#ain’t no valley low enough

[callmeend]

yeah, I’m actually going through with the blog

sighhhh

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 12

Summary: Wanda deals with the aftermath of your breakup.

A/N: This chapter is focused on Wanda. Big thanks to @a-cat-on-titan for an idea that made it on a part of the fic :)

Aint no mountain high enough

Ain’t no valley low enough

“Ain’t no river wiiideee enoough” Wanda dances around the kitchen, singing.

It’s never quiet around the house. There’s always music, or drilling or hammering. Because she’s taken into making (badly built) furniture. And pottery. And yoga.

To anyone else, it may seem like Wanda’s living her best life.

But Pietro’s not just anyone.

His sister is running away from her feelings, keeping herself busy just so she doesn’t have time to miss you.

“Oh, morning. Want anything for breakfast?”

“I’ll make something later, thank you” he refuses the offer, feeling better and finding his movements to be more confident after another month in physical therapuy. “How did you sleep?”

“Children, we’re late for school!” Wanda ignores him. That’s the one thing she can’t do. Sleep. She’ll rest for a few hours, but as soon as everyone’s asleep, Wanda gets too anxious. Her only solution is to put on a pair of headphones and paint or do pottery or anything else until it’s 3 am and she’s too tired to think.

Or dream.

“Billy, where is your soccer bag? You boys have practice after school!” Wanda says, trying to look for it. Kids, always misplacing everything.

“I don’t wanna go to soccer anymore! I already told you” he protests. Pietro looks up, prepared for another argument.

It’s been happening since you left.

“Sweetheart, you love soccer!”

“No, I don’t! I only liked it because Y/N helped me practice during the weekends and it was fun. I’m not going anymore”

With that, he leaves the house and heads straight to the car, slamming the door. Wanda knows he’ll be crying on the way to school and will refuse to hug her goodbye, the same way he’s done every day for the past month.

“Tommy, grab your stuff” the woman says, trying to pretend everything’s fine.

Unfortunately for her, the twins don’t let her pretend, showing how hurt they are and how much they miss you.

It’s just a phase.

“I have a meeting with Laura, I’ll come back later” she says goodbye to Pietro, hoping the car ride can be a bit better.

“Ok” is all he says, frowning.

There’s only one way to fix this. He just hopes his sister will find a way to forgive him after finding out what he did.

—

Laura is waiting with coffee and some biscuits. She’s always looking at Wanda anxiously, waiting for the moment that everything will finally collapse and she’ll feel all the things she’s avoiding.

So far, nothing.

“Hey! Oh, the boys are being so difficult lately. How did you manage with Cooper?” Wanda always walks in with a monologue ready, which never gives Laura the chance to ask her how she’s doing.

“I don’t know. I mean I don’t think that was a difficult age for him” she grimaces, thinking whether or not to tell Wanda this has nothing to do with age, and everything to do with her breakup.

“Is this the book? Oh my God, it looks amazing!” she changes the topic, knowing where the conversation is headed. As she opens to read the first pages, her smile fades. “Well, we need to get rid of that”

That as in, the dedication. The words that were written for you. Because you helped with the book, with taking care of the kids, with encouraging Wanda.

This was supposed to be a gift for you. Like the first book Wanda ever wrote, and she dedicated to the twins. And so on with every one of her family members.

You were the last piece of the puzzle. And she had hoped that someday she’d dedicate the next one to a baby girl. A daughter that looked just like you.

“Wanda…” Laura says, noticing the cracks in her friend’s perfect facade.

“Anyway! I have to go do some grocery shopping. I’m making coq au vin tonight”

“Do the kids eat that?”

“Sure!”

Of course they don’t. But chicken is too fast and she needs to be distracted and have a lot of dishes to clean and keep her mind occupied.

“Well, this is a first prototype. Once I speak with the publishing company we’ll get a date for the release” Laura says. “Hey, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Never been better” Wanda lies. “See you later, Laura”

Of course, the trip to the grocery store is not enough to calm her, not when there’s a woman wearing scrubs, looking exhausted and trying to figure out which baking powder is better.

“This one’s good if you want to bake cookies” she says, finding it hard to look away. “Sorry, you didn’t ask”

“No, that’s fine. Appreciate it” the woman nods, grabbing the one Wanda suggested and walking to another woman that is also wearing scrubs. They chat as they walk to the register.

Now Wanda regrets talking to them. What if they used to work with you? What if they tell everyone they saw her and she was being a weirdo talking to them first?

Worried about running into someone else, she hurries up with the shopping, and practically sprints to her car.

It takes her a few minutes to calm down. She forgets about the radio, until it begins playing.

One of your songs.

Wanda doesn’t have time to change the station, getting a call. She doesn’t really notice who it’s from, wishing nothing more than to disappear.

“Miss Maximoff? This is Tommy’s teacher”

Ok, that will distract her for sure.

“Is he ok? Are he and Billy…?”

“We’re gonna need you to come to the principal’s office, please”

—

A fight.

His sweet, wonderful boy getting into a fight. Well, that was a lie. And no one was going to mess with Wanda’s children.

“Sweetheart?” she approaches her boy, sitting outside the Principal’s office. His clothes are dirty, and his hair is full of weeds. “Who did this to you?”

“Miss Maximoff” Principal Coleman says, ushering her inside. “Please, sit down. I know this is pretty much new to you. Your kids have good grades, the teachers love them… but I’m sorry to tell you Tommy got into a fight today”

“Oh, but… he is the sweetest kid. I just can’t imagine him hurting anyone”

“Well, according to Daniel, Tommy was the one who started it” the Principal says, leaning back in her chair.

“Ok, why don’t we ask Tommy about it? Hear his side of the story”

“I already did but if you’d like to, be my guest” the woman says, standing up to open the door for Tommy. “Go on, tell your mom what you told me”

“I started the fight” Tommy mutters, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry”

“Are you ok? And Daniel?”

“Daniel only got a scratch on his arm. Look, this is a first time incident and Daniel’s parents were very understanding, so I’ll let you take the kids home and figure this out. But if it happens again…”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Principal Coleman. And you said, to take both kids?”

“Yeah, Billy’s pretty upset about it” the Principal says, opening the door for them. “He’s at the library waiting for you”

Wanda walks next to her son, her mind racing. This has never happened, there must a logical explanation. She tries to keep her cool, but when she sees Billy sitting at the library, pulling nervously at his hair, she feels like a girl again, lost and confused.

She doesn’t know what to do or how to make things better.

“Billy, let’s go home” she says, waiting for him to walk out. The boy avoids her eyes, rushing past them and running straight to the exit.

“Mom” Tommy says, but she’s too overwhelmed.

“Later, Tommy”

The ride home is silent. Wanda doesn’t even play music, holding on to the wheel until her knuckles turn white.

You’d know what to do to make it better.

But now you’re gone.

She barely has time to park before Billy runs out of the car, opening the door and going upstairs.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Wanda says, still in the driver’s seat. Tommy looks away, shrugging his shoulders.

“Daniel was mean”

“That’s not an excuse to hit someone, you know better than that, Tommy” she scolds him. “You’re grounded, go to your room. We’ll talk about this later”

He steps out, his head down. Wanda is waiting for him to walk inside the house when she sees a woman with short, gray hair inspecting her garden.

“Hello. Can I help you?” Wanda says, clearly on edge. She’s not in the mood for any more surprises today.

And as the woman turns around, her jaw drops.

“Mom!”

“Hello, dear”

“Grandma!” Tommy runs back to her. “It’s you!”

“Oh, my! Look at you, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you! You’re so tall” the woman says, hugging her grandson. “Where’s your brother? Did you leave school early?”

“Uh… let’s all get inside. Tommy, tell your brother to come back down, please” Wanda interrupts, knowing she’ll get unwanted advice about parenting as soon as her mother knows what happened at school today. “So, how… I mean when…”

“Mama, I hope your flight was good” Pietro walks up to the door, wrapping his mother in a hug.

“You knew she was coming” Wanda says, feeling her blood boiling.

That little Mama’s boy.

“Don’t make a fuss, Wanda” their mother scolds. “I’m just here to help. And I won’t be staying in your house, your neighbor rents a room down the street. Mrs. Davies, you probably know her”

“Yeah, of course I do” she answers, but her mother is already walking inside, inspecting Pietro.

“Now, how’s recovery? You look so thin, bratan. Oh! You got a dog!” the woman exclaims, Sparky running around her.

This is so not how she expected her day to go at all.

—

Wanda’s not allowed in the kitchen while her mother cooks, and she can’t clean either because that was the first thing Ekaterina Maximoff did as soon as she set foot in the house.

The list of things she can do to get distracted is drastically reduced, so she locks herself in her study, pretending to sketch.

But all she can think about is you.

This is exactly why she doesn’t like to have free time. The memories of how you filled every part of the house with laughter and love are just waiting around the corner to remind Wanda how badly she messed up.

She decides to check on the twins, who should be done with their homework around this time.

But only Billy’s in his bed, playing with a Rubik’s cube you gave him.

“Hey” Wanda says, as she opens the door. “Mind if I sit?”

Billy just shrugs his shoulders, eyes focused on the different colors of the puzzle.

“Wanna tell me what happened in school? Did Tommy really start the fight?”

Billy sighs, and then looks up.

“Daniel said some mean things. Like…”

“Like… sweetheart, you can tell me anything, I promise. I just want to understand what happened” Wanda reassures him, squeezing his hand.

“Daniel said he heard his dad talking about you and Y/N. How it wasn’t right that you were with her and that he was happy she was gone. And then… he said maybe now that Y/N wasn’t around I…” Billy covers his eyes, trying to hide the fact he’s crying.

“Come here” Wanda comforts him, her heart breaking. She’s sorry to say this, but she doesn’t blame Tommy for getting into a fight with Daniel, not after he said all those horrible things.

“He said that now that Y/N’s gone I was going to stop being a weirdo”

“My sweet boy, I am so sorry” Wanda says, kissing the top of his head. “What Daniel said is not ok and his father should teach him better. I promise you I will talk to him about it”

“Don’t be mad at Tommy, he was just upset” Billy asks, wiping the tears. “He misses Y/N and so do I”

“It’s ok” Wanda hugs her baby boy, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. She feels Billy relax against her, hugging her like he used to do before you left.

Correction.

Before Wanda kicked you out.

“Do you miss her?” he asks, his voice small. He knows his mother doesn’t want to talk about you. It upsets her too much.

“Of course I do”

“It’s just… it feels like you don’t care, Mama. Like you don’t even remember her at all” Billy says, crying more.

“I know. I’m not the best at this, darling. I guess I just miss her so much it hurts, and I rather not think about it at all. It’s a silly thing grown ups do”

“Do you know if she’s ok?”

“I think so. I hope so”

“Do you think she misses us too?”

“I’m sure she misses you and Tommy and Sparky”

Truth is, Wanda isn’t sure you have any love left for her. Not enough to miss her, at least.

—

The food tastes like home. Like the summers in the country side, or the cold days of winter where Wanda played with Pietro until Mama called them home for a dinner of warm soup and bread.

“Delicious” Pietro comments after the first bite and Wanda nods.

“I can never get the sauce for the Chkmeruli right” Wanda says, trying to figure out the missing ingredient. “Your is so much better, just like grandma’s”

“I’ll teach you how to get it right” Ekaterina promises. “The secret is in the amount of ingredients. And something that we’re not telling anyone else”

“Alright” Wanda nods.

“Now, boys. Tell me all about school. And your hobbies. Do you play videogames?”

Wanda watches her family interact, laughing at certain things, and looking at her mother with fascination.

There’s a certain guilt that takes over when she understands she wasted three years of her life for something that could have been solved with an honest conversation.

One day, her mother will be gone and she’ll regret not having spent more time with her.

There’s also another regret in the back of her mind.

She wishes you had met her mother.

“Excuse me for a moment” she says, standing up from the table and walking to the bathroom. She covers her mouth to stop from sobbing, but there are tears in her eyes and a weight in her stomach that doesn’t let her sleep or eat or live.

Wanda fucked up so badly and now she’ll never see you again.

“Oh, God” she says, trying to breath, and fix her makeup. She can’t let the boys see her like this.

It’s been an overwhelming day, that’s all.

I’m fine.

“Is everyone done? I’m cleaning the kitchen” she says as soon as she comes back, picking up the plates and rushing past her family.

The cleaning keeps her hands busy and mind at ease, but she's still humming a song, just to focus on something that isn’t those awful thoughts she just had.

“I’m sorry” Pietro says, walking with the help of his cane. “I know it feels like an ambush, and I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but you’re not ok. The kids are always fighting with you, you do everything but talk about what happened and Y/N’s stuff are still in the garage. Maybe… fixing things with Mama can give you some perspective. I don’t know. I’m a burden most of the time, without being able to walk or do more around here. I just wanted to help”

Wanda keeps cleaning, never turning around to ackowledge her brother. He sighs, scratching the back of his head and turning to leave the kitchen.

“You’ll never be a burden, Pietro” is all Wanda says, finally turning to look at him. He smiles.

“Try to get some rest”

“You too”

“Oh, and Daniel definitely deserved to get his ass kicked”

“I agree” Wanda laughs. “Don’t tell the kids, though”

Pietro makes a motion, as if sealing his lips.

Their mom walks to hug him, saying goodbye for the day.

“You can sleep in my room, I can take the couch” Wanda offers.

“None of that. Mrs. Davies is excited over her very first guest and I won’t be the one to disappoint that sweet woman. Get some rest. Tomorrow I’m making borsch”

“You don’t have to cook, I can handle it”

“Of course I have to. Your brother needs to gain some weight!” the woman says, kissing her daughter in both cheeks. She says something in Sokovian about her children eating all that American food, walking out to Mrs. Davies house.

Wanda’s done with cleaning, and she goes upstairs to say goodnight to the kids.

“Hey. You’re not grounded. Ok?” Wanda says when Billy falls asleep, looking at Tommy. “Thank you for looking after your brother”

“I am older by ten minutes” he says, like Pietro always does. Wanda smiles, kissing his forehead.

“Sleep well, sweet boy”

And as she walks to her room, that feels so empty ever since that night one month ago, Wanda’s not sure how long she can handle pretending that one day, your abscence won’t hurt as much.

—

She could fix this.

You always fixed things.

Wanda had gotten the message. You disappeared, no calls or texts, not even to let her know where you were staying.

And when she tried to reach out, you never answered.

But now she was worried and scared, and most of all, sorry for the things she had said to you.

Wanda needed to apologize, to tell you how much she loved you.

But even if that was the only thing on her mind, she was standing outside the hospital, trying to gather the courage to come in.

“Wanda” a voice said behind her. Although it was familiar, Wanda was disappointed when she turned around and saw Carol Danvers.

“Hey… I was just… I was looking for Y/N”

“Oh. Uh… you haven’t heard?” Carol stumbled with her words, caught completely off guard.

“Heard what? Is Y/N ok?” Wanda’s heart began to race… maybe you were injured and it was exactly why you hadn’t replied to any of her messages, or answered the phone when she called.

“Yeah, uh… oh, crap” Carol looked over Wanda’s shoulder. “If I were you I’d run back to my car”

“What?” Wanda turned around, her eyes meeting Darcy’s.

“You!” the brunette barked, walking faster. “You’re about to find out why I got banned from lacrosse in college, Maximoff”

“Let’s calm down” Carol asked, stepping between the two of them.

“No! I will not calm down. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Wanda. You told Y/N everything she’s always been afraid of hearing. That you can’t trust her or the 'we’ll be better without you', fucking fantastic, really!”

“Darcy, come on, we should get back inside” Carol said, pleading with Maria to help her. But Darcy was not done.

“All this bullshit of making her move in with you and be a family for what? To kick her out just because you had a shitty day? Because she was saving a life?”

“I just… I know I screwed up, but if I could just talk to her…”

“Well, for that you’d have to get on a plane to Boston. Because Y/N quit” Darcy said, amused at Wanda’s shocked expression. “Yeah, my best friend left without a second thought because of you. Way to screw over everyone, Wanda”

“I didn’t want this to happen”

“That’s not good enough, unfortunately. You got lucky, because Danver’s here. But I’m being serious, if I see you again I’m gonna make an even bigger scene”

Maria went after Darcy, who was clearly pissed off, leaving Carol and Wanda outside of the hospital.

“Do you know if she’s ok?” Wanda asked, looking down.

