#Honeysuckle: Red

[punks-never-die205]

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000, @mfreedomstuff, @likeeliterallywtf, @usopp-enjoyer

Chapter 7: Contractual Pleasure

Kid carries you upstairs and into his room without saying anything. Setting you down inside the doors he starts to pull off his dripping clothes. They’re heavy with blood at hit the floor with uncomfortably thick wet sounds.

“Y-you’re stripping?” You stammer, turning your back to Kid.

`“I’m not going to shower with my clothes on.” He snorts. “You should strip too. You’re covered in blood.”

“I, wuh, no, I’m - I’m, that’s,” you start to argue, but the more you stammer, the more you realize that you’re really bloody, and the idea of having to go however long before you could clean up is unsettling. “I c-could go to muh-my room.”

“Could.” Kid agrees. “You could also shower with me,” his voice dips low, his tone soft. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

“But… naked.” You meant to say something different, however when you turned around Kid was already stripped bare.

“Most people are when they shower.” He grunts. “If you’re really uncomfortable you can go to your room, but becoming a vampire’s thrall requires a level of… connection, naive little mouse.” He punctuates the words again, as he walks to the bathroom. “Better to get used to it, if you ask me.”

Nerves kept you from asking what manner of connection was required, but you decided to at least try. Pulling your own clothes off you set them down on the pile Kid had made. You cross your arms over your chest, stepping into the bathroom once you hear the water start.

“Should… Should I wait outside?” You question, approaching the shower. It’s open, but the entire bathroom looks to be lined in tile, and while there’s no curtain or glass around it’s perimeter, there is a small lip to contain the majority of the water.

Kid tosses a wet washcloth at you that’s big enough to be a hand towel. It’s warm and soapy and has just enough force behind the toss to almost shove you a step back.

“Don’t over think things, just get cleaned up.” He says, turning toward you while he’s lathering up.

Irritation crosses your face at the toss, but you can’t help the rush of blood to your face at the sight of him. Kid wasn’t one to wear an excess of clothing in the first place, but the open shirt and the baggy pants had been hiding more than you could have imagined. The two long scars on the left side of his body weren’t the only ones he had.

From the looks of things he almost lost his arm.

The scars spoke of a violent life, but as your eyes followed them you realized that your gaze was drifting too far south. Pulling your eyes back up you were nearly looking at the ceiling as you stepped into the shower.

“Oi!” Kid snaps. “Eyes where you need them! I don’t want to grab you just cause yer not watching where yer going.”

“S-sorry, I didn’t want to, uh… I mean, I -.” You shove your face into the wash cloth and decide to focus on the task at hand.

“If you weren’t allowed to look, little mouse, I’da blindfolded you and washed us both.” He says it evenly, even if you could hear the smirk in his tone, but it doesn’t matter. The words themselves have you so flustered you’re almost dizzy.

You were overcome with the powerful visual of him peering down at you like some doll-maker with a cotton ball, carefully cleaning the details of a fragile little doll. The exaggeration of the differences in your sizes seemed appropriate given how much stronger vampires were in the first place.

The visual was enough to keep you distracted so much that you don’t realize Kid is done showering until he speaks up.

“Don’t take too much longer, we have your contract to discuss.” He reminds you, drying off haphazardly and then wrapping the towel around his waist before he leaves you alone in the shower.

You finish cleaning up, almost rushing through it, but forcing yourself to slow enough to make sure you get all the blood off. Turning off the water you dry yourself as well. The towels in the room are massive. It had gone easily around Kid’s waist, and down to his knees. So it was small wonder you could almost wear it like a robe. If there’d been sleeves, or even just slits for your arms it would’ve worked perfectly.

As it was the towel nearly wrapped around you twice, tucked under your arms and slightly past your knees.

Coming out of the bath, Kid’s already dressed. It’s nothing like what he usually wears, simple black clothes. There’s a set of clothes that look to be right for your size on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to move toward them.

The moonlight is coming into the room, the silver light making his skin look like porcelain again, setting the lines of his hair almost on fire compared to the deep crimson of the shadowed locks of hair. There’s an elegance to how he stands. It’s easy to see how humans of yesteryear would’ve worshiped vampires.

“Becoming a vampire’s thrall,” Kid begins, his eyes still on the moon outside the window. “Is a matter of give and take. The vampire takes the thrall’s blood, and the thrall receives the vampire’s protection.”

He turns toward you, the moonlight reflecting off golden eyes that aren’t turned toward it anymore.

Ethereal.

“Usually a vampire feeds on a thrall to seal a contract.” He steps toward you and you find you’re calm. Calm, mostly at least, save for a thrill that runs up your back at the idea of feeling that sweet euphoria again. “But you need to recover, and I’m still full.”

