#i imagine she lost a lot of weight after river but she's slowly but surely gaining it back

[catsoftheclans]

frostpaw

[peterbarnes]

Past Love

Summary: Set somewhat during TFAWTS time, but doesn’t address the plot. Y/N and Bucky talk about his relationship with Steve months after he goes back to the 50s.

Warnings: heartbreak galore, angst but also fluff, sad!bucky

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: my first fic in a few years, let me know what you think in the comments

“Baby, I���m home!” Y/N calls into her apartment as she closes the wooden door behind her. She makes her way over to the kitchen counter a few feet away, dropping the house keys she holds onto the marble.

She looks around the room, furrowing her eyebrows at the absence of her boyfriend. She usually comes home to a “hi, dollface” from Bucky, as he cups her soft cheeks into his rough hands and smothers her with kisses.

Instead, she’s greeted with silence all except for faded labored breaths. She steps deeper into the apartment, towards her bedroom, and the sound gets louder. Curious, but still cautious, Y/N reaches her bedroom door, the floorboards creaking under her. At that sound, the breaths stop and the air stills.

She pushes the door open carefully to find Bucky at the foot of their shared bed, head in his hands as his fingers grip his dark locks with a fierce tightness. Y/N lets out a sigh of relief now knowing that the noise was just Bucky, but quickly rushes over to him.

“Buck? Lovie?” She whispers as she crouches in front of him. She gently removes his fingers from his hair before he can pull it out. With his hands out of the way, she can finally see his face. His default expression is a frown, with his startling cerulean eyes always seeming haunted, but this time was different. There was none of the anger or guilt that his expressions usually wore, just an intense sadness that startled Y/N to her core.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

Bucky shakes his head before lowering his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Sweetheart…” She lifts his chin, rubbing her thumb along his rough and stubbly skin. Now she can really see the tears in his eyes as he desperately tries to hold them back. But it doesn’t work and soon they come flowing down his cheeks. He could fill rivers with the amount of tears he’s cried over the past century.

“Sorry, I-I just-“ his voice broke before he could finish the sentence. So instead he pointed to a worn brown leather book that sat on the bedside table. Y/N recognized it as one of Bucky’s many photo albums from the 40s. She walked over the table and carefully picked up before taking a seat next to her boyfriend on the bed.

“Do you miss it, is that what upsets you? Kind of like being homesick?” She says as she flips through the book. There were pages upon pages of photos of Bucky. And in each and everyone one, he was smiling. Really smiling. She wished she could reach into them and tell his past self to be strong, to be brave for everything he’d have to face soon. The thought nearly ripped her heart in two, so she couldn’t imagine how Bucky must’ve felt seeing these again. She tried to interpret his pain, but at the end of the day there was so much of it and it was so specific to his experiences that she felt like a fool for even trying.

“I miss him.”

There it was. The weight Bucky carried on his shoulders every day. The fact that his best friend abandoned him for another life- a life far away from him. Y/N placed the book beside her and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I know. I know how much you cared about him, he was your best friend.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched up the rest of his face, making it more tense than it already was. He did this a lot in social settings, she noticed, when he was uncomfortable with the direction of a conversation. So she pressed her fingers lightly against his forehead, trying to smooth out the stress lines.

“What is it?” She says gently. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I want to help you.”

Bucky’s eyes are trained on his fingers as they fidget on his lap. “I-I’ve been talking with Dr. Raynor. She thinks that I, maybe, had some romantic feelings for him.”

He draws out the last part slowly in a soft, broken voice before dragging his eyes up to meet hers. He’s afraid of what might meet him- rejection, disgust, shame. He’s no stranger to those type of expressions, he gets them all the time. But not from Y/N, instead she wears a soft smile.

“And how do you feel about it?”

“I...I think she’s right.”

Y/N nods before taking his hands in hers and signaling for him to continue.

“I didn’t enlist like everyone thinks I did- I was drafted. I was gonna stay home with Steve, because he couldn’t go. No matter how much I wanted to be like my father and join the army, I couldn’t leave him behind. It was like I couldn’t even imagine being separated from him.”

Bucky spoke fast, as if he’d been holding this all back for so long and was ready to just burst at the seams.

“And when I was...him, I would have flashbacks to my old life. I didn’t know what they meant, I thought they were dreams, but they were always of him. Of his smile or something kind he did for a stranger. I don’t remember the details, just-just the feeling I got from it. It wasn’t that different from how I feel about you now. He was the only one who could bring me back. Make me Bucky again..” He took a brief pause. “And he left. Because he loved another woman the same way I loved him.”

Suddenly all that relief Bucky initially had at getting all of these thoughts off his chest faded as he realized the weight of his words.

“I loved him...and he left me.”

Y/N never knew Steve Rogers, she met Bucky after he had already left. And, sure, she saw him on TV like everybody else in the world. He was Captain America, she was supposed to love him and idolize him, but in that moment she never wanted to throttle someone more.

Y/N hates that Bucky is in such pain all the time, and she would do anything to take away even the smallest amount of it. So to know that someone willingly chose to add to it, even if it wasn’t their intention filled her with a protective rage she didn’t know she possessed.

But she couldn’t act on that. Steve was gone and Bucky didn’t need her anger, he needed her comfort. So she tightened her arms around him, allowing him to bury his head into the crook of her neck and grip onto her for dear life.

“There’s nothing worse than heartbreak- I’ve had my fair share of it before I met you. The thought of someone not choosing you is the worst feeling in the world. But you can’t let that shut you down.” She slowly lifted his head from her neck so she could look him in the eyes. “There are other people that love you, and we will always choose you first. Me, Sam, hell, even Torres loves you even though you scare the shit out of him.”

Bucky chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he rubbed the tears from his eyes.

“I know I could never replace Steve, and I don’t want to. What you and him had can never be replicated. But I swear I will show you every goddamn day how loved and cherished you are. You deserve all the happiness in the world, Bucky, I love you.”

The tears started to flow from his eyes again, but this time it wasn’t out of longing or sadness. It was out of a love that was so all-consuming Bucky didn’t even know how to process it.

“You know, Dr. Raynor said she thought I was still in love with him. And, I’ll always love him, of course I will. But I’m not in love with him. Not the way I am with you, doll”

His rare but infectious smile lit up his face and Y/N couldn’t help but mirror it before pressing tiny kisses to his cheeks, wiping his dried tears away.

“I think I’m gonna be okay,” Bucky states.

His voice doesn’t waver, instead it stands firm and holds a confidence reminiscent of a side of him he thought was long lost. And for the first time in decades, Bucky really believes it. With Y/N by his side, he’s going to be just fine.

[jasontoddiefor]

MTTT AU chapter 8: A Place - Room of a Thousand Fountains

Read on AO3

Anakin Skywalker had always been an energetic and vibrant child. He drew your attention whenever he was in the room, even when he was holding himself back. It was one of the reasons Plo had agreed so readily to send little Ahsoka Tano to him. His opinion didn’t count for much, but he was still her Finder and had spent quite a lot of time with her since she had been brought to the temple. She had the same kind of spirit as her Master, and with Ahsoka around, Anakin wouldn’t be able to let his own fire burn as much, burn out, or risk hurting her.

Plo was sure that Anakin would keep her safe, be a light that would guide her.

Even now, Anakin was almost painfully bright in the Force, but he was also hurting to a degree Plo had encountered not once before. Shadows and doubts were clinging to him, stifling him. Only ashes remained of the bonfire and, beneath that thick dead remnant, new saplings grew only slowly.

The pain they had felt in the temple after Skywalker’s arrival was had been intolerable even in its contained form. It should be no surprise that Anakin was still in such a bad condition, yet Plo was taken aback when he came face to face with him.

“Anakin,” he greeted the young man. Plo was the first Council member to arrive at their chosen meeting place, had he caught Ahsoka just the day before and listened to her worries. He had hurried to catch the young Knight on his own, gain insight into how he acted when he wasn’t questioned by the whole Council.

“Master Plo,” Anakin said and inclined his head towards him.

He moved to stand up, but Plo raised his hands to stop him. The action obviously caused him further pain and Plo was not going to add another weight to the many burdens the boy was already carrying.

“I will join you on the ground, Anakin,” Plo said and sat down right next to Anakin.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had simply taken a few moments to rest in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He knew it certainly hadn’t been since the war had broken out. Plo decided to follow Anakin’s example and took off his shoes. Feeling the grass beneath his feet was soothing; did it remind him of more peaceful times. In the distance, he could hear some younglings playing, and the water of one of the many rivers and waterfalls in these halls rush downwards.

This was certainly a calmer and a kinder place to meet than the Council chambers. Plo could understand why Anakin had asked to assemble here instead of the Council room.

Not that Anakin had asked.

Obi-Wan had directed the Council to this place, the very heart of their temple and the place the furthest away from the busy world outside.

If the report Anakin was to deliver was really as earth-shattering as Obi-Wan words had alluded to, it was probably for the best.

He still wasn’t ready to believe the bits of information Obi-Wan had let slip. Perhaps Plo was clinging to the fickle hope that Anakin’s revelations would clear them up, reveal that they hadn’t allowed a Sith Lord to gain control of the entire Republic.

Plo knew that Obi-Wan had no reason to lie, but hope always died last.

Glancing towards his left, Plo found Obi-Wan was standing in some distance, typing away on his datapad. Plo wasn’t fooled for even a second. He had raised more than one Padawan and he knew that Obi-Wan’s attention was entirely on his student.

It was as adorable as it was reassuring, even if the price for their closeness was high. Over a decade ago, the Council hadn’t been quite sure what they thought Obi-Wan and Anakin would become. When they had let the young Knight take on the boy, it had been accompanied by many worries over their mental health, but the two of them had surprised everyone positively. They had grown up to bring out the best in each other, so much that Kenobi-and-Skywalker was a set expression in everyone’s mouth.

Even now, when both were hurting so obviously, they were holding onto one another.

“Ahsoka has learned well from you,” Plo said. He thought it would be for the best if he tried to ease Anakin into a conversation. Ahsoka seemed like a safe topic to start with, especially given how devoted she was to her Master. Seldom had Plo seen a Master and Padawan pair become attuned to each other so quickly.

Then again, most of the training bonds weren’t forged during wartime.

“She is strong and capable,” Anakin replied, avoiding Plo’s gaze and keeping his own fixed on something in the distance. “I don’t think I taught her anything she couldn’t have figured out on her own.”

“Little ‘Soka was always a smart one, if a bit of a wild card,” Plo agreed.

It was the reason Plo hadn’t picked her to be his Padawan though he currently didn’t have one. Ahsoka deserved a Master who was more similar to her. With Kenobi keeping oversight of them both, she and Anakin had seemed like a good fit.

“She deserves better.”

Anakin sounded so similar to the Obi-Wan from ten years ago that Plo wished he could let the lost young man from back then meet this one now, show them both how far they could go despite insecurities.

“Every Padawan does. A teacher can never be good enough. This is why we have to try.”

“But I wasn’t good enough,” Anakin stated matter-of-factly. “She-“He shut up immediately, mouth pressed in a thin line, as if only now noticing what secrets were escaping him. The Force around them shifted, cradling Anakin like a child and making it seem like he wasn’t quite there, but more a blurry image.

Plo debated pushing, learning what he wanted to keep quiet about, what had happened to little ‘Soka in that vision of his. He couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine anything happening to the sweet girl who had clung to his robes with wide eyes and excitedly babbled to him in the language of her people.

“Ahsoka is very worried about you,” Plo decided to say instead, take their conversation in a different direction. “Apparently, she is quite vexed that you won’t spar with her anymore.”

If Skywalker had tried to fade into the background before, now he was positively trying to disappear in it entirely. What happened that had made him fear every possible topic Plo could bring up? The silence between them was almost oppressive, heavy on their shoulders. Plo decided to stay silent, give Anakin time to come out of his shell again. He didn’t know who much time passed until the heavy feeling lifted and he began to speak.

“I- I forgot how beautiful it is in here.” Anakin curled his toes and spread his fingers so that the grass could get in between them. “I didn’t visit this place in years. I don’t know if it was still standing.”

“That is quite a shame,” Plo commented. “We could take another look around if you feel capable of walking.”

Anakin looked up from the ground, eyeing Plo with confusion and suspicion.

“The others won’t be here for a while,” Plo elaborated. “It would be unwise to let the time go to waste, wouldn’t it? I was told that one of the youngling clans remodeled one of the gardens. I think we have the time to look at it and pass our congratulations on to them.”

Anakin looked torn between desire and fear. Like a child, he looked back to Obi-Wan, who, indeed as Plo had predicted, had been paying close attention to the conversation and was now staring at them. When Obi-Wan nodded, Anakin hesitantly bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t offer it otherwise, Anakin.” Plo rose to his feet and held out his hand.

Tellingly, Anakin took it with his flesh hand. He held onto it perhaps for a moment longer than necessary, but then he let go and buried his hands in the sleeves of his robe, hiding them and their trembling away.

“I believe the youngling garden is a level up. Is there any place you’d like to see on your way there?”

Anakin didn’t reply at first, then he turned to look towards the right. Plo had never been the most knowledgeable about the room, preferring to spend his time with mathematics and not plants, but Anakin knew exactly what laid there.

“The yellow gardens,” he finally replied. “I’d like to see the yellow gardens.”

Plo nodded and then, with Anakin by his side, still barefoot leaving their shoes behind, they walked into the direction of the garden. Plo kept his eyes closely on Anakin the entire time, observing his reaction to the Jedi passing them; they had agreed for a meeting here for a reason after all. There weren’t many people passing them, but they crossed paths with another once in a while, though they never noticed Anakin. Perhaps his idea of wrapping himself up in the Force indeed had merit. Plo wondered whether he had learned that during the war, folding himself so much into his surroundings that he was overlooked unless he wanted to be seen. It was definitely a clever trick.

When they reached the yellow gardens, Anakin ore or less walked past all the bushes and trees without paying them any mind, straight up until he reached the very end where yellow flowers grew in small bushes.

Anakin crouched down in front of them and so very carefully traced over the petals with his fingers.

“Are they your favorite?” Plo asked.

Anakin shook his head. “No, my favorite was- there is a flower I inherited from Qui-Gon. It should bloom in a few months. These flowers are from Naboo. I hate- dislike them.”

Anakin fell silent again, still not looking away from the delicate flowers.

“What do they mean?”

“Grief,” Anakin replied, “for a life lost too early.”

The way Anakin spoke about it, Plo could feel the Force around them start to weep. It wasn’t just grief for a life lost, but Anakin’s grief. It was thick and palpable, so thick in the air, you could almost choke on it. With Anakin’s back turned to him, Plo gently raised a hand to his throat, wondering if there was a malfunction in his mask. Calming himself, he gently reached out himself, running warm fingers over old wounds torn open again.

“I will fix it,” Anakin spoke up suddenly. “I promise you that. I won’t let it happen again. You will all be safe.”

You will all be alive.

Anakin didn’t have to say it, but Plo heard it anyway.

It was, at that moment, all the confirmation that he needed. The broken bits of Obi-Wan’s statement had all been true after all and the future, even if it was one just envisioned, had been darker than all periods of the past.

“We shall do the same,” Plo promised as Anakin stood up again.

As they walked back to the meeting point, Plo quietly tried to think of who was currently on Senate duty, and how quickly he could let them know that the Chancellor was to be considered a threat.

And how much longer they could refuse Palpatine’s inquiries to talking to Anakin.

[walkerwords]

“A Sense of Time” Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: me with footage from AMC

Summary: Six years after Rick Grimes disappeared, Daryl is still out in the woods looking for him. One day he and Dog come across you and offer you some food. Sometimes all a person needs is a little human conversation to point them home. 

Word Count: 3507

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Nobody Knows” by The Lumineers

Note: This is just a short little thing I had written in my book. I like to think that Daryl visited his niece and nephew a lot, but sometimes needed a bit of a reminder. I think he also just needs a little human interaction every once in a while. Not a ship post, just a little conversation. Thanks for reading! 

-----

Daryl Dixon had gotten used to the solitude the woods provided.

He had set out shortly after the bridge was blown out, determined to find his brother. He didn’t know if he would be able to find Rick Grimes alive, dead, or as a Walker. All he did know was that he needed to bring him home for all of them, but especially for Michonne, Judith, and RJ, the son Rick never knew.

Six years he searched and after a while, it was just easier to stay away. Daryl still made the occasional trip to Hilltop for supplies and to check-in with Tara and Jesus. He knew he should go to Alexandria more. He knew Judith asked about him, RJ too, but he couldn’t face Michonne. After what happened with Jocelyn, the same weight bore down on both of them and if he couldn’t bring Rick back to her, he didn’t want to see her. 

It was mostly guilt on his part, even though he knew Rick had made the decision to stop the herd and protect the communities. He tried to save what they had all built together. Daryl couldn’t imagine what Rick would say if he knew how distant they all were now.

Maggie was gone, Alexandria was closed, Tara and Jesus rarely spoke to others, the Kingdom was falling apart, and Daryl wasn’t even sure what was happening over at Oceanside. Everything that Carl and Rick had wanted was now tearing at the seams, but Daryl knew it was going to happen. Nothing had been the same without either Grimes and everybody knew it. Hell, he figured even Negan knew it and the man was under lock and key.

But regardless, the world had to keep going.

Daryl walked through the woods, Dog at his side. He was on his way back to his makeshift camp after checking the traps when he heard a commotion coming through the trees.

Unsheathing his knives, Daryl moved silently. Dog kept right behind him, ready to move on his master’s command. The two had been hunting together for a while now and if Daryl couldn’t detect something sneaking up on them, Dog definitely could. 

Daryl moved closer to the noise. He identified it as fighting immediately. He rushed ahead, hoping it wasn’t anyone he knew. The last thing he needed was one of his family members getting attacked or bit while looking for him in the dense forest.

Coming up to a clearing, Daryl paused just inside the tree line and watched the scene before him. About ten or so Walkers were converging on a small form in the center of the small field. Just as he was about to take his bow from his shoulder, the Dead began dropping and he finally caught sight of you. 

Armed with a machete, you swung it in perfect arcs, cutting through the Dead like they were nothing. At this point in the Apocalypse, unless they were fresh, the Roamers, as you called them, were pretty much as brittle as sand. It didn’t take much force to take them out. 

It was nearly second nature to kill them. You swung and swung, keeping light on your feet as you were taught. Heads toppled to the ground and eventually, all that remained was a single Roamer that limped on a bony stump. Twirling your blade around in your hand, you circled it. It lunged at you, but you easily stepped out of the way.

“Here, boy,” you taunted with a whistle. You could only imagine what your grandmother would say if she saw you playing with the Dead, but you had been alone for almost two years now and you needed a little bit of fun, even though it was a tad sadistic. 

The Roamer snapped its jaws at you and soon you got bored. With a sigh, you swung your blade and took off its head, stopping the brain with your boot. Looking around at all the corpses, you got to work. You never understood why your grandmother had taught you to pile them up, but you always did it.

You thought it might be because it reminded her of a funeral pyre, just without the actual flames. Only a few times did you actually light them and that was when they were people you knew. Now it was too much of a risk to do so. It could not only attract more of the Dead but the Living too and that was the last thing you wanted. 

As you dragged the Roamers into the center of the clearing, two pairs of eyes watched on from the trees. Daryl was wary of you, but something told him that you were just a nomad. It wasn’t uncommon for the lone traveler to come through the woods. Most people had the same idea: head to the Capital. Not that there was much left of Washington, D.C., but people still had hope.

Dog sat by his side, leaning slightly against him. Daryl reached down and scratched the dog’s head. He watched as you piled up the bodies and then started to go through the pockets of the Dead. He knew a few people, both living and dead that would disagree with looting a corpse, but he himself had done it more times than he could count. It was a basic survival skill these days and if you were alone, it could save your life. 

You moved through the pile, looking for anything you could use. You found a new knife, an old book of matches, a bottle opener on a set of keys, and even a few bandannas you could use while walking through the more less-desirable areas. You grabbed it all and placed it in your backpack. 

Pulling out your water bottle, you took a long pull and then poured some on your head, relishing in the cool feeling of the Virginia heat. You then climbed on top of the pile and sat, watching your surroundings as you took a break. This was something else your grandmother would slap you for, but you knew there was one thing that kept the Dead away and that was the smell of more Dead.

The horrific stench of the Roamers had become an odd comfort for you. It made you more at ease while sleeping and if you were being honest, you started to feel more comfortable around them than you did people. The new world was doing strange things to you and at this point, you were happy to let it. 

Soon enough, though, you had to move on. Sliding off the pile, you grabbed your bag, sheathed your machete, and began moving towards the trees. The sun was going to start going down soon and you would need to keep moving if you were going to make it through the thick forest.

You headed towards the river, thinking it would be the easiest landmark to follow. The last thing you needed was to get lost in the middle of Virginia. With everything so overgrown and signs weathered, it was hard to even know what state you were in, let alone the city. Then there was the matter of direction. Grandma may have been all about free spirits and honoring the dead, but never once did she teach you how to find your way without a map. 

“Thanks, grandma,” you grumbled as you jumped over a rotted tree. A rustling sound came from your right and your hand went to your machete, but you relaxed when you saw four legs, two tall ears, a tail, and a black nose. “This day just keeps getting more interesting,” you said to the dog that approached you. 

The dog growled at you, showing its sharp canines. You put your hands on your hips and scowled at the creature. “Alright, boy,” you said, “normally I would kill any animal I came across, but you…” you trailed off, tilting your head, “I never thought I’d see a domestic dog like you, let alone one that wasn’t all ribs and feral teeth.” You reached out your hand when the dog barked and you jumped back. 

“Okay, not too trusting,” you said, “I get that. How about this? I go my way and you go yours and I don’t have to kill you. How’s that sound?” You asked and the damn dog growled back. 

“Dog!” You startled at the voice, cursing. The dog looped back towards a tree where a man stepped out from behind. This time, you hung onto the hilt of the machete as you took in the stranger. He was taller than you with long hair and scruffy facial hair that was half-hidden by a hood. Along his back was a large crossbow and you knew a man like that had to have more weapons on him.

When he moved closer to you, took another step back, tripping slightly. He put his hands up. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, girl,” he said slowly. You watched as he kept his distance, but got close enough to where you could see him a bit better. He pulled down his hood and shook out his hair a bit.

“What do you want?” You asked, keeping an eye on his hands. 

“Yer the one walkin’ into my camp,” he pointed out. He nodded behind him and just through the trees you could see a fire pit, tent, and what looked like some hand-carved spears. 

“Please tell me you’re not some psycho who strings people up in trees,” you said, grimacing. The man raised a brow and shook his head slowly.

“What kind of company you keep?” He asked, but you figured it was more of a rhetorical question. Your gaze gifted back to the dog at the stranger’s side. 

“He yours?” You asked. The man nodded. He then picked up a stick and held it aloft. 

“Dog, go!” He yelled, throwing the stick back towards camp. The canine took off at full speed, happily barking after his prize. 

“You named the dog, Dog?” You asked. The stranger shrugged. 

“Didn’t know his name,” he rationalized. You pursed your lips, rocking awkwardly on your heels. 

“So if you’re not gonna hang me from a tree or let your dog take a bite…” you trailed off, pointing over your shoulder. 

“Where ya headed?” He asked. 

“I’m lookin’ for someone. Figured I would head downriver. Guess I’ll find out one way or another.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, chewing on the side of his thumb. “Ya hungry?” He asked. You hesitated. “Just fish, girl, ain’t gonna be anything special.” You thought about it for a moment before nodding. He jerked his head towards camp and you followed. 

“The name’s (Y/N), by the way, not ‘girl’,” you said, catching up to him.

“Daryl,” he responded. 

“Nice to meet ya, Daryl,” you acknowledged. He grunted in response causing you to chuckle. Daryl lead you back to his camp and as he got to work on cleaning the fish he had caught earlier, you took a turn about the area. 

Everything from the tent to the small weapons area screamed survivor. You could tell that he had been out there long, but he also knew how to live within the trees. These were the kind of people you liked. The ones that knew what they were doing and just lived rather than trying to hunt the weak or take advantage of other people. Daryl seemed like good one. He also didn’t seem scared of living out and around the Dead. “Get many Dead ones, ‘round here?” You asked. He looked at you. 

“Got traps set up,” he said, slicing open the fish next to a fire he began to stoke. “Dog keeps ‘em away.” 

“Bet he does,” you said, smiling fondly at the mutt as he chewed happily on the stick Daryl had given him. Sitting down by the fire, you let your joints feel proper heat for the first time in weeks. You watched Daryl work on your dinner for a while, watching as he used his knives. Just by the way he cooked, you knew he was a skilled fighter. 

“Where ya comin’ from?” Daryl asked suddenly. Leaning back against one of the stumps, you sighed. 

“Kind of everywhere,” you said, “I was using the highways, you know, trying to keep some sort of route. Then I kept running into trouble so I headed into the woods.” 

“What kind of trouble?” He asked, his brow furrowed.

“Just the occasional asshole who thinks I’m an easy target. A lot of people out there lookin’ to steal, kill, etc. Figured I’d be safer out here considering most people don’t risk entering the trees, fear of the Dead, and all that.”

“Smart people,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

“What does that make us?” You asked. 

“Used to it,” he said in a low voice. 

“Used to what?”

“The fucked up world,” he said simply. 

“That is the most accurate thing I have heard in weeks, Daryl,” you said, raising your imaginary glass. Daryl shook his head and went back to cooking the food. “Are there many people around? I’d rather not have to go deeper into the woods.”

“There are people,” he said, serving up a piece of fish to you in a metal dish. “A couple of communities. But they’re good people, won’t mess with ya if yer friendly.” You snorted at that. 

“If they’re anything like the last community I ran across, I’ll make sure to keep out of their line of sight before they try to make me a full course meal and offer me five-star stay,” you said, remembering the young boy you met not that long ago.

