#shakes a cup with coins rattling inside

[j-crow]

DOES ANYONE HAVE NINETY DOLLARS

[yandere-wishes]

⋆༺ One For The Money, Two For The Show ༻⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Yandere!Harvey Dent x Housewife! Reader ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆.𝄞 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝒷𝓎 𝐻𝑒𝓇'𝓈 & 𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒟𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝒟𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝑒𝓎𝄞˚.⋆

Love does not eliminate flaws it accepts them.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about Yandere! Harvey Dent who's always been a dreamer. Whose thoughts are always a bit too diluted with fantasies and fiction, with a rêve just out of his reach.

⋆◐⋆ Courtrooms or suburbia. He harbors both between his teeth letting the nectar trickle down his throat, choking on a perfection he knows he'll never be.

⋆◐⋆ Maybe he'd always been a bit too orthodox, a bit too romantic. That's what happens when you're raised on Americanna fairy tales. On folktales of princes riding white fords and finding their princess having Malts at the local soda fountain. That's what happens when you overdose on sitcoms and kitchen commercials. They make you dream of soft hands and even softer lips...

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent who, even now, even after his disfigurement, after his fall from grace. Still dreams of having a perfect life. A sweet little wife to come home to. Someone to trail kisses over his bullet wounds, to hold both sides of his face. Someone to love like the sun loves the moon, someone who'll love him back.

⋆◐⋆ He watches "I Dream of Jeannie" and "Bewitched" in surfeit, intoxicated by the soft pink and green hues of domestic bliss. Childhood habits die hard but they always resurface screaming. He's sprawled out on the couch as Harv nags him to change to "The Addams Family" or at the very least "The Munsters". But it's the same thing, right? Two sides of the same coin. What Harvey wants Harv wants. This perfect little life, with a perfect little wife.

⋆◐⋆ Morticia, Jeannie, Lily, Samantha. What the hell is the difference? Harv's eyes follow the trajectory of the silver celestial spinning atop their head. Does it even matter what side it lands on if they want the same thing? They're both dreaming of opening a pristine door. Of being greeted by the thick aromas of spice and rice. To hear the melodic click of heels on tiled floors. Maybe they've always been desperate for comfort, chasing a fantasy he can never quite grasp.

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent whose dreaming of a girl he knows, a pretty little girl from his past. A starry-eyed law student doing her internship at the DA's office. Or maybe a spunky little lady he took on as a henchman, a broken-hearted girl who rains bullets like stars and follows every decree of his coin, like a sacred oath. It doesn't really matter. So long as you're you, his ethereal little princess awaiting your two-faced prince to find you.

⋆◐⋆ In his dreams, you wear heels that chime on the carpeted floor. How he doesn't really know. You hand him a cup of tea when he walks in and a kiss that tastes like honeydew.

⋆◐⋆ Harv agrees, so maybe just maybe that's enough to satisfy the fantasy. To know that, if he's crazy, it's not only his half going insane.

⋆◐⋆ You'd be his perfect bride, and he'd love you with all his tattered heart. Plus he just knows you'd look better in the 1950's Dior dress and channel-cropped cardigan. Harv laughs he's more interested in the heels, designer, long, pointed. Relishing in the thought of their tips digging painfully into the back of his thigh.

⋆◐⋆ 'She'd look better inside the apartment, scurrying to the door when she hears us come in.' Harvey closes his eyes, the thought tastes utterly divine, rattling around his fractured head. Being wanted, being needed. It would feel nothing short of heavenly.

⋆◐⋆ 'You'd like that college boy I know you would, pretty little princess wrapping her frail arms around our neck. Kissing your cheek, my cheek. Our hands trailing up her hips-"

⋆◐⋆ Harvey shakes his head trying to get rid of the fantasy. He can't let such thoughts linger long, or else he'd spill blood just to have you between his arms. Sweet, cute, and frivolous, awaiting him to return to you once more.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent, whose coin lands on the scared side, but really deep down he knows it never mattered what side was destined to surface. He knew he was always meant to have you.

⋆◐⋆ Yandere! Harvey Dent who corners you when you're out alone one night. Who pushes stars between your lips tasting eden on your tongue, eager to choke on your sweetness. It's a proposal laced with desperation and obsession. A bloody candy gram screaming I love you.

⋆◐⋆ He's too high off of his delusions to notice how you struggle and squirm.

⋆◐⋆ He only fully registers the fear shimmering all so brightly in your big doe eyes, when the tears begin to fall. When he notices how desperately you try to pull your wrist from his grasp. It takes a moment to calm Harv down, to make him understand that you're reaction, while not ideal, is in fact normal.

⋆◐⋆ 'This is fine' he thinks, 'it just takes some getting used to'.

⋆◐⋆ Everything takes getting used to at first. Fingers trailing absentmindedly over the knuckles of his scarred hand.

⋆◐⋆ That night you cried yourself to sleep, as Harvey whispered saccharine little words into your ear. Kissing up and down your neck cooing and cuddling. As he drifted off into blissful sleep right next to your tortured form.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of what happens when he's had his darling for a while. Does he coax her into the role of his perfect wife? Does she haphazardly stumble into it out of sheer boredom?

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent waking up cold and lonely. Fingers stretching to your side desperate to feel the softness of your flesh. Instead, he's met with the neatly made comforter and the painful absence of you. When he breaths -shakey ragged- there's vanilla under his breath, sugar wafting through the dichromatic apartment. His heart skips a beat, you really are the greatest.

'We should warn her to stay in bed until we wake up!'

'Then who the hell is going to make your breakfast moron? Huh? Didn't think that far ahead did-'

'Oh just shut up it's too early for your yapping.'

⋆◐⋆ "Harvey!" you chirp melodious lithe of your voice ringing ceremoniously to greet him. You're dolled up already in that purple dress he likes with the white heels Harv always picks. You run up to greet him and the click of your heels along his kitchen floor has him seeing stars. You leave lipstick prints on both his cheeks. Run your nails over his bare chest. You're so close, he can feel you're pretty heartbeat through your ribs.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about making breakfast for Yandere! Harvey. Turning on the TV and talking to him all so sweetly, you've been meaning to try a new cake recipe and you're wondering what flavor he prefers cherry or coconut or both? And there's a new Zorro movie playing in theaters you're wondering if he can take you after work tomorrow? He watches eyes blown wide as you bite down on your hotcake, fork between your plump lips, as you tilt your head. "You don't like it do you," you ask and the brittle nature of your voice has his heart shattering. "I do" he assures, they both do. They're just so surprised you're acting this nice, this loving, this...

⋆◐⋆ Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you look at him. Have you done something wrong? Is he mad at you? "Are you having another dissociation episode?" you're quick to rush to his side. You sit on his lap and run your fingers through his hair. Kissing his soft and scarred lips. Holding his face firmly. "We're fine" Harv assures, voice polluted with trepidation. Unconvinced you break off tiny bits of his hotcake and gently tap the fork on his lip. You feed him so tenderly, basking in the way his pretty eyes never leave your face. As his fingers play with your dress, pinching playfully at your hips.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about seeing Yandere! Harvey Dent off at the door. He's got a gang to run, a city to protect and destroy all in the same breath. You're sure one day you'll look out the window and see Gotham going up in flames only to be remade under your lover's careful hand. You wish him a good day, moaning softly as he kisses and bites your shoulder. Both hands entwining with your fingers. "Some day I'll take you with me, have you give the orders and watch as everyone jumps to obey."

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about Yandere! Harvey Dent in his office. He runs most of his operations from his two-toned building. He's closer to you this way. Keeping you locked up in the penthouse. Even when he's ordering his thugs around, planning the next heist or crisis or perfect crime he can't get you out of his head. He swears he can still hear the click of your heels from six stories up.

⋆◐⋆ Maybe it's cause he hasn't been happy in far too long, they both haven't. This eccentric euphoria bubbling inside their chest feels too foreign, painful even. Melconay replaced with something so warm and sweet. Something he never thought he would have.

⋆◐⋆ Thinking about surprising Yandere! Harvey Dent with lunch in his office. He's busy interrogating one of Falcone's thugs. Locations or gangwars you don't really care. You wince as Harv fires a bullet at the man's chest. Blood marring the walls and floor, you're careful to stirr clear. When the rage wears off he finally sees you, really sees you. Harvey is shocked and Two-Face is about to start yelling at you for leaving the apartment without permission. But you simply skip over the bloody body and hand him his lunch, kissing tenderly up his neck, pulling his body closer to yours. He's too starstruck to notice the dead man pulling out a gun. Precouopied with running his tongue along your teeth, and molding your bones to his touch. He never notices the dead thing writhing for life, for revenge...Until you've pulled out one of his shooters and shelled the man point blank. Beaming up at him with that eternally cheerful smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck once more, and inching closer to his lips...

⋆◐⋆ Thinking of Yandere! Harvey Dent waking up to the muffled sound of your sobs. And realizing it was all just a dream. You're curled up on the furthest end of the bed trying all so desperately to avoid him. He can faintly make out where you've thrown the new heels and the purple Dior dress he loved so much. Even after all this time you still haven't forgiven him for stealing you away. For locking you up and making you play into his little fantasies. Harvey rolls to his side trying to go back to bed, trying to tune out Harv's violent ramblings, trying to ignore the tear trickling down his cheek.

⋆◐⋆ He's happy, he's happy, he swears he's happy...

🎀: @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @testification @yuckcuy @realifezompire @devils-blackrose @dollyocaccount @uphighinthe-skies @d3athmaskd1v1n3 @callsigncrash

Thank you guys so much for reading ~💋

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: Lost

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The car rolls to a stop. It’s only then that you realise you’re no longer standing in front of your building. You flick your tear-webbed lashes and sniffle. You wipe your swollen and raw nose. The night clears before you as a sleek and modern geometric home stands before you. You lean forward as you cup your forehead. 

“Tootsie roll,” Lloyd startles you as the soft whir of the engine fades. 

You look at him. You’re in shock. At least, you think that’s what this is. Everything feels distant. You’re numb and yet you feel everything at once. It’s like living that dreadful day all over again. 

“How lovely,” your aunt Marguerite admires the silverware, “he always was a collector. He’d want me to have this.” 

“And his coins,” Uncle Carlos adds, “priceless. A keepsake to remember him by.” 

Family you hadn’t heard from in years, family you didn’t know, milled through your father’s home. Your home. They picked it apart like scavengers. They didn’t care about the funeral, not how much it cost, or even that your father was dead. They were only concerned about their bequeathal. 

And your father was always a generous man. He thought of every single one of them and you knew he wouldn’t deny any of them. So you didn’t. They took it all as you watched helplessly. No condolences, no shared memories of the man that was, not even an empathetic embrace. 

You said goodbye alone. You paid for the urn and his cremation and sold the house. You couldn’t afford it alone. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep living there with him haunting the walls. Instead, you took him with you to that apartment and he... 

You snap back to the land of the living. A bright light nearly shines you and you shield your face with your hand. You look down at your boots, the snow melting and weeping onto the mat. Lloyd tugs at the buttons of your coat and you jolt in surprise. 

“Hey, I know it’s been a long night--” 

“He’s gone.” You say coarsely. 

He tilts his head and his brows furrow in confusion, “he? Who?” 

“He’s dead,” you croak and turn away from his grasp. 

You bend over as you cradle your head and sob again. You want to scream. You can’t. You fold and collapse onto the floor. 

You’re scooped up and sat on something firm. Your coat is stripped away, your boots unlaced, and you’re take away from the front door of the strange house. The walls move past you as Lloyd carries you and lays you down on a cloud. 

You roll over and hide your face. If you close your eyes, it can’t be real. You sink into the mattress and your mind. 

“You’ll be okay,” your father rasps as he pats your hand, almost too weak for the simple gesture. “You always were the strongest person I know. Don’t know where it...” 

He didn’t finish the sentence for the rattling cough that overtook his frail body. He was no longer the brutish man who used to bluster in like a storm. He still laughed but it wasn’t that hardy bellow that made you warm inside. It was a rickety noise like the shaking of a stone in a can. 

He left more than that unfinished. He left you undone. He left you.  

He left you. 

He left you. 

You flail onto your back and gasp up at the ceiling. Where are you? You sit up and the world swims in shadows. Only the soft glow of the lamp wards of the shadows in the corners. 

You swallow dryly. Your head throbs, your eyes are half-swollen shut, and your nose is dried out. You’re still there. Why? Why are you still here without him? 

You fall back on the pillows and heave. You have nothing left to cry. You can only shake as you stare at the plaster. 

The lamplight eases with the rise of the sun between the curtains. You wallow in your renewed grief. It never truly went away, just ebbed until the tide came rolling over like a tsunami. Now you are lost to the depths. 

A gentle tap sounds like a thunderous boom. You flinch and tilt your head to see the door as it opens. A blurry figure enters. It isn’t until he’s at the side of the bed that you recognise Lloyd. He sits lightly and touches your shoulder. His hand feels like flames. 

“I called the building. It’s... nothing’s salvageable--” 

“Leave me alone,” you close your eyes and suck back a hiccup. 

“I know, it’s hard. Your whole life was in that apartment, sweetie, but you got me. You’re best friend. Huh? Me and you, we’re going to rebuild it all.” 

“You can’t,” you mutter. 

“Ah, whatever you want, tootsie, I’ll get it for you.” 

“I don’t want... anything,” you hiss. 

“Things are things, baby cakes,” he rubs your arm. “But you still got a friend, don’t ya?” 

“If you hadn’t-- I would’ve been there. I could’ve--” you gulp and shake your head. It doesn’t matter. 

“I’ll take care of ya,” he continues to pet you. “Get you everything you need. You’re gonna need a computer for work, huh? You can set up in here, or another room. Get a nice desk. Oh, you’re gonna need something to wear...” he pinches your sleeve. “Tell me your favourite snacks and I’ll order groceries--” 

You sit up and shove him away. It’s too much. He’s smothering you.  

You remember when you would have begged for someone to help. To just hug you. To just be there to cry with. Now, you just want to be left alone. 

“No, I’ll find somewhere else,” you say. “You don’t have to...” 

It won’t last. He’s nice now but he’ll leave you too. Just like everyone else. If he doesn’t do it himself, the world will take him away. 

“Tootsie roll, you need to relax--” 

“I can’t!” You snap and stand, only to stumble and land on your knees. You pant and heave as you keel over, arms shaking as you hold yourself over the floor. 

“Baby,” he hurries around and lifts you back onto the bed. “Your body’s telling you to stop.” He drags you back and pushes you onto your back, “so stop.” 

[meg-moira]

A short story based on this writing prompt.

Follow my Patreon for more writing!

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The woman sloshed from the water, waves frothing about her knees as if the cold ocean was straining to keep her. Once on land, her soft toes sunk into wet sand as her legs wobbled with disuse. Lush black hair hung over her shoulders and back in sodden, twisting ringlets, and she crossed her arms against the cold as she stumbled toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. Goosebumps rose along dark skin as her eyes, black as the sea-depths, searched the beach for movement.

Save for the scuttling of a gray crab, all was still.

Naia was the name she had chosen, and when she emerged from the rocks, Naia wore a thick shawl, cotton breeches, and boots which made her toes feel warm but terribly constricted. Standing on the sand, she brushed her fingers along the fabric, hands tracing down the sides of her legs. With an eager, if not somewhat ungainly skip, she set out toward the white bluffs which stretched above the beach - and the red-roofed buildings which piled atop them.

In the city’s streets, Naia was treated to a series of friendly nods. She’d visited the city a handful of times over the past year, and it seemed that at least a few of the residents recognized her. The thought warmed her, and Naia made the rest of the journey to the tea shop with a delighted spring in her admittedly, still wobbly steps.

She was jittery with an energy which was both excited and nervous, for she had made a friend. A human friend. Her friend’s name was Saoirse, and Naia had met her after unknowingly venturing into town on a market day. Saoirse was selling bracelets made of pretty ocean polished stones, and though Naia had no money at the time, she’d stopped to admire the jewelry all the same. Touched by Naia’s admiration of her work, Saoirse slipped a bracelet over Naia’s hand, and the only payment she asked for was to meet for tea a month from that day.

And now, a month later, Naia stood at the tea shop entrance, stone bracelet cool against her wrist.

Saoirse sat at a round wooden table in a tucked-away corner, beneath a window trimmed in emerald curtains. Her pale hands were folded together atop the table, and chestnut brown hair, cropped short, curled about her ears. She had a narrow face, a strong, high bridged nose, and large dark eyes. As soon as Naia stepped into the shop, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her, those large eyes flickered up. Instantly, Saoirse was smiling, the kind which filled her face, dimpling her cheeks.

When Naia sat, it took her a moment to figure out how to fold her legs comfortably between the chair and table. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed not to notice, and when Saoirse reached across the table, squeezing Naia’s hands, Naia squeezed back. She was determined to avoid scaring her new friend away with the truth - that it was a mermaid who’d joined her for tea.

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Saoirse said, smiling brightly.

“And you,” Naia replied.

“I hope you don’t mind - I ordered tea for us both.”

“I don’t mind.”

Saoirse’s smile widened, and up close, Naia noticed that the teeth at the corners of her mouth looked surprisingly sharp. If humans hunted for fish in the sea like merfolk, Saoirse’s sharp teeth would be particularly useful, Naia thought - before forcing it out of her mind. She was meant to be making human conversation, not discussing the best methods for catching fish in one’s mouth.

Naia cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. Granted, the practice had been with a particularly talkative gannet. But practice was still practice, and Naia was determined to make a good, very human, impression.

“So,” Naia said, folding her hands in a mimicry of Saoirse’s posture. “Is selling jewelry your means of collecting coins?”

Saoirse’s chin dipped in a hurried nod. “Oh yes. I collect many beautiful coins from my jewelry sales.”

“Wow,” Naia said, a little breathlessly, as she imagined what it would be like to hold so many pretty, gleaming coins in her hands.

“What of you?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh, I-” Naia stammered. “I - um, find my coins. In the sand.” There really was no way to explain that she collected the stray coins which dropped like fallen stars to the sea floor.

“The sand,” Saoirse breathed, black eyes growing wide. “How marvelous.”

Naia grinned, pleased that her answer had been satisfactory. Breathing easier, she relaxed back into her chair.

A young man delivered their tea. He carried a teapot and two earthen mugs. As he bent over the table, nimble fingers deposited the teapot and then the two mugs before them. He had long black hair that fell over his shoulder in a long braid and eyes as bright as a kelp forest in shallow water. Dipping his head, he said, “Please enjoy,” before hurrying away.

Naia stared for a moment at the pot in silent consideration, and when she looked up, saw Saoirse doing the same. However, when Saoirse saw Naia looking, she straightened up, grabbing for the teapot. Pulling it in front of her, she plucked the lid from the top and peered down at the liquid inside. Her nostrils flared as she eyed it critically.

“Is it...okay?”

Saoirse paused before nodding. “Yes. You’ve got to check beforehand to be sure, though.”

Naia nodded as if this made perfect sense. In truth, she knew little of tea, and had yet to consume any in her visits to land.

Wordlessly, Saoirse plucked a spoon from a tray at the table and set about scooping sodden leaves into each of the mugs. Tilting her head, Naia watched the process, utterly fascinated. She had always assumed tea referred to the liquid - but clearly it was meant to describe these leaves once they were soaked in water.

When Saoirse slid her a mug, Naia grabbed a spoon of her own. Before eating however, Naia paused. She recalled a ritual she’d observed humans practicing at meals. Meeting Saoirse’s eyes, she dipped her head down and said, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

Saoirse blinked, and then she was nodding. Dipping her head, she repeated Naia’s words, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

And then, lifting their spoons, they scooped the wet leaves into their mouths.

The taste was...bitter. But no more bitter than a bite of an urchin not yet matured. Naia turned the leaf over in her mouth before grinding it between her teeth and swallowing.

“A delicacy,” Naia said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Saoirse replied, poking at the other leaves in her cup.

Naia watched as she spooned another glob of leaves into her mouth. As she leaned forward over the cup, Naia noticed, for the first time, the thick pelt that wrapped around her shoulders. It was odd. The pelt was dark - almost oily in appearance, and it certainly should have been one of the first things she noticed - but until now, Naia’s eyes had slid right over it. It was pretty, she reflected, admiring the sheen.

“I like your shawl.”

When Saoirse stiffened, Naia froze, wracking her brain to determine the human social norm she had violated. Perhaps Saoirse thought she wanted it? Because that was what had happened with the bracelet, wasn’t it? But it was one thing to give away a trinket and quite another to give away the pelt which kept you warm.

“I do not want it,” Naia hurried to explain. “Your bracelet was gift enough for me.”

Saoirse’s tight expression relaxed, and she lifted a hand, running her fingers along the pelt. “It is special to me.”

“It is lovely.”