Kid’s gaze holds you still and he kneels down enough to be just a little below your eye level.

“Full… and,” his gaze shifts, looking down and then back up. He doesn’t let his gaze linger, but the intent isn’t lost on you. “Certainly able.”

The rush of blood heats your skin, but you’re not scared, or nervous. Maybe it’s something Kid’s doing, but you feel like he wouldn’t force you to do anything.

“Relaxed.” You murmur, and he nods.

“We ain’t got time for you to be a nervous mess, little gift, so hang in there.”

Your brow furrows, even with the calming sense. “Do we have to?”

Kid tilts his head in confusion, and then laughs. “Bwah-hahaha! Do you think we have to fuck or something to seal the deal?” He questions and you nod.

He puts a hand over his mouth, as though he didn’t just laugh right in your face, and shakes his head. Once he’s composed himself a little more he gives you a grin.

“Nah, it doesn’t have to be anything like that.” He snorts. “The more intimate, the better, but it can be just a hand shake.”

“Why is more intimate better?” You question.

His gold-glowing eyes keep soothing you. “Feeding is a pretty intimate act, innit?” You nod as he asks the question, leaning toward him a little before a hand’s on your shoulder. “Better ta’ know you can stomach being that close. That’s why.”

Your lips part and the small sigh of breath passing over them feels dry. Licking them, you swallow, and realize your eyes were focused on Kid’s lips.

“Kiss.” You say softly. “A k-kiss, then. It’s more than a handshake.”

He grins. “That it is, little mouse.”

The hand on your shoulder moves up to cup the side of your face, and you nuzzle into it automatically. You can feel the smile on his lips, even with your eyes closed in comfort. The warmth almost seems wrong, but he’s never felt cold to you.

Right now you can’t even remember if that was something they told you was true about vampires. Regardless it seems impossible in this moment for them to be cold.

“Open your eyes.” Kid hums, and you open them enough to see the soft smile on his lips. “Good girl.”

He leans in slow, his hand keeping you steady. Heated breath slips over your lips before the distance between you closes.

Soft.

It’s so soft.

He’s rough, and loud, and full of fire and gravel, and his lips are just so soft, warm, and hungry. The gentle pressure presses in more forcefully, sending a rush through your chest. It’s not on par with when he fed from you, but it soaks through your skin and makes your heart rush. The pleasure coils around your lungs and pushes soft moans up to your tongue.

When your lips part the deep hum in Kid’s mouth slips between your teeth, followed by his tongue. The soft moan in your lungs hitches in your breath, and you whine into the kiss. You don’t know when you reached out for him, but you clutch fabric between your fingers as your nails scratch through it. Kid’s hand against your back is the only reason you’re still on your feet, and when he leans back he doesn’t go far.

Heated breaths rush from your mouth in shivering, panting gasps. Tears prick the sides of your eyes, and your cheeks feel so warm they ache. Kid’s eyes are hooded, pupils wide, the golden amber little more than rings against an absolute darkness.

“M-m-m… more,” you murmur. There’s a desire to toss the towel aside and beg for him to take what he pleases, but if you let go of your hold on his shirt you think you might just sink to the floor in a puddle.

“It’s not quite the same rush, is it?” He murmurs, tilting his head to the other side and pressing a hot kiss briefly against your lips, the measured kisses pressing against your cheek until he licks and nips at your ear. “Let me give you more, little mouse.”

“Please,” you gasp, nodding your head.

“Naive little mouse.” He speaks the words into your skin, fangs slipping over your tender flesh until you almost scream for him to bite you. “I’ll be kind.”

The promise leads to a hand between your legs, palm against your thighs. “You can tell me to stop,” his voice is soft, but clear and firm, the words sink into your brain, cutting through the heat and euphoria without disrupting it. “At any point.”

You pull in a deep, desperate gulp of air as his hand moves up your thigh, nodding as his golden eyes catch and hold your gaze again.

“Just pleasure,” he promises again, the side of one thick finger pressing against your labia, pushing between the soaking lips and nestling into the folds of your pussy.

You breathe in deep again, the whine on the edges of your lips turning into a moan when the side of his knuckle nestles against your clit. You don’t know what words slips past your teeth, why Kid grins at it, all you know is that your hips buck on their own, grinding into the soft bump of that knuckle.

“I could’ve fucked you half dead,” he muses, the tip of his tongue licking along your lips as you nearly sob from the feeling. “And you might have thanked me.”

