Being a young adult is so strange. You enter a coffee shop. The 20 year old girl waiting behind you cried all night because she just came to a new city for university and she feels so alone. That 27 year old guy over there works a job he is overqualified for, he lives with his parents and wants to move out but doesn't know what to do about it. That one 24 year old dude already has a car, a house, and a job waiting for him once he graduates thanks to his dad's connections. The 26 year old barista couldn't complete his higher education because he has to work and take care of his family. The 28 year old girl sitting next to you has no friends to go out with so she is texting her mother. That couple (both 25 years old) are married and the girl is pregnant. The 29 year old writing something on her laptop has realized that she chose the wrong major so she is trying to start all over. We are not alone in this, but we are actually so alone. Do you feel me
A Wirman x Reader for @shyanduncomfortable's birthday
I hope ya'll like it as much as he did
You found yourself just sitting in the living room of your one bedroom apartment. Just staring at the blank wall behind the TV, you fiddled with the letter you received this morning in your hand. There wasn’t even anything on the TV to begin with. You had full intentions of it, since this letter was distracting you from your work on your most recent article. Yet your hand never found the remote. Knowing the time it took for the letter to arrive and the contents of the letter - he would be home soon.
That thought filled you with joy, of course, why else would there be a ring on your finger if it didn't. But what else lay in the letter filled you with worry, worry that ultimately overtook the joy. He had left weeks ago to start and finish the second book in his series; a word he hadn't even considered until there was the great success of the movie. And now he was returning, with no ideas, an empty typewriter, and something that seemed to have shaken him to his core.
You, of course, didn’t care too much about what he had written, not that he had, according to the letter, but you were worried about what he had written in the end. He didn’t go into too much detail, but something terrible had happened on the submarine and it was enough to send him back empty handed.
And somewhere in the anxiousness, you were glad for it. He had been far too stressed out and upset at himself over this sequel. A huge contrast from when he wrote the first one. During the Hex of the Helmsman era, you couldn’t get him away from his typewriter no matter the cause. But, before he left for the Silkworm, it was almost like he was avoiding it.
Before you knew it, you jumped up off the couch at the sound of keys jingling at the door. Setting the letter down, you practically ran over to the front door as the door gently swung open.
Getting a first glance at him, he was disheveled. His shirt was entirely wrinkly, his tie and collar not properly straight, and his hair was a bit of a mess. You couldn’t tell if that was due to the stress or from being in a crowded submarine. His face told a completely different story. It was bright, as bright as it was on the day his publisher accepted his final version of his novel. It was relieved, it was relaxed, it made you worry a little.
“James?” You were the only one allowed to call him that.
“I'm assuming you received my letter.”
You watched as he came inside and closed the door behind him, adjusting the typewriter he had balancing on his hip.
“What happened out there?”
“A revelation!”
He walked past you, tilting his head forward in a way that asked you to follow him, which of course you did. And it was right into the living room where he plopped down his typewriter on the coffee table and the suitcase next to the couch.
“A breakthrough?” You needed more information, especially with how giddy he was.
“A murder.”
You blinked. Huh?
“A murder?”
His energy dulled a moment and grabbed your hands, a slight sadness appeared on his face. “Mortuga…he unfortunately passed away.”
Your eyes widened. You had never met the man, but it was obvious that he had been your husband’s muse for his last book- and he had been grasping at him for more. “I’m so sorry.”
Then a thought crossed your mind, “James, you aren’t using his death as-”
His eyes then widened, “No-no! …well I had thought about it, but ultimately no. That would be incredibly disrespectful at the end of the day.”
Your shoulders relaxed, giving his hands a squeeze. “So- your revelation?”
“I quit!”
“Quit? But I thought you loved to write.”
He shook his head, “I do, I do, but what I really meant was, I quit the series. Hex of the Helmsman is a complete standalone. No sequel. No series. No. More. Movies.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absouletly. I’m not going to stop writing, of course, but perhaps this time won't take on a muse.”
You gave him a bit of a smirk, now that the stress of the unknown and your husband’s mental state had been cleared up, “Not even me?”
He grinned back before pulling you into his arms, “My talents may be decent enough to get by, but not even the best authors could capture you.”
He placed a hand on the side of your face and brought you up for a gentle kiss. Something you didn’t even realize you had gone this long without it and all the agony of him being gone for months hit at once.
“I missed you,” you say quietly, not wanting to break this gentle moment.
“I’ve missed you too.” He met your eyes and grinned. Pulling back, he grabbed your hand again, “Let’s go out for dinner.”
“You don’t want to stay home? You just got back.”
“I need food that isn’t canned and an outdoors that isn’t full of salt in the air.”
You grinned, “Fair enough. Let me grab my wallet and we can go. It’ll be a celebration.”
“A celebration?”
“For the safe return home of you and the light in your eyes.”
wait, all the mystids are right there surrounding the family tree. There's the Inkdip on the top right... the Silversnake on the bottom... Boggy on the bottom right...
(Inspired by some posts I saw recently about trans Godrick Gripp)
Godrick: I think I might be a woman, but I'm currently being consumed by my obsession with an eldritch sea creature so I don't have time for that right now.
going feral about wirman and freya again. I like to imagine that in a better world he visited her at Tangle Tower occasionally and she’d bitch about everyone being miserable
