#belle82devart

[scuttle-buttle]

@belle82devart and I made up some headcanons about taking care of our soft bby Marko after a fight and even tho I still haven't watched the film I just

[johnseedyesking]

We shall see how it all goes in the end, Johnny. I'm sure that most will hear the message and understand just was fate is being dealt. I'll be there as well, no matter what.

Now as far as Jake goes, I have a good idea on how to make the soldier come around, but it may take a couple deep sessions of showing him that no matter what scary shot he has going on, compassion and love are what he will be met with. Or just some giid alcohol if all else fails. I know when to retreat if things get hairy, so don't worry about endangerment 😌 I got this (until I don't, lol). Damn my need to make people feel better!

Oh, sweetheart… if you only knew as much about Jacob as I do…

He will lull you into believing he trusts you, and then, as soon as you let your guard down, you’ll see only darkness, then days of torture that will become a blur, then awake behind bars, starving, fed “mystery meat”, and now an unrequited affection for him. To please, get praise, and serve only him..

Are you willing to risk both your mind, and freedom?

[angel-wings-and-leather-jackets]

🍄how do you get yourself in the mood to write?

Hey! Thanks for the ask!! ^^

I personally usually get a ton of writing done when the mood strikes and then get like 6 chapters done at once and edit them later lol

But when I'm really trying to buckle down and get some things written, I have a bunch of playlists to listen to for certain moods. Like (to oversimplify) sad playlists for sad scenes, happy songs for fluffy scenes, etc.

I also like to find a nice couch with either light from the window or if it's nighttime, a light from a lamp (never a ceiling light lol) to get like a nice cozy vibe.

I'm very much a feelings writer (if that even makes sense??), I need emotion when I'm writing otherwise I get super distracted.

So, I also write sad scenes when I'm feeling depressed, fluffy scenes when I'm elated, angry scenes when I'm frustrated. It maybe sounds kind of dumb, but writing things out on how I'm feeling and putting it in the content of a character, kind of like focusing it?, really helps me out mentally. It's like I'm releasing all of the (usually bad) emotions out of my body and into the story.

I also find it helps to just stop and write different scenes when you think about them, just jot it down and establish the point or feeling of it and edit it to your story and make it make sense when you have the time. You don't have to commit if something strikes you while you're out shopping or something lol.

One last thing! I noticed that when I'm just very much stressing to try and get something written and I'm just spending all of my brains cpu(is that a good analogy?) on the story and how I could write things out or just trying to figure out a scene or the flow, I find it's best to just stop and take a day. Just absolutely stop thinking of little ways to add to your story and just be in the moment of wherever you are. Shut off that part of your brain and let it rest and recharge, and that usually helps alot!

[hiiggsmonaghan]

Okay, I have no idea what song that is from in that second video but it fucking *hits hand on desk* SLAMS!

What can I say? I have pretty good music taste. I know what fits and what doesn't.

[fanfiction-inc]

Golden Faced Bastard

Verse: Death Stranding

Characters/Pairings: Higgs Monaghan/Reader

Warnings/Tags: Masturbation, sexual themes, phone sex, sexual tension, enemies, love/hate relationship, m/f, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 2,444

Summary: When a terrorist grows bored, what’s a better pass time then contacting your favorite person to mess with?

Rating: Explicit

Notes: I used this ask from @dirty-higgs-confessions​ as inspiration for this story: "Higgs calling you while you're on a run for Bridges and teasing you as he jerks off. It soon turns into casual phone sex until he finishes then you just hang up on him despite the fact that now you're needy and wish he was there to fuck you."

I of course put a small twist on this but fuck it! :D

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287181

South Knot, lit by the lights of signal post that wavered with each drop of timefall running down and over their initial scanners. Timefall, it had been falling for the past two hours and had no sign of clearing up at any point. The sun was already hidden behind thick and ominous clouds, giving way to darkened blue skies that seemed to shift to black when the smallest but the brightest of stars attempt to peak out of the thick layers and shed light on a damned world. As long as the country was divided, as long as the world went to shit, there was no hope in sight of making it to the end of the year. If it wasn’t the timefall that got ‘ya, or the BT’s that always loomed no matter where you went, it was the Homo Demens. Despite all of this deliveries still had to be made. A distraction was still always in order to avoid the end of life itself to a group that deemed themselves almighty.

