#I might trim his brows for act 2

[valyalyon]

2 Roadside Rhapsody

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CW: explicit language, descriptions of sexual intercourse in public where couple is nearly caught. MDNI. 3.1K words

The Red Highway isn’t the same when you stay out of the dark. There were deserts, and high cliffs, winding mountains and endless nothingness. Then it opened into the Lilac Gorge.

A flatter area within a valley, with the road exiting up a steep hill. Rocco and Angel stopped here for a few days, as fall weather conditions continued being absurd and dangerous that year.

The Lilac Gorge was a safe haven from the crime found along the Red Highway, with three tiny towns occupying the entirety of the valley floor. The gorge was named after the abundant lilac fields, throughout the towns and all over the valley floor.

It was a little piece of paradise among the vast scariness that was the road of Angel’s nightmares. She wondered if maybe it was the Lilac Gorge that she always dreamed about ending up with Lazarus in.

Still, she didn’t try to ponder too much on that thought. Whenever she did, her world would spin out of control again.

Rocco parked the van in a little lot, “this trailer park is gorgeous, Star, there’s flowers everywhere.”

Angel got off the bed and made her way to the passenger seat of the van as Rocco got out and opened her door.

She hopped out onto a field of green grass that was trimmed short for the lots to be easily distinguished. Then, just outside the trailer park there was a field of lilacs beside one of the high mountains that isolated the valley.

The trailer park was pretty empty, and no one was awake to play in the fields, so maybe that’s what made Angel want to go out there. She looked over her shoulder at Rocco, “I’m going to go walk through those flowers.”

“Looks like there’s paths in there, so you just might be able to,” Rocco said, closing the van and locking the doors.

Angel made her way across the grass trailer park to the open field of lilacs. The field was pale pink, and the smell of them was so strong that she was hypnotized.

She walked along the edges between the flowers, occasionally touching a petal and letting the smells fill the air.

Rocco chuckled from behind her, and Angel turned around with her furrowed brows, “why you laughing?”

He pointed at her and smiled, “you’re adorable. You’re so excited to be here and be outside. You’re one with nature and it’s cool to see.”

Angel softened up, realizing he meant no harm, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was on her toes to reach the tall man, but dangled her arms gracefully, “Want to get closer to nature?”

Rocco raised his brows as he looked down at her, holding her waist in his strong hands, “I’d have to get a condom out the van.”

“You want to fuck nature?” She asked curiously, further teasing him.

He laughed and pushed against her, kissing her as his grip on her waist tightened, “don’t act like you aren’t offering your body to me.”

She stared up at him with her sweet green eyes, her bottom lip pouting, “I’m a good girl, I could never…”

“That you are, but you definitely did,” Rocco agreed partially, and then squeezed an ass cheek in his hand tightly.

“Oww,” Angel moaned helplessly.

“You need it, don’t you?” Rocco asked, kissing her lips with an open mouth again.

“Mmm… just a little,” She whimpered out, holding onto his collar and pulling him down to her.

“You taste amazing,” he let it out in a groan, grabbing her by the back of the hair and pulling her into another kiss.

He squeezed her before letting one hand search his pocket, then switching to search with the other hand. Finally, he said, “score. I had one in my pocket.”

Angel guided him through the field, then she knelt down in between the bushels of lilac. She looked up at him as her hand felt his bulge through his pants, her hand tightened around the print of his length.

He groaned from the pressure, looking around and then unzipping his pants, getting his cock out for her.

She took his cock into her throat, her tongue sliding along the 9 inches happily. She was moaning and her tongue worked wonders along his throbbing shaft.

Rocco’s voice was lowered into a grumble, his joyous groans muffled by his choice to bite on his lip, but finally, “fuck, Angel… my Star…”

She looked through her dark lashes at him, and then closed her eyes to get him deeper in her throat. She loved the way he felt, she loved having sex and she hated admitting that.

She definitely felt like a whore, having jumped so quickly from loving Lazarus to deep throating another man in a field… She told herself that it was inevitable though, she couldn’t live hoping to rekindle anything with Lazarus.

Why wasn’t she allowed to move on? She was more than confident that he would be moving on soon anyway.

She didn’t feel any need to wait around for Lazarus to find her again, she wanted to enjoy her life. And Rocco… he was beautiful, his voice amazing, he was kind, and he felt easier to trust and believe in than Lazarus.

Of course, there was no shortage of attraction between Rocco and Angel either. They each found the other sexually appealing and were very hungry for one another.

That was one thing, of course, that it was always less aggressive with Rocco. Not to say he didn’t squeeze her or smack her ass, but he couldn’t slap her face. He’d happily choke her though, so he started to pump his cock deeper into her throat, holding her in place by the head.

“Mmm,” Angel mumbled hotly against Rocco’s cock, and her tongue swirled on his tip as her head moved in a rhythm.

His breathing hitched and he held his cock all the way down her throat, as his balls started to lurch with his orgasm. He sighed heavily and then let out a laugh, “you’re amazing.”

Angel lapped up all his cum, sliding her mouth off his cock and opening her mouth to show him the prize she’d won. She swallowed his hot load and looked up at him from her knees, “you’re not done, though…”

She was right, Rocco desperately wanted to fuck her in that field. He got down on his knees with her and the two shared a passionate kiss, as Rocco’s hands began to lift Angel’s top.

Her breasts came out and Rocco moved down, sucking on the nipples and playing with them, before leading his hand down and removing her pants, “you’ve got such a fat ass… You need to start wearing dresses to make fucking you easier.”

“It’s getting cold, I can’t,” she moaned in protest, as his index and middle fingers began to enter her pussy.

“It’s not that cold here, remember? We won’t be leaving for a little bit… I want to see you walking these streets in summer dresses, I want to be able to lift your skirt and fuck you anywhere,” he explained his needs and desires to her, spitting on his fingers and lacing the spit along her wet pussy.

Her clit was throbbing and her legs shook as she felt him touching her, “Let me feel your cock, Rocco, please…”

Everything came out like choked moans, her hips grinding to the rhythm of his finger fucking.

“You’re so fucking horny,” he called her out, ignoring what he had previously said, and lining his cock up with her entrance. She was wet and ready for him, so he just pushed himself in, groaning, “fuck… you’re still so small…”

“Do you hate it?” She moaned.

He chuckled and pulled her hair, “I could never.” Then, he slowly began to fuck her, pulling his cock out nice and slow.

Rammed it right back in, pulled it out, rammed it. His precious Star was a moaning mess, and Rocco wanted so badly to finish inside of her.

He played with her tits and then smacked her ass real hard, quickening his pace to speak, “can I finish inside of you?”

She wasn’t thinking, busy enjoying every rough thrust he shoved deeper into her gut. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth hungry for more of his lips.

He kissed her and pulled her hair, harder, this time his voice slightly meaner, “can I finish inside of you? Yes or no?”

“Will you be mad if I say no?” She asked him in between thrusts, her moans loud, her legs trembling.

“I won’t be,” Rocco promised her, loosening his grip on her hair and patting her head gingerly, “I want you to want it. If you don’t want it, I’ll just cum in your mouth again if you’re okay with that.”

“That sounds better… Too soon…” She tried to explain, not wanting to say no but not wanting to argue with him either. If it had been Lazarus, and if Lazarus had kept going, she would have let him have her way. She thought she’d probably feel the same way about Rocco soon.

He just nodded his head, kissed her on the mouth affectionately and continued slamming his hips rhythmically into her, leading her into a first and second orgasm simultaneously. As she came, her cream covered Rocco’s veiny cock and painted it white.

Rocco groaned, just brought to the brink by the hot sight of her cream all over him, he pulled out quickly, moving Angel onto her knees again.

He stood back up and slipped his cock back into Angel’s mouth, pulling her in close as he finished down her throat.

She gagged, then moaned, taking it all down her throat as soon as she adjusted herself. She held her head firm, making sure to suck him off as he pulled back out of her throat.

“Perfect,” Rocco said, and reached down for her, helping her off the ground, “You’re fucking perfect… Okay, breakfast?”

“I already had so much protein,” she teased him, kissing him happily after she had swallowed his load, “but breakfast does actually sound really good. We’ve been working up a sweat.”

“That, and we go into each town until we find a place to get you dresses,” Rocco added to the itinerary, smacking her ass then making sure she was dressed.

“My legs are going to be cold,” the girl protested, following Rocco back to the van.

“I’ll make sure to keep you warm,” Rocco promised her.

…

There was one store that sold exclusively clothing, and luckily it was a short walk from where they’d left the van. Rocco and Angel were always going back and forth with song ideas.

Rocco usually started it with some kind of abstract sound or rhythm, a guitar chord or a drum beat done on the floor of the van. Quickly, she would add lyrics.

At first, the lyrics were just a hum, a word or two, a hum. The more they spent time making songs though, the quicker he began to notice a sharp light in Angel’s eyes.

By the time they were walking to that store, Angel was nodding her head to a rhythm that he had made the night before when he couldn’t sleep.

Rocco glanced at her, “I thought you were asleep.”

“No, I heard you… I was pretty exhausted so I couldn’t move but I heard you doing that before you came to bed,” she tried to explain, and then ignored him again as she tried to place the lyric.

Her eyes seemed to bounce through so many stories, and she finally seemed to come to one, “In my bones mmm… burning me close mmm… Do you hear what I’m hearing?”

He nodded his head, remembering the sound and beat-boxing a similar sound rhythm for her. He liked surprising her with all the things he knew, and her eyes grew wide in excitement.

“I didn’t know you could beat box! You sing, play guitar — you must play drums too? And you can beat box too?” She swooned all over him, hugging his arm.

Angel’s affection always spun his heart. Rocco didn’t know what got into himself, barely having spent two weeks with this girl. She wasn’t fake, she fell into the pleasures of life and lived it freely. He admired that about her.

He wanted to know so much about her, but he realized how much he had done knowing so little about her. She was a transient, and so was he but — it wasn’t the same.

“I can do a lot of things… before me, Angel, who were you with?” Rocco asked curiously, and then explained, “I lost my virginity to my first girlfriend. We broke up a year ago and I’ve had sex twice since.”

She stared up at him, a little confused about his line of questioning, then coming to understand his worry. Clearing her throat, “I lost my virginity to my gang leader ex-boyfriend, and I got raped by a gang member the night before I met you.”

“How did you get to the convenience store?” He asked, his face displaying his concern for her. There was no judgement on his face.

“I walked through the woods all night until I arrived there that morning,” she explained, her fingers lacing in between his.

“You’re really brave,” Rocco told her sincerely, hugging her tightly and then kissing her head, “maybe tomorrow we go to a doctor together and we both get STD tests.”

She actually liked the idea of that, as well as have the doctor touch around to make sure she still had an implant in her arm that would help her not get pregnant. She nodded her head, and agreed.

Rocco opened the doors of the store as they walked in, and instructed Angel to pick out nice dresses, a puffer jacket she really liked, and some cute boots.

Angel went through the selection of dresses, picking out a lilac pink dress, a lavender dress, and a third more blush pink dress. She moved on to picking out a white puffer jacket, with cute white boots that were slightly fluffy on the outside.

Once everything was picked out, they went to the changing rooms and Rocco noticed immediately that there wasn’t an attendant, so he told her to go and that he would follow.

Angel picked out one of the bigger rooms so they’d have space, and she hung everything up as Rocco sat down in a chair in the corner of the room.

She started to undress, taking her top off and setting it down. Next she took her shoes off, followed by slipping out of her pants.

She tossed the first dress over her head. It was a lilac baby doll, and was mid thigh length, her fat ass barely covered by the dress, “this one is definitely a no.”

“Why is that?” Rocco asked, reaching out to touch her, “come here, lemme see you.”

She turned to face him, and his eyes were hungry and warm, beckoning her forward. She walked a couple feet forward and gave him her hands when he asked for them.

He admired her bare legs, looking up her frame in the dress, finishing on her cleavage and hard nipples, “look at those tits, Star… fuck… let me touch them.”

“Feel the dress, focus on why we’re here,” she told him, but she leaned forward for him to play with her tits.

He groped each breast from outside the dress, his grip hard and hot, but then he forced her tits out of the dress, and started sucking on her nipples. He bit a little and she moaned, her fingers curling in his brown hair.

“Mmm, Rocco…” her legs shook a little, but he let go of her suddenly. She looked confused at him.

Rocco chuckled and pointed at the dresses, “finish up. You’ve got more stuff to try on.”

She slid off the dress right in front of him, making sure her fat ass touched his knee, then standing back up slowly. He smacked her ass roughly, but stayed sitting, watching her.

The next dress was pink, the top a corset of flowers, and the skirt short tulle again barely covering her beautiful ass.

He watched the dress come on and saw the way it hugged her curves, just in awe of her. Rocco grabbed her again, but this time lifted her skirt and lowered her onto his lap, where she could feel his bulge.

“Fuck… I don’t think we should, Radio Boy…” she pleaded with her lover, hoping that using his nickname would level him.

His greedy hands were feeling the boning of the corset, and then feeling her breasts. He squeezed her tits firmly and sighed against her neck, “you feel the way your ass rubs against me? How could I ever stop craving you?”

“You have to learn restraint,” she moaned, rubbed her ass against his cock one more time, then got up and started to change.

The next dress was more purple, and the sleeves hung off her shoulders. For this one, Rocco already his cock out of his pants, and was stroking it as he watched, “come give me head, Star.”

She couldn’t say no to him. She turned around and kneeled down in front of him. As she took it in her mouth, her tongue came out, licking the base of the shaft. His veins were exposed and his cock was throbbing.

As she happily slurped him up, she heard someone coming into the changing room. Rocco, not perturbed, sped up his assault on her mouth, cumming in her throat just as they heard a voice clearing their throat from the mid way point of the room.

He pulled away and fixed his pants immediately. Angel stood and switched into her pants, throwing on her shirt. Rocco stood from the chair and she sat down to put on her shoes, as a knock came to the door.

Rocco opened it, playing it cool, “yeah?”

“Are you two done in here?” the store clerk asked, irritated by Rocco.

Angel nodded her head, tying her shoes. Rocco grabbed all the clothes off the hanger for her, and said, “we’ll be getting everything.”

The store clerk nodded her head and walked away from them. They followed suit momentarily, Rocco handing the lady cash to pay for their items.

Then they headed on their merry way.

Not sure how I'm feeling about author's notes and polls at the end -- kind of a fan of the polls but not sold on the author's notes, excited to see what you all prefer. Hope you enjoyed the story <3

[dine-on-nervine]

I do miss the Editable Reblogs feature of Xkit.

What did you have for dinner tonight? It's 6:29am. The plan is two hotdogs from my girlfriend's work party.

If you were given a million dollars, what would you spend it on? Probably get a new electric or hybrid car, and do something about my girlfriend's debts. The rest would go in the bank.

Have you ever cried in front of your parents over a boyfriend or girlfriend? Likely. My mother's reaction was "grow up", to which I pointed out that since I was 17 I was very much acting age-appropriate.

What does your bedroom smell like right now? I don't want to figure it out. First thing in the morning two hot bodies breathing overnight raises the temperature to humid.

Have you ever shaved off your eyebrow before? Yes, actually. There was the time my grandmother noticed I trimmed my eyelashes, but no one said a word about my brows.

Do you want to have a boy or girl whenever you have kids? I don't want children.

You're pregnant with twins: What do you name them? This happened years ago, and the names were David and Clarissa.

Describe your outfit. Stark freaking naked right now.

What gigabyte is your memory card? Which one? The camera is half a gig. The phone is 32gb.

What brand is your digital camera? Kodak.

When was the last time you hung out with your best friend? Last year. He says he wants to come over here but doesn't trust his car, plus has a financial incentive to wait until the second half of August, so it'll be a little while.

What is a movie you're waiting to see? I don't really care about movies presently, but my girlfriend passed me the trailer to a movie about Santa Claus (played by JK Simmons) getting kidnapped which might be interesting.

Who was the last person to cook something for you? Tanya.

Do you ever sit and think What If about something? On the daily.

If so, what is it? I have a list.

What’s on tv right now? I would not know this. I don't have a television.

Do you ever stop and smell the roses? I do try.

Where do you download music from? Mostly from SoulSeek, though the occasional YouTube-to-MP3 site fills in some gaps.

How many channels do you have on your tv? No TV.

What are you most scared of? "Stupid people in large groups", said George Carlin. The orange menace to democracy and his fascist followers.

If you were given a chance to bring someone back to life, who would you choose? Sam Kinison.

Do you talk to any of your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend? I'm still tight with my ex, but have nothing to do with any of the former girlfriends after her. I used to stay in contact with old girlfriends from my youth but time has passed.

If so, which one? Asked and answered.

What is your mom doing right now? Hell if I know, she's four hours away. But probably having breakfast because she's an early riser.

Are you currently listening to music? No.

What is the weather like right now? Looked okay at 5am, but it will likely rain a bit later.

Do you like new music or older music? Older music since there hasn't been much good music put out there since the 1990s. Also, get off my lawn.

If you could make a law, what would kind of law would you make? I'd break the double-standard about showing breasts in America. The nation would be a happier place if everyone could get their tits out.

What was the last video game you played? Not really sure, it's been awhile. But in other news, the writer of H.E.R.O. for the Atari 2600 has written a new 2600 game which went on sale about a week ago. Money's tight until after July 2 and then I go on a road trip so can't spend much yet.

What is currently going on in the room you're in right now? I'm writing this reply. Girlfriend left for work an hour and a half ago. Nothing else is possible.

Do you know where your best friend is? He's probably in bed dreaming about gay porn.

Who was the last person to comment you on Facebook? I'd have to look. [looking] A woman by the name of Denise, who spoke of watching a movie that she read about in Penthouse.

What is your display picture of on Facebook? The keyboard of a 1917 Underwood #5 typewriter.

Do you ever sit and think about the past? Nearly nonstop.

If you could relive any moment in time: what would it be? The one my mind always goes to was from when I was 13 and the opportunity for something great came up but I didn't know how to approach it so squandered the chance.

Are you a talker or a listener? Definitely more of a listener.

What is one food you will not eat? I am not fond of strawberries or raspberries.

Do you eat anything now that you never used to eat? Quite a few things. Our perceptions of food are formed by what we were served by our parents, and there was a lot they didn't touch.

Have you ever kissed the same sex? Once. That's how I know I am straight, I was pretty wigged out.

When does school start this year? It just got out. Leave them kids alone!

Do you ever shout for absolutely no reason? You're talking about parents and siblings.

Have you stuck with your new years resolution? I didn't really make one this year.

Do you need to lose any weight right now? Yeah. Which circles back to my new years resolution I didn't make.

What is something you want right now? To be asleep and not have to go to work today. Neither of those are possible. So I will settle for some dirty pictures after I post this.

Do you hate when you see teachers in stores? Actually I like it since I've been out of school for decades.

What always puts a smile on your face? Boobies. Ante up, I need a grin this morning.

Where can I find you on a Saturday night? Wherever I happen to go, or right here at home.

What is the best thing about Sundays? My weekend has started.

What is your music provider (itunes, windows media player)? My MP3 players.

How many songs do you have? On the USB thumbdrive in the car, 1200. On my hard drive, no idea but it's probably like ten thousand.

When was the last time you had a period? As a guy, I have never had one.

Why do you think the sky is blue? Diffraction of light.

If you could change the sky to any color, which would you choose? Blue is fine, with the occasional purple to keep people's attention.

Is there anything wrong with you right now? Sometimes I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go, but most of the time I've got a place to be and nothing to wear.

Do you hate when people stare at you? I do tricks when that happens, it's what they're waiting for... right?

[plush-rabbit]

Smile For Me

Warnings: Noncon, Somnophila

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I’ve really fallen for Ghostface and that seems unfair (Part 2 to Picture Perfect)

You��re easy prey. Nothing more than a simple deer, a lovely little rabbit that he gets to stalk and hunt. There’s something odd about you, something so sweet and incredibly cute that he wants to corrupt. You change your locks, you add a sensor light that must have made a pretty dent in your wallet. He can see how you move behind the blinds, your silhouette, the way you walk and how you hold something in your hands, and he runs the first few times, but after the third time, he decides to push his luck, linger close, hidden behind a shed in your backyard and minutes pass until he realizes that there are no sirens. You don’t call for help, your alarms are nothing more than for decoration, to ward off a lesser person. You trust that whatever was lurking outside, has fled. And he falls for you naivety more. He falls deeper in love with you, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, the faint bitter taste of copper still lingering as he bites down to avoid his laughter ringing throughout your backyard.

Ghostface stalks you. He watches and learns what security system you have and it’s almost laughable when he finds out that it is nothing. All you have to protect yourself are different locks. The lights were nothing more than that, sensor lights that can do nothing more than to catch a rodent that lurks in your backyard. The locks might be different, but you don’t have an alarm, there are no cameras inside your home to record that he wandered around- drank from the bottle of your cranberry juice, sat on your couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, dried mud that crumbled and he stared at it, wondering if you would even notice, but with a swipe of the side of his palm, it falls and disappears into your carpet. You have no camera to watch as he grabs your underwear and jerks himself off in your bed, his mouth open behind his mask as he creams himself on your belongings, the memory of how you felt already fading in his mind. And once he’s done, he‘s left sticky and wet, creamy slipping down and it’s only a matter of time till you come home. He wonders how often you wash your pillowcases and he dries himself on your pillow, a soft thrusting motion that leaves his already sensitive cock dribbling with more seed, spreading it on your pillow. When he comes back to watch you, he sees through the blinds how you touch the pillow, your lips pouted and your fingers brushing against the hardened cotton. He wonders if you know.

You’ve captured his attention- enough for him to leave his other prey and focus solely on you. You fret around your home, clean and check every crevice, a pair of scissors in hand and he scoffs in amusement. He palms himself through his jeans. He wonders how you would really react if he were hiding inside your house. He can hide himself in your closest, jump out and wrestle you to the ground, watch as your eyes grow fearful and he’s salivating at the thought of entering you already, knowing how well you’d take him. With a soft sigh, he pulls his hand away. All he has to do now is wait for you to fall asleep.

Grateful for the night, he watches in silence. You walk around in your room, towel around your body, letting it fall off of your body and rest against the bed, your naked body alluring, the soft yellow light glistening off of your body, and you walk to your dresser, lotion against your body, spread thin, the creamy white disappearing onto your body. You sleep in a camisole, a lace trim around the straps, stitched onto the soft dip where your naked breasts lie, nipples already pert and peeking through the shirt. Your underwear are a soft blue, raising up your hips with a teasing dip to your sex. He doesn’t have to wait long until you’ve fallen into your slumber, body still and after a few minutes, he’s inside your home. 