“Where was that?” Daryl asked.

“A couple of days walk from here,” you said, “that way.” You pointed over your shoulder. “There was this kid, he was out in the woods around the walls. I was looking for water and we ran into each other.” You laughed at the memory. “Kid nearly knocked me on my ass with that stick of his. Thought I was an intruder or something. Anyways, he invited me back to his ‘Kingdom’, but I had to move on. The whole walls and leader thing isn’t really for me.” You finished and went back to your dinner, but Daryl had paused. “What?” You asked as he stared at you. 

“Ya were at the Kingdom?” He asked. 

“Wait, that’s the actual name?” You laughed, “okay then I owe stick-boy an apology. I thought he was just screwin’ with me.” 

“Nah, it’s a real place. Run by two good people. The kid with the stick is their son.”

“You know them?” Daryl nodded. “Well, next time you see them, tell them a passing traveler thinks their kid is a total badass.” This got a small smile from Daryl. 

“Why don’t ya like walls?” 

“Why don’t you?” you asked, turning it back on him. 

“Never said I didn’t,” he said with a challenging look. You raised your hands in surrender. 

“I just prefer to not be locked down, I guess,” you finally answered. “Easier that way.” 

“Ya lost somebody?” he asked, guessing by the tone of your voice. 

“My whole group, actually,” you said. “I was on watch in a tree one night and I didn’t hear the Roamers enter the camp. I was so tired and I…” you sighed again, picking at the fish. “Anyways, they all died, including my grandmother, and I had to move on.”

“Sorry ‘bout yer people,” he said. 

“Thanks.” It was quiet after that. You didn’t know if bringing up your dead family was a good idea, but then again, Daryl was a complete stranger. Who cared what he knew. You weren’t going to see him again anyways. “You got family besides the mutt?” you asked. Daryl leaned back on his forearms, kicking rocks into the fire. He nodded.

“They’re around,” he said and then paused as if he was unsure about sharing more. You waited patiently. Finally, he turned his face towards the rickety boat that sat on the water’s edge. “Got a niece and nephew too. Good kids.” It was subtle, but when he mentioned them, you could see a light in his eyes even when they were slightly turned away from you. They clearly meant a lot to him. 

“Kids,” you said, “they grow up so fast. Don’t wait too long to see them again.” Daryl looked back at you and nodded. You hoped that was taking your words to heart. “Besides, maybe they can convince you to cut that thing on your head.” Daryl raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Ya know me for all of an hour and yer judgin’,” he said, messing with his long hair. 

“Once you share a dirty fish with someone, they instantly become your friend. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Who made that rule?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, probably Aristotle or George Bush. Who cares? It’s gospel now.” You popped another piece of fish into your mouth and licked your fingers. 

“What did you do before the Turn?” he asked after a moment.

“High school,” you said, finishing your food. “Imagine that. One day I was sitting in Calculus class and the next thing I know my teacher is stumbling through the room trying to eat the assistant principal.” Daryl whistled low at that. 

“Yer folks?”

“Both out of the country when the outbreak began. They were pilots. Dad was in China and Mom was in South Africa. Not sure what happened to them. Gran pretty much raised me so I stuck with her for as long as possible. Then, well, you know,” you said, referring back to the other story.

“Ya don’t seem to carry the weight of their deaths,” Daryl observed, handing you a cup of water. You placed the metal mug in your hands, watching the flames flicker in the dark. 

“Don’t really have the time, you know? Can’t think about it. The way I see it, the world killed them as it died. Nobody’s fault, just the way it is now.” 

“Doesn’t have to be,” he said, sitting all the way up. “Kingdom isn’t the only place ‘round here that has walls and people and a place to sleep. There’s a community not too far from here called Hilltop. If ya give the leader my name, he’ll let ya stay. Then just down near the ocean, there’s Oceanside, Cyndie is a good person.”

“Why are you trying to help me?” you asked as he finished. 

“Yer a survivor. At some point, ya gotta stop movin’. Let yourself feel safe,” Daryl explained. “What’s the hurt in that?”

“There isn’t any,” you said, “but like I said, I’m not one for walls. I do better on my own.”

“Nobody does,” he disagreed. 

“Aren’t you alone out here with your hunting, fishing, and your traps?” you asked with raised brows.

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Just think about it, alright?”

“I gotta find who I’m lookin’ for, Daryl,” you said, smiling softly at him. 

“Who are you looking for?” he asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” you finally admitted, “but I guess I’ll know when I find them. I just know it’s not here. These aren’t my people, but they are yours. Your niece and nephew, they’re gonna need all the family they can get. Go see them, even if it’s just for a day. You never know when the last time will be.” You got up from the ground, dusting off your jeans. 

“If ya need somewhere to sleep-” he said, but you cut him off. 

“Thanks, but I gotta keep movin’. But before I go,” you slipped your hand into your pocket and pulled out a piece of leather cord. At the end of it was a 1788 Virginia quarter. The coin was weathered from all the hands it had passed through. It had been given to you by a guy about a year ago when you came across him hiding out in an old middle school. You reached over and pressed it into Daryl’s hand. He looked at it with confusion. “Just to remember, you know?” He closed his fingers around the small token and nodded. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I hope ya find what yer lookin’ for, (Y/N),” he said and you knew he meant it. You offered your hand again and he gripped it. Letting go, you reached down and stroked Dog behind his ears. 

“Till we meet again, Daryl,” you said and then picked up your backpack and disappeared into the dark woods, smiling for the first time in a long time. 

Daryl watched after you, his thumb running over the silver coin in his hand. Dog nudged his other hand and Daryl obliged his furry companion, petting him down his back. Looking back at the flames he decided that tomorrow he would take a ride to Alexandria to see Judith and RJ. It had been too long and he needed to see his family.

TAGS: @thanossexual​

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV

Chapter 5

You blink rapidly at the string of codes you’re trying to memorize from the book. It’s been over four hours now and nothing makes sense anymore. For as much as you loathe to admit it, the days where she decides that physical training is needed are much more entertaining than the ones in which she places a volume in your lap and tells you to study and train your brain, instead.

Today has been one of those days and you’re almost bored out of your mind.

So when you hear footsteps approaching, you already know what that means - the digital clock above the shelf only confirms your supposition - and a sense of relief starts to spread through your tired body.

“Enough.” Miranda whispers.

You manage to not expose your eagerness by pretending you’re just obeying her order, and you gladly close the book producing a loud, and utterly satisfying thump.

When you look up, she offers you the usual evening drink. You know you can’t refuse it, so to obediently take it from her hand and gulp it down in one go.

Immediately, the liquor burns your throat and your tongue goes numb for a second while the dizziness settles in your head.

You close your eyes, barely registering Miranda snatching the empty glass from your hand to put it on the coffee table, and you begin to rub at your temples slowly - you’ve noticed it helps with the throbbing a couple of mysterious mixes ago, and there’s no harm in trying.

Leaning on the couch, you throw your head back and rest it on the cushion, hypnotized by the dozens of dancing colorful dots swirling behind your eyelids.

You still when you feel the book being pushed off from your lap, and its almost inconsistent weight being replaced by a much more significant one.

When you trust your head to have stopped spinning and you deem the nausea almost extinguished - or at least unable to cause any damage - you dare to peer down. Two bright, predator blue eyes are peering up from your lap, bare teeth flashing at you with a playful yet dangerous smirk.

You would smile at her for the intimacy of the situation, you would even dare to touch her hair and marvel at the apparent calmness of her, right now, but you know better to do either of those things: Miranda is like a cat. She might look like she’s demanding pets and cuddles one minute - simply because she feels like it - only to slash at your flesh with rogue claws and sharp teeth the next - simply for the sake of it - and quite literally too.

Exhaling heavily from your nostrils, you loll your head back and let your eyelids flutter close again, throwing your arm over your face and hiding in the inside of your bent elbow.

“Miranda, what are we doing?” You didn’t mean to sound so whining, but you did. Knowing how she usually reacts to it, you’re painfully aware you’ve probably made her mad already, so you don’t dare to move your arm and see the expression on her face.

“About what?” She inquires, her voice emotionless.

“I don’t know.” You scoff. “About this, perhaps.” Blindly, you reach down your thigh and retrieve your knife. It’s yours by now and fits perfectly in your hand, it’s been a while since you’ve learned to spin it around your fingers, its weight perfectly balanced with each move.

“You’re pretty in it.” Miranda purrs, echoing herself from the first time she ever put it on you. “Why shouldn’t a girl own a knife and know how to use it?” She snatches it from your hand, but you don’t dare to look, so you don’t know what she’s done with it.

“About this, then.” You sigh, nudging at the book on the carpet with your toes, making it slide across the bristle, the soft rustle invading the silence.

“A trained mind is even prettier on a girl.” Miranda replies, pushing the nape of her neck on your crotch when she readjusts to lay more comfortably.

When you feel her exhale, you imagine she’s closed her eyes. Swallowing, you tentatively unpeel the arm from your face and look down - you were right: her eyes are closed. She almost looks peaceful, relaxed. It’s so wild to know it’s the same wild beast who beat you up several times, slashed your shoulder with her initial, and yet…

“Well?” Miranda cracks an eye open, exhales annoyedly from her nose, “Do go on with your little list, I'm having fun.”

You barely resist the urge of rolling your eyes.

“What about this?” You exhale finally, gesturing your own head with a circular motion of your forefinger, tracing an imaginary aureole, and just to be sure she’s understood, your eyes drift and fix on the empty glass on the table.

“You’ll thank me one day.” She says, shrugging, then closes her eyes again, releasing a long breath, and folds her hand over her stomach.

The shirt she’s wearing has slightly risen up and the small scar on the otherwise flawless, flat expanse of her abdomen is plainly visible. Despite it being your first time stitching up somebody, you congratulate yourself for the work and like a river in full, memories flood in your head - the first time you felt her closer, vulnerable, exposed… reachable even; the first time you believed there was more of her under the thick layer of gratuitous sadism. It was from that moment she has shown that, in fact, there was. Sometimes she showed more, some others she revealed less - there were days where you thought you’d breached through her only to find her so distant, the next, that she was almost unrecognizable. One step closer, a thousand back. A constant chase and you never felt out of breath, not even once. Disappointed, maybe, but never tired.

In fact, there’s another point on your list, perhaps the most important one, but you cannot bring yourself to voice it: gesturing at the both of you would open a discussion you don’t want to make - one that you’re not yet ready to make - because you fear what the outcome might be. But you would, if only you owned more courage, you would look down at Miranda while she’s still resting her head in your lap without a care in the world, you would point out how easy and relaxing this feels even though you don’t have the faintest idea of what, exactly, this is. Asking directly would probably earn you some rough punishment you’re not in the mood to endure, so you opt for something in general, well knowing the actual implication about the two of you won’t be caught or simply glossed over.

“I’m doing all this for a reason, I’d like to know what it is.”

“To please me?” She’s all cheeks while she says that. The dimple next to the corner of her mouth making her appearance and tugging, unconsciously, at something within you - something warm and foreign that, you know, you shouldn’t feel right now.

It’s the last thing you would like to do, letting her get away with that reply, but you can’t help yourself, nor the throaty giggle that escapes your lips.

“Miranda.” It should be a warning, but it serves little to its purpose. You gulp down and find your seriousness back, hoping that you haven’t ruined the tense mood and jeopardize the only, thin chance you had. “Miranda, tell me.”

There’s a slight shift in her demeanor, but after observing her so closely for so much, you notice it right away: the folded arms on her stomach are not just laying there anymore, the muscles are twitching under her freckled skin.

“It doesn’t matter.” She snarls, and you can see her struggling to hide the bite from her words. “What matters is that you need to be ready.” She states.

“Ready for what?” You ask then, your prolonged sigh exasperated.

“Stop.” She replies calmly, but the vibrating danger lies beneath. “The world I live in is dangerous, and knowledge is a double-edged sword.”

“How is that relevant?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, keeping your elbows high enough not to hit her square in the face. “You never even let me out of this place.”

“And I won’t. You are safer here.”

Now you can see her jaw tightening too. The feeble twitching of her cheeks and the subtle movements along her neck tells you she’s struggling even harder to keep her anger at bay - you’re vexing her, you’re getting on her nerves, but you can’t back away, not now, not anymore: she would deem you weak and punish you anyway but knowing you’ve disappointed her would burn more than anything else.

“Then what? What should I be ready for?” Your voice is controlled, soft, letting her know your curiosity is barely fueled by the need to actually know what’s behind all this. To know everything - given she will tell you everything, one day - you’ve got time. A lot too, according to her plan to never let you out of that damn apartment.

“I said safer, not safe, m’eudail.” Miranda exhales a long sigh from her nostrils.

She’s so close to the breaching point you’re even afraid to swallow too loudly by now. You should be glad she worries about your safety, but you know better than to bask in that thought. And the fact that she’s toying so deliberately with you makes your blood boil: she might not know about the things going through your mind, as of late, but she can’t have just lost her ability to read you so easily and so suddenly - she chooses those words like she cares while you know very well she doesn’t.

That’s too much. You don’t mind about crossing the border anymore; whatever punishment she thinks is fit, it doesn’t matter.

“So kind of you to teach me things for imaginary enemies or whatever that will never have the chance to hurt me.”

Her eyes snap open, black pupils thinning in a fraction of seconds into an expanding ocean of bright blue. She’s not looking directly at you, but you feel small and screwed nonetheless - her glare very well burnt into your mind to pop up at every right occasion.

If you weren’t already sitting down, you’re sure your knees would buckle.

“I’m trying to teach you this so my enemies or whatever don’t get too close to you.” She says, her voice surprisingly flat. If you didn’t know any better - or fear the reaction upon inquiring - you’d say she’s just parroting a premeditated response. Something she practiced over and over until she’s started to believe those words were true even if they hadn’t started as such.

Still, you need to work with what you have. You know she’s not always sincere - she hardly ever is - but you have no other choice than to believe her.

Hence, Miranda is not exactly worried about you getting hurt, but getting caught by whatever danger lurks outside that building. Honestly, it’s insulting, after what she forced you to endure from the moment she kidnapped you.

“You think I’d sell you out?” You wince in disgust, turning your head away even if you don’t care to be seen. “You know I would never-”

Miranda lifts up from your lap. She’s quick, doesn’t use her hand to hoist herself: before you can register her movement, she’s gone, sitting neatly beside you, her arms still folded over her chest. The similar position makes you drop yours immediately, your teeth grazing at your lip.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She nods, you can see it with the corner of your eye: she nods softly, her head low, her gaze fixed on her feet. “Not at first, at least, not before one of those heroic, classic speeches that go like ‘I’d rather die than speak’,” she says, mocking a random high-pitched voice, “but then, in the end, with the people I know-” She scoffs, the ghost of a bittersweet smile blooming on her mouth, “Death will be the only thing you’ll wish for.”

You watch her, trying to decide whether she’s completely sincere now or it’s just another of those rehearsed phrases she intends to feed you. There’s a part of you that wants so desperately to believe her, but the other just can’t envisage an actual criminal organization wanting to get to you, torture you only to get information about... you don't fucking know about what, like in the movies. It’s just too wild. Miranda’s universe is fucked up, you’re there by chance and you decided to stay because… whatever the reason, you refuse to be part of that grander design.

It has nothing to do with you.

You agreed to stay with her, not that world of hers that would hardly ever reach you, confined in that New York building, far from any human contact.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

The harsh noise of her hand colliding with the sofa into a resonant slap makes you jerk. Your heart shoots in your throat, pounding loudly in your temples.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Miranda is looking directly at you, her eyes flaming in blue tongues of fire and you can’t do anything but stare back, your breath catching and feeling all the blood drain from your veins. “This is not a fucking game!” She glares, points blindly at the window. “It is really that awful out there!”

Unconsciously, you notice you’ve pulled your knees against your chest, curling up into a ball on the couch. Miranda notices as well, you don’t know why she sighs, but she does, the anger slowly but steadily leaving her eyes.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” You mumble, at least grateful she has decided not to leash out on you - not yet.

Maybe those anger management tapes she listens to in her room at night are giving some results. She doesn’t know you know, of course, and imagine she’d be embarrassed, so you keep the secret.

“Like it or not, you chose to enter my world the day you decided to stay.” She says, voice incredibly flat.

“I get it.” You assure, slightly annoyed. How can you ever forget that when she keeps reminding you? Sometimes you feel like she’s trying to make you regret your choice of staying. “But let’s assume your enemies were to catch me,” you’re barely aware of the dramatic eye roll, but the fact that she’s not clawing at your throat yet, encourages you to keep going, “they will probably think I know something and torture me or whatever shit you’re afraid they’ll do to me anyway, so you might as well just tell me what we’re doing. Right?” You’re not exactly sure when you’ve started rambling, but when you realize that perhaps that stream of thoughts hardly makes sense to someone outside your head, you sigh and worry at your lip.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side, wincing innocently when Miranda glares at you with narrowed eyes.

“Nice try.” She replies dryly, then a throaty, disbelieved chuckle erupts from her lips.

It’s kinda nice to know that she still finds you amusing, sometimes, after getting so much on her nerves. A couple of months ago, she would have you killed for much less.

Without much warning, you see her hand flaring up in a calculated move. You think she’ll deliver something harsh - a slap, a grip on your neck, a fistful of hair - instead she loops her fingers in the collar of your shirt and pulls you in for a kiss. Startled and taken aback, you return it without closing your eyes, brow furrowing at the unexpected softness of the contact. Because it’s always about her, you yelp when she bites into your bottom lip, making you taste copper on your tongue, but that doesn’t surprise you.

She wipes at the small drop of blood on her own mouth with the back of her hand and clicks her tongue, crocking her lips into an amused and yet dangerous smirk.

“One of these days I need to teach you to do what you’re told without making annoying questions.” She whispers. There are a lot of implications in that statement and you feel a shiver run up your spine. “Off to bed.”

When she slaps your exposed thigh, the stinging sensation crawling and spreading onto your skin brings you suddenly to yourself again. You’re alert, but you’re back to be puzzled and irritated. You lower your feet to the carpet, yet you don’t make any effort to stand up and leave.

Instead, you take in a shaky breath, her taste still lingers in your mouth, and you unfold and fold your arms on your chest, squirm lightly on the padded seat. You should leave, obey - you don’t want to.

“Well?” She inquires curiosity, cocking an eyebrow.

She’s calm now, she’s just kissed you, slapped you playfully - although a little harshly - on your thigh… you can try again. You can dare.

“Come with me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You didn’t like to sound so needy or clingy, but it’s too late now: your voice has betrayed you.

Miranda blinks and, in her heartbeat, her eyes have changed their light: one glimpse at her face, and you know her mood has shifted again.

“Stop asking.” She exhales, falling into the seatback, shoulders slouching.

“Miranda you just can’t keep doing this.” It’s your turn to slap your hand flat on the couch. You didn’t mean to snap, but it’s too late for that too.

“Careful kitten, I'd suggest withdrawing your claws.”

“I-” Your breath hitches when you watch her scoot closer.

There’s still a gap between the two of you, but she’s there, ready to jump - she is the cat, the feral one, done with the cuddles and yearning for blood. You know she’s going to, so - fuck it - better to just pull it out and get over with it. “It’s just that- you’re close, then you’re distant, you’re kind and nice one moment and a real bitch the next. It’s confusing.”

You try to suffocate the yelp when her hand comes to fist at your hair, but it’s too sudden. Instinctively, you reach up and grab at her wrist to lessen her pull, but you’re helpless and soon you find yourself following her, stumbling on the furniture and on your own feet as she hoists you up effortlessly and drags you into the other side of the apartment.

“I’ll make it simple for you simple, then.” She snarls sharply behind clenched teeth. “Let me remind you that the sole fact that you’re still alive and breathing is a miracle.”

You know better than to ask for mercy: you called this upon yourself, you had it coming, so begging and pleading won’t serve you much. You clench your jaw and hope for the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes to not fall down so soon; however, when the iron door of your old cell comes to sight, it’s impossible to stop their advance.

She’s flushed behind you, her chest pressed on your back. The hand that fists your hair yanks your head backward until her lips are ghosting over your cheek, the other arm wrapped around your waist keeping you still. You can only stare at the vault in front of you.

“You want to go back in there?” She asks, her voice saccharine and warm against your skin.

“No.” You whimper.

“No.” She mocks.

Smacking a kiss on the apple of your cheeks, she’s back at tugging. She pulls you up to the door of the apartment, its white surface a few inches from your nose while she takes her previous position.

“You want to leave and never come back?”

“No.”

“No.” She echoes. This time, she kisses you properly, then bites until you yelp and try to squirm away.

When she pushes you into your room, you almost fall onto your knees, but luckily you manage to stay upright. You turn abruptly on your heels, you stare at her, swallow when she lifts her forefinger, and point it at you.

Her gaze is firm, owning you completely.

“Listen to my advice, m’eudail: take what you can and live with it. I learned it a long ago, it’s time you learn it too.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Two Faced

This is a request I received from AO3. 

This reader asked:  Hiya! I love your works! Can I do a request? Perhaps a piece where Arthur falls for a short girl? She’s really spunky, and two faced, in a great way. Sweet and calm one minute, and slitting O’Driscoll throats while chuckling softly the next. Maybe Arthur falling for her+injured [when she gets injured]? 

I really loved writing this one! It’s short, but sweet. I hope y’all enjoy! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Warnings: an obscene amount of fluff, mentions of very light smut (I swear nothing graphic). 

You’re sitting against the tree, a bundle of flowers in your lap. Not far away, leaning against another tree, sits Arthur, scribbling away in his journal. There’s no way you can know that right now, he’s sketching you fiddling with the flowers. 

Jack was the one who showed you how to twine these flowers together to make a chain. You previously gathered bundles of pink, flower, and even an unusual cluster of blue and yellow. You’re twining them together with the intentions of making a crown for yourself. You’d like to make one for Arthur too, but you find yourself unable to muster the courage to offer him one. He’s so big, tough, handsome. You’ve watched this man go from being funny to downright scary. 

Arthur looks up at you, wishing he could get the delicacy of your hands right on his paper. Little do you know that he thinks of you in much the same way you think of him. He’s attracted to you, sure, and he’d love to take you to dinner. He’s seen you go from being super sweet to Jack to rabidly vicious on Micah (not that he disagreed with you on that front). He’s been thinking about leaving a drawing on your pillow, but he’s nervous. He’s never shown anyone one of his drawings before. 

After throwing a sneaky glance towards Arthur, you stand up, needing to stretch. The Cumberland river is just across the path, so you walk over to it to get a drink and splash your face. Arthur stays beneath the shade of his tree, still trying to get your hands on his paper right. 

Right after lowering your hand from drinking, you hear horses coming down the path. No big deal, this is a popular trail. You don’t bother to look until you feel a rope wrap around your foot and yank it hard behind you, slamming your face into the ground. 

“Woo hoo! Look at this pretty little thing!” hollers a voice with an Irish voice. These goddamn O’Driscolls!

Despite your leg being pulled at an odd angle, you roll over on your side and pull out your pistol. The captors clearly weren’t ready for you to react so quickly, but there’s three of them. You shoot the one with the rope in the head, pulling the rope off your foot. 

Arthur’s rushing over to your aid, but the O’Driscoll closest to him charges him and they end up wrestling on the ground. They’re quite evenly matched, preventing him from coming to your aid quicker. 

Just as you’re standing up, the last O’Driscoll shoots the gun from your hand, leaving you defenseless. No matter, you have other means of killing him. Despite your small size, you’re strong, so you charge towards him and tackle him to the ground. He grunts as his back slams into the firm earth. 

You start punching the man as hard as you can. You hear Arthur yell your name, which pulls your attention momentarily from your quarry. This provides the man beneath you the chance to whip out his knife. He plunges it into your side, making you scream out, and he gets the chance to flip you onto your back and climb onto you. 

“This is too bad,” he says, his foul breath washing over your face. “I’d really been hoping to have some fun with you before you died.” 

His hand plants on your throat, squeezing hard. You grit your teeth, grab the knife handle and pull it from your side. The pain is indescribable, but it’s your only chance to live. With your free hand, you jab two fingers into his eyes. His hand leaves your neck and his weight seems to lessen, giving you the chance to kick him off and climb back onto him. Before he can regain his composure, you slice the knife along his throat, splattering yourself in his blood. 

You pant heavily on the man’s corpse, adrenaline pumping through your body. You can’t feel the pain in your side, but you know it’s bad. Blood is freely dripping out of your shirt and onto the ground. You look up and see Arthur, standing on the trail, his mouth slightly open. His eyes roam from your blood-covered face to the man beneath you. 

“Arthur,” you groan. He walks over and leans down, helping you up. That’s when he sees your wound. 

“Ah, goddamn it, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get ya cleaned up.” He helps you hobble over to the stream, where he helps wipe your face clean. Then, he picks you up bridal style, apologizing when you yelp in pain, and goes into the cover of the trees. There, he reaches into your horse’s saddlebag and pulls out fresh clothes. 

Feeling slightly nervous of how you might react, he lifts up your ruined shirt and chemise just enough to see the deep wound. He inspects it for a bit. “Think you’ll be okay, long as we get it stitched up.” 

He’s glad Grimshaw taught him how to do this years ago. It’s proved a useful technique many times. He pours a small amount of whiskey over your wound, apologizing again when you cry out.  Then, with surprisingly steady fingers, he gets down to work. As he does, he talks to you, wanting to give you something else to focus on. 

“You know, I’m surprised. I, uh, never seen that before.” 

“What? Get stabbed?” you hiss. 

He chuckles. “No, not that. I mean, I never seen a woman as little as you take on a man twice your size and win.” 

“Arthur, I’m not exactly out of the woods. If I’d been a proper fighter, I wouldn’t have lost my gun.” 

