway, catching the sight of her long summer dress and the perfectly blown out hair that hung down her back. 

Ruth was continuing her walk down the hallway when she noticed you and smiled innocently.

“Morning, sweetie!” Then, she paused. “You alright?”

No; your heart was pounding, twisting, and making you feel sick to your stomach.

“I’m fine, Ruth. Thanks.” you dismissed, returning back to the copier where it seemed Dale and Patricia had also been eavesdropping.

No words cut through the silence of the copy machine whirring out copies for a long moment. You couldn’t speak, you didn’t want to. Truthfully, you wanted to cry but you would never let that happen here or at all–not over Tom. Tom, who was the one person here other than Patricia you’ve known the longest. You had been there for each other in ways many wouldn’t understand. After all these years of waiting, you thought maybe it had to do with Evan’s mother and you never blamed him. You still loved him all the same and wouldn’t ever push it.

“Want me to kill her?” Patricia asked. 

Dale was already grinning cynically into his coffee mug. 

“Maybe just him.” you sighed, picking up your copies and leaving the office. 

There was no morning coffee exchange today.

~

Sunset cocktails was beginning to become a late evening disaster if more people didn’t start showing up.

“We’re out of ice,” the bartender said.

“No one’s even been here, how are we out of ice?” you exclaimed.

The man shrugged, completely unaware of how stressful his lack of stress was making you. Patricia was in the kitchen with Rosemary who was helplessly trying to keep her calm. Your hands flew up to your hair as you tried to think. The odds that more people would arrive was questionable, but regardless, you needed ice.

It didn’t help that Tom wasn’t answering his phone and was nowhere to be seen either. Even if you called him and asked to pick up some ice, he probably wouldn’t have answered anyway! Instead, you called some of the surrounding restaurants to see if they’d have a few bags they could spare you and thankfully, the Driftwood answered. 

Sighing in frustration, you grabbed your car keys and headed over to the Driftwood, telling Dale you’d be right back. 

Once you parked, you crossed the parking lot in your short heels as fast as you could, entering through the door with the sound of the bell announcing your arrival. Kathy met you behind the counter with a smile. A rare sight typically only reserved for a few.

“I’ll get one of the cooks to throw them in your trunk, dear.” Kathy said, patting my shoulder.

“Thank you,” you said, gratefully.

Just as you turned and leaned against the bar countertop, you locked eyes with Tom across the room, sitting at a table with the back of the head of a woman who you couldn’t stop thinking about all day. Your throat dried up, tightening as Tom’s eyes widened slightly. 

You forced your eyes away, the sting coming on forcefully. “Has Tom been here this whole time?” you asked Kathy.

“Pfft,” she huffed, giving a sideways glance in his direction. “Yep.”

You started to feel sick to my stomach, the worst feelings crawling out of the place You tried to stuff them in. It was then you could hear the footsteps coming from behind and the sound of your name rolling off of Tom’s lips.

“What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” Tom asked cautiously. 

You turned around, not afraid to hide the gloss in your eyes that burned with the energy you exhausted at trying to keep the tears in. 

“W-what happened?” he stammered, taking the sight of you in with sheer panic.

An answer tried to form in your thoughts, but everything came crashing down on you. Your heart was wrenching, twisting like wringing out a towel as you stood before him and your eyes fluttered back to his date. 

“Nothing. Enjoy your date.” you answered coldly, moving yourself out of his line of sight to head back outside.

Tom was at your tail though, the door barely shutting behind you before he slipped out of it.

“It’s–it’s not a date!” 

You sharply turned back around at him, something fiery lighting within you at that. 

“Then what is it?” you asked.

Tom’s lips parted as he searched for an answer, eyes looking at the sky, the cars, the ground, hand caught in midair before he finally gave up. Everything about him slumped as he looked you up and down. In the wake of that fire, you started to feel shameful as the picture became clear in your head; you felt ridiculous. 

“I don’t know.” Tom sighed. “I…”

“You offered me a ride to work and some breakfast the other day, and immediately turned around to give some other woman a ride and apparently a night out to dinner.” 

Maybe that wasn’t fair and you knew it before you even said the words out loud. Tom’s brows pinched in the middle, and you could tell he was looking for some sort of defense.

“That’s not–” he stammered. “That’s not how that happened. Nothing is even happening!” he cried at the end, arms flaring out.

Even as he tried to defend himself, you caught the slant in his eyelids and brows as his eyes filled with a remorse you knew and recognized immediately. You hated that you knew it because it only made you feel more guilty for snapping on him now. He looked helpless and you looked crazy.

“You’re right. Nothing is happening.” you sighed, trying to drive away the shakiness in your fingers. “And I have no reason to get upset over seeing you at dinner with another woman because nothing is happening.” 

The slam of your trunk closing drew your attention back to what you were doing in the first place. Without another word, you turned away because if you stayed, you feared what else you would say or do.

But he called out your name.

“You should really get to Patricia’s cocktail hour. She’s going to kill you if you don’t.” you deflected. “She’s really pretty by the way!” you tacked on, bitterly so. 

Back at The Salty Whale, you arrived just in time as more people flooded the restaurant much to Patricia’s excitement. The second she saw you with bloodshot eyes from the tears you shed in the car ride over though, it all stopped for a moment.

“What happened?” she asked.

You shook your head. “He was at the Driftwood with that woman.”

Patricia’s jaw dropped, and you could see the gears turning behind her eyes as she most likely contemplated harming Tom or comforting you first. But you shook your head, insinuating you didn’t want to make a big fuss about it right now.

“Well here, take a drink,” she said, placing the small plastic cup in your hand.

You didn’t look and you didn’t hesitate either.

~

You thought Tom would be the worst part of your night, but you were quickly starting to realize this may be the worst week of the summer.

Sleep was stolen from you harshly so as you were brought back to life in the same jarring way as falling in a dream felt like.

Except now, you were waist deep in the lake and surrounded by other members of the party, the ice cold water seeping into your bones. Shock after shock rolled through your system as you looked around to see the Sheriff going mad trying to guide everyone out and the massive bonfire on the beach where Patricia stood at the forefront at. 

“She tried to poison us!” the one woman accused.

You climbed out of the water and back onto land, breaths short and rapid from the cold, and immediately trekked over to Patricia who was already trying to back away from the scene.

“Patricia! Wait” you called.

But your horror stricken friend was gone before you could even make a few steps of distance. 

Confused among the others, everyone returned to the Salty Whale where Rosemary was throwing all the twig fixtures at the tables away. People picked up their stuff and ran out of there like their lives depended on it. 

“Something tells me Patricia didn’t know she was reading a grimoire.” Rosemary sighed, shaking her head.

“What?!” you exclaimed. 

She looked back at you as she took the trash back towards the bar. 

“Yeah. Must have been in disguise as something else. Witches get crafty with that stuff.”

You were utterly exhausted and gutted from today that you didn’t question the things Rosemary mumbled under her breath. You lived here forever so it wasn’t shocking as much as it was new. Instead, you wordlessly joined the cleanup as everyone was too terrified to even look back. 

Your dress was soaked still, leaving droplets in the wake of spots you cleaned, but you continued on anyway since your mind couldn’t stand being anything but distracted for the time being. You were possessed, heart broken, and seethingly jealous all the same and you weren’t quite ready to process that all at once.

But as the night rolled on and the Salty Whale became deserted, you sat at the bar in defeat.

Even Rosemary went home by now. 

Just as you grabbed your keys though, someone had burst through the door with an urgency that made you jump out of your skin. Whipping your head around, you saw Tom, frantically searching the space until his eyes landed on you. 

His clothes looked damp, speckled with dirt and eyes widened from something reminiscent of seeing a ghost. 

“Are you alright?!” Tom gasped, crossing the distance between you two.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, in no mood for his concern.

But he shook his head. “I should be asking you that. We found Patricia and–”

You cut him off, crossing your arms across your chest. “I don’t care, Tom. Just leave me be. Please.”

Tom straightened, but a realization crossed his face and he nodded to himself. “No, me and Wyck found Patricia. Something else happened but she told us what went wrong and you weren’t home so–” he stopped to catch his breath, the end of his sentence leaving him here.

“What were you and Wyck doing? You hate him?” you questioned.

Tom took a deep breath, hands on his hips now. He looked shaken underneath the dampness and dirt that clung to his skin too. He was moving too fast, too frantic for his usual excitement. Something must have happened. You wondered if his date threw him in a muddy puddle, which you would have enjoyed doing yourself. 

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re right. I don’t care.” 

Just as you turned away though, his hand caught your elbow. It seized you physically and emotionally, and you reluctantly let yourself be pulled back towards him. You wanted to swat him as much as you wanted to savor the warmth of his hand against your skin. Instead of dropping his hand, his other came up to your arm.

“Is this okay?” he asked, doing a double take at his hold on you.

“You have about thirty seconds before I decide to kick you.” 

He sharpened up. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry for being such an idiot not just this week but for years now.”

Your face remained blank, but it took tremendous effort as his words poured into the empty spaces he created over the span of a few days. You wanted to accept his apology and pretend it never happened. Part of you would rather keep his friendship than lose it all at once over this.

“You don’t have to be sorry for liking someone, Tom.” you frowned.

But he smiled through his tired eyes and shook his head at you. 

“I do have to be sorry because I love you so much and for years I was so scared to do anything about it. I know it doesn’t make any sense because I decided to go on a date with someone else and trust me, it doesn’t make sense to me either but–”

Tears pricked your eyes almost instantly. He paused, fingers shaking where they held your arms. You were stuck on those three words, the feeling you were too afraid to admit to yourself this whole time now pulled out of you like barely anything was keeping it back. 

“No. It doesn’t make sense.” your voice wavered, trying not to tease him about his poor logic. 

But Tom let out a dry chuckle, and suddenly, you couldn’t fight the twitch of a smile that formed on your face.

“I know and we can talk about it later but for now, God, just please tell me I didn’t lose you.” he pleaded. “I’ll make you coffee every morning, take you to breakfast whenever you want, and do anything you ask until you can forgive me for being such an idiot.”

Your heart raced with every proclamation that rolled off his tongue. He used these words as bargains over your years of friendship and vice versa. When he wanted you to do a task he desperately wanted to avoid, or you needed work around your house done, it always came down to who bought the other breakfast that week. 

This was much bigger stakes though.

“I can’t forgive you.”

Tom’s hold went slack and the terror in his face for that split second was enough to heal your heart. 

“Because you’re always going to be an idiot.” 

Your grin widened as life sprung back to him, a ragged sigh of relief rushing out of him as he hung his head. You couldn’t hide your laugh if you tried as it bubbled out through the tears that pricked your eyes even stronger now. 

“I deserved that.” he shamefully admitted.

Finally though, you looked up at him with the love you’ve held deep down for years all out in the open. Your hand came up to the stubble that lined his jaw, fingers splaying across the side of his face, and you could feel the tension leave him as he rested in your touch. 

“You did.” you mumbled between the two of you. 

But instead of trying to find any more words, you eyes flickered down to his lips and back up to his eyes. You stood on your toes, slowly leaning in whereas he did the same, eyes fluttering shut as he met you halfway. The moment your lips touched, the coldness of the elements you each faced tonight dissolved. Warmth seeped over your lips, tingling and spreading across every surface of your body as you stepped closer to him.

Tom’s hands left your arms, finding your waist to pull you in closer to him, even as you parted for a breath. 

His forehead rested upon yours, and you could feel the beating of his heart under your palms that rested on his chest. 

“Can I do that again?” Tom asked in a breathless whisper. 

“You can do it as many times as you want now.” you grinned.

Then, Tom’s head dipped down, hungrier this time, lips catching your own in a kiss that stole the breath out of your lungs. All could be forgiven for now, you suppose.

[bonelessghoul]

Ghost on the Shore {8}

pairing: tom loftis x f!reader summary: and just when we think the storm has cleared and vacation can begin, the weather channel and widows bay begs to differ word count: 5k an: im really hoping this is one of those things where i think its garbage and all of u like it bc i was struggling to finish this LOL

masterlist here

64.media.tumblr.com

It all felt like a bad dream. One that was whisked away from recent memory the moment I woke up with the sun shining into Tom Loftis’s room while his arm was slumped over my waist. 

I didn’t move for a while. I shut my eyes while the morning warmth started to creep in and the sound of his breathing dared to take me back to sleep. Everything these past few days felt so far away now. Whatever it was, it was over. 

Finally, Tom did wake with the sharp inhale and subtle tightening of his muscles as he pulled me closer to him beneath the sheets. 

“Good morning,” his groggy voice murmured against my neck. 

His bare chest pressed against my back and I shuddered at the heat. “Morning,” I quietly returned, holding his hand at my chest. 

This was a life I could get used to, I initially thought. But where my mind went after felt like uncharted territory; one I didn’t want to explore. Why did the thoughts of leaving already plague my thoughts the second I felt at ease? 

We met with Wyck and Patricia that morning at the Salty Whale. The sun already felt brighter, the tension I witnessed in Tom’s features this week now nonexistent. He proudly held my hand as we entered the busy restaurant up until we parted to take our seats. 

It truly felt like the summer weekend was in full swing as I looked around the place. 

I guess it would look that way when we were distracted by the things we were distracted by recently. We could look fondly on the families that strode in, the workers who served with untarnished smiles. More importantly though, we all could take a deep breath and rest easy knowing that the curse was gone. Hardly any words were exchanged over breakfast for that reason alone.

Wyck left first. Who knows if I’d see him again while I was still in Widows Bay. Patricia remained, saying I could still stay with her until I left. 

The thought of leaving created a small tear within, one that grew every time I thought of it. My return ticket for the ferry was this Sunday and with it, the nagging inability to return to normal life after this. 

Before I even knew it we left the restaurant and stood idle in the parking lot, stuck between his car and Patricia’s who snuck back into hers, leaving the two of us standing with my hands in his. 

The smile hadn’t left his lips all morning and I couldn’t help but mirror the gleefulness of it. 

“You look so happy.” 

“Do I really?” Tom’s grin widened, chuckling in disbelief. “I’m scared to know what I looked like to you before all this.” 

I stood straighter, my hands coming up to his chest to close some of the distance. 

“You looked like someone I would enjoy waking up to.” I tilted my head. 

Tom’s eyes dipped, as if it could hide the pinkness to his ears. He took a deep breath as his hands rested on my hips to pull me in. 

“Really?” he asked, more bashful than I would have anticipated from him.

“Really.” 