It doesn’t take much to break-in. A simple twist and a careful step, and Ghostface is undetected, inside your home. The weeping mask stares down at you, a single twist of his fingers and your lamp is on, the glow of the light doing nothing but make you furrow your brows and with a simple shush, a coo under his breath that makes him feel like a dotting lover, you return to your relaxed state. It’s not much, but seeing you asleep- vulnerable and willing- is enough for him to kick off his boots. Clothes are slowly discarded, the pale, horrific mask still kept on, the soft cloth of the hood tickles at the base of his neck, and he’s above you. 

There isn’t much that makes him actually lust for others. He’s always been more fascinated in other areas of the human body, but there was and still is something about you that makes him yearn, to grab at you and mark your body. And one day, he’ll do it with your consent. He’ll come and greet you as Daniel- have you call him Danny- pull out the smile, pull you close and throw you on his bed, have you want him and there will be the sick pleasure of knowing that you’re fucking a killer and your personal tormentor without you knowing. But for now, he slips off your clothes, raises your thin shirt and he’s slow and methodical, pulling you into a sitting position and having you lean against his body, your gentle, warm breaths against his chest, your shirt is removed. He lays you back on the bed, hair fanning out into a halo, strands falling in front of your face and with a simple brush, the smooth fabric of his gloves cold against your skin. Your underwear is too delightful to tear off, simple and pure against your skin, something so sweet that it’s almost wrong of him to dip his fingers underneath and pull down your bare legs. 

Asleep and undisturbed, his hands are on you. For a brief moment, his mask is off, eyes that hold something fierce in them watch you, the low rise of your chest, goosebumps pricking at your skin and his smile is hungry. His face buried into your sex, tongue at your heat, his spit warming you and moistening past your folds. The tip of his tongue swirls around your entrance, a gentle dip into you, and in your sleep you clench your walls, a soft squish against his muscle and he smiles against you, wide and teeth pressed against your soft flesh. He presses his face forward, nose pressed against your clit, lips puckered and he kisses you, a soft, sensual kiss against your cunt, tongue slipping past his lips, and into yours, flickering inside and on the tip of his tongue, he can taste your sweet nectar, oozing in a thick puddle against him. 

The mask returns, hiding his identity and in it’s in place, the gloves are removed. There’s a sound outside, a racing car that screams through the night and in his chest, his heart races and his body flushes, his face heating up, sweat beading on his forehead and two bare fingers enter you. You’re slick enough to enter but he can feel the tight grasp of your sex, something that he’s sure stings by the way you shift under him. His fingers curl in, a beckoning motion inside of you, fingertips brushing against your walls, slick slowly starting to form until the clicking noises in the room intermix with your breathy, soft moans- a cry that whimpers past your lips. He grows hard above you, watching your breaths deepen, the wet, shucking noises of your cunt grow louder, fingers slipping in and out, your arousal dribbling past his fingers and down to his knuckles. It’s awkward, fingers pushed deep inside of you, his knuckles kissing at your cunt as a strong hand reaches to grab his camera, holding tight onto it, his fingerprints dirtying the screen and it’s shaky, a horrible picture when compared to his previous works. He forces himself to still, fingers half way inside of you, limp and still compared to your throbbing, wet cunt that still leaks and there’s a click. On the screen is a captivating photo of your cunt teased with his fingers. And as always, Ghostface isn’t satisfied. 

Metal clicks against each other, a soft chime in the room that acts as a lullaby, pulling you back into sleep, your body relaxing, breath going back to its own undisturbed tempo and all that remains is a wide-eyed man staring at you through a mask. Dark eyes are unwavering as they stare at your sleeping body- you look so peaceful, so rested and deep in slumber that he’s sure you must have had a heavy day and he feels almost sad at that thought. Bare hands grab at your breasts, thumbs pushing around the pert nipples- he’s almost sad that you had to grow through something so heavy without him- his hands lower to rise against the swell of your belly- he promises to himself that you won’t face it alone next time- one hand holds onto your hip, the other against the base of his cock, pre-ejaculate beading off his slit in opalescent pearls. 

He lowers himself to you, the plastic of his mask brushing against the shell of your ear and he’s hopeful that you’re listening to him. “No one is allowed to touch you, you know? I’ll make sure of that.” His cockhead is pressed flushed against your entrance, arousal mixing and getting lost with each other. Nails dig into your hip, perfectly formed crescents appear on your body, the hint of blood is familiar to him and makes him almost inhumane. His laugh is sharp, unforgiving and cruel, as he presses himself further into you, the welcoming hug of your walls wrapping tight around him and he releases his hands from your hip and himself. “My fucking muse,” he whispers harshly, stilling himself inside of you, your walls pulsing against him, a gentle pull deeper into you. “My naïve-” his hand covers the swell of your belly- “dumb little muse.” He wonders if you’re late. He wonders what you have done to either rid yourself of his kin or to prevent yourself from being bred. “I wonder what it’ll be like-” his thumb arches gracefully over your stomach- “seeing you with a child, tits full of milk, cunt always creamy, ready for a good pounding.” He laughs lowly, hooking an arm underneath you, hand spread against your spine, arching and he’s deep inside of you, feeling you tighten against him. 

The masked killer is grateful that he’s forgotten how you feel. You’re limp, nothing more than a warm sex-toy for him, curved and heavy underneath his hand, neck bent and mouth parted, and he smiles when he sees your eyes begin to flutter. That’s what he wants. He wants to see your fear. Intruding on you in your sleep is wonderful, invading your home and snooping around your things is nothing more than an extra step for him, something for him to relax himself with, but with all your fearful glances, he’s never realized that he could force you to look scared, to see it up close and personal. 

He continues to thrust against you, moving his cock and a hand, large and heavy, fingers that look perfect and immaculate, wrap around your throat, small, pale scars wrap around his fingers like rings of past lovers, memorabilia that is only seen when looked upon closely. He tightens his hand, cutting off air and your body reacts first, going rigid, hands raising and eyes popping open in horror and he truly does ponder what it must be like to see him. Your nails dig into his hands, eyes already wet with tears, and you’re horrified. He can practically smell it off of you, the dripping arousal, the way he can feel your heart speed up through the pulse in your neck, the way you gasp for breath and he can hear you whisper out something, strained and hoarse, only able to be heard when he stills his hips and stops the lewd noises that scream from your cunt. 

“Ghostface,” you mumble, bottom lip trembling and a lovely blue color forming on your face. 

His smile is stretched comically beneath his mask. “That’s right.” He pulls out, the tip still warm inside of you, leaking with arousal and he slams back into you, legs tensing, muscles strained and taut as he fucks you. “The one and only,” he whispers, pressing the mask against your face, the soft mesh of the black mouth kissing against your frightful parted lips.

He keeps a hand around your neck, loosening it enough for you to breathe again, while his other hand slips between your meshed bodies, dipping past your mound and into your slit, circling around your clit, feeling it throb under his touch. He laughs and it’s full of pride. He holds you close, pulling you deep against him, a soft cry when you instinctively clench as he circles around your pearl. Tears slip past your eyes, catching against your eyelashes like pearls, latching onto his hands like dew on the morning, and he’s pressed himself still against you, hand leaving your clit, and reaching blindly for the abandoned camera, taking a picture of you with a hand around your throat and tears a simple, but handsome ornament. On the screen is you, terrified and crying and he tosses the camera to the side, plastic buried into your chest as he fills your hungry cunt with his seed.

“I can’t wait to see you with a round body.” He pushes himself further against you, cock dribbling inside of you, filling you with copious amounts of semen. “Fat fucking tits-” his tongue pushes against the black fabric covering his mouth, licking at your chest that has moistened with his quick breath- “a creamy, little cunt that will beg to be fucked.” His hand returns to your clit, pinching the bud between two fingers and hearing you squeal makes him thrust his hips, shivers running down his spine, the sensitivity making squirts of thick discharge fill your already prepped cervix. “Trust me-” he rises and looks at you and he knows he’s making eye contact- “when I’m back, I’ll make sure to make you feel good.” 

He latches onto you, hand escaping your neck and he hears you gasp for breath. You wheeze and croak, crying and pleading for him to stop and it only pushes for him to go further, to fuck you until your muscles start to tense, twitching and pulsing. You moan and it’s muffled by a bite of your lips. It’s a short sound, cutoff and ruined by you, but it’s alluring, melodic and making him shove two digits into your mouth, pulling your jaw down by your teeth and his fingertips rest flat against your tongue. Your moans are stretched, muffled and broken and it’s still enough for him to want more, to push himself deep inside of you, to have you reach your own high if it meant he could hear more of your perverse sounds.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, naked body sticking to yours by his sweat. “Scream. I want to hear you say the name of the one who’s making you feel this good. Scream and I promise that you’ll survive this night.” He kisses you through the meshed black of the mask, salvia swapped and spreading into a thin puddle of his mask, pushing his tongue through it until he feels as if it’s going to rip. You were always going to survive. He’s had too much fun to ever let you go but you don’t know that and he uses it to his advantage.

It’s a whisper, a soft movement of your lips against his. Your nipples rub against his chest and his name is broken with your voice. “Ah,” you sing, tightening your legs and your high is approaching. “Ghost-” he can hear the disgust and lust mixed with each other- “Ghostface,” you murmur. It’s repeated until your voice is hoarse, lust taking over, eyes heavy and rolling back, arms reaching around him and you’re entangled in a gruesome hug with him, moaning his name as your cunt clenches around him, flooding with your release, his name a mantra under your breath, echoed in the room and he stills, spilling inside of you. Eyes closed and resting his body onto you as you squirm underneath, desperate to continue your high. His name, “Ghostface” slowly murmured, a mess of his name as you release against him.

[dakarimainink]

Rooftop Drinks

WARNING: Fluff, slight angst, smoochy smooch

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader (You)

Wordcount: 1,7K

Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own.

This is part 2 to the story Night Swim

Masterlist

It was the perfect summer day. The sun was setting behind the tall city buildings, setting the sky on fire and casting long shadows.

With a bottle of your favourite drink in hand, you admired the view from atop your apartment building. Your friend Michael had managed to unlock the door leading up to the roof, allowing you to have a small summer party with your closest friends. The soft hymns from the portable speaker set a relaxing mood. The scent of flowers and warmth made you smile.

“Hey, sorry we’re late.”

Your ears perked up at the familiar voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw Pedro walking through the rooftop door. Your heart fluttered and ached at the same time; it had been six years since you last saw him.

You admitted to yourself he looked just as good as last time, if not better, with a sharper jaw, slightly messy hair and trimmed beard. You had deliberately stayed away from movies you knew he had appeared in, mostly to stop yourself from longing for him, as the ache was too much.

Behind him came an unknown woman. You furrowed your brows at the sight of the young and beautiful woman with long silky-brown hair, pouty lips and shiny blue eyes. She almost clung to Pedro as they stepped onto the roof but threw herself around Sofia with a big bright smile.

“Sofia, it has been forever.” The young lady chimed.

You turned away to gaze back at the view over the city. You felt your heart ache. You didn’t even want to think about it, but you convinced yourself you were happy for him. After all, it had been six years since you last saw each other, even spoken with each other.

“Elle, let me introduce you to the group.” Sofia said. “Over there is Michael, Samantha, Anna and Jonathan, and over there is Y/N.”

You turned around at the sound of your name and quickly nodded at her, mostly out of courtesy. Your eyes were immediately caught by a pair of dark brown orbs staring right at you. You couldn’t hold back the smile stretching out your lips when he had caught your attention.

“Drinks are over there in the cooler.” Sofia added and guided both Elle and Pedro over.

You didn’t know if you should approach them or just stay put. You had missed him. A lot. A lingering pain within you for the past few years. You remember the first time your friends had asked you to join them to the cinema to see Pedro at the big screen, but you had declined, terrified it would be too much for you.

You decided to be the bigger person, you couldn’t continue to ache for a man that clearly wasn’t interested in being more than friends, except now he might not even be interested in that.

You shuffled your way over to your group of friends and sat down next to Anna. She clinked her bottle with yours and you took a sip.

“So tell us, Pedro, how’s New York been treating you?” Samantha asked eagerly.

He rubbed the back of his neck with a breathy chuckle. “Well, with a mix of hard work and luck I seem to have managed to make a somewhat name for myself.”

“I know! You were absolutely amazing in Game of Thrones.” Anna chimed in.

“Yeah dude, Oberyn Fuckin’ Martell.” Michael high fives Pedro with a proud smirk.

“Thanks guys. It’s been quite an adventure.” He admitted and smiled. “I have been missing you though.” His eyes wandered across all of them and stopped at you.

You felt your heart jump at his staring eyes and awkwardly gulped down your drink. A slight blush rose to your cheeks. Why did this man still have such an effect on you?

Sofia placed a deck of UNO cards and two board games on the table. “Let’s play some rounds.” She smiled.

After two hours of drinking, playing games and reminisce over past adventures, you had noticed Elle was clinging more and more onto Pedro. For each touch, giggle and smile, you felt a punch to your guts. You had considered to just leave the party, make up a lie you weren’t feeling well, but a part of you believed it would help you get over him, to see him happy with another woman.

You stood up from your chair and sauntered over to the cooler to grab another drink. Instead of walking back to the table, you walked over to the edge of the rooftop and sat down on the parapet.

“You’re not joining for next round, Y/N?” Anna called from the table.

You turned your head to look at them. “No, I’m out this round.” You reply and turn back your head again. Your eyes slid across the lit streetlights and the small black figures roaming the streets below.

“Hey.” The soft voice tickled your ears and you turned your head to look at Pedro. “This seat taken?” He gestured to the available space on the parapet next to you.

You smiled warmly. “No.”

He sat down next to you with a beer in hand. His eyes stayed on you before he turned to look at the city. “You’ve barely spoken all night, is everything okay?”

You keep your gaze at the tall buildings. “Everything is fine.” You fiddle with the bottle in your hands. “Elle seems like a really nice girl.” You mumbled.

He glanced over at the table before turning back to you. “Yeah, she is.” He replied. “How have you been? We literally haven’t spoken in six years.”

You looked up at him. “I’ve been good.” You lied, feeling that lingering ache in your heart. “And you?”

“I’ve been good, perhaps a bit miserable without you guys, but good. I am sorry I never texted you back, a lot happened and it all drowned away with the acting and then I got a new phone and number and lost all the contacts on my old phone.”

You looked back on the street below. “Don’t apologise, I understand.”

“But I need to apologise, Y/N. I’ve felt terrible the past years, especially the day we were going to meet up for coffee. I tried to call you but didn’t get through for some reason and I never had time to drop by the coffee shop due to me having to leave.”

“Pedro.” You breathed out and looked up at him again. “You don’t need to excuse what happened. I am glad you found success in New York; I am very happy for you.”

The silence lingered between the both of you. Neither sure on how to proceed. It was obvious to Pedro you felt some kind of resentment towards him. He took a sip from his beer and gazed out on the city again.

“Remember the night before I left?” He asked with a smile.

The corners of your lips quirked up at the memory. “Of course I do.”

“Remember I wanted to tell you something?”

“Yeah, I assume you wanted to tell me about New York.”

He turned his head towards you and his dark brown eyes scanned the side of your face. You turned to meet him.

“No.” He breathed out.

“No?”

He chuckled nervously. “I wanted to tell you; that I wanted to kiss you.”

Your jaw lowered at his words. Your heart sped up and you felt your consciousness almost blacked out.

“And I still do.” He admitted and swallowed thickly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea considering your girlfriend is right over there.”

He furrowed his brows. “Who? Elle?” He sounded surprised. “She’s not my girlfriend, we work together and she is an old friend of Sofia.”

“Oh.” You felt like an idiot. You wanted to bury yourself in a deep black hole, never to return. “I am sorry, I thought…”

Pedro laughed deeply, his laughter vibrating through his chest. “It’s okay, I know she’s very clingy, it’s her way of coping with anxiety. She leans towards people she trusts.” He explained.

You lowered your gaze, feeling like a true idiot.

“But as I said, Y/N…” He placed a warm finger under your chin and lifted it up to meet his eyes. “I still want to kiss you.” While holding your gaze, he slowly leaned forward and stopped a mere inch from your lips. His breath hot breath brushed against your lips.

You leaned forward and lightly claimed his lips. It was soft and gentle, the feeling of longing resonating between you both. His fingers brushed along your jawline to the back of your neck and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your heart fluttered and a warmth enveloped your body as he parted your lips and begun a slow and erotic dance with your tongue. You lifted your hands and carefully intertwined your fingers in his dark locks.

He placed his other hand on top of your thigh and pulled you closer until your knees bumped. He ended the kiss and sighed out while admiring eyes scanned your features.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered and tucked a loose hair strand behind your ear.

“I’ve missed you too.”

You smiled at each other. He grabbed your hands and stroked his thumbs across your knuckles. “Y/N, I want this to be something more and I want it to work.” He confessed and held your eyes. “I have wanted this for a long time.”

“Me too.” You admitted and your smile widened. “Let’s give it a try.”

His eyes lit up at your words before leaning forward and capturing your lips once more. One hand slid up to the back of your neck while the other were placed on your hip. He continued the dance between your tongues.

“About time.”

You pulled back and turned to find Jonathan looking at the both of you. Your cheeks burned red.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally get together.” He winked, took a sip from his beer bottle and wandered off to the others.

You looked at Pedro again and chuckled. Jonathan was right, it was about time you finally made it.

(Wanna be added to my tag list for Pedro Pascal and his characters? Let me know.)

(taglist: @lazyunknownwerewolf @rrtxcmt @linnie0119)

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Red Witch

Jasper Hale x Reader Part 5

A/N: Part 5 is here my lovelies! Bon apetit! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 💕

Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.

Warnings: Language

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

It was the year 1862. You were sitting in the private carriage of the train that early morning, on the route to Houston. This was your first time in America and you couldn’t help the excitement in you as stared out the window at the vast lands before you. Unbeknownst to Charlotte and some others, you were a countess at the time, in courtesy of your father, Count Balthazar, who was long dead. But you tried to keep your family history as confidential as possible, considering your father was a sorcerer and your mother a witch. When you grew into a young woman, you left your family castle and went your own way, leaving behind everything that reminded you of your cruel father and donated all his wealth to charity. As for your mother, she was a beautiful sea witch. After the death of your father, she was able to gain her freedom and now lives happily in a humble cottage on the coast of Scotland, close to her beloved sea, and married to the local clocksmith who loves her more than your father ever could.

The reason you were traveling to Houston was because you were recently invited out here to preform at the local theatre for charity, to which which all the funds would go towards the families affected by the war. You were a known opera singer at the time and people fell in love with your clear and soft voice that held all the emotion and sadness behind it which was beautiful to their ears. You were also quite an exceptional pianist. It originally started out as a hobby, something you decided to test the waters with, but you didn’t know it would grow into something serious, eventually venturing you out into having a strong passion for the arts like singing, acting, and even painting. When your father was around, you were never able to pursue such things. He believed they were nonsense, a complete and utter waste of time. While these activities were useless to him, they were your whole heart and soul for you. You breathed for the arts. You guess you had your mother to thank for that, she used to sing you a lullaby every night when you were a child to calm your nerves because of the visions you would have. Thankfully, those visions ceased to happen as you got older.

The gentle rocking and sound of the train had lulled you to sleep as you currently had your head leaned against the window and your feet thrown up on the seat of the train. Your hair was tied up in a bun with a peridot green ribbon while a few loose pesky strands fell about your face. A leather bound Wuthering Heights book was tucked neatly in your hands on your lap. You were wearing a simple grey long sleeved gingham linen dress with delicate black lace trim at the sleeves and your collar. A peridot green velvet ribbon was tied around your waist, your neckline sat at the bottom of your neck and covered your collarbone, and a few black buttons ran down the front of your bodice.

Your dear friend at the time was sitting across from you with her fiancé. Her name was Charlotte Griffiths, the daughter of a governor. And though she was mortal, you absolutely adored her, for she took you in when you nearly did not have a home and cared for you as if you were her own sister. Then again, you always adored mortals. This was before you had known Melanie whom you had only met in the 60s. Charlotte’s fiancé was Lord Ernest Thompson, the owner of a estate and a businessman. He was a kind, charitable, and respectable young man, and you thought he was the perfect match for Charlotte. They both were kind and gentle souls.

“Isn’t this exciting (Y/N)?” Charlotte squealed, waking you from your nap.

“Hm?” You opened your sleepy eyes to look at a blur of what most likely was your friend. “Oh of course.” You yawned, giving yourself a minute to adjust your eyes and mind to reality. “Technically you’re the one who begged me to accept the invitation for performing here and practically dragged me along.” You smirked.

“Oh admit it. I saw your face light up when you received that invitation. Anyways, isn’t this a wonderful little adventure for us? You’ve told me how much you liked to travel.”

“Well I wouldn’t quite call a civil war a wonderful little adventure.” You snarked lightheartedly, letting out a scoff before starting to dwell upon what sort of mess you’ve just gotten into.

“My god woman.” Ernest chuckled playfully, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading, his glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose as he glanced at Charlotte. “Can’t you see (Y/N) was asleep?”

“Well I....I’m merely excited my love.”

“Merely?” He raised a brow.

“Oh you’re being harsh on her Ernest.” You joked along, smiling to yourself as the lovers started to lightly quarrel.

You stared out the window again, watching the scenery blur past. You have seen many lands in your time, how they have changed over the course of years, how some have come and vanished to dust. You have seen kings rise and fall. But you haven’t been here, to America. This was all foreign to you.

The train finally came to a stop at the train station and you quickly grabbed your things, desperate to get out and stretch your legs. You hastily threw on your matching bonnet, not caring that it sat crooked on your head. You rushed towards the door and hitched up your skirt, struggling with the petticoat and making sure not to go past the ankles of your boots and expose your stockings or else Charlotte would have a heart attack. You grabbed the handle and stepped down from the train and onto the wooden platform as Charlotte and Ernest followed suit.

Right when you stepped out you could feel the hot and thick damp air surround you, and you couldn’t help but bring out your fan and fan yourself vicariously.

“My goodness it’s muggy. It’s like the devil’s bollocks out here.” You breathed out.

“(Y/N)!” Charlotte exclaimed, smacking you gently with her fan. “Mind your manners!”

“Sorry.”

“You forgot your parasol by the way.”

“Oh. Right.” You took your parasol from her hands and opened it up, putting your fan away. “Wouldn’t want to forget my complexion guardian.”

You were so used to London weather, now you had to get used to this, and your corset was not helping either.

“Would you look at that Charlotte. The sun.” You made a point to her, only making her shake her head.

Once you were all settled and had your things you all headed to the nearest bed and breakfast and checked into your rooms. You and Charlotte shared one while Ernest had his own. You had just set your belongings inside before Charlotte decided now would be a good time to go to the local tea house, despite your slight dismay as you would much rather be taking a nap. You were sitting out on the tables in front of the local tea house, your head propped up by your hand and a cup of tea in your other, while chatting with Charlotte as you watched the local people pass by.