“Thank you,” the corners of Saoirse’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

When the waiter returned, he glanced a little oddly at the teapot and mugs. When he asked them if the tea was satisfactory, both women assured him it was. Before returning to the back, he turned a dark, contemplative look upon them both.

Both Naia and Saoirse watched him go.

“Perhaps I should have given him shinier coins,” Saoirse mused in a thoughtful whisper.

Naia swallowed, nodding, for that must have been what offended him. “We humans love our shiny things.”

“That we do,” Saoirse agreed, and promptly dug a gleaming coin from the pouch at her waist. Holding it triumphantly up, she set it on the table with a click. “I’m sure this will please him.”

“If it doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Naia said a little haughtily. “It’s very shiny.”

Both women gazed a little wistfully at the coin.

“So,” Saoirse said at last. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do?”

Naia didn’t hesitate with this answer. It was one she had prepared. “I walk. Everywhere. All of the time. Walking. It burns my muscles most pleasantly.”

“Walking is wonderful, isn’t it?” Saoirse agreed, an excited flush crossing her pale cheeks. “Not always convenient. But it’s always an adventure.”

Naia nodded in eager agreement. She was overjoyed to have so much in common with this human.

“Perhaps we can walk after our tea,” Naia ventured. “Where the cliffs overlook the sea.”

Before Saoirse could answer, the waiter returned. His hands slammed the table, and Naia and Saoirse both jumped in their seats as the teapot and cups rattled on the shaking wood. Saoirse’s lips curled back, and her white teeth gleamed. From Naia’s mouth, there escaped a hiss.

Gone was the waiter’s easy cordiality. His fine-boned cheeks were pale, and those green eyes were sharp as the broken glass which collected beneath the shipyard waters. His elegant fingers curled around the edges of the table as he glared.

“I know,” he said, and his voice was trembling. Whether with rage or fear, Naia couldn’t be sure.

Naia’s heart was a rock in her chest. Mouth dry, she could only stare as her toes curled helplessly in her boots.

It was Saoirse who spoke. “Know what?” she snapped.

“You can stop hiding. I know what you are.”

Naia heaved a shuddering breath. Swallowing, she looked across the table. Saoirse, her gaze filled with inexplicable terror, stared back.

“I don’t understand why you fae hunters won’t just leave me alone.” The waiter’s voice hitched, and he sounded near to tears.

Naia’s head whipped around so fast that her neck gave a twinge. “What?”

At once, the waiter's rage fled, melting instead into an exhausted sort of grief. Green eyes welling with bright, inhuman tears, he bitterly shook his head. “I saw that you refused the tea. Not a drop of it was drunk! It’s a myth you know. I can’t bespell folk with just any food or drink.”

“Oh,” Naia said, drawing a wondering breath. “You’re meant to drink it.”

“Yes of course you drink-” the waiter’s mouth snapped closed. “Wait what?”

“What?” Saoirse exclaimed, looking at Naia.

“Wait...” Naia said looking back at Saoirse, taking in her dark eyes and the pelt around her shoulders.

“What?!” the waiter said, throwing his hands up as he looked between them.

“You’re not human,” Naia and Saoirse said in unison.

For a long moment, all three were silent.

And then Saoirse was laughing, and it was a sharp, barking sound.

Naia pressed a hand over her mouth as she looked at Saoirse. “You’re a selkie,” she said between her fingers.

“Well of course I am. And you’re merfolk,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Yes well you’re both responsible for the couple hundred years that stress probably took from my life,” the waiter said, tossing his braid over his shoulder and crossing his arms against his chest.

“Is leaf water good?” Naia asked, looking at him doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” the waiter said with a sigh and pulled up a chair. “Here, let me pour it.”

Steam rose from the mugs, and Naia watched as it softened Saoirse���s sharp features. “I thought you were my first human friend,” Naia admitted.

Saoirse bit her lip, and Naia again glimpsed those sharp teeth. “Maybe instead I’ll be your first Selkie friend?”

Wrapping her fingers around the hot mug, Naia smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“And we can still take that walk. I do so like moving these legs,” Saoirse said. Gaze sliding to her right, she studied the waiter. “Would you like to join us, faerie?”

“It’s Adam,” he said with a sniff. “And yes, alright.”

“I’ll give you a bracelet to make up for scaring you,” Saoirse said.

“And I will not eat you should you slip and fall into my waters,” Naia generously offered.

“...thanks.”

Naia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tea was good, as it turned out. And once the teapot was empty, the mermaid, selkie, and faerie left the shop to walk together.

If any should have turned their gaze toward the ocean that day, they would have observed three windswept silhouettes trailing along the pale bluffs. And should the watcher have persisted in watching, they would have seen the figures’ outlines shifting, becoming something beautiful and other when faced with the vast blue of sky and sea.

[prettynxsty]

Stirring the Hooch 🍷

Domme!Reader x Sub!Jin

Warnings: Morning sex, jin has a pussy, consumption of booze and drunkenness, graphic mentions of vomiting, appearance of ot7, dirty talk, jin is a little bossy, y/n has a big ass dick, use of noona/hyung in a non sexual way, a little bit of cum play, creampie, partially clothed sex.

A/N: Vacation sex with just a liiiiittle bit of plot lmfao. There’s no facefucking because i was worried that it was getting too long. Anyway, enjoy.

You all but crashed out of bed this morning, landing on your hands and knees with a muted thump. You would’ve patted yourself on the back for even managing to strip and change your clothes for bed last night, but you felt like you were still drunk.

You should have regretted everything that happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You plant your palms on the floor, rocking yourself forward and will yourself to start crawling. You knock your yoga mat away from your bags, watching the little purple tube bounce until it goes still.

You slap your hand over it, messily swatting it open. You crawl over it with a sigh and position yourself over the mat. It should have been a bad memory.

_

The table was 3 rounds of shots in before the waitress kindly reminded you that bottomless mimosas were only 5 dollars. Eyebrows rose around in a wave, sharing a devilish look of agreement. It was vacation, wasn’t it?

Something crazy began to leak out of your ears when you decided to cash in.

Namjoon was the first to throw himself to his feet, climb on the booth and begin dancing. Jimin whoops to the beat in encouragement, clumsily scrambling up on his chair to join his hyung.

Yoongi gets this strange look in his eye, dumping himself over Hoseok’s shoulder. They howled in laughter until Yoongi was crying. Actually crying.

What pleasantly surprised you the most is when Yoongi kneeled on the booth, facing away from the other side of the table, and began to shake his ass in a way that you wouldn’t have expected from him.

Jungkook’s faith was tested today, usually as the one who finishes everyone else's food, he decided to polish off the rest of everyone’s glasses.

Your sight of the world is stilted, moving in colored frames. You hear the noise of a bit of crashing and chair shifting, turning to see Jin. His sandals slap noisily against the floor as he barrels onto the dance floor, into the middle of the crowd.

Taehyung is bouncing up and down in his seat, shouting adlibs to the sound, pumping his hand in the air. You allow your head to fall forward, shoulders bouncing with a slow bout of laughter that makes your whole body bounce.

_

You slide your hands backward until they reach your knees, flipping your palms. You take a slow breath in, resting your forehead against the floor. You feel a dancing in your spine, your body so desperately wants to sway to sound that is not heard. The spirits must dance amongst themselves, you must return to yourself, to the terran world.

_

The same translucent lasso wraps around your arms and squeezes them to your sides. A burning call. You’re apt to rise when you’re full of this feeling, the pull is something indescribable. It crawls from the soles of your feet, causing them to tap. It races through you, your shoulders are swaying like a pendulum.

Deny yourself, you will not. You flew, tripping over the flat of the ground and blitz into the crowd to dance.

_

You breathe out slowly, flipping your palms and walking them forward. Your torso follows until your hips carefully nestle on the mat. Like sizzling wisps of smoke, the tightness knotted in you began to dissipate. You stretch your shoulders backward, gentle snaps and pops bursting in the air due to the tension knotted into your limbs like loops pulled too tight.

_

You’re screaming to every second beat, the world below is more than a reach away. Your legs are swinging through the gap between Namjoon and Jungkook’s shoulders. It feels as if the whole building is bouncing with you, your sanity went back to the home to rest.

_

You tilt your hips forward, leaning your weight onto the balls of your feet before rising into downward dog. Your lower back clicks, a rattling groan of relief shivers its way out of your mouth. You were finally beginning to feel your clothes against your body.

Your cock hangs limply out of one of the leg holes of your tiny shorts, scrunched up to your inner thighs. Your breasts sway gently, peering their way through the large holes of your oversized tank top. There was no reason that you wore that thing to bed, you usually woke up with a breast hanging out somehow.

_

It was a wonder you weren’t kicked out. You had no idea who paid for dinner, the amount would feel exorbitant. Nonetheless, a vacation should be indulgent.

Despite everyone being so ridiculously inebriated, you managed to concur that taking a taxi would be more trouble than it was worth since nobody was sober enough.

The villa was only a few blocks away anyway.

You hardly made it two block away from the place before everything seemed to fall into itself. Jimin dumped himself on the curb to take off his shoes even though he was only wearing sandals. Jungkook tripped his way over to the trash can on the corner as quickly as he could for someone who was plastered.

He grips handfuls of his shirt to hold it out of the way, even when drunk he was still meticulous. He retches weakly.

Risotto wasn’t nearly was beautiful or decadent when it came back out. Twenty-plus dollars directly into the bin on the city street. He gags so forcefully that he misses for a split second, a bit of cream colored mush dripping over the side before wetly splashing over the rest of the discarded garbage inside.

“Oh gawd- let’s go get him something.” Hoseok misses at patting your shoulder, but grabs your hand to drag you across the empty street to the convenience store on the other side.

You tried to straighten up when the cooler air washes over you, but your eyes were still very bleary. You stop by the baked goods and grab him a delicious yeasty smelling twisted donut and a ginger ale.

Hoseok stumbles up to the counter beside you, plopping a few bags of chips on it. “The salt will settle his tummy,” he explains quickly.

You give him a goofy smile, shaking your head and hand the cashier a little over exact change in cash. You gently push their hand away when they offer back the remaining coins, scooping up your items and head on your way.

You return across the street to Jimin struggling to stay awake from where he sat on the curb, Yoongi and Taehyung quietly hugging, Jin staring into the void of stars, and Namjoon showering kisses over Jungkook’s forehead.

“My poor Googoo,” he wails dramatically. Jungkook puckers his lips, prompting a raspy shriek from the older as he stumbles away. Jungkook chuckles, spreading his arms wide in request of an embrace.

You cringe, holding out the donut and drink with an awkward smile. It wasn’t as if he reeked of vomit, you just preferred for him to settle his stomach first.

“Googieeee~!” Hoseok shrieks, nearly tripping over the curb before hugging the younger man.

“Thank you Noona.” Jungkook pouts from over Hoseok’s shoulder, clumsily taking the items from your hand.

_

You turn your torso to the side, shifting your left foot forward into a lunge. You raise your arm with a slow breath inward, shifting your weight accordingly.

Jin was beautiful even when he snored all night, he was propped against the pillows like Snow White in her glass case. He’d opened his eyes quite a bit ago, silently watching you stretch yourself out.

“You look really tempting when you do that, babe.” He rasps.

Your impenetrable focus is shattered, causing you to cover your face with an incredulous laugh. “Before breakfast?”

“Hell yeah before breakfast, I don’t just wanna look, I wanna touch. Come here.”

“You’re still drunk too, huh?”

“There are a lot of times that I’m insatiable, but I want it right now.”

His assertiveness always sends a funny little churn through your belly.

You slowly shift the weight of your body onto your feet and stand. Not as heavy or dizzy as before, but a different tingling began to set inside of you. Your glance down, reaching to unfurl your shorts.

“Uh-uh, leave them like that.” He gives you a smile that’s absolutely devilish, shoving the sheets away from his lap. “Come to mama.”

It dawns on you as you approach the bed that he must’ve snatched up your shirt to sleep. It rode up his belly just a little, leading way to his light blue slip.

You plant your hands on the mattress, crawling in between his thighs. He leans forward, placing his hands on your hips and gently rubbing your sides. You cup his face, gently combing through his messy black tufts with your fingers.

His eyes scrunch up with a giddy chuckle, his neck was still flushed. Not quite as much as dark juice that leaks from berries gnashed between teeth. But rather the breath of age that colored ripened flesh of fruit from taught and pale shells surrounding infant seeds.

You imagined him as your first cabernet.

You were home alone. There was never any alcohol in the cabinets, not within your reach. However there was one bottle that sat on the highest shelf that’d begun to haunt your mind.

You thought about him day and night, wondering if you should be so daring as to wrap your fingers around the cork and pluck it out.

The bottle was dark, not so much as black, but an impenetrable brown of iodine or creamless coffee.

You stood in the pantry, door closed behind you as if there would be a soul to see. You rise with the aid of a little black stool, carefully grabbing the ruby red scarf wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

The pop of the remaining forth of the cork causes your breathing to break away. Dare it be said this noise was foreign, not yet attributed to merriment and celebration for you.

You raise the bottle to your lips and pour it in. The mouth feel is heavier than water, nothing unsettling.

Your tongue begins to glitter in a way you cannot determine if it’s unpleasant or lovely. Effervescence. Armoracia assaults your tongue, strangling with a fruitiness.

Your brows furrow, trampled all is with acridity. Your throat seems to close, denying entry to such drink, warming the back of your nostrils. With a thick noise, you manage to swallow it. A strange trail of fire roasts a trail over the back of your esophagus before heating the pool of your stomach.

Your adolescent tongue was unable to accord with this experience. Turned away, you squeeze the cork back in the bottle and return it to where it rest before and exit the pantry.

He, before you, a taste of wine that prompted you to have another sip. You couldn’t help but polish him off over and over again. His well never ran dry.

You kiss him with a soft hum. You imagine the taste of mature grapes. His lips push against yours hungrily, flexing and relaxing like the yielding of fruit under your teeth.

From the spring, you made him feel refreshed and clear. God himself ran your droplets from the glacier and straight into his cup.

He drank from many places, many streams. You were of the first, the only to cleanse and wash his palate.

Your depth, your minerals, mellowed his harshness, his sting. No longer rousing spirits, he bestows joy amongst all.

Your hand slips from his hair, landing gently on his shoulder. Your fingertips roll into the thick of his shoulder, squeezing it as he slips his tongue through your lips.

He reaches up the leg of your shorts, wrapping his hand around your warm shaft. He’s priming you to fuck him, to use him like some breeding buck.

He jerks his hand slowly but firmly. You groan into his mouth, nearly squirming at the sensation of your foreskin rolling and stretching over the tip of your cock.

Your hand drops from his shoulder, fingers dipping their way under his panties. His croon tingles the seam of your mouth as you slip your fingers in between his outer lips and spread them apart.

It was as if he shocked you, you pull from his lips with a wet smack to catch your breath. He always made you feel so crazy. Jin smiles, slowly thumbing at your tip.

The tip of your tongue heavily slips from your gums to sweep away the deeper notes on your bottom lip.

He hesitates not to drink of your spring, leaning in and draws your tongue between his mouth with a greedy swallow. Flushing and blooming, your belly burns just as your first taste did.

His lengthy fingers slip under your night shirt, curling around the heft of your breast. He releases your mouth with a full sigh of satisfaction.

You lift your fingers to your mouth, sweeping away his pussy juice with your tongue. You hum from the pit of your gut, you could taste the fruit of the land already. The musky aroma of papaya and melon, added tang of pineapple, the earthy, milkiness of coconut.

“I wanna do it raw,” he breathes as his knuckles gently close around and twist your nipple. You glance up at him, slipping your slick fingers out of your mouth and dig them back under the hem of his undergarments.

You never did it with condoms anyway, but he never failed to grasp his chance to set your blood asunder. You drag the tips of your fingers over his inner lips, stretching and spreading them. You drag your middle finger along the seam of his petals, swirling it around his hole and gently digging it against his clit.

He hisses, rolling his hips in hopes you’d give him more.

“Did you hear me?”

He releases his grip on your breast, cupping your chin and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me raw, that means I want you to cum inside of me.” His following moan is a beautiful titter as he drags the thick of his tongue over your lips, kissing you noisily. He releases the grip of your cock, wiggling forward to lay back against the bed.

He was only ever so demanding when he was itching for you to make a mess of him. As he moves to make simple work of his panties, you take note to do the same and rid yourself of your own bottoms.

You wiggle off of the bed, wiggling your shorts down to your ankles.

“You’re so bossy today. You’re gonna need to slobber on it first, Jinnie.”

His heart seizes, bursting into a shower of pretty pink butterflies. His cunt flutters immediately at the sonority that coats your voice in viscous amber.

He quickly walks his hands forward, shifting toward the end of the bed and rolling onto his tummy. He needlessly pretties himself for you, combing his hair away from his forehead. His eyes are positively twinkling as he rests his chin on the mattress.

“It’d be quite the inconvenience if one of the others were to come in and see me cramming my dick into your mouth,” you click your tongue. You place your hand on his head, lovingly stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Maybe I should use this mouth more often, it’s much quieter.”

He furrows his brows, inhaling quickly to fix you with a response.

Your resolve crumbles with your face scrunching up in amusement. “Okay! Okay! Don’t say anything, open your mouth.”

He makes a face, cutting his eyes at you as you grab ahold of your shaft and position it at his mouth.

_

“Fuck, fuck.. Turn around, let me see your pussy.” You step backward to free yourself from his mouth, trying to catch your breath.

He licks his swollen, slobbery lips with a smile and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jin turns slowly, propping himself up on his knees. You took an unsteady breath inward to ask about his well being, but when he presented himself, you understood immediately.

His cunt was fully in bloom between his thighs, fatter, puffier. Healthily flushed and glistening, you clap your hand over his ass.

He whines, couldn’t you see the syrupy drips and trails clinging to his inner thighs?

You push his ass up with your palm, admiring how his pussy stretched and trembled. You decidedly slip your thumb just barely in between his lips and swirl your finger through his arousal.

You grip the base of your cock with your other hand and press it up against his hole. The upper half of his body relaxes instantly, slumping against the bed with a croon that sends chills spidering over your heated flesh.

You rock forward gently, pushing your way inside of him. Jin takes to you without hesitation, pulsing and squeezing around you.

“This fucking-” you clap your hand over his ass with more force “-cunt is always so good to me,” you growl.

He mewls when you bottom out, rolling your hips forward to push deeper into him.

You rear back, easily building your pace inside of him. You move your grip to taking tight handfuls of the shirt that rolled up his back, yanking him back against you with each thrust inward.

Each moan of his began long and drawn out like the soft calls of the loon under nightfall. You prop your foot up on the bed frame, planting yourself more firmly to set a stronger pace.

The noise of your skin clapping together began to bounce off of the walls, rocking to bed to which he gripped so dearly.

You allow yourself to fall astray of control, pounding into him with deep, sharp strikes. His moans quickly evolve into frantic wails, his voice catches in his throat each time you drag him away from squirming into the escape.

You cease only for a moment to allow him to catch his breath, to which his forehead drops against the sheets with a muted rustle.

A second was efficient enough, you shift your foot and plant it more firmly before you continue your assault on his poor pussy.

He whines something at you, muffled.

“What was that?” You purr, continuing to jerk your hips shamelessly. Your moans rise and flow from your lips like a steady spring.

He manages to lift his head, thrashing it with a keen when you plunge in just a bit harder than before. It was so hard to speak when you kept knocking the breath out of his lungs. “You’re too deep inside,” he whines, unable to control the moans squeezing through his noisy panting.

“It’s too deep?” You coo, feeling your lips curl in a slight smile when you watch his messy head of black hair bob up and down.

“Roll over so I can play with your pussy,” you slow your relentless thrusts and gently move back until your cock flops wetly out of his hole.

He slumps almost completely when you pull out of him, weakly propping his palms up and laying down. Use of his legs was reasonably impossible as of now, which you quickly noted. “Move back a little,” he scoots himself backward almost pitifully.

If you weren’t almost painfully hard, you’d be more willing to let him take a break. You climb onto the bed and straddle his right thigh, propping the left over your shoulder.

You nudge yourself in between his lips, guiding your shaft until it catches against his sloppy hole. He whimpers, dropping his head back when you push your way in. His pussy accommodates you with an indecent squish.

You wrap your arm around the leg thrown over your shoulder, rocking into him. You peer down at him, his eyes were still glassy from your abuse of his throat. Your breath hitches in your throat as you jerk your hips forward, the clap of your balls against the back of his ass echoes louder.

“I wish you knew what you do to me,” you sigh hotly through teeth clenched. Your molars grind together as you return to pistoning inside of him, mashing your pelvis into his.

He was foolish enough to tilt his hips forward, the entire bed rocks pitifully as a testament to its modern craftsmanship.

Jin was flushed down to his chest, puckered lips flapping with each noisy gasp. He felt so light, he couldn’t tell if he were near fainting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he yelps. He is barely able to lift his hands and shove his shirt around to play with his nipples.