“Keep your eyes on me.” He commands, holding you in place even as your legs give out. Toes and legs curled, Kid alone holds you just off the floor, finger forcing pleasure into your clit. It’s hard to obey his command, but he’s leaning over you, making it easier for you.

“Please, please, I - I don’t - I what - please!” Your shattered moans and whines turn into the best words you can muster, watching Kid’s tongue slip over his lip.

“You beg pretty good all on your own, mouse.” His voice is heavy, husky, needy. “I can’t wait to help you practice.”

His eyes never leave your face as he grinds his finger into your clit like he can feel it in the same the way you can. The building pleasure is almost too much, you almost want to ask him to stop, but it’s not nearly the same as when he fed from you. It’s close.

So close.

“Close!” You gasp and he grins.

Kid watches you a couple more seconds and the golden light fills his eyes so strongly it’s like the endless dark of his pupils have been haloed by the gods themselves.

“Cum.” The word has layers, you think. Sounds more than just his, but you don’t know and you can’t hold onto it.

Pleasure slams into you with such force you can’t breathe. You limbs go taut and you swear your bones seem ready to bend from the rush that’s hit you. The intense rush lasts just a couple seconds before it gives way enough that you can breathe. Like a drowning sailor coming up from the swell of a squall you pull in every scrap of oxygen you can.

Your body shivers, and the pleasure continues. The intensity may have come down a little, but the euphoric rush is too foreign. Too new. It’s harsh and jagged, lighting your muscles like electricity, causing your limbs, fingers, and toes to twitch randomly. It feels so good you feel like it’s pulling you down into delirium.

When you start shaking your head, Kid pulls his hand away from your thighs.

“See? More intimate is better.” He says softly. Shivering, you nod. If nothing else you can’t imagine being nervous about a simple kiss after this.

Kid licks up along his soaked finger, and leans down and kisses you again. The taste of your pleasure and his warmth slips against your tongue easily. The taste, the act, is grounding after the intense orgasm, and when he leans back you feel deeply satisfied and far less shaky than you had been earlier.

“Isn’t just your blood that’s honey-sweet.” He muses, kissing the tip of your nose briefly. “Sleep, little mouse. It’s my job to keep you safe now.”

[quinloki]

Muse in Overdrive

May the gods grant me efficiency today.

I want to write a one-shot set in the Host Club AU After Hours Sabo x Reader story where the reader wants Sabo to claw the memory of an ex lover out of her bones, and she knows he's just mad enough under the surface to do what she needs (to the tune of this song:

BUT ALSO AND I want to draw the scene from the latest chapter of Honeysuckle: Red where Kid's bloody finger is tracing a line up the reader's throat, tilting her head up - and then you see this exaggerated point of view where a moonlight-rimmed, golden eyed feral vampire shrouded mostly in darkness and dripping blood is asking "-Or my thrall?"

Cause fuck me that was hot and I can't believe I came up with it.

I'm of work today, so may be possible to do both.

Wish me luck!

[camiliar]

what if he was small

[boschintegral-photo]

Honeysuckle

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 26 August 2024

A vigorous semi-evergreen climber Lonicera × brownii 'Dropmore Scarlet' (honeysuckle) will flower over a long period from mid summer to late autumn. The terminal clusters of trumpet-shaped bright scarlet flowers looked striking against this black painted wall.

Jill Raggett

[fetusmeme]

I know I stand in line -- Until you think you have the time To spend an evening with me

Im gonna need you all to listen to this song right now and think of them right now.

[08melancholie]

I KNOW I KEEP TEASING YOU GUYS BUT YOURE GETTING A HUGE CHAPTER + SMUT SO !!!

[dailyicarus]

Give him a . Flower crown. Bonus points for flower language symbolism

DAY 148

oh !! how pretty !!!

[michaelnordeman]

In the garden. Värmland, Sweden (July 14, 2016).

[marejadilla]

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, “Venus Verticordia”, 1868, oil on canvas. English poet, illustrator, painter, and translator. Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and Symbolism. Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum.

[inkstainedpalettes]

Inktuneber Day 25

Feed My Frankenstein - Alice Cooper

Happy Frankenstein Friday!

[punks-never-die205]

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000

Chapter 1: Seeing Red

The bright light of the moon is enough to run by, but if you can see, then they can see you. Your feet are steady beneath you, and your breathing is under control. You’d rather find a place to hide and let them wear themselves out, but it’s too bright. You need to keep moving as quickly and as silently as you can.

You weren’t practiced at running through the woods like this, but you had done your best. Immature prisoners like you were ignored most of the day, so you had set up your room as an obstacle course. For ages you had run around in as big a circle as you could, leaping over furniture and exercising for hours a day by the time you felt you were ready.