“My goodness. This heat, it’s nearly disgusting.” Charlotte fanned herself as she wiped her forehead.

“I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had. I might as well be stripping myself bare to the bone.” You added, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I told you to wear a crinoline.”

“What? Those ghastly looking cages for your legs? Never.”

You stared off into the distance in a sort of dazed state, thinking about your comfortable bed back home, and your collection of books you left behind. You were also starting to miss your mother, wishing you were in Scotland watching the waves with her, before noticing that Charlotte had gone awfully quiet.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked her, seeing her stare at something behind you. “Charlotte?”

“My my, I think you have an admirer.” She giggled, her youthful face lit up with giddiness as she tried to contain her laughter.

“What on earth are you babbling about?” You turned to follow her gaze and saw a tall stranger wearing a military uniform staring in your direction. You straightened up in your chair, your face firm as you started to feel yourself get anxious. You were silently hoping he wouldn’t come over to your table to strike up a conversation.

“Oh! He’s a rather fine looking gentleman I must say. Annnd he’s an officer.” Charlotte was now leaning in to whisper noticeably in your ear. You can practically hear her next you, trying so hard to contain her giggles.

“You’ve gone daft Charlotte. He’s obviously fancying you. You’re the pretty one.” You turned back around, completely disinterested.

“I think not! You know I’m engaged!”

“And how would he know that detail? Hm? A man who sees a pretty woman without any knowledge as to who she is, is most likely to approach her, without any assumption as to whether she is engaged or not. To which he’ll find out sooner or later I must add.” You ran on before taking a sip of your tea.

“Oh come now (Y/N). You know I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be a little too excited upon seeing other men. I don’t hear you speak of Ernest as such, as I might recall, a rather fine looking gentleman.”

“You know I love my dear Ernest more than anything. I’m just trying to find you a suitor.”

“I honestly wish you wouldn’t.” You sighed inaudibly. “What I’m trying to say is, that gentleman over there does not know that. So just.....oh bloody hell. I don’t know. Just be prepared to decline his advances towards you.”

“You lack faith my dear.” She gave you a pitiful look before looking behind you once more. “Oh look! He’s coming this way!”

“He’s what?! Charlotte!” You hiss as you lightly slap your hands down on the table as to not draw attention. “Don’t just invite him over.”

“Ladies.” You heard the man now standing beside you as he took off his hat and lowered his head in a polite greeting.

You had gotten so nervous in the mere matter of a minute that you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out the next word that slipped your tongue. “Fuck.”

There was a brief silence as Charlotte and the stranger stared at you in utter disbelief at what a proper lady like you had just uttered. A few others who sat at the other tables near you in earshot stared at you in displeasure before looking away.

Oh just wonderful. You wanted the world to eat you alive right there so you could escape their peers.

You locked eyes with the officer for a brief moment before turning away and fixing your gaze on something else, doing your best to seem preoccupied. You wished you brought your book with you so you could bury your face in it.

Charlotte let out an uneasy laugh befor turning to the man. “Well hello officer! I’m Charlotte Griffiths.” You caught your friend extending her gloved hand out to him, to which he kissed lightly.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You heard him say in this thick southern accent you were definitely not accustomed to.

“This young lady here is my dear friend (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Charlotte. Stop this instance.” You leaned closer to her only for her to hear.

You were starting to feel embarrassed more than anything.

“Ma’am.” He now turned to you, to which you gave a short reply without making any eye contact.

“Good day.”

“You know (Y/N) here has come to preform for the opera tomorrow night. You should come!”

Charlotte you did not just.

You sat there with your arms folded and glared at her. She loved getting you into these predicaments, innocently enough. If only she knew how much it bothered you.

“Really?” He turned to you now, smiling. “I thought I heard that name somewhere.”

“Oh, well she’s only one of the best sopranos in England.”

“Ehem. Charlotte that’s quite enough. Thank you.”

You almost felt ridiculed at the moment as you felt the stares of everyone around you weighing in on you. And then that sensation started to creep on you. The same one you felt when you were a child. You glanced around, seeing and hearing the blood flowing through everyone’s veins and their hearts beating in their chests, glowing like a red ruby. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the bridge of your nose, silently muttering to yourself and remembering the meditation your mother taught you. Earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. You glanced up from underneath your bonnet as the sensation died down and you could finally hear Charlotte calling out your name.

“(Y/N). Are you alright?” Charlotte was reaching out a hand to clasp your gloved one, gently shaking them.

“I’m fine.” You breathed out while rubbing your temple. “It’s just a migraine.”

“Do you need anything for it?” Charlotte questioned you.

“No. God no. I don’t need any of that poison.” You got up from your seat and dusted yourself off before grabbing your parasol. “I’m going to head back to the inn if you don’t mind Charlotte.”

“Do you want me to walk you back?” The officer asked you, his voice laced with concern as he took a step towards you.

You took a step back away from him in response, still avoiding his eyes. “No. I’m quite alright. I’m pretty sure I can walk back to the inn without any assistance thank you.”

“Good day.” You nodded your head at him before turning away and heading back to the inn.

The officer was the most surprised at this situation if anything. He never received this sort of reaction before. Growing up, he always appeared to have a way with words and an influence over people, they always seemed to like him. His father called it charisma. And yet here you were, this woman he had barely just met, and you didn’t have the slightest sway from him. He was a bit perplexed at this, since he was now the one that was drawn to you.

You on the other hand, you found him to be rather bold. This had happened plenty of times before. Charlotte would bring over someone to introduce to you and it always ended up with you turning them down since everyone of them had been a cocky arrogant arshehole. But the one thing you didn’t want to admit to yourself was you were scared of falling in love. The last time you did, it didn’t end well. Ever since then, you tried to keep your distance and your emotions locked up. After all those years of isolation, you eventually led yourself to believe your curse made you incapable of love.

Tag List: @smileygirl08 @peachyevergreen @Lustdere @moonlights27 @krazykatkay456 @buckysjuicyplums @oi-itsemily @ahahanofanks @iberandom @bittergomez @holyhumorliteraturelight @bells3333 @ashdab2611 @toomanybandstocare @twilight-kpop @cricketlicket @5sosfanforever2001 @justine-en @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @shakespeareanbooty @pancake-pages @elisemurphy06 @ineffabledears @bella-stenbakken @seraphpheonix @trickylittlewitch @twilightrox @hobodolly @big-galaxy-chaos @mega-ultra-so-awesome-it-hurts @mikariell95 @decaffeinated--fangirl @lovestomanyfandoms @fairyunhappy @chaoticsimptown @leelee-ishman @hanster1998 @coricosplays @secretpickleprofessordean @itsbqueenthings @theweasleythatgotintoslytherin @corpseism

[haliyam]

interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk. 

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter. 

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight. 

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try. 

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice. 

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward. 

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.” 

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now. 

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

 Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.” 

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…” 

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway. 

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.” 

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile. 

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable. 

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.” 

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm. 

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light. 

--

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them. 

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty. 

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs. 

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?” 

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?” 

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work. 

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush. 

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

--

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker. 

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!” 

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

--

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room. 

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.” 

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin. 

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!” 

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward. 

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke. 

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved. 

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...” 

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?” 

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

--

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were. 

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.  

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen. 

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did. 

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead. 

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up. 

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it. 

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.” 

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it. 

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

[coeurdastronaute]

The Story, Ch. 2

Previously on The Story

June was hot, thick with stagnant heat that refused to rustle or move the tiniest branch of a tree nor leaf on a stem. Hotter than any other summer that she could remember, Jamie toiled daily on her garden and the grounds, lugging water to and fro, nurturing the seedlings in the greenhouse, fretting over the last bits of her bountiful spring bloom and hoping to survive until the first cooling summer storm. It was tough work, all-encompassing work, and she’d learned a little late in her life, how important it was to keep busy. 

Never one to understand or listen to the story beneath the sound, Jamie missed the subtle changes that had undertaken the manor. Too preoccupied and exhausted from her battle with the sun and the dirt and the grounds itself, she hadn’t given another thought to how often her glances looked back toward the house, nor did she think twice about how she migrated around her duties, following the laughter of the children closer than ever before. Unaware of so much of her movements, her head stuck in the dirt and her hands tangled in the safety of the roots, Jamie was somewhat aware of the fact that she had not spoken, at least not directly or alone, with the au pair since their very first conversation. That was done with such purpose that she spent a large portion of the day willing it to both happen and un-happen. 

But things changed in their sullen existence. Homemade decorations littered the stairs and railings while entire science experiments meant trousers rolled up to ankles and wading in the fountain. The curriculum changed with the feeling of the day, and when school was over, the children were happy to take to learning the finer points of housework, turned into games by the crafty au pair who understood how important such things were. Slowly, the gravity fo the grounds shifted from the chaotic mess left behind with such glaring absences. 

Like all features at Bly, Jamie knew that the au pair was a novelty and would soon become not unlike the furniture or the statues. She would become innate to the property, just as Owen and Hannah and herself had, she would be usual and familiar and it would pass, Jamie promised herself, unpracticed in physics as she was.  

But the addition of the au pair had changed the manor, and in part, had changed many of those left within its universe. Where before there was cold and silence in the absence of the parents of the orphaned children, now nights brimmed with laughter and games, where plays were acted out by the entire cast, and learning was hands on, often out of the classroom and with the help of the rest of the staff. There was this community that popped up, a kinship among those who remained, all loosely tied together by the newest addition. 

It was all so sorely needed after the last au pair and the exceeding tragedy that plagued the beautiful land. 

It was hard not to want to be part of the liveliness of the manor now. Jamie found herself peaking over hedges to find the au pair reading books as the children drifted and lazed in the grass, and she too, listened to the words and gentle voice, her trimming slowing as a result. And clearly the children were taken with Dani, with Flora becoming much like a shadow, following her about, weaving her dolls and flowers for her hair. Miles became less despondent, though not enough for the au pair’s opinion. Still prone to their bouts of melancholy, it felt as if they returned to being children again sometimes. 

Unlike before, Jamie didn’t leave without stopping into the house to see if she might get accidently pulled into an adventure. Before, she would leave without much more than a honk or a wave. But the heat made her shoes stick to the grounds that much more despite the growing exhaustion. 

There was something about staying that made Jamie uneasy. It wasn’t in her composition to remain and attach. 

“It has to break soon,” Jamie sighed to herself as she pressed a sweating glass against her neck. The chill lasted a moment and that was all, gone in an instant. 

“I’ve got ever window open in the house and there hasn’t been so much as a breeze in a week,” Hannah shook her head and continued the slow, gentle fanning of herself. 

The ice adjusted, breaking apart and clinking in a glass. 

“There’s not much more I can do to save the lawn on the south side. It’s getting burnt. It’ll take ages for it to bounce back if we that rain doesn’t hurry.” 

“But the produce has been otherworldly,” Owen offered happily. “What you’ve been harvesting has blown my mind. I haven’t seen such bounty. At least I could never manage it.” 

“I don’t know if it’s saying much then if that’s the comparison.” 

“Laugh at my expense, but it’s true. I’ll gladly trade the lawn for those carrots.” 

“What about you, Hannah, eh? An afternoon of rain or larger heads of cauliflower?” 

“I get more than enough veg, thank you. Owen, you’re looney if you think a breeze isn’t worth every pea in her garden.” 

“I never claimed to be any different,” he grinned before taking a sip of his drink. 

The patio hummed with the crickets and heat so that even their words were too much hot air, and perhaps unwelcomed in the perfect summer evening. It was late, well after sundown, and yet the employees earned a certain run of the place as their own home after dark, when the semblance of adults could be disbanded. 

The two prattled back and forth, much to Jamie’s amusement. The absurdity of how blind they both were, or perhaps Hannah’s staunch refusal for no reason at all didn’t much make sense to the gardener. It wouldn’t be right for someone like Hannah to refuse happiness-- someone who deserved it so completely. Jamie couldn’t understand that choice. 

“There she is, welcome, welcome,” Owen greeted the au pair as she made her way onto the patio. 

The light from inside glowed against her, and Jamie could see the sweat on her neck and the wet ends of her hair that escaped an incredibly high and incredibly tight pony tail. She smiled into her drink at just the thought of it. 

“Still having trouble getting to sleep are they?” Hannah asked as Dani took a seat at the small table of friends. “The heat isn’t kind to them.” 

“Thank you,” she nodded and took a heavy gulp before she winced at the alcohol content she hadn’t been expecting. “They are just so uncomfortable. I don’t even know what to do.” 

“Put them outside,” Jamie offered before three faced turned towards hers. “What? You’ve never slept outside before?” 

Two of the three shook their heads, while Owen perked up excitedly.

“We’ll sort them out tomorrow, don’t worry, Poppins.” 

“I’m willing to try anything at this point. You should have seen Miles’ face when I told him to just sleep in his underwear.”

There was laughter among the group, and across the table, Jamie watched the au pair more curiously than she ever had before. In the faint glow of the evening, she shamelessly stared, observing the interactions, slunk back in her chair and disinterested with much else. 

There’s always been a distance to them that the few feet that separated them now seemed too little, and such an easy stretch to cross. The gardener had seen the au pair in the yard with the children, running and climbing and playing in the sun, her blonde hair whipping around in a swirl as she moved quickly. The gardener had seen the au pair on the terrace, reading in the shade in those damned shorts and her pale skin practically glowing. They shared meals together, but always at polar ends, directly missing each other.

But never had the gardener so unabashedly stared at the newest addition to the trio, or rather the finishing piece of their quartet. She chalked it up to curiosity, because never before had she been so close to an American with a smile like that, or rather, never before had she been close to a smile like that or an American. 

Even when Dani met her glance, Jamie didn’t look away, but rather wondered more about the stranger before her. 

“I thought I was escaping the heat,” Dani shook her head as the company drew toward the end of their drinks. “This is worse than I could have imagined.” 

“It’ll break soon,” Jamie repeated with a bit more assurance. 

“You can’t listen to Jamie’s superstitions,” Hannah shook her head. “She thinks her flowers whisper to her.” 

“That sounds a bit mental. I’d never say that. But it is going to break. You can feel it.” 

“I never would have thought to accuse you of reckless hope,” Owen teased. 

“And you never should,” Jamie said as she stood, finishing her drink. “But the trees are dry and the creeks are hard. It’ll break because it always does.” 

“Got a timeline on that?” Dani asked, looking up at the body in the dark. 

“Sadly, I don’t,” she sighed. “But I believe in the rain.” 

As Hannah and Owen debated the weather and belief, the gardener smiled at Dani and nodded her good night. 

“I’ll see you lot tomorrow. I reckon it might be time for a camp out.” 

Dani smiled, cradling the glass to her neck and cheek. Jamie didn’t look away. The worst of it was, she hadn’t seemed to decide on anything at all. Her mouth just moved and now she was stuck. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“It doesn’t seem safe,” Miles complained as he helped lug an armful of bedding. 

“It’s perfectly safe. It’s not like you have to worry about anyone walking around the property,” Dani promised. “It’s just like being at a campground or in the middle of the woods, except much closer to the bathroom.” 

“We’ve never been properly camping before,” Flora announced. “We did sleep in the living room a few times, and tell stories, and drank cocoa.” 

“Well camping is supposed to be fun.” 

“Supposed to be?” 

“I’ve never gone either,” she shrugged, wiping the sweat from her brow. “But I’ll do anything to avoid the heat.” 

“It’s the same temperature outside as inside,” the little boy reminded the group as he tossed his pillow down on one of the carefully placed bedrolls, foraged from the deepest recesses of the garage attic. 

“It’ll chill come evening,” the au pair promised. “I never thought you’d be afraid of a little adventure.” 

“I don’t mind adventure, but I mind the mosquitos.” 

“We’ll take care of that, don’t worry.”

“It’s absolutely splendid, isn’t it, Ms. Clayton?” Flora brimmed as she spun around the camp on the back lawn.

With a surprising show inf ingenuity, it was true that the gardener with help from the chef, had transformed a spot beneath the hornbeam trees into a safari. The fire was already crackling to life as the children finished their last load of blankets, the beds were pallets and the chairs were from the patio, but the true gift was the open-faced tent, hung between a few branches of the wide tree so that the open wall faced the fire and the house. 

“It’s better than I could have imagined,” Dani agreed, smiling as she surveyed the set up until she found the person responsible and softened. “It looks amazing.” 

When Jamie made the suggestion, the au pair hadn’t really considered it happening, but when she showed up the following day ready to do it, enlisting Owen and even Hannah in some ways, Dani didn’t think twice about joining the event. 

“Just a bit of ingenuity and fierce, god-like strength,” Jamie winked, flexing a bit before grinning. “And Owen.” 

“It’s nothing,” the chef promised as he checked the sturdiness of his work. “I was a Scout Explorer. Fifteen years worth of survival and outdoor training with a healthy dose of community service.”

“And what was your reason for being so outdoorsy?” Dani turned to Jamie as she teased Miles’ shoulder, making him look. 

“Oh, I was raised by wolves,” Jamie explained, quite seriously, earning a look from the smallest of the party. “True story. Walked on all fours until I was older than you, Flora. Used to be able to talk to them, but it’s been so long.” 

“That didn’t happen,” Miles shook his head. 

“If you ever run into a pack of wolves, just say you know me.” 

He rolled his eyes but thought it over to himself as Dani accepted a drink from Hannah and took a seat, the hard work of setting up complete and the night working its way to them. 

It might have been psychological, or it might have been the fire, but the evening did seem to get cooler. It wasn’t a blustery winter by any means, but it felt tenable for the first time in too many days. 

For Dani, the best kind of moments were when the children were just that, giggly and smiling, living loudly and with exteriority. When Miles would flash a smile, absolutely smitten with everything Owen was telling him about knots and pocket knives and his own adventures in the woods as a boy. When Flora would lean against the side of the au pair’s leg and pat her knee excitedly as she had to get close to speak so quickly about how important it was to not burn the marshmallows. She could love them better, she believed. It didn’t seem an impossible task sometimes. 

For a second, she also lost herself in the magic of the evening. As Flora and Miles chased lightning bugs through the field, exhausting themselves after dinner, and Dani found herself in the company of who were quickly becoming what she might refer to as friends. The three caretakers of the manor and its inhabitants, slightly more willing to stay later for a moment like this as well. 

Three s’mores and four stories later, the late hour did it’s best to win out over the young campers. Huddled around the fire, they covered up and listened attentively as the gardener wove a wild story. Dani sat across, her legs stretched out and feet near the fire while Hannah held a bottle tightly beside her before carefully re-filling their cups. 

“I almost hate to admit what a good idea this is,” Hannah chuckled before re-corking their bottle as she sat it on the ground. “But they certainly are enjoying themselves.”

“It means a lot to them, for you all to be here and so interested. They don’t know it yet, but they will one day,” Dani nodded, looking over the flickering flames as Miles adjusted, pulling up the blanket, completely engrossed in the story. 

“I couldn’t be anywhere else. I’ve been with this family for… goodness, it’s been my whole life it seems.” 

“Still, you chose to stay. That means something.” 

“I’m not sure what, exactly,” the housekeeper sighed. 

“Love. Loyalty.” 

Dani watched a small smile creep into Hannah’s cheeks as she stared at the gardener, but didn’t hear a thing, so deep in thought was the housekeeper suddenly that she disappeared, or so it seemed. 

Jamie kept talking though, her story winding its way this way and that, hoping to be long enough to tire out the children. Her voice was growing lower to persuade them, and in just a few minutes, Flora fell asleep, her cheek pressed against the gardener’s chest, a blanket wrapped over them both. Dani wasn’t sure when she began to smile at the scene, only that she was and Hannah watched her take a drink to hide it. 

“The night we found out about the Wingraves, she spent the entire evening playing with them. When I got the call, I didn’t know how to say it, so we waited for their uncle to come tell them, and I remember Jamie watching them run up and down the stairs, playing some made up game that we couldn’t understand. And she was the one who made us wait. Let them be kids who have parents for just another hour, she told me. Another hour.”

Miles stretched slightly, his arm dipping until his head was on the pillow. 

“I’m sorry for the loss,” Dani offered as Hannah looked away from a sleeping Flora. 

“They’re adapting. Somehow.” 

“You all are helping, you know that, don’t you?” 

“Sometimes I’m not sure, but then I look at that,” Hannah nudged her chin at the sleeping children, at Jamie not bothering to move Flora, but holding her tight. “And I know that even in the most inopportune environment, even something kind and loyal and loving can emerge, whether they know it or not.” 

“What happened?” 

“She ended up here somehow,” she sighed and took another drink before standing. “Let me help you, dear. Don’t want to wake her after finally getting her to sleep.” 

Dani didn’t move as she watched the careful task of detaching Flora and tucking her in safely, all in hopes of not having to tell another story to put her back to sleep. The au pair watched Jamie’s movements with a keener eye. She traced the outline of her jaw and cheeks, saw neck and clavicle when the flannel she’d brought slipped down a shoulder with the movements, as if something, some tick, could explain everything that seemed to be an impenetrable fort. 

“And with that, I’ve had enough nature,” Hannah decided. “I’m going inside to my bed.”

“Booooo,” the other adults teased. 

“I’m too old for sleeping in the dirt, and so are you lot. We’ll see who is in better shape in the morning.” 

“I’ll, uh,” Owen stood, patting off his pants. “I’ll walk  you in. Grab some more water for us.” 

“I know the way.” 

“Good, you can help me find the kitchen.” 

With a wave, they moved back toward the house, their lanterns swinging as they reached the door. Across from her, Jamie took to a chair, electing to stretch after sitting on the hard ground and beneath another human, tiny as she was, for so long. 

“I swear my arse went flat sitting there all night,” she mumbled, picking up the bottle Hannah had left behind. “Gardener by day, lawn chair by night.”

“I don’t think I’m as good with flowers as you are with them.” 

“No worries about me pilfering your job, Poppins. I find them exhausting and they are quite taken with you.” 

There was a fondness hidden beneath the feigned annoyance as Jamie surveyed their sleeping forms, resting comfortably with the fire flickering light into the tent. 

“They like you.” 

“What’s not to like? I’m quite a stirring specimen. And I make a damn fine s’more.” 

Dani couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she stood and meandered toward a chair, the stiffness that Hannah warned about nestling into her joints until she was certain she’d be locked in the seated position forever. 

“You’re not going to abandon me out here with them are you?” 

To her credit, Jamie considered it before tossing a lopsided smile toward the au pair who joined her. 

“It was my idea to sleep outside, wasn’t it? Can’t miss this. Plus,” she paused to finish her glass of whiskey. “I’ve been drinking. Not too safe to drive.” 