His shoulder sagged and his expression did too. “I’m going to get to the office. But tonight, I’m going to show Evan the tickets and just get on a clean slate with him.” 

“I think that’s a great idea.” I grinned. 

It felt like I never knew him and his son to be on the same page since I’ve come here. It bothered him in ways I couldn’t understand. I could only see how much happier it made him though knowing he could take his son off the island. It even sparked a few ideas in my own head about what our future could look like. 

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked hesitantly.

My face scrunched. “One night without you? What could go wrong?” 

I laughed as his face flashed with worry and he glanced at Patricia in her car. “I will be fine.” I assured. “We’ll have our own fun. Plus, I think a night in with Evan is what you need after this mess.” 

He nodded with relief, hands reaching up to my face. 

“This weekend though, I’m yours.” Tom promised, kissing my forehead. 

This weekend. That tear grew again and I could feel it digging deep even while I smiled. The weekend felt like an end. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

I leaned up to kiss him. His fingers loosened for only a second before reaffirming their hold again. The pull away felt like pulling apart velcro, but we could only look like this in a parking lot for so long. 

Tom opened the passenger door for me, leaving me and Patricia in silence for only a moment. 

“So, you stayed at Tom’s last night.” 

I looked over at her, slightly startled. But the second she looked at me, we both grinned in sync before I started to laugh. 

“Yes, yes I did.” I answered coyly. “And I’ll leave it at that.”

~

The rest of the day carried on as it always should have when I first arrived. 

Patricia and I mostly stayed in her home. She was still dealing with the repercussions of what happened at her sunset cocktails so she wasn’t quite ready to show her face around just yet. But her front yard sufficed under the sun and fun drinks we made to have over some good books. 

“You leave soon, don’t you?” she asked.

I had been staring at the sky in the lawn chair, my head dipped back, when her words sunk their teeth into that growing feeling. 

“Sunday.” I said, my voice taut. I didn’t even want to say it aloud.

She sighed and it was the only feeling I could resonate that with. 

“What about you and Tom?” 

I had to laugh, a dry sound that escaped me without any ounce of humor. 

“I don’t know. Honestly.” I shook my head, glancing over at her. 

Patricia and I both sported sunglasses and large t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up to our shoulders, toes stretched out into the grass with our shorts hiked up. We watched those who crossed the street to avoid passing in front of us with their dogs or strollers, staring behind shaded lenses like we were old men on the porch. 

“I don’t know how to go back to city life. With or without factoring Tom in, I don’t know how to go back to normal.” 

“Do you miss it?” 

I thought of my apartment. The job I fought for. My friends. The things we could do in our free time. Of course I did. 

“Yeah,” I answered, the uncertainty in my voice betraying me. “But I really love what I have with Tom. I don’t think I can go home and function properly as a journalist with everything that’s happened.” 

She snickered, equally as empty. 

“I don’t know how to function after all this at all.” Patricia expressed, her eyes locked in on something or nothing as she stared out at the grass. Then, she snapped out of it. “But, we have no choice but to carry on anyway, so, we just do it anyway.” 

I nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.” I echoed, also losing focus on the lawn before me. “I have to go back and just figure it out from there.” 

“I mean, who knows,” Patricia shrugged. “You may get back to the city and realize you don’t want anything to do with us—well, not us. Tom, I guess.”

My head lulled back in her direction with a knowing grin. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Patricia.” 

A smile awkwardly crept onto her lips and she nodded. “Thank you.” 

As the afternoon sun turned, we went back inside and I returned to the guest room where my laptop and notebooks awaited me. It felt so out of place to open these things up when I laid on top of the sheets. My life of concrete, tangible structure was distorted beyond my imagination.

As much as I wanted to forget everything that happened, I also didn’t want to lose it forever. So, I spent the better part of the afternoon writing in my notebook. It was out of place and out of margin, but how does one write the things I’ve seen without feeling all over the place? 

I shut my book when I ended up at my current predicament; how could I have both lives at the same time? 

I rolled on my back. The sun hung low, casting a shadow across the room that was a deep orange sliver across the walls. 

I couldn’t simply uproot my life to this island I only just heard of for one man and the curse we broke. That was the rational thought I had to remind myself of because every time, my mind wandered back to the idea of staying and never looking back. I was no better than a child let loose in a toy store, because in their mind, they’d never leave it if they didn’t have to. 

But I was back to square one by the time Patricia ordered dinner from the Driftwood. 

While we waited for the delivery, we sifted through the DVDs in her living room. 

“What if we watch Jaws? I watch that every summer.” I suggested. 

She shook her head. “No, that movie scares me.”

I frowned. “Patricia. It’s not real.” 

“It’s based on a true story!” she exclaimed, avoiding eye contact as she looked through more movies. 

I didn’t argue that. Maybe I’d get Tom to watch it with me this weekend as we soaked in our final days.

“Grease?” Patricia suggested. 

I grimaced and shook my head. “I have had ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ stuck in my head since my grandmom made me watch that as a kid.” 

Patricia pouted slightly. “I love that song.” 

We finally settled on The Lost Boys because of a mutual love of Kiefer Sutherland and the fact that vampires weren’t as scary as sharks to her. As Patricia grabbed some plates and napkins to sit out at her coffee table so we could watch the movie while we ate, a knock sounded at the door. 

“I got it!” 

I greeted the delivery boy and gave a ten dollar bill as a tip since we had a hefty order. But when he handed me the bag, I couldn’t help but notice it felt pretty light.

Bringing it to the kitchen, Patricia must have sensed the worry on my face and she stood on the opposite side of the table as I removed the various styrofoam containers. 

“God dammit,” Patricia whined as she tore open the first box.

What was supposed to be chicken parm was a haphazardly tossed piece of lettuce and maybe a crabcake? I picked up the next box, small and maybe anticipating my fries. But it was a singular piece of sausage.

“Oh, that’s really wrong.” I huffed.

Patricia had a scowl on her face as she opened the few that remained only to find that everything was wrong. I couldn’t even fathom this belonged to someone else and it was a mixup. 

“I’m calling them!” she barked, turning to her phone that hung on the wall.

“Patricia, it’s fine–”

“No. I’m going to find out who did this.” 

I had yet to see Patricia in this mode and I wasn’t going to stop her. I started to clean up the other items and listened as she demanded to know who bagged their food. 

“I-I don’t want a refund. I just want the person who did this to find out and I don’t want the person to get in trouble I just, ya know, want them to learn from it. Better yet–”

Patricia paused, withdrawing the phone from her ear with a staggered look. It was then that I heard the voicemail. She looked ready to snap into two.

“Why don’t I take your car and go request a new order?” I offered.

Patricia immediately shook her head. “No, that’s ridiculous! That’ll take forever and–and that just lets the person get away with it! I know it was Kathy.”

I sighed. I’ve heard that name too many times at the source of many woes her and Tom face. 

“Yes, but it’ll be faster than delivery and I can make sure they get it right this time.” I insisted, picking up the boxes and placing them back in the bag. “I’ll bring this back with our receipt and won’t leave until they get it right.”

Patricia finally conceded, beckoning out her hand to where she kept her car keys and nodded while her eyes never left the floor.

“Alright, fine.” 

I smiled and grabbed the keys. “The movie isn’t going anywhere. We have all night and an unopened bottle of wine.”

The misery that riddled her face faded at that and I quickly made my way to her car. I still sported the t-shirt and shorts from earlier and a pair of slippers I wouldn’t be caught dead in at home. But this place didn’t know me nor will they ever, so I carried onto the Driftwood without a care in the world.

I started her car and the radio came to life, playing Caribbean Blue from Enya. 

“Hm, good song choice Patricia.” I muttered to myself before pulling away.

~

It may have been an hour. No–forty five minutes tops. I had timed myself from the second I left to the second I got back in the car. It definitely took some hassling with Kathy but she actually broke kind of easy when she remembered my face. 

I tried to ring Patricia’s home phone from my cell, but the service regularly failed me here. 

Instead, I put a bit more push on the gas pedal as I made my way back to her home with the little service my phone maps allowed. 

As I turned onto her street though, a figure appeared among the street lights that lined the road. My eyes narrowed; he was too big and burly to be Patricia. For a split second, it didn’t surprise me that she would have been waiting in the street. But I slowly rolled to a stop as the man remained unmoving from his spot. 

Her house was only right there. 

Frowning, I rolled a few feet closer. He still didn’t move. 

I sighed to myself and manually had to roll her window down. 

“Hey!” I poked my head out the window. “Do you mind moving out of the way?!”

Again, he didn’t move. I had to guess it was an old man, dementia maybe? Every other possibility sifted through my thoughts.

But then, I heard my name. A scream wrought out from not much further ahead and my body stilled. 

“Run!” I heard again. “Run him over!”

My mind buzzed. The alarm bells triggered before I could even register it. Was that Patricia’s voice? Was I finally breaching insanity and hallucinating things? I settled back in my seat, gripping the steering wheel, eyes locked in on the man in the road. He suddenly shifted, hands coming into view and with it, a long blade extended at his side.

Light bounced off of the weapon, and my blood ran cold. 

Patricia’s voice still screamed and it cut through my senses all at once.

I locked up and didn’t think as I slammed my foot on the gas pedal. I squeezed my eyes shut as the body came closer and closer, finally hitting the front of the car like I had driven into a wall. But it rolled atop, shattering the windshield with a webbing effect across it and I slammed on the breaks. 

My breath escaped me, knuckles white against the wheel.

Through the shattered glass I could just barely make out Patricia, frantically waving her arms. She was saying something but I couldn’t register it. I had just ran someone over and the line between what was real and what wasn’t became painfully blurry as the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Patricia, what did I just–”

Darkness swallowed the corner of my vision as a hand reached in, leather gloves wrapping around my neck. My hands made the mistake of leaving the wheel to seize the hand that compressed every vessel in my neck, because it pulled at me like I weighed no more than a feather through the window I had foolishly left open.

I felt every scrape and bang as my body defied any form of gravity as the man pulled me out the car. 

He squeezed and I could feel the heat in my face as air started to escape me. 

But I was thrown, in the air for what felt like a minute before I came down on the dewy grass with a thud. The color left me and my lungs burned. I tried to roll onto my side but the earth spun around me, leaving me wondering where the ground was and where the sky was through my starry vision. Every muscle in my body ached as I collapsed on my backside, finally getting some form of air back to my head.

Just as my vision cleared though, I was met with a masked figure and the gleaming blade. 

Adrenaline soared through me as I tried to roll away.

But something pinned me down, a muscle cramp in my leg that turned into searing, white hot pain that made a scream tear through my lips. It didn’t even sound like it belonged to me as I tried to roll away from the pain–only for it to tear against me even more.

The pressure was pulled away and when I looked up again, the masked man’s blade was coated in crimson.

“Hey! Over here!” 

My muffled ears could just barely pick up Patricia’s voice that the masked man easily followed.

He turned as if I was nothing more than the grass itself and started away.

“No,” I gasped, my voice hoarse. I didn’t realize how swollen and raw everything felt until I tried to make a sound. “Patricia–no–” but I coughed on what felt like iron and spit all in one.

The use of my voice alone sent a wave of exhaustion through me. But as I tried to roll over and crawl towards her, despite her being a mere speck in my vision, my leg felt like dead weight. The throbbing, blinding pain was enough. I couldn’t bear to look down at it as I forced it to roll with me. Instead of looking, I reached my hand down behind my thigh, turning it forward and with a screaming cry, I was laying on my front.

When I brought my elbows forward to crawl my way out, I saw my hand was red. Not a single piece of skin could be made out in my palm as it dripped with blood.

“Oh, fuck…” I muttered.

It felt like hours before I crawled myself back to her door. Every inch further, the lightheadedness grew stronger in its waves. When I made it to the stairs, her home becoming darker around the edges of my vision, I finally looked down.

My thigh was eviscerated. There was so much blood I couldn’t even make out the wound edges. 

Everything in my stomach churned despite myself. The pain wasn’t even nearly as terrible as the sight anymore. It was the first time since I was struck that the dripping cold fear started to become a real concern. I was stuck on stairs, bleeding out all over her lawn, probably having already expended more energy than I was given to make it only a few feet.

I let my head sink against the stairs, heavy and dropping too fast with a thud against the wood.

It was almost the final nail in the coffin. 

Every ounce I had poured into my survival up until this point, and all I could think of was Tom. 

I hadn’t realized the tears that poured from my eyes until now, their salty sting refurbishing themselves as I thought of him. I wanted to call for him and I couldn’t even say his name if I tried right now. 

Suddenly, a light flashed over me. I let my body sink against all the uncomfortable points that dug into me at every angle, a newfound exhaustion that was almost peaceful? I was so tired, so worn from my climb of merely a few feet. But when I blinked, almost too long this time, I opened my eyes to see Wyck standing above me.

His face was screwed into a different level of fear as he shook me, a feeling I didn’t register until I was watching his arms move against my shoulders.

“Kid! Wake up! Come on!” Wyck cried.

The sharp inhale I took just then was enough to remind me I was alive. Enough to remind me I was in pain and yet, alive. 

“Patricia–” my voice croaked, barely making out any syllables. “It’s after her.”

“I know. I know.” he softened, face crumbling as he tried to sit me up.

Wyck grunted as he lifted my upper body, and my head still felt like it was on the ground, spinning now that I was upright. 

“I-I’m–” I gagged, leaning over to the opposite side.

Something came up from me. I couldn’t even feel it, just the churning of my stomach and the rawness against my throat. Whatever splashed beside me was between me and whatever kept me hanging on–which seemed to by Wyck.

“Alright, now that you got that out.” Wyck said. “Can you balance on your right leg for me?”

Balance? Stand? The thought almost made me sick again.

“I’m an old man, sweetheart. You gotta help me help you make it out of this.”

Okay. Okay, I told myself. I must have said it a thousand times in my behind before finally having the courage to use him as a crutch. As I did though, my leg soared with pain. I cried through gritted teeth, standing for a moment to catch my breath. But it all felt clear now. With one feat behind me, the others felt manageable. 

I breathed through pursed lips. Pain was good because it meant I could feel my leg and find it in me to bring it forward, no matter how much it brought me to the brink of death.

Wyck’s words of encouragement fell deaf to my pounding ears until we made it to his truck which was nearly on the lawn. 

I think I blacked out in the time it took to make it into his back seat. 

“Keep your leg elevated!” 

I didn’t even answer. I just hoisted up my leg with my shaking hands, trying to not let it slip through the blood that oozed around it.