“She doesn’t answer anyone’s calls or texts, Wanda. All I know is she quit one week ago and got on a plane to Boston”

“Right… Well, I better go” she said, biting her lip. “Thanks for keeping Darcy from killing me”

“Yeah, we’re understaffed with Y/N gone. So I can’t really let Darcy get arrested” Carol joked, though it was also one way of reminding Wanda her actions had impacted a whole group of people outside of her.

“See you” Wanda nodded, walking fast to her car. Chief Fury almost clashed against her, as Wanda was looking anywhere but the path in front of her.

“I’m sorry”

“Bet you are” the man grumbled, walking to the hospital.

Even another man in a motorcycle couldn’t keep from staring at Wanda, his blue eyes cold as ice.

So, Wanda got on her car, and left without lookig back.

She lost you. Forever.

—-

“Morning” a very upbeat voice speaks as Ekaterina walks down the stairs.

“Morning, Mrs. Davies” she says, smiling.

“Oh, please, call me Sharon. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’ll take some tea”

“Of course. Very healthy!” the woman says, getting everything ready. Ekaterina takes a moment to look around, admiring all the plants in the room and the flower wallpaper.

“Are you a gardener?”

“Only for fun” Sharon says, putting some biscuits in a plate. “Can I just say, I love your accent?”

Ekaterina smiles, but keeps from answering that. Though people were nice about it, she knew others had always been critical of her for not learning “proper” English when her family moved to America.

Which is why she was happy to return to Sokovia when things settled. The US was never her home, even if it was for her children.

“Was the family happy to see you?”

“Oh, yes. Especially my daughter” Ekaterina jokes, though it flies over Sharon’s head. Of course she doesn’t know that they have a complicated relationship. “I do hope she has been a good neighbor to you. I raised her to be kind”

“Oh, she’s great. Always baking stuff for everyone, the kids are very polite and well behaved too. She’s a great girl, just as Y/N. They were good together. I hope Y/N is doing ok” Sharon says, pouring every single detail that Ekaterina wanted to know.

Well, seems like it’s gonna be easier than she thought.

“Yes, this Y/N girl. Can you tell me more about her?” she says in a casual tone, and Sharon is happy to talk about you.

“Well, she moved to the neighborhood like two years ago. She’s a surgeon, always working. Honestly, very quiet but very nice. One time I fell in the sidewalk and she slept in the couch just to make sure someone was around in case I needed something”

Very impressive. It was the kind of thing that would make Ekaterina approve of anyone dating her children.

“And she was with Wanda?”

“Well… I’m not sure I should talk about this” Sharon hesitates for the first time.

“I’m just curious, as a mother…”

Ah, the mother card.

It works so well.

“Of course, you’re right! It’s not like I’ll tell you things you can’t figure out on your own” Sharon laughs, thinking of everything she remembers. “Well, Y/N lived across the street from Wanda, which is probably how they started talking. You know, young people understand each other better than us”

“So they were together?”

“Yes, I think Agatha saw them almost a year ago… on a date or something. And then, it was kinda nice to see Y/N around a bit more. Ya know, it was obvious she was spending more time at home, to help with the boys. They adore her. Always running around with her, playing. It was nice to see them all be a family” Sharon’s enthusiasm dies down.

“And then?”

“Humm” she says, sighing. “I honestly don’t know. The last time I saw Y/N she was walking out of the house and she got into her car. She didn’t have any bags or anything, so I just assumed she was going to the hospital… but then she never came back”

“And you have no idea what happened?” Ekaterina pushes forward, curious to check if the woman’s being honest.

“No, I’m sorry”

“Mudak”

“Oh, can I ask what that word means?” Sharon says, smiling. She loves learning new words.

“It means motherfucker” Ekaterina answers, her accent heavy.

“Wow, ok” Sharon giggles nervously. “You know who could have that information? Agatha. Yeah, her girlfriend works at the hospital. She’s kinda scary”

“Agatha or her girlfriend?”

“Both, definitely both”

“How can I speak to them?” Ekaterina says, trying to piece everything together.

She can manage scary. Especially when she’s looking for answers.

—

Billy’s in a mood again. He didn’t want to go to school, and he’s still refusing to go to soccer practice.

“Daniel’s gonna keep annoying me” he mutters.

“I will speak with his father today” Wanda says, driving them both to school. “I’m sure it’s gonna be fine, sweetheart”

“Y/N would kick his ass” Billy says in a low voice, but Wanda still hears.

“Don’t speak like that. And violence is not the answer”

“Yeah, well, Daniel’s a jerk, his dad too and I want to talk to Y/N. She’s the only one that can make everything right again”

“Enough!” Wanda shouts, pulling up to drop them off. “Y/N’s not coming back. You hear me? She’s gone. We don’t need her, we’ve been fine on our own our whole lives”

“You’re lying. I hate you” he says, running out of the car.

Wanda’s speechless.

This is the first time she’s had a fight with her sweet boys. The first time they’ve been mean or said something to hurt her.

She was expecting this as they got old, maybe 13. But now?

“Bye, Mom” Tommy says, walking after his brother. He’s nervous too. He knows he can’t get into any more trouble or he might get suspended, but Daniel’s not the nicest kid.

“Oh, damn it” she looks behind her to notice Billy left his lunch. “Kids!”

“Hey, Wanda” Richard calls for her. “Heard our guys had a little fight. I was hoping we could talk about it. Maybe over dinner?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Is he really flirting right now?

“Yeah, I should actually…”

“No need to apologize, boys will be boys, right?”

“Apologize?” Wanda tilts her head, the way she always does when she’s pissed. “I wasn’t planning on doing that. And neither is Tommy”

“Well, he started the fight”

“No, Daniel was repeating the stupid things you say. Like how it’s wrong for two women to date. And he also insulted Billy” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “The way I see it, it’s the proverbial talk shit, get hit”

“Wow, ok, no need to get emotional”

“No, I’m not emotional. I’m just saying, if you ever say anything bad about Y/N or my kids and I get wind of it, I’m running you over with my car. See ya, Dick”

Fucking asshole.

Wanda can practically hear you say those words. Though you’d be a lot scarier, telling him all the ways in which he could get hurt using medical terms he wouldn’t even begin to understand.

You’d never let anything bad happen to your family.

Wanda decides to play the loudest music on the way back home. Yes, death metal from her emo phase -something you’d tease her for relentlessly before-.

As she pulls over in the driveway, her mother knocks on the window, making Wanda jump.

“Why are you still listening to that devil music? I thought that phase was over!”

“Mom!”

“Are you ok?”

“Fine”

“Yeah, I can tell”

“Ok, I don’t have time for this, I need to drive Pietro to rehab. Do you need anything from the store?”

“Yes, many things! Like actual paprikash. I can’t believe you buy US made. That’s why you can’t get the food right”

“Seriously?”

“Settle down, you two” Pietro asks, coming out of the house. It was a fun time, being a teenager and hearing his sister and mother argue over every single thing. They’re too much alike, that’s the only problem.

“Anyways, I will go to store, Sharon is letting me drive her car”

“Ok, does she know about the time you almost destroyed a McDonald’s with Papa’s car?”

“He said drive through, so I did!”

“Yeah, through the wall” Pietro laughs, earning a slap on the back of the head from his mother.

“You, go to your thing. And I’m picking up Billy from school today. He doesn’t want to go do soccer, so we’re going to get ice cream” Ekaterina says casually.

“It’s not optional for him! I’m the mom here”

“Just for a day. I hardly think it will affect him if he doesn’t run around like dog after a ball. Take Sparky instead” the woman says.

Wanda wants to scream into a pillow.

—

Ekaterina comes back from the store, but instead of parking outside of Wanda’s, she leaves the car right outside of Agatha’s home.

The investigation continues.

After a knock, a woman with dark, long hair and piercing blue eyes opens the door.

“You the OG Mrs. Maximoff” she greets, standing aside to let her in.

“I don’t know what those words mean. I’m Wanda and Pietro’s mother”

“Ooh, I love the accent. I love learning languages. My girlfriend is teaching me Spanish”

Before Ekaterina can answer, there’s a frantic knock, and Sharon walks inside the minute Agatha opens the door.

“I hope I’m not too late”

“I didn’t know we were having a party” Agatha says. She doesn’t really like visitors, and Mrs. Davies' enthusiasm and corny jokes are an acquired taste.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” Agatha leans back in her chair, intrigued by the woman.

Why not just ask her own daughter? Though, considering how Wanda’s been acting, she’ll probably refuse to answer any questions about it.

“Why did Y/N leave? Where did she go?”

“Ok, so… I need a minute because Rio was telling me everything in Spanish so I could learn. You know, using gossip as motivation” Agatha massages her temples, trying to remember everything. “Ok, there was a new doctor, something, something, cheating, slapping, break up”

“What?” Ekaterina says. “Are you saying that woman slapped my daughter?”

“No! Well, I don’t think so. Ah, screw it! Amor!” Agatha shouts, calling for Rio. “Ponte ropa y baja a contarles el chisme”

“Está bien” a voice says. A few minutes later, another woman joins them in the living room, wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

“You called?”

“Ok, so I kinda lied when I said I understood everything you said in Spanish. I do remember the name Natasha. And something about a kiss” Agatha smiles, and Rio can’t really stay mad when her girlfriend is looking all cute.

“So, a few months ago, Natasha Romanoff came to the hospital to teach a method developed by her mother. The Romanoffs are a very wealthy, very famous family of doctors. And everyone in the hospital kinda noticed that Natasha was flirting with Y/N”

“Did Y/N flirt back? Was she cheating on my daughter?”

“I meaaan, 50/50. The hospital was split. Some people believed that she was just being nice and others thought there were feelings involved”

“What do you think?” Ekaterina presses.

“I think Y/N was just being flirty but she never meant for anything else to happen. She’s just naturally personable. Even she can manage to make me laugh from time to time. So, I don’t know. There was a rumor that Natasha kissed her once or was trying to talk her into breaking up with Wanda… which, I guess has some truth to it, considering Y/N moved to Boston to work for the Romanoffs”

“I’m sorry, then who slapped who?” Mrs. Davies asks, confused.

“Oh, Y/N’s mother outside the hospital, but that's not related to Wanda. Darcy told me that woman is awful. Used to put Y/N through hell when she was a kid”

“Yeah, I know the feeling” Agatha mumbles and Rio places her hand on her shoulder, comforting her.

“I don’t like this Y/N” Ekaterina decides. “She was weak and got my family hurt”

“I don’t think that’s exactly accurate…” Agatha says, feeling the need to defend you. She knows you, and you’d never do anything to hurt Wanda. Not on purpose. “Look, I was looking for my bunny that night. Little shit likes to escape out of the blue. Wanda was the one who ended things. I heard that loud and clear. And yes, it seems messy, but I don’t think it’s fair to blame it all on someone”

“Yeah, Y/N really loved the kids and took care of Wanda” Sharon insists. Ekaterina sighs, crossing her arms.

“I don’t suppose anyone knows how to get in touch with Y/N”

Agatha, Rio and Sharon share a look.

“I could try” Rio offers, thinking Darcy might be in touch with you.

“Thank you. Now I go to pick up Billy from school. I appreciate your help”

“I actually need the car for a bit” Sharon asks, but the woman is already gone. “Oh, well”

—

True to her word, Ekaterina picked up Billy from school, while Tommy was supposed to ride with Sharon and her kid to soccer.

Wanda wasn’t really looking forward to practice today, in case Richard was there.

Thankfully, it seemed like Daniel was here with his mother, but Wanda’s stomach dropped when Susan walked up to her.

“Wanda, can we talk for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure”

They walked away from the rest of the parents.

“Look, I know what Daniel said and I already talked to him about it. He’ll apologize to Tommy and Billy, but I wanted to tell you personally how asahmed I am. Those awful things are all Richard and I really don’t want Daniel to be like his father”

“Oh… wow. I don’t know what to say” Wanda laughs, relieved. “Your ex had a very different approach to this whole situation”

“I know, he’s an asshole”

Both women laugh at that.

“I was going to say, he can speak to Tommy after practice, but I haven’t seen him today. Or Billy”

“Oh, Billy’s with my mother. But Sharon picked up Tommy…” though when Wanda looks around the field, she doesn’t see her son. Spotting Sharon, she runs up to her. “Hey, Tommy rode with you, right?”

“What? Wanda, he said he was feeling ill and that you were going to pick him up”

“No, that never… I-I don’t have any missed calls. No one from school told me anything. Shit!” she curses, her hands shaking. Her mother takes forever to pick up the phone. “Is Tommy with you? No, I know Billy’s there. What about Tommy? Ok, I don’t have time to explain, meet me at home now”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think to call you” Sharon says.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine” Wanda repeats, trying to calm herself.

Her first instinct is to call you.

But then she has to think really hard on what to do, so she calls Pietro to make sure Tommy isn’t home by some weird miracle. Should she call the cops? The fire department?

Clint, he will know what to do.

“Ok, I’ll meet you at your house, it’s gonna be fine” Clint says.

“You good to drive?” Susan says, walking Wanda to the car.

“Yes. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding and Tommy’s in his room playing videogames”

“Well, ok, if you need anything here’s my number” the woman says.

Wanda goes over everything that could have happened. Tommy likes to visit the library, the park on Fullton street, the comic book store…

Clint’s already there when she gets home, and Ekaterina parks a second later.

“Billy, come here” Wanda kneels to look at her son. “Did Tommy tell you anything? Was he going somewhere?”

Billy shakes his head no, and Wanda insists.

“Sweetheart, are you sure? I promise I won’t be mad”

“I don’t know, I swear”

“Alright, I just spoke to my friend at the station. They’re gonna start looking for him. Pietro should stay here in case Tommy comes back or someone calls home. The rest of us could split and check places we know he frequents” Clint says.

“Billy, stay with uncle Pietro” Wanda asks. The boy nods, walking up the stairs to meet his uncle, who puts his arm around his shoulders.

“I’ll go to the arcade” Clint offers. “Ask if anyone’s seen him”

“We’ll go to the park” Wanda nods, waiting for her mother to join her in the car. She can’t even begin to understand what’s happening.

Wanda doesn’t know what to do, but she has to remain calm, because her son needs her.

—

Tommy’s begining to think this is a bad idea. He doesn’t have a lot of money and he doesn’t have a clue on what bus will take him to Boston.

He should be at soccer practice now.

He finds a cafeteria not far from school, and goes inside hoping he can get some free water.

“You alone, sweetheart?” the waitress says, concerned.

“No, my mom is in the bathroom” he lies and the woman doesn’t seem entirely convinced. Either way, she leaves him alone. Tommy takes the time to dig in his backpack for some extra coins that might be in there.

Instead he finds a letter and a couple of pins.

After reading it, he walks up to the waitress and finally tells the truth.

“I ran away. Can you help me find my mom?”

“Of course, sweetheart”

—-

“Where should we go?” her mother asks, and Wanda points in the direction of the lake.

“He liked to feed the ducks with Y/N”

“Ok, then”

They walk in silence, Wanda’s thoughts racing until her mother speaks.

“I lost you once. You were four or five, maybe, and we were at the market. While your brother picked out the apples, you decided to run after a chicken. And I was so scared, calling for you in the sea of people”

“Yeah. It’s an awful feeling” Wanda says, wiping away the tears.

They walk around the park for ten minutes before deciding he’s not here. Tommy’s nowhere to be found. He’s a ten year old, for God’s sake, where on Earth could he be?

Before she has time to think it twice, Wanda picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

That’s not your voice.

It’s Natasha’s.

Wanda hangs up, and adds this to the list of shitty things that have happened to her in the span of two days.

“Mom, I can’t!” she finally breaks down. “I don’t know how to fix this. I miss her so much and I ruined everything and she’s never coming back. And now my boys hate me and I have nothing. All because I was so stuck in the past. And I lost her”

“Breathe. Breathe for me” Ekaterina pulls her daughter into a hug, while Wanda’s body shakes with the strenght of her sobs. “It’s ok. It will be ok”

“It doesn’t feel like it”

“Trust me” she says, waiting until Wanda calms down. After a few minutes, she wipes her tears and looks at her mother. Wanda’s about to say something else when her phone rings again.

“Oh, it’s Clint. Hello? Yes, where? Ok, send me the address and I’ll be right there” she hangs up, sprinting to the car. “He’s at a cafeteria not far from school”

“Thank God”

It’s only a five minute drive but to Wanda it feels like an eternity. As soon as she parks, she spots Tommy sitting at the counter, drinking a milkshake while a waitress talks to him, trying to ease his nerves.