A soft sigh of lips flutter in the air as the motorized trike raised from the garage platform, sitting new and ready for the exposure that was sure to knock it out of commission by morning come. Packages bound for Lake Knot and its distribution center loaded up with skilled fingers behind gloved hands that have worked too hard for their years, strapped down and held in place, cases prepared for the intensifying storm. The timefall was growing worse, but nothing would get done if the porter stayed put inside this metal and technology compound labeled a distribution center. In an older life, one may say it was a prison converted into a somewhat functioning distribution center surrounded by a semi-intact city. Others would say its the skeleton of what had once been and is now new. A final breath was given in the form of a sigh and hair tucked up underneath the timefall protective hood was tied back to keep from falling out, legs thrown over to straddle the bikes seat and started with a low rumble that stuck in the gut and fluttered to make the limbs tingle. A single motion to lower goggles that helped protect the eyes from the near toxic rain and the bike was taking off up the ramp and out of the distribution center.

Visibility was growing reduced with the lower in temperature and timefall, fog spreading among the ground and making any sort of travel along rigid rocks and muddy ground grow tough. The first slip of the bike was a fluke, the second sending it off its course a few feet and the third sending it to slide and sputter, mud slinging everywhere among the area before composure was gained once more and the route was continued to Lake Knot. The silence of the water hammering the ground and the low rumble of the bike nearly drowned out the incoming call, the tone that of unknown origin.

“Hello sweetheart.”

The voice brings the bike to finally slide and collapse on its side, sending the rider off to the side into the somewhat enclosed space of a covered cliff side with gathering mud puddle. The timefall hammered the collapsed bike, aching body of the porter jumping up to bring it out of the timefall and protect the contents within the now scratched up and slightly damaged boxes. Rust rubbed off onto the porters gloves and she was quick to remove them, to make sure they couldn't get up onto her skin and let the smear of timefall gather. A check of the comlink and a soft groan of annoyance fluttered from the lips of the porter who threw her hood back and unzipped the top of her jumper, the suit pooling around her waist. It was still active, and the gentle breathing on the other side indicated the presence of the man who simply refused to leave her be. The man who played games and invaded spaces he should never have been in. The one who stands before his men promising the sixth great extinction of the world and yet devotes his free time from the plans to the porter resting against the shallow crevice of an opening in the bottom of the cliff side and Bridges poster boy.

Higgs fucking Monaghan.

“Have a little accident there, darlin’? Did I startled you?” The labor to his breath, the soft flutter of that tone that the porter hated to admit drove her mind to slowly blank. She shakes out of her clouded thoughts, swallowing hard with a hand held to her throbbing head. It it wasn’t the impact that made it hurt, it was the annoyance of the man on the other end of the line who ruined her day and sent her into the wildest of fever dreams that left her body aching for touches she knew she didn’t want to admit she wanted or, being honest with herself, needed. So long without touch, so long without someone finding interest. It was almost gratifying, having that sort of attention, but why must it be him? “Wouldn’t you like to fuckin’ know.”

“Oh honey, one can only assume from the sound. Your little deliveries must be banged up, am I right?” The light hint of a noise and a pause fell over the line. He takes in a somewhat struggled breath and the porter could only confirm what he was doing the moment his hushed tone whispered ‘fuck’.

“Are you calling me just to jack off?”

“What can I say, your voice does it for me, baby.”

A hint of disgust fills her form and yet her body entered a full form of shivers and pin pricks that made everything tingle. The ground soaked in timefall wasn’t the only thing wet right now. His breath kept fluttering over the line and the porter had half the mind to cut it off, to end the call, but what would stop him from calling back and just continuing?

“I’m hanging up, Higgs-”

“Wait! Please don’t hang up (First name). Just...just talk to me and this’ll be over soon. Ya don’t even have to talk dirty or nothin’. Not unless ‘ya want to. Just be a good girl and talk.”

Hesitation met the line and the man on the other end knew damn well he had the other hooked, just by the way he hears a shuffle and a sigh that was a mixture of annoyance and possibly even defeat. She knew as well as he did that he would keep calling back until he was finished and she was annoyed to the point that she would just let it happen. He swallowed when he hears her soft breath, eyes fluttering at the sound of such. If only he could feel it, the hot breath that he imagined to be against his ear or neck, if only he could feel her.

“I’m only doing this so you’ll leave me the fuck alone, you golden faced bastard.”

“Ah, kinky. I didn’t know my honey was into name callin’.”

“I’m not your honey.”

