#she didn’t quite sound like Blanche… you know?

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Trust Nelly's instincts

Aw hey, time for the infamous second pharmacy run

What -- Maggie said that the area where the drugstore is has been empty. Thank God, an uneventful trip sounds great! And nothing has gone wrong with keeping the secret about the barn, so, things are looking pretty good right now. And it's so weird that you thought it looked like Carl had a gun tucked into the waistband of his cargos, right? As if.

Who -- The series is slow-burning, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader. In this chapter, you're joined by Maggie, Glenn, Hershel, Lori, Carl, big brother Shane, Rick, Dale, a cameo by Jimmy, and most importantly: Nelly! (<- she's the horse)

When -- Chronologically after "A near-perfect Sunday," Meaning we're back where we left off in Season 2. This chapter takes place in S02 episode Secrets, and as with all chapters that take place directly in an episode, there is word-for-word show dialogue.

Special note -- The last chapter published was a time skip all the way to Daryl Spinoff Season 1, for those who want a little bit of non-linear fun featuring angst and fluffy yearning

Perspective -- 2nd person

Pronouns - none

TWs - mild language, bad screenshots, some intense scenes.

Masterlist to the rest of the Slowpoke Series :D

Trust Nelly's instincts

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

Morning

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

“I feel so special!” you sing. Nervous Nelly is letting you ride her again!

Mr. Greene gave you permission to ride her at your request. In fact, you can’t help but squeal, “Thank you, Mr. Greene!” one last time. You hadn't expected your squeal to travel quite so far, but you see his tiny, far off form turn ever so slightly and raises his hand in acknowledgment. Ha.

Thrice so far you’ve practiced riding on horseback for the pharmacy trip. You’ll be leaving with Maggie and Glenn closer to noon, and the trip might should last an hour and a half to two hours? Maybe less, you don’t know. After target practice, T-Dog is doing an extended search for Sophia today with Carol and Rick, so he’s not coming anymore.

The list is all ready to go. You’re going to look for one of the bio-identical types of progestogen that Lori was prescribed before. She’d miscarried a bunch of times, and finally (finally) her doc had her try it out because Lori had done the research and brought it up. The first trial ended in another loss, as was expected. Except she didn’t get pregnant again that she knew of until now.

As for the Rh shot, you have no idea if it would even work anymore. You don’t know how it’s supposed to be stored or what the shelf life is. But there's a high chance she’ll need it if both baby and her are going to survive.

Ooh, maybe the pharmacy has a manual you can utilize! Like, you have a Merck Manual but it only goes so far.

Either way, your prayer is that Lori and new baby make it to the finish line together. Another loss, now, may be too much for her to handle.

“You’re the sweetest horse, yes you are, sugar,” you coo. “Such a pretty, sweet horse, Nelly, such a sweet, sensitive girl.” *muah!* “I love you, Nelly-belly!”

The snickering you hear is…ah, Jimmy’s.

Side-eyeing him, you make your accent fancy like Blanche Devereaux’s and pretend to glower. “Hmph! It appears young James is jealous of our bond, Miss Eleanor. Pay the boy no mind.” If only your attempt to turn her around like a pro didn’t result in her doing a 360. Twice. In opposing directions when you tried to correct her, oof, that’s embarrassing.

“I thought you’d ridden before.”

“I did for fun when I visited friends at a rez in Oklahoma. We’d hang at the ranch nearby.” You were so painfully homesick the first (and second and third and fourth) time(s) that it’s shocking you chose to go back in one or two-week increments during so many summers. How Zee and Suri survived those entire summers visiting their mom’s side of the family out of state, mostly away from their parents, you may never know. “I learned how to ride a motorcycle there, too.”

“Cool, you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“Yes indeed!”

He must be so proud of his follow-up: “Do you ride ’em better than you ride horses?”

“Difficult to say when clearly I am a great expert on the saddle, farm boy,” you goof off.

Jimmy just chuckles and brings the brush and hoof pick back to the stables.

You try your hand at having the horse canter (is that the word for horse jogging? Or is that trotting?). It goes okay. You just need to remember to use the reins to slow her down, not your feet, which make the opposite happen.

After 10 or so more minutes of practice during which you go back and forth pretending you’re in the Lord of the Rings or in the Old West, you hop down and hitch her to the fence post so you can pee before you go back to the campsite.

It’s your turn to wash the dishes from breakfast.

What a comfort that this trip is more than likely going to be entirely uneventful. Maggie went with Otis lots of times into town, and then her and Glenn’s trip was fine, too. According to her, the place is now empty. She hasn’t even seen any dead ones for weeks.

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

Mid-morning

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

“Glenn,” you murmur when he walks by with the latest bushel of bribery-peaches. He’s staring at the barn a little too obviously again. His skin looks clammy, too. “Did you have another nightmare about it?”

“A really bad one, right before I woke up. I keep—” he shivers. “Every time I look in that direction, it’s like déjà vu.”

“That sucks.” What else to say…“Only a few more days and we can revisit how to tell people. I really think I that time Mr. Greene will see reason. I got a feeling about it.”

“And I’ve got a feeling that they’re gonna bust down the doors and eat us.”

“They wouldn’t bother, you’re too skinny. You should eat more of them peaches,” you joke. “And enough carryin’ food like you’re still the delivery guy.”

“It helps me feel in control,” he admits. “I swear, I almost blurted it out to your brother when I was walking around with the basket just now.”

A shiver runs through you. “Well, thank you for not. Want my mp3 player?”

“No. I want to be able to hear when they break the chains around the door.”

You’re momentarily distracted when Carl walks by with a thick stick in his hands. Does he have a g…no, of course not.

It’s dumb, you thought he looked like he was packing. It was just the way his shirt was puffing out and folding because of the sheath of his knife, duh. Must be on your mind because he’s been asking and hinting more and more about learning.

Just the other day, he asked when you were helping Beth with safety switch drills if you’d teach him, too. You showed him that aspect, but repeated that he’d need express permission from both parents to learn to shoot, and suggested that he go to Uncle Shane to help him ask. Shane’s the best instructor, simply put, more than Rick and T-Dog and definitely more than you.

After standing by the adults (and Jimmy, who's taken on more and more of a role in looking for Sophia) planning the day’s search areas, your nephew takes the shady spot under the awning and leans against the side of the RV. He appears to be carving a point at the end of his stick.

Aw, it’s like the way Daryl sharpens the points of his bolts sometimes. Cute. Cuter still how he’s loving wearing Rick’s deputy hat that he gifted him. Such a little man.

It looks like Beth and Patricia asked to come to target practice again today, good. Jimmy keeps trying to shoot with the gun cocked sideways, it’s pretty funny. His mom will get a laugh out of it, hopefully.

When Shane saunters over and waves you to join, he claps his arm around your shoulders from the side with a “G’morning. Say, I, uh,” he then murmurs in your ear. “I think I need your help for this. You noticed the tracking on him, too, I assume? I saw you do that double-take and I reckon you’re right.”

You trust him entirely but want him to be wrong. Carl would have had to take a gun without permission to be carrying, an idea you don’t like one bit. “It ain’t just the way his shirt’s falling?” you quietly wish.

“I been telling you: trust your instincts. You’re not an idiot.” He briefly touches his forehead to yours, takes another bite from his half-eaten peach and tilts his head toward Carl before leading the way.

“Dude. Nice lid, man,” he tells him regarding the deputy hat, then walks around to the opposite side of the RV with the two of you. “What’s goin’ on?”

Upon getting a closer look, yes indeed, Carl is carrying.

It was well done, tucking it on the same side as the sheath. Makes it easier to miss.

“Were you trying your hand at making a bolt from scratch for Mr. Dixon or just killin’ time?” you comment about his whittling. He wouldn’t have taken a gun just for ha-has, he’s a wholeheartedly good kid. You can’t quite wrap your head around it.

“I was just killing time.”

“Well, it looked cool, punk,” you tell him softly, smiling through the disappointment. Sighing, you crouch and wait for Shane to do the rest.

Carl looks at you, then at his uncle. “I wanna learn to shoot, too. Can you teach me?”

Your brother chuckles as he sits against the RV’s front grille. “Well, man, that’s, that’s up to your parents.”

“That’s what Y/N said.”

Shane nods at you. “Y/N’s right.”

“Can you talk to them? They’ll listen to you.”

Chewing another mouthful of peach, Shane takes his time but is completely serious when he agrees, “We’ll see.”

Let down, Carl nods politely and makes as if to walk away.

You hold out your hand to slow him. “Hey. A moment, little man.”

Shane gently but firmly orders, “Let us see what you got there.”

Slowly, Carl lifts the front right side of his button-down.

“Carl Lincoln Grimes,” you cannot help gasp upon seeing exactly which gun he has tucked into his belt. “That is your mama’s.”

Your brother is staring, visibly pissed. You just know he’s imagining taking a whistling teakettle off the stovetop to help keep his cool.

It wasn’t just any pistol from the bag in the RV. No, that gun is Lori’s.

Shane looks to his left where no one is standing, hurls underhand what’s left of his peach in that direction, and stands. “Thank you,” he grunts, then strides away to get Rick and Lori.

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

Mystery number of uncomfortable minutes later

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

Lori gave Carl a chiding so effective it only needed her to state her disappointment that he’d went behind their backs. She’s so upset. So upset. You’re settled at the picnic table where Carl is awaiting his sentencing.

Briefly, you catch Lori laying her hand on her stomach, her forehead knotted in worry. Hopefully she’ll tell Rick about the pregnancy soon. Guarding this secret will only lead to more hurt the longer it stays a secret. She stands from where she’s been kneeling by you in front of her son, tucks her gun into the back pocket of her jeans, and joins the other adults. Other than Rick and yourself, Shane of course stayed, but Dale is also here.

“Bet you four quarters someone brings up how I started learning gun stuff when I was eight,” you whisper to your nephew, trying to lighten his mood.

Carl doesn’t make a yes or a no, he just sort of looks up at you, then back down at his shoes.

It sounds like Lori’s questioning herself more than anyone. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Well, it’s my fault. I let him into the RV,” Dale explains. (Except, that doesn’t make him at fault.) Here’s the kicker that he reveals, however: “He said that he wanted a walkie, that you sent him for one.”

Your mouth drops. Stealing the gun was out of character enough, but he also lied? That is not like him. At all.

Seeing your appall, Carl bows his head even more.

Poor Lori by taken by such surprise that her childhood accent begins to slip out. “So on top of everything else, he lied?” she chastises, then begins discussing something with Rick, the words too soft to make out.

Whatever they are, your brother must hear. “He wants to learn how to shoot. He asked both me and Y/N to teach him,” he says. “Now, it’s none of my business, but I’m happy to do it. It’s your call.”

“I’m not comfortable with it,” Lori is quick to answer, but her face falls into incredulity when she looks at her husband. “Oh, don’t make me out to be the unreasonable one here. Rick?”

“I know. I have my concerns, too, but—”

“—There’s no ‘but,’ he was just shot!”

Hearing her say this brings to the surface every painful detail of that awful, awful day.

Immediately and unexpectedly, you release a sob. You have to quickly stand and take a few steps away, holding your breath, trying to compose yourself and not make a scene. Shane’s familiar footfall sounds behind you, and you feel him peck a kiss on your head.

The next part of the discussion that draws your attention is your name after Rick mentions something about safe gun handling.

“Y/N, you were doing safety drills with Beth and him just the other day, is that right?”

“Ricky, leave me alone,” you huff. Carl gets up and wraps his arms around you. You hug him back and wonder how scared or responsible for others’ safety he must feel that he’d steal his mother’s firearm.

Lori is resolute. “I don’t want my kid walking around with a gun.”

“But how can you defend that?” Rick counters. “You can’t let him go around without protection.”

“He’s as safe as he’ll ever be right here,” she pleads. She did not need this today, any of this. “Look, everything you’re saying makes perfect sense. It feels wrong,” is the last thing you hear. You become consumed with second thoughts, worries, guilt over the barn. If any of them found out now…

“Do you think I can say something?” Carl whispers, still with an arm around you. “I wanna speak for myself.”

You nod and pat him on the back. “Start with somethin’ to comfort your mother.”

Rick is in the middle of telling Lori, “He’s growing up, thank God. We’ve got to start treating him more like an adult.”

“Then he needs to act like one!” The reprimand stings and you’re not even the recipient. “He’s not mature enough to handle a gun.”

Carl must’ve seen a chance, because he chooses now to speak up. “I’m not gonna play with it, Mom. It’s not a toy.” He walks toward the ring of adults as calm as could be. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. But I wanna look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can’t do that without a gun.”

If you loved that kid any more, you’d explode. Just look at Lori's face, it's plain as day she's thinking the same.

“Shane’s the best instructor I know.” What a compliment from Rick. “I’ve seen him teach kids younger than Carl. Y/N was only eight.”

“I told ya someone would dredge that up,” you say under your breath. Shane raises an eyebrow at you, not being so bold as to smirk.

Carl turns and grins, however. “Guess I owe you a dollar.”

Lori appears to relent, coming to an agreement with Rick. She looks at her son and cups his chin the way she’s done for as long as you can remember.

“You will take this seriously and you will behave responsibly. And if I hear from anyone in this camp that you are not livin’ up to our expectations—”

“—He won’t let you down,” his father promises.

Lori kisses her boy on his head, kisses Rick’s cheek. She then looks at her stomach, looks at you, but averts her eyes so quickly away from yours that it gives you a pause. Something about it hits as eerily familiar, like the night at the CDC.

Red flag.

Not three minutes later when you’re finally finishing your turn on dish duty, she picks up the empty rinse pail. “Are you and Glenn still going to the pharmacy today?”

“Yes. We’re takin’ the horses. Teddy isn’t coming anymore but it will be us two and Maggie.”

“Good. I, um,” she trails off. Again, she won’t quite look at you.

What’s wrong? Did you offend her earlier? “Lore, what’s up?”

“Oh, I’m, I’m just preoccupied. It’ll be interesting to see what target practice is like,” she brushes it off.

“Everything okay with,” and you flit your gaze to her belly.

“Well, there's so bleeding or pain," she answers in a very soft voice. "And I still can’t stand the smell of meat or eggs, so..."

The best you can come up with is about as helpful as a screen door on a submarine: “Thank God we have all these peaches.”

“I cannot tell you how many I’ve eaten,” she begins to chat, seeming grateful for an excuse to change the subject. If only her smile was reaching her eyes. “Half of my body weight is probably peaches at this point.”

“Same,” you snort.

The conversation ends.

You’re left with the disquieting notion that there’s a big red flag you’ve missed.

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

Noon

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

Mr. Greene calls your name when you have just dismounted Nelly so you can lead her to the mailbox where you’re meeting Maggie and Glenn. Maggie’s going to adjust the straps on all three saddles before you three set out. You turn to Mr. Greene, happy as a clam that you’ve gotten the hang of riding Nelly and that Carl is safe with both mom and dad at target practice. After this morning’s drama, the rest of the day will seem a breeze!

You look at him.

Hershel’s gaze is too intent and direct.

Your stomach twists.

It’s so direct that a strange sense of dread and defeat presses down on you before he’s said a word.

“I am aware that you and he know.”

This stops you dead in your tracks.

No.

No, he can’t know.

The way he’s peering at you suggests that he can see straight into your mind. “To clarify, I am aware that you and your friend know about whom we are safeguarding in the barn.”

Your breathing turns shallow and quick. “But we ain’t told nobody!” slips out before you can speak with proper grammar and less twang. “W-We haven’t told anybody, sir,” isn’t much of an improvement.

If the old man had pulled a gun on you, you’d be less terrified than you are now.

He’s going to kick you all out and it’s all your fault. It’s your fault, you should’ve — if you’d — how stupid could you have been to — oh, fuck!

Lori’s voice, her words that helped get you through the panic come back to you, “Try this with me, honey.” Slowly in through the nose, out through the mouth. Yet, with this panic comes a curious style of anger that you’re almost tempted to call righteous.

“Sir, we respected your daughter’s wishes and told no one. We, we went ag-gag-” you pause, slow down, regain control over your speech. “We went against what we’ve learned. We kept quiet, and that’s, that’s with an injured man and a child among us. Sir, we are riskin’ their safety,” you very nearly lose your cool when saying.

Breathe. Take the kettle off the burner.

“If you’re of mind to, to kick us off your land for simply,” you swallow, “knowing what’s in there, I am beggin’ you, please, reconsider. Please.” You are unable to look him in the eyes for more than a second.

Unreadable. He’s unreadable.

Why isn’t he responding, at least, so you can know what the verdict is? Swing the gavel, already!

Not knowing what to do, you keep blabbing against the disquieting notion within you that you may be digging a deeper hole. “You ain’t the — I mean, you are not — the sort of man to punish the whole for an honest mistake of the few. You, you, y-you are the sort of man who,” you take a deep breath with palms open in supplication, “Rick and I was two blood-soaked strangers. Carl was a child with a shotgun wound.” How weak your voice sounds, as if already beaten. “You let us in through your doors and saved his life. That’s the kind of person you are.”

He finally answers. “So, you are aware of my reservations regarding your group.”

“We all are.”

“Again, I am inclined to appreciate your plainspokenness.”

A weak giggle.“I would say it’s more I can’t shut my mouth at times.”

Did he just find that amusing? “And yet, you have not spoken of what you know about the sick men and women.”

‘Sick men and women.’ Would it be a lapse of you to not address how wrong he is? If he’s already set to kick everyone out, maybe this is the last chance you have to change his mind.

It must’ve been written on your face because he calls it out. “And you appear to disagree with my referring to them as such.”

“Folk have to die to turn. Their souls have moved on.”

“There should be no indication of memory, in that case. I have witnessed it.”

You stand straighter. “The virus hijacks the deceased’s nervous system,” you say without a hint of a stutter. Maybe this will save you all, your speaking up at this very moment. Shane told you to trust your instincts, and they’re screaming at you to speak up.

“That is your opinion, then?” he asks, but not dismissively. He sounds genuinely curious.

“It is not my opinion, it’s a fact we learned right from the scientist at the CDC,” you risk stating. You're breathing too fast now. It’s making your fingers numb like they did before the panic attack, and your cheeks are so heated you’re beginning to sweat. “My opinion is that letting them walk is akin to desecration of a corpse, a-and I believe those people deserve a burial.”

