#Dripping Springs Home Loans

[drippingspringsrealtor]

Refinancing Your Mortgage in Dripping Springs

Dripping Springs Home Loans. Real estate and financing prompts homeowners to contemplate the advantages of mortgage refinancing. In the latest "Mortgage Moment" episode, Dripping Springs real estate expert Ashley Tullis, along with mortgage specialist Bill Roegelein, unravels the complexities of refinancing. This insightful discussion equips homeowners with valuable perspectives on when and why to explore refinancing, particularly amid fluctuating interest rates.

Bill talks about the significance of thoughtful deliberation and precise calculations before committing to a refinance. Bill and his team assist homeowners in evaluating their unique circumstances by comparing existing debts with potential refinancing outcomes. This individualized strategy guarantees that homeowners can visualize the concrete advantages of refinancing, such as interest savings and reduced monthly payments. Connect with Bill to determine if refinancing aligns with your goals.

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand AU

Chapter One

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Hi everyone! Here's chapter one. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you're interested in being tagged. Any thoughts on the story are much appreciated, too!

Chapter One

Feyre collapsed against the wall as soon as class was over. Sweat dripped from her temples, sliding over the layer of concealer she had plastered on that morning. She wiped her forehead, swearing to herself once again that this would be the last time she allowed Tamlin to drag her to a Crossfit class.

Even though she had made and broken that same mental promise to herself three times a week for the past six months.

As she guzzled from her near empty water bottle, Tamlin slung a sweaty arm over her shoulders, his skin against hers slick. Oily. “Got any of that left?” Tamlin asked, already reaching for the water bottle.

Feyre sighed, handing it off to him. “A few drops.”

He knocked it back without another word. Not an appreciative smile. No thank you, Feyre. Not even a nod of gratitude for the water he had taken from her.

As she followed Tamlin out of the warehouse where the Crossfit classes were held, Feyre made another vow. The first of its kind, but perhaps with more resolve behind it than the one she had made only moments ago.

She was going to break up with him this week.

Feyre trailed Tamlin through the parking lot, eyes on the back of his neck, his blonde hair stuck to it with sweat. Her boyfriend of over a year had fallen into conversation with his best friend, Lucien. Lucien was also a regular at these Crossfit classes, but had met Tamlin through work. Tamlin had hired Lucien as his Director of Operations at his company, Spring Solutions. Five years later, the duo were best friends.

Lucien climbed into the passenger seat of Tamlin’s expensive truck, leaving Feyre to haul herself into the back as usual. Tamlin swung into the driver’s seat and made short of work of getting the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway that would carry them back into the city, back to the building where Tamlin and Feyre shared an apartment and Lucien lived a few floors down.

As the two discussed something about work—a topic Feyre didn’t particularly care about—she thought more about the terrifying new task she had set for herself.

Breaking up with Tamlin wouldn’t be simple.

Because it was her life, of course, and things were never simple.

She had shared an apartment with Tam, who was nearly seven years her senior, since the beginning of her second year of law school. Now, a month into her third and final year, their lives were fully intertwined. Feyre paid a few hundred dollars of rent each month, but Tamlin footed most of the bill. The downtown apartment was expensive, something Feyre could never afford on her own thanks to her law student’s budget.

She rarely paid for meals, either. Tamlin subscribed to one of those ultra-healthy meal services. A week’s worth of dinners delivered to their door every Monday morning. Feyre cooked them on study breaks, and the two would usually share a quick meal before Tamlin logged back on to work in his home office and Feyre returned to her books.

Most of the furniture was his, as was the art on the walls. The kitchen utensils, pots, pans. The bed they shared. Everything.

If Feyre moved out, she would have to return to her father’s house or increase the amount of student loans she had already taken out that semester. Neither option sounded appealing. She had lived with her father and her two older sisters her whole life—all throughout her undergraduate studies and until the end of her first year of law school. How she had made it so long trapped in that house, caring for her family in much the same way she cared for Tamlin, Feyre had no idea. So when Tamlin had proposed the idea of moving in together, she jumped at the chance. Didn't think farther than Get me out of my childhood home.

She hadn't considered what would happen if things didn’t work out. If she decided he wasn’t the one for her anymore.

She had gone straight from her father’s house to Tamlin’s apartment, and had fallen into Tamlin’s lifestyle, even if she still wasn’t quite used to it.

At least the bed in the guest room was hers, and the nightstand and the few books she had taken from her father’s house. Her painting supplies.

“Babe?” Tamlin’s voice scattered the plans she was fruitlessly trying to cobble together in her mind.

“What?” She inquired, blinking up at her boyfriend.

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner out tonight.”

Feyre bit her lip. She had already put off studying to come to Crossfit—if she didn’t get home soon, she would have to burn the midnight oil to get all her reading for class done at a decent hour.

“I really have to study,” she said quietly, praying he wouldn’t try to convince her to come to dinner. Because he would never let up and she, inevitably, would give in.

At Tamlin’s sigh, she tentatively tried again. “I’m really sorry! I wish my professors didn’t assign such long readings, but I can’t change it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You know I would come to dinner if I could. I would much rather do that.” The words weren’t new—she’d used some variation of them numerous times over the past year and a half. They had almost lost all meaning to her, but she’d found this was the best combination to keep Tamlin happy: apologize, provide an excuse that was outside of her control, and assure him that he would always be her first choice.

“Alright. We’ll drop you at home and come back later.”

Feyre choked back her sigh of relief. “Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

Lucien’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—one ginger eyebrow cocking slightly. Feyre looked away, gaze fixing on her lap.

Twenty minutes later, she waved at the car as it sped down the street toward Tamlin and Lucien’s favorite sports bar. With any luck, Lucien would get him drinking beers and talking about work, and she would have at least three hours to herself to shower. Study. Maybe even time enough to feign sleep by the time Tamlin returned.

And indeed, she managed to accomplish everything she needed to do just before Tamlin came stumbling into the apartment hours later. Feyre shut her eyes tight from her spot on the right side of the bed, her fledgling plans swirling through her thoughts until she well and truly drifted away.

-----

The next morning, Feyre gazed at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure every inch of her suit was clean and pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. The black jacket clung to her narrow frame, the pencil skirt she wore beneath it as flattering as a skirt that cut her off just below the knee could be. Her golden-brown hair fell in loose waves just past her shoulders, watery blue eyes popping thanks to the brown mascara she had applied.

“You look amazing,” a voice from behind her said.

Feyre turned, smiling at her boyfriend despite all the promises and plans she had made the night before. “Thanks, honey.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tamlin asked, striding forward and placing his hands on her hips.

Feyre stepped back, grinning up at him. “No touching. I have an important networking event with my firm today and I can’t get all wrinkly.”

Tamlin held up his hands, backing away a step. “My apologies, Ms. Archeron.”

Feyre smiled. Tamlin wasn’t always awful.

Just most of the time.

“So when can I expect you home today?”

Feyre sighed, grabbing her backpack and purse and brushing past Tamlin, striding out of the closet and into the master bathroom. “I’ve got a full day of classes, and then this networking event at six. I’m not sure how long it will go, but I’m really hoping to be back by eight.”

“Just as well,” Tamlin said. “I’ve got a late night at work—probably won’t be home until after ten.” Feyre nodded, and Tamlin followed her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the hall to the kitchen. Feyre grabbed the smoothie she had made earlier that morning and tucked her lunchbox into her backpack.

“Have a good day, honey,” she said, pressing a kiss to Tamlin’s lips. He nipped at her lower lip, green eyes sparking. But Feyre just smiled, retreated, and didn’t breathe deep until she made it to the hallway, door automatically locking behind her.

This week. She was going to do it this week.

Feyre’s day dragged on in one long, miserable slog. She got cold-called by her professors in two of her classes, but she managed to answer most of the questions correctly, her heart thudding violently in her chest all the while.

Cold calls and the Socratic method of teaching were one of her least favorite parts of law school. Most professors gave no warning to their students before they called their names, subjecting them to several questions of the professor’s choosing. If you didn’t know the answer, they might move on. But some waited for you to at least attempt to respond, while the class stared and stared and hands jumped into the air all around, telling you that they knew the answer, that it was obvious. Answering a question correctly felt wonderful—but answering incorrectly usually caused Feyre’s cheeks to burn a bright red.

It didn’t matter how many of the randomly determined “calls” Feyre endured—every time a professor spoke her name, her hands started sweating, her heart rate climbing up and up and up until the professor moved on to another victim.

She spent a few hours at the library after class, tucked in her favorite corner. It was private, but better than sitting in the main quad where most of the law students gathered to study during daytime hours. Feyre hadn’t spent any notable length of time in the quad since the first semester of her 1L year. As her relationship with Tamlin progressed, the few friends she had made faded away as Feyre opted to attend the fancy dinner parties and events Tamlin invited her to. Maintaining a new relationship and keeping up with her studies didn’t leave much time for anything else—not even friends. That wasn’t to mention the time she had spent at home with her sisters and father her entire first year of school, taking care of most of the housekeeping and cooking duties because the rest of her family had “real jobs” and Feyre was still “just a student” who didn’t work a regular 9-5.

Now, she felt like a ghost in the halls of the school. She would wave to her old friends if they passed in the hallways, but Feyre had long ago accepted that this would be her law school experience: sitting in the back of the classroom, answering questions if forced, and generally keeping to herself.

It was a quiet, small existence she led. Class. Tamlin. Attending whatever events or obligations Tamlin dragged her to. Studying.

After she’d had enough studying for the day, Feyre took the train to downtown Prythian, checking her makeup at least four times before the train arrived at its stop a few blocks from a large hotel and event center in the heart of the city. She started to walk the five minutes to the hotel, staring up at the enormous shiny buildings rising around her.

To think, this would be where she worked full-time in just a few short months.

Thanks to competitive firm recruiting, Feyre had had her post-grad job lined up since the summer. She would be starting as a junior associate at Hybern & Night LLP, one of the largest and most powerful national firms in the country. Jobs at Hybern & Night were hard to come by, but thanks to Feyre’s top 5% ranking at Prythian University Law School, and her ability to say all the right things under pressure, she’d scored a job during early interviewing last summer.

The firm occupied the upper floors of one of the tallest buildings downtown. Tonight it was holding a networking event for its partners, associates, recruits, and other lawyers in the community.

She could have skipped the event, but her career counselor had emphasized how important it was to immerse herself in firm activities as quickly as possible—it would make her transition from student to junior associate much smoother, and allow her to make connections with more senior attorneys and partners who might be willing to provide projects for her to work on when she started.

So, she was here, clicking down the shadowed streets of downtown Prythian, gearing herself up to rub elbows with some of the city's wealthiest attorneys.

Some day soon, she would be one of them.

Feyre tugged her coat closer around herself, the chill in the air signaling autumn’s impending arrival. A block away, the windows of the event center glowed warmly in the shadows of the buildings around her. She increased her pace, and soon found herself ensconced in a world of cocktails and arguments. Feyre made a beeline for the refreshments table. She could certainly count on attorneys to ensure there was an open bar at events like this. She seized a glass of red wine and cast her gaze around the room, but didn’t recognize anyone. She had interviewed with at least five of the attorneys from Hybern & Night in order to get her job, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Feyre thanked the man who served her the wine, swallowing back memories of her own time spent as a bartender at Humane, one of the filthiest hole-in-the-wall bars in all of Prythian. She would have preferred talking to the bartender—less posturing required—but forced herself to skirt around the room, looking around for someone to engage in conversation.

She had almost completed a full lap when an enormous man leaned against the wall just in front of her.

“You look lost,” his deep voice rumbled, light brown hair sliding over his forehead, pale green eyes gazing down at her. His cheeks were flushed—probably from the alcohol—and as his eyes slid over her, Feyre was glad she hadn’t yet removed her coat.

“Not lost. Just—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head. “Feyre Archeron,” she said, offering a hand. “I’ll be starting as a first-year associate at Hybern & Night next August.”

“Jax Smith,” he said, an enormous hand encompassing hers. “I'm in my eighth year at Hybern & Night. Hoping to make partner next year. It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.”

Feyre swallowed, taking her hand back and sliding it into her pocket. “You too.” She cast around for one of her pre-prepared questions: So how do you like working at the firm? Any advice for 3L students preparing to enter the workforce? How do you survive the eighty hour workweeks year after year after year? Is the money worth it?

Luckily, Feyre didn’t have to resort to any of her questions, because Jax spoke for her.

“You look awfully young to be a 3L,” he commented, gaze sliding up and down her body.

Feyre cocked an eyebrow, a chill trailing down her spine. “I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s young.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. This was certainly unprofessional. “Not too young, I hope,” she said, forcing a smile. This man was going to be her coworker. She couldn’t just turn around and flee. “I’ll be twenty-four this December,” she said brightly. “Practically collecting Social Security.”

Jax didn’t smile. Only narrowed his eyes like he was trying to see through her coat.

Feyre swallowed another gulp of wine, and as he inched closer, she realized that the alcove where they stood was mostly obscured by two of the many enormous columns ringing the event center. There weren’t any lights in this section, and no one else seemed to be paying them any attention. The rest of the networking attorneys seemed miles away, even the sounds of their voices muffled by a dull roaring that started in Feyre’s head as Jax’s gaze fixed her in place.

“And are you married, Feyre?” Jax asked, one arm resting on the wall next to her head. His gaze dropped to her left hand, wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, her fourth finger obviously bereft of any ring.

“No,” she said, backing away another step.

But her admission only seemed to encourage Jax. He slid forward, eyes focused somewhere just south of her neck, where her coat had fallen open to reveal the v-neck of her dress shirt. “I would be happy to meet you for a coffee sometime. Maybe even a drink. Tell you more about the firm, away from all these stuffy partners. We could even find somewhere quieter here. To talk.” His eyes slid to the hall that led who-knew-where, just behind Feyre, stretching off into the shadows of the hotel.

Feyre’s eyes widened, a lump forming in her throat. This man was her future coworker, her senior. He might even be partner by the time she started at the firm. To turn him down could be fatal. If he took offense, he could spin it any number of ways: She had no interest in learning more about the firm. Couldn’t care less about team-building and getting to know her coworkers. Clearly came for the wine and nothing else.

He could ruin her reputation. And that was something she couldn’t afford. Not if she ever wanted to be free of Tamlin, of her family.

“What do you say?” Jax asked, bending down, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hot against her cheek.

“I—” Feyre started.

But another man’s voice, smooth as velvet and gentle as the night, floated into the alcove, startling Jax and sending a wave of relief over Feyre.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

[ashleytullisrealtor]

Home Buying Mistakes in Dripping Springs

Home Buying Mistakes in Dripping Springs https://ashleytullisrealtor.wordpress.com/2024/07/01/home-buying-mistakes-in-dripping-springs/ Dripping Springs Home Buying Mistakes. What kind of roadblocks and mistakes can happen during the home buying process that can make things messy? Let’s dive into it with experts Ashley & Bill! Purchasing a home is one of the most substantial financial commitments you can undertake. It demands meticulous planning, financial stability, and a thorough understanding of the process. However, many buyers make errors that can jeopardize their chances of securing a mortgage or lead to unfavorable loan terms. Here are some of the biggest mistakes to avoid when buying a home. Ashley Tullis Realtor – Dripping Springs 333 US-290 Ste 300 Dripping Springs, TX, 78620 (512) 716-9193 via Ashley Tullis Realtor https://ashleytullisrealtor.wordpress.com July 01, 2024 at 07:55AM

[angry-geese]

Blood Ties - Chapter Seven: The Shibuya Incident I

Choso x Reader, platonic Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence. swearing. the Shibuya arc needs its own warning.

Summary: the beginning of the shibuya arc.

a/n: tumblr absolutely fucked up the formatting on this chapter. i tried to fix it the best i could but it still looks a bit wonky

Word Count: 2.9k

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masterlist

It felt like September was just barely knocking on your door; the last sliver of summer still hanging in the air in the warm, bright evenings. Leaves shrivel and dry. Trees and bushes grow scraggly. The telltale chill of fall was in the air, but quickly covered by sweet summer heat.

Now here comes November with a set of razor teeth. Days grow shorter. You wake up in the dark, you come home in the dark. You eat your dinner while watching the sun set behind the horizon.

You loved Halloween as a kid. It was one of your favorite holidays. It still is. But it's one of those things you feel yourself starting to grow out of. As you grow older, it feels silly to celebrate it. Fall was always your favorite time of year; summer was too hot, winter was too cold, spring had too much pollen.

You can only lay there as the sun drags you into a day you’ve been dreading for weeks.

The duvet is too warm and inviting to throw off. Had the day been any different, you could have slept well into the afternoon. Sometimes you do. You’re not in a hurry, you see no reason to get up.

Out in the hall people stir. The walls are thin, nothing goes unheard. Footsteps are audible as people stumble to the bathrooms. Morning classes start in an hour, and will stretch on until lunch.

You should get up, work the stiffness from your limbs. It'll be harder to go back to bed then. Someone runs by, their footsteps fading down the hall.

The twin bed is almost too short for you. To your left is a small table with a lamp, and drawer, to your right is a wall. Light streams in through the open window. That doesn't make getting back to sleep any easier. You could pull the covers over your head to shut out the light, but you don't.

You've set up a few things to make it feel more like home; some photos, a throw blanket, some trinkets you've picked up along the way. Manga—loaned to you by Yuji—sits on the side table, untouched. You've been meaning to read it. Next to it sits a couple bills- Nanami tried to pay you back for lunch. You'll sneak it back into his pocket somehow. Grimsever has its own spot on the wall where it hangs when not in use. All of your clothes are contained to a single metal rack; one half for your uniforms, one half for the rest. You didn't expect to be here this long. You didn't take anything you couldn't pack with you. If you had known, you'd have probably brought more. Times like this make you wish you had more clothes. Maybe Nobara will go shopping with you.

You can't shake the feeling of impending doom. Maybe another storm is coming- it rained pretty hard last night. Though the sun is out now, the pavement is still wet. Morning dew clings onto every branch and leaf outside your window. The faint sound of dripping can still be heard.

Slowly you remove yourself from the covers. You turn the shower on cold, blasting yourself with a spray of freezing water. That seems to help wake you up. It's looking to be cold today, so you dress pretty warm. Grimsever fits pretty snugly against your side, held in the inside of your jacket.

There’s a soft knock at the door. Nanami. It couldn't be anyone else. Only he knocks. The rest walk right in.

“It's open,” you say.

A moment later the door slides open. Nanami shuts it behind him. He stands there for a moment, seemingly deciding what to say. You don't give him the chance to speak, as you're the first to talk.

“Do you ever think Gojo scared his parents with his freaky eyes when he was a kid?” You ask.

He’s silent for a moment before saying a soft “probably.”

There's probably a lot of reasons why Gojo is the way he is. Most of those lead back to him being the strongest.

You were never one for small talk, he’s noticed. He sits beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. His suit jacket rests over his folded arm. You find it hard to believe he’s younger than Gojo. He’s not much older than you anyway; four or five years at most. You would be lying if you said he wasn't attractive. He is. Though he's not exactly your type.

“Do you have a soulmate, Nanamin?” You ask.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “What makes you ask that?”