The sound of a chuckle fluttered over the line and the porter was resigned to simply allow her eyes to roll, to ease back against the wall of the crevice and allow her hand to trail. It was no fun for this to be one sided, and she highly doubted any other porters would be coming through this area at such a late hour in the complete downpour of the timefall. Higgs smirked when another sigh sounded. “Is it safe to assume I’m not gonna be the only one enjoyin’ this, darlin’?”

“I don’t give a shit what you assume.”

“Oh come on, sweetheart, you can just lay back, relax and let each of us enjoy the other. One night and one night only. And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The sound of his tone, as if the smirk could be heard in it. A few low pumps of his hips makes a soft grunt leave his lips and he hears the other try to stifle a noise of her own. Noises did it for each, but it wasn’t enough. They needed each word to grasp onto and allow themselves to melt with. Higgs needed her, and she needed him. She swallowed lightly when there was silence, wondering if he had already left the line, but she hears another shuffle of clothing and the soft sound of skin rubbing against skin. So, this is how it’s gonna be, the two satisfying themselves to pass the time then moving on with their lives. If only it was that easy.

Higgs grasped himself with a bare hand, a shaky breath and airy chuckle falling from his lips. “I wondered for some time what it would be like, ever since I met you in Mountain Knot, to have you just the way I want you. You don’t know how long It’s been, how long its been since I last had a satisfying session alone. It’s never good enough with fantasies. You can dream it but it doesn't get ‘ya anywhere. Do ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Sadly.” The woman begrudgingly admits, fingers simply tracing over the basic fabric covering the single heat patch that deserved her attention. It weeped for stimulation, weeped for the touch of the man, but his voice and her own hand alone would have to suffice. The mental image of him pumping himself would have to do.

“Be honest with me, darlin’, but how long has it been for you? I mean to truly have a good one.”

“A good what?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, baby doll. A good orgasm. Cum. Jerk off or whatever the female equivalent is. How long has it been where your body screamed ‘yes’ in the most delicious?” His pace was beginning to slowly pick up, shivering when he heard the soft wet noises of her fingers moving along her slick core, having moved beyond the fabric. He savored the sound, listened as closely as he could to the soft hitch in her breath and the shaky sigh she gives away.

“Months.” She finally whispered out, eyes fluttering shut as she hears him spit into his hand, or maybe even onto his own member and begins a more leisurely pace that sent a hot shiver up his spine. “You?”

“Maybe a year. They’re never good when rushed. But when ‘ya take your time with ‘em-” A soft flutter of a groan sounding in the air was enough to accent his point, his own head falling back against the headrest of the chair he sat in, legs spreading as much as the material around his knees would allow. Her shaky breath and the soft hint of a wine makes his teeth sink down into his lip, hand working as his imagination worked on what he would be doing to her that would make such a noise come from those perfect lips that enticed him every time he watches her speak.

“What is it about my voice that..Oh fuck...That helps you along?” She asked with a tone that wavered, licking at her lips when he breaths deeply, listening to the increase of skin against skin and the hushed noises leaving his lips. “How soft it is. You’re always talkin’ loud but that softness never leaves it. It’s airy, almost like ‘ya singin’ me a song. I’d like to hear ‘ya sing a different kind of one, my little songbird.”

She speaks before she can even stop herself. “You’d have to be here if you want a song like that.”

This earns a faster pace from each of their respective hands, one working the tip of a weeping member and the other the bundle of nerves that was beginning to make searing pain blossom in her abdomen and inner thighs. More wet noises, more heavy breathing from both parties. They needed more than this. “Then next time I see ‘ya, baby doll, I’ll make sure to make ‘ya sing.”

“You gotta find me first.”

“Oh, I will. I’m a very resourceful man. Though, you may not like what I do when I find ‘ya.”

“Is that a promise?” The barest grace of a smirk in her tone and the man groans at such a comment, hand working him like he would imagine her mouth doing. “I always keep my promises, darlin’. I’m a man of my word.”

“Oh bullshit, Higgs.”

The next groan was a bit more audible and his shivered in delight, savoring the way her voice sounded when she spoke his name.

“Again. Say my name again.”

“Higgs.”

The sound of skin slapping grows.

“Slower. Draw it out.”

He whispered, tone almost like that of a plea.

“Hiiiggs.”

“Oh fuck, just like that.”