“It happens to everyone, sweetheart. Can’t tell ya how many times I got mine knocked from my hands. But the fact that you didn’t surrender, that you went at him headon says you’re a proper fighter.” 

He doesn’t want to tell you, but watching you grapple with that big guy (aside from getting stabbed) was kind of hot. He has to focus on not imagining doing that with you, pinned and naked beneath you. He just hopes you don’t focus on his pants, it wouldn’t surprise him if he’s betraying his own thoughts. 

He finishes stitching you up and then leaves the area so you can change into fresh clothes. He’s glad it takes you a bit due to the pain. It allows him to hide in the bushes and resolve his problem. He comes back, hoping you won’t read on his face what he’d just done and that you were the thing he used to resolve it. You don’t though, as the shock of the attack is beginning to set in now that your adrenaline is wearing off. 

When he gets to your cluster of trees, he finds you shivering, leaning against a tree. 

“Woah, you okay?” he says, coming up to you and putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y-yeah. I just… I don’t know.” 

“Are you in a lot of pain?” 

You shake your head. 

“Well, is there somethin’ I can do to help?” he asks. 

You look up at him with widened eyes. There is one thing he can do that might help, but you have to muster all your courage to ask him. Killing a man like that O’Driscoll is easy, but asking Arthur this simple question feels almost impossible. However, you swallow hard and hold your gaze on him. 

“W-will you just hold me a while?” 

The question takes him off guard. How often has he imagined how you’d feel in his arms? He sees you shivering where you stand and he lets out a long breath. 

“Of course, darlin’.” 

You almost can’t believe he’s just agreed to do this. Then he sits down with his back against a tree and holds his arms out to you. With a bit of difficulty, you kneel down and crawl into his lap, your face burying into his chest. His heart thumps loud but steady in your ears. He’s warm, God is he warm. His firm arms envelope you, pulling you even closer to him. One of his hands settles on your head, holding you to his chest. With your forehead slightly pressed to his neck, you feel the shock beginning to fade. At least the shivering has stopped as you wrap your arms around his trunk. 

Arthur can’t believe he finally has you in his grasp like this. His daydreams don’t come anywhere close to how wonderfully you fit against him, like a puzzle piece. Your hair is soft and feels good as it slips between your fingers. He loves the feelings of your hands against his sides, your head on his chest. Nothing has ever felt so good as to hold you. He smiles at the thought that not even half an hour ago, you’d slit a man’s throat and been coated in his blood, yet here you are, cuddling up into him. He loves it. 

It’s impossible to say how long the two of you sit embraced together like this. Arthur started tracing patterns into your back at one point and this earned him the softest kiss on the spot where his neck meets his chest. He wants you to do it again but hopes you don’t as he can feel that he’s semi-hard already. He won’t stand the embarrassment if you go further and ask him what’s poking into your leg. 

Luckily, you don’t kiss him again. Instead, he watches you slowly drift off to sleep, still snuggled in his arms. He’s happy no one is around to ruin this moment, but he also wouldn’t trade this for all the riches of the world. 

[tanjhero-a]

Overflowing My Senses (Tanjirou / OC)

A/N: commission from @knyheadcanons-imagines! It features their OC, Hayami, and Tanjirou. Thank you so much for commissioning me! I hope you enjoy it!!

Word Count: 2253

COMMISSION INFO

---

“It’s close. Stay on your guard.” 

“Right.” 

Tanjirou steadies his hold on his katana, the sword glistening black in the darkness that surrounded him and his partner, Hayami. It was rather sudden that his crow came cawing just the other day, informing him of a new mission that he had to set off for with an assigned partner. It was, of course, Hayami. He didn’t know much about her from the few times they had crossed paths, but he knew she was skilled with her blade and he could rely on her in battle. They met in the town neighboring the forest where the demon had settled near, and after asking people around the town, they set off on their mission. 

It wasn’t the most exciting to fight in a forest, especially since the demon had the advantage in this terrain. It has also been housing here for a few weeks- it clearly knew the forest more well than Tanjirou and Hayami ever could from just asking questions around town. It was just more reason to stay determined and guarded. 

Hayami stayed vigilant and helpful the entire time, which was a nice break for Tanjirou. Usually he had to deal with either Zenitsu’s loud blubbering or Inosuke’s brash behavior, so Hayami’s radiating calm seriousness was a welcome change. She was quite beautiful as well, but that’s neither here nor there. Though, Tanjirou supposes Inosuke is rather beautiful as well, once he takes off that awful boar head- 

“Tanjirou.” 

Hayami’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he looks at her quickly, eyes wide. He was distracted… But he had no idea why. Hayami’s soft eyes look at him, a frown tugging on her lips. “Are you alright? We have to stay alert.” 

“Yes,” Tanjirou quickly responds. It wasn’t like him to just daze off like that… He shakes his head, as if to shake off the thoughts as well, and then nods determinedly. “I’m fine. Maybe it would be best to split up…” Tanjirou looks up at the sky through the trees. “It will only be dark for a few more hours, and we haven’t had luck finding the demon yet.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“...Alright.” Hayami nods, walking up to a random tree. She takes out a lace ribbon out of seemingly nowhere behind her haori, the purple fabric being tied around the trunk of the tree. “We’ll meet up here if we get lost or daybreak comes.” 

Ah, a marker. “Right. Good luck, then.” He heads to the right, and Hayami to the left. They both set off. 

...Nothing happens. Tanjirou knows this forest isn’t very big, so there isn’t a lot of places to hide. All things considered, he should have at least smelled the demon by now, and while he has a faint smell of the retch that all demon’s carry, it hasn’t gotten stronger or weaker. It’s odd, that’s for certain. 

Odd. Very odd. How can something be staying in the same place, no matter where Tanjirou went? How could it, unless perhaps, the smell was only a trap? But even a trap has an origin. They would have found the trap by now, unless the trap is somehow moving at the perfect distance to keep Tanjirou from truly tracking it. 

His thoughts heavy and confused, the slayer doesn’t even realize he had stopped walking. He doesn’t notice his mind slowly starting to wander, beginning to lower his guard as his senses decline, his mind getting more distracted by the second. His thoughts are suddenly only focused on where exactly he is- the ground he’s standing on and the sword he’s holding. 

Where am I?

He’s too lost in his thoughts that he fails to notice the figure creeping up on him from above the trees. 

There’s a hand, claws long and sharp as they reach from above Tanjirou’s head. It creeps below, only able to touch a single strand of his hair before a voice cuts it clean. 

“Tanjirou!” 

Though she wasn’t anywhere nearby before, Hayami suddenly stands next to him with her blade drawn and eyes sharp. Her body skids to a stop as she glares above them- a bloody, gross hand falls atop Tanjirou’s head, making him jolt back into reality as he wildly shakes it off.

“H-Hayami! What-“ He holds his blade steady again, following the other slayer’s gaze to find a hissing, mad demon above the two of them. 

“Don’t let it get in your head, Tanjirou!” Hayami says, not taking her eyes off the demon as she begins to slowly walk toward it. “Stop trying to smell it. You are letting it muddle your thoughts.” 

The trap. 

Quickly, Tanjirou stops breathing through his nose, focusing his breathing through his mouth instead. He follows Hayami’s movements, carefully circling around the demon hovering above them. 

“Stupid little girl! You have ruined my meal, you know!” The demon shrieks, but stays wary of the blades drawn before it. It's hanging from the branch of a tree before it quickly swings around, standing atop the branch and glaring down at Tanjirou and Hayami. “I do not like working for my meals. You’re making me work, and I hate that,” it sneers. 

By the way it’s speaking, it seems like a rather lazy demon. It also seems inexperienced, since it hasn’t taken the initiative to attack either one of them yet. 

It probably hasn’t fought much in it’s life. Instead, it acts like a spider. Waiting for someone to come, and luring them to it’s clawed hands as it clouds up it’s victim’s mind. It’s a dirty trick, but leaves the demon incredibly vulnerable once it’s found out. 

“Then let us get this over with quickly,” Hayami says, her voice cold as she readies her stance.

“Fine,” it huffs. “I heard a good chase gets the blood pumping and makes the meat more juicy anyway!” It lunges. 

The fight starts as quickly as it ends. With Tanjirou and Hayami both swinging their blades together, the demon lays dead on the floor in a mere instant as soon as it comes down from the trees. It’s a little underwhelming if Tanjirou was being honest, but he supposes that’s better than being overwhelmed and nearly dying instead. 

“Right,” Hayami sighs and sheathes her blade gracefully, taking a moment to compose herself as she closes her eyes. Tanjirou watches her silently until she opens her violet eyes again, a smile on her face. “I’m glad that went smoothly. We should put the body where the sun will hit it and report to the villagers.” 

Tanjirou takes the job of carrying the heavy body of the demon, lugging the thing on his back before disposing of it near a river where the trees broke away enough for the sun to seep through. It was still night, but soon enough nature would take care of itself. The two slayers make it to the town soon after that and report to the chief in charge- who is immensely grateful for the aid and offers them to rest for the night. 

They reject the offer. Though they’re both tired and sore (mostly from just walking, honestly), the butterfly estate is near enough for them to make it while still being awake enough to fight if they need to. It was mostly Tanjirou who wanted to go back to the estate- Nezuko was waiting for him and he didn’t like to keep her lonely. He was worried that he might be a little selfish with his request, but Hayami accepted it without any hesitation. 

She was very kind, so he’s not that surprised by her thoughtfulness toward him. It’s a nice change of pace, though, to have someone be considerate of him and his sister. 

—-

The walk was… a bit of a stretch, if Tanjirou was being honest. His body was sagging a bit from how tired he was, not to mention how dirty he felt from the grime of the forest and blood of a demon. It seems he overestimated his stamina again, but he’s just glad that they arrived at the butterfly estate when they did. He didn’t think he could last much longer without a bath.

“I think we could both use a bath,” Hayami hums as if she had just read Tanjirou’s mind. He smiles tiredly at her.

“Mm,” the boy nods. “Thank you for your help today. It was thanks to you that nothing dire happened.” 

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me. It’s my job, after all,” she dismisses him with a wave. “Besides, I got your back. We won’t let anything happen to each other, right?” 

The question seems to carry a bit of weight with how late it was and how tired they both were, but nonetheless, Tanjirou nods again. “Of course. Have a good rest, Hayami.” 

The two of them head their separate ways after that. The slayer doesn’t know if Hayami will follow in his lead, but the first thing on his mind is exactly what she had suggested: a nice, warm bath. It will help push aside his post-battle jitters as well, which hopefully means he’ll get a deep rest for tonight. 

The baths at the butterfly estate were always some of the best Tanjirou had- besides the ones he had with his family, but that was in the past now. 

The slayer soaks in the warm water for longer than he probably should have- he actually finds himself nodding off at one point, which was his cue to rinse out his hair and get out of the bath. He doesn’t want to accidentally drown, after all.

It’s when he’s dressed back in his bathrobe, drying off his hair and walking back to his room that he sees something that, quite frankly, takes his breath away. 

Out in the zen garden right outside his room, sitting in the moonlight- his sister, Nezuko, and his partner from earlier that day… Hayami. 

Hayami, who had previously helped him slay a demon, was sitting behind Tanjirou’s beloved sister and braiding her hair with gentle hands. He could see her smiling and her lips moving, as if she was talking to Nezuko. Because of the bamboo around the demon girl’s mouth, not many people bothered to do such a thing- but Hayami chatted with her as if there weren't any barriers between them at all. 

And, best of all, Nezuko was smiling too- she looked genuinely happy. 

Oh, boy. 

Tanjirou suddenly finds himself moving from his frozen stance, quickly hiding away from the two girls so that he doesn’t break the moment they shared. He hides behind a pillar, trying to catch his breath as he realizes he had stopped breathing- something that was odd all on it’s own. His cheeks were burning red, his heart thumping fast and loud- Tanjirou tries his best to calm his flustered self down. 

Hayami… The slayer thinks about the day over again, how she had so gracefully come to his rescue and fought together with him, their movements and swords moving in sync that you would have thought they trained together for years. But that wasn’t it at all. Hayami was just smart like that- she knew how to fight, and she knew how Tanjirou fought- and with all that information, she skillfully adapted to the scene. It was amazing to witness, honestly- but not as amazing as Hayami was in general. 

She was so considerate, so nice and thoughtful- and she genuinely cared. She bothered to put up with Tanjirou when he had gotten confused by the demon, she bothered to sit with his sister and talk to her as if she was a friend instead of a demon that everyone was so afraid of. 

Tanjirou shudders out a breath, his shoulders sagging as he calms himself down. His cheeks still feel a little hot, but he can’t really help that. Another breath and he stepped away from his hiding spot, smoothing out his robe as he walked across the garden toward his room. 

Nezuko notices him first, her eyes lighting up as she does. Her hand lifts to wave at him, a mumbling noise coming from behind her bamboo that sounds close enough that it could be Tanjirou’s name. Hayami looks up from her braid work and smiles when she sees the other slayer. 

“Hello!” She laughs a little bit under her breath. “I hope you don’t mind that I came to visit. She was looking for you but I knew you were in the bath, so I decided to sit with her for a bit…” 

“Not at all,” Tanjirou quickly replies and lowers himself, sitting next to Nezuko. She wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight before leaning away so Hayami could keep braiding. “You’ve done a great job- you look so pretty, Nezuko!” He coos at his sister, vaguely aware that his cheeks are still a little pink. 

Truthfully, he’d like to tell Hayami how pretty she is too, but he holds off for now. Instead, he sits in the garden as he talks with her, offering stories and eventually flowers that he found for her to weave in Nezuko’s hair. The night is full of fuzzy feelings and laughter- it’s such a simple, wonderful night that Tanjirou hasn’t experienced in a long time. 

But he’d like to do this again, so he invites Hayami to visit him and Nezuko whenever she pleases. And he’s delighted when she accepts with a genuine smile on her lips. 

[s1cparvism4gna]

I Like You A Lot

WARNINGS: cursing, violence

Pairings: Chloe Frazer x Nadine Ross x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch , @courtenbae

Chapter 12

Sunny’s POV

We’d been driving for an hour and had been undisturbed the entire time. I was beginning to understand Nadine’s worry. It made the job easier thus far but Asav could’ve been anywhere. We could walk right into a trap and never know it. I sighed as we pulled upon a cliff. The ground was broken as grass grew between the cracks and vines grew along the front of the platform. Before us was the relief we'd seen from a distance.

“Woah…” I murmured in wonder as we hopped out of the car.

“You can say that again….” Chloe chuckled as her phone went off again.

“It’s magnificent…” I heard Nadine say in awe; I watched Chloe’s brows seem to crinkle in worry as she checked it. I narrowed my eyes at her as she tucked her phone away before Nadine could notice. She blew a bit of hair out of her face and rocked her weight back and forth on her heels.

“Chloe… what’s goin’ on?” I asked her. Nadine began to walk towards the platform and turned to look at us.

“You coming?” She shouted.

“In a minute! I need to talk to Sunflower a moment.” Chloe answered. Nadine narrowed her eyes and looked between the two of us suspiciously. She shrugged and started towards the relief. Chloe brought her gaze back to me and we walked slowly, several paces behind Nadine. “It’s Sam.” She told me in a hushed tone. My heart jolted and worry began to wash over me.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“He thinks he’s been made.” She said quickly. I gasped.

“Oh shit… Did he get caught?” I asked as calmly as possible, despite my speeding heart rate.

“Not yet. But I don’t think Asav’s buying his act anymore.”

“Well how much longer can he keep it up?”

“He’s not sure…” she began to chew on her cuticles nervously in thought before speaking again. “We’ve got to pull him out.”

“Well how in the hell do we do that without Nadine catchin’ on to it?”

“I don’t think we really have a choice here, Sunny. If we don’t, Sam’s beyond dead.” She told me direly. My breathing grew shallow and my head pounded against my skull. All of this mess was about to come together and I wasn’t mentally ready for it. I sighed and scratched at a spot on my head anxiously.

“She’s gonna flip her shit, Chloe.” I warned her.

“I know. But I can risk that.”

“Can you?” I asked her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She wrinkled her brows at me and I rolled my eyes. “Nadine is a big girl, okay? I think she’d be able to handle it if you—”

“Nope. You said it yourself- she wouldn’t understand—”

“Okay but maybe if you just—”

“She won’t get it, Sunny!” She argued. I shut my mouth to let her speak. This was obviously stressing her out too. I don’t think getting Sam this early was part of her plan. “You heard her talking about Libertalia. You think she’s just going to willingly work with Sam after all of that? He put a gun to her head! And she lost everything because of him! And you as well! But at least she can stand you…”

“Barely. Look…. either way, she’s gonna find out. Why not just be honest with her now?”

“I still need her help, Sunny. Her role is not done yet.” She seemed adamant about not telling her. It was just going to create more problems in my opinion but she was stubborn and set in her way. I sighed and shook my head, my foot tapping the stone beneath us.

“How far from us is he?” I asked reluctantly. She seemed confused.

“Who Sam or Asav?”

“Both. If he’s his ‘expert’ then he should be close by. We’re gonna have to face Asav eventually. Even if it wasn’t supposed to be this soon, we have to.” I huffed with my hands on my hips. “I hope you know what the sam-hell you’re doin’....”

“I’m working on it. Just be ready when I need you.”

“Of course.” I said defeatedly, walking off to join Nadine. Chloe seemed to take a moment to herself as I climbed the platform. As I approached, I noticed a big crank that we’d have to turn. I leaned on the gold bar and wiped the sweat from my neck with my dirty black tee shirt, looking at the relief in silence.

“What’s she talking about?”

“She was apologizin’ for something she didn’t need to….”

“Ah….” Nadine looked up at the elaborate artwork carved into the mountain and crossed her arms with a sigh. “Spurrs, I know I said—”

“It’s whatever. You were right. I shouldn’t waste time on someone who wants to hurt me. I’m still pissed at him and the next time I see him, I will surely let him know that.” I said, glancing up at the mountain.

“Okay… Is Chloe okay?”

“Chloe’s fine.” I mumbled, looking back for her. She was on her way to the platform and getting ready to climb it. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?” I said.

“Ja…” she replied solemnly.

Chloe looked up to admire the stonework, same as us. She blew out a puff of air as her eyes scanned over the depiction of what seemed like war. Packed tightly into the circular carving was a bunch of men fighting against one another in close quarters. This was the Persians versus the Hoysala.

“How long do you think it takes to carve something like this?” Nadine asked to no one in particular, her eyes never leaving the art.

“Years…. Decades, even.”

“Jesus H… Stonework was absolutely their thing, that’s for sure…” I marveled.

“And war…” Nadine mumbled.

“They must’ve made these to commemorate their victories against the Persians.” Chloe sighed.

“Looks like they put up a good fight…”

“They did. Pity it didn’t last…” she paced about for a bit, wiping the sweat that trickled down the tip of her pointed nose. “But their loss is our gain, right?” There she went again with all of that false bravado. Once again she found the bright side of this shitty situation. I crossed my arms as I looked up at the carving when something began to click for me.

“Chloe… that looks like your disc…. almost exact…” I told her. She pulled it out of her back pocket and took a few steps back to look between the disc and this carving and nodded.

“Yeah… that’s right.” She said. I looked at her in confusion as her mind seemed to wander off again. I made a face and obvious gesture at her as I awaited her next response.

“Well…. now what?”I asked. She tucked away the disc again and walked towards the crank I leaned on.

“Shall we turn this and find out?” She asked mischievously. She was just a big ol ball of risk and curiosity. To be honest, I wouldn’t have her any other way. This crank was a little bigger than the others. Suspiciously, I raised my brow as the three of us pushed it around, hoping nothing bad would come of it. As the crank locked in place, a loud rumble took place. When we looked up at the relief, it began to split in half, opening like a doorway as vines and branches snapped off from the movement. Dust kicked up and poured out from the new entrance mysteriously, rolling along the hot stone ground and circling our feet. On the other end was a rainforest thick with fog and dew. I gasped as I walked around the crank to stand next to the girls. I looked at Chloe and her jaw hung slack in awe. She was speechless.

“Are you good, Chloe?” I asked her.

“Yeah… just uh…. taking it all in….” She answered with a shaky voice. And with that, she walked through the rounded archway and into the rainforest, the massive relief gate closing behind us slowly as we followed her.

We hopped off of a few cliffs and followed the path. I was not at all prepared for this view. It was absolutely breathtaking. Before us were two colossal carved statues of Ganesh, covered in moss and vines. Most seemed to fill the air from the splashes of the waterfall that sat between them hitting the rivers below us. The skies were blue and clear, birds singing. Behind it in the distance, a green mountain with more perfectly blue waterfalls, a rainbow forming in the sky. “Ladies…. Welcome to downtown Halebidu.” Chloe sang. “Last known resting place of the Tusk of Ganesh.” I shook my head in disbelief. There was no way this was a real thing that I was actually seeing with my own eyes. I imagined this was how Nate and Sam felt when they found Libertalia. It was almost worth it to not have seen it first. The untouched city of Halebidu was definitely a gorgeous sight to behold. A smile pulled on my lips and Nadine and I exchanged smiles. Chloe however… Stone faced and anxious, she rested her arms behind her head and straightened her back, bouncing on her toes as she exhaled sharply.

“Hmm…” She hummed.

“What’s ‘hmm?’” I asked and she pulled the disc out and held it up. She pointed to a rippled spot in the depiction of the waterfall.

“Does that look like there’s a dam or something between the statues?” She asked. When I looked up, that same ripple wasn’t there.

“Probably got eroded by the falls.” I said, straining my eyes for a better look.

“So then how do we get in?” Chloe asked, putting the disc away. Nadine chewed on her lip in thought as she pulled Chloe’s binoculars off of her belt and looked through them for a moment. She suddenly exclaimed and pointed towards the statue. There was a massive hole in the crown. They deduced that it was a watchtower that got bombarded. It was probably how the Persians got in. A small smile pulled at my lips until I noticed Chloe beginning to pace again. It seemed like she had a lot on her mind during this job.

“I had heard about this place for soooo long….” she said shaking her head, still starstruck by where she was standing. She sat down on the lowest cliff ledge and pulled out the gold piece she’d been playing about with and rolled in in her hands, staring at it. “I can’t believe I’m actually looking at it.” She chuckled. Nadine grinned at her. She looked happy for her. She knew what this meant for her. Or at least she thought she did.

“Take a picture! You should send it to your dad!” She said excitedly as she walked along the cliff, staring at the view.

“Great idea…” I heard her mumble somberly. I turned to look at her and the look on her face read something sad almost. I put my hands on her hips and caught her eyes, smiling as I tried to cheer her up. She should be beyond happy right now. She found the place she’d been searching for.

“Lemme guess. He’s one of those old dudes who can’t work a new phone?” I joked, crouching before her and hitting her knee. “Just take the picture and show it to him in person then.” I said. We looked eyes for a moment and I could see the dejection in her clear blue eyes. She flared her nostrils and blinked repeatedly, chewing on her lip as if she were trying to fight off unwanted tears.

“No it’s uh…. just a few decades too late for that.” She murmured, pursing her lips. I felt my face fall as I came to the realization that her father was no longer alive. I looked back at Nadine and she frowned sadly as well. Chloe seemed almost too relaxed for that statement. But I’m sure it still hurt….

“Chloe, I—”

“Oh. Oh god no. It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” She said cutting me off with a smile. It was a good act but I knew it bothered her. However, I didn’t want to push. So I left it alone. “Shall we head for Halebidu?” She asked us with a bright smile. I took a deep breath and nodded with a small smile. Nadine did the same. “Then let’s hop to it!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands. With that, we started off walking along the cliffs.

There was a gap between us and the path to the statues, filled with so much fog we couldn’t even see what was below us. And that worried me. “Follow along!” Chloe called, throwing her grappling hook to the branch of a twisted tree and swinging to the other side, landing with ease. It was almost like old times again. When she and Nate taught me everything they knew. I was still a wuss for heights. My eyes widened and my heart began to pound. ‘Fuck, I’m really doin’ this…’ I thought, looking down into the foggy void. I unhooked my rope from my hip, nervously staring at the gap between Chloe and myself. I groaned as my breathing turned shallow. “Just like I taught you before, love! All in the wrists!” She shouted across to me. I looked at Nadine over my shoulder and she gave me a supportive nod. I grumbled incoherently and tossed the rope to the branch. Lucky for me, it latched on perfectly. I tugged on it to make sure it wouldn’t come loose and readied myself at the edge of the cliff, gripping onto the rope for dear life. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ do it….. fuck….’ I thought. And I hesitated.

“Shit…” I cursed under my breath.

“Sunny.” I heard Nadine say. I turned to look at her. “Are you holding on?”

“Yeah! Sorry I’m ju—AHHHH!!!!” Just as I answered, Nadine poked my shoulder forcefully with a single finger and pushed me off the cliff. I fell screaming bloody murder until the rope tightened and swung over to the other side. My eyes were shut tight as I swung back and forth. I could hear Chloe calling me. I opened one eye to see myself swinging back to Nadine’s side.

“Jump to me!” Chloe yelled. As the momentum sent me swinging back to her, I squealed and jumped just as she said. My body began free falling until I landed on my two feet just barely at the edge of the cliff. But she grabbed my forearm to steady me and pulled me onto solid ground. I dropped to my hands and knees with a loud groan. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that. Nadine made her way across easily and Chloe rubbed my back gently, handing me my rope back. “Good job, hun!” She told me as I looked up at Nadine. She smirked at me and I just snarled a little.

“Fuck you.” I said plainly as I stood up. The two burst into a giggle as I walked ahead of them. “I’m glad my fear of heights is comedy gold for you. Thank you so much.” I mumbled. Little did I know that this was just the tip of the iceberg...