You shrug. “I’ve just… I've been thinking a lot. I guess.”

“That's not good.” He says.

It takes a moment for you to process his words. A slight smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You not-so softly punch his shoulder.

As much as he enjoys slandering Gojo, that’s not what he’s here for.

“I had something else for you,” he says.

“Of course,” you say, “what is it?”

“There’s been an incident.” He says. “Someone has cast a curtain over Shibuya. We're going to investigate, and hopefully take it down.”

“You need me to go with you?”

“No.” He says. “I wanted you to stay here. But Mei Mei has requested your help. You’re going to go with her and Yuji today.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because it's been asked of you.” He says.

If he had a say in it, you wouldn't be going at all. He doesn't want you getting hurt. But you can handle yourself. You’re smart enough.

‘Because I said so’ as if that's not a totally lame reason to do something. While not his exact words, that's what he means. There's no use arguing with him. Once his mind is set on something, it's set.

“I tried my best to get you out of it, but she insisted.” He says. “I'm sure you’ll be fine. You’re a lot more resilient than people give you credit for.”

…

Tokyo Metro, Shibuya Station, 8:13 pm

Nanami Team:

Kento Nanami (Grade One)

Megumi Fushiguro (Grade Two, currently being assessed for a promotion)

Takuma Ino (Grade Two, currently being assessed for promotion)

Though it's barely eight, the sun has disappeared over the horizon entirely. The night air is chilly, and unusually quiet. It's uncharacteristically dark for the evening. The sky is dark, and starless.

Nanami checks his phone. No service. Not that he’s expecting a call.

It could be a fluke. His phone is old. Half of the time it decides not to work. Until recently, the only person that called him was Gojo, so he never minded when it went out. It’s just one more distraction in his already busy life.

Though Nanami’s expression is mostly solid, the slightest bit of worry crosses his face. His brows knit in frustration.

“It's a curtain that traps civilians,” Ijichi says. “Only civilians can enter. As for windows- it depends on the person. Jujutsu sorcerers and us managers can come and go as they please.”

“Any cell service?” Nanami asks. Though he already knows the answer.

“Blocked,” answers Ijichi, “all communication will have to be done outside the curtain, or by us managers.”

“Sounds like quite the pain.” Nanami says.

“Fushiguro! Fushiguro!” Takuma says loudly.

“Curtains-” says Ino, addressing Fushiguro, “the conditions that can be used to increase or decrease the barrier’s effectiveness are typically things related to cursed energy. Basically human, cursed spirits, and cursed objects.”

Ijichi stops. Sweat beads in his hairline. There's a permanent crease between his eyebrows. He looks nauseous. He usually looks this way.

“Where is Gojo?” Nanami asks.

…

Shibuya Mark City, Restaurant Avenue (outside the curtain)

Zen’in Team:

Naobito Zen’in (supreme grade one sorcerer)

Maki Zen’in (Grade Four, currently being assessed for promotion)

Nobara Kugisaki (Grade Three, currently being assessed for promotion)

“Bring Satoru Gojo.”

Worry makes itself visible in the crease between Nobara’s eyebrows. Maki adjusts her glasses. The older Zen’in lets out a huff, either from disappointment, or frustration.

“There’s no way a non-sorcerer would know him,” the elder Zen’in says, smoothing a hand over his chin, “they were told to say it,

"We can't break the barrier?" Asks the old man.

“It’s tough,” Nitta says, “after all, the curtain isn't restricting sorcerers from either side.”

As long as sorcerers can come and go as they please, it's the least of their worries. Whoever cast it is a much bigger problem.

“We can't destroy it with brute force,” Maki says, “it'll be quicker to find whoever it is who summoned it and take them out. We’re here to help with that, right?”

“Nope!”

…

Aoyama Cemetery, 8:39 pm

Mei Mei Team:

Mei Mei (Grade One)

Ui Ui

Yuji Itadori (Grade One promotion on hold)

Unidentified sorcerer (Grade Three, currently being assessed for promotion)

The night is turning out to be uncharacteristically dark. A few bugs chirp. Off in the distance, cars can be heard. Lights of the city aren't far away, but they do little to combat the dark. You suppose it's fitting for Halloween.

You have headphones in. No music plays. Not wanting to ruin your nails, you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Biting your nails is a habit you’ve been meaning to break, but you can't bring yourself to do so. It's more trouble than it's worth.

You bite down too hard. Soon you taste blood.

"Gojo Sensei is going alone?!" Yuji asks.

In response, Mei Mei gives a soft "hm."

He’s the strongest, you fail to see an issue. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the man, it's that Gojo works best when he’s alone. Solitude is his element.

"I understand why-" Yuji says, "but we gotta help somehow! We can go as backup!"

Mei Mei lets out a small sigh, resting her head on her closed fist. To her left stands a boy—her younger brother—Ui Ui. He’s a fellow sorcerer, but ungraded as far as you know. He seems awfully young to be here.

"That's why we're headed to Shibuya." She says.

"We are?!"

The boy makes an offhand remark about Gojo. It's quickly answered by his sister. Their conversation drones on in the background as panic sets in.

Yuji feels stagnant. He's no use here! He should be out there helping people! He knows Gojo can take care of himself, but any number of things can go wrong. What if he needs help?

Satoru Gojo does best on his own.

"Itadori," Mei Mei's voice snaps Yuji from his thoughts, "were changing course. Another curtain like the one in Shibuya just appeared in the Meiji-Jingumae station,

"We're gonna run. So keep up okay?"

…

Fukutoshin Line Platform

8:40 pm

James’ hand wraps around the hilt of Dawnbreaker. The metal is cold against his skin. It sits snugly against his hip in its sheath- the blade wrapped.

He checks his phone.

No service.

Not that he's expecting anything. No one calls him. Besides you, and sometimes clients. Maybe your mother if there's a holiday, or a birthday coming up. But as he grows older, his calls with her grow shorter, and less frequent. He hasn't bothered giving his new number out to anyone. There's no need to.

The curtain would trap all civilians. Sorcerers can come and go as they please. This is here for only one reason.

The name Satoru Gojo spreads through the crowd like a wildfire.

It's funny how quickly people panic. It's like shouting fire in a crowded theatre. All it takes is one to start running. The most chaos is not done by fire, or by disaster, it's done by fellow man.

James pats around his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. This isn't a smoking area. People aren't going to care in a moment.

He needs to quit. They aren't good for him. But it's a habit he can't see himself quitting. Any smokes will kill you, but these will make you feel like it.

It's not long after he appears, standing over the crowd.

Satoru Gojo isn't the most physically imposing man. He stands, at most, an inch or two taller than James. He wields no weapons, but his cursed energy is immense. He has no need for weapons. James can sense his presence from yards away.

The moment he was born, the world of sorcery was turned on its head.

The cigarette seemingly goes stale in his mouth. He loses all interest in it. He crushes the butt of the cigarette under his heel, grinding it into the pavement.

It's a suicide mission either way. James does not expect to leave Shibuya alive. Sorcerers aren't ones to grow old and retire. They’re meant to live short, violent lives. That is their burden to bear.

His fate was sealed at birth.

“No excuses if you lose again this time, okay?” Gojo says, jabbing a finger in Jogo’s direction.

“Don't worry about us,” Jogo answers. “The only one who’ll need an excuse is you.”

The crowd piles up against the gates, nearly spilling out onto the tracks. They’ve fallen mostly silent. There's a faint blue light from the screens of the phones. People still hold their phones up, desperately searching for any sort of signal. To no avail. There will never be a signal. There's a loud crack! as roots grow across the skylight. Almost instantly the station grows darker.

Though his eyes are covered, James feels Gojo’s gaze turn to him. His eyes travel up his body. He feels every inch being scrutinized. He stops on his tattoo; a marking on his right forearm. His hand moves to cover it, though it's too late. It's hard to tell what the actual tattoo is, but it looks to be done in thick, black lines.

He’s not a cursed spirit. Neither is the guy with the pigtails. That one seems to be the Cursed Womb: Death Painting. He’s human through and through. Though that bugs him, neither of them seem to be as proactive as the other two.

He’s a man around Gojo’s age and height. Short hair, foreigner, small tattoo on his right forearm; wielding a sword that’s almost a perfect copy of yours.

“Your name wouldn't happen to be James, would it?” Gojo asks.

James stands there for a moment in silence.

Against his better judgement, he nods.

Gojo lets out a soft “huh” before saying: “your sibling was looking for you. You should probably call them.”

Jogo looks from James, to Gojo, then back to James.

James’ cursed energy isn’t particularly strong, albeit erratic. It flares up at the sudden mention of his family. This is him, Gojo is certain of it. You two don't resemble each other closely, but a resemblance is there. The curve of his nose, the stance he takes. You two are related, all right. His sword is much like yours: imbued with cursed energy. A non-sorcerer could fight with it. It’s a long, straight blade, sharpened on one side. The only difference from yours is the color of the handle, and the fact that half the blade isn't broken off.

He can wait. James doesn't dare attack Gojo. Hemay be the king of bad ideas, but even he has his limits.

“You'll just kill everyone here if I run away,” Gojo says, “right?”

That's what he’s here for, anyway. Gojo has the feeling that, if he does run away, everyone here will die no matter what.

“If you run away, we’re going to do that,” Jogo says, before adding: “we’ll do it even if you don't.”

James is far from prepared for the ensuing chaos.

Something akin to a dam breaks. There's a loud metallic screech. The crowd spills out onto the tracks. If you’re in the crowd, he’d never be able to tell. James only has two goals anymore: keeping himself alive, and finding you. What he’ll do with you once he finds you is up for debate.

An older man grabs a hold of James’ shirt. He coughs up something warm, splattering his cheek. With a shove, he pushes the man off. His hand comes away bloody. James isn't sure who got to him first; if he was trampled by the crowd, or if Choso got him with his Blood Manipulation.

He has no plan to kill anyone, but if it comes down to it, he will.

He’s not above it. James isn't above much of anything anymore.

The doors create a blind spot. Gojo has no way of knowing what's behind them. Breaking through is a bad idea. But it's a way out.

Jogo’s grip finds James’ arm. “If you’re not going to help I’ll kill you myself!”

Twenty minutes. They just need to kill twenty minutes.

He’s just doing it to survive. Is anyone going to blame him for that? The world of sorcerers is ugly and cruel. Corrupt hands have guided it since long before he was born. He is no different from them. He is a bystander. A passing face in a crowd.

“I thought we said no running away,” Jogo says, letting go of James, “I’m surprised you need more convincing.”

“Nah baldy,” Gojo says, “I'm surprised you thought you could beat me.”

Jogo’s eye widens.

“Hey weed,” Gojo jabs his thumb in Hanami’s direction, “this is our third meeting, isn't it? Yeah. I can't believe you haven't learned,

“You’re going down first.”

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】  Tears of Themis: Xia Yan Personal Story 4-7 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Video

Chapter 4: 4-1 / 4-2 / 4-4 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-7 / 4-9 / 4-10 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-14 / 4-16

Xia Yan’s Home, Second Floor

The next day, the appraiser that Xia Yan knew appraised that two-million-dollar soccer ball very quickly.

That was not an authentic item; instead, it was an excellent counterfeit. We updated Sphinx with this information.

Sphinx: After bidding for this ball, Li Lihong gave it to the roadside children.

Sphinx: Which also means that he knew it was fake before he bid for it…

Xia Yan: One criminal activity involves using auction items as a means to accomplish an end.

MC: Are you talking about… money laundering?

MC: Using auctions to money launder by using the money in legal transactions.

Xia Yan: That’s right. If my speculation is correct, then that Wall Auction Hall probably also has to do with Hengda Financial – no, Song Heng.

Xia Yan: Trap loans are not the only criminal activities that Song Heng is involved in.

Xia Yan: He’s using this auction house to commit money laundering. It might even be possible that this isn’t the only location where he does so.

Xia Yan: Aside from that, I noticed that Li Lihong sent a message to an unknown number this morning, saying “Night, usual time, usual place”.

Xia Yan: The person Li Lihong is meeting tonight just might have to do with the money laundering.

--

Outside the Abandoned Factory Plant

That night, Xia Yan and I followed Li Lihong near an abandoned factory plant on the outskirts of Stellis.

Li Lihong looked around warily, then entered the plant.

Xia Yan: I’m heading in. Wait here for me.

MC: Okay… be careful.

Xia Yan: I will. Oh right, put this on.

Xia Yan handed me a concealed earbud, then stuffed the other in his ear.

Xia Yan: I can’t make any phone calls when following him, so I’ll use this to maintain contact with you.

Xia Yan nodded at me, then entered that abandoned building.

--

Inside the Abandoned Factory Plant

Xia Yan followed Li Lihong to the third floor. There were already seven or eight young men waiting there.

Young Man A: Bro Hong, we’ve been waiting for you for a while. You brought the stuff?

Li Lihong: Of course.

Li Lihong took out a storage disk in his pocket and handed it to the man in front of him.

Young Man: Can we start making our moves this time?

Li Lihong: Not yet, we’re still missing one thing, although I’ve already confirmed where it is.

Li Lihong: This is the most updated info. Hold onto it.

Li Lihong handed a storage disk to him.

Xia Yan hid himself as he observed, then took out a lighter from his pocket.

He took off the cover of the igniting torch first, then removed the flint steel wheel, flint, and spring.

Xia Yan wound the spring on the flint, then lit up the torch, heating the stone until it glowed red.

He stood and threw the burning stone towards that group of people—

Instantly, a dazzling white light burst, as if someone had thrown a stun grenade!

Xia Yan rushed in, knocking down several people within a single breath.

But Li Lihong had long been prepared. When he felt someone approaching, he drew a knife and slashed!

A wound ripped viciously over Xia Yan’s upper arm, and fresh blood dripped down. Xia Yan remained motionless, then snatched the storage disk in Li Lihong’s hand.

Xia Yan sprinted down the stairs on the other side, but a pitch-black gun muzzle suddenly appeared before him.

Young Man B: Even diarrhea’s got its benefits, huh? I caught you.

Young Man B: Bro Hong, I’ve made a huge contribution tonight.

Young Man B: Put the thing down, and squat down with your hands behind your head!

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan held up both hands, then gradually let go of the storage disk in his hand.

When the disk clattered on the ground, the man released a relieved sigh.

Xia Yan twisted his body in an instant, turning out of shooting range as he grabbed the man’s hand and the body of the gun.

Bang! A bullet slammed into the wall!

Xia Yan seized the gun, then locked down on the man’s throat, switching positions with him.

The same moment, the people in the room had rushed up. They simultaneously raised their guns, pointing at Xia Yan.

Li Lihong: Put the weapon down!

Xia Yan looked at the several people in front of him. They were pointing guns at him from different angles and had cut off all directions of movement.

Xia Yan did not move. He kept one hand on the man’s throat, using him as a shield, and one hand on the gun, pointing it at the man’s temple.

Xia Yan: …

Bang! Li Lihong adjusted his firing angle, firing a warning shot at a pile of dirt in the corner.

Li Lihong: Put the weapon down!!!

--

I waited outside for Xia Yan.

I counted the minutes and seconds as they passed. One minute, two minutes… suddenly, the intense sounds of a fight sounded in the earbud!

Amid the chaos, it seemed like Xia Yan’s earbud had fallen. The sounds of the fight went from being beside the ear to being transmitted from far away.

Bang! A gunshot sounded in the abandoned building.

MC: Xia Yan—

I immediately called police. But, what do I do… what else can I do for Xia Yan…

Within my few seconds of hesitation, another gunshot sounded.

MC: What do I do!

⊳ Wait in place ⊳ Go in

Fearing that I would only bring trouble if I rushed in rashly, I held back my anxiety and didn’t go in after thinking things over.

…

……

Every second felt incomparably long.

Finally, my phone vibrated – Xia Yan was calling.

MC: Xia Yan!

Only when I shouted his name did I notice that my voice sounded like I’d been sobbing.

Xia Yan: I’m fine. Sorry… for scaring you.

Xia Yan: I’m on the third floor – you can head straight over.

--

In the Abandoned Factory Plant

I sprinted wildly towards the location Xia Yan mentioned.

I hadn’t even arrived at the staircase to the third floor when I saw Xia Yan, who was just about to descend the staircase to see me.

Xia Yan: Slow down, it’s dark here – careful—

When I saw his silhouette, my tears burst out all at once. Without a single care, I sprinted up to him and hugged him.

  ⊳ Wait in place ⊳ Go in

MC: I can’t just sit and wait. If I can scramble for a bit of time for Xia Yan before the police get here…

I took out the lipstick tranquilizer gun that Xia Yan had made for me before, my only weapon.

I carefully entered the abandoned plant.

--

Inside the Abandoned Factory Plant

One floor, two floors… when I stepped onto the third floor, I finally saw several silhouettes.

Due to my location, I could not see Xia Yan. I could only carefully observe those in front of me.

One person among them had a gun on his waist.

MC: …

MC: (With my skills, I’ll only be able to shoot one person…)

MC: (And then, these people will descend into chaos for a moment, and Xia Yan can use this opportunity to attack back.)

MC: (I’ll attack this person and shoot, then leave immediately, so I don’t get caught and end up causing Xia Yan trouble instead.)

I recalled the route with which I came in, confirming how I would escape.

Then, I carefully lifted my lipstick tranquillizer gun, pointing it at that person with the gun…

Got him in one shot!

I turned around to run, but I hadn’t even taken two steps when a black silhouette rushed up in front of me and seized my throat, applying severe pressure.

MC: Urgh!

But right after, I heard a familiar voice.

Xia Yan: MC? Why did you come in…

Thanks to the faint moonlight, I finally saw his face – it was Xia Yan.

Xia Yan let go of the hand grabbing my throat in a panic.

Xia Yan: Sorry, I was just planning to let you know that I was fine…

My tears burst out all at once, and I instinctively hugged Xia Yan.

----

MC: Xia Yan…

Xia Yan: !!!

Xia Yan’s body stiffened instantly.

A moment after, he gently circled his arm around me, patting my back comfortingly.

Xia Yan: I’m sorry for making you worry again.

Xia Yan: I’m fine, really…

Xia Yan held me gently as he tenderly comforted me.

A few minutes later, some awkward coughs sounded from not too far from us.

Li Lihong: Ahem ahem… Mr. Xia Yan, I don’t mean to interrupt you two.

Li Lihong: But this place isn’t the most suitable… also, could you explain to us what’s going on?

Li Lihong looked at us helplessly, while the young men around him had expressions full of mischief.

MC: !!!

I let go of Xia Yan in a panic.

MC: Xia Yan, what’s going on here? I heard gunshots before I came in…

MC: Wait, your arm?! What happened to your arm!

The moment I saw Xia Yan, my brain was too preoccupied to care about anything else. Only now did I notice a knife wound on his arm.

Xia Yan simply wrapped up the knife wound on the arm.

Xia Yan: Actually… everything was a misunderstanding.

Xia Yan turned around and looked at Li Lihong and the men around him.

Xia Yan: This Mr. Li Lihong, and the other guys… are all policemen.

MC: Policemen?!

Xia Yan nodded, then told me everything.

--

[Flashback]

Xia Yan looked at the several people in front of him. They were pointing guns at him from different angles and had cut off all directions of movement.