Wyck kept talking.

“Uh-huh.” I’d answer. I didn’t even hear him. I’d just agree to hear myself make any sound as the darkness crept in closer.

“Stay with me, come on.” I heard him say. “I can’t tell Loftis you died on my watch.”

“So dump me on the person you dislike the most and blame it on them.”

Wyck’s cackle brought a smile to my lips. “You’re still there alright.”

While that may have been true, I immediately slipped out afterwards.

~

I had a terrible headache.

Consciousness returned in pieces. Fragmented by the throbbing of my head, the first swallow of saliva that burned and almost got stuck. My eyes blinked open to the dim, fluorescent light as every ache and pain in my body came to life. The local news played lowly in the background on the small box TV that hung in the corner of the room.

The one thing that didn’t hurt though was the gentle warmth of another that was in my hand. I first noticed the dark head of hair, short curls formed from the constant raking through them, and I immediately squeezed his hand.

Tom sprung up from where his head rested, eyes rimmed red above the shadows that hung them. 

“Oh my god,” his voice shuddered.

I smiled. How lucky I was to smile upon waking.

“Hi.” 

My voice was barely a whisper, nothing more than my lips mouthing words.

“Here,” Tom quickly moved, handing me a small cup of what I presumed was water. 

I eagerly took it and the sips soothed as much as they ached. When I cleared my throat I thought I’d see stars again but it was well worth it. As my senses came back to me, I motioned to pull the blanket off my legs to find my left thigh was wrapped in a thick layering of gauze.

Then, my medicated, dream-like state drained from me.

“Patricia?!” I gasped.

Tom’s warm expression calmed me before he could answer. “She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” But he faltered. “Except for the paramedics but that’s–” he shrugged, shaking his head. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

The last words slipped off his tongue delicately and desperately. I reached for his hand again as I watched the weight return to his shoulders.

“I am.’ I echoed, sinking back into the bed.

All I could do was stare at him as he pulled my hand between both of his to his lips. Then, his eyes drifted to my neck and they glossed over again.

“You just had to say ‘what could go wrong’ earlier.” he shook his head.

My lips pulled into a grin and the dry laugh that escaped me made me wince. 

“Don’t make me laugh.” I croaked. Even Tom couldn’t hide his laugh through the tears that stained his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. 

We sat in silence for a while longer. I stared at my leg, wiggling my toes and moving as much as I could, despite the notion that I probably shouldn’t do so. The doctor came into my room to tell me I only needed ten stitches and the rest was superficial enough. I found that incredibly hard to believe. But what shocked me the most was the final comment he made about laying off the wine.

When he left the room, I stared wide eyed at Tom.

“What the hell did Wyck tell him?”

He stuttered at first, eyes falling to the rough fabric of the blanket. 

‘Uh, well, it was the only story that really–” he began, before sighing in defeat. “He said you had a lot of wine and dropped a knife on your leg.”

I sunk back against the mattress, shaking my head.

“If there was ever a possibility of coming back to this island to be with you, I’m now going to be known as an alcoholic who can’t be trusted with sharp objects.”

I didn’t realize the meaning of what I said until I watched the light flicker in him like I had just blown on a small fire and Tom was the wood.

“Well,” he chuckled and sighed all in one breath. “Lucky for you, most of our population already has you beat on that so, don’t be afraid to come back if that’s what holds you back.”

I squeezed his hand again. My chest hollowed. Despite everything, I couldn’t shake the way I felt with him, the way waking up to him whether in bed or the hospital made me want to leave everything behind to stay. 

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Tom nodded solemnly. But this time, I pulled his hand up to my lips and kept it close to my face.

“I don’t think this curse problem of ours is over.”

He shook his head.

“Nope.”

Then, a banner appeared on the bottom of the TV screen; red with warning and words telling of severe weather. The screen shifted to a weather report that looked absolutely miserable. As we watched it though, I knew that the feeling it evoked didn’t belong to only me. Tom must have felt the same dread I did as the weatherman reported a storm said to be devastating as it rolled along the coast of the cape. 

We looked at each other then.

“Can you get up here with me?”

Tom didn’t hesitate. I squeezed over as much as I could and sunk into his arm that wrapped over my shoulders in an attempt to find some comfort with my head on his chest. We silently watched the rest of the weather report even as it cycled over again, the silence in the room feeling heavier by the minute.

But for a small moment where I seemed to fit perfectly against him, I didn’t worry about a thing.

[bonelessghoul]

sorry guys part 8 is almost done I am just losing so much free time this week 😭

[drag0ndre4ms]

devotion wore her name

summary: In an AU where Viserys dies peacefully and Rhaenyra takes the throne, Princess Alysanne Targaryen grows up under the steady shadow of Ser Gwayne Hightower: her sworn protector, her childhood hero, and the knight she has adored since she was small.

genre/warnings:18+ — minors do not interact! — slow burn (like... really slow burn), forbidden romance, age gap (10 years), arranged marriage, mutual pining, yearning, hurt/comfort, emotional infidelity, eventual adultery, knight × princess, sworn protector, friends to lovers, childhood crush, devotion as a love language, religious guilt, lots of angst with plenty of fluff, war (Stepstones campaign), battle injuries, grief and mourning, court politics, targaryen!OC(rhaenyra's sister, daughter to Aemma and Viserys), protective!Gwayne, soft!OC, pious!Gwayne, emotionally constipated!Gwayne, emotionally intelligent!OC, Daemon begrudgingly respecting a Hightower, Aegon is just... there, happy ending.

full work here

a/n: sorry for the wait, i've been working a lot these past weeks, but i assure you i have longer chapters in my drafts waiting to be revised and posted. Next chapter will include a time skip fyi. Hope you enjoy it xo

taglist: @pixel-pixie-xo @cloudyzip

Chapter four

The gardens of the Red Keep had been dressed for the occasion. Tables of carved oak stood beneath flowering apple trees, laden with fresh fruit, sweet cakes and cooled wine. Servants drifted between them like quiet ghosts, careful not to intrude upon what King Viserys had called "a pleasant afternoon."

In truth, it was an interview, Princess Alysanne knew as much.

At fifteen, she had reached the age where every lord in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to remember she existed. Ravens arrived almost weekly from noble houses with sons of suitable birth and suitable temperament, each eager to bind themselves to House Targaryen.

Viserys had indulged none of them.

Until today.

"My dear," he had told her that morning, pressing a kiss to her brow, "you are under no obligation to like the boy."

"But I must meet him."

"You must."

"And if I dislike him?"

Viserys had smiled, "Then I shall simply have to disappoint his father."

The answer had comforted her, somewhat.

Still, as she walked into the gardens with Gwayne a respectful distance behind, her stomach fluttered with nerves.

"You look as though you're marching to your execution."

She glanced back, "I feel rather like I am."

"I assure you," Gwayne replied dryly, "executions are considerably less tedious."

She laughed effortlessly, "That was not comforting."

"I wasn't attempting to comfort you."

"No?"

"I was attempting to lower your expectations."

"They were already quite low."

"Excellent."

She smiled, "They have somehow fallen further."

"There. My work is done."

He stepped aside as they reached the waiting pavilion.

The young lord rose immediately. He was handsome enough. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. Well dressed. The sort of young man the songs would have called dashing.

Alysanne curtsied, "My lord."

"Princess." He bowed.

Perfectly.

Perhaps, she thought, this would not be so dreadful after all.

---

It was dreadful.

Within minutes, she had learned precisely three things. He enjoyed hunting, he enjoyed hawking, he enjoyed speaking about himself.

She had attempted conversation.

"So your lands border the Reach?"

"They do."

"I have always wished to visit."

"You would find them pleasant."

"Have you any favorite places there?"

"They're all mine."

Silence.

She tried again.

"I've heard the forests are beautiful."

"They're good for hunting."

"What do you hunt?"

"Anything worth hunting."

Another silence.

She smiled politely. He did not smile back.

Instead, he studied her. Not with admiration, with assessment.

As though she were another horse to be purchased.

Gwayne remained near enough to intervene should propriety require it, though far enough to grant them privacy. He occupied himself speaking quietly with one of the household guards, but his eyes wandered toward the pair more often than either realized.

Something felt...wrong.

The conversation had no warmth. No ease. Only long pauses broken by strained attempts at courtesy.

Alysanne refused to surrender.

"My father tells me you fought in your first tourney this year."

"I did."

"You acquitted yourself well."

"I know."

That answer, at least, reminded her faintly of Gwayne. Except where Gwayne's confidence carried amusement...this young lord's carried only vanity.

"I should like to see you ride one day."

"I expect you will."

He reached for his wine.

His gaze lingered on her silver hair.

Then, almost lazily, he remarked,

"I had expected..." He paused. "...someone rather less..." His eyes swept over her."...earnest."

The word was harmless enough.

On its own.

But Alysanne had spent her life among courtiers. She knew perfectly well that what mattered was not the word.

It was the pause before it. The hesitation. The choice.

Less earnest. Less eager. Less...her.

He had expected someone prettier.

Or cleverer.

Or simply... different.

He merely lacked the courage to say so plainly.

Something inside her quietly broke. "Oh."

It escaped before she could stop it.

She rose, "My apologies, my lord."

"Princess?"

"I find..." Her voice threatened to betray her. "...I find I have suddenly remembered another engagement."

She curtsied.

Turned.

Walked.

Only once she reached the path beyond the pavilion did she begin to run.

---

Gwayne watched her disappear.

He had seen enough. Not every word. But enough.

The young lord sighed, apparently irritated, "I suppose that could have gone better."

Gwayne looked at him.

The look alone made the younger man straighten.

"What," Gwayne asked evenly, "did you say to her?"

"Nothing."

"I find that unlikely."

"I merely observed that she seemed..." He shrugged. "...a touch childish."

Silence.

The air between them cooled.

"You are aware," Gwayne said quietly, "that you were speaking to the daughter of your king."

"I intended no insult."

"No." His voice remained perfectly calm. "You merely succeeded in giving one."

The young lord frowned.

"Surely you're making too much of—"

Gwayne stepped forward. Only one pace. It was enough.

"I have known Princess Alysanne since the day she learned to walk." His voice had lost every trace of humor, "She is kinder than most queens I have met."

Another step.

"Better educated than half the men on the Small Council."

Another.

"And possessed of more grace than you have demonstrated this afternoon."

The young lord swallowed.

"I meant no offense."

"Then allow me to offer some advice."

Gwayne's green eyes hardened.

"If you are ever fortunate enough to stand before a princess again, I suggest you learn the difference between honesty and discourtesy."

The silence stretched.

Then Gwayne added, almost conversationally, "And should you ever make Her Grace cry again..."

He smiled, tho it did not reach his eyes.

"...pray I am not present."

He turned before the young lord could answer.

He knew exactly where to look.

The godswood.

She had hidden there since she was little. Whenever she quarreled with Rhaenyra, whenever Viserys scolded her, whenever the world became too loud.

The old oak by the pond had become her sanctuary.

He found her there, curled beneath its branches, her face buried in her knees.

She did not hear him approach.

He removed his gloves, and sat beside her.

Neither spoke.

The leaves whispered overhead.

A raven called somewhere beyond the trees.

After several long moments—

"Princess."

She shook her head, "I know."

"You know what?"

"I'm crying."

"You are."

"I did not wish you to see."

"I know."

She laughed weakly through another tear, "I seem to do this rather often."

"You do."

"I must look ridiculous."

"You don't."

She was quiet again. Then, in a very small voice, "He didn't like me."

The words hurt far more than Gwayne expected them to.

"He scarcely knows you."

"Apparently he knows enough."

"No." He spoke with quiet certainty, "He knows nothing."

She looked at him, "But he met me."

"For an hour."

She lowered her eyes, "I tried very hard."

"I know."

"I asked him about his family. I asked about his home. I smiled."

"I know."

Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks, "What is wrong with me?"

The question struck him harder than any sword. Without thinking, he reached over and gently brushed one tear away with his thumb, "There is nothing wrong with you."

She looked at him as though she wanted desperately to believe him.

Then, quite suddenly—

She leaned forward, straight into him.

Her arms wrapped around his middle before she could think better of it.

For the briefest instant, Gwayne stiffened in surprise. Not because the embrace was improper, but because it was unexpected.

Then his expression softened.

Slowly, carefully, he wrapped both arms around her small frame. She fit against him as naturally as she always had.

When she was seven, she'd hidden against his side during a thunderstorm. When she was eleven, she'd clung to him after falling from her horse.

Now, at fifteen, heartbroken for the first time, she sought the same refuge.

He rested one hand gently against the back of her head, "Let it out."

And she did.

She cried until there were no tears left.

He never once told her to stop. Never offered empty promises that another suitor would surely come. Never dismissed her hurt as childish.

He simply stayed.

A steady presence beneath the old oak. The knight she had always trusted.

When at last her breathing steadied, she drew back, wiping hastily at her eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I've soaked your tunic."

He glanced down, "It will dry."

A watery smile tugged at her lips, "You always make everything seem so simple."

"No." He rose, offering her his hand, "I merely try not to make difficult things worse."

She accepted it.

As he helped her to her feet, she realized something. The ache in her chest had not vanished. But somehow...it no longer felt quite so heavy.

Because Gwayne had come, just as he always did.

He had found her. He always would.

Or so she believed.

[kosmogrl]

we got august this week

[bonelessghoul]

omg i was the anon that sent the request/idea for “Don’t Leave My Sight” and dear author…..that was literally PERFECT! Wow you put in so much more detail than i ever imagined and it was such a joy to read!!

Also, def don’t need to apologize that it took a “long time” to post it!!! Writers have lives (duh), and it sounds like yours was quite busy recently, so getting the fic at all is a treat for us readers!! Hope your vacay went well! ❤️

AHHH im so glad!! That makes me so happy to hear!! Another anon requested a continuation of that so stay tuned for more! :)

[fic-dumpster]

[bonelessghoul]

Obsessed with your Ghost on the Shores story!! Absolutely love Tom and the reader in it, their dialogue in every chapter is just 😙👌 and i’m obsessed with their relationship. It really feels like the story is perfectly blended into the actual plot of the show!

Would be obsessed with a drabble where Tom thinks the reader has been taken/killed by a ghost/spirit/the island and there’s some angst but then it’s a misunderstanding as she was actually just hiding from the thing that was after her. Maybe it’s like the sea hag plot but the reader is the one in danger this time? Would love an angsty/protective moment that ends in fluff with these two, but obvi NO pressure if that doesn’t interest you as a writer !!