“I feel like I should thank you again for all of this. It’s… it’s amazing.” 

The stars were bright, unburdened with any rules of order, scattered throughout to the horizon and tree tops. The fire glowed but did not dim them at all, merely enhanced by attempting to add its own embers into the heavens, offering the sacrifice for permanent consideration, though none made it that far. 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t doing anything else. I’ve had worse nights than a campfire and half-decent company.” 

“I’ll take half-decent.” 

“Oh, yeah… uh, I was talking about them,” Jame furrowed as she looked toward the sleeping children. “Juries still out on you.” 

“I’ve been known to be a good time,” Dani promised. 

Despite the teasing, Jame tilted her chin to appraise the au pair in the firelight, as if trying to discern if the statement was actually true. She cocked her head to the side as Dani readjusted, becoming oddly self-conscious of the look. A little nervous, she sipped her drink and winced against the burn. 

“I might be inclined to believe you, except you ended up here, same as us, and I’m not sure anyone here knows how to be a good time.” 

“I don’t know. You put all of this together.”

“A rare flash of brilliance,” Jamie shrugged. “We’ve been dying to know what brought you here, you know?”

“I’m that interesting?” 

“New, maybe. Interesting is to be determined.” 

Dani smiled into her cup, her body constricting tightly into itself as she was forced to think about things she’d hoped to forget. 

“But you don’t have to share,” Jamie added quickly, feeling the shift in the mood of the night. It was far too lovely out and the au pair was far too pretty sitting there, politely looking for a way out. “Doesn’t matter how, just that you got here. In my experience, it’s a bit of ill-fate that brings anyone here. Hannah and the cheating husband. Owen and the sick mother.”

“You, and the love of plants?” 

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Me and my curse for growing things.”

Jame ran her thumb along her cup before turning back to the au pair beside her. She wasn’t fond, suddenly, of upsetting her, and she didn’t want the conversation to end because unlike most others, she was incredibly invested in simply hearing Dani’s voice.  

“And me,” Dani decided, stiffening her spine a little with a deep breath, “Running away from everything back home because I just…” she looked at Jamie, willing her to understand how cowardly and weak she felt. “Couldn’t handle the pain anymore.” 

Her glance was strong, was inquisitive and kind, and Dani looked away from the warmth it offered. 

“You don’t have to run anymore. And you don’t have to have anymore pain.” 

It was an oddly comforting option and perhaps promise, Dani realized, one that she knew Jamie was in no place to give, but still she did, and for the first time, despite all of the people at the funeral and the hospital and in her life who let her off the hook, or at least thought they did, she felt as if she might be able to finally do it. 

Jamie’s hand was warm in her knee where it gave a squeeze, but did not let go, resting there as the gardener moved her head, twisting to be in the au pair’s view. Dani looked at her and couldn’t help but smile slightly. 

“I know you’re not alright. That’s okay, too. You don’t have to be yet.” 

Simultaneously, the weight grew and shrunk on her chest, but Dani relaxed at the feeling of it all. 

“I’m around, you know? Not really the best at talking, but I’ve got ears that occasionally work.” Dani couldn’t help but chuckle. “There it is, Poppins. No sense in having a pretty girl upset. It’s probably the greatest sin around.” 

“The greatest?” she scoffed, clearing her throat as the hand on her knee was retracted. 

“I haven’t been to church in a while,” Jamie confessed. 

“I couldn’t tell.”

“That’s what happens when you’re raised by wolves.” 

Once again, she filled up the cups, and Dani felt the gardener relax slightly beside her. She found herself envious of the apparent ease with which she moved through life. 

“I almost believe you.” 

There was another grin, lopsided and knowing. It was oddly frustrating, to feel so bare and understood by someone who was unreadable, but Dani challenged her before taking a drink. 

“Wolves don’t have to howl in the night and live in the forests or have fangs and claws.” Jamie paused and swirled around her drink. She looked up to see the lantern of their third returning. “Sometimes they wear suits and work at the bank or a department store, and they find a weakling and they do what wolves do. Suit or fangs, there isn’t much difference. I was raised by wolves.”

Dani didn’t register Owen’s return. She looked at Jamie who refused to look at her, but rather smiled as the chef sat down, prepared to tease him incredibly for his display with the housekeeper. But the au pair was struck with the first thickly veiled, but honest moment she might have ever had with the stranger beside her. She wanted more. She wanted to press and learn what it all meant, not the story, not the tale of it, the fiction and flowers and metaphors. But she found it was enough for the moment. 

“I found out why Poppins is at the Manor,” Jamie announced proudly as she tossed Owen the bottle. “She robbed a bunch of banks.” 

“I think she might be pulling your leg,” he shook his head. “Doesn’t seem the type to care about money.” 

“She did it for the thrill. She’s mad. Hide the silver.” 

“Don’t tell people that,” Dani scolded, hitting Jamie’s arm. “I’m just a teacher.” 

“A notoriously underpaid lot. She definitely did it for the money. Owed huge gambling debts. I don’t know what to tell you, Owen,” Jamie shrugged. “That’s the truth.” 

“Please don’t believe her.” 

“I hardly ever do,” he promised. 

NEXT

[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.”

[agwitow]

P&P + Zombies (pt 2)

Read Part 1 Here

Leaning toward “Zombie Impressions” for an official title--though I’m using the term ‘ghoul’ instead of ‘zombie’ within the story itself. “Ghoul Impressions” doesn’t sound as nice though... maybe “Dead Impressions”???

****

In seeking a distraction from Lydia and Kitty’s incessant suppositions about the newly arrived Mr. Bingley, Lizzy slipped into Mr. Bennet’s office, only to find it empty of any other person. Confused, but only a little worried, she left in search of Jane to ask:

“Is Father still abed?”

“Not at all,” Jane replied. “I saw him and Mother walking together outside.”

Appeased—for if he were taking a short walk then this was one of his better days—Lizzy decided she could simply ignore her youngest sisters while she trimmed a hat. It was much later in the day when the sound of a carriage drew the attention of those Bennet girls who were in the drawing room.

“Who could that be?” Lydia asked, rushing to the window. “Oh! It’s Father! He must have been visiting Mr. Bingley!”

Lizzy dropped her hat and rushed to windows. Sure enough, Mr. Bennet was slowly climbing down from their carriage. The sallowness of his skin and trembling of his limbs were signs of how tiring the excursion had been for him, but he still held his head high as he came in to the house.

He had barely removed his hat before Lydia and Kitty were asking him questions. He waved them off with a strained chuckle and declared, “Let me catch my breath a moment. Perhaps fetch your Mother and other sisters.”

Though neither girl wanted to do any such thing, they knew they were unlikely to get answers to the questions that had been burning in them all day until they had. So with more speed than their dragging heels might have preferred, they gathered up the rest of the family to the drawing room.

Lizzy fussed over Mr. Bennet as soon as he had taken his usual—though long empty—seat. Fetching a footstool, draping a blanket over his lap, and finding the plumpest of pillows behind his back.

He shook his head with a smile. “Lizzy, my dear, you need not fuss so much.”

“Your trip took much out of you.”

“It did,” he agreed. “But the number of pillows you surround me with will not change that. What’s done is done.”

“Why did you go? Surely we could have waited to be introduced at the next ball.”

“Ah, but that would have vexed your Mother greatly.”

She frowned. “Let her be vexed. It’s not her health at risk.”

He clasped her hand in his, giving it a little pat. “It only tired me, my dear. I will recover.”

Lizzy wanted to say more, but they were joined by Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the girls. They all settled into their seats and waited for Mr. Bennet’s news. No matter how tired he was, he could not but help smile indulgently at the women of his family.

“Though I have become quite settled in my ways, your doting Mother convinced me to make a new acquaintance on behalf of you girls. I must say, I was not overly impressed by the manners of Mr. Hurst.”

“Mr. Hurst? Who is that?” Lydia exclaimed.

“Why, the gentleman I was to meet, was it not?”

Mrs. Bennet made a choking sound and crossed her arms to glare at Mr. Bennet. “So Mr. Bingley is still lost to us.”

Jane was quick to put in, “You forget, mamma, that we shall be able to meet him at the assemblies. Did not Mrs. Long promise to introduce him for us?”

She sniffed. “I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing, no matter her promises. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.”

“No more have I,” said Mr. Bennet. “And I am glad to find you do not depend on her serving you.”

She opened her mouth to make some sort of retort when Kitty began to cough. Her ire quickly turned toward her daughter. “How can you be coughing so, Kitty? You hardly stir out of the house except to go to tea and buy ribbons! You cannot have gotten sick from so little.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement, mamma,” Kitty replied fretfully. “One of Miss Kingsley’s visiting relatives had a cough of his own. I must have got it from him.”

“Then no more outings until you are recovered.”

“But mamma! Lydia and I have been invited back for tea this very afternoon!”

Mrs. Bennet’s frown dipped towards a scowl. “It will not do for you to pass the cough on to anyone else. What would the neighbours think? One of my own daughters spreading an illness so carelessly! No. You will stay in.”

“I will tell you all about it,” Lydia said brightly.

“You will not. You are not going, either.”

“What! Mamma! Kitty is the one sick, not I!”

Mrs. Bennet’s frown softened, but she still shook her head. “Lydia, my love, Miss Kingsley should not have invited anyone to visit while her relative has a cough. It is very ill-bred of her.”

“It’s only a cough,” Lydia whined. “It’s not as if he were biting people!”

Jane gave a little gasp, then quickly dropped her eyes to keep anyone from reading the worries about Mr. Bennet’s condition in them. She hardly need have bothered, for all other eyes were focused on Lydia and Mrs. Bennet’s argument.

“He may have only coughed last time, but who’s to say it won’t be more this time?” Mrs. Bennet said, her tone shifting into something resembling reasonableness. Lydia was, after all, her favourite. “Every apothecary and surgeon declares a different set of symptoms to watch for. They have no real answer as to where it comes from, or how it is caught.”

“It was damp on their journey here,” Lydia protested. “That is where his cough comes from. We are only at risk of being overlooked for future engagements.”

“If it is a simple cough, as you say, then Kitty will be better in a few days. Then you may both go to whichever teas you wish.”

Lydia pouted, but she knew none of her sisters or Father would come to her defence. In such situations it was usually her Mother she would appeal to. Rarely were her whims curbed by her Mother, but on those occasions when it happened, there was little point in dragging out the argument.

Once silence had fallen again, Mr. Bennet offered, “Well, my dear Mrs. Bennet, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her.”

“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, when I am not acquainted with him myself. How can you be so teasing?”

“Ah, my dear, you are the spirit of modesty. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of such a short period. But if we do not venture, somebody else will. After all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance, and, therefore, she will think it an act of kindness. If you decline, I will have to take it on myself.”

“What nonsense is this?” Mrs. Bennet asked, wringing the edge of her apron as her mind tried to unravel the mystery that was her husband.

“And who is Mr. Hurst?” Mary put in.

“Ah, I suppose I should have been more specific—I made the acquaintance of two gentlemen and the ladies accompanying them.”

“What? What is the meaning of this? Mrs. Bennet cried.

“Mr. Bingley is a very amiable young man, though his brother, Mr. Hurst, was not nearly as polite. Of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, I have little to report beyond that they look very much like their brother.”

For a moment, silence weighed heavily on the drawing room before Lydia and Kitty let out loud whoops and began to dance about the room. Mr. Bennet watched their exuberance with a contented smile until the day’s efforts began to bring about the pain is his joints and increase his fatigue so that only the noise of their merrymaking was keeping him awake.

Jane and Lizzy were quick to notice his decline and silently drew Mrs. Bennet’s attention to it. She nodded once, then turned to the three youngest and declared:

“A fortnight is not much time to make any changes you might want to employ for the ball. Let us see what we have to work with.”

Both Lydia and Kitty were quite happy to leave off their dancing and go upstairs to pour over dresses and ribbons and shoes. It took a bit more cajoling to get Mary to go along.

“Why are Lizzy and Jane not coming with?” Mary groused.

“They are the eldest of you all, and so have more to choose from. It will not take them as long to prepare their wardrobe.”

Once they had all left, Lizzy and Jane helped their Father out of his chair and to his office, where he might be able to rest without interruption. He murmured his thanks before falling asleep. Jane opened a window a little to entice a breeze into freshening the room while Lizzy wrapped a blanket around him to keep any chills away.

In the hall, Jane turned to her sister and whispered, “Did you feel how warm his brow was?”

“Too warm,” Lizzy agreed. “And his hands were too cold.”

For the first time since they had been told the truth of his declining health, Jane could no longer believe he might improve. “How long do you think he will… will remain?”

“Days? Weeks? Months more?” Lizzy shook her head and sighed. “I cannot even make a guess. But what are we to do when it happens? What if he rises?”

Jane shivered. “Let us pray he does not. No young man would take to wife a daughter of a ghoul.”

#

Mrs. Bennet made herself busy attending to every little whim of her youngest girls for the rest of the day. It did not deter Elizabeth from simply waiting until the others had turned in for the night. Jane suspected what Lizzy wanted to discuss with their Mother, but was too gentle to be able to make an argument for either side. So she bid her sister goodnight before retreating up to the room they shared alone.

“Oh! Lizzy! You mustn’t lurk like that! You nearly gave me such a fright,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.

“You certainly gave me a fright earlier today when you sent Father out. By himself.”

She tutted away the worry. “He is a doting father, you know. Ill or not, making acquaintances at our time of life is not pleasant. But we would both do that and much more for you girls.”

“And what if something had happened while he was out?”

“Nothing did.”

“This time.”

Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth glared at each other, each completely sure that they were in the right.

“If he’d died on the way and come out of the carriage as a ghoul at Netherfield, do you really think there would be much point in having ‘made their acquaintance?’” Lizzy asked.

“Pish. If he’d died, they would have simply found a corpse.”

She blew out a relief breath. “So he is free of the walking virus.”

Mrs. Bennet shifted and would not meet her eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Does he, or does he not, have the virus?”

Mrs. Bennet stared at Lizzie for a long, silent moment. She gave her head a shake. “You are always asking questions and wanting to know more than you need. But I can see you’ll let me have no rest if I do not tell you more. Give me a moment to change, then we can go to the kitchen and enjoy a bit of tea while we talk.”

For a moment, Lizzy started to protest, but then she realized what her Mother had said. She nodded and headed down to the kitchen immediately. She wouldn’t wake Jane twice by changing and leaving, only to come back later. So while she waited, she fed the embers in the oven until there was enough of a little fire to warm the kettle.

By the time Mrs. Bennet made her way to the kitchen, the tea was ready and poured. Lizzy had put two spoons of sugar and just a splash of cream into the cup for her Mother. For her own, she’d only used half a spoon, a bit more cream, and a crushed clove.

“I know you think I should have brought in an apothecary or doctor to tend to your Father,” she said after taking only a single sip. “And I did, the first time.”

“First time?”

“It was a few years ago. Do you remember the year where nearly everyone had a cough that lasted through the winter?” At her nod, Mrs. Bennet continued, “Even after most had recovered, your Father’s cough still lingered. We talked to all sorts, hoping to ease the pain in his lungs. There were various things they tried. Some helped, some didn’t. But as soon as we thought he was better, it would return.”

“I think I remember that. You and Father went to town to visit my aunt and uncle, did you not?”

She nodded. “We did. We had heard there was someone in town who might help. And he did. But he warned that this illness had weakened your Father. His next illness would likely be his last.”

“That’s just what one man in town said.”

Mrs. Bennet sipped at her tea. “After being through so many painful and unsuccessful treatments, your Father was… not willing to go through it again. When he became sick this time, we worked to ease his pains and hoped time and rest would do what all those apothecaries and doctors couldn’t.”

“But it didn’t.”

“It helped at first. It was much easier to do things when the pain was not so… complete.”

Lizzy stirred her tea and tried to understand what they had gone through.

“Then, a few months ago, your Father had a… a little fall.”

“Little? He collapsed and knocked his head against his desk!”

Mrs. Bennet sighed and set her tea down. “Your father is not over-large, but still too large for me to carry. If that had not been the case, I would never have told you and Jane anything about his health. It is not for a child to worry about their parent.”

“How can you think to keep this a secret for much longer? What happens when he dies? Will he rise as a ghoul?”

“I plan to keep it secret at least until all of you girls are wed.”

Lizzy stared at her, dumbfounded. “It would be impossible for him to live that long.”

“If we can keep him confined for the first fortnight after he rises, then the worst of the danger will be past.”

“Whatever do you mean? Ghouls are ravenous beasts that attack any living creature they come in contact with!”

Mrs. Bennet smiled, a note of triumph gleaming in her eyes. “That is the common understanding, yes.”

Lizzy narrowed her eyes. “Is it not correct?”

“It is not the whole truth.” Mrs. Bennet paused, waiting for Lizzy to ask what it was, but eventually sighed when it became clear that Lizzy would do no such thing. “After death, it takes three to five days for someone with the walking virus to rise as a ghoul. Upon rising they are, as you said, ravenous beasts. If they are kept from… feeding… then their hunger abates after a fortnight. After which, they will try to resume their old habits.”

“What? If that is true, why are ghouls not simply kept secured until the hunger abates?”

Mrs. Bennet gave a genuine sigh of sadness. “It is only a semblance of life. They cannot speak, and they become easily confused. They are still dead, so their body will continue to decay. And if they are injured, or angered, they will revert to their ravenous state. So long as they do not eat living flesh, it will pass, but if they do, then they will be lost to that madness forever. For most, that is far too much risk for far too little reward.”

Lizzy was dumbfounded. It sounded strange and fantastical, but her Mother was not the type to invent stories. She could misunderstand things and draw fanciful conclusions—in fact, she often did—but to come up with something so beyond the norm? She shook her head. “And what reward would make having Father become a ghoul worth the risk?”

“Seeing you girls wed, instead of homeless, with hardly a penny to our name.”

“How did you learn about such things?”

Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “Your Father is not the only one who reads old books on occasion.”

This seemed almost as bizarre an idea to Lizzy as the thought of her Mother making it all up out of nothing, but no matter what further questions she asked, she would not say any more. As far as Mrs. Bennet was concerned, the matter was now settled. They would care for Mr. Bennet in secret until he died, keep him locked away once he did, then allow his ghoul to make just enough appearances to keep suspicions at bay. He hardly saw or spoke to anyone, so she did not think it would be much trouble to keep the charade going. Lizzy was much more doubtful of their success, but could see no way to explain it to Mrs. Bennet without beginning an argument that would leave them both angry and with no other solutions.

(Read Part 3 Here)

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[pixie88]

Making Amends

Chapter 18 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: I’m going to try and start editing and publishing 2 chapters a week (Next will be out Thursday as we are away this weekend for my LO’s birthday) as I have 6 drafts in ATB and 3 drafts in Addicted to You (Series 2 of ATB) Obviously if you wish to stop reading after series 1 I completely understand just let me know if you like to be untagged. Now offence taken. I hope you like it.

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff & Little Angst.

Word Count: 2608

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy!

Laila just sat and listened to Zeppy for over an hour "Do you want my honest opinion?" Laila stokes her hair, she nods "I think you need to put yourself first, not your Mum, Dad or even Jade....You! If that means cutting Vicky out of your life then so be it"

She sits up "But Mum...Jade says you should forgive people's mistakes!" Laila hands her a tissue from her dresser "But you can only give someone so many chance. I get she is your Mum, but sometimes we give family more chances than we do anyone else and they expect it" Zeppy sighs knowing Laila is right.

There's a light knock on the bedroom door, Nate pokes his head in "Everything OK?" he asks, Zeppy smiles then looks at Laila "Yeah, Auntie Leia gave me some advice" Laila gets up "Why do you tell your Dad about it? I'm going to head home. If you need me just give me a call" Zeppy nods as Nate walks further into the bedroom "Thanks!" Nate smiles at her.

She says her goodbyes and makes her way home.

~*~*~*~

A few days later Laila is at work, she has clients back to back. Daniel just sends each one through, she's cleaning her hair clippers when the next client comes over and takes a seat. "Hey, I'll be with you in a minute," she throws over her shoulder not even looking at her client "OK, take all the time you need" he says in a cheery tone.

She knew that voice, they hadn't spoken since the incident in his flat, she turned "Rem? What are you doing here?" he offers her a regretful smile, "I know I had an appointment tomorrow after you finished work, but I didn't think you would turn up, so I rang up the salon booked myself in for today. Plus, I wanted to apologies for how I acted the other day, I was out of line...way out of line! I hope you'll accept my apology and if you feel the need to you can take it out on my hair I will happily accept if it means you will forgive me!"

Laila laughs at him as she throws the gown over him and wrapping her arms around him "Look, I understand you were upset, so there's nothing to forgive!" he smiles up at her in the mirror "Thank god!! I've hated not having you to speak to...You know its hard to get advice when the person you always go to for advice is the one you need advice for! Alec put me in my place soon after you left!"

She laughs, "Rem!! I don't want to know what you get up to!" she jokes making him chuckle. She feels like a weight has been lifted, she has her best friend back. She curious to know what he's going to do about Melissa, but she's too scared to ask because she doesn't want to upset him. "I can see your mind ticking over, I've known you too long to know when your thinking about something"

"Rem...." he smiles, but rolls his eyes, "You want to know what I'm going to do about my mot..I mean Melissa!" he raises a brow at her "I'll meet her, but just once to see what she wants and that's it! Can I ask you something?" she nods at him "Do you think she's serious?" she lets out a breath "She said her friend suddenly died and it made her realise, if that was her...her kids wouldn't be at her funeral. I think she wants just wants a chance. She seemed upset she didn't know you had gotten married. It's weird after I left yours the other day I went to Nate's and while I was there I was trying to convince Zeppy to stop giving Vicky anymore chances"

"Oh? What's happened with Vicky?" Laila shook her head "What's always up with her!"

"Oh, poor Zeppy! Why won't Vicky learn?! She won't stick around if she's on the gear again!" Laila starts trimming his hair "I know, but they say addiction is an illness" Rem's shook her head "We can only hope Zeppy has taken your advice and it makes Vicky realise what she could lose" Laila nod "Hmm..can only hope"

Later that evening.

Laila is putting the finishing touches to her makeup when her buzzer rings. She knew it was Harry, so she buzzes him up and leaves the front door open and runs back to the bedroom to finish up. "Gorgeous?" he calls out "In the bedroom" she calls back.

He pokes his head through the doorway "Are you ready?" he smiles at her "I think so. Do I look OK?" she is wearing a khaki cut off sleeved shirt dress which wasn't long enough to wear without bottoms, so she picked a pair of black trousers and gold and black wedge sandals. "You look perfect," she was nervous he could tell especially considering the last time she had seen Colin and Rose she had called him a miserable old git.