Xia Yan did not move. He kept one hand on the man’s throat, using him as a shield, and one hand on the gun, pointing it at the man’s temple.

Xia Yan: …

The few people faced off soundlessly for several seconds.

Li Lihong: Young man, I don’t know what benefits you get out of doing this, but I urge you to leave while you can.

Xia Yan: What benefits I get? That’s what you should be asking yourself.

Li Lihong: What did you say?

Xia Yan tightened his grip on the gun, coldly sweeping its point towards everyone across him.

Xia Yan: Glock 17… the gun that police around the world equip the most.

Li Lihong: …

Xia Yan: You are Song Heng’s “protective umbrella” in Stellis.

Xia Yan: Traitors are even more detestable than enemies.

Li Lihong: Hold up—

[Flashback end]

--

Xia Yan: That’s how it went…

Xia Yan: I thought they were turncoat police officers, so Sergeant Li was forced to tell me what was going on.

Xia Yan: Sergeant Li Lihong is an undercover agent from the Stellis Financial Crime Investigation Unit, sent to Hengda Financial. He came here today to talk about information with the other police officers in the task force.

Xia Yan lowered his body to whisper by my ear.

Xia Yan: I’ve already used my authorizations to confirm their police numbers and identities – they’re all clear.

Because he didn’t want others to overhear, Xia Yan was nearly pressed against my ear as he spoke. His warm breath and his voice spread over my ear, making it tingle.

MC: I got it!

I did my best to suppress my own panicked heartbeat and maintain my thoughts on the topic at hand.

I rushed to cancel my call to the police earlier, saying in a panic that I had heard wrong.

After, I looked at Li Lihong, still feeling somewhat doubtful.

MC: I never would’ve thought that police spies could get to a level like financial director…

Li Lihong: I was a spy at another company for a long time before. To make it easier to get information, I worked harder on the job and got promoted to director.

Li Lihong: So, it was rather easy to spy in Hengda Financial this time.

Li Lihong: Of course, I did use some other methods, but they’re not worth mentioning.

MC: Is that so? The Stellis police sure are hiding incredible talent…

So that’s what it was! Are there really this many interdisciplinary geniuses these days?!

I was just furiously complaining in my heart as Li Lihong looked towards Xia Yan.

Li Lihong: Speaking of surprising people, it’s this guy here that who really takes the cake.

Li Lihong: Are private detectives this skilled these days? Or… you’re a master among the people?

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Can’t be helped. The detective profession is really competitive – if I want to earn more, I’ve got to have some more skills.

Li Lihong stared at Xia Yan for a few seconds without asking anymore.

Li Lihong: As members of the general populace, it’s not suitable for the two of you to continue getting into the Hengda Financial case.

Li Lihong: Leave the rest of the investigation to the police, and please trust us.

MC: That…

I glanced at “member of the general populace” Xia Yan, unsure of how he would respond.

Xia Yan: Of course we trust the police.

Xia Yan: But we also received a commission to investigate Song Heng and Hengda Financial. Due to some reasons, my employer needs to know about what’s happening inside them as soon as possible.

Xia Yan: Plus, Sergeant Li, you’ve been a spy for a year, yet you still haven’t reeled in the net. Which means that there must still be some issues, right?

Xia Yan: If it won’t hinder official business, please allow us to assist in investigation. After all, the police and the community are all in this together.

Xia Yan: Plus, there’s no reason needed to act righteously. As for safety, you just called me “a master among the people”.

Li Lihong: …

Seeing that Li Lihong wasn’t speaking, I rushed to provide backup.

MC: Sergeant Li, are there any places where we can help?

Li Lihong: About whether you can join in the investigations… I can’t agree to you right now. Protecting the people and ensuring that you remain out of danger is the police’s duty.

Li Lihong: In fact, you taking the initiative to give us the information you had was already a sort of help.

Xia Yan: Then we’ll tell you all the clues we currently have in detail.

--

Xia Yan and I told Li Lihong all about Ji Xiaoqing’s recording file as well as the Oedipus and corrupt detectives matter.

Li Lihong: So that’s what it was. A few days ago, we did receive this recording file from the criminal investigation unit.

Li Lihong: I didn’t think that you were the ones who found that evidence.

Li Lihong: As for Oedipus… according to the information you found, it might indeed be the president of Hengda Financial, Song Heng.

Li Lihong: I didn’t think that he’d also done these things…

Xia Yan: We’re currently working with Sphinx and trying to catch Oedipus – that is, Song Heng.

Xia Yan: Could this identity of ours assist your investigation somehow?

Li Lihong looked at Xia Yan I, falling into silent thought.

Li Lihong: Before Ji Xiaoyu accused Bedo Loan Company, we noticed indications that Hengda Financial was involved in gang activities, so we started conducting investigations in private.

Li Lihong: I thus applied for financial director and entered Hengda Financial as a spy.

Li Lihong: We noticed that Hengda Financial had worked with lots of trap loan companies and had helped with money laundering.

Xia Yan: But you still haven’t reeled in the net yet – are you still missing some essential evidence?

Li Lihong: That’s right.

Li Lihong: It’s the age of the legal system right now. If we want to catch Hengda Financial and their related gangs all at once, we must have a complete chain of evidence.

Li Lihong: Their legal team is extremely strong. If there is the slightest flaw in the evidence, those lawyers will use this to place doubts on the police’s entire investigation.

Li Lihong: If that happens… we can only watch as they use the name of the law to escape innocent or with mere misdemeanors.

Li Lihong’s voice had the slightest bit of repressed resentfulness in it.

The man who Xia Yan snatched the gun from earlier couldn’t resist jumping in angrily.

Young Man B: Those lawyers are always saying that we abuse public power and rambling about procedural justice this, procedural justice that!

Young Man B: I’m just a bystander, yet I can’t even bear it, so how miserable must the victims and their families be, huh? Can’t they see that?

Young Man B: Using the law to protect criminals! Any goodness in their hearts must have been gobbled up by dogs!

Young Man B: Bunch of pettifoggers. All their legal studies left them without the slightest bit of humanity in them!

MC: …

Xia Yan: …

Li Lihong: Enough. Don’t bother wasting time on complaining – this won’t help solve the case at all.

Li Lihong stopped the young policeman’s furious castigations.

MC: Sergeant Li, do you think we could help anywhere?

Xia Yan: Sergeant Li, I understand that it’s not convenient for the police to let us know details regarding the investigation progress.

Xia Yan: I do have a suggestion, though. Please listen to see if it’ll be useful.

Xia Yan: Song Heng, or “Oedipus”, believes that my partner “Sphinx” has certain important information on him.

Xia Yan: So he’s going to war over this, trying to find “Sphinx”.

Xia Yan: Could we start from this to create some setups and make Song Heng display weakness?

Li Lihong: Mhmm, this does work as a plan.

Li Lihong: You’re currently in the middle of detective investigations, which is quite a suitable identity. Plus… it would be great if you lent your skill to the police.

Xia Yan: Thanks for the praise.

Li Lihong: But as you said, it’s not easy for us to reveal our investigation actions and plans. So, right now, we can’t tell you about any ways to assist.

Li Lihong: Return from today, and wait for me to contact you.

MC: Okay.

Li Lihong: Also, Detective Xia Yan, I apologize for injuring you.

Li Lihong looked apologetically towards the injury on Xia Yan’s arm.

Li Lihong: You can come with me to the police station and apply for compensatory procedures, and deal with the wound in the meanwhile.

Xia Yan: No need, I can deal with this little wound myself.

Xia Yan: Plus, it was all a misunderstanding. We can call it even since you’re not going to charge me for assault of police.

After, we said our farewells to the policemen.

[dyllard]

In the beginning

Our bodies

Breathed as one

Connected by destiny

Michelangelo’s masterpiece

Made real

Times were tough

But four was enough

And I loved you

A motorcycle

Took you away

Our ring pop days

Forgotten with

The sticky remains

Washed away from

An innocent face

Do you remember?

False tears to see

Who I’d choose

I was only 3 but I recall

The way you pried the

Approval from my fragile

New heart

Ripped the tag clean off

That shiny new car

How you pushed him away

And half of that heart

With him

And I loved you still

Seasons turned

And with them

Rental days ended

We were in a home

His home (or was it?)

We sure didn’t know

But big boys smiled

And you were soothed

Safely nestled

In those woods togeher

A loneliness loomed

In someone else’s dream

The little half heart grew

And I loved you still

Soon June came and our

Trust in you

Ran like the unending

Summer spring

Feeding our favorite pond

Amid bursts of cool water

Warm reedy murk

And cucumber sandwiches

We drifted in your daydream

On sun faded noodles we

Kissed serenity

And I loved you still

A new school came

And eventually

The names

Idiots, dummies,

Morons and fools

The boys became

Clowns (maybe that was you?)

Then his name was decided

You anointed it yourself

It was time to revere your

Companion and grant him

Our undying trust

Under clenched teeth

Crossed fingers

And watchful eyes

We exchanged those

Sacred words

“Merry Christmas” in July

And I loved you still

Bruises blossomed

Acne too

Alongside forbidden

Thoughts, a taboo

Novel hidden on

The bottom shelf

So were our precious tears

Only for you

In that room

Only you knew (or did you?)

Orchestrating a confluence of

Confusion and anger

Elementary injustices

Mountains from molehills

The show went on

Cause kids can’t conceive

The gifts given

Sacrifices made

Such pain was unjust

Trust was sparse

So I turned out

Those hand-me-down pockets

And I loved you still

The years came and went

Defying odds

Big boys to big men

Far away from

Toddler days

Diplomas and car loans

Adorn our shelves

Yet some things remain

Quarter century rust

On a Cub Scout blade

Pain that won’t fade

The angry face

With his slicing blame

And I loved you still

But only with

The little half heart

Allowed to bloom

In a crowded dream garden

The rest is unknown

Wild to you

Those dreams and wonders

My pains and my shames

My molten core

Dripping each authentic truth

In dazzling imperfection

In my own time

My forming world

Will never be yours

For the boy you grew

Lives in a dream

Beneath a weeping mural

Where he loves you still

[roman-writing]

the spectres vain (2/2)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton / Jamie / Viola Lloyd

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,525

Summary: She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later she wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Loved them.

Content advisory: spoilers, horror, and ghost smut

read it here on AO3 or read it below

“The night isn’t dark; the world is dark. Stay with me a little longer.”

    -‘Departure’, Louise Gluck

 --

"I really thought this would go away. But it just hasn't."

They were sitting in a cheap diner, their local favourite down the road. Jamie had already received her meal -- an omelette with a cup of coffee and a side of toast, all of which was going to be far too much for her to eat; she never would get used to the size of American meals -- but Dani had yet to receive her own. Jamie paused in the act of picking up her knife and fork. Dani's eyes were glued to her meal, like a starving man who had seen food for the first time in weeks.

"What would go away? Food?" Jamie asked. She slowly passed the knife and fork between her hands -- clink of chipped cutlery -- and began to eat.

"Yeah." 

Dani tore her gaze away from Jamie's plate and instead focused on the salt and pepper shakers between them, bracketing the serviette dispenser like little guardsmen. She was sitting on her hands, as though that were the only thing keeping herself from snatching Jamie's food away for herself. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. 

"I mean, I've always liked food. But after -" She made a nodding motion with her head. "- anyway after, it was like I'd never tasted food before in my life. It was so strange. Everything tasted so sweet. I could hardly choke down a cup of apple juice. And a cheeseburger? I thought that I'd died the first time I bit into one. All that sauce."

Dani trailed off. She was frowning contemplatively at her scratched reflection in the chrome-plated dispenser.

Jamie shoved a mouthful of omelette into her mouth and spoke gracelessly around it. "Always thought American food was too sweet, myself. Maybe you got used to Owen's cooking over in England."

Dani gave her a look. "You know that's not why."

"Yeah, I know." Jamie finished chewing, already cutting up another piece and loading up the back of her fork with her knife. "I noticed the appetite change, of course."

"Mmm." Dani nodded. Her mouth was twisted to one side; she was chewing the inside of her cheek and sneaking glances at her wristwatch as though even the ten minute wait was too long for her to bear. "But it just -- it hasn't gone away. It's more bearable now. I still struggle with cake that's really sugary or has too much icing. But food is -- well, it's an experience. Every time."

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat; her mouth was too full for even her to speak. She finished her bite, and then said, "Anything in particular you two have been craving?"

If anything, Dani seemed startled by the question. The thoughtful groove in her brow deepened, before she answered, "Tarte au citron. She used to love lemons. Anything sour. Not too sweet. Always a hint of bite."

Nodding slowly, Jamie said, "Yeah, all right. We can make do with that. And what about you? Do you like sour things?"

Dani's mouth opened to answer, but before she could say anything, the waitress came by and placed an enormous cheeseburger with all the trimmings in front of her -- bacon, extra cheese and gherkin, the whole lot. "Thank you so much."

The waitress had hardly taken two steps away before Dani descended upon her meal. The cheeseburger was in her hands and then in her mouth in a flash. She took a large bite, and juice dripped all down her fingers. As Dani chewed, she moaned softly, eyes shut in rapture. “God,” she mumbled. “That’s so good.”

Jamie lifted her eyebrows and coughed discreetly. “Blimey. Do you two need a room?”

Dani nodded and took another bite. Jamie laughed, and she could see the way Dani's mouth curled into a smile even as her cheeks bulged.

 --

Later that week, Jamie was passing by a bakery on her way back to their florist's shop. She stopped and peered through the window. All of the baker's wares were on neat display, ranging from little fancies to proud cakes dusted with chocolate shavings.

And there, near the middle, a row of lemon tarts the size of her hand.

When she returned to the florist's shop, the bell attached to the door by a string announced her arrival, along with her accompanying bellow, "I'm back! I see you didn't burn the place down in my absence! Well done, love!"

It was a Saturday, and the sign turned to 'CLOSED' on the door bounced when she shut it. The sound of footsteps drummed down the stairs, and Dani's legs appeared as she descended the steps. "Oh, hey! How'd the bank go?"

"The usual." Jamie walked forward to the countertop with the cash register. "All their old farts with all their old money. And some money that isn't theirs either."

"Uh huh," Dani said. "And the loan?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Sounded like they were impressed by the little talk you had with them last week about tenants and estate management.”

Dani’s face split into a wide smile. “Really? They’re going to give us the money to buy the shop instead of rent?”

“And the apartment, too,” Jamie said, and she couldn’t help it either. Her own grin broadened. “Anyway, I got you something."

She held out a plain brown wax-paper bag. Dani blinked, and took it.

"Oh, thanks, I was just thinking about -" Dani's voice slowed, then stopped. Her smile lessened slightly, when she opened the bag and saw what it contained. A perfect lemon tart with a dash of cream that had been only slightly smushed on Jamie's walk home. "Oh."

Without a word, Jamie pulled from her back pocket the plastic fork that had come with it. "Go on, then. Let's see how it compares to 16-whatever."

For a long moment Dani fiddled with the plastic fork. It were as though she were standing at the edge of a dock, readying herself for a plunge into icy waters. And then with a brave smile towards Jamie, she cut herself a piece and took a bite.

Jamie wondered what it must have been like. Dani's eyes were closed. She looked utterly transported.

"Good?"

Dani opened her eyes again and nodded. "So, so good."

"Yeah?" Jamie leaned her elbows upon the countertop, watching as Dani went in for another bite. "Better or worse than 16-who-even-cares?"

Dani hummed around the fork in her mouth. Pulling it free and chewing, she said, "Better. Way better."

"Why d'you think that is?"

"It's -" Dani went quiet for a moment as she continued to eat, mulling over every morsel. "It's smoother. Richer. Tarter. More depth of flavour."

"Is that the ingredients talking? Or the fact that you've been stuck in a lake without a body for five-hundred years?"

Dani went very still. After a pause she kept chewing. “A bit of both, I think.” She swallowed, then took a deep breath and looked Jamie dead in the eye. “It’s still me, you know. I’m still me.”

Jamie smiled at her. “I know, Poppins. I know.”

When Dani held out the next forkful to her, she let herself be fed. And indeed, she’d been right. Smooth. Rich. Tart. And a depth of flavour. 

 --

At some point -- she could not say exactly when -- Jamie began doing things explicitly thinking of not just what Dani might like, but what Viola might also like. 

She read old books. She asked a friend of a friend who went to university to study textile history for any hints of seventeenth century culture. Anything at all so long as it was between the years of 1645 and 1680. (She knew the dates perfectly, but she wasn’t about to let Viola know that. Couldn’t have their evil aristocratic ghost getting all uppity on them, could they?) 

She grew specialty plants. She bought specialty food. She gave her clothes and jewelry, little trinkets, only what she could afford. Dani loved them all. 

And Viola -- well, Viola was a mystery.

 --

"Did you know that our very own Viola may very well have met Oliver Cromwell?"

Beside her in bed, Dani shifted and the mattress springs creaked beneath her weight. "Are you doing research on my ghost?"

In answer Jamie pointed at the place in the book she was reading and said, "In the year 1658 the daughters of one Mister Willoughby, Viola and Perdita, visited Court, aged fifteen and ten respectively. There they paid their respects and stayed for a few months in a London residence, before returning to the family estate." Jamie set the book down on her legs. "Do you think she actually met him? No. They couldn't have. The Lloyds weren't that reputable, were they?"

"She did," Dani said in a hollow tone. She was staring into the middle distance again, her expression slack. 

"Oh, yeah?" Jamie asked. "She want me to know that, does she?"

Still gazing off into space, Dani nodded.

Jamie gestured with the open book. "Noted." She tried to go back to reading, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, what was he like? Good ol' Ironsides?"

"Cold." Dani's eyelids fluttered and she seemed to come to herself. She cleared her throat, but continued, "And he was so critical of her nice new clothes. But she had the last laugh in the end."

Jamie snickered. "Sounds about right." 

“He died that same year. Right after they’d visited,” Dani said. “She thought his beheading later was very funny.”

Hearing that, Jamie’s eyes widened. "Holy shit. Wait. Was Viola a secret Catholic?"

Dani scowled darkly at her. The air of their bedroom seemed suddenly colder.

"Whoops. Personal question, then?" Jamie held her hands together in mock supplication and thickened her accent. "A thousand pardons, m'lud."

With a snort of laughter, Dani pushed Jamie's hands down, but paused to lean forward for a quick peck on the mouth.

 --

Sometimes Jamie felt like she was stalking a dead woman. Constantly trying to figure out what Viola might like, what might entice her to stay. And then worrying that perhaps it meant Dani was losing a bit of herself everyday. Like a coin rubbed smooth over the years, until the minted face was indistinguishable. One replacing the other. Or perhaps more like losing the line that separated them. Until she could no longer tell where Dani ended and Viola began. 

Yet in time Jamie learned she would do anything if it meant that Dani was here by her side. Every action. Every game pie. Every tight-armed hug. ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. Just for today. Just one more day.’

And every time, Dani caught her eye and smiled as though she had heard the unspoken words, as though they had rung about in the pull-down attic of their little apartment. And every time she would reach out to squeeze Jamie’s hand, and pull her into a reassuring kiss.