I found myself hanging off the edge of Ganesh’s hand. Yes. The statue. The too big to be real statue. I felt like I was going to be sick. My stomach turned the higher and higher we ascended. Nothing about this was remotely okay to me. How everyone was just okay with climbing things like this just blew me away. “I find it funny though…” Chloe mentioned.

“How so?” I asked sarcastically, tired of the climbing shit.

“You hate heights and yet you still manage to go along with us climbing everything.” Chloe laughed.

“Must be a glutton for torture.” Nadine joked. I growled. I could never be them. Go to all these great heights and hold a pleasant conversation? No. I was too busy worrying about falling to my death for that. As I pulled myself up on the ledge of Ganesh’s scepter, I hugged the wall as a brush of wind blew by, almost knocking me over. My heart was in my throat now and I could feel a few tears coming on.

“Hurry up, Sunflower! We’re almost at the top!” I heard Chloe shout from above as I shivered. I huffed and hit the wall with my palm for a second.

“Sorry, Ganesh.” I mumbled in annoyance as I began to start clambering up the ledges again. Before I knew it, these crazy women had me swinging from one statue to the other. Once I reached the other side, I doubled over and threw up. Nauseously, I sat down with my back against a wall for a second. That was it. That did it for me. I knew that after that, scaling anything else was going to be a piece of cake from then on. At least I could only hope. We climbed a little more later. Chloe has a few close calls and I damn near broke a ledge but we all had each other’s backs until the end. As we struggled to get over the last ledge, the three of us managed to stand on a narrow piece of stone at the top of Ganesh’s hand, overlooking Halebidu’s green mountains and tall rocks. It was incredible. I shook my head. This was all too magical looking to be real. A gust of wind blew by, almost knocking us over again but we gripped onto each other, holding one another steady. I watched as the two women looked at each other, exchanging heartwarming smiles. Chloe threw an arm over my shoulder as we watched the clouds part.

“I’m proud of you, love. You did it.” She whispered to me. It was like receiving high praise from a well respected mentor. A bit of pride swelled in my chest as I admired the result of all the climbing. The risk was definitely worth the view.

“Now… how do we get off this thing?” Nadine asked as Chloe pulled out her camera. “Really?! Jesus Chloe.” She smiled bashfully as she snapped the picture of her balancing herself on Ganesh’s hand.

“When are you gonna be back here?!” Chloe reasoned cutely. She’d begun flirting with her more lately. It was almost blatant. Then she turned to me and snapped a few of me walking away like a baby deer. We found ourselves swinging to a mudslide and dropping into the hole at the crown just as Nadine pointed out.

We followed her down into an opening in the floor. Sliding down by rope, we dropped between two more massive statues. One of Parashurama raising his axe and the other, an unarmed and yielding Ganesh. The drop was a long one for sure but considering what I had just climbed, I wasn’t even bothered anymore. When we reached the bottom, we found a crack in the wall. This led to yet another one of my blessed phobias. The ground was littered with the armored barebones of what seemed to be the Persians and Hoysala fighters. ‘Of course there’s skeletons. Why would there not be skeletons?’ I thought to myself slightly panicking. It was dark and dank in the passageway. I bit my lip so hard it bled a little as we walked around a bit. I listened to Chloe talk about how brutal the war was, shining my flashlight along the walls and dirty floors. We crawled through a tight space and I once again almost cried, being so close to the broken bones along the floor. It led us to a room with a door similar to the one from the fort. Knowing what to do, Chloe pressed the button. Only this time there were no handles to turn. The door just lifted, opening up to what seemed like a dungeon, a fire pit igniting in the middle of the room.

“Is this some sorta freaky Indian ritual or somethin’?” I asked nervously as I looked at the eerie scene. There were just a bunch of bones this time. There were whole piles of bones lined around the room. Chloe hissed.

“No… They’re mostly partial to cremation…”

“Ah…” I nodded, looking around. I didn’t really care about the answer in all honesty. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately there were only more rooms like this. They were the last of the men to defend the tusk to their deaths. After pulling out an armored body that was wedged in it, we squeezed through a crack in the wall that led us to a smoky room with a large device in the middle of the floor. There were depictions of Parashurama being gifted his axe from Shiva on one wall and Parashurama using that same axe to chop off Ganesh’s tusk. In this device were a bunch of skewed pieces that cast shadows on the wall. “What the hell….” I said looking at it.

“Hope you don’t mind doing a bit of thinking, Spurrs. Looks like this could take a while.” Nadine told me.

“Yes…. yes it could…” I said as I walked around the room cautiously. The gears in my head began to turn as I tried to figure out the point of it and how to solve it. But it was rather simple. I had to mix the pieces to form a shadow that would match the pictures on the walls. “Take a load off, girls. I got this.” I said walking around to examine the device again.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555698/chapters/64735600

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #35)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/23/88   4:02 PM

Hey.

So. I’d admitted that I was an addict. 

Which was, as I’d realize in the days after, not just a sentence you could say and be over with. It was an admission to so many things, many of which I’d been trying so hard not to believe over the course of my addiction. That it really was that bad. That it wouldn’t just go away with time. That I could not stop of my own free will. That I couldn’t fix myself alone.

That counselling really was my one chance at beating this thing for good. 

Which, in itself, was a scary thought. If it was my last chance, I could not screw it up. And I’ve always loved screwing things up. It’s so, so important that I get this thing right, and it’s been really hard at points to picture myself doing that. Even as early as the second step, I felt doomed to fail.

The second step, of course, is Hope. 

Hope that a higher power could save us from ourselves.

Yeah. It’s not that I don’t believe in the Devs. I do, unfortunately. It’s just that I’ve always believed they’re fickle dickwads who don’t give a crit about any of us. They’ve only ever been a source of pain for me. Honestly, I outright hate the Devs. So being faced with this idea that if I didn’t find faith, I could not complete this extremely important counselling, I was understandably more than a little stressed. I didn’t get why that had to be part of the deal. So many of the steps are built around this faith. It’s integral. I had to beg the question: Do only Devout deserve saving?

Fix-it’s response to my spirited rants was to suggest that it did not necessarily have to be the Devs, just a higher power. Something bigger than him or me, some deeper meaning to life, something I truly believed in. Like he, himself, while he is a practicing Devout, places more importance on ‘duty’ than anything else. ‘Duty’ informs his actions, ‘duty’ colors his lens of the world. I probably don’t need to tell you the jokes I made out of that. He didn’t seem to get it.

That widened things up, I’ll give him that. But it widened them too much. I could either pick the Devs, or pull something out of my ass and make a religion out of it. The latter sounds like something I’d only enjoy doing while high, for cuss’ sake. I’ve never been too big on philosophies in general. Partying hard had always been enough of a philosophy for me, but then I went and partied too damn hard and wound up the mess that I was. A junkie with no rhyme or reason.

Step two was looking even more depressing than expected.

On the night before my third session, Fix-it brought out a surprise that he thought might help me relax or cheer up or what have you. He laid down a tarp, a few blank canvases, and gave me an assortment of tubes of paint and scraggly, used brushes. I was a little taken aback. I so rarely use normal, boring, non-magical paint. I was worried that using it would just make me feel worse about my brush still being on the fritz, but I was drawn to the naked canvases anyway. Fix-it sat at the table and watched as if he had put down food for a feral raccoon and wanted to give it space. Having him watch may have bothered me at one point in time, but he had done a genuinely pretty cool thing for me. I’d deal.

And let’s be real -- I am a feral raccoon.

It didn’t take me long to decide what to paint. The one thing that had been consistently on my mind: Revenge on Worluk. All in various gruesome ways. In one painting, I’d ripped her throat out with my teeth. In another, I crushed her with a giant fly swatter. The last one, which was my favorite, showed her dismembered and built into a chair that I was sitting on.

Fix-it said they were all beautiful, and they’d look so good on the shelf in the broom closet. I argued for a place in the kitchen, but no, he insisted that they’d look better in the closet.

As I worked, as I painted the gnarly details on that bug’s face, I couldn’t help but wonder what she had done for step two. What was her higher power? What could she possibly turn to for peace after what she had done to me? The Devs? Duty? Or are there just some things you can never make peace with? That is, if she even felt remorse for it at all. I couldn’t imagine a remorseful pixel in her body.

And then that led to me thinking, of course… What about me? What could ever really bring me peace? I knew for sure that I felt remorse. I definitely wished I had not gone down the path I did over the course of… well, ever since you left. I’d seen and done some really awful things. There was Tapper, there was that poor sap I threatened for a hit of GC, there was… everyone else I’d come in contact with, really. My actions had taken a darker turn than I’d ever gone down before, even in my past pits of depression. My mind was so haunted by then, I didn’t recognize it anymore. Relentless, nightmarish thoughts plagued me all the time. Trauma, guilt, hopelessness, existential questions without answers. Your death, and the blame I placed on myself. My Dev-given, meaningless lot in life. Hatred from what felt like the entire arcade over a crime I didn’t commit, enough to nearly get me killed. All this weighed down on me. It had trapped me. And the only escape I could ever see was in buffs. The thing that I felt the most fondness for, the thing that I had come to long for above all else, was a mind-numbing high. Buffs could save me from my mind, even if they ended up killing it in the process. 

That was my argument in favor of the addiction.

I had to find something, anything, that would bring a counter-argument strong enough to hold up. My guilt for hurting Tapper, while it was very deep and genuine, would only have so many legs to stand on. I even remembered my weird, buff-induced conversation with the river, wherein I realized I owed my own survival to you… and to myself. That had been a groundbreaking epiphany at the time. But it was not enough. I knew that.  Because I remembered what it felt like to be in the thick of my addiction, and I remembered how no one around me mattered anymore. Nothing I owed to anyone else would make a difference to me if I relapsed and fell back into that state of mind. Neither would anything I owed myself, certainly, not with my self-preservation offline. And in the face of all those facts... I was scared.

I didn’t feel safe. I felt like the floor beneath me could have broken at any moment, and I’d lose control again. I needed something to hold onto that could actually bear my weight, because I had become quite heavily burdened. But I had no idea what that thing could be.

It was so frustrating, nearly enough to bring me to tears as I painted. I kept remembering what Wreck-it told me when we fought, about how I didn’t actually want to get better, how I just wanted to keep using everybody, so there was no use helping me. That in particular stuck with me. I didn’t understand why at first. Maybe that was true when he said it. But it wasn’t anymore. 

I didn’t want to be miserable anymore. I didn’t want to be a plague on everyone around me, not really. I wanted to get better. But the means to do so felt like a cruel puzzle I couldn’t solve. Like a battle I had already lost.

Fix-it went to bed, but I stayed up into the night painting and pondering. Even after I was done, I took one of the paintings and began slowly and idly covering it with lazy patches of color. I did some serious soul-searching that night. I tried to harness whatever it was that drove me as a living being. Whatever it was, it must have been old. Older than my knowledge of the Devs, even. I tried to cast my mind back to my very first days and remember what inspired me then, before the Devs’ gospel tainted my life. But I couldn’t come up with anything substantial. Fun, mischief, laughter, all very important things, but no solid foundations for philosophies. Philosophies that could keep me away from substances, mind you.

It seemed hopeless. But I tried to relax with my painting. I took deep breaths and let the color flow, creating no image in particular. Just beautiful, abstract motions that felt self-soothing in the cleanest way I had attempted in a while. It really did feel great to have access to a full spectrum of color again, even if it was real, physical paint and not magical like mine. I so deeply missed having full functionality of my tools. All that time without it, I’d felt like I was hobbling around with a missing limb. I need my color. It’s just embedded in who I am. Always has been.

My very first coherent thoughts after being plugged in were about the color pulsing inside my code.

I froze.

Was that it?

Could that even work?

The force bigger than me, the deeper meaning to life, the one thing that had been with me since the very first second I remember entering consciousness… well, that was color. I see it and feel it in all things, and always have. It inspires me. It does guide my actions, in a sense. 

But color? It felt too obvious, almost. It was one of the most important things in the world to me. But could I really pull a philosophy out of it?

I felt cold, but not in a bad way -- more like a refreshing breeze on a sweaty day. But that breeze also felt hundreds of miles high, with me suspended on this one new idea that I had to strengthen before it could break. What if there was something even bigger than the Devs? Something that ignored games, roles, class, age, gender? Something that, if I played my cards right, could free me from the life I felt trapped in?

Something strong enough to weaponize against the Devs’ presence in my mind?

Even kill it for good?

I remember bursting into Fix-it’s room and scaring the bits out of him. I leapt onto his bed and stained the blanket with my paint-splattered hands.

“Color,” I said firmly.

Fix-it stammered, reaching to turn on the lamp. “Wha-- Wha-- What’s-- Mavy?”

“Color,” I repeated. “That’s my higher power. I think. The thing I believe in? I think it might be color.”

He was quiet for a second, his hands raised cautiously, his mouth open in hesitation to speak. “Mavy-- Mavy, settle down, now--” he said, not really registering my relatively controlled demeanor after my very aggressive entrance.

“Don’t tell me to settle down,” I told him. For some reason, I was shaking with adrenaline. I was so unsure. I wanted to be right, but I barely felt like I had an idea.

“Oh, it’s-- It’s just that last time you started goin’ on about color, you went and stabbed your hand with a fork, so, I just wanna make sure you’re not gonna--”

“Oh...” I said, the memories blowing up in my brain. “The kaleidoscope. In my dreams-- trips-- whatever-- the kaleidoscope… Me becoming color…”

I held my sticky wet glove to my forehead, my mind connecting more and more wires. Every thought and memory coming into my head was telling me that I was right. I stared past Fix-it, feeling my heart pound. “That can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way. That all has to mean something, right?”

“C-Color?” 

“Yes!” I jabbed him in the shoulder, at which he groaned in pain. “That’s it! My stupid higher power homework. I think I’ve got it!”

I heard him give vague and confused murmurs of encouragement as he sank back down to the pillows. “That’s great, Mavy, that’s wonderful… I’m so… so happy for you...” And he was out like a light, even with the light still on.

Whatever, I thought. Maybe he didn’t understand, but I… sort of did. That was what mattered.

The following night, though, I’d have to put that thought to the test. I went into my third session of counselling with a nervous sweat. I would have to explain my revelation to the group in words, when so much of it was just… how I felt. I’d been running through my speech again and again up until the moment I sat in that circle of chairs, and as I did, I began to doubt myself more and more. I don’t know anything about making solid philosophies, or if what I made could even be considered a philosophy. Maybe my idea was actually garbage, and they wouldn’t accept it. It was so vague. I hadn’t even worked out all the kinks in it yet. I just hoped I would understand it more as I said it out loud.

Stage fright has never been a problem for me. I’m a born performer. But this was not a performance. This was real life. I had trouble opening up like that even to you, and now here I was in a room with sprites I barely knew, including one who tried to kill me. I definitely didn’t like the idea of showing vulnerability in front of her. I didn’t want her to know anything about me.

But I knew the drill. Just deal with it.

When the turns eventually came to me, I introduced myself as an addict, and told everyone that I’d done some work on step two. There were a couple claps and nods.

“Except,” I told them, “I, uh, didn’t pick the Devs as my higher power. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Clyde told me. “We have a few others here who also picked their own.”

“Charity,” someone said, waving slightly.

Another piped in, “Honor.”

Then, to my shock, the raspy voice of Worluk chimed in, with just about the most unexpected word I could think of.

“Friendship.”

Yeah. That threw me off. I tried not to raise my eyebrows so obviously at her, but I had to glance at least. I found her still not quite looking my way, but without a hint of shame in her body language. Who the hell was this chick?

I told myself to shake it off. The spotlight was on me, and I had no time to be tripped up by murderous mosquitoes. 

“What about you?” Clyde asked me. “Would you like to share?”

I swallowed. Now or never. “Sure. I picked, uh… color.”

Clyde’s featureless brows raised a bit, making my stomach clench in embarrassment. “Really? Well, that’s one we haven’t heard of before. What does color mean to you, Mavis?”

I looked out at the expectant faces. Except Worluk, who was still not looking, which I tried not to read into and just carry on. She could not ruin this for me. I had to be strong and confident, like I know I am. All I had to do was say a few words. It seemed like a simple thing to do, but I felt so damn seen, and I didn’t like it. I saw some impatient frowns from sprites who still didn’t want me there, I saw some eyes full of curiosity over what I’d say, but the rest just looked… neutral. Like I was just another part of the process. Like it didn’t matter to them either way if I fumbled or stuck the landing. 

Normally, I’d hate that. But in this context? It seemed to take so much pressure off. It wasn’t about them. It was my step to take, and they were just witnesses to it.

So I took a deep breath, and I just started talking.

“Color is… everything. I mean, it’s what I do, but it’s also who I am. Y’know, inside. Color is the first thing I remember from the moment I was plugged in. I don’t just see it, I feel it. And it’s… I mean, it’s in everything. Almost all of our games have color. That’s all we are at the end of the day, just blotches of color behind screens, and that’s… that’s kind of awesome, when you think about it. It’s something everyone has in common, no matter what game or role you’re programmed into. That makes things a bit simpler, y’know, to think of yourself not as a Good Guy or a Bad Guy or an Easter Egg, you’re just… a living splash of color.”

I wasn’t sure if I was actually making any sense, but to my surprise, I saw quite a few receptive faces even leaning in a bit to listen. They were intrigued, which was encouraging. So I took it a step further.

“As far as philosophies or things to live by, well… It just got me thinkin’ like... I’m an artist. And artists know that every color is useful. Any color can be mixed, or painted over, in any shade, in any shape. And usually…it takes a lot of different colors and shades to make a beautiful painting. So when you’ve been using the same color again and again, just monochrome, or even analogous, like I have… you’re not gonna be happy. There are so many things I’ve believed, so many things that I’ve thought to be absolute truths that have led me to take buffs. Like… I’ve never been into the whole Easter Egg thing. And I thought buffs were the only thing that could save me from that. But… maybe they’re not. Color, to me, feels like…”

I sighed, trying to pull the words out of myself. “...Flexibility. Possibility. An open mind, I guess. A new color is like a new way of thinking. And... there’s always another color. There’s always another way. And… y’know, it’s probably high time I started acting like it.”

There was silence for a moment. 

But then I saw smiles, and I heard claps, even some small words of encouragement. They were congratulating me and thanking me for sharing. Even some sprites that had given me standoffish looks before were giving me grudging nods.

I… did it. I did it right.

I could hardly believe it. I felt like I’d just spilled out some of my ugliest, most confusing guts, but they loved it.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. It was too heavy. I was too vulnerable. 

But all I could do was… grin.

“Mavis,” Clyde said, “thank you so much for sharing. That’s just fantastic to hear. You’re gonna do great things here -- and remember that even when you stumble, it’s that faith of yours that’s going to lift you back up again. You’re going to have to hold onto it from here on out. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah,” I sighed so hard, it made me dizzy. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a bit more discussion, and the meeting carried on as usual, as if I hadn’t just done something incredible (for me, anyway). But I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that. Bending myself in unnatural ways to reach this lofty goal of sobriety, and then carrying on as if everything was normal.

Because that was going to be the new normal, after all.

And my first night in that new normal, I tried to find ways to embody my colorful philosophy in whatever small way I could. I looked around at everyone in the circle, and I asked myself to examine the colors that each of them made me feel, beyond what I could see. Specifically Worluk, the one who had been giving me so much trouble, making me so much more nervous than I already was.

To me, she felt… like a toxic yellow. Barely touched with green. Just bright, garish, nauseating and impossible to ignore. While everyone else just blended into each other’s vague, muted tones. It became very apparent just how much I had been ignoring the rest of the group and honing in on her.

Surely, there was something I could do about that.

I wasn’t sure how effective it would be, but I dared to challenge myself with this: If I could not mute Worluk’s color in my mind, maybe I could at least let the rest of the group grow brighter.

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (7/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: The whole fic has been edited, and this Chapter was posted somewhat 2 years ago, but I’ve now revamped it, it’s twice it’s original length and basically, just different. so yes, this is a legit update! and chapter is currently being edited so we’re almost there! Also, thank you kmomof4 for your encouragement. And galadriel from Ao3 for reading everything I’ve ever written and leaving a comment. This one is for ya’ll. 

Past Chapters: on AO3

_____________________________

CHAPTER 7: Rattled

When she had first laid eyes on him, there was no mistaking Killian was an elf of quality lineage. With his sharp jaw line, piercing eyes, and tipped ears, he was the embodiment of a dashing elf.

However the night he came to pick her up for dinner, less than a week after the embassy dinner debacle, Emma would have never have guessed the man was elf.

His hair was artfully mussed, covering his distinctive pointed ears. He was dressed in a dark leather jacket, a dark blue dress shirt and dark jeans. Perhaps it was the jeans, a vintage human clothing that was all the rage across fashion spreads, that cinched the look, but Emma had been stunned into silence when she’d seen him.

He simply flashed her a cocky grin, as if he knew exactly how good he looked. “I know, Swan,” he had said, even though she hadn’t said a word.

She glared at him, but the effect was lost when she dove in for a kiss to show her appreciation.

“Seriously? You’re supposed to kiss after the date,” Henry complained, even though he was grinning.

“Mae g’ovannen, lad.”

“What do you know about kissing?”

“Mae g’ovannen,” Henry responded, ignoring her.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay alone?” she asked, deciding to have that conversation with him later.

Henry rolled his eyes, making a ‘go’ motion with his hands. “Yes, mom, I’ll be fine, bye, go enjoy yourselves.”

She shook her head at him, linking her fingers through Killian’s. “Okay. Holo me if anything comes up, okay?”

“Yes, mom. Bye!”

As the door shut behind them, she could feel Killian laughing next to her.

“Oh shut up, just you wait.”

His laughter went silent abruptly, as she realized what she said.

“Emma?” he asked, the question hanging in the air.

“No! I mean, no, not that I know, no I just meant… not that.”

He nodded slowly, blinking, even as his eyes darted to inspect her flat stomach. His long lashes danced across his cheeks, before he exhaled lightly.

“Ready for a night of debauchery, Swan?”

“Are we buckling some swash or something?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

* * *

“He took you on a cruise?”

“He did,” she confirmed, unable to stop the stupid grin on her face. “Up and down the river.”

“Damn, girl.”

Emma shrugged, sipping her vin in order to stop smiling.

“You’re really happy,” Ruby breathed out.

“Why the tone of surprise?”

The red-headed woman laughed, signaling to the waiter for a refill.

“It’s you, Emma. I love you girl, but you’re not exactly the warmest human this side of Alamané.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So when do I get to meet him?”

“Woah, slow down,” Emma said, flicking a peanut at Ruby.

In a show of her excellent reflexes, Ruby caught it with her mouth, chewing on it with a shit-eating grin.

“Show off,” Emma muttered.

“Anyway, like I was saying, when do I get to meet him? It better not be on the wedding day itself!”

“For goodness sake,” Emma grumbled.

“Emma,” she whined, “you’re not answering the question.”

“He’s a little shy,” she hedged. No one knew she was dating an elf.

“I’m your best friend!”

“That’s debatable.”

“That’s rude.”

“Bite me,” she said, only to roll her eyes when Ruby grabbed her hand and bit it. The woman was an animal sometimes.

“I would love to join in on this little soiree,” a man’s voice pipped up beside them, sliding onto the open stool next to Ruby.

Emma turned to tell him off when the words died on her tongue. He was an elf. Not that being creepy assholes was limited to the human species, but it was rare to see.

He smiled. “I do have that effect on women, elf or human.”

“The only effect you’ll have from this conversation is my shoe in your arse,” Ruby said, with a cheerful tone that promised pain.

“Feisty, I like it,” the elf said, standing to face them. “and you, my lovely blonde vixen, look familiar. Have we met?”

She hadn’t been introduced formally to elvish society. She lived pretty much on the ‘human’ side of Alamané. It was unlikely that he’d ever seen her, as she’d kept away ever since that night in the embassy.

“You’re not even meeting us now,” Ruby snapped, clearly not in the mood for random hookups tonight.

“And if you decide to ignore her, you’re in for pain. And not the good kind,” Emma added.

“What a pity,” the blonde haired elf drawled, chocolate eyes twinkling at them.

“Yeah sure, bye,” she said, turning her stool to ignore the amused elf.

Ruby was glaring mutinously at the back of his head.

“You okay?” Emma asked, eyeing her friend. Ruby wasn’t usually that rude or standoffish.

“I’m not a racist,” her friendly said quietly, “but lately there’s been an influx of policies that seem to favor elves. I’m just a little pissed with the whole I’m a victim card they’re pulling.”

“What do you mean? How?”

Ruby leaned closer, speaking almost directly into Emma’s ear.

“A lot of it has only been tabled, nothing official. You know it’s my job to read Senator Katherine’s documents and brief her, right? A lot of it is…problematic. Apparently the elves think humans need to be limited to one child a family, because we’re overpopulating the planet. And because the Republic works on a representation basis, it means more humans in the Senate than elves. They’re worried about their interests.”

“Would that be bad?”

Ruby sat back with a sigh, keeping her voice low.

“I’m not saying we humans don’t need better family planning. Clearly some ancient practices of the First Voyagers has stuck around. But this is where it starts. They’ll say let’s stop them from having more children, then it’ll be let’s decide who gets children and so on.”

“Come on Rubes,” Emma cajoled, “they’re just holding humans accountable.”

“The problem is they still act like we just landed on this planet. It’s been 4,000 years!”

“It’s only been 6 generations for them. Isn’t the oldest elf like 900 years old or something?”

“Whose side are you even on right now?”

Emma blinked. Even if she hadn’t just found out about her elvish issues, she would have still had made the same remarks. It was objective, wasn’t it?

She stretched her neck, soothing the muscle with her palm before looking at Ruby.

“I was just saying, is all.”

“Whatever, let’s talk about something else.”

* * *

The breeze was strong up in the penthouse, the clear blue of the Vistula River reflecting the city in its waters. Emma shut the balcony door, leaning against the railing as she took in the city view. Three months had passed in a blink of an eye.