Okay I had SUCH a blast working on this it was such a great idea I was so happy to write!! Sorry it took so long being on vacay and working pretty much every day leading up to it just made it so difficult to get some time aside but I hope you enjoy it!! 🩵

Don’t Leave My Sight

Maybe we got too close to the truth. Or maybe we were running from the truth and this was the islands way of focusing the frame.

All you knew was that whatever entity you dug up in the Reverend’s archives followed you home and you were defenseless against something your mind couldn’t even comprehend.

“She was supposed to be here by now.” Tom paced, his voice strung with panic.

Patricia was leaned against the “old” dining table in the historical society. It was from a furniture store on the mainland, pretending to be fit for the eighteenth century display. She nervously bit at the skin on her lip, having a bad feeling too but not wanting to alarm anyone yet.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Patricia shrugged, her voice wavering with doubt. “She’ll be here any minute.”

Tom paused in his tracks that were eroding the floorboards by now. His face fell slack, like he knew that she was lying to make him feel better. He heaved out a shaky breath, hand running through his hair. His fingers clenched at whatever they caught, anything to distract him from the way his stomach started twisted in on itself.

“Mhmm.” Wyck shook his head. “Something’s not right. Not with everything that’s happened.”

A sound of despair and grief all at once scratched its way up from Tom’s throat. He swallowed it back down and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

After everything this week has put them through, Wyck was right; nothing was a coincidence. Especially when it came to you. When all of you stumbled upon the Reverends office after his frantic phone calls to Tom and found him hanging, you knew there was only so much time to dig for information before the funeral proceedings. You found multiple documents ranging from typewriter to fading ink, all regarding the similar notion of curses but something more sinister in between the lines.

It was ancient and now, you in your home.

It started with the lights flickering. Knocking on the windows. In a matter of hours, you felt like you were being haunted. You thought nothing could scare you after the Sea Hag and Patricia’s unintentional witchcraft practices.

But then, when you finally had enough and went to leave, your doors locked and the lights went out. Your fireplace came to life and with the flames also arose a towering shadow. It was as fluid as smoke, ash making something ragged in place of bones, giving it structure far from human.

The whips of the fire turned into a louder, wet crackle that erupted from the entity and pierced your own flesh with your fear.

You didn’t waste time before running to your closet where a shotgun waited. As if you had prepared your entire life on this island for this moment when the scary bedtime stories became real.

Would this even work though?

Its crackles refined into a more pitched whine, its cries overlapping and echoing as if the entire hell it came from was at its heels. When you turn, you barely have enough time before the gnarled joints of its disproportionately long hand swings out at you.

The world goes as black as its soul.

Tom sits in the front of Wyck’s truck. Knee bouncing, the inside of his cheek raw. He hasn’t felt this way in ages and it’s tearing him apart; the unknown of someone he cared deeply about. His mind kept playing the image of you, lifting your head up from the pile of books on your sofa that you accidentally fell asleep while reading. He couldn’t stop picturing your tired smile laughing at him for rushing into your home like this.

But then, his vision would clear and Tom would then again see the dark and winding road ahead of him. It physically hurt every time that dream pulled away.

“She’ll be alright, Tom.” Patricia tried to soothe.

Tom couldn’t even swallow past the lump in his throat trying to believe her. He wanted to, desperately.

The truck flew up your driveway, breaks screeching to a stop. Tom was out of the passenger side before the truck could even be put in park, running up to your porch only to freeze up at the sight of your open front door.

“Tom, wait!” Patricia tried to call, Wyck tailing behind her as they caught up to him.

Tom’s senses started to betray him though as he stared at your house. He stared wide eyed, the horror seizing him as he thought of the worst case scenario behind your door. He couldn’t hear them trying to tell him to stop. Hell, he couldn’t even hear himself as he shouted your name.

The three of them marched up your porch and through the door, the silence left in the wake of the destruction was painfully loud.

Your living room fireplace whipped violently, like it were alive with more than just the chemicals that made the embers glow as they did. Things were scattered from your closet, a shoe rack overturned and a flowerpot you kept by your door broken and dirt speckled across the floor. Each sight sent a wave of nausea through Tom.

The worst was the blood.

“W-what…is that?” Tom asked, his breaths becoming rapid and shallow. His finger lifted, pointing at the spill.

It was black. Not just dark red. Black. Tom’s hand covered his mouth, rubbing anxiously against the small shadow of stubble to keep himself together. Wyck leaned in. It wasn’t human but there was something human mixed in as the trail of blood led to the kitchen. That’s where they saw yours. At least, that’s the worst that came to mind.

Tom found a glimmer of hope again. He’d find you wounded at the worst, but still smiling and saying something like “took you long enough”. But his imagination did little to comfort him when they found your back kitchen door ajar, the screen door torn.

The blood stopped there.

“No.” Tom laughed coarsely. He shook his head. “No, no…” he repeated, the cynical laugh that bubbled out of him giving way to the tears that clouded his vision.

“Tom, wait—“ Wyck cut.

But Tom was already going through the kitchen door, shouting your name into the woods that were settled out back. Across the short patch of grass, an abyss stared at him, so dark that the shadows between branches created an impenetrable void. Tom strode over to the ledge of the forest, the last call of your name quivering with his lips and breaking apart.

“Please…” he begged at the end of his fragmented cry, head hanging in despair.

Tom’s hands flew up to the sides of his head, the breaths coming shorter now. His heart thundered against his ribcage. Wyck and Patricia’s calls for your name fell on deaf ears, as did their warnings to Tom to not run into the woods. He thought about it, god, his legs jerked at the idea of running rampant. But it was just the feeling of his knees starting to buckle.

“W-we have to call Bechir, anyone!” Tom pleaded, his composure oozing through the cracks. “We don’t know what could have happened but standing around here isn’t gonna help.”

He spun around to see their worry stricken faces. Patricia swallowed hard, tears in her eyes.

“Come on, let’s go find her.” Patricia affirmed.

“I can’t lose her, Patricia. I can’t.” Tom said, words losing air.

But then, twigs snapped from beyond the darkness and Wyck stepped forward with his old hunting rifle aimed. Tom followed, spinning back towards the forest.

“Get back!” Wyck barked. “This thing could still be out there.”

Tom didn’t care. His preemptive grief created a shield around him as he faced whatever would reveal itself. The face of a man who had lost so much already.

The soft steps into the Earth grew closer, with it the rustling of leaves and more snapping of twigs, each sound drumming through his chest as the cold sweat on his neck beaded along his skin.

Your figure started to appear through the brush.

Tom’s lips parted, his entire body going slack with relief that it almost brought him to his knees. It was you.

“Tom?”

The tremble in your voice sliced through his core. Tom didn’t walk. He ran and he was there in front of you in a second.

The comfy clothes of your wardrobe he knew well were tattered with stains of dirt and blood. It tracked your skin too and he was so caught up in the excitement of seeing your eyes alive with life that he almost glossed over the wound that cut across your shoulder. Like the monster tried to grab you before you could run. Even still, you looked elated to see them all waiting for you.

“How did you guys—?”

Tom cut you short when he threw his arms over your shoulders and he felt your hands clutch into the cloth against his back. It almost melts him. Something choked up within him, and it racked his body trying to stifle it down.

Finally, he can breathe. His hand cradles your head, chin resting atop while the other pressed against your back. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, breath coming undone against your hair.

“Jesus…” Tom leaned back, cupping your face as the tears started to roll down your cheeks. “I-I thought—,” he shuddered, shaking his head in awe.

“Yeah, me too,” you answered.

Tom’s own eyes became glassy, blurring your face. The way he shook blended with the tremor that corrupted you as well.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as they wandered without purpose; he brushed dirt from your cheek, pushed loose strands of hair behind your ear before dropping to check for injuries. His eyes searched every inch of you,then lower, making sure you were standing under your own strength.

“Turn around.”

“…What?”

“Turn around.” he said, coming out quieter than he intended.

You blinked but obeyed. His hands hovered just above your sides, afraid to touch somewhere that hurt.

“Tom…”

“Just…” He swallowed. “I need to know you’re alright.”

“It’s gone.” you sighed, “It’s gone.” you repeated, as if almost convincing yourself.

Tom glanced up to the woods behind you, immediately turning you to shield you away. But his arm crossed over the part of your shoulder that was wounded and you hissed. Tom immediately retracted, arm lowering to your waist.

“It’s gone.” Tom squeezed. “We got you. I promise.”

Your own arm found him just as tightly.

“I know.” you murmured softly, your voice still rough with adrenaline. “I’m okay.”

He only shook his head against you.

“I know.”

But his grip never loosened.

It was as though the second he did, the woods would take you back.

Patricia and Wyck met you halfway. She almost couldn’t contain herself as she reached out to your hand, tears betraying her too. Tom couldn’t bear to part from you just yet though as he still was glued to your side.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” was all she could say.

“I don’t even know what happened,” you said in awe, voice clouded with the shock still in your system. You felt like it was just a bad dream. One that was already sinking its way into a memory you wanted to lose forever.

“Let’s get you to a hospital.” Wyck said.

The old man was also a nervous wreck but wouldn’t show it easily. That was until he paused and glanced back at you.

“Good work. Do me a favor though, don’t leave my sight until all this is over?”

Your shoulders shrugged at your weak laugh against Tom, and you glanced up at him.

“I don’t think I’ll be out of anyone’s sight at this rate.”

Tom shook his head. “No. Not for a long time.”

~

Dr. Morgan asked what it was that caused the injury to your shoulder. But you, Tom, and Patricia all blinked at each other as you said three entirely different things: a dog, a bear, and a raccoon.

“I’ll give you a rabies vax and your tetanus just be sure.” Dr. Morgan said flatly, eyes scanning over the three of you before returning back to his clipboard.

Patricia left with Wyck to go back to your house. They kindly offered to straighten things up and maybe look for more answers there before backtracking to the Reverends office. Tom stayed despite the many times you assured him he didn’t have to.

The wound in your shoulder was cleaned. You sat with your legs over the side of the bed, squeezing his hand as they did their work.

“I’m sorry,” you gritted, squeezing his hand harder.

You noticed him wince but he immediately shook it away. Nonsense, his eyes read.

“Squeeze as much as you want. I’m not letting go.”

Finally, your shoulder was numbed up to receive some stitches. That was arguably the easiest part since you could barely feel it. Through your slow, long blinks you found Tom staring up at you every time, still holding your hand.

There was an unspoken affection between the two of you. One that didn’t seem so vulnerable and exposed until tonight. But this stuff happening with the island was uprooting a lot of things; some for better and some for worse.

“You need sleep.” you whispered to him once your wound was wrapped.

The bags under his eyes were stark in contrast to the rest of his skin in the fluorescent hospital lighting. God, even the gray hairs by his ears were shining and they probably sprouted from tonight alone.

“I’ll sleep better when this is over.”

You lean back on the bed, resting on your good shoulder and legs pulled up to your chest.

Tom scooted closer, his hand never letting go of yours. You watched him fondly. He was a gentle man, even as the slightly dry mayor he could be perceived as by the others. His other hand pulled the hospital blanket over your legs, rubbing them overtop of the coarse fabric. Even you were surprised by how much he couldn’t keep his hands off of you tonight.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” you sheepishly admitted.

He almost snickered at you. “Not a chance. I’ll sleep on your sofa or you can sleep in our guest room. It hasn’t been used in years.”

You chuckled at his eagerness.

“I think I’ll take the guest room. I’m not ready to go back home just yet.”

Tom smiled tenderly as his hand came up to your face, pushing loose strands of hair behind your ear. You wanted to ask why he was looking at you that way but you refrained, eyes simply enjoying being lost in his and the slight twinkle that formed at the crease as his eyes glossed over once again.

“I thought—“ Tom began, but something deeper caught him like a hook. “I thought we weren’t going to find you.”

“I was hiding. But I heard you call my name.” you said, tears glossing over you as well.

A shuddered breath escaped him, head dropping for a split second. You squeezed his hand, reaching to lift his face up even as your shoulder screamed with the movement. Your thumb stroked over his cheekbone.

“It’s over now. Let’s just try not to think about it.” you attempted. You knew it would haunt you just as well.

“Look at me,” he chided himself. “You faced a demon and I’m sitting here getting worked up.”

You laughed a little at that.

“If something happened to me, you’d have every reason to cry because I’d haunt town hall more than any ghost on this island.”

The two of you laughed despite the reality being far worse to imagine. You settled close to each other, hand still gently stroking its way through his hair as he rested his head on the bed. All the while his hand was still in yours, beaten from how much you squeezed it.

“I just have a terrible feeling this isn’t going to be over for a while.” he sighed.

“Probably not.” you frowned. “But we’re not leaving each other's site.”

Tom hummed in agreement at that.