 --

Americans, Jamie had learned since living here, were obsessed with Halloween. Personally, she didn’t see the appeal. Now, lighting up the effigy of a Catholic who had once attempted to blow up Parliament? That was more her cup of tea.

Still, when in Rome...And the few friends they had made along the way had invited her to a costume party in town. It would be churlish to decline. They needed more friends. Friends that weren’t linked to a shared trauma.

Besides, as it turned out her friend’s friend at university studying textile history was also an amateur seamstress, and had a few period-accurate pieces that fit without too much trouble. Just a bit nipped in at the waist and -- done. Jamie was set for a ball, or whatever the appropriate equivalent would’ve been called. 

“Hey, Jamie, could you help me with this wig? It’s being a real pain in the -” 

Dani emerged from their bathroom, half dressed in a Bride of Frankenstein white dress outfit, and froze. It was an hour or so before they were set to leave on the night, and Jamie was in their bedroom draped in a seventeenth century gown, seated on the mattress, a thorn-stripped rose in hand. Dani dropped the aforementioned wig to the ground and stared.

“Too much?” Jamie asked. She adjusted the puffy sleeves so that they sat lower on her arms, revealing more of her chest. “I don’t think it suits me, and I was going to go for a bloke’s outfit instead, but she insisted that -”

“No,” Dani breathed, shaking her head. “No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

“Well, I knew that, obviously.” Jamie winked. Then she made a shooing gesture with the rose, rising from the bed and walking towards Dani. “Now, c’mon! Let’s get that zig-zag wig of yours on. We’re going to be late.”

Dani stepped to one side to block the exit. Her gaze was dark and fixed, unblinking, upon Jamie’s outfit. “I was wrong, actually. What I said just now.”

“What? About me being perfect?” Jamie joked.

“No, not that. It’s just -” Dani reached out with a tentative hand and her fingers were trembling. She thumbed an edge of the dress at Jamie’s sleeve, testing the rose-coloured silk there. “It’s the wrong colour. You should be in green. Laurel as a crown.” 

“Thanks?” Jamie said uncertainly.

Dani stepped closer. With her application of make-up and her pale flowing dress, she seemed more like a ghost than ever. Her hands were on Jamie’s upper arms now, stroking the fabric, following the line of the stomacher’s seams until they rested at Jamie’s narrowed waist.

Dani swallowed, and her voice sounded strained when she asked, “Are you wearing a pair of bodies?”

Jamie huffed with nervous laughter. “Am I wearing a -? What?”

As if coming to herself, Dani blinked and shook her head quickly. “I mean - uh - stays. Uh - What’s the name now? - a corset. Are you wearing a corset?”

“Yeah. And all the petticoats and frills.” Jamie straightened theatrically and tried to stretch her shoulders. “Bloody uncomfortable, too. I tell you what.” 

Any attempt to break Dani out of this spell with humour seemed futile, however. She was tracing the metallic gold thread of Jamie’s stomacher with greedy fingertips. “What exquisite passementerie.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said haltingly. She was being guided back towards the bed, their steps slow. “The girl I borrowed this from is into the real deal. Wanted to make it as authentic as possible. I’m guessing she passed with flying colours?”

Wordlessly, Dani nodded. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, her mouth painted a bold and bloody red. Her hands curled into fists, bunching up the skirts at Jamie’s hips as though she wanted to tear the cloth from her, only for her touch to slacken, and her palms to smooth down that same fabric like a caress. 

Dani continued walking them towards the bed. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening right now, but I really really want you.” 

Whatever reaction Jamie had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Dani hadn’t blinked for what seemed like an age, and she held herself rigidly, every movement twitchy, as though she couldn’t quite remember how to control her muscles properly. 

“Can I -?” Dani started to ask, fingers already slipping towards the laces at Jamie’s front.

Jamie lifted the rose between them and used it to bop Dani gently on the forehead. “‘Course you can, Poppins. So long as it’s still you in there.” 

Dani blinked furiously and her head jerked back. Then she laughed softly. “Yeah. I’m - I’m here, too.” 

Jamie’s mouth curled in a smirk. “All right, then.” She tossed the rose onto the ground, and reached to the laces that held the gown in place. “Help me out of this thing.”

“No.” Dani grabbed her wrists and held them firmly in place. She shut her eyes for a quick moment, shaking her head back and forth. “Not yet.” 

“I thought you said -?”

“I know. And I do. Just -- slowly.” 

Jamie stared, searching Dani's face for some hint of her there, but her eyes were still tightly shut, and her fingers were pressed coldly around Jamie's wrists. 

"All right," Jamie said. "What do you want me to do?"

Dani's eyes opened then, and her gaze was piercing as a shot in the night. She let go of Jamie, stroking her wrists in silent apology, then said, "Be still."

Jamie lowered her arms, then tried her best to not move at all. A long silent moment stretched between them like a bolt of cloth flaring across a table for measuring. The muscles of Dani's face leapt, then settled, and it were as though the nervous energy ran right out of her to pool at their feet. She straightened to impeccable posture, and her expression was nothing but hunger.

It came as a shock, when Dani first tugged at the strings at Jamie's chest. Clever fingers, accustomed to such garments, worked the laces loose, criss by cross. When the gown had slackened just enough that it began to part from the under layers, she stopped. She brought her hands around, and dipped her fingers along the gap created between silk and cotton, running a line between them all the way from one of Jamie's shoulders, across her chest, to her opposite arm.

When her fingertips trailed across Jamie's collarbone to rest against her sternum, it felt like there was another set dragging along after them. Twin touches mirroring every movement of the other, until suddenly they weren’t. Dani leaned forward, and though her hand remained at the hollow of Jamie’s throat, Jamie could feel an icy caress continue to graze her warm skin.

Then Dani was kissing her neck. Jamie tilted her head to one side, only for some other presence to nudge it back upright. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a second pair of lips against her throat. She swallowed, neck craned back, and teeth scraped against the sensitive skin there, harder than Dani would have ever bitten, hard enough to make her jolt. From the corner of her vision she swore she could almost see another figure shrouded in white, but when her eyes darted in that direction, there was nothing. 

When Dani felt a hand reach around her throat, she stiffened. "No," she said. "Not around my neck."

Immediately Dani went very still against her, and the hand withdrew. "Sorry. Better?"

Jamie nodded mutely, but could not bring herself to relax. Not when those pairs of hands had moved to part the robe gown from her front. The ruffled bunch of rose-coloured silk dropped to the mattress just behind her in a rustle. Dani was kissing her mouth now, a long deep drawn out kiss, cupping Jamie's cheeks between both hands, but something was still expertly reaching beneath a layer and untying the ribbons that held the padded pillow around her waist under the over skirt, until that, too, was dropped to the floor.

That phantom touch roved, then began to trace the intricate patterns of the stomacher again. There was more strength behind the caress now. As though, the person responsible were gaining confidence, or perhaps becoming more grounded in reality. The warm lamplight on the bedside table behind them cast too many shadows, and over Dani's shoulder Jamie could clearly see the silhouette of three people instead of two.

Those hands pressed against the seams of the stomacher, and Jamie broke off the kiss to gasp, "Careful. There are pins holding that in place."

"I know," Dani murmured against the side of her mouth. The hands passed right over the pins, leaving them in place. "I don't want it off."

"And miss out on all the fun?"

There was a certain steely coldness about Dani's answering smile. "Who said anything about that? Now,” she pressed gently at Jamie’s sternum. “Lie down.”

Jamie dropped onto the mattress, which bounced slightly beneath her weight. She made to shuffle up towards the headboard, but stopped when Dani sank to her knees before her. And yet, there was a dip in the mattress on either side of her. The blankets bunched up at four points as though beneath another weight. Jamie held her breath and let herself lie completely flat with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. The air above her was thick and cold and almost solid. It felt like lying at the bottom of a lake and staring up at the watery surface overhead.

She could feel Dani pushing up the over skirt and petticoat and whatever other layers there were. Jamie had been told the names of each one at the time, but hadn't paid much attention then. Now, she wished she had. Now, Dani was running her hands along each one in turn, slowly sliding them up to Jamie's hips.

Something tugged at one of the black ribbon garters just above Jamie's knees, which kept those long white stockings in place. Then Dani was sliding the left stocking down her leg, pausing to press a kiss to each patch of bare exposed skin. She shivered. As Dani removed the first stocking and moved to the second, Jamie felt a kiss at her neck again. The suddenness of it made her twitch. She reached out, but her hands passed right through the air above her. A pair of hands gripped her wrists and pinned them down to the bed.

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat. Dani paused, and the grip around Jamie's wrists slackened just fractionally until it became clear that she wasn't fighting back.

Once the final stocking was removed, Dani pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Jamie's inner thigh. Jamie squirmed. Though Dani’s head was only barely visible between her legs, Jamie could not escape the feeling of someone staring intently at her. Dani’s mouth worked its way up and up and -- Jamie hissed, shutting her eyes and clenching her teeth. While the rest of her was cold, Dani’s tongue was a length of heat, licking long warm stripes and small circles. 

With a moan Jamie’s hands jerked, instinctively going to grab Dani’s head, but she was held back, tethered down by an invisible ghost that lingered over her like a dream. There came the sensation of something drawing closer, a draught of cold air that drifted across her face, and Jamie’s eyes flew open. 

If she focused, she could almost see the monochromatic shape. Dark locks of hair dripped down past her head and puddled on the surrounding bedsheets. Viola was crouched over her in all her former glory. Sparkle of light glinting against the pearls at her throat. A rich cool and satisfied smile. Dark weathers for eyes. The cat that had caught the canary in its claws. She leaned down and kissed Jamie, and her mouth was full and soft, and thin and hard all at once, demanding, unrelenting. 

Viola pulled away. She lifted one satin-gloved hand and stroked Jamie’s cheek. “Such a pretty thing.”

Her voice was a hoarse echo across space and time. Dani slipped two fingers into her, and Jamie had to bite back a whimper, her eyes squeezing shut. 

“Look at me.” 

With a hitched breath as Dani’s tongue worked against her, Jamie struggled to open her eyes, to keep her hips still. 

“That’s it, darling,” Viola smiled, and her face began to melt, like a painting that dripped with wax. “Come for me.”

Jamie’s back arched, her head turning against the sheets. She came with a whine that escaped in spite of herself, and it seemed to go on for ages, until she trembled and jerked her hips away. Layers of cotton and silk stuck to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. Hastily Dani clambered up to take Viola’s place, hands on Jamie’s wrists, crouched over her, her mouth a smear of bold red lipstick, staring intently down, as though trying to memorise every last etch of her face. She swayed closer for a moment to brush her lips against Jamie’s, just softly. 

“You all right?” Dani asked, sounding breathless.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Good. Great, even.”

“Yeah?” 

In answer, Jamie reached up and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Dani groaned, pressing down against her, then gasped her name.

Hands on her hips, Jamie urged her further up until Dani’s knees bracketed either side of her head. She pushed up the sheer white fabric of the costume around Dani’s thighs. Above her, Dani gripped the frame of their headboard, knuckles white, already panting. 

Jamie shouldn’t have been so greedy. She should have taken her time. She should have made Dani writhe, holding her on that ledge for as long as she could until Dani finally broke. But Dani was so wet, her thighs were taught and trembling, and she was grinding down against Jamie’s mouth. Jamie could feel her chin and neck grow slick. She held onto the backs of Dani’s legs and urged her on, coaxing with every roll and swipe of her tongue until she came with a cry. 

One of Dani’s hands was tangled in Jamie’s hair. The other was still gripping the headboard tight. She was resting her sweat-stippled forehead against her own arm. When Jamie scraped her teeth lightly against her damp inner thigh, Dani shuddered.

"Are you all right?"

“I need a moment,” Dani said, her chest heaving. “I want to go again, but - Just - Give me just a moment -”

Wiping at her face, Jamie helped Dani back down to lie beside her. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” She kissed her temple while Dani gasped for breath into her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

 --

She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later Jamie wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Love them. Or at least the idea of them. In some twisted way. All that cold rage and loneliness clinging to whatever scraps it could find, winding around its prey like a snake slowly throttling the life out of its victim without even realising it. 

But maybe Viola wasn't squeezing so hard after all. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe Dani hadn't died yet because Viola was trapped, because she could never again return to the lake at Bly. Maybe Viola wasn't possessing her at all. And if she wasn’t possessing her, then - well. 

Even that was too good to be true. The best outcome by far given the circumstances. And really, deep down, Jamie knew that loving Danielle Clayton meant loving her enough to one day let her go. 

They didn’t make it to the Halloween party. Eventually, Dani tired herself out, riding Jamie’s fingers for a third time before collapsing atop her and panting for breath as she seemed to come fully back to herself. Jamie was barely able to convince Dani to join her for a shower before she fell asleep, all a-tangle in Jamie’s arms. 

The bedside lamp was still lit. Jamie carded her hands through Dani’s long damp and honeyed hair. From the light, the shadow of a woman standing at the foot of their bed was thrown in sharp relief against the opposite wall. Staring at the space where Viola stood, Jamie gently kissed the top of Dani’s head. 

Not for the first time in her life she found herself hoping beyond hope that someone could be haunted forever. 

 --

One day she brought back a tin full of loose-leaf tea. It was intended for nobody but herself. A full and earthy black. Not the bog her father would've drunk before descending into the ground, but similar in colour to his lungs perhaps. Jamie pulled it out along with the rest of her shopping, and started to put everything away but the tin. And while she did so, she put on the kettle to boil.

The sound of the kettle whirring away on the stove drew Dani from another room, like a siren's song. She was dressed in an old pink shirt tucked into high-waisted, acid-washed jeans. Her hair was still wet from a recent shower. "Need some help?"

"Sure." Jamie handed over the last bag for unpacking. "Take care of that for me while I handle the kettle, will you?"

Without a word, Dani did as asked. She was the taller of the two, and didn't have to reach up onto her toes to put away things on the high shelves. And Jamie was too proud to admit she needed a stepping stool, herself. Why bother? That's what Dani was for. Among other things.

When Jamie opened the cupboard, she asked, "Don't suppose you want some as well? Might not be your cup of tea, so to speak."

"I'll have one. Thanks."

So, Jamie pulled out two mugs. The kettle hissed. She poured a bit of water into each cup to warm them, then spooned the appropriate amount of tea leaves into the pot. While waiting for the tea to steep, Jamie turned round and lifted herself onto the kitchen bench. There, she drummed her sock-clad heels against the cupboard and reached over to the jar that held an assortment of biscuits. Chocolate-drizzled digestives for herself, and ginger biscuits for Dani, who had the unfortunate American affection for cinnamon and ginger and cloves. Jamie couldn't stand ginger, herself. Tasted too medicinal.

Sticking a digestive biscuit into her mouth, Jamie wordlessly held out the jar. Dani was just finishing putting away the shopping bags, and wandered over. Her hand slipped into the glass opening and she fished out two ginger biscuits for herself. Jamie set the jar aside, and meanwhile Dani insinuated herself between Jamie's legs so that she stood snugly against her.

"Long day?" Dani asked.

"Mmm," Jamie mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit. She finished chewing. "Not too bad of a Sunday, to be honest. What about you?"

"I went for a walk in the park," Dani said, looking mischievous as she nibbled on the first biscuit.

"On a Sunday? The scandal," Jamie tsked, tapping her tongue against the backs of her teeth. "What would dear old Viola think about that?"

In reply, Dani arched her brows and smirked, "I think that was the appeal, actually. Plus, we're in the full swing of Fall now, and we won't have many sunny days soon. I wanted to take full advantage while I still had the chance."

"Buy anything while you were out?"

"A scarf for you," Dani answered. "And a pair of gloves for me."

She had a habit of buying articles of clothing out of the blue. Whenever the fancy seemed to strike her. Today was obviously one such a day.

"How very thoughtful."

"It's green. You look good in green," said Dani. "It brings out your eyes."

"I look good in anything," Jamie insisted. "And nothing."

Dani grinned. "That's true, too."

She stepped back and wandered over to the fridge for milk, when Jamie reached around to pour them each a cup of tea.

"Thanks, love," Jamie said, pouring them each a dollop of milk before handing the jug back to Dani, who put it away in the fridge once more.

Their fingers brushed when Jamie handed over the cup of tea. As ever these days, Dani's hands were cold. They eagerly wrapped themselves around the hot cup, and she pulled the tea close to her chest.

Jamie did the same. It was after all, as Dani had said, the throes of Fall; the weather was taking a turn to the icy. And that first sip of tea was pure heaven. It warmed her all the way down her throat and settled in her stomach. Jamie hummed at the sensation and closed her eyes. She could hear Dani do the same beside her.

"I wish I could take this moment," she heard Dani say in a soft murmur, "and press it into a big book for safekeeping. So, I could come back and look at it whenever I felt sad."

“Aye,” Jamie breathed. Then she opened her eyes, and said, “Though maybe only with another biscuit in hand.”

With a snort of laughter, Dani dragged the biscuit jar closer so they could each indulge again. Jamie took one. Again, Dani took two. 

“There. Now, that -” Jamie gestured with her cup of tea, speaking around a full mouth, “- is a perfect moment.” 

“I could not agree more.” Dani had already finished one biscuit and was busily dunking her second into her tea. 

Jamie watched her finish the biscuit before nudging Dani softly with her elbow. “You’re normally more of a coffee drinker. I could’ve brewed a different brew, if you’d wanted.”

“Yeah. But - I dunno. Somehow,” Dani paused to take a sip. She smiled warmly around the brim of the cup. “This tastes like home.”

 --

Polaroids were getting cheaper and more compact these days. She didn’t have to go cramming them into oversized pockets anymore. Jamie had thrown out countless photos over time, never quite satisfied with the outcomes but always searching for some way to keep a hold of her. The day she bought a new camera -- her old one had died the death of kings; a swimming accident, and cameras as it turned out did not swim very well -- she immediately wanted to try it upon returning home.

Dani had just gotten a new haircut. The barber had done something to her fringe to make it look like the sweep of a wing, and she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes. She did so when she looked up as Jamie entered the living room, greeting her with a curious smile.

Brown paper bag under one arm, Jamie took a moment to remove her jacket and sling it across the coat hanger, but she left the green scarf wound around her neck like a python. “I got a new toy,” she announced.

Dani tilted her head to one side. “I told you I’d buy you that nice pair of secateurs for Christmas.”

“And you still can.”

Immediately, Dani’s eyebrows rose and she seemed intrigued. “Then what kind of toy?”

Pretending to look scandalised, Jamie reached into the bag. “How naughty! Not that kind of toy.”

Dani’s cheeks tinged pink. “Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed.

With a smirk, Jamie strode forward and pulled out the new camera. She chucked the now empty paper bag onto the kitchen countertop, and gestured for Dani to stand beside her. Shaking her head, Dani nonetheless complied. 

Jamie grabbed a hold of Dani’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, before she lifted the camera up as high as her arm would allow. A press of her finger. A flash of light. A click and whir of cogs and internal mechanisms. 