He was growing close, just as she was with each noise and word she was able to soak up over the comlink. When he finally spilled, it was the groan of her name that left his lips, that was the tipping point for her and makes her high pitched moan follow and mingle with the groans that left his lips with each overstimulated pump of his leaking member. He wipes his hand on the inside of his pants, hiding the mess from view in case anyone was to check in, though why should he care? He was the man who could send them into the sixth extinction early. When her shaky and soft breath fluttered over the line, he lets his smirk return. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Now, I'll ask again. When was the last time you had a good one?”

“Today.”

“Mm, be more exact.”

“Just a few seconds ago, maybe a minute.” His chuckle followed her words. “You?”

“About a minute ago or so. Now it’ just a matter of getting into bed with ‘ya.”

A soft scoff from her end and he grins away, loving how she goes right back to the defensive. “When’s the last time ‘ya had a good fuck?”

The line hangs up and Higgs lets out a fit of laughter, a shake of his head following as he props his feet up on the table before him. In due time, he’d have her just the way he wanted her.

A call back, the porter groans in the midst of getting her suit zipped back up. “What?”

“South Knot, meet me there and I’ll keep good on my promise.” He was almost giddy, and the woman sighed. “If it’ll shut ‘ya up once and for all, then fine. South Knot it is.”

“I’ll see ‘ya then, darlin’.”

----------------

Thank you, as always, for reading and let me know what you guys thought about this! If you would like to be tagged in further stories, send me an ask! Remember, request are always open!

Tagging: @dirty-higgs-confessions​​ | @johnlocklover221​​

[thebaptistjohnseed]

So would you happen to be able to any sort of tattoo that isn't the name of a sin? 😅

Belle,

Why yes. Tattooing is a side hobby of mine, other than drawing or doodling when I am not busy with atonements or confessions... or dealing with the sinners trying to ruin my family’s plans for the project. But, what did you have in mind?

[savage-rhi]

For the Yandere prompt thingy, can I ask for 26 and 29 for Higgs and his S/O?

@belle82devart Here you go honey. Enjoy :D!

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Higgs muttered begrudgingly under his breath, while Y/N was trying to keep up with him. The pair were an odd couple. Most folks wouldn’t even suspect they would ever pine for each other, but Y/N followed Higgs around like a duckling to its mother. They wanted to see what Higgs had been up to for months on end. 

“You’re lucky I’m still deciding to put up with you.” Y/N managed to counter, Higgs shooting them a look before he rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

“Now see, I like that about you. Ya know when to bite back.” Higgs complimented, his voice amused and calm. His tone had an edge that sent shivers up Y/N’s spine. 

“How much further?” Y/N asked with a sigh. They were starting to grow tired after the long journey. Higgs could have easily jumped them both to the designated spot, but he felt compelled to be ‘human’ for a little while. Enjoy the little things. Take time to smell the flowers. The kind of sentimental bullshit that most times Higgs wouldn’t have had a care for. 

“If you keep yapping, it’s gonna ruin the fun.” Higgs smirked, then led himself and Y/N up a cliffside. He had more experience in that department than they did and took it upon himself to help Y/N scale most of the way up; save for when Higgs had a feeling they could handle themselves. There was a reason he had chosen them. They were special, just not in the way one would assume. 

Upon reaching the top, and standing on the edge, Higgs gestured out with his right hand at the valley below them. It was beautiful. Even with the muddled grey skies and the dark shades of grass below, the sight was stunning. 

“Wow,” Y/N murmured quietly. Their eyes blinking a few times as they took in the scenery. The air was fresh with the smell of petrichor. An earthy tone that spoke to Y/N on a primal level. 

“That ain’t even the best part,” Higgs whispered. He caught Y/N’s attention quickly from the remark. Raising a brow, they chuckled. 

“What can be greater than this? Higgs, I’ve never seen anything this cool before.” 

Higgs held up a finger to Y/N’s lips then once more gestured out with his hand.

“Watch carefully,” Higgs whispered, then made a fist with his hands. Foreboding energy began to infiltrate the atmosphere. Y/N’s hairs on the back of their neck stood as they looked down at the valley. From the soil, black tar began to ooze to the surface. It was a tsunami of darkness. An abyssal void that couldn’t be described with meager words. Fear snuck behind Y/N’s eyes that Higgs could see as he chuckled. 

“Don’t look so scared.” 

From the tar, BTs began to rise. Like victims drowning at sea, screams and moans erupted from the surface as bodies began to take shape. Y/N looked below and could see them piling on each other, desperate to reach the feet of the living. It was like watching a horde of zombies trying in vain to break through a fence to get their unsuspecting prey. The imagery was haunting as Y/N finally forced themselves to look at Higgs. A peculiar gleam was in his eyes as he spoke.