Okay, it’s done, you’ve said your piece.

And regret it immediately.

Oh, Y/N, you stupid, stupid idiot.

You are not courageous enough to meet his eyes yet because you can tangibly feel his stare.

“Then I must ask you…” Oh, no, you stupid, stupid idiot, Y/N. “…How you could allow such a thing to continue, if you indeed feel so strongly?”

Nelly appears to become agitated.

Your bottom lip begins to wobble. “Sir, w-we need someplace safe.” This conversation is not only defeating, it’s humiliating. “We are completely at your mercy, Mr. Greene, you know this.”

“So at my mercy that you’d allow ‘corpses’ to be ‘desecrated.’”

That word must have really struck a nerve. You stupid, stupid, idiot.

“Th-they’re contained,” you attempt. If he leaves before you can smooth things, it’s on you if your people are kicked out. On. You. And when someone is killed because the lot of you got kicked out, it will be entirely on you, their blood on your hands. The hand you used to stanch the flow from Amy’s neck begins to feel covered in it once more. “They can’t hurt nobody in there, so that’s, um—y-you’re givin’ them dignity and reverence in that way. That’s not immoral.”

The description, you hope will offset the clear sting that the word ‘desecration’ had on him.

It wasn’t all a lie on your part, either. He is clearly trying to give those walkers dignity. He just doesn’t understand that they’re dead and not coming back.

“Y/N, thank you for your candor but please do not feel the need to hold my hand. There are far more troubling outlooks than yours,” he calmly intones. “I surmise that you are not aware that the older gentleman in your group now knows.”

Excuse you? “You mean Mr. Horvath knows?” You stare at your clean, non-bloodied hand to prove that it's not soaked.

“He described having taken a walk near the barn, hearing the sick inside. He was the picture of respect. However…”

You’re starting to feel unstable on your feet. What’s the catch?

“When I discussed this with my family, Maggie was inclined to believe that your friend had told him. This, of course, led to my being made known that the two of you had also made the discovery.”

You lift your eyes through the fear to meet his, one hand on the fence post for stability. “Sir. Are we to leave right quick?”

“No.”

“When should we be ready, sir,” you don’t even bother to make sound like a question. You wipe your hand on your shirt but the feeling of it being sticky with blood remains. “I-I only wish to be prepared.” You stupid, stupid idiot.

“I’ve not made any decision yet on the matter.” He hasn’t made — what? “Young Carl requires more time to recuperate and there’s the sad fact of the young girl being not yet found.”

You grip the fencepost. The group isn’t kicked out?

Mr. Greene continues, unaware that your relief is so intense that you just might float away. “Daryl is not quite on his feet yet, either, and seeing as he is one of the stronger members of your group, it wouldn’t be charitable to — are you well?”

You’re leaned against the post with your eyes closed because you started to see sparkles. Mr. Greene repeats his question.

“Mmhm,” you breathe. “Sir, are you sure you’re not drivin’ us off now?”

There are a few moments where he doesn’t respond. When he does, it’s in a low, soft tone. “You were under the impression I sought you out in anger, to order your group off my land?”

You aren’t thinking straight. Admitting, “If you’d held a gun to my head, I’d have been less scared out my wits,” is completely unintentional.

“Y/N, I,” you hear him sigh. “I am sorry that the prospect is so thoroughly frightening. To answer you clearly: no. I have not made any hard decisions as of yet. For the time being, your people are still recovering and getting settled.”

Rather than the sheer gratitude you intend to convey, you manage one, breathless, solitary: “O-Okay.”

“Oh, child…” He takes something out of his shirt pocket and offers it to you. A handkerchief.

You accept it and use it to blot your eyes dry and wipe your nose.

“It was not my intention to cause so much anxiety. I merely wished to convey my thanks, and to gain assurance that you would continue to maintain discretion. Please accept my thanks,” he softly drawls, careful in his wording. “For the respect and understanding that you and your friend are showing to the sick individuals under my care.”

‘The sick individuals.’ If only they were. He is so convinced that they’re merely sick, that you feel pain for him.

“They are of no threat to your people,” he then assures you. “They are well-contained. My own family would be in danger if they were not, so please, take solace that they are secure. The only way they would get out is if someone took the effort and time to let them out.”

“Okay.” If there’s an elegant way to save the conversation, it’s lost on you.

You do finally look him in the eye for longer than glance. He’s squinting in a way similar to how Rick does. Particularly, he appears concerned.

“Are you feeling well enough to accompany Margaret and the boy to the drugstore?”

You sniff and shuffle your feet. “Yes, sir.”

“You two are experienced in such outings, I’ve gathered.”

“Glenn and I have gone on many. We’re a good team.”

“I think they’re waiting for you by the gate,” he says with a nod toward their direction. “God protect you. And — Y/N? When you’re out there, trust Nelly’s instincts.”

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

35 minutes later

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

La-ti-da, the rest of the day will be a breeze compared to this morning’s drama, well, what a clueless little dewdrop you were.

The talk with Hershel notwithstanding, Glenn decided to be the biggest, most embarrassing nerd in the entire world and make the trip the worst, most awkward trip in the world!

Okay, might could be you’re exaggerating.

But he did say to Maggie seemingly out of the blue, “You didn’t have to come. You could hate me from a distance,” to only follow it up with “Please say something.” Like, was the man serious?

Maggie, so far, hasn’t uttered a peep in reply.

You as well are leaning toward saying silent. All you’d said was your short piece when the three of you first set off, explaining what Mr. Greene was talking to you about and that you were taking the rear, thank-you-very-much. The stress and panic from earlier mutated into getting m-a-d.

Although, there was also the brief incident where you, maybe due to being overtired or still out-of-it from speaking with Hershel, started absently giggling over the line from Friends, ‘They don’t know that we know that they know!”

Maggie smiled vaguely when you explained.

From your spot in back it’s really not so uncomfortable and awkward a trip. Every so often, you look behind you and to either side. So far, it’s been all-clear every time. It’s a treat, really.

More houses, spaced far apart, begin to come into view. Soon there are street signs and overgrown sidewalks.

So far, things have been very uncomfortable but entirely undramatic and uneventf—

“Whoa, Nelly belly, you okay?”

Her ears have gone back and she’s resisting going further.

“What’s up? Is there something scary, sugar?” you softly worry aloud. “Margaret, Glenn?” you call.

Maggie looks back to see the horse reacting to whatever is spooking her. Her eyes narrow and she looks all around.

“I know she’s ‘nervous’ but,” you lose your train of thought. “I’ll get off and lead her, Maggie?” you then ask more than decide, but dismount all the same. Don’t want to get reared off like Daryl.

Glenn sits up straight, alert and scanning the area. “Do you think she sees one?”

“I ain’t too sure.” Mr. Greene’s warning to ‘Trust Nelly’s instincts,’ pops into your head. “Maybe she smells one.” Like you'd been taught, you reach up to stroke her t-spot and help soothe her. She mainly pulls her head away from the attempt.

“Try a treat, too,” Maggie suggests. “Eating comforts them into feeling safer.”

You take the butter knife and one of the peaches (don’t worry about running out, you packed 7 peaches) from your bookbag and slice it in half to remove the pit. “I’ll lead her on foot,” you decide.

Maggie seems wary. “We’re almost there.”

She and Glenn go on. Nelly permits you to lead her, so you feel better.

Her instincts are saying it’s okay to go now.

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

5 minutes later

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

Maggie had described it as empty. Empty it sure is. It’s nice to see a commercial area that doesn’t have much broken glass or trash.

It does get to you sometimes; when you and Shane went to scrounge for what you could back when the lootings had died down, neither of you smashed things. Why did people smash things? Break stuff, trash stuff, steal stuff? The riots were such bullsh — you’re being uncharitable again. Right and wrong aside, people were panicked and going mad. Not that it’s a good reason, but still, few are immune to mass hysteria. When people are scared or angry, it’s contagious and folk aren’t in their right minds.

Besides, walkers were responsible for some of the smashed glass, namely full-length windows. They ran fast in the onset and getting cut on glass doesn’t bother them.

Anyway, yeah, this area didn’t have much of that, it seems. Granted, you’re at the edge of the ‘downtown,’ but the street looks great, to be honest. A lot of windows in the small buildings are intact.

In a sudden rush of excitement, you call, “Sophia! It’s Y/N and Glenn! Are you here, baby?”

No answer.

“Sophia!”

No answer.

You shake your head and walk faster, Nelly matching your pace.

Looks like the drugstore is ahead to the left. The inside appears pretty bare-bones from what you can tell from the outside.

Now is when Glenn attempts to talk more. “Maggie, I—”

“—I asked for your trust and you betrayed it. Now my dad’s pissed at me.” Maggie immediately claps back. “Your turn.”

“So your dad thinks they’re sick?”

“You know they all do,” you murmur to yourself. God, help them see, you pray simply.

“You agree with that, even after what you saw at the well?” he puts to her, and good on him. She and her dad could use some cold, hard truth. If only her father had seen the walker at the well.

“I’m not sure what I saw at the well,” Maggie answers uncomfortably. She dismounts and moves to hitch her horse to one of the beams in front of the pharmacy.

Glenn looks at you for support before challenging her, “Yes, you are.”

“Maggie, we saw it together,” you agree softly. “Split in half, still biting.”

“And there’s no way a person, sick or not, could survive that!” Glenn exclaims. “Look, if you saw Atlanta, you would not have a barn full of walkers!”

“I wish you would stop callin’ them that!” Maggie yells.

Glenn softens. “What do you call them?”

“Mom. Shawn,” she goes on, tying her horse’s lead with such ease that she hardly needs to look. “Mr. and Mrs. Fischer. Lacey. Duncan.”

It hadn’t really made sense to you until now that, for the Greenes, they are (were?) operating with a confidence that a cure was possible, that their loved ones were only sick. To learn after all these months, after hoping and putting in all that work to keep them ‘safe’, to learn that they have been dead and cannot come back is somehow less bearable to imagine going through.

“I’ll hitch the horses. I’m still worried about Nelly, so I’m gonna stay out here awhile,” you mumble to Glenn, then pull out the updated list you’d made and hand it to him. “I made three more copies. It’s got some updates from the last one.”

“I’ll help you with the reins,” Maggie answers for him, and takes over tying the horse’s lead for him.

Glenn stares at the ground, says “I have my own list,” and goes inside by himself.

That doesn’t irritate at all…

Maggie doesn’t speak until all three horses are securely tied to the poles. “Maybe it should’ve been just you and me today.”

“Glenn’s smart and fast. It’s better to have him here.”

“So smart he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You have to admit, you groaned in solidarity at her comment. “He’s saved lives before, for what it’s worth,” you do need to point out.

She looks at you, then stares into space. “I’m so angry at him.”

It’s worth mentioning…“Maybe that’s a little how we feel about the barn, too.”

She places her hands on her hips. “Are you on his side, now?” she accuses.

“Come now, that ain’t fair.”

Nelly pulls back, agitated again.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” you shush to the horse. “Margaret, I’m gonna take a turn around the street.”

Maggie cautiously steps around the building, looking to either side while you do the same in the opposite direction.

“It’s clear over here,” she confirms. “Y/N, I’m gonna go inside, finish getting what we need faster.” Was that a scoff? “Lori sure knows how to ask for things. She should go fetch it all herself next time.”

Nope. You get that Maggie’s pissed, but you’re not even entertaining that bullshit attitude about Lori, especially not today. Where’d that even come from? The woman has literally done nothing to her. “Not everything on the list is needed," you offer, "but she makes them thorough because it’s with everyone’s input and needs in mind. Don’t go trashin’ her.”

At this, Margaret storms into the drugstore, leaving you outside, alone.

Good riddance, you were fixing to get huffy. Why can’t people get along and be zen for five minutes, good Moses…

You step quietly and quickly around the street, peeking through the short alleys (if they can even be called that), and making a loop around the pharmacy itself. You swear you hear rattling near the back right corner of the drug store, but Nelly’s loud whinnying mixes with your trying to pinpoint whereabouts it came from.

You call Sophia’s name again, just in case.

However, a raccoon bolting away from the general direction of the sound makes an end of both your worry and your hope. The subsequent thought you get to shoot it for food makes you sigh at the state of things. Moreso the thought that you highly prefer squirrel. But like, squirrel is hecking delicious, so oh my gosh, listen to you.

Having found no reason for Nelly’s unrest, you chalk it up to her being sensitive to the emotions of the humans with her, simple as. Her name is genuinely ‘Nervous Nelly.’

She’s still tugging at her lead, but has quieted enough.

‘Trust Nelly’s instincts’ plays through your mind again. If Mr. Greene thought it important enough to suggest it, it must be. You don’t like that she’s still uneasy.

“Nell, I’m gonna head in so we can get everythin’ and split, okay? Not much longer, won’t be ten minutes.”

You push the doors open and walk into the pharmacy. Glenn’s to the left. “Hey, man. What did you cross off the list so far?” you ask.

“I’ve been distracted. Sorry.”

“Where’s the one you made?” you question with just a hint of an attitude.

“Maggie has it. I wasn’t sure where to find…something on it.”

“Oh, what was it? I’ll go help.”

“I-I, it, she, th—nothing,” he stumbles through before pretending this could work: “I don’t know.”

You lick your teeth. What is with him today? “I’m glad you’re learnin’ to keep secrets,” you let slip in your frustration.

“Great. Now you’ve crawled up my butt, too.” He swipes a lotion off the shelf without looking and goes toward the doors, away from you.

Licking your teeth but holding your tongue, you figure you’ll start at the back of the small store and work your way forward. The prescription drugs are in the back where Maggie already is.

Ooh. The shelves back there look like there’s still a decent amount of stock on them.

“Need any help?” you extend the olive branch.

It’s not subtle the way she turns her head right, glares at Glenn, then answers, “Not for this.”

Whatever the hell that means. Seriously, can people just be zen for five minutes?

You throw your hands in the air. “Fine!” Glancing around the pharmacy section and not really clocking anything because you’re too caught up, you mutter, “There’s gotta be a manual somewhere,” and head left where it looks like there are a few smaller rooms.

There’s a strange scent in here that smells suspiciously like the dead. Must be a rodent that died in the walls?

The door to the first small room looks like it had to be crow-barred open by someone at some point. You step inside to look at the desk.

But the loud whinny from outside gives you a pause.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

But she’s been acting up for seemingly no reason.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

The hairs on your arms stand. You turn around, walk back to the middle, and turn your focus to the windows where you can see the horses are still hitched.

“Maggie," you quietly question. "This is normal for her?”

It’s only Nelly who’s rearing and trying to escape. The other horses seem disquieted, but only Nelly is panicked.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

It’s the clatter of pill bottles falling to the floor that has you forgetting all about the fighting, the disagreements, the worries, and the stress.

Because the sounds of snarling only mere yards away is unmistakable even before Maggie begins to scream.

There’s a walker, reaching through the shelves that has a death grip on her wrist.

You throw yourself hard against the back-to-back storage shelving to keep it from falling on your friend and to push the dead man away from her even slightly.

“Glenn! The shelves, I can’t!” you yelp into the chaos, groaning from the strain of keeping the shelving from toppling over. “It’s got her wrist!”

But in an instant, the shelves abruptly stabilize; you lose balance and tumble hard to the ground. The walker, you twist on hands and knees to see, is rounding the corner and already — no, Margaret! It’s got its hands on her again, it’s gonna —

The few seconds it takes for you, roaring, to whip out your screwdriver and spring up from the floor seem too long, too late. The clumsy angle between it and Maggie at which you attempt to drive your weapon into its skull doesn’t work, and it tumbles from your hand and onto the ground.

The new fastest second of your life — seeing the walker’s mouth lunge for your forearm — seems to also, somehow, drag at a snail’s pace. It’s in that strange, rapid slow-motion that you rip your arm away and kick.

You reach for your pistol in a last ditch effort. The risk of the shot spraying the walker’s contaminated blood in your or her eyes or mouth outweighs the guarantee of its bite.

Ultimately, it's Glenn’s quick action with the metal board that saves you both.

From the countertop, he swings it with all his strength. Though you aren’t aware of having choosen to do so, it seems you’ve pulled Maggie down and back to get her as far from the force of the strike and the trajectory of the walker’s fall.

It collapses.

For a moment, everything turns still.

Maggie is too shocked to cry or say anything. Your arms are wrapped tightly around her even as you still tightly clutch your firearm. You can’t speak, either.

“Did it get you? Did it bite you?” Glenn cries, and you snap back to the present and begin to inspect Maggie’s arms, wrists, and hands while he squeezes her and you to him.

When the walker stands back up, its head hanging by half its neck, you have to cover Maggie’s eyes. She’s seen enough.

Glenn tries to use Daryl’s sickle machete to finish it, but ends up having to try over and over in a fury when it keeps gargling and snarling despite the blows. It’s gruesome.

You shout Glenn’s name and aim your gun at the walker, finishing it when Glenn sees and has moved away far enough to avoid the spray. The blast of the shot reverberates loudly in the closed space.

Finally, finally, all turns quiet and stays quiet. Safety switched on, you rely on muscle memory to tuck your weapon back into its concealed holster.

Glenn is panting. Maggie starts to waver where she stands, sobs coming out as the shock wears off.

You go to her. “It didn’t get you Margaret, look, all clean. J-just a little of its blood on your shirt,” you console, showing her her own wrists and arms that are trembling but blessedly uninjured. You recall the handkerchief in your pocket. “Here. Your daddy lent me this. Use it to wipe your eyes, don’t rub with your hands or arms until we get you cleaned up, o-okay? I-I got wipes, I got wipes and sanitizer. That should suit for now, sweetheart, okay?”

After a few more moments of catching your breath, you decide, “Y’all need something to drink and eat, I’ll, I’ll go get the backpack.” It’ll give Glenn and Maggie time to embrace in private. All is forgiven, you’re quite sure.

Picking up your screwdriver, you walk outside in a post-adrenaline daze. Typical for you, the post-adrenaline nausea is hitting, too. Some tears, as well. You note upon stepping into the fresh air that Nelly is calmer.

Much calmer.