Dani didn’t flinch this time or duck her head. She returned the kiss, then wandered away, humming to herself, without waiting to see the film develop. Jamie watched her go with a warm grin and an appreciative glance. When she looked down at the photo it was to find herself beaming from the square strip of film, and beside her Dani smiling tentatively, grasping Jamie’s opposite shoulder. Both of them were clear and their characters easily distinguishable. She felt herself relax a little. 

Then as the white veil continued to lift from the surface, she went very still. On each of their shoulders rested a pale hand, and in the space between them a shadow in the shape of a woman with hair as long and black as the night. The face was a mask worn of all features, but she swore she could see a pair of dark eyes watching her from the film, and a canny smile haunted the unmistakable likeness of the Lady Lloyd of Bly. 

Wrenching her eyes up, Jamie stared after Dani, who had wandered into their kitchen and was humming over the kettle. Slowly the water began to build to a boil. The kettle began to hiss. Then to shrilly whine. 

Dani removed the kettle from the heat and poured boiling water into the brown betty teapot. "How'd the picture turn out this time?"

Briefly, Jamie considered throwing this one away like all the others, but it were as though a hand was still squeezing her shoulder tight. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to be known and most of all obeyed. Clearing her throat, she took a few hesitant steps forward then held out the square strip of film. 

Dani set the kettle back down, and took the picture. She turned it round for a better look. There followed a sharp inhalation, like tearing in one last breath before the plunge. Her eyes widened and then, a slow smile crossed her face. She gasped out an incredulous laugh.

"Y’know, I - I thought this was going to be terrible, but -" Dani stroked her fingers over the image. "It really isn't half bad. You look - I mean. We look -" 

Suddenly she snatched her hand away from the picture, clenching her unruly fist and lowering it. Her breaths were shaky but when she glanced up, her eyes were bright. She held up the photo. "Can we keep this one?"

Jamie nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sure.”

Relief suffused Dani’s face. She did not tuck the photo away in some little corner of the apartment, something to be passed by without a second glance. No. Instead, she turned and began pulling magnets from the fridge. She cleared their normally busy little refrigerator, pushing everything aside to make space. And right there at the very centre of the blank white canvas she pinned the photo into place with a single plain black magnet. 

“There,” Dani breathed softly. Her trembling fingertips lingered against the white-edged film. “That looks right. That - It feels just right. Right there.” 

The hand at Jamie’s shoulder withdrew, but then there was the feeling of something drifting from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. As though someone were trying to tame the wild curls there with a gentle, approving touch. 

“Dani,” Jamie croaked, her voice cracking. 

“Hmm?” Dani turned around.

Striding forward, Jamie stopped only when she was close enough that she could peer deeply into Dani’s eyes. They were as they always had been. Variegated as an infected holly. 

“Are you -?” Jamie had to swallow down the burr in her throat. “Are you feeling yourself?” 

Dani’s answering smile was puzzled. “Yeah,” she said, her words slow and thoughtful, as though considering something inward very closely. “Yeah, I am.” 

And she reached up to card her fingers through Jamie’s untamed hair. “You know, it’s strange, really.” Dani’s hand followed the same path as the one had before, coming to rest at the nape of Jamie’s neck, a cool solid comforting weight. She stroked her thumb, and the motion was repeated by one that was colder, like an echo, before the two hands came together at last. “Somehow, I feel more myself than ever.”

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Spring Weddings and Pomegranate

Summary: In which a marriage still occurs on NRC but it isn’t Eliza and Idia getting married.

Tags: Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Scheming! Reader, Marriage Proposal via Pomegranates, Big Dick Energy! Reader

Rated: M for the things bought at Sam’s shop and implied sex.

A/N: Written before the entire translations came out. m(_ _)m

---Idia knew that his face was beet red and that his hair had already gone red from embarrassment. Your hands were gripping his waist tightly and though you were shorter than him, he couldn't help but admire how cool you were with your white and gold trimmed twin tailed tuxedo along with the collar cuffs he recognized as his.

"I'm sorry Miss Eliza but this 'prince' is already taken" You apologetically told Eliza.

From the side, the other "Princes" were shocked at this particular development. 

"Lies!" Eliza cried as she gripped Idia's free arm.

The other dorm leaders present could feel the temperature drop and couldn't help but wonder how things went to this point.

It had been a fine day, as far as you know, since Idia had happily invited you to his room. As his significant other you had happily agreed and rejoiced over the fact that he had taken initiative, as a purehearted human in love you had come prepared for the day he would take initiative in regards to your relationship. Thus you had come prepared for the date in your most cute, comfy and seductive clothes along with an equally cute and comfy sleepwear. Naturally, you didn't forget to bring the battle weapons of L*be and C*nd*m*.

'At times like this, it never hurt to be prepared' You thought serenely as you calmly and happily bought the items from the Shop.

Your smile was bright as Sam handled your purchases and like a through professional businessman, he even offered you a few toys which you also bought for future uses. The few Ignihyde students who saw your purchase silently prayed for your success and at the same time silently agreed to keep Ortho occupied.

As for the other students from other dorms? They all silently cursed you for having a girlfriend while the rest of them had to settle for a pure loving friendship among men.

In this way, the world rearranged itself to ensure that your desires would be fulfilled. You had stopped by the dorm kitchen to take out the pomegranate napoleons you made before heading to Idia's room. 

“Idia~ I’m home!”

“We-welcome home...” 

His face was bright red as he greeted you back, compared to his flustered face when you had first done such a thing Idia was calmer now. Though the bashful and joyful emotions in his eyes couldn’t be concealed.

“Isn’t this domestic play so fun?” You asked as you set your clothes down and Idia started to arrange the food and drinks you had brought.

The items you bought from Sam’s shop had been skillfully hidden in calculated places, meant to stimulate your beloved Idia when you weren’t around thus you hummed a soft tune as you plastered yourself at Idia’s back and admired his pleased and flustered look. He really had a face where you can’t help but just want to bully him a little bit.

“Mmnn...you...you shou-shouldn’t just keep on sta-sta-staring at me!” He squeezed his eyes when your hands moved at one of his sensitive spots.

“But I missed you so much! And it’s rare for you to ask me out on date so I want to engrave this particular look of yours in my mind~!” You honestly told him and then tugged at his clothes to make him duck down to your level.

You cheekily looked at his eyes and planted a quick kiss on his lips and stood back as he hid behind the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Tha-that! You shouldn’t just kiss me so easily!” He whined to hide his embarrassment.

“Ara? Then Idia-san should I kiss you deeper then?” Your tone of voice made him know you were teasing him further even so he couldn’t help but want to pay you back thus with great courage he replied,

“Tha-that’s right! Slowly and dee-mphf!!!”

Quickly grabbing the opportunity you did as he told and Idia ended up having a lapful of you on the floor. Idia did his best to hold on as both of you engaged in a heated make-out session but the feel of your ass wiggling on his crotch and the overwhelming feeling of your passionate kiss made him weak.

Seeing that he was at his limit you kiss him for one last time and admired the thin string of saliva that was now dripping from his lips, the flushed look on his face, the dazed look on his eyes and the undeniable hard-on that was poking you on the ass.

“Hehe~ Idia-chan lasted longer this time~♡” 

He shyly wiped the drool off his lips and sulked at you. 

“Ah~! Idia-chan’s angry look still looks cute!♡” You gently peck him on the forehead before getting out of his lap.

Helping him get off the floor, you guided him to he large bean bag he had ordered for both of you to cuddle on, and gently placed him there. Giving him sometime to finish sulking before you began another round of Private Displays of Affection. At this point in time, you were still confident that your relationship with Idia was unshakable.

 There were no threats to his future status as your husband and you had simply continued your usual date routine of flirting, pampering, loving, and doting upon your beloved. The night had been filled with the sweet air of love and Idia had even managed to not shake that much as he held your hand in the middle of a romantic cut scene.

You had kissed him good night after casting a protection spell on him as you slept on his bed and Idia took a nap before heading out to buy his game.

That was the last time you saw him.

“How could my darling be taken?” Eliza pouted as tears gathered on the corners of her eyes.

You felt your heart soften at her heartbroken look before steeling yourself,

“That’s because he’s my lover of 2 and a half years”.

From the sides you could hear Azul’s glasses breaking in shock, the loud gasp from Vil, and Lilia’s words of “So that was who you bought those toys for?”

You made a mental note to drop by Diasomnia once this was over, to bribe Lilia into silence as well as future cooperation. There was certain merit in building connections with someone of Lilia’s peerage.

“Miss Eliza, just like how you wish to wed your ideal beloved, I, as well, wish to do so” You turned and looked at Idia, channeling all the love you felt for him in your eyes before turning to Eliza, “For me, no one else but Idia would do that’s why...as recompense let me help you find your true love!”

You smiled brightly and made sure to up your charm.

Ortho had come to wake you up in tears, effectively rousing you from your sweet dream of eating and enjoying Idia’s body.

“Wa-wake up!!! Nii-san was taking by ghosts!!!” Ortho cried as he shook you awake and you blearily looked at him.

“Idia...got taken by ghosts? Was he mistaken as one of them again?” You asked as you got up and calmed Ortho down.

“Please hurry up! Nii-san was taken by a ghost bride!” Ortho cried harder as he pushed you out of the room and you stumbled as you got dressed.

“Wa-wait! Ortho-chan at least let me put on a jacket!” You begged as tried to stop him from pushing you out.

“Okay! But hurry up! Who knows what’s gonna happen to Nii-san!”

“Got it! Got it! Please stop pushing me already.”

Ortho carried you away as soon as you said you were ready, the next thing you knew, you were already standing right in front of the Headmaster and watching the CCTV recordings with the Headmaster and the young prefect of Ramshackle Dorm once again.

“Yuu-chan since you’re helping us out, you should come and stay over our dorm while Ramshackle is on loan” You kindly offered one of the unused rooms of Ignihyde.

“Sempai! You’re a lifesaver!”

“Not at all, this is just me repaying you for your help later on~ I can’t have my Idia end up on someone else’s hand after all” You smiled.

From the side, Headmaster Crowley watched your clenched fist and hoped that things would end peacefully. Before he could even advise you to not take things too far later on, he was disrupted by the ruckus outside. Angrily opening the door he was once more, greeted by another problem.

“I won’t hand over my love so easily!” Eliza cried and tugged Idia away from you.

“Ara~Ara~In that case, shall we fight for his hand then?” You asked as you let go of Idia to prevent him from getting hurt.

“Ha! Someone like you who can let him go easily won’t win!”

“I’d rather my beloved Idia not get hurt even the tiniest bit, please don’t mistake my utmost consideration for him to be a sign of weakness.” You replied coldly as you took out your magic pen.

“I-Isn’t there another way?!” Idia panicked, “U-um I-I only want to marry (your name) so please stop this already!!!”

You paused at the sudden declaration and beamed at Idia before turning your smug look at Eliza, “Well then, Idia has spoken, so kindly removed your hand from his arms!”

“No, before that, shouldn’t you put down your magic pen?” Azul reminded you, his composure made it look like his earlier reactions were nothing but a hallucination.

“Shut up, this looks interesting. Seeing that bastard get this agitated...heh” Leona stood on the side and watched the show with keen interest.

“No...didn’t we all agree to put that ring on her finger?” Riddle reminded everyone.

Hearing the silence that greeted him, he looked at his companions and glared at them with annoyance as he demanded,. 

“Headmaster Crowley! Hurry up and stop those two before worse come to worst!”

“I name this plan…. “Operation: Propose!” Crowley declared and you clapped on the side to show your support for his efforts.

“Are you actually fine with this?” Rook asked you, eyes sharper than usual and you knew that you couldn’t hide anything from him. 

So you hadn’t bothered and instead confessed, “I’m a little bit annoyed that someone can easily take Idia from me but I know that right now Idia must be feeling the worst of it.”

“Oh my, what sweet words coming from you, souverain de la mort”

“Fufufu~Is that so but this would also be a good learning experience for Idia, He needs to be aware of his surroundings when I’m not there~”

“There it is~ that tough love that I expect from someone like you!” Rook cheered.

You laughed at his antics and decided to join in on the discussion to take back your boyfriend. It really wouldn’t do if he ended up on someone else’s hand after you took so much time and effort on laying the ground work after all.

Thus all of you burst into the reception hall and began the operation.

You waved at Idia and signaled him to be at ease while each of the dorm leaders and the first years tried their luck.

Ignoring the sound of slaps, you comforted your boyfriend who was near tears. Idia despite standing tall over you acted like an over sized dog and hid his face on your chest. He held on your clothes tight and whined about everything that happened to him.

“I was so scared! I thought I got mistaken for a ghost again and would end on the Underworld once more! I don’t like going there!”

You calmly rubbed his back up and down, occasionally planting kisses on his flaming hair. and generally soothing him to a much calmer state.

“It’s fine, I’m sure our friends wouldn’t fail our expectations and if worse comes to worst...I’ll deal with it personally” You promised him and held him tight.

Ortho came over to hug you both and you welcomed him and pulled him close as well. You wouldn’t deny that both siblings had occupied the soft parts of your heart and you couldn’t help but indulge them every now and then.

“I won’t give up! My love for my darling won’t lose to you!” Eliza declared, grip growing tighter on Idia’s arm.

“In that case, I challenge you to a duel for Idia’s hand in marriage!”

“Eh?! Wa-wait why a-are you shuddenly proposing?” Idia stammered as he ran over to you.

‘He bit his tongue...’ Azul, Leona, Rook, Vil, Jade, Floyd, Lilia, Sebek, Cater, Trey, Ace, and Deuce thought.

“It’s fine to do this but please avoid damaging the school buildings~!” Crowley shouted from a safe vantage point.

You calmly looked at Idia and said, “ I can’t just stand to see the man I love get married to someone else.”

You took a strand of his hair and placed a kissed on it, the warmth of his flaming hair made your lips tingle as it slowly turned red in embarrassment, “Idia, please wait for my triumphant return.”

Idia blushed and quickly peck you on your forehead and said, “For good luck...”

From the side Yuu commented, “If Sempai was single...they would have easily made Eliza-san accept the ring right?”

“What are you talking about?” Ace asked grumpily.

“What sharp eyes you’ve got!” Rook replied, “As a child of the Goddess of Love it’s natural to for them to be brimming with charm however from the looks of it...they might just use their Unique Magic.”

“If that is truly the case, then we are in for a good show.” Lilia floated over, “Their Unique Magic is one of the kind after all, fufufu~ Sebek you should try learning from them~”

“Lilia-sempai just what is Sempai’s Unique Magic?” Yuu asked.

“Hmmm...it’s hard to explain but their Unique Magic is something close to a God’s powers~”

Everyone who heard that looked at you at a new light. Idia and Ortho were the same though for entirely different reasons. Idia had never thought you were considering marriage with him, he was content with being your boyfriend and eventually breaking up once you were tired of him but seeing your gallant figure raising your magic pen he couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with you.

Ortho had been happy seeing how you easily got his brother to go out and mingle with people occasionally and how good you were to his brother but he hadn’t held much hope that you’d stay for forever. He was prepared to do anything to protect his brother’s smile and seeing how you finally stepped up to fight, Ortho could be at ease.

“Well then, I’ll finish this quickly,” You said apologetically to Eliza, “Crush Thy Heart!”

“In life you couldn’t find your love however in the Underworld, your beloved has been eagerly waiting for you, therefore let go of those regrets and pass over. Crush Thy Heart and Free Thy Soul!”

Eliza disappeared in a soft gentle particles of light, her eyes seeing someone who was not visible in their eyes. Dressed in white and smiling with happiness, the Ghost Bride had finally settled her business.

You smiled at her gently, offering a silent prayer to your mother and the God of the Underworld to look after her upon arriving. Then you headed towards Idia and swept him off his feet, uncaring of the public spectacle you were making you kissed his cheek and said,

“Idia Shroud, this event led me to realize I can’t put my guard down when it comes to you.”

Idia was still stunned at being carried by you so easily that his eyes were only looking at you in a daze. You sighed at him, helplessly fond of his endearing traits.

“That’s why let me stay by your side as your spouse, let me dine with you and partake in your wine, share your hearth by your side and that we may welcome Hestia’s and Aphrodite’s blessing upon us.”

Idia, who had understood what you were doing, trembled in your arms and with his shaking hands clutched your lapels and kissed you on your lips. 

“If-if you’re fine with me the-then I happily accept!”

“Congratulations on your marriage, Nii-san!” Ortho said as he jumped with joy.

"Husband, it's not that I enjoy being under you but why am I being tied as well?"

Idia merely glared at you, pouting with embarrassment. You observed his flickering hair and noted that only the tips were dyed in red.

'He's not that mad then' you thought as you wiggled around the newly bought queen sized bed that replaced Idia's former bed.

"My love? my Darling dove? Beloved Idia? My Dear Husband? Idia-chan?" You called out to him.

"How could you just se-send the betrothal gifts to my home without telling me!"

"...I didn't...but my mother probably did..." You weakly answered as you magically undid the ropes and pulled him to lie on the bed with you.

He snuggled closer to you like a cat and whined, "It was so scary! Hearing that I had to bring you back home with me! What if you didn't agree!"

With a snap of your fingers, a couple of pomegranate seeds appeared on your palms and you took it from the palm with your mouth. Idia looked at you in confusion and suddenly found himself being kissed. Your tongue swiped on his bottom lip, silently asking, and Idia obliged opening his mouth and letting your tongue in his mouth.

The taste of pomegranates spread inside his mouth as he sunk into the plush bedding. You were straddling his waist as your tongue entwined with his while your hands were already undressing him deftly. Idia could feel his brain turn into mush with your skillful ministrations upon his body.

With a loud pop and the saliva that connected your mouth to his, you ended the kiss knowing that Idia was already at his limit. You wiped the drool off his mouth and said, "You don't have to worry about me leaving your side anymore."

Your pleased smile and gentle reassurance, like always, didn't fail to make his heart skip a beat.

"Mou...you're the more dangerous one..."