You gently stretch his mound toward him, stroking your thumb around the spongy flesh near his clit. His shriek catches on the back of his tongue, you feel yourself begin to burn and melt.

Ruby red drips of wax cooling against a marble counter.

You nearly pull out of him on instinct, gripping the base of your dick with an ugly whimper. Your body seizes, rigid as you begin to cum.

You can hardly hear his breath in your ears over the sound of your heartbeat, your own moans are high and shaking.

You pull away from him with a rattling breath, unleashing a few final weak spurts against his folds.

You struggle to regulate your own rhythm, clumsily slipping your fingers in his sloppy cunt to spread your cum around. He whines, swatting at your hand.

“Heh,” your chest bounces weakly, “we were probably so loud.”

“I’m too tired to nag you, but I could’ve died.”

“Oh hush, we need to get ready soon.”

He gives you a crazy look before dropping his head back down and motioning you toward the door. “It’s not like you broke my legs or anything.”

_

“When do we get our turn?” Jimin calls from the dining room with a telling smile.

You stop cold in the entryway of the hall, turning to see the table full of your friends. They erupt in whooping laughter that causes you to continue hurrying on your way to run the bath. None of them should have even been alive at that hour, not with how they were last night.

“Nah, come back! I didn’t know Seokjin-Hyung could hit those kinds of notes!” Namjoon calls after you, cackling.

[hella1975]

today's taob praise (oo two days in a row look at me go) brought to you by the cup of coffee I am holding like a life line at entirely-too-early-oclock: if I had to do it in a single sentence, I would describe the art of burning as "a love letter to anger and it's many faces, such as grief or fear or the fight instinct." and I would tear out all of my favourite passages and slip them into the pockets of all of my jackets for when I need them

(capt-snoozles)

im shaking u by the shoulders like ur a piggy bank with coins rattling inside of ur beautiful mind ily ily ily

[shirtlesssammy]

8x06: Southern Comfort

Then:

Garth

Now:

Kearney, Missouri

A husband --possibly in the dog house?- gets run over by his very angry wife, and the audience gets to see the defacement of set dressing I have no desire to see in the first place.

Our boys are STILL fighting about Sam’s year of psychosis and Dean’s year of pining and romantic (and sexual?) frustration. Dean tells Sam he’s ready to talk about Benny whenever. Sam’s so pissed about Benny, but, like, grr, I firmly hold to the fact that Ameila was a figment of Sam’s psychosis because she’s not even close in comparison to their respective distractions to the job. Benny meant more somehow. Sam “Let’s Give the Monsters a Chance” Winchester just wants Dean to kill Benny ---and I haven’t read enough meta to understand why. Dean’s answer, and the only one that matters: “He’s my friend, Sam.” 

I get that this entire scene sets up the episode, but I’m still grrr about it. 

Anyway, the boys head off to their case, and find Garth!

He’s posing as a Texas Ranger. 

Garth is working cases, and he’s the new Bobby. Dean, bby, it’s okay. They go and interview the son of the victim/assailant. He tells them that his parents had a good marriage, and they were high school sweethearts. It makes no sense. His mom is at the hospital -and remembers nothing of the event. 

Assessing the crime scene, Garth finds ectoplasm. It’s green --not black. And Garth tastes it. Dean is not amused. Garth also gets a call from the coroner. The dead guy had the word ‘Alcott’ carved into his chest. 

They interview the wife. She doesn’t remember much --just a LOT of anger. Garth asks about ‘Alcott’ and she talks about her husband going to a dance with Sara Alcott in high school. Sara Alcott’s still alive --so this is a weird ghost possession. 

They head for food. Once at the bar, Garth asks Dean where he was the past year (Sam being locked away in a cabin hallucinating and recovering from his satan delusions.)  He tells Garth that his was in the non-Miami Purgatory. “Man, that’s balls.” Oh, GARTH. 

Dean asks about the confederate bullshit on the walls, and Garth fills them in on the fact that Missouri was a border state. He then reveals the genesis of his current job. He went to college and dental school. His first job was ganking the tooth fairy. 

Scott, the victim’s son, is about to head into a general store when he gets a call from his wife. He sees someone that he’s clearly trying to avoid, and then takes a hit from his asthma inhaler. Grabbing some money, and getting some black goo to ooze out of his ear, he heads inside. 

He’s pouring himself a hot cup of coffee when the dude he clearly didn’t want to see before confronts him. Scott throws the cup of coffee in his face and proceeds to take a shovel to the dude. LIKE WOW. 

But watching a security mirror reveals that he’s really an angry confederate soldier. Of course. 

Later at the scene, Sam, Dean, and Garth learn that Scott didn’t remember anything, felt a whole lot of anger, and the word ‘Sussex’ is scrawled in blood on the cooler door. Also, Garth is wearing Bobby’s hat. 

Oof.

Dean is not amused. 

Sam heads off to interview Sara Alcott Brown. She tells him of her youth. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s clear the wife never forgot what happened. Sam flashes to a post-coiltal Sam and Amelia. Amelia confesses she once had a husband. He died in Afghanistan. 

She ran away from her life, and met Sam. 

The team realizes that the dead and the killers all had long held resentments with each other. Garth uncovers some lore from Bobby’s journal: they’re looking for a spectre or an “avenging ghost” that forces you to act on long-held resentments. They discover a nearby grave desecration - it’s the Confederate tomb of the unknown soldier. That night they break into the tomb to burn the bones. Dean delivers a fitting eulogy: “We won.” 

At the jail, the shovel-bashing son from earlier begs for his inhaler. When a deputy fishes it out of evidence, he suddenly goes vengeful and shoots his boss.

At the station, they speculate that the burn job didn’t take because there’s a haunted object being passed from person to person. Sam interviews another officer, who reveals that a deputy with murder in his eyes is on his way to the hospital. Dean pursues. 

Sam and Garth follow up on another lead, and Garth encourages Sam to talk about his feelings. LOL, good luck, buddy! Sam has….ANOTHER FLASHBACK. This time, Amelia tells Sam that she vomited out too many feelings the night before, and she’s gotta go. Sam puppy dog eyes her, but she leaves anyway. (Boris maintains that Amelia was a hallucination, but Natasha now believes that Amelia is the blurry wife in the cursed finale. This...somehow makes the finale worse, for her.)

Sam and Garth talk to a hot librarian about the history of the unknown soldier. Dean, meanwhile, confronts the ghost-mad deputy who’s confronting a nurse or doctor....over a past bad call as a recreational league UMPIRE. smh

Garth and Sam learn that the rumored resident of the unknown soldier’s tomb is one of two estranged brothers. One brother fought for the confederacy and the other for the union. (LOOKS DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA.) Sam notices a penny necklace in the portrait of the soldier. 

For Hot Librarian Science:

At the hospital, the ghost sniffs Dean and finds him delicious….ly full of anger and betrayal. He jams the penny into Dean’s hand. Sam calls Dean and lets him know about the penny. Too little, too late. Dean’s waiting for them at the motel room and immediately points a gun at Sam. “You shoulda looked for me when I was in Purgatory.” 

Flashback to three days ago which is...a bit jarring. Careless teens play with the items in the soldier’s tomb. One of them pockets the coin, which they use to pay for snacks at a store. Later, the woman from the cold open gets the coin back in change. We get the full chain of custody of the coin - I suppose to show us that it’s super duper hard to shake off that darn ghost. I recall 15x19 and grind my teeth.

Cut back to Dean, who is still ready for MURDER. Dean rattles off a list of grievances from the prior seasons. 

Sam tries to wrest the gun from Dean’s hands and gets knocked across the room for his trouble. Garth intervenes, using himself as a shield, and tries to de-escalate the situation. Sam fails to READ THE ROOM and brings up Benny again. Smh

When Dean lunges for Sam, Garth knocks him one right in the kisser and when Dean reels back the coin drops. Dean’s abruptly himself again.

Garth reaches for the coin to Sam and Dean’s concern. But as we all know, Garth is a PURE SOUL and is therefore immune to vengeful spectres. 

After Garth destroys the coin, he sternly tells Dean to “stop being an idjit” and get along with Sam! They hug, and Dean gives Garth Bobby’s hat back. HEARTS

Alas, the episode doesn’t end on a high note. Sam has one more flashback to his time with - DEEP SIGH - Amelia. Sam comes crawling back to Amelia and finally reveals his sob story about losing his brother. She lets him into her room and they reconcile.

Flash forward in time again. Sam tells Dean Amelia’s full name as though he’s actually dropping her life story. He continues to harangue Dean about keeping Benny a secret. He threatens to kill Benny the next time he sees him and on that positive note, the episode ends. 

Natasha’s takeaway: There are WAY too many confederate flags in this episode with WAY too little judgment about them

I’ll QUOTE Benny the Next Time I See Him!

“Like Purgatory purgatory?” “No. The one in Miami.”

You ganked the tooth fairy? 

You can’t change the past, amigo

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[queen-scribbles]

In the Aftermath

Thank you, anon, for the excuse to write a hurt/comfort thing I’ve had rattling around the back of my brain for a while now. (also, as always, *insert both is good meme*) Cafune(the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love) and marcid(incredibly exhausted) Big-time spoilers for the end of Greedfall, if anyone’s avoiding those ;)

---

Get back up.

It was the advice Kurt had most thoroughly drilled into her head, whether shouted from halfway across the training yard or said with quiet, gruff encouragement as he hauled her to her feet; Get up, Green Blood, we’re not done yet.

Her heart pounded in her ears, the stony ground dug into her back, her breath kept hitching on a near-sob. She highly doubted this sort of situation was what he’d had in mind when giving such advice, but it still helped.

She needed to get up. Needed to get back to... everyone else. (To him.) Tell them it was done, the danger was past.

A spike of grief pierced through her weariness, and Vesper sniffled as she rolled on to her side. Away from Constantin’s lifeless body. (Her doing.)

Get back up.

The thought galvanized her, and she rose first to hands and knees, then pushed through the heavy weight of exhaustion to stagger to her feet.

She felt more than heard En ol míl frichtimen’s voice, reverberating the air and the very hollows of her chest. “Thank you, On ol menawí. I know your sacrifice was great.”

She didn’t, couldn’t look back. Vesper gave a sharp nod, tears stinging her eyes, and mustered the energy to start for the exit. Her legs ached and she could feel her hair sliding loose, the encircling braid sagging against her shoulder, but she kept going.

It took three tries in her current state to scale an embankment that would barely slow her pace on a normal day. And the effort of standing was enough to make her sway and brace a hand against the wall. But she kept going.  With stumbling steps and ragged breaths, she pressed on toward reunion with her friends. To tell them it was safe. To see that they were safe.

Vesper paused at the thought, at the sudden fear they might not be, and it was in that moment she caught the scuffing of footsteps, rushed and uneven, coming from the mouth of the passage out. She made it a few more weary, stumbling steps in that direction before the approaching figure came into view.

He halted as she had a moment ago, and a sharp, shaky exhale echoed off the walls. “Vesper.”

“Kurt.” Everything else faded away under a brief, blinding blaze of relief, and Vesper stumbled across the remaining gap between them. He staggered, just a step, at the force of her crashing into him, and his arms were around her in a fierce and equally relieved hug by the time she sagged against his chest.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Both too overcome, she supposed, as she clung to him like the world would end if she didn’t.

Kurt was the one to ease them apart, but not far. Just enough to scan her face as his hands brushed her jaw, shoulders, arms, waist checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Vesper managed, voice wobbling. It wasn’t entirely true; there were a few places that would very likely bruise over the next few days. But her only serious hurt from this fight wasn’t physical. “Kurt, I...”

He paused his examination, hands on her elbows, and followed her gaze to her gloves, the right one heavily stained with dark blood. “Constantin?” he asked, voice rough, tone gentle.

A choked and ragged sob was all the answer she could give, but it was enough.

Kurt’s jaw tensed and he wordlessly pulled the gloves off her hands, dropping them to the ground as he wrapped her in another hug.

Vesper let herself melt against him, trusting in the steadying strength he offered.  “I killed him.” The words came out numb and saying them didn’t make it feel any more real. It was just a nightmare, she’d wake up and have more time.  “I wanted to save him,” she whispered hoarsely. Naïve fantasy it may have been, she’d still hoped, and failure had her voice unraveling into sobs. “Like damn near everyone since coming to this island. From beasts, bad decisions, or whatever else, we’ve saved so many people, Kurt, why not him, too?!”

Kurt’s hold on her tightened, one arm around her shoulders and the other hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. There was a heavy pause before he murmured against her temple, “I don’t know, Green Blood.”

It was a fair answer, and what she expected, and the only proper response she could give was a fresh wave of sobs, poorly muffled against the side of his neck. He just held her, neither speaking. She was vaguely aware of a faint bump and her knuckles brushing stone as one of Kurt’s shoulders came to rest on the tunnel wall.

Vesper’s tears were just beginning to abate when there was the echo of more footsteps and Aphra’s voice, rough with smoke, “De Sardet?”

“Here!” Kurt called back for her, briefly tightening his embrace once more before Vesper stepped back, sniffling and wiping at her tears with the backs of her thumbs. There was no hiding the tracks they’d cut through the grime on her face, but she could try for at least some composure speaking to her friends. The silent assurance of Kurt’s hand lingering on her shoulder helped immensely.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when Sìora was the first to come into view. “Are you alright?” she asked, hurrying forward, eyes full of concern.

Vesper took a deep breath and inclined her head in a half nod. “I’m not hurt.” She was proud of how little her voice shook. 

Sìora squeezed her arm. “We will see to your cousin, carants,” she said softly.  “You worry about yourself.”

What composure Vesper had managed to gather buckled under the compassion in her friend’s voice, and she was blinking back tears again as she nodded wordless thanks.

Sìora sent a significant look at Kurt over her head, and Vesper sensed his nod in response as his arm slid around the back of her shoulders again. He nudged her toward the tunnel mouth while Sìora and the others filed deeper into the cavern.

They only made it a couple steps, however, before Kurt’s gait went briefly uneven and he was just a little too slow biting back the accompanying hiss of pain.

Vesper wheeled on him, grief overridden by concern. “Are you hurt?” she demanded, voice cracking as she realized she hadn’t checked yet and took her turn running a worried eye over him.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” he said, catching her hands to still them.

“Kurt.”

“Those big lizards got in a couple good whacks before we put them down,” Kurt relented, “but it’s nothing worse than bruises, and it was this or them trample Aphra.”

She stood a moment, hesitant to believe he wasn’t downplaying for her sake.

“Oh, my sweet Excellency.” Kurt released one of her hands so he could tip her chin up to meet his gaze. “I’ll mend. No need to fuss.”

“And... if I want to anyway?” Vesper asked softly, voice shaking with exhaustion.

He kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair to tuck it back from her face. “Later. For now, Sìora had the right of it; we should worry about you.”

Concerned as she may have been, Vesper found herself too tired to argue, and let him resume guiding her down the mountain to their camp. She still noticed how heavily he was favoring one knee on their way, and quietly hoped he didn’t put off taking care of himself, either. Especially not for her sake.

The air in the camp was subdued, and while she did receive a few grateful glances, Vesper was relieved no one seemed to be treating this as a victory. Even with what he’d done, she didn’t think she could have borne seeing Constantin’s death treated as cause for celebration. They'd barely reached her tent, Vesper just ducking inside, when a young man in heavily battered Coin Guard armor approached.

“Beggin’ pardon,” he began, clearing his throat, “Captain, Commander Sieglinde wanted to speak with you a moment.”

Kurt’s scowl bordered on legendary, even for him. “Commander Sieglinde-”

“Can expect him shortly,” Vesper interrupted, resting a hand on his arm to forestall the thunderous protest in his eyes.

“Green Blood-”

“She’s still your commander--and friend--Kurt,” she pointed out as they watched the messenger scurry back to the Coin Guard encampment. “You should speak to her. It sounds like it won’t take long, and I’m not so tired I can’t remove my own armor. Go.”

He hesitated, reluctance to leave her clear on his face.

“I promise I’ll be alright. I’ll clean up some and still be here when you get back.”

Kurt sighed and cupped her jaw with one hand. “You’re sure?”

Vesper covered his hand with hers and nodded. “Sure.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned with a half-growled sigh to go find Sieglinde.

Vesper watched him a moment, still concerned about him walking on that leg (was it bad enough to count as a limp? she’d say so, but he didn’t want her worrying about him), then stepped into the tent.

Someone had decided she was important enough to have one of the low cots, shared from another faction because she never bothered for their regular excursions. She dropped her swordbelt and blades, (badly singed) cloak, and sturdy leather jacket on the cot, her arms heavy and slow as the exhaustion crept back in. Or tried to; she didn’t want to sleep, not yet, and pushed it away as she washed best she could in the basin of water and undid her hair. She sat on the ground rather than shove her gear out of the way on the cot, and leaned against the frame as she stared unseeing at a tuft of grass, trying to convince her brain to focus.

Her thought were so foggy she wasn’t really sure how long she sat staring at nothing before Kurt came back, but it was enough time he was out of his armor as well. He paused in the tent’s doorway at the sight of her, but Vesper spoke before he could.

“How do I tell my uncle?” She broke her dead stare at the ground to look up at him. “What do I tell my uncle?”

He crossed the tent and sat next to her. (Slowly, and she saw the wince he tried to hide). “Another worry for later. Once you’ve had some sleep.”

I don’t want to sleep. “Then it’s worrying about you again,” Vesper said with a significant glance at his “just bruised” knee. “Because if I don’t fill them with something, my thoughts will drift to topics that may well drive me mad.”

Kurt studied her a moment. He knew what she meant, she was sure. What else could she have done, or done differently, or not done to change... what happened. (nothing, but she knew that. She’d helped clean up or cover for enough of Constantin’s messes to know he was very capable of making his own decisions. She just didn’t want to hear that right now.)

Finally he gave her a look that was... not quite a sympathetic smile, but definitely understood. “Come here.” He pulled her over into his lap and Vesper went without resistance.

She paid careful attention for any sign of injury beyond his leg; tenseness or wincing, but there didn’t seem to be any. He shifted a little against the corner post of the cot, but that seemed more finding a comfortable position than something hurting. Exhaustion pulled a little heavier with that assurance as she settled against his chest.

Kurt’s chin pressed the top of her head and his arms came to rest around her middle. “...If it’ll help, you can worry a little.”

He didn’t even sound grudging about it, but the giggle that wanted to escape at that concession came out as more of an almost-sob. It was followed by another as she twisted sideways to tuck herself even closer, his heartbeat in her ear.

The sound of it made her chest ache with relief all over again.��“I’m just glad I didn’t...”

Lose you.

Kurt wrapped his arms around her more tightly, one rising to card his fingers through her hair. “As am I,” he murmured, voice quiet as hers had been.

The thought flitted though that they’d be more comfortable on the bed, but tucked safe and close as she was, Vesper had no desire to move. And despite her best efforts, the exhaustion finally won, pulling her deep under tides of sleep.

 Thankfully, the nightmares she’d been dreading didn’t follow.

(Yet.)

---

(It’s not until they wake up in the morning, still sitting on the ground, and Kurt literally can’t bend that knee bc it’s gotten too stiff that Ves remembers she knows magical healing, whoops )

(and don’t talk to me about the parallels of Sìora helping with Constantin’s funeral after Ves helped with her mother’s bc it gives me too many emotions)

[calpops]

red ruins | c.h.

Under every full moon Calum would get lost. Pain would set in and the world would fade. He would change, shift, and phase with the moon. He became something less than human and something more than any ordinary animal. He was content to wander from place to place in an attempt to escape himself and the ruins he thought he left behind. All until he met her and felt the influence of her words and the gravity in her eyes keeping him grounded in himself—even when all of his instincts tried to make him lose himself to the night. 

6.6k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included). 

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Fog floated through the town, crept along cobblestone streets from the depths of the forest surrounding small homes. The sky was deep purple, tinted with red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The village was quiet save for the cry of circling birds overhead and the rustle of leaves falling from the trees. The moon was nearly full by the time it made its appearance, the last of purple and red tinged light fading. Wind picked up and started blowing through trees, howling around the town and rattling closed shutters. Fire crackled, red and orange casted haunting shadows against the dark of the cottage lonely on a hill. Calum looked over to the corner where a bed claimed the north wall of the one room holding. She was buried beneath the sheets, hair splayed across the pillow and a smile taunting and teasing and begging him to join her.

They had met under a moonless sky. The dark was foreboding but his touch was light and his voice was easy. He told her his name was Calum but she couldn’t be sure of that; he was a wanderer, a traveler moving from place to place with secrets following him. She couldn’t fault him, she had not offered her true name to him; instead she told him to call her Honey so as to keep secrets sweet. She invited him to her home and into her bed and he stayed as the moon phased from nothing to glowing. She saw the scar on his back when his shirt came off, four jagged lines running parallel to each other. He regaled her with a tale about a boy traveling with a caravan, left to sleep under silver stars—he spoke of howls in the night and eyes that followed through the foggy tree line. She shivered when his hands cupped her jaw and his breath hit her neck, lips following soon after. He never usually stayed so long but she was enchanting, something in her eyes bringing him in and keeping him there.