Last you knew, she’d been trying to break free and escape. Right before the walker attacked, in fact…

‘Trust Nelly’s instincts.’

You wonder. If her whinnying hadn’t prompted you to take a few steps back toward Maggie’s direction, would you have had those precious extra seconds of time? Your slamming against the shelves when you did pushed the walker back enough to unsteady it, which bought Maggie the chance to free her wrist from its grasp. It gave Glenn more time to grab that piece off the metal shelving and leap up on the counter to strike it. If you hadn’t turned around because of the horse…

“Trust Nelly’s instincts,” Mr. Greene had instructed.

“Thank you, girl,” you whisper to the horse, with shaking hands blindly opening the bookbag. “I th-think you just saved some lives, Nell.”

Not only this, but the whole awful encounter showed Maggie firsthand that the walkers aren’t sick people. They’re dead. It’s the virus that makes their bodies move and walk and bite.

This terrifying day may just be your people’s saving grace.

Because if Maggie understands, her father will be more willing. And if her father understands, the walkers will be laid to rest. No more danger. No more disagreement.

You’ll still need to leave with Shane, but there’s a better chance that the group will be safe at the farm.

You praise “Thank you!” to the heavens, then boldly press a smooch to the spot above Nelly’s nose. She briefly allows you to rest your forehead there. “And thank you for your instincts.”

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

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 ; @oceanticspace​​​​ ; @whistlesalot ; @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer ;  @dreamingaboutthewonderland ; @kwazii-kat ; @darylsmavis ; @outlanderhornet22 ; @battinsonrobs ; @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable ; @writingmybeloved ; @boomergirl123 ; @iheartathena0 ; @moonliight-luv ; @suniloli ; @supernaturalgirl02 ; @cnake-garden ; @daryldixmedown ; @sophehe ; @crashlyrose ; @virgo-sunflower920 ; @jennythe ; @theficbaker ; @vampireautism ; @rosetta196 ; @wifeof-barnes ; @thegemthatreads ; @redjaylee ; @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves ; @crazyworldofsiani

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes! Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox. We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)  

[eeblouissant]

I’ve started writing chapter three of my fic ‘The Primrose Path’ this morning, & im curious —

This time around, vs other things I’ve written in the past, I’ve decided not to pronounce Blanches accent when I write dialogue for her. (Maybe I’m lazy, maybe I don’t like the way it sounds in my head ((I don’t like the way it sounds in my head, personal opinion)) who knows) but it got me thinking: how do you all feel reading characters with accents in fics? Not just Blanche but in general.

I had originally picked up the habit from seeing other fic writers pronouncing her accent, but it never quite sounded right in my head when I’d go to edit & publish my own stuff. Anyway, lmk because I’m curious!

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional—he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today—black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it—his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there—so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner

join my taglist here!

[screamintoad]

Forever thinking about Amelia Primrose stumbling into the cottage’s unused nursery through the window at 5 a.m., knowing damn well that she doesn't have much time before Hazel realizes that there's been an intruder - so she does her best to move as quickly as possible, while simultaneously trying not to disturb the precious bundle against her chest. With the baby snoring away like Amelia’s arms are the safest place on the planet to sleep in. Something tugs painfully inside her as she lowers her baby daughter mistake into the old wooden cradle, the emptiness of it - no blankets, no toys, just one of her ex-husband’s t-shirts wrapped around the baby's body as a poor excuse of comfort - is a sudden sharp pang to her mind, which is still coming to terms with what happened in that small apartment that was once her home; nothing felt quite real since then, not even the warm weight of another living breathing creature pressed against her own body. 

The moment Amelia’s hands left Blanche, there's immediate sniffing and shuffling as if she knows that Amelia’s leaving, and Amelia knows that she has to go, she can’t be a single parent when she can’t even take care of herself. But something about this lonely dark room filled with shadows and the cold morning air coming from the open window reminds Amelia of something she’s been trying to bury all of her life. She yearned for a bigger life outside of the small cottage where she grew up, yet, the sound of the baby crying somehow glues her to the place where she’s standing.

"Shh, shh, I know, I’m so sorry." She's not even sure what she’s saying sorry for at this point. It just feels like the only word that she knows, "She will take care of you, I promise, okay? No need to cry, please don't cry, my little wildflower."

Her heart throbs at the pain, some new kind of pain that she doesn't know how to numb yet as she takes off her glove to touch Blanche’s cheek as tears continued falling. Who’s were they? It didn’t matter at this point. Something blooms at the touch, first skin to skin contact since her husband left the night prior.

Why can't she just leave?

The effort it takes to pull away once again almost leaves her gasping for air, and it takes a few seconds for the baby to start crying again, but Amelia can't afford herself slowing down. Though she keeps talking desperately as she left a note beside the crib and moved back to the window, tugging her glove back on. 

"I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I promise I will come back as soon as I can. I just need to fix a debt."

She knew her situation wasn’t a good one, one that her beloved daughter couldn’t be a part of. She could hear her own mother’s scolding, especially being gone for over a year. Oh how she wished to hear her mother scold her, tell her what to do to fix this, maybe even comfort her. 

Amelia left with the first break of dawn, knowing damn well that this heartbroken wailing is going to haunt her no matter how much time passes or how far away she is.

@blood-red-hummingbee @jadelover69 @babyghoul138 @twtysevapr @angelwishess

@beneathsakurashade @sunnysidesevenup @the-rini-rush @buttholesparkles @chillygourami

@bunniehunn @4necdote @skibidibabygirl @amai-sakura-chan @moonyasnow

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Sixteen

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: profanity, mentions of injury

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Sixteen:

The fight for the factory has been escalating. That same day was the day all of your men came back to the Haven, battered and bruised. Your ego felt the same as you sent them upstairs to get treated.

After a week or so of fighting the conflict grew dormant, both parties avoiding the building and instead staking out the area. You were growing tired of the drama.

You were in a small shop in the Undercity, arms crossed as you surveyed the shelves. The middle-aged woman behind the counter was painting her nails, barely looking at you as you walked around the cramped shop.

“Sale on today,” she grumbled. “Half off on…”

She looked up at you, and blanched.

The tub of polish almost got knocked over as she scrambled to stand up. “[n-name]?” She gasped, scrambling to fix her hair. “Gosh, it’s been so long.”

“Hilda,” you said flatly in greeting. “Has it?” Your eyes didn’t move from the shelves as you surveyed the many random products that were on display. “Time does fly by.”

“You know, we’d love to have you back here. Things get lonely.”

You turned to look at her languidly, the gold in your ears and around your neck glinting. Your gilded coat shimmered in the dim light. “Do I look like I need a job to you?”

She fumbled with the tub of nail polish, turning red. “No. No! Definitely not. Just, uh, we expected you to drop by more often.”

“You sacked me after my daughter died.”

“You didn’t show up for a week. Things were tight.”

“I told you about it, and requested a leave. You refused, and fired me.” You picked up a small glass cup, holding it up to the light to inspect it. “If you think I’d drop by after that you’re sorely mistaken.”

“My bad,” she grinned nervously, watching your coat swish as you drifted around the shop, eyes flitting over every little trinket.

“You still keep stationary?”

“We do!” She said quickly, and scuttled into the back to retrieve what you requested from her:

“I want a box of crayons. a box of blank books, and a box of inkwells. Hurry up.”

You sighed, turning as she left, when you heard the doorbell jingle. A little girl walked in, her eyes wide as she looked around in wonder.

You stared at her, watching her blue head disappear behind one of the shelves. You whirled back to the counter, impatiently tapping your foot as Hilda tumbled out of the back room, breathless. She dumped a stack of books onto the counter, two other boxes stacked on top of it. They clinked and rattled and you watched as she steadied them with ironically shaky hands.

“That’s all you have?” You sounded unimpressed.

“It’s an entire boxes worth, [name].” 

You stepped forward, fingering the edge of a page of one of the books with a metal-tipped finger. “It’s ma’am to you.” You fell silent, and after a while: “You have quite small boxes.”

At your displeased tone she laughed nervously. “That’s all you can expect from a humble shop in the undercity like us,” she explained apologetically. You lifted your eyes to meet her.

Hilda looked at something behind you, and you turned around. The girl was standing there, shuffling her feet. You tilted your head, then stepped to the side, gesturing for her to step forward. She looked at you, then moved towards the counter.

“I want colours.” Her voice was small. Hilda smiled at her tightly.

“Well, what colours specifically? We have crayons, colouring pencils, paints. What shades do you want?”

The girl thought for a moment. “Crayons. I want bright colours.”

“Crayons. Bright colours,” Hilda repeated, then quickly shot one last nervous glance at you before disappearing into the back. You looked at the girl, and suddenly the vague familiarity clicked.

Felicia?

She was Felicia’s daughter. No- Vander’s daughter. You stared at her incredulously. She didn’t seem to notice, fidgeting on the spot while staring at the ground. Powder. Your blood was pounding in your ears.

Donna hold told you both girls had been either lost or dead to the explosion. But here Powder was, shuffling her feet and looking around as if someone would jump at her from the shadows at any moment.

You took a deep breath.

“Do you like colouring?” You asked kindly. She looked up at you quickly.

“Yeah,” she muttered. You leaned against the counter and gave her an easy grin.

“Well, what are your favourite colours?” 

“Blue.” She thought for a moment. “Wait, no- pink. I… I can’t decide.”

You laughed, a motherly sound which made Powder relax. “It’s okay. You can say both. I can’t decide either.” You grinned at her. “What’s your name?”

“Jinx,” she said quietly, as if she was saying the word for the first time. Testing out the name on her tongue. You tilted your head. “What’s yours, miss?”

You chuckled. “I’m [name]. You know, Jinx, I used to know your parents.”

She flinched, and you wondered if you’d said something wrong. “M-my parents?”

“Felicia, Connol, Vander.” You sighed, as if you were reminiscing about the past. “We were all such good friends.”

“V-Vander’s dead,” she whispered, and her eyes darted around unseeingly. You put your hand on her head, and she snapped out of it, looking at you with teary eyes.

“It’s okay,” you cooed. “We don’t have to talk about it. Who’s taking care of you now?”

“Silco,” she whispered. You snatched your hand away as if you’d been burned.

He kills her adoptive father and takes her in? You suppressed a scowl. The bastard.

“I guess he’s meant to be like my new dad,” she mumbled. “Were you friends with him too?”

Her timid voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, he was my best friend.” You ruffled her hair and a small smile appeared on her face. “I’ve got loads of stories about him. Wanna hear?”

She giggled. “Yea-“

“I’m back! Sorry it took so long.” The counter rattled as Hilda tossed a small pack of crayons onto the surface. You turned and looked at her, expression darkening.

“The shelves need dusting,” you suggested calmly.

“Yes ma’am,” she said immediately, running off to grab the feather duster. You turned back to Jinx and grinned. 

“So. Stories. Wanna hear?”

Jinx nodded eagerly. 

“Well, once he tried to rescue a cat from a roof. God knows who he was trying to impress,” you chuckled. “Honestly, he was so dead set on it.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“He was different, back then.” You fought to keep your voice friendly, but it still came out slightly sad. “Anyways, it scratched him up bad. He whined so much when I tried to clean up his cuts. It was hilarious. Kept shrieking that it hurt.”

Jinx giggled at the thought. “That’s funny.” You smiled at her beaming face, eyes softening. 

Hilda was back, fiddling with her fingers. Jinx fumbled with a little pouch around her waist to pay for her crayons. Coins clinked in the little bag.

You dumped a purse onto the counter. “I’ll pay.” You smiled at the little girl benevolently. Her eyes lit up.

“O-okay!”

She picked up the pack from the counter and held it to your chest. You winked.

“Tell your new daddy I said hi.”

-

“Janna, you’re an idiot.”

You pressed the cotton pad against the angry red cut, watching Silco hiss beneath you. You snickered at his expression, and he exhaled sharply.

“You’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you,” he muttered. 

“I won’t lie,” you said, smirking. You reached for a cut on his face, and he jerked away from you, throwing up his arms- which were littered with scratches- to defend himself.

“No!” He almost yelled, and you rolled your eyes, sprinkling a few more drops of the wound disinfectant onto the cotton pad. “It hurts.” He watched with fearful eyes as you raised your hands back to his face.

“You sound like a baby. Do you want to get infected? Janna knows where that cat’s claws have been.”

He pursed his lips as you leaned over in the booth, swiping gently at his no-longer bleeding cuts, targeting a specifically large one on the bridge of his nose. He winced, and grabbed your thigh. You froze, looking down.

He snatched his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, dazed. “No, no it’s… it’s fine. I don’t mind.” You licked your lips nervously, eager to change your tone. “Are you seriously that childish? You need something to grab onto?” You chuckled, moving onto the next cut. “You want me to go get your teddy bear too?”

He grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight, eyes tracing your movements. You rolled your eyes, relenting.

“Okay, fine. I’ll just clean them with water instead.”

“It stings,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I know.”

“It wouldn’t sting with water?”

You threw your head back and laughed.

“It would.”

“How reassuring,” he spat, as you got up to get a cup of water.

Returning with the cup you placed it on the table, the liquid inside sloshing around. You took out a new cotton pad, and dipped it inside, before squeezing it over the cup. Cold droplets rolled down your fingertips as you reached for his face.

Silco, on the other hand, looked rather put out. You placatingly smoothed your thumb over his cheek. 

“Come on, Silky. Just a few more.”

He crossed his arms. “This is ridiculous.”

You dabbed at the shallow yet bleeding cut on his face.

“Will they scar?” He muttered, averting his eyes. You chuckled.

“No, as long as you don’t pick at them.” You yelped as your knee slipped off of the edge of the seat, and he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you into his lap. You looked at him, mortified.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s an awkward position if we don’t sit like this,” he said briskly, jerking his chin at you. “Now… hurry up.”

You set to work, dabbing at the last of the scratches. “You’re really an idiot, you know that? All that for a feral cat.” You reached for a box of plasters on the table. “You just had to be the hero.”

His hands slipped from your waist to your hips, then your thighs, settling there comfortably. His thumb drew circles into your skin, and you tried to ignore the soft caress as you placed the plaster over his nose.

“Well, now I’ll go down in history as one for sure,” he said steadily, eyes locked your face. “I have the battle scars and everything.” You stifled a giggle.

“The only thing you’ll go down as is an idiot.”

He hummed, tipping his head back. Your eyes settled on the column of his throat. “I beg to differ.”

“And you won’t scar.”

“Right.” He clicked his tongue, and you pressed your forehead on his shoulder, muttering:

“Idiot.”

 -

The door to the shop burst open.

You and Jinx both looked at the entrance to see Sevika standing in the doorway, her usual scowl on her face as she jerked her head at Jinx, seemingly not noticing you. “Come on,” she snapped. Jinx gripped the pack of crayons tightly as she gave you a small smile, hurrying to Sevika.

You put your hands on your hips, smirking. “Sevika. I didn’t know you were a babysitter alongside an errand-girl.”

Sevika flinched at your voice, looking up in a fleeting moment of shock. “[name].” 

For a moment you both just stared at each other, and her eyes scoured your face. You knew what she was thinking.

What did you tell her? What did she tell you?

She cleared her throat. “Let’s go,” she grunted, tugging Jinx along by the arm.

You gave her a beguiling smile, eyes flicking to Jinx. You gave the girl a tinkly wave.

“See you!” You sang as the door slammed shut. But not before you noticed the uneasy look on Sevika’s face. You hummed, pulling out a cigarette.

Now that you know he was raising a kid, things just got a lot more interesting.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Breaking the Class Ceiling Chapter 4

This is set in early 1900s U.S.A., during the Edwardian era with some style changes into the upcoming Art Nouveau period. I've changed history a bit for this. Pretending that America didn't have a full Civil War and trying to create a more optimistic outcome for the purposes of the story. I've also tried to research what the rules for society/socializing were back then, and tweaked some of them.

Warnings for upcoming chapters: minor character death, some sexual harassment/assault (but nothing too graphic or traumatic), smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

*smut (ish) in this chapter

Rumor had quickly spread of what happened at the party, and out of embarrassment and public ridicule Rumlowe and Pierce quickly left to go out west to “find new opportunities.”  

Everyone’s attention was now fixed on the World Fair.  It started in April and was ending in December in St. Louis.  You were planning a trip and had invited multiple people in your social circle, including Steve and Bucky.

“You must come, my darling,” you cooed at him as you flitted around your drawing room, making plans and riddling off a list of things to pack to the maid who was furiously writing.

“You know I can’t afford a trip to St. Louis, my love,” Bucky sighed quietly.

“You won’t be paying for it, dearest, I will,” you announced with no room for argument.

“I can’t miss work,” he said.  “Mr. Fury has many contracts he needs me to take care of in these next few months.  The holidays are coming up, too.  I can’t take so much time off before then.”

“Oh pish posh,” you waved him off.  “You can quit your job.  I’ll pay you to be my personal escort,” you quickly twirled in front of him, “in more ways than one,” you winked at him.

Bucky laughed as the maid in the corner blanched at your innuendo.  “You’d pay me to be your date?” he asked incredulously.  “No, Y/N, besides I like my job, I need to earn my own way.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, plopping down on your knees in front of him where he sat.  He gulped.  “You are refusing my gifts again?  My darling, I told you to learn to accept my gifts.  I have plenty.  And if you must earn it,” you shuffled closer to him, setting your chin on his knee, looking up at him innocently, “then why not earn it by being the best beau to me while on vacation?”  

Bucky gulped again, watching you carefully as you sat looking up at him.  As much as he enjoyed these (mostly) private moments, they were a tease, causing a kind of itch in his lower abdomen that he more than once had to relieve when he arrived home after spending time at your house.  As if sensing his hesitation, you glanced at the maid.  “Bessy, could you give us a moment’s privacy please?”

Bessy sniffed indignantly as she booked it out of the room, closing the door behind her.  When the coast was clear you lifted your head and then placed your hands on his knees, sliding them up his thighs slowly as you gave him a doe-eyed stare.  His breath stopped as he watched you, his own hands had a death grip on the arms of the chair he sat on.  Your hands slid close to his core, which was pulsing.  He tried to shift away so you wouldn’t see but it didn’t deter you.  You scratched your fingernails down his legs as you slid your hands back down.  

