#sorry for the sudden deluge of posts

[pertinax--loculos]

So, just a brief addendum that's come about because of my weird posting today:

I think maybe that my problem with ATN is that I've been trying to do too much with the second draft. Like, I have all these little bits I need to incorporate, but I also need to remove a set of characters and change the pacing and add and delete scenes and looking at all of that is -- whew -- overwhelming.

But if I just think about the second draft as being okay, let's remove those characters and change those scenes? Suddenly it seems far more approachable.

And then, on the third draft and onwards, I can add the little foreshadowing pieces and the bits regarding worldbuilding and everything else.

So, esssentially, I don't need to do absolutely everything in just the second draft. I need to get words down to make another story, and then I can tweak it as necessary to make it fit my vision.

And that realisation, new as it is, is liberating as fuck. To the point where I feel like finally -- finally, after over three years -- I feel like I may be able to work on the second draft of ATN.

And that's an exciting thought.

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 5) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.2𝘬 (oopsie)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩(ish), 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

note: casually posts this 3 days later.... im so sorry you guys i didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth >< things came up all of a sudden but the next chapter is here!!

your dreams were long and relentless. they stretched out into scenes that didn’t make sense, but there were some distinct faces. one-four-one, Kate, and strange muted flickers of Konig’s ginger head, Yue-Yi, then a warmth peeking up between the passing scenes.

Simon. his bare face with silvery scars.

you wanted to reach out and touch him but he crumbled like sand before you could, collecting in a brown particulate matter between your fingers, then blowing away into the whistling wind.

then there were darker images. Charles and his gold tooth. the red gouge in the middle of Turner’s head. his cowering wife and small daughter in her arms.

your dead daddy and mama rotting away in the sand.

you didn’t know what to make of all of it, dragging your feet through a thick sludge that you couldn’t see, traveling to a place you didn’t know as images streamed past in an endless, murky deluge.

you dreamed like that for a long time, heavy and infinite, till you laid down in the soft earth and invisible sludge, letting the sticky warmth of it suck you down into the dirt and the sand blow over your body.

when you woke two days later, three, maybe four, you weren’t sure, you slowly blinked awake and sat up in the bed. you looked around.

the windows were drawn open in the soft light of the morning, pouring across the wooden floorboards and cast over the thick blankets of the small bed. there was a desk on the far side of the room, a compact kitchen pressed to the corner, and you jolted with a gasp.

Simon’s cabin.

drawing off the covers quickly, and shivering in dewy, cold morning, clad in a thin nightgown, you quickly walked to the mesh door of the cabin, feeling light and airy.

pushing the door open, you could smell a tinge of something rich and savory in the air, and saw a man in a white button up and jeans crouched down, stoking something in a pot strung up over a campfire.

he had a familiar, broad back, and a blonde head of hair. with a grin so big it ached, you padded with bare feet over to him, and draped yourself over the warm, strong expanse of his back, wrapping your arms around his neck with a hum.

“good morning, lovely,” he said with a low, thrumming laugh, turning his head to press his nose into your cheek. 

you closed your eyes and nuzzled against him, squealing when he reached behind to wrap his arms around your legs and draw them around his waist, hoisting you up on his back as he stood. you clutched onto him, laughing as he walked back up the path to the cabin and laid you out over the bed with a softness.

he pressed his face to your neck, stroking through your hair, mumbling against your skin, “how are you feeling, pretty girl?”

“perfect,” you sang, truthfully honest, your heart soaring at the sight of him. you lifted his face gently to look over the easy smile that adorned it.

his strong blonde brow, the curve of his nose, full lips, dark eyes, and strong jaw, and—

your eyes darted over his upper lip again. there was no silvery scar.

brows pinched together now, Simon smoothed a hand over your chest. “what is it, lovely?”

“your scar,” you said with wonder, head tilted, “it’s gone.”

he laughed softly, the sound rough and musical. “what do you mean?”

then, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, soft, warm, wet and captivating as his lips moved against your own.

but you pushed him back by his chest, feeling a strange, murky sensation in your stomach.

“what are we doing here, Simon?” you asked, apprehensive. he drew back, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking your hand in his.

“you’re asking such strange questions, lovely,” he said with a furrowed brow, though there was a still wry smile on his lips.

you rolled your eyes with your own smirk. “then, answer them.”

he grinned, kissing your hand softly.

“what’s going through my pretty wife’s mind?”

a dread accumulated in your throat, and your tongue grew heavy. “wife?”

his grip faltered at the flat tone of your voice, and you looked down to your joined hands, startling at the sight of a sparkling ring on your hand that was enveloped between his fingers.

“what do you want?”

your eyes snapped to his. “what?”

his face was eerily empty and void and totally unlike his own now. he cocked his head. “what do you want?”

you sat up, inching away from him. he was stock still, eyes following your movements with a predatory precision. there was a new, burning sensation building in your arm and you hissed, gripping at the tightly, but looking down to find nothing different about your skin.

Simon’s voice dropped an octave, harsh and cold now. “what do you want from me?”

you stood from the bed, and he followed you, edging you out of the cabin, looming over you with a menacing height you had never seen before. his face was twisted with anger.

“what do you want from me?”

you clasped your hands over your ears, turning on your heel and running out the cabin and away from its idyllic warmth, bare feet thudding over the earth. you didn’t turn to look if Simon was still following you, but you could hear his distant shouts through your hands. 

“what do you want from me?”

the forest stretched into the desert and you wandered through its uncanny, thick and sandy sludge with bare feet, the thin cotton of your nightgown grating against your skin. you dragged your feet, a new exhaustion overcoming you with an insurmountable wave. the skin of your arm still burned with a ferocity.

to quell it, you laid down in the sand and thick sludge, letting the sticky warmth of it suck you down into the earth and the sand blow over your body.

when you awoke, you really, really knew it was real this time because there was a sore dryness in your mouth, a pulsing ache in your head, and a searing, thorough burn enveloping your arm and reaching down to your fingertips.

your eyes fluttered open. there wasn’t an idyllic cabin awaiting you, no rays of warm sunlight through the windows, nor a husband making breakfast for his wife before she woke. just a cramped room and small windows that were a pitched black dark. the soft light of the oil lamp beside you, carefully balanced on a thin, precarious nightstand, poured over the quilt blankets weighing you down.

you could barely do more than roll your head to the side, and you were endlessly grateful to see the back of Kate’s blonde head bobbing lightly as she clicked away on a typewriter at a small desk framed with stacked books on the opposite side of the narrow room, a cigarette between her lips, smoke trailing up above her head in a hazy cloud.

you tried to use your voice, to call out, but all that came out was a breathy, grating warble that had Kate whirling around in her chair with alarm.

when she saw you had awoken, she struggled to her feet, putting out the cigarette against the fine woodstain of the desk, and reached for your good hand.

“hey, hey,” she soothed, snatching a cup of water from the nightstand and bringing it to your lips, helping you take down the cool liquid over the scalding heat in your throat.

you gulped it down gratefully.

she patted your cheek with a tenderness that had your eyes closing at the lightest touch. “glad to see you awake. you scared us, missy. you slept for three days.”

you almost choked on the water at that and she drew back the cup with a haste and a noise of alarm, pulling you forward slightly to slap at your back.

emerging from your coughing fit, you jolted when you met a pair of dark brown eyes by the edge of the room. within the corner of the room, it seemed Maria had just emerged from a slumber in an armchair, rubbing at her face before stretching back into it.

Kate’s line of sight followed your eyes, face impossibly mellow when she and Maria shared a smile. you noted the interaction with a creeping curiosity.

attempting your voice, and sounding entirely unlike yourself, you croaked, “what happened?”

Kate took your hand again, tighter this time as Maria came closer. she sat at the foot of the bed with a tired smile, your feet pressed into her side.

“there’s more good than bad,” Kate said, looking so tired you didn’t think she could muster anything but the truth. you were betting on it.

“tell me the truth Kate,” you said, voice stronger now, “i want all of it. the bad.”

she shared another look with Maria, sighing out after a long moment. “alright.”

you straightened, inching further up the pillows, much to your body’s resistance, and curled an arm around your chest, trying not to fidget against the itching, creeping thrum of pain in your other arm. your eyes darted down to it—wrapped up tight in bandages from mid-bicep to your fingertips. where the pain had been in your endless dreams.

Kate followed your line of sight. “first off,” she started, tapping a finger lightly to your bandaged wrist, “bad burn. there was a surgery. will probably leave scars.”

you grimaced at the thought, but you could handle a few scars after barely scraping away with your own life. your painfully empty stomach broiled at the thought.

“how did i survive?” you asked, almost in wonder. you were so sure your last moments would’ve been beside Simon—the thick smog clouding your senses and tipping everything in a smoky, confusing daze that kept you tethered to the floor, and his soft lips against your own. 

even if you crawled, you don’t think you could’ve escaped that burning mansion.

“that austrian hitman,” she sighed out, rubbing a hand over her forehead with frustration. “took you and ran. left Ghost behind to die.”

you stiffened at the thought, not sure if you would thank Konig or slap him by the end of this. if you even would see him by the end of this. did you even want to see him by the end of this?

with a sour feeling, your voice dropped, solemn and throaty. “and Simon?”

she grimaced. “he’s… alive.”

you released a shaky breath. alive was enough. more than enough.

“and the rest of you? one-four-one? how did you escape the mansion?”

she looked away from you, staring at an untrained point in the room. “we turned tail as soon as the mansion was up in flames. so did Turner’s men. Ghost was an idiot and went runnin’ in to finish off Turner and got trapped in by fallen debris. we couldn’t reach him and he got burnt. bad. i’m assumin’ he found you in the process.”

you nodded slowly, biting back a bitter swirl of anger. Simon, always so careless with his own life, and overprotective of your own. you wanted to hate him for it.

like always, you couldn’t.

“i killed Turner,” you said, voice an eerie emptiness you didn’t know you could manage.

Maria roused at the end of the bed, slouched body growing straighter, sharing a wide-eyed glance with Kate before their attention was trained on you again.

“that’s…” Kate searched for words. “news.”

you continued on. “i killed him. i wanted to leave him and let him burn to death but…”

you remembered the curling, blooming delight you felt in the moment of putting a bullet right through his forehead.

now, you just felt an overwhelming numbness.

with your prolonged silence, Kate released your hand to stroke your good arm in comfort. “you did us and yourself a service, honey.”

you just gave her a sheepish look and she returned it with a wry smile. “who knew you had it in you, angel?”

Yue-Yi did, you thought weakly, though the nauseating roil in your stomach decided that you never wanted to kill again. you never wanted to take revenge on another person again.

a panic rose thinking of the possibility of it. one-four-one would undoubtedly fill the power vacuum left behind by Turner’s death, but who would rise to challenge that?

the inevitable, never-ending prospect of violence that followed the gang like a bad omen left you clutching at your stomach with dread.

Maria leaned forward onto her palm, and she asked, “what is wrong, carino?”

her brown eyes darted over your stiff body.

“i think i’m gonna be sick,” you admitted with a sour feeling in your mouth, the room a dizzy swirl now.

Kate let out a gruff sound, leaning you back into the pillows again. “not possible. you haven’t eaten for days.”

“m’not hungry,” you lied, feeling the every acute shooting pain through your stomach. you don’t think you could keep anything down even if you tried.

that didn’t seem to convince Kate.

she left you and Maria in a drifting silence, the vaquero curling back up in the armchair and lounging in it, looking sleepy and content at your presence.

Kate came back with a plate of plain bread and greasy green beans with bacon bits.

“sorry,” she said, handing you the food with a somber look, “s’all we have. haven’t been cookin’ much.”

at that, Maria slunk from the room with tired promises to go whip something up in the kitchen, wholly ignoring your protests as you sopped up the bread in the savoryness of the green beans and chewed mechanically, forcing yourself to swallow and ignore the nauseating waves that followed.

in the meantime, Kate described the night of the party—how one-four-one had released the chandelier onto the gathered crowd of partygoers to clear out the place before any further bloodshed. when you told her how you had met Konig, and your own plans to kill Turner for yourself, running from the chandelier that came crashing down over your head, she was only mournful, taking up your hand with a softness. then, you described how Yue-Yi had been instrumental in your plans that day.

you carefully avoided sensitive discussion of Yue-Yi, only revealing that there was a sympathetic girl from the brothel who was kind enough to help you. you could only hope that Simon wouldn’t speak of her betrayal to the rest of one-four-one and los vaqueros. you knew he wasn’t stupid enough to think that you ran from the brothel and arrived at Turner’s mansion without help.

you wondered if he was thinking about you at all.

instead of thinking about that, you mourned Yue-Yi’s absence, deliberating when you could next slip away and see her after your condition improved. shifting around in the bed, you realized it might be a much longer wait than you wanted.

“where am i?” you asked, hands twitching, feeling restless. you wanted to leave.

Kate gave you a weak smile. “a farm.”

your brows raised. “a farm?”

“we’re still in california—a bit from san francisco. there’s still fighting in the city. law’s tryin’ to suppress it but it won’t die down for another coupla’ weeks.”

you felt like your eyes almost bulged from your head. “but Turner…?” 

is dead. you couldn’t say it, throat closing up around the words knowing that you were the reason he was gone.

she shook her head slowly. “he’s got plenty of loyal minions. we’re chopping off heads for now. won’t last much longer. at least, that’s what John wrote.”

your mind reeled at the thought of the soft-smiled bearded and bear-like man. “and they’re okay?”

she gave you a wicked look. “‘course. we’re one-four-one.”

at that, you couldn’t help but smile and lax back into the pillows. your tongue felt heavy. “where’s Simon?”

the smile drifted from her face. “fighting.”

you screwed your eyes shut. of course he was. “i thought he was burned bad?”

you felt the bed dip as Kate shimmied onto the edge of it, her hand on your knee beneath the quilt.

“he was, but not burnt as deep as you. besides, i couldn’t keep that brute in bed even if i tried.”

of course. you felt your eyes almost brim with hot, angry tears, but you bit them back with a ferocity.

instead you opened your eyes, looking over the age and fatigue of Kate’s face, and said, “you should go. i know you want to be fighting with them.”

her eyes flashed and she shifted on the bed, telling you all that you needed to know. she wanted to go.

“i’ll be fine,” you said, “just give me that paperwork to do.”

you nodded your head towards the paper strewn across her desk.

“it’ll keep me busy.”

her brows raised slightly. “you know i can’t do that.”

your jaw clenched with a hot, sparking tightness in your chest. “am i still your prisoner?”

she stared at you for a long moment. “no. you can leave whenever you like.”