No one had ever escaped.

No one had ever tried, as far as you knew.

For prisoners, you were treated well. Large living areas, private baths, a steady supply of media and clothing, and you even got to socialize with the others. You were fed well, educated, and cared for. Everything that was needed for a good life was provided.

Everything except freedom.

The one thing you longed for that no book could sate, that no food could dampen, that no drink or promise could dissuade.

You let the moonlight sink into your soul as you ran. You felt your body exalt in the pleasure of running, you reveled in the burn of your lungs, and sting of exertion in your muscles. To move your body and move through the world was a pleasure you hadn’t known until tonight.

Twenty years of life. Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty days of preparations, of secrecy, of duplicity, of tenacity. Eight long years dedicated to a single goal. If you were caught you would never be left unsupervised ever again. It was possible they would disable you so you couldn’t even walk.

Capture was not an option. You would run like this again tomorrow, and the day after, and any day after that when you wanted to. That was the goal.

Freedom meant you would do what you wanted, and if that brought you to the end of your days, then so be it. No one in your position ever died free. They never died young. Protection paid for in blood – a cost and a benefit exchanged without question.

Without consent.

Without freedom.

Moonlight shimmered across the forest floor and the unnatural reflection catches your attention. Smoothed stones, a proper path. The very beginnings of one, but just beyond the thin under brush you could see it.

Veering toward it, you step lightly on the stones. You had mashed mud and clay onto the soles of your shoes long before now. Anything to make you quieter as you ran. You had used the technique to muffle your running in your own room as well, so you hadn’t even needed to adjust when you had ran away earlier.

The thick muck and mud on your shoes wasn’t enough to muffle your steps completely at the stones became more and more well-defined. You slow your steps, choosing silence over speed as the path became more of a path. The tress and underbrush you would’ve used to cover yourself were far too sparse anyway.

The trees pulled back away from the stones and the moonlight washed over you completely. You took in a deep breath. Somehow the pale moonlight felt warm and comforting.

Continuing down the pathway, you realize that the area around you is less wild and more cultivated. Care was being taken with the plants around you, and there was a pattern and conscious decision within the otherwise wild appearance.

The conscious decision left you with the distinct impression that visitors were not welcome.

With no signs or other warnings however, you had little reason to turn away. Hopefully, those who still pursued you, if there were any left, would assume you to be turned away by such a reception. You hadn’t heard anything behind you for some time, and you imagined that those who were after you hadn’t expected you to be physical able of getting very far.

The pathway became so smooth and well maintained it was almost like walking through the marble halls of the facility. It was a darker material, but it glinted and glimmered in the bright moonlight like pieces of black glass. The hard surface had knocked most of the mud and muck from your shoes and there were soft clicks as you approached the gate.

Agony and torture seemed to be the words for the gate, large twisted beams of metal that were functionally capable of being decorated with bodies. At least, you assume so, given the terrible hooked ends, and the blackened metal that seemed to suck the moonlight into it, instead of reflecting it.

Despite the gruesome appearance, it took barely a finger to swing the well-balanced gate open, and you step through.

The manor before you was as intimidating as everything else you had come across, but there was something oddly welcoming in that intimidation. The facility that you grew up in had been designed as a lure, and its allure was driven into every fine detail. Beautiful threads woven about the captives within, fine lines of shimmering webbing, more trap than trappings.

By comparison, this place was refreshing in its honesty.

Neither manor nor land wanted you to be near it, and it was likely one of the most dangerous places you could’ve stumbled upon. There were no servants moving about, but the land was well-tended, and the manor was nearly immaculate in the moonlight. As you approached the doors you realized that a place like this would need a small army to keep it maintained.

It was not the home of a Celestial Dragon, and no Noble would build a house so aggressively against visitors. You knew the name of the beast whose home you were stepping into, and you found yourself relieved.

You knock on the door, stretching to your tip toes to reach the heavy cast iron knocker that rattled the door when it slipped from your fingers. Seconds slip into minutes, and you feel yourself uncomfortable with how exposed you suddenly feel. Trying the door knob you find it’s not locked, and push the door in, peeking your head inside.

“Hello?” You hear your voice bounce off the walls you can’t see, and step inside tentatively. “I’m – I’m sorry to intrude, but, well, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Stepping inside you close the door behind you, staying near the entrance as you let your eyes adjust to the interior. There were no lights inside, at least none that reached where you were. The darkness was unsettling in its own way, but you felt safer inside than you did outside. You took the time to clean the bottom’s of your shoes off, no matter what happened, it seemed unwise to track mud through someone else’s home.