“Is that your mom?” the woman says when Wanda gets inside. Tommy’s eyes widen, and he runs towards her.

“Mama!”

“Oh, Tommy. I was so worried about you”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. I’m just happy you’re safe. Let’s go home”

—

The kids are safely tucked in bed, and Wanda’s having a glass of wine in the kitchen. She’d drink something stronger if she had anything at all.

Her mind goes back to the fact Natasha picked up your phone.

It doesn’t mean you’re with her. And even if you were, Wanda was the one that broke up with you.

Then why did it hurt so much to think you’d already moved on?

With a sigh, she goes up the stairs. Wanda can’t help but go into her children’s room, just to make sure they’re both safe.

When she asked Tommy what happened, he just said he wanted to go and see you. But then he changed his mind when he found something in his backpack. Though he wouldn’t tell Wanda what it was.

As the woman walks up to her children, she notices a letter tucked under Tommy’s pillow.

Could this be the thing he found?

Billy and Tommy,

Hey kiddos. This isn’t something I’m happy about and I never really wanted to write a letter like this one.

You might not see me anymore. I know it sucks, because I promised I’d take you to the state fair and Universal Studios when the school year was over.

The thing is, sometimes grown ups have a lot of complicated things going on. Sometimes things don’t work out no matter how much we try.

Be good to your mom, ok? If you miss me and want me to be less worried about you, just promise me you’ll love her extra for me. You are her biggest treasure and she’s such a great mom. Don’t forget you’re all each other have.

PS - I’m leaving my lucky pins with you. Please take care of them for me.

Love you three,

Y/N

Of course.

Of course it was you.

Even if you were thousand of miles away, you had found a way to help Wanda and keep her family safe.

Now she won’t be able to sleep at all, so she goes downstairs to the garage, full of boxes with your clothes and books.

For the first time since you left, Wanda allows herself to look at everything you left behind, and everything you did. The smallest things, like how you always forget to wear glasses to read, and you end up with a frown. Sunday’s crossword puzzle, always discarded. It’s not that you don’t finish it, the opposite. You know the answers to everything so fast that writing them is a waste of time.

Wanda pulls out your college sweatshirt, hugging it tight against her chest.

She misses you, so much it hurts.

As she puts on the sweatshirt, Wanda folds the sleeves, slightly long for her shorter arms.

When she’s about to close the box, she sees it.

A small box. For a ring.

An engagement ring.

She let’s out a gasp as she opens it.

You were proposing.

And all Wanda did was question your committment and your love for her and the children.

I’m such an idiot.

She doesn’t have much time to wallow, though. Wanda’s phone rings, and her mouth goes dry when she reads the name on the screen.

You.

Looking between her phone and the ring, Wanda doesn’t know what to do.

Should she tell you she found the ring?

Would it make a difference at all?

[msbigredmachine]

Die With A Smile (tbnd au)

They are the most wanted, the most feared, the most worshipped. A couple bound by lust, violence, and an unshakable love that only burns hotter with every crime they commit. He’s the muscle, she’s the fire, and together, they are unstoppable. The world calls them criminals, outlaws, the devil’s own...but to each other, they are salvation.

With the law closing in, they know their story can only end one way. But if they go down, they’ll go down together. And they’ll die with a smile.

Pairing: Criminal!Roman Reigns x Criminal!Ivy

Warnings: DARK themes, smut, violence

Word Count: 3.8k

TBND MASTERLIST

A/N: So, this was my initial reaction to this Ask. But I thought about it again, and went...why not? Also I've seen how most readers have reacted to the current TBND arc, so I decided to go off script a bit. Hope you enjoy!

The motel room stinks of sweat, sex, and gunpowder. The sheets are tangled around their bodies, damp from heat and the hours they’ve spent tangled together—moaning, grasping, taking.

Ivy is sprawled across the mattress, her naked body glowing in the dim motel light, a cigarette balanced between her fingers. Her boyfriend Roman is beside her, his broad chest still rising and falling from the weight of their latest round. His palm rests lazily on her thigh, long fingers stroking over her bare skin like he’s memorizing her all over again.

“You ever think about it?” she murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer.

He exhales, rolling onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he looks at her. “What?”

“Our future. That little house.” She flicks ash onto the nightstand. “White picket fence. Babies running around.”

Roman drags his fingers up her thigh, over her stomach, brushing his knuckles between her breasts before cupping her chin. “That ain’t for people like us, baby.”

She turns her head to look at him, her lips curling into a sad little smile. “I know,” she whispers, “but one can only dream.”

Roman doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves, slow and easy, pressing his lips to her throat, kissing his way down to the valley between her breasts, tracing his tongue over the sweat-slicked skin. She exhales sharply, her fingers tangling in his hair as he moves lower, hands spreading her thighs apart again.

They’ll never have that house.

But they’ll have this.

And it’ll be enough.

The Beginning 

The first time they meet, Ivy already knows how it’s going to end.

She’s seen men like him before—tall, dark, brooding, money-heavy and dangerous. But none of them have ever looked at her like that. Like he already knows the way she sounds when she moans, how she’ll taste on his tongue. Like he’s already decided she’s his.

He’s watching her from the VIP section of the club she strips at, sprawled in the booth like a king, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease muscle and ink. There’s a gold watch on his wrist, a thick chain around his neck, and a look in his eye that makes her pulse quicken.

She’s not supposed to interact with the patrons unless they pay. He hasn’t paid. But when she struts past, his hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

She stops. Raises a brow. “Touching’s extra.”

His grin is slow and confident. “Ain’t about the money, baby.”

The way he says it—deep and lazy, voice dripping over her like warm honey—makes her pussy clench. She yanks her wrist back. “Then what’s it about?”

Roman leans in, close enough that she can smell his cologne—dark and masculine, like smoke and whiskey. His voice drops low, thick like honey. “It’s about me wantin' you.”

She doesn’t know why she plays into it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at her, or maybe it’s the way her body responds, like she already knows where this is heading.

“You talkin' real big,” she murmurs, eyes flicking down to his full lips. “Think you can back that shit up?”

His eyes darken.

Within the hour, she’s slammed against the brick wall behind the club, dress bunched up around her waist, legs wrapped around his thick body.

Roman groans as he thrusts into her, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisting in her hair. Her nails claw at his back, at his arms, desperate to hold on as he takes her apart, dragging pleasure out of her with deep, punishing strokes.

“This pussy is mine now,” he growls against her lips, teeth scraping, biting. “You’re mine. You hear me?”

She gasps, body shuddering, surrendering. His mouth is everywhere—her neck, her breasts, her lips—hungry, scorching, devouring. His hands grip her thighs so tight she knows she’ll bruise.

By the time he’s done with her, she can barely stand.

She doesn’t even know his name. But she already knows she belongs to him.

She doesn’t know that she's just let the devil between her legs.

But she already knows that she’ll never want to let him go.

Partners In Crime

She robs her first bank a month later.

It’s easy for Roman. Too easy. He walks in, calm as hell, AK-47 swinging at his side like it’s a goddamn accessory. Ivy is in the getaway car, engine running, her heart pounding.

She watches him through the windshield, sees the way people shrink when he moves, the way the bank manager practically pisses himself handing over the cash.

And then he walks out like he owns the world, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his smirk lazy, devilish, and satisfied. He slides into the passenger seat, tosses the bag onto her lap, and says, “Drive, baby.”

She does.

And she never stops.

Roman is more than just muscle and a pretty face—more than the brute force the world assumes him to be. He’s calculating, meticulous, sharper than the knives strapped to his belt, deadlier than the bullets in his gun. Every heist is a battle, every escape a game of strategy, and he plays to win. He studies blueprints like scripture, memorizes exits before they ever step inside, exploits weaknesses before anyone even knows they’re vulnerable. His mind is a weapon, just as lethal as his fists. And he’s been perfecting his craft for far longer than he’ll ever admit.

Ivy watches him work, watches him command, calculate, conquer—and it thrills her. Turns her on. There’s nothing sexier than watching her man outsmart the world, bending it to his will. Because she’s learned that when Roman Reigns has a plan, nothing and no one can stop him.

She also learns to be more than just the getaway driver. She’s the one who distracts, deceives, and manipulates when needed, using her charm and wit to slip past security, talk her way out of tight spots, and keep the heat off Roman. Whether it’s charming a bank teller into silence or slipping into a high-stakes poker game unnoticed, she knows how to play people like a pro. Her beauty and brains make her the perfect accomplice, and she loves every moment of it. Together, they are a well-oiled machine, each one complementing the other’s strengths and instincts.

They become legends.

From banks to jewelry stores to high-stakes poker games, they leave a trail of empty vaults and cold bodies across six states, their spree turning them into America’s most wanted. They move like shadows, strike like ghosts, and vanish before anyone can catch them.

The media can’t get enough—two dangerously beautiful outlaws, madly in love, untouchable. They christen them The Blood Money Lovers, their names whispered like myth, their faces splashed across headlines.

The Sexiest Criminals in America.

The Lovers Who Kill.

Wanted: Dead or Alive.

Roman and Ivy lean into it.

They pose for security cameras, tongues down each other’s throats, middle fingers up. Ivy leaves lipstick prints on crime scene notes. They fuck on stolen money, moaning into each other’s mouths, high on adrenaline and the knowledge that they’re too good to be caught.

They live for the rush—the heists, the gunfire, the chase—but nothing gets them higher than each other.

The convertible barrels down the open highway, the sun bleeding into the horizon, casting them in gold. The backseat is stuffed with duffel bags of stolen cash, the scent of money thick in the air, but it’s not the loot that has Ivy breathless—it’s Roman.

One hand on the wheel, the other buried in her pussy, fingers stroking, teasing, owning. Ivy moans out loud, her head lolling back against the seat, hips shifting as he plays her like his favorite weapon—with skill, with intent, with absolute control.

He smirks, eyes dark, voice rough. “Yeah, scream for me, baby,” he orders, staring at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Because she is.

Adrenaline is their drug. Love is their religion. And the knowledge that they’re untouchable? That’s what sends them over the edge, again and again.

Soulmates, bound by blood, bullets, and an unholy kind of devotion.

The Hunter

Cody Rhodes is a problem.

The kind that doesn’t scare easy, doesn’t quit, and doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

At first, they brush him off—just another badge, another fool chasing ghosts. But ghosts don’t leave trails, and Cody? He’s on their scent like a wolf starving for the kill. He’s relentless. He’s ruthless. He’s getting too damn close.

He’s not just some lawman playing hero. He’s filth wrapped in a badge, a predator disguised as justice. He beats the truth out of informants, holds families hostage with threats that don’t feel empty, leaves bodies behind like breadcrumbs. The media worships him, paints him as the last good man in a world of criminals.

But Roman and Ivy know better. They see the blood he spills, the bones he breaks, the fear he leaves in his wake. And soon, Cody makes the mistake of turning that cruelty on them.

Ivy’s pulse pounds in her ears as she weaves through the crowded marketplace, her hood pulled low over her face. Cody is behind her—too close, too fast, too fucking relentless.

She ducks between fruit stands, knocking over crates of oranges, hears them roll across the pavement as people curse and scatter. But Cody doesn’t slow down.

“Ohh Ivyyyy!” he sings through gritted teeth, his voice loud and ripping through the chaos.

Shit.

She bursts into a side alley, feet skidding on wet concrete. It's a dead end.

A brick wall looms in front of her, too high to climb in time. Ivy whirls around, reaching for the gun tucked in her waistband.

A car screeches to a stop at the alley’s entrance. The passenger door flies open.

“Get in!” Sami yells from behind the wheel, his wild red hair barely tamed under a baseball cap.

Ivy doesn’t hesitate. She launches herself into the car just as Cody rounds the corner, gun drawn.

Bang!

The bullet shatters the back windshield as Sami slams the gas. The car fishtails before rocketing forward, leaving Cody furious and empty-handed in the dust.

Ivy slumps back, chest heaving, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Close one,” Sami mutters, knuckles white on the wheel.

Ivy tucks her gun away. “You love this shit, don’t lie.”

Sami groans. “You two are gonna get me killed.”

She laughs, feeling the adrenaline rush through her veins. “Not today, Zayn.”

The Contact

Sami Zayn wasn’t always a getaway driver, but prison changes a man. He met Roman on the inside, back when survival meant choosing sides, and Sami had none. A shank to the ribs would’ve been his fate if Roman hadn’t stepped in, snapping the attacker’s arm like it was nothing. From that day on, Sami owed him—a debt not paid with words, but with action. So when Roman and Ivy needed someone with quick hands and an even quicker engine, Sami didn’t hesitate. Loyalty runs deep, and in their world, debts are always collected.

The safe house is a run-down apartment on the edge of town, the kind of place no one looks twice at. Sami pulls up fast, tires screeching, and Ivy is already moving before the car fully stops.

Roman is waiting.

He steps out from the shadows of the doorway, broad and imposing, a blunt dangling between his fingers. His sharp eyes rake over her, searching, checking.

She barely gets the car door shut before he’s on her.

“You good, baby?” His voice is low, rough with the kind of worry he’d never admit to anyone but her.

Ivy smirks, something more than adrenaline crackling through her. “Never been better, daddy.”

His big hands grip her face, pulling her against him, hard enough to steal her breath. His lips crash into hers—hot, hungry, possessive—like he’s staking his claim all over again.

Sami groans from the driver’s seat. “Can y’all save that shit for later?”

Roman ignores him, tilting Ivy’s chin up, his fingers gentle even as his voice darkens. “Did Rhodes touch you?”

Ivy shakes her head. “Didn’t get the chance.”

A dangerous glint flickers in Roman’s eyes before he finally looks at Sami. “You did good, man.”

Sami scoffs. “Yeah, yeah. You two get to keep your little crime-spree romance going for another day. You’re welcome.”

Ivy grins, leaning into Roman’s chest as his arms stay locked around her.

Before dawn, they're out of there. They never stay long.

The High

The night air is thick and humid as they prowl another set of streets in another state, hunting for another score. Roman’s fingers tap against the steering wheel, his mind already on the job. Ivy sits beside him, legs kicked up on the dashboard, her eyes flashing with the same excitement that always comes before they raise a little hell.

They pull up outside a high-end jewelry store, the kind of place rich assholes get their diamonds from. It’s late, the streets are quiet. Perfect timing.

Roman smirks. “You ready, baby?”

Ivy grins, pulling her mask over her face. “Always.”

In less than five minutes, chaos erupts.

Glass shatters. Alarms wail.

They move fast—Roman grabbing the high-value pieces, Ivy keeping her gun trained on the trembling night guard. No witnesses, no mistakes.

Then...

Another siren.

Cops.

Ivy shoots Roman a look. He grins. They love the chase.

They bolt, slipping out the back, vanishing into the night before the blue lights even hit the front of the store. Another crime. Another escape.

Tomorrow, the news will be buzzing with their names again.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

They celebrate under the dim lights of their hotel room, the air thick with the scent of sweat, dollar bills, and something even more intoxicating—sex.

Roman has Ivy right where he wants her. Bent over the mahogany dresser, her body naked and trembling. His big hands roam; rough, possessive, needy. He caresses her thighs and her ass, then rests them on her waist, keeping her pinned down as he drives into her with hard, punishing thrusts.

Ivy gasps, her head falling forwards, her lips parting in a broken moan. “Fuck, daddy…”

“Damn, you fucking wet.” Roman’s voice is low, teasing, dripping with sin as his fingers tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper. He drags his mouth along her jawline, up to her ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You like that, baby girl? Like how daddy fucks this tight pussy, huh?”

She doesn’t answer, not with words.

She can’t.

Instead, she moans again, arching into him, throwing her ass back just the way he likes it, taking everything he gives her and begging for more.

Roman chuckles darkly, his free hand sliding down between her thighs, his touch enough to send her spiraling. “I knew you’d love this shit.” His voice turns softer, more reverent, even as his grip remains firm. “You love me, baby?”

Ivy shudders beneath him, her fingers digging into the wood of the dresser. She's in love with him. In love with the way he owns her, how he wrecks her and makes her feel alive all at once.

“Roman!” She gasps his name, the only answer he needs.