“will you let me stay?”

for a sickening heart beat, she was silent once more, eyes betraying nothing but a pale blue, before she said, “yes. you’re one of us now.”

you nodded, pulse still thudding with a nauseating speed in your temple. “good. give me those papers. i want to help.”

you couldn’t imagine the stretch of the next couple of days, possibly even weeks, doing nothing but waiting and worrying and healing while one-four-one was finishing the fight against Turner’s lackeys. you wanted to leave. was there a possibility you could slip away? and how would you?

you spoke nothing of it when Kate showed you some of the papers—financial, with lots of math, money, and reading involved. you had helped your mama with the fiances of your daddy’s saloon. nothing you couldn’t handle with a bit of practice.

you bit down any murky feelings at the thought of your daddy and mama, letting Kate help you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, putting half your weight onto the floor. your legs shook—feeling leaden and dead with a lack of circulation through the limbs that Kate rubbed to life before she hoisted you to the cramped desk.

settled in the chair, you spread the papers out over the desk, pulling the abacus closer to you and ran through the items on the page. Kate swept your hair over your shoulder.

“you don’t need to do this now. you should wash up and eat more.”

you only shook your head. “i want to help.”

she sighed out, massaging at your shoulders with a tenderness. “you don’t owe us anything, honey. you only just woke up.”

you made a disgruntled noise, ignoring her, but remembered Yue-Yi’s words with a keenness. 

i know what it is like to want to be useful… now, i am not useful to anybody but myself.

her voice was defiant and strong. you only found yourself missing her more as you slowly put down the papers, ruminating with a tight feeling in your throat.

“i’m doing this for myself,” you rephrased, taking up the documents again and fishing out a pen underneath the strewn mess of paperwork.

Kate’s hands fell from your shoulders, mumbling something about helping Maria with a strained frustration in her voice, and you scribbled down some notes into the margins of the texts, breaking into the first series of equations.

you stayed there almost the entire night before Kate forced you to slurp down a steaming bowl of caldo de pollo full of hearty vegetables thick with ginger, drink more water, and sink into a cool bath that felt pleasant against the sore ache of your burnt skin. lifting your arm to your face, you observed it carefully.

a thin layer of skin stretched over the deep, red wounds. you shivered at the thought of the same thing stretched over the expanse of Simon’s chest, shoulder, maybe even traveling to his back…

all while he was in san francisco fighting.

shivering, you slipped out of the bath, bracing yourself against the counter to resist the wobble of your weak legs, a deep, rolling cold consuming you.

dread. you couldn’t shake it as you dressed in an airy nightgown, ditching a corset, which was very unlike you, and redressed your arm.

clutching at the walls, you made your way back down the set of rickety stairs into the living room. Maria was thumbing through a book near a small, lopsided bookcase, placing it quickly back on the shelf when she noticed your presence.

she gave you an awkward smile, clasping her hands behind her back, as you moved into the space. from the interior, you determined it was a small, wooden farmhouse with a brick red fireplace and big windows that overlooked the unkempt bushes in the garden and a flat, grainy plain where a barn sat in the distance, clouds thick in the night sky. a german shepherd, who you had not seen before, laid curled up on the carpet by the foot of the upright piano, his nose tucked into his tail with slow, sleepy breaths.

Maria cleared her throat beside you, and you could hear her begin to slink away before you turned to her.

“how did you and Kate meet?”

her whole body snapped to you, and you sat at the plush, gingham couch across from the fireplace, legs aching with effort. she sunk into the ottoman by the edge of the fireplace.

“spanish-american war,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, and with a strange stiffness. then, she smiled, and you were struck by the soft beauty of it. “i was younger than her. i couldn’t speak any english, but Kate tried to talk to me anyway. she started learning spanish for me, but ay dios mio, she was so bad.”

you cracked a smile at that, leaning back into the cushions. “please. tell me more.”

she hummed, hesitant, playing with the ends of her braids. “i wasn’t always a vaquero. i was a barmaid in a small town in southern texas that only spoke spanish and raised cattle. most of the town boys grew up to be ranch hands. i wanted to, too, but i wasn’t allowed. that’s what i thought until i met Kate during the war.”

you watched with a wonder at the mellowness of her—voice warm, body lax as she talked about the blonde woman.

“do you live here?” you asked instead, and she avoided your eyes, playing with the collar of her button up. 

“yes.”

you cocked your head. “alone?”

she shook her head with a flush. “with Kate.”

your brows rose slightly. your mama had told you it was uncommon for women to live with each other without a husband, but you assumed, with the absence of a surrounding neighbors, Kate and Maria didn’t worry about the social stigmas that your mama had.

there was nothing explicitly wrong for a woman to not get married and maintain their own profession, you thought distantly, not sure if you believed the idea yourself.

“you must be good friends,” you said with a firm nod and Maria stiffened.

“we are.”

you almost worried you had said something wrong with the tightness in her face, but Kate reappeared from the hallway of the stairs, padding over to stand by Maria’s shoulder. 

she commanded that you go back to sleep and you obeyed, half desperate to just escape the growing divide between yourself and Maria, much to your confusion and guilt, climbing back into the small bed that Kate had lent you.

the cool cast of the night sky flooded into your room. you watched the way it splashed across the door of the opposite side of the room, a part of you hoping with desperation that the door would slowly twist open, and a familiar person would step inside, flush by your side for the night. that same fat, ugly mass of dread sat heavy on your chest.

a part of you hoped it would be Simon who climbed into your bed as your eyelids fluttered shut. behind them, a slew of nightmares crept towards you, its tendrils squeezing you tight the whole night until you woke the next morning.

you spent the day between Kate’s paperwork and wandering across the farmland. you watched Maria and Kate ranch their throng of cattle with a couple of ranch hands from the nearby town, the livestock huffing and mooing as they lazily meandered across the grassy pasture.

the german shepherd snapped his jaws at their heels, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he pranced around for a good chase that the cows ignored with heavy snorts.

you shielded the sun from your face with your good arm, tightening the shawl around your shoulders, crossing your boots as you leaned against the fence. the loose dress you wore fettered around you with a foreign slack, fluttering in the whipping wind. whether Kate and Maria noticed you had left your corset discarded in the pile of clothes on the floor of your temporary room, they did not question it.

by noon, you had picked the grassy terrain clean of its wildflowers, bunching them into your hand, the green sap of their stems staining your hands, as you bent them into flower wreaths like you had done with the girls from church after sunday service.

when was the last time you had gone to church?

setting down the floral crowns into your lap with a sigh, you looked up to gaze over the distant, stretching plains, only finding an impossible abundance of more wildflowers just out of reach from the space you had cleared.

stacking two crowns on your head, you held a third as you trekked back towards the wood farmhouse where Kate’s distant form waved you over for lunch.

you didn’t speak much over the meal—sandwiches stuffed with tomatoes, greens, and thin slices of leftover pork chop that the three of you were eating slowly away every day. you listened to the two women in a haze, mind far off and distant.

when Kate stood to clean the dishes, Maria hot on her heels, you stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floorboards with a screech.

“has John written?” you asked, then added quickly, fighting to keep your voice even, “or Simon?”

Maria continued to the kitchen, her back to you as she scrubbed at the dishes in the sink. Kate gave you a sad smile.

“i’m sorry, honey. it won’t be for a while now.”

you almost choked. you were in no condition to ride out with the fragile state of your body, as much as you had been thinking about it all day, as much as you had been trying to keep the thoughts under a tightly sealed lid. that used to work for you, but now…

it seemed everything was just pouring out.

“how long?” you pressed, and Kate gave you a confused look.

your hand clenched into the soft material of your cotton dress. “how much longer until the fighting ends?”

Kate turned to join Maria’s side in the kitchen, rolling up her dusty sleeves as she strode over.

“not sure,” she said, a murky look pinching her face. “i wish i knew darlin’.”

you did too, you mourned, that dread buzzing in between the soft inner pockets of your head. for one in maybe your entire life, no one around you expected you to stay. no one expected you to leave either. no one around you was forcing you to go one way or the next—you had the freedom to stay or leave.

and beyond the marvel of it, you still couldn’t go anywhere you wanted. you looked down to the white bandage of your arm, feeling itchy and stuffy beneath the gauze, and cursed its existence.

instead of moping, you helped them finish the dishes as best as you could with your poor arm, and returned to that small desk in your cramped room, making your way through the thick stack of papers. it kept your mind to something and kept your hands working steadily without a second thought.

there was a simple process to it—calculation, step by step, and something that, no matter the initial difficulty, had a solvable end. it soon became addictive, and before you knew it, the sun had dipped behind the horizon again and your eyes drooped, striking a match to light a nearby oil lamp. 

you continued the calculations till the fat paper stack had thinned, resisting fatigue with every ounce of fight until you slumped against the desk in defeat, falling down into a slumber where familiar nightmares clutched at you once more.

before you knew it, a whole week had passed just like that. waking to your cheek pressed to the papers on your desk, a dry trail of drool across them. you would wash up, eat, wander the plains and waiting with impatience for your hand to heal, listening in on Kate and Maria’s conversations without much to say, eat again with a bitter and stale feeling in your mouth, a lingering dread that refused to melt feeling thick in your throat, and ration the dwindling leftover of papers on one-four-one’s finances.

you dreaded falling asleep most of all. there were always grotesque images—Turner dead, your daddy and mama dead, the three of Turner’s men dead, one-four-one and los vaqueros dead, Yue-Yi’s beautiful, milky skin bloodied and mutilated, and Simon…

the conjures of a distorted Simon in your mind felt too real. terrifying and foreign and the antithesis of the warmth Simon had shown you and the Simon that you knew and yet…

you feared your dreams.

you fought sleep every night. sometimes, you got lucky and staved it off, much to Kate’s chagrin. by the end of the week, she had resorted to sitting at the edge of your bed, trapping you beneath the quilt and caging you into the mattress that felt like it was swallowing you whole. sometimes, you talked, her hand stroking against your hair to speed the process, Maria tucked in the corner, content and sleepy and curled up in the arm chair.

sometimes, you didn’t.

this night, you didn’t feel like talking, turned on your good side and facing the wall, Kate’s hand on the crown of your head. 

Kate must’ve sensed something was wrong because her hand pulled away, pulling you out of the slumber you were just on the verge of being dragged into, despite your persistent resistance.

“i’m sorry.” you stiffened.

slowly shifting onto your back, you looked over at Kate, her face lined with fatigue.

you forced your jaw to work. “why?”

she looked away, casting her gaze out the window and over the dark plains.

“you’re supposed to go wherever you like, but i can’t help but feel like we’ve trapped you all over again.”

there was a real, dripping guilt in her words that roused you from a haze. you didn’t know what to say.

instead, you forced a smile on your lips, and gripped at her arm to get her attention. her pale eyes were full and grim.

“you’re supposed to be fighting but i can’t help but feel like i’m preventing you from doing so,” you said, and she just shook her head.

“i don’t want to leave you,” she said, voice tight, and you felt a slow, wet burn in your eyes, mouth falling open, and then closing again.

“we’ve been so awful to you,” she whispered.

your mind raced. had they been?

one-four-one had kidnapped you, lied to you, deceived you and used you for a revenge ploy. could you blame them after the sorts of revenges you had taken? you knew it wasn’t personal. they would’ve done the same to any one of your daddy’s children—you just happened to be his only child.

but all the same, their plans had indirectly saved you from your daddy and your mama and Turner. they had shown you honest kindness throughout it and promised to return you to your home on that train ride, not knowing you didn’t want to go. you got to know each of them personally, whether they planned it or not, and Simon showed you a whole new realm of affection.

your throat closed up at the thought of him, heart twinging with a heavy, dark weight.

had Simon’s words been true? he wasn’t going to bed you for revenge from the beginning? much less even have personal relations with you? he promised he would never abandon you�� was that still true? or heat of the moment reassurance—moments before you thought you would die together? 

no matter how much you wanted to be a part of one-four-one, as Kate confirmed, could you forgive all of them anyways?

you looked up into Kate’s face, hooded and wrung through.

“will you be honest with me now and forever from this point on?”

she didn’t hesitate when she nodded. “you’re one of us.”

“then answer my questions,” you said, voice soft. “tell me the whole truth. from the beginning.”

and she held true to her pledge—she retold their entire ploy against Turner from the very, very beginning. how it began when they created one-four-one after the war, gunslinging and gambling for money, expanding their territory and negotiating with small towns and saloon chains, then bigger corporations, till they reached Turner’s borders. soon, one-four-one’s rise to fame got them in a lot more trouble than they could chew, always on the run from the law and Turner’s men till los vaqueros stepped into the conflict as allies, hating Turner just as much as one-four-one.

she told you about their multi-year struggle, poking around for a weakness in Turner’s defenses, finding your daddy and you by chance. a perfect avenue to reach Turner’s ego and twist it, provoking him into a full-blown conflict rather than the narrow skirmishes around each other.

when her story slowed, you couldn’t help but say, “i need to ask you something.”

she cocked her head, gaze curious now. “what is it?”

you flushed, avoiding her eyes now. “it’s a bit embarrassing.”

she huffed a gentle laugh. “m’sure i’ve heard worse.”

“is it true that—” you swallowed hard, “—is it true that Simon wanted to have intimate relations with me for revenge against Turner?”

her breath hitched and she shifted against the bed, hand twisting in the quilt. “is that what Ghost told you?”

you nodded, slow, needing to know if what Simon said was real.

he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

“i said i bedded you for revenge. i lied.”

Kate cursed under her breath. “‘course it’s a lie. he told me himself before he even left for your house to go and take you. he said he didn’t want anythin’ to do with Henry’s daughter.”

she said it with more force than you thought she would, her shoulders tight, but then she relaxed, closing her eyes for a moment. “but, of course, Ghost tells Soap and Gaz things more than he'll ever tell me. and it's mostly because they’re so nosy.”

you cracked a smile at that, trying and failing to imagine Gaz as nosy. only his stoic, serious face and his burly arms crossed over his chest came to mind.

“and that morning of Turner’s social…” the smile slipped from your face as you grimaced. “Simon wasn’t going to leave me at that brothel?”

she shook her head. “no. he said he was givin’ you a chance to change your mind and run. i…”

she looked sheepish now. “i overheard him talking with john. i shouldn’t have but i couldn’t help myself.”

you knew that feeling well, snooping around one-four-one in your time with them.