She fingered the chain hanging from her neck, finger dancing in and out of the ring Killian had given her. She could see the desperation in his eyes to accompany the gift with three words, sacred in both English and Elvish, but something about her expression must have stopped him.

And she had wanted to encourage him, perhaps even say it first, and yet…she had faltered, the words dying in her throat in an overwhelming tide of emotion.

He’d taken in it stride, though he couldn’t hide the light dimming in his eyes. It had been the same when she’d been sick two months prior, and he’d hesitantly given her a pregnancy test, only to softly smile at her relief at the negative result. A fake smile, one that said despite his insistence that she was right about a goddamn baby complicating everything, he still wanted it badly.

The weight around her neck had only been there a week, but Emma could no longer imagine not having the comforting presence of the ring resting in the valley of her breasts.

She sighed, taking in the city.

None of Liam’s search had yielded results about her parents. She wondered if they had died, or maybe, truly hadn’t wanted her. Killian was adamant that she had been sent away for protection, but the longer the fruitless search went on, the harder it was to deny that maybe she really was an unwensket.

“What are you thinking about?” a voice asked her, making her jump.

She turned in surprise, the heir to the elven kingdoms walking up to her soundlessly. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Stuff,” she responded eloquently.

“Stuff,” Liam repeated, with a bemused smile.

“Stuff,” she affirmed.

“You looked like you were brewing a storm just from your thoughts. Mother used to say that, especially when Killian threw tantrums.”

“He threw a lot of tantrums as a child?”

“What are you talking about, he’s still throwing tantrums.”

“No, now he broods and sulks in corners instead,” she said, laughing at Liam’s little grin.

He rested his forearms on the balcony, looking out in the same direction as she was.

“True. So why are you emulating him?”

“Just thinking.”

“If you say stuff…”

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder.

“I know I got mad before, but I do want to meet my parents. I mean, I have so many questions.”

“I can only imagine. Unfortunately, it seems like they don’t want to be found.”

“That’s the thing I’m worried about. I mean, I got cycled into the human system. But it shouldn’t be that hard to fish me out from it, if they really wanted to, right?”

“Except it’s not like you stayed in Nysno. Or that we’ve broadcasted your origins.”

“I know, I know. I was moved, I travelled too far, they may have given me a human last name instead of whatever my elvish name is. I know,” she said, ticking off the possible reasons from her fingers.

“Actually… come to think of it… Emma is the human version of Ardhoniel.”

She stood straighter and cracked her knuckles. “Are-thonn-ee-ell? That doesn’t sound like Em-ma.”

“It’s the meaning, not the sound that is translated.”

“What does it mean?”

“Universe.  All encompassing. Everything.”

“Hmm… I don’t know about that.”

“I know you’re Killian’s everything,” Liam said, not a trace of irony in his tone.  

Despite herself, Emma found her face flushing. “Umm,” she said, “it’s only been a few months.”

“Short yes, but you’ve got the universe backing your claims.”

She sighed. Liam, despite his non-Recognition union, was a strong believer in the fates of true love or whatever.

“We’re still learning one another.”

“Oh please, you’re both madly in love yet dancing around each other despite being together. It’s maddening.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, quickly braiding it so the wind could no longer torment it.

“And to think, you first hated me.”

“You grew on me like moss on a damp forest tree, what can I say,” Liam teased.

“That almost sounded complimentary, you’re losing your touch.”

Before Liam could respond, a loud, insistent rapping on the glass door sounded. They turned in unison to see Killian, a big grin on his face as he held up a glass of mulled vin. He had insisted on remaking their mother’s old recipes.

The door slid open, and Killian poked his head out.

“What’re you two doing out here?”

“World domination plans, little brother.”

“It’s younger, not little, there’s nothing little about me, and two, Elsa is challenging Belle to some kind of trivia competition and I think Belle is winning. You better go referee.”

Liam rolled his eyes in exasperation, shaking his head conspiratorially at Emma.

Killian stepped out, two goblets in his hand.

Liam swiped the one his younger brother was just about to bring to his lips, earning a loud protest and an ensuing tug of war that ended when Liam warned that the liquid was about to spill.

Emma laughed as Liam used that opportunity to tug it neatly out of Killian’s grip, absconding with the mulled vin.

“Asshole,” Killian muttered, glaring at his brother’s smirking face behind the now closed glass door.

“Elves really are no different than humans, you know,” Emma said.

“Yeah, they’re all assholes.”

“Oh, stop being grumpy and let me taste it.”

Turning to her, he visibly brightened as he thrust the goblet in her hand. The nervous, excited energy she could feel from him was sudden and all encompassing. Emma felt a rush of adoration sweep through her as she met his wide blue eyes.

Emma took a delicate sip. It was surprisingly good - fruity, rich and potent.

“Impressive, Your Highness,” she teased.

“Really? It’s good?” He coughed, clearing his throat, “I mean, of course it’s good.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “Yes, it’s good.”

“Anyway, more importantly, do you know what just happened in the kitchen?”

She sipped her wine, nodding at him to continue as her eyes darted to see what could possibly be going on inside. Henry and Gracie were playing holo games. Belle and Elsa were moving their hands animatedly, seemingly talking over each other, while Liam watched like he was a hummingbird undecided between two flowers. Jefferson was the only one in the kitchen.

“What did Jefferson do?” She asked, as Killian said nothing, merely grinning at her madly like he was waiting for the ball to drop.

“Oh, not what Jefferson did, love, but Belle.”

“Belle?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, are you going to tell me or what?”

“She asked him out for dinner.”

“She what?”

“Well, more like…” he bit his lip and squinted, “more like, she asked him to dinner tomorrow to discuss something that came up during Gracie’s tutoring.”

Emma groaned, “That is not asking someone out.”

“You just had to be there. Context is key.”

“I didn’t even know Belle liked Jefferson. Oh wait, did he say yes?”

“Of course he said yes.”

“Huh,” she said, peeking another look at the elf in the kitchen.

“What?”

“He’s I mean he’s not… he’s fine with humans, obviously, but um, he’s never struck me as the kinda guy who would date a human. Not that it’s a date.”

“Darling, elf or human, he’s not exactly the most pekný.”

“Pek-what?”

“Pekný,” he repeated, “which is like… being pleasant. Personable.”

“Oh, well yeah, that’s an understatement.”

Emma put her glass down on the ledge, and moved forward to nip at Killian’s lips. The ease of which she could do this, and the sheer comfort it brought her would make her head spin if she thought about it too much, so she simply didn’t.

Before he could escalate their kisses, a shrill alarm sounded from his holo.

“Výstraha! Výstraha!”

They both looked down as Killian straightened his arm out. Výstraha was a warning call, and use of the holo in such a manner was regulated for emergencies only.

A string elvish words followed that warning in panicked, hurried, tone that Emma did not understand. She watched as Killian’s body immediately tensed, his eyes darting around, and was not startled when he grabbed her arm and pushed her inside the penthouse.

“Liam!”

But Liam had already moved towards them. Anticipating her question, Liam looked at her, with his brow furrowed and body tense, face one of shock.

“There was an attack,” was his explanation.

“At the place,” Jefferson clarified, and before she could ask, he said, “The King is dead.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Happy Valentine’s Day

A Thorin Fanfic

Words: 3,778

Based (loosely, I changed the lore a little) on an imagine found here from @thefandomimagine

Thorin x OFC

Warnings: Angst, homesickness, hints of depression, kinda culty background? But fluffy/sweet ending, with awkwardness

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!  I figured we could all use a handsome dwarf to keep us company (I certainly wish I had a handsome dwarf for company) so I hope you can all enjoy something different.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

It wasn't hard to tell that something was bothering Leiyana. Her usual bubbly self had started to go quiet, often seeming lost in thought. The dwarves wanted to ask if she was okay, and a couple did, but she would just smile and nod and say she was fine.

None of them were fooled by it.

It was starting to worry a lot of them, hushed conversations being had, but the one it worried most, although he remained quiet on the matter, was Thorin.

Leiyana was a warrior from somewhere far away, she would never elaborate where, but with short rust gold hair and emerald eyes, it was clear to most of them that it was somewhere they had probably never heard of.  She'd been shy at first, only talking to Gandalf, who'd invited along, or keeping to herself, but as they got to know her more, she began to reveal bits and pieces more, laughter bubbling from her lips and sharing a few of her own tales, some they could hardly believe.

It had been a nice change around camp, even Thorin relaxing, the others surprised when she got a laugh even out of him.

Which was why the change felt so drastic as she went back to being so quiet.

“Surely there's a way we can cheer her up?”  Fili asked quietly to a small group of them one night.  “It hurts seeing her like this.”

“Sometime these things just have to pass on their own laddie,” Balin said with a sad smile.  “We don't know what she's come from, it could just be having an affect on her, that's all.”

“But wouldn't it be better to talk about it?” Fili asked.

“It's not that simple,” Gloin said.  “Sometimes talking just hurts more, depending on how personal it is.”

“What do you think Uncle?” Kili turned to Thorin, but Thorin hadn't been listening to a word that any of them said, his gaze on Leiyana on the side of camp.

Her arms were wrapped around her legs, head resting on her knees as she stared blankly into the fire, lost deep in thought, an odd sadness to her gaze that they weren't used to seeing.

Balin, Gloin, Fili and Kili look back at Thorin.  “Uncle?”

Thorin blinks and looks around at them with a slight frown. “What?”

“What are we going to do about Leiyana?”

“Nothing,” He said after a moment.  “If she wishes to talk, then she will, until then, we treat her no differently to normal.”

It worked for a little while, her mood improving as she was laughing again, but there was no escaping the sadness that still sat around her, a weight on her shoulders that just didn't want to lift.

The others were also keeping a closer eye on Thorin now too, it having quickly been spread about how he looked at her and they all started noticing small things.

He would bring her dinner when they made camp at night.

He would be quick to interrupt someone if he didn't like where their questions were going.

He would join her on watch.

It was both amusing and worrying for the company, they all knew that now was not really the time for such things, but they also knew that this was something Thorin needed.

“Thorin?”  He looked up from his spot on the edge of camp and met Leiyana's gaze, the two of them on watch for the night.  He usually let her be, unworried if she fell asleep or not.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

She nods, breaking her gaze away, the shyness returning a little. “Yeah, I just wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being so patient with me,” She glanced at him and then away again.  “I…I know I haven't been in the best of company lately.”

Thorin's gaze is gentle on her, giving a soft smile.  “You don't have to thank me Leiyana, everyone must do things in their own time.  You are good company, no matter what state you're in.”

Leiyana smiled at this, a little nervous, but she nods. “Welll…thank you.  It means a lot to me.”

Thorin watches as she hesitates for a moment before looking back at him.  “Um…can I join you?”

He nods, moving slightly as she sits, both of them sitting in silence for a moment.

“This time of year is usually a time of celebration for my people,” She said quietly.  “I guess…I've been a bit home sick.”

The sadness in her voice struck Thorin to his core and he found himself turn towards her a little more.  “That is understandable, it is always hard being away from home.  How long has it been?”

“A while,” She wraps her arms around her legs and rests her chin on her knees again.  “I…I don't really remember to be honest, I lost track for while, I just know…”

Leiyana turned her face away from him and Thorin realised that her eyes had been welling up with tears.

“I'm sorry,” She mumbled, a small shiver going through her. “It's…hard to talk about.”

Thorin didn't know what to really say to that, knowing the ache of being away from home well, one he thought he'd never be returning to, so he did the only thing he could think of in that moment, slipping his coat free and resting it over her shoulders gently.

Leiyana tensed for a moment before slowly looking at him, her eyes seeming half scared before she relaxes and offers him a small, tired smile, one he returns.

“You don't have to talk if you don't want to.” He said.  “We can just sit here quietly.”

She nods, pulling his coat a little closer around her shoulders and the two sat in silence, none of the company any wiser to this small interaction.

Again, Leiyana's mood improved for a while, even in the chaos of trolls and wargs and Rivendell, showing her skills with her blades should not be taken lightly.

In the safety of Rivendell, she spent some time alone and they left her to it, knowing better, especially when Gandalf or one of the elves seemed to interrupt them when one barely even mentioned looking for her.

Thorin was starting to grow worried again, he hadn't been able to do much before hand, but now being unable to do anything was slowly agitating him. He wanted to see her, just to put his mind at ease.

So he managed to sneak away, the rest of the company causing enough of a ruckus that no one notice him go.

He found Leiyana deep in conversation with Gandalf.

“You did not have to come Leiyana.”  Gandalf said softly, watching her as she hugs herself, the two of then hidden away in the gardens.  “You could have gone home.”

“And gone back to what Gandalf?” She asked sadly. “To a people that don't want me?  To a home where I'm not welcome to?  There is nothing there for me.”

Thorin's throat constricted at the pain in her voice, wanting to go to her but also wanting to listen, to know more, conflicted on what he should do.

“I'm sure there are some that miss you,” Gandalf said.  “I'm sure that not all would agree with what happened.”

Leiyana let's out a snort.  “Tradition dictates they must, no matter how they feel.” She looks at Gandalf. “I'm too old now Gandalf, I've seen many come and go but none for me.  That dictates that my life must be on the road.”

“But you miss home.”

“I miss the culture.” She said quietly.  “I miss our celebrations and our gods, but no more. The people rejected me as I have now rejected them.”

Gandalf watches her closely, her back turning to him again. “This is a time of worship for you, isn't it?”

Leiyana sighs.  “Among other things.”

He thinks for a moment.  “It is also close to the anniversary of when you were banished.”

Her shoulder's slump slightly.  “We go from new beginnings to love.  If one cannot do so by a certain age, then they are banished.”

“If I'm not mistaken,” Gandalf said gently, approaching her and gently resting his hands on her shoulders.  “That is a lot to ask of a dying peoples, even from a god.”

“I know,” Leiyana agreed.  “But try telling that to them.  When nothing ever happened, no matter how I wished it in new beginnings, then I would worship in my own way.  I would love my family harder, do everything for them, go out of my way to help friends in need, but it was never considered enough. By anyone.”

From where he is, Thorin can see the sadness in Gandalf's expression, the shake in Leiyana's shoulders and he has to force himself to back away as silently as possibly, not trusting his own reaction as his eyes begin to sting.

“There's a river, not far from the path that we're about to follow,” He heard Gandalf say as he retreated.  “After about a days journey from here, turn east.  It should be sufficient for you.”

Thorin forced it to the back of his mind, wiping his eyes, not wanting to know what it meant but knowing that he would already follow her.

The company was happy when Leiyana rejoined them, although  there was little chance to discuss as they snuck their way out of Rivendell, quickly getting lost in the winding paths out of the valley.  Thorin kept an eye on her, but for all he knew, she looked happier, more at peace, glad to be back amongst the ranks of the company.

As the afternoon crept in, the walking got a little harded, so by the time call for camp came, there were many grateful grumbles.

Helping with camp, no one noticed something was amiss as the sun started to set low.

“Where's Leiyana?” Kili suddenly asked, causing a half panicked look around.

Thorin sighed, annoyed at himself that he hadn't noticed.  “Stay here in case she comes back.” There was a round of arguing.  “No, I will go look, stay here.”

They all watched as Thorin disappeared, a few sharing looks with each other, before anxiously obeying the order to stay.

Heading east, Thorin had a feeling it wouldn't be hard to find her and it wasn't long before the sound of running water reached him, followed by the sight of a small glow of a fire through the trees.

He hesitated for a moment, catching sight of Leiyana seated by the fire, clearly working on something in her lap.

“It's okay Thorin,” Her voice called to him as she smiled back. “You can come out.”

Stepping forward a little sheepishly, Thorin tilted his head a little.  “How did you know it was me?”

Leiyana gave a small hum.  “Dwarves aren't exactly naturally quiet; the rest was just a natural assumption.”

He moves closer, seeing a small pile of purple flowers on her lap, ones she was carefully weaving into a circle.  “What are you doing out here?”

Her smile is a little sad.  “Paying my dues to one of my gods.  We offer her something that we've made ourselves, placing it in a body of water. I haven't had much time to make something on the road, but there's something peaceful about doing something so simple.”

Thorin carefully sits next to her, nit wanting to disturb the peaceful look in her expression as she weaves the flowers together with practiced ease. “I'm sorry you can't be with your people.”

Her smile is a little sad as she glances at him.  “Thank you.  I still like to think that I'm being watched over though.”

“What does your god stand for?” He asked, not wanting to pry but being very curious.

“Valentine?” Leiyana pauses for a moment.  “We worship her as a goddess of love, one that brings joy and happiness for many years to those we connect to, friends and families alike, at this point every year, we make our offerings to continue that process and hope that no ill will befalls us.”

Thorin thought back over what he’d heard that night in Rivendell. “But there’s an age bracket, isn’t there?”

She laughs softly, finishing the wreath and resting it in her lap, fingers brushing gently through the flowers.  “We throw a festival every year in her honour, and during that festival, everyone has their own place.  The elders who’ve been together for a long time, the ones in the middle who have children, the young new couples hoping for prosperity and growth, then those that haven’t one to call their own yet.  Each celebrates in their own way, but those that were alone were always expected of more than the others.  For those that are older, each year grows just that little bit more desperate, we all know that once that age hits, our people will banish us, and then that will be it, there will be nothing for us out in the world apart from what we make it.”

“No offense Leiyana,” Thorin said quietly.  “That does not sound like a healthy custom.”

Leiyana nods.  “No, it doesn’t, does it?  At the time, I never knew any better, it was just the way things were, and out on the road, for a long time, I spent questioning why a god of love would allow such a thing, to cast her people out.  It was only once I met some others on the road, got to know their customs and lives, that I realized it wasn’t the god that was the problem, it was the people and those that worshipped her.  It was heart breaking to realise it, but it was the truth no less.”  She sighs.  “It solidified a lot of things for me though, I’d always seen Valentine both as a god of love, but also a warrior, one who would fight and die for those she cared about, it was for her that I took up the sword in the first place, the only one of my people to do so, and it was mocked for a long time, but I couldn’t see a reason why love, in all it’s form, wouldn’t be worth dying for.”

Thorin watches as she stands, carrying the wreath carefully before crouching at the rivers edge and saying a few words he couldn’t understand, then, she lowers it to the water and watches at it carries it down stream, watching that direction for a long time even as it disappeared from sight.

Something still bothered him.  “So why have been so sad?  If you realized all this and now worship on your own path and terms, then why does it bother you so?”

Leiyana doesn’t move from the waters edge, still watching the water. “It is memory Thorin, the memory of what was once there and what could have been.  It is also terribly lonely to walk this path alone, when your people put so much on being in a loving, caring pair, it is a hard thing to face that you have none.”  She glances back at him, tears shining in her eyes.  “I also still pity those that are trapped in that cycle, not knowing the freedom that lies just beyond the walls should they be brave enough just to take it.”

Thorin remains silent for a long moment, just watching as her gaze returns to the water, the two of them alone in their small circle of light, night having since long fallen, the night quiet.  He looks over at the small pile of flowers that still remained and a thought occurred to him.

“You are probably wondering,” Leiyana started before he could ask.  “What our customs are for courting?”  He nods slightly.  “Well, seeing as I asked yours not too long ago, it would be only fair.”

“Why did you ask?”  He said before he could stop himself.

She smiles back at him.  “General curiosity.  The more I learn of other cultures, the more my views of the world change, it’s part of the reason I agreed to come on this quest.”

Coming back over, Leiyana carefully sits back on the grass next to him, picking a flower off of the ground and turning it in her fingers. “The time during the festival is the only time that we’re allowed to officially court, although there is nothing stopping the process long before, then just making it official at the festival, again, just another thing that was all about control.”  She sighs and shakes her head.  “Anyway, as night settles in, everyone surrounded by flowers of their choosing, it’s expected that you seek out your one, moving amongst each other until you feel that right moment.  Once a pair is matched and have agreed to court, then you braid each others flowers into your hair, officially making a union as one heart belonging to the other.  The flowers then remain in your hair until they die, becoming an official declaration that your love is forever, to be bound until death.  Should they be removed before then, then it’s clear that the love was not true enough.”

Thorin watched her, watched the flower spin in her fingers, waiting for her to continue.

“I was never drawn enough to share my flowers with,” She said softly, a little shyly.  “And they likewise to me.  A part of me I guess live in fear of making the wrong choice, no matter how destined it seemed to be. I eventually learned to just live the fact and it wasn't until I learnt to survive in my own that-"

“You realised it could exist outside your walls.” Thorin finished softly, earning a green eyed stare.  “That not everything had to be what you were told it was.”

She gives a small, nervous laugh, looking down at the flower in her fingers.  “Yeah, something like that.”

Thorin watched her for a moment before finally deciding to take a chance, reaching forward and resting his hand over hers.  Leiyana's gaze comes up slowly to meet his and there is a slightly awkward moment as neither is sure what to say.

Thorin clears throat slowly.  “Leiyana, I…” He looks away before back again, his gaze soft on her. “Leiyanna, may I braid flowers in your hair?”

She licks her lips through a nervous smile.  “Thorin, I know what that means for your people, I don't want you to be uncomfortable for my sake.”

“I want to,” He said quietly, reaching up and cupping her cheek in his hand, making her sigh and lean into him.  “I would be lying if I didn't say you have a place in my heart. It has been drawing me to you more and more as the weeks have passed, so much so that I've been unsure of what I feel, but after feeling your emotions as clear as my own, I knew.  You are my one Leiyana.”

Her eyes welled up and she closed them for a moment, pressing her hand up against his and she draws in a shaky deep breath.  “I think you're my one too Thorin, I…I've been so scared to admit it, I've been so scared of what it meant and it played on my mind so much, after everything and I-"

He stops her with a gentle kiss to her lips, making her eyes open in surprise as he smiles as her, his own eyes shining.  “It's okay Leiyana, it's all okay.”

Leiyana throws her arms around him and for a long moment, the two of them just sat there, holding each other, tears being shed but neither caring.

Once they'd settled, Thorin got her to sit next to him and with practised fingers, he began to braid in the remaining flowers into her hair, sitting in a half crown, one of own beads added in carefully, keeping it all together.

The fire was starting to get low when he finished, only having one flower left over, the one still her hand.  “I think we should be heading back, then others will start to worry.”

He helps her to her feet, Leiyana smiling at him widely, giggling a little.  As he smiles in return, he pauses as she brushes up into his hair and with a careful but quick movement, the single flower was weaved in.

“It's not quiet tradition,” She said softly.  “But I think it's perfect as it is.”

“It is,” he agreed, his hand brushing her cheek, admiring his work in her hair.  “And you are stunning.”

They stood closer together, heat creeping into her cheeks as Thorin's gaze drifts to her lips.  “Thorin…I…”

His other hand came up, his thumb brushing along her lip before he meets her look with a question.

Taking a deep breath, she nods and Thorin leans in and presses his lips gently to hers.

Eyes drifting shut, the kiss is soft at first, learning the feel of the other, the way that each of them moved, but eventually the uncertainty faded and the kiss deepened as they hold each other close, neither wanting to be the first to pull away.

It was only because they were interrupted that they did.

Fili crashed through the bush, whatever he was going to say catching in his tongue as the two of them broke away, Leiyana ducking behind Thorin with a small squeak.

Fili stammered over his words, turning bright red.

Thorin looks a little sheepish, but sighs.  “We're coming back now Fili.”

Fili's mouth closes with an audible click before he nods furiously and takes off back the way he came, making Thorin chuckle lightly, unable to help himself, shaking his head, even as he feels Leiyana rest against his back.

“That was awkward,” She mutters against him.  “Did they not trust you to find me?”

“They did,” Thorin turned, smiling at her still embarrassed look, even though she was giving a small smile too.  “But they can be obstinately curious for their own good.  He will never live that down, that's for sure.”

This makes her smile a little more, even as Thorin takes her hand and kisses. “Come on, we best head back before any more decide to rock up.”

Leiyana nods, entwining their fingers as they walk back towards the main camp, the loud voices of the others already reaching them.

Thorin gives her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.  “Leiyana?”

She meets his gaze, still smiling, the air of sadness finally mostly gone.

He can't help but kiss her forehead softly, still admiring the flowers in her hair as he smiles.  “Happy Valentine's day.”

[hauntedbubblewriter]

Lost in Hope Chapter 4

Summary: San fell in love but can't help the petals on the floor

Pairing: Choi San x Original Female Character

Words: 4,943

Genre: Angst

Chapter: 4/4

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

When he was back home, he remembered to take a look at his phone again. He saw the notification next to the familiar picture of the sunset. "Morning, fine I think. How about you?" He almost forgot that he had texted her in the morning after all that had happened, but it really felt like healing to see her reply, even if he felt stupid about it. "I’m okay. It was a rough night though". One thing he had learned from talking to her was that she valued honesty. So he tried his best to be honest with her, and unlike before, it didn‘t take an hour for her to answer, nor did she complain that he answered her so slowly, like many people he know would. After all, Wooyoung was already spamming their group chat now that he saw San was online. "Do you want to talk about it?" It was such a simple question, but it would mean to show so much vulnerability to answer it honestly. He couldn’t shut down the voice in the back of his head telling him to not bother her, but something in him was louder than that. The voice that told him how he now had the chance to tell her everything, to just casually talk to her, to get the same kind of comfort that he got back when she had visited him at the hospital.

So he complied. He told her that he had a nightmare that bothered him a lot. He couldn‘t gather the courage to tell her what exactly it was about, but he didn’t hide the fact that he had one. She didn’t stress on asking what it was about, but instead made him feel like it was normal, that he was okay now, and that he didn’t have to worry. Afterwards, he decided to tell her what was truly bothering him: What had happened to Seonghwa. He never thought it would be possible to talk to someone like this, but she just made him spill all of his bothers with ease, just by simply listening and making sure he knew that she cared. The nightmare suddenly seemed so pathetic again, that he ever even for a second thought she could do something like that when she was such a soft-hearted person. 