He yanks her off the dresser, lifting her effortlessly and dumping her onto the pile of stolen cash scattered across the bed, crisp bills sticking to her damp skin. He climbs on top of her, his weight pressing her into everything they’ve stolen, everything they’ve taken.

His mouth claims hers in a hot, searing kiss. And then, his dick slides back in and his hips roll, causing her nails to rake down his back, leaving deep, red lines in his flesh. He growls against her throat, the sharp sting only fueling him more. As their bodies move together in perfect, reckless harmony, he exhales three words against her lips—words he’s never spoken before.

“I love you.”

Ivy’s breath catches, her pussy seizing around him. Her heart pounds, her vision swims at the sight of his heart in his eyes.

She opens her mouth, but he kisses her before she can say it back.

Because he already knows.

Because she’s his, just as much as he’s hers.

Forever.

The Message

Rhodes storms their old safe house, hunting them like an animal. It’s empty, neither of them to be found.

But he finds Sami.

Hours later, he sends them a message. A Polaroid.

Ivy’s hands shake as she stares at the picture.

Sami, beaten to death, hands zip-tied behind his back, his blood soaking his red hair and beard like a grotesque crimson mask. Cody’s boot planted on his pulseless neck, as if claiming a trophy.

The meaning is clear: I’m coming for you.

Ivy’s breath turns shallow, panic clawing up her throat. “Roman, what the fuck are we gonna do?!”

“Calm down.” His jaw is tight. His hands ball into fists. He’s seething, but he won’t show it.

“Calm down?” Ivy’s eyes water. “Sami is dead, Roman! That sick fuck…he…” Her voice cracks, a rare slip in composure. She presses her palms into her temples, trying to block out the image burned into her mind.

“Baby, look at me.” Roman grips her wrists, forcing her gaze to his. “We gon' handle this. Like we always do.”

Ivy’s chest rises and falls, her breath uneven. She searches his face, the ice-cold rage simmering beneath the surface.

He takes the Polaroid and holds it to the flame of his lighter. They watch in silence as the edges curl, blacken, disintegrate into nothing. A life reduced to ash.

Like Sami’s.

Roman steps behind her, arms sliding around her waist, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice is a vow, a death sentence.

“We’ll kill him first,” he murmurs. “That motherfucker is gonna pay. I promise.”

Ivy closes her eyes, the firelight flickering against her lids. She exhales, steady now. Nods.

The End

It happens in New Orleans.

Their last job is one final score before disappearing forever. The plan is airtight, the timing perfect. But something feels off. Roman is restless. Ivy is uneasy.

The familiar wail of sirens erupt.

They barely make it out the back before the cops swarm. Rhodes is leading the charge, his icy blue eyes wild, his face twisted in victory, his gun already drawn.

They run.

But this time, the streets are blocked. Security armed to the teeth. There’s nowhere to go.

Roman pulls Ivy into an alley, his grip bruising. “We fight.”

Ivy nods. “Till the end.”

A painful moment drags by before he crushes his mouth to hers, desperate and wild, their lips colliding like gunfire. She tastes like cigarettes and adrenaline, like love and death.

“Let’s fuck shit up,” she whispers, her voice wavering even as she licks the blood from his lip.

Roman smirks, bittersweet and resigned. “Yeah, baby.”

Then they charge.

Bullets rip through the air, bleeds chaos around them—sirens screaming, bodies dropping.

Roman and Ivy move as one, cutting through the night like death itself. Every shot is precise, every kill ruthless. They fight with the desperation of people who have always known their ending would come in a hail of gunfire.

Ivy is ahead of him, her lithe, beautiful body swaying gracefully as she reloads her Remington, ducks, shoots, kills. She’s fucking perfect, his queen, his ride-or-die.

Then—

Bang!

The sound tears through the air, louder than the rest.

Ivy jerks. Violently.

Her breath catches, her gun slipping from her grasp. She stares down at herself, at the thick, red stain blooming across her stomach, fingers twitching as if she can stop the inevitable.

Roman’s heart stops.

Another shot.

Agony explodes through his side, knocking him back. His vision tunnels, pain ripping through every nerve. But none of it fucking matters.

Because Ivy is falling.

And standing there, gun still raised, is Cody fucking Rhodes.

Smirking. Smug. Like he’s already won.

Roman sees red.

Everything in him burns, fury swallowing the pain in his body whole. A fucking bullet isn’t going to stop him. Nothing will.

With a ragged snarl, he raises his gun and fires.

The first bullet hits Cody in the shoulder, knocking him back. The second shatters his ribs. But Roman isn’t done.

No one—no one—touches his girl.

With blood pouring down his own side, Roman staggers forward, towering over Cody’s faltering frame. He grips his Beretta with both hands, breathing hard, and aims it square at his enemy’s skull.

Rhodes gasps, face twisting with shock and fear. He tries to lift his own gun, but Roman is faster.

The last thing Cody Rhodes ever sees is Roman Reigns’ cold, merciless rage.

Bang!

The bullet rips through Cody’s skull, snapping his head back in a gruesome spray of blood, drenching the blond in his hair. His body crumples like a useless sack of flesh, his gun clattering beside him.

Roman doesn’t waste another second.

He’s already collapsing beside Ivy, hands pressing against her wound, desperate, shaking. “Stay with me, baby.” His voice is raw, thick with pain; for him, but more for her.

She smiles at him. That soft, lazy smile that made him fall in love with her in the first place. “Baby…It looks like we’re outta time.”

Roman shakes his head, a sharp, pained growl leaving his throat. “No. Fuck that. You’re not leaving me.”

But he already knows.

Her blood is warm against his palm. Her fingers grasp at his shirt weakly, tugging him closer, even as the light in her eyes starts to fade.

The sirens are closing in.

Boots stomp against pavement. More cops. More guns. More death.

Roman knows how this ends.

He leans down, presses his lips to hers, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling. His trembling fingers lace through hers, his grip just as tight as the first time he ever touched her.

She smiles.

“Till the end,” she whispers. 

Her lashes stop fluttering. Her eyes remain open, but they’re no longer seeing.

His chest caves in. His heart shatters.

“Till the end,” he vows.

Then, with the last of his strength, he grabs his gun and rises.

They won’t take him alive.

With one final, defiant roar, he opens fire.

Bullets rip through his body. He staggers, drops to one knee. But he keeps shooting, keeps fighting, keeps going, because this was never about surviving.

This was about dying on his feet and being with the only woman he’s ever loved.

By the time the final bullet finds his heart, he’s already smiling.

Because in his last breath, he swears he can still feel Ivy’s lips against his. He can see that big ass house with the white picket fence in Hartford, Connecticut, a pair of twin boys and their little sister running around the backyard. Just like she wanted.

Head resting on her bloodied lap, he exhales.

And then, nothing. 

Two heartbeats extinguished.

The Blood Money Lovers die how they lived—bloody, reckless, and madly in love.

THE END

🏷️: @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @vebner37 @thewarlordsworld @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @jeyusos-girl @jxtina-86

@iguessilikewrestlingnow@purplehairgawdess @mohawkmama @po3ticb3auty @alyyaanna @murrylove @tribalhoochie @wrestlingprincess80

@trippinsorrows @papireigns-05 @vintage-pvssy @bebesobrielo @urasunflower @unfriendly–blvck–hottie

@theninthwonder @tabletheofhead @venusesworld @ariieeesworld @sassginaswanmills

@theglamclosetsl @empressdede @woahdude9481 @browngalmal @crxssjae

@twocentuar @surdelcielo @althegreat33 @alichesmi @eclectic-tee

@joannasteez @whatdoeseverybodywant @puppetmastermya @caramelcleopatraa @femdisa

@megamindsecretlair @headoftheetable @brwnsugababe @heauxvibez @christinabae @potatosackk

@raya-hunter01 @lilucey @aisharmi @neverlookatthisblog @dayaimonee @nayys-world

@kianaleani @digidestned @marasdeathnote @msbluehaz3 @worldwidehoodrat @ariiaeltheedonn @wanderingreigns @sisinever @jaza23

@wrestlingbaby @amandairene88 @romanreignsbae @li-da-savage @thickbihhwitdagapp @cry1nwhileimcumm1n  @usoholic @dontcomplicateit 

@jimingotthajams @happy-princes @nymphobabyyx @authenticallymisfitted @sageispunk

@bxrbie1 @octaviastargirl @skyesthebomb @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @blueki16 @theweekndhistorybook 

@slutouttanowhere @zabwlky1999 @ayeeitsali @shamaness1171 @mainlyy-danae @mzv11

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@wwecrazed2010 @xbriexx @ashyknee @katrinnnn @thedondada05 @luvrsluxe @shes2real @aldrigmer444 @rose-bliss  @that-one-anxious-mango

@fearlesschimera @kuromiish @vampygomez @tshepisho @magnificentbouquetmusic @4milly @rollinssection

@disc0fairy @prettybitxhnica @mellybandzz @blveeeeeee @taytropicana @planetch1ld @mayasopinions @tribalchief2112 @cutttteeee 

@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @n-o-v-a-caine @sexyblacksimper @paigereeder @callmekayd @partypoison00 @originalgeezyy @muzaqueendom @naturally-nikkilynn

[starrbuggie]

so I brought myself a Ninjago magazine, as a little treat,

So here, have some things I found silly:

small spoiler warning for dr s2 p1!!

Like father like daughter

Ain’t no valley low enough/ref

Whoa guys, can’t you donate some bones to the cause?

His face here makes me crack up-

Wuuuu, Zane’s trying to kill himself again-

[avendjarin]

shifting songs day 96 !

all shifting songs

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

ain’t no mountain high enough ⭒ marvin gaye

“there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you, babe”

“no wind, no rain or winters cold, can stop me, baby, ‘cause you are my goal”

“my love is alive way down in my heart although we are miles apart”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

[ohhimjustagirl]

one day i’ll attain a bullets cd. no matter what. ain’t no mountain high enough ain’t no valley low enough ain’t no river wide enough to keep me from coming to you. i got the eye of the tiger. i will have my vengeance in this life or the next. i am not afraid to keep on living. i am the master of my fate, i am the captain of my soul.

[fafomama]

Prove It: Apology Accepted

Summary: Part 2 to Prove It. Tama and OC in the bathroom.

Featuring: Tama Tonga x OC

Warnings/Triggers: Smut, 18+ only, MDNI, language, PIV, cream pie, a little choking, spanking, teasing, unprotected sex

AN: There's a couple of Tongan words in here (hopefully they're accurate) the first means "Sweetheart" and the second is "breathe"

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

It had been 12 minutes since Rainy looked at the clock on her phone as she wound her way through the house to the bathroom. 

12 long, agonizing minutes.

Tama was always so prompt.  His time in the military had instilled the importance of being on time.  Time was precious, a rare limited commodity not to be wasted.

Except for when he wanted to make her wait…when he felt like she needed a reminder of who was in control.

Patience was not a virtue Rainy possessed, but she would stand there in that bathroom all night if needed.  She knew he wouldn’t keep her waiting too long, he never did…just long enough to set her on edge, heighten her senses, make her squirm.

At 13 minutes there was a light tap at the door.  Rainy couldn’t even see him, but she knew it was Tama.  The knock quiet but precise.  Two taps, like a double tap to the chest from a 9 mm.  Rainy eased the door open and there he was, head tilted down, dark eyes on her. Watching.  Waiting.  Calculating.  Primal.  And that grin.  That fucking grin.  It screamed ‘run while you can’ but that same grin kept her planted in place with a need she knew only he could fill. Dark. Sexy. Hungry.

“You just let anybody in? Ain’t even ask who was at the door.” He shook his head taking 3 steps inside and closing the door behind him.  “Coulda been anyone, Ofa’anga” Rainy took a small step back, “I…I knew who it was.”

He was on her now, hand gripping her hip, pulling her impossibly close. “And how did you know? What if it was someone else? One of my brothers? A twin? Jake maybe? Coulda been anyone.” Rainy stood silent, barely breathing as his other hand travelled between the valley of her breasts shifting just enough to squeeze the mound of flesh on the left. “Maybe that’s what you wanted. Me to walk in and see another man on you so you could watch me rip their fucking throat out.” His hand was on her neck now, gripping, squeezing, pulling her closer, leaving nothing between them but the space occupied by the fabric of their clothes.

“No,” she breathed out, barely a whisper, “I knew it was you.”

He grinned wider, tongue slipping out to coat his lips before he peppered searing kisses on her neck, “Nah, baby,” his voice like velvet sliding over her, “You didn’t know.  But she did” the hand on her hip was between her legs now, two fingers slipping between her folds, “She always knows when I’m close by.” It was true, his very existence was like a beacon straight to her sex. “She’s my sweet girl. Always getting you out of trouble that your mouth gets you in to. Listen, Baby.  Hear how she’s already apologizing?” The slick sound of his fingers pushing in to her, palm slapping against her clit still sticky with their juices from earlier, echoed through the bathroom.

“Imma need that pretty mouth to catch up.  Say it.”

“I’m…I’m…”

“I’m I’m what?” He was taunting her, teasing her inability to formulate a simple sentence.

Rainy wasn’t aware he’d dropped his pants and freed his cock until he spun her around to face the mirror, shoving her head toward the marble top of the counter, hand fisted in her hair pulling her face up just enough to watch. “Sounds like I’m going to have to fuck the words back in to you.” Rainy pushed her ass back against him, silently begging Tama to put her pussy out of its misery and fill her. He slapped her ass.  Twice. Hard.  Leaving a large handprint on both cheeks that would most likely turn to a bruise. “Uh uh, Baby. Do that shit again and imma drag your ass to the living room and have everyone watch what I do to you.”

Tama slid the tip of his cock against her entrance, laughing low when she sighed and bit her lip, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Not yet.” Instead of pushing inside her, he slid his length through her soaked folds, the thick tip of his dick rolling over her clit over and over causing her thighs to twitch and jump.  Rainy’s eyes met his in the mirror, a silent pleading, “Please…” was all she could get out. “Nah, Baby. You ain’t earned this dick being inside you yet.”

He pulled his hips back, looking between them where her slick creaminess was clinging to his shaft, coating him.  Tama slid back forward, “Close those fucking legs for me.” Rainy obeyed.  Of course she did.  She couldn’t not do whatever he demanded when he had her dick drunk like she was right now.  Her body always betrayed her and was always running on Tama’s time.  She was merely a vessel…her body was his.  Tama groaned at the friction now, her legs being closed creating an envelope of her folds wrapping around his dick like a pussy cocoon custom made just for him.  “Hear that? She’s begging me to fuck her.” The unmistakable sound of wet friction filled the room as his thrusts sped up and then, with a white knuckle grip on her hip, he was buried inside her with a force that took Rainy’s breath away.

“Fuck, Rainy. You feel that? Feel how she’s gripping me…not letting me go.  She knows who she belongs to.”  The sounds coming from their bodies now was nothing short of vulgar.  Pornographic filth.  And it was fucking beautiful. 

“Imma bust and you better fucking cum with me or I’m starting all over.” Rainy could feel herself clinching around him, her pussy and his dick having a squelching conversation in a language only they could understand.

The guttural scream that left her body when she finally let go and came was unrecognizable, pussy convulsing around Tama’s dick while he continued to thrust, firing his own release inside her, the combination swirling together and oozing out and down both of their thighs. “Manava, Baby.  Breathe.” He had shifted now, calm, comforting, “You did good.  So fucking good.” 

Tama slid two fingers between them, gathering some of their mixed fluids and pushing the digits between her lips, “Taste that? That’s us, Baby. Me and you.” Rainy smiled, drunk and coming down from the euphoria of getting dicked down by her man in his brother’s bathroom.

“I’m sorry.” Rainy looked up at Tama’s reflection in the mirror. “There’s those words.  Apology accepted.  Don’t let it happen again.”  She nodded her head but they both knew it would definitely happen again.  And again.  And again.