[bonelessghoul]

Hello! I'm the person who requested Right Place Right Time, I loved it! In everything you write you capture Tom's and the rest of the charachers personality so well, I could easily see this happening of the show, you are a fantastic writer :) thank youuu <3

Oh I am SOO SO glad to hear that!! It’s really so crazy how writers minds work when they’re like I’m putting out absolute garbage rn but then u guys show ur love and im just like UGH 🩵 thank you thank you thank you broski

[bonelessghoul]

u guys are cooking with these asks and I am trying to cook even harder working on them 🩵

I will be leaving for vacay today so I’ll mostly be typing on my phone (bc in the big 26 no one in my family knows I do this still) so they may be a bit slow to roll out but know I cherish all of my anons and readers waiting for part 8

[bonelessghoul]

Helloo I was wondering if I could request a hurt-comfort one shot where Tom is feeling desolate after a fight with his son after he finds out about his mum. The reader, who has a crush on Tom, finds him being a mess and offers some comfort (I think the poor man needs it after everything he goes through 😅). Thank youuu <3

an: this was so short I almost feel guilty bc I’m so used to writing out such longer pieces but i hope u enjoy this all the same <3 also sorry the spacing is wack guys I’ve had to work from my phone the past two days 🫩

~~~

Right Place Right Time

Not long after the sun set over Widows Bay, you wound up back at Town Hall despite.

With the holiday weekend in full swing, you started to pick up some of the slack at home. But tonight, you left your laptop on your desk.

If it wasn’t for Tom going off the grid without a word the other day, you wouldn’t have been so stressed and caught up with the work that started to pile up. You didn’t let the frustration fester for long though. You’d do anything for him, you suppose.

But if tomorrow Tom asked you for anything regarding the budget, you’d most likely blow a fuse.

As you hastily shuffle into the office, and moved even quicker on the way out, you flipped off each light switch that guided your way. Just before you swung out to the stairwell though, your eyes caught one office still lit up at the end of the hall.

The silence was loud as you put together the light was coming from Tom’s office. There was no buzzing from the fluorescent lights or air conditioner on it’s last breath.

Just the light coming from the Mayor's office.

Curiously, you walked towards the light, peaking your head around the doorframe where the door was slightly ajar.

“Tom?”

To your surprise, he was there, sitting quietly on the leather sofa tucked in his office. Your brows furrowed at the sight of his head in hands, elbows propped up on his knees. There was no usual quip of a response.

“Tom?” you said softer, quieter as you stepped through the threshold.

The man straightened with fright at your presence, causing you to jump slightly too, freezing in your tracks.

“Oh,” he startled. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

As you approached, the bloodshot strain of his eyes became more clear. The red rim of his eyelids. It immediately tugged at your heart and suddenly, he looked like he realized he couldn’t hide from you anymore. He ran a hand over his mouth, eyes quickly drifting to the coffee table.

“What’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be here so late.”

Tom laughed dryly, cold, in one ragged breath, shrugging as you took him in. You tried not to look so visibly concerned but you couldn’t help it.

“Nah, nothing,” Tom shook his head, leaning back. “I was just catching up on things. Got tired.”

You frowned at him, dropping your bag on the opposite chair, hovering awkwardly by the empty space that occupied the sofa.

“Tom,” your voice lowered. “Things don’t keep you here past five lightly.”

His lips pressed into a line and he shuffled a few inches away, giving you the inclination to fill the space beside him. While he stared forward, whatever weighed on his mind sat heavy on his shoulders. He looked defeated, physically and mentally, the lines outlining his lips frowning deeper.

“It will be fine.” Tom said, almost like he were convincing himself. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

You pulled your legs up to your chest, your body facing him fully, one arm resting atop the back cushion.

“Will it though?” you asked. “I don’t know where you went yesterday, but it doesn’t sound like nothing to worry about.”

Tom’s head dipped back against the cushion, close to where your hand fell. Your fingers twitched at the notion of stroking the soft curls that formed on his hair, the sign of a long day you’ve noticed after many years working together. But you refrained, seeing as his eyes became glossy again.

“Evan,” he exhaled. “Evan found out about his mom.”

Your brows pinched slightly, heart stuttering in your chest. “Found what out?”

Over the years of living here, you grew to know certain things, commandments at the will of the island itself. One of those things was that you couldn’t leave this place and live if you were born here. Tom’s wife became another ghost in that tale.

“She—“ Tom glanced at me, quickly turning away the second my eyes locked with his. “That she didn’t die in childbirth.”

The stuttering stopped. A pang echoed through me and suddenly I could see more of the grief in Tom that had come to the surface.

“Tom,” I softly spoke, trying to offer some comfort. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He huffed. “Me neither. He is livid; prime teenager level livid and—and—he has every right to be. Evan has every right to hate me.”

Tom’s voice rolled into something more intense with each syllable that left his tongue, the self deprecation seizing him as he straightened again to lean forward.

Your hand jerked forward, hovering over his back where the muscles beneath his shirt shifted uncomfortably as he couldn’t sit still.

“He’s allowed to be livid,” you began. “But he doesn’t have the right to hate you. I don’t even think it’s possible for him to hate you.”

Finally, your hand gently rested on the space between his shoulder blades. The contact pricked every speck of your palm, startling you as much as it did him. But Tom, glanced at your over his shoulder, relinquishing his fears with the soft close of his eyes and the tension leaving his back.

“You should have seen how upset he was.” Tom sighed, the heat leaving his voice.

You smiled softly, because your heart couldn’t take seeing him so down and beating himself up.

“I’m afraid I’ve only ever seen him upset when he’d show up and I’d tell him he couldn’t raid Ruth’s desk for the candy she keeps in her drawers.”

A soft chuckle racked through him and you took it as an opportunity to run your hand over the small space between his shoulders. He heaved out a sigh and your smile widened.

“I wish that’s all it was.” Tom shook his head. “He found a picture of her when he was about two. But she had that look—“

The shade cast over his eyes again as he leaned back, but your hand remained at the nape of his neck. Your hand felt hot, like you should have retracted it away, but it lingered and he leaned into it.

“She had that look that she wasn’t there and she wasn’t. She wasn’t.” he shook his head.

“And he doesn’t know that yet.” you gently tacked on.

Tom shook his head. Your hand lifted, like a puppeteer was pulling against every instinct you had to refrain, and your nails gently stroked along the groove of his hair. His eyes shut with bliss again, and your chest felt lighter with whatever blossomed beneath the surface.

“All you can do is explain, Tom.” you smiled reassuringly. “The teenage mind is going to do whatever with it anyway, but when the dust settles, he’ll understand.”

Tom’s eyes lifted towards you, blue and sad and red rimmed. He looked ungodly tired, the way the light caught him making the shadows sit deeper in his cheekbones.

“And how long til the dust settles?” he asked.

You wished you had an answer. Especially when he looked at you like he did now.

“I don’t know.” you answered honestly, trying to hide your own disappointment with your words. “But you won’t really know until you tell him everything.”

Silence wrapped around the two of your for a long moment. Only the sound of your nails scratching along his hair in one fluid, repetitive motion. The soft breaths that passed through him. He leaned back fully again.

“What are you doing here so late anyway?” Tom asked.

You grinned, trying to bite your tongue.

“Forgot my laptop.” was all you said, opting not to let out your grievances tonight.

Tom sighed and for a moment, you thought this would have to end any second now.

“You should probably go home soon. Don’t let it linger too long.” you suggested, saving yourself the severing of the comfort this brought you too.

“I know,” he exhaled. “I’m enjoying this too much.”

Your lips tugged, and you rolled them in to hide it. It felt selfish to revel in the way he eased into your touch, but it made your pulse fire through you at the same time.

“I don’t mind hanging around a bit longer.”

You instinctively shuffled closer, giving his body room to lean on.

“You can put your head down if you’d like.” you suggested, the heat rising to the skin of your face.

Tom hesitantly glanced at you. Maybe you had gone too far. But before you could overthink it, he slowly lowered himself, head resting in your lap. His legs stretched out long over the armrest, a weight lifting from him as he settled in. With ease, you resumed the gentle strokes against his head. The deep set lines in his face slowly disappeared.

“I almost hate knowing how good you are at this.”

You chuckled softly.

“Why?”

His eyes opened with scrutiny to look at you.

“Aside from being completely vulnerable from an emotional standpoint and subjecting you to that,” Tom sarcastically replied. “I needed this.”

You smiled.

“I guess I’m glad I forgot my laptop then.”

“Why did you need your laptop anyway?” he asked.

“For the sake of your peace of mind, I won’t answer that tonight. Next business day, you’re getting an earful from me.”

[yardsards]

but i stay silly! *←said in the most world-weary voice you ever did hear*

[fizzlepop-frog]

“but I stay silly!”

[sensiblereblogifposts]

Reblog you stay silly

[weaselle]

on it boss

[mismedleym]

been watching widow’s bay really liking it

[bonelessghoul]

Lovedddd chapter 7!! Ugh i watched Widow’s Bay last week and am now obsessed. You perfectly incorporate the new character/reader into the fic while perfectly keeping Tom’s characterization accurate. Love the plot so far and can’t wait to read more!! Also, are you currently accepted Tom requests?? I have a few ideas hehe but am terrible at writing, i feel your voice would be perfect for one (of course only if the idea interests you)!!!

THANK U SO MUCH 🥹 yes i am taking requests! I have two im brainstorming for and obviously the inspiration comes and goes but I do try my best to get everything put out there with time! :)

[bonelessghoul]

AHHH I've started reading Ghost on the Shore and it is just sooo good! You have captured the voices of all the characters wonderfully 😍😍 can't wait to keep on reading

IM SORRY I MISSED THIS thank you kind anon 🩵 i hope my updates since u submitted this have been up to par and ur still enjoying it <3

[bonelessghoul]

Ghost on the Shore {7}

pairing: tom loftis x f!reader summary: on the brink of insanity after endless encounters with all you once thought impossible, the time comes to push all of it down and accept it to stop the curse (or at least think you stopped it!) word count: 10.7k an: alright we have a long one boys! no idk its not that crazy but maybe bc ive been staring at it too long and didn't really edit LOL

masterlist here

I don’t think I blinked once by the time the sun rose over Widows Bay.

It came slowly and surprisingly beautifully through the dusty windows of the museum, its long beams of white wine light dancing across the table I stared at, still sitting in my pajamas. The only time I looked anywhere but was when my head would turn towards the empty coffin on the ground, remembering that this was all terribly real.

Patricia and Wyck were also sitting with me. No words could be said between the three of us that would make any of this easier to mull over.

Every so often, the old colonial house would settle, its structure creaking or yawning almost. Every time, our eyes would all dart to the stairs. 

I woke with a jolt, my legs almost giving out beneath me when I came to in the threshold of the Richard Warren museum. My breath trembled as my body registered being awake and I looked around me, a ghost staring right back. Every nerve ending shook from my hands to my toes. When I blinked, the sight before me didn’t go away and I rubbed my eyes, only to find that the ghoulish man did not disappear.

It had to be a skit for the museum. A costume.

“Are you the Lord Island Protector?” he asked, voice so deep it and ancient it rebounded off my skull. It sounded familiar from my dream.

My lips opened to speak, but no words came out. The blind panic that built, the physical feeling of color draining from my face that almost made me dizzy. It all caught in my throat. I could do nothing but be scrutinized by the corpse in front me. 

I choked out a sound, but didn’t register my own brain trying to make sense of it. 

“Speak, woman.” 

He stepped closer, bones creaking and tattered clothes shifting unnaturally. 

I looked up at him and studied the skin that aged like leather around his face. The hair was real and like gray twine. All of these things came across my mind yet I could not fathom it. I was simply frozen and mute with horror.

My chest rose and fell, breath hitching at the pungent smell of death; the sourness of it made me gag. When his hands lifted, wrists bound together by old rope, his bony fingers reached and pinched my chin to tilt my head up, my eyes widened. I wanted to step back but simply couldn’t.

“Who are you?” the man asked with suspicion.

Finally, something snapped as I broke free, stepping back on my bare feet and a scream tearing through my throat. I spun and turned towards the door, running back out the way I came. Wyck caught me as my feet hit the dirt.

“Hey, hey!” he tried to urge.

But everything started to pour from me as the fear relinquished its hold. 

“What the fuck is that–Who, the fuck is that?” I cried. 

Patricia emerged from my periphery. I thought she was home? She was so pale it almost made her green and she too looked troubled. 

“Richard Warren.” she gulped.

Wyck eased up on his hold and I stood there, catching my breath. Over his shoulder, the alleged Richard Warren stared at me before turning and disappearing into the home. Well, I guess it was his home. 

“What?” I asked, my brain still buzzing with the absurdity of it all. I knew what she said and what was implied, but it was the only words I could formulate. 

“We dug up Richard Warren’s grave.” Wyck nodded, his words lulled like he was still trying to believe it himself. “For the pendant we saw in the painting. But uh, seems like we got a little more than we bargained for.” 

The knot in my stomach eased, but it did not go quietly as saliva filled my mouth. From the stress and the smell that still stung my nose, I immediately held up a hand and turned around, letting everything from my stomach empty out onto the street. 

Even as the hours passed, one thing became slightly more troubling than the walking corpse that resided upstairs in its old room: the locket obtained from Richard Warren’s neck. Once we all had some time to calm down and get our bearings, we sat at the table trying to get it open. 

The minute it sliced Wyck’s hand though left a defeated feeling in the house. Patricia and I scoured the museum for some of the old tools left around to hit it with, but there was nothing that would make it budge. 

Eventually, Patricia had to leave for Town Hall. Someone had to check in, especially while Tom’s phone rang to no end. I called almost a dozen times, as did the other two. Patricia came back with no more answers than any of us and a change of clothes for me. 

I still couldn’t believe that I walked here in the middle of the night. 

“What did you see in your dream?” Wyck asked, sliding a mug of coffee before me. 

My head shook and I sipped the warm, dark coffee. “I don’t even remember anymore. But I heard his voice. I don’t think we can trust him–I just have a bad feeling about it.”

Wyck huffed. “Not that we have much of a choice. He won’t speak to anyone but Tom.” He sunk more into the chair opposite of me, something still dawning on his mind. “You didn’t see anything else though? Hear anything?”

I tried to think back on it. Flashes of old colonial homes and old dress crossed my mind, but I wasn’t sure what was real or what I was filling in. There was the thumping, which I could only compare to someone banging against a coffin now, and something else I couldn’t quite remember. It was a void in my mind. That was just it though; a void, one that snarled at me and followed me all the way here. It reminded me of what I saw at the inn.

The light of recognition crossed my face and I looked up at Wyck, who must have been waiting for me to spill. 

“I saw what I saw at the inn.”

“And you were sleepwalking there too.” Wyck added. 

We both nodded in agreement, but the revelation didn’t offer any more clarity than it did before. Maybe whatever cursed this island was playing a sick joke against me as the reporter, wanting me to see it all. I hung my head in my hands, my eyes burning from how long they’ve been awake. 