[drippingspringsrealtor]

Refinancing Your Mortgage in Dripping Springs

Refinancing Your Mortgage in Dripping Springs https://drippingspringsrealtor.wordpress.com/2024/03/18/refinancing-your-mortgage-in-dripping-springs/ Dripping Springs Home Loans. Real estate and financing prompts homeowners to contemplate the advantages of mortgage refinancing. In the latest “Mortgage Moment” episode, Dripping Springs real estate expert Ashley Tullis, along with mortgage specialist Bill Roegelein, unravels the complexities of refinancing. This insightful discussion equips homeowners with valuable perspectives on when and why to explore refinancing, particularly amid fluctuating interest rates. Bill talks about the significance of thoughtful deliberation and precise calculations before committing to a refinance. Bill and his team assist homeowners in evaluating their unique circumstances by comparing existing debts with potential refinancing outcomes. This individualized strategy guarantees that homeowners can visualize the concrete advantages of refinancing, such as interest savings and reduced monthly payments. Connect with Bill to determine if refinancing aligns with your goals. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1cK1L27a-g via Dripping Springs Realtors https://drippingspringsrealtor.wordpress.com March 18, 2024 at 02:11AM

[wclkingitoff]

( hailee steinfeld, nineteen ) 𝙲𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂, 𝙸𝙽. 𝙿𝙾𝙿𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽, +𝟷. / JANE ‘ ELEVEN ‘ HOPPER has landed in copper springs, far separated from the life they knew in STRANGER THINGS armed with their DAUNTLESS , PASSIONATE , NAIVE , & DEFENSIVE nature and seeing flashes of their former life, it’s worth noting that SHE currently has SOME of their memories to guide them. in the meantime, they’re working in town as an DOG WALKER / COLLEGE STUDENT. they better bundle up for what’s ahead.

full name: jane ives hopper

nickname: eleven , el

birthday: august 7th

sexuality: pansexual

occupation: dog walker & college student

abilities: psychokinetic & telepathic ( currently without ) 

+ traits: attentive , affable , enthusiastic

- traits: naive , dependent , unpredictable

about ;

what she does remember can be limited , at best. though, the dreams are frequent. going by the name ‘ eleven ‘ , a nickname from her childhood maybe? possibly by the man whom has haunted her dreams as of late, a policeman with a grumpy attitude. 

late at night , it’s the humming from grasping fingertips and the unmistakable scent of iron dripping from her nose. powers inherited from a laboratory. a gang of kids sticking together. it all seems so foreign and yet , it was recent. this is all she is sure of as she can only reminisce or maybe find herself feeling absolutely insane.

currently, she believes this has always been home. jumping from foster parent to another , this town is all she has ever known. nothing is ever permanent so once she turned eighteen and left the system ... it was heaven. she has been couch surfing as of late , earning money from a dog walking business and obtaining a student loan. keeping busy is the only way eleven has found peace from the intrusive thoughts of the only family she thinks she may know.

you can find more about eleven here [x]

[ashleytullisrealtor]

Home Buying Mistakes in Dripping Springs

Dripping Springs Home Buying Mistakes. What kind of roadblocks and mistakes can happen during the home buying process that can make things messy? Let's dive into it with experts Ashley & Bill! Purchasing a home is one of the most substantial financial commitments you can undertake. It demands meticulous planning, financial stability, and a thorough understanding of the process. However, many buyers make errors that can jeopardize their chances of securing a mortgage or lead to unfavorable loan terms. Here are some of the biggest mistakes to avoid when buying a home.

Ashley Tullis Realtor - Dripping Springs 333 US-290 Ste 300 Dripping Springs, TX, 78620 (512) 716-9193

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 11) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part 11: The company of wranglers sets up camp for the night. After spending the evening sharing stories and music around the fire, Dean has another shot to win Y/N over. Will he take it? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: The Weight - Jason Manns & the cast, Desire - Ryan Adams, Ada Plays - Gabriel Yared (final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience! Author’s note 2: In a paragraph of this chapter, Apache Indians are mentioned. This does not reflect my (or my beta’s) opinion on them.

Ride With Me Masterlist

    It takes the six riders another seven hours to reach Willow Spring. The rough terrain forces them to move cautiously, especially since some members of the fellowship have little experience with these kinds of circumstances. Another reason for the slow time could very well be that Y/N halts every once every so often, simply gaping at the amazing panorama. The views are absolutely breathtaking, the young woman from Freeport has never seen anything like it.      Drops that would give fear of heights a new definition, wide-open spaces that make her feel so small in this incredible world. Old volcanic remnants emerged from the depths of the earth more than a hundred thousand years ago and still stand tall today. African daisies and brittlebush decorate the grounds for miles, blossoming after last month’s rain. Copper-colored mountains surround them for as far as the eye can see, separated from each other by deep canyons. The epic proportions of the Superstition Mountains are difficult to grasp. It’s quite liberating, to move through an area so remote and untouched, with a horse the only possible type of transportation. She feels like an explorer, a conqueror from the old times. No car could take her here, not even a tank or a helicopter would be able to get Y/N over these boulders and through the narrow canyons. Only Joplin can. 

    The cowgirl rests her wrist on the horn of the saddle, the reins loosely in between the fingers of her left hand. Joplin still speedwalks under her rider, who stopped attempting to slow her down hours ago. Apparently, the dark mare does not wish to adapt her speed, even though she asked nicely a couple of times. Of course, Y/N could have made her point, but the argument that would probably carry on for days is not worth it. Where the little horse gets the energy to keep this up, she has no idea, but Y/N is glad she’s a forward-thinker. Dragging a horse up this God-forsaken mountain wouldn’t actually be a pleasure either.

    Dean reaches the final hill first, looking down at the small stream that gurgles and splashes through the worn stone several hundred feet below. A lone willow tree grows on the bank, surrounded by cattails, marking the year-round water source. It’s a heavenly sight, because the horses are thirsty, and finding Willow Spring means that today’s time in the saddle is over. Make no mistake, he loves to ride, but after ten or so hours in the saddle, his ass is starting to get sore.     “We’ll set up camp here,” he decides, glancing over his shoulder at the others before he gives Ted the aid to descend the steep slope.    

    Dropped back on his hocks with his hooves out in front of him, the gelding makes his way down the hillside, trying to find the easiest path as he snakes down the mountain. Dean sits back, maintaining the balance as he lets his horse figure it out. When Ted reaches even ground again, Dean gives his companion space to drop his head completely. Alert, Ted drags his feet through the cold water, his lips on the surface of the crystal clear spring as he starts to drink, rhythmic gulps moving up his throat every time he swallows. Gently, the wrangler rustles his fingers through the bay’s mane, then he swings his right leg over the back of the saddle and lowers himself into the shallow spring. The water is pleasantly cold after a long day out in the desert and he can almost feel it sizzle when he splashes the water in his face and on the back of his neck. He rarely gets a sunburn anymore, but his skin feels tense and dry today. As the droplets run down his chin and neck, he puts his cowboy hat back on and rises up to find Y/N next to him, copying his actions. While Joplin gulps down at least a gallon, the female rider cups her hands to capture the refreshing water and wash her face clean, after which she lets the air flow from her lips in delight.

    “Long ride, huh?” Dean sighs.     “Sleeping is not going to be a problem, not even if I have to spend the night on a rock,” she admits.     “We’ll rest up here, Benny will get dinner going soon,” he assures her.       “Better be good, Benny,” she warns as she leads Joplin away from the riverbed, trading places with the Southerner. “I’m starving.”     “The things I can do with canned food above a fireplace, darlin’. Those Michelin star joints can kiss my fine behind,” he returns, a bright smile and even brighter eyes adorning his face.

    Dean grins at the claim and walks with Ted to follow Joplin. All fun aside, they cannot sit down and kick their feet up just yet. They have a camp to build.     “Brad, Jon, you can set up camp on that plateau up the hill. Benny and I will take care of the horses. Y/N and Macy? Can find us some firewood?” He looks in the intern’s direction and she nods in confirmation. He takes over the reins of her horse so that she can get to the task at hand.     “Watch out for snakes,” he presses.     “I know. And kick over the wood before you pick it up,” she adds before her supervisor does.     “Jo already gave you the lecture, huh?” Dean assumes, grinning.     “And Ellen, and Bobby.” She giggles, looking over her shoulder as she joins Macy to find some dry wood.

    The women hit the jackpot after searching the dry terrain a little higher up the stream. What once was a sheep shed is now a heap of wood and nails, nothing left standing but one corner strut. With the rotten planks stacked up in her arms, Y/N and Macy return to camp on the plateau, about a hundred feet from Willow Spring. Two out of the three tents are set up and ready to be inhabited, while the horses are tacked down and resting. Dean and Benny created a small paddock with rope, using two large boulders and a large cactus as anchor points.     Within half an hour there’s a fire going and soup is bubbling in a pot above the flames. The sun is setting fast, still reflecting its orange rays on the few clouds above, drawing shadows larger than the mountains that create them. Tired from the long day, the six riders sit around their improvised stove, easy conversation and joyful laughs rising up from the valley. It doesn’t take long before the night darkens the sky, the stars and the moon shining bright. Suddenly the desert that seemed enormous and wide-open during the day, feels cozy. Almost as if the company of six are in a room as big as the light of the fire can reach. The soup, rich with meatballs and vegetables, together with the bread Ellen baked this morning, fills their stomachs. Y/N stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing them at her ankles while she sits down on a boulder, stretching her back to fight the dull ache.

    “Who wants a beer?”     The intern looks up surprised while Benny gets up and looks from one to the other.     “We’ve got beer?” Brad, apparently as astonished as she is, wonders.     Benny shows his set of pearly whites and descends down the hill towards the cold spring.     “Even better,” he corrects, as he pulls the six-pack from between four stones, the cold water dripping from the bottles. “We’ve got cold  beer.”     The wranglers cheer as the Southerner makes his way up the slope again, after which he rummages in one of the saddlebags, probably to find an opener. Casually Y/N glances over, but then she furrows her brow as something catches her eye before Benny closes the straps again. Was that the handle of a pistol she spotted? The gears in her head start turning. Why would they bring a gun on a trail ride? Y/N isn’t a stranger to guns. Her brothers and father have a hunting cabin up north at White Mountain and her oldest sibling, Jake, is a police officer in Los Angeles. At home, she knows where they keep the guns, and in case of an emergency, she knows how to use them. Still, she wonders; why bring one here into the desert, miles from a living soul? Wild animals, maybe?

    “Here ya go, darlin’.”     Benny hands Y/N a bottle of Corona, which she takes gladly. Then he hops up on the large rock the intern is leaning against. Dean walks around the fire after pushing in a new log, then settles down on a small boulder on the other side of her. He props up one leg, the other stretched in front of him, resting his wrist on his knee while he begins to play with the silver band on his ring finger.     “Cheers, y’all,” he says, raising his bottle.     The others respond with a mutual ‘cheers’ and he takes a swig of the welcome refreshment. Y/N does the same, but can’t help to glance at the saddlebag again. Eventually, curiosity gets the best of her and she leans into Dean.     “Can I ask you something?”     He looks aside, attracted by her whisper, a little bit nervous all of a sudden now that she’s so close to him. Apparently, whatever she is going to require from him is not suitable for the tourists to hear.     “Shoot,” he replies.     “Why do you guys carry a gun with you?” Y/N wonders with a soft voice.     Dean cocks his eyebrow and can’t help but to lift up the corner of his mouth a little. Someone is being observant. He huffs before he answers, but Benny, who apparently was eavesdropping, beats him to it.     “Seems like we’ve got a detective amongst us, Chief,” the Southerner comments.     A little embarrassed, Y/N stammers as she looks up at him and back at Dean, his slightly amused and soft smile taking away some of her insecurities. “I - I didn’t mean to sniff around,” she half apologizes, but Dean brushes it off.     “It’s fine,” he assures, then checks on the other three to make sure they aren’t listening in. The tourists are entwined in a conversation of their own, however. “And that gun is a safety precaution.”     “For what?” she asks, not settling for an answer that vague.

    Dean glances at his friend, shielding his face from her for a second. It seems like he is discussing silently if he should share this matter with the intern, but in fact, he’s telling Benny something completely different. The slight nudge of his eyebrow and the suppressed little smile says one thing only: play along.     “We’re not the only ones out here, darlin’. Apache Indians still roam these mountains,” the farrier from the South elaborates.     Y/N’s eyes widen, as her gaze darts from Benny to Dean, but both keep a straight face. They aren’t serious, right?     “Apache Indians?” she repeats, a little skeptical.     Dean nods, carrying a blank expression and she could swear they are telling God’s honest truth.     “Yep. You better watch out for the natives. Us white folks came here and stole their land long ago in a brutal manner,” Benny adds, taking a sip of his beer to prevent himself from breaking character. “You’re a smart Belle, you can guess what they’d wanna do to us, might we cross paths with them, out here in No Man’s Land.”    Stunned, Y/N stares at him. It sounds hideous, but the way he delivers the story is disturbingly convincing. Plus, she looked into the history of the true Native Americans for a project back when she was a sophomore and remembers that there used to be a large colony at Apache Junction, not far from here. She didn’t realize that besides dangerous five hundred feet drops, unbearable heat, venomous spiders, snakes and scorpions, there is more to fear out here in these wastelands. But then she notices how Dean presses his lips together, so tight that his jaw clenches for just a second as he fights a laugh. On to them, Y/N tilts her head and throws the two boys a glare, causing them to crack.     “Idiots,” she mutters as they laugh loudly.     Sniggering, the friends toast their beer bottles, celebrating their successful prank. Sometimes Y/N wishes she wasn’t the easily fooled city girl.     “All jokes aside,” Dean recovers, his tone serious again. “We always bring that gun on trails in case a horse injures itself lethally. We’re miles out from the road, let alone a veterinarian, so if it would ever come to a worst-case scenario, at least we can put the horse out of its misery.”     Y/N didn’t expect that answer and is silenced by the reason for the weapon. She only now realizes how far from civilization they are. Slippery slopes and narrow paths over high ridges are a recipe for accidents, but that a misstep could have such consequences somehow didn’t dawn on her until now. When things go south out here, they are truly on their own.

    “Did you ever have to use it?” she wonders.     Dean shakes his head gladly. “No, but Bobby did once,” he tells her. “That’s why he insists on us bringing the Colt every time we go out.”     “The Colt?” the intern responds. “The gun has a name?”     “It’s not just some gun. It was specially made for a hunter on horseback at the beginning of the 19th century. It has been in the family for a long time,” Dean explains as he takes another swig from his bottle.     “Well, I hope you will never have to fire that gun,” Y/N says solemnly.     He looks at her and agrees to that statement with a small nod, because he surely hopes he doesn’t have to either.     “How about some tunes, Chief?” Benny suggests.     The night is still young and he is looking for ways to fill the evening; musical entertainment will do just that. Dean throws him a displeased look, though, but his friend already pulled his harmonica from the chest pocket of his jacket. He holds the instrument in front of his mouth with one hand and partly covers the exhale holes to give the extra effect as he blows on it, playing a little riff that captures the attention of the others. Dean sighs; there's no way out of it now.     “What are you gonna sing?” Y/N asks the handsome man next to her.     The giddiness in her voice melts away Dean’s discomfort for being put in the limelight by Benny once again. He remembers her first day on the job when he sang a couple of songs. Her beautiful eyes sparkle just as bright as they did that night and he smiles.     “How about a duet?” he suggests.     She snorts, almost choking on her beer. “What? With me ?! God, no. Clearly, you’ve never heard my singing voice.”     “I have, actually,” he begs to differ. “You hum quite a lot when you’re working. And I heard you sing ‘American Pie’ the other day when you were cleaning tack.”     “Were you spying on me?” Y/N eyes him, jumping subjects to get out of a potentially embarrassing situation.     He averts his gaze, a nervous chuckle under his breath. His eyes have lingered on the new wrangler apprentice more than once. There is no denying that.     “I wouldn’t call it spying,” he corrects shyly.     “What would you call it then?”     She pulls up her legs and folds her arms around them, resting her cheek on the flat surface of her knee as she studies him. It amuses her how flustered he gets whenever she catches him taking an interest. He can be so cocky at times, so full of it, but when she corners him only slightly, he seems self-conscious all of a sudden. Now is no different, but he gathers enough courage to look back at her again.     “I’d call it admiring.”

    Dean holds her gaze for a few seconds after he speaks, fire dancing in his beautiful eyes that seem to have a shade of amber now that the flames reflect in them. Unable to look away, Y/N’s cheeky grin tones down into a small smile, the words warming her more than the desert ever could.     “C’mon, brother. This audience ain’t gonna wait all night.” Benny pauses his harmonica solo to rush the head wrangler, missing the conversation that was going on between the two.     “I’ll handle the main vocals. Will you back me up?” Dean asks the cowgirl, not letting his pal interrupt the moment.     “I-I don’t even know what you’re gonna sing,” she returns nervously.     “You’re into classics; you’ll know this song,” he assures, winking at her before he turns to Benny and mouths the title of the track.     Benny nods his head and then starts the melody to ‘The Weight.’ Dean looks over at Y/N as he taps his foot to the rhythm, waiting for her to identify the track just by the cords that Benny plays. Then her face lights up and he grins, knowing that she’s got it now.     “I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling ‘bout half past dead.     I just need some place where I can lay my head.     Hey mister, can you tell me where a man can find a bed?     He just grinned and shook my hand. “No” was all he said.”

    Nervous for her debut as a background singer and yet delighted by his warm voice, Y/N waits for her cue. She has never sung for other people before. In her own head, it sounds quite alright when she joins in with the vocalists of her favorite songs, either while mucking out or under the shower. But to claim she can sing? Absolutely not. God, you’re gonna make a fool of yourself. Are you truly so desperate to get his approval that you signed up for this? Then Dean nudges her softly, calm eyes telling her that she’s going to be fine.

    “Take a load off Fanny. Take a load for free.     Take a load off Fanny…”

    “- and you put the load right on me.”

    Y/N joins him on the last line, hitting a higher note simultaneously with Dean, creating a vocal harmony. The cowboy smiles widely at her, impressed with her voice. Relieved, she beams when Jonathan whistles and Macy and Jon cheer. Maybe she doesn’t sound so bad after all.

    “I picked up my bags, I went looking for a place to hide.     When I saw old Carmen and the Devil, walkin’ side by side.     I said, ‘Hey Carmen! C’mon, let’s go downtown.’     She said, “I gotta go, but my friend can stick around.     Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free.     Take a load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me.”

    They sing the chorus together and Y/N can feel herself loosening up, swaying to the music as she closes her eyes. The classics enthusiast knows most of the lyrics by heart and dares to play with the melody a little bit when there’s room, all the time carrying a smile on her lips. A smile that is pure bliss to Dean, and watching the woman he is losing his heart to express herself has him lost for words. This is what happiness looks like and he can’t get enough of seeing her in this state of mind.

    Benny finished the song with a little solo of his own, knocking his head back with the last notes and drawing applause from the others. Y/N exchanges a look with the two wranglers, thrilled with how that little collaboration worked out. As the clapping dies down, Dean becomes quiet, pondering on his next song. Curious of what he will pick next, Y/N watches him. She doesn’t know, however, that she is the one person occupying his mind.      Again Dean turns to his best mate. “You know the chords to ‘Desire’, Ryan Adams?”     “Sure do.”     He brings the harmonica to his mouth and lets the air flow through the instrument as he moves the intakes on his lips, testing the notes. Dean listens, staring into the fire for a moment as he gets the feel of it. Then Benny starts on the verse and the cowboy begins to sing.

    “Two hearts fading, like a flower.     All this waiting, for the power.     For some answers, to this fire.     Sinking slowly, the water’s higher.     Desire… Desire…”

    Quietly Y/N watches as he moves his upper body back and forth slowly, like waves rolling onto the beach and pulling back again. His voice overwhelms her with every note, so raw and pure and sincere that it gives her goosebumps. Sometimes his eyes close as he enjoys the flow of the song, but throughout most of his performance, they are open, looking up at either the sky or into the flickering flames. But ever so often he glances over, honest eyes strengthening the message. Is he…? Is he singing this song for her?

    “With no secrets, no obsession.     This time I’m speeding. With no direction.     Without reason. What is this fire?     Burning slowly, my one and only…hmmm.”

    Desire… Desire…”

    There’s a calmness that washes over her and for that moment, it feels like it’s just the two of them. While listening to the words, she brings her hand up to cover her mouth, afraid to make a sound and disturb the magic. Folded fingers press against her lips as she swallows apprehensively, feeling her throat is closing up. She is so moved, that tears shimmer in her eyes. Her eyes which never leave him, not once.