[strawhbrrries]

I was thinking more about domestic Frank and dancing with you in the kitchen. Fuck when’s the last time, between the murder and all the blood and the shit, that somebody asked Frank Castle to dance? And you’re just there mixing blueberry muffin batter on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the soft crooning over the radio of “ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough” and suddenly he’s spinning you around in the kitchen, both of you laughing and singing

yes yes yes!!!

frank had spent sooo much of his life fighting that when a sweet little thing like you came into his life and he just didn’t know what to do! he was so hesitant to let you in because what if you just don’t understand what he went through, or you get hurt because of him. but you didnt care!!!

after awhile you finally convinced him to move in with you, under the guise he would be able to keep an eye on you at all times, and he started to feel way more comfortable in his newly found domestic lifestyle!!!

every sunday afternoon you’d do a sort of meal prepping, just small things to help make packing your breakfast and lunch throughout the week just a little easier, music from every genre and era playing over the radio. at first, he wasn’t a fan of the music, but he dealt with it because it made you happy. slowly he came around and occasionally he helped you with whatever you were doing, transitioning to this new life was hard for him.

teaching him how to dance was like teaching a dog to talk, he had two left feet, but you were patient and took all the time you had to show him. so then, while food was cooking, the two of you would dance around the kitchen and sing the music over the radio!!! (obviously slightly covered in the ingredients of your food)

[direwombat]

tagged by so many people over the past few weeks, but most recently @simplegenius042 on this fine wip wednesday (thank youuuu~). been a while, but here are some sneak peeks at katc ch 7 that's fairly hot off the presses (ie, i wrote them today, they're super rough, and will see the red ink of an editing pen at some point in the near future). syb finally made it to the ranger station in the whitetails, only to find that there's no sign of her brother to be found. just a chatty jacob calling in via radio, and some consequences of the van crash that saved her from john in ch 5. Also tw for passing references to childhood abuse

“Trying to call someone, Deputy?” 

She scowls, glancing around for the source of his voice, if only to disable it. 

“Gotta say, watching you clear out an outpost on your own was impressive. Waltzed into a den of wolves like it was nothing.”

Her blood runs cold. He was watching her the whole damn time? Her eyes dart up to the ceiling, scanning for security cameras. There are none inside, but as she carefully moves to the door, she spots one on the porch outside. According to Augustine, the rangers had security and trail cams set up all over the Whitetails. The cult must have co-opted those for themselves. She grits her teeth. Moving outside, her hand curls around the handle of a baseball bat left leaning against the exterior wall and smashes the camera. 

The pinch in her gut sharpens, white hot and piercing through her like she’s been stabbed. The skin of her abdomen pulls taut and tight as she lifts her arms to swing. 

When she returns inside, low, sinister laughter fills the room. “Clever little jackrabbit, ain’t ya?” 

A growl slips from between gritted teeth and with one hand pressed to her side, she lurches behind the reception desk. Resting on one of the shelves underneath the tabletop, is a HAM radio. She makes note of the frequency it's attuned to, jotting it down in the margins of her map before picking up the transceiver. “The fuck you want?” 

“Got someone who wants to say hi to you.” For a brief, fleeting moment, hope kindles in her ribcage -- Augustine -- only to be snuffed out when Jacob continues, “Ain’t that right, Peaches.” 

Her brow pinches together in confusion, mouth open, ready to ask what the fuck he’s talking about when Staci’s voice comes through. 

“Syb?” His voice is rough. Raw. As if he’d spent the past God knows how long either screaming or crying. He sounds scared. 

All of a sudden her aches and pains and fears are pushed aside in favor of trying to soothe his. “Yeah, I’m here, Stace. You alright?”

She hears his breath hitch and grow shallow, as if he’s hyperventilating. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever he tells you, whatever he says, it’s a --” He’s cut off by the sharp sound of a hand striking skin and he cries out in pain. She gasps, flinching as if she had also been struck. The phantom burn of her Daddy’s hand on her cheek makes the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.  

When Jacob speaks next, his voice is low and threatening. “Alright, that’s enough.” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Sybille growls.  

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly. “But until then, here’s what’s gonna happen: you’re going to surrender. You’re going to do exactly what I say. And if you behave, maybe I let you see your friend here.” 

“Kiss my ass.” 

“I’m being gracious here, Deputy. The rangers at the station didn’t get as generous an offer.” 

Her lips curl back, exposing all her teeth in a predatory snarl. “You sunnovabitch, I’m gonna --”

But, before she can finish her threat, he’s talking over her. “You’re not feeling well, are you, Deputy? I see the way you’re moving. Slow. Clutching your stomach. Abdominal pain?” He clicks his tongue and she can practically hear him shaking his head. “Nasty things can happen if you let that go unchecked. Do your little buddies in the Valley know? Can’t imagine they do if they let you come up here all on your own.”

Her silence must speak volumes, because after a moment’s pause, he begins to laugh. 

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

Her molars grind together so hard her jaw creaks. The pain in her abdomen is getting worse. A pressure builds  Her heart is racing so fast she can barely hear him over it rushing in her ears. Through heavy, labored breaths, she grits out, “You listen to me --”

“No. You listen to me. My Chosen will come get you. You’ll play nice. And maybe -- if i’m in a good mood -- maybe, I’ll humor you with a negotiation. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you can take my boot and shove it -- ah!” Another sharp stab of pain lances through her stomach, and her shaking knees buckle, sending her to the ground. Her vision tunnels, darkness rapidly closing in from the corners of her eyes. Her body lands on the hardwood floor with a solid thud. Boomer is rushing to her side just as she hears the motor of an ATV approaching from a distance. He whimpers, nosing at her and trying to nudge her back to her feet, but her weak and trembling limbs won’t let her. “Go,” she hisses at the same time Jacob’s voice calls to her from transceiver now dangling by its cord. “Go!” 

Boomer whines again, but follows her command, and slips through the door she’d left slightly ajar. 

She groans, clutching her stomach and curling her knees close to her chest. The roar of the ATV grows louder and louder as it approaches. She rests her sweaty forehead against the cool floor and waits. Waits for Jacob’s Chosen. Waits for the dark embrace of unconsciousness to finally deliver her from her pain. Waits for God to show her the Pearly Gates where Mamma and Augustine are waiting for her before the Devil grabs her ankle and drags her down the Hell.

And for funsies, here's the snippet from a sequence featuring syb's recurring guilt dream

Gravel crunches under heavy boots. Each shuffling step kicks up dust behind her. Sweat clings to her skin, beading at her brow and slipping down her neck to soak into the collar of her shirt. The humidity is suffocating, heavy and oppressive as the Louisiana heat beats down on her. She lurches forward with slow, shambling steps, her head light and nodding back and forth as her exhausted and aching body soldiers on.  

One foot. 

Then the other. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. 

A chorus of cicadas screech -- or maybe that’s just the ringing in her ears -- as she’s pulled like a dog on a leash towards the grave she helped dig. 

A lazy breeze cuts through the stagnant air, but it does little to wick the sweat from her brow. Blades of tall grass in the fields around her bend and sway, whispering softly and echoing the words that pour out of her mouth. 

“O Lord, I beg Thy forgiveness for havin’ offended Thee, and I detest all my sins…”

The moon hangs low, fat and full, on the horizon, illuminating her way with silver beams of light. Every breath she takes is a struggle, every step she takes causes an ache so deep she feels it in the marrow of her creaking bones. Her hair clings to her forehead and the back of her neck. Blisters have formed and popped several times over, the soles of her feet squishing out blood that pools in the dusty footprints she leaves behind. 

She’s walked this lonely dirt road more times than she cares to count, nothing more than a shambling corpse, making a pilgrimage to the same Unholy spot every time she goes to sleep. 

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she adjusts her grip on the shovel slung over her shoulder. Its wooden handle warped and stained with the blood and sweat of her calloused palms. She swears that each time she returns to this road, that stain gets a little bit bigger. 

As she passes a pond, a creeping bit of the bayou that threatens to overtake the road with each passing summer, the back of her neck prickles as a pair of unseen eyes lock onto her. Clouds drift overhead, blotting out the moonlight and she’s cast into darkness. A shadowy figure swoops past her with a heavy beat of its wings and fluttering of feathers. She gasps and her gaze snaps skyward, some wild prey instinct sends her heart racing, urging her to run. 

An owl glides through the air, following the path of the road towards the weeping willow that towers on the horizon. It’s the only tree for miles, standing sentinel at the crossroads where she helped bury a man. 

Underneath its swaying boughs stands a single grave marker, one that her Daddy hadn’t bothered to make. She comes to a stop in front of it. It’s an old thing, nothing more than two planks of wood bound together by rope. Its white paint is chipped and weathered. It bears no name, no dates -- nothing to indicate who has been laid to rest here. 

With a heavy sigh, she turns her shovel around to sink the blade into the soft, sandy soil and begins to dig. Time slows, the only sign of it marching ever onward is the pile of dirt that grows larger with every shovelful. The owl watches her work, offering a scornful hoot whenever she stops to catch her breath. 

It’s only when the tip of the spade makes contact with something solid -- a hollow thunk reverberating through the air -- that she tosses the shovel to the side. She falls to her knees and begins to rip into the earth by hand. Her nails chip. Her fingers bleed. She catches sight of curved pieces of keratin caught in the churning soil. Her hands are caked in dirt and blood. 

But still, she digs. 

Off in the distance, a coyote chitters -- a sound that morphs into the rough and rasping cackle of a heavy smoker as another breeze rolls through, hot and humid like breath on her neck. The smell of tobacco is carried on it. “Gotta move faster than that, Billie,” her Daddy barks. 

And still, she digs. 

But she isn’t digging fast enough. 

The angry wind whips and curls around her. The exposed skin of her arms alight in burning pricks of pain. The faded circular scars pockmarking the underside of her forearms burn, throbbing in pain as the familiar sting of ashes rains down her neck. “Y’ain’t got all night, girl,” Daddy snarls. “C’mon, move it!” 

Panic sets in. 

Nonetheless, she digs. 

taglist (opt in/out)

@josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarashikage, @florbelles, @statichvm,

@fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa

@cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @g0dspeeed,

@miyabilicious, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman,

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else with a wip to share this wednesday (or any other day <3)

[pynkhues]

https://www.tumblr.com/pynkhues/770330080935346176/httpswwwtumblrcomloustat-0770311728091299840?source=share

That is something I love about your fics, how viscerally you convey their need to touch each other, not just sexually, but all touch.

Anon, 😭😭 you're very lovely, thank you. This is still a little sexy, but have a domestic snippet from the Cruising fic:

-

Bzzt.

Bzzzzzzzzttttt.

Louis feels his face pinch as he’s roused from his slumber by the sound of the loud vibration, glass ricocheting off glazed wood, echoing through the quiet sanctuary of his bedroom. It’s enough to pull him into the moment, into this new night, to this bed, to this city, to this entanglement, for he feels the knobs of Lestat’s bony spine against his chest before he feels anything else. Before he feels the numbness of his left arm, caught between Lestat’s side and the mattress, before he feels the curve of his perfect ass, cradled between Louis’ hips, and he works his mouth. Tastes the stale remnants of last night – of sleep and blood and Lestat – and he pushes his nose into the valley Lestat’s neck makes with his shoulder, inhales deeply, lets Lestat, however briefly, fill his senses as the blood drips south, and he drops his free hand to Lestat’s hip. Tilts it ever so slightly back against him, the blissful pressure, weight, seam of him there in his lap and- -

Bzzzzzzzzzttttttt.

And - -

Right.

With a low groan, Louis leans back just enough to fumble a hand out behind him in the dark, reaching for where his cell phone sits on his bedside table, blinks bleary eyes up at it as he turns the screen on, but despite a flurry of messages from a flurry of people, his phone’s not the one that’s ringing. He glances across the bed at where Lestat’s phone is glowing bright on top of the other table, and rolls over again to pull his left arm out from beneath Lestat, draping himself over him as he starts to stir, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder and giving his bare ass a quick, light good-evening slap.

“Phone, baby.”

And Lestat practically growls at that, yanking himself out of sleep only to flop pathetically over in the sheets, grabbing his cell off the bedside table and letting loose a string of cusses in French when he recognises the contact. Still, he promptly answers, even if he does hook it between his head and shoulder so that he can reach a hand back behind him to fondle Louis’ cock briefly as he does it.

Despite himself, Louis can’t quite bite back the grin, half-hard but also awake enough now to know that this ain’t gonna happen on what seems like a work call, so he detaches Lestat’s hand from his (hot, already pulsing - - fuck, no one gets him going like Lestat) member, entwines their fingers briefly with an affectionate squeeze that has Lestat staring back at him unblinking over his shoulder, and sits up in bed, giving them a little distance. He rolls his shoulders back, wills his arousal away, shakes out his left arm to try and get some circulation back into it from where it was pinned beneath Lestat’s body for likely the entire day, before grabbing his phone again to actually read through his messages. There are a few from his assistant, passed on follow-up from the Whitechapel Gallery and meeting requests from property developers back in Dubai, a few from Margot, and one from Rashid about a potential buyer for another Klimt coming through a contact at Sotheby’s.

Enough to get to work, he thinks, slipping out of bed, feeling Lestat’s too hot gaze on the line of his nude body as he tosses on a slate grey cotton t-shirt and a pair of deep, autumnal red silk lounge pants, grabs his laptop from atop the dresser and pads downstairs towards the kitchen.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

If you still want prompts, I need more drunk Alec in my life

I’m always up for malec prompts babygirl. Especially drunk Alec is a babe. I haven’t written canon malec in a while so here’s them being dorks as always.

_______________________________________________

“No matter how far, don't worry, baby.

“Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry

“You don't have to worry,” The voice yells through the loud pub as Magnus steps through the portal.

His eyes glances through the crowd to find his idiots but it doesn’t take him long, takes him barely a single second because said idiots are on the stage, yelling on the karaoke.

Magnus cuts through the crowd to reach at the centre when he hears his name called.

“Magnus!!” He turns to see Jace waving towards him excitedly, Isabelle standing next to him, jumping and shouting at the stage.

He reaches the two of them and asks, “On a scale of 0 to what happened on 15th May; how drunk are these three?”

Jace chortles, smacking at his shoulder and Magnus punches him back.

He’s not drunk enough to take up with Jace’s incessant habit of treating him like a ‘bro’ when he’s drunk.

“Clary is a solid 15. Simon already puked seven times. And Alec, Raziel, Alec is worse than Izzy on 15th May.”

Magnus turns towards the stage, where the three idiots, with his main idiot in between stand, yelling and singing loudly.

Alec‘s unbuttoned his top two buttons, his hair is a mess—the sexy, hot kind, and he has an arm loosely around Clary, who looks as drunk as him. Simon is also there, with his hot nerd face that’s getting hotter ever since he got engaged with Izzy but Magnus for the life of him cannot care—even if he tries to look at anything but his Alec.

There’s just something about him right now, the carelessness that he’s been missing for a while, since he’s become to Consul and their world has gone to shit.

Right now, the man looks like he doesn’t have a care in this world and while Magnus loves Alec in his serious consul mode, this, this is how he wants his Alec to always look like.

With his cheeks flushed and a million dollar smile on his face.

Like always, the same way it’s been happening for a decade now, Alec feels his presence in the room before he even sees him and he tracks how his husband’s eyes wander across the room, searching for him.

And then they land on him and, somehow, Magnus isn’t sure how, doesn’t think it should be legal but the smile and happiness on Alec’s face increase tenfold. It cracks his chest and threatens to burn him.

“Magnus is here!!!” Alec yells, excitedly.

Clary and Simon look in his direction and wave at him too.

Alec pulls away to get to him but Clary stops him, eyes all fiery as she speaks, “Finish the song first.”

Magnus chuckles at the small pout that Alec makes before his husband launches back into the song, only this time, he’s staring directly into his eyes as he sings.

“Cause, baby, there ain't no mountain high enough.

“Ain't no valley low enough

“Ain't no river wide enough

“To keep me from getting to you, babe,” Alec sings with a stupid smile and Magnus’s face softens at him, his cheeks widening.

The shadowhunter finally escapes Clary’s grasp and jumps off the stage; infront of him and Magnus thinks Alec’s going to kiss him now, with the proximity as he comes closer but the man shouts in his ears, “Cause baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough.”

Magnus laughs loudly, before winding his arms around Alec’s waist who in turn places his arms around Magnus’s neck.

“Hi.”

“Hi, my darling.”

Alec’s hair is all wet and Magnus runs a hand through them, pushing them in place but they fall on his face again. The man is skipping on his feet happily.

“Alec, brother. That was fucking amazing,” Jace wipes fake tears, or wait—Jace wipes actual tears off his face as he pulls his parabatai in a hug.

His husband hugs his parabatai back as tightly as he can and the two have a moment in the middle of the pub for no bloody reason.

He shakes his head in affection at the two idiots, but he’s glad Alec has that, he’s always admired the relationship the two shared.