The time you needed to clean your shoes allowed the trickle of moonlight from outside reflected into the manor’s interior and reach your eyes. It was soft and subtle and it took many long minutes before you manage to adjust to the diffused light.  The outlines of furniture, walls, doors and stairs began to fill your vision, though if you looked around too quickly it all blurred together easily.

Taking a few tentative steps away from the doors and deeper into the hall, you looked around. Nothing moved, and aside from you, nothing breathed. Your own heart was a orchestra in your chest, and you had to slow your breathing to force it to calm down. You wanted to be able to hear, especially since your vision was so limited, and your nervous heart wasn’t helping.

“Hello? Um, again?” Your voice is barely a whisper in the silent hall, your shoes clicking thunderously loud no matter how softly you stepped. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

Your stomach knots, but you press a little further in, turning toward a room that looks like it’s designed to accept guests. You can make out a couple couches facing one another, a coffee table between them, the shifting shape of a fireplace beyond that.

“I could really use a place to hide. J-just for a night… or day… perhaps?” You know you’re practically rambling now, but the sound of your own voice softens the sheer emptiness of the dark manor, and it’s the closest thing to comforting you have available right now.

Your fingers slip along the edges of a smallish box, and you recognize the rough sensation on one side of the box. Picking it up and sliding it, you find several long match sticks. Just enough length to light the fireplace.

“I apologize for using one of your matches without permission.” You say softly, running the match against the strike pad and flinching at the hiss and burst of light.

The small flame was enough to illuminate the room you were in, bringing relief to your straining eyes as the sucked in all the light they could, and all the details available.

There was nothing lacking in this room. The fireplace was intricately carved, detailed scenes etched and pulled from wood and metal, the shiver of the flame seemed to bring them to life. All sorts of mythical creatures dancing along the flowing and smooth vines that were woven between them. Faeries, beasts, dragons, and unicorns spun together.

You run your fingers over the work lightly, and there’s some part of you that’s sure there’s a story begin told, but you’re not familiar with it enough to even try to guess. Hopefully you would have the opportunity to ask later.

Walking around the room is enough to make you relax. The appearance of what you can see looks normal, if not a little expensive. It’s elegant, and well thought out, not too different from the effort put into the landscaping you saw on your way here. While that had the intent of turning unwanted people away, this felt far more inviting.

A reward, maybe, for making it this far.

“Congratulations, you made it past the scary garden, have some tea.” You mutter to yourself.

“Heh.”

You freeze at the sound. Your entire body is on edge, every sense you have reaching out into the dimly lit room. The match is coming down to its final moments, and something about that realization makes you wonder if you are as well.

The hairs on the back of you neck prickle, and you can feel a strange sensation roll through you. A physical response to the realization that someone was behind you.

There’s a short gust of air and the match is blown out.

Something pulls it gently from your fingers as you press your lips together. Closing your eyes for a moment you let out a shivering gasp, barely a wisp of air in it, and turn to look behind yourself. Plunged into darkness again, your eyes could barely make out any details of the room, and frantic memory was all you had.

Facing the presence behind you, you looked up.

Two red eyes, blood-red and bright, gaze back at you. The light from their depths was neither inviting nor comforting. The moon itself seems to light the toothy grin that splits across the creature’s face as it regards you.

The was the master of this house. Perhaps the true master of the entire island, allowing the marines and the facility you fled to exist by some strange sense of boredom and little else.

Your education within the facility was lacking in many ways, but you knew enough to know what loomed over you right now.

Vampire.

“…Shit.”

[quinloki]

Good morning Quin! (for the given value of time zones alsdjkfa) I hope that you're feeling a bit better today, given everything that's been going on!!

For the WIP game, could I possibly ask about Elevated, or Honeysuckle: Red? (Whichever one you wanna talk about more :O)

Either way, and as always, thank you for wanting to share!!

\o/ I am slowly feeling better and better. Time marches on, as they say, and the long weekend is helping a lot too. Feels like I'm getting room to breathe.

Alright, so since both are Eustass Kid x Reader stories I'll cover both real quick.

Elevated is the continuation of Elevator Music - it's only got like 2-3 chapters at this point, and it's stalled out because I've been focusing on other things, so I haven't shared it outside of Wattpad, which I tend to use as a wip dump more than anything else anymore.

It's a modern-day devil fruits exist story where the reader is Kaido's daughter - and she's in a bind because her sibling Yamato has been MIA for years.

Honeysuckle: Red is part of the Honeysuckle AU which is basically my little vampire AU. Red is Eustass Kid's version, but there's also a Gold (Law), Blue (Marco), Bronze (Ace), Black (Crocodile), and Silver (Sabo) with notes hovering in the wings.