They had made a mends after that, but she still felt incredibly nervous, but this belated birthday meal was Colin's idea. She looks over herself in the mirror one last time, Harry steps behind her, his arm wrapping around her waist and kisses her bare shoulder "No need to be nervous! He knows not to say anything out of line again, but if he does believe me...I won't stand for it" she smiles at his reflection in the mirror before turning in his arms.

"Oh, guess who came into the salon today?!" he knew who by her smile, but he wanted to tease her "Antony Joshua?" she laughs, "No! Rem!" she's beaming "I take it you two have made up then?"

"Yep, all made up!" he kisses the top of her head "Thank god for that," he chuckles "Ready to go?" he asks her "I think so!" he takes her hand and they make their way to the restaurant in Harry's car.

When they get to the restaurant Colin and Rose are already there as they approach the table Laila takes a deep breath "Laila, Harry" Rose gets up from her seat hugging them both "Hi Rose.." "Mum, little too tight!" Harry jokes as she lets go and they all take their seat "Dad" Harry nods at Colin "Colin, Hi!" she smiles "You alright?" he asks them both. "Yeah, thanks, you?" Laila asks her nerves are still going a hundred miles per hour.

"Great! Thanks! How was your birthday? Oh, and Happy belated Birthday!" he says. Laila's thrown he is completely different from the last time they saw him "Happy birthday!" Rose says as she passes over an envelope "Thanks, yeah it was great thanks! Better than I could've imagined" she's cut off by Rose "What did Harry get you?"

Laila's hand automatically goes to her locket, Rose leans over to take a closer look, "Can I open it?" she asks "Yeah, of course" Rose flips it open and coos at the picture "Aww, that is an adorable photo of you both!" Colin leans over to have a look "It's a good one" he comments.

They both sit down "Open your card!" Rose tells her. Opening the envelope and folded up bit of paper falls out, inside it reads:

To Lovely Laila,

Happy Birthday!

We hope you had a great day!

Love Rose & Colin x

P.S. We didn't know what to get you, so we thought this might be nice for you both to enjoy. x

Opening the folded paper its a photo of an old cottage, she looks up at Rose and Colin confused, Harry, take the paper from her to take a closer look, "What's this?" Harry asks his parents "So we didn't know what to get you, so we thought maybe you to might like a free week away in our little cottage in the Cotswold's. Obviously you two can chose any week you want just let us know a few weeks ahead! Harry, don't go telling your brothers or sister!"

"Why?" he chuckles "Because they will all want a week there and I don't trust they won't trash the place" Colin shook his head "I promise we won't trash the place and thank you that's so thoughtful!" the waiter comes over to take their drinks order, Harry leans in close enough so only she can hear "Can't say the same about the bed" he whispers making her blush.

After the starter Rose and Colin are telling them all about their time away in Rome "You have to take Laila there one day!" Rose tells her son. "It's beautiful! Laila, I keep meaning to ask do you cut men's hair?" Colin surprisingly asks her "Yeah, I do"

"She's my hairdresser now" Harry winks at her "Great, do you think you could fit me in?" Colin looks over to her "Erm..yeah, sure when are you free?" She's not sure if this is a joke or not but Colin has done a 360 since the last time. "Weekends probably work out better for me"

She smiles "I work every other Saturday in the salon, but I can come to you if it's easier?" She asks him nervously "3 weeks from now work? At our house?" Laila pulls out her phone that's Saturday is her weekend off "Perfect, any time preference?"

He checks his phone "Shall we say 11 AM then we'll do lunch?" Laila can't quite believe he's asking her to do his hair "Yeah, that would be great!" she's still taken aback by it. Maybe this is him trying to build bridges? She thought.

"Laila?" she hears someone call out from behind him as she looks up, it's Lou, she smiles and gets up to greet her "Lou, how are you?" she asks as she hugs her. Laila's happy that they're at this point.. 6 months ago, Laila could never imagine even looking in Lou's direction, let alone hugging her "Sorry, Louise, this is Rose and Colin, Rose and Colin this is Louise and obviously you've met Harry, they're his parents"

"Oh how lovely to meet you!" Louise smiles "And you!" Rose says as Colin just smiles at her "Laila, you wouldn't mind coming over to our table and saying hello to Steve would you? He'd love to see you!"

"Oh..erm OK!" she looks at Harry "I'll be 2 minutes!" he winks back at her. She felt a bit nervous she hadn't seen Steve in years because she thought it was best to stay away after everything happened considering she might have just let it slip to him out of anger, but now was different she understood why Lou did what she did it. Which was all thanks to Harry, in some ways she had changed for the better because of him, he had made her more forgiving.

Now, instead of blaming her, she gratefully Josh's last day's weren't his worst days. She had seen how cancer can change someone with her Grandad Carelli, he went from running every day with his granddaughter to being to weak too lift a fork.

As they approach the table Steve looks up noticing Laila his face lights up "Laila! Oh wow! It's so good to see you!!" he beams at her.

She smiles back at him.

Back at their table.

Colin looks to where Laila is "Who is this Louise to Laila?" Rose looks over to Harry. He knew what he could and couldn't say, "She's Laila's ex fiancé's Mum" Colin looks shocked "And she's gone over to see him?!" Harry could see his Dad disapproval "No! Steve is his Dad" Rose doesn't know what to say "You're OK with her being friendly with her ex's parents?" Colin almost hisses.

"Yes, I am! Because quite frankly, being jealous of a ghost is a bit ridiculous!" Harry could see the confusion on their face "Laila, ex fiancé died of cancer," he knew he couldn't say anymore than that "Oh god! That poor girl!" Rose is shocked, Colin is speechless "Now can you see why I'm more than happy for her to be friendly with her ex's parents? Even if he was a living ex I would be fine with it because I trust Laila!"

"I can see why...she is a lovely girl" Harry has never heard his Dad say anything like that about any of his girlfriends, but he just put that down to Laila being able to win anyone over because that was the kinda girl she is.

At Lou and Steve's table.

"You know we all missed you after the funeral. You just kinda disappeared" Steve's words make her drown in guilt "Hey! It was hard for all of us Steve, you have to remember she lost someone she was going to marry. We were probably a constant reminder of what she had lost" Louise tries to make excuses for Laila. She's thankful for this "I guess Lou is right! Sorry Laila!"

"You have nothing to be sorry for Steve....honestly, it's like Lou said and to be honest, I needed to grieve by myself," she smiles at him "How are you nowadays?"

"I'm good actually....I'm here with my boy....my boyfriend and his parents," she hated telling him this, but she was already keeping something from him plus surely he didn't expect her never to find anyone after Josh. "Aww, that's sweet! How long have you 2 been together?" he seemed happy for her which was a relief to her "I asked him to be my boyfriend over 2 months ago now" Steve howls "Why doesn't that surprise me! Josh always said if you wanted something you would go out and get it"

She laughs, "He is the first relationship I've had since Josh to be fair!" Lou coos "Does he make you happy?" Lou asks her "You know what he makes me incredibly happy actually," she looks over to Harry, his eyes catch hers and he throws her a wink making her blush. "I'm happy for you! You deserve to be happy...that's all Josh would have wanted for you!" Lou offers her a soft smile.

"Speaking of my boyfriend, I better get back to him! It was lovely seeing you both," she says as she gets up both Steve and Lou hug her.

She makes her way back to Harry and his parents, "Here she is!" Harry smiles and wraps an arm over her shoulder as she sits. The rest of the meal is relaxed and easy.

After they say their goodbyes to his parents, they make their way back to Laila's flat.

When they arrive the front door has been kicked in, worried someone might still be inside Harry tells Laila to call the police and he heads inside. Laila grabs his arm "Harry..."

"Laila, I'll be fine! I just want to check they're not still in there," he pushes the door open and makes his way inside.. he first checks the kitchen, when he hears someone behind him. He spins round, it's Laila holding her handbag like she's about to whack someone "Laila! Go and wait outside!" he whispers "What? and leave you to get attacked? No! Plus I have my bag! Never underestimate a women's handbag!"

"Fine! Just stay close!" he knew there was no point in arguing with her, so he continues to check all the rooms. Each have been ransacked, when they got to the living room on the wall in red spray paint were Cut her out of your life..

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 19.

@ridgy--didge​ @lem-20​ @secretaryunpaid​ @irisofpurple​ @khoicesbyk​ @txemrn​ @tea-me-kah​ @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer​ @casualpostqueen​ @beautifuluknownvoid​

[happymetalgirl]

Album Chronology - Death

The whole ranking-albums-from-worst-to-best has been done to death to the point of staleness at this point, but mostly due to the format, at least to me. I’ve read so many damn worst-to-best lists at this point that they’re all kind of predictable even when they’re seemingly trying to force some kind of novelty or surprise factor by putting a fan-favorite or highly revered album really low in a ranked list. It’s all gotten pretty dry at this point, plus, to me, I can’t help but see a little bit of futility in compiling lists for active artists whose next release will render such a list so quickly obsolete. I honestly had the idea of doing something tier-related to make it less rigid a year or so ago, but lo and behold, tier-list videos are the newest horse getting beaten to death. So rather than jumping around an artist’s catalog and tossing in some spicy hot takes, I figured why not take the chronological approach and trace the story of the artist’s creative trajectory, and not spoil the #1 spot by revealing the #2 spot.

So why do these kinds of lists? Also, why Death?

I make this little chronology to offer my insight into Death’s discography partly for the reason so many others have made similar rankings: to appreciate Death’s music and the huge legacy Chuck Schuldiner left through it. But I also make this because I do think my perspective on Death is a somewhat unique one, at least among Death fans. Chuck Schuldiner was an incredibly talented musician and a beloved figure within the world of metal, and that aspect of his legacy has undoubtedly been enhanced by the untimeliness and unfairness of his passing. The guy certainly had a strong presence on the stage and a certain charisma off of it, and his cherishing of animals surely resonates with me as well. Death was also hardly my first death metal band, so I do think that gives me a bit less of a nostalgic perspective on their legacy. I still enjoy a lot of the same things about Death that most fans do, and at the end of this list, it might not really end up being all that shocking or controversial, just a slightly tempered version of what most fans would make. I’m pretty long-winded, so I’ll cut the intro and get into the music: Death.

1987 - Scream Bloody Gore

I have to reinforce my position right from the get-go about having a more measured view of the band’s catalog because the spicy takes come right out of the gate with Death’s debut album, Scream Bloody Gore. The sour really isn’t all that sour and it comes with a little bit of sweet right afterward too: I think this is Death’s worst album. But that just means it only gets better from here, and I do still really like it. It’s a classic in its own right that started Death on a more solid footing than the average debut project in very new territory at the time and I again do genuinely still like it a lot; I own it, along with the rest of the band’s catalog, on vinyl. But it is, as I mentioned, a first step into new territory, and rather naturally primordial, which indeed has its own appeal in the context of the era it came from and for which it deserves tremendous appreciation. There is indeed a lot to appreciate here. I love the persistence of the bass line in the title track, the hooks of songs like “Zombie Ritual” and “Baptized in Blood”, and the amped up Slayer-inspired extremification of thrash metal that would only snowball further as the band and the genre they helped pioneer progressed. But the primary role Scream Bloody Gore served was to lay the groundwork for Death to expand upon in that early era that would itself later become the groundwork for their more ambitious progressive tilt during the second half of their career. I’ll throw it out right here just to get it outbid then way, it’s not exactly a hot take, but some Death fans are partial the other way; it’s probably already evident, but I prefer the band’s second era from Human to Perseverance. Personally I think bands like Morbid Angel and Cannibal Corspe were more suited to this primal gory form of early death metal, and I think Death would have wound up being seen as merely a pretty good band in a tier below those guys if they had stuck with what they were doing with their debut and the two albums that followed for the rest of their career. Again, Scream Bloody Gore is by no means a bad album, or even a rough start, kind of a Kill ‘em All sort of debut that laid solid foundations and allowed for greatness to follow but indeed stands well enough on its own.

7/10

1988 - Leprosy

The band’s sophomore release just a year later showed immediate signs of improvement. The trimmed track list with more meticulously groomed songs (and a greater density of sick riffs) produced several live staples for the band, like the title track, “Left to Die”, and especially the ever-traditional concert-closer “Pull the Plug”. But there was more than just better riffs and more focus on perfecting the songs here. The production on Leprosy was clearer than the band’s debut the year before, and the writing was generally more sophisticated too, incorporating a bit more flashy technicality that would soon escalate to an echelon that would end up characterizing their sound more comprehensively. Soon-to-be vestigial characteristics of the debut album still remained: tons of wailing Slayer-sequence guitar solos, thrashy blast beats, the focus of palm-muted tremolo riffing, and more fantastical, brutal lyricism. But Leprosy presented these more mid-brow elements in a more impressive arrangement than its predecessor.

8/10

1990 - Spiritual Healing

My personal favorite of the band’s grittier first half of their career, Spiritual Healing was really just a more consistent continuation (to my ears at least) of the refined early death metal sound of Leprosy. The band were starting to develop a more signature style of riffing, as well as soloing that they would take with them into their next four albums. By now most of the gory detail was taking the backseat to Schuldiner’s psychological analysis of certain “Defensive Personalities”, parasitic religious manipulation by televangelists, and prenatal cocaine exposure. The more high-mindedness of Spiritual Healing also ushered in another ramp up in the band’s technicality that made the progression into the heady technical death metal of Human a rather natural one. The band’s last album in their so-called “traditional” or “brutal” or “classic” death metal era played around a lot more with the dynamic range of the genre and it really ran the gamut of what Death had done up to that point within that style of death metal and beyond, the title track being my personal favorite example of this ability the band had to contort the genre to fit their more expansive needs while keeping everything in the confines of death metal. It’s my favorite song on the album and of this era of Death’s career. At this point, Death had pretty robustly demonstrated their ability with the genre in its more primitive form, and evolved it along the way quite a lot at that, to the point where they really had nothing more they had to say with the style, an impressive feat after three albums. Sure they could have probably spun their tires in the mud for a few more albums (knowing now that Chuck Schuldiner sadly only had a little more than a decade left), but the direction this album had the band heading in was pretty apparent. The only question was if the band would take the leap into the upper echelons of technicality and explore the new frontier that they were headed toward. Thankfully for us, the band had plenty of ambition left in them. As for the last album of their first half of their career, it’s hard to find many complaints with, and one that capped off this era of Death in complimentary fashion.

9/10

1991 - Human

After reaching their peak with bruntly aggessive death metal, Death’s fourth album began a second act for the band, one that sought to elevate their style to a more progressive form of death metal. It was a change that was pretty strongly indicated by the direction the band had been heading in and the step up in technicality on Spiritual Healing. Human takes the solos and the fast-paced guitar passages and bass lines to new extremes that the genre had never seen before, and the lyrical shift to more heady, cerebral, existential themes fit well with the significantly increased musical complexity that the album introduced. The technically dazzling yet infectious riffing of “Together as One” and “Flattening of Emotions”, the still-tasty hooks of the former and “Suicide Machine”, and the tasty percussive rhythm of “Lack of Comprehension” made those songs live staples. The band were still kind of finding their footing with the compositional aspects of this new realm, but the grounding in the aggression of their previous work with the voyage into the techy unknown was a good thing to start with and a good way to explore some new sonic territory while safely tethered to what was effective for them previously that produced some pretty impressive results.

8/10

1993 - Individual Thought Patterns

Carrying forward the ambition for significantly increased technicality that began with Human on to their fifth album, Death were still getting the hang of things with Individual Thought Patterns, which isn’t all to surprising or something to impugn the band for given the difficulty mode that had selected to play the creative game on, and the band still made some significant improvements with the integration of the hyperspeed technicality into their sound. Even more than the subsequent Symbolic, Individual Thought Patterns made the technicality so much more of a focus where, to me, this was Death’s first bonafide technical death album. Human was definitely pretty technical, but on Individual Thought Patterns, Death cut the cord and let themselves float off into the dizzying cosmos of instrumental technicality and tailored their compositional practices to fit that need. If there was any contingent of fans struggling to keep up with Death’s progression or hoping for a scale-back to the more brutish early albums, they were left behind with Individual Thought Patterns, save perhaps for the consolation of more traditionally groovy closing track, “The Philosopher”, but rampant speed-fests like “Overactive Imagination” and odd-timed melodic groovers like “Trapped in a Corner” quickly became fan favorites. If there’s one thing Individual Thought Patterns lacked, it was balance, but that wasn’t going to be a problem for very long...

8/10

1995 - Symbolic

Ah, Symbolic, there’s not gonna be any surprising bucking of the trend or “bold” underrating here. In a catalog that so many fans regard as perfect, Symbolic stands out as the most common fan favorite, and for good reason. The album synthesized everything that had made Death such a force to be reckoned with in the death metal world. Weaving together the early era’s delicious primal grooves, the elevated technicality that had become a solidified facet of the band’s style, and their newly blossoming progressive inclinations, Symbolic remains the band’s most comprehensively representative and accomplished work, the best place for any newcomer to the legendary act to start, and the best album in their acclaimed discography. The song-writing is tight and interesting from start to finish, seasoned with both tasty riffs and captivating displays of technicality that enhanced the songs rather than the players’ appetites for indulgence, and kept consistently interesting with frequent tasteful dynamic shifts and surprising twists and turns. I would undoubtedly go on forever if I were to detail the brilliance of every song on here, the majestic melodies and winding structure of “Crystal Mountain”, the catchy commentary on mass surveillance of “1,000 Eyes”, the invigorating double-bass of “Misanthrope”, and the iconic riffing of the opening title track. Instead I’ll quickly highlight two songs that seem to go unnoticed that I find particularly beautiful for the unexpected compositional moves Death makes on them. The first is the song, “Without Judgement”, which abruptly drops its techdeath winding to hypnotize with a gorgeous and emotive melodic solo that seems rather uncharacteristic for Death that I just love, and the second is the closing track, “Perennial Quest”. It’s the longest song in the band’s discography up to this point, only to be just marginally eclipsed by “Flesh and the Power It Holds” on the subsequent album, and it embarks on a similarly proggy and melodic odessey to that of “Crystal Mountain”, but it’s the somber and mournful electric/acoustic outro that would soon become all too tragic for Death fans to listen to that concludes the album on such a heartfelt note in such beautifully fitting fashion. There’s no other moment like it in Death’s catalog, and it’s always a solemn, conclusive reminder of just how much light Chuck Schuldiner and Death brought to this world and how lucky we are to have albums like this. I’ll end my sentimental bit here and conclude by briefly summing up my thoughts on the album. Symbolic is Death’s magnum opus and a masterpiece among masterpieces that captures nearly everything that makes Death and death metal appealing and that had made the genre so predominant for decades since, and beyond being their best, to me, it is a perfect album.

10/10

1998 - The Sound of Perseverance

Death’s final album seemed to set them on yet another new musical course after the second run through the steady improvement over the course of a three-album cycle. The longest album of the band’s seven and including the longest songs in their catalog on average, The Sound of Perseverance took Death on quite the progressive joyride, and surprisingly (to me at least) it kind of split and confused some fans who had just gotten used to the band’s digestible technicality on Symbolic. Granted, I was just a little baby bitch boy when this came out, but personally I don’t see why this was such a shock to the system for so many fans (apparently), the band had always been pretty ambitious and this was a pretty logical next step for them to expand their continually expanding sound. The structures on the band’s seventh album are less conventional and more packed with extensive technical passages, and the band do pull out a good few more surprises than they ever did in any album previously, like the acoustic/electric guitar-solo instrumental “Voice of the Soul”. But The Sound of Perseverance is by no means any kind of contrived over-indulgence in ideas grander than what the band could accomplish or frothy wank-fest. The band was already developing a bit of a progressive bend in the previous three-album arc and they simply took it to the next level the same way they did with their instrumental technicality on Human. And fans did indeed vibe with plenty of songs on The Sound of Perseverance, with the impressively vocally high soaring “Spirit Crusher”, the angular and unpredictable “Scavenger of Human Sorrow, and even the lengthy, and indeed structurally confounding, prog-techdeath monolith “Flesh and the Power It Holds” making their way into the band’s setlists on their last tours. And of course the album ends on the well-earned, fun, high-octane cover of Judas Priest’s “Painkiller”, which finds Schuldiner incredibly nailing the songs high melody with his high-pitched death shrieking style (and finishing with never-before-heard clean vocals). For the reputation it has for eschewing balance for high-minded progness, The Sound of Perseverance is by no means a hard pivot from or unrecognizable from Symbolic. Its bold expounding upon aspects of their sound that already seemed pretty evolved while remaining musically engaging and not sacrificing what made their previous work appealing, and sheer magnitude and impressiveness of the band’s third venture into new territory again do sometimes make me question whether I like it more than Symbolic. While it did seem to pave the way for another new mind-blowing era of Death that death took away from us, The Sound of Perseverance has become a glorious and aptly titled swan song and a testament to the band’s and Schuldiner’s relentless ambition and, indeed, genius. Eternal cheers to Chuck and to Death.

9/10

And that’s it, eleven years and seven albums that continually revolutionized death metal and paved the way for so much of what we hear today. Anyone reading this of course probably knows most of all of this, but it’s still astonishing to think about how much Death did for the genre in such a relatively short time, and, for me at least, even having already been a pretty big fan of Death, listening to these albums from Scream Bloody Gore to The Sound of Perseverance, it reminded me more viscerally of the quality of the music and respected legacy of the band that I have always intellectually acknowledged and agreed with, which I figured I’d share here. If, somehow, you’ve come across this and you’re not into Death or death metal but you’re open to it and interested, you’re in for a treat. Put on Symbolic and just enjoy the trip down the rabbit hole.

[itsamejin]

the one that got away || hendery angst || part 2 (finale)

Part 1

Summary: Some days you don’t regret the decision to leave him, but most days you do.

Warning: self-hatred, insecurities, mutual pining

Genre: angst, fluff, mutual pining

Pairing: Hendery x reader

Premise: You two broke up and that should’ve been the end of it, but he sends you a message and all of a sudden it isn’t.

Commission Request: @iron-lix​

Word Count: 4,164 words

—

hey, its guanheng. just got your new number lol, wanted to know if you would like to catch up sometime and talk? Idk… just text me back if u want to

You were tempted to delete it, bury it in your trash bin along with all the other concerned messages Guanheng sent you before you blocked his number. It would’ve been the right thing to do, to end any sort of contact before you could hurt yourself further. Insecurity nagged at the back of your brain, yet you find yourself texting him back anyway.

if you want

Short. Simple. Enough to get the message across, but not enough to make him think you were desperate. Did you come off as desperate? Please, don’t make him think-

omg

u actually replied!! 

how are you???

and im free on sunday 

do u wanna meet up then?