“why didn’t you run away?” her question was earnest as she peered at you, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to escape the inquiry.

mouth twisted into a scowl, you mulled over it. you had asked yourself the question time and time again, never really able to answer it, but you tried to the best of your ability anyway.

sighing deeply, you said, “i hated living in that small town with my daddy and mama, so i didn’t know where to run to. i didn’t have anywhere to run to. i didn’t have money or a gun. i had never left my home i…”

you grimaced. “i didn’t want to go home. i liked being with you guys.”

maybe it sounded pitiful, finding more comfort in your kidnappers than your own home, but Kate only nodded. after hearing Maria talk about one-four-one, finding more comfort in the local war effort and stray soldiers that filtered into the saloon where she worked, and running off to be a vaquero, you imagined Kate did understand.

“and you really want to stay?” she asked, looking unconvinced of the idea herself.

you didn’t miss a beat, and said, “after everything, yes.”

“we would love it if you did.”

you smiled. “really?”

she nodded. “really. no matter what Ghost says.”

you cocked a brow. “what did he say?”

“oh ya’ know. just the usual things he says when he’s scared.”

she stood from the bed, moving to the door and gently shaking Maria awake. when you still stared at her, feeling confused, she winked at you.

“he lies.”

at that, with her words bidding you goodnight, you turned to the wall again, listening to Kate and Maria and their footsteps and then the shut of the bedroom door.

that night, your nightmares felt lighter than usual.

it was three weeks since you woke up in Kate and Maria’s farmhouse, four weeks since you met Simon, a week since you finished all of Kate’s paperwork, a week since Maria leave to join the war effort in san francisco, and a week since Kate refused to leave you, incapacitated and healing, alone at the farmhouse no matter how you pleaded and prodded for her to go.

it was four days since you received a thick letter and heavy box in the mail.

you had dumped the contents out over your messy desk, a river of papers flooding out, unbound arm straining with effort just to hold the heavy box up. the skin of your arm was still tender and sore and a flushed pink, littered with textured scars like Kate had warned. at night, you ran your fingers over the leathery surface, discolored and shriveled. your fingers had survived the attack, miraculously, and you flexed them every once in a while just to remind yourself that you could. at least now, the pain wasn’t unbearable.

you carded through the messy pile of paperwork, finding different letters addressed to Henry’s daughter from an accounting company and several major shareholders of your daddy’s saloon chain.

you wondered how they had even found you, or the nearby town, where Kate fetched the mail. you had a very large suspicion Simon had something to do with it, as he usually did.

you had assumed the chain was being handed down to the next largest investor, or your daddy’s share would be split between the shareholders equally. your eyes almost bulged from your head as you read through the letter from your daddy’s attorney.

the saloon chain is yours now, miss.

you read through the line again. unmistakably, the words didn’t shift and morph on the page, and stayed a black bold statement on the paper. you scrambled to go through the rest of the papers, finding more paperwork. paper on your ownership.

your ownership.

slowly, you sat in the desk chair, unbreathing.

the next following days, you sent back eight different letters. one to your daddy’s attorney, who had stated in the letter he wanted nothing to do with your gang-affiliated family again, four different shareholders, one to your daddy’s bank, one to Simon, who had also been a shareholder, despite the fact you had no idea where to address it, and one to Yue-Yi. you addressed it to the brothel, urging her to respond as fast as possible, promising you’d slip away soon and see her as soon as you could.

the promise felt empty and cold.

you wondered if that was how Simon felt—promising you an endless list of things you hoped to believe with a pang of desperation. thoughts of him only circled. when would he come back? would he ever come back? could you believe his promises again?

but you held Kate’s word true above anything. she said that Simon wouldn’t abandon you, that he wasn’t just using your body for revenge. you trusted her.

now, you delved into your daddy’s paperwork, creating a thorough list of important names, contacts, addresses, and deciphered the financial books that needed to be cleaned up. the accounting company had done half the work but you tidied it to the best of your, now, advanced abilities.

you had the materials spread out over the kitchen table, Kate watching you with a careful eye from the living room couch. she clutched at her mug, knee bouncing, foot tapping against the floorboards, periodically glancing from you to the horizon through the windows.

you scribbled down some more notes into the journal Kate lent you before putting down the pen, taking in the women fully. 

“what’s wrong?” you asked, rolling your tense shoulders back. she took a sip from the mug, immersed in a prolonged silence. you could only hear the tick of the clock by the front door.

“Kate.” her gaze finally fell on you, and you were stunned to see the glossy look in them. you softened your voice. “what is it?”

“i’m fine,” she insisted, voice tight and gruff, looking away from you again.

you eyed her for a long moment. you had noticed a difference in her behavior—distant, shifty, impatient, and significantly quieter since Maria left.

you didn’t believe her for a second.

“tell me,” you pressed, and she made a noise of frustration which almost made you feel bad.

she moved to sit at the kitchen table, dragging the chair back in a rough manner, before settling down at the table with a deep scowl. you raised your brows slightly, nudging her under the table with your foot.

“i miss them,” she said, so quiet you almost couldn’t hear her. she turned the mug on the table mindlessly. you followed the movement with your eyes.

“i thought they would be done soon?” you asked, and she only frowned more.

“not soon enough.”

there was that heavy, throbbing in your chest again. you pressed a hand to it, rubbing over the spot, but it didn’t ease. pure, solid dread.

“they’ll be back,” you reassured, totally unsure yourself, mind looping back to Simon as it always seemed to do.

“i miss Maria,” she said with an uncharacteristic sharpness, and you looked up at her, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

“i…” you searched for the words. “i miss Simon as well.”

it felt strange comparing a lover to a friend, but the kind of love Kate seemed to carry for Maria bordered on it. that thought became a strange prick of curious discomfort in your mind, and you waved it away, returning back to the documents spread over the kitchen table.

“John tried to get him to write you,” Kate said, and you stiffened.

“really?”

her foot nudged yours. “‘course, but he refused. John said he’s been mopin’ about all over the place, refusin’ to write anyone and barely talkin’.”

you grimaced at the thought, reading through the document but not absorbing any of the words.

“did John say why?”

you could see her shrug in her peripheral. “it started ever since that austrian guy started hangin’ around.”

your breath hitched, picking your head up to look at her again. “Konig?”

she gave you a strange look. “yeah. he’s helping one-four-one. John said he wants to see you.”

your mouth opened and then closed. that was a development.

“why?”

she shrugged again. “beats me.”

you mourned that John didn’t just write that information to you.

you had barely thought of Konig that past few weeks, despite him apparently saving your life, after almost killing you that night. you shivered at the memory of his cold eyes, revolver shoved under your chin, hand squeezing the air from your throat.

the thought terrified you enough to push it away and immerse yourself in the papers once more. Kate eventually retired to bed, trudging upstairs with a grave face. you kept writing, calculating, solving, in a long cycle till it became impossible to resist the droop of your eyelids.

you had begun to slump forward onto the table, placing your pen and head down for just a second, the soft, lulling tick of the clock a rhythmic snap in your ears till—

you jolted when the german shepherd yapped.

rubbing at your face, you peered over the table, seeing him standing by the door, tail wagging with a ferocity and tongue lolling out. he yapped again, ears flicking towards the door. you squinted out the window, finding nothing but the night pitched into a hazy ink.

a new sort of grating fear bubbled in you at the dog’s persistence. he paced around the entrance, tail still bouncing. you eyed the kitchen cabinets, remembering that Maria had told you the one on the far right had a revolver and ammo.

instead, you neared the window, squinting your eyes, seeing a distant light bobbing over the hill of the plain before many joined it. you pressed your forehead to the window, making out the shapes of horses nearing the farmhouse fast.

you stepped over the dog, opening the front door a crack to listen over the whistling wind. unmistakably, the beating of horse hooves echoed down the plan as well as—

your name.

you scrambled around for the lantern by the front door, striking a match to light it, and holding it up against the darkness as one-four-one and los vaqueros came thundering down the hill.

the dog shot out the door to greet them and you bit back a shriek, almost tripping over his paws before an arm came to hoist you up. Kate materialized beside you, laughing as you strode out to the approached figures, arm in arm.

you realized Soap was the one calling your name, and your heart soared at the sight of him, alive and happy and well and smiling as he slid off his horse, running up to you and Kate to pull both of you into a hearty hug, squeezing too tight. he pulled away to pet the dog who was running around in crazed circles.

your cheeks ached at the big smile stretching your lips.

your gaze swept over the men, at least forty of them, breath hitching at the sight of one, his black stallion stomping in the grass and the silver skull pendant of his stetson glimmering in the low light of the lanterns strung up over his saddle.

Simon’s face was bare, thumbs hooked in his belt, head tilted as he looked at you with a softness, dark eyes illuminated in the firelight. your hands curled into the skirt of your dress, grounding yourself as Gaz and John strode up to greet you and Kate. mindlessly, you spoke back, your eyes still flitting to Simon who turned away to adjust something on his saddle.

then, Alejandro took your hand politely and kissed the back of it with a curling smirk, Rodolfo at his shoulder, who only gave you a curt nod. a slew of vaqueros followed him, including Maria.

you watched in an amazement as Kate immediately yanked her into a hug, hooking around her neck and Maria’s arms snaking around her waist, pulling each other flush together.

but the other half of your attention was trained on the man who continued to fumble with his saddle gear. you edged closer to him, weaving between the vaqueros as they passed, a couple of them tipping their hats that you returned with a polite smile and a nod.

Simon leaned against the horse, looking at you from over his shoulder, face imperceptible and attention trained on you. 

you stopped a marginal distance away, wary of some eyes lingering on the pair of you, hands twisting in your dress.

“not gonna say hello?” you called and his mouth only flattened into a line, making no move towards you.

your heart sank into cataclysmic depths, like all your worst fears had just been confirmed, like Simon had just opened a cavernous chasm between you and him.

he jerked his head to something behind you, something you couldn’t bother to turn and look at, before training his attention back to the straps of his saddlebags.

“we’ve got company.”

confused, you edged closer to him before a big, burly man strode into your path, his pale green eyes crinkled with a smile, and lacking his black mask from the party.

“little lady!” Konig said with a fondness, gripping your shoulders. you stood stiff in his hold, looking up at his crooked, tall nose and curly ginger hair.

“Konig?” you spluttered, and he looked smug at that, as if he was proud you remembered his name.

“your arm—” he reached down to slide the sleeve of your burned arm up, and you reeled back, hissing at the intimate gesture that was wildly inappropriate.

you held the wrist of your wounded arm, feeling a sliver of guilt from the hurt look that flashed across his face. then, you looked to Simon, leaning against his horse, arms crossed over his chest, face stoic and void. 

you hoped for something you couldn’t put your name to, but that hope only deflated when he only shrugged, looking away from you.

you pulled your sleeve up a couple inches and watched Konig take in the marred skin of your arm with a pinched brow.

he took a hand and lightly brushed a finger down your forearm, and when Simon made a disgruntled noise, you pulled away from Konig, jerking the sleeve of your dress with flushed cheeks and a pit of writhing despair in your stomach.

 “when i saw you on the floor in Turner’s mansion with…” Konig frowned, not looking at Simon when he said, “him, i was worried. you might’ve died, liebling.”

from behind Konig, Simon straightened with a tension in his shoulders you had never seen before. save for one-four-one, you had never really heard someone refer to Simon as something lesser than who his reputation portrayed him as—dangerous, deadly, and devilish.

although, as you watched an arrogant smile stretch over Konig’s face, the austrian ginger in front of you seemed no less dangerous and threatening as you thought Simon, or Ghost, to initially be.

that nickname had a bitter taste blooming in your mouth. your eyes flitted to Simon again. it just didn’t stick anymore.

“well, i’m fine, so thank you,” you said, setting your shoulders, jolting when Konig reached up to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“i know, liebling, you can handle yourself very well,” he said, eyes twinkling, and you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not before he was being torn away from you.

Simon dragged the big man back by a handful of his dress shirt, eyes a deadly cool tone and face an eerie calm. you shivered, thinking Simon didn’t really need the mask to be terrifying, as you curled your arms close to your chest.

“that’s enough,” he said, voice gruff as he looked up into Konig’s taller frame.

you realized, with a blink, how strange it was seeing a man taller than Simon.

Konig only scoffed, batting away his hand, neck craning down to get eye level with Simon in a dangerous, menacing manner. “you do not own her, no? little man?”

Simon settled his hand on the revolver lodged in his holster, straightening. “say that again?”

your eyes widened at the spectacle, Simon and Konig almost nose to nose, and you reached out to them in a panic, pushing Konig away from the terrifyingly seething brit who was seconds from drawing his revolver.

“stop it!” you shouted, a dizzying panic flurrying around your mind.

Konig only clutched at your hand on his chest, shifting backwards, and shot a smug look behind you at Simon. you didn’t even dare look back at the expression on Simon’s face, half-worried if you did, you’d see his revolver raised high and aimed right at Konig.

instead, with a frustrated huff, you scolded Konig. “just get inside already!”

Konig flinched, frowning at the harsh tone in your voice, and you only scowled more, wriggling your hand from his grasp. at that, he turned sharply, grumbling something out before descending the rest of the way down the hill in easy, long strides and into the farmhouse—stuffed with people and loud and lit up against the stark night. 

turning back to Simon, who was stock still, face blank, and a hand firmly wrapped around his revolver, you only cocked your brow.

there was a new, writhing anger building in your chest so fierce you almost choked on it. brows furrowed and throat tight, your hand clenched into a tight fist around the skirt of your dress, the very sight of Simon in front of you sending you hurtling toward a razor sharp edge.

“you too,” you hissed, jerking your head towards the farmhouse.

without a word, and a sour look, he snatched up his horse’s reins, and trudged to the farmhouse to tie up his stallion at the pasture fence with the other couple dozen horses.

cross with his erratic behavior, you didn’t wait to go inside with him, instead launching yourself into the messy fray and overcrowded house.

Soap and Gaz poured glasses of bourbon at the kitchen table, swept clean of your documents, and surrounded by more vaqueros knocking back drinks between loud banter. someone played a lively, bumbling tune on the piano that filled the living room with a full sweetness.

it was a miracle to think that only a few hours prior, you and Kate had been missing them all with such a fierceness that there were tears in your eyes. now, searching the room for Kate, you saw her spread over the couch, flush to Maria, explaining a story in slow spanish that had other vaqueros laughing and Maria curling an arm around her shoulders. 

the image only soured when the sight brought you back to thoughts of a certain blonde brute.

you moved to Soap, wriggling between him and Gaz to snatch a glass of bourbon. Soap shouted over the noise with an impish smirk, “you drink now, lass?” 

with a nod, you tipped back the drink, cringing at its burn that pricked your eyes, and Gaz laughed loud and sweet in your ear, obviously drunk as he wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders.