I love vampire stories, so I wanted room enough to play. I don't know if they're going to overlap at all at this point, but they might. Right now the plan is for them to be stand alone, and just existing within the same parameters of the AU's rules.

I've already got one set of books that's poised to collide with one another, I don't need two series doing that XD

[winniemaywebber]

Hi Winnie! Can I have 6) overprotective from the December Prompts you posted? ❤️

hi friend!!! I'm so incredibly sorry this took so long. please accept a blurb as an apology 😂 under the cut to save space

overprotective

A clear, blue sky settles above Thorpe Abbotts. Cloudless, with a soft, warm breeze tumbling through it. One of those days that seemed to calm Olive, her chest loose, feeling like she could breathe deeply for the first time in a week. She'd always hated gloomy weather, the cold rain of England making her body tense and her jaw clench, making the excuse that she was trying to fight off constant shivers. 

It seems as if the tranquil mood, not only on account of the present weather, was a surprise to James Douglass. He smiled lovingly at Olive as she handed him a coffee, a donut for the Jeep ride to the hardstands and a lipstick smear of a kiss that he was reluctant to wipe away before being shooed into a Jeep by Major Bowman.

“You're calm today, dolly,” Dougie had said, placing his forehead on Olive’s. “Smokey give you something for your nerves?”

“No?” She replies, brow furrowed in confusion. “Val and I, we spoke to Chicky this morning. He calmed our nerves a little…”

***

Olive and her best friend, Valencia DiRosano had been summoned to the office of Colonel Chick Harding earlier that morning. A big smile upon his face as he opened the door, he welcomed them in, pulling two chairs out for them both from his desk. Offering them a smoke, lighting his own fat cigar, Val and Olive exchanged a look of suspicion and a head shake, as if to shake away any bad feelings about this impromptu meeting. It was clocked instantly by Chick, a gruff laugh coming from him that broke the tense silence.

“You're wonderin’ why I've pulled you both in here?”

“Yeah…” Val retorts, tapping her cigarette into the offered ashtray. “I didn't think I was needed here today.”

“You're not,” Chick responds, smoke billowing from his mouth as he talks.

“So…?” Val asks, eyes widening as if to telepathically tell the Colonel to get to the point. Olive, growing impatient, interjects. 

“Out with it, Harding,” she sighs. This outburst is obviously unexpected, Chick Harding looking taken aback and Valencia sat next to her, looking like a proud mother. The Brooklynite titters, covering her perfectly painted Victory Red mouth and turns away from Harding. 

“I know you saw the light on last night,” he begins, placing his cigar down on the ashtray. “But I wanted to reassure you all that this is only a practice mission. Only a practice,” he enunciates. “Ya hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” the girls reply in unison. 

“So, don't worry yourselves. I know what you girls are like, working yourselves up over these men.” He pauses for a second, and leans over in his chair. “It's only a practice,” he repeats, looking between the two girls in front of him. They nod, silently standing up to leave. Val instantly grips Olive’s hand as they walk away, Olive feeling her friend's palm begin to sweat. 

“Brooklyn?” She questions. “You okay?”

“Something's up, English.”

“You think he's lying to us?”

“Yes. No. I don't–” she pauses, voice catching with emotion. “God, I hope not,” she says, pulling her rosary from her pocket and clutching it feverently. “I sure hope not.”

***

“He said it was only a prac–” Olive begins to say to Dougie, but her sentence is cut short by a yelled warning from Red Bowman for every fella to make their way to the hardstands. A quick kiss is planted on Olive’s mouth, James trying his best to find just a final moment before he leaves. 

“Come home to me,” Olive quickly says, as she always does before her man flies away for hours. 

“Nowhere else I'd rather be, honey girl,” he replies, his usual response to those words. “Love ya.”

“Love you more.”

“Douglass, now!” Red calls, a subtle glare shot Olive’s way. 

“Jeez, you're tense today, Bowman,” she teases as the final Jeep departs. “Coffee?”

“Yeah…” he replies, staring off into the distance. “Get Spaatz to slip the good whiskey in it, too.”

***

“English, you drive, right?”

“Sure do, Spaatz. Why?”

“Val had the idea of you both driving the truck to greet the boys as they land. Helen and I will set up in the interrogation hut, you and Val set up on the airfield.”

Olive shoots a smile over to Val, who is keenly grinning back. “That's a sweet idea!” 

“Knew you'd agree,” Tattie laughs. “Seeing as it's only a practice, there might not be too much hubbub and chaos; a nice surprise that won't put you girls in harm's way.”