“All these little trips I’ve been taking, it’s been leading up to this. My powers have grown, Y/N. I’ve been chosen to become the particle of god for this creature called the Extinction Entity. And I want you to come along for the ride.” 

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

[paper-lilypie]

Could you do a drabble about Martin Whitley getting hit by a snowball from one of his neighbors kids and being all sweet by making a game out of it until the kid has to go back inside?

@belle82devart Of course!!! Oh, thank you for asking, this is such a cute prompt!!! ^^ and sorry for the late reply, I just finished my first semester of class and I FINALLY had time to catch up on the Prodigal Son episodes (not being able to watch them was a nightmare). I made this a bit bittersweet (because Martin Whitly, duh) so I hope it’s good enough for you!

Anyways!! Enjoy!

Lily💕

=====

Her instructions were pretty clear. Go outside, get the shovel and clear their walkway of snow. No difficult task. Not unheard of. Easy peasy. Might even finish in maybe half an hour’s time, too, if the weather stayed kind and it didn’t snow. So, with that said, Jessica Whitley cannot, for the life of her, figure out why her husband had gone outside twenty minutes ago and she’d seen through the upstairs window that the walkway still hadn’t been cleared.

Just what was that man doing?!

——

Dr. Martin Whitly would do anything for his wife. That’s not new information for anyone who knows him and his family. Friends and colleagues could look at him, laugh and say “There goes Jessica’s man. She’s got ‘im wrap around her little finger, the sucker.” Which, in all honesty, was true. He loved her. So much. He’d do anything to set her small, little beating muscle in her chest at ease; that’s how he found himself adorning some snow boots, many layers of clothing, gloves, a hat, and stepping outside into the crisp air with their shovel, ready to sweep their front entrance.

He steps out and breathes in the cold, Christmas air. It was nine in the morning, which meant not that many people were up yet, and if they were, they would still be preparing themselves to dive into the New York City streets and start their day. It was calm. Quiet. Perfect.

Gripping the shovel tight, he got to work. Plunging it into the snow, rasping it from the ground and throwing it aside... that was the process that made up Martin’s first five minutes of his task. He could’ve continued to make due progress too, if he merely continued on with his routine. Instead...

He felt a smack to the back of his head.

“Whoa— geez!” Martin quickly darted his hand into his hat, feeling the blocky-yet-squishy feel of what could only be snow. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

He turned around, hoping to find a reason as to why he was smacked on the head with snow. (Where did it even come from?!) There was no one in sight.

A bit skeptical about the ordeal, Martin simply shook it off, adjusted his hat, and pressed on with his work. Not even ten seconds in, he felt another wet smack hit him on his lower back, startling him again. He whirled around, “What on earth—?!”

He spotted a flash of brown ducking behind his next-door neighbor’s car. Huh?

It was a slick, red car, though because of the snow, it now bore a pelt of white over its crimson skin. Classy. Martin could appreciate a man with good taste. But, no matter the subject of possible bonding with his neighbors, what keeps hitting him with snow?!

The figure moved. Martin lowers his shovel and tries to get a view of who could be behind it. It could be a cat. The Miltons had two of them, he thinks. (Cats can’t throw snowballs though.) Maybe he had gotten it wrong?

A head pops up from behind the car and big, curious eyes blink owlishly at him. At the realization that Martin was staring right back, it quickly ducked back down into hiding. Oh. Okay.

The surgeon chuckled and dropped his shovel. Of course. Oscar Milton, age 8. He was one of Malcom’s playmates, one who had a keen eye and a growing love for softball. Pretty hyper ball of energy, the little runt. A cheerful boy; a playful one. A mischievous one too, it seemed. He knew just how to deal with this kind of behavior.

Instead of calling out to him, Martin simply stalked his way sideways, making sure to stay out of sight, and made it to a secluded spot, crouching enough so that if Oscar poked his head out, he wouldn’t spot him. He’d never see him, but Martin had a clear shot of him. Perfect.

He kneeled down, scooped up a fair amount of snow, balled it up and aimed. He waited. No more than another second, Oscar lifted his head to scout the scene. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, Martin chucked his snowball his way, hitting him square on his shoulder with a huff. “Oof—!”

“Gotcha!” Martin grinned, watching the little boy whirl around to spot him and widen his eyes. Oscar shrieked and ran for it, rounding the car and getting to the opposite side of his front lawn. From there, he leaned down, formed a snowball and threw it with such precision, it would’ve hit Martin dead center on his chest if he hadn’t dived behind the car a beat earlier. Oh. They’re doing this now, are they?