“Well, he won’t speak to me. I even tried the notepad.”  Patricia’s voice came down the stairs with her, and her heavy sigh of frustration. “I mean, geez, you’d think after having no one to talk to for three hundred years he would have a lot to say.”

She threw it on the table and with that, came the unnerving silence and reminder that Richard Warren was still alive and upstairs. 

“None of this makes any sense.” I said, trying to sip the coffee again. 

“Maybe you could try and talk to him?” she suggested. “He did speak to you after you sleep walked here.”

My head whipped towards her. “Absolutely not!” 

But, as the idea simmered, I quickly looked at the two of them and the way they were considering it as an idea. I frantically shook my head. “I’m settling with the fact that he won’t talk to anyone but Tom so let’s just drop it!” 

I watched the sun go down through the windows. The coffee that ran through my system barely kept me going as we sifted through some more of the archives within the house to find anything related to Richard Warren or this locket. When night fell, I was equally as tired as I was on edge. 

Finally though, Patricia sprung up to finally call Tom again.

“So help me if he doesn’t answer I’m going to his house.” Patricia muttered as she walked over to the phone. 

Surprisingly, Tom did answer though and Patricia spoke quietly as if not to wake the very alive dead man upstairs. She urged him to get down here quickly regardless of the way it sounded like he was coping with being asleep for a whole day.

She hung up and I rubbed my temples which began throbbing hours ago. “I guess he was recovering from the magic mushrooms.” I frowned. 

Wyck nodded in agreement and as we waited for Tom’s arrival, we all sat around in silence. The highs and lows from today felt far from over despite the way my body craved a bed right now. When the sound of a car rolling up the road came through the house, we all stilled, hoping it wasn’t someone else.

“It’s him.” Wyck gruffed out. 

Tom slowly entered through the front door like it was a trap, but he immediately straightened when his eyes fell on me. I could feel the weight beneath my eyes as I looked up at him and the flash of concern that etched its way into his features. He stood in a plain t-shirt and jeans, a look I haven’t seen on him yet, but he too looked like he had a long day.  

“Is everything alright?” Tom asked, looking at everyone but lingering on me for a second longer. 

None of us really answered that. My eyes fell back down to the table. 

“Um, depending on what you’d define as ‘alright’, I guess.” Patricia answered. 

The exhaustion was catching up to her too and Wyck left to make another coffee for her. “I’d take a seat if I were you.” he said as he passed him. 

Tom did a double take as he hesitantly followed that suggestion. “What happened? Why are you guys here?”

I snickered, almost out of delirium that started to creep in, and shook my head. “I still don’t know the answer to that.” Tom sat on the opposite end of the table from me and I’m sure I looked absolutely insane. 

Patricia took a deep breath and looked down at her notepad. 

“Last night, while you were on drugs, Wyck brought a page found at the Reverend’s office here to Gerrie. The entry mentioned a plague, which she connected to 1702. With that, we were able to deduce that the journal belonged to Sarah Wescott Warren.” Patricia explained, her words slow and drawn out, grappling to some sense of sanity as she told the events. Thankfully, Wyck brought her the coffee which she brought to her lips with shaky hands. 

“We thought maybe the cursed item she mentioned in the entry might be buried with Richard Warren.” Patricia continued, eyes flickering over to Wyck. “So Wyck suggested we dig him up. And so, we did just that.”

I studied Tom as Patricia explained everything, but he didn’t register it yet.

“You did what?” he asked. 

“We dug up Richard Warren’s coffin.”

He didn’t believe it at first, same as I did even when it stared me in the face.

“You dug up the founder's corpse?” he asked again.

We all answered simultaneously, pointing at the coffin that sat behind me. I wordlessly lifted a hand, still staring at the table as I motioned to the coffin. 

Then, the truth hit him like a slap to the face as his eyes fell on it. The color drained as he stood, eyes widening at the coffin and then me.

“Are you out of your fucking minds?” Tom asked, the air escaping him. “And you bring her into this? Are you insane?”

I feebly lifted one hand. “No, worse. I walked here in my sleep.” 

It was all a lot at once for him, even as Wyck urged him to take a beat and listen to Patricia. His eyes fixated on the coffin again. 

“Oh, my god. He’s in there?” Tom stuttered.

“No. He’s upstairs.” Wyck answered. “We moved him.” Patricia seconded. I merely sat there and nodded, no longer phased by it as the terror sunk into him,

“W-why…why did you move him?”

And here came the final blow to their day. 

“Because he’s still alive.” I answered curtly. 

The thought sickened my stomach again. I thought I had all day to accept it, but the feeling of bone and overgrown nail pinching my chin and the smell of his three hundred year old body did not cease to break through the state I was in. 

Tom blinked. “What?”

“We have been able to communicate a little through notes.” Patricia said.

“What?”

Wyck sighed impatiently. “Richard Warren,” he pointed above. “Is in that room.”

“And he’s waiting for you.” Patricia added. 

“What-what do you me–why would he be waiting for me?”

“Because you’re the Lord Island Protector, we assume. That’s the only person he said he’d talk to.” I answered for the others. 

“Well, he did say a few words to you,” Patricia mentioned. “But that might be for totally unrelated reasons.” 

I shook my head, letting my hands run over my face and through my hair. Wyck showed him the locket, the same as the one in the painting, stressing the importance of finding out what was in it. The minute he tried to take it from Wyck’s hand though, we all yelled at him to stop. My body relaxed against the chair again with a resounding breath, and I watched the gears click behind his eyes as he realized he would have to go and face Richard Warren.

Tom went upstairs, all of us watching in anticipation and listening to what we could. 

I still had a terrible feeling I couldn’t shake. Maybe it was being awake for a day that made this pit form, but there was something else slightly off about the corpse that was dug up and found to be alive. 

What we didn’t expect at the end of the conversation was for Tom to be guiding Richard Warren downstairs. 

It was more jarring even a second time to see him; the grayness of the brink of death and dirt from below coating him, nothing but fraying skin and bone that crossed the museum that was once his house. I slowly followed behind them, hanging in the doorway, to see him nearly double over the showcase that held his children’s toys. 

“Every second in that coffin, I imagined their deaths.” Richard spoke, the deepness of his voice tugging at me.

Patricia and Wyck joined behind me. As Richard looked through the rest, hobbling with the cane Tom quickly passed to him, hearing the struggle of his breath was mind bending. He looked around at everything, even the small gift shop in the corner, and then he turned to the life size mannequins. 

“Sarah…” he whispered, kneeling down to her height, frayed hands lifting to her face. 

“So sad.” Patricia whispered to me. 

I glanced over at Tom who cautiously followed behind, to see he had the same instinct to look at me as well. 

But then, Richard Warren spent his little energy on digging his thumbs into the eyes of the mannequin, teeth bearing with rage. My eyes widened and I slowly turned towards Patricia, who solemnly nodded in understanding. Tom crossed the room to help him get his bearings.

Richard straightened, and for the first time since last night, he looked at me. The gaze was chilling, making my stomach churn.

“So long as there are men alive with my blood, you are bound to the covenant. But I am the last.” he spoke, redirecting to Tom.

“What are you saying?”

“Take me out to sea,” Richard answered. “Past the point where sailors fear. Once I am beyond its grip, without the hex upon me,” he shook. “I believe I will age and die. With my bloodline gone, my death will free the island from its curse.”

I turned to look at Patricia and Wyck. It felt too easy, and I presumed they could judge that by the skepticism in my face. 

Richard did not continue the conversation. Instead, he started to peruse what his home once was. It was almost kind of sad when I thought about it a second more; I thought of how much the world above his grave changed and now, here it was, his home nothing more than a display. 

We collectively decided to leave the room, slowly like we were the ones that would spook him. Patricia and Wyck disappeared through other doors, leaving me in a split second of silence.

When Tom followed, I felt his presence even before I turned around, to see his brows drawn and sorrowful blue eyes beneath them. His fingers twitched as they lifted to my face like he was taking a second to think about it. But I stepped in to meet him half way and words failed to come from his parted lips. 

“I-I am,” he began, eyes darting across my face. “so sorry.” 

I was so mentally and physically drained, I had no energy to dispute his apology. My eyes slowly closed and I sighed. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Tom.” I assured. 

His thumb stroked my cheek and he hardly looked satisfied. 

“I wanted to keep you from this. I wanted to keep myself out of it but most importantly, you.” Tom shook his head. 

My hands lifted to cover his. It felt wonderful to feel his touch after everything today. I let out a soft chuckle at my own thoughts before I could put them into words.

“I’m starting to think this was always meant to happen this way.” 

Tom nodded, a soft laugh of disbelief mirroring my own. “I didn’t want to believe that, but I think you’re right.” Then, his eyes fell. “I’m…I’m sorry for something else though. I think.”

My brows furrowed and his hands lowered to my shoulders. 

“I-I called you, um, Lauren, last night, didn’t I?” he winced.

“Oh.” I slowly responded. “Yeah.” 

I could feel the sting to his touch, his hesitance reaching through down to my skin. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that either.” I said, placing my hands on his chest. “I mean, how often do you get to use the excuse that you were high on mushrooms?” 

An indignant sound escaped him, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. 

“That—that doesn’t make it right but you're not wrong. I saw—“ Tom paused and shook his head again. 

“Tell me when you’re ready.” I interjected. “We have more pressing issues and when this is done…” I trailed off. 

A smile started to creep its way onto his lips at the mere thought of this being over soon. I could see the flicker in his eyes as he dreamed of a summer where nothing crazier than today could happen. I was too, honestly. 

“When this is over I am going to have to do so much to make this up to you.” Tom chuckled. 

“You can kiss me right now and make that list shorter.” I grinned

“Oh I’m going to kiss you so…” his mutters were silenced against my lips, hands returning to my face to make sure nothing else could pull us away. 

The feeling of his lips brought so much life back into me down to my bones after the day I’ve had. It immediately created a spark deep in my core, one I couldn’t act upon now despite the hunger apparent in the way I deepened the kiss. 

But a gruff voice cleared its throat by the doorway and I jumped from Tom like a scared cat. 

Wyck stood looking at us with a frown. 

“When you two are done, Tom, meet me outside.” 

“Coming.”

Tom flashes me a smile before darting over towards Wyck who shamefully shook his head at him. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thready pulse, and placed my hands on my hips. As I turned around to find Patricia though, Richard Warren standing in the opposite doorway sent me into another fright that made me jump out of my bones. 

“Jesus fucking christ!” I gasped, hand reaching to my chest. 

The corpse of a man frowned at me. Frowned at me. He stepped closer, slowly, dependent on the cane.

“Your choice of words is remarkably unbecoming.” 

We now stood with the old dining table between us, and he hung in the shadow outside of the overhead lamp. I looked at him in disbelief across the distance as he approached, and I instinctively stepped back.

“I can’t say I agree with you on that.” was all I could muster up. 

The silence of the home became deeply more unsettling now. He stared at a spot on the floor for a long time. My hands hung on the back of the wood chair, eyes glued to him, as if I needed to sprint at any second. 

“Do you belong to the man who is the Lord Island Protector?” 

My face scrunched and I tilted my head. “No. Why do you ask?” 

Richard Warren looked completely innocent in his disposition, as innocent as a three hundred and something year old could. 

“He carries much fear for you.” Richard observed. “It is difficult to lead when burdened with such fear.”

I shrugged, trying to find a balance in my answer. I wanted to leave, I wanted to laugh in his face, and none of it felt right. I thought of Tom, the current mayor faced against the first—the founder. I had grown to become defensive of this place like it was my own in just a short few days, especially of Tom. 

“Is that how you justified everything? Being burdened with fear?” 

This evoked something in him, but the change in his face was minimal. But the way he looked at me this time went much deeper.

“Justified?”

“Yeah,” I answered, puzzled by his misunderstanding. “The island, the covenant or whatever you did? Everyone I’ve met calls this place cursed and I’ve only been here collectively for like, a week.” 

Richard hummed at this. He took it in like he was surprised by this notion. 

“The island requires little justification. Just obedience.” 

His response cooled the room. Thinking of it that way, I suppose I could agree. But I didn’t want to tell him that, not when his pact was putting the people I care about in danger. 

“What the island requires of you, though, leaves me in wonder.” 

My heart skipped, landing harder than it did before. I eyed him with no caution this time. 

“What?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. 

“Why are you here?” 

I huffed out a dry laugh. “I don’t think it’s fair to answer a question with a question.” 

Something tugged at his centuries old grin. But I was not feeling the slightest bit humorous. When he shifted his weight on the cane, leaning over the old diary entries and notes on the table, I did not flinch as I would moments ago. 

“I came here to write an article about the island. To bring more people in.” I answered after a long stretch of silence. “Which I don’t think I would have done if I knew then what I know now.” 

Richard Warren looked at me through his sullen eyes. “The devil requires its witnesses, then.” he stated, more as a guess than a fact. “But not often witnesses share an uncanny resemblance to those who have walked this place before. Which is why I am curious as to why the island brought you here.” 

“I said it's because I had to write—“ 

“No,” Richard’s voice echoed. “You must understand by now that your will is much different than the will of the covenant.” 

My knuckles turned brighter as I clenched the chair within my grip. 

“What does who I look like have to do with it?” 

But Richard Warren simply shook his head as if it was a way to end the conversation there. I didn’t realize how sweaty my palms became as my grip changed, only then becoming acutely aware that the fear was sinking back in. 

“It does not matter. Perhaps, just a cruel jest in retaliation for my failure.” 

“Can you speak normally for two seconds?!” I snapped, voice raising slightly. 

Then, the doors opened and Tom came through, pausing like he may have just interrupted something. I looked towards him with relief but also wanted to hear what Richard was going on about. He was troubled by something and it had something to do with me.

“Sorry,” Tom stammered, then looking at the corpse of a man. “Uh, can I talk to you?” 

I turned away as the pair walked back into the other room, indicating I wanted no further part of this conversation. When I had the space to myself, I reached for my coffee that lost its warmth, my thoughts mulling over in a way that was impossible to digest. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Patricia asked, coming to my side.

My gaze returned to a random spot on the table. 

“Have you seen anyone that looks like me in old paintings or anything?” I asked dryly. 

I could feel the way her mood shifted, purely caught off guard by my question. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” 

“Okay.” 

That satisfied me as much as it did her so the topic was dropped. In the silence though, the distant hum of an engine and tires against gravel became increasingly closer. My heart sank and Patricia and I immediately crossed the room to look through the window above the old kitchen set up. 

It was the Sheriff. 

“Tom…” Patricia quietly called, grabbing his attention from the founder in the other room. She beckoned him to come over here with the jerk of her head. 

“Does the Sheriff not know anything?” I asked in a whisper. 

“Nope.” 

Tom came up beside us. “Oh, shit. What’s he doing here?”

I looked at Patricia who flatly answered, “Someone may have reported my screaming. Or hers. Either way, let me talk to him.”

I quickly forgot the scream of terror I let out, thinking I may have still been in my nightmare. The vomiting I induced after it was real and still made my stomach feel groggy though. 