“missed you, miss,” he said, lips in a wry smile, and you could only smile back.

“let me stick around then?” you offered and Soap nodded eagerly, pressing his knuckles to your shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“we were plannin’ on it!”

John materialized behind you to untangle Gaz’s arm from your shoulders, much more sober than the other two men as he reached around you to grab a glass with a wink.

“good to see you, darlin’.”

feeling indulgent and mellow, you pulled him into a quick hug, and he pressed a palm firm to your back with a laugh.

“Ghost’s been dyin’ to talk to you,” he said, tipping his hat to the man sulking across the room with Alejandro and Rodolfo who were locked in conversation. you spared him a quick glance, seeing his arms crossed over his chest and staring off into an untrained point, not at all enjoying the lively atmosphere of the room. just the sight of him sent slithering curls of something crawling under your skin.

“well he hasn’t been acting like it,” you said, not even trying to filter the exasperation from your tone.

John only raised his brows, sipping at the bourbon. “since when does he ever act true to how he feels?”

sending him a look, he only smiled with a shrug, turning away to disappear through the crowd of cowboys. 

you sidled up beside Kate and Maria instead, the women inviting you into the couch with open arms, and you listened in on their conversations—a muddled mix of english and spanish. a vaquero got your attention, conversing with you in a strained english and a mix of sign language that had you both keeling over with laughter at the bizarre form of communication.

across the room, Simon’s burning, dark gaze on you caught your eye, and between exchanging words with the friendly vaqueros, your eyes fluttered to him. he was leaned against the wall, Soap flanking him now, Gaz leaning an arm over his shoulder, as they prodded Alejandro and Rodolfo in loud, tipsy voices, but his eyes never left you.

you leaned forward in your seat, elbows braced against your knees, and conscious of the way your loose blouse dipped, exposing an indecent amount of your skin as you swept your hair to one side of your shoulder, brushing against your neck.

he cocked his head, deep, murky eyes roaming down, and then back up to your gaze. 

you don’t know whether you should be mad at Simon or not. you couldn’t decide what was more logical—the seething tick in your mind, or the horrible ache in your body for his touch. the sliver of affection you craved from him.

Simon pushed off the wall, and you were about to stand when Konig, much bigger than you, squeezed into the spot next to you by the couch, his arm braced against the back of it.

“i’m sorry, liebling,” he said suddenly, and you stilled, sinking back down into the cushions. “i couldn’t help myself earlier.”

“that guy—” he tipped his head towards Simon, who was stock still, hands curling into fists around his holster, “—is a nuisance.”

you scoffed at that, playing a long for a bit, and enjoying Simon’s attention on you with a mouthful of guilt you swallowed down quickly. you decided that being mad at him was more logical.

“really? i heard he’s not fond of you either, mister,” you said with a smirk, mind buzzing around as you took another swig of bourbon. he watched you with a wicked smile. 

“i did not know you could handle so much alcohol, little lady.”

you shrugged. “neither did i, sir.”

he cocked his head, leaning so his shoulder was pressed against yours, and a distant, fuzzy call in your brain told you to move away, but your sense of direction was muted and muddled with the buzz in your mind.

“i heard rumors about you,” he admitted, and your brows only rose as you slurped down more bourbon. “that Ghost had stolen Turner’s property.”

that irked you, and you put down the glass on the coffee table stacked with other half-empty glass cups, wiping at the back of your mouth.

“no,” you said, with a strange drawl. “m’not Turner’s property.”

his gaze was long and imperceptible. “i also heard that Ghost owns you. is that true?”

your breath hitched, brows pinching together. “s’not your business.”

“is it true?” he pressed, and you shoved him away a bit, standing and weaving between some dancing vaqueros to get away from him.

but he only followed, snatching at your wrist, catching your bad arm and jerking you back with a tight grip. you clawed at his hand.

“lemme go—” you said, struggling between the drunk bodies, but he only grabbed your hip with the other hand, forcing you still. a new panic rose in you.

“just, listen, liebling, i don’t wanna hurt you—”

“well you are—!” you shouted, on the verge of giving his hand a good, strong bite, when an ear-splintering bang filled the room.

you screamed, clutching at your ear with your free arm, and a rush of sawdust came down over you and the wildly sober vaqueros around you that drew their revolvers with a scramble. there were a pair of dark brown eyes over Konig’s shoulder.

“let go.”

Simon was just behind Konig, revolver aimed high at the ceiling, coming down to press right against the pulse point in Konig’s neck, gloved finger heavy on the trigger.

Simon’s face was rigid, calm and cold, jaw clenched tight, but his eyes swirled with something sinister and so menacing, you wanted to reel away. the music of the room was dead now, all eyes trained on the two men, and you in Konig’s grasp.

Konig stared down at you, face blank, but pale green eyes strained. you saw them flick up behind you, then around the room, and only seeing a dozen revolvers staring back. you could see Gaz creep up in your peripheral, gun trained on Konig, and with a low, frustrated noise, he released you.

you immediately scrambled back, your muddled mind throbbing with a sharp clarity now, and you looked between Simon, seething, and Konig, face downcast and turned away with a clenched jaw. a familiar burn pricked you eyes, and you swallowed around the tight vice of your throat, chest thick and laden and aching.

“you—”

you choked on your words, unable to find what to say before you were barreling out the farmhouse, Simon shouting your name in your wake.

you didn’t turn to see if he was following you, crushing your hands to your ears as more tears spilled down your face. eerily, you were reminded of your dream, jerking away when you felt someone’s hand at your back, only rushing up the hill faster, not bothering to hike up your dress over the grassy plain.

wracking sobs left your throat, and you felt confused, the wetness blurring your vision, and ragged breaths making your head spin. why were you crying?

you collapsed into the grass, trying to catch your short, ragged breath, but there was such a tightness in your throat that you couldn’t force any air through.

when you realized you couldn’t breathe, you clutched at your throat, screwing your eyes shut as the world spun and wild, frenzied panic consuming you.

all your nightmares came flying back to you. Turner, Charles, the men you had killed, demonic twists and a thick, sandy sludge, the world burning around you and one-four-one with it, Yue-Yi, broken and bloodied, and your daddy and mama. gone and dead.

and Simon—evil and full of hate.

arms wrapped you into a solid body, smelling smokey and woody and earthy, Simon’s deep voice in your ear. 

“shhh. it’s alright.”

his hand snuck around to your chest, right where that throbbing, painful ache of dread was, and his big palm rubbed over it, the warmth of his hand seeping right down to your bones.

you choked on your sobs and his voice was soft. “deep breaths.”

he breathed against you, strong and steady, and you tried and failed to match the slow drag of each one with a shaky inaccuracy, chest stuttering and whole body shaking violently. he moved you down slow, sitting you so you were between his legs and back flush against his chest, pulling you against him in a tight hold that became an anchor.

you clutched at the wrist of his sleeve with desperation.

“hurts,” you forced through painful gasps, and the warmth of his cheeks was against the side of your head.

“where?” his voice was harsh and intense now.

you slapped a hand over his at your chest, willing it to move it in those small, soothing circles that slowed the shallow, sharp gasps wrenched through your constricted lungs.

“what can i do?” he asked, a sharp edge of desperation slipping into his voice, and you could only cry, letting him rock you gently.

time stretched, agonizing and forever and never-ending, till your breaths finally, finally slowed, and the flashing kaleidoscopic dance behind your eyelids faded, lungs aching with an acute pain.

“you didn’t write me,” you said between sniffles and sharp, uncontrollable gasps, and he let out a low, tortured and broken noise, wrapping around your body tighter.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

you wanted to scream. “of course i did,” you almost sobbed. “i was so worried for you, i thought i’d-i’d die. i missed-missed you more than anything.”

another strangled sound of frustration left him, and he shifted you in his arms, still tight and warm around you, but enough so you could peer up into his shattered face, a foreign gloss in his eyes you’d never seen before.

“i almost didn’t survive without you,” he said, voice strained and hushed, and you wanted to slap him, but your whole body felt leaden and too light.

“i thought about you everyday,” he admitted, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and you let him, screwing your eyes shut. “i couldn’t get you off my mind. i thought about you almost every second.”

“i don’t believe you,” you said, voice shaky, but he shook his head against you.

“then don’t take my word for it. ask Price. ask Soap or Gaz. they’ll tell you.”

“i’m so mad at you,” you said, a rage clawing up your throat and mixing with the dizzy grief of your body.

he said nothing so you pressed further. “i can’t believe you. you left me here. you’re still injured, and you left me at that brothel. i thought we were dead in Turner’s mansion,” then voice breaking, you remembered, “my daddy and mama. they’re dead—”

you worked yourself up again, choking, and Simon soothed you with soft hushes, your body wound up tight.

“i wanted to leave here,” you said in a panic, “i wanted to leave.”

“wasn’t safe,” he retaliated, his lips against your neck, and that only made you angrier.

“i don’t care.” tears slipped down your cheeks that he quickly brushed away. 

“i thought you wanted to be with me all the time,” you said, grief shattering over you like glass.

he turned you and pressed your body down softly into the grass, caging you between his arms, and you wrapped around him easily, arms around his neck, legs winding around his hips as he crushed you down to the earth.

the solid weight of his body calmed every loud thing clattering through your broken mind.

“i always have,” he admitted lowly, face pressed to that spot where your hair pooled against your neck. “i needed to fix things in san francisco. now, the city’s yours.”

he pulled back, and you looked up into his warm brown eyes that were splintered and honest. “i’ll give you anything. you can have the whole city and you can be with me all the time. everything’s safe now. no one can hurt you. no one can hurt us anymore.”

with two fistfuls of his shirt, you tugged him back down to you, and he burrowed into your touch, arms coiling around your waist and pulling tight.

“just be with me,” you gritted out, your hand clutching at the softness of his hair, and he only let out a coarse, affirming noise, stock still and like a rock.

you curled into him—something you could anchor to as your eyes slid shut.

“i dreamed about you,” you rambled, and he laxed further into you, but then tensed when you said, “nightmares.”

his voice was strained. “like what?”

“it was different than this,” you said, mind hazy and fatigued, “none of this ever happened. you were never an outlaw and we lived in your cabin in the woods and we were married.”

“if that’s what you want,” he shot out, fingers curling into your hair, “i’ll give it to you.”

he deflated when you shook your head.

“you were evil,” you whispered, and he flinched, before you finished, “but i knew it wasn’t you.”

he pulled back again, leaning over you. his face was shadowed in the night, lips screwed into a tight line, but you could still make out the curve of his features.

“i prefer you like this,” you admitted, brushing your fingertips along his bare face, thumb tracing over the silvery scar on his upper lip. “an outlaw. the scars.”

“you’re crazy,” he said with a tinge of wonder, and you almost smiled at that, melting when he stooped down to kiss you softly.

his lips were warm, and you gripped at his hair, pushing his head further into you. it felt too brief once he pulled away.

“could you ever forgive me?” he asked.

you looked at him for a long moment, feeling all muddled with unease. the better question was, could you ever trust him again?

“maybe.”

he nodded, betraying nothing but the cold, hard lines of his face.

“can i at least carry you?”

“i can walk myself,” you insisted, though not unkindly, as you pushed him off you. the big, heavy man giving easily to your touch and he stood, offering a hand that you took, and lifting you with an ease.

you walked side by side in silence, only the soft rustle of the prairie grass pulled by the wind filling the darkness, the farmhouse still lit like a beam and vaqueros snaking through the interior.

when you neared, Simon snuck an arm around your waist, and you quickly wiped at any stray tears on your face, fixing your hair and pulling at the new wrinkles of your dress. Kate was standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest.

“you shot a hole through my ceiling, Riley,” she called, brow furrowed with irritation. Simon stiffened beside you.

“i’ll fix it.”

she gave him a long look void of sympathy. “not with those injuries you won’t.”

then, her eyes were on you, and she softened. “are you alright, angel?”

you cleared your throat, nodding with a quiet hum, and Simon inched closer to you.

she shot him one last nasty, dirty look, turning on her heel and reentering the party. you felt a creeping awkwardness with all the eyes crawling over you and Simon’s possessive hold, hyper aware of Konig's gaze from across the room, splayed out in an armchair as he took swigs of a flask.

“party’s over,” Kate shouted over the music, glancing briefly at you. “lights out in five minutes.”

you mouthed a thanks to her, and she only shrugged with a light smile as the men in the room grumbled, taking glasses and bottles of bourbon with them as they moved to their horses outside the farmhouse. you watched through the window as they unpacked blankets and rolled them out over the grass, some trekking towards the barn to take cover in for the night. 

you watched a half-awake and intoxicated Soap struggle into a sleeping bag, Gaz already passed out near his feet and curled up in some blankets. John was only a couple feet away and staring up into the night sky.

you jolted when you noticed Konig stop a comfortable distance from you, standing in front of the farmhouse entrance and gaze trained outside. Simon sidled up closer to you, leaning against the window with crossed arms and a furrowed, serious look.

“sorry liebling,” he said with a shrug and a distant expression before taking another swig of his flask, not looking at you as he walked out the door to his horse strung up along the fencepost.

staring after him, Simon reached out to touch your cheek, and your eyes snapped to his. looking over his face, the soft moonlight poured over it, as Kate moved around the living room to put out the oil lamps. you brushed your fingers along his strong jaw, watching in amazement how it flexed under your touch.

“we’re sleepin’ outside.”

you startled with a muffled squeak, stepping towards Simon, and he easily wrapped an arm around your waist as you twisted to look back at a smug looking Kate and a tipsy looking Maria by her shoulder.

you flushed deeply, a fluttering heat in your cheeks.

“goodnight,” you said, and Kate’s smirk only grew, as she pulled Maria out the door.

“sweet dreams,” she called, a knowing lilt in your voice that only made you blush deeper.

you jolted when you felt Simon press his cool lips to your flushed skin.

“tired?”

you nodded weakly, and he smiled against your cheek.