"Do you maybe want to meet up tomorrow? We can go get some ice cream and talk a bit more if you want to". San was surprised at her even suggesting that. She must really be trying her best, reaching out to him like that. He knew she usually didn’t do that very often. She was usually the kind of person to be dragged along with others, so her inviting him by herself meant so extremely much to him. And of course, he agreed.

Next morning it was Saturday. San got his usual amount of sleep, and he was quiet disappointed to find himself throwing up petals again that night. Though he was relieved that he didn’t have to sit there for hours, but instead just for a couple of minutes. He was really grateful, and this time, he just tried to fall asleep again excitedly, trying to focus on the fact that he was going to meet her tomorrow, instead of drowning in self-pity.  

He woke up way too early for the time they wanted to meet up at, but he was really nervous. He felt like an idiot as he looked at his clothes. Was he really contemplating what he was supposed to wear for this? Should he go for the cool bad boy look? Or would his cute purple turtleneck be better? But wasn’t it to warm for the latter one? But he did look cute in it. He remembered Wooyoung saying "It’s unfair how huggable this makes you look. Just unfair. Don‘t  wear it anymore", so of course he had to wear it. He put it on and looked at himself in the mirror. The hoodie had gotten quite too big for him over the past year, but he liked how that made him look even smaller. It also did a good job hiding how much weight he had lost. 

He decided to stare at his phone for the remainder of the time, answering some of Wooyoung’s whining compliations, joining Yeosang in making fun of him. After getting done with that, he decided to start walking over to the ice cream shop even though it was way too early, but he was just too eager to finally see her to wait any longer. He proceeded to wait in front of the shop while sitting down on a bench, letting his legs dangle in the air. He looked like a small child waiting eagerly for his mom’s permission to finally unwrap the Christmas presents. He didn‘t have to wait for long, Serin showed up quite early as well. He beamed up as soon as he spotted her, waving at her in excitement. He looked really cute as he jumped up to greet her. She couldn’t help but smile looking at him and how he excited he was. He looked like a happy puppy that was finally seeing its owner again, and it was truly unfair. After greeting each other, they talked about their favorite ice cream flavors before placing their orders. Serin said she usually took cookies as well as the blue-colored ice cream with its infinite number of names. She confessed how she didn’t really know what was inside of it, but that it just tasted great, and San found her way of explaining it incredibly adorable. He told her how his favorite was mint chocolate, and he thought people treated it extremely unfairly because it’s great. They got their ice cream and just chatted for a while, spending some nice time together. They decided to sit down close to the river and to just enjoy the nice weather. San especially enjoyed her company. He tried his best to not be obviously staring at her, but, from an outsider‘s perspective, he was definitely obviously staring at her. How she had not found out that he had a crush on her was truly a miracle. He was really too obvious, but not even once did she change her way of treating him, as if she thought this was how he naturally behaved. 

At some point, the day had to come to an end. Not even once had they talked about anything that could be considered negative. She didn’t ask him about the petals or urged him to remove them, and he could only be thankful for that. He was just so happy about how the day went. He couldn’t even find the words to describe the feeling he went to sleep with that day.

Soon it was Monday, and he had to go back to school. Surprisingly, everything felt quite normal. Some people asked him if he was feeling better, some told him about how worried they were, and it all just kind of felt weird to him. As if these words weren’t even meant to be for him. 

The week went by as if it were nothing, but seeing Serin during break time felt completely different now. She had brought him pudding everytime they met up, so that they would be able to eat together. Their chats felt very casual now, and he couldn’t help but just feel happy when he got home. His happy reality unfortunately never lasted for long, as he would soon be thrown out of it because of the petals falling from his mouth in the middle of the night, but it was so worth it to him. He had been able to see her smile and even laugh daily now, and she was just so goddamn adorable that he couldn’t believe he was allowed to see it all. On Friday, she invited him to go eat ice cream together again, and he still couldn’t believe his luck, feeling like suddenly everything had changed. He could have never imagined this happening, but he also couldn’t be more grateful for it.

"How are you feeling?" has become the most meaningful question. They were sitting next to the river again, the empty ice cream cups long forgotten and in the trash. He stayed honest, saying he felt tired most of the time, but it go so much better compared to before and he just felt happy. Serin could sense the sincerity in his voice, and she just couldn’t understand how someone could be so happy even when suffering so badly. "You really don’t make any sense", she said with a smile on her lips, but her confusion was apparent and didn’t seem like it would be clearing up in the near future. "Well, don’t you know the happiness that comes with loving someone?" It might sound like just a casual question, but to him, it felt like the safest way to find out about how she was feeling. Of course he knew that she wasn’t in love with him in particular, but he had always been wondering if she could maybe be in love with someone else. It was a scary question to ask, but he thought it would be the best way to find out more. 

She, on the other hand, didn’t really know how to answer that. It had always been a weird topic to her. Sure, she was not some alien that had never heard of that feeling, but she was unsure. "I think it seems like something desirable, but I just really can‘t imagine myself in such a situation. Like, why would someone ever like me that way? It’s probably just not my kind of world". He found it both funny and sad to hear those words from her. "You really are oblivious", he chuckled a tiny bit. It wasn’t a full-on chuckle, it left a slightly off feeling behind. Serin just looked at him, a little bit taken aback. "There is so much to love about you". He didn’t even think about how that would sound. "Just look at you. You are here, spending time with me even though you don’t like me, trying your best to take care of me. It’s just... How can’t you see how beautiful you are?" It’s as if he was lost in his disbelief. Not even once did he think about the possible consequences of his words, he just needed to make sure she knew how amazing she was, and that she had no reason whatsoever to worry about these kinds of feelings. "Even just your actions. How you always talk to people like you really care about them, the way you get shy so easily, or how you judge me for my stupid jokes. I could give you an entire list of reasons why someone would love you". Now they were just sitting there staring at each other, way too close for Serin‘s usual comfort, but she couldn‘t even pay proper attention to that currently. All these words sounded so unreal coming from his mouth. It didn‘t make any sense to her that he would think this way. She wouldn’t be surprised if he were to just start laughing at her surprised reaction now, saying how it was just a prank. It would be the more realistic alternative compared to believing that any of this was real. It was weird, and she couldn’t help but think about what that would mean for the future. Not even once had she thought of this being the case. "Who is your crush?" She wanted to turn back time to take that question back the second she had asked it. It would have been way too unrealistic for someone like San to like her that way. It was way too unrealistic that someone would fall in love with a person so incapable of love, so incapable of grasping the concept of it all. She felt stupid for even having that thought cross her mind, and then she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. That bittersweet sadness that looked back at her, combined with such longing. The longing which she had always avoided, because she just didn’t want to think about it. It seemed like even just the look in his eyes spoke enough words to fill an entire book, and she had just been too scared to properly start reading. She had ignored what all of it meant. What it meant to be the person who had been hurting him so much. What her help truly meant to him, how she was probably hurting him this whole time just thinking about it, but in her mind, it was the most unrealistic thing in the entire world. Even now it all felt like a big elaborate joke to her. "I think it’s too obvious now, isn’t it?", and that sheepish smile of his, the way he averted his eyes now, it just triggered all of her alarm signals. It couldn‘t be real. Don’t be stupid. Her eyes were fixated on his face like never before, too caught up in how unreal this situation actually was. "Well, it’s kind of weird to actually say, but... And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or scare you away or anything, I mean, it‘s obvious... God, I just like you. I’m sorry. I know I should have told you earlier, especially because you’ve just been so incredibly nice to me, but I’ve just been so happy this week. I haven’t been this happy in so long and it was just so selfish of me. I’m sorry". He started rambling as soon as he he had said it. He was so scared that she would just run away. He was so scared that she would just insult him and call him disgusting because she would be shocked that he would have used her like that all this time. He suddenly felt so acutely aware of what he has been doing this whole time, and he just felt guilty. She, on the other hand, just couldn’t believe any if this. She saw how he started to panic and she didn’t know what to do. She just followed her first instinct when she grabbed his hand, hoping it would interrupt whatever train of thought he was on, hoping it would make him focus on her. "Why are you apologizing? You’re an idiot, but there‘s nothing you have to apologize for. But, just... Why are you hurting yourself like that for me? Why, out of all people, for me? I don’t want you to be in pain, but... I don’t think I can feel the same way. I’m sorry. You don’t have to be sorry, but I definitely should be. How long have you been suffering like this? Please... Just do the surgery. I don’t want you to be in pain". 

Those were the words he had never wanted to hear. He didn’t want to. How often had he told himself that she was worth it? How often had he told himself that he would do it if she told her to? He couldn’t hold back the sob coming from his mouth, and it broke Serin on the inside to see him cry like this because of her, realizing that she was the reason for all of these tears. She didn’t know what to do other than to just hug him, holding his head carefully. "I’m so sorry". She felt him whimper in her arms, and she just felt so sorry towards him, wishing that none of this would have ever happened. This was never supposed to be, it was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to be happy. All she could do was to apologize over and over again, and San could only keep crying. He didn’t want to let go of her anymore, not after how far he had gotten. It hurt so much to see her care like this. It hurt so much that she didn’t want this. He wished she would just yell at him instead of being so caring, it would hurt a lot less.

Anything would be better than this, but his crying calmed down at some point, and now he could only hold onto her shirt all tired and drained, just so scared at the thought of her leaving. God, he was so scared that she would just leave. Why couldn‘t he just suffocate right now? It was going to happen eventually anyway, so he just wanted to suffocate right here in her arms and have it all be over. He couldn‘t remove these feelings, no matter how aware he was of how it would be the right thing to do. He couldn‘t do it.

"Do you really want me to remove it?" He looked up at her when he asked that question, and seeing his face was heartbreaking. His tears had washed away his make-up, revealing the dark circles under his eyes, and it had all been her fault. She could only wipe away his tears, shaking a little while doing so, but seeing him snuggle up against her hand at the touch, she could only feel her heart breaking all over again. "Yes, San. You don’t deserve to suffer like this. Please, listen to me". He couldn’t look into her eyes anymore, overwhelmed with the longing to be back in her embrace once more. He just wanted to be in her arms again, he didn’t want this to be real. "Could I ask you for a favor? It’s really stupid, and you don’t have to agree if you don’t want to. I just need to know how it feels. I mean... You can hit me or something if it’s too weird for you, I wouldn’t blame you, but just... Before I remove it, I’ve just always wondered... You know, how it would feel to kiss you. I’m sorry, I understand if you don‘t want to. I can leave right away if this made you too uncomfortable". He really sounded like a broken child, and usually Serin would have hit him without a second thought. She would probably be long gone, but how could she be so cruel right now, looking at how broken he was? "I don’t think you would want that. It won’t feel good if I don’t feel the same way, and it would just make it harder for you to remove it". San just shook his head, looking up at her with tearful eyes. "It‘s okay if it ends up feeling bad, all of it is okay. I promise I’ll remove it afterwards, it will be easier if it feels bad. I’m sorry, I know I’m such an asshole. I shouldn’t be asking you to do something like that". She could only pity him, now remembering all of his stupid attempts of getting closer to her, and it just hurt to think he did all of that just because he wanted her to love him, too. Why did he have to have such bad taste? Why would he do this to himself? "I guess, you’ve suffered so much... I’ll be fine, but you need to promise me you will do go to the doctor right afterwards. Let’s just get this over with and then we’ll go to the doctor together, alright?" She hated it. She really did. She didn’t even quite grasp the concept of kissing, there was nothing desirable about it to her whatsoever, yet it just seemed so unfair to make him suffer like that even more instead of doing this stupid favor for him. "Are you serious?" He looked at her in absolute disbelief, but she just tried her best to look unaffected. She nodded. "Just do it". She was really awkward to say the least, she just didn’t know what to do. She swallowed as he began to softly hold her chin, and it all just felt so wrong. It felt so wrong for her to be in this situation, but it was the only thing she could do for him. So she closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves, but she couldn’t help but feel her heart race like it was about to lose a marathon. And then she felt his lips. She didn’t know what to do. His lips were chapped and dry, yet they were moving so gently and softly. It was almost scary how delicately he was treating her, and she could only hope that he would finally find someone worthy of his love after all of this was over. 

It didn’t feel bad. She was so wrong. It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. He could just cry on about how beautiful that feeling was. She didn’t have those magically soft lips but they weren’t really chapped either, they were just sweet. That’s the only way he was able to explain it. Her lips just felt so sweet. It felt like just that simple kiss had a cleansing feeling for him. As if everything bad in him was just disappearing. For a couple of seconds he felt like he was a character in a Disney movie, where the credits would start rolling now, ending with the happy end everyone wanted, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. He knew he would have to pull away now and realize that this was the first and last time he would ever get to experience this. It was so hard for him to pull away. He had been longing for this moment for so long. He could just stare at her for a couple of seconds after pulling away, just taking in her beauty before she opened her eyes again. There was still this look of pity in her eyes, making him look away immediately. "Are you ready now?", and the time has come. The moment was gone, and now he could only try to remember it forever. He only nodded, looking onto the floor sadly. 

The doctor was very happy to see him again. "I’m glad you came again, have you made your decision?" It was as if his voice was suddenly gone. He could only nod again and again, as if it were the only way for him to communicate. Serin had of course accompanied him, just like she said she would. He had called his parents over to sign the agreement, consenting that the surgery would be allowed to happen now, and he was devastated. He just felt empty. It was still there, and he wanted to keep holding onto it, knowing it would be gone very soon. He just couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want it, but he had promised it to Serin, and he wouldn’t ever break any promise of theirs. So the doctor did all the necessary examinations and prepared him for the anaesthesia. They would keep him in for the night to measure his blood pressure, with the results being ready the next day, and then that toxic flower would be removed. Serin had followed him into the room he was taken in, but their familiar chats were gone. They were just quiet. "Do you want me to leave?" She felt so bad, as if she kept bothering him. She just felt weird after everything that had happened. She didn’t want to make it even worse, but San asked her to stay. Of course he would, he looked like he was about to lose his everything, and even though she had wanted this to happen, she couldn’t bear to see him like this. "Would you hold my hand?" She agreed, that was really not a problem right now. So she held ontohis hand, unable to look away from the sad sight right in front of her. It didn’t take very long for him to fall asleep. Serin only let go of his hand when she was told that the visiting times were over and that she had to go now. She knew she wouldn’t get another chance to see him again before the surgery. It was probably for the better, but she just couldn’t help but feel devastated. 

She felt so bad about everything that she didn’t realize she had healed him.

"Choi San, I have great news for you". San, who was busy staring at the sky while stupidly thinking about Serin and that kiss, turned around. "Is it already ready?" He was too busy looking at the floor to notice the doctor‘s bright smile. "It won’t be needed". Hearing those words made him turn his head. "What?" This was not the time for a joke. Sure, his doctor was a chill guy, but it that was really tasteless to joke around right now. He didn’t need to suffer even more from false hopes. "The results of your blood tests are out, and the flower is actually dying". San looked like normal people look in math class. "That means it won’t grow any further. It will take a couple of weeks for it to wither, and then it will be go away by itself. I’m going to prescribe you some medication to support your body in the process of removing the flower, but the surgery itself won’t be necessary anymore". San studied his doctor‘s happy expression, carefully looking for signs of a lie on it. "How could that happen?" The doctor couldn’t help but think that San looked so adorable when he was so lost. Maybe it was just him being happy to be able to tell this young boy that his suffering was worth it in the end. "There are only two ways for the flower to die naturally: Either the patient moves on from their love by thenselves, or their love is not unrequited anymore". And okce again, San looked just like a pre-schooler having memorized the alohabet for the first time as he slowly realised what the doctor’s words meant. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t moved on from her. "So, can I leave?" The doctor just told him to notify the nurses of his exit, and then he would be good to go. He texted Serin right away. "Meet me at the ice cream shop". He was so excited. He ran to the shop as if his life depended on it. Serin got the message, but she was beyond confused. "I’m on my way, but why are you of out of the hospital already?" She had expected him to sleep for the remainder of the day so that his body could calm down. She thought he may have chickened out, so she would have to try to get him to go back to the hospital. 

When she arrived, San was already there, her favourite ice cream in hand and ready to go. He gave her the ice cream in excitement and she instinctively took it, not expecting him to suddenly take her hand and to literally run to their river. "San, what are you doing?!" He just ignored her confusion until they finally sat down in front of each other. "San, please tell me what’s going on?", she whined, but don’t tell her it‘s whining, because she definitely wouldn‘t like that. "I love you". He said it with such happiness in his voice, and she was just confused. "I know, that’s exactly why you should be in the hospital right now". She said that with a lot of cofidence, but all San did in response was to giggle like a child. "But why should I be there when I could just watch you blush instead?" She had never seen San this happy before, why was he being so flirty suddenly? What the hell had the doctors given him? She felt her cheeks warming up to an unusual temperature, but she know she doesn’t blush, so she just felt panic and confusion building up in her. "Shut up, I’m not blushing. What has gotten into you?" She was very much overwhelmed, trying to figure out where his sudden confidence was coming from. So he just handed her the document that the doctor had given him. She took it, reading it in confusion. They were just blood results and statistics of chemicals, she didn’t know what they were supposed to mean. "San, please state clearly what’s going on, I don’t get doctor-ish".  It was as if that was exactly what he had wanted to hear her say, leaning forward towards her, way too close for comfort. "That doctor-ish translates to the results of my blood tests. They explain the condition the flower is in, and it is dying. I won’t need the surgery anymore, and I can guarantee you that I’m still very much in love with you". It didn’t take her as long to understand as it took him at first. "Huh?" She could only look at him dumbfoundedly. She knew what he was saying, but she still couldn‘t comprehend. "It means that my love is not unrequited anymore". He said that with the brightest smile on his face, but she just didn’t know what to say. "But it‘s okay, you don’t need to confess just yet. I mean, it also took me about a year to do so", he said teasingly, and only then did she jolt back into reality. "I’m- Hey, what? Shut up, what are you suddenly so cocky for?" She just pushed him lightly, not able to really do anything big at the moment, she just didn’t know what to do with this situation. He just hugged her afterwards, effectively shutting her up.

"I’m so happy to be allowed to love you".

[mattpeplow]

1.

Tempting Tincas

The tiny red tip of the float sat motionless in the gentle sway of the still water, anchored to the bottom with two BB shots. The float may not be the correct colour to grant the best visibility. There may be slightly too little or too much of it showing from your added shot, but you can see it, and that’s all that matters. All you want as you sit there, transfixed with anticipation, is for that pimple of colour to disappear, which it surely will. The yearning and the craving for a take and a squirming fight is like a drug. You could easily describe most fisherman as addicts, or dreamers in need of their next fix. It is an extremely strong addiction made up of potential new records be it British, world or personal, or just the knowledge that you are doing everything right and the hard work and preparation has paid off. The pride in catching a beautiful trout on a fly that you created yourself. Or just the peace a solitude of not having to worry about the daily grind, your only concern when on the bank is whether it’s going to rain or not. I confess I am an addict and there is no amount of cold turkey that can cure me, and to be honest, I don’t want to be cured.

The sun was beating down and my polarised glasses cut through the water to show a few dark shadows lurking below, sifting through my grounbait for more substantial offerings. Today’s location is Mythe, a private club water controlled by The Birmingham Anglers Association (BAA). At around 600 meters long and as wide as the River Severn which runs along its one side it is one of my favourite venues. The hot sun of the warmer months causes a large amount of weed to grow here which means only half of the pegs are fishable at certain times on the year. The riverside bank is a jungle, imagine an untrodden terrain with thick overgrown bushes, steep slopes, ditches and barbed wire making their upmost effort to bar your progress. If you do venture this way though, you will probably end up with a few leaves and twigs in your hair and down your collar and maybe a rip in your favourite fishing t- shirt however you will find some of the most beautiful swims from which you can temp a few bites. A fellow angler and good friend of mine Rich has spent countless hours secateurs in hand carving pathways to the waters edge. Rich is a font of knowledge when it comes to Mythe and he often regales me with tales of his trips 30 years earlier when all the pegs where fishable, he is an in-depth encyclopaedia of every peg on the pool and has a story to tell for practically all of them.

Clear spots can be found in amongst the thick weed and most the pegs have a patch of lilies or a deep hole in which to place your bait. Bream are in abundance here with weights of over 100lb regularly being caught on the method or open-ended feeder. Large bags of fish are also caught on the pole or waggler however, this being my chosen method for the day. Carp are a rarity as they are not targeted very often, but the few photographs I have seen of these old warriors show beautiful dark oak coloured mirrors with apple slice scales and striking bronze commons. Rich also tells me of an orange bellied common which has evaded capture for a long time, he has sent me many videos of fish close to 30lb taking floating dog biscuits from one of his many walks around the pool fish spotting. I have also heard rumours of an elusive Catfish hiding somewhere amongst the gloomy depths but who knows, this pool seems to be a bit of a mystery and I don’t think anyone knows for certain what zoo creatures it could hold. Catching one of these legends is on my bucket list, however today I am here targeting Tench, one of my favourite species.

I have selected a peg with a thick blanket of weed framing a deep weed less hole with lilies at my feet and to my left. The water is crystal clear gradually gaining a green hue the further out you look out towards the centre of the lake. After laying a few balls of gound-bait and a scattering of sweetcorn next to the lilies I lowered my lobworm and tightened my line pulling my float to where red meets black. I am fishing the lift method; my float is held in place by two rubber stops and is set at between 5 and 10 inches over depth with shot on the bottom. I pinch my shots onto a small piece of braid threaded onto my line using a rig ring. This is also held in place with rubber stops. Doing this means there is no weaknesses in your set up, some split shots have sharp edges and squeezed directly onto your line can cut into it and cause breakages under pressure. When the Tench takes my bait and lifts the shot off the lake bed the float will rise up and lay flat, however it is suggested to strike before it reaches that point.

Though still water specimen hunting is predominantly based around bolt rigs and buzzers there is a period generally from mid-May where this more traditional method for catching Tench is particularly effective. The warmer temperatures and longer days cause the Tincas to move in to the margins in search of damsel fly nymphs and other immerging insects and fishing at such close quarters the bolt rig loses its impact and a float fished correctly will produce a lot more fish.

I hadn’t arrived early for today’s session. A few beers the night before in the local pub had cause me to oversleep slightly but I didn’t mind as it was summer with plenty of daylight ahead of me. I had got to the lake at around 9am and had chosen my peg and set up for half past. My first bight came 10 minutes later. It was slow and tentative. The float lifted a centimetre and settled again, half a second later it did the same and started creeping slowly to the left. I strike into a small greedy Perch half the length of my lobworm. Returned, rebaited and repositioned I waited once more.

The sun had decided to hide for a while behind a thick white cloud. Thankfully not the thick black kind as I hadn’t even considered bringing my umbrella, not in mid-June. I always travel quite light when I am not targeting Carp. A decent sized bream was my next piece of the action, around the 4lb mark. A slow short fight then like a wet flannel it floated to the surface and was dragged motionless towards the bank. A few of these in the keepnet wouldn’t be a bad result for the day but sadly it was not the prize I was after. Unlike some anglers I appreciate caching bream. A large shoal of bin lids in your swim can make for a great day, especially in match fishing where large weights can be obtained quickly once you have got them feeding, which doesn’t seem to take long, these fish are eating machines and will make short work of a large bed of bait.

By mid-day the temperature cooled a little; it was still warm but not the blistering heat of the past couple of days. A scattering of clouds and a slight breeze made it very comfortable with intermittent blasts of sunshine and shade. I think if the weather had been the same as earlier in the week the fishing would have been very hard. This was proved a few days later when a session with my dad was cut short due to only two bites between us in 5 hours of fishing in relentless heat, we were rewarded with 2 small Roach and two rather sunburnt faces.

Instead the bites were steady and with five perch in the keepnet and a few more bream I decided to mix it up a little and try a cocktail. A lobworm tail with two grains of corn on a size twelve hook. I sat watching the float twitch, bob, dip and sway for a about twenty minutes, there were a lot of small fish in the swim and I think my large bait was being picked up and dropped every couple of seconds by optimistic roach with mouths too small to take bait fully.

Finally, it lifted, this happened so quickly it was almost flat before I had chance to strike. Strike into weightless, air, weightless, nothing. “Bugger it”. It seems that I drifted into a daydream for a while easy to do when sat in the sunshine. I rebaited my hook and recast to the same spot and tightened up, determined not to lose concentration this time. I didn’t have to wait very long for another take and this time I didn’t miss it, my rod bent double and my 4lb line groaned and creaked painfully and my clutch hissed like and angry cat as the fish pushed itself into the weed in front of me. I managed to bully it back into open water and after a taxing battle I finally saw the olive-green shape and red eye break the surface. A few small final breaks for freedom and she gave in and slid into the web of my landing net. What a flawless specimen. A plump almond shaped body, black fins and a wide paintbrush like tale. Tipping the scales to 4lb 8oz I was pleased with my first Mythe Tench and what a beauty.

The next half an hour or so produced a few more Perch and Bream followed by another characteristic Tinca bite, my float raised out if the water and I lifted into another powerful creature. A lot of head shaking and dives to the weed almost confirmed to me this was another Tench. After a couple of minutes, the shaking stopped and I was left with a solid weight and no movement. The fish had hidden itself deep within the weed bed opposite. Doubtful, I lowered my rod pleading that it will release itself on its own with the line being slack. To my surprise and relief, I saw the line start to move. I tightened up to feel the relentless pulling once more. It seems the fishing gods are on my side today. The fish broke the surface and displayed itself for the first time. It was certainly a Tench but this one was unlike any I have caught previously. It had the typical bright red eyes and dark paddle like fins but its body was as black as coal. Securely in the net I admired its beauty and prepared the fish for its Photo shoot. What a beauty, and a lucky capture I think, that fish could have easily been lost. Returned safely it was time to pack up. I emptied my keepnet of 7 Bream and laid it out on the bank to dry, content with a successful day.