“Will you come with me to St. Louis?” you asked in a voice that was feigning innocence.

Bucky’s hips stuttered as your hands started to slide up again, this time your right hand rubbing his inner thigh right next to his throbbing cock.

“Y/N, you…mmmh,” he moaned lightly, sounding strangled as he tried to stop himself.  “We can’t, it’s not…we’re not married,” he mumbled, losing coherence quickly.   

“Yet,” you corrected, your fingers sliding until they slightly stroked his cock through his pants.  He moaned again, his hand flying to your wrist to stop you.  “Will you come with me to St. Louis?” you asked again, this time standing, hiking up your dress and straddling his lap before he could stop you.  You ran your hands up his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, dipping your head down to the crook of his neck and kissing it repeatedly.  Without much thought he brought his hands to your hips, keeping you over his cock as he cautiously rutted up into you.  Your kisses became more heated and you sucked on different spots, making Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head.  You made your way to his ear, your breath tickling his neck, then you nipped his earlobe, making him whimper lightly.  “I’m your job now, my darling,” you said in an authoritative and husky tone.  Bucky nodded.  “You’ll come with me to St. Louis,” you continued.  He nodded again, gritting his teeth as he rutted up harder into your clothed center.  “I will pay you for your troubles, since my company is apparently less important than writing contracts,” you tugged his shirt down and gave a broad lick from his collar bone to his ear, sucking on his earlobe.  He whimpered louder.

“No troubles, doll, my pretty doll, please,” he begged, his hands kneading your thighs now.  “I’ll do whatever you want, just please.”

“Please what, darling?” you teased, peppering soft kisses across his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, down his chin, and so close to his lips but without actually touching them.  

“Oh God, please, I need to, to…” he trembled beneath you as your hands stroked through his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Go ahead, darling,” you gave him permission, your lips hovering over his mouth.  You ground down on his lap a few times, which was enough for him to finally burst.  His hips shook as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth slack as he panted.  As he finished in his trousers he pulled you in close, setting his forehead against your forehead, noses nuzzling each other as he came down from his high.  “Very good, my love.  You’re so handsome like this,” she teased as she gave his nose a small peck.

“I love you, Y/N,” Bucky sighed, his embrace tightening around you.

You let out a sound of surprise, looking at him with wide eyes.  “I know we are not engaged, but none of what we’ve done in this courtship is traditional, so to hell with it.  I love you.  I think of you constantly.  I want nothing more than to spend every waking moment with you.”

“I feel the same, Buck,” you said, a wide smile on your face. 

“So if you want to employ me to do so, then I accept.  Though I’d happily do it for free,” he gave you a mischievous smile.  You snorted at him as you rolled your eyes.

“What’s your going rate, Barnes?” 

[quillthrillswriting]

sooo.... anyone else ever wondered how different ATLA would have been if aang had been frozen at age 16 instead of age 12?

yeah... me too 😌 my multichap kataang fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" follows the events of the show, but with only aang aged up, while everyone else remains their canon age.

to put it clearly, katara falls first, and aang falls harder 🤭 (and they both get a lil jealous hehe)

enjoy the excerpts from chapter 6!!! (the jet episode!!)

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“We’ve got a big plan to score big against the Fire Nation.” Jet kept his face straight ahead, his hooks swinging, and Katara could see the bit of wheat he still held between his teeth over his shoulder. 

“Sounds…big.” Aang said the words somewhat sarcastically, earning a choked giggle from Katara, but Jet didn’t quite seem to catch the nuance of it all.

“Oh, it will be.” He hacked aside a final overhanging branch. “Here we are.”

“...A bunch of holes in the ground?” Aang shifted his weight and raised an eyebrow, only to immediately drop to a defensive position when Katara swatted him, hard, on the arm and gave him a glare. He raised his hands in a “don’t shoot” position, and schooled his features into neutrality by the time Jet turned around. 

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Aang paused his movements at this, letting the water he was bending drop to his feet, coursing through cracks in the rock floor beneath them. “Katara. You can’t genuinely believe that. Sokka is an idiot, but he’s not dumb.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That Sokka can be goofy, sure, but I trust him and his perception, 100%. He doesn’t miss things. If anything, he sees and notices things most people don’t. If he doesn’t trust Jet….” Aang sighed, resuming his bending forms. “I just feel like you’re getting too close to him. Jet, I mean.”

“And what would the problem be with that?” Katara could hear her voice rising, her temper flaring.

“He’s a bad guy, Katara.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He hurt you!” Katara shut her mouth at the raw emotion in Aang’s voice. He was breathing heavily now, his fists clenching as wind whipped around them. He bit his lip, took in some deep breaths. “He hurt you,” he repeated, this time more gently. “I didn’t protect you quickly enough.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Tonight was different. She still couldn’t sleep, that much was the same, but as she rose to drill her forms by the river, she felt a hand clamp around her forearm. She almost screamed, but when she whirled around to face her would-be attacker, she exhaled in a whoosh, relieved that it was only Aang.

“My bad,” he whispered, cringing at his choice to grab her arm without warning. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Katara dropped back down onto her sleeping bag, neatly crossing her legs. Aang did his best to ignore that she was only in her wrappings now, that the moonlight was sparkling on her bare skin, like a spirit in a painting of old. “I was just…wanting some air.”

“C’mon, Katara, don’t even try. You’re an awful liar.” He flashed a grin, and in the dark, the starlight set his teeth aglow. “I know you’ve been bending at night.”

Katara blanched at this. “How?”

“Light sleeper?” Aang shrugged. “Plus, you’re not great at sneaking out, either. You’ve stepped on me pretty much every time you’ve gotten up to practise.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“I, um…” Aang trailed off, and even in the dark, she could tell he was trying to hide a blush, could tell he was embarrassed. “I got you something.” He quickly backtracked, his voice somewhat frantic. “If you want. You might not. Want it, that is. And you don’t have to, and I’m not sure if it’ll even-”

“Aang.” Katara caught his hands in hers, looking into his eyes earnestly. “What is it?”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

♥ the rest of the (ongoing) fic can be found here!! ->

happy reading! <3

[pink-tk-a-latte]

Tickletober Day 21: Costume

[sfw tickle fic!! project sekai — lee!kanade, ler!ena]

prompt by @/august-anon

had to get out my cringe writing style for this one so sorry I love kanaena... background polyniigo. also she/they mizukiiii but niigo only uses she/her bc they don't know yet (lore)

The click-click of her mouse, the whirring of her monitor, the rhythm that she had looped over and over, all faded into the background as Kanade composed. Her mind had been vacuumed into a hyperspeed tunnel, only the simmering need to finish for the people counting on her and the latent triumph at seeing a project close to fruition traveling through her nerves.

A gentle opening and closing of her door followed by much rougher stomping went unheard by her. She was only broken from her trance when warm breath whispered over her ears had her shrieking out of her seat.

“K!” berated Ena, pout audible. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes, and you didn’t even reply to me! Honestly, when you’re like this, you can be as bothersome as those two…”

Ena’s hands lifted to play with Kanade’s hair, running her fingers through it and mumbling about how long and pretty it was "even though you've never used a single product on it!" Her chin refrained from hooking onto Kanade’s shoulder and nestling into the temping warmth.

Kanade turned to meet her profile. Brown eyes that swirled like thick syrup, blazing with ardor, met her gaze for a moment. “I’m sorry, Enanan… I didn’t hear you.” Her worn and contrite voice had Ena softening instantly. She succumbed and nuzzled into Kanade’s neck with aggression.

“Ugh, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to say you were a bother, okay?” Her cheek squished against Kanade’s, and the softness seemed to calm her down. Kanade chuckled and reached up to cradle Ena’s face in her hand.

“Did you need something, dear?” Ena’s drooping eyes fired open at the question.

“Ah, right, I was getting to that! Mizuki wanted me to show you the costumes she made us for Halloween.” Ena departed for a moment, returning with a pair of dresses. One was pink and ruffly, bedecked with bows and flowers. The other appeared more gothic, with a large collar and lots of velvet. Ena twirled them in her hands. “What do you think? Mizuki wanted us to go as Kuromi and My Melody. Then I just happened to mention that Airi and I dressed as them before, and she got all whiny and upset and insisted on tailoring the costumes herself to ‘make it special.’” Ena rolled her eyes as she recounted their antics. “Such a child, seriously. But they’re cute, so I can’t be too mad.” A tiny blush puffed up her cheeks, and Kanade laughed.

“They look wonderful. Mizuki really is so talented.” Kanade swiveled in her chair to get a better view. “I hope she had fun.”

“I’ll say! She was pretty much bouncing up and down asking for my thoughts. It sounded like so much work, but as long as she enjoys it…” Ena shook her head. “A- Anyway, I’ll admit they look great! And it’s nice that they’re unique,” she babbled on as she set the dresses down. Kanade thought she sounded quite proud of Mizuki. But she didn’t dare say.

“That’s not all!” Ena whipped around, hiding something behind her back. “Listen, I know you and Mafuyu said you didn’t want to dress up for Halloween, but…”

A pit formed in Kanade’s stomach. Surely they didn’t make—

“…Mizuki took the time to make these costumes for you guys too! This is the Keroppi one for Mafuyu — I told Mizuki this green totally clashes with her eyes, but I’m sure Mafuyu will pull it off anyway. She looks good in anything. Ugh! — and this… is yours.”

Kanade blanched at the outfit Ena held up. It was clearly Cinnamoroll-inspired, with lace trimmings adorning the bodice and icing-like swirls on the hem of the frilly skirt. It really was fine work, but the problem was…

“Th- That’s way too cute for me.”

Heat pooled in Kanade’s cheeks, surely turning her face an embarrassing splotchy red. How could she wear something so adorable!?

Ena pouted again. “But you are cute, Kanade! We’ve never seen you dressed up but we know you’d look so good. And I swear, it’ll only be for one picture. Or two. You don’t have to come out with us or anything!” Suddenly Ena’s hands gripped her waist, and Kanade choked. “You never wear anything but this. You have so much potential!”

“EHe– Ehenahaha, wahait!” Kanade curled into a ball on her chair, Ena’s bruised fingers worming between her ribs. Her bony elbows made gentle and futile attempts to push Ena’s hands away.

Ena scoffed, but the sound lifted into a laugh at the end. “Now you’re laughing at me? Jeez, K.” Her cheek landed flush against the crown of Kanade’s head as she squeezed Kanade to her guts. Ena’s nails, painted herself, found the hem of her jacket and scribbled underneath.

Squeaking, Kanade shoved her flushed cheeks into her knees. The desk blocked her escape; she had nowhere to go but further into her chair. “EnaHA! NohOHO myhaha sihihiHIdes!”

“Well, your shirt doesn’t give you any protection. Maybe if you wore the dress…” Ena giggled at the huffs and hitches in Kanade’s breath and the bashful shake of her head. She’d made herself so small, just begging to be held and squished and gobbled up. Her cheeks were so full of life and glee, Ena just wanted to kiss them pink.

Kanade tired quickly. After Ena's scrawling over her underarms and Kanade's desperate wriggling, her stitches had turned to wheezes and her begging to whispers. Ena released her and captured her child-like smile with her lips, and Kanade dissolved into a giggly puddle again as Ena attacked her with kisses.

While a happy Kanade scrubbed lip gloss from her cheeks, Ena stood back as if admiring her work. “Sorry,” she apologized with a more relaxed kiss, “got too excited.”

“You’re fine, starlet.” Kanade pecked Ena’s forehead, cheeks still flaming.

Ena sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to wear it, I won’t make you. But we really do think you’re cute, whatever you wear.” That coy demeanor…

Kanade slumped forward and took her hands. “I think… I will wear it.” Eyes like sun-warmed earth lit up. “You and Mizuki put so much thought into it.”

“Really!?” Ena squeezed their hands, bouncing on her heels. Her face suddenly flushed, and she turned away with a glower. “I mean, Mizuki will be happy, I guess.”

Kanade chuckled. She wouldn’t want to spend Halloween with anyone else.

[di-daynamic]

@hinnymicrofic

September Prompts Day 21: Murderous

Harry was the Man Who Conquered. The Head Auror.

And he had never faced a situation quite so tense.

Ginny fixed him with a murderous gaze before slowly moving her eyes to her brother. “Which of you was it,” she said in a low, dangerous voice that typically preceded hexes, most likely the Bat-Bogey variety. “I want the truth. Now.”

Harry was used to making decisions on the fly, but this was ridiculous.

“Answer the question, boys,” Hermione said disapprovingly, perching on the couch, her book closed for once.

Harry made an executive decision.

“It was Ron,” he threw his best mate under the bus with no small amount of remorse.

“Harry!” Ron cried out in betrayal as both women honed in on him with murderous gazes and flared nostrils akin to bloodthirsty hellhounds (he ought to know; he had a case related to them not two months ago).

“Did you do it, Ron?” Ginny asked, now very calmly. Somehow, this was worse than the angry tone. Hermione was fingering her wand as she stood up, also very calmly.

Harry loved his girlfriend and best friend. He really, really did.

He was just also extremely scared of them, as any sane person would be.

“I cannot believe this,” Hermione intoned lowly. “From you of all people. I would’ve expected this kind of impulsivity and short-sightedness from Harry—”

“Hey,” Harry cut in broodingly, because doing suicidal reckless things was kind of in his nature, but shut up when Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“But not from you,” Hermione shook her head sadly, ignoring Harry completely, which he was grateful for, but also a little offended by. “How could you?”

“Hermione, c’mon, I didn’t mean to do it!” Ron cried out desperately, confirming his guilt and sealing his fate.

Then he proved just how little Harry’s friendship meant to him.

“Harry was the one who brought it up, anyway.”

“Ron,” Harry said hoarsely, disbelievingly, as the girls’ murderous looks were trained once again on him.

“You started it, mate,” Ron shook his head sadly too, proving he spent far too much time with Hermione.

“Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “Did you bring up the party to Mum?” Hermione stared at him incredulously.

Harry saw his life flash before his eyes.

He could lie to the press, the whole world, his coworkers, the Weasleys, even Ron and Hermione and Teddy, but he couldn’t lie to Ginny.

He took a deep breath. Steeled himself.

“Yes. I did.”

“How could you?” Ginny whispered. Harry could swear there were tears in her eyes, but Ginny Weasley never cried. “Do you realize what this means for us, Harry? What the next three months of our life are going to be like?”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Hermione sighed. “Of course you didn’t,” she murmured.

Ron made an indignant noise. “Why is it when Harry’s to blame you two go all soft and when I am you look murderous?” He complained.

The girls threw scathing looks at him. “We haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who dealt the final blow, brother,” Ginny said threateningly.

Ron gulped and shut up, because he had a sense of self-preservation.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, because despite how ridiculous it sounded, he could display some self-preservation too. Occasionally.

“I know you are,” Ginny said soothingly, murderous expression disappearing, as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. Hermione sighed and sheathed her wand.

“I hope you know we’re leaving all the work to you,” Hermione informed them.

Harry and Ron blanched, exchanging looks.

“We know nothing about party planning,” Ron said flatly.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before promising Mum our help,” Ginny smiled, showing all her teeth. “Unless you’d like to also be the one to tell her we can’t.”

Harry would, quite frankly, rather face Voldemort again.

Ever since the extended Weasley family (which consisted of most of the Order and the DA along with the actual blood family) had started marrying and having children, getting together on days such as Christmas and birthdays had become nigh impossible.

Mr. Weasley had discovered the American holiday of Thanksgiving, and his wife had decided that was the one day every single person of their acquaintance would sequester themselves in the Burrow and celebrate.

It was the most exclusive event of the year, according to Witch Weekly, and Mrs. Weasley’s mania regarding it exceeded even her grief after the war and the craziness of her children’s weddings.

And Harry and Ron had just promised to help her plan and organize it, something the others took literal vacations to avoid (George and Angelina were currently in Botswana; Percy, Audrey and Oliver were pretending to be sick while definitely not being so; Bill, Fleur and Victoire had escaped to France; Neville was apparently swamped with work at the office while Harry knew he was tending to plants in his terrarium all day; Teddy had suddenly started throwing tantrums with destructive accidental magic again according to Andromeda; Kingsley was assigning himself paperwork, which was truly desperate).

“We’ll do the work,” Harry said defeatedly, Ron nodding morosely beside him.

Nothing for it, after all.

Ginny smiled and kissed him, which made his outlook a lot more positive.

She was worth the entire world.

Even spending his days buried in invitations, letters from various great-aunts and fifth and sixth cousins, gifts, catering orders and décor options.

[brightlybound]

Something After This

(Oof, ouch. I'm angsty as of late.)

for @hinnymicrofic prompt 10 for May: flower(s)

It’s the first Sunday in June, hot, overcast, miserable. Doesn’t help that her view is of the graveyard, of Fred’s headstone covered in multicolored flowers. Ginny thinks it’s rather obnoxious, kind of perfect, miserable.

She gazes up at Harry, standing in stoic silence beside her.

“Do you… do you think there’s Something?” she asks him, voice stilted and rough. “Something after this?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he turns to her with this look in his eyes, one Ginny reads as uncertain, miserable.

Everything is fucking miserable.

“You know what?” says Ginny, staring back down at the stupid, miserable ground her brother is buried beneath. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Harry takes a shuddering breath, and–

“Ginny?” calls Mum from the churchyard gate. “Harry?”

Ginny pivots, ready to leave this miserable place behind as soon as possible, her head feeling a bit like it’s stuffed, her eyes beginning to sting, but Harry catches her by the elbow, holding her back. A part of her wants to pull away, but the fight has left her completely...

“We’ll meet you back at the Burrow if that’s alright,” he says, statement more than question, towards her family waiting for them on the main path to and from the village church.

Ginny keeps her focus on the ground, rich brown soil and manicured green grass all a blur.

“Not too long now,” Dad calls back, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

Fleur’s reassuring voice chimes in, “Harry weel take care of her.”

Ginny waits until they’re out of earshot, then beats him to the punch, peering up at him as she wipes at her cheeks with the sleeves of her miserable black robes.

“You died, didn’t you?”

Harry blanches, glancing over her shoulder before meeting her gaze again, and the little sunlight they’re awarded with today glints off the rim of his glasses. “I might have a bit, yeah.”