She sat up when he stayed still, the sheet pooled around her waist. She gathered it around her and made her way over to him. He stood by the window where the wooden shutters stayed closed, just a sliver of moonlight shining through the crooked cracks. He felt her behind him, heard the faint thump of her heart and the small, even breaths that escaped her.

“Will you stay the night?” Her question was simply asked and her tone held nothing but wonder.

Calum turned, as tempted as he was to open the shutters and feel the bite of wind and see the glare of the moon he suppressed the urge, and took her in his arms instead.

“Only one more,” he said and ran a thumb over her bottom lip when she pouted. She shivered though it was not from the cold nipping through the thin blanket shrouding her. “Then I will be gone.”

“You could stay,” she said, longing lingering in her voice but words of want staying trapped within her. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” he responded without hesitation, thumb running from her lip to her cheek and jaw and down her neck where his hand settled on her shoulder. His other hand claimed the curve of her waist. “And you know why.”

She shook her head, hair falling in her face and a sarcastic laugh pouring from petaled lips. “That’s just a fool’s tale. Trying to scare me for a laugh, that’s all,” she said. The blanket dipped and her hand came up to catch it as Calum caught view of the marks his own lips left on her exposed skin.

“I told you my truth,” Calum whispered, even though he knew the truth he offered was just a sliver, and some was told as a story. “In so many words.”

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will my eyes. The scar on my back glints silver and that’s what can kill me. When I leave it won’t be on two legs.”

He had whispered those words to her the second night after they met. Usually he was gone before the sun could rise but she kept him entangled in the sheets, enchanted by her eyes and voice and the songs she sang of lust and pleasure. He found refuge in the one room cottage warmed by a continuous fire. He sought solace in her arms and bliss in the way they moved together. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after the first night, not when he had never known a calm and storm so bright and unwavering before. He stayed a second night and felt a tug of guilt in his chest when her eyes held hope. He told her the words that had been emblazoned in his mind for years. They ran along the lines of the scar on his back, told the story of the wound and the war that lived inside of him.

“So many words and none that I believed,” she said with another shake of her head. Her free hand trailed up his chest, her index finger light and ticklish against his skin. She followed the curves of his collarbones and circled around marks she made with her lips and teeth during their nights together. “Just stay. For me.”

“It’s for you that I leave,” Calum promised, knowing the truth in his words and reasons. The shutters knocked against the cottage, pounding out an erratic rhythm that echoed around them and the silence they fell into. She didn’t believe his words and even if she did Calum feared she wouldn’t understand.

“Then go now,” she said and took a small step back, the sheet around her swaying at her feet and dragging on the wooden floor. “Why waste another night?”

“If that’s what you want,” he heard himself say, voice resigned and wandering to wherever he would end up next. He made for the door but he heard the small intake of breath and the creak in the floor as her weight lurched forward.

“No,” she said, the word sudden and loud. “You don’t have to go,” she repeated her earlier words verbatim and while the meaning was the same there was an added layer and desperation to the plea. “Not until tomorrow,” she added on, finally relenting to his words and plan. “Stay one more night. Tell me that story again? Maybe this time I’ll believe it.”

Calum stopped before his hand could even reach for the door. He turned back to her, felt a pull in his chest and a drag in his feet as he moved back to her. They found their ways to the straw stuffed bed and sat back down, her pull on him bringing his back to the sheets and back into her. A strike of lightning lit up through the shutters and a rumble of thunder quickly followed, making work to shake the cottage and Calum’s resolve. Rain joined, the sound of it pelting against roofs and the earth ricocheting around them. He had told her the tale twice before. The first time to warn her, the second to remind her when she laughed at stories of the village she perceived as myths.

He would tell her one more time in the hopes that it wouldn’t be just a story or a notion to scare her. He wanted her to understand it was his past and it tied heavily into his present. It was the reason he must leave. She was quiet beside him, affording him time with his thoughts. Her silence was strong and effective. She was able to sway him without words or thought or trying. Calum swallowed past a lump in his throat and turned to face her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and focused on the pattern in her irises. Her eyes were hypnotizing, a force she didn’t know she had. Calum’s skin prickled and he looked away, up to the roof that leaked under heavy rain. If he were able to stay longer he would have fixed that for her.

“I was only a boy,” Calum began, his words a stark contrast to the way he had told the story before. The two times previous it was a boy, any boy, this time, it was him and it was honest. “I had just turned ten and was traveling with a caravan of people searching for refuge amid the war. My parents and sister were missing—presumed dead—and I had nowhere to go and nowhere to stay but the torched remnants of our home. So I left, as soon as I saw the people marching I followed.”

She made a noise of interest and sympathy, the sound as sweet as the name he called her. Honey simmered and sweetness followed, her nose pressed into his neck and her lips placed a small kiss to his skin. He didn’t want to continue but her influence was enough to bring the words out of him.

“The first week was fine. We scrounged up money to sleep in the stables of inns that were still standing. Once the coins ran out we slept under the stars, hoping the number of our people would scare off any outlaws.  It worked. But numbers meant nothing to the animals that lurked in the woods. Simple blades and bullets weren’t enough to stop them. The attack was swift, the screams still haunt me.”

“Animals?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she laid beside him. Her hand came up to trace four lines down his chest, four lines just like the ones on his back. “Your scar?”

Calum nodded, let her eyes calm him and swallowed harshly. “Animals,” he confirmed. He would tell her what kind but there was still an air of mystery in the sheer size of them, in the footprints and bloodstains left in soft earth. He knew what they were but they were even more than that. “Wolf like,” he added on, wanting to paint a picture in her mind so she might grasp some semblance of understanding. “Bigger than ordinary wolves. Two or three times the size. I could see their eyes through the tree line. They were eerily quiet as they watched. I woke everyone but as soon as the panic set in a howl sliced through the night and”—Calum sucked in a breath, let his fingers curl into his palm—“they descended on us.”

Honey came closer, settled into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating the way he could hear hers from yards away. She was cool against him but that was nothing new, he ran much hotter than her, his blood ran faster and his body strengthened as the full moon came closer.

“I tried to fight back but I was too weak and the blade I carried was made of steel—it did little to wound and could not kill the beasts among us. I don’t remember what made me lose consciousness but everything went dark for a time. I woke under a willow tree, my shirt was crusted with blood and my shoulder seared a pain I’d never felt before. I could tell I was running a fever just from the feel of my forehead, I was drenched in sweat, blood, fears and tears. The wound on my shoulder blade was deep and it took many nights to nurse it. Almost two fortnights went by before the true symptoms began.”

“You already had a fever,” she said, mistrusting his recount of his life. He knew his words were tangled and double meanings left wonder hanging in the air. “What more could have afflicted you?”

“Pain. More pain than the first day I woke with the claw marks sunken into my skin,” he explained, and held his breath, knowing the next part of the story would take a lot of convincing to believe. His words didn’t hold the same sway and influence as hers did. He couldn’t make someone believe just with a certain look or tone of voice. “The pain was bone deep. It felt as if I was being crushed and reformed. Every muscle held an ache, every bone hurt. My heart rate quickened. My temperature spiked. The world spun. I started to change.”

She shifted, eyes shooting to the ceiling as the tale of old prowled through Calum’s life. When he was a kid, before the caravan and the night of terror came to life, before his family was missing, his mother would tell him stories. Stories of half wolves, half men who lurked in the woods and stalked prey under the full moon. He had been enthralled by the tales, the stories scary enough to keep him awake at night. Her words took on a life of their own.

“Change,” she repeated, knowing the rest of the story from his words telling it of someone else. “You really want me to believe that?”

“I want you to listen,” Calum pleaded, voice near to trembling as the rest of his story simmered between them. She nodded beside him, eyes softening as she took in his honesty and the desperation he exuded for her to understand. For her belief. “The last thing I saw was the full moon, how bright and yellow it looked. That was before the pain was overwhelming and my senses shifted. I could only feel. I couldn’t think. I had no control. I lost an entire night to residual darkness and unknowing wander. I woke by a river but I don’t remember how I got there but there were prints in the mud, four clawed feet tracking right up to where I laid.”

She bit her lip and contemplated the rest of his story, took in the new details that he had omitted and the power of his truth. She blinked slowly, eyes once more enchanting Calum. Shadows from her eyelashes danced along her cheekbones, her breaths came shallow and short, a scattered symphony against the downfall of rain and cracks of thunder. Calum reached for her when she didn’t say anything. He hoped she was processing the new information and understanding.

“. I’d wake in the morning miles from where I once was. I’d wake with blood on my skin and fear creeping through the towns I could manage to find. Village people shunned me when they set sights on the scar on my back, they burned mixtures said to ward off evil and curses. It’s not a curse,” Calum explained.

“Then what is it?” She finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, whether she believed it or not.

“An affliction. A disease. Something past skin deep that sank into my bloodstream when claws raked my skin. I’m not the only one plagued by it. I roam alone but some wander in packs. Some resent the skin they’re bound to live in and fight against it tooth and nail. Some like the power and give themselves to it completely. Burning mixtures won’t cure it; I’m near sure there’s no cure. The only way to get rid of it is to kill it.”

“And how would that be done?”

“Silver,” he said, voice and mind long lost to the stories his mother would tell him.

People would try to rise up against the monsters that stalked the night but steel and bullets did little with their efforts. Only silver was enough to cut through and sizzle, it’s properties burned from the inside out. It ate away the afflictions and stopped the bloodstream. It killed. It killed the disease and it killed the person.  Lucky it was hard for the common folk to come by a weapon forged of something so expensive. Unlucky as well.

“Or another of my kind,” Calum added on, a shiver descending down his spine.

It could be another to strike with claws and teeth to meet a demise. Or something different but as equally as afflicted—a different type of poison settling into their body.

“Let’s say I believe you,” she started around a breath that spoke the opposite. “Why leave? And if you must, why not come back?”

Calum had already considered those questions through the nights he spent with her. Honey was tempting, enthralling and a craving he wasn’t sure he could kick. But his mind tumbled through scenarios more powerful than that. They put a pit in his stomach and coursed fear through his veins. He didn’t know what he would do during the night, he didn’t know where he would go or what he would walk into come morning if he were to come back. He had to leave. He voiced those thoughts to her and felt himself ease when she ran soft fingertips along his jaw.

“Then if it’s truly our last night together let’s not waste it,” she said, voice breathy and speaking a silent need as she pressed closer to him.

Calum received her and let the night slip by in beautiful bliss. She was still sleeping when he woke to the first sliver of sunlight creeping through the shutters. The air was thick after the night of rain and storm. He distentangled himself from her and the sweetness of their time together. It was the first time he would be leaving with regret and want following him. Her hair was a tangle across the pillow, skin smooth but interrupted by the press of his lips. She didn’t stir when he stood but she shifted when his lips brushed her forehead in a silent goodbye. Before he could step out of the door he stopped at the hearth where the fire had turned to nothing but embers clinging to life. He kneeled down, hand fishing into his trouser pockets to pull out a folded piece of cloth. He left it on the floor beside the logs and hoped if she needed it, she would find it.

He left her behind and made his way through the still sleeping village. He memorized the curves of the roads and the identifiable structures. The woods curved around the village, trees thickening the town line. With nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a spare change in a small pack and the memories with a woman as sweet as honey he descended into the forest, wanting to put as much time and distance between him and the common people who shrouded the town. The farther away he was when the sun began to set, the better. His footprints lingered in the soft earth, a trail following him with every step he took. He couldn’t help but think they were also a path back to her. He shoved the thought away, knowing he couldn’t but not knowing if he wouldn’t. The day passed him; he knew the air and wind was cold but his body was heated and he could feel the change start to ache inside his bones as the sun began to set.

Calum found himself in the thick of the forest when his heart began to race and the ache in his bones made him stop. He kneeled beneath a tree, it’s foliage falling to the ground around him as the wind swept through the woods. Leaves stirred up and floated through the air. Calum sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wandering his surroundings dipped in a golden haze as the last of the sun graced the grounds. It reminded him of her; of honey and golden glows during mornings they woke together. He didn’t want her to be his last thought before the inevitable took away his mind, his body and rationale. But images of her drifted through his mind and made his heart ache with a yearning he had never known before. His knees pressed into the soft earth below him, leaving indents in the dirt he was sure he would leave behind. His back arched, neck craned so his head looked up. The sun was leaving, the sky darkening from gold to a blue silver that could have been calming for anyone else.

He ran hot, sweat beading on his forehead, fingers curling into his palms and his chest rattled as a guttural noise escaped him at the first of the intense pain to ripple through him from head to toe. The scar on his back burned to the point he felt it was sizzling. He was still semi aware, clinging to thoughts of honey and sweetness and all that she was when clothes ripped, breath left him and fingers unfurled from his palm, claw marks claiming the ground. His last thought was of the moon and the way she might look under it’s full and shining beams. His eyes caught slivers of moonlight through the trees, conjured up her image glowing around him and then the world faded with the last of his human form.

***

The village was quiet as Honey spent her day around the town, wandering and lost among the people. She wasn’t in search of Calum but if her eyes spotted him in the fray it wouldn’t be a bad thing. His story echoed around her thoughts, and would barrel through her mind under the sunlight. She shivered at the haunting words and the pain in Calum’s voice when he relived his past. She wasn’t sure she believed him, she wasn’t sure she believed in anything. She had grown up around superstition and curses, of stories told through her village that had no evidence to back them. Her mind was skeptical but her heart yearned to believe in something more. To believe in Calum—though she still wasn’t sure that was his true name or why she had grown so fond of the stranger who stumbled onto her property two fortnights ago.

She left town, made the trek back up to her cottage where it stood on a grassy hill away from the rest of the people that plagued the town. The cottage was quiet save for the creaks in the floorboards as she paced the small room and the drip from the ceiling as rain from the previous night leaked through the roof. Sunset loomed on the horizon, her lookout from the window atop the hill showing the entire horizon. Everything was yellow and golden and it reminded her of eyes that would glow like the moon. She trembled as she walked away from the window and resigned herself to her bed that was too cold for one. She let her eyes close and wished for sleep, knowing the first night alone was always the most difficult.

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will his eyes,” she whispered into the night as the sun bid a temporary goodbye to the world. “The scar on his back glints silver and that’s what can kill him,” she continued, the warning burning on her tongue. Words of an affliction having no cure but silver through bloodstreams making her dip under the covers. “When he leaves it won’t be on two legs.”

The cottage darkened as the sun left and the sky turned deep blue and eventually black with streamlines of silver from the full moon working its way through the open window. She tossed and turned, body and mind restless, heart breaking from the feel of cold sheets beside her. Minutes or hours may have passed, time was bleeding away unbeknownst though it felt drawn out like many lifetimes. When she couldn’t lay there any longer she stood, walked to the hearth and prodded at the fire. Worn cloth beside the pile of logs caught her attention. She reached for it, knowing it wasn’t hers but curiosity needing to be satiated. Something hard laid within the bundle. It took one unfold to reveal what was inside.

A bullet glared and glinted back at her under moonlight. The feel was smooth and as her throat burned she realized the cost of the solitary bullet. Silver was expensive; worth a life and then some. She dropped the cloth and bullet and heard it roll along the hardwood floor. She lurched away from it and ran to the window. Palms hit the wooden sill and gripped with a strength she didn’t know she had. Eyes roamed the hills and the village below her. She bit her lip and sucked in air when a howl echoed around the open air. She didn’t know she was shaking until her body swayed and her shoulder hit the frame of the window with a bruising force. She heard rustling in the distance, her first instinct to push away ridiculous notions being drowned out by childish fears coming alive inside of her.

Eyes lurked in the dark, yellow and glowing and brooding it’s sights on the small cottage. She heaved a breath and let fear freeze her. Wind whistled and a howl followed, a beat of pause where her heart stammered out an erratic rhythm ensued. She swallowed down a tight lump in her throat harshly, grip on the sill tightening as she fought against her limbs content to stay still. It was as if her mind was convinced if she didn’t move she wouldn’t be seen. But she knew the tales, the stories and the myths come to life. Eyes that glowed in the dark could see leagues further than those that could not. She shivered and the eyes stalked closer, her body finally catching up to her mind, hand gliding slowly up the sill to find the where the shutter was closed and latched.

Before she could so much as get a proper grip on the wooden panel the animal afflicted was prowling forward and taken down. A guttural rip of a snarl cutting through the night. Another appeared, larger than the first. A broken cry left her lips, dry and cracked and breathy as she finally found purchase on the shutter and slammed it closed. She turned abruptly, back to the wall and eyes slipping shut as her chest heaved with staggered breaths. All she could do was listen. Remember that Calum had asked her to do so and now it fell upon her in howls and whimpers and bodies double the weight of an ordinary animal crashing to the ground. The noises neared and she thumped to the ground, knees hitting the splintering wood with a resounding thud. Her eyes sprang open and she forced herself to crawl back to her bed, pulled herself to the sheets and surrounded herself in the comfort they offered. She almost covered her ears but felt vulnerable with another lost sense.

She could only see flashes through the crooked shutters. She could hear the movement and the fight. She felt fear clawing through her, burning her eyes and heart and shoulder blade as the flashes and noises and myths came even more alive in front of her. A bang ricocheted against the cottage, bodies hitting the wood as a startled scream left her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, body trembling as she shook her head, trying to maintain disbelief. Another hit to the cottage rattled her, the shutters splintering and breaking under the force of the combined weights. She tried to get up, to run for the door to make an escape. But another slice of fear trembled through her. The noises died but her fear stayed alive. Wood fell to her floor along with a wash of blood much darker than she’d ever seen before. Wolf-like was the only thing she could think of when one beast rose amid the other, a giant paw slamming with finality into the other presumed dead beast.

The fire lit a glow of orange around yellow eyes. Dark fur was raised along the creature’s back, standing up on edge as if struck by lightning. Honey was still and stricken. The living beast neared, slow steps carrying its sheer size towards her with thumping paws hitting the ruined floor. She sucked in a breath, eyes unblinking until the beast whimpered and backed off, headed for its kill, the other beast being taken by the dark one’s teeth, dragged out the ruined wall and into the night.

***

Morning came in a rush. Calum woke within the woods, on much higher ground than he last remembered. The sky was pink through dying leaves and muted brown trunks. He was still hot, skin simmering and bones still aching. Blood was on his skin and a metallic taste lingered in the back of his throat. Paw prints in the earth wound a path away from the woods. His sights became set on them and then beyond, to where the tree line broke and the familiar air that carried through the breeze. He managed to bring his change of clothes with him, the ones he started the day in tattered and abandoned somewhere in the woods. He quickly dressed though the pain in his body lingered and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But the woods were filled with dangers. If not creatures of his own kind then things that were worse, other stories come to life beneath the moon and stars.

A feeling of dread consumed Calum as his feet dragged through the dirt and out into open air. The hill was calm but the destruction spoke volumes. Honey and home were in red ruins. One wall of the cottage was dilapidated, the window now a hole in the wall. Red ran over wood and though Calum’s body protested he started running too. Anxieties took over, made his heart race and his deepest fears flickered through his mind. Honey.

She was nowhere to be seen within the cottage and it’s ruined remains. The fire was dying in the hearth yet Calum felt a wash of heat against his face. He knew he lost control the night before, he knew his memory never held but a flash of something familiar hit him full force. He could almost recall added warmth in the night. The damages cried something akin to him, something he could almost recall, something that sat on the tip of his tongue and the back of his mind.

“Honey?” Calum called out, hoping his attempt wasn’t futile. Hoping that he hadn’t destroyed sweetness in the night.

A beat of silence had his heart falling, throat burning and eyes watering against the few tendrils of smoke claiming the air. HIs lip jutted out and trembled. A wave of nausea hit him but broke a faint heartbeat prickled his senses and had him turning. She stood outside the cabin, dress stirred up in the breeze, hair in disarray and influential eyes carrying a haunted glow.

“Wolf-like,” she said, voice unwavering and shoulders squared as she took a step forward. “I guess I should have believed you.”

Calum nodded and kept his eyes on her, let his gaze flicker down when her hand outstretched and her fingers opened from her palm to reveal what he left her. He remembered the previous morning, leaving the silver bullet by her fire, hoping she wouldn’t need it. His gaze flickered back up and he shook his head while she pursed her lips and tried to offer the silver back to him.

“Keep it,” he insisted.

“Seems I won’t need it if you’re leaving again,” she said, voice dropping and eyes narrowing. “You came back, though. Twice now. Saved my life.”

“I should leave,” Calum murmured, the latter half of her words seemingly lost upon him as a tangle of thoughts entered his mind. “There’s more than me out there, keep it,” he insisted again, took a few steps forward to close the distance between them and let his fingers brush hers and close them over the bullet. He felt a sizzle in her touch, it wasn’t for the silver in her hand but for the fiery cold of her hand and the way she made him feel.