“Wait, hold on–” Tom tried to plead. 

But Patricia cut him off, insisting she had this. I wasn’t sure what that meant but we watched behind the curtains as she tried to turn the Sheriff away. In silence, I could start to feel the wariness creep in as her attempts didn’t. But then, she surprised us all when she hopped in the driver's seat of the Sheriff’s Jeep. Wyck joined just in time to see, his jaw hanging open as mine was too. 

“Oh my god,” I gawked. She started to drive, stopping to ensure he was following, and oh boy he was…all the way as she continued to drive.

“Alright, let’s go.” Wyck ushered. 

I spun around as they started to act, Richard Warren following along as well. 

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Tom turned to face me before he could run away. “Wyck and I are going out to sea. You’re staying here.” 

Something within me deflated, and I couldn’t help but feel a twist in my chest as I was expected to sit by after everything I went through today. 

“Tom,” my voice deepened with warning. “Don’t do this to me. Not now.” 

Confliction passed through him, glancing back at the coffin and me. Even Richard Warren turned to see what was transpiring just a few feet away. 

“Let the woman come. I would wish to see one last familiar face before making my final departure from this world.” Richard’s voice solemnly echoed. 

My stomach churned. I hated that my only chance of coming along with this hung on the request of the man who terrified me to my core. I hardly looked grateful as I glared at him over Tom’s shoulder, but my eyes flickered back up to Tom who was wondering what he meant. 

“And I want to make sure he’s actually dead for myself.” I whispered under my breath. 

Tom didn’t say yes or no, he merely hung his head and didn’t argue when I helped load the coffin into Wyck’s truck. We drove to the docks under the guise of the night in absolute silence, the rocking of the old wooden coffin in the back forming a knot in the back of my throat. It wasn’t much of a sound, but it was one that kept us all in check.

“What did he mean by that?” Tom finally asked after several long minutes. 

I sat between him and Wyck, my stare unmoving from the road ahead. 

“He was curious about me. I must look like someone he knew.” I answered, my own skin beginning to crawl at the idea. “I told him I was here to write an article and he said ‘the devil wants a witness’ and I checked out after that.” 

Silence fell again, uncomfortably so. Tom’s hand rested on my knee as the only support he could think to offer. No words could provide me any comfort that would rid me of the grimy feeling I couldn’t shake. 

The dock where Wyck’s boat was held was absent of any lingering eyes. We brought the coffin on in record timing, fueled by the goal of being unseen. As the engine kicked on and we rolled out to sea, the island became nothing more than a black silhouette that blended with the deep abyss of the sky, save for the specks of light that grew smaller and smaller. It was so dark out on the water that I could make out the deepest of blues out towards the horizon. I couldn’t tell where the water ended and the sky began. 

For a while, I remained outside of the cabin, letting it all blend through my tired eyes until they adjusted and I could start to see stars. The air that rolled over the tide became increasingly cooler, the brine within it sharper. It was grounding in a way, and I didn’t realize I had been steadily counting my breaths, ensuring they were even and calming the nerves I didn’t realize had been strung so high. 

The cabin door creaked open and I turned to find Tom, the orange lifevest hanging around his neck. 

“Please put on one if you’re gonna stand out here.” he begged, a playful smile on his lips. 

“I’m coming inside.” I grinned back.

Tom glanced down at the coffin that sat at the back of the boat, then put one arm around me as a guide back into the humid warmth of the cabin. I was gladly offered an old, faded red crewneck Wyck had lying around. I rolled the sleeves up as we joined him up at the front where he steered the boat onwards.

“Lot of fishermen learn the hard way that you don’t go too far from this island.” Wyck said ominously. “It’s like our own Bermuda Triangle out there.”

I could hear Tom’s quiet sigh, one that was certainly filled with the same unease I felt. 

“So, we’ll stop two minutes before we get to this line.” he continued, pointing at a map with marked buoys and a dotted line. “That’s the dead zone. Crossing it will trigger this light.” he tapped on the small light next to the radar, labelled with a skull and crossbones. “Beyond this buoy, people like me don’t tend to come back.”

My eyes lifted from the map to Wyck as he so casually described this. It felt daunting to try to and stay within limits at such a late time of night.

“Anyway, I’m gonna stop the boat at the two minute mark. You can put him on the dinghy and take him the rest of the way yourself.”

“Is two minutes cutting it too close for you?” Tom stammered. 

Wyck grinned smugly. “You won’t be able to row on that thing much longer. Even with her help. So let’s just get him past the buoy and send him to hell so we can end all this.”

For a short while, only several minutes that felt like forever, I sat at the small kitchenette table. The lamp rocked with the tide above my head, and my head grew heavier in my hands until I almost completely nodded off. The one time I caught my head from falling, my bleary eyes focused on Tom hanging his head out the window like a dog. I wasn’t tired enough to miss the look of sea sickness written across his slacked posture. 

He brought his head back in, leaning against the frame with slow and heavy breaths. 

I smiled lazily at him, the tension returning to his expression when he noticed I was watching. His lips pressed into a firm line, ticking upwards slightly at the corners. 

The radio suddenly cracked to life, words blurred with static quickly turning into urgency. I felt my smile drop, looking wide eyed at the radio while Wyck seemed to ignore it. My heart raced again. Each frequency became more frantic than the last, spewing out one warning after another. 

“What is that?!” Tom asked.

I froze as I listened to the communications become more terrorized. 

“The island playing games.” Wyck answered with the same essence of warning the voices on the radio had. 

Just as I tried to force myself to pay no mind to it, the entire boat sputtered, jolting us forward. The lights flickered and I grabbed onto the table for dear life, my chest lurching with it. 

“Make sure that coffin is secure!” Wyck barked out, throwing a looped piece of rope around the steering to keep it steady. “I’m gonna check below.” 

The stillness of the boat rocked me harder than any swell could have. Wyck went down below and Tom eyed the coffin, then he glanced at me.

“Stay here. I’m going to keep watch.” 

I nodded without so much as a protest in my mind. When Tom went out to the coffin, I leaned over the table, staring down the aisle out onto the deck just to make sure I could still see him at all times. But it seemed that Richard Warren picked up on his lingering presence and started to ask if he could come out now.

My face scrunched up at Tom as he slowly turned back to me, caught in a place where his lips parted but not a sound could come out.

“Did you tell him you’d let him out?!” I loudly whispered. 

Tom’s lips formed around words I couldn’t make out as his hands flailed around, lifting in uncertainty. I shook my head at him, listening to the failed attempts at calming the corpse. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Fuck me? Fuck you!”  

I sunk back in the cushion, staring in disbelief down the aisle as Tom argued with Richard Warren. Nothing about him being strapped down in a coffin gave me any peace of mind, not until the boat was up and running again. 

Before I could question Tom’s intentions though, he told me to head downstairs with Wyck. 

Even when Tom followed minutes later, asking Wyck if he could let Warren out, somehow I had a feeling that he had already done so. 

“Tom!” I groaned. “How could you even ask that?”

“Sometimes I don’t understand how you got your fucking job.” Wyck shook his head. 

No matter how he tried to justify it, that sickening feeling from earlier returned. Very rarely did I feel such a troubling feeling, and almost always, it was right. I wanted to be mad at Tom, absolutely furious. 

But Wyck, who was also beside himself with Tom’s decision making, slipped into a story. I didn’t understand where it came from at first as he pulled the picture out of his wallet, speaking of Gerrie who he cared for deeply and her brother, his best friend. 

The world above me on the boat didn’t exist for the moments I listened. 

I leaned against the wall, almost forgetting to blink. Maybe my eyes were dry, but I started tearing up. The tale reminiscent of a sea creature told for centuries ended abruptly with the chilling detail of his best friend dying at his own hand. 

It was then I realized that this curse wasn’t just something just awakened; it was always there, decades long, stretching into every part of this island's natives. 

And the creator of it lay above my head. 

“I only told you that story so you could listen to me one fucking time,” Wyck breathed out with exasperation. “Do not let him out.” 

Tom was silent. I turned my head, suspicious about the absence of his voice. Then, the look on his face filled me with dread before he could even open his mouth.

“I already let him out.” 

Wyck’s face dropped. He stepped past us to creep over the swinging shutter doors, where I presumed he saw Richard Warren roaming. 

“God damn you to hell.” Wyck seethed. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Tom gulped, his head sinking in defeat. 

Taking a look at his surroundings, I wasn’t sure what Wyck was looking for. It wasn’t until he grabbed a long blade that looked like it was for skinning fish and handed it to me that I understood. Well, I think I did at least. 

Wyck went back up without another word. Tom looked at me with a guilt I couldn’t even be bothered to sympathize with. 

“I’m staying down here until we get past the point.” I said, sinking against a small bench with the long knife in my hands. 

He wanted to apologize, and maybe he did with his eyes, but my own fear kept me from accepting right now. Tom returned to the deck well, his tail tucked between his legs. I remained below deck, trying to listen to what transpired above. It ranged from cans clinking against each other and then, a sea shanty from a particularly deep voice that brought chills to my spine. All the while, I couldn’t sit comfortably whatsoever.

“We’re getting close,” I heard Wyck call. 

I looked at my surroundings, cluttered by fishing gear that I haven’t familiarized myself with since early childhood. I could only hope this knife would suffice against someone who couldn’t die if it came to it.

Another eternity passed before I thought about emerging. But then, the boat rocked again, harder, like the island was yanking back on its reins one more time. It sent me from one wall to another and I sprung up, on guard again after almost finding ease, trying to listen out for either Tom or Wyck. 

I approached the stairs to peek up, seeing Tom approach behind Wyck at the steering. 

“We’re gonna need a different plan,” he whispered, eyes flickering down towards me.

There was a subtle shake to his head that made me retreat into the shadows, a command that transcended the smallest of gestures. But as I retreated and lost sight of Tom, the sudden sound of a thud against flesh swung through the air and I gasped, hearing what I could only guess to be Tom’s body hitting the floor. 

“Tom!” My hands flew up to my mouth to mask the horrid sound that escaped me, and I backed against the furthest corner below deck. 

I listened to Wyck's strangled insults, and in between, I heard Richard Warren cry: “I want to live!”

My body shuddered, and I clutched the knife’s handle tighter between my palm. Over and over again, his pleas wanting not to die tore against my ears. Him and Wyck tumbled down the stairs and the lights began to flicker. The adrenaline pumping through me pressed my firm against the wall, breath racing as I tried to let my eyes adjust to the darkness

“Wyck!” I shouted into the shadows. 

The fighting stopped. The sound of breath moving in and out of dry lungs filled the silence.

Before I had the chance to focus then, a hand reached out, murky white skin with claws as nails catching the emergency lights above and reaching to catch a fistful of my hair.

“No!” I cried out, swinging the blade in my hand. 

It caught what once was flesh, tearing through fabric and the equivalent of paper mache as it dug. It did nothing to slow the pull against my scalp, forcing me to follow the direction it tugged me up the stairs with a burning pain.

“Perhaps it was a sign I should have followed long before I agreed to this journey,” Richard Warren's voice boomed. 

When we reached the deck, Tom sprung out from behind a wall with a harpoon in hand. For a second I feared he’d shoot but he didn’t, because I was in the direct path. 

“Tom!” I shouted, my feet tripping over themselves.

Pain spread across my head like fire as I tried to lessen the pull Warren had on me.

“The island brought me the woman who shared the face of my first wife, the mother of my children. It can only be for the purpose of restoring balance to the covenant, you as my vessel to keeping my bloodline alive. I am meant to live!"

Silence fell across the boat for a second. I processed his words and tried to run it back through my thoughts. But everything went white hot behind my eyes as I registered what he truly meant. 

“Ew!” I scowled, raising my voice from the pain and anger that all blended. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” 

Tom faltered with the harpoon, staring at the founder with disgust. “Are you being serious?” he grimaced. I looked up as Richard’s grip loosened as he looked at me, taking offense as his gaze drifted between me and Tom. 

“Did you say ‘ew’, as if you would be dishonored to continue the pact I saved my people with?” he asked. “Have you no desire to fulfill your purpose?”

My mind was in a frenzy. I had reached the brink of my breaking point, all while his hand was still buried in my hair. 

“Yes, ew! I am not procreating with a fucking corpse!” I screamed at him again, the blind rage taking over the fear I held.  “God, now that you are out of that coffin you can take the prize for the dumbest person alive!” 

The grip loosened, but with his release came a shove that sent me into the deck floor practically face first with no time for my hands to come in front of me. At first, the pressure that blossomed on the side of my face felt nothing more than that, but then, the throbbing pain began and it sent stars across my vision. 

By the time I straightened my eyes out, I rose to see Richard almost overpowering Tom. 

“I will take this woman from you! I will live!” he proclaimed. 

“Absolutely the fuck not!” Tom strained, trying to push back against him. “You will not be taking this woman from me!”

Tom’s body was bending over the edge of the boat, dangerously close to the balance of gravity winning against him as Richard nearly threw him overboard.

I didn’t think; I swiped the knife from the ground, taking two long strides over to him to leap on his back with the third.

Richard cried out as I plunged the knife into the crevice where his shoulder met his neck. I thought my weight would topple him over but he straightened and leaned back, causing me to lose my grip, which I quickly learned was out of strategy. I fell hard on my back, the wind nearly leaving my lungs. I scrambled back, gasping for air.

Just as I regained control of myself, Richard looked down at the knife lodged in his flesh. He reached for it, hand wrapping around the handle, and slowly pulled like it were no more than a small splinter.

My eyes widened.

Richard stormed towards me with the blade now in his hands.

But Wyck rose from the depths of the boat to lunge at Richard and him and Tom worked quickly to get him back in the coffin. I remained frozen on the ground for a few seconds too long. My ears were muffled, as if I were under water. I don’t know what came of me as I watched the three of them scrambling across the deck, the sounds that came from their mouths not reaching me. 

Tom called my name. “Help us get him in!” 

I jolted out of whatever it was that glued me to my spot, stumbling upwards to help keep the flailing Richard Warren in his coffin.

Richard's cries begging to live jumbled together. His boot nearly kicks me in the face as I try to throw my weight on holding them down. He was strong for a dead man though, nearly sending me off balance each time he fought against me, almost catching the soft spots of weakness throughout my arms. 

All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the screams of a man sentenced to death and hope we could subdue him before my arms gave out. 

Finally, we were able to get the coffin closed on top of him, and my arms gave out completely as I now threw my entire body over it. The three of us put all of our weight down like our lives depended on it. Beside me, Tom struggled too and just as I leaned my head over to see Wyck, the boat came to life.

It groaned and rocked only once, just enough to knock Wyck over the side of the boat.

When his weight lifted from the coffin, Tom’s weight following behind as he tried to catch his leg, I stretched myself out to try and keep the lid closed. My heart thundered now, so much so that I almost couldn’t breathe fast enough. 