She snorts, an ugly, wet sound, and she wonders how he’s put up with her, how he’s stuck by her side these past few weeks; she has been nothing but a wretched, miserable thing.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you possibly apologizing for?” cries Ginny.

Harry’s mouth twists around the words. “Not quite sure. Everything?”

“You selfless, stupid, noble prat, for Merlin’s sake–”

He’s absolutely deranged, and apparently, so is she, because she grabs a fistful of his robes and yanks him to her, and it doesn’t matter that their second first kiss is in a miserable graveyard, witnessed by the dead, on bloody, sacred ground. Harry is in her lungs again, filling her up again, lips gentle and warm and very much alive. There is not a single ounce of misery in this. Insanity? Sure. But this is her Something, after the war.

Ginny’s going to seize it.

[maracujatangerine]

76. Musical Experimentation

CW: emeto, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The park was almost empty during the early morning hour. An older lady in an orange fleece walking her Yorkshire terrier down the wooded path along the stream. A young couple jogging together, the woman reaching up to adjust her chestnut pony tail. A bald man in his fifties bicycling slowly with his black labrador in tow. Apart from them, only Lydia and Coriander walked together across the wide expanse of grass.

“Here it is, Cory!” Lydia pointed to the simple wooden pavilion ahead, just an open deck with wooden supports for the roof in each corner. “This is what I wanted to show you. I found out that the council has refurbished some pianos and placed them around town for anyone to use.”

And indeed. In the middle of the pavilion was a fairly battered, but freshly repainted, piano.

The blonde pet looked quizzically at his owner.

“T-that sounds very nice, Miss Lydia” he said.

”I was thinking that perhaps you would like to try to play it?”

A worried wrinkle creased Coriander’s forehead.

“T-this pet i-is afraid that it cannot, Miss Lydia.” He said regretfully. “I-it doesn’t know how to play.”

“Remember how you didn’t know that you could swim, either?” Lydia smiled. “I just want you to give it a try. It is totally all right if you can’t play.” She held up a hand. “You have to take a seat on the bench. It is all right, it is just the two of us here.”

When Coriander hesitatingly sat down on the duet bench and placed his hands on the keys, she nodded approvingly. “That’s really good. You are doing well. There’s no stress, take as much time as you need.”

Lydia sat down in the grass next to the piano, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm morning sun on her face.

A bumblebee buzzed among some early daisies, a few seagulls called to one another overhead. The faint sounds of a few cars in the distance. Coriander hesitatingly pushed down a few of the keys, first discordantly, then in a cascade from the one side of the piano to the other.

It sounded just as haphazard and unskilled as Lydia thought that she herself would have sounded, if she would have tried to play. She had nearly made up her mind that her hunch was just a guess gone wrong, when something shifted.

The unmistakable first tones of Für Elise floated out over the park’s green lawn.

*

A few weeks later, they walked past a music store when Lydia stopped, hit by inspiration.

“Would you like to go inside, Cory?”

The young man blanched. Almost, but not quite, shaking his head.

“B-but we don’t need anything, Miss Lydia.”

“I know, but maybe you would like to look at some of the instruments? I mean, you weren’t as awesome with the piano in the park as with the tin whistle, but you could still play. Maybe, if you try some more instruments you could discover even more skills?”

The pet swallowed, hard.

“I-it is soon time for dinner, Miss. P-perhaps we s-should go straight home and cook some food?”

Lydia relented.

“Sure, Cory. Let’s go home.” She glanced thoughtfully at all the instruments in the window as they walked past.

Coriander stared down at the pavement almost all the way home.

*

Transcript of audio recording

Several rustling sounds and a thump, from placing the recorder on the table, then Lydia’s voice.

“Cory, today I would like you to look at some different pictures and tell me what you see on the picture. I also want to tell me if you feel anything in particular about the picture, would that be okay?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia” Cory’s voice, slightly nervous but obviously eager to please.

“Okay, what is this?”

“It is a tin whistle, Miss Lydia.” A smile in Coriander’s voice. “T-this pet enjoys playing the tin whistle.”

“That’s good.” A smile in Lydia’s voice, too. “So what is this?”

“A trumpet.”

A faint rustle of paper as Lydia changed cards.

“A set of drums.”

“A cello.” A faint, almost undetectable tremble in Coriander’s voice.

“What about this, then?”

“An oboe.”

“That’s really good, I didn’t even know what that was called.”

“An harpsichord.”

“A guitar.”

“Now this is a hard one.” Lydia laughed. “I had no idea what this was. Ready?”

“Yes, Miss Lydia.” Coriander huffed a small laugh. “T-this pet knows what it is, Miss Lydia. That is a theremin.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“You are really awesome at this.” Lydia said warmly. “Only a few cards left. What is this?”

A sharp intake of breath. The faintest moan. The vicious sound of someone vomiting, liquid splashing all over the floor.

After a few moments only dry heaving could be heard on the tape.

“T-this pet is so, so s-sorry, Miss Lydia.” Coriander’s voice faint and shivering. “I-it will clean this up at once.”

“No, Cory.” Lydia sounded shaken, too. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. Please forgive me.”

Sound of steps and movement, someone fumbling with the recorder and the recording turned off.

In the margin of the transcript, with blue ballpoint pen, Lydia had noted in her curved handwriting. “A violin.”

*

This post is a part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side The last part of this post - the transcript - is my entry for day 10: In-BBU-media.

*

Fun Facts:

There’s a really cool international street art initiative that is called Play me, I’m yours that aims to place pianos in public places that are free for anyone to use. The project started in Birmingham, UK by artist Luke Jerram, but can now be found all over the world. It is particularly brilliant since pianos are often given away for free since moving them is expensive and many people have a hard time finding space for them in their homes. More info can be found here and here.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[buckysgrace]

Chapter Five

Previous Chapter

CW: Drug use

Kim felt so awkward sitting in the car as Billy drove off from Addi’s house. Her tongue licked over her teeth, trying to will herself to ask him anything.

She hated herself. She wanted to be closer to him yet far, far away at the same time. She glanced at the side of his face and looked away again.

He was truly unbothered as he drove and smoked. She listened to his music, trying to pretend that she was far away from here. She didn’t know why he had acted like they had to leave that instant. She had walked there without his help and didn’t understand why she would need to get back home with his help.

“Where did you get your swimming suit from?” He asked at last. She figured he had been working on asking her that, waiting until Addi was gone so he could question her. She shrugged feeling bashful.

“From the mall. It’s just a swimming suit.” She pleaded her case as he looked over at her, through his sunglasses. He laughed.

“You know my dad wouldn’t say that. He’d say a lot worse if he knew about it.” He told her what she already knew. She sighed.

“Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?” She smiled at him, but he just stared at her blankly.

“I’m getting tired of holding your secrets, you know.” He puffed his smoke out the window as the houses raced past them. She didn’t like to admit how much she enjoyed it when he went fast. Not quite at this moment, however, she was still feeling a bit ill from the three large brownies she had devoured.

“It’s not a secret. He just doesn’t need to know.” She defended herself. He was right though; she really didn’t trust him to be her secret keeper. She still wasn’t sure how much she could trust him, or if she could at all.

“Right and when he does eventually find out are you going to tell him you got it for the rich Harrington boy?” He mocked playfully and she felt herself growing irritated that he wouldn’t just drop the conversation. It was a bikini, loads of girls her age wore them.

“I didn’t wear it for Steve. I didn’t even know he was going to be there. God, you’re so annoying.” She huffed as she crossed her arms, not realizing what she had just admitted.

“Who?” She turned to face him again at the sudden question. She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue, “If you didn’t wear it for Steve then who did you wear it for?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She blanched as she raked her mind for an excuse. She couldn't tell him that she had worn it for him, that she wanted to see just how crazy she drove him as well. She was too embarrassed to ever admit that.

“Who? Myself. I don’t need a guy to look at me like that.” She snapped back at him, hoping he would buy the answer. He turned to look at her for a moment and she glanced away to the road. She couldn’t let him know what she was thinking.

“Right. So, what are you going to ask this dude out or just keep staring at him like a creep?” She frowned.

“Like those moms that stare at you? Are you mad you have some competition?” She challenged, watching as he scrunched his nose while he smiled.

“Are you jealous or something? I don’t have any competition. I think you’re the only one that’s into Pretty Boy.” She knew he was wrong. She still heard the way girls talked about him. Not to mention she was pretty sure he had a girlfriend anyways.

Robin.

“Okay, yes, I bought some nice clothes at the beginning of the summer to impress him. Not that it matters because I didn’t wear it for him. He has a girlfriend anyways.” She added, clearly sounding defeated at the end of her sentence. Billy was silent for a moment before looking at her.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m just looking after you. In any case, he’s an idiot. You’re a lot better looking than any of the girls he’s ever been with.” Kim felt her face ignite as he complimented her. She convinced herself he was just being nice and wasn’t suggesting anything else.

Yet, Kim felt her heart pounding against her chest as she looked at him. He had clearly been watching her at the pool and they had stared each other down pretty hard if she admitted it. She took a breath of confidence.

“Did you think I looked pretty?” She crossed her right leg over her left one as she turned to face him, batting her eyelashes in his direction. She was just trying to annoy him the way he annoyed her, she promised herself.

His cigarette almost slipped from his lips as he looked at her, surprised by her sudden boldness, she was sure. He hastily threw it out the window, cleared his throat and put both hands on the wheel as he stared forward out the front window.

“Uh yeah, yeah you do.” He snagged his bottom lip between his teeth as he drove. She faltered for a moment as focused on how he said she does look pretty, not that she did. She watched as his hands tightened around the wheel, his fingers beginning to turn white as he gripped it so hard.

“I like feeling pretty," She leaned against the dashboard, testing her boundaries as her arms pressed against her chest and heightened her cleavage just a bit. His blue eyes slowly grazed over her body before turning back to the road. She watched as he shifted in his seat, trying to examine his body language the same way he seemed to know hers, “So can you please not tell Neil? So, I can continue to look pretty?” She pleaded softly. She figured she’d never wear the bikini again, but maybe she would.

“Yeah, yeah I guess.” He muttered, hitting on the gas a little harder. Kim lurched forward and adjusted in her seat to keep from flying against the dashboard. She shot him a glare as she sat back in her seat.

“What’s your issue with Steve anyways?” She watched him curiously. He turned to her; annoyance written across his face.

“He’s a dick.” Was all he said as he turned fast on the familiar street corner. A small squeal left her mouth as she pressed into the side of the door. Her heart hammered in her chest as he pulled onto the side of the street. 

He was out of the car quicker than she was able to unbuckle her seat belt. She reached for her pool bag, pulling it on her lap and making sure the best of her things was in order before she got out.

“You coming?” Her head snapped hard to the side when she watched him open the door for her. He’d never done that before.

She swung her long legs out and nodded at him. She rose from the seat, standing up straight and meeting his gaze. She moved out of the way as he closed the door, her back leaning back against the car door as he trapped her, standing inches away from there.

She felt her pulse begin to quicken, every breath she took pressed her chest up against his. He only stood a few inches taller than her but, in this position, it felt like he towered over her. She felt like she was a prey who had just been trapped by their predator, ready to be devoured.

“Hi.” She squeaked out watching the grin form on his lips. His fingertips traced along the side of her shorts as he watched her. She felt her breath hitch as she looked at him curiously, wondering what he was thinking. She couldn’t imagine what others would think if they saw the two of them standing this close together.

“Hi,” He grinned down at her, “You swear you didn’t wear that for Pretty Boy?” She wasn’t sure how to answer him, instead focusing on how his fingers felt like they were burning through her clothes and lighting her skin aflame. 

“No, I didn’t even know Steve was going to be there.” She didn’t understand why he kept asking her the same question or why he was standing so close to her with his hands on her hips. She was facing a moral dilemma as the line between them kept getting smaller and smaller.

Billy’s large hands began to rub circles through her shirt as a grin began to form against his lips. She looked away from his eyes, instead focusing on the necklace that dangled down his chest. Her heart was racing, she didn’t see Neil’s vehicle but that didn’t mean that he was gone. She didn’t know what either of them would do if someone saw them this close.

“So, who’d you wear it for? Don’t bullshit me, I know that’s not the type of clothing you wear.” He said simply, his eyes raking over her face. Kim felt flustered and knew it wasn’t from the hot summer sun beating down on the side of her face. The golden light hit Billy’s tan skin perfectly, showing off his freckles and tanned skin. He looked like one of the romantic heroes in the books that she would binge, and she hated to think of him in that way.

Kim looked at him, afraid of how she would answer him. She didn’t want to lie but there was no way she could tell him the truth. If she told him that she had worn that little bikini for him then he would know that he had some sort of hold on her. She could already imagine his disgusted expression and the way he would never let that die.

“I wanted to be noticed,” She spoke up after a moment, watching his soft eyes. She had never known someone to hold eye contact so intensely before, “Guys don’t notice me and I thought maybe this would help.” It wasn’t the exact truth, but it was as best as she could do. She couldn’t read the expression on his face as she leaned back against his car, ignoring how the blue paint was scalding from the sun.

“You’re going to give people the wrong idea,” He spoke after a moment, and she watched how his lips moved when he spoke. She had never noticed how annoyingly white and straight his teeth were, “Especially guys. They’ll just take advantage of you. They won’t even fuck you right, they’ll be too focused on their own pleasure. You deserve better than that.”

She thought she might have a heart attack with the way her heart was beating inside her chest. He was confusing her so badly that she didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t understand why he’d touch her like this and then slyly add comments that made her overthink the meaning.

Sure, she could brush it off as him being a protective older brother. They never had that relationship before. He had never cared about her existence other than to bicker about her needing to get her own license and to occasionally ask to copy off of her homework.

“What did you mean when you said if I needed help all I need to do is ask?” She asked so softly that she almost didn’t hear herself speak at all. A grin rose on his face as he began to pull away from her.

“I guess you’ll have to ask to find out,” By now he was standing a few feet away from her, yet she still remained squished against his car, “You’re watching Max and her friend tonight. I have a date.”

A date?

She felt her head spin around as she lurched off of his car and followed him up the steps into the house. She tried to keep up with his pace as she raced up the steps, ignoring how the cool, cold air from the AC felt nice against her sweaty skin.

“You have a date?” Her mouth felt like there was cotton in it as he turned to look at her, not looking the least bit upset. 

“Yeah, it’s Friday. I’m not going to sit around here all night and babysit.” He replied as he walked down the hall to his room. Kim stood in the same spot, fuming.

How was it even fair for him to have any right to tell her that no guy deserved her, when it was so easy for him to run off with whichever girl, he found interesting at the moment. She was sure, had she put in the effort at the pool, that she could’ve made some plans with Steve. Or even any other guy that was there at the pool.

She had options. There was someone out there that was interested in her.

“I’m not babysitting!” She yelled after Billy as he slammed his door shut. She didn’t even have to leave the pool with him, he made her. He dragged her all the way back to the house just so she could watch Max. She didn’t even know that Neil and her mom would be gone tonight, although she should’ve known better.

“It’s not babysitting,” Max spoke up from her room, peeking her head out. She looked very annoyed, “I have a friend over and we all know you have no plans anyways.” Max shrugged, looking too smug as she shut her door again. Kim groaned in frustration, stomping all the way to her room before launching herself on her bed. She pulled a pink pillow to her chest, resisting the urge to cry.

She blamed it on all the different emotions she’d been feeling and on the slight possibility that she may be starting her period soon. She didn’t want to admit that Billy had some kind of control over her. She wouldn’t sink that low.

She rolled over on her back, praying that this would be what she needed to tell her mind to fuck off and stop giving her such vivid and dirty images about him. She sighed, feeling an odd trembling sensation building in her stomach and spreading down her legs and arms. She brushed it off as anger.

She looked up when she saw her younger, fiery sister and her quiet friend standing in the doorway. She could remember when her mother told her she’d be having a baby sister and had felt so over the moon. She absolutely loved baby dolls at that age. She’d do their hair, dress them up, and have tea parties with them. And she was finally going to have her own little baby doll to play with.

Wrong.

From the moment Max was brought home she hated to be messed with. Kim was only three at the time, but learned fast that her and her sister were two completely different bodies. Max loved to skateboard, to play sports and get dirty. Kim preferred to spend her time in the library, reading and working on art projects.

Max’s friend, El, was more than enthusiastic to have her play with her hair and paint her nails. It wasn’t that Max didn’t enjoy it, but it was only when she wanted to do it. El always sat so still and patient while she let Kim figure out different ways to design her short hair.

“Yes?” She questioned watching as the two of them stared at her. She felt an odd sensation that she needed to giggle rising in her stomach, so she swallowed that down.

“Are you going to order us pizza?” Max asked as El nudged her. Kim raised her eyebrow and waited, “Could you pretty please order us pizza?” Max tried again, placing a wide smile across her lips.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Kim stood up, feeling wobbly on her feet as she walked towards them. She stopped to squeeze her sister's soft face, “Awe we’re gonna have a girl's night!” She exclaimed, all of her angry emotions from a few moments ago were gone. El giggled and moved out of her way, while Max groaned and rubbed her now red face.

Kim kept blinking as she walked towards the wall phone, feeling her eyes beginning to squint. She pulled off the piece of paper that her mother had left, the number to the pizza place printed clearly in her pretty handwriting.

She thought about how good a piece of greasy pizza would taste right now, the melty cheese and hot sauce dripping on her tongue. It took all of her willpower not to moan.

Kim got halfway through punching in the numbers, when she had to hang up and attempt it again. This time she only got three numbers in before she forgot which one, she was at. She kept squinting, her eyes burning as she stared at the numbers.

She attempted again, this time dropping the phone before she could finish putting in the first two numbers. She laughed, sliding down the wall as she thought about how klutzy she was.

Max peeked over the couch, looking at her with wide blue eyes. El had a sloppy grin on her face, holding her hand up so she could whisper something to Max. Kim couldn’t help the giggles that poured out of her, now. Everything was becoming too much for her.

“I can’t put in the number,” She waved the paper around her head, motioning to Max, “I don’t think I can stand up either.” She replied seriously before feeling the urge to laugh again.