[freudensteins-monster]

His Heart’s Desire (the beginnings of a Good Omens/Stardust crossover)

WARNING: This is unfinished and will probably remain unfinished. It was only meant to be a short crossover synopsis like always but it got away from me, then it made me fight for every last word for about a week until I could get it to the point where I felt I could leave it.

The idea popped into my head while scrolling through Ao3 and seeing the tag “angels used to be stars”.

Also posted on Ao3.

There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart’s Desire.

And while that is, as beginnings go, not entirely novel (for every tale about every young man there ever was or will be could start in a similar manner) there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, although even he never knew the whole of it. - Stardust, Neil Gaiman

Ezra Fell, for all the gentlemanly qualities he possessed, had always been treated as something of an outcast by the townsfolk of Tadfield. For all he was kind, and well-read, and taught the children of the village their letters with such patience and enthusiasm, they could never forget what he was: a foundling from beyond the ancient stone wall that marked the eastern border of the village, the ancient stone wall that protected them from all manner of strange and terrible creatures that surely dwelled in the forests beyond. Not that they ever mentioned it. No well-bred person spoke of such unbecoming things, but they always managed to say a lot without speaking when it came to Ezra Fell.

Their poor treatment of him had only gotten worse after the death of the local vicar, the only father figure Ezra had ever known, culminating in R.P. Tyler, his snobbish landlord, drastically increasing the rent on Ezra’s beloved childhood home-turned-library in an effort to force him out. Ezra had worried over the notice for the better part of the day before getting up the nerve to confront his landlord as he and his yappy little terror of a terrier made their way home from the only pub in the village. It was a personal attack Ezra had tried to argue as delicately as possible, tugging nervously at the hem of his brown hand-me-down waistcoat - after all he’d never raised the rent as much as a penny for as long as the old vicar had been alive. When that failed Ezra practically begged his landlord to consider some sort of arrangement which would allow Ezra to purchase his home from him. Tyler was never going to sell, and told Ezra as much, but then a flash of fiery golden light shot across the night sky catching their attention and a cruel thought began to take shape.

“The only way I’d sell to a man of your background, Mr Fell, is if you brought me back that fallen star,” he most assuredly did not slur.

“The star?”

“Aye. You present that star to me by weeks end and I’ll gladly hand over the keys to you. But if you don’t, and if you’re so much as a day late with your rent, I’ll toss you and that absurd collection of tinder you call a library into the gutter.”

An idea once planted is a hard thing to kill, and as R.P. Tyler stumbled home Ezra’s gaze turned eastwards, trying to recall the path of the fallen star and wondering just how deep into the forest beyond the wall it had landed.

Several minutes earlier in the kingdom of Etherium, many leagues beyond the wall, in the largest bedchamber in the highest tower of the Palace of Light a queen lay dying. She is surrounded by her remaining children. There had been eight of them once but one by one they had perished – accidents, she was told – until only four remained; Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, and…

“Aziraphale?” she called, her eyes struggling with the dwindling light.

“No, mother. It’s Gabriel,” the youngest of her remaining children huffed impatiently. “Aziraphale died as a babe. Raphael lost him in the forest when his camp was attacked by bandits. Remember?”

“And poor Raphael took an arrow through his righteous heart,” Michael feigned a sigh.

“Such a shame,” Uriel added, herself an excellent shot with a bow.

“Little Aziraphale was claimed by wolves, one can only assume,” Sandalphon grinned.

The queen feels the loss of her other children keenly and laments that she must leave her throne to such ill-suited heirs. Unable to choose one over the other, for they are no good choices, she gathers the last of her strength and walks to the window, looking out over her kingdom for the final time. She pours the last of her light into the pendant that had hung about her neck; a translucent crystal on a gold chain. It glows brightly for but a moment then turns cold and opaque as the queen hurls it into the night sky. It seems to hit something at its apex before careening back to earth. Her children watch on curiously, wondering if the old girl had finally lost all her marbles. She turns to face them, her skin now ashen making her look every one of her considerable years, and addresses her children.

“Whoever of royal blood can return the Light to the palace shall claim the throne of Etherium.”

Her children step over her cold body, shoving each other out of the way to get a better look at the pendants final resting place. Sandalphon accidentally falls out the window in his eagerness, or so the official report will say, and his three remaining siblings do not so much as even glance at his mangled corpse at the foot of the tower as they take their leave of their ancestral home to hunt down the pendant.

Hidden in the darkest depths of the darkest forest, someone else sees the star fall, and to them a fallen star means far more than a home or a throne. To them, a being who was old when the foundation stones of the Palace of Light were still hot and gooey, a fallen star is a means to restore her and her siblings to health and vitality and power beyond imagining. She hobbles back inside to share the joyous news with her siblings.

“A star has fallen!”

Her voice echoes through their cavernous and cluttered home but she gets no reply. She rushes about the place with a sense of urgency and a hunger she hasn’t felt in centuries. She retrieves a prized metal box from its hiding place, clicking her tongue in irritation at the three sets of bindings - one red, one black, one white - and seeks out her siblings. She finds them slumped together on a fetid sofa in what could be assumed to be the sitting room.

“A star has fallen!” she almost weeps with happiness. “One of us must seek it out.”

Her siblings rouse then, slowly. Her brother is dark and frail, and every bit of exposed skin puts his bones on display. He smiles the sharp smile of a predator, his mouth already watering. Their sibling is pale and weak, every movement disturbing the thick layers of dust that have accumulated on their hair and clothes, and when they speak the air becomes more putrid.

“A star? It has been so long,” they sigh.

“So hungry,” their brother echoes.

She shoves the metal box onto their laps and presses their hands to the knots of their respective bindings. A small spark of magic from each of and the bindings undo themselves.

“I will bring it back for us,” she declares as she pulls the box back towards herself.

Her siblings are too tired to fight her for the right, and though relieved she despises them for their weakness; they once fought all out wars to decide petty arguments, but that was so long ago now. She reaches into the box, her fingers tingling as they wrap around a glimmering scrap of the last star they found. She drops it into her mouth and almost faints in sheer ecstasy. As the power courses through her she stumbles drunkenly about the room and until she spies the silhouette of a large gilded mirror. She rips away the cloth that covers it and promptly does the same with her brittle once-red wig and the rags that covered her thin frame. She watches her reflection in awe, never tiring of the transformation, finding it just as magical as it had been the last time over four hundred years before. Her skin becomes radiant and smooth, her hair regrows cascading down past her shoulders like rivers of blood, her body fills out and she feels strong again for the first time in an age.

She runs – runs! – to their shared bedroom and digs out her favourite outfit and armour, preserved with care at the bottom of a solid oak chest. She dresses with haste but savours the feel of the blood-tanned leather on her skin, the weight of the armour, the familiarity of the sword at her hip. Her siblings have found the energy to leave the sitting room and are waiting for her by the front door. Their eyes rove over her restored form with unabashed hunger and envy, and it’s almost as heady as the star’s light coursing through her veins.

“The star lies 1000 miles to the north,” her brother tells her, handing her a leather pouch of runes stones carved from the bones of his first kill. “You must make haste for others seek it out.”

“Bring it back so we may all be young again, sister,” their sibling begs her, handing over a blade of darkest obsidian.

She takes their gifts reverently and secures them to her person. “I will find the star and cut out its heart,” she swears. “And when we are all of us restored to our full power the world will know fear once more.”

When we return to the other side of the wall, where magic and murder are not so commonplace, we will find Ezra Fells rather impulsively packing for a journey that will surely be more perilous than taking a carriage to Ipswich, or even all the way to London. Both of which he’s done precisely once.

He was second guessing himself for the hundredth time in less than an hour when there was a sharp rapping at his front door. As he went to answer it he tried not to think about how it may not be his front door for much longer.

“Anathema, my dear. What are you doing here so late?” he asked of his one and only friend, ushering her inside.

Anathema Device was considered something of an outcast herself and would tell anyone who asked (not that they dared) that she was a witch. She lived on the outskirts of town in a small cottage that had been in her family for generations and her oddness was tolerated by the townsfolk more so than Ezra’s for this very fact: there had always been a witch in Jasmine Cottage. It was downright traditional, and as long as Anathema kept curing their ailments without gossiping about them to their neighbours, and brewing her grandmother’s particularly potent spiced cider at Christmas, the townsfolk let her be.

“It’s Agnes,” Anathema groused, as though that explained anything. The woman had been dead and buried fifteen years now. “She left me something in her will with strict instructions on when to deliver it to you.”

“That time is now, I take it?”

“Right…” Anathema paused until the grandfather clock in the sitting room struck 10. “Now.”

She pulled a small parcel wrapped in waxed paper from her pocket and passed it over to Ezra. He took it gingerly wondering what on earth could be so important that Agnes would put such a plan in place. She had always claimed to have been able to see the future and doled out predictions to any who would listen. Ezra had been respectful of her claims, even helping her get a book of her prophecies published, but had never truly believed her because for all the years Ezra had known her she had never once offered him advice on his own future. At least not until this night.

At Anathema’s urging he took a seat and began to unwrap the small parcel only to find a smaller parcel inside of it with letter in between the layers.

“It’s from Agnes,” Ezra remarked before reading her missive aloud.

Dear Mr Fell,

I must get right to the pointe, for time is of the essensse: it was I who first found thee as a babe, crying in the night by the broken section of the Wall. I Saw thou were in need and sought thee out. I Saw who would love thou best in this smallminded village and left thee on the doorstep of the church for deare Reverend Andrews to find.

In the basket with thee was the enclosed parcel. I Saw that thou would be in need of it this night after thou talk with that bunch-backed toad, Tyeler, and Anathema and I have kept it safe for thee alle these yeares.

And though I’m sure thou would rather I just tell thee what to do to keep thy home, truste me when I tell thee that it will alle work out in the end, and that halfe the joye is in the journey. Now, be a dear and put on the kettle before thou opens the next parcel. Thou won’t get to drink it but the routine should steady thy nerves.

Sincerelee,

Agnes Nutter, Witch.

P.S. You tell R P Tielerr from me that if he keeps harassing thou or that poor Young boy his precious apple trees will never fruit again! Theyr going to be struck downe with a fungus come Spring regardless, but it would be a great lark if he thought I was haunting him from beyond the grave.

 “What did you talk to Tyler about?” Anathema asked after allowing Ezra a moment to digest the truths Agnes had laid out in her letter.

“Hmm?”

“R.P. Tyler. Agnes said you talked to him.”

“Oh, yes. He increased my rent – almost doubled it, in point of fact. I had been trying to reason with him, or perhaps strike a deal that would allow me to purchase my home from him.”

“Let me guess: he wasn’t interested.”

“No, he seems quite eager to see me destitute,” Ezra lamented. “But while we were talking we saw a shooting star land beyond the wall and he said that the only way he was going to sell to me was if I could bring him that star.”

“What rot,” Anathema spat. “Ezra, please don’t tell me you’re even entertaining such nonsense; he wasn’t being sincere.”

“Of that I had no doubt,” Ezra huffed. “But surely some man of science somewhere would have interest in a rock fallen from the heavens? I could sell it, and if I can’t buy my childhood home from Tyler perhaps I could buy another. Somewhere as far away as London, or even Paris. Some place where no one whispers about what I am.”

“What you are,” Anathema recited patiently, “is my friend. And I want to see you happy, I do, but not by putting your life at risk. No one travels beyond the wall outside Market Day. Not even Agnes.” She waited another moment for her words to sink in before gently prodding him. “Do you want me to stay, for when you open that one?”

Ezra broke himself out of his muddled thoughts to offer her a small smile. “I think I’d like a moment to myself, dear.”

“Of course. But I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with a warm loaf of bread to break our fast, and we can talk about that,” she said, gesturing at the unopened parcel. “And find you somewhere else to live that isn’t under R. P. Tyler’s thumb,” she added as though he didn’t play landlord to half the village.

Alone in his home-for-the-moment, Ezra read Agnes’ letter once more for good measure before following her instructions and putting on the kettle.

A few minutes later, with warm but still trembling hands, he unwrapped the second parcel. Inside was a solitary white candle peppered with gold flecks and another letter. From the moment his eyes caught the first sentence they began to tear up…

 My dearest brother,

Leaving you here is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and though you and mother may never forgive me for my actions, please believe me when I say it is for the best. It is not safe for you here. Every day our siblings jealously of your light and the attention mother gives you grows. They will do anything to gain her favour, even eliminate the competition, and I cannot hope to both protect myself and be there to stop every attempt made on your own cherished life.

I realise this cannot be easy to read but it is my greatest wish that my decision has allowed you to live a life free of pain and fear and the greed that has poisoned our siblings souls. I hope you have found a home and a family who loves you like you deserve, but selfishly it is my deepest wish that we may meet again once you are a man capable of defending yourself. To that end I have enclosed a gift.

The fastest way to travel is by candlelight. To use it, think of me and only me.

All my love,

Raphael

It took Ezra several moments to get past the realisation that he had a brother, and a mother, and an unknown number of fratricidal siblings, to acknowledge the gift mentioned. The candle must be magical in origin, he reasoned, and thus it would make sense to wait for Anathema’s return to study it further… but if it meant finding a way to return to his brother’s side – his brother! - who was no doubt beyond the wall that she would still be hesitant to let him take such a risk. He fidgeted with the candle while his tea grew cold, all the while turning words like “brother” and “mother” and “home” over in his mind.

How does it work, he wondered. The fastest way to travel is by candlelight, his brother’s letter had said, so Ezra had to assume that one had to light it, thus creating candle light, and… just think of his desired destination. Simple enough really, he mused, gathering up his half-packed leather satchel (a gift from the late vicar), adding some rations (half a block of cheese, the last of his bread, a few apples, and a canteen of water) just in case, and seeking out a match before he realised what he was doing.

He should probably leave a note for Anathema for she was sure to be cross with him in the morning when she found him gone. But perhaps, if the magic candle worked as he imagined it would, she need never know. Perhaps the candle would take him straight to his brother and perhaps there was enough magic within it to allow a return trip?

“Perhaps, perhaps…” Ezra muttered anxiously. He quickly found a pencil and wrote “Anathema – Back soon – Regards, Ezra” in his patently elegant script on the brown paper wrapping, then pulled the long strap of his satchel over his head, fussing with it until he was comfortable. With a deep breath he lit the match and took up the candle in his other hand. He counted to three and with a trembling hand brought the flame to the wick.

“Home,” he implored the universe.

A roar like a wildest thunderstorm assaulted his ears as the world rushed by in a dizzying blur and just when Ezra thought he might be sick it all stopped rather suddenly and Ezra found himself tumbling to the ground atop of some poor bystander.

“Oh! Oh, Raphael!” Ezra exclaimed, jumping to his shaky feet and reaching out to the man he assumed must be his brother. “I’m so… I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not! And I’m not bloody Raphael, so get off me!” hissed the body on the ground.

“You’re… You’re not my brother?”

“Do I Iook Iike I’m your brother?”

Ezra properly took stock of the man he had crashed into. He was tall and lean and wore strange robes of midnight. He was fair of face, his naturally sharp features were verging on knifelike in his irritation, with long red hair that seemed to shine without a light source, like each strand possessed within itself a flickering flame, and his eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow that burned with the ruthlessness of a midsummer sun. Ezra with his stocky frame, mousy, untidy hair, and too snug second-hand suit could not imagine a man more his opposite.

“No. Sorry. I was mistaken.” Ezra glanced nervously around the strange clearing he found himself in and seeing no one else, let alone a possible long lost brother around, turned his attentions back to the man who had still not made an attempt to get up off the ground. “Well, are you all right? Do you want some help?”

“You can help by Ieaving me alone!” the man snapped, slapping away Ezra’s outstretched hands.

“Very well then,” Ezra bristled, leaving the strange man to his misery to focus on his own problems.  "Light the candle and think of me,” he muttered staring down at the candle still in his hands that was now half its original length. “I was. I was thinking of Raphael… But then the star just popped into…” Ezra spun in a circle, his eyes growing wide with the realisation that he was not in a man-made clearing but an impact site. He turned back to the strange man. “Oh, excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you again. This may seem strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?”

“You’re funny,” the man huffed, though his glare said Ezra was anything but.

“No, really, we’re in a crater,” Ezra pressed on. “This must be where it fell.”

“Yeah, this is where it fell. Or if you want to be really specific,” the man drawled, jabbing a finger towards the night sky. “Up there is where this weird bloody necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the heavens when it was minding its own business. And over there is where it Ianded,” he said, pointing towards the deepest part of the impact site. “And right here,” he growled, pointing to the ground on which he sat. “This is where it got hit by a magical flying moron!”

Ezra faltered as his brain was forced to make several adjustments rather quickly about its understanding of the universe.

“You’re the star! You’re the star? Really?” Ezra babbled, the colour draining from his face as this new reality came crashing down around him.

The star was human, or at least human shaped, and he could not sell off said star to secure his childhood home (though he was not naïve enough to think there weren’t men who would desire to buy such a creature).

The candle had not taken him to his brother, though he had initially wished it. Perhaps stray thoughts of the star had derailed the candles route, or perhaps his brother was no longer living and it was not possible for the candle to take Ezra to his side. What proof did he have either way?

And the candle only had one journey left in it – how best to use it? Should he return to Tadfield and his uncertain future, or try to go to his brother again, which was filled nothing but uncertainties, or did Ezra do what the voice in his head that sounded a great deal like the vicar said and offer the candle to the star so he could return to his home in the sky?

Ezra patted his coat pockets in an increasingly erratic pattern before sinking to the ground opposite the star. In the end it wouldn’t really matter which he chose because he had forgotten to pack a second bloody match to light the damn thing with.

“Oh, fuck.”

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 3

Dean Winchester x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 3 of 5 written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part Three): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse, Drinking, Smut (18+ only)

WC: 5.7K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

Dean didn’t say much to her for the next couple of hours. After [Y/N] helped set him up in the bathroom so he could take a makeshift shower, he made his way to the kitchen without any assistance, albeit very slow. She tried to help him hobble his way along, but he insisted on doing it himself. Once he was clean and his wound was tended to, she placed down a big bowl of chili and a hunk of cornbread, warmed and oozing with butter. He thanked her and as the fragrant spices filled his nose, his stomach rumbled fiercely. Dean dove in and greedily ate every bite until the bottom of the bowl was so clean it was hard to imagine there was much in it, to begin with.

“I guess it was good?” she asked with a half-amused grin. 

Dean leaned back in the chair and groaned along with the wood. He smiled, satisfied, and patted his stomach. “So good. I feel like I haven’t eaten real food in, well, forever.”

“Can’t imagine your meals at Green River were exactly gourmet. Then, living on soup and protein bars the last couple of days couldn’t have done much for your taste buds…” she trailed off and shrugged, rising from the table and clearing his dish. 

She seemed different, like something in her was changed by the earlier encounter. Despite their close moment after Derek left, Dean felt like she was holding something back; maybe it was the need to cry or just the urge to rage, but even he could feel the shift in her mood without her saying a word about it. 

He sat quietly and watched her move around the kitchen, cleaning dishes, putting away the rest of the food. Silently going about her business, and yet, he could almost see the wheels in her head-turning. His own thoughts kept going to what he overheard while in the closet, but also, to the closet itself. A lock on the outside, sure, why not… but one on the inside could only mean trouble. But, was it trouble for [Y/N] or someone else? Unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Dean leaned forward on the table but didn’t look in her direction at first. “Can I ask you something? And, I don’t mean to pry, but... my curiosity is piqued.”

She stood at the sink, and just when he thought she wouldn’t say anything, [Y/N] turned around and he could already see she knew the questions he wanted to ask. She still didn’t speak, just used her expression to grant permission for him to ask.

“Alright…” he started then turned in the chair and did his best to stand with a bit of weight on his injured leg. He didn’t wobble this time, though held onto the table for support and now that he was secure, his gaze focused on her. “Why is there a lock on the inside of a closet door in your bathroom? What were you trying to hide from?”

[Y/N]’s gaze fell to the old hardwood floor, but that half-amused smile stayed on her lips as she considered her answer. Finally, when she lifted her (y/c) eyes, Dean saw years’ worth of pain and heartache in them. It didn’t make him sad for her, but instead anger at the people who were the cause of it. 

“My father used to hit my mom. She put it in there one day when he wasn’t around so I could have a place to hide if I needed it.” Her reply was so matter-of-fact and calm, that Dean had to take a moment to process what she actually said. 

“He what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“He hit her, a lot. We lived here for a few years when I was very little. He had been asked to leave his prior parish, so my mom fixed this place up for us to live in until he found a new one. It was her grandfather’s cabin. So, she loved the place and was thrilled to live here for a while.”

“Guessing your dad didn’t care for it,” Dean spat, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth just as the impression of her father did.

“Nope. Not even a little. He drank, got violent, took all his frustrations out on her. You know how it goes. Eventually, the offer from Green River Baptist came through and here we are. We moved out of here and down into the house adjacent to the church, and she installed one there, too.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Dean’s question had more of a punch than he intended, which didn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“No. Well, once, but not like he hurt my mother. Once we were moved into the new church, his outrages stopped for the most part. ”

Dean shook his head and inhaled slowly, trying to still the rage he felt towards her father. “Your mom… where is she now?”

“Residing in Green Valley cemetery. Remember I said I had family there?”

“Oh,” Dean replied awkwardly and shifted weight off his bad leg, “yeah…”

“Here, come on,” [Y/N] said, and quickly dried her hands on a dishtowel before moving to help Dean. “Come sit in the living room. There’s a fire going and then I’ll put the kettle on for hot chocolate.”

“Got any booze to throw in there?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I do, but you can’t have any. Not while on those meds. I need you clear-headed as you can be.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Awesome, thanks Nurse Ratchett.”

“Yeah well, you’ll be thanking me should Derek show up again. Cause I guarantee the next time he does, he’ll have a shotgun in hand.”

“Peachy,” he mused and rolled his eyes as he slung an arm around her shoulder as she helped him walk into the living room. 

Once in the living room, she let him go so he could sit on the couch then turned to tend to the fire. That was when he really watched her closely; from the glow of the flames against her face, tracing the lines and curves of her body, right on down her tight jeans to her wool-socked feet. He was so curious about so many things--including how she would look sans the layers of the thermal and flannel she wore--but had no idea whether he should or could even bring himself to ask. She was a stranger to him, but yet, he felt close to her in a way that even surprised him. 

Dean watched every move she made and studied her face as she seemed to be lost in the dancing flames. When she snapped out of it and turned back to him, he didn’t try to look away or pretend he hadn’t been watching her. 

“What?” she asked nervously, “why are you staring at me?”

“Just watching you work the fire,” he replied casually, though they both knew it was much more than that. 

“Ok, weirdo,” she snarked and turned to go into the kitchen. 

“So, can I ask you something else?” Dean called out to her, and when she didn’t respond, he twisted his torso to see her moving about the kitchen. 

She just finished filling the kettle and gently rested it on one of the burners then turned it on. “Ask me whatever you want, Dean. I have no secrets.”

“You got me,” he replied, his wide, toothy grin made her chuckle.

“Other than you… what do you want to know?”

“What the HELL are you doing with that guy?” 

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Derek. Derek is a douchebag.”

“Well aware, thanks.” She continued on making the hot chocolate, and when she retrieved the bottle of rum from the pantry, Dean couldn’t help but smile when he saw her pour a small shot into each mug. 

She was quiet for a while, long enough that the kettle began to whistle and he assumed it was her way of avoiding the question. Dean wouldn’t push her, not when she was doing all she was for him, but he couldn’t take his focus, or his eyes, from her. Nor could he understand how such a beautiful woman, with skills and balls of steel like her, would stay with an overbearing shithead like Derek and that being based on only hearing a few minutes of their lives together. 

[Y/N] came back into the living room a minute later with two steaming mugs that smelled heavenly of chocolate and liquor. 

“If you end up having a reaction to your meds with that shot of rum, it’s your own damn fault,” she said and handed him a mug before sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her. 

Dean smiled smugly and sipped at the piping hot liquid. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

She stared into the fire for a beat, and when she finally turned back to him, he realized that she wasn’t just being quiet, she was thinking; most likely trying to phrase her answer to his question.

“I met Derek in high school. My mom had died by then, the incident in the church with Deacon had happened, and I was a wild kid. Summer before sophomore year, I met Derek at church. His family just moved here and my dad set me up on a date with him… a good Christian boy.”

“Oh, I bet that date was gads of fun,” Dean mocked and licked the chocolate from his lips. 

“It was, actually. Derek wasn’t as good of a Christian boy as he pretended to be. We went out drinking at the pits in the woods, and had a great time.”

Dean raised his brow in surprise. “I certainly didn’t expect that answer.”

[Y/N] chuckled but it was flat and sad. “It didn’t last. We dated for two years, and by the time we were about to be seniors, in his head, my father already had us walking down the aisle. The second I graduated, he wanted to marry me off and get rid of me. By then, Derek wasn’t exactly the guy I thought he was and I was so ready for it to be over.”

“So, why are you still with him all these years later?”

She shrugged. “When you are mentally beat down and told you’ll never do better than what you got after so long you start to believe it.”

Dean swallowed hard and felt his teeth grind together in an attempt to bite back words he had no business saying to her. As they sat there in the heavy silence following her words, he was seething in anger that anyone could think of her as anything but wonderful.

“That’s horse shit, you know,” he said softly, raking his teeth over his bottom lip in frustration. 

“Yeah, well… tell that to eighteen year old me who was getting kicked out of her house and forced to live with a guy who I didn’t want to be with, or be homeless.”

“Well okay, but you're clearly not eighteen anymore. You work? Right? Have money… why stay?”