“I know there is,” she mused, hair blowing in the breeze. “Now, anyway. You killed one right before my eyes.”

“I did?” Calum wondered, suddenly caught in the destruction around him, his mind trying to catch up to the animalistic instincts that swiped his rationale and tore away his memories and thoughts. “I did…”

It came back in a rush with just one look into her eyes, the pattern of her irises enrapturing and filling in the gaps the night left him. The warmth of the fire on his face as blood dripped down his jaw, his feet approaching her, his eyes seeing her—truly seeing her—the push and pull of her influence having him turning and taking the last of the danger from her home. He couldn’t remember how he ended up back at her cottage on the hill but he was sure it was due to her pull on him, that she was something more than what she knew.

“There’s more to the world than I know,” she admitted and dropped her hand holding the silver bullet to her side.

“And there’s more to you than you realize,” Calum said, grasping for an explanation and a way to tell her what he could only assume as true. She neared him, the press of her body delicate but sure against his.

“What might that be?”

Her hand came up, fingertips trailing along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re enchanting.”

She smiled, the curve of her lips begging him to kiss her. “You’ve told me that before,” she said and he heard her heartbeat pick up.

Calum’s hand came up to stall hers from its path along his jaw. He held her hand and played with her fingers as their hands dropped and swayed. “More than that. I should’ve known it from the first time I looked into your eyes. I should have realized it when it felt like you could sway me and the earth underneath me. I should have told you sooner.”

She was confused, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching as she tried to process his ominous words. She was quiet, waiting for him to further explain. He was caught in a whirlwind of her, chasing down words and moments to help her understand.

“You’re not just enchanting. You’re an enchantress.”

Her breath caught in her throat and Calum saw a war within her. He knew she knew what that meant, she had laughed at stories of the like. Stories of mystic people with persuasion in their eyes and words and spells that could be spoken and never broken. Tales of old that followed centuries of life lived before them. She didn’t believe in the far fetched. But the far fetched had broken through her home, broken through her resolve and created belief in her heart. She nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation but took a breath and pressed on anyway.

“How do you know?”

“You kept me calm. One look in your eyes and I felt like myself again,” Calum explained, a sudden rush of memory from the night previous invading him. He remembered the gaze they shared and the sense of himself that came crashing back into him. He knew the moment he first looked into her eyes, the pattern in her irises one he was familiar with. He’d only seen it once before, just before the moon phased him. “I met someone like you before,” he said though that wasn’t entirely true. He was nearly positive he hadn’t met anyone quite like her, only someone with a similar ability. “He tried to use me but the full moon took away my senses.”

“He didn’t keep you calm?”

“I guess some people have a stronger pull. Maybe it’s less to do with what you are but more who you are,” Calum explained, almost certain that whether she was born with the power of persuasion he could find himself within her grasp in any case.

“Stay?” The question was simple but the emotions evoked from looking into her eyes was stronger, more complicated and a battle in and of itself. “I won’t ask again,” she warned with glossy eyes.

Calum shook his head no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stay and now he was convinced neither could she. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if she stayed and anyone else were to find out about the power within her.

“Come with me?” Calum asked, the three words escaping him before he could think them through. But he knew deep down they were the right ones.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” he said with a far off look in his eyes. “We can follow the river or the sea,” he added and took a deep breath, knowing he needed to convince her, knowing he lacked the power of persuasion the way she did. “We can keep each other safe.”

She took a look around the remnants of her home and guilt tore at Calum for a moment until he realized all he did was to keep her alive and well. He could keep her safe. She could keep him as himself even when the moon phased and tried to tear away his humanity.

“Okay,” she agreed with a small smile, surprisingly needing no other convincing. “I’ll go with you.”

***

Water rushed past rocks, jagged edges meeting the smooth flow of the stream. Wind blew softly through the forest, a day of calm following the harrowing night of the full moon. The sun shone a little bit brighter than usual, the clouds were nonexistent and the town Calum and Honey left behind stayed unaware to the altercations and revelations the night brought. Flashes of fire and silver in Calum’s mind left them running at first, but ignorance swayed them to a slower pace. The village knew of stories and superstition but their reclusive stay at the cottage on the lonely hill bid them time to make their escape. His hand held hers and he realized the lifelines on their palms aligned and ran parallel to each other. She was cool though the sun beat down. She was calm though her world had shifted overnight.

They walked on, leaving footprints in the earth and the past behind them. Calum wasn’t sure where they were going, he never really was when he left after the moon changed him. He figured they might follow the stream, wander out of the woods and find the sea. With her at his side he was certain it didn’t matter where they ended up. She swayed their hands, caught gazes with him and didn’t so much as falter when a howl carried through the breeze. Calum stiffened but kept walking, his senses heightened at the call—though he was certain it was a regular wolf in the woods there was still a bite of apprehension flowing through his bloodstream, making the scar on his back burn with curiosity. The world was filled with more than met the eye. Calum knew there was more than him and her, more than wolves and persuasions, there was sharpened teeth and blood, beautiful songs of the ocean that turned to watery graves, fire and death, the natural turning to something more and something less. He led them away from the howl.

“You still have it?” Calum asked.

Honey nodded, hand reaching into the pocket on her dress, the bullet shining under the glare of the sun. He nodded his approval and kept them walking. He wondered where they would end up, what would happen at the next turn of the moon. He hoped they could stay together in spite of the silver scars and red ruins that brought them together. 

<< >>

To be continued...?

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[venushasvixens]

Ch. 3 Repeating the Past - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

Sunlight shown through the slit of your curtain. You groggily opened your eyes, still a little sore and hazy from your deep sleep. You pressed the button to open your curtains, looking out onto the ship dock. Early morning. You looked over to your clock. 6:43 am. You wanted to go back to sleep so badly. But you had to start your day now or you’ll never leave Mars today. You were going to wait a little bit for Faye. You’ll just put her in the back of your mind until the time is right. 

You threw the covers back and sat up. You looked down and realized that you were still in your clothes from the night before. Even your shoes were on. 

“Ew..” you said. You quickly took off your shoes and socks, becoming incredibly uncomfortable about how hot and sweaty your feet were. As you walked to the bathroom, you saw in the mirror that even your makeup was still on. You groaned in disgust. 

Was I really that tired last night? You thought. You grabbed some towels and turned the shower head on. As you waited for the water to warm up, you began to replay the events of last night. For a minute, you forgot about Faye, and thought only about your conversation with Mr. Spiegel. It felt odd for you to still remember your conversation. You remembered every single thing you said. You cringed. What if you said something stupid? It was definitely not your intention to be edgy, but god, it all came out that way. You physically began to cringe, biting your lip and scrunching your face. 

Okay, okay but what if..you thought, He was trying to be edgy too? Oh. You haven’t thought of that. Maybe he was trying to impress you. That could be the case. You waved away your thoughts and hopped into the shower. You’ll wait until later to go back and cringe some more. 

- 

Three weeks later on Mars, you finally caught someone. The reward was definitely not as big as Faye, but enough for two weeks. The criminal in mind was wanted for the murder of his family, and some other unfortunate souls who got caught up in his mess. But it was so easy to catch him, he was practically wearing a “catch me” on his head. 

After you collected the money, you decided to get something to eat. You were starving from not eating all day, and started to feel cranky. You were thankful that you were hangry but with money this time. You looked around for places to eat, and found a diner right next to the ship dock. This could be your little hangout anytime you wanted to come back, you thought. The diner reminded you of the one back in your neighborhood. A little shady, a little scary, but for you, your happy place. You remembered the owner Lou, who took you in and at least tried to straighten you out. But you’re not going to go down that dark road now. 

A few people sat inside, talking and reading the newspaper. You took a seat at the bar, swirling around on the chair. One of the waitresses stopped mid conversation and came over to you. 

“What can I get you to drink?” she asked, her fingertips already tapping in front of you impatiently. 

“Coffee, please.” you replied. Before you could finish, she was off to get you your cup. You sighed in annoyance. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice for a minute. You peeked around the diner, looking at the patrons exchange curious glances at you. You turned back, taking a sip from your recently poured cup. You weren’t offended or surprised by their stares. Some people haven’t seen anybody that looked like you, since some barely leave their home planet. 

The waitress finally came back. “Have you decided what you wanted?” 

You picked up the menu, still looking at it. “Umm.. let me get the-” 

Before you could get your order out, a loud commotion was taking place outside. You shot a look to see a familiar face was causing all that noise. Fists flying, newspapers and trash thrown all over the place. Spike grabbed the man and squished his face against the glass in an attempt to restrain him. Surprised patrons moved away from the window, backing up towards the bar. For you, it was the complete opposite. You chuckled and flashed Spike a smile. He looked up, and gave a small wave. Huge mistake. The man turned around and punched Spike straight in the jaw. It was a good enough hit to send the fluffy haired bounty hunter to fly back and land on his ass. The man bolted down the street, cash trailing behind him. Spike quickly got onto his feet and followed suit. You threw a few coins down on the counter. 

“Thanks for the coffee!” you said as you headed towards the door. 

“But what about my tip?!” the waitress griped at you. 

“Fuck you and your tip!” you replied. Guess you won’t make this place your hangout. 

You managed to catch Spike chasing the man around the block. You started that way, weaving through people to catch up. People flew by, shouting obscenities at you for shoving past them. It seemed like forever until you caught sight of them again at a no end alley. You gasped as you saw the man and Spike pointing their gun at each other. 

“Y-you don’t have the b-b-balls.” the man shakily sputtered out, his gun rattling in his hand. 

“Try me. I guess you had some, but not for long.” Spike smirked, “Times up, Lee. It ends here.” 

“N-no it doesn’t! You think y-you’re so clever, I-I’ll prove you wrong!” Lee sobbed, shoving his gun in Spike’s face. He didn’t flinch, which you weren’t all that surprised at. 

“I-i’m not playing, shithead!” Lee wailed, pointing his gun to the air. A single gunshot rang out, scaring off the birds on top of the building. Spike’s smirk turned into a fine line. He looked more annoyed than scared. 

“I’m not either.” He shrugged, ”Kill me and you’ll be in the pen for life.” Spike said, his gaze unwavering. 

You got the butt of your gun and smacked him on the back of his head. You watched him fall over, and then back up at Spike. His eyes were squinty. He was not happy. 

“What? I did you a favor. You should be happy.” you said as you stepped over Lee’s body.  

“But I’m the one who should get the satisfaction to do that!” he retorted, his hands on his hips, tapping his toe. You giggled, covering your mouth. 

“Oh, so what’s so funny?” he muttered, putting his gun into his holster. 

“Hands on your hips, tapping your abnormally large feet. I would say you look very much like someone’s mother.” you replied. Spike rolled his eyes, bending over to inspect the unconscious outlaw. 

“Speaking of which,” you cleared your throat, “you know what they say about large.. nevermind.” 

Spike glanced up at you, biting his lip. “No, no. By all means, tell me.” he smirked. 

You started out so confident, now look at you. 

“You see, uhh.. I mean, it means..” you caught Spike’s gaze and laughed. 

Spike felt his cheeks starting to warm up, but he immediately put his head down so you couldn’t see. 

“Alright, alright.” he smiled, tying Lee’s hands behind his back. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Heavy footsteps ran up behind you. You turned to see a large man with a distinctive scar over his eye. 

“Proud of you, Spike.” the man called out. “No damage this time, which means?” 

“No damage cost, so we can keep every bit of the bounty!” Spike smiled. 

Jet nodded his head, grunting in agreement. “And it's going to be a good one too. If we play it right, It will last us a month.” 

“We’re going to be eating good tonight.” Spike said, lifting Lee over his shoulder. 

“Excuse me ma’am.” Jet smiled, turning towards you, extending his hand, “I’ve seem to have lost my manners. My name is Jet, and you are?” 

“Y/N, no-” you started. 

“No last name, Spike had told me. Matter of fact, he has been talking about you non-stop.” Jet grinned. 

You glanced at Spike, who had now turned around, shooting glares at Jet. “That’s not true.” 

“Oh please! Anytime we head out for anything, poor thing is looking for your ship.” Jet replied. 

All you could do is smile and just shake your head, but inside, your heart was jumping around your ribcage like a bouncy ball. By now, Spike was already out of the alley way, huffing and puffing on the sidewalk. 

“Is he always like this?” you asked Jet, trying to keep up with his normal walking speed. 

“Moody? Yes. But actually..” he glanced at Spike, who continued walking, and leaned over, “I’ve never seen him moody about a girl before.” 

“I’m sure there were some other girls before?” you spoke quietly. 

“There was one. But he only told me once and told me to never speak of her again. I just think he’s trying to forget, or he doesn’t want the past to repeat itself, you know?” he replied. 

“Yeah.” you said curtly. “I do have a question though?” 

“Tell me, little lady.” Jet half-smiled, his arms crossed. 

“Will Faye be joining us?”  

- 

AN: nothing really to say this week but that I’m working on some new chapters and that life is calming down. Stay safe! 

[flooffybits]

R.o.S.E Blue

Idol: Kim Minji (Dreamcatcher)

Request: Yes

Anon: i saw this idea from an anon from another blog but couldnt find the exact post thingy… dc rose blue mv but jiu’s gf comes with her to save the girls and she has the same gun jiu has. instead of there being 5 bullets, there are six (since the reader is also there) and at the end after jiu shoots gahyeon, she was gonna shoot the reader with the last bullet but the reader actually switched their weapons (now jiu has no bullets) so reader shoots jiu and sacrifices herself

Author’s note: this is really sad and it hurts more because minji really cried when they did gahyeon’s scene

“Ji, are you sure this is where they are?” You couldn’t help but ask your girlfriend when you walked through the empty city streets. Your girlfriend looked around and nodded her head, turning before you both notice the run down school just up ahead. “If my gut is right, they have to be here. And there aren’t that many places to look since most of the buildings have collapsed.” She replied while taking your hand, making sure that you didn’t stray too far away from her.

As soon as she saw the gun by her feet when she came to, she knew that finding the girls would be a priority. But when she stumbled into you after you had just come out of another building, she felt a bit more relieved in knowing that you weren’t gone.

Heading inside, there was a sound that caught your attention and you both looked to each other before nodding and heading into one of the closed classrooms. When you opened the door, you immediately caught sight of Yoohyeon sitting in the middle of the room.

As her eyes landed on you two, they narrowed when she saw the gun in both of your hands. Her brow raised when she looked at your girlfriend, a frown on her lips as she leaned back. “You’re really doing this?” Her voice was flat, almost looking betrayed while your girlfriend gripped the gun tight in her hands before leveling it so that it was pointed to her friend’s head.

You stood behind her, frowning and soon watching the number on her gun change when she pulled the trigger and Yoohyeon’s body burst into a hundred purple butterflies before leaving the building. “That’s one.” She muttered as you both exited the school.

“Four to go.”

..

Reaching Yubin’s area, you were slightly confused to see the dark and empty halls. You knew Yubin as a quiet person, but you didn’t think that she would be stuck in a place so dark like this.

Your girlfriend tugged at your arm and then nodded to the open door up ahead, the only area with light pouring out of it and you both walked towards it, only to see a room filled with gold and a variety of treasures inside. And among those treasures, the younger girl could be seen perched upon the pile of gold coins.

“That was quick.” Her voice didn’t sound angry. In fact, it was like she was expecting you to come. Unlike Yoohyeon, she didn’t seem fazed as Minji lifted her gun and pointed it at her. “We’re not here to play games, Dami.” She tells her in an even tone and the younger girl nods. “I’m aware.”

Yubin glances at you and then back to your girlfriend before nodding her head. Minji takes that as a signal before she pulls the trigger and Yubin ends up just like Yoohyeon, leaving the room empty and the lights slowly fade away, leaving the two of you alone in the cold room.

The silence deafens you, but the sudden sound of Minji’s voice causes you to flinch. “They’ll be okay.” And you don’t know whether she was trying to tell you  or herself that fact by the way her voice shakes, but you stick by her and squeeze her in comfort before pressing a kiss to her temple. “They will, don’t worry.”

..

It felt like every time she used the gun, more of her own energy was fading along with her friends. By the time you enter the empty lot where Siyeon was kept in, you frowned when you saw the look of defeat all over her being.

She wasn’t being held down, but you knew deep down that there was something that forbade her from leaving this place. That was why you and Minji were here.

When she heard your footsteps, Siyeon took a short glance over her shoulder before she’s turning her eyes back to the televisions that were stacked over each other, nothing but static on the screens.

Unlike the first two, she doesn’t speak, and Minji struggles when she points the gun to her. Siyeon was dismissive and uncaring while she held the stuffed cat against herself and it shook your girlfriend inside how her friend couldn’t even look her in the eyes or tell her just what she was feeling.

Siyeon was always such a bright and happy soul, so to see her stripped of all that color made your heart clench at the sight as Minji let her shoulders slump before finally doing what she had to.

When you see the hardened look on your girlfriend’s face, you understand that this was taking a toll on her. She was forced in a position that she didn’t want to be in, but being the eldest among them, she knew what she had to do, even when it was hurting her.

So when you headed to the next location, the basement where you could hear the sound of chains rattling, you did your best to make your girlfriend feel better. Even though it wasn’t that far away, you tried to talk to her about the things you would do before this all happened and she cracked a smile when you were recounting the times that she had to scold you for playing tricks on her with her friends.

“I love you.”

She said, out of the blue and catching you off guard. Your eyes landed on her and she smiled while cupping your cheek and you returned the gesture before she’s placing a tender kiss to your forehead.

At least she managed a smile, just before you reached the area where you soon found Bora. When you saw the girl, your eyes went wide to see her chained up and her angry glare fell on the two of you as you approached, her scowl deepening when she stared at you.

“Of course, fearless Jiu comes to finish me off. Did you do the same to the others?” She snapped while fighting against her bonds, but they were too strong and too many for her to do so. She was bound there unless you did something about it.

“You know that this isn’t easy.” Minji said softly while the other scoffed before nodding to the gun in your girlfriend’s hand. “Shoot everyone and survive, right?” She snarled while giving another yank to the chains and you had to step forward just to stop her from possibly hurting herself, but the purple haired woman raised a hand to stop you.

Minji shot you a look and you eventually backed down as she pointed her gun to your friend. “I hope you understand why we had to do this.” She murmured softly and Bora grit her teeth, yelling as Minji finally shot her.

When you leave, it’s quiet. You walk beside your girlfriend with your head down due to the grave expression that she has after the encounter with her friend. Her anger saddened you, but she wasn’t able to understand just how severe the whole situation was.

In her anger, she spat things at Minji, knowing full well that it wasn’t really her fault. But in the mix of her emotions, she wasn’t able to think properly and threw her anger out on your girlfriend.

“Y/n, it’s okay. I’m fine.” Looking up, you could only see the back of your girlfriend’s head as you both walked. There was nothing you could do but to just finish what you started.

But you knew that the end of it all was the most difficult one. Gahyeon was the youngest and Minji treated her so much like a little sister, so you could only imagine how much this was going to be a problem for her. She was already torn with how her friends looked at her, anger and betrayal, you didn’t think you wanted to see how Gahyeon would react to Minji having to shoot her.

..

Seeing Gahyeon knocked the wind out of you because of how calm she appeared and even cracked a smile when she saw your faces. It was a complete contrast to all the other girls and you saw how Minji tensed just by seeing her.

“Unnie, where have you been?” The younger girl asked softly and Minji was willing herself not to cry when Gahyeon reached out to you both. Something in her expression shifted and you know that she’s aware of why you’re here.

But she still smiles, almost assuring the two of you when Minji shows her the gun. You can see in her eyes that she’s scared, but at the same time, she’s smiling at the two of you to lift whatever guilt was swimming inside your hearts as she whispers. “It’s okay.”

Minji’s hand shakes as she stares deeply into Gahyeon’s eyes. You could feel tears forming in your own eyes as you shut them tight to look away while Minji finally shot her, a tear running down her cheek as she lowered her arm, the gun dropping to her feet and you quickly pull her into your arms.

Her shoulders shake while you hold her tight, kissing her temple while reassuring her that she was done and that it was okay. “They’ll be okay, you don’t have to worry anymore.” You told her as she sobs against your chest while you try to soothe her.

Sitting on the hard ground, you keep her close to your heart until she eventually calms down and you kiss her head while caressing her cheek and wiping her tears away.

Reluctantly, Minji pulls away to look at you and her tears refuse to stop when she stares into your eyes and you keep trying to wipe them away. She reaches for the gun and shakes her head and you know right away what her intentions are.

“Ji… you don’t have to do this.” You whisper and she bites her lip. “I can’t let you stay stuck here.” She replies while holding the end of the gun to your chest, but you keep a firm hold on her until she pulls the trigger.