She was beginning to wonder if those brownies weren’t just regular brownies.

“My sister would not-” She heard Max say as she turned from El and looked back at Kim. She took in Kim’s appearance before cursing. El looked just as amused as Kim felt and the both of them burst into a fit of giggles as they looked at each other.

Kim wasn’t sure what was so funny but laughing just felt like the right thing to do. For the first time in her life, she felt so relaxed and carefree. She began pressing her fingertips together, admiring the tingling feeling that was shooting through them.

“Uh,” Max stood up from the couch, staring down at her older sister looking very unsure of herself, “Stay right here.” She muttered before walking down the hall. El leaned over the couch, crossing her arms as she looked at the older girl.

“You wanna hear a joke?” She asked, looking mischievous. Kim nodded eagerly watching the younger girl think about her joke before speaking.

“What did Cinderella say when she got to the ball?” El asked, glancing around to make sure no one else was around. Kim felt her eyebrow furrow as she leaned forward on her palms and shook her head.

“She gagged.” It took a moment of realization before Kim was lying on the ground, clutching her stomach as she fought through her giggles. She couldn’t stop laughing against the cold floor, her insides aching as she laid her palms against her stomach to calm herself. She turned on her back, trying to relax as she opened her eyes to see Billy and Max peering down at her.

She snorted as another fit bubbled up, realizing they were wearing the same expression as they watched her. She could still hear El giggling, though it was fainter now as Billy had come into the room.

“Are you high?” He asked her very seriously. He looked different upside down, she realized. However, she could still tell by the way the front of his hair was messy that he had been in the process of curling it.

“Were you grooming yourself?” She sassed back, watching as irritation began to replace his concerned look. She could tell Max was trying not to laugh as she looked away from her sister.

“What the hell did you do?” He repeated again as he squatted down and tried to get her into a sitting position. She groaned, lightly pressing her hand against his chest and staying limp so she could keep resting on the floor.

“I’m comfortable here, thank you very much.” She responded as she rested her back against the floor, liking how cold it felt against her skin.

“It’s probably dirty down there.” Max spoke up. Kim glanced over at El before laughing again, thinking about how funny her joke had been. Billy gripped both of her shoulders, heaving her up hard so she was sitting up in front of him. A gasp left her mouth and she grinned, reached out to pat his hardened jaw before she could stop herself.

“My hero, thank you for saving me from the dirty floor.” She added playfully, not even caring what anyone thought. She could tell he was exasperated as he gripped onto her shoulders to keep her from lying back down. Max crouched down next to him, looking at her concerned.

Kim thought about how the two were so similar yet hated each other so much.

“What did you take?” Billy asked again, looking less friendly this time. Kim tried to force her eyes wider apart to look at him, but found they were too far squinted to do it. She shrugged, nonchalant.

“Come on, we won't tell mom or dad.” Max pleaded, still looking concerned. Kim felt her resolve breaking.

“A brownie.” She said simply, knowing this was all ridiculous. They were overreacting. She was fine. Max turned to look at her older brother.

“Why would a brownie make her do this?” She asked, not quite understanding. Kim thought she looked adorable being so confused. She really wanted to squeeze her cheeks again but resisted doing so.

“You brat. How much did you take?” Billy snapped, obviously knowing what she meant by a brownie. He ignored Max’s gaze and continued to stare at Kim. She felt the same way she did when she had been thinking about chowing down on a slice of pizza. A moan was bubbling in her stomach and electricity pulsed through her body as the way he called her a brat bounced around in her head.

“Jonathan gets brownies sometimes; they have weed in them.” El whispered the last part to Max, and Max turned to her sister horrified. She was sure Max didn’t think she’d ever do something like that.

She counted on her fingers for a moment.

“Just three brownies, okay? They were just brownies. I didn’t taste any weed in them, at all.” Her words were becoming more sluggish and felt odd coming off of her tongue. It was like it was taking more effort for her to speak.

Billy’s blue eyes widened as he stared at her, at a loss for words as he took in the girl in front of her. Kim wiggled her eyebrows.

“Can we get pizza or what?” She asked looking at the three people who kept staring at her, “I could really eat some right now.” She added, watching as Billy examined her.

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll order it before I leave. I’m serious, I have better things to do than sit here watching the three of you all night.” He huffed out, letting her go and standing up. Kim looked at Max, watching as the younger girl was now sporting an amused expression.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kim responded but continued to sit on the floor, feeling like she didn’t have the ability to walk to the couch. She watched as Max headed back to El and began deciding which movie they were going to watch.

Kim stretched her legs out, her hands in her lap as she watched Billy order the food. She stared up the side of his body, taking in how muscular he really was. For the first time she didn’t feel bad about her thoughts towards him, instead, she felt like welcoming them.

He shot her a look as he hung up the phone, his foot pushing the side of her calf gently. She watched as her foot rolled to the side before sitting up again. She grinned up at him.

“I thought I told you to go to the couch?” He asked irritably. She stretched her arms out in the air, holding them over her head.

“My legs won’t work.” She said simply, grinning like a fool as he realized what he wanted to do. She figured it wouldn’t work and she would just end up crawling her way across the floor until she reached the seats. She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh very loudly.

She was starting to put her arms down when he crouched down near her again, an arm holding onto her back and under her thighs. She squealed, pleased as she carried her towards the couch. 

She laid against his chest, taking in his warmth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was careful to make sure she didn’t pull on his hair as she did so.

“You look nice.” She muttered, still smiling. He really did too. His jeans fit him nice and his shirt, like always, had one too many buttons undone.

“Shut up.” He grumbled back before stopping at the couch, waiting a moment for the two younger girls to scoot out of the way before plopping her down. A loud shriek left Kim’s mouth as she laughed in delight, enjoying the drop down a bit too much.

Billy just huffed before he stomped out of the room. Kim listened to his door slam shut and gave the two girls a playful look.

“Did I say something wrong?” El giggled, resting her arms against Kim’s legs as she stretched out on the couch. Even Max was grinning now.

“Why would you take that many? You know if mom and dad were home, you’d be in so much trouble.” Kim knew Max was right, but she just waved the young girl off, too high to care about what could have happened. She rested back against the arm of the chair, thinking about how good a slice of pizza would taste right now. She wondered when it would get here.

Kim listened as the two began discussing different subjects, boys, music, comics, and more boys. She cracked a grin a few times, never interrupting, just glad that her sister had found a place here.

“Did you find a movie yet?” Billy walked out of his room briskly. Kim tried to follow his footsteps to the front door with her eyes, but found the movement was too much. She listened as he opened the door.

That awoke her. She felt herself sitting up, breathing in the steamy smell of greasy pizza as he carried the two boxes to the living room. Throwing a stack of napkins and paper plates down.

“You got soda, didn’t you?” Max asked and Kim hoped the question was yes. She would do anything to taste and feel the sweet carbonation traveling down her body. Billy sighed before grabbing it off the counter. 

Kim didn’t wait for anyone else before she made her plate. She held up the slice, looking in awe at how the cheese was perfectly browned and the crust was golden. She lifted it up to her tongue, moaning as she bit into it and let the garlicky sauce lick at her taste buds.

She opened her eyes to see Billy staring at her, his jaw slack as he held a slice of pizza between the box and his plate. She chewed thoroughly, raising her eyebrow.

“I thought you had a date, and you were absolutely not canceling it?” She mocked as she finished her slice, she was sure this was the best meal she had ever had. El and Max grinned next to her, a small whisper of not having to hear happy screams was heard.

Billy stood up straight as he stared her down, then looked at the other two.

“Not like any of you left me a choice. I’m not leaving Hopper’s daughter alone with someone who's high off her ass. I’m not going down for that.” He defended. He walked towards Kim and began to sit down next to her. She scooted over closer to El, trying not to get squashed by him in the process. She could hear Max protest as she moved.

No one really stayed in the living room, at least not when Neil was around. Apparently, they needed a bigger couch for when he was gone. 

“Sure.” She drew the syllables as she looked at him, “You just know you didn’t want to miss out on this awesome night.” She concluded as she began her second slice of pizza and reached for the soda.

Max gripped the 2 liter in her hand tightly, “How about I pour it for you?” Kim nodded happily, watching as her sister worked. She passed the drink to her, which Kim accepted with glee.

“Did you decide on a movie then?” Billy asked dryly, his elbow hitting Kim’s ribs as he adjusted in his seat. She jolted as he hit right where she was ticklish. She shot him a glare, pinned between him and El. 

El shifted as Max scooted down to grab the remote, pressing play, “Nightmare on Elm Street is up first.” Kim groaned as she heard the title, knowing how much Max loved scary movies. She was completely opposite, hating the way the nightmares attacked her later.

“It’s so scary.” She whined as she swallowed the rest of her complaint down with soda. Yeah, yeah that was good, she decided. Max and El gave her an incredulous look.

“It’s not that scary.” Max spoke up and shook her red hair. Kim knew she wouldn’t win as she turned to look at Billy, their shoulders pressed together. He shifted again, his shoulder toppling over hers as his hand lingered dangerously close to her thigh. She stared, imagining how it would look as he squeezed her thigh.

“Don’t look at me. She’s right.” Billy shrugged as he continued eating. Kim sighed playfully, accepting the fact that she would have nightmares tonight. She tucked into the couch, hiding behind his shoulder.

“Fine, but you guys better not complain when I crawl into bed with you tonight.” She muttered, licking the grease off the side of her thumb. She turned her eyes to see Billy watching her, an unreadable expression on his face, “Who were you supposed to see tonight?” She asked, trying to be coy. He raised his eyebrow as he watched her.

“Does it matter? The date isn’t happening.” She wanted to say that it served him right for making her leave the pool early but resisted the urge to do so. She knew it would do nothing but irritate him more. There was something nice about him joining them to watch a movie.

She quieted down when it finally started, not wanting to annoy the two girls as it played. Max gave them all a temporary relief when she stood up to turn the light off. Paranoia crawled up Kim as she kept glancing over her arm to look behind her every time the scary music started to play.

“You’ve got to stop,” Max whined when she turned to face her again, “You’re gonna freak us out.” She huffed, moving to the floor and pulling El down with her.

“I told you it’s scary!” Kim defended herself, no longer finding everything hilarious. She kept jumping, moving closer to Billy as every little thing frightened her. She began to scoot away, freeing up some space between them when she fell for another jump scare. She was practically in his lap as she held onto his waist, a shrill shriek threatening to spill out.

She listened to him chuckle, feeling his chest move as he did so. She spared a glance at him as she curled against his side, thankful for his arm that moved around her. She felt a lot safer here, under his protective arm.

“You really are a scaredy cat, Mayfield.” She cursed him as she laid there, pulling a blanket over her legs so no demons would grab ahold of her feet.

Or Max. Max tended to do that a lot. She shivered as she thought about how Max went through a phase of hiding in dark spots in her room with a white sheet over her head.

She clutched him closer as another scary part appeared, curling her legs up to her chest. She tried to focus on the movie, instead of the way his fingers were tracing designs onto her back. She wondered how he was warm all the time, when she always felt so cold. 

She had never sat in such a position with him before and wondered if it was just him being nice, actually concerned that she would do something dumb, or if there was another reason he was holding onto her. Her eyes were beginning to close as she drifted off, Billy being the only thing to cross her thoughts.

///////

She didn’t know how late it was, but felt her comforter being placed over her as she could see the darkness engulfing her room. She fluttered her eyes, still dazed and sleepy as she adjusted her head on her pillow.

She turned to her back, noticing him pulling away like he was going to leave. She reached out, taking his hand softly. It was so dark she couldn’t see his face or expression, but she knew it was Billy. Her voice faltered as she thought about asking him to turn on her night light, images from the movie flickering in her mind.

“Stay,” She spoke softly, sleep threatening to take over as she kept blinking her eyes to stay focused on him, “Please.” She spoke even more gently, for even in the dark she could sense his hesitation. 

He sighed as he slid into bed next to her, making her bed shift completely as he got comfortable. In the back of her mind, she could feel laughter growing as she thought of Billy, all macho, covered in her green and pink flowery sheets.

Billy muttered something under his breath, but she was too far gone to listen to what he was saying. Her eyes closed as she moved closer to him, not close enough to touch, just seeking his warmth as she felt herself departing into a deep sleep.

Next Chapter

[evilhasnever]

Time for a wedding, set in the same reincarnation AU as this and this ficlet by me and this (by @lansplaining)! Btw, I have collected all previous parts in a series on Ao3 for ease of reading: Memory Lane (get it?)

A few people wanted to see what would happen if JGY recovered his memories, which means there is angst coming up... (this drabble turned into 3000 words, so Ao3 link if you prefer!)

For all that Lan Xichen knows his past life, he cannot tell the future. And the future seems dead set on tripping him up, as if holding a grudge in order to counterbalance whatever advantage his past memories may give him. 

That is to say, Meng Yao disappears the morning they are supposed to get married. 

It was not meant to be a big affair, but even a small modern ceremony ends up being a complex production when overzealous friends and overly-traditional relatives are involved. Lan Huan and Meng Yao had agreed to go to the venue separately, both to appease the loudest aunties and to build up some excitement for their own reunion as husbands. This means Lan Huan has slept at Wangji’s place for the past two days, leaving Meng Yao alone in the apartment they share, and has forced himself not to text him constantly over the past forty-eight hours.

At 10 in the morning on the day of the ceremony, Lan Huan is sweating in his tux on the way to the venue, driven by Wangji; he’s fruitlessly trying to meditate to keep calm, but he can’t quite stamp down his eagerness. For once his nerves are of the positive, tickling variety reserved for happy occasions - he doesn’t expect anything to go wrong today, considering A-Yao planned everything. 

He should have known better. 

When they are ten minutes away, Lan Huan’s cell phone rings, spooking both brothers out of their meditative silence. It’s Meng Shi, calling from the reception hall. It sounds like she has a hand on the receiver so as not to be overheard.

"A-Huan, A-Yao is not here."

Lan Xichen blanches. “He is what…?”

“He is not here. He is always here first, heavens knows he would be checking every single napkin even on his own wedding day, but today…”

“ I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Didn’t you go the venue together?”

“No, he called me a taxi. He said he had an errand to run, but that was two hours ago and he is not answering his phone. He always tells me where he is, A-Huan, and now…!”

“Perhaps he is just late,” Lan Xichen murmurs, his pulse already picking up speed because the very idea is absurd. “What kind of errand? The cake? A-Yao is always very particular about catering…”

“He didn’t say. A-Huan, did something happen?”

“Not that I know of, but I didn’t see him yesterday, we wanted to play up the anticipation a little…” Lan Huan admits. “Did you see him for dinner last night?” 

“Yes, I did… A-Yao said he wasn’t feeling well, but I thought it was just nerves,” Meng Shi carefully says, and Lan Huan can almost imagine her pursing her lips. “He said he ran out on his own stag party. I didn’t think much of it, A-Yao has never liked surprise parties.”

Lan Xichen’s brow furrows. “I’ll make some calls. Please wait there, and call me if he arrives.”

He tries A-Yao’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. He leaves a quick message, just to be safe: “A-Yao, are you ok? I’m almost at the venue. Let me know if something happened, alright? I love you.”

Carefully ignoring Wangji’s glance in the rear view mirror, he shoots a text to Mingjue and another to Jin Zixuan, asking if A-Yao is coming with them by any chance. Huaisang calls him back from his brother’s phone immediately. “Xichen-ge, did you lose your fiance?”

“Miscommunication,” Lan Xichen replies tightly. “What happened at the stag party, Huaisang?” 

“Ayo, I don’t know anything! Xuanyu and I put him in the car and he freaked out as if we were some gangsters coming for his family. He was absolutely no fun the whole evening, after I prepared all the decorations and even the stripper–I mean, the entertainment!”

Lan Xichen pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the grasping hands of a migraine growing in the back of his skull. “We will discuss this at a later time, Huaisang. Did A-Yao do or say anything strange at the party?”

“He hardly said anything at all, and then he just up and left when we tried to put a veil on him for the photos! Total spoilsport. Did he get cold feet?”

“He is late.”

Huaisang gasps in horror. 

“I just want to make sure he is safe. Do you know where he was yesterday afternoon, before you kidnapped him?”

“I resent that wording! Anyway, I think he went to pick up his wedding tux with Jin Zixuan. Trying to be a good brother wa—y too late if you ask me.”

“Alright, thanks. See you at the reception, Huaisang.”

“Is it… still on? Just wondering if I need to get dressed.”

“I’d appreciate yours and your brother’s presence either way,” Lan Xichen says, wryly. 

“'mkay, ge. Best of luck.”

When they reach the wedding venue, they are momentarily intercepted by Shufu - Lan Xichen smiles and dodges him, ear glued to his phone as Wangji shadows him to the waiting room and locks the door. 

When they are alone, Lan Huan turns to his brother. “Wangji. A-Yao should already be here, but I can’t track him down.”

Wangji’s gaze hardens imperceptibly, and Lan Xichen takes a deep breath and lifts his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I am worried about him. His mother doesn’t know where he is either.” 

“Why would he flee?” Wangji asks. 

“We should not jump to conclusions,” Lan Xichen cautions, “He… he should have no reason to do so.” 

“The reasons may be unrelated to the past,” Wangji offers, after a thoughtful moment. “Car accident, panic attack.” 

“Alright, let’s… one thing at a time,” Lan Huan chuckles nervously, trying to push down the bubble of fear growing in his stomach.

For the next few minutes, they both busy themselves calling local hospitals. Thankfully, nobody that looks like A-Yao has been taken to any of the city ERs this morning. Lan Xichen exhales, then dials A-Yao’s number again, letting it ring off the hook. 

When it goes to voicemail again, he decides to try his luck and call Jin Zixuan’s number, which he has only because he is very thorough and always prepared for emergencies - or so he thought, at any rate.

“Ah, Lan Xichen,” Zixuan answers on the third ring. “Are you calling to tell me not to come to the wedding? Because A-Li and I are almost there! I already left several apologies on A-Yao’s answering machine, but I don’t know how my brother’s mind works…”

“Why would you apologize?” Lan Xichen asks, suddenly alert. “Did something happen yesterday?”