Alec Lightwood will always love Jace Herondale more than his own life.

“Why are you two morons hugging like you were separated in a war,” Magnus comments because he can. Alec turns towards him and jumps in his arms again.

“Hi.”

Magnus chuckles. “Hi again.”

Alec lays his head on Magnus’s shoulder, nuzzling in a way very familiar to Chairman Meow.

“Magnus.”

“Hmmm.”

“I have to tell you…tell you something.”

Magnus runs his fingers through Alec’s hair. “What is it?”

Alec pulls back, and peers at him. “I’m very drunk.”

A breathless peal of laughter leaves his body and he kisses Alec’s forehead. “Oh, honey. I know.”

He grabs Alec’s face in his face, his gorgeous gorgeous face, free of any troubles and caresses his cheeks. “You look very happy, my love.”

Alec beams at the words.

“I am happy.”

“I like you when you’re this happy,” he whispers against his mouth and thumbs over his eyebrows, over the frown lines that are usually there.

“I like you all the time.”

Magnus rolls his eyes.

Asshole.

“Don’t try to one-up me while I’m being sappy, Alexander.”

Alec giggles and Magnus wonders why and how on earth has he not kissed Alec yet. So, he leans in to kiss his husband. He brings their mouths together slowly, exploring like he can’t create an exact replica of Alec’s mouth if he wanted to.

“Oh fuck!” Alec explains suddenly, pulling back.

“What?” He whines.

“We forgot Max and Rafe.”

“We did not forget. More important, you did not forget,” Magnus assures him. “They’re with Cat.”

“Oh,” Alec says, then beams. “Okay.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” He asks.

Magnus wishes he can give Alec more nights like this—more nights when he can just ask Alec what he wants and Alec has the freedom to say yes. When the burden of saving an entire race isn’t on his broad, and sexy shoulders.

“Marry you.”

He snorts.

“What?” Alec pouts. “Will you marry me?”

“No.”

Alec puts a hand on his chest. “Wow.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Is that why you won’t marry me? Because I’m an idiot.”

“Yes.”

Alec pauses for a second, thoughtfully.

“If I say ‘I’ll try not to be an idiot’ in my vows, will you marry me then?”

“Nope,” he grins.

“Pretty please?” Alec flutters his lashes and Magnus feels his heart in his mouth.

He recalls a time when Alec was shy, when every single smile was rare, when the shadowhunter boy with the sure and steady heart didn’t understand the effect he had on Magnus. When he was careful in every step he took.

When he didn’t know how much Magnus’s ass was obsessed with him.

It’s not the case now.

Now Alec knows.

Alec knows how every breath he takes, every action, every gesture, how it makes Magnus fall in love with him even more. He knows how to capitalise on that now.

“Please, baby.”

“Have you forgotten that we’re already married?”

Alec rolls his eyes, the first of his night surprisingly. “Of course I remember.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You want to do it again?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“MAGNUS!!!!!!.”

[melit0n]

The Fire doth Sing of Iron and Devotion.

- Synopsis: Swathed in the cold draperies of night, hunkered down with their herd of cattle, two land-locked cowpokes rest their weary heads. As stars glimmer in silver and merigold, far, far above them, the fire crackles with that which goes unspoken, and that which sleeps under wit and the strum of a guitar.

- Oneshot for @moonchild-in-blue and I.

- Word Count: 6.4k

- Warnings: None.

Above the sun-stunned, rusty land, raw from the trebling hooves of amblers, sprouting with pale greens that scale towering rock faces, the moon shines. Shines like a silver button punched into velvet, like those on the shawls passing genteel ladies wear. It peaks from behind clambering trees–branches bent on puncturing the great darkness above–and grins in a luminescent crescent at the sight before it. 

Echoing on the plains, coddled bells clank and jingle with the heavy steps of creatures weary from wandering. In the dark of the night, they have nothing to guide them other than the soft clop of hooves and the low whistle of voices that they’ve come to know means safety. But, for now, they rest their hides on the warm ground below: the same land their strong shouldered, distantly dying cousins once did. 

Closely, they huddle, minds eased by the knowledge of familiar hands and voices nearby. Sleep would find them quickly–glossy eyes drooping and muscles easing–if not for the constant sound of a flint. 

Footsteps, light with the familiar clink of metal, approach the noise. “You got that fire started yet, or are we sleepin’ with the shadows tonight?”

Small sparks, the promise of something bright and warm, light up Mel’s face like the glow of fireflies, glinting in her murky blue eyes. Her brows are taught with focus, and there’s the beginning of an annoyed frown making its way across her slightly tanned skin. “...Almost.”

“Not to be crude, pardner, but,” Darya crouches, loose threads of soft, inky hair–pulled up underneath her hat–tickling Mel’s face. She places a hand on her shoulder for balance, leaning over the somewhat pathetic attempt to create light. “You said ‘almost’ ‘bout half an hour ago.”

Mel blows a strand of dirty blonde hair from her face–of which dutifully floats back down to its exact position moments later–and grumbles, “Ain’t my fault I’m used to the oil lamps Mr Langley gives us now.”

Darya adjusts her feet under her, engraved boots–a tapestry of foreign fruits and stars–scuffing up dirt and dust. “Well, ya’ know how to strike a match to light the lamps: surely this ain’t harder than that.” She says it with a grin: graced with pearly whites that light up any dimly lit room she’s in. Too bad it isn’t enough to light up the whole valley–would certainly save the two some trouble. 

“‘Course I know how to strike a match,” A puff of dust erupts from the ground as Darya lowers herself to the ground, the brim of her slate grey, tinged blue, hat grazing over Mel’s. “If we had the matches, I wouldn’t have to be doin’ this.” 

“Shoulda’ bought some when we were in Boulderstead.” Darya laments, crossing her legs and trying to ignore the dull, irritating press of tiny rocks through her chaps. 

They’d only passed by two towns on their way home, Boulderstead and something with ‘creek’ in it–tumbleweed towns that were easily forgotten–and missed the opportunity to buy some both times. After their forgetfulness, Darya had expected to be able to visit an old friend’s homestead for supplies–and maybe a soft bed to sleep in for the night–only to find nothing but arid dirt and the remains of what once was. 

Nowadays, nothing seems set in stone nor lead: half their maps and memories are wrong–farmsteads and friendly faces replaced by iron and fields of juniper green turned to paper mache towns that look like they’d blow over when the first snow comes. 

So, for miles, it has only been the wayward pair, their horses, and their employer’s–one Mr Langley’s–prized herd of cattle. 

And, for miles–for each night they spend out here–one is quietly pleased at the prospect of their partner getting roughed up and needing a hand to hold. 

Iris–Darya’s well loved mare–softly neighs from behind the pair, the metal of her bridle clinking along with the steady shink of the flint. In the quick blink of light, Mel shrugs. “Shoulda’, woulda’, coulda’.”

Darya’s hand reaches upwards and sends a pat to Iris’ white and chestnut shoulder. Though, she’s sure most of the white has tinted a dull red–stained by loose soil and sand. “Would ya’ like me to have a knack?” 

In the corner of her eye, Mel watches as Darya leans forward–hands open in offering. She attempts a few more times but, with hands sore, she happily hands them over, the valley finally falling quiet. “Go right ahead.” The noise quickly begins again, bouncing off of the trees and towering rocks. “I think we collected damp wood–somehow–so I doubt it’ll li-”

The dry moss sparks with life, taking mere seconds to begin smouldering with smoke. Habitually, Darya cups her hands around her mouth, and leans further forwards to give the budding flame a helping hand. 

Comically, Mel’s eye twitches. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Well, what can I say?” A proud grin, accented by beauty marks, stretches across Darya’s face as she leans back, amber and morning-sun-yellow dancing in her deep, umber eyes. “Got a way with words, a paintbrush and fire.”

Mel shifts, nudging Darya in the side playfully. “You talk any longer,” she drags her numbed legs from under her and leans back on her hands. “And you’ll be gettin’ too big for your britches.”

Darya shows her palms, as if placating a skittish horse. “Only speakin’ the truth, pardner.”

After so long in the dark, it takes a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the growing light. The fire scrambles up the wood with semi-controlled hunger, marigold fingers sliding across the collapsing bark, kept away from the dry grass by hastily gathered stones that surround the growing embers. 

With the stygian draperies of the night already lain across the land, the warmth is a welcome one across their faces–the frigid fingers of the midnight hour kept at bay, relinquishing their hold and peeking from behind the tree line in front of them.

The shadows are the same wherever they go, though, Mel still finds herself off-put by the wisps as they waver with each crack and pop of the wood. The other farmhands back home always make stories of them–outlaws possessed by the Devil and turned to something further than man–and both would be liars if they said they weren’t somewhat unnerved by their creeping forms.  

Intently, from between the flickers of the flame, Darya eyes them, wary of outlaws and bandits, but simply finds herself–elongated and transparent–pressed against the trees. 

Fatigued sigh escaping her mouth, Mel grasps for her hat–a light tan embroidered with fading flowers, battered by use and playful cows–and wipes over her face. As she peels damp wisps of hair from her forehead, Darya chuckles.

“‘N that,” Darya follows along, beginning lifting her own, feather inlaid in the band, off of her head. “Is why you should put your hair up.” As she does, she reveals the small braid tucked inside it. Looped and weaved in the twist, small flowers lie: soft, small stars carefully stitched in the silken fabric of her hair.

Mel pauses for a moment, eyes meandering over her, before flicking back to the fire and attempting to comb out her hair. “Naw, I always feel exposed with it up.”

“Exposed?” Darya turns to Mel, an amused smile spreading across her face. “What are you, a deer?” Both huff out a laugh as Darya tilts her head. “Why though? You always look real pretty when I braid it. Mrs Langley says so, too.”

Mel drops her hat to her lap, deciding to make the other hand another makeshift comb. “‘Cause I’ve a forehead the size o’ Europe.”

Darya attempts to stifle another laugh. Key word: attempts. “Naw,” 

Mel keeps a blank, unamused expression. “You’re laughin’.”

Another puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh escapes Darya, before she raises a hand to wipe at an imaginary stain near her mouth. “I ain’t. You- you don’t.”

“Don’t lie to yourself- look at it!” She draws her hair back–strands as taught as a rope. “You could write half the Good Book on this thing.”

Suddenly, Darya’s face drops: frown highlighted by the flickering shadows of the fire. She reaches forth and speaks in a tone like she might just start praying. “Mel, hold- hold on.” She squints, bringing her hand to Mel’s chin. “Stay right there. I think I see sum’…”

As her head is twisted and turned like a sickly child’s, a feeling of worry builds in Mel’s chest. “What?” To the left, “What is it?” To the right, “I get nicked by sum’?” And left again.

Darya leans closer, squinting, and Mel becomes painfully aware of how warm her fingers are on her face. “Hold on…in the beginnin’, God created-”

Apprehension gone, Mel’s shoulders fall and all anxiety seeps out of her just as quickly as it built up. “Quit it.”

Darya’s laugh echoes and bounces against the creaking trees, and it doesn’t take long for Mel to join her. They stay that way, sure they sound like a pair of cackling coyotes, but they know no care for it. 

When their laughter finally ceases, both of them mutely realise how close they are. 

It isn’t an uncommon thing–they can’t count on two hands how often their hands have found each other as they traverse the streets–but, even so, a warmth, almost scalding, floods their faces.

Mel can feel the twitch of Darya’s fingers against her face, and a small part of her begs her to lean in. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she grins, something halfway between sly and knowing–teasing–and apprehension as she removes her hands. 

Wanting to relieve the tension, Mel coughs into her hand. “How, uhm, how are the cows? We still got all twenty of em’?”

Darya hums, smiling and returning to fiddling with the feather on her cap. She’s adamant it’s some type of Hawk’s wing feather, though, it’s a long running joke that she picked it up from a chicken. “All swell. They’re tired, I don’t blame them, but well. Mr Langley insists we usually have the dogs to keep ‘em in check, so I’m surprised they’ve stuck to us without ‘em.”

“I guess after a while they realised we’re their only way back home.” Mel shifts again, swiping a few stones from under. Naturally, it does barely anything. “And Miss Langley’s acorn calf? She still swell?”

“I’ve been checkin’ on her the whole ride. If I’m honest, I’m mightily surprised she’s made it this far: strong heart, that one. Though, I might tie her and her ma’ up to Iris,” Mel sets her hat beside her, “so they keep up for the last quarter-” and pulls herself up and off the ground. “-where you off to?”

Mel twists, loud cracks emitting from her tired bones, mumbling, “Jeeze, m’ gettin’ old.” She shakes her legs, ridding herself of the numbness, and turns to Darya, a grin spreading across her face. “Gettin’ sleepin’ stuff.” 

Darya begins to drag herself back up. “Fair enough. Where is Pip, anyways? You let her wander?”

“Mhm. Hope she ain’t gone too far.” After a few dry, sad attempts, a lifting whistle echoes out across the plains, quickly followed by the slow, repetitive thumps of hooves. 

A while back, a group of cows would’ve probably been following her, but, after a year or two with the pair, they began to recognise the different calls used.

Unfortunately, it also means they recognise when the horses are being called over for food, as well. 

But, before long, Mel’s horse–Pip–appears from the shroud of night like an aimless ghost; dapple grey coat, mane plaited with flowers, highlighted in the firelight.

With a whinny, Iris walks over to greet, dust being kicked into Darya and Mel’s eyes in her wake. 

Both of their saddles are heavy with supplies: a change of clothes, each of their respective rifles and lassos, as well as tinned food and canisters of water. Normally, they wouldn’t be so stuffed, but their usual pack horse–a well loved mule named Red–decided to go lame a day before the pair headed out. 

Yet another inconvenience that has dug into them during their long trip. 

Metal jingles as each unties their respective gear, both careful not to undo any knots that would send their carefully arranged items tumbling to the ground. Bit by bit, they’re placed down on the dusty, rock ridden ground–a place sometimes as uncomfortable as sleeping on a bed of nails. Even after so many days spending more time on it than not, it still made them yearn for the hammocks in the yard back home more than anything. 

Still, it was the best they had.

“Hey, Melie?” Darya unties her base–a thinning bedroll that has a hole too many in it. 

“Yeah?” 

“You,” Easily, she places it onto the ground, looking between her saddle and a compressed knitted blanket. “You got dinner?” Eventually, she chooses the blanket, keeping it folded to work as a makeshift pillow. 

At the word ‘dinner’, Mel pauses her attempt to rid her bed of any small rocks, brows twitching in confusion. “We already had dinner?”

Iris and Pip huff what is almost a laugh from behind the pair. Darya looks to her, incredulous. “When?”

Mel jerks a thumb back, “Back up on the South ridge when it was startin’ to get dark! We wanted to watch the sunset, so we took a break, remember?”

Darya’s eyes search the darkness for a moment, like her pupils will pull a memory out of it.

Mel chuckles, beginning to smooth out her makeshift bed, placed close to Darya’s. “I think you gotta get your memory checked, Moony.”

“I think you gotta get your fire makin’ skills checked.” Darya scoffs, shifting her feet out of her boots.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when I put a sidewinder in your sleepin’ bag.” 

Darya flops down, craning her head and watching Mel work. “You wouldn’t.” She speaks, comically aghast and playful, like a wife learning her savings have gone to whiskey and bargaining chips. 

Mel hums, “I would.” As she smooths out her crinkled sheets. 

Darya smiles, laughing. “You love me too much.”

Mel stays quiet, lips pursed, a silent sign of some sort of unspoken agreement, and Darya feels the itch of a ‘told you so’ on the tip of her tongue. But, as both smooth out their beds for the night, she decides to keep it hidden beneath another smile. 

With ease, Mel slips her own boots off and watches the fire intently. Sleep tugs at both of their eyes–heavy as lead and light as rain–but both know neither will be welcomed into her arms tonight. 

At least, not for long enough.

They need to take shifts for the cows, anyways. 

Both stare, silent, at the flickering fingers of the fire, bodies dreading the inevitable five step trek to find more fuel from it. They’d both gathered some and placed it in a pile a little more than an arm's reach away, but after sitting down–even if that’s all they’d done all day–it feels painfully distant.  

Rocks dig into their skin through the thin excuses for beds.

Quietly, Darya listens as Mel shifts back and forth, probably attempting to dislodge the small things like she does every night. 

“You alright there?” Darya hums, hat back on her head–tilted over her eyes–and a tired lilt in her voice. 