The bombardment of texts brought a sad smile to your face. It really was him. It was Guanheng. No person used question marks as liberally, no person sent that many texts consecutively. You hesitate to answer. Too much could go wrong for you to risk seeing him again. You could break down in tears and be left in the dust, similar to how you had left Guanheng just a year earlier. 

You convinced yourself that there was nothing left to talk about, there was no more closure needed. You two broke up cleanly and it should stay that way. 

i’m doing fine, and yeah i’d love to :)

Your thoughts contradict your actions and you find yourself burying your face in your hands, frustrated at how easily you agreed. What the hell was wrong with you? You blocked him for a reason, you wanted to get over him. Agreeing to “catch up” with an ex wasn’t getting over him. You would only end up missing him more after all was said and down.

What made you think that you deserved to see him after all you had done?

—

At a small cafe on the outskirts of Macao, you reconsider every decision you made that led up to this point. You fiddle with your fingers, wondering why you even decided to paint your nails like he’d even pay attention to them in the first place. You scratch at the polka-dotted dress you wore, cursing at yourself for wearing his favorite color- pink. You purse your lips, regretting putting on such heavy makeup to hide the dark circles that formed underneath your eyes from the sleepless night you had. You couldn’t get a wink of rest knowing you’d see his face again after so long.

You should’ve just stayed home, should’ve just blocked his number as you did all those months ago.

“Hey,” a gentle voice calls out, interrupting your negative thoughts. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

You look up from your lap, Guanheng staring at you with the brightest smile on his face. He takes the seat across from you hesitantly as if he still wasn’t sure he came to the right table. No one recognized him here in this reclusive cafe, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to relax. Especially with you in front of him.

“It’s been a while,” you smile sadly. Your voice was shaky and Guanheng noticed. He noticed everything.

“Did you order yet?” he asks, equally nervous, but with a large grin on his face. His hand reached out to grab a piece of paper on the table thinking it was the menu. Sadly, it was not. You giggle slightly at his awkward expressions as he slid it back to where he got it from.

“That’s the placemat,” you inform him. “They were planning to give us the menu when you came.”

He cringes at himself. ‘Why do I always find a way to fuck things up?’ he cries in his mind. Guanheng thought he could’ve introduced himself more smoothly.

“Y-yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “I probably should’ve known that.”

You two sat in silence even as the waitress planted the menu on the table. You let Guanheng order for you, surprised he still remembers your favorite drink. You wonder if his stayed the same too.

“...and I’d like a black coffee,” he smiles widely, bidding the waitress goodbye. He sees the small scowl etched on your face, but doesn’t quite know why. He used to never drink black coffee. It was too bitter for him and he always overreacted when the liquid would touch his tongue. You couldn’t believe that had changed in just a year- just like him.

You inspect his face blankly as he chatters about something nonsensical, trying to fill in the silence that you had left him with. Guanghen’s hair is shorter now, trimmed in a way that highlighted his boyish features perfectly. He wore a dress shirt, cuffed at the elbow. He wouldn't have been caught dead looking so suave in the past, opting for comfortable hoodies and beanies so ill-fitted that they hid his eyes. You were looking at Hendery, a version of him that existed on magazine covers and photo cards. You clutch the ends of your dress. See [Y/N]? He’s fine without you.

He stops his talking when he notices your lack of enthusiasm. You used to love hearing him talk, but you looked at him with such emptiness that he wondered if his voice was grating in your ear. He stares at you too, a sad glint in his eyes. Your face, although beautiful, was tired and sunken. You had a dullness in your complexion. You no longer glowed as you used to when he was yours- or to put it in terms that he liked better- when you were his. You shake him out of his own wallowing thoughts.

“How’s Korea?” you ask, knowing he had been promoting there recently. You hear from his friends that he loves it there, that the European-esque streets of Macau got too boring for him. He liked the hustle and bustle of Seoul, the capital of entertainment and fast-paced living. “Your new album doing well?”

Guanheng is happy that you asked, afraid you had lost interest in his work after the breakup. He was so afraid you had lost interest in him.

“It’s been great!” he nods thoughtfully. “We’re planning something soon, so I only have a week here before I go back. It’s been hectic...”

You purse your lips. It must be rough on him, only getting to stay with his family for such a short period of time. Guanghen must miss it- all of this. The city, the humidity, the people... maybe not you, but maybe the memories that came with the relationship. You sure miss it too.

“How about you?” he breaks the silence, noticing that your glances were drifting off somewhere else. “Anything interesting going on in your life?”

You shake your head and give a fake smile. He hates seeing it. Guanheng would prefer for you to curse him out than for you to act fake towards him. It’s like you couldn’t let your guard down with him... and he used to be the only person you let your guard down with. This wasn’t how usually were, but then again, he hasn’t seen you in a year. Could you have changed so drastically that the sight of his face made you that uncomfortable?

“Nothing notable,” you sigh, staring past him rather than right at him. “I’ve been thinking of moving out of Macau for a fresh start, you know? Somewhere new...”

‘Somewhere that doesn’t remind me of you,’ you say silently to yourself. You see a flicker of a pained expression, but you get distracted when the waitress delivers water to the both of you. You stir the water with the straw, glad you found another distraction to keep yourself from making eye contact with Guanheng.

“I wouldn’t have an excuse to visit,” he says teasingly, but you could feel grit in his tone. “if you weren’t here.”

You blink rapidly, not quite registering his words. What was he saying?

“What about your family? Your friends?” you question. There were a lot of things that came with this city, it’s not like you were the only one living here. You figured you’d be the last thing on his mind these days. Guanheng just shrugs.

“They visit me often,” he sighs. “But you don’t. You never visit.”

He gives a sad chuckle, sipping from his cup lowly. Your mouth opens, but not a sound comes out and so you close it again. How were you supposed to respond? Guanghen sighs at your silence.

“You blocked my number.”

Your heart cracks at the sound of his voice. He played around with the straw, refusing to look at you. He sounded... sad and you wondered if the reason for his sadness was you. Weren’t you usually the reason?

“Guanheng-” “You don’t have to say anything,” he stands up straight, a panicked look on his face. He realized then that he made the atmosphere even tenser than it already was. “I’m not here with any other intentions except to talk to you. I know... I know that...”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know how to without sounding desperate. ‘[Y/N] I know that it’s been a year, but would you like to start over even though you might not have feelings for me anymore?’ Yeah, no way he would be caught dead saying that out loud- not when you looked at him with such emptiness.

“What’s wrong Hendery?” 

You wonder why the person with the brightest smile in the world had such furrowed brows as he looked into your eyes. And maybe that was your first mistake. Calling him by his stage name. 

“Hendery?” he scoffs.

“I’m sorry,” you say a little shocked at his angry expression. “Did I overstep-”

“Why would you call me that?” he asks with sad eyes. “Why are you treating me like I’m a stranger?”

Your last chance at getting closure and you had said something wrong that made him uncomfortable. You blew it, didn’t you? Of course, how could you be such an idiot?

“I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“Hendery,” he repeats, still shocked at your words. “You never call me that. Not even when we dated.”

Dated. Past tense. He wasn’t yours anymore and you needed to accept that. Guanheng was right there telling you to. You were out of your mind for thinking this was going to turn out like you expected, that he would walk back into your arms without hesitation.

“I can’t do this,” you say abruptly, standing up from your seat. “Guanheng I’m sorry it was a mistake even meeting up with you.”

“[Y/N]-”

You walk past the table, feeling bad for the cafe workers that were oblivious to your sudden outburst. You took out your wallet from your shoulder bag, setting down cash to make up for the food that hadn’t arrived at your table. The worker stared at you with large eyes.

“Ma’am-” 

You were already out the door, tears threatening to spill over. Guanheng came to talk, came to have a chat with an old friend that happened to be his ex-girlfriend and all he got was an awkward conversation that showed how broken you were without him. You walk and walk, missing the bus stop that you were supposed to wait at until you hear rapid footsteps behind you.

“[Y/N] wait-”

Guanheng wraps his fingers around your elbow and pulls you to face him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, staring at your feet rather than his face.

“Just let me walk you to the bus stop. It’s dangerous for you to walk alone,” he says, the hand that was on your elbow was shaking. “I’m sorry for acting weird back there. It wasn’t even something serious and I freaked out over nothing-” “No,” you say shaking your head, pulling his hand away from you. He felt empty now that you were out of his reach. “I was the one that overreacted.”

“Don’t,” he says sadly. “Don’t apologize to me.”

You finally gather the guts to look up at him directly, but you regret it almost immediately. You notice up close that he’s still the scared kid who couldn’t believe he was called in for an audition by a massive foreign company. It makes you want to embrace him, comfort him from all his worries, and tell him that it’ll be okay. Except it isn’t. It hasn’t been for a while.

—

Under a flickering streetlight, you sit at the bus stop’s bench with tense shoulders. He sits farther away from you, careful of the watchful gazes from the public and any sneaky cameras around patiently waiting for him to mess up.

“I miss taking bus rides late at night,” he admits, not looking at you in fear of people watching. “It feels different somehow.”

You smile sadly.

“Yeah. We used to ride one from school together.”

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. Words used to flow naturally when he was with you, but he had to go and mess it up at the cafe by feeling offended over something that was trivial. So what if you called him by his stage name? It's been a year since he’s last seen you- of course, you’d have been more cautious about what to call him. He was stupid, so hopelessly stupid.

“I miss the rivers too,” he mutters. “I miss those overpriced boat rides tourists would pay for.”

He chuckles sadly, reminiscing of a time when you had gone with him. When you were his and he was yours.

‘Most importantly I miss you,’ he thinks to himself, but he balls his hand into a fist before he could say anything else. You hated this, hated that he always held back before saying the most important thing.

“Guanheng,” you start, heart beating rapidly from your chest. “Why did you want to see me?”

His eyes waiver and you could see it glisten in this light. Did you say something that made him uncomfortable yet again?

“I just,” he swallows, not finding the right words, “wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he replies, “I feel like you’re doing fine.”

‘Without me,’ he screams in his head. Guanheng doesn’t notice you bowing your head or the tears that had started to form in your eyes. He was too caught up in his own tears that threatened to spill over, but he convinced himself to hold it in. 

“Well, I’m not,” you broke out with a cry, already knowing you were past looking pathetic. You let the tears fall onto your lap. He doesn’t notice at first, but Guanheng snaps his head to you, no longer caring about his surroundings. He slides closer, patting you on the back.

“What's wrong?” he asks worriedly. “Did I say something again?”

“No,” you say, looking up at him and he swore his heart sunk at that moment. Even when you broke up with him your eyes never looked this hurt. Guanheng didn’t even know he had that effect on you anymore. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well obviously I did if you look like this right now,” he says angrily, more at himself than at you. He wipes away the tears from your eyes, but it only made you wail harder. He was still so good at comforting people, still so gentle. You wished that he wouldn’t stare at you with such caring eyes and give you false hope- hope that he wanted you back just as much as you wanted him. It wasn’t right to be feeling this way when you were the one that broke up with him. You had no right.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry out, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. 

“What are you sorry for?” he asks worriedly. His eyes, too, were turning red.

“For ignoring you when you needed me most.”

A silence falls between you two and his grip on you tightens. This was a conversation you two should’ve had a year ago. He didn’t quite know why it was being brought up now, but at least now he can ask what he’s been dying to figure out.

“Why did you block me?” he questions solemnly.  “Why did you agree to be friends and then just cut me off like that?”

You purse your lips.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Please,” he begs, hands letting go of you. “Answer me just this once.”

You try to gather yourself but fail miserably. How could you when this was potentially the last time you’d ever see Guanheng again? 

“I was scared,” you answer truthfully.

“Of what?”

You take a deep breath and sigh.

“That you might hate me.”

Guanheng tips your head to face him, a serious look on his face.

“I’d never hate you.”

He looked at you with such softness- the kind you haven’t felt in so long.  At that moment you could trust him, at that moment you felt like everything would be okay. 

‘It’s alright if he does,’ you think to yourself. If he hates you then fine, but you needed to tell him one last time. Then there’d be no regrets. Maybe then you’d have the guts to finally leave, start anew in a place that didn’t remind you so much of him, but that’s probably impossible to do because Hendery was the sun itself, and you were just you.

“I still love you,” you whisper solemnly, “and I hated that you let me go so easily when it was so hard for me to let go of you.”

His mouth falls open and you swear you see hurt in his eyes, so you turn away. Regret always came after your worst decisions.

“You thought I let you go easily?” 

A stray tear had fallen down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry I-”

“Stop being sorry,” he pleads. “I hate hearing you apologize when it was my fault too.”

You look up at him, confused.

“I should’ve fought harder for us,” he continues. “I should have told you that I loved you back then and that I could’ve made it work. I can’t believe you thought I was okay with breaking up. I said we should stay friends just so I could have an excuse to talk to you again and you kept ignoring my texts and I thought I was being annoying and-”

He always used to ramble a lot when he was anxious. Guanheng takes a deep breath and puts your hands in his. The bus was not coming anytime soon.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he mutters. “I still love you too.”

You shake your head, refusing to believe his words. He just felt sorry for you, he didn’t mean-

“I tried dating other people,” he says matter-of-factly, breaking your heart a tiny bit because you hadn’t. You never tried to venture past him because it had always been him, always. 

“Guanheng, why-”

“But it just didn’t work out,” he cuts you off, swallowing his saliva nervously, “because they weren’t you.”

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off again.

“I sent you text after text asking you to take me back,” he sighed sadly. “But I never sent them because I knew you wouldn’t even see them anyway. I told the guys about you and they said it was a lost cause, that I should move on.”

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, touched by his words. Guanheng shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he smiles as he intertwines his fingers within yours. “And maybe it’s messed up to say this, but I’m glad you didn’t either.”

You laugh with him, the tears dried by now. You look at him, his eyes crinkling  so beautifully as he smiles. 

The bus came seconds after under the flickering street light where you two share a chaste kiss. His lips tasted the same and you can’t help but grin.

It was still him. It was still Guanheng.

—

He walks with you, his hand bumping into yours one too many times that he just held yours in his. It didn’t feel real, being so close to him again. Maybe you had gone through hurdles to get to where you two were now, but at least he was back where he wanted to be- by your side. You two talk about anything and everything and let a comfortable silence fall in between you two when there wasn’t a need for conversation. 

Guanheng asks you what you watch recently. Netflix documentaries. You ask him what songs he listens to nowadays? You cringe when he says Justin Bieber. He laughs when you laugh, walks at the same pace as you, calls you pet names. It’s like he never left, but you knew that in a week from now, he will leave. And maybe you’ll go back to wallowing in your own sadness again.

You’re already at the steps leading to your house, but he refuses to let you go, so you let him inside. He smiles at the lack of change.

“My stuff’s still here,” he says in awe, picking up the small robot figurine that was propped up on your coffee table. You fluster at his words.

“I didn’t have the heart to throw them away,” you mutter. He smiles at you.

“Do you still have my clothes here?” he asks. You panic.

“Oh, do you want them? I can go-”

“So I can stay the night then, right?” he asks seriously. You wonder if he thinks himself a comedian. You punch him in the arm with a puff of your breath.

“We haven’t even seen each other for more than a day and you-”

“Not like that,” he chuckles, realizing what he had implied with his statement. “I just want to sleep here. With you. Innocently. 

You stare up at him, unconvinced.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get kidnapped?” he whines, giving you those puppy dog eyes that you missed so much. You miss him so much.

You click your tongue at him, walking to your bedroom as he follows right behind. You scathe through your closet, pulling out the comfy clothes he always wore. You could never admit to him that you’ve been sleeping in them for the past year since he was gone. He takes them from you.

“Then I’ll go change,” he says with a cheeky smile. You roll your eyes, getting dressed for bed as well. Guanheng takes a seat on your bed and lays down next to you. He watches you silently for a while before he starts stroking your hair.

“Move to Seoul with me,” Guanheng jokes casually. You take him seriously for a second, but notice the Cheshire grin on his face and decide to play along.

“I don’t know anyone there,” you pout, squeezing his hand lightly.

“You know me.”

You roll your eyes.

“You know that’s not enough,” you scoff. “I need a job, I’ll miss my family and-”

Why were you taking this so seriously? Your face heats up with embarrassment. How could you let yourself be carried away by his simple teasing?

He smiles at you, patting your head softly.

“Then, I’ll just keep coming back to visit, I guess,” he replies. “Unless you’re still planning to leave?”

You pondered for a bit. You did need a change of view, a change of pace. You had spent a year in this apartment wallowing in self-pity. It wouldn't be so bad to move somewhere new, would it?

“If I go to Seoul,” you start off hesitantly, “What does that mean for us?”

He looks at you, confused. The atmosphere had turned somber without him noticing.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitate to ask, still confused as to where he stands. Dating an idol was hard, you knew that. Did he?

“Will I be your girlfriend again?”

He scoffs.

“I thought that was a given.”

You smile, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes.

“I’m not good at being there for you, Guanheng,” you admit. “I have so many flaws and you have to put up with so many of them-”

“You put up with mine,” he says, inching closer to you. You shake your head.

“I’m not a good girlfriend.”

He shoots you a glare, pulling you into his arms and burying his face into your hair. Guanheng hated in when you talked about yourself like this.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “I want you to be [Y/N], not just my girlfriend. You just have to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

You feel the prick of tears in your eye and nod into his chest. You need to trust him. You have to.

“I’ll try,” you say, drifting off into sleep. “This time I’ll try.”

And this time he won’t let go.

—

A/N: Super hard writing this because it’s been like uhhhh more than a year, but I’m glad I got to do it. Thank you @iron-lix​ for commissioning this and being so sweet and patient. I hope this was up to your expectation! Check out her blog for cute WayV fics!

I’ll be starting on my drabble game after I finish my last two commissions. Writers block is starting to get to me guys, so I’ll try to pace myself better in these next few days. Again thank you to everyone for being so kind in your messages and asks to me. I really feed off the positive vibes, you guys really know how to make me feel special T^T

give me a coffee?

[sabraeal]

In Plain Sight, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Written for @k-itsmaywriting​‘s birthday! I hope that, despite how weird the world is right now, you have an amazing day!

Shirayuki understands how this is supposed to work. She’s seem movies after all-- Witness, of course; Sister Act 1 & 2, if only because Opa thought Whoopie Goldberg was a national treasure and Oma thought she was too young to be watching Ghost; and Our Lips Are Sealed about eight times on video cassette, since she’s old enough (and Opa resisted DVD long enough) have both VCRs and wholesome Olsen twins content as a part of her childhood.

(Her favorite formative twins were Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap; they were red-headed, just like her, and one of them had a British accent. She’d been devastated to find out that not only were both of them American, but they were also only one girl. She’d watched Double Trouble to console herself)

In any case, she knows how this goes, at least narratively. She lays down in this amazingly comfortable bed, stares up at the ceiling in a tense yet melancholy fashion for hours, and dreams in plot-relevant flashbacks. Extra points if they reference the crime she witnessed.

The problem is: she didn’t. She’s just the unfortunate collateral to her father’s personal redemption. All the life ruining without ever being part of the A plot.

There’s an upside though: the second she hits that firm cloud of a mattress, she’s out like a light.

Absolutely nothing wakes her, but Shirayuki jolts into consciousness anyway, as unpleasant as any false start. She expects to be confused; she’s not a graceful riser to begin with, and every morning in temporary housing, she’d bounce off three walls at minimum trying to find a bathroom that didn’t exist.

(Well, the bathroom did exist, it just didn’t exist where it should, which was down the hall to the right, and was compounded by the door being in exactly the wrong place too.)

Instead, she knows exactly where she is. Knowledge which is quickly followed by the low-key, seething resentment for the man who put her here.

She groans, lifting her head from the pillow. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just--

7:00, her alarm clock says. Tuesday, her brain provides after a long moment.

She should be getting up, habit told her. Getting her morning fix of avocado toast and orange juice with Paul Newman’s face stamped on it.

There’s worse ways to start your day than having a fine pair of eyes smiling at you, Oma would say.

What can I say? Opa’d grumble back, flipping through the paper. It’s impossible to compete with Butch Cassidy.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. There’d be none of that today. Agent Jiang-- Obi’s assistant had gotten her Simply Orange instead. A small mercy. It’s hard enough to be someone else when there’s still so much her clinging to the edges.

It’s tempting to linger in bed; she’s always been a morning person, up with the birds, but maybe Claire isn’t. Maybe Claire likes to stay up late and sleep in, sleeping past the three alarms she sets for herself. Maybe she likes to have waffles for breakfast, straight from a box, and drinks pomegranate juice. Maybe she doesn’t bike into the lab at eight because--

She groans. Because Claire doesn’t have a job. A thing that will have to change soon, since Claire has to pay for this house.

There’s a great deal of compromise that happens between bedside and bathroom; habit insists she needs to be fully dressed, ready to greet the day, but everything else--

Well, she’s not going anywhere is she? There’s no reason she couldn’t wallow in her pj’s all day

Standards, habit insists. But those belonged to Shirayuki, not Claire. Claire has no job, no friends, and nothing to do on a Tuesday morning besides--

Oh no, the recycling.

The bin is nearly two-thirds her height, but with only one day under her belt, it’s already overflowing. Good thing she’d looked at that brochure when it slipped out from between the takeout menus.

She shrugs her hoodie a little tighter, pulling it down over her leggings-- habit and hedonism settled on exercise wear as a happy medium-- and grips the handle, tugging it out the opening garage door, right into the fresh Texas morning--

And promptly throws her hoodie back into the garage. She might need that with the downright frosty temperature the house is set to, but oh, she was not going to cover her skin out here any more than necessary. Even now, she’s starting to sweat in impossible places beneath her leggings.

Hooking her palm back around the handle, she tugs the bin down the drive. Her gaze fixes to the pavement-- the last thing she needs is to trip right over herself on her own driveway taking out the trash-- and she doesn’t look up until she hits the sidewalk. It’s a struggle to get it to sit right-- these are proper curbs, white poured cement with squared edges meant to puncture cheeky tires; one of the wheels catches in a gap and refuses to budge until she hip checks it out onto the next slab.

She’s damp at this point, skin dewing with giant drops of sweat she’s tempted to shake off like a dog, but--

But Martha Kino has an arm slung along their fence, holding a tall glass of iced tea that makes her mouth water just to look at.

“Oh, um, good morning!” she calls out with a weak wave. “I didn’t, um, see you there.”

It’s only when Martha slides her gaze to her that she realizes her neighbor hadn’t been looking at her at all. Her mouth curves into a knowing smile at the sight of her. “Good morning, honey. You here for the show?”

Shirayuki blinks. “The show?”

“Mm-hm.” Martha takes a long drag from her straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Here it comes now.”