“you sleep,” he said, patting your sides. “i’m gonna wash up.”

hesitating, the man skirted around you and headed towards the stairs, waiting at the foot of them with an expectant look over his shoulder as he watched you move to your bedroom door.

he cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. “night.”

you bit down on your lip, hand fidgeting around the door knob. “good night.”

you watched him walk up the stairs, heavy boots clunking against each step, a well of disappointment blooming in your mouth.

lips twisting into a scowl, you opened the door and shut it behind you too loud, not looking for Simon’s last look in the darkness.

you crawled over the bed, huffing out in frustration as you rolled in the sheets, on the verge of punching your pillow, before sliding off your bed in defeat and redressing in your thin nightgown and pushing aside the messy stacks of papers lining your room, building in an unattractive pile on your desk.

sliding into the bedsheets, you turned to the wall, feeling strange with Kate’s vacancy at your back. you rolled over and fiddled with the bedsheets, careful on your healing arm.

you had been so tired mere hours ago and now you couldn’t even shut your eyes, and you mourned it, wriggling in the sheets with restlessness and craving for something…

you eyed the door of the bedroom. you had been so mad at Simon only moments ago, the way a cataclysmic divide manifested as soon as he arrived, his immature, jealous squabbles, his ignorance, his stupidity, his strange self-destructive logic that involved pushing you away that persisted for the past three long, torturous weeks…

you would never stop being mad at him. you weren’t even sure if you could ever trust him, but, maybe, you realized, you wanted him close nonetheless.

you felt like you were thinking with a new clarity when you lurched off the bed, throwing off the quilt, and striding to the door, your hand in mere inches of the door when it was wrenched open.

with a surprised squeak, you looked up to see Simon standing there, dripping with water and holding up a towel around his waist, blonde hair tangled and matted against his forehead.

your eyes immediately slid down to the width of his hips, his deep v-line and the definition of his stomach, the bullet wound healing nicely with a healthy flush and new stitches. you bit back a gasp when you looked over the right side of his upper chest and shoulder—an angry, tender looking fleshiness that must’ve been painful.

he slowly stepped into the room, dark eyes on you, as he closed the door behind him and edged you closer to the bed with every step.

you almost whimpered, shuffling backwards, Simon looming tall and broad over you, and it wasn’t anything like that scary dream you had weeks ago. a slithering ache that you hadn’t felt in weeks return to the lower regions of your body.

he reached out, snaking a hand behind your head into your hair and gently pulling you to him in a kiss that you eagerly returned. 

wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching through your tiptoes to reach him, he made a low, carnal sound in the back of his throat that had you squirming in his grasp.

“is this okay?” he asked between kisses, and you only hummed a pleasant yes, enamored by the soft movement of his practiced mouth, your legs going jittery.

he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him to keep you steady, tongue pressing against your lower lip.

you squeaked, jerking back with a jolt of confusion.

he only smiled, voice rough and low. “never kiss someone before, princess?”

you flushed, mumbling, “yes. you,” with embarrassment, before trying to pull him back down by his neck, but he didn’t budge, smile growing wider.

“let me teach you?” he practically purred, and you blushed with a shy nod, letting him hoist you onto the edge of the bed with a yelp, your hand accidentally sliding against his raw shoulder.

he winced, and you snatched your arm back, squeaking a sorry but he just shook his head with an impatience, dragging you forward by your hips closer to him, your hands pressed to the wet skin of his torso as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“part your lips, pretty girl,” he said, voice a low, seductive rumble, and you immediately complied, letting him lean forward and slide his tongue between your lips.

you startled at new feeling, flinching away, but he pulled you back in with a softness that had you melting, and you tried to match the wet, slick movements of his tongue with your own.

he hummed in approval, angling his head to kiss you deeper, and you almost thought you saw stars, heart thudding too fast against your chest. it was strangely hot and sensual and the sensation of it only spurred on a curiosity in you.

when he leaned back for a breath, you only felt disappointed and lurched forward to bite his lower lip, willing him to stay right there against your lips.

he let out a low groan and you jolted at the vibration that traveling straight from his throat into your own, pulling whimpers from you. that seemed to only urge him on, because his grip on your the back of your head tightened, pushing your head to his so your noses pressed together, the movement of his lips, tongue, and teeth aggressive now.

once your head spun, dizzy and light, you pressed against his chest and he finally parted from you. he was panting, lips swollen with a redness that you reached out to touch in the darkness, brushing a forefinger over his lower lip that he kissed, then kissed down your palm, the underside of your wrist, up your arm until his lips were suddenly on your neck.

your moans were involuntary, drawn from your throat like magic as Simon worked your body, fingertips slowly tracing up your thighs beneath your nightgown.

he let out a noise of surprise against your neck. “no undergarments?”

you flushed, shaking your head, and he hummed in approval, searching the skin of your legs with his palms till he found that sticky, wet source that pulsed with an ache. you squirmed against his touch, gasping when he found your clit, thumb against it, and two big fingers stretched your core as they slowly pushed in.

he pumped them between your thighs, lips and tongue and teeth still sucking along your neck and the underside of your jaw, then licking over your ear. you shook in his hold, clutching onto his forearms for purchase, head tipping back from the feel of his fingertips rubbing sensitive spots inside you that had your breath sharp and full of gasps.

“want you to come on my fingers first,” he whispered, licking over your cheek, “can you do that, pretty thing?”

you nodded eagerly, rolling your hips down onto the delicious circles rubbed around your clit and the shooting pleasure each time he pressed against that sweet spot inside you.

“more,” you whined, eyes closed, and he huffed a laugh.

“more? more what? this not enough?”

“no,” you gasped, dragging your nails down his abdomen to the edge of his towel. with half-lidded eyes, you eyed the spot curiously, then blinked up at Simon, and he just smirked, leaning down to kiss you again.

“patience, princess.”

you screwed your eyes shut, the sensations over your entire body overstimulating—his hand gently tugging at your hair, his hot tongue against your own, and your hips rolling down to the sensual movements of his other hand.

it was too much, and soon you were gasping, muscles bunching and then releasing as you came all over his fingers with pitchy moans that he swallowed into his mouth.

he didn’t waste a second to push you down over the bed, flipping up your nightgown and bunching it in a hand against your stomach, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed. tugging your forward by your hips, his tongue was against your folds in an instant and you squirmed with little squeaks, twitching with sensitivity. but he was so much stronger than you, pinning you down to the bed easily, blonde head between your thighs.

you gripped at his hair, tugging, as your back arched against the hot, wet movements against your cunt. it was overwhelming. too good.

“Simon,” you gasped, and he just hummed in response, tongue sliding into you and reaching up to press his thumb to your twitchy little clit.

“missed hearin’ you say my name like that, pretty,” he said between kisses against your cunt, dark eyes flitting up to gaze at you, half-lidding and smokey.

that same sweet feeling unfurled in your chest so much faster than you expected, and you had no time to warn him before your core was convulsing, thighs tightening around his head as your hips bucked up into his mouth.

but he wouldn’t stop, even after your body started shaking, and you pulled at his hair, little gasps and whimpers of pleas to stop. finally, after a loud, pitched whine left your lips, he suckled against your clit one last time before popping off.

there was a reflective wetness over his jaw that made you blush, a stupid smile on his face and hazy, dark eyes flitting over your body, splayed out, twitching, and completely unwound.

you chided him. “greedy.”

he laughed, crawling up over your to kiss you, a strange salty and sweet taste on his tongue that had your stomach twisting with want again. when he pulled away, you licked over the wetness on his chin and jaw and he groaned, pushing you down to the bed with a hand against your neck.

“you…” he gaze was so hot and wanting that you shivered, clutching at the loose grip of his hand around your throat.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, and you licked your lips, tasting the last of the wetness. he eyed the movement with an intensity.

“i have an idea,” you whispered back, reaching down to grip at the edge of his towel again, and he smirked.

he slid off you, letting his towel drop to the floor, and you eyed his swollen length with a greediness, whimpering just at the sight of it.

already, your cunt was pulsing back to life with a wild aching desire. you squirmed against the bed.

“please?” you offered him, and he only gave you an amused look.

“please what?”

he crept over you, knuckles pressing to the bed beside your head. you spread your legs wider.

“please,” you whimpered, and his brows raised slightly.

“i don’t know what you want,” he said, low and grating, and you huffed with frustration, pressing your heel to the back of his thigh to push him further forward. but he wouldn’t budge.

“want…” you looked between his legs, shivering, and he hummed, shifting his hips forwards so that he was flush to the back of your thighs, length brushing against your cunt. you gasped, bucking your hips up.

his gaze was imperceptible, just dark and wanting, head tilted. “want my cock?”

you whined, nodding, reaching down to rub your fingers gently against the head of it where that milky substance was spilling out over your stomach. he made a noise of disapproval, snatching your wrist and pinning it above your head.

“use your words.”

“want you to fuck me,” you whispered with a blush, glancing down at his cock again, and he went still.

“supposed to save that for marriage, lovely,” he said, voice honest and soft as he brushed a palm against your cheek. you looked up at him and the tender look on his face, jaw clenched, but his eyes still blown wide with need.

“it doesn’t matter,” you said, before adding in a whisper, “i’m already yours.”

you wanted to say that you needed him—desperately needed him close, but you bit the words back, hoping he would understand.

it seemed that he did from the way he pushed your nightgown up, pulling you up so he could gently tug it over your head and throw it to the floor. he immediately eased you back down, lips roaming your bare skin, his lips over your chest, breasts, and stomach, hot and overstimulating. you clutched at his hands holding your hips down.

“hurry,” you whimpered, and he reached down to stroke his cock before sliding it between the sticky, wet folds of your cunt, catching against your entrance.

then, he hesitated and you almost wanted to scream in frustration. “remember that it hurts?”

there was a distant, little spark of fear inside you, but you were so impatient that you almost didn’t care. 

“just… please, Simon.”

he leaned down to kiss you briefly. “relax. m’not going anywhere, pretty.”

that eased a place in your chest that you didn’t know was panicking, and you laxed back into the mattress, letting him touch you where he pleased as you wrapped your arms around his neck. his hands smoothed over the skin of your torso, then pressed your legs wider.

“take a deep breath for me, sweet girl.” 

you complied, letting your eyes shut and you took a deep breath, the air punched from your lungs when you felt something impossibly thick pushing past the rim of your entrance. you couldn’t breath, nails sinking into his skin.

“good girl,” he mumbled against your skin, voice soft as he pressed even softer kisses to your neck and shoulders. “doin’ so good for me.”

the pain was sharp and uncomfortable, growing as he stretched you even wider. tears pricked in your eyes and he immediately kissed them away.

“want me to stop?”

you shook your head, eyes screwed shut, hands snaking into his hair to pull at it and somehow ease the pain. “no. please.”

his fingers were brushing against your jaw. “look at me, pretty girl.”

your eyes fluttered open, a tear escaping down your cheek as you looked up to him. his eyes darted over your face, a crease of worry in between his brows that you willed away with your thumb, pressing against it.

he stooped down to kiss you, swallowing your gasp when his hips pushed forward a little more, and suddenly his hips were flush to the back of your thighs, an overwhelming, throbbing fullness in your stomach. he was crammed against that swollen spot inside you that had your head falling back, seeing stars.

“alright?” 

you nodded slowly, swallowing, and ground your hips against him experimentally, a new sort of pleasure racing down your spine. he let out a low sound, gripping your hips to still them.

“not yet,” he scolded, “you need to relax more. i don’t wanna hurt you, princess.”

he reached between you to rub at your clit in gentle circles, and you squirmed a little, feeling impatient.

“relax,” he reminded you, and you bit back your frustration, letting him wrap your legs around his waist.

he leaned back, enough so the moonlight from the window spilled over his muscled body, and you could see the light catch in his smokey eyes. he tilted his head, gaze full of affection as he traced a thumb over your throat.

you held his hand, moving it to clasp around your throat and pressing your heels into his back. that unbearable stretch inside you had turned achy with want, and that sweet spot inside you begged for some kind of stimulation.

“ready?” he asked softly, and you hummed a yes, watching the way his hips drew back a little and then snapped forward again, gasping when he pushed against that amazing sweet spot in you again.

then he did it again, and again, and every time it bunched a breathy moan from your lips till he was building a pace, and you couldn’t stop the little whimpers falling from your lips, clutching at his hand wrapped around your throat, using it as leverage to pull you back down on every thrust. it left your mind hazy and dizzy, your other hand searching the sheets for something to hold onto.

he leaned down, grabbing your hand and pushing it to the bed, his rough fingers interlocked with yours.

“good?” his gaze was hot and piercing.

“mhmm,” you hummed, infatuated with the strange pleasurable stretch between your hips and the rolling, hot waves of pleasure in time with his hips that overwhelmed you completely.

“pretty girl,” he said, tightening his grip around your throat, though his voice was so distant and he felt so far.

“closer,” you mumbled, and his movements slowed.

“hm? speak up, sweet thing.” 

“closer,” you whined, eyes glossy and fluttering your eyelashes up at him.

he shifted above you, dropping down so he was caging your head between his forearms, pressing you down into the mattress with a pleasurable weight that had your head spinning. you wrapped around him tighter, reaching around his sides to clutch at the muscles of his back so your chests were flush together.

“better?” he asked, pecking your nose softly, and eyes so warm and full that you shuddered.

you nodded and craned your neck up to offer your lips for a kiss that he took eagerly, tongue slipping into your mouth, his hips rolling down into the hot clutch of your heat.

you gasped at the sensation, his thrusts more shallow, deeper, than before—cock so thick that you were pulsing around him in time with his thrusts. it’s like you could feel him in your ribcage, hammering against the quick thud of your heart.

overwhelmed, your nails sunk into his back, and he let out a low groan, ducking down to whisper in your ear.

“so tight, princess.”

you moaned, only tightening at his words, and that spurred him on, fucking you faster with a dizzying pace now, hips slamming so hard against yours the pain mixed into a muddled pleasure—

“Simon,” you gasped, clawing at his back, and you could feel his smirk against your skin.

“yeah that’s it. say my name, pretty girl.”

you did, gasping it under your breath with each of his rough thrusts, a familiar burn building in the crux of your stomach.

“Si—m’gonna—”

“shh, don’t talk, just take it,” he whispered, low and throaty and voice grating.

your moans were breathy now, coming in short bursts, as more overwhelming waves of pleasurable sensations hit you, burning you inside and out.