    “You know me. You know my way.     You just can’t show me, but God, I’m praying.     That you’ll find me, and that you’ll see me.     That you run and never tire.”

    Desire… Desire…”

    The harmonica echoes through the valley as Benny takes on the last part of the song, but the sound of the instrument fades out in Y/N’s mind. Dean watches his friend for a short moment, but then glances at her. Instantly his expression changes and she realizes he is able to see that her eyes are glazed over in emotion.     “Hey…” he whispers concerned, moving his hand to lay it over hers.     “I’m okay,” she assures, smiling, blinking away the tears. “In fact, I don’t think I ever felt this happy.”     Dean settles, the worry leaving room for his own happiness. Supporting, he gently squeezes before he retreats his hand, holding onto her gaze just a bit longer. Then he averts his eyes to watch the harmonica player’s grand finale.     Several other rock and country songs are covered and the evening flies by in record time. Adoring glances and little touches are exchanged between Y/N and Dean, without the others noticing. If it wasn’t for the company, who knows how the night might end, and she silently wishes it was just them, sitting here by the fire. It’s ten to midnight when she fails to suppress a yawn.     “You and me both,” Macy comments as she gets up, covering her mouth as she yawns as well. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”     It’s anything but a bad idea, because their bodies are drained. Macy’s friend and her brother get up as well, gathering their things before they go to their tent, thanking the crew for the good night.

    “You take first watch, brother?” Benny checks before he hops off the boulder.     Dean nods. “I’ll wake you up at three.”     “Already lookin’ forward to it,” the farrier grunts.     He shuffles to the tent closest to the paddock and unzips the canvas, crawling in on hands and knees, before closing the opening again. And there she has it, her wish granted; it’s just her and Dean now.

    The wrangler realizes it too, because a nervousness overcomes him. He adjusts himself a little, crossing his stretched legs at his ankles as he observes her for a short minute. Poor thing, she can barely keep her eyes open. Ten hours in the saddle and traveling across the desert under the ruthless sun are taking their toll.     “You should get some rest,” he suggests softly. “Tomorrow’s another day.”     Almost pleading, Y/N looks up at him, because even though her body begs to differ, she wants to stay. But when a yawn escapes her again, she has to admit her loss; she is so tired, she’s not even worth a dime. With at least two more days to go, the cowgirl needs to keep her strength up.     “You’re right.” She sighs as she gets up. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Dean.”     “G’night,” he returns, an ache developing in his chest as she moves away.     He watches her struggle with the tent and chuckles, but then she disappears inside, leaving a saddening silence. Within a couple of seconds he regrets his decision of letting her go, but remains seated on the rock, facing the fire. Pondering, he goes over the night, over every single moment, no matter how small.     “Chief?”     Dean looks over at the tent he shares with Benny, noticing how the Southerner has popped his head through the opening again.     “If you were waitin’ for the perfect opportunity,” his friend carefully starts, “that was it.”     The head wrangler glares at his friend, telling him that now is not a good time to judge his actions. Benny has a point, though; he missed his third shot. Let’s hope the rules of baseball don’t apply in this game of love.

    Wide awake, Y/N stares at the ceiling of her tent while listening to the wildlife outside. Crickets chirp loud enough to annoy the restless woman, but she can blame the insects all she wants, they are not the reason for her insomnia. She slept for about thirty minutes, unconscious before her head hit the pillow, but without significant reason, she woke up and hasn’t been able to sleep since. A sigh slips from her lips as she shuts her eyes stubbornly, forcing herself to get some sleep, but after a minute she opens them again and turns on her flashlight to check the time. For God’s sake, it’s almost 2 AM.

    Y/N switches off the torch again and tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable on the thin air mattress without waking Macy. But whatever she does, her brain continues its attempt to process and analyze every emotion that short-circuited her body last night. Every bit of hope, happiness, but most of all, the love that filled her. There’s no doubt in her mind; she knows she has fallen head over boots for Dean. The difference is that she strongly believes she witnessed his love for her as well tonight. She knew he was interested, he made that clear early on. But this… this is different. This is deeper.     Inhaling slowly, Y/N tries to lower her heart rate and calm herself, but it’s a hopeless case. Defeated, she gives up and rises from the bed, slipping back into her jeans. Somewhat angry with herself, she pulls a clean tank top over her head and squirms into her denim jacket, after which she crawls to the opening to unzip the tent.

    Apart from the crickets, it’s quiet outside. The campfire has decreased in size, only half a log fueling the flames. The faint light fans out and only reaches so far, drawing dark shapes past the rocks and tents. Beyond its range, the world is pitch black. A little uneasy, Y/N crosses her arms in front of her chest and tries to chase away the chill. It’s the beginning of October and the difference between day and night is growing larger. In contrast to the heat about twelve hours ago, the air seems brisk now, as it would be on an autumn night at home.

    She sits down on the boulder facing the fire, hunched over as she looks around for Dean. Every sound seems magnified, sounds that she does not want to know the origin of. Didn’t Benny mention that there are mountain lions in this area? One of the horses sighs a little further up and although Y/N can barely make out their shadows, she tries to ease herself with the fact that they are calm. Their instincts would make them the first to sense danger, so if they are comfortable, why shouldn’t she be?     Something rummages in the dark and slow footsteps follow. Her eyes dart in the direction where the sound comes from, but then Y/N lets out a breath of air when it is in fact the person she hoped to find.     Dean steps into the light and notices the intern, clearly surprised. “Hey… What are you doing up?”     “Couldn’t sleep,” she excuses simply.     For a second he wonders what caused her to lie awake, but decides to leave the reason for what it is and instead makes a joke. “Scared that the Apache Indians will invade the camp?”     “Shut up,” she mutters, embarrassed.

    Smirking amused, he shoves some dry branches into the fire, trying to spike it up a little. He then settles down next to her on the boulder that serves fine as a bench, careful to leave enough space between them. At ease, he watches Y/N from aside, who in turn stares at the fire, intrigued. How the flames lick at the wood, slowly swallowing the twigs. How little fireflies of hot amber twirl up into the night sky.

  The weariness that he felt when she left a couple of hours ago is gone instantly, her presence soothing him. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest, hugging herself to stay warm. It makes her seem so small. Without missing a beat, he reaches for the plaid blanket that he used himself earlier before he went to check the horses, and hangs it over her shoulders.     Grateful, Y/N pulls the wool fabric around her body a little tighter. “Thank you.”

    For a couple of minutes, the two of them just sit there, listening to the crackle and pop of the fire as they simply enjoy each other’s company. Reluctant to break the silence, Y/N steals a glance at the handsome man next to her. The radiance of the flames caresses his hair, highlighting it with gold and adding a soft glow to his freckled skin. Dark shadows bring out his strong jaw, his profile illuminated by the frantic light. There’s a softness in his eyes, his pupils slightly dilated due to the darkness that surrounds them, but they still leave enough for the beautiful shade of forest green to mesmerize her. Feeling his company’s lingering gaze, he turns his head to meet it. He smiles, the smallest chuckle rumbling deep down in his throat as he takes her in.

    “What?” she wonders.     “When you first arrived at the ranch, you seemed a little… out of place. We just brought the cattle in and we all looked ragged and dirty, probably smelled even worse. We had a few drinks, were loud. A proper bunch of country folks,” he starts. “And then you walked in, the complete opposite. Your hair all done, nice clothes, shiny boots.”     She grins. “I stood out, huh?”     “You did.” He smirks at the memory, but he’s not just reminiscing over the first time they met.     “Are you telling me that I look ragged and dirty now too? Or that I smell bad?” She side-eyes him, noticing the slight horror on his face when he realizes how his words are coming across.     “No! N-no, that’s not at all what I’m… Y-you smell great,” he stutters, and Y/N can’t contain a giggle.      Dean scoffs and shakes his head; she got him there. Slowly the heat fades from his cheeks. “What I’m tryin’ to say is… I mean, look at you now,” Dean says, letting his eyes roam over her for a second. “You’re achieving your goals, proving the judgemental ones wrong. And I know it ain’t easy. It’s hard work. I’ve seen plenty of people cave in their first week. But not you. You became a part of the ranch… a part of this family.”

    The corners of her mouth lift when the last word sets in. Family. She is a part of this family. Of course, she isn’t from here and she will always call Freeport home, and yet Y/N has never felt like she truly belonged somewhere. Not until now.     “Were you one of the judgemental ones?” she asks him.     “I would be lyin’ to you if I said I wasn’t,” he admits, shame evident when he lowers his head. “I’ve never been more glad to be wrong, though.”     Her smile grows, much like her heart. She looks down at her feet, dragging marks with her heels in the sand. Why is she so nervous to sit here next to him, when at the same time she has never felt more comfortable?

    “Dean?” She turns to him a little bit more, her knee brushing against his. The touch is so light it shouldn’t leave her skin so sensitive, but it does. “That song you sang,” she continues, daring to restore eye contact. “Was that dedicated to someone?”     The wrangler’s heartbeat fastens and he’s doing his best not to heave his chest noticeably. He knows she’s not asking if he sang her a pretty song. No, she’s asking if he meant it. If every word that rolled from his tongue was the truth. If every raw edge in his voice was shaped by the rush of emotions that plows through him whenever he thinks of her. If every time he closed his eyes as he got lost in the music, it was her who he pictured.     “It was,” he admits.     “Does she know?” she counters, her eyes playfully taunting him.     He grins, dipping his chin slightly, but his expression changes the moment she moves her hand to his face and lets her delicate fingers run through his hair, her thumb softly rubbing his temple. Under hypnosis he stares into her soul, his eyes bouncing over her features.

      He’s not sure if he can speak, now that he’s completely under her spell, but he can try.     “I sure as hell hope she does,” he says, his voice so soft that it is no more than a whisper. “But you tell me.”

    If there was any doubt left about the attraction being mutual, it is gone now. Dean just laid it out in front of her, and as a pair of hopeful greens wait for her to respond to his words, Y/N doesn’t waste another second. She closes the few inches between them, shuts her eyes and meets the cowboy halfway. She kisses him first, the action igniting a similar sensation as diving off a cliff into unknown water: thrilling, scary, but addictively exciting at the same time. Thankfully Dean instantly responds, welding his lips against hers and taking away her insecurity. Y/N half registers him cupping her face, careful not to break the moment, but the rush of blood to the head soon has her so dizzy that she has trouble focusing.

    He lingers in the kiss, drawing out the moment for as long as he can. Then they part, pausing for a second as both wranglers open their eyes. Stunned, they stare at each other. Her hand has slid down to his chest, and he knows she can feel it rising and falling under her touch, his heart beating against her palm like a drum. Trying to get a hold of himself, he takes a breath, a small smile forming on his parted lips as he swipes a frizzy strand of hair from her face. He always thought she was beautiful, but in this light, looking at him like she does now… My God, beauty doesn’t even begin to define her.     Now he moves in, less hesitant, drowning in another kiss before he can help himself. His lips graze over hers eagerly, deepening the connection when she allows him to. Giving the cowboy permission, even chasing him in the touch, sets him free completely. Finally, he is able to push past the self-consciousness. Finally, he can dismiss the voice within that tells him that she deserves so much better. The woman he’s in love with wants to be with him and nothing has ever felt so liberating. He lets her know, by tracing the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb. By resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment when he needs to come up for air. By putting every bit of want and adoration into their first kiss.     Every one of Y/N's senses is set in overdrive. As she breathes him in, she smells the aroma of aftershave from this morning’s trim, mixed with the scent of leather, horses and dust. She tastes the salt on his slightly chapped lips and El Corona on his tongue. She hears his respiration, the sound of him pulling in oxygen whenever his mouth parts from her for a short second, blend with the noise of her own breaths. But it’s how he touches her that blows her mind. He cradles her head, curled fingertips pressing in her skin as if he’s afraid he will lose what he just gained. Moved, she cards her fingers through his short hair and pulls him even closer, letting him know that she isn’t going anywhere. And all this time, her palm covers his heart, the steady rhythm that beats under her touch intensifying the intimacy. Wanting to stay here with her as long as possible, he lets his free hand slip over hers.     After an entire month of fighting this feeling, contemplating whether this is a good idea or not, they broke through the restraints. For now, the self-doubt is gone, the fear of commitment with it. Neither of them worries about the consequences of their actions, nor about the fact that Y/N will leave in five months. At this very moment, all that matters is that they allowed each other in. Here at Willow Spring in the Superstition Mountains, Arizona. The center of the universe.

Well, you waited almost 60K for this moment. I hope it met the expectations!

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part twelve here

[chaoticgremlinwholikescheese]

A/N: Okay. So. I got a bit carried away. I’m writing a Hadestown AU with @the-cowbi​ ‘s ship Cora x Davey. And then I kinda wove my ship Alex x Jack into it. Get ready for a lot of hadestown AU stuff, my dudes!

CHAPTER 1

Road To Hell

A woman, clad in grey. A grey dress that wraps around her form. Medda is her name. This here woman is a goddess, the goddess of travel. She is the one who accompanies travelers on their road. She is the one who loans you a dollar. The one who points you in the right direction. Now, this goddess has a message. One that everyone must hear.

“Once upon a time there was a railroad line. Don't ask where, brother, don't ask when. It was the road to Hell, it was hard times. It was a world of gods...and men! It's an old song. It's an old tale from way back when. It's an old song. And we're gonna sing it again!” I know that these are naught but words on a page to you. Silent, unfeeling. But I will do my best to describe her voice to you.

Her voice is golden. The sunlight after a long day of rain. Deep and silky like honey, gently dripping from a spoon. This voice has wisdom woven into every word. Wisdom gained from years of immortal life. This woman has seen all of time, from creation to wherever we are now. She has seen kingdoms fall and cities rise from dust. She has wisdom only gods can know.

“See, on the road to Hell there was a railroad line. And there were three old women all dressed the same. And they was always singin' in the back of your mind. Everybody meet the Fates!” 

Three men. Three men, varying in appearance and size. One fate is blonde. His eyes are bright blue, like the color of waves in winter. He goes by the name of Race. One fate has hair the color of fire. Freckles dot his face. He goes by the name of Albert. The third fate is small. He leans on a crutch, his leg bent and unsubale. He goes by the name of Crutchie. 

These are the fates that create time itself. They control each life, a string in their hands. They wield the scissors that cut that string, end that life.  They know what happens in the future. They remember all of the past. They should, considering that they were the ones who wrote it.

“And on the road to Hell there was a railroad line. And a lady steppin' off a train, with a suitcase full of summertime. Alex, by name!” Medda roars. Alex is a beautiful young woman. A child of the original gods. A green dress with puffed sleeves adorns her frame, a fur coat draped on her shoulders. Her brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, curled and styled. Flowers are woven into her curls. Pinks and purples and blues. All grown by her hand.

Alex controls the seasons. She’s the one with the power to make life grow. One touch of her hand on dead soil and a forest will erupt. When she is gone, the world withers and dies. Winter comes. And each year the winter has been getting longer and longer. Alex is stuck underground, deep beneath the sun that feeds her children. 

“And if you ride that train, If you ride that train to the end of the line, where the sun don't shine and it's always shady, it's there you'll find the king of the mine. Almighty Mr. Jack!” Jack is in a clean black suit. His hair is slicked back, the oil reminiscent of his metal kingdom. His eyes are cold as the iron he builds out of, shining in the light of the sun he rarely sees.

“We got any other gods? Oh, right, almost forgot. On the road to Hell there was a railroad station, and a woman with feathers on her feet, who could help you to your final destination. Ms. Medda, that’s me! See, someone's got to tell the tale, whether or not it turns out well. Maybe it will turn out this time. On the road to Hell. On the railroad line. It's a sad song. It's a sad tale, it's a tragedy. We're gonna sing it anyway.”

Now this tale, it has been warped by time. Yes, it is a tragedy. But a tragedy with a happy ending. Some versions of the tale end in mourning and grief. Not this tale. No, this tale ends with a kiss and a homecoming. This tale ends with the breath of life.

“On the road to Hell there was a railroad line, and a poor boy workin' on a song.” This boy is tall. Thin as a branch from a dead tree. His eyes are the color of sapphires. They are hopeful, young and vibrant. His brown hair is tousled. A red bandana sits around his neck. A white linen shirt covers his chest. His pants are held up by  a pair of leather suspenders. A guitar lays across his back.

“His mama was a friend of mine, and this boy was a muse's son. On the railroad line on the road to Hell, You might say the boy was touched, cause he was touched by the gods themselves! Give it up for Davey!” Davey, the one who will save the spring. He doesn’t look like much. But he has a bright light inside of him, one that rivals the sun itself.

“There was one more soul on this road. Girl, come on in from the cold! On the railroad line on the road to Hell, there was a young girl looking for something to eat! And brother, thus begins the tale of Davey and Cora!” 

Cora. A young woman. Blue eyes, blonde hair. A scar crosses over one eye. Another one travels down her chin to her neck. Where these scars are from, that’s another story. One that we’ll leave for later. Cora was kept warm by a coat, the only one she owns. It is torn and old but it is the only home she has. She has a bag, filled with all her worldly possessions. She has little other than her spirit and the clothes on her back.

“It's a love song. It's a tale of a love from long ago. It's a sad song, but we're gonna sing it even so. It's an old song. It's an old tale from way back when. We're gonna sing it again!”

[miss-butter]

Things I Thought That Were Not COVID (August - January)

~ Cheryl's eyes, Megan's feet, Megan's hands, Mom's back, Natalie's heart, Fud. 

~ How in Foxes: 

"What are you thinking about?" 

"Annie."

 "What about Annie?"

 "Just about Annie." 

~ All the reasons Donnie is the superior Wahlberg. 

~ Donna Summer. 

~ Getting Chase a Special Plate for Christmas! 

~ 6955 

~ Getting Mom a mini bundt pan for Christmas 

~ "That's not the truth, Ellen" 

~ Billy Corgan truly hand wrote Marilyn Manson a letter literally begging him to break up with Rose McGowan and he did! 

~ The lyrics to "hoax" 

~ don't respond, don't look, don't touch, move west, move into a long blackness 

~ as my relationship with Her shrinks my relationship with my sister grows deeper, richer. 

~ when I get what I want I never want it again 

~ I'm going to dye my hair a deeply unflattering blonde the way I always wanted to as a teenager. I want to look like Nancy Spungen, Debbie Harry. I finally know how to put makeup on, I know what to do, I know how to look like who I want to be. 

~ the air that came in through my kitchen window smelled like a perfect season, and the trees beyond the air were a mosaic of yellow, orange, no red. It reminded me of catholic school, of spring, of losing all sense of time. 

~ Looking at trees in sunlight, or the lake in the evening with nobody around always scares me in an exciting and happy way, because it reminds me there are places wholly untouched by humans. That exist unobserved by almost any living thing. I think I don't like seeing them because I too am often unobserved. It's like looking in a mirror. 

~  the tree outside my window, dripping with leaves a deep deep golden yellow, rustling, shimmering against the schooldays blue of the sky in the pink-gold afternoon fade. It's a gift for me from someone, somewhere, that I get to see it every day in the place that makes me happiest. It's a gift. 