Mel sighs, annoyed but not willing to put in any more effort. “I’ve got rocks under me.”

Darya scoffs, a smile on her lips, “What a surprise that is.”

The conversation falls comfortably flat afterwards. As Mel picks at the embroidery in her hat, something she’d need to re-stitch soon–a long put off task–the stars twinkle quietly above. With no other noise than soft breathing, both think the other has managed to fall asleep.

That is, until Darya whispers, “Mel?”

She mumbles back, “Still here.”

“Do ya’ know how close we are to home?”

Mel’s eyes inch from her hat and towards Darya’s form. She’s taken her hat from her face and rested it against her chest; Iris sniffing at the feather. 

“Don’t tell me you lost the compass.”

She scoffs, “How would a compass tell us how far out we are?”

Contemplative, Mel takes a few moments to respond before sighing despondently–a noise that easily makes Darya laugh. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“Been a long ride; don’t fret.”

Their eyes stay glued to each other’s, and Darya yearns to fill the silence. With what exactly, she’s unsure, but she takes a breath to speak it. Fortunately–or unfortunately–Mel beats her to it.

“‘M surprised.”

Darya’s brows furrow, craning her neck to get a better look at Mel. “Why?”

“You’re usually the one with a sense of direction.”

The memories of countless hours lost to Mel’s horrible mental compass brings a grin to Darya’s face. “Well, you’re the one who likes stars.”

Happily, Mel continues the back and forth. “You’re the one always lookin’ up at the night sky.”

Darya twists, moving to her stomach. “Can you blame me?” Distantly, they hear the sound of approaching hooves. “The moons’ as pretty as a peach.”

“Prettier than me?” Pip nips at Mel’s hat, playfully attempting to tug it away, before walking towards the treeline again, probably for a second dinner.

They’d tie the two horses up, but, after years of trekking so many miles with them, both have proven to be pleasingly loyal. Again, spending more time with them than not, a mutual trust had been formed, and they’d both decided to let them have free rein, without fretting over losing their ride far from home.

“That’s still up for debate.”

There’d been an occasion, maybe a year ago, when they’d been watching another local farmer’s cows–one Mr Rawlings–because his hands had refused to work. Said they saw a Ghost rider, no skin left on his face and a voice calling across the plains like the Devil Himself, and didn’t dare step back on the land until the Priest blessed it. So, with only a mild fear of that which goes bump in the night, they were happy to take up the additional job for some extra cash. 

Iris nudges Darya’s head. Humorously, Darya looks up to her. “Whadya’ want?”

So, in unfamiliar fields under an ever watchful sky, the pair certainly had a fright waking up to seeing both their horses gone. In a panic, they ran like bats out of Hell back to Mr Rawlings to report their stolen animals. Two hours or so later, the pair came trotting back home, an unconscious outlaw tangled in one of their stirrups and reins. 

Again, she prods Darya until she finally moves herself upright. “What are ya’ up to, hm?” 

Having seen them find their way back home with no issue, dragging a bandit behind them, both decided to give them a little more freedom. 

Happily, she settles down behind Darya, her usual spot–flask of water sloshing as she tucks her legs in. With a resounding sigh, she places her heavy head down on Darya’s pillow.

As the mare gets herself comfortable, both can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think you’re gettin’ that back tonight.”

Darya huffs, her hand beginning to paw blindly for something. “At least my horse doesn’t try to sleep on me every night.” She frowns, clearly not finding what she was looking for, and leans over Iris. For a few seconds, she almost seems to hesitate as her next words stumble out of her mouth. “I’d be a real shame if we had to share a sleeping bag, ey?”

Mel’s eyes stick to Darya’s form before letting them wander her surroundings in search of something else to fiddle with. “Oh, truly.”

The hollow knock of wood, followed by a soft, ‘aha’, tells Mel that Daryas’ found what she’s looking for.

She lifts the battered instrument over Iris, body knocking on the horn of her saddle. Somewhat more confident, she speaks, “Y’know what I heard?”

Mel’s eyes focus on a brittle-looking branch. She stretches out her arm, “What’d you hear?” before grasping onto it, and dragging it over the dry ground. 

A very out of tune chord resounds in their ears. “That you get warmer faster with less clothes.”

Mel twirls the stick around in her hand, unknowing as Darya watches for her reaction. “Oh, yeah?”

Another pluck of a string–more harmonious than the last. “Ey. You, uhm, you gotta be huddled up with someone, though.” She strums a somewhat familiar chord; one of late nights together on a porch with the burn of whiskey on their tongues. 

She hums. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

Darya grins to herself at the prospect. Even though she knows it's only sarcasm, she can’t help but sense a drop of sincerity. 

As Mel draws patterns in the dry dirt, somewhere across the plains, a bird calls out. Maybe the Hawk, scouring each blade of grass and hare’s burrow for its missing flight feather. 

“So…” Darya draws the ‘o’ out. “Where are we at?”

“Let’s see,” Mel shifts her eyes up from her swirling shapes and towards the clear sky, darting between the hundreds of silver eyes that stare down at them from the great darkness above. “That big bright one is Mars- uhm, y’know the twins? Gemini?” 

She turns to find Darya’s eyes, finding them already fixed on the velvet expanse above them.

“The two stick-figure lookin’ ones? Holdin’ hands?”

“Aye.”

“Lookin’ right at ‘em.”

“Okay, um,” Mel squints at the sky, attempting to discern the different shapes and patterns–different stories woven with helium and spur silver–that cover the night sky. “Cancer? Right to the left of it.” Darya nods, “Look between the two for a big bright one; can’t miss it.”

Darya grins as she picks them out. “I see ‘im.” she giggles to herself. “Y’know, I really don’t know how people get a crab outta that.”

“You ain’t never even seen a crab.”

Darya whips her head around, a grin on her face as she bends her torso over Iris, careful not to hit her head with the neck. “Have too! Mr and Mrs Langley were given sum’ for their anniversary.” Iris flicks her ears against Darya’s face as she leans back. “‘N ain’t no way does that,” she plucks a harsh string. “Look like a crab.”

Mel peers back up at the sky, contemplative as she tries to imagine the animal in place of the glimmering stars. “...Looks more like a lobster to me.”

“Don’t you tell me you’ve seen a lobster.”

Mel crosses her arms, smug. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”

“Just tell me how much longer we gotta be out here for.”

Mel looks back, humming, “We follow Mr Ares straight to get back home. Maybe…another day or two's ride?”

“Thank God.” Darya’s shoulder fell in relief, a sigh escaping her. Although they had both diligently attempted to keep track of the time, after so long surrounded by sand, pillars of binding red rock, and half-built rail-tracks, the days felt as if they melded—hot and red with a halcyon sky above—together.

“What,” Mel throws her stick into the fire, listening as the dry wood crackles and pops. “Am I really that bad company?” She asks in mock offense. 

“Naw,” finally, her guitar seems to be tuned. Both are sure it won’t stay that way for long. “Just missin’ my bed.”

“You n’ me both.”

Bit by bit, Darya begins to string together a song, fingers moving back and forth between different chords before settling with a sequence she likes. She’s been playing it for a long while–as long as the two have known each other–along with her violin. Although, that one stays tucked up at home, far away from bucking horses, bullets, and pawing bandits. 

Mel places her elbow on her knee, resting her head on her hand. “I like that one.”

Darya scoffs, smiling. “You like all my tunes.”

Mel imitates the sound, mocking her. “Because they’re all nice. I keep tellin’ you to ask the keeper if you can play them at his saloon. Everyone’d love it.”

She begins a more complicated plucking pattern, fingers dancing across the fingerboard. “One day.”

“Is that gonna be one day in this life or the next?”

“Perhaps the next. For now, I think they’ll stay for our ears.”

There it is again; that warm feeling. Quiet as the wind and as warm as whiskey. One that isn’t the amber arms of the firelight, or the food sitting at the bottom of her stomach. As Darya hums, Mel can’t help but think she’s never seen someone as lovely. 

Suddenly, the pacing changes, her humming becoming as smooth as fresh butter. “New one I’ve been cookin’ up. Thoughts?”

“Sounds like you.”

Darya raises her dark eyes for a moment from the strings, iris’ flickering with the firelight. “And what would that be?”

Mel doesn’t hesitate. “Ocean waves crashing against a limestone shore.”

“Right, well, I know for a fact that you ain’t never seen the sea, same as I.” A cow moos from far off. “How could I create a sound about somethin’ I’ve never heard of?”

“You can still imagine it, no?” She shrugs.

Darya hums; soft, like the wind chimes their employers have in their orchard. “True, true.” A pause. Maybe another hesitant statement that lingers on her tongue long enough to turn the words sour to her mind. “We should go someday.”

“To the sea?” Even focused on her music, Darya can hear the grin on Mel’s face. Subtle, and half-hidden by her hand, but still there. 

“Mhm. Mrs Langley has one of those big shells–a conch–on a shelf in their livin’ room. I’d like to find one for myself.”

Quiet, Mel nods in wordless agreement. They’d heard that Mrs Langley was born by the ocean, and keeps the sea foam and sand close to her heart. In the orchards, filled with white blossoms and apples, come summer, the branches are littered with wind chimes; woven with seashells and string. Both swear it’s the second prettiest sound they’ve ever known.

Darya takes in a breath, “Did ya’ know, you can hear the sea in em’? Like how people say they hear voices in the wind. Real neat how they carry a piece of their home with em’.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

Darya raises her eyes from her guitar for a moment. “True that, true that.” Before glancing back down.

Before long, the two fall into another comfortable quiet, lulled by the pop of wood, the twang of Darya’s guitar, and the far off moos of sleepy cows. 

“Hey, Melie?”

“Mhm?” Mel’s eyes have drooped closed, hopeful to grasp at sleep that seems to never come. 

The guitar’s wood hums when she places it down. “You got a story for us?”

She cracks an eye open, Darya’s form a blur for a few moments. “Depends on if you wanna sleep tonight.”

Darya huffs. “Oh, come on, your stories ain’t that scary.”

She peels the other eye open, once again wide awake. “Only because I keep all the good ones to myself! You scare like an afeared chicken to a loud noise, anyways.”

“Says you.” She begins putting her guitar to the side, strapping it back to Iris.

“Aye, says me.”

“Well?” She looks to Mel. “Go on.”

Mel straightens herself, clearing the remnants of drowsiness from her eyes as she dramatically clears her throat. “Alright…they say,” she begins, hoarse and preacher like. “Far out where-”

Darya tucks herself behind Iris’ head. “-Nevermind, I’m goin’ to sleep.”

It takes mere seconds for the short charade to break, both, somewhat sleep deprived, laughing at each other.

 “Alright, alright.” Again, she clears her throat. “They say, far out where the sky ends and there’s nothin’ but burnin’ blue, is a town of tumbleweed and cow bones.”

Darya shifts back up, sitting cross-legged and leaning over Iris. “So, our town?”

“Ain’t that bad.” Mel stretches, attempting to get comfortable again.

“Debatable.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

Darya shrugs. “Because you’re there.”

Mel waits a few seconds, turning the words around in her mind. “That a compliment or an insult?”

Darya grins, sly and joking. “Well…”

“Y’know,” Mel begins, toneless, “I ain’t really in the mood for storytellin’ no more-”

“-No, no,” Darya chuckles. “Carry on.”

Mel raises her eyebrows again, seemingly waiting for another interruption, before a pleased smile stretches across her face. “Now, nobody knows its name no more. Long lost to the dust and the tramplin’ hooves of those which have gone early. But, even ghost towns were once livin’.”

Darya knows the type of town she speaks of well. Places of rotting timber and fading paint, with inhabitants who’d rather pretend to be dead than confront the odd passerby. Places where the grass grows as tall as a man, and homes are more bones than flesh.

“This town is just like any that have come before it. The drunkards still holler nonsense at God’s hour,” A laugh gets caught in Darya’s throat. “The banker still shifts shadily in the alleys, and the farm hands still drink their whiskey on the porch.”

“You sure this ain’t about our town?” 

Pip shakes her head, rattling her bridle as Mel brings a hand to soothe her. “Sure hope it ain’t.” Darya listens as she chews on her bit, a noise somewhere between the shink of a reloading shotgun and the grinding of brittle teeth. “Anyway, in this town, a young woman lives.”

She brings a hand to her own horse’s head, threading through her tousled mane. “What she like?”

“She’s as pale as a Charolais, sings like a bird up on a vine, and lives with her husband, a cow wrangler, up on a hill.”

Distantly, one of the cows lets out a low bellow, one that sets off some of the others in the herd. It’s something between another snore and a tired sigh, but it still makes their ears perk. Makes their eyes squint into the darkness beyond. Makes their fingers twitch for their rifles. 

All remains still. 

Both let their eyes wander back to their fire. It’ll need some more wood soon. 

“So, one of these days, she’s out in the market, buyin’ flowers for her husband and bartering for a nice chicken; it’s his birthday the day after tomorrow, and she wants to treat ‘im.” Mel brings her hands up close to the fire, Darya watching as she creates shadow puppets. “After she’s all set, she sneakily walks back home–didn’t tell her husband what she was buyin’, and prepares to creep her way to the pantry to hide her spoils. But, when she rounds the corner to her kitchen, she spies another woman.” Darya gasps dramatically. “Another woman and her man.”

She rolls her eyes, “Typical.”

“Mhm. Now, in a fit o’ rage, ‘fore her husband can even catch a glimpse o’ her, she rushes inna fit through town, and no matter what nobody does, they can’t stop her from runnin’. She runs, and she runs, and she runs, until the night swallows her whole.”

“Let me guess:” Darya cracks her back. “She ain’t never seen again?”

“Stop tryna’ spoil yourself–we’re gettin’ to the good bit.” she shushes. “Eventually, after months o’ searchin’, after sendin’ every other able bodied man out to look for her, they deem her dead. And, of course, with his God given wife now gone, the husband decides to remarry. With this woman-”

“-The same he was cheatin’ with?”

Mel nods. “Aye.”

“Go on.”

“With this woman, he has a child. He grows tall n’ strong, n’ fights any ailment and Devil and his black hat throw at him. He helps his pa’ out in the fields–cattle wranglin’–” 

“Are we gonna make an appearance in this story?”

“If you let me finish, then maybe.” Mel jokes. “N’, on a lush Spring day, a herd of mustangs are passin’ by.” She shifts her hands over each other, creating a horse within the fading flame of the fire. “And he spots the prettiest mare he’s ever seen: pure white, aside from a pitch black star in the centre o’ her chest.” Behind her, Pip finally decides it's time to lie down, and falls ungracefully into Mel’s lap. Gently, she threads her hands through the loose strands of her plait. “After spendin’ so long seein’ his pa’ wrangle cattle and horses, he sets his eyes on her, waitin’ until she’s away from the herd. She’s real calm, calmest Mustang he’s ever known, and lets him wrap a lead round her neck. He decides to push it, and gets on her back.”

Darya glances to the fire, blindly searching with her hand for something to fuel it. Eventually she finds another branch, and carefully places it in. 

“He calls to his dad, wantin’ him to see his achievement. But, spooked, the mare begins trottin’ away. Then she canters. Then she gallops, and she don’t stop.” Mel pauses, hoping to attain some dramatic effect like the drunkards telling any other drinker of all the men they’ve shot. 

“They ever find him?”

“His pa’ searched for him for hours, but, just like his wife, they found not a thing: no clothes, no blood, no bones. They say,” she exhales, a cold puff of mist fading into the darkness. “He found a way to where the sky ends.”

Another pause. This time, Darya can’t tell if it’s for effect or not. “That it?” Darya scoffs a laugh. 

Mel raises a hand in placation. “Naw, there’s more, there’s more. After the disappearance, death, of their son, the couple is distraught. His pa’ spends more time with his cows and horses than he does with his own wife. So, in order to try to reconnect with him, when the sun is high in the sky, and the weeds walk in packs in the winds, she goes to the market to find one.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“She’s wandering the stalls, looking over each creature, and she eyes one she likes. White as the moon above with a-”

The two speak in tandem. “-black star on her breast.”

Mel nods, laughing lightly. “She’s cheap, marked down because of her temperament, but when the lady approaches her, she’s as calm as a Spring breeze. So, she buys her, and takes her home, makin’ sure she’s broken in before riding her out to show her husband. Of course, he’s as angry as a fresh wound when he sees her, and tries to take her back to the seller. But, he refuses to take her–’a deal is a deal’. On the few times she’s being ridden, he’s always with her wife, mumblin’ the Devil’s talk to her, and sure that she can understand. However, one day, his wife goes out on her own.”