“fuck,” he growled, hand closing into fists around the sheets by your head.

you peered up at him to the best of your ability, eyes half-lidded and drooping, watching the clench of his abdominal muscles with every thrust, his body in a sheen of sweat and brows furrowed with concentration, dark eyes boring down at you with a predatory gaze.

want you to come all over this big cock, princess. come for my lovely, just come luvie, come—

on command, your whole body contracted, bright lights flashing behind your eyelids as you shook with a couple last breathy moans, Simon’s words swept away somewhere far and distant as you peaked on a delicious high.

you were crashing through it, barely registering his gentle words in your ear.

good girl. good girl. my good girl.

once you were coming back down, dizzy and sleepy, Simon’s thrusts had grown shallow and slow, moaning lowly when he pulled out and pumped his cock quickly, those white ropes spurting over your stomach in hot, sticky layers before he crashed down over you again.

you drifted through a dreamscape, humming lightly at the feeling of his hot skin against yours.

you traced over his shoulders, avoiding his burn wound carefully, listening to the pant of his breath slow, and then still, as you laid there tangled together.

you brushed a hand through his hair, carding your fingers over his scalp and scratching lightly. with a low hum, he shifted his head to look at you, face relaxed and content and his nose pressed against your breast.

“satisfied, princess?”

you tried and failed to bit back a smile, nodding slowly. he smirked back, playing with the ends of your hair.

“insatiable, greedy thing.”

you couldn’t help but giggle, tugging him up to your face, and he relented, smushing your cheek with his nose and lips. with little squeaks and giggles, you swatted at him when he crushed you down into the bed with too much force until he pulled back.

he slid into the space between you and the wall, tucking you into his chest and arms locking around you in a hold that felt possessive.

once you were settled and content, his lips against your hair, you asked him, “are you satisfied?”

he brushed some fingers along the scars of your arm for a pause. “mhmm.”

the sound was unconvincing, and some part inside you broke a little. you turned in his arms so you could see his face.

“don’t lie…”

he scoffed but looked amused. “you make a man greedy, princess.”

you tilted your head. “what do you mean?”

he kissed your forehead softly. “i wanted it to be different.”

you almost deflated, heart dropping into your stomach and skin growing icy cold.

“what do you mean?” you asked again, voice flat now. he peered down at you, blonde lashes full and long in the moonlight.

“in different circumstances. after your marriage.”

your throat tightened. “my marriage? do you mean…?”

he looked away from you when he mumbled, “our marriage.”

“why? was it not good?” you felt a spiral of panic. “do you care about… virginity?”

he only gave you a wry smile. “‘course i don’t care. you’re perfect just like this.”

his eyes darted down to your body, and you followed his gaze, suddenly conscious of your bare skin against his, and the remnants of your shared pleasure still sticky against your stomach.

with a blush, you grumbled, “what’s the problem then?”

he pulled you closer to him. “s’what you deserve.”

you wanted to scream. “i don’t get it,” you whined and he chuckled, tucking his chin over your head.

“you’re such a good, innocent girl. you deserved all that…” he spoke so low you almost couldn’t hear him, “...doting marriage stuff first.”

you pushed him back by his chest, and he blinked down at you, confused. when he reached to pull you against him again, you kept your arm extended, and he gripped at your hip instead.

“do you really want to marry me?” you asked softly, and you watched him swallow hard, before nodding slowly.

“if you’ll have me.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth. innocent, good girl.

“even after everything?”

he tilted his head against the pillows, stroking your side. “what’s wrong, lovely?”

you struggled with the words. “i’ve killed people.”

he only blinked. “me too.”

“i felt happy when Turner died,” you admitted, the words sounding so foreign on your tongue that you wanted to puke. “you haven’t seen me kill someone.”

his brows rose slightly. “i can imagine it’s a sight.”

you felt frustrated, unable to keep yourself from confessing, “i’m having mental issues.”

you screwed your eyes shut, unwilling to see his reaction, thinking back to just prior when you ran from the farmhouse. Simon had witnessed it with his own eyes. he had seen just how insane you were. there had been one old man in your town who was insane, saying he saw things, always switching between hyperactivity, anger, and isolating himself to lie in bed all day. then, they eventually took him to an insane asylum when he had an episode in public.

you shook just at the thought of it, jolting when you felt Simon’s soft lips against your brow.

“yeah?”

your eyes snapped open, brows pinched together as you looked up into his relaxed expression. “yeah? that’s all?”

he shrugged. “me too.”

your throat felt dry. “what do you mean?”

he pointed to his own throat. “not bein’ able to breath. racing thoughts. uncontrollable crying. it happens, lovely.”

your mind spun but he continued on. “how long has it been happening?”

“since that night on the train,” you chewed out, feeling light and airy and scared when he paled in response.

“when we fought?” he asked, face pinched and stormy. you nodded and he wrapped you up in his arms again, tightly squeezing. despite your grumbles of protest, you whole body melted, a wet burn in your eyes.

“i’m sorry,” he gasped, crushing you, and from the strain in his voice, you knew he was being sincere.

“i have this feeling, ” you started, then choked, unsure of how to finish. 

“tell me,” he prompted and you pressed your forehead against his strong chest.

“it’s in my chest. it’s heavy all the time. kind of like dread, but not really.” you screwed your eyes shut. “i hate it.”

he rubbed a hand over your back. “i know it well.”

“you do?” you squeaked, so sure that there was no one else in the world who felt a sliver of semblance to you.

“mhmm. breathing helps.” he snaked a hand between you, rubbing his fist in slow circles over your chest. “this helps too.”

as promised, your body relaxed, the touch warm and a pleasant pressure against the thrum of your heavy heart.

you reached up, wanting to return the favor, and rubbed your own palm against his broad chest. he smiled softly, snatching your hand up to kiss all over it, and you squirmed at the ticklish sensation, swatting him away.

he laughed, pushing you onto your back so he could slide off the bed.

“let me carry you?” he offered, but you just shook your head, swinging your legs over the edge.

“i’m fine—” your toes touched the cold floor, and you put a generous among of pressure onto your feet, before your knees buckled, legs shaking.

with a yelp, you almost tumbled to the floor before Simon easily caught you.

“careful,” he said, sounding too happy, and you sent him a dirty look.

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” you gritted out, clutching onto his arms, and he only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused look.

nonetheless, you hooked an arm around his unwounded shoulder, letting him curl an arm beneath your knees and haul you up into his arms.

he left your room to trudge up the stairs to the bathroom, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the dark, because as much as you protested it to Simon, he couldn’t seem to care less if someone spotted you both bare in the night. you protested enough for him to throw his towel over you before leaving your room.

he sat you down on the counter of the sink and filled the bathtub with water, peering at you softly over his shoulder every once and a while. once it was filled, he picked you up again, and gingerly set you down in the lukewarm water before sliding in right behind you.

it was a cramped space, your back pressed to his chest, and his legs around your own, so long that his toes were against the other wall of the tub.

“comfy?” he asked, and you nodded as he reached around you for a bar of soap and a washcloth, gently washing away the after effects of the intimate night you shared together.

for once, you realized, you didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for what you had done. even if he wasn’t your husband, and even if your mama had taught you against it your entire life, as you sunk back into Simon, you found yourself absolutely uncaring for what sins you had committed.

maybe things changed when you really, truly believed he was going to die. you looked up, finding Simon already peering down at you, and reached out to touch his jaw gently.

he took your arm, cleaning it gently, thumb brushing over its marred scars. he brought it up to press his lips against the scars that stretched over its surface, face twisted and somber.

“Turner tried to trap me in that room with him,” you said, voice almost at a whisper. “i fell and my arm went straight into fire.”

he made a low noise of disapproval, but you continued anyway. 

“it was almost like he didn’t want to live,” you ruminated, remembering the way Turner had promised, if you try to kill me, you’ll burn with me.

he was half-right in the end.

“he didn’t even try,” you said, “threw away his gun almost immediately. just tried to strangle me.”

Simon’s arm curled around you and rubbed a palm over your chest. you clutched at it gratefully.

“i’d say i would kill him,” he said, voice so soft it was betraying, “but you already did that. you handle yourself well, little gunslinger.”

you almost giggled. “little gunslinger?”

“mhmm.” he picked up the washcloth again, wiping over your stomach and between your thighs under the water. “little gunslinger.”

“what’s my code name then?”

he mulled over that for a moment before saying, “Angel.”

your brows rose a little. “Angel? like the devil’s Angel?”

you peered at him from over your shoulder, taking in his stupid, lopsided smile with a cocked brow, and he only leaned forward to kiss you softly.

“that’s exactly what you are, princess.”

you hummed. “what about my mask?”

he smiled against your lips. “don’t need one anymore. 

you parted from him. “why not?”

“no one to be afraid of anymore,” he said, tracing a finger over your lips.

and you were grateful for it because you could look at his face—all bare and handsome—as much as you wanted now.

“thank god,” you whispered and he nodded.

“thank god. now kiss me, Angel,” he whispered in a mock sultry tone, and you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his lips, before sealing them with your own, loving the way his hands traced over your wet skin.

one stopped to clutch at that spot over your heart, rubbing in slow, soothing circles that lulled you into a soft, distant place with Simon bound to your side.

okay istg i don't want Konig to appear like the villain or the asshole here, he's just a bit… arrogant and insensitive but socially anxious and has a good heart at the same time :( just a lot of built up complexes as a self-defense mechanism :(

also obviously we got jealous ghost here but how possessive was he? not very much. possessive ghost will probably appear later on... 🌚

edit: okay soooo idk what's going on w the tags on this post they are like breaking my posts???? bc i can't edit the posts with tags on the post and IDK WHAT'S GOING ON BUT if i accidentally tagged you multiple times i am sorry... tumblr is making my life a little bit harder rn 😵‍💫

[livredebelle]

25.5: Death beckoning

I FOUND MYSELF IN AN EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE SITUATION. Standing in front of the hospital room where my friend was staying with a bouquet of flowers in my hand, I wondered if I could form the right reassuring words that would need to be said to mend a person's broken spirit.

Last night, I had received a call from Maria with the terrible news that Abel had been in an accident. Without knowing further details, we had rushed to the hospital where he was reportedly getting surgery after having been run over by a car. The surgery had taken all night long, but it was a success, and he was now resting. When the surgeon had stepped out of the operating room to meet his family and friends who were waiting anxiously, he said with grim expression on his face, "I'm sorry. We did what we could to save his life, but..."

With a shaky breath, I bravely pushed the door open with a fake smile as I moved forward to approach my dear friend. 

"Hey. Happy birthday, Abel." 

Instead of responding, he was staring out the window, his body motionless and frozen as the anesthesia slowly wore away. His body was covered in bundles of bandages and casts, especially his legs. His mind was rattled and he was dazed because everything had changed and happened so quickly before he'd had time to react. What had the doctor said to his parents that he could hear their wailing out in the waiting area a couple hours ago? What could have been so painful to hear? 

"I know this is lame, bringing flowers for your birthday gift. I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of anything better, and then I ran out of time..." 

My voice trailed off as I struggled with the next thing to say. In front of me, I saw a soul that was suffering immensely. It was this inexplicable feeling I had, but I could practically hear the sound of Abel's heart breaking. 

How could I save him... 

I wished Maria were here with me, but it was understandable. Maria was too shocked and traumatized after what she'd heard what the doctor had to say post-surgery, and after everything that had happened. She had walked out of the waiting room in a trance-like state, much like Abel was in right this moment.

"What day of the week is it today?" he asked suddenly in a barely audible whisper. 

"Oh, um... it's Thursday." 

"I... have practice today... I need to tell Coach..." he trailed off. 

I said nothing, not having the heart to tell him the news. I bit her lip and clenched my fists. It just wasn't fair. Why did good people like him have to be punished? What wrong did he do that justified a punishment such as this? What could I even say to make it better? My thoughts were racing at the speed of light. 

The sound of drizzling rain could be heard from the outside, as neither of us spoke further, letting the silence wash over us like a deluge. 

***

It was spring all too sudden. Time waits for no one; in fact, it seems to always be in a hurry to move forward, even if one isn't ready to move on from one's pain. 

The three of us were hanging out on their school's rooftop eating lunch together as usual, except for the pin-drop silence. Things had been tense ever since the accident. Abel wasn't his usual cheery self; he had been like a zombie, always staring ahead at nothing, as if being in the present was too much for him to bear. In such a short amount of time, he had lost everything: his dreams, his ambitions, his scholarship to university, his ability to walk... He would never be able to swim again. That part of him was lost for good when that intoxicated driver had slammed his car into him and thereby crushed his legs, severing all their nerves. Every morning, Maria and I would come pick him up at his house, where his mom and brother lived with him, and we would wheel him to school and walk to school together as if it was any other day. But no matter how hard we tried to cheer him up, or just be there for him, Abel had shut himself out of our grasp, and he didn't respond to anything. He hardly talked for the past couple of months. 

"How's PT going?" I asked cheerfully, trying my best to fake a smile. "I heard from your mom that you're already showing so much improvement. I'm so proud of you, you know." 

Maria leaned her head against his wheelchair. "Are you going to the game tonight, by the way? Should I come pick you up?" 

Abel noticeably flinched, and anger flashed in his eyes. "No. You know I can't... anymore." 

"Chill. I meant we should watch the game together. It's the season playoffs, right? I'm sure your team would appreciate your support--"

"I said no! You... you don't understand anything. Both of you, stop trying to make it better. Because it isn't going to get better!"

We were startled. Abel never raised his voice, no matter how upset he was. He was just not that kind of person. He had changed so much since the accident, yet neither of us could say a word, because we were too afraid that the wrong step would cause our best friend to shatter; he was too fragile... Seeing the surprise in our eyes, he turned his face so they couldn't see, and started wheeling himself away. 

I frowned. The distance between us was widening. How had things become like this? I was determined to set things right. "Hold on," I said to Maria, "I'm going to go after him."

"And do what?" 

"Well, talk to him. This can't go on. He's wallowing in his depression and it's only going to get worse if he keeps shutting himself out." 

"We have no idea what is going through his head, or how he's really feeling right now," Maria said softly. "I think it'll be better to give him some space. He'll come back; I know he will." 

"Maria--"

"Please, just let him be. He'll get better." 

But Maria was wrong for what it seemed to be the first time. In fact, things kept getting worse; Abel's mood became darker with each passing day, and he hardly talked anymore, no matter who was talking to him. It was as if he genuinely couldn't hear them; his world had seemingly lost color and sound. Without swimming, he was no one. He was losing his sense of self, and no one could prevent that.

I kept trying to reconnect with him all the same. I had such a hard time connecting with people in general, so I didn't want to lose a friendship so precious. Determined to help Abel the way he had saved me those two years ago with a simple act of kindness, I never left him alone, and continued to treat him as normal. But I didn't know how. I felt like I had already repeated myself over and over like a robot: 'Everything will be fine. You'll definitely recover from this. Hang in there,' etc., etc. Was any of it enough, though? 

It was now the month of May; our junior year was ending. I wanted desperately to make things right again before the school year's end approached in June. 