And so, war ensued. Snowballs flying at high speeds from one end of the battlefield into the other: Martin behind his crimson fortress (the car) and Oscar, like a brave, little soldier, out on the front lines, dodging and throwing his snowballs like his life depended on it. It was tiring; Martin was not as young as he lets himself believe so the ducking, throwing and scooping had him on a roll. And yet... and yet, the sparks of laughter and bright smiles made it all worth it. So, so worth it.

The last snowball was thrown by Oscar, gleaming successful under the morning sun as it plopped onto the ground once it landed smack-on Martin’s face. He shook his head wildly, his hat flying elsewhere with the intensity and hair standing up in weird angles. His beard lay littered with snow, as well. “Wow.” He breathed. “That was something, wasn’t it? Feel better now?”

Oscar, who now sat on the snowy lawn, looked up at him and nodded.

“Your old man showing up anytime soon, Oscar?”

A shake of the head. Figures. “He had to work some more. But he promised to be here next year. I’m sure he’s busy.”

Of course he is, Martin thinks grimly. Just like he was busy last year and the year before that and the year before that too. He smiles to the boy. “I’m sure too. You know both you and your mom are welcome to stay for dinner at our house. I’m sure Malcolm and Ainsley would love to see you.”

Oscar hums. “Yes.”

“That sound fun?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Martin nodded. “That’s good.”

The front door opens, and a woman walks out of her house. “Oscar! Honey, finish getting dressed! Your Aunt Greta can’t wait any longer and we can’t afford being late too— oh!” She noticed Martin standing next to her son. “Dr. Whitly! Hello!”

“Hello, Alice.” He smiles, shoving his hands into his coat’s pocket. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” She returns the smile, still ushering her son to enter the house. “Lovely morning. Bit cold for my taste, but what can ya do on holiday seasons, eh? How’s Jessica?”

“Oh, she’s great. Setting the kids ready to clean up the house so we could start preparing our Christmas dinner.” Martin pauses. “Say, would you and Oscar like to join us? It’d thrill Malcolm and Ainsley, I’m sure.”

Alice Milton seems to think it over. “That sounds great, Martin, but... I don’t know.”

“Nonsense! You’re basically family! And who’s to say you don’t spend the holidays with your family, hm? Come now, don’t dare to hesitate. Our door is open to you and Oscar anytime.”

“Well...”

“How bout stopping by for some tea? Simple, right?”

Alice sighs. Then she smiles. “Thank you, Martin. You’re a good man.”

A nod. He then drifts his eyes over to Oscar, now standing next to his mother in the doorway. He winks at him. “You won this round, sport. Next time I’ll get my revenge, got it?”

Oscar grins. “You betcha!”

“Awesome.”

“Happy Holidays, Martin.”

“Happy Holidays, Alice.”

The door shuts softly and the morning resumes its calm, serene persona. After everything that just transpired, it felt unnatural. Christmas mornings, Martin thought, should always be filled with the joy of children out on the streets. It gave life to the start of the day. Promise. Hope. A good feeling. A jolly feeling, very much fit for the time and season.

Of course, none of that joy should ever be used to mask the loneliness and abandonment of a son from his father.

Martin shakes his head and turns to his house, just now remembering his discarded task. The shovel shone blue on the pristine white and he sighed, moving over to pick it up.

Tap, tap, tap!

He looks up to see Malcolm by the window, still wearing his pijamas and displaying a bright smile on his face. His small fingers tapped onto the glass.

Tap, tap, tap!

Martin smiles and moves over to the window. He taps three times too; Malcolm repeats the action, visibly giggling at their little game.

It’s not long before Malcolm’s head shoots to his left as he is called by his mother. He waves a small goodbye and retreats from the window, missing the wave his father gave him in return. No matter.

Dr. Martin Whitly would do anything for his family. Everyone knows this, it’s not news to anyone. They’re his everything, and he’s not letting anything harm them even if it kills him. Be it his job, his hobbies, his colleagues, or his own life— he won’t let anything get in the way of his family’s happiness.

Dr. Martin Whitly was a good husband and an even better father. Nothing was going to change that. He’d make sure of it.

—-

Taglist: @marvelmisha @xxiixiii @beejohnlocked @clevertheoristpainter @jellyfishonjupiter @fluffy-teddybear @remushyde