When nothing happens, she looks down to see the big zero staring back at her and she doesn’t understand what was going on. She should have had one more.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head snapped up to look at you and then she realizes what you’ve done. Her heart drops to her stomach while you point the gun in her direction. “The girls need you, Ji.” You murmur and she shakes her head frantically. “Y/n, no. It can’t be you.” She argues.

But you give her one last smile before taking in a deep breath. “It shouldn’t be you.”

Before she could stop you, you already pulled the trigger and everything goes black.

In the next few moments, each of the girls find themselves in an unfamiliar room. All six of them open their eyes and look around with wonder of finally being free from their prison, but when they see the large glowing crystal in front of them, a gasp tore through their lips while Minji quickly rose to her feet.

A fresh batch of tears came flowing from her eyes as she ran to the crystal, her fists pounding against the hard surface while she cried your name, pleading for you to wake up.

But as all of them gathered, they knew that there was no saving you.

In order to ensure their safety, you had to exchange your own life.

Your girlfriend struggled with having to see her friends go, but she didn’t think that she would be forced to see you torn away from her and she was left with nothing to do but bear the weight of your sacrifice.

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

Touch [B.H. x you]

Request:

Inspiration: Hands Across The Sea by Modern English

Words: 1828 Warnings: none.

Written Date: 3/16-31/2020 Posted Date: 4/4/2020

[MASTERLIST]

Scratched up skateboard wheels rolling across the pavement fluttered through the three-inch crack of the front door as Billy sat at the kitchen table. He’ll be met with a stern lecture from a mustached lip if a fly managed to wander into the home like a tourist upon their first breath of the A.C. at a hotel lobby, but Billy had much more important business to intend to. Report cards were just around the corner and with his sweet talking skills, Billy’d convinced the math teacher into giving him a passing grade if he turned in 200 solved problems by the end of the week.

He had seven days. Seven whole days to answer some textbook questions that they’ve gone over in class. It should have been easy, except it wasn’t. Billy was failing the class for a reason. Day five only had two hours left of sunshine, yet Billy’s currently stuck on problem forty-six. With each tick of the clock mounted behind him, his frustration grew.

One of his temples rested in the cup of his left palm as he beat the eraser head on the other before tossing the pencil at the book pages. Words were merging into numbers and numbers were blurring into letters.

Fuck it, he thought, I’ll just ask for a tutor. Yet he knew if he kept this mindset he’d fail, receive a smack across the back of his head, and still wouldn’t seek out a tutor.

He could hear the skateboard’s wheels beat relentlessly against the cracked concrete while Max explained the footwork behind the technique to you, who was sitting on the grass with your white cane last he check. Jealousy picked at the nerves in his forehead as frustration clenched his eyebrows together.

His mind began running off of the book pages and onto the blue sports car in his driveway. Would he have enough for the wash and the wax. Would there be enough leftover for a tip? Billy was an asshole to a lot of things, but he knew what it was liked to be stiffed.

Page 267 was beginning to give him more trouble than it was worth, and those pointers the geek with the lisp in his class gave weren’t helping at all. The rim of one of Susan’s good glasses touched the plush of his bottom lip, the cool water streaming down the well of his parched throat―

A gasp bordering along a yelp burst through the door, clawing its way into his ear. He nearly choked on his drink; some loose water dribbled down his chin.

Pushing out of his chair and the table he was leaning on, not caring if the polished hardwood caught a couple scratches, he was out the front door in five seconds.

Under the shade of his palm, which he planted against his eyebrows to fend off the sun’s brightness, he scanned the situation for clues.

His step-sister’s skateboard lied planted on the other side of the street. Upside down. Wheels spinning lazily under the shade.

The little redheaded runt’s wide eyes met his. Laced with alarm. Her bottom lip wobbled in search for words. Her hands held out below her…toward you, who was slowly lifting yourself by the skin of your elbows.

Raw. Blood beginning to clot around the loose gravel that clung to the wounds.

Billy marched through the grass, nearly tripping over your forgotten cane. “Max, what’d you do?!”

Max took a deep breath, crouching down to you. Her small fingers brushed your palm before helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry.”

As soon as you were back on the safety pads of your feet, Max turned to face her fuming step-brother.”I didn’t mean―”

His hand landed on her slender shoulder, shaking her like an earthquake rattles a brick foundation. “No, of course you didn’t mean to, you little twerp.”

A couple specks of spit landed across her freckled cheeks and nose, prompting her to screw up her face in mild disgust. “She wanted―”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You need to be careful with her, she’s―”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, Billy.” You dusted off the debris from your stinging cuts. “I’m blind, not fragile. How many times do I have to tell you?”

You would have walked off in the direction of his house if only you knew wherever the hell it was. Trying to land that kickflip Max had spent the last half hour explaining to you really messed with your sense of direction, but you weren’t about to tell them that. Your mother didn’t call you a stubborn mule for nothing plus you were getting really sick of Billy thinking you were weak, so you turned around and started stalking off without the aid device your parents payed for.

“Y/n, where are you going?” Billy called after you. “You can’t just leave.”

“Watch me!” You called over your shoulder, continuing your trek into the unknown.

Billy watched you walking down the street, and for once he appreciated living down such a long road miles away from the populated center of town. If it wasn’t one of his neighbors pulling into their cracked driveways after a long 9-to-5 shift or pulling away for a hearty meal at Benny’s Diner, cars rarely ever raced down this street.

Turning to Max, his grip loosened on her shoulder. “Grab your board and get inside.”

Max didn’t argue. Out of the two of them, Max had a more leveled head. She knew she could just check out the damage on your elbows and apologize again once Billy convinced you to come back into their comfy abode. Yanking away from her older step-brother, she ran for her precious skateboard.

“Babe, come on,” Billy tried to reason with you as his long legs neared you. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You just―”

His warm hand gently latched onto your arm, turning you to face him. “I just what, Billy? You know people here either pity me or they stand feet apart from me like I’m made of glass,”the pressure in the center of your forehead begins to make itself known in the form of a headache, “I just thought things…here…were different.”

“They are, babe.” His chin bounced with quick little nods to reassure you. Sometimes he forgot that you couldn’t see these small actions. “Okay? They are. Max was teaching you one of her stupid tricks, and I just freaked, okay?”

Memories flicker through your mind, sounds and touch alike. When one of the mean girls at school had purposely stuck her foot out in front of you for taking “her man” away, you had bashed your head against a locker and were knocked out cold. You had woken up moments later in Billy’s arms as he carried you to the nurse’s office. You hadn’t bent over and died when the concussion symptoms came at you in full force; you had just taken the standard amount of sick days at home. Not any less and, definitely, not any more.

Other memories came at you, but none were as extreme as the concussion. Yet, with each scrape or nick that life threw at you, Billy reacted like blood was seeping through your clothing at an alarming rate or your lungs were restricting from lack of oxygen. Whatever it was, Billy acted like it was the end of the world for you.

“I didn’t cry when I fell off a tree branch and broke my arm in fourth grade, “ you began the recited verse you’ve told almost every member of your family, “so, I’m not gonna cry because of some stupid scuff marks on my elbows. I’m fine.”

“But, when I was sitting at the kitchen table, loss in thought, I heard it.” His thumbs were stroking the bones of your cheeks. “I heard you fall, Y/n. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t anything worse? When my dad first introduced me to Susan, Max walked around in crutches after a bad skateboard landing snapped her shin bone.”

You sighed, allowing his outlook on the situation widen the scope of your mind. Maybe you were being a little too harsh on him. After all, you couldn’t pour salt to the sizzle off the worry that ate you up inside whenever Billy decided to hang out with one of his pals. It would steal the sleep from you knowing he’d be driving around drunk. Him cradling you to the nurse’s office and you phoning him to make sure he made it to his bedroom safe were two sides of the same coin.

“I’m surprised Susan still lets her ride around on that thing.” His fingers carded through your hair. “I was just scared the same thing might of happened to you, or worse.”

“I understand, Billy.” You spoke so softly, Billy wasn’t entirely sure if it was just one of your breaths. A shuddering gasp forced its way out of your throat as you fought off the burning sensation of tears from the corner of your eyes. “I just get so frustrated sometimes.”

Your face met the soft cotton of his shirt as he brought you into the protection of his arms. “I know, baby,” He kissed the crown of your head. “I’m sorry I overreact sometimes.”

You sniffled a couple times before pulling away from him, “It’s okay.”

His lips brushed against the center of your forehead first then dipped his head to land another on your plump lips, but your fingers caught him. “You still have to apologize to Max first before you can kiss me.”

He took a deep breath. “Deal.”

Your fingers fumbled for his before before successfully latching on. You sighed as your palms melded together like ironworks as Billy led the way to his house.

As you both grew closer a loose thought struck you. “Wait. Don’t you still have homework to do?”

A/N: I hope I did alright in characterizing a blind reader.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Dust Bowl Angel

Chastity

“Eyes down, Louisa.” He said it on their way to church. It was a reminder that eyes were the gateways to the soul and the daughters of Eve needed to lock the gates. Their gazes were meant to be closed caskets where the body is lowered down into the carnivorous earth without ever being touched.

She was a white dress on Sundays, because it wouldn’t show the blood. She was a pair of neatly folded hands on her lap, prized for how few marks of labor they had. She was a face lightly covered in paste and rouge, not too much, but enough to don the mask and forget what’s underneath.

The daughters of Eve are defined by what they don’t have, devoid of blood, and calluses, and blemishes. Borrow, beg, and steal to be less of yourself and it might make your father smile again.

The house was empty and hungry as the earth as the wind began to rattle the shudders and shake the windows. Louisa went to the walls to listen to the violence and she swore she heard something else underneath it too. Plunk

Temperance

She thought the smell was worse than the silence. There was a hole in her house that swallowed all sound and left her tiptoeing to breakfast and holding her breath as she passed his room. She didn’t fear his presence, but his absence ate the house to tatters. Loose floorboards and empty cellars. Creaking doors and fraying coats.

Louisa wasn’t sure the last time his eyes focused on hers. She wasn’t sure the last time she called his name and it didn’t rattle around inside him go unanswered. The house was as quiet as saloons in heaven, but the smell was worse. Acrid, sharp, and drowning her senses when she wandered too close to the kitchen. It capsized her into sour reminders that night would come and she would be alone.

He brewed it himself after the Johnson’s farm was sold and he locked the door to everyone else. It swamped his clothing and soaked whiskers with whiskey, gin, and moonshine.

According to the holy words, the only words she had ever stolen from the page, indulgences were a terrible thing. But Louisa never thought he wanted it, it wasn’t a matter of want, it was a matter of disappearing.

Perhaps, she thought, temperance is most perfect when all wants themselves are obliterated and nothing is left to worship and no one is left to mourn you. Perhaps he was the perfect example of temperance.

The sun dimmed without a kiss or a wave, it wheezed into a memory and the land was tumbled into the dark. A night without ceremony and night without snakes or coyotes or hares or any life. It shook the windows more fiercely and started pounding the walls like a fist against bone as it wished to tear apart the rest of the light in all of the world.

Charity

Old muffins on the counter and a quilt made from old Miss Henson’s shaking knobby fingers with knuckles the size of small apples. A jug of milk and a few dollars from the Church community fund.

What else do you offer for the gap inside a home? What else do you cover it with to stop the hemorrhaging of sound and flooding of sour things? A couple shiny coins, a ribbon for her hair, a kind word, a warm gesture. And she wanted to forgive him; charity was a virtue.

She wanted the old muffins and bronze pennies to mean something. She wanted to make sermons out of alphabet soup and wield her story as a homily instead of unwoven strings. A randomness worse than the wind.

She wanted to embrace forgiveness and make songs from the ribs under her dress she could count. To get on her knees and make narratives out of blackened skies and the disappearing sun. She could make meaning from her mother getting on the last train and not looking back.

The world was dipped in charcoal and the concepts of “up” and “down” were traded for a lovers quarrel between the skies and the land. She could crunch down on the granules between her teeth and feel the layer of dust over her swollen tongue.

It was hard to swallow. Her lungs itched.

Diligence

She put the wet cloth over her face to cover it and closed her eyes. The wind howled across anything it could touch, but it was still somehow quiet inside the house. They could lock themselves away there for as long as they needed.

Eyes down, Louisa.

Voice down, Louisa.

You aren’t the harlot your mother was, so act like it.

It was hard to be hated and loved, cherished and forgotten. The grit was in her nose now and yet she could still smell the burning scent of alcohol. She would think he was sleeping, but that would be near impossible right then. Mostly, he was just gone.

She could still submerge herself in this life. She could still be diligent. But the hole in the house demanded sacrifice, and she had yet to learn how to bleed productively-- and mostly it just hurt.

Her skin was too tight and covered in that thin layer of itch and discomfort.

She went to the door and crouched in front of it with the wind whipping outside and the dirt crashing across the land that wronged it. There was a sound she couldn’t quiet place ringing out beneath it all.

Plunk, plunk, plunk.

Diligence was as good as any other anchor, and she was willing to keep crouching their hiding from her own secrets thoughts and listening for something more.

Patience

Louisa closed her eyes. It was dark and the grit was on the inside of her eyelids. There had been whispers on the lips of the townsfolk: something was in the dust. Something was in the storms. Something they dare not name.

It’s eyes glowed and it’s body flickered like the light of a candle.

Many thought it was curse from the people before them or else a harbinger of the end days. There were dollar store pulpits always announcing that they were due to be capsized into the sun and meet the devil with a firm handshake and a cold brandy. It was a promise to the people there. The coasts had oceans to fortify their gilded bones and the west had mountains to rupture hope into their prickly hearts. The people in the middling world were different.

Perhaps it was the glint of the sun on the train tracks leading out and away or perhaps it was the endless unbroken skies that haunted them. Perhaps it was the thickness of the soil or the lack boundaries between humans and their heavens, but that was where the promise of the apocalypse beat its heart like an open wound. 

Doomsday wasn’t imagined as often within the churches of New England or gold mines of California, it was the promise from the middling country that knew it all must end and soon.

It was all just a matter of patience.

Kindness

Her tongue was heavy in her mouth and Louisa thought she might choke on it. She might fold inward infinitely until nothing was left but a white dress and lack of blemishes. She kept her eyes down.

She heard it again. She knew there was nothing out there for her, nothing for her within the churning storm and nothing in the earth rampaging across their meager defenses. Why did she hear the music then?

One plunking note after the next in a slow rhythmic call. Her mother used to play piano. Her mother used to sit behind her and brush her hair a hundred times until it shone, humming. Her mother used to say that there was music in everything-- you just had to listen.

Louisa was listening.

The wind rattled and grit crunched between her teeth and she opened her eyes wide before opening the door. It swept through her and her forced her to slam her eyes shut again and waver.

There was nothing in the house behind her but the gaps and the openings and the smell of dissolving yourself in gin and letting the rest liquefy. Louisa covered her face and walked toward the music.

A last kindness.

Humility

She wasn’t sure for how long she walked.

Her lungs were wheezing despite the covering, and her feet were slipping with each step. There was nothing behind and nothing ahead, only the ringing in her ears and dirt threatening to fill her like an empty cup.

Her dress would no longer be white, but when she opened her eyes the world was nothing but painful ivory. It was all white and blurry and the music played on.

“Mom?” She called with her lungs burning with a hundred little bee stings.

They say to be humble you must recognize how small you are in the face of divinity. Louisa didn’t know what divinity was, but perhaps it was bowing to something more infinite than you, more vast and unknowable.

There was nothing but the dust threatening to kiss her insides and steal away the parts of her she needed. The parts still left from being trapped inside and devoured by silent ache.

“MOM!?” She called again because surely her mom didn’t really leave her. Surely, her mother didn’t abandon her daughter to the winds and the dust and her father’s pickled grief. 

The piano played on: plunk, plunk, plunk.

Louisa opened her eyes as it grew louder and more lovely. Many would wonder why a foolish farm girl would wonder out into the storm. Why she would forfeit herself to the earth with its teeth and its thirst-- worse than any wolf’s and greater than any man’s.

But when she opened her eyes it wasn’t her mother in front of her. It was no whiteness and no end and no mother.

And she knew she was infinitely small and infinitely precious as it took her hand and they began to walk together.

[steamy-linguine]

Vending Machine (Connor RK800 x Reader)

A/N: HEEEEY I’m back! Been super busy with work and such but I wrote a little somethin’. Hope you guys enjoy it! Really appreciate the notes I’ve been getting on my other one shots. Alright anyway thanks for reading (Also gif below is not mine)

Warnings: Some curse words but none

Hank sat at his desk, eyebrows furrowed and his lips in a tight line as he stared at his monitor clearly frustrated from having to stay so late.

He reached out for his coffee cup and brought the styrofoam to his lips, his hands already shaking from the caffeine overload and lack of actual nutrition in his body.

“Lieutenant are you alright?” Connor asked from his desk across from Hank’s.

“I’m fine. Can ya just hurry up so we can go home?” Hank answered without even looking at him.

Conor’s eyes squinted at the Lieutenant already beginning to analyze him.

Hank could feel those brown eyes on him and he looked up to catch his gaze.

“The hell you starin’ at me for?”

“Your hands are shaking. You’ve consumed too much caffeine on an empty stomach and that’s not good. You need something to eat.”

“Yeah well I missed out on my chicken feed today…” Hank trailed off thinking of his favorite meal and a loud grumble erupted from his stomach making him let out a sigh.

“I’ll grab you something from the break room!” Connor volunteered as he rose out of his seat. 

Hank shook his head, “No need.”

“Hank you need something. I will grab something for you. Drinking too much on an empty stomach can cause irritation and also heart burn.” Connor informed him.

God, Hank was already grouchy enough. He didn’t need anything els to add onto it.

Hank huffed, “Fine just hurry up. I wanna get this shit over with.”

Connor nodded before walking to the break room his hand in his pocket feeling the left over change.

He walked inside, eyes already landing on the old vending machine in the far corner. He made his way over and looked at all the small snacks inside.

HONEY BUN?

CHIPS?

GRANOLA BAR?

With not much options to go with he decided to get the chips for now. They would fill him up better until it was time to go home.

Connor began sliding the silver coins into the money slot.

***

You typed away at your computer on your desk, your arm stretched out to grab your cup of coffee to fuel you for the long awaiting night shift.

Your eyes looked to the clock displayed on the right corner of your screen and an exasperated sigh left your mouth.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.

You continued on with your work until your stomach began growling.

It wasn’t your break yet but you could use something for now.

You reached into your bag grabbing the few coins from the small pouch inside and clutched onto the silver coins before making your way through the quiet precinct to the break room.

What would you get from the vending machine? You craved a something more than a snack but you knew it only had-

You stopped in your tracks as you saw Connor on the floor sitting in front of the vending machine struggling.

“Um you alright?” You asked eyeing his situation. His left arm lodged into the small door and his fingers gripping onto the bag on the other side of the glass.

He turned his head at the sound of your voice, a big goofy grin on his face. “Yes.”

“What are you doing?” You asked him.

“Uh well, I was getting something for Lieutenant Anderson but I got stuck.” He explained. 

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him, “Mhm I can see that. How did you get suck?”

“My arm got caught.”

“How?”

“The bag of chips inside wouldn’t fall so I tried to grab them. I predicted my chances of getting the chips would be low and but there’s no maintenance around at this hour to help so I could’ve just left them but Lieutenant Anderson needs something to eat.” He said.

You had seen Connor around the precinct following the Lieutenant, very small greetings were always exchanged between the three of you. 

It amazed you to watch him work on the crimes scenes so you always wanted to speak with him but you never seemed to have gotten the chance to.

What an introduction, you thought to yourself.

“Alright well Connor it’s a good thing I know how to get out of a vending machine.” You said as you took closer steps to him.

“Really?” Connor asked.

You nodded before bending down to his level to get onto your knees beside him. You leaned in a bit closer and grabbed his left arm with your hands and began to tug lightly.

When that was no use you began to pull harder causing a loud rattling noise from inside the machine.

“Detective?”

“Yes?”

“This isn’t working.”

You stopped to look at Connor and he looked back at you, your eyes squinting as his grin was back on his face.

You sighed, “Yeah I’m aware.”

“I thought you knew how to get out of a vending machine?” Connor asked you as you prepared yourself to pull harder.

“Yeah well you’re pretty much one with the machine at this point…”

You gave more tugs and to no avail no free android arm.

You huffed, “Jesus, Connor were those chips that important?” 

“Yes.” He nodded unaware of the frustration beginning to build inside of you.

How could a state of the art android possibly get stuck in a vending machine? Why couldn’t he figure this shit out himself?

Guess that’s why he’s built only to investigate crime scenes. 

You sat back rubbing your temples and let out a breath. You brought your head closer to the machine to get a better look before a light bulb seemed to go off in your head.

“I got it.”

You instructed Connor to put his hand on the door to hold it as your hand gripped his arm and you pulled, Connor pulling back with you when soon the two of you fell backward.