Across the plain, a jackal howls. 

“How they find her?”

“Like usual: they don’t. The horse comes back, still with her saddle and bridle, and they joke that the money spent on that horse was well: she’s as loyal as a Church wife.” She makes a little halo with her hands. “Done with this horse, a demon he’s sure has come to taunt him for not lookin’ after his wife, he takes his shotgun, goes to her paddock, and gives her lead.”

“Then?”

Mel leans back, smiling to herself. “Calmed at the prospect of that thing finally being dead, he gets his cart ready to throw her out to the tumbleweeds–let the scavengers have at her. But, when he goes to get his horse, there she is: standing in the paddock where he’s sure he left her to bleed out. So, he shoots her again.” Mel rustles something metal–maybe her canister–on Pip’s saddle. “And again.” Another tink of the metal. “And again. No matter what he does, she’s always there. The townspeople call him raving mad, and ignore the gunshots that go off each night. When they finally stop, they hope he’s finally come to his senses. He came to them alright. Spilled them in red over dust and dried hay.” She lets go of the saddle. 

“And the horse?”

“Found a way to break out of her stable. ‘Always temperamental, that one’, they had said. ‘Don’t know why he ever kept her.’ Some travelers say, far out, where night meets the land, a white mare roams with a wild herd. Stare into her eyes, and you might just see somethin’ human.”

Mel exhales, hands unfolding and brought to her knees as she watches Darya’s face for approval. 

She stays blank. “You gon’ give me one of those ‘good ones’ you’ve been storin’ up or what?”

“Oh, come on!” She throws her hands up. “Needs a bit more tinkerin’, but it ain’t horrible.”

“Jokes,” Darya leans to her right, grabbing something. “Just jokes, pardner.” The fire crackles as a new log is fed to it. The embers dance in the air for a moment, sunset stars burning up before their very eyes, before disappearing back into the flame. 

Mel shakes her head, leaning back and attempting to shuffle into her bedroll. “So, if you get a bedtime story,” even half asleep, knowingly, Pip shifts herself, laying her head on Mel’s chest. She heaves at the sudden weight. “Do I- Do I get a bedtime lullaby?”

Rolling her eyes, Darya leans back over Iris, unhooking the guitar once again. “Hold your horses.”

The metal of Pip’s bridle clinks and Mel grasps it. “Holdin’ ‘em.”

Guitar back in her lap, Darya begins strumming again. It’s a soft tune, strummed gently with the occasional, high pitched twang of one of the strings. “What’s this one sound like, then?”

Mel’s eyes droop close. She can already feel herself overheating. “Like home.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Like waves crashing against limestone, too.” Mel grunts, attempting to get comfortable as Pip subconsciously shifts more of her weight onto her. She sighs as she finally finds a comfortable position. “N’ that’s close enough to Heaven for me, too.”

From over Iris’ head, Darya’s eyes wander to what she can see of Mel’s form, another sentence–maybe a final comeback–pushing against the back of her teeth. She lets it fizzle out like the embers of the fire, and hopes the warmth in her chest will do the same. 

She knows she isn’t asleep yet–her breathing hasn’t yet gone soft–but her fingers grow idle on the frets. With dust climbing up her chaps, she places her guitar aside with a low thump. With one last glance at the fire, she gathers some dust to put it out before unhooking her rifle, and leaning against her horse. 

Grinning, she wonders to herself that perhaps, in another life, they too are the lovers the constellations speak of. 

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

Writing this made me realise I need to practice third person a bit more. Usually, when I do, I focus on one main character and their thoughts, perceptions and actions in the scene (e.g., in WDJ) but, doing it here made things feel one-sided, so I ended up with a slightly odd narration style which I'm not really use to.

Minor frustrations aside, this was stupidly fun to write! I've never done anything Western based, so it was really cool to do some extra research on Western Jargon, clothing, speech patterns and history. It may not be entirely accurate, but I loved working on it, so I don't mind all too much.

[zayns-beer-can-gainz]

RANKING INVINCIBLE!!!!

16. invincible— ironic how the title track is actually my least fave off the album. i dunno. it lacks a lotta substance. that 🤌🏻michael🤌🏻 substance. if ya know what i mean. “why ain’t ya feelin’ me?” sorry love, i ain’t feelin’ ya. OOOHHH BURNNNN

15. privacy— the only thing i like about this song is the message. that’s basically it. oh, and slash. yeah. slash and the message. the message and slash.

14. two (two) thousand (thousand) watts (watts)— the voice ain’t that distinctive mj falsetto i’m used to… sorry. but the beat is sick, i must say.

13. threatened— YOU SHOULD BE. WATCHIN’ ME. YOU SHOULD FEEL. THREATENED. ahem. yeah, this song’s alright! i gotta give it to sony for pissing mj off enough to write a whole diss track about ‘em! this song kinda also sounds like if unbreakable had a b side!

12. butterflies— don’t hate me for such a low ranking! compared to all the other slow, melodic tracks on the album, this one just kinda sounds like a lullaby. okay, well, they all do, but this one would put me to sleep the fastest. but i absolutely love the vocals in this one. superb and supreme mj right there!

11. cry— invincible’s man in the mirror. great empowering track! though if i had to choose between this, heal the world, MiTM, and, well, all the empowering tracks on HIStory… all the others would win, hands down.

10. you rock my world— only because i’ve heard it so much, so it’s a smidge overplayed in my book. kudos to my local roller rink for playing it! they’re cultured folk i fear 👀

9. don’t walk away— this is where it got SUPER freaking hard for me to rank. i absolutely adore this song with all due respect, but out of all my top faves on this album, this one didn’t quite have enough substance to it as the others further up on the list, such as…

8. speechless— speechless, that’s how you make me feel, though i’m with you, i feel far away, and nothing is for real… ahem sorry! holy cow talk about melodic and YES THIS IS A TOTAL LULLABY FOR ME!!!! i love how half the tracks on this album could double as lullabies for kids, it’s super kid friendly, and i felt like michael took that into account when making the album, did he actually, i dunno. just my perspective!!

7. you are my life— what did i tell you? michael literally wrote this ABOUT his kids, FOR his kids (to have and to look back on when they got older, cause y’know, they were only three or four back then). i absolutely adore every single aspect of this song.

6. heaven can wait— right away, with that opening couple of notes, it sucks me riiiight in. and then it hits you with those melodic AF backings. and then michael’s voice comes in being all romantic and shit AH got me blushing like the HELL and then his voice coupled WITH the backing esp in the bridge got me like… DA. FUCKIN. HELL. NAH. this song has no right to be THAT good like BRUH. okay i’ll stop before the cringe meter flies off the handles.

5. the lost children— holy CRAP i close my eyes and listen to this one, and it almost feels like i’m being whisked off to a magical fairyland, one where nothing or nobody could ever hurt me. that’s the type of sensation i always wanna feel! and the children’s chorus at the end… gives me chillsss… michael wrote this with children in mind, and he once said this was one of his faves off the album (god i love that man). and i can totally see why!

4. break of dawn— oh my god. every time i listen to this one, i close my eyes and imagine michael and i on the most PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT romantic date like EVAAA!!! he’s such a romantic ham and this song clearly displays all his TRUE intentions! and people labeled him like they did… the fuck bro?!?! he just wanted to be a decent dude and take his love out on a picnic!!! he certainly had the money to travel all across the world and picnic on every hill and valley across timbuktu! idk if i even spelled that right but you get my point! bottom line, can michael please please please be my husband/lifelong partner please and thank you. it’s a simple request!!!

3. heartbreaker— hot take: michael walked so skrillex could run. don’t come @ me!!! fr tho, this song straight up SLAPETHS harder than… harder than… well y’all get what i’m tryna say here! holy fuckballs. holy shit. why is michael’s whole album so bleeding dope? and for what? what did we do to deserve this ??? straight up MASTERPIECE. of an album?!?!?! *takes deep breath in* and seriously, i don’t think a better track exists on this album.

1. unbreakable— oh wait, it’s the first one, SILLY! michael really started this album out with a BANGAROO, i love how four of my favorite tracks on the album are part of the first five songs you hear… and then the rest of the album straight up bangs! (like i wish mikezilla would do to me some day) AH WELL A GIRL CAN DREAM…

i hope you appreciated my chaotic review of invincible @someone-put-your-hand-out @applehead1988 @histendercaress LOLOLOL…

lmk if you want me to review more albums!!!

[waltongoggos]

Ain’t no mountain high enough… ain’t no valley low enough…🤍🪷waltongogginsbonafide

[ivorysketching]

The sky stretched wide over the valley, painted in soft pastels of gold and pink as the sun dipped lower behind the hills. It was the kind of evening that made it easy to forget the price on their heads, the weight of wanted posters curling on sheriff’s office walls.

For now, it was just them.

Lorelei’s horse huffed beneath her, ears flicking forward as they rode side by side through the meadow, wildflowers brushing against their boots. Francesca, perched atop her dappled gray, looked over with a small, knowing smile.

“Y’been real quiet,” Francesca said, her voice warm, teasing. “Thinkin’ too hard again?”

Lorelei rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with thinkin’.”

Francesca tilted her head. “Depends what about.”

Lorelei’s grip on the reins tightened for just a second. She had things she wanted to say, things that had sat heavy in her chest for longer than she cared to admit. It had been easy, back when they were just running from town to town, watching each other’s backs with the unspoken understanding that neither of them had anyone else to trust. But now—now, when the world was quiet, when there was no gunfire or chase to drown it out—she could feel it pressing against her ribs, desperate to be let out.

She took a breath. “Was thinkin’ about you.”

Francesca’s brows lifted, amusement flickering across her face. “Oh? That so?”

Lorelei scoffed, nudging her horse just enough to brush against Francesca’s. “Don’t make a damn thing of it.”

Francesca grinned, the kind of grin that made Lorelei’s stomach twist in ways she wasn’t ready to admit. “Too late,” she said, voice light but eyes watching her carefully, like she was waiting—waiting for Lorelei to take the next step, to close the space between them in a way that wasn’t just another outlaw’s loyalty.

Lorelei let out a slow breath, looking ahead at the horizon. They could keep running forever, never staying long enough for roots to take hold. Or they could carve out something real—something worth holding onto.

“Maybe,” she said finally, glancing sideways, “I like ridin’ with you.”

Francesca’s smile softened, her hand brushing—just barely—against Lorelei’s where they rested on the reins. “Yeah,” she murmured, voice quieter now, more certain. “Maybe I like ridin’ with you too.”

The sun sank lower, casting them in gold. And for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt the need to run.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .✦

The world had settled into the blues and purples of twilight by the time Lorelei and Francesca rode back into camp. The gang had set up in a hollow ring of pine trees, the campfire a warm glow against the creeping dark. Tin cups clinked, and the low hum of conversation mingled with the crackle of burning wood.

Their ragtag gang lounged around the flames, passing a bottle between them, laughter bubbling up in lazy waves. Wade, the young and sharp-eyed cook, squinted up at them as he stirred a pot of beans. “About time you two showed up. Figured you might’ve gotten lost.”

“Or distracted,” Clara added, a mischievous glint in her eye as she lounged back against her bedroll.

Nearby, Tomás sat whittling a piece of wood, curls of pine shavings gathering at his boots. Edie and Boone played a lazy hand of cards, Boone’s lips moving as he counted quietly under his breath. Maude, the gang’s unofficial seamstress, hummed as she mended a torn shirt by lantern light.

Lorelei swung down from her saddle, giving her horse a gentle pat before looping the reins around a low-hanging branch. Francesca dismounted with practiced ease, her gray dapple snorting softly as she did.

Lorelei shot Wade and Clara both a look, though there was no real heat behind it. “We was just scoutin’ the ridge.”

“Uh-huh.” Wade smirked. “Looked like more than scoutin’ from where I was standin’.”

Riley—one of the gang’s older hands, a wiry man with a permanent squint—leaned back on his elbows, a smirk playing at his lips. “So, just wonderin’ if there’s a reason y’all looked mighty cozy on the ride back.”

Across the fire, Francesca took a long, deliberate sip from the bottle, smirking over the rim. “Maybe we just enjoy each other’s company.”

The gang whooped. Lorelei rolled her eyes but felt the heat creep up her neck anyway. “You all ain’t got nothin’ better to do?”

“Not a damn thing,” Boone called, chuckling as he slapped down a card.

Francesca, the smug bastard, just grinned and set her saddlebag down with a thud. “If we were doin’ what you’re thinkin’, you’d know it. We’d’ve come back with more than just a rabbit.” She held up the small, freshly skinned creature, tossing it toward Wade, who caught it with a wrinkle of his nose.

Clara cackled, taking a long pull from the whiskey bottle. “Careful, Wade. You’re gonna make ‘em blush with all that dreamin’. You ain’t never seen two folks ridein’ together before?”

Lorelei’s face heated, and she busied herself with loosening her horse’s cinch. “Ain’t no romance,” she muttered, though the words felt flimsy on her tongue.

Francesca only grinned, her fingers brushing Lorelei’s as she passed her a waterskin. “Guess they just got too much time on their hands,” she said, her voice low, conspiratorial. “Must be nice.”

Lorelei’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. She took a drink, the cool water grounding her. Around them, the camp settled back into its rhythm, and for a while, it was just the crackle of the fire and the quiet murmur of voices.

When the stew was ready, they sat shoulder to shoulder on an old blanket, sharing a bowl and passing the spoon back and forth. Francesca’s knee bumped against hers now and then, and each time, Lorelei felt that gentle nudge like a promise—something they weren’t saying yet, but something that lingered in the space between.

And when the night deepened, and the others drifted off to their bedrolls, Francesca leaned close, her breath warm against Lorelei’s ear.

“Maybe we’ll ride out again tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice soft and sure.

Lorelei’s chest tightened, a warmth blooming beneath her ribs. “Yeah,” she said, her voice a quiet thread in the dark. “I’d like that.”

And as they sat there, the stars tangled in the treetops above, it felt like they’d carved out a little piece of forever, just for the two of them.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .✦ Just some story writing for the cowbians contest for @drizzledrawings — not me wanting to have them Arthur and Mary coded if Arthur and Mary got a happy ending in rdr2

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Intertwined - Chapter 13 - Sure

It’s not long after setting off that the sun is rising over the other side of the valley. It heats and highlights the low-hanging mist that hugs to the tops of the forest canopy populating the bottom of the canyon, the last few days of heavy rainfall transmuting into a shimmering fog, branches breaking the blanket in places and parrots and flying lizards gliding in and out of it, catching the early morning insects.

“That was alotta stew to finish off, can feel it sloshin’ round in ma belly each time I have to make a little leap.” a large horned beetle scurries out of Imogen's path of descent as her boots ricochet her approach with each landing of sole onto natural stone step.

She ignores it, instead looks back on her previous tracks, at Laudna crawling on her hands and knees and on her back, her ass finding rock-edge and legs dangling over before she lightly eases down onto the next small area of level ground.

“I may have gotten a little carried away; I wasn’t sure of how long we would have to keep still whilst you healed.”

“Ain’t a complaint, I appreciate it - careful, this rock’s a little loose-” Imogen holds out her hand to Laudna from a few paces further down the cliff side, Laudna taking it before she lands almost nose-to-nose with Imogen.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, honestly.” Imogen emphasises “I know – I bet that musta been stressful. Lookin’ after me, not the jump, although maybe that was stressful too, I wasn’t-” listening in.

“It was what I wanted to do. I do wish you would take this descent a little more gingerly though…”

Laudna's hand still in hers, awkward now, all she can focus on. Imogen lets go.

“Ya worried about me openin’ the floodgates again?” blood spurting from the sieve that is her torso.

They’re stood so close that Imogen can’t fit Laudna's whole face into view; her focus darting back and forth between each of her eyes and the movement of her brow, the quirk of her mouth-

“We have quite a climb until there is enough ground to lie your body down. You’d be starting a new cascade, a little red waterfall. I’m not sure how much the flora will appreciate that, all those centuries dedicated to finding a colour palette of their own.” A smile, subtle but certain. Imogen wishes she had kept hold of her hand.

“I’ll be careful.”

Imogen pivots and carries on, now with a bit of pause before each move.

(thank you as always to @distant--shadow for the illustrations)