Closing the serving hatch of the Clubmobile, Val and Olive clamber into their respective seats. Olive frowns for a moment, trying to get her bearings - she hasn't driven in months, nor ever driven a vehicle of this size. 

“You’re sure you can drive this, Ol?” Val asks, seeing Olive anxiously bite her lip. 

“Oh, yes, yeah!” She replies, hoping her words sound somewhat convincing. “Truthfully, I've never driven a truck.”

“First time for everything, chickie,” Val laughs, her voice wavering. “I trust you.”

“Good to know,” Olive says, turning the engine over. Tentatively pressing her foot to the pedal, and adding a little more pressure as the engine sputters, she puts the truck into gear. The truck stutters a little, Val and Olive shaken in their seats. “English!”

“That wasn’t me!” She laughs, pressing her foot down again and feeling the wheels turn. She sighs with relief. “Ah, there we go, Brooklyn. We're off.”

Val inhales deeply, breathing out hard through her nostrils. For the second time that day, Olive sees her friend cling to her rosary, mumbling a prayer. 

“Jesus, Valencia. I'm not that bad,” Olive shrieks, offended.

“Shh…” she scolds, holding up a neatly manicured finger. “Amen.”

***

“Here they come!” The girls hear, quickly ushering Meatball into the Clubmobile's interior as Kenny and Wink, along with the other ground crew members, begin to take their positions. 

“What are they doing?” Val asks, lighting a cigarette. “It’s only a prac–” 

Her words are drowned out by the wail of sirens, Olive turning away from the conversation. Her eyes to the expansive blue sky, she sees it covered by a flurry of red flares. Her mouth drops open as a few forts come into land, black smoke billowing from the wings, the rear, the nose. 

“Go, go, go!” She hears from in front of her, utter chaos ensuing as everyone on the airfield runs into action. Before she can think fully, Olive herself is running full speed towards Just A-Snappin, her polished boots heavy on the uneven meadow, shallow breaths heaving from her as she exerts herself, the smell of fuel attacking her lungs instantly. 

“English, no!” Val screams, beginning to run herself as she spots Everett from a distance. 

The two girls run as fast as they're able, Olive soon throwing herself into Dougie's arms.

“Olive, what the fuck are you doing?” 

She clings to him, sobbing and wailing as she sees injured men being pulled from forts, puddles of blood forming on the tarmac, airmen coughing and spluttering from fuel fumes. 

“Jesus Christ, dolly!” Dougie grabs her by the back of the legs, carrying her to safety. “I need you to close your eyes,” he urges, screams echoing from behind him. “Now, Olive!”

She does as she's told, tears squeezing from her eyes as she open mouth sobs. She is put down gently, James finally pulling her close. 

“What were you thinking?” he asks, voice catching in shock. “Why are you down here?”

“How did a practice turn out like that? Was there a navigation issue?” She yells, her words muffled by James’ shoulder and gulps of tears. 

“Honey girl, what are you talking about?” He asks, pulling her head from his shoulder to have him look at her. His hands hold her face in front of him, his fingers in her hair just slightly.

“Chicky said–”

“That why you were so relaxed this morning?”

“Y-yeah,” she stutters out, sniffing. “He brought us into his office to tell us not to worry, th-that it was only a practice mission.”

James opens his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Red Bowman. 

“In the Jeep, Douglass, you need to get to interrogation.”

“Give a me a minute,” he replies, calmly. “Sweetheart,” he soothes, turning back to Olive. He exhales softly through his nose before speaking again. “You okay?”

“Are you?” She questions in return, realizing she didn't look him over until now, her shaky hands pulling at his layers of clothing to check for any wounds.

“Yes, dolly. I'm fine, absolutely fine.” He kisses her on both cheeks and holds her close to him, Olive shakily breathing out.

“Put her down, Dougl–” 

“I said,” he snarls. “Give me a fucking minute!” Olive feels his heart rate begin to accelerate, his shoulders rising and falling with each angry breath he takes. “She wouldn't be here if you hadn't have lied!”

“Hey, I did no such thing!” He retorts, looking between Dougie and Everett Blakely who has joined them, Val clinging to him the same way Olive is to James.

“So, you didn't know the Colonel lied to our girls?” Everett asks, his cheeks reddening with anger. His jaw juts furiously, shaking his head. “Likely fucking story, Bowman.”

“Everett!” Val scolds. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but this stinks to high heaven.”

“Yeah, Red. Guilt by association,” James interjects. “Not only have you upset them, but your lies put them here, on the airfield, because they thought this was only a practice.”

“We'll talk later,” Red scolds again. “Jeep, now!”