“It’s just not that simple Dean. I wish it were, but it's not. Besides, what do you care? In a few days or two, you’ll be able travel and I will somehow get you back to your brother. Speaking of… I guess we should talk about that. How do you wanna--”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Change the subject. I’m not letting this go, [Y/N]. That guy is a massive dick. I have known plenty of guys like that in my life. Bullies, all of ‘em. Chances are if he hasn’t raised a hand to you yet, he will.”

She raised her brows subtly and didn’t look him in the eyes. He knew what it meant, but didn’t want to press her. Truth was, he didn’t have any right to get into her business, but yet…

“[Y/N], I’m not trying to--”

“I know,” she interrupted, but it was quiet, almost a whisper. 

Dean moved closer to her, ignoring the burst of discomfort it caused in his leg. He left a bit of breathing room, but reached out and placed a hand on the bend of her knee. He waited a moment to see if she would recoil, or react negatively to his touch. She didn’t. 

“No, you don’t know,” he said. “I won’t tell you what to do, but sweetheart, you do not need that guy. Not for a damn thing.”

Her eyes slowly came up to meet his and he could see the conflict brewing in them. Despite the temperature, she gulped down the hot chocolate and placed her mug on the small table beside her. Without saying anything, she got up, Dean’s hand falling back to the couch, and went into the kitchen only to return a moment later with the bottle of rum. She sat down in the same position, only much closer to Dean; close enough that her knee was gently pressing against the side of his thigh.

[Y/N] took a quick pull of the brown liquor and winced as it trickled down her throat. She passed the bottle to Dean, who looked between it and her with uncertainty.

“My very beautiful nurse said it would screw with my meds,” he shrugged, flashed her his most charming smile. 

“She’s an idiot. Get drunk with me, wouldya? Cause honestly, after these last few days I could use it.”

Dean placed his mug of hot chocolate down on the other table and took the bottle from her. The taste of the rum was like heaven on his tongue, but he knew he had to pace himself. She wasn’t wrong about keeping a level, clear head, yet the allure of getting drunk with her was something he didn’t want to pass up, either. After spending the last few days down with an infection and fever, Dean knew he couldn’t be too carefree with his actions. 

Passing the bottle back to her, she took a shot from it, her (y/c) eyes intently watching him. “I don’t want to talk about Derek. Tell me a story, Dean. Tell me about what you and your brother do. What other creatures or monsters have you killed?”

Dean scoffed and stammered a moment before he could formulate an answer. “I--Well… why? Why would you want to hear those stories?”

“Because,” she shrugged and drank from the bottle again before passing it to him, “at least what you’re doing seems important… meaningful. Me… I am a bored soon-to-be housewife who likes to pretend I write important things when really it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“I doubt that,” he replied, keeping his green eyes locked with hers as he raised the bottle to his lips. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly; could feel it coursing through his veins and an overwhelming need to touch her rose with it.

“Just tell me a story,” she laughed, “I don’t want to think… I want you to distract me, please?”

“Alright,” Dean nodded and gave her back the bottle. She took a healthy pull from it, placed the cap back on and reached over to leave the bottle on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackled and popped in the background while Dean tried to think of a case to tell her about; one that wouldn’t be too dark or heavy, but he was struggling because they all were like that. She thought what he and Sam did was important, and maybe it was, but it certainly came with a hefty price.

“This one time Sam and I had to join a traveling circus,” he shrugged and felt his heart warm as she broke into a disbelieving smile.

“Seriously? What was going on there?”

“A killer clown, or so we thought. Thanks to a little help from a friend, we found out it wasn’t so much a clown but a rakshasa--”

“A what?!” she snorted, the alcohol clearly affecting her as well as she tried, and failed, to repeat the word. “A rakssha--rakeis--a what?!”

“A rakshasa… a spirit, shapeshifter of sorts that likes to feed on humans. This one had set up shop in a traveling carnival. Passed itself off as a clown, got kids to let it in the house and then would eat one of their parents.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “gross.”

“Yeah, very,” Dean chuckled, his tongue darting across his lips while looking at her. It was an involuntary response, but he could see her watching him closely now, too, and he didn’t hate it.

“What else, tell me more,” she requested and leaned forward enough that he could see a spark of life returning to her eyes. 

Dean recounted a few other cases he and Sam had worked over the years, keeping them short and sweet, and mostly ones where there was a happy ending. He left out the demon stories or the time when Sam had to put down a woman after he’d fallen for her because she had been bitten and turned into a werewolf. He went more in-depth about the case they worked for Deacon, too, and other times he’d been in their lives. [Y/N] listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his face and the more he talked, the closer she got. 

What felt like hours later, she moved off the couch and once again tended to the fire. From the corner of the room, the CB radio crackled to life again, making both Dean and [Y/N] freeze, then catch the other’s nervous gaze. They waited silently through the unintelligible voice mixed with static, waiting to see if one would make sense; if Dean’s name was the topic of the call or if--

“[Y/N].... you…*static* ...up. Now! Over.”

Dean saw her face fall the minute the voice was clear enough to understand. Her whole body stiffened, a coating of fear mixed with anger taking hold of her expressions and forcing her to walk towards the CB. He realized as she got closer that she still had the fireplace poker in her hand. Even from across the room Dean could see how tightly she was gripping the iron weapon, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white.

[Y/N]’s free hand darted out and snatched the handle from its base and gave a quick look over her shoulder. Dean nodded, his way of agreeing to be quiet. She drew in a deep breath and pressed the button. 

“I’m here. Over.”

It took a minute, but the voice came back clearer this time. “What the hell you thinkin’, girl? You better get your ass back to town... *more static* ...ing. Storm’s …. *static* ...for days! Over.”

There was another moment of hesitation on her part before she pressed the button and spoke again. “I’m not a God-damned child. I’ll tell you what I told Derek. I’m fine. I will be back when I am back. Over and out.”

Without hesitation, she turned off the power to the radio and gently placed the handle back in its cradle. [Y/N] stood motionless, still holding the poker with a fierce grip as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to use it or not. She finally moved, turned back around to face him and that’s when she noticed the poker in hand. Paying it an absent glance, she gently laid it back on the rack and shook the haunted thoughts from her mind. 

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but maybe turning that off isn’t a great idea,” Dean suggested carefully. “It’s kind of our early warning system, you know?”

“You’re right,” she replied, and went back to the radio to switch it back on, then maneuvered a few of the controls so music began to play through the small speaker on the unit. “There, at least that’s better to listen too. And it’ll flash when something’s trying to get through.”

“Who was that?” Dean asked, unable to quell his curiosity. 

“My father. Derek probably left here and went straight there. They’re always conspiring something,” she muttered.

Dean nodded and tried to think of something he could say that would change the sudden change in her demeanor. Seeing how her father’s voice alone affected her, made him just as disgusted as he had been when he saw how Derek’s presence changed her. [Y/N] was a special kind of woman, how she was so mistreated by the men in her life left him baffled and angry.

Before he could think of something to say, she spoke up first as she knelt down by Dean’s injured leg.  “I should check your wound…” 

“You’re just surrounded by douchebags, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied and began to pull up the bottom of the sweatpants when he leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. 

“My leg is fine,” he said. “I mean, if you’re just looking for a way to get me to take my pants off, I can think of better ways, sweetheart.” He knew he was being blunt, and while he certainly wouldn’t turn down the mysterious beauty, he was only trying to get her back in that light-hearted, easy-going way she was before the CB had gone off. 

[Y/N] laughed but then caught his gaze, and in it, he saw that maybe his comment wasn’t as laughable to her. 

“Is that so?” she asked and stopped pulling up his pant leg, but didn’t remove her hand from his ankle. He could feel her feather-light touch on his skin and desperately wanted her to touch him everywhere. “And just what way would that be?”

Dean chuckled and needed to decide how far he could, or should try to take this. He was injured, after all, and she was a stranger with two very aggressive men in her life. Getting involved with her in any way was only going to mean trouble. But then she looked at him, challenging his comment with nothing but the tick of her brow and the pout of her lip; subtle, but sexy. He knew there was only one way it could go.

“Well, you could come back up on the couch and let me show you…”

Dean’s heart was pounding, unsure of how she would react. When [Y/N] slowly rose from the floor and stood before him, he sat up straighter on the couch silently praying she would take him up on his offer. Everything in the room seemed to shift at once; the fire popped and hissed as it caught a new log ablaze, the song on the radio ended, the first few notes of Unchained Melody started on some distant AM station, and [Y/N] was slowly removing the flannel she wore over her thermal shirt, and tossing it to where she had been sitting on the couch. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” she whispered, her expression unreadable, but intense. 

Dean reached out for her hands, pressed his palms into hers, then laced their fingers together before gingerly pulling her forward and gauging her resistance. When she didn’t fight him at all, he continued guiding her closer which forced her to straddle his lap, or she’d fall on top of him. She did so without any hesitation, but hovered over his lap and kept her eyes locked with his. He wished he could read her, get a feel for what exactly she was thinking. Though he had been with plenty of women over the years, she made him nervous; more surprising than that was that he liked it.

“Who says I don’t mean it?” he breathed, more taken with her with every inch closer she came. “If you’re uncomfortable, or you want to--”

“Shut up,” she huffed and leaned into him, her lips pressing to his while his hands released hers and immediately went to her ribs, sliding down to her hips and holding onto her tightly. 

Her lips were soft and sweet and heavily laced with the taste of rum. She kissed him with a tempered need; he could feel her wanting more, just as he did. Yet there was still a hesitancy to how she pressed her mouth to his. Wanting her to feel comfortable, he let her set the pace and happily followed with every step further she took it. [Y/N] sank down lower on his lap, her hands sliding up his chest, towards his neck; her fingers locking together behind it as her thumbs gently rubbed against the sensitive spot behind his ears. 

Dean moaned softly into her kiss and wrapped his arms around her back, slowly lifting the back of her shirt and lacing his fingers together against her skin. She parted his lips with her tongue, her need beginning to overcome the shyness of their first encounter. [Y/N] didn’t stop Dean when his hands moved up her back and unclasped her bra; she didn’t protest when he began to lift the thermal shirt up just enough for him to feel the bottom curves of her breasts. Through all this, she only kissed him deeper. For as much as he wanted her, and as much as he would hate himself should this derail their momentum, Dean pulled back from her suddenly. 

[Y/N] was surprised, her breath coming in short spurts, her hands still clinging to his neck. 

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, desperately searching his face for a reason. “Is it your leg? Are you in pain? Is it me?”

“No! No, absolutely not… you… you are…” Dean exhaled heavily and licked his bottom lip as his fingers kneaded into her skin and his dark, lustful eyes drank her in, “... you’re perfect. It’s just that, you don’t know me, not really. This… this can stop if you want, I don’t want you to blow up your whole life because of one night.”

“Dean, if I am going to implode my life, I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to do it with. Besides, how is this any different from if we’d met in a bar and had a one night stand? Hm?”

Dean considered her answer and shrugged. “I guess it’s not.”

“It’s not. And right now, I don’t care about anything outside those doors. I just want to feel good. Can you make me feel good?” she whined softly.

“I think I can help you out there,” he smirked, his tongue again running along his bottom lip as he sized her up and imagined the things they could really do if not for his bum leg. “But, huh, I’m not playing at full capacity here, so…” he trailed off with another shrug, but she didn’t miss a beat. 

“Well then I guess it’s up to me then, isn’t it?” she breathed and leaned in to kiss him again. 

Within a minute, Dean pulled off her thermal and her bra with it, her chest bare and glowing in the light of the fire. He trailed his mouth in soft, lingering kisses across her neck and down to her chest, while his hands traced the lines of her skin delicately. He could feel himself getting harder as she moved in the slightest bit against his lap. By the time his mouth had found her nipples and her hands were pressing his face into her chest, he was fully erect and desperate to feel more of her.

[Y/N] must have felt the same because her hands unlocked from his neck and roughly ran down the length of his torso, coming together between her legs, and palming his erection through the thin layer of cotton sweatpants. The moment he felt the pressure of her hand against his dick he inhaled sharply and growled low, relishing in her touch. They continued that way for a minute, kissing and touching and rubbing and grinding deeper, until [Y/N] couldn’t take it anymore. 

She suddenly rose from his lap, quickly unbuttoned her jeans and took them off, tossing them aside with the rest of her clothes. She stood in front of him, slotted perfectly between his knees in only her pink cotton panties. [Y/N] slowly knelt in front of him and ran a finger along the waistband of his pants, carefully peeling them back over his engorged member. She took him in one hand, the flesh on flesh contact causing him to exhale slowly. It was when she brought her mouth to his dick, and lightly kissed the tip did he close his eyes and roll his head back against the couch. Letting her tongue linger on along the shaft, she licked down to his balls before lifting her head and gently removing his pants all the way; taking special care around his wound.

[Y/N] again stood in front of him, but Dean couldn’t wait for her to resume her place on his lap. He gripped his dick and began to massage himself as she watched, and the way she watched made him want her even more. Just as she removed the last piece of clothes, he sat up and with his other hand reached out for her. Neither of them spoke, as he once again guided her on his lap and as she hovered over him, he dragged the tip of his cock through her warm, wet folds and felt himself go weak at the sensation. 

Her breathing became shaky as he continued to pushing and pull himself through her sex, brushing her clit delicately at first. But after a few times, even he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. 

[Y/N] bent her head down into his neck, her teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear as she begged him in a needy whisper, “Please, Dean… don’t make me wait another second.”

He complied, gladly. Dean let go of himself, and grabbed her hips, rocking her in a way that he could slip into her and filled her with the first thrust upwards. She cried out, but not in pain. It was as if the instant euphoric feeling of him inside her needed to be released so she could concentrate on the rush that followed. 

Dean rocked her slowly on his lap, while his mouth toyed with each of her nipples, taking turns lavishing each with attention. His moans were muffled by her chest and he found himself completely lost in how good it felt to be inside her. Her hands were wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, then his shoulders, pressing him as close to her as she could. Her hips moved in rhythm with his, as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed. 

The sounds of heavy breathing filled the room, muffling the Righteous Brothers pouring from the radio, and even drowning out the sound of the fire. 

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, his lips snarling into a smiling as she moved her body faster when he cursed. He used the pad of his thumb to rub her clit, the instant he touched her there, she whimpered, her whole body melting at his touch. 

“Oh… GOD… fuck, Dean! Feel so good…” she panted, her head rolling back then around so her chin fell to her chest. She was riding him with speed and purpose, the need to climax so great and so close she let go of him to grip the couch for better leverage.

“Damn, baby,” Dean mewed, unsure of how much longer he could go before he would cum. She felt so good on him, and even though that final push towards orgasm was downright euphoric, he didn’t want it to end yet. 

He finally released her clit and grabbed her hips tighter, pushing and pulling her into him as roughly as he could. One last time and he felt her walls flutter and spasming around his cock as her body began to tremble and his name didn’t just fall from her lips, but rang out like church bells, followed by a string of expletives that would easily get her sent to Hell. 

It was all he needed to cum, and though he tried to move her off him before he did, she finally resisted him, intent on taking his release inside her and crashing her lips to his as he did. 

Dean held onto her for dear life, his mouth falling away from hers as he buried his head between her breasts. She held him there and slowed her movements against him, finally coming to a stop and letting her body relax, but still not moving from his lap. He lifted his face to see her, she was sweaty and beautiful, her hair falling around his face, causing some of her features to linger in the shadows of it. He reached up and tucked a hair behind her ear. 

“Well? Feel better?”

[Y/N] absently licked her lips, then revealed and small, impish little grin. “Dunno… I think maybe we should go back to the bedroom and try again. Just so I know for sure…”

“Well I am absolutely good with that, but--”

“But, what?” she asked, an ounce of doubt moving into her eyes. 

“But, as much as I wanna be the romantic guy and carry you in there, I’m gonna need you to help me hobble that way. I do believe you just drained any strength I had left in my leg.”

“Oh,” she said and moved off him, clearly panicked. 

“No… sweetheart… I meant that in a really, really good way. Whatcha say you help me up and we take this back there,” he smirked and nodded towards the bedroom off the kitchen.

“Happily,” she grinned and moved off his lap. 

Standing in front of him, she held out her hand and helped him rise from the couch. The pain in his leg was noticeable, but not nearly as much as it had been before. She left her clothes behind and slung an arm around his waist as he slung his over her shoulder.

“Just one request,” she said as they made their way to the bedroom.

“Anything.”

“This needs to go,” she demanded, tugging at his shirt. “I want to feel all of you this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complied and quickly discarded the shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it behind him, not caring where it landed. “For you sweetheart, anything.”

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson// @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss// @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 4, Part 7

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 4, Part 6

“I’ll start from the beginning. First, you prepared a string—a steel wire would be even better—and you strung it through the metal guard of the katana. A typical guard has a hole in the center for the blade to pass through, in addition to one hole on either side. The holes serve different purposes, but for you, they were perfect to pass the wire through.”

The police confirmed the guard of the katana used in the murder had two open holes.

“So? Thanks for the riveting lecture on how to string a wire through a katana. So what?”

“One end of the wire was tied to a heavy weight. The heavier, the better, especially if it was an object that could float on water. A piece of firewood or a log would work well.”

Wood was scattered around the backyard, so a quick search for a sturdy piece would likely prove fruitful. Or perhaps she cut down some bamboo to do the job.

“To finish preparing the wire, you twisted the other end into a loop.”

How was that strange setup used...? I had no idea where Kyoko’s deduction was headed.

“You tied the loop around one of the icicles on the water wheel. Those icicles aren’t frail; they’ve grown thicker throughout the winter and won’t break easily.”

“And then?”

“The next part required some skill. You opened the double doors. At this point, you had already wrapped rubber bands around the handles. Once you opened up a large enough gap, you wedged something in the doors—the jack would work quite well—to prevent them from closing. Then, you slid the katana through the rubber bands, stretching them back with the guard of the blade. The mechanism resembled a large slingshot, or a bow with the katana as an arrow.”

Even I could imagine the scene.

“Finally, you took the free end of the wire, crossed the backyard, hopped over the fence, and stretched it all the way to the cliff. Once you secured the weight to the wire, you kicked it into the ravine. The weight plummeted into the river and got caught in the rapids, creating tension in the wire that kept the katana taut. But the weapon didn’t fire immediately, because the icicle on the other end kept the wire fixed.”

I pictured the setup in my mind. The double doors and rubber bands formed a bow, while the katana being pulled by the weight functioned as an arrow. The icicle was used as a device to delay the katana from being launched.

“At this point, you could remove the jack from the gap. The force pulling on the katana was sufficient by itself to keep the doors open.”

And thus, the wire device spanning the entire backyard—from the water wheel, to the dojo, to the cliff—was complete.

“Tension was constantly pulling on the loop around the icicle, and the pressure caused the ice to slowly melt. But the icicle didn’t snap. The segments of ice melted by the wire would refreeze, thus keeping the wire trapped in the icicle as it passed through to the other end. Eventually, the wire was released. Without the tension in the wire pulling on the elastic rubber bands, the katana was fired.”

The entire time we were trying to open the dojo door in the hallway, the katana was waiting patiently to be released.

“But... how would it hit its target?” I asked. “Did it stab the victim by sheer chance?”

“That’s where the armor came in. Those two warriors weren’t simply decorations adding to the mansion’s haunted aura.”

“What do you mean?”

“The warriors were in the center of the room, standing behind the corpse on either side, right? Take a step back in time and imagine the scene when the victim was still alive. Yui, do you realize now?”

“Oh... don’t tell me.”

The suits of armor were positioned with bent elbows. The unconscious victim could be propped up and forced into a standing position.

“The warriors were there to secure the target,” I answered.

“Correct. Blood splattered onto the armor because it was used to hold the victim up.”

The force of the launched katana propelled the victim forward, thus completing the crime scene that we stumbled upon.

After the katana was released, the rubber bands caused the double doors to automatically shut. Those doors weren’t just part of the locked room; they were part of the murder trick as well.

“The wire was swept away with the weight. It may never be found, even if the police conduct a thorough search downstream. Perhaps it left traces in the snow at some point, but the additional snowfall would have removed any evidence. That nick on the fence would be indistinguishable from the countless other scratches once covered by snow. The only evidence that wouldn’t disappear by itself was the trail of the wire in the icicle.”

Kyoko crossed her arms and slowly approached Kakitsubata. “I knew the killer would return to destroy that evidence. That’s why I first accused Mizuiyama, just as the culprit planned. I knew the true killer would lower their guard and reappear.”

Kakitsubata hung her head. Her shoulders sagged. The battle had been settled.

“Who the hell are you?” Kakitsubata asked with her head down. “Isn’t that Yui Samidare girl over there supposed to be the detective? Did she hire you? Or are you really one of Ryuuzouji’s underlings?”

“Who I am is irrelevant... It’s all over for you.”

“Over?” Kakitsubata muttered. She stared at Kyoko with hollow, ghost-like eyes.

The crowbar in her right hand slowly rose into the air...

“Stop!” I ran across the snow and leapt in between the two of them.

Kakitsubata’s arm stopped above my head.

“It’s against the rules to harm the detective!” I warned, throwing my arms out to protect Kyoko.

“Are you stupid?” Kakitsubata burst out into laughter. “You think I care about those silly rules when I’ve already lost?”

“Oh... I guess not...”

“Taking my anger out on you won’t do any good.” She sighed before tossing the crowbar away. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t care about the game. Don’t think I’m a sore loser; all I wanted was revenge.”

“Was revenge really the answer? Surely there must’ve been another—”

“I hear them.” She cut me off and raised her voice to nearly a shriek. “I can hear them on the other side of a door. Any door, the moment it shuts, I hear them coming from beyond. ‘It’s hot...’ ‘Help...’ Those voices calling out to me...”

“‘Hot?’ ‘Help?’”

“Do you remember the news about a fire in a mountain railway tunnel eight years ago? It made headlines. It was an accident caused by an electrical short circuit, but during the evacuation, one man shut the emergency door leading out of the tunnel. Twenty-eight people lost their lives that day. My family was among them. I survived because I made it out ahead of them, but that man came out right behind me, and I watched helplessly as he shut the door. He said he had to do it to survive... Even though many others were still on the other side...”

I vaguely recalled the incident. Due to a passenger closing off the emergency exit, many others were left behind to perish in the flames. There were some who testified that shutting the door halted the advance of the smoke, allowing the other two hundred plus passengers to safely escape.

The media and the police were unable to uncover the identity of the passenger in question. Nothing came of the matter, as public opinion opposed turning the incident into a witch hunt. Could that passenger be blamed? Nobody could answer that question, especially not those who weren’t directly involved.

“So... did his murder bring you salvation?”

“I don’t know,” Kakitsubata laughed at herself and looked down at her hands. “The truth is, it doesn’t feel like I killed him. All I did was set things up exactly as I was told. My hands don’t feel dirtied. When I saw his corpse, confusion overwhelmed me more than joy or relief, so much that I wondered if someone else had killed him for me. It still feels like I’m in a nightmare...”

“Then what purpose did his death serve?”

“I can only believe it saved not just me, but all those people beyond the door.” A gentle smile crossed her face. “I’m sure that even if a door closes, I won’t hear those voices calling for help on the other side anymore... They’ve been appeased through my salvation.”

She was another person who was cursed to battle against a tragic fate. The Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee had its eyes on people like her, prisoners of the past.

“Do you have a way to pay the 151 million yen?” Kyoko asked.

“Do I look like I’m made of money? If I did, I wouldn’t have gone through any of this in the first place.”

“Then listen to my advice.” Kyoko whispered close to her ear. “Turn yourself in to the police. If you go to the station with the officers here, you’ll be unharmed.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ve now become a target of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee. They’ll be coming to collect your debt by any means necessary. Of course, that includes murder.”

“No...” Kakitsubata’s lips shuddered. “Can’t I do something? You know a lot about them, right? Help me!”

“Understand that you’ve already crossed the line. From my point of view, you no longer exist in this world.” With her hair freely blowing in the wind, Kyoko stared off into the colorless night.

“No...”

“You should’ve asked for help before you resorted to murder.”

“Please, come on! Help me!”

The police had surrounded us. They led Kakitsubata into a police car. The cars and officers were likely real; I had watched them arrive at the start of the investigation.

The door to the car shut with Kakitsubata inside. Her expression was frozen onto her face. She covered her ears with her hands, and with eyes wide open in panic, shook her head back and forth over and over again. She was trembling with terror, just like a frightened child.

Had salvation come to her? What was salvation to her in the first place?

Before long, the flashing red lights disappeared beyond the bamboo.

4:00 AM. The police dropped Kyoko and me off at a hotel in the closest city. They paid for our lodging, still under the impression that we were Ryuuzouji’s assistants.

With the television playing on mute in the background, we sat atop the bed with our backs against the wall until the crack of dawn, stringing together words into a conversation that went nowhere. Reflecting on all the events of the previous day, it seemed like several days had passed by. But the fresh marks on Kyoko’s thin, white neck reminded me of our cruel reality.

“Does it hurt?” I touched her bruises with my fingertips, causing her to turn away with a frown. “S-Sorry...”

“I won’t get off this easy next time,” she said with little emotion. “I’ll be expecting you to protect me, Yui.”

She cradled her knees, pulled the blanket up to her chest, and leaned against my body before shutting her eyes.

As long as Kyoko’s remarkable abilities remained intact, she’d continue to face danger head-on. Each time, she’d risk getting hurt. If she renounced her role as a detective, she could live a comfortable life, but that option was out of the question for her. And I wanted her to have a long career as a detective. This world needed a beacon of light to cast away the darkness.

At some point, while mindlessly staring at the infomercials flashing on TV, I fell asleep sitting up. The world beyond the curtain was growing brighter, and the snow glistening on the windowsill signaled the arrival of dawn.

Next: Chapter 5, Part 1