Shirayuki tracks her line of sight right across the cul-de-sac, squinting at half acre of immaculately trimmed, completely invasive Bermuda grass. Their front garden is well-kept, as well; thickly mulched with giant hibiscus blooming blood red against pristine stone facade.

Oh, and there’s a man as well. That’s probably what Mrs Kino is looking at.

He’s tall. No, tall is an understatement; he’s a giant, six foot four at least with shoulders to match. He’s trimmed with the same military precision as his lawn, clean shaven with an undercut that could scratch glass. Heavy brows draw sharply over his nose, forehead rumpling as he tears a box right down the fold--

Ah, well, all right. It’s not doing much of anything for her, but the Vitruvian man’s more ideal cousin ripping up boxes definitely counts as a show. Halfway through, he grabs the hem of his shirt, mopping his brow, and ah, hm, he could definitely have made money as an anatomical model. His rectus abdominis are, ah...very defined.

“Is he--” Shirayuki searches for the words-- “from around here?”

“Oh, him?” Martha’s gaze doesn’t stray for a second, not even as she sips at her tea. “That’s Scott. Aspen’s husband. They just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Shirayuki glances around the neighborhood. Seems like more than a few of her neighbors hope they’ll never leave either.

“Quite the pair, those two,” Martha hums. “She’ll be at the luncheon. I know you two will just get on like houses.”

More like houses on fire if she mentions she’s seen her husband’s floor show. “Oh, right. The um, luncheon.”

Mrs Kino grins as Scott hops back inside, out of this heat, just like she’s dying to do. “By the way, he mows the lawn on Sunday, just before lunch.”

“Oh, um, great.” She’ll be sure to miss it. “Can’t wait.”

It’s too early to bake cookies.

There’s not a baked good on earth that tastes as good two days later as it does fresh out of the oven; Shirayuki knows that down to her toes and bones, but still--

Stress baking. It’s a thing. And she doesn’t have to make anything right now. She could get all the ingredients together, just to make sure she has them. And then...just not do anything.

She can. Definitely. Absolutely. She’s Claire now. Claire probably doesn’t even like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh gosh, who is she kidding? Only monsters don’t like chocolate chip cookies. What next, Claire doesn’t like brownies? Apple pie? Snickerdoodles?

It’s a slippery slope, not liking things. Best to just keep it simple and eat everything, that’s what Opa always said at the church potluck.

The morsels and brown sugar already sit out on the counter when her phone lets out a piercing ting. She’s half tempted to ignore it; she’s having a contentious battle with the ten pounds of King Arthur flour that’s tucked away in her cabinet-- what was she thinking?-- and she refuses to show any fear in the face of baking supplies but--

Ting. No one knows her number. Well, no one except the government.She settles back on her heels with a sneeze. The government probably doesn’t take kindly to being left on read.

Her hands clap against her thighs, flour misting into the air as she leaves two partial prints right over the helical print. She frowns, plucking at the fabric, nose wrinkling as more powder burst into the air. Ting.

“I’m coming,” she mutters, stumbling over to the island. “I’m coming.”

Sugar Daddy i got just what u need pumpkin check ur email

The corners of her mouth dig furrows into her cheeks as she clicks on the notification. It’s the only message in her inbox, aside from the ubiquitous Welcome to Gmail spam and a few coupons for Banana Republic and a couple of other retailers. They’d taught her about this at orientation; they couldn’t do much about an empty inbox, but everyone had at least a few mailing lists they’d either forgotten to opt out of or regularly used.

Still...what about her said Banana Republic? She glances down at her spandex-clad legs. If they were going to go for a too-expensive clothing line, they could have at least sprung for Lululemon.

Ah, but that wasn’t the point. Marshal Jiang-- Obi hadn’t texted all...that...to show off some spam. Sitting at the very top of her inbox is a Cornell email address-- Cornell-- with an attachment.

Dear Claire, the message reads, We’re so sorry to see you go, but I’m glad we’re able to keep in touch. Of course we kept the copy of your old CV. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.

It’s signed by some professor; not high profile enough for her to have heard of, but she doesn’t doubt that he’s real, someone a curious party could look up on Cornell’s directory. Well, at least for the next six months.

The Columbia alumna inside her writhes in agony. Cornell. She doubts it’s a coincidence.

Me Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?

Not that she’s very, um, up on the specifics of such a relationship, but she’d been under the impression that sugar...children?...were supposed to be fully reliant on their sugar parent. Her mouth pulls thin. Already she’s thinking about this far more than she’d ever hope to.

Sugar Daddy a good daddy makes sure his baby can take care of herself ;)

This declaration is followed by a stream of emojis, ending with an eggplant and a peach, and she just-- doesn’t need to know. She wipes away the sweat that beads at her hairline-- from embarrassment, of course-- and downloads the attachment.

Me I’ll take a look. Thank you.

She sets the phone back on the island, face down, and glares. He can’t possibly be like this to everyone. People would complain. They wouldn’t just let him insinuate that he-- that they--

Ting.

Sugar Daddy good girl

All right. Maybe they would.

Shirayuki doesn't get homesick.

She’d been the first brownie to leap out of her car at summer camp; Opa barely had time to lurch into park before she was traipsing across the field, backpack slung over her shoulder and duffel bag dragging on the grass. Freshman year, she moved into the dorm by herself, pressing kisses to wrinkled cheeks as she lugged her suitcases onto the train; she’d almost forgotten to wave from the window.

But as soon as she lays down in bed, the lights snuffed out and the world still, it hits her. Just a soft roll of her stomach at first, the barest itch on her skin, like wearing a wool sweater on a spring afternoon. It’s fine; too much to ignore but nothing that would keep her up too long.

It doesn’t stay that way.

Her stomach clenches, tears pricking at her eyes, and it’s everything she can do to just roll onto her side, letting the chills wrack through her body. She shivers so hard her teeth chatter, and this-- this isn’t the gentle ache of nostalgia her books prepared her for. This is an illness, plain and simple, like when she caught norovirus in eighth grade can could hardly do anything but lay on the bathroom floor and wait for the next wave to begin.

This isn’t her, she isn’t like this, she doesn’t get like this, but-- but--

Before she always knew her home was waiting for her; she could leave but Oma and Opa would always keep the front lamp on, waiting for weary travelers and last minute bookings.

It’s different now that there’s no home to come back to.

7:00, her alarm clock says. She watches it tick over, like she has for every hour before it.

She must have slept at some point; it’s impossible that she’s lain awake, staring at the clock for eight hours. But that doesn’t make her any less tired, and so when her alarm starts up, beeps cutting through the quiet white noise of the air conditioner, she reaches out and slaps it off.

Shirayuki may not sleep in, but Claire is certainly warming to the idea.

Her notebook sits open on the island; neat, looping script stretches across the page, straining the boundaries of the blue lines that contains it. She’d done her homework yesterday, combing through job sites to find the most likely candidates. There’s five on her list right now, ranked according to preference, and oh, is Shirayuki glad she had the gumption to do this before, because this morning she feels like roadkill being scraped off the blacktop.

Still, she worries at her lip as her laptop boots up, peering over her list. In the cold light of the morning, five seems too few, but...desperation hasn’t set in yet. She’s allowed to still have standards.

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she glances at the next page: another list. No, a set of instructions. Edit CV. Write cover letters.

Shirayuki groans. Even with the bullet points she left for herself, composing cover letters is a circle of hell all its own. With only three hours of solid sleep under her belt, it’s an insurmountable hurdle to getting hired.

“Right,” she murmurs, hooking an ankle around a stool and pulling it under her. “Editing it is.”

She clicks on the pdf Obi sent her, scrolling down and--

“Oh no.” She rears back from the screen, heart pounding. “No, no. There’s got to be a mistake...”

“Hey, baby,” Obi’s voice rumbles through her speaker. It’s thick and warm and would be utterly distracting if she were in any less of a crisis. “A little early for a b--?”

“What happened to my papers?”

“Uh.” All the suggestion in his tone evaporates. “What?”

“My papers.” Her hand grips the phone so tight it creaks. “They’re gone.”

His end goes silent. Silent enough to make that weird click, like the line’s cut out, and she pulls back to check--

“Someone stole your passport?” He laughs, incredulous. “Some sort of luck you have, Miss. Barely had it for a day and already you’ve gotten your identity stolen.”

She blinks into the barren air of her kitchen. “What?”

“You know,” he hums, too amused, “I picked out a cute house in the suburbs for safety, and here you are, getting robbed. Did you leave them in your car? Or did you just go out--”

“N-no!” She’s honestly half tempted to say what car, until she remembers the tasteful mid-sized SUV in the driveway, the one she’s still been calling the girlfriend car in her head, and realizes-- it’s hers. She’s the girlfriend.

Except she’s not. At all. Which is fine! She doesn’t even want that! If she’s still thinking about what his mouth feels like as he wraps them around his words, then--

She really can’t be thinking about this right now. “I mean my papers! I just looked at my CV and it’s a page!”

He hesitates, though not enough for the line to click again. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“CVs aren’t resumes,” she informs him patiently, pen twisting between her fingers. “They’re dick measuring contests--”

Her teeth snap around the words, but oh, it’s too late. They’re already out there in the aether, and he’s laughing.

“Now there’s something I didn’t think I’d hear out of you, Miss.” He doesn’t need to sound so pleased about it.

“It’s something my old PI used to say,” she mutters. Oh, Garak would be so proud of herself if she knew. “It’s not very polite, but she’s not, um, wrong.”

“I’m sorry the US government made you under endowed.” His words practically rattle as he says them. “It’s not the size that matters, Miss, but how you use it.”

“Obi,” she huffs. “All the work I’ve done for the past ten years of my life now is attributed to my birth name and my birth name only! According to this CV I have the same level of experience, but less papers than an undergrad! And you can’t tell me that any of these are searchable on PubMed.”

And none of them are first authors, is what she doesn’t say. It’s a petty thing to worry about when her entire academic career is functionally extinct.

“Hm.” His fingers drum quickly on a table. Desk? It’s strange not knowing anything about the man who is her only lifeline. “I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t want to be, um, alarmist, but I can’t get a job with this.” Her hand shakes as she scrolls down her screen. “No one is going to hire a post-doc with a one page CV.”

“Don’t worry, Miss. There’s a plan for this, somewhere.” She can feel his grin when he says, “You can’t be the first academic who’s had to go into hiding.”

She smiles, despite herself. “Considering some of the conferences I’ve been to, I can believe it.”

“Besides, you could always apply to pharmaceuticals.” The very word is like a donkey kick to her gut. “The pay’s supposed to be better--”

“I can’t work for Big Pharma.”

He hesitates. “You...can’t?”

“Obi, they make little old grandmas pay eight hundred dollars for insulin!” She presses a hand to her chest. “Banting and Best didn’t sell the patent for one dollar so that people could get gouged by--”

“I get it, I get it,” he assured her. “Preaching to the choir. But as a safety, I’m sure you could find one that isn’t stealing candy from babies.”

She huffs. “I doubt it.”

He rasps out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. As I said, can’t be the first PhD on the lam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Just yours?”

“You are certainly some kind of education, Miss.” He hums. “Give me a day. See what I can turn up.”

“You have two,” she informs him magnanimously. “I have the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.” She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s lounging, smug like a cat post-canary. “Looking forward to joining the neighborhood’s Ladies’ Committee?”

“Ha ha,” she drawls flatly. “Very funny.”

He is unnervingly silent on the other end.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice certainly does not fill with a nervous quaver. “You guys don’t have things like that around here.”

Obi hums, humoring her.

“W-what would they even do?” She picks nervously at the sticker on her laptop, prying up part of NVIDIA. “Plan potlucks? Organize the Neighborhood Watch? Cotillions?”

She doesn’t know how he makes his grin so palpable over 4G. “Looking forward to your debut, Miss?”

Shirayuki scowls down at her screen. “I think I’m firmly up on the shelf, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I have cookies to make.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Taking Chances 2/4

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Switching perspectives without clear divisions cause why not)

1 2 3 4 

Warnings- Brief mentions of smut, cheesy romance stuff 

Ayiana and Mark had left when the rain had slowed, and Keanu had insisted that they take the rented car back, after agreeing with Y/n that they could fend for themselves. After the couple had left though, tipsy and all over each other, the rain, as predicted by the forecast, had grown heavy again. Though, as the night waned on, most patrons, drunk and tired, had opted to bare the worst of the storm, leaving the pub scantily populated, with Keanu and his newfound friend cozied in a booth near the back, where the lights were lowest, beer bottles and empty glasses laid out on the table. By then, Y/n’s clothes were mostly dried, as was her hair, now in messy curls framing her gorgeous face. “Wait,” drunkenly, Y/n giggled, leaning in so Keanu could catch a whiff of the alluring remnants of her perfume mixing intoxicatingly with the scent of alcohol, “Say that again.”

“Okay, okay,” her fit of musical giggles were contagious and Keanu could help but grin wider as he realized how absolutely breathtaking Y/n was when she smiled, “I got up to check the air, and just like that this lady rear ends me.”

“And the bike slides out from under you?” She finished, eyes wide and her soiree interrupted by her gaping in shock.

“Basically, yeah,” Keanu nodded, “It was insane!” He laughed a bit louder, not caring how much attention they attracted, only quelling the sound when he finished off his latest drink. They’d had so many by then, that they’d both lost count and Y/n and Keanu could both safely say that they were way past drunk.

“But you were okay right?” And just like that, her glassy eyes were sparkling with genuine worry, and again, Y/n leaned in a tad bit closer. The nearer she drew, the harder it was to ignore how plump her lips were, how much Keanu wanted to kiss her. It was so strange, they didn’t know each other very well, and Keanu knew that Y/n would probably be gone by the next day; but he thought he could listen to her for a lifetime, her laugh, her voice, even her silences were enjoyable. She was so unlike anyone he’d ever met, funny, intelligent, confident, but also so very shy at times, blushing when he least expected and laughing at his worst jokes. It wasn’t forced or fake laughter either, it was real, full bodied and melodious.

“Yeah,” Keanu’s smile softened as he reassured her, still surprised by her unexpected concern, “I was standing, so everything turned out fine.” They broke into a bout of silence, a brief one, which Keanu broke, "So, what brings you to Luxembourg? I mean, you're definitely not from around here."

At that, Y/n blushed, thinking back on how she'd messed up the accents on very simple words earlier, "I'm not," she chortled quietly, they'd just been equipped with fresh drinks, and as she thought of her answer, mind to blurry to work out all the details, she spun the glass in her hand, eyeing the whiskey inside with broken focus, "I'm actually here for…...inspiration. I thought some kind of spontaneous trip would somehow get the creative juices flowing, I'm a writer, or at least, I'm supposed to be," she chuckled dryly, "I used to be a journalist."

"Career change? You didn't like it?" Keanu furrowed his brows, holding his chin in his palm, elbow planted on the table. He wanted to know everything about her, willing to listen to anything she'd say, and based on their interaction, he could tell she felt the same. 

"I did," Y/n took a sip of her drink, staring off to the cleared tables ahead wistfully, "I traveled sometimes, but usually I'd be in Washington, covering press conferences and that kind of stuff. It was pretty boring," frowning, Y/n tried to put her thoughts into words, "I always wanted to be a writer, you know, write a novel or something that people would read even when I'm gone."

Like she had back at the bar, though with the moment feeling far more intimate, Keanu took Y/n's hand, curling his fingers over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, her skin silky smooth. Her plight resonated with him, the burning desire to leave behind a legacy, make his own unique mark in the world sometimes haunted him too sometimes. "But?"

"But?" Huffing with a faint smile, Y/n shook her head, taking another lengthy sip of her drink, "But I don't know how. I mean, what am I even supposed to write about?"

"Whatever you want," Keanu chuckled with a new enthusiasm. Untangling their hands, Keanu rummaged through his pocket for his wallet, eventually producing enough cash to cover their bill and more, before standing and offering Y/n his hand, "Come on."

Confused by his erratic behavior, Y/n's lips hung agape, finding it hard to formulate any semblance of a sentence, "What're…..what?"

"Trust me?" His plea was half a question for her to actually do it and half an inquisition to gauge how much she actually trusted him.

"Trust you?" Y/n shot back incredulously, though still taking Keanu's hand, their fingers interlacing easily, feeling as if they were made to fit, "I don't even know you!" Already, they were already at the front door, and Keanu was pushing it open, pulling Y/n along as he stepped onto the slippery, wet sidewalk. The sound of the downpour, accompanied by the claps of thunder and occasional burst of lightning welcomed them. Heavy drops hit the street and pavement, splattering upwards, in some areas creating huge puddles. In an instant, even though they were still under the guard of the under-croft, their feet were soaked, water clinging to the hem of Y/n's tea length sundress and soaking her wedged sandals, while Keanu's boots were completely saturated, as were his jeans. "Is your plan to get us sick?"

"No," Keanu flashed her a mischievous grin, the act enough to add a distinct boyishness to his rugged features, despite the evidence of salt in his trimmed beard, "You're here for inspiration, so let's find you some. You know what they say about experience." 

Squaring up to brace the weather, Keanu gave her one final glance to ensure Y/n was ready too, and when her eyes complied, he led her out. In an instant, they were drenched, cold rain water matting hair to their skin and  making their clothes cling to their bodies. Y/n barely had a moment to even be concerned with how wet the contents of her bag would be, or even the fact that she was still holding Keanu's hand when there was someone at home waiting for her. All that mattered then and there was the glee on Keanu's face, how contagious it was and how much she wished they could stay like that forever. "Well where are we going for this experience?"

"This is the experience!" Keanu laughed giddily, stopping when they were stood in the middle of the deserted street to look up at the sky, "You can't tell me you've ever walked through a foreign town, with a complete stranger during a storm in the middle of the night."

It was an oddly specific situation and Y/n without even thinking of it, resigned to sharing in his excitement, "No!" It was a strain for her soft voice to combat the sounds around them, "I can't say I have." They were walking down the cobblestone street, following the gentle slope downward, occasionally stumbling as a result of all the alcohol they'd had. It was cold, though neither of them noticed; the company was warm enough, and as they walked, Y/n looked around, closed stores looking vastly different from what they were like back home. There weren't bright lights embedded in the showcase, meant to display products even during closing, and everything just seemed so beautifully vintage, straight out of a forties film noir. 

"Tell me something about yourself," Keanu broke her thoughts as they grew further and further from the pub.

Briefly, Y/n turned to him, biting her lip at how enthralling he looked like that, so picture perfect, as if a snapshot from a movie had been plucked out of a television and placed right next to her. Keanu was nothing like Noah, he was enigmatic and fascinating because of his unpredictability. He laughed easier and much louder, he was shy and bold at the same time and much to her surprise, they didn't have any sort of awkward "getting to know you" period, they'd just lapsed into familiarity in merely a few minutes. "What do you want to know?"

“Anything,” everything. Keanu grinned broadly, knowing that he’d likely be content with listening to her for the rest of his time, without ever growing tired. “Just say anything,” being with Y/n, staggering through the rain, the sound of her kitten heels on cobblestone muted by the weather and her palm warm and right in his, couldn’t be anything other than the optimum of perfection. He’d never felt that at ease with someone, so ready to bare his soul to a stranger, “And I’ll listen.”

For a brief moment, Y/n glanced at Keanu, her smile faltering, softening, as their eyes met. Part of her knew it was wrong; the way she was feeling. If she were sober, then maybe things might have been different, but Y/n’s speech was slurred and her vision was blurry. Her mind was cloudy too, bombarded only with thoughts of Keanu; how much she was enjoying having his hand in hers, how devilishly handsome he was, how desperately she wanted to kiss him. Abruptly, with a pink hue, hidden by the darkness, spreading on her cheeks, Y/n turned away, “Lets see,” she deliberated, “My favorite book is The Great Gatsby, I moved to Washington for college when I was eighteen,” she thought some more, “And I love eighties music!”

Throwing his head back in wild euphoria, Keanu gazed at her, “Were you even alive in the eighties?”

“Nope!” Y/n giggled, almost tripping, only to be caught by Keanu, who took the initiative to pull her closer. Her laughter sobered, and in the back of her mind, Y/n knew she should pull away, tell Keanu the truth, but his embrace was warmer than anything she’d ever felt, and when she stole another glance at him, only to find him gazing down at her, his expression illuminated by the flickering street lamp, all she could see was a face that seemed strange and oddly familiar simultaneously. Then it hit her, she didn’t want to tell him, Y/n wanted to live like that with him, even if just for the rest of the night. It was out-rightly selfish, and utterly wrong, but she had a feeling that Keanu was worth it. Her heart hadn’t fluttered like that in a long time, and it had been ages since she’d done something so spontaneous. 

Keanu hadn’t noted that he’d been leading Y/n in the direction of the hotel that he’d been staying at until the elegant building came into view, yellow lights glittering through the screen doors leading to individual balconies and the valet’s station vacant, possibly due to the storm. “Where are you staying tonight?” Keanu inquired as they floundered towards the front doors.

“I…..” Wide eyed, Y/n stuttered, “I have no idea,” despite her distress, she was still smiling faintly, I guess I’ll get a room here.” Already, they’d stepped through the door, greeted by the middle aged doorman who warmly welcomed the two with French salutations. Easing her hand from Keanu’s grip, moving some soaked hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear, Y/n twisted her body to rummage through the contents of her handbag, searching for her purse, in hopes that the hotel would have an unbooked room.

“Or you could just stay with me,” Keanu blurted, causing Y/n to stare up at him with a perfectly surprised expression, “Come on, it’ll be fun, we can have some more drinks, get to know each other better, it’ll be fun.” Holding his breath, Keanu hung on to the hope that she’d say yes; he really wasn’t ready to lose her company yet.

Internally, Y/n debated Keanu’s offer. It seemed appealing, and she wanted to say yes, to just go for it and see where the night took them. But she was engaged, and maybe going up there with him was taking the fun too far, she already felt like a cheater anyway. Not because of what she’d done exactly, you could hold anyone’s hand and it would mean nothing, no, the guilt had bubbled up like a broil in the pit of her stomach because of how she’d felt. You shouldn’t feel the way she did about Keanu when you had someone waiting for you to come back. To come home.

But Paris wasn’t home, and while she’d tried to make Noah her home, like he’d done with her, Y/n knew she was straying, far, far away from what was ordinarily familiar. She didn’t want familiar that night, she wanted Keanu, the thrill, the loud laughter that she’d easily sunk into, the feeling of getting lost in his whiskey eyes and the insurmountable comfort that came from simply holding his calloused hand. Y/n had the burning urge to know him, learn him, hold on and not let go. The feelings swirling around in her chest weren’t ones that Y/n thought could be built so quickly, yet there they were, and all she could say to his offer was, “Let's do it.”