With a frustrated groan, Dougie kisses Olive quickly and climbs in. Ev does the same with Val, her running up to Olive and joining her where she stands. The girls cling to one another, fresh sobs pouring from them both. 

“I like how you're not trying to be tough anymore, Ol,” Val weeps. 

“I don't think I can be, chicken. Not when we have to live through this.”

“Right…ugh, Chick Harding is about to get the ear bashing of a lifetime.”

“Let me pull myself together and I'll join in,” Olive sniffs, opening the back door of ��Spaghetti n Meatball’ to retrieve a whiskey bottle. They don't bother with cups, each necking a gulp before beckoning Meatball to join them in the cab, the husky whimpering as he tries to lick the tear sodden cheeks of his two girls. Olive turns the engine over, the truck starting a lot smoother than the first time. The girls and Meatball drive back to their usual spot in silence, Meatball laying between them comfortingly.

***

The Officer's club is bustling that night, the busyness to be expected following an arduous mission like that. Above the crowd of voices, Everett Blakely and Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal lay out what happened that day, Pappy Lewis, Harry Crosby and James Douglass, all nodding along with the retelling. 

“They just kept coming at us,” Rosie says, words wavering as he shakily breathes out. “Pappy and I, we were…we were just–” He looks to Pappy for reassurance, Pappy only able to shake his head in response. Olive looks at all of her friends, her lip beginning to wobble and her hazel eyes filling with tears that begin to pour down her cheeks. Harry Crosby spots it immediately, tapping Dougie on the shoulder to snap him out of his trance and take notice. 

“We can stop, English,” Harry says.

“No!” she responds, the sadness squeezing her throat.

“Like hell will you stop telling the story,” Val snaps back. “I need every detail.”

“Sweetheart, no,” Ev soothes. 

“I'm gonna be typing it anyway, honey. I'd rather hear it from you…and plan a way to wangle a three day pass out of Chicky for all of us; you fellas for R and R, us girls for him lying to our faces.”

Olive feels herself getting angry again, her face flushing. “The balls on that fucking man,” she sighs. “To lie to us like that.”

“Calm down, dolly,” Dougie urges, placing a hand on her thigh and pouting his lips for a kiss. He nods towards the door of the bar as Colonel Harding makes his entrance, shooting a glance towards Valencia. “Now's your chance.”

“Right!” Valencia says confidently, downing the rest of her French 75. “C'mon, Ol.” She grabs Olive by the hand and pulls, dragging her away from Dougie.

“I was occupied, in case you hadn't noticed!”

“You'll live, English.”

Pulling Olive across to the bar, Valencia walks with her brow furrowed hard, straight to Chick Harding, who is in the middle of ordering himself a measure of whiskey. 

“Colonel!” She yells, dropping Olive’s hand. The club goes silent, all heads turning towards the confrontation. “You lied to us! What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Valencia, look, I–”

“It’s unacceptable, Harding. Not okay,” she carries on, her painted red fingernail pointing in the small distance between them. 

“I just–”

“Just nothing!” 

Olive remains silent, watching Chick's mouth open and close, seemingly lost for words and not able to conjure an explanation. His breath wavering, he looks around at all the eyes staring into the conversation.

“Hey, this ain’t a show!” He draws out, his raised voice snapping the airmen out of their curiosity. He wait until they've gone back to their conversations, turning towards Val and Olive.

“I'm sorry,” he says, looking ashamed. “Dunno what I was thinking.” 

Val goes to respond, but stops herself when she sees that Chick wants to carry on.

“I'd like to make it up to ya. Whatever you want.”

A moment of silence is shared, the atmosphere now awkward as the adrenaline of the moment dissipates. 

“Weekend passes,” Olive says, her voice shocking Valencia a little as she'd been silent until now. “For all of us.”

“Yeah,” Val agrees. “For the men, for their hard work today. For us girls, for lying to us.”

“Done,” he says dismissively. “Porter and Spaatz will be here to hold down the fort.”

“Hold on,” Val says. “You don't seem to have heard us, Colonel. I said us girls and I mean all of us.”

The Colonel sighs. “You got it. Now, scram.”

“Sir.”

The two girls walk back to join the group, satisfied smiles on their faces. Dougie’s face lights up at the sight of Olive finally smiling, his features softening as he sees her cheeks glow. 

“So, what's the verdict? We get to sleep in a big bed together for a weekend?”

“Amongst other things, yes.”

His eyes widen, mouth dropping open as she plants a kiss on his cheek with a giggle. “You're fresh, dolly.”

“Mhm. Seems you're rubbing off on me.”

[boschintegral-photo]

Honeysuckle

[butterflyangel2002]

Flower pics from my walk today 🌸🌼🤍