“It was odd,” Zixuan grunts, and there are background baby noises for a short while - Lan Xichen holds his breath until Zixuan resumes speaking. “One moment he was all dimples, then when he tried on his wedding tux he stopped dead and looked like he’d short-circuited. Stuck like a mannequin. I’ve never seen him not frenetic, which is why I asked him if he perhaps didn’t like the suit? Told him if we paid extra we could get him another one in time for the wedding, though it would not be custom-made… he wasn’t listening at all, just doing this wide-eyed face in the mirror. I had told him that white was not his color, but the reaction seemed extreme!”

“Zixuan, I need to know exactly what he said. Word for word, if you could be so kind.”

Another long sigh, more baby noises. “Well. I forgive him, because god knows I was panicking the day before my wedding, but–he said I should be dead.”

Oh . 

“I have to go,” Lan Xichen whispers, and hangs up.

He turns swiftly to his brother. “Wangji. I need you to ask your boyfriend to track A-Yao’s phone, stat.”

Wangji’s eyebrows rise in unadulterated shock, but to his credit he doesn't deny that Wei Wuxian can absolutely do that.

“I… I don’t know where he would go,” Lan Huan admits. “Not in this life.” Where would he run? The uncertainty makes him feel unmoored, like he’s being pulled down by a turbulent sea and can’t keep himself afloat. “I think it’s a... memory emergency.”

“I will ask Wei Ying.”

It takes what feels like an eternity, though in truth Lan Xichen is aware that Wei Wuxian accomplishes the task in a criminally speedy manner, and without asking any questions. Not while he’s in earshot, anyway.

“I sent you the last known location,” Wei Wuxian shrugs at last, “but I dunno if he still has the phone on him or he dumped it.” 

“Thank you, Wei Wuxian. Wangji… can I take your car?”

“Mn.” For a moment, Lan Huan can see his brother wants to offer to go with him, so he shakes his head in silence. Wangji hands over the keys and squints at him. “Brother… remember the rule.”

“I know. The past is not the present. The present is not the future. I know, Wangji.” 

“Sooo… what do we do with the wedding?" Wei Wuxian interjects, apparently not grasping the gravity of the situation. "We have the venue booked until 2pm but I’m sure they have people lined up for later…”

“I’m sure you’ll think of some way to buy time,” Lan Xichen smiles tightly. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

“Did you hear that, Lan er-gege? We gotta think of a distraction~ you got any ideas?” 

Lan Xichen is out of the door and behind the wheel as fast as he can be. He keeps an eye on his phone, but the only updates he gets are from Meng Shi saying A-Yao isn’t there yet, and Shufu reminding him of the schedule and cancellation fees. 

He tracks down the coordinates to an off-season beach two hours south, a straight line from the city. There’s a parking lot nearby, but it’s empty - A-Yao doesn’t have a car. He pictures him telling an Uber driver to just drive until he tells him to stop, and his heart aches. Still, some irrational hope nestles inside him, whispering that perhaps A-Yao hasn’t thrown away his phone yet. That he may want to be found. 

Lan Xichen parks hurriedly across two spaces and hurries out to the sea, sinking in the sand with every step. He pauses to kick off his dress shoes, then resumes running down the seashore. With immense relief, he spots A-Yao, a tiny white-clad figure in the distance, a few hundred meters down the desolate stretch of sea. 

Is it embedded somewhere in A-Yao’s soul to run away to the sea, despite knowing that in this life he cannot swim?

“A-Yao!” he calls out, waving his arms clumsily. There is absolutely nobody else out in January, no umbrellas and no chairs, so A-Yao will certainly see him coming from afar - no point making his approach cautious. Lan Xichen had half expected A-Yao to turn tail and make him chase him, but miraculously he does not.

“A-Yao,” he gasps again when he catches up to him, tugging at his collar. “Are you alright, A-Yao?”

His A-Yao turns, dark-rimmed eyes and windswept hair, terse like a winter morning. He’s undone his bowtie and popped a few buttons at his collar, the tuxedo jacket thrown over his shoulder. 

“The last time I saw you, you would not call me that anymore,” Jin Guangyao says, his voice raspy from the wind. 

“You saw me yesterday morning, A-Yao,” Lan Huan soothes, stepping towards him with his hand outstretched. 

“Right.” A-Yao chuckles humorlessly, and draws a circle in the sand with a naked foot. The hem of his pants is caked in wet sand, but he does not seem to mind. “I meant… before.” 

He looks down, a strange smile on his face, then takes off his engagement ring and holds it out towards Lan Xichen, without looking up at him. “I should return this.”

Despite the fear gripping his heart, Lan Huan shakes his head firmly. “It’s yours. You don't have to keep it, but I don’t want it back.”

A-Yao’s hand lowers, a little hesitantly. Then his razorblade gaze snaps up and pierces Lan Xichen where he stands. “Er-ge. Can you tell me why every wedding of mine comes with a side of lies?” 

Lan Xichen stands to attention. “I never lied to you, A-Yao.”

“You never told me you remembered the past.” It is not a question, so Lan Xichen does not treat it as such.

“Would you have wanted to know?” he asks instead.

A-Yao doesn’t reply for a moment, gaze returning to the gray wintry sea. “What I don’t understand,” he says to the waves, “is why you sought me out, if you remembered.” 

“A-Yao... Even if we’d been complete strangers, I would still have fallen for you. But all the more because I remembered you, how could I not seek you out?” Lan Xichen frowns at his poor wording; he had prepared this speech a million times, but now it scatters like sand in the breeze. “My family has a rule against approaching people from the past, did you know? But A-Yao…  what do I have these memories for, if not to find you?”

A-Yao’s gaze drops to the sand at his feet, the cold waves lapping at his ankles. “Even after everything?”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes briefly. He’s had a lot of time to think about this. “I’m here, aren’t I?’

The reply seems to strike true. A-Yao looks taken aback, but Lan Xichen dares to hope it's a good kind of surprise. Like that time he surprised A-Yao at the airport with flowers, or the time he offered to teach him to play the qin. He hazards another step closer to him, a mere arm’s length from A-Yao. He aches to touch him, but he can’t. Not yet. 

“Mother’s treatment,” A-Yao says abruptly. “Tell me straight.”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen inclines his head. “You and I hadn’t met yet, so I asked a friend to make an anonymous donation in my place.” 

A-Yao purses his lips. “I suppose I must thank you.”

“I didn't do it to earn your thanks,” Lan Xichen sighs. “Knowing and not acting would have been unthinkable, that is all.”

“Still, thank you. My mother is… she is everything.” A-Yao looks younger, vulnerable for the space of a breath.

Lan Xichen smiles. “I care for her too. Your mother is wonderful.”

A-Yao almost smiles at that, but it fades before it can reach the top half of his face, his eyes narrowing again in scrutiny. 

“You introduced me to Qin Su at June’s charity luncheon. Did you invite her?” 

Lan Xichen swallows, painfully. “I did not invite her, but she was there.” He bites his lip. “I looked into it. You are… not related, in this life.” 

A-Yao makes a little ‘hah’ sound, as swift as paper ripping. “I’m happy for her. But why did you go out of your way to introduce her to me? You and I had just started dating.”

All Lan Huan can do is shrug, his shoulders stiff and frozen in the confines of his tuxedo. “Tempting fate, I suppose.” 

“Still unfailingly selfless,” A-Yao hums, and it is a little too dry to feel like praise.

They look at a pair of seagulls chasing each other among cacophonous screams. They sound particularly shrill, drawing playful circles in the air and around each other.

“It is selfishness,” Lan Xichen eventually admits. “I just wanted to make sure that… I just wanted to make sure.” 

A-Yao shakes his head with a small exhale, barely a chuckle. He drops his jacket on the sand and lifts both arms to cup Lan Xichen’s jaw, pulling him slightly closer. His fingers are frozen cold, his eyes dark and serious, with an intensity that halts Lan Xichen’s breath halfway up his throat. 

“Lan Xichen, Lan Xichen... in a world in which I can marry you, how could I ever not?” The words, carefully enunciated, hit Lan Xichen’s chilled face in small, warm puffs of breath. A-Yao is not smiling, and that, for some reason, puts Lan Huan’s heart at ease. It gives his words the resonance of unfailing truth, a timeless verdict.

“We still could,” he hopefully offers. “Well, if Wei Wuxian managed to stall enough.” 

A-Yao snorts softly, then shakes his head. “Not now. I think… I need to get away.”

He surely notices the sheer horror on Lan Xichen’s face, because his brows knit together in an apologetic squint. “Not forever, gege. Just for a little while, to get my head in order.”

Lan Xichen folds his arms behind his back, and leans into A-Yao’s hands cupping his jaw. “We still have the honeymoon to Japan booked for tomorrow…”

A-Yao chuckles, breathless and disbelieving. Then his dark, half-lidded eyes scan Lan Xichen’s face, considering. “...You’d come?”

“Unquestioningly,” Lan Xichen says. “Right now, if you wanted to.”

“With no luggage?”

“I don’t need anything.”

The answer seems to please A-Yao, because his smile turns a shade more secretive, lashes lowering on his cheeks.

Still, he hedges, thumb tracing Lan Xichen’s chin in direct contradiction with his words. “Er-ge… I can’t ask you to…” 

“You need not to ask,” Lan Xichen smiles, eager, desperate to give away his heart. “If we drive to the airport now, we can catch an earlier flight. I’ll call on the way there.”

“A honeymoon while we are still not married,” A-Yao smirks. “What would your shufu say?”

Lan Xichen grins at him with infinite tenderness. “We can marry anytime, but we can only elope once.”

A little skittish, A-Yao puts his hand in his nonetheless, tugging him along as they amble towards the parking lot. They shake the sand off their pants, exchanging half smiles at the state of their attire. They spend an awkward minute tracking down their discared shoes.

When they’re safely in the car, Lan Xichen offers his smartphone to him. “I’m all for eloping, but call your mother and Wangji to make sure they don’t worry, will you?” 

A-Yao brushes Lan Xichen’s knuckles delicately before taking his phone from him, and laughs. It’s small, but as wonderful as the first time.

[dumpsterfireofthedas]

Child Of The Dalish (In-game quest name)

Title: “Child Of The Dalish” (In-game quest title) Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Pairing: Mostly Gen but a brief implication of Tamlen x Mahariel (Sabre) Summary: Jaydzia and her fellow Dalish hunter Tamlen are scouting in the Brecilian forest when they come upon three humans running from something. (In game Prologue) Author’s notes: This mostly the prologue from the game but with my own twist based off my Dalish warden and her thoughts and stuff to make it interesting. I completely understand however if this is simply not to your taste as it is a bit of a rehash. There will be plenty of “non” in game scenes as it were for this story anyway. No worries and for those who read, I hope its interesting and enjoyable!

Under the cut for length! (Crossposted to Ao3)

Jaydzia Mahariel of the Dalish Sabrae Clan sat perched high in a tree within the Brecilian Forest where clan dwelt this time of year. She was hunting and scouting with her clan-mate and best friend, Tamlen. There was plenty of game in the forests and their clad did have plenty of supplies to last them for a time but hunters and scouts needed to keep up their skills as their elders and their Keeper often said.

Aside from the usual sounds of the forests, birds, bees, deer and the like, it was also quiet and peaceful. Jaydzia allowed herself a few moments to simply close her eyes and enjoy the serenity of the forest. It grounded her, kept her mindful. Something that Keeper Marethari often said her father did.

The abrupt sound of loud heavy footsteps crashing through brush and foliage however, jarred out of her moment. The clumsy loud crashing sounds sent birds and animals alike fleeing and scattering about the forest. Pale-green eyes opened and she quickly surveyed the forest from her perch. The trajectory of various fleeing birds and animals narrowed down the path. The loud heavy, even clumsy-sounding footsteps were quite obvious to find as they grew closer, soon, revealing three poorly dressed and harried humans.

Pursing lips, partly from the interruption, partly due to finding it was bumbling humans that were the cause, Jaydzia started to expertly descend the tall tree when she heard one of the humans speak.

“It’s a Dalish!” The exclamation wasn’t directed at her, there was no way any of the three bumbling fools would have seen her. Tamlen must have made himself known to the group. One of the shems demanded passage, despite the trembling fear in his voice.

“And you three are somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Tamlen voice, somewhat cocky and utterly unimpressed with the sight before him.

Jaydzia moved quietly through the foliage, she could see the three humans, Tamlen and his bow trained on them. She silently knocked an arrow to her own bow, giving a slightly heavier foot step with a twig crack as a sort of signal to Tamlen that was she was about to enter the clearing.

“You’ve got no right to stop us, Dalish!” Another of the shems called out.

“No? We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” Tamlen said, unperturbed. She stepped out of the foliage and joined him, bow and arrow joining his to be trained on the humans.

Pale-green eyes narrowed at the humans as Tamlen explained finding three bandits lurking in the bushes. They didn’t seem particularly dressed or armed for anything, let alone banditry. But she knew better, as did Tamlen. Their clan had been tricked before…But there was something about these shems that…struck her as particularly…dense for lack of a better word.

With two arrows trained on them, the trio of humans seemed to blanch, color draining from already pale faces.

“We aren’t bandits! I swear!,” The red-haired shem exclaimed, his voice a bit high-pitched. “Please, don’t hurt us!”

“You shemlen are pathetic,” Tamlen scoffed, contempt lacing his voice. “It’s a hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland.”

“We-we’ve never done nothing to you, Dalish!” Stammered the dark-haired human. “We didn’t even know this forest was yours!”

“This forest isn’t ours, fool,” Tamlen said with annoyance. “You’ve stumbled to close to our camp. You shems are like vermin. We can’t trust you not to make mischief.”

After a tense moment, Tamlen spoke to her though he kept his sapphire-blue eyes and his bow trained on the three cowering humans before them. “What do you think, lethallin? What should we do with them?”

Jaydzia’s gaze studied each human in turn quickly. None of them alone posed any real threat to them or the clan. But if they went back to their town and gathered more…There was also something…odd about them, about their fear. While having arrows pointed at them would probably cause it especially as not one of them looked to have ever seen a small fight before let alone real combat, she was certain that it wasn’t the arrows that had them in visceral quivering fear. Something else had invoked such a reaction from these men, whatever may have sent them running blindly through a forest like this.

“Let’s find out why they’re here, what they were doing…” She suggested to Tamlen. She didn’t need to look at him to know Tamlen had rolled his eyes, she could hear it in his voice.

“Does it matter? Hunting or banditry, we’ll have to move camp if we let them live,” He stated flatly.

Annoyance flashed across her face, she grew weary of some of the views on humans that floated around the camp. She wasn’t necessarily fond of humans but she wasn’t particularly fond of people in general. She also didn’t hate them as some of her people did. The history between humans and elves left enough issues on both sides that it wasn’t a wonder why both sides harbored old hatreds.

“L-look,” said the trembling dark-haired human in the back of the trio. “We didn’t come here to be trouble…We-we just found a cave…”

“Y-yes! A Cave!” Said the second dark-haired man as if he’d not only forgot about this bit of information but also believed it would be their saving grace. “With ruins like I’ve never seen! We thought there might be…uh…” He fell silent, his face falling as he realized what he was about to say and the very elves standing before him. His dark eyes, darted away…

“Treasure,” Tamlen finished the shem’s sentence. “So you’re more akin to thieves than actual bandits.”

“If you were there,” Jaydzia interjected, sounding a bit doubtful. “Then you can prove it, right?”

The red-haired shem blinked then cautiously approached Tamlen, slowly producing something from his pockets.

“One wrong move…” Jaydzia warned.

The shem in question froze for a moment, hand outstretched towards Tamlen, eyes wide, “I…I have proof. Here…we found this just inside the entrance…”

Tamlen took the item as she kept her bow trained. The human stepped back hastily. She heard Tamlen gasp in disbelief and shock. “This stone has carvings…Is this…elvish? Written elivish?” he sounded disbelieving.

“We…uh…didn’t get very far in,” Said the shem in the back, not looking at anything but the ground at his feet. He was trembling the most, fear held him tight in its grasp even now.

“Why not?” Jaydzia asked, frowning.

It was the red-haired human that gave the answer, “There was a demon! It was huge!”

“With…with black eyes…like a void…”the shem in the back spoke quietly, almost a whisper.

“Thank the maker, we were able to out run it,” Chimed the third human, sounding honestly relieved.

Tamlen scoffed but kept his patience, “A demon? Where is this cave?”

There was something about the shem in the back of the trio. While she was disbelieving it had been a demon…or this cave truly existed, she could see that this man was not just scared but…haunted. He had seen something…something dark, something that would surely haunt him for the rest of his days.

“It’s…back that way,” The red-haired human said, pointing back behind him and his friends. “You really can’t miss it…C-can we go, please? We wont come back! I swear it!”

Tamlen sighed, clearly done with the three fools. “Well?” He asked her. “Do you trust them? Shall we let them go?”

Jaydzia eyed each of them then nodded, “They’re frightened enough. They won’t bother us.”

“Run along, shems,” Tamlen ordered, lowering his bow as the men started to make haste away from the elves. “And don’t come back until we Dalish have moved on.”

The three humans sputtered thanks profusely as they ran.

Jaydzia and Tamlen waited quietly until the humans were out of sight before sheathing their weapons entirely. He moved to stand before her, a slight smile on his face as well as curious and mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“Well, shall we see if there’s any truth to their story? These carvings make me curious…” He asked, producing the item for her to inspect. Jaydzia trailed her fingers over the weathered but clear elvish-looking runes on the jagged piece of stone in Tamlen’s hand. There was something strange about them…Something almost ethereal and otherworldly…It gave her pause. There was a flash of shadowy images in her head as if some ancient memory was trying to desperately to come out of the shadows of long forgotten knowledge.

It left her…uneasy.

“I don’t know… I have a bad feeling about this so-called demon,” Jaydzia said quietly as she looked up at Tamlen.

He chuckled in amusement, “Skittish shems say it’s a demon and you believe them? They probably woke up a bear.”

Jaydzia frowned, “The shem who cowered in the back of that little group seemed as if he’d seen a real ghost. He was more than simply frightened.”

Tamlen laughed, “Come now, Jay. Did any of that lot look as if they had ever seen a real bear before in their lives?”

She pondered that for a moment and shrugged, “I suppose not. Humans are…odd.”