My eyes kept darting back and forth from my test paper to the clock, which was positioned at the front of the class. Soon, it would be lunch, and I would go find wherever Abel was wallowing by himself and drag him to the rooftop to join us for our usual routine. It would be all right. As soon as the clock tolled twelve, I bolted from my seat, submitted the exam, and raced to his homeroom. As expected, he wasn't there; he had been actively avoiding us more recently. I scanned the room for a familiar face, and when I found one, I immediately went up to him and demanded, "Where the hell is Abel?"

The classmate who sat next to him choked on the rice ball he had been eating. "Uh--I dunno. I think he said something about seeing his coach or something." 

So he would most likely be at the pool. I rushed there, and sure enough, there he was, sitting in his wheelchair and staring placidly at the calm pool waters with an unfathomable expression. What was it about that expression that made me so damn nervous? I couldn't put a finger to it, but the way Abel had been behaving lately had made me feel increasingly on edge, like I needed to be on high alert for him. It was the least I could do, I thought. But when he turned his wheelchair around and grimaced at seeing me, my heart fell and I felt more discouraged than ever. 

But I couldn't give up on him now. He had been there for me--I would do the same. 

"Hey, there you are. I was just--"

"You can stop now, Irina. I'm tired." 

"...Huh?"

His eyes were dull and dead, devoid of any light as he slowly spoke, enunciating every word. 

"You are being a nuisance, you know that? Constantly following me everywhere like a stalker. Does my misery make you happy? Am I not allowed one goddamn minute to myself, now? I'm offended, honestly."

"Abel--you know that's not what I meant..."

"Well, have you considered how I would feel, constantly being watched all the time? I'm not a child; I don't need to be taken care of by someone else. You don't even know how I feel. You've never had this happen to you." 

It was a fact, but the way he distinguished himself from me made it feel like he was forcefully putting distance between us. 

"Our team didn't make it to the finals. I saw Coach and the team wrapping stuff up earlier, and I could only watch. If I had been able to swim, maybe I could've made a difference. Maybe not. But I'll never know for sure. Instead, I'll always feel this emptiness within me, knowing I made absolutely no fucking difference at all. For me, swimming was like breathing; it was my reason for existence, and it was taken away from me. Do you know what that feels like?" 

I didn't know how to respond to that. He was right; I would never know how he truly felt unless I had encountered the same ordeal. It would be dishonest of me to act like I could ever understand, and egotistical for me to assume that I could understand his pain just because I thought I knew pain. My shoulders drooped in shame. 

"I... I just wanted to make you feel better, because while I might not know exactly what you're going through, I wanted to be there for you... I wanted to comfort you."

"I don't need to be comforted."

"But you were so kind to me when we met, and I..."

Abel snorted, which shocked me. He found this to be humorous? How? "It's not a give-and-take kind of thing, Irina. I just genuinely wanted to help you back then."

"As do I now," I refuted. 

Pause. Then, "I know. But this... this isn't what I want. I know you mean well. And I'm sorry, but you can't help me. I need time to figure this shit out by myself." 

"You're probably right..." 

I had stepped over the line. Of course I couldn't comfort him--I didn't even know how. My sloppy approach at friendship had invariably made things worse. Although it pained me immensely to come to that realization, I realized that I would not be able to return his favor; I couldn't pretend to be someone I wasn't--and that was someone who knew how to make others feel better. 

Abel's face turned pale, and he looked so dejected. "Please. If you really care about me, or want to help me... just leave me alone already. Stop pitying me. I can see it in your eyes." 

And as he wheeled himself away, I felt like I had lost him for good. But what could I do? If I intervened, I would hurt him. And if I did nothing, I would hurt him. There was no good solution to the problem. 

Things turned for the worse when after lunch, upon hearing what had happened by the pool, Maria slammed her locker door in pure frustration. 

"Dammit, Irina. This is why I told you to leave him alone, didn't I? You went too far. Why did you have to go and pretend to be something you're not? Why didn't you listen to me? Watching him be like that was painful for me too, but don't you think when I said what I said, I had his intentions at heart too...?" 

When Maria walked away in her fit of anger, too, I felt like I had lost everything. Somehow, I had managed to anger my two only friends in a single day. It felt like I must have extremely bad luck or a bad personality (or maybe both) to be able to do this. 

"Hah..."

For the first time in two years, I felt completely and utterly alone.

[inhumansandwiches]

sorry for the sudden deluge of posts, I'm spring cleaning my likes

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable  ( Jungkook x Oc ) Chapter 9

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3   Chapter 4 Chapter 5   Chapter 6  Chapter 7

Chapter 8 

Chapter 9

“Fuck yeah....” Jungkook’s grip on my thighs tightened, tugging me closer as he slid into me, deeper and i spluttered a bit, spitting water all over him. 

“This is a bad idea. “ i choked, blinking the water out of my eyes as the shower overhead kept pouring a whole deluge on top of us and Jungkook frowned, glancing at me in annoyance. 

“I’m going to  gag you the next time we have sex.” He grunted, pressing me into the tiled wall of the bathroom and I winced when he pulled out fully and rammed back in, clearly pissed. 

I pouted.

“I’m not good with water. “ I whined, eyes still closed because the water, Christ. It dripped into my eyes and all over my body and i couldn’t even enjoy being fucked right now because I was mortally afraid that Jungkook’s hands were going to slip, he was going to drop me on my butt and i was going to break my tailbone.

Jungkook groaned, more frustration than pleasure and gripped my ass harder, holding me up at a better angle and fucking right back into me, slide made easier both from his cum from earlier and the water. 

“Sera, sweetheart...if you could just shut up for a couple of mutes, I’ll be done. And then i swear I will never try to seduce you in the shower again. Ever.” He begged. 

 “  Why can’t you wait till i finish showering? We literally had sex ten minutes ago, why are you so thirsty? ” I glared at him. Or tried to . But I couldn’t .

Because water. 

‘Okay that’s it,” He pulled out, and I hated that sudden emptiness and this was probably going to be a problem, me being used to having him inside me all the time.

He grabbed the back of my knees, prompting me to get down. But my muscles were still a bit too weary he was dripping wet so I slid down a little, panicking. 

 I gripped his shoulders hard, and he laughed, shaking his head at the look on my face. 

“ I won’t drop you, little one. Stop looking petrified.” He chuckled, before carefully unwrapping my thighs from around his waist and lowering me to the floor. 

“You alright?” He brushed the wet hair off my face and I nodded.

“Can we at least kiss in the shower?” 

I laughed. 

“You can kiss me anywhere you want.” i reached out to press my lips against his and pulled back to smile at him, tilting my head as he ran his fingers down my neck, fingers fluttering against my pulse gently. 

“And can I drink from you?” He asked softly and i froze.

The words made me pause. 

“Jungkook...” I whispered, staring at my feet.

 I couldn’t believe he wanted to. 

He knew my secret. Knew that nothing good would come from feeding from me. That my blood in his veins would do nothing but take away his will, and the scent and taste of it all was just a facade. 

That everything about me was a lie. The innocence, the beauty , the delicate build...all a distraction from what I truly was : a dangerous, manipulative being. Someone capable of doing a lot of damage. 

“Please. When I start courting you, I want to be able to feed from you,  angel... It’s how we vampires build our bond. ...”He said gently. 

I laughed without really feeling it. 

“I would never say no to you. You know that....but... you... you know .” I couldn’t finish. 

“What do I know?” He asked gently, running his thumb across my lip. 

“ you know what my blood does to vampires. You know that I can use it against you.”

“But I also know that you  won’t.”  He said simply and I looked up at him.

“I trust you. “ He said simply.  i swallowed.

“Besides, most women would be glad that their husbands are terrified of them.” He chuckled. 

I knew he was joking but I still felt tears sting. 

I couldn’t bear the thought of Jungkook being afraid of me. 

“I won’t ever do it you know. “ I choked out. “ Take away your consent... I’ve never done it on anyone who didn’t deserve it...even with those boys in college , I was just scared that they would attack me again... That they would bite me again and i was bleeding out and I felt so cold...and i was so scared so I just did the first thing I could think of... I never meant to hurt them... I was just so scared and...” I sobbed out and his arms came around me , pulling me into a hug and I felt the tears spill over, soaking his chest as i clung to him.

“Baby...no...please don’t cry...it’s alright.. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have joked about that...I’m sorry Sera....”

“I’m not a monster. “ I whispered. “ Please don’t be scared of me Gukkie... I’d never hurt you or Joowon.... I’m not a monster.. I don’t want to be. I just.. I just wanted to be normal. It’s not my fault I’m the way i am.... ” 

Jungkook pulled back to cup my face between his hands, I bit my lips, another sob building up when I saw how wet his lashes were. 

“Baby look at me...” He smiled, a watery smile , “ I would never think that. I have never for a second considered you as a threat to me or my son.... you’re...”He shook his head, “ Darling, You’re not normal. You’re perfect.” 

“Now you’re just mocking me.” I muttered, looking away. But he made a noise of protest. 

“I’m not joking. You are easily the most generous  person I’ve ever met, Sera... You give so freely of yourself to everyone, whether they are deserving of it or not... You play with the babies , you take Joo Won out on walks and play ball with him, you do things for me even when I push you away and....God,  do you not know how amazing and kind and generous you are???!! “ He kissed me on the lips, hard , before pulling back. 

I stared at him, laughing a little but he wasn’t done.

“ I’ve never seen anyone as selfless as you. . Just the fact that you’ve given me the privilege to be here, hold you like this, tells me how kind and forgiving you are... You gave a bastard like me a chance, even though I did nothing but hurt you, over and over again.... You’re beautiful , So beautiful, my angel..In fact I was going to wait at least till we were out of the shower, but to hell with it.”

I blinked , surprised , when he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before rushing out . I grabbed my own robe, surprised, tying it together before following him out to the bedroom. 

He was fumbling in his closet and I felt my heart drop when I saw the small red box. He opened it easily pulling out a glittering necklace with a pendant and a small vial hanging off it. 

“Is that....?” I couldn’t even say it. 

“My birthstone.  It’s a sapphire. “ He smiled. “ And this vial has my blood. You put this on and anyone who comes near you will know that you’re being courted. By me. “ 

“You ... really? You mean this? You really want this?” I asked , nervous and jittery. 

He hesitated, coming closer and gently pulling my hand up . 

Jungkook placed the necklace on my hand, gently curling my fingers closed.

“Whether you put it on, or not. it’s yours. There’s no one else in this world, I would ever want to give this to.” He smiled softly. 

“How dare you!” I bawled. “ I can’t even take a picture because we’re dressed like this!!” 

He laughed. 

“So, i hope that’s a yes?” 

“Yes, you infuriatingly beautiful, beautifully infuriating bastard....! Put it on me!” 

Still laughing , he plucked the necklace off my hand and moved behind me. I smiled as he locked it in place behind my neck, pressing a small kiss to my skin. 

“Thank you. For giving me the privilege to love you.” He breathed against my skin, wrapping me in a warm hug and i closed my eyes. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. You’re never getting rid of me now.” I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So...I was thinking... .” I began carefully glancing at Jungkook  who stood leaning against the bed post, fiddling with his phone while I ran a brush through my hair  before tying it up into a messy ponytail. He was already  dressed in jeans and a muscle t and I was ogling his nipples through the mirror. Last night, he’d finally let me bite them. 

“Yes, princess?” He smiled indulgently, looking up and running his eyes up and down my body as usual. I loved that. Being with Jungkook had taught me a lot of things about myself. Things I never knew I could enjoy. 

Like dressing up and being looked at . I’d spent a long time hiding in the shadows, wary of who I was, of letting someone see me for what I was. Feeling beautiful was a distant dream because I just didn’t want to be someone dangerous. Didn’t want anyone to look at me and see a monster. 

But standing here, in the comfort of my own room, dressed in a strapless yellow blouse and a flowy white skirt, with his eyes on me, I felt absolutely beautiful. I fixed the necklace around my neck so it shone bright . 

“ its Saturday. Not a lot of kids at the day care center so I don’t have to be there at all... Would the five hundred year old vampire be willing to spend a day indulging the twenty one year old human’s love for cotton candy and tandem bike rides by the river?” 

Jungkook laughed. 

“That’s something Joo Won would come up with. Are the two of you trying to play me again?”

Thwarted, I gave him a pout.

“It’s a beautiful day Jungkook!! Jo o Won loves the river... i took him there with Somi when you you were holed up with my father for two weeks and he had such a good time!! “

“You know...if you’re going to be the parental figure in his life, you need to learn to better resist his puppy dog eyes.” Jungkook said drily. “ Besides, I was hoping it could just be the two of us today. Celebrate  our courtship? “

I frowned. 

“I’m not leaving Joo Won alone... He’ll be bored.” I said firmly.

“Alright...how about you ask him yourself and let him decide?” He suggested with a smile. 

I hesitated , suspicious. 

Alright.

i followed Jungkook downstairs to the huge foyer and  then past the guards to the dining room for breakfast. 

To my surprise, Joo Won sat at the table with my father, both of them dressed in identical outfits. White t shirts, white pants and shoes , digging into toast and eggs. 

“Sera !! Sera!! Grandpa Hwang is taking me fishing!!!” Joo Won seemed to be vibrating out of his skin in excitement and i glanced at Jungkook in shock.

“you planned this.” I protested.

He shrugged.

“It was actually I who suggested it. i intend to get  to know my grandson better.” My father said with a bright smile and I felt the tears sting again as he looked at me, eyes warm and happy. 

“Oh, dad...” I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. 

“You’re glowing my dearest. And what do I smell?” He pulled back, eyes landing on the necklace. “ Ah. Finally plucked up the courage, have you my boy?” 

He gave Jungkook a wink and a grin. 

Jungkook bowed respectfully, smiling. 

“Excellent. Once all this distressing stuff with Tae Kwan is over, we will celebrate your betrothal in a grand manner. For now, let me take my handsome fishing partner and get out of your hair, with the promise to bring you a delicious catch for dinner tonight. Perhaps together? As a family?” My father smiled wide, eyes trained on Jungkook and he went red.

“Yes, sir.”

My father harrumphed.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be calling me...”

I laughed as Jungkook went redder.

“Sorry.. I.. yes father. We will join you for dinner. “ He smiled a genuine smile and my father beamed at him. 

“Excellent....now sit down and let’s eat.” 

We sat next to my father and I remembered the first time my father had invited Jungkook to sit for breakfast with us. 