“Great work Detective.” He smiled at you.

He pushed himself off of the floor, arm extending and his hand in front of you to take. You grabbed it and he helped pull you back onto your feet.

“Connor what the hell are you doin’?” Hank’s voice made the both of you turn into his direction.

You both looked back to one another, hands still together before you both pulled back at the same time.

“I got stuck.” Connor said looking back to Hank.

You smiled at the Lieutenant, “I pulled him out.”

Connor nodded before holding up the small bag of chips, “But I got the chips!”

Hank gave a puzzled look before shrugging.

“Right. Well come on. We got work to do…See ya around (Y/N).” Hank waved before walking back to his desk.

Connor turned to you to say thank you before heading into the same direction as Hank.

You watched him walk out still confused but overall amused from the previous situation when the sound of your stomach growling ripped you from your thoughts.

Right.

You turned your attention back to the vending machine and made your way to the glass case. You slid your coins inside already eyeing the honeybun and the sight of it only made your stomach growl more.

You pressed the numbers and the honeybun inched forward ready to fall before it completely stopped, dangling on the edge.

You closed your eyes as your head fell forward against the glass, “Fuck."

[darker-soft-starker]

Love your blog! Could we have a snippet of a starker good marriage au? Where Tony comes home one night to see his hiding place not exactly how he left it so he checks the Internet history (sloppy peter) and realises his husband has put it together. So he goes upstairs but peters there- in bed, not calling the police...or maybe from peters POV? Whichever you prefer! Super fan over here ;) ☺️❤️

Awww thanks nonnie!! You’re so lovely and I have utterly butchered your prompt, for that I am exceedingly sorry. This is not remotely good, whatever this is.

Warnings: Dark!Tony, mentions of murder, child abuse, dark fluff

———-

It’s long been said that home is where the heart is. 

Whatever it meant, Peter had always found that the old adage difficult to reconcile with - after all, home was six years old, belt welts and whiskey breath. It was holes in his sneakers, cupboards that echoed and the purple and red on the side of his mother’s mouth. Home was something you carried with you to the principal’s office, the hot end of the cigarette and being firmly told that his red-raised knuckles are not pillars to rest on.

What was home if you didn’t choose it - if you were always trying to run away from it?

That’s what he’d always thought anyway - and that’s what he did. Threadbare hoodie, battered backpack and clutching the fifty he’d stolen, Peter ran. He fled into the warm embrace of his Aunt May who mended his patchwork heart with Sinatra on Sunday mornings and hot chocolate, Luke Skywalker nights. 

Love for May was the sound of New York traffic and the smell of nicotine drifting from her bedroom window, overcooked spaghetti and the tickle of her hair on his skin. She wasn’t perfect but she made him feel like he had a place, a room with no conditions.

When she died a few years after, Peter ran again. He made a map of heart-lines all across the state trying to find himself in all of the people he came across. From the lonely girl with the curly hair who offered him a kind smile as he shivered around a steaming cup of coffee, to the boy with the brilliant brain and piercing blue eyes who made made grainy, chalk-masterpieces on worn footpaths. 

He never knew most of them but their faces were like picture frames, their conversations his home movies. 

The price of living in a place he was supposed to call home in New York never got cheaper and so he worked. He was working for eight dollars an hour and twenty percent off stock when Peter had first met Tony.

Tony Stark, he’d introduced himself as. An older man, dark suit, salt-and-pepper temples. Old school charm and eyes that were gentle.

It was easy to find a home in Tony. 

The way his arms wrapped around Peter felt more like four walls than anywhere he’d found a roof overhead and so they dated. They dated and fought and fucked, dug themselves into each others skin. The furrow was so deep they had got married six months after their first kiss, neither of them had family except each other now - Peter didn’t look backwards from where he had ran from. 

It was hard to want to when he walked home after a long day, trudging himself up to their single-room apartment with the leaking roof and the floorboards that squeaked in protest when you stepped over them, the tap that never stopped dripping - and Tony, the centre of it all.

Tony was there to massage his aching shoulders after an arduous day, to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips, to enter through the doorway into his body and whisper sweet-nothings into his ear like wind whistling against the windows. Tony was all finger-tracing, wit and he called Peter husband so fondly like it was a gift. It was easy to love him.

Eventually they started their own business together, moving out of the one-bedroom into something more quaint on the outskirts of town by the oak trees. A cottage he cared for because Tony was in it - an extension of them, but just a thing. 

They tasted success as business bloomed, dealing and appraising rare-coins, combining both of their loves into a venture that made Peter feel like he was someone, like an explorer, like he was bringing together his half to their whole. 

But success meant Tony was out of town sometimes for their clients. 

It left them both somewhat vacant whenever he had to go, never more than a day or two, Tony stealing remorseful kisses in the lowlight of dawn as he leaves, taking the light with him. 

For Peter there was not one place called home when home was a person - because when that person is not there it is just a house. A property. Just four walls whose roof isn’t as comforting as his husbands body wrapped around him, inside him. A house didn’t have a heartbeat he could feel thumping under his hand or look at Peter with an adoring smile, soft eyes that crinkled around the edges. A house didn’t breathlessly tell Peter they loved him, didn’t hold him when he wept through the afterimages of his nightmares, didn’t make him feel like he was a cathedral, worth more than weathered sneakers and the pink stitches of skin on his back.

Years passed, settling into their new community like the way that the smell of tobacco latches onto fabric in that weary what can you do about it kind of way. Peter didn’t mind so much feeling like an outlier, he had Tony and their work and passion for both that kept him warm. 

He stayed in the shell they called residence when Tony was out on business and when he came back Tony made him remember that he was a temple. Tony’s tongue licked and laved and moved inside him, all reverence and repentance. Peter was only too eager to forgive for just one more loving kiss.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately turn around and leave everything behind when he stumbled in their dusty garage, used only when either of them pretended to care about gardening. Maybe that’s why he didn’t pack up and run again when he found the dog tags and the ID card in a hidden compartment in the metal shelving. 

Michelle Jones.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The names sounded like his heart jarring, like a baseball breaking through a window - he didn’t know what else to do except gingerly place the items back in the box and wander back into the house in a confused daze, because why, dust motes and orange sun rays in his eyes. Despite swearing never to drink the whiskey Tony keeps in stock Peter finds himself reaching for it. It always burns. 

He’d always drank it sticky and smoky from Tony’s lips anyway.

The wind rattles against the windows and he remembered he needed batteries for the storm, the torches laying uselessly on the coffee table when the lights begin to flicker. But he still has signal on his phone and the light of his laptop to guide his hand to the bottle and the keys as he spells out their names into the search bar and what comes back up is deceased and mystery and suddenly the whiskey doesn’t taste too bad anymore.

The lonely girl with the curly hair. 

The brilliant boy with blue eyes.

The whiskey emboldens him to keep typing furiously, misspelling often as his vision blurs and his throat burns. 

Peter can trace a disappearance to every single one of Tony’s business trips, the dates, the locations. It all aligns right before him, like pages that had been missing all along. 

The victims, at least five of them, are murdered with the same signature method: blunt force trauma followed by the post-mortem removal of the victims heart.

The cavity left in the deceased’s chest is always filled with pennies.

He doesn’t even realise he’s called Tony until the man answers, tinny and concerned on the other end of the call. Dwindling percentage blinks back at him, a shaky thumb pressing the call to speaker.

“…Baby? You there?”

“I’m here,” Peter swallows. “Just wanted to call you. Miss you.”

He hears Tony’s soft sigh as clear as the whistling wind. “Miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon, promise.” 

He sniffs. “When’s soon?”

“Soon,” Tony laughs, low and familiar. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, feeling syrupy, eyes glazing over. “Just wanted to hear your voice. There’s a storm.”

Peter doesn’t like loud noises. Doesn’t like metal clanging, glass shattering, doesn’t like how thunder sounds like belt buckles and upturned chairs hitting floors and fists on walls and how it reminds him that houses can only protect him from the elements. Sometimes when it storms Tony will curl up behind him in bed, and place his hands over Peter’s ears and press kisses to neck, other times he will stand with Peter in the shower until the water runs cold, their rapture echoing off the tiles. 

There’s a pause. 

“You sure you’re okay? Why don’t you turn some music on and get under the covers, sweetheart.”

“Good idea,” Peter lies. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

The thing with finding a home in a person is that sometimes there are parts to uncover and things you only notice when you stare long enough - secret rooms, hidden compartments and it’s just after that you notice the one floorboard that has begun to rot and ceilings that have cracks or the way the door hinges doesn’t work just right. Maybe he doesn’t work just right, either.

You can either pack-up and leave, or content yourself with the window that sticks and the dust-motes and say there aint no place like it.

“Love you too,” Peter whispers, shaking to his core as thunder rolls overhead.

——-

Tony comes home early.

His husbands eyes are dark when he finds Peter curled up in their bed later, late enough for the pale grey of early morning to filter through the glass. One of Tony’s business shirts is draped over Peter’s shoulders, curtain to everything outside of their bed as he rouses. 

“You left your laptop open. You been doin’ some research, baby?” Tony croaks, jaw set, mouth turned downwards. 

Peter doesn’t like that so he beckons, arms like open doorways when he reaches for his husband and takes him by the hand, wedding rings clicking togethers like locks latching. In Tony’s other hand is the ID and the dog-tags dangling by his side. He’s over being mad about being kept in the dark, long away off the initial burn of anger, too relieved that the vacancy is full again to mourn.

It feels like home when Tony kneels onto the bed and presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, like their bed is a pulpit, the heat of Tony’s body as he nuzzles into his side a sermon. 

Peter turns his head to capture his lips, wondering how long Tony has been praying to him.

“Some” he admits. “I might need to pick your brain later. How did the trip go?”

Tony stills for a moment before the bristles of his beard scrape Peter’s cheek, a smile.

“Good. I found us a 1955 double die cent.”

“How much did the owner want for it?” Peter asks, raising their joined hands to kiss Tony’s red-raised knuckles, all copper and nickel.

The shirt falls loosely around his waist when he shrugs it off just to see how Tony’s eyes become a cavern, the slack of his jaw an invitation that Peter has always wanted to run into and curl up in. Maybe he should be running from the dark inside it, the unexplored territory, but he doesn’t. It just feels like a heartbeat, steadfast as a metronome, home.

“Just a few pennies,” Tony answers, eyes falling to Peter’s heart.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 29

Unfinished Business

Warnings: swearing, blood, angst

Word count: ~6800

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The morning finds you, Sadie and Arthur camped out in Big Valley. Arthur has been relatively quiet since your discussion, not that you blame him. The end seems to be coming sooner than you thought, and the prospects of the future frightens you. 

You get up just as the sun is rising over the mountains. The other two are still asleep. You take the opportunity to wander into the large meadow on foot, feeling at peace finally. Something about this valley, the forest and the meadow seems so pure and holy. You used to go to church as a child with your parents, but the thing everyone else claimed they felt inside of it never came to you. That feeling of peace and of having found your place in the world comes here, though. You wonder if maybe when Arthur finally decides it’s time to leave the gang and Dutch, he’d be willing to live here. Perhaps you and him could build a small cabin. Strawberry’s close by, which is ideal for when you need to visit a shop or a post office. 

You sit down in the meadow near the thin winding river and study the scenery. A herd of pronghorns and a white tail buck graze nearby without any fear of you. In the distance, you spot three elk and even a herd of wild horses. If Heaven is real, it must look something like this. You pull out your journal and begin to sketch the view, finally feeling happy with the strokes of your pencil.

Nearly an hour passes and Sadie wanders towards you. “Hey, what you doin’?” she asks.

“Just enjoying the view.” You close your journal and stand up. 

“Come on. Arthur ain’t up yet, but you and I can go scope the place. Try and get a count of how many of those bastards are there.” 

You nod and follow Sadie over to Hanging Dog Ranch. It’s a relatively short walk and you both hide behind a boulder and look through your binoculars. Sadie counts over a dozen men, but you point out there could be more in the house and the barn. Plus there are tents set up and it’s possible that there might be more sleeping in them. 

Sadie suddenly gasps. “That bastard is here.” 

“Who?” you ask quietly. 

She points out a fat man with a bushy brown beard walking around near the barn. He pulls out a cigarette and begins chatting with another man. 

“He’s the feller who shot Jake. He left before Arthur and Dutch showed up, but I told him he’d see me again.” 

“He’s yours then, Sadie. Now come on, let’s go get Arthur.” 

Sadie growls and lowers her binoculars, grinding her teeth. You both head back to Arthur, who’s just stirring awake. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Sadie picks up her rifle and slings it over her shoulder. 

“Fine mornin’ for a killin’,” she says to him. 

He nods and stands up, picking up his own rifle. “You two seen anything down there?” 

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of them,” you say. 

“One of them,” Sadie snarls. “Fat feller with a beard. He’s mine.” 

“Okay,” Arthur says and gestures for you both to walk with him. As you do, Sadie and you fill him in on what the ranch is like. 

“I’ll take the lead once we get there,” Sadie says as you walk out of the cover of the trees.

“So no real plan then?” Arthur points out. 

“Oh I got a plan. Now come on, get in cover.” 

You and Arthur hide behind a large boulder near the perimeter fence while Sadie continues walking. She goes up to the front of the ranch where two O’Driscolls stand, keeping guard. They spot her and one says, “Hey. I think I know her! She’s one of Dutch’s-” 

He’s suddenly cut off by Sadie’s bullet plunging into his skull. The other one falls as she shoots. You and Arthur stand up and aim, firing upon more of the men. Sadie begins screaming like a wild cat and runs into the ranch amidst the returning gun fire.

“Damn it, Sadie!” Arthur growls and he runs out from behind the rock. You follow him and together, you run into the ranch after Sadie and continue shooting. The loft doors of the barn slam open and a man with a gatling gun opens fire, sending you and the others diving behind stacked crates. Sadie takes cover behind an outhouse. 

“Take him out, Arthur!” Sadie yells.

“I can’t get a good shot at him!” he yells back, reloading his gun. You peak around your crates and you can get a shot at him, but he’s directed the gunfire at you and Arthur. 

“Arthur!” you yell over the thundering shots. “Can you direct his fire? I can get him, but it’s too much where he’s at!” 

“Fine!” he hollers back. He takes a breath and then darts over to where Sadie’s at, successfully taking the man’s fire with him. You dart out quickly, aim and breathe out. Pulling the trigger, the gatling gun fire suddenly stops as your bullet strikes him in the neck. 

The O’Driscolls begin hollering in anger as Sadie and Arthur leave their cover and the three of you advance on them. After a few more moments, the shooting stops. 

Sadie lowers her gun. “There’s more in the buildings. You two take the barn, I’ll take the house.” She doesn’t wait for a response and runs to the house, kicking the door in as you and Arthur head to the barn. You see a wagon sitting near the barn with crates in it, creating a perfect platform to get to the upper floor of the barn without going inside of it. You do so as Arthur smashes through the front doors, firing on more of the men. You take cover outside of one of the windows and then aim inside, taking out two men. Another man yells in anger and aims his gun down at Arthur. Before he has the chance to fire, you take him out. All is quiet at last. 

“You okay up there?” Arthur yells. 

You climb in the window and look down at him, waving to signify that you’re fine though a bit out of breath. “Good. I’ll help Sadie, you loot these bastards, see what you can find.” 

You nod and take the chance to catch your breath as Arthur heads over to the house. As you’re looting the men you shot, you hear Sadie’s shriek and then silence. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was being murdered, but you know she must have found her quarry. 

A few moments go by and you’re about to go into the house when the door opens. Out walks Arthur and Sadie, who’s covered in blood. Her eyes are watery and she sniffs loudly. Arthur whistles for his horse.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit,” Sadie says as you walk up to them. 

“I understand,” Arthur replies. He looks at her and then gestures to her clothes. “You, um, might wanna get cleaned up.”

She smiles a bit and then thanks him and you before hopping onto her horse and galloping away. Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder as you both walk over to your horses.

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Of course. Sadie?” 

“Ah, she found that bastard she mentioned. Anyways, we probably need to head back.” 

He hops onto Artemis and looks at you as though waiting for you to argue with him about returning to Beaver Hollow. Instead, you sigh and hop onto Rannoch. 

“Can we just walk there?” you ask. “I know the station ain’t far, but… this place is so pretty, Arthur.” 

“Fine,” he says. He’s still been acting strange, even cold and distant. 

The two of you run the horses in relative silence. The forest changes from the thick, close pines to clusters of aspens. Just as you’re approaching the army fort, you hear someone calling.

“Help me!” the voice calls. “And I shall help thee.” 

You pull Rannoch to a stop and look around for who the voice belongs to. You see a figure near the road leading to the fort, slightly hunched and using a walking stick. You call Arthur’s attention to the figure and trot Rannoch up to the person.

The figure turns out to be an old man, a wild gray beard hides most of his face. He doesn’t seem to see you or Arthur as you approach, but he must hear you. He calls out, “Penny for the blind.” He shakes a tin cup.

You dismount with Arthur and approach him, neither of you saying a word. The man must know you’re close to him as he stretches out the arm holding the cup. “Help a blind man,” he asks, his white eyes blinking. 

You and Arthur pull out a coin and drop it into his tin. He rattles the cup and then pauses. Although he cannot see, he faces Arthur.

“Be warned, sir, be warned. Surrounded by fields of burning fire and flesh, the devil shall make his sacrifice.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess,” Arthur says. 

The old man shakes the tin again, listening for the clinking of your coin with Arthur’s. His head, which shakes slightly, turns to face you. 

“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward.” 

“Um, okay. Appreciate it.” 

You both stand in front of him, waiting to see if the blind man will say anything else. 

“Please, I need to be alone with my thoughts,” he says. “They say old blind man Cassidy is crazy, but I see what others do not.” 

Arthur shrugs his shoulders and returns to Artemis, hopping onto her and continuing on. You do the same. 

“Hey,” he calls back to you. “You mind if we run up to Charlotte’s? I, uh, wanted to check on her. Make sure she’s doin’ alright.” 

“Of course. And what about Hamish?” you ask. 

“Oh, he’s fine, I’m sure. We’ll go huntin’ with him soon but we need to check in with camp again before we do that. Dutch mentioned somethin’ to do with the army and Eagle Flies. I’m worried he’s gonna try somethin’ real stupid.” 

You sigh and agree. You’re beginning to get tired of Dutch and his warped plans, using the complicated struggle between the Indians and the army as a means to his ends. Arthur is getting tired of them too, but he still seems to want to stick around, try to help Dutch clear his head. Whenever you mention the possibility of you both leaving, Arthur brings up John. While you agree that John and his family need the chance to escape, John doesn’t seem interested in taking it. You wonder how long Arthur will wait for him before he decides he’s done. Although he agreed that if, by a month, he’d leave with you, he didn’t seem taken by the idea. Part of you wonders if he truly wants to leave, even though he says he does. 

Arthur still says little as you both head up north towards Willard’s Rest, passing by a loft on a cliff which overlooks the sweeping expanse of New Hanover and Lemoyne. The trees return as you head down the mountain and rejoin the railroad tracks which will lead you right to Charlotte’s home. 

The falls come into view and Arthur diverts Artemis off the train tracks and up the rise. He slows down just before reaching the cabin. As you do the same, you hear a gunshot and trot Rannoch up the path. Once the cabin is in view, you see Charlotte with her back to you, aiming a rifle at bottles she’s placed on a crate. She shoots again, but none of the bottles break. 

“Darn it!” she calls out, lowering her rifle. You and Arthur walk up to her and she smiles when she sees you.

“How you feelin’, ma’am?” Arthur asks.

“Much better than I’ve felt in a long time. If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.”

“Well, you sure look better,” Arthur says, smiling. You nod. Now that you can see her face properly, she has more color and her face is clean, her eyes brighter.

“Better and determined, thanks to you two.” She pats the rifle in her hands. “If I’m going to to hunt, I figured it was time I learn how to use this.” She aims the rifle again.

“How’s that going?” you ask, watching with a smile. 

“Well, let’s just say my prey is looking rather unscathed.” She takes in a deep breath and shoots, the bullet going nowhere near her target. “But the end of labor is to gain leisure, isn’t that what Aristotle said?” She places the butt of the rifle on the ground, the barrel pointing up past her. 

Arthur grabs the barrel and points it away so she doesn’t accidentally shoot herself. “Well, I don’t know much about Aristotle, but I do know guns. Come on, I’ll show ya.” 

You smile as he shows Charlotte how to stand and properly hold the rifle. It reminds you of when he taught you how to do the same all those months ago. 

“Hold steady,” he says softly, “breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs. I’ll show you.”

He pulls out his pistol and aims it, shooting at one of the smaller bottles on the crate. 

“You make it look so easy,” she says. 

“It is,” you say, pulling out your revolver. You point at another bottle and shoot it, the glass shattering. “You try now. Remember to breathe.” 