Tamlen pocketed the item and threw an arm around her shoulders and started to guide her in the direction of this supposed cave. “Let’s see if these ruins actually exist, then we can worry about what to do, sound good.”

Jaydzia wrapped an arm around his waist and chuckled, his easy charm clearing her head of her worries, “If you insist. If there is a bear thoug-“

“I’ll protect you,” he said fondly. “Don’t worry.”

[songstresstinyteacup]

An alternative to “Is the weight of it all finally too much?”

Okay, so this deals with implied suicide attempts, and panicky Sibella. Do with that as you will!

Of all the things Sibella had expected to see when she arrived at High Hurst castle that day, Monty pulling a soaking wet and half-frozen Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro from the river beyond the gardens wasn’t one of them.

Monty passed off Phoebe to Marietta and Gorby, stalking inside and forcing Sibella to whirl around to try and keep up with him as Miss Shingle and Gorby began escorting Phoebe back inside.

Sibella hadn’t even had the time to shed her coat and gloves.

“Monty! Monty, whatever’s happened?” Sibella inquired, heels slamming into the ground as she tried to keep pace with him.

Monty turned around, and Sibella saw so many emotions in his eyes.

Anger.

Grief.

Concern.

Fear.

“Phoebe tried to end her life today, Sibella.” Monty’s voice was hoarse and thick with tears, tears Sibella could see he was desperately trying to hold back.

Sibella’s heart plummeted through the floor.

“What?” Her words were breathless.

Phoebe.

Her Phoebe.

Phoebe had tried to die.

Monty threw his arms up, sleeves soaked clear up to his elbows, running damp fingers through snow-speckled hair, frustration in every movement.

Then Monty stepped aside and motioned Sibella into the library, and when she did as bid, he shut the door.

“Wh- I don’t- Oh Monty.” Sibella felt her own tears welling up.

Monty was silent, eerily silent, and then after such a long pause he spoke.

“I think Phoebe found out. I think she knows what I did to her brother.” Monty’s voice broke as he all but collapsed at his desk in the library.

Sibella’s heart sank even further.

Sibella had suspected for quite some time that Monty’s meteoric rise from displaced heir to Earl wasn’t simply a streak of good luck, and she had thought Phoebe had suspected too.

Maybe Phoebe had suspected, but perhaps Phoebe hadn’t believed as Sibella had, and when it came to Phoebe’s grief for her brother, Sibella knew it still ran strong.

Oftentimes Sibella would look over at Phoebe in the gardens and catch her staring teary-eyed at the bee colonies she’d had moved from Salisbury to the castle, staring at them as if enough willpower would make Henry appear.

If Phoebe had learned that Henry had been killed by Monty, had no way to deny it to her own brain, Sibella knew she’d be distraught, but never dreamed that Phoebe would attempt to harm herself.

Sibella was snapped from her spiraling thoughts by the sound of Monty crying, and she moved to wrap her arms around him, bending as far as her corset would allow to try and soothe him.

“She’ll be alright, Monty. I’ll make sure of it.” Sibella kissed the top of his head and then took off from the library to their wing.

It made the most sense for Phoebe to be placed in her boudoir, close to the bath to warm her after Monty had calmed down, if she weren’t already in the bath.

So when Sibella finally reached the boudoir door she didn’t bother knocking, simply pushed in the door and closed it behind her.

The room was warm, almost stifling under Sibella’s coat and gloves, and in a chair by the fire sat Phoebe.

She was wrapped in no less than three blankets, but she trembled like a leaf in a storm anyway, and Mary was there trying to hand her a cup of tea but Phoebe just stared ahead.

Mary seemed to jump when she noticed Sibella, placing the teacup back on the saucer and bobbing a curtsy.

“Miss Hallward! I do apologize!” Mary offered a skittish smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

Sibella offered a genuine smile back, a small, sad one.

“Leave us, Mary.” Sibella commanded, pulling off her first glove.

Mary blanched, and looked from Phoebe back to Sibella.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I was instructed to stay with her ladyship no matter what.” She stammered and Sibella huffed.

“I shall stay with the countess. You may go.” The blonde tried once more, but Mary didn’t budge.

“Take Miss Hallward’s coat and gloves and go to lunch, Mary. I’m alright.” Phoebe’s voice was almost foreign, so resigned and far away, but Mary obeyed.

After the door had closed, Phoebe sighed so heavily her entire frame seemed to crumble, head dipping down.

“Phoebe. What on earth possessed you to try such a thing?” Sibella walked toward the fire and picked up the cup from its saucer and held it out to Phoebe.

The smaller woman didn’t take it, shivering so violently Sibella could hear her teeth chattering, so Sibella extended it again.

“I didn’t try anything. I was trying to tell Monty that.” Phoebe grit out between shivers.

“Was the weight of it all finally too heavy? Phoebe this isn’t like you!” Sibella hissed, tipping Phoebe’s chin upwards with one finger, eyes blazing with anger.

Phoebe shot up, almost knocking her head into Sibella’s as she tried to take a step and tripped over one of the many blankets Mary had wrapped her in.

Sibella caught her immediately, helping untangle the blanket from Phoebe’s feet and looking her over.

“I swear to you, Sibella, I would never do that! Especially not now!” Phoebe was adamant, glaring at Sibella even though she still trembled with cold.

Sibella blinked.

What did Phoebe mean by “not now”?

Phoebe caught her gaze.

“I was walking by the river because it’s Henry’s birthday today. Every year the only thing my brother wanted was a walk by a river with me. I tripped and fell in. Monty only saw my back.” Phoebe’s words were quick, and for a moment Sibella panicked.

Had these statements been planned?

Had Phoebe planned in case one of them caught her?

Sibella hardened her gaze, looking at Phoebe in the way she knew made Monty squirm and hoped it would do the same to Phoebe.

It didn’t.

“Have you forgotten I’m a D’ysquith, Sibella? I’ve had years of experience in posturing.” Phoebe’s voice was like steel, and Sibella noticed for the first time that she’d stopped trembling.

Sibella softened her eyes, looking at Phoebe.

Very well, she could use tears and terror in equal measure.

“Darling, I just-“, Sibella took a deliberately unsteady breath, “I can’t lose you.”

The blonde looked down, and when she looked at Phoebe again there was a light misting of tears in her eyes.

Phoebe seemed to wilt.

Good.

“It was an accident, Sibella. That’s all.” Phoebe’s voice was softer, but still firm.

Phoebe grabbed her blankets and moved to the bed, opening them up and motioning for Sibella to join her.

Sibella did, sniffling as she moved to further illustrate her distress, and when she was pressed into Phoebe’s side, freezing water soaking into her own dress, Phoebe closed the blanket around them and lay back, taking Sibella with her.

They said nothing, Phoebe looking at Sibella, and then Phoebe’s freezing hands were in Sibella’s, guiding, and Sibella all but froze in place when Phoebe pressed Sibella’s hand to her own abdomen.

“That was what I wanted to tell Henry. Now I’m telling you. I would never hurt myself, or my child.” Phoebe’s voice was husky and low, even as tears welled up in both of their eyes.

“Oh, darling.” Sibella crashed her lips into Phoebe’s, kissing her hard.

An heir.

“Does Monty know?” Sibella inquired breathlessly as they pulled apart.

Phoebe shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I tried to tell him after he pulled me out. I didn’t even know he’d followed me out there, but he’s too frightened and angry.”

Phoebe’s shivering began anew, and Sibella rose.

“What are you-“ Phoebe began as Sibella pulled her to her feet, keeping one hand firmly on Phoebe’s waist.

“Let me draw you a bath, I won’t have you catching your death, especially not now.” Sibella breathed, and Phoebe thought for a moment, then nodded.

Sibella led Phoebe into the bathing chamber and deposited her onto the chaise with such gentleness that Phoebe began to get misty-eyed again.

They would tell Monty later.

He had to understand.

[pickled-flowers]

Alright here’s some writing, although I’m not sure it’ll help understand 😅 anyways enjoy these more or less 3 000 words

And so it started in the Garden, with a sad little girl. Her name, if it matters, is Blanche.

The girl lived alone, in a house in the forest. There was no one around even if she walked for two days in any direction, only the girl and the house and the caring forest, ever so close and impenetrable. In the nicest, coziest way possible.

There was the house, and the garden, of course. It hugged the stone walls, encircled by carefully picked rocks, as if to say “You may not go further, this is my garden, my home. You are not welcome in”. Nothing grew there.

Not that the girl didn’t try; every day she begged and begged the earth to allow flowers to blossom and fruits to ripen on branches. Every day the earth turned and never listened.

And something quite rational happens in situations such as these. You get angry.

You don’t understand. It is not fair, it should not be this way. You did nothing wrong.

At all! And it’s ridiculous. Laughable, really. How come?

How come this little patch of dirt refused to grow even the most simple of grass? The most common of clovers, not even some useless weed. It remained barren and black, and each passing day made the little girl angrier. With ferocious conviction, she kept on digging holes in her garden, leaving seeds she’d found in the forest, watering them with rain water she collected, and yet. Despite the love and care, nothing grew. Except for her rage.

Blanche was tired. She was exhausted and alone. She’d been doing this forever. She was done.

The night was just like every other, dark and silent, draping over the house and the garden, keeping her sobs inside the stone circle. The forest had no idea.

Knee deep in the soil, she cried every tear she had. She cried because it was unjust. She cried because no one had ever held her hand, because she couldn’t even light a proper fire in the fireplace. She cried because she was angry and that was all she could feel.

And once her body was dry and shaking, she fell asleep there, in her empty garden, as if in a small grave, made just for her. There was only emptiness around, and the sky above.

When morning came, reassuringly on time, rising over the house and coloring the girl’s small world of gold and warmth, Blanche stirred in her hollow tomb.

She had felt the night escape from under her, and was awake. But opening her eyes at that moment would have been too much. It would mean one more day. One more day spent by herself, throwing everything she had into an impossible project, a project much too big for her child-sized hands. And so for one moment, she kept her eyes closed. Just one more moment where she didn’t have to face the infinite loneliness that held her. And if the small rustling sound that was all around could stop, she could maybe even go back to sleep, and escape some more.

Really, that sound… and were those songbirds?

The garden had never been less silent. She opened her eyes at once.

What was once empty and bare was now full to the brim with life; trees and bushes, green and blue and pink and bright orange, branches and tall leaves. Flowers everywhere she looked. Grass and moss on every patch of dirt, on every rock. Lichen covered everything else. There was no order to it, just fierce and wild beauty singing its own chorus. Butterflies and bees lazily curled around petals, ants established their camps under the willow. Worms digged their way around, ladybugs coloured their plants. Somewhere above Blanche’s head, a flock of birds discussed with enthusiasm.

The garden was blossoming as far as she could see, past the stone circle and into the forest, spilling outside its delimitation.

Blanche’s mouth hung open, her eyes struggling to take it all in, hungrily going from one thing to the other. She didn’t dare blink, scared it would all disappear the moment she wasn’t looking. Not knowing if this all was simply a trick of the light was equally distressing. She blinked. Once, twice. She rubbed her eyes vigorously. It was all still there.

A burst of… of something erupted in her stomach and she cried out, scrambling on her feet. Even the dirt on her skin felt like brand new flesh.

This was all hers.

She turned around, taking it all in, letting the sun on her skin welcome her into this oh so bright new day. She laughed.

Someone laughed with her, echoed her voice.

Blanche spun on her heels faster than she thought possible. There stood another child, busy examining the nearest flower. This was the first time Blanche had seen anyone beside her own reflection in the water.

Without looking at Blanche, the child spoke.

“I’m hungry.” Faer voice had the same buzzing quality of a swarm of bumblebees.

“Me too!” Blanche stumbled on her words. She hadn’t had much practice with small talk. Or any kind of talk.

She smiled brightly. “Would you like to eat lunch with me? I have some bread inside, and we can eat some of these berries” she pointed at a bush where heavy red round fruits hung from its branches. “Stay here, I’ll be right back!”

Blanche rushed inside the house, leaving bits of grass and petals on the floor. She’d clean it up later. Across the sink, she could see the garden behind the window. It was all still there, tainting the light that shone inside of green and yellow.

It pooled on the countertops, dripped to the floor, settled blindly on a ceramic plate. Blanche smiled again. She put the round breads on the plate, pushing the door to the garden open with her free hand. The child was still there, sitting down now, looking expectantly at her.

This was the first ever shared meal either of them had ever experienced; to be fair to the other child, fae had just come to life. Everything was new and fascinating. The kid’s name was Fare. Blanche’s brand new sister.

Life for the two sisters was very sweet for a time, a whole summer worth, in fact.

It was all sunny mornings drinking tea amongst the flowers, games, lunches and naps, making notes of every flora they could find in a neat little red book.

Every evening Blanche cooked for the two of them as the sun settled on the house, setting the roof ablaze with its light, breaking through the leaves and pressing against the kitchen window, coming out the other side softer. It shone on Blanche’s skin, hitting the sharpness of her knife as she prepared the onions and tomato for the night’s stew. Fare would usually come to sit on the counter top across the sink, swinging faer legs in rhythm with the chopping. They’d talk about flowers and roaches. When their plates were long empty, and the night well settled on the forest, they went upstairs, where Blanche would always tuck Fare in before slipping under the same blanket, curling in the bed next to her sister, close enough to hear the sound of faer breathe. They were safe. They were happy. Blanche was no longer alone.

And then came the end of the summer.

A sigh, a pout. The whisper of an end that curled on the roof and seeped into the ground.

The string of stones so carefully chosen and placed were long forgotten now, overgrown garden jumping over the fence and running for the wood.

It started creeping into the everyday, leaving petals on plates, bouquet of plush green weed in Fare's hair, stone and dirt in the entryway, in the small space between the wood panels of the floor. Soon, the door was left open at all hours of the day, and the house smelled of flowers and sap. Garden and home were one.

And then one blue skyed morning, Blanche woke up alone in the small room she shared with Fare.

It seemed like the end of the world for a moment. It seemed like lungs being ripped down to her stomach, it seemed like glass shards and cold rage.

But by the window she could still see the garden, very much still standing, ever so growing. The peach tree reached past the roof now.

And yet, despite the familiar sight of the garden, Blanche felt uneasy. Fare couldn't be far, but what if fae was?

And that feeling she thought was behind her came to bury in her shoulder, wrapped around her throat.

No that wouldn't do. After so many nights and days of complete solitude, she wouldn't just let it disappear between the roots.

Blanche instinctively went to the drawer next to the sink, in the empty and sickenly silent kitchen. There, conveniently laid, a butcher knife. It might not have been there before that morning, but she gripped it hard enough to leave marks in the handles, so it would remember to stay.

Her body held immovable forces. She stepped in the garden.

The sky breached from the trees, struggling to let lights through, leaving spots of sun that were far too scarce. On her left, the pond was turned fully green, all of its surfaces covered by nenuphars and water lilies drifting endlessly, no ripples to be seen. Sharp grass rose from the black earth. Branches intertwined unnaturally, becoming one arm, one hand, beautiful and tragic but Blanche did not stop to wonder.

She did not care for the flowers she had never seen before. She did not collect their tears to prepare for breakfast, she did not pick up the fallen fruits.

Furor overcame her body, frustration pooling deep inside; this empire was growing too confident, overstepping its bounds. The garden had forgotten its place.

She slalomed between the tortured roots, innocent traps on her path. The smell of her sister was too faint to trace.

After an hour - or so she could only guess, the sun was hidden and she could not read the sky for the time of the day, she had looked everywhere within the stone circle. Fare was nowhere to be found.

Calmness washed over her as the solution cleared in her mind, as obvious as the soil beneath her. She bent down in one strict movement, her hand - the hand of a child still - scooped a small portion of earth. It was dark and rich, almost oily with life. She removed a centipede from her handful. She had no use for this life.

She walked back to the house, each step filled with anger and ill intent toward the ground. A single tear found its way in the dirt.

She placed the dirt in the harth, in the middle of the house. It had never been used before, its walls were spotless and dark. Blanche unceremoniously splattered the dirt and dust on the stone ground, her movements harsh and crude. She might as well have invented curse words right there and then.

The pile caught fire, igniting bright white light for a brief moment before dimming back to nothing, into a child.

He had a round face, and his hair was fully black, so abysmally dark they seemed to stain of coal the tip of his shoulders like, where it fell in curls. He looked up at Blanche, sparkles in his amber eyes, and smiled widely, with his three mouths, all teeth and glee. She offered her hand, bringing him up to his feet, and promptly embraced him. He was warm.

“Autumn” she exhaled, “Let’s go find Fare, ok?”

The little boy jumped into the garden like he’d bitten an apple, juice dripping from his mouth, laughter erupting from every pores. As soon as his foot had touched the grass, something changed in the air; a chill fell on the garden, a shiver passed through the branches and the leaves, whispering closely that time had changed, and Autumn had arrived.

A first leaf fell to the ground. Then another, then a pear, rotten, decomposed, already black and going back to the earth. As he advanced, trees turned orange and gold, some flowers closed and said goodbye, for now. Blanche followed closely, tension in her shoulders releasing with each dying plant.

The little boy skipped through the space, nature retreating as he did, curling on itself, burned by his touch, like a child going to sleep after a kiss on the cheek. And in the middle of the invisible fire, hidden in the carcass of a bush, Fare woke up; faer eyes opened, puffy and small in the chilly air of the morning. Something had changed.

A boy reached for faer hands, smiling and inviting.

“Brother” Fare exhaled simply, like a bee passing too close to your ear.

The garden stood tall still, full and bruised with life, but the stone circle was visible again, shining with a new motivation. Never again would the empire forget its borders.

New flowers had bloomed, replacing old ones; fruits didn’t stay ripe too long, and the family of three ate with appetite anything that wasn’t rotten. Blanche made jams and conserves, Fare and Autumn watched her with sticky faces and full cheeks. The fire roared in the harth like a satisfied old dog whose job was done.

Autumn was a joyful child; he liked to wake up early and bring his sister with him to play in the garden; he loved cooked apples, and his fingers left traces of coal everywhere he touched. Fare smiled whenever he was around. Blanche felt at peace.

Fall passed like an afternoon, warm, cozy and uncomplicated.