Just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the sound of an alarm cut through the chaos, and my head spun to see the red light on the dash blinking angrily. We were close to the line. 

“Hand me that!” Tom grunted. 

Somehow, my eyes knew exactly where to follow, and I quickly reached for the lifebuoy, passing it on instinct. Tom threw it to Wyck, only to let him go in the water before we could cross the line. After the splash, Tom came right back to my side. 

It was just the two of us now, heels digging into the floor to keep the lid closed with all of our strength. Every blow from inside the coffin rolled through the wood and up my arms. I desperately looked over at Tom as every time Richard threw himself against the lid threatened to knock us apart.

I couldn't close my eyes or look at the century old wood anymore. I just looked at Tom.

His jaw was clenched as he braced himself against the coffin, caught up in trying to keep it closed as his arms trembled under the strain. Pieces of his hair curled by the salty air fell loose across his forehead, jolting with each hit. He looked exhausted, terrified...all the things I tried to swallow down.

I saw doubt too though.

When Tom's eyes met mine, it was clear neither of us were certain.

I was only certain that as long as he was here, I'd throw myself down over this coffin until every muscle failed. I'd stay here, if he asked, until the ocean took us all down.

I held his gaze instead of my own fear; I chose to believe in him more than the things that threatened us now.

But then, it all stopped. 

Silence came over the waters past the buoy, the coffin going still and the voice inside of it no more. Neither of us moved. I was still tense over the coffin, my muscles rigid as if maybe this was a trick.

Tom and I gave each other one last look before we slowly removed ourselves. I sunk back, sitting on my knees.

Tom lifted the coffin and for the first time in my life, I was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of dust and bones. I let myself be weak, laying back on the floor of the deck while my chest sharply rose and fell. 

In my relief though, the silence reminded me quickly that Wyck was still in the water. 

“Tom, turn the boat around.” I said, springing back up. 

Tom was back by the wheel in a split second. I picked up the large flashlight that hung on a hook amongst other supplies, and started pointing it out the water. I called Wyck’s name over and over again, even until Tom joined me and also shouted out for him. The yellow buoy passed us by, each second becoming more filled with dread than the last. 

“He’s gotta be out here, Tom.” my voice wavered. I became deeply afraid that he wouldn’t be. 

“S-stay here! I’m going to look for a flair or something!” 

I nodded, a lump forming in the back of my throat. My search became blurred from the tears that pricked my eyes now as I called for Wyck again. 

All of that ceased when I heard a splash. I rushed over to the sound, waving my flashlight over the black waters beyond the light. “Wyck!”

“Wrong side, kid!” 

I spun around towards the opposite side, to see a very sopping wet Wyck pull himself up over a ladder. 

“Oh my god.” I breathed out, tears flooding my eyes all of the sudden.

I dropped the flashlight and crossed the distance between us. No matter how soaked he was, I threw my arms around him, as if I was the one being saved. The bewildered man who rose from the ocean let out a deep breath from his round belly, and hesitantly hugged me back.

I pulled back quickly though. “I’m sorry. I just–I got so worried we weren’t going to find you and–it’s been a long day.”

Wyck’s laugh was heartfelt, but clearly being in the waters still left him frazzled. He turned to see Tom, emerging up from the bottom of the boat. My smile widened at the sound he made when he saw him.

“I thought you were dead!” Tom cried. 

“Then what are you doing down there?” Wyck asked, slightly winded.

“I was-I was looking for flares!” 

I laughed too now, the tears still rolling down my cheeks, stinging the site where a pretty bruise was forming over my cheekbone.

“So they could find you?” Wyck retorted, brushing past Tom who’s face fell. “Damn it all.”

I followed in, still absolutely overjoyed. I was happy to see Wyck, who walked over to his steering panel, muttering about how Tom moved things around. His breaths heaved out as he set us back on course to the island and I crept up beside Tom who still looked mildly offended. 

My hand came to his back, rubbing it assuringly, as even I knew Wyck was not going to pour out his gratitude for saving him. 

“You did good.” Wyck finally said, catching his breath.

“Thank you.” Tom slowly returned, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I did very fucking good.” 

A laugh bubbled out of me. Then Tom. Then Wyck. The tears still didn’t stop pouring from my eyes, the ducts having gone completely numb and opened it seemed. We laughed all the way home and I stayed tucked under Tom’s arm, savoring the feeling of everything being okay for the time being.

(SPICINESS BELOW READ AT YOUR OWN RISK mainly bc i suck at writing these things lol)

~

Being back on land was never something I thought I could take for granted. 

It was the middle of the night in Widow’s Bay and because Patricia may or may not have been stuck at the Sheriff’s office, Tom let me stay with him that night. To my relief though, Patricia did leave a voicemail for Tom saying she was home and the Sheriff now thinks she’s crazy.

“Oh yeah, like he didn’t think that before.” Tom snickered after listening to it.

“Where’s Evan?” I asked, following him to his kitchen.

He fixated on something by his fridge where a note hung on a magnet. “Apparently at a friend's place.” I noticed he didn’t look too disappointed by that; in fact, he started smiling. “And he can finally leave the island.” he whispered more to himself.

I smiled too, sneaking up to him to wrap my arms around him from behind. His hands came over my arms and I could feel the tension leave him.

“How about I start making all of this up to you?”

Heat spread from my chest to my face and I lifted my head from where it rested on his back. 

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

The seconds that passed on our way upstairs were a blur. I felt off balance by being out on the water, even more so as Tom’s hands scoured every part of my body on his way to removing my sweatshirt. 

Our lips crashed against each other, soft and slow but the hunger kept building. There was little space for air as I threw myself at him. My hands ran up his chest from under his shirt, and I grinned against his lips at the feel of a shudder running through him. I removed his shirt and before we came back to each other, I looked him up and down.

Gently, his hands came to face to brush the hair back, and I could see the pain twisting behind his eyes as he studied the bruise that formed on the side of my face.

I closed the distance between us, lips reaching his with more rigor, and my bare chest now pressing against his. I didn't want to dwell on the things that brought us pain today.

The softness of our bodies touching made goosebumps rise along my arms that wrapped around his neck, anchoring him down to me. It healed the cold that dug its way in today.

His hands fell from my face, sliding down my back that arched further into him and the creeping bulge from behind his jeans. Fingertips traced my spine and the back of my throat hummed. 

Tom’s hands went down further, and he suddenly dipped down to scoop me up.

“Tom!” I giggled, looping my legs around him to keep from falling. He looked up at me now, entirely at ease.

“I told you,” he grinned, fingers splaying across the back of my thighs. “I’m making everything up to you tonight.” 

“All in one night?” I mirrored, teasing him. “You sure about that? I can't be that lucky.” 

Tom moved towards the foot of his bed and laid me down, letting me fall against the plushness of his sheets. I propped myself up on my elbows, and my heart coiled at the sight of him undoing his belt.

“Oh, I’m sure.” he nodded, looking like he accepted a challenge. 

My pulse raced through me, down to my core that began to throb.

“Come here, then.” I dared.

Tom’s jeans fell to the floor, leaving him in a simple pair of black boxers as he towered over me.

The urge to be taken completely flooded me, something in his gaze darkened with a level of desire that fizzled across my skin. My legs spread in the space he climbed over, lips coming down to mine again.

I raked my hands through his hair and down his back, but he pulled away before I could get enough. His lips went down to my jaw, and then my neck as a hand cupped my breast. The soft spot of my neck his lips found almost instantly and his palm against my nipple made my breath hitch. Both hands cupped each breast as he moved lower.

“Tom,” I gulped, heart racing beneath his grip, lips trailing down the rest of my abdomen.

I felt his smile against my naval, my skin cool against the spots he left gentle kisses in. But the sweetness turned as he started to unbutton my jeans. He pulled them off and I reached down, letting my underwear go too. 

“Oh my god,” he muttered in awe.

With my body exposed and Tom above me, self consciousness went out the window. I thought it was there but the way every fiber of my being called out to him completely washed it away. He looked at me, like a prize he couldn't believe he had.

Tom lowered himself back down with his lips still parted at a loss for words, hands grazing my skin.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” he whispered. One hand supported him as the other lingered by my thighs, going dangerously close to the middle and sending my mind into a frenzy.

“Tom,” I begged lowly. His lips came down to my collar bone and down my chest, his hand still toying with the sensitive skin between my thighs. 

“Hm?” he hummed, lips coming back to mine. I could hear how much he was enjoying this taunting.

This time, his hand came between my legs, creeping slowly and making my core twist, every muscle pulling in. I didn’t even have time to formulate his answer as I felt his fingers open me up. I inhaled sharply as the two of them slid in with ease past my folds that were almost embarrassingly dripping already.

I felt afloat as they pushed against my walls, back arching as if they could go any deeper.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.” 

Tom positioned himself on top of me, fingers slipping in and out at a steady pace. He kissed me so tenderly while something more ravenous took me down below.

“About what?” he taunted, the pace quickening. Making it up to me, I wanted to answer.

My eyes flared open and I could already feel the heat creeping across the underlying surface of my skin. I almost laughed at him playing coy, but a moan escaped me instead of words as his thumb came to clit. He smirked at the way my legs tightened around him and the rest of me squirmed.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, smiling lazily at him.

He cut off my words by pressing his lips against mine where they helplessly hummed in pleasure, the reverberations spreading across his tongue that danced with mine.

The pressure was building deep in my stomach. But I didn’t want to be so close to finishing. Not yet. I lifted my hand from where I clenched the sheets to his boxers, tugging at the waistband. I felt him still, his fingers faltering inside of me as I reached my palm over his cock, fingers wrapped around the length that almost felt greater than I could handle.

Tom let out a shuddered gasp, one I relished as I tightened my hand ever so slightly against his hardness. “You are…” he panted, pressing a kiss deeper against my lips so hard it could bruise. “You are…impatient.” 

I chuckled, only to be cut short as his fingers pushed deeper inside. 

“I can’t help it.” I grinned. “I want you inside of me. Right now.” 

Tom withdrew slightly to look me in the eyes like I just reached inside of his chest instead of for what was in his pants.

But he wasted no time, withdrawing his fingers to remove his boxers. The tension dissipated for now, only sitting at bay as Tom came back on top of me. Both hands lingered at my hips.

"Are you ready?" Tom asked, raising a brow at me.

"Yes, please, yes," I begged, arching my back to get closer to him.

Tom inserted himself with ease. My brows pinched together as it pushed through the folds, my head going light. I couldn’t fight back the sound that escaped my throat as Tom’s hips pushed fully against mine. He winced above me, his breath catching too.

The closeness transcended something within me. As he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, I started to lose my touch with the rest of the world, my thoughts emptying completely. My legs spread to let him in deeper as each thrust came faster than the last. 

“Oh my god, Tom.” I moaned, reaching a hand up into his hair.

Something unraveled in him when I said his name. He tilted his head to my palm, gently kissing it as he pounded me without breaking eye contact.

“Say it again.” he cooly commanded. 

The flushness returned in a larger wave this time. His thrust slowed but drove deeper than before while both of his fingers dug into my hips for leverage.

I cried out his name again, my hips lifting for him. He let out a ragged sound as he lowered his upper body over mine.

“Fuck.” Tom groaned into my neck, unable to go as slow as he was. 

“That’s it, go faster.” I whispered in his ear, the deepest of animalistic desires pouring out of me.

Tom answered my plea, and my hips lifted slightly from his hold. Each thrust awoken a new sound within me as my hands dug into his back. I savored the way his body rubbed against mine, the friction of each thrust becoming slicker with sweat.

A soft moan from Tom filled my ears and I would do anything to hear that sound again. “My god, you feel so amazing.” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not letting anyone else have you. No one’s gonna take you from me.” he beat in with each thrust.

I had a feeling whatever Richard Warren said earlier struck a nerve with him, one he let fill me up now as he got it out of his head. The pressure returned, an intangible feeling I tried to chase with each angle he took inside of me. 

“Just like that,” I breathed, beads of sweat at my temples.

“Are you gonna finish for me?” he toyed, one hand releasing my hip to place his thumb over my clit. Every nerve in my body lit up with his touch. I sucked in a gust of air, the euphoria churning at my core starting to get higher and higher within. 

“Yes!” I cried against his shoulder, salty against my lips. “Oh, god, Tom.”

He grinned at this, pulling back slightly just to see my face as his thumb worked harder. “That’s it,” he cooed, hips rocking faster now. 

I suddenly clenched around him as the tension released and I cried out a breathless moan, as a flash of warmth soared throughout my body from my head to my toes. Tom’s hips grinded against mine. “Oh, fuck–oh my god,” Tom groaned, his movement slowing he sunk over me. 

Our skin was glazed as he rested on top of me, cock still twitching inside from the come down. My heart raced as fast as his, echoing against each other’s chest. I turned my head to look at Tom whose face was laid up against the bunched up sheets. He tiredly grinned at me, slowly removing himself from me but not creating any more distance. 

“That was fucking amazing.” Tom said, still winded. 

I stroked the curls at the top of his head, taking a deep breath. I laid with my legs tangled in his while he lay on his side, fingers stroking my arms. For a long while we just caught our breath, no desire to let the moment end too quickly. 

“I think you’ve made up for everything.” I seconded. 

I showered quickly, and the heat of the water started to remind me I haven’t slept in a full day. Back in his room, I put on one of his shirts he gave me and slipped beside him in bed. Tom opened his arms to me where I immediately placed myself. Every part of my body was filled to the brim with fatigue. 

I tangled my legs with his, head resting on his chest. This night was the first time we had been so intimate but the tenderness this moment brought being held by him only made me feel more complete. I loved both experiences all the same, but crawling up beside him after everything we’ve seen was the only thing I truly wanted right now.

Tom whispered my name in the dark of his room. 

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Are you alright?” 

The question caught me off guard a little, pulling me from the closeness I had to falling asleep. I guess I really hadn’t thought of that though because I didn’t have an answer right away. I suppose I was right now, but deep down, I knew this would all come to an end soon and I didn’t know how I could ever go home after seeing everything I’ve seen. 

“I’m alright.” I answered simply, my arm resting over his abdomen to squeeze myself closer against him. 

Tom shuffled slightly, pressing his lips to my forehead and we fell asleep for the first time this week without the burden of what more terror could come from this island. 

~~~

an: okay so i hope their spicy moment wasn't too wack but on another note, the whole thing with reader looking like richard warrens first wife (bc we dont know what she looks like kids be damned) isnt that deep just a weird coincidence that makes him spiral and think theres a good reason to crash out and live and for comedic relief i suppose?

anyway hope you all still are enjoying this! gonna have some big thoughts and reflecting next chapter with where readers fate lies from here so stay tuned >:) and thank you all for your kind words!!