Stunned by her willingness, Keanu’s features brightened tremendously, and he swore he’d never smiled so hard, “Great!” Taking her hand again, they trotted towards the elevator, leaving the deserted lobby behind, squinting at the bright lights and foggy reflections that dazzled their eyes as they entered the metal contraption. It took a minute or too, his eyes squinted and his stocky fingers fumbling until he found the ‘15’ button, hitting it harder than he should have. As they went up, they found that the air in there was colder than it had been downstairs, and when a shiver ran through Y/n, Keanu, without thinking of it, wiggled his fingers out of hers, proceeding to drape his long arm over her shoulders, reeling her in.

Instinctively, Y/n nuzzled into his side, reveling in the warmth that radiated off his body despite his soaked outfit, swallowing tightly as she tilted her head upwards, only to find that Keanu was studying her, his expression soft, though wanting. No one had ever looked at her like that, not even Noah; like she was everything that mattered, all wrapped up in one person. Like she held the clarity to every unanswerable question in her eyes. Like love could be simply contained in a stare. Love? Love. For probably the first time since they’d sat down in the pub, Y/n stopped smiling, though, it was only because the giddiness had been replaced by something more…….consuming. Thoughts of drinks and a chat late into what remained of the night dispersed, and the lump in her throat only thickened. Tell him, one voice urged, while the more careless one pleaded with her to just let things unfold. One night with a man who’d made her feel like she was the only woman in the world couldn’t be so bad, could it?

As if it were fated, their faces gravitated towards each other, just as Y/n turned slightly in Keanu’s embrace, cocking her head to the side. His lips were barely a hair away from descending upon hers and she could readily smell the alcohol on his breath, mixing with the scent of the rain and a long smoked cigarette. Altogether, it was alluring, and Y/n wondered if the next day she’d be able to go back to a life without it; if she’d be able to leave Keanu behind. She didn’t want to find out. As he came closer, her breath hitched, the soft sound contained in the hollow of her throat, and right as it was about to happen, right as she was about to finally break a sacred promise, the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, ready to the deposit the pair on the sleepy hallway of the hotel’ fifteenth floor.

“We should…..” Keanu trailed off, not able to quite shake off the feeling that had prompted him to try to initiate a kiss in the elevator, though still leading Y/n towards his room, down the end of the hall. Secretly, he hoped that the moment could be rekindled when they reached their destination, it would be a lie if he’d said he hadn’t wanted to kiss Y/n since the moment they’d met. The thought had bounced around in his head all night, hope building in his chest every time their eyes locked, but the time never seemed as right as it had until they were in the elevator. Clumsily, he shoved his key card into the designated slot, swearing under his breath when he’d gotten it wrong the first two times, the mood only lightened by Y/n’s incessant giggles at his plight from nearby. When Keanu finally got it right, he was the first to enter, though she was close on his heels as he slapped the light switch near the door. 

Still laughing, Y/n barely noticed the kink in the carpet in the threshold, getting caught in her shoe, resulting in her stumbling forward and right into Keanu’s arms. Luckily though, he caught her, his hands planted on her waist, bunching up the fabric of her pleated, dusty rose colored dress, beneath her cropped leather jacket. Even when she was steadied, Keanu’s grip remained, only loosening to slip to her hips. Feeling the air around them grow electric once again, Y/n took the tiniest step forward, only just registering how close they’d already been. Once again, Keanu was staring at her, the way he had been during their moment in the elevator, “He looked at her the way all women wanted to be looked at by a man,” she quoted breathlessly, not quite sure why she’d felt the need to do that, her lips already ghosting Keanu’s.

“What?” Keanu knitted his brows, his arms moving again to circle Y/n’s waist, his tongue hurriedly darting out to moisten his lips as she stood on the tips of her toes to reach him better. 

Raising her hands, Y/n tangled her fingers in his shaggy, wet mane, when the other hand cupped his neck, feeling his scruff tickle her thumb. Barely, she registered the low twinkle of her engagement ring, occasionally made mute by the bursts of lightning that brightened the suite. “Nothing,” Y/n leaned in. Heartbeat to heartbeat, quick breaths in sync and minds only focused on one thing, they finally let it happen. Hot lips, meeting, taking a minute to feel each other out, slow and sweet as Y/n tasted him for the first time, though, growing passionate when their tongues warred. Better judgment was never going to prevail, and when Keanu found the edges of her jacket, pushing it off, she let him, thoughts of anything and everything that was outside of their bubble, fade away.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt  @iworshipkeanureeves​

[theoverlyenthusiasticwriter]

Music (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Hey, I know it’s been a while since I posted, but here’s a second part to my siren au. I hope you enjoy.

*****

Amren didn’t believe them. No one did. She even threatened to put them back out and bring back proof.

Under the deck, Cassian tried to wash the feeling of scales from his hands. They were headed to port by sundown, thankfully, where he could take a proper bath.

Turning, he found Rhys leaning against the door to the washroom. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Cassian sighed, running the damp cloth across the scratches on his chest. “I’m not crazy, right? You saw all of that too?”

Rhys nodded. “I woke up when you went into the water. She had Az under the spell until I knocked him in the head with my hilt.”

“How does Feyre know about them? Did she have an encounter?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Whenever it comes up, she gets all pale and shaky. Elain too.”

“I don’t blame them.” Cassian ran the cloth across his face, scrubbing against the coarse hair that needed trimming. Gods, he was a mess. “She was… she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s a siren, Cass.”

“Yeah, I know. I feel so stupid,” he said into the rag. “No part of me was deterred by the fact that she appeared, completely dry, in the middle of the sea.”

“If I had woken up sooner--”

“Then both of us would have been mooning over her.”

Rhys sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Find a nice lady at the port and forget this happened. Don’t let it get to you.”

Cassian nodded but suspected it already had.

*****

“I need to talk to you,” Cassian said the moment they found Feyre and Elain. Rhys’s head snapped to him--he hadn’t even gotten the chance to kiss her--but Cassian was already striding away, not waiting for her to follow.

She did and when they got to a private section of the port, she sat beside him on the deck.

Neither said anything for a long moment.

Cassian swung his legs in an effort to relieve the pent-up energy. “I believe you.”

Feyre raised a brow. “Believe me about what?”

“About sirens.”

She went white. “Did… Did something happen?”

He nodded, dropping his head into his hands. “Yes. Gods, Feyre, it was terrifying.”

“How are you alive? How did you get out?” Her voice was desperate, her nails digging into his bicep.

“Rhys and Az got me out. I don’t… they weren’t in as strong a thrall.”

She nodded. “It’s because she was after you, not them. She was singing for you.”

He shuddered. “How--how do you know so much? Please, help me explain some of this.”

She was quiet for a long while, looking at her toes under her skirts. Then-- “I had another sister. She was killed by them.”

“What?”

“They were--” Her words shook. “--after me, not her. I was the one that got lured in.”

He didn’t know if he should ask. He did anyway. “How did it happen?”

Another pause as Feyre seemed to master herself. “I was walking along the pier with my sisters late one night. I wanted to swim but neither of them like cold water. I got in anyway and I thought I was going crazy when I heard the singing, but it was so calm, so sweet that all my cares were swept away. I watched the siren come towards me. I didn’t even question it. She was so beautiful… I can still remember her face.”

“What did she look like?”

“She had long red hair, like liquid velvet, and these dark, soulful eyes. Her skin was so pale I thought it looked like moonlight.”

Cassian sighed. It wasn’t the same one.

“She told me her name was Amarantha. She told me how beautiful I was and how much she loved me. And, as she got closer, I saw her tale but didn’t think anything of it. I was close enough to the pier that when she was reaching for me, asking for a kiss, my oldest sister saw.” She let out a sob and cried for a few moments. Cassian didn’t know what to do. He wanted to cry too.

Finally, she collected herself enough to go on. “My sister didn’t even hesitate. She dove into the water and attacked the siren just as I was leaning in. I… The waves went quiet. Everything went quiet. Elain pulled me back onto the pier and we both tried to find her. Nothing surfaced. Not even a ripple. We went back every day for a month in blind hope her body might wash ashore and we’d have something to bury. She never did.” 

She pulled her knees up, hugging them around her voluminous skirts. “Since then, I’ve done a lot of research. Me and Elain both. Legend says the song is weaker every time you hear it, but most people don’t live beyond the first encounter. When they kiss you is when they have you. Then… they say the moment you kiss them, you belong to them. There’s no going back. They’ll drag you beneath the waves and carve out your heart. Corpses had been found washed up with gaping holes in their chests.”

Cassian touched his own chest, where he could still feel the sirens claws.

Feyre looked at him. “Did she… did you kiss her?”

He wasn’t sure why he lied. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Cassian. I’m so glad you got out.”

“Is there… Is there anything about them appearing human?”

Her brows drew together. “Not that I’ve read about, but I suppose very few live to tell the tale. They’re capable of”-- A shiver. --”amazing acts. They say their tears can make a man immortal and their blood can bring back the dead. They are creatures of mischief and myth.”

Cassian nodded and they lapsed into silence once more.

Then, “Rhys was with you?”

“Yeah. He helped pull me out.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s fine. He didn’t fall under the spell at all.”

“Good.”

“I think it’s because he’s already in love with someone.”

He smiled at the flush that spread across her cheeks. “I--I suppose that could… affect things.” Another pause. “I have read about being less susceptible when you’re in love.”

Cassian leaned back, breathing in the smell of salt water. “Thank you, Feyre.”

“Of course. If you ever need anyone to talk to again, me and Elain are here.”

“Thank you,” he said again and meant it.

The moment you kiss them, you belong to them.

*****

Hours later, Cassian was still shaken. He made himself get in a rowboat alone, trying in earnest to face the fear. He wouldn’t be afraid like Feyre and Elain were. The water was his life--he wouldn’t let some… creature take that from him.

Thankfully, nothing happened.

He arrived at a small cove he’d known since he was a boy, lodging the boat carefully in the rocks. 

The sun was slowly setting, casting the turquoise water in flame. Cassian watched it from within the small cave, sitting himself on the blankets he’d brought with him. He’d spend the night here, at the water’s edge alone, just to prove to himself they wouldn’t come back for him.

She wouldn’t come back for him.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Shifting his pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to forget her face.

*****

Cassian awoke some time in the night to the soft sound of singing. His body was too heavy to move, so he lay in stillness.

She was sitting at the cave entrance, humming while she worked knots from her hair.

He watched her tail swish through the water and tried to sit up, tried to go to her as the singing turned to crying.

But he awoke a moment later.

*****

Amren sent for him the next morning, calling him to her cabin before they left port.

Cassian came in hesitantly, fiddling with his bracelet.  “You asked for me, Captain?”

Amren looked up from the map she’d been pouring over and straightened. “Yes. Have a seat. I’ve thought a lot about you lately.”

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked as he sat. 

She was at eye level now and it made the look she gave him that much worse. “You nearly cost us everything, Cassian. That ship could have been so much more dangerous.”

“We got you gunpowder .”

“No, you got me rum and trouble. Now we have extra rum and an entire British Navy ship missing.” She planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Do you know what they are going to do when that ship doesn’t return to port, Cassian? Do you know where they are going to look?”

He did.

“And then you have the audacity to return,” she said, voice rising, “spouting nonsense about sirens? You scared half the idiots on this ship and your brothers with them.”

“Capitan—”

“You are more trouble than you’re worth, Cassian. You will not be leaving this harbor with us.”

He gaped at her. “But I’m—”

“One of my best men, yes. I know. You’re not replaceable, so we will have to do without you.”

His gaze moved down to the desk. He felt like he was dying. “Please.”

“I have arranged for another crew to take you, maybe discipline you a little. They’re close friends of mine and you will do well. In a few years, if you have survived and matured, I will welcome you back.”

He let out a breath, but the weight in his chest did not ease.

Amren said, “I will not apologize, Cassian, but I will wait for your return.”

He nodded. “I understand. I— I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Pack your things; your new captain awaits you.”

*****

Tags:

@sannelovesreading @ribhinnog @awesomelena555 @azriel-archeronn @imlumpingamazingstuff @nestaarxheron @gendryaforthemasses @just-me-too @catita09 @wanderlustlastsforever @samuelcasera-blog @pixelatedpebble @h-a-p-p-i-e-s @sarahjmaasslave @feyrheart @dotmccarthy @ourbooksuniverse

[stealingpotatoes]

First Meeting

Ao3 link

Summary: Alexi Mayhew meets Empress Emily Kaldwin for the first time. But it doesn’t really happen how she thought it would.

(nb: Going off extra lore stuff, Alexi and Emily were close good friends when they were kids, so I thought I’d write a little thing on smol Emily & Alexi meeting cause ya know… why not? Also realised I never posted this to tumblr so... here it is now!)

---

Alexi hated getting dressed up. Back in Potterstead, she almost never had to get all dressed up formally, but she’d barely lived in Dunwall more than two months, and it already felt like she’d been to more formal things here than she had in her whole life before moving here. And in Dunwall Tower -- because that meant they were at the Empress’ court, apparently -- Alexi had to be even more formal. Her almost-floor-length green dress was too stiff and her mother had done her hair up with too many pins. Alexi hated it. 

And they were at a boring meeting or talk or something. But the Empress wasn’t even there, because they were actually seeing her this evening, so really Alexi didn’t even need to look ‘nice’ until then. She didn’t even know what they were doing in Dunwall Tower, really. Her parents owned shops; they weren’t nobles.  

But one thing Alexi did know was that she was unbelievably bored just standing there. So she had slipped out of the room, taken her hair down, and began wandering about the Tower. None of the guards seemed to pay her much mind, so she guessed that she was allowed to. She eventually wound up in a hallway with a bunch of paintings along the walls. Some of them had various Emperors and Empresses, some of them were just random places or maybe events. Alexi found herself particularly drawn to a large painting of an Emperor in a formal-ish military outfit, holding a sword in the air in a very commanding way while on a rearing horse, with parts of a battle going on in the background. Alexi began imagining herself as this great general-Emperor. 

Alexi was so caught up in the painting that she didn’t notice the sound of someone running down the hall until it was too late. The second she turned around to see what was happening or who it was, she was met by the full impact of someone running into her. Alexi painfully fell straight on her butt.

After a second, she opened her eyes to see a young girl with short-ish black hair, probably about eleven or twelve- Alexi’s age, quickly pushing herself up from the floor. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry-- I didn’t see you,” The girl, now standing, extended a hand to Alexi.

Alexi took her girl’s hand, and she helped pull Alexi to her feet.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” Alexi said, moving her braided hair behind her back and dusting herself off, “Though, maybe look where you’re going next time?”

“...I had to check if I was being followed!” The girl exclaimed, “But- yes, sorry, I’ll… do that.” She rubbed her arm sheepishly. 

Now that they’d both stopped moving, Alexi had a better look at the girl in front of her. She was taller than Alexi, a little lanky really, and wearing an expensive-looking black trouser suit with fine silver embroidery and white trimmings. Her hair had been messed up, probably from the speeding down the halls and the running-right-into-Alexi. 

“Who might be following you?” Alexi asked. 

The girl tilted her head to the side, “Um- a few people...” she paused and looked Alexi up and down, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?” 

“This is my first time in the Tower” Alexi fiddled with the fabric of her skirts a little, “I’m here with my parents. We’re supposed to be meeting the Empress later today or something.”

The girl looked at Alexi thoughtfully before smiling like she knew something Alexi didn’t, “Why aren’t you with them?”

“I was with them, at some really boring meeting-talk-thing. But it was um-- really boring. So…” Alexi shrugged, “I thought I’d explore.” 

The girl laughed a little, “There’s no shortage of boring meetings in Dunwall Tower.” 

“Do you have to go to those things with your parents too?”

The girl did that smile again, “Something like that…”

Alexi ignored how vague the girl was being, “Um- what were you running from?”

“My lessons.” 

“Oh- That explains why you were running so fast.” Alexi said, smiling. Did people have lessons in the Tower? 

The girl giggled. “What’s your name?” 

“Alexi Mayhew.” Alexi said proudly, “What’s yours?”

“Emily Kaldwin.”

It took a second for the penny to drop. Alexi knew that Empress Emily was her age, had black hair, and she had a rough idea of what the Empress looked like from newspapers and various images. Maybe she just wasn’t actually expecting a child, someone like her -- maybe she’d imagined someone more like the paintings around her, all regal and not running down hallways at great speeds. But Alexi really should’ve noticed it sooner. 

This realisation must have shown on her face, because Emily giggled a little. 

Alexi’s brow furrowed, “Um- Do I have to call you Your Majesty? Or bow…?”

Emily seemed to think about it for a second, “Technically yes, but you can call me Emily.”

“ Phew. Well uh-” Alexi put her hand out, quickly recovering- “it’s nice to meet you, Emily.”

Emily looked at Alexi’s hand, slightly confused, for a moment, before suddenly shaking it, “It’s nice to meet you too, Alexi.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments, and Alexi found herself looking at the painting that they were both standing under again. 

Emily glanced up at the painting too, and then at a clock near them, “Do you want to see some actual fighting?” 

Alexi nodded enthusiastically. 

Emily gestured for Alexi to follow, and led her along two halls, until they reached a window seat. Emily climbed into the alcove on her knees, before looking back and gesturing for Alexi to come up, “Come on!”

Alexi pushed herself onto the window seat to kneel next to Emily, and looked out the window. Alexi put her hands to the window sill. Below them, the Dunwall Tower guards were sparring with each other in the training yard. There were maybe 20 guards, plus a captain walking in the space between the sparring matches, yelling things Alexi couldn’t hear. They were all duelling with swords- properly fighting

“ Cool, ” Alexi grinned.

“I know,” Emily said, still staring out the window. 

The guards continued to duel below. They were all good duellists, which made sense, seeing as only the best of the City Watch guarded Dunwall Tower. It was impressive to watch all of them fight. 

“I want to be able to fight like that,” Alexi said, not taking her eyes off the

“Me too,” Emily said, a little quieter than before. 

“When I’m old enough, I’m going to join the City Watch.” Alexi turned to Emily.

Emily faced Alexi, “Maybe I’ll see you training out here soon.”

“Yeah! And you- when you learn to sword fight too.”

Emily chuckled a little, “I don’t think the City Watch will let me spar with them.”

“Why not? It’s technically your training grounds, right?” Alexi twisted her hand on the sill in Emily’s direction. 

Emily tilted her head and smirked, “I suppose so.” 

Alexi turned back to the window and stared at the guards, still duelling. But she saw Emily looking at her in her peripheral vision and turned her head to face her. “What is it?” she asked, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. 

Emily half-shrugged, “Everyone’s usually so weird around me. But you’re… not. You’re different.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Alexi asked, cautiously. She was pretty sure that she was ignoring every single piece of ‘etiquette’ she was meant to know, but etiquette was dumb, so she didn’t care. 

“Oh- no! Definitely not. No, it’s a good thing.” Emily smiled reassuringly.

Alexi smiled back, “So what’s weird? Do they ”

Emily returned to looking out the window and Alexi did the same. “No, people just act like I’m made of glass or-- Woah , did you see that?!” Emily asked.

“See what?” Alexi looked between the guards. 

Emily pointed to a guard on the floor, “His opponent just dodged him perfectly and did this uh- leg swipe, and floored him! It was awesome!”

“Maybe he’ll do it again--”

“Emily?” A man’s rough voice came from the end of the hall, interrupting Alexi.   

Emily glanced behind her before looking back to Alexi, annoyed, and huffing, “Callista got Corvo to find me.”

“As in Corvo Attano?” Alexi asked, eyes widening.

Emily nodded. 

Alexi knew she’d get to see Corvo Attano today, because the Royal Protector was almost always with the Empress. And if Alexi was being honest, she’d been way more excited to see him than she had been to see the Empress. Because- well, Corvo Attano was a legend! Alexi had heard that he could fight ten armed men at once, with just his bare hands . And that he was the best swordsman and hand-to-hand combatant in all the Isles. And that last year, he’d escaped Coldridge Prison (Coldridge! Nobody escaped Coldridge!), saved Empress Emily twice, taken down the evil Lord Regent (and those other bad people who ruled for like 2 days afterwards) and cleared his name, almost entirely by himself! Earlier, Alexi had almost been hoping that some assassins or something would show up when she was meeting the Empress, just so she’d get to see him in action. And so everything would be less boring. 

Emily got down from the seat and Alexi followed suit. 

As they got down, a man in a long dark blue coat with gold-yellow trimmings walked around the corner. “Emily-” he said, seeing them and picking up his pace a little. He stopped when he was about a step or two away from them. 

Alexi looked up at the man in front of her. She could definitely believe that he’d done all she’d heard. He was so tall as well. There was a sword at his belt- well, a sword hilt. It didn’t have a blade, which was weird. 

Alexi stood up a little straighter. 

“Corvo, this is Alexi Mayhew. Alexi, this is Corvo.” Emily said, gesturing between Alexi and Corvo. 

Corvo gave Alexi a nod and a smile in place of a greeting. Alexi copied him and smiled and nodded back, hoping she didn’t look too in awe. 

Corvo turned to Emily, “You’re meant to be in lessons, Your Majesty.”  

Emily huffed and dropped her shoulders, “I know, I’m coming.”

“Miss Mayhew, do you need someone to escort you back to your parents?” Corvo asked, looking at Alexi again.

Could he read her mind?! Or… was it just his job to know everything that happened in the tower…? Probably the second one. “I um- yes please.” Alexi said, fiddling with her dress again. 

Corvo gave her another single nod, before turning away slightly and making eye contact with Emily. 

Emily moved next to Corvo, “It was nice talking to you, Alexi.”

“You too!” Alexi smiled.

With that, Emily and Corvo turned and began walking away. Emily smiled and waved over her shoulder as they walked, “See you later!”

Alexi waved back. 

-

“You took longer than usual,” Emily said once she and Corvo rounded the corner. 

“You two sounded like you were having a nice talk. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Then why did you?” Emily looked up at her father. 

“Because you’re supposed to be in lessons, and you can’t keep Callista waiting forever,” Corvo said, glancing down at Emily. 

Emily let out a little ‘hmph’ and continued walking, “Can I see Alexi again? I liked her.”

“You’re meeting the Mayhews later today.” 

Emily tilted her head, “Alexi said something like that.” She was glad that at least Corvo remembered her schedule and knew what was happening. Emily knew she didn’t most of the time. 

Emily and Corvo walked on for a bit before Emily spoke again, “You know, really I was performing my Imperial duties by showing Alexi around.”

“Oh? Well, right now, you need to perform your Imperial duty to go to your lessons.” 

“Not if I run off again,” Emily said with a sly grin. 

Corvo put a hand on Emily’s shoulder -- gentle, but firm enough to stop her from moving off too fast -- and looked down at her with an amused expression “ Lessons. ”

Emily sighed, “Fine.”