~ when I have trouble falling asleep in a bed all by myself I do the thing that scares most people, and let one hand hang over the edge and dangle alone in the dark. Then I imagine a dark, sometimes human sometimes not, hand made of velvety shadows and blood come out from under the bed and hold my own. This is a fun activity, and it helps me get to sleep faster. 

~allie mack of sex cult fame plays the girl in the bathroom cutting herself during that episode of 7th Heaven I Think About A Lot 

~ I often get asked questions that I then don't get an opportunity to answer 

~ when I find out someone is lying to me I want to dig my fingers into their face and pull very hard. 

~ ALL of Dead Poets Society but esp that scene where Neil's dad finds him dead and he's just yelling "NEIL?? N E I L!". Such an inexplicable and unintentionally hilarious choice. 

~How James from James vs. Cinema just refers to Timothee Chalamet as "sasuke" 

~ I thought about myself of the not too distant past: little baby hairs, pale morphing body, hole running straight through the pelvis. I think if she saw me now we might fight, but when I turned to leave she'd say "take me with you". I hope this self will feel that way for the future, too. 

~ "Don't get my seat all wet." 

~ the night of the end of the election I spent with my sister. Just the two of us, and my niece and nephew. I gave up hope that we could do things like that together a long time ago. But we did, and we danced to Selena in her living room and did the washing machine and she loaned me booty shorts. I shouldn't try to hold on so hard. 

~ when I spell my full name to myself I come alive and can't believe my life is my life and that all people carry with them this horrible sad knowingness about their own nature that blooms when your cheeks are hot and three pains burn and stab and tighten up before exploding outward 

~tonight my apartment smells warm and oniony, like a home, the home it was when natalie stayed here and we ate pizza and saw my family and went bar hopping and I took sam into my heart and ate the meal I chose to be My Last Meal (truffle and breaded oysters, roasted carrots, filet mignon, creme brulee, a vodka martini) and then we went back to my apartment and laid in bed and watched most of a film before passing out. She woke up at 4am and crawled into my bed to wake me up and tell me she was leaving and for a while we laid under the same cover and talked before I put my slippers and winter coat on and walked her to her cab. I cry thinking about it now. 

~ when I fell in love (in Love love) for the first time I walked home every night and every day listening to Going to California, thinking about how Robert Plant wrote it about An Idea that came from the flesh and blood of a living, breathing Woman. A Woman who lives on the West coast still, but who he doesn't really speak to anymore. Even then hearing the pure reverence and wonder in that song, and knowing it was no less transitory, hurt my heart deep deep in its candy-depth. I heard it tonight again, and smiled wide. 

~ I feel big, thick velvet curtains being drawn over my mind. "Now we will have a period of stillness” echoes in the theatre of my head. "Now we movie into a long blackness." I go as still as a lake in winter, like glass. Blank as a white sky. 

~ what makes something a "capade" and what makes something a "palooza"? 

[mythomagically-delicious]

Hang Ups

Duck let the incident go, because there ended up being a credible threat and he got pulled into a different world and he fought a giant not-bear thing and discovered a talking goat-man. He let it go that Pigeon shot the door to the camper after definitely drinking, despite the alarms that shot off in his head.

And he let it go, especially after he let Pigeon in on half the secret, to extort her help with H2Whoa That Was Fun! and all that jazz.

And then he forgot about it entirely.

And then he returned from the Telescope, Leo barely conscious and Dr. Sarah Drake going through the stages of shock and an alien warrior woman who'd been giving him training and told him they were all Chosen Ones in tow of a smashed up delivery truck and pulled into the devastation of Kepler.

He could barely see through the giant dust cloud rising to the sky and trying to settle back, floating, hanging in the air like a fog, but his revitalized condition because of Minerva's presence helped his sight. He drove carefully and listened to alarms all around them- cars, businesses, homes- all shrieking, the measly volunteer fire brigade joining the few professionals the city has to run between the buildings, checking for people and fires and problems they can handle.

Some people are crying, hands over their heads and knelt to the ground under the news stand, or the awning of the bait shop, and Duck slows his car on the street of the hospital so they can get Leo inside. Duck wants to stop and ask the people what happened, but first he has to take care of his people.

He carries Leo inside, and there are not enough people to contain whatever disaster has fallen.

Nurses and doctors are running ragged as the waiting room is filled with scared people with a barrage of injuries that don't make sense. How could things have gotten so bad in Kepler? Dr. Sarah Drake comes in beside him and says she'll make sure his friend is seen to. Minerva had told her Duck had other responsibilities. Other types of chosen people he has befriended and needed to check in with.

Duck puts a hand on her shoulder and nods his thanks, running back out to the truck. Minerva helps him navigate as they finally turn a corner and head to amnesty lodge.

The air has cleared slightly as the moon shines, the clouds having cleared from its path. And looking up to the distant Mount Kepler, Duck nearly swerves into a tree.

The top of the mountain is missing, jagged and ugly and *gone.* He wonders what sort of earth-shattering abomination did that. What sort of power they didn't realize the enemy had, how it could have happened?

Duck drives with purpose to the lodge but is thrown off track by stragglers running from the woods surrounding. He sees a few hornet jackets caught on branches and guns dropped on the ground as he approaches.

His path is eventually blocked by debris and can no longer take the road. He exits the truck and runs, Minerva beside him, a hand unfurling Beacon. He hears sound coming from deeper in the woods and he switches toward it, running full tilt through the worst of the hazy air, jumping over a cluster of rocks to soft earth like it's nothing. He is at full power as adrenaline and his chosen one abilities fill him.

He's at the archway, and he sees chaos and absolute calm at the same time. There are clear signs of a fight, the faint smell of gun smoke, a woman crouched over a body on the ground, scuff marks on the ground surrounding and an ugly sound coming out from the distance.

He races up to the woman, to the body, and yells a question to them. Mama looks up and he sees perhaps the oldest eyes he's ever seen, shining with tears and dirt and regret and a shake of her head tells him what he wanted to know, but nothing he needed to about it.

He looks down at the body and squeezes his eyes shut against how wrong it was to see Ned Chicane so utterly still. He was never still, always moving, distracting, posturing. It looked wrong to see a lifeless, glassy gaze come from those eyes, from the wrinkles usually pulled into smile lines, from the unnatural stillness of his body. To see a dark pool around his coat, and to know what it meant.

Duck felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Minerva nod her head solemnly. Mama didn't look surprised to see her, but then again, she didnt look fully there at the moment.

Duck came back to himself to ask over Aubrey. Mama shook her head again, lips tight, shoulders hunched and shrugged. She motioned at the Lodge. Duck knelt by Ned and felt for his pulse, just in case. Cold, from laying on the ground, dusty from the air, and lifeless.

He stood and ran to the lodge, shouting Aubrey's name, no longer concerned with stealth. He saw her sitting on the front steps, face in hands, a nasty gash in her leg and a hundred different cuts and bruises visibly forming on her.

Duck called again and she looked up, open-mouthed in grief, looking lost in a way Duck wasn't sure he could have imagined her looking. Not the confident Lady Flame. Not the wonderful and magical friend he'd made. Not Aubrey.

She stood shakily, bleeding profusely from the leg and ignoring it, and stepped into Duck's arms for a hug. For a life raft, to save her from overwhelming waves of emotion. Duck held onto her just as tight, having seen bits and pieces of devastation but not having a full picture.

Minerva asks what happened here, and Aubrey shudders and pushes her face tighter into Duck's shoulder. A new voice comes around the corner and answers, and Duck lifts his head and blinks rapidly to bring her into focus.

Moira. The ghost sylph. She floats toward them, head bowed. She had watched from much closer than Barclay and Mama warned them to. But she had to know, to be able to signal her friends if worst came to worst. And it had.

The pandemonium at the gate, the sylphs in the lodge who lopped off the top of Mount Kepler, believing it to be a planet-saving action, not one of destruction as it proved. A shot ringing off and killing Ned. Moira hadn't seen who, had already flown away to watch elsewhere.

Barclay, at the hot springs just now, cooling Dani off and bringing her back to herself.

Duck rubs Aubrey's back as she fights a new wave of tears. He lets her go and takes a half-step back, evaluating everything he's learned so far. His mind is shorting out between thoughts, though, like a faulty breaker. Trying to connect the dots and find a new plan of action is dying mid-stream as the information washes over him again. Ned is dead. The mountain has fallen. The city is in chaos. The sylphs are not safe. No one is safe.

When the sheriff turns back up at the lodge on his way to the gate, Duck asks what's happening. Sheriff Owens says he has to move the body, and as he says it Detective Megan walks by with two members of the hospital and stretcher equipment. They can't drive to the clearing, but they can get close and move him. Then the investigation to the lodge will start, Duck infers. As they disappear into the woods Duck turns on the spot and announces that the residents of Amnesty Lodge need to leave immediately.

Many bags are packed and ready before he says it. Moira's warning and the general atmosphere of that hunt more than enough to make the residents cautious. Barclay returns with a subdued Dani, dripping wet and refusing to meet anyone's eyes. They load the dented delivery truck and Barclay's truck loaned from Mama and pack everyone and everything away. They see Mama walking back towards them, reaching a hand out to Dani, to another lodge member Duck can't recall the name of. They both accept.

And then they move. Temporarily all out to the forest behind Duck's apartment. Later they'll all move in. But for now it is a pinch solution as state trooper sirens are starting to sound off, and FBI vehicles are spotted.

The aftermath of that night is a blur of days and ordeals. Mama is taken into custody and never returned. Leo comes back with Drake in tow, fully healed but with the knowledge she can't get to her job with the road blocks in place. There's a million and one things he says and does in those days immediately after, so for the life of him, he cant remember who told him.

He doesn't remember who told him the live account of what happened to Ned. Was it Mama, at the gate? Was it Barclay during the trips back and forth for residents of the Lodge? Was it Owens or Juno or a bystander at the gate that night? Who knows?

All he can think is, though, that he should never have let Pigeon off the hook. She shouldn't have kept her license, or her guns, edgy like that. He wonders if she was drinking the night it happened. If she showed up ready to fight and already a little drunk so she wouldn't lose her nerve.

Twitchy fingers. A scare, a startle. A roar inhuman or an image she couldn't understand. It wouldn't take a lot. Pigeon already knew the town was bad-weird.

Duck sits in a moment to himself, thinking about Ned. Knowing it was his fault.

He's faced a lot of what-ifs in his life. What if he actually gave a fuck in school? What if he hadn't turned Minerva down so insistently, so ignorantly?

What if he had done his dam job and reported Pigeon when the first shot went off?

Duck had let it go, then. But now? He knew he'd never have a sound sleep at night, knowing he was complicit in the death of his dear friend.

Maybe Ned wouldn't have seen it like that. But Ned wasn't there. Duck couldn't let that go.

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 17

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

17/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Interlude: In the North

Spring settles around the north, a cooler, milder version of its sister to the south. The snows melt away and they are instead left with overcast skies and rainfall which proves too much for the rivers and streams that run through her land. What were once babbling brooks turn into fast flowing rivers which eat away at farm land and wash away precariously placed homes. Her days are taken up with petitions from farmers for help compensating their loss and crops and livestock, and she almost wishes for the return of the heavy winter snows, if only to stop people from travelling so readily to the castle.

Some time after noon, Lexa gestures to Titus to allow no more petitioners into the throne room, and stands, stretching her legs gratefully. The day is grey outside, rain pattering lightly against the ground, but she is desperate to do anything but sit in her throne and listen to another complaint. As she slips through the door at the back of her dais, she gives Ser Lincoln a nod. The Queensguard falls into step behind her, a few paces away, and soon Lexa has forgotten about his presence once again. Outside, the rain falls against the covered walkway that runs the perimeter of the courtyard, pattering down against the slate, but it isn’t enough to discourage Anya from training in the yard with Aden.

Lexa doesn’t hesitate before she steps out into the courtyard, despite her attendants running after her with offers of a cloak. Instead, she allows the rain to soak into her jerkin and into her braids, her boots squelching through the mud as she walks towards the behourd where Anya is striking Aden again and again with her sword. She leans against the fencing to watch, her eyes following his movements, and though the young prince tries hard, he is no match for Anya’s strength and speed and soon slips over his own feet, landing in the mud with a thump.

“You’re getting better!” Anya calls over the rain, smiling despite her charge’s infuriated expression. She holds out a hand to help Aden up. “Keep your feet steady.”

“And your eyes up!” Lexa adds, loudly enough to draw their attention. She smiles her greeting, watching as Aden pushes his soaked hair away from his eyes.

“I beat her earlier,” He insists, taking a long draw from the canteen a page boy offers to him, and Lexa hums sceptically.

“You had better do it again before the night draws in, or I suspect you’ll both drown in this rain.”

“I can do it,” Aden’s chin juts out stubbornly and he falls back into a defensive stance, his fingers tightening around his sword.

“You can try,” Anya is as relaxed and easy as Lexa ever sees her, rain in her eyes.

“Send him to me when you’re done,” Lexa instructs, and then adds, her eyes travelling over her brother’s mud soaked form, “Although perhaps after a bath.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Anya nods, and Lexa turns away before the sound of clashing steel can draw her back in again.

Inside, she has her own bath drawn to soak away the rain and hours sat on the throne, which leaves her feeling stiff and uncomfortable. Her crown is put aside and her hair braided simply back, dripping water down her back. Her handmaidens help her dry off, and slide into comfortable hose and a soft woollen tunic, so that she can settle by the fire. As the sky darkens outside, they fetch her a rich bowl of stew and hunks of fresh bread, accompanied by weak, warmed wine which steams from the goblet and settles in her stomach. In the warmth and light of her room, she flicks through the letters left out for her.

One bears the gold triangles and hands of the Iron Bank of Bravos and Lexa rolls her eyes at the sight of it. Reluctantly, she cracks the seal open and her eyes dart over the words written there. They say nothing more than she expected, and it takes all of her effort not to just throw the letter into the fire. Instead, she puts it aside and moves onto the next letter, her heart thumping when she sees the green rose sealing the parchment together. For a moment, her breath catches in her throat and she cannot force herself to crack the seal, instead running her fingers over the ridges and dips, committing it to memory.

It seems an age since she last saw Clarke, though it has only been two weeks. For the most part she can forget the southern lady even came to Winterfell, pushing her aside in her mind. Her days are filled with the problems of running a kingdom: letters and complaints, lower lords scuffling for position and supplies stores mysteriously drained. But at night, when her head rests upon her pillows and the candles are blown out, she is unable to keep Lady Clarke from her thoughts. News of Lord Jacob’s death, swiftly followed by riots in Kings Landing and the death of the King have reached Winterfell, but not by Clarke’s pen. At first Titus had given her word of Lady Clarke with the rest of his whispers from the southern capital, but she had told him to disregard any such news. It had felt like a deceit, hearing word of Clarke’s grieving, despite how much she craves to know how the girl is. The news of Lord Jacob had sent an intense pang of heart ache through Lexa, and she had spent most of her night drafting letters to Clarke to express her sympathy and sadness, before finally burning them all in the fire, unwilling to intrude on a time of such grief. But now, she holds Clarke’s words in her hands, and it is almost too terrifying to read them.

Slowly, she cracks open the seal and finds neat, curled writing awaiting her. As she reads, her heart lightens: Clarke is in the Eyrie with her mother grieving, she does not know when she will be able to leave her mother and return to Winterfell. She misses the snows and the quiet of the castle, particularly she misses the godswood and it’s peaceful, introspective air, which she cannot find in Riverrun. The final words draw a breath from her, and she feels her fingers tighten around the edges of the parchment as she reads. I miss you and Winterfell, and hope that you are keeping safe all that I have left there.

A knock to her door makes her fumble the letter, and she knows that she still looks flushed and guilty when Aden walks inside, despite her attempt at a façade. His hair is wet and his skin red from a thorough scrubbing. Luckily, he falls on the plate of food she has had left out for him like a rabid hound, and she is saved the trouble is making up excuses. By the time Aden raises his head, she is looking over her letter from the Iron Bank again, her brows furrowed, and he asks.

“Who is that from?”

Wordlessly, she passes the letter over and watches as he reads it, taking a long sip of warmed wine. Aden’s eyes narrow, his lips pursing and she feels a sense of satisfaction that he understands the meaning behind the powdered, polite words. His gaze is troubled when he looks up.

“Why do they continue to offer you money you do not want?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lexa places the goblet down carefully beside Clarke’s letter. “Never before have I known the Iron Bank to be so forceful in offering a loan.”

“Northmen have never really dabbled with the Iron Bank,” Aden grunts, picking at the remnants of food left on his plate. “Even father didn’t ask for their money when he went to war against the south, why would we suddenly change our ways now?”

“The Iron Bank has a tight grip on the south, father always taught me that.” Lexa muses, “Especially in the last few decades. The councils of the Iron Bank have changed in recent years, maybe their new members have become hungry for more than money.”

“How could they truly influence politics in Westeros?” Aden frowns at her, “They may have money, but a king can be commanded by no one.”

Lexa levels him a gaze, searching, as she counters, “You really think that? A ruler is at the mercy of all of their people. It takes very little to topple a king, or a queen: public discontent, a political blunder, defaulting on debts.”

“Do the Iron Bank have an army?” Aden demands, still unconvinced. “Do they have ships to sail to Westeros and horses for their cavalry?”

“They have the money to employ mercenaries,” Lexa tells him, “And a close connection with assassins in Bravos, so many say. Do not underestimate them just because they do not rule a country or wear a crown.”

“Why would they be worried about us?” The young prince shakes his head, frowning. “We owe them no debts.”

“No,” Lexa reaches for her goblet again, her eyes fixed to the fire. “Perhaps they think I am an easier target than my father. The most important thing for the Iron Bank is to find someone likely to gain interest, so that they can make a profit. It’s why father told me to never do dealings with them. I will write back to them to insist that the north does not need their assistance.”

“You don’t think it would be good to make ties to a powerful ally?” Aden looks at her curiously, and Lexa takes a moment to think on what he’s said, before shaking her head.

“There are better ways to make political alliances than become indebted to the Iron Bank. In a few years, when we are more secure and you are older, we shall start to think on what alliances would be best for us.”

Aden nods his acceptance, and they sit in silence for a few minutes, Aden picking at the remains of his supper as Faith pads her way closer to Lexa. The direwolf looks at her morosely, settling her head heavily into Lexa’s lap, and Lexa runs a hand over her ears, scratching.

“How is Lady Clarke?” Aden’s attempts to sound offhand and casual are poor, and Lexa raises her eyes to fix him with a raised eyebrow, until he becomes flustered and defends himself. “I heard about her father.”

“She is staying in the Eyrie with her mother for the time being,” Lexa says, at last, her eyes falling to the fire. “They are grieving.”

“Did she say when she would return?”

“When she is good and ready,” Lexa shakes her head, “Despite what Titus says, I trust that she will. There is no need to rush her.”

“It will be good to have her back,” Aden says, thoughtfully, and Lexa pulls in a breath, hoping that she doesn’t sound too hopeful when she answers.

“Yes, it will.”