Charlotte clears her throat and aims the rifle again. “Wait to breathe out,” she says to herself over and over. After a few seconds, she fires again, the bullet striking the corner of the barrel.

“Would you look at that?” she says happily. “I haven’t hit one that close all day!” 

“Not bad,” Arthur says. “Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale. My turn.” 

Just as Arthur is about to shoot, something scurries out from behind the shed. 

“Oh no, that wretched rat is back,” Charlotte says. “It’s been a thorn in my side since we moved here.” 

Without hesitation, Arthur pulls the hammer of his gun down and shoots the rat. With a sly smile, he looks over at Charlotte. 

“Show off,” she says, a light blush on her cheeks. 

Arthur chuckles and shoots a bottle. “Alright, Y/N’s turn.” 

You clear your throat and shoot another bottle. Something about Arthur’s behavior is beginning to make you feel unsettled. He’s been distant with you the past two days, and now here he is being friendly with Charlotte. Helping people isn’t unusual for him, but something about their interactions seems different. You hope Charlotte isn’t growing something for him. 

Charlotte nods in approval of your shot and then aims again. She hesitates once more and then pulls the trigger. A bottle explodes. 

“I hit it! Did you see that? I hit it!”

Arthur chuckles and smiles at her. “That you did. You’re already gettin’ better.” 

“What can I say? Thank you.” She pauses for a moment. “Listen, I still have some of the rabbit left. I’ve salted it up. Would you both join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

You and Arthur thank her and follow her inside her cabin. The majority of it is a long, single room for the kitchen and dining, but two rooms lead off to the right side, their doors shut. Charlotte sets the rifle down behind the door and heads over to her stove where a pot of stew is boiling. She gestures for you and Arthur to take a seat. 

You and Arthur do so and Charlotte brings the pot over to the table. “Well, it’s hot at least.” She grabs some bowls and spoons some stew into one, handing it to Arthur. “Bon appetit.” 

“Huh?” he says. 

She smiles at him. “Please enjoy.” 

He smiles back at her and dips his spoon into it as Charlotte hands you a bowl as well. You thank her and taste it. It’s surprisingly good, better than Pearson’s anyways. 

Charlotte sits down opposite you and begins filling up her bowl. “I really am grateful to both of you. You’ve already helped me so much.” 

“It was nothing,” you say.

She smiles at the pair of you. “You’re good people.”

“Awe, I wouldn’t say that. Least not about me,” Arthur says. 

“I know enough. There’s always more to find in ourselves. You helped me to see that. My husband Cal was such an optimist I found it to be very contagious. But if I’ve learned anything out here, it’s that there’s a fine line between optimism and naivety.”

She starts telling the story of how she and Cal had lived in Chicago. It’s very different from your life in Blackwater. While you had been able to enjoy the perks of civilization in Blackwater, it was nothing to compare to Charlotte’s life. Your father had enough money to keep you and your mother comfortably living, but Charlotte and Cal must have come from wealthy families. 

“It turned out to be very crushing,” she continues. “My father could be overbearing. Then we came out here and I got crushed by this. When Cal first came up with this idea, I pictured myself picking vegetables from a garden, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. Instead I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than I ever imagined.”

Arthur smiles at her. “I reckon you’ll do just fine, ma’am. I think you’ll find you have more strength than you realize.” 

She smiles at him and then catches herself. “But listen to me. Throwing my worries and burdens on you fine people. I barely know anything about either of you except you’re familiar with guns and hunting.”

“There ain’t much to tell, to be honest,” Arthur says. It’s clear he doesn’t want Charlotte to know too much about the gang, nor do you simply as part of the code. He does tell her about his mother and father, the same story he told you. When he gets to how he was on his own until Dutch and Hosea found him, he makes it sound as though they lived fairly normal lives and depended on nature to survive. 

 Charlotte listens politely as he tells his story. “Well, they must be good men to have taken you in the way they did, this Dutch and Hosea.” 

“They are, or were. Unfortunately Hosea passed away not long ago and Dutch, well. He’s changed since then. Been more rash and impulsive.” 

Charlotte sighs. “Must be hard for him. Sounds like he and Hosea built quite a family and lifestyle together. Grief does strange things to people, and no one deals with it the same way. I myself have done things I never would since Cal died. There’s been times when I’ve become overwhelmed with anger and just want to… hurt someone or something so they can feel even a bit of my own pain. Perhaps that’s what is happening with Dutch.” 

“I don’t know. He’s always been the more impulsive of the two, but it’s like now that Hosea’s no longer there to be the voice of reason, Dutch just goes around destroying everything in his path.” 

Charlotte stands up and takes your empty bowls. “Well, he’s lucky to have you there for him at least. Maybe while he’s processing this situation, you can try and help steer him.” 

“Oh I been tryin’. Things are… just goin’ from bad to worse.” 

“How so?” 

“Awe, it… it’s complicated.” Arthur looks at you and pats your knee. “Charlotte, thank you for the meal, we really appreciate, but we need to get back.”

“Of course,” she says, clasping her hands. “I understand, and thank you both again for all your help. I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m going to try hunting today.” 

“Good,” you say, standing up. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” 

She smiles at you again. “Listen, if either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Anything I can do to repay you for your kindness.” 

You both thank her once more and head back to Beaver Hollow. Once again, Arthur’s uncharacteristically quiet. It’s almost the way he was when he first asked you to marry him, he has that same distance about him. You think back to what was last said before he starting being this way, and you recall your discussion about setting a date to leave the gang if things haven’t progressed or if John hasn’t left on his own. 

You both arrive back at Beaver Hollow and Dutch walks over to Arthur, his arms spread. “There you are, Arthur. Listen, I need you to come with me. We are going to help our friend Eagle Flies give the army a final tweak on its nose.” 

Arthur hitches Artemis up and looks hard at Dutch. “You really think that’s a smart idea, Dutch? We’re already in the army’s bad books, you think this is going to help us or the Indians?” 

Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “This is the right choice, Arthur. We need noise, and a lot of it to get those Pinkertons off our backs.”

“I thought that was the whole reason behind blowin’ up the bridge?” 

“Yes, it was, but it didn’t create enough. Now come on.” 

Dutch hops onto the Count and looks at Arthur expectantly. Arthur sighs heavily and gets back onto Artemis.

“You want me to come along?” you ask, hoping that perhaps you and Arthur can talk Dutch out of doing something stupid. 

“No,” Dutch says. “The fewer of us involved, the better.” 

Without another word, he kicks his horse into a gallop and Arthur doesn’t even have the chance to say anything to you. You watch them until they disappear beyond the horizon. As you’re turning to head to your tent, you suddenly bump into Javier.

“Shit!” you say, jumping a little. “You scared me.” 

“Y/N,” he says without any other greeting. “I need your help with something. Heard of a stagecoach coming up to Annesburg. Big mailing stage going through Van Horn. Arthur says you did a good job a couple months back on one just like it.”

“Oh, okay.” You’re taken aback by this. Javier has never done a job with you nor asked for your help with one. It’s even more curious that he’s doing so now with how hostile he’s been with everyone in camp. He seems to sense your hesitation. 

“It could have a lot of cash, Y/N. The more we get, the sooner we can all get out of here. We all need to help Dutch in order to help ourselves. Now let’s go.” 

You sigh and begin following him when Micah calls him back. “Javier, I need you for something. Dutch mentioned you might have some knowledge on this train we’re thinking might be coming through.” 

“Can it wait?” he asks. “Y/N and I are going out on a job.” 

“She can do it by herself, can’t she?” he demands, waving a hand in your direction. Javier looks at you and then to Micah. It’s clear he doesn’t want to abandon the job. You pat his shoulder reassuringly. 

“It’s okay, Javier, I can manage this one on my own. The drivers for this mailing company ain’t that tough. I’ll even save some of the cut for you.” 

He pauses a moment and then nods. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

Micah doesn’t look at you as he heads back to Dutch’s tent with Javier. You’re glad for this job as it allows you to get away from this place again. You feel a little bad, you and Arthur haven’t brought any kind of meat back in a few days and Pearson’s stew is probably fairly sparse at this point. You make a note to hunt after the stage. 

Rannoch gallops down the path as you ride east and south in the direction of Van Horn. Your mind is elsewhere as he runs. It’s too late when you realize that things have gotten too quiet on the trail. 

Just as you’re becoming nervous, a shot rings out through the trees in your direction. The bullet doesn’t hit you or Rannoch but it’s enough to make him stop and rear up, tossing you onto your back. He gallops off as two men come out from the trees. 

You gather yourself and stand up, whipping out your guns. At first you think they’re Murfrees as this is still their territory and they’ve continued robbing people despite Dutch stealing their stronghold. However, you notice their clothes are only dirty, but not torn, old and rugged. The men also lack the wild glint in their eyes that Murfrees have. You wonder if they’re just desperate travelers robbing anyone coming down this way. 

“Get her!” one of them yells. He has a flabby, long face with dull eyes and moppy brown hair. The other is a gangly blonde with red cheeks. He laughs loudly and points his gun at you. Before he has a chance to pull the trigger, you shoot your sawed-off at him and he drops to the ground, blood flowing from his chest where you shot him. The other man looks at you with his dull eyes. 

“Let’s drop this,” he says in a slow voice. He throws his gun down and pulls out his knife. “Let’s see who’s the fastest and strongest.” 

“You’re not trying to rob me?” you demand, suspicious. 

He smiles, showing crooked teeth. “Ain’t never wanted to rob you, lady. Just doing my job.” 

Before you have the chance to ask further, he lunges at you. You dodge out of the way and begin lifting your gun to shoot him, having no care to fight on his terms. He slams into you, his large body knocking you on the ground and your guns flying from your hands. He lifts his leg to stomp on you but you roll out of the way, crawling towards your gun. He swiftly kicks you in the ribs and then picks you up, throwing you to the other side of the trail. 

A second passes and you’re on your feet again, spitting your hair from your mouth. Your ribs hurt where he kicked you, but you don’t acknowledge the pain. You pull out your knife and wait for him. He lunges once more and you dodge, but he trips you. As you’re falling, his blade swipes, the tip catching at your left cheek and gliding across your eye and up to your forehead. The knife misses your eye luckily and you clutch your face, pull your hand away to see it covered in a thick line of blood. The man chuckles and you get up to your feet again, determined despite the blood that’s dripping into your eye. 

“Got you good, looks like,” he smiles when he sees the slash across your face. 

“It’s nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to you!” You square your shoulders. 

He adjusts his grip on the knife, clearly expecting you to come at him. Instead, you dive to the other side of the path, grabbing the sawed-off. You roll onto your back, aiming it. His eyes widen and he runs into the trees as you shoot, your aim off due to the blood in your eye. You blink several times and shoot more, but he’s long gone. 

The sounds of his footsteps fade, alerting you to the fact that he’s not coming back. You clench your teeth and put a hand over the left side of your face. You’re glad camp isn’t too far away as you get up and whistle for Rannoch. A few seconds pass and he comes back, neighing. After holstering your guns and knife, you pat his neck and climb onto his back. 

“Take me home, boy,” you say, grabbing his reins in your free hand and guiding him back. 

As you trot down the trail leading directly into Beaver Hollow, Charles sees you. 

“What happened?” he hollers, grabbing Rannoch’s bridle to better guide him into camp. 

“Ambush. Guy caught me with his knife.” 

Charles hitches Rannoch and then helps you climb off, guiding you with a hand around your shoulder to where Grimshaw’s standing. He calls her attention, stating you’ll need stitches. 

“Again, girl?” she squawks. “I swear, you have the worst luck.” 

She marches to your tent and beckons you to lay down on your cot. You do so and Charles hands you a cloth to soak up the blood. You’re beginning to feel a bit light-headed, a result of losing so much. Grimshaw stomps back holding a bottle of whiskey and Strauss’s medical kit, which got left behind. 

She works quickly, sewing your face back together, dabbing whiskey on the cut. As she does, you tell her what happened to try and ignore the pain. 

“He didn’t say why he was tryin’ to kill you?” 

“No,” you say. “Just said he was on a job.” 

Grimshaw grunts in confusion. Charles has stayed close to make sure she doesn’t need anything else. After a while, she finishes and tells you to get up. Just as you’re sitting up, Grimshaw’s hand on your shoulder, Micah saunters by. 

“Get yourself into a spot of trouble again, hmm?” he sneers. “I’m guessing that stage job didn’t get done either. Real way to pull your weight.” 

Without thinking, you launch to your feet and rush at him, determined to punch any part of him you can reach. Grimshaw stops you and Charles gets in the way. He tells Micah to leave before you completely lose control. Micah just glares at you and walks away. 

“You need to calm down,” Grimshaw demands. “Otherwise you’re gonna bleed more. Now you sit down and I’ll grab you something to eat.” 

You do as she says, trying to slow your breathing. She comes back after a few moments with a bowl of Pearson’s stew. She then tells you to take it easy for the night. You’d think she was being kind, but you know Grimshaw too well. She doesn’t want you to cause your cut to begin bleeding again and make you pass out. The pain has come in full by this point and it’s almost overwhelming. Your ribs ache as well from where the man kicked you. You grab the bottle of whiskey Grimshaw was using and start drinking. 

By nightfall, you’ve drunk so much your face no longer hurts but you can’t feel much else either. You sit around the campfire, waiting for Arthur to return. The staring from everyone in camp has resulted in you draping your hair over the left side of your face and using the tip of your hat to hide your eyes the way Arthur does. 

Dutch saunters into camp, but Arthur is nowhere in sight. He tells you he’s fine, just off hunting and he should be back soon. You’re barely able to understand what he’s saying as you’ve become so drunk. Dutch must be able to tell, he tells you to get to bed. You do so with little argument, stumbling all the way. 

The next morning you wake just as the sun is rising. Your head pounds fiercely from the alcohol and your face feels like it’s on fire. Your ribs are sore, adding to the pain. You lie in the cot, wishing you could die where you lay. You flop your hand to Arthur’s side, only to find it empty. Just as you open your eyes to see if he’s in the tent at all, your stomach heaves. You leap to your feet and dash to the river, emptying your stomach of what little is left. 

After a few moments, you splash cold water from the river onto your face, making your cut sting. It does little to cure your headache but at least you can think a bit more clearly. Getting back up the hill is an enormous effort, but you do and head over to Pearson’s fire to get yourself some coffee. 

As your sipping your coffee, trying to ignore the pain, Mary-Beth walks up holding a small bowl. She holds it out to you.

“Here, I, um, I made some of that concoction Hosea made you when your leg was bad.” 

You look in the bowl and see the familiar paste with bits of the crushes plants mixed in it. You take it from her, thanking her. You swallow it quickly, although it tastes awful, and chase it down with coffee. 

By late morning, your headache is dull enough you can pick up chores again. Grimshaw flatly expresses she doesn’t want you going anywhere the next few days, stating you’ve had enough adventures for a while. 

While you work, you think about how horrible things have become in the gang. So many people have died or left, it seems like hardly anyone is left. You observed Tilly and Karen having a heated argument that the entire gang heard as Tilly pleaded with her to stop drinking. The fight ended when Karen nearly struck Tilly but walked away at the last second. 

Your own adventure from yesterday that resulted in your face getting cut open only adds to your worry. You haven’t been able to forget what that man said, how he was attacking you on someone’s orders. The question of who keeps circling in your head, providing no answers. You wonder if it would be best if you and Arthur left sooner than you agreed on. If things have gotten this bad in so little time, you don’t even want to think about how much worse they’ll be in a few weeks’ time. 

As you finish scrubbing a shirt, you hear a horse coming down the path. Looking up, you see Artemis with Arthur astride her. You wave to him and smile, although it quickly disappears because it hurts too much. Arthur half-heartedly returns it. You get up and walk over to him, your face still half covered. 

“Arthur, can we talk?” you ask as he’s hitching Artemis. 

“Sure,” he says. He heads over to your tent. You ask him how things went with Dutch yesterday and he sighs heavily. “Whole thing was a mess. Eagle Flies has been taken prisoner by the army. I’m gonna talk with Charles, see if we can break him out.” 

“And Dutch just let him?”

“Dutch didn’t see. The army came at us hard, even had a goddamn cannon. Dutch and I got split off from the others and had to jump off a cliff into the river. Had no choice, we got cornered. Anyways, after we escaped, I went digging around to find out what happened to Eagle Flies.” 

You nod, biting your lip. “It’s getting worse, Arthur. Maybe… maybe after we get Eagle Flies out, we need to leave. You and me.” 

Arthur turns and looks at you, his brow furrowed. “What about everyone else? We just gonna leave them all behind to suffer?” 

“Arthur, we can’t help those who won’t help themselves. You taught me that. John has shown no desire to leave, to get Abigail and Jack out. I talked to her this morning, she says she won’t go anywhere without John. We need to think about-” 

“Don’t talk to me about gettin’ ourselves out, darlin’!” he snaps at you, taking you back. “I told you I was gonna get as many people out as I can, and that’s what I’m gonna do. If you wanna leave, then I ain’t gonna stop ya.”

“Arthur, I’m not leaving without you. Where you go, I go, remember?” 

“Then I guess you’ll be staying here with me until things get figured out.” He begins turning away when a slight breeze blows through the tent, lifting your hair slightly as you stare at him incredulously. “What’s that?” he asks, straightening back up.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your hair back over your face. 

He sighs and brushes the hair away from your face. “What the hell?” 

You pull away from his hand, realizing he must find the slash hideous. You push the hair back over your face. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” 

You tell him everything, including what the man said. “You see what I mean?” you finish. “Things are getting worse, Arthur. Someone is gunning for me and I don’t know who. Please, Arthur, let’s get out of here. Start our life somewhere else like we talked about.” 

He lowers his brow again. “And like I said, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until I can get as many people out as I can. They deserve it.” 

“Arthur, if they wanted to leave, they’d have done it by now.” 

“So we just forget about them, hmm? We just tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, John and all them to figure it out themselves? All because you’re scared about who’s gunnin’ for ya? I’ll protect you, sweetheart, I always have.” 

“You ain’t always around, Arthur! Dutch has you runnin’ around so much, you can’t possibly do that.” 

“So then deal with it! Go find who this bastard is and put a bullet in him. You took down your goddamn family, this should be easy.” 

You can’t understand why Arthur is saying these things. You know he’s always been loyal to the gang, to Dutch. You thought he’d be willing to let it go if it meant having a new life with you. 

“Arthur, please. Please, let’s get out here. We’ve saved who we can, the rest need to take care of themselves. We keep going like this, we’re all going to die!” 

“Then go! If you’re going to be a coward, then get out of here!” His voice has risen considerably. You stare up at him.

“I- I’m not a coward, Arthur. I’m just trying to be real.”

He lifts his lip to you. “No, you’re just looking after yourself. That’s all you ever done. You don’t give a damn about none of these people. You just want me all to yourself, living in some cabin the rest of our lives like a goddamn fantasy.” 

“No, that-that’s not true. Just listen to me. I’m scared for everyone, Dutch is on a suicide mission and he’s taking all of us with him.” 

“You always blame everything on Dutch, don’t you? He’s workin’ on getting us out, that means all of us. He’s as sick of losing people as we are. But you… you just assume the worst of him. Once we all get out of here, he’ll get better.” 

“Arthur, if he hasn’t gotten any better he won’t ever! Stop lying to yourself!” 

He glares down at you and shakes his head a little. “I can’t believe you’d be so selfish,” he mutters. “After all these people have done for you, you’d just let them all die so you can live. You know what? Asking you to marry me was the worst mistake I ever made.” 

Your heart plummets into your stomach. He clears his throat, looking away. “Y/N, I didn’t mean-” 

“Save it, Arthur,” you growl. “Fine, I ain’t gonna stick around only to watch you die because of the rantings of a mad man, and I won’t hang around as a reminder of your mistakes.” 

You grab your satchel from the cot, ignoring his stammerings. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean- Let me rephrase that.” 

You stomp across the clearing, trying to keep the tears from falling. You won’t give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing you cry. He follows you a few steps behind.

“Y/N, stop! I didn’t mean that, I’m just tryin’ to-”

“And I told you to save it, Arthur!” you holler, climbing onto Rannoch, painfully aware of the gang’s eyes on you. Arthur stands by Rannoch and grabs the reins. 

“Y/N, please let me explain things.” 

“You said your bit, Arthur, and no matter how much you try, you can’t take back what you said. But I’m glad to know what you truly think about me. Now leave me alone.” 

His brow furrows again. “Fine, then run off like you always do. That’s all you ever done when things go bad. That’s what you did when you killed your family and that’s what you did every time you and I argued. All you ever do is run away!”

You bite your lip and look away, willing yourself not to cry. You look down and see his ring on your finger and your tempted to throw it at him. Instead, you look at him. “Good bye, Arthur.” You jerk Rannoch’s reins from his hand and gallop down the path, refusing to look at what you’re leaving behind.