“Honey, would you like a drink?” i teased, fluttering my fingers against my neck and Jungkook flushed. My father guffawed heartily, highly amused. 

“Ahh yes... that was the morning i realized my daughter was a complete fool for you, Jungkook ah. “ He chuckled. 

“She told me about herself, father.” Jungkook said softly and my father looked surprised. He gave me a smile .

“It is good be honest with each other. I’m glad she did.” He said softly. “You may be overwhelmed by it, Jungkook ah. We have never seen anything like her. I haven’t encouraged her to pursue it because I’m not sure how it would affect her. Her blood is magic....but she herself isn’t. I don’t want her abilities robbing her of her life, especially because we don’t know the true extent of them.” 

I bit my lips.

‘I won’t use them .” I said softly . 

“You shouldn’t. They take a toll on your mind and I don’t ever want to see you in that condition again.” My father said firmly. 

Jungkook gave me a curious glance but I shook my head. 

“Please don’t worry about me father . I have Jungkook now. He’s going to keep me safe. Even though you no longer have to pay him for it.” I laughed. 

My father chuckled. 

We finished breakfast, with Jungkook and my father talking about business while Joo Won told me all the fishes he could name and how their feeding habit varied. He had a great love for books and his birthday was coming up in a few weeks. I had already bulk ordered a bunch of his favorite authors for him. 

When we were finally done, we walked out to the driveway where two cars stood, one to take me and Jungkook out for the day and a golf cart for my father to drive Joo Won down to the lake. 

“We’ll be home for dinner then.” Jungkook gave my father a hug and my father looked positively ecstatic at the gesture. I knew he had always loved him deeply and as Jungkook moved away to tie Joo Won’s shoe laces, I could help but snuggle up to his side. 

“you knew.” I said gently.

My father hummed, ruffling my hair affectionately. 

“Knew what , my dearest?” 

“That I would fall in love with him. You knew and that’s why you brought her here. You love him deeply and you wanted him by your side. To keep him and Joo Won safe.” 

My father smiled.

“you are perceptive. Yes... I have always regarded Jungkook as my son. i wanted him here where I could protect him. And that’s why i brought him here. And i hoped that you would both grow fond of each other....  But it wasn’t because i knew you would fall in love with him.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. It was because I knew  he  would fall in love with  you.” 

I turned to look up at him and he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. 

“ I told you dearest. i will never settle for anything but your complete happiness. And I think that is with Jungkook.” His eyes shifted away and I followed his gaze to where Jungkook was kneeling in front of his son, nuzzling his hair and hugging him tight. 

“They are your family now and I am at peace.” He said softly. 

Jungkook and Joo Won straightened and moved towards us, identical grins on their faces.

“He’s all ready .” Jungkook said softly. 

“Excellent. Come then young master Jeon...let’s go see what treasures the water fairy will bring us today....” My father took Joo Won’s hand and Joo Won’s eyes went wide. Giving me one last kiss on my cheek, my father led him away. 

“The water fairy?”

“Why yes, haven’t you heard of her? come... I’ll tell you all about it.” 

I watched the pair of them walk up to the golf cart on the driveway. 

I turned back to Jungkook smiling and holding my hand out.

“Looks like You get to have me all to yourself today, Jungk-”

The gunshot rang out behind me, right as my fingers brushed Jungkook’s. 

Terror as I’d never known flooded my veins as i froze, eyes trained on Jungkook who was already moving. My fingers shook, breath ripped right out of my lung, blood turning to ice in my veins as I turned around. 

The first thing that caught my eye was the commotion across the lawn, guards subduing a man into the ground, a shot gun lying by his side. 

And as my eyes finally saw the golf cart, I saw my father, slumped over the wheel, soaked in scarlet. 

The scream that got torn out of me was feral.

 My throat in agony as I raced to the vehicle. Joo won was on the floor, between my fathers legs and I realized that he had pushed the child down, covering him with his body right before the gunshot had rang out. 

Jungkook pulled his son into his arms but I could only crawl over to my father, gripping his face as he gurgled, blood flowing out of him in a torrent. 

“Daddy!” i whimpered... “ Oh God..no... Please...” I pressed my wrist to his mouth, but he was too weak to move, the shot gun bullet at such close quarters having left too much damage to his body. i saw the carnage, the blood and the mess and I sobbed in disbelief. 

“We need to get him to the clinic...!!” Jungkook’s arms came around me , pulling me away as men crowded my father, lifting him off the seat and onto a stretcher.  

“Se....ra...” My father’s broken voice made my knees buckle and I shoved Jungkook away, rushing to his side as they wheeled him to the nearest car.

“Daddy..I’m here... I’m right here... I’m going to fix this....we’re going to fix this...you’re going to be okay... Hang on... “ i begged and he chuckled weakly another spurt of blood dribbling down his lips.

“Wanted...to walk you...down ...”He closed his eyes, “the aisle...” 

‘I sobbed out in agony, the pain so heavy and all consuming that i felt like i was being torn to shreds on the inside. 

“You are...You are going to daddy...You’re the only one who can...the only one I have... Oh please God...no...” 

“I love you...”Take care of her, Jungkook-ah...”  He said firmly, eyes blazing red as he stared over me and i realized that Jungkook had followed me, was holding me up as he watched my father die. I saw him reach out and grip my father’s hand squeezing tight. 

“They’ll be fine father. All of them. Rest easy...” Jungkook whispered and I felt my heart crack clean in two. 

 I saw my father’s  eyes grow dimmer and felt hope leave my body leaving ice cold grief in its place. . No.. No...

“Dad...” I stopped crying, shock taking over me as i instinctively realized what was happening. 

He was dying. 

My father was dying. 

His hands went up, touching my face gently. 

“My favorite... “ He smiled weakly  and  I watched the light leave his eye forever. He slumped, softly, his hands falling away and I sagged. Jungkook caught me to his body. 

“I’m so sorry angel.” i could feel the damp of his tears as he cried into my neck. 

 I felt the cold in my heart as the bond between my father an I  pulsed and burned , really bright for one split second before fading abruptly, leaving icy cold behind. 

Screams rang out from all around me, from the windows over head and from across the estate. Somewhere I heard my sister’s roar of rage .

 Somi’s screams followed by Jimin’s sobs. 

Everyone had felt it.

Everyone in the clan had felt the death of the Hwang clan’s leader, shot dead on his own lawn by some traitor who had managed to break his way in 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : I’m so sorry. 

feedback is loved. 

Taglist : 

@ladyartemesia        @veronawrites   @alpaca1612     @bonyg    @unseejuice21  @sppvjj     @ggukkieland     @tae-by-tae      @blr1004      @yoongichild    @stussyjeon  @jellybearo  @sumzysworld   @carolsummerlove@bunniechoon  @unicornbabylover @preciouschimine    @baekhyunatthehaunted-house @craztextae   @nikkiordonez12

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@danietoww04   @ jungoodeewani29  

[patchdotexe]

HI sorry for the sudden deluge of posts i was on break for a bit

uhhh cpuk good. been drawing some nonsense. will probably do an art post after i clean up some pencil sketches / do some more designwork. i am being ridiculous as usual

[whatgaviiformes]

10. Music Makers - Part 5 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

“When words fail, music speaks”

Chapter Summary:  Virgil and Gordon and music

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

You are Here 

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-) 

 The title Music Makers comes from “Ode” by  Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and it is very lovely.

Part Notes: Thanks to @janetm74 and @gumnut-logic by extension for the second opinions on the thing I asked. You know what for; I can be a little on the paranoid side. For music reqs on this one, it’s a mix of quite a few different things- but I’ve been listening to a lot of this album: Endeavor by Christoffer Franzen 

***

Music Makers - Part 5/6

The one advantage to the sudden upheaval in his education was that instead of continuing to grad school, Virgil was able to use his skills for a practical purpose under the tutelage of one of the world’s most brilliant minds; and meeting Brains had been awesome.

It meant that his own blood, sweat, and tears went into the building of the birds. And also very possibly his fury.

It meant he could stay on their island home to help Gordon’s recovery. For all the good it did him. One day the idiot would learn that pushing himself doesn’t make him cool, it makes him stupid.

The last thing he had expected to see when checking in on his brother for the night was him standing. Without assistance, without protection nearby, the walker and the chair both out of reach. Of all the stupid, idiotic –

Words had been exchanged, and not nice ones.

He needed to walk out before he said anything he regretted.

To be fair, welding at 2AM didn’t make him dedicated, it made him equally as stupid. He’d just been so mad, but after an hour or two, the rage had dissipated, and he’d stayed primarily to get the job done.

He’s not too much of a completion-ist, though, to admit when he’s getting tired. His work is sending all that ire right back to him. The angry shower of sparks very much tells him Thunderbird One’s panel does not appreciate his carelessness. One is going to be Scott’s and already she is so like his older brother. He can practically hear Scott telling him to clean up and get some rest before he screws up his baby.

Better listen.

He definitely needs to shower once he gets to his room; the sweat has started to make him itchy, and he feels grimy now that he’s had the time to think about it.  He picks up rag from their supplies with a yawn, and wipes at his face.

Ug. Gross. The dryness in his throat warrants a stop by the kitchen as well for rehydration. He thinks that perhaps the headache he’s had throbbing behind his eyes was actually lack of water and not so much his brother.

Tired as he is, it only takes less than a second for Virgil to notice the prone form on the ground as he walks through the faintly lit lounge on his way to the kitchen. And that dryness in his throat, from earlier is nothing in comparison to the fear lodged in his throat as he chokes out syllables that are supposed to be Gordon’s name as he kneels beside the figure.

His hands are trembling as they reach out to search for a pulse at his neck, and with his other hand he pushes back the strands of golden hair to reveal his brother’s face: pale, flushed cheeks, closed eyes.

Jesus.

Tear streaks.

“Virgil?” Gordon’s voice is groggy, but he stirs underneath Virgil’s hands.

“Gordon! What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” he mumbles. “I’m sleeping.”  

Virgil retracts his fingers sharply and sits back on his heels.

Sleeping.

He was just sleeping. His heart is a jack hammer in his chest, and Gordon was just sleeping.

He sighs as he tries to get his heart rate under control. But then….

“Out here?” It’s a very long distance from Gordon’s bedroom to the lounge, and there’s no sight of his chair. Or his walker.

“I had no choice,” Gordon says weakly, opening an eye to look at his brother. “Good a place as any.”

Virgil’s heart clenches at the pain behind the words. Sleeping, yes, but still hurt, and the lack of movement below him tells him exactly what happened. Gordon had followed him.

Their fight had been hours ago.

He feels his hackles rise again. “Goddamn it, Gordon, this is exactly-”

“Virgil! Not now! Please, not now.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried! You left.”

“You weren’t listening!”

“Shut up, Virgil,” he snaps. “God. Just – I don’t know - go get Brains or something. Leave me alone.”  The biting words quickly turn into a pained cough, a gasp as the spasm hits, and Virgil feels the fight leave him. He reaches out to rest his hand on Gordon’s shoulder blade and hates that his brother flinches at his touch.

“Gordon. I am sorry. Let me help,” he says softly. “I am not leaving you here.”

“Why not?” Gordon responds bitterly. “You did earlier.”

“I know.” It surprises him when he says it, and Gordon’s not innocent either, but he can’t deny that he ran, retreated, and made himself scarce in work that couldn’t be done safely with a phone distracting him. “I know, Gordo.”

“It’s not fair. You can’t just leave when you know I can’t follow.”  Even so, it’s obvious that Gordon still had tried, and it’s a stab to the gut to think about how long his brother had been stuck in the lounge, to realize that he is so used to this level of pain that he can sleep through it. He looks up at him, eyes glazed with pain when he pleads, “Please don’t do it again. Please don’t leave me alone.” Then with a twist of the knife, “You’ve always been the one that stays.”

He is the freaking worst brother in the history of existence.

There’s little Virgil can do in reply but hang his head, as he helps work the kinks out of Gordon’s back, moving slowly towards his lumbar region where multiple surgeries and lingering nanobots have started to rebuild the damage. Gordon’s spine is 40% bone, 50% metal, and 10% nanobots.

Both the surgery and the nanobots were new procedures, and while Gordon’s case was a perfect scenario for the parameters, there was a timetable to be upheld. The nanobots were dispersed into his spine overtime, every two weeks, by way of a large needle. Each injection was a step closer to full recovery.

With nanotechnology, they didn’t know how badly it could wrong, and even Brains had reminded him he had to stick to the approved physical therapy plan if he wanted to keep those nanobots working. A shock to one of their microscopic systems could mean a full failure in their duty to realign a critical nerve. Gordon could ruin everything with his obstinacy.

Virgil had just been afraid for Gordon, afraid to fail when the stakes were so high. He hadn’t meant to leave him. Not like that, not with the gut-twisting wound of betrayal that came with it. Virgil just needed time to process – he always had. His anger was the slow vibration of magma.  It was easier to work through his emotions when he had time to think through them, and he didn’t mind going to bed angry. And if he was still angry in the morning it meant that whatever had transpired, it was worth his frustration.

Gordon, though, pushed and pushed until whatever confrontation was forced to happen in the here and now until his point of view was seen or the matter was resolved.  His anger was fire, a deluge of sparks until you were surrounded. It was never a good combination.

Virgil left before he exploded. Gordon from a year ago would’ve known that.

“Any better?”

“A little,” he nods.

But Gordon is not the kid he was a year ago.

It’s a muscle pain, Gordon admits, a stiffness he knows well. Any damage to his spine – well, that’s a different kind of pain. Even still, they need to check to make sure he didn’t injure himself further, and that it is ok for him to move. He is just going to leave for a second Virgil promises, and he runs to the infirmary for the scanner.

It's programmed to find the status of every nanobot in Gordon’s system and will automatically report back to Brains and the team of doctors on the mainland. The green lights across the image of Gordon’s spine seem promising, and Virgil adds a brief journal entry to send with the timed log: Over-exerted in exercises today, muscle stiffness resulting in spasms and inability to move, but no apparent damage to nanos. Massaged area.  – VT

Just in case, he’d rather have a doctor sign off. He adds:  OK to move?

A message comes back with a ding, indicating it’s from one of Gordon’s doctors in reply.

“So what’s the damage. Am I still one step closer to being a cyborg?”

Virgil is not going to dignify that joke with a response, frowning, but tells him he is okay to move.  They agree on the recliner on the opposite side of the lounge. Virgil helps shift him to his side so that he can be picked up, and he tries to be as gentle as possible with his movements, carefully slipping one arm below Gordon’s knees and the other at his upper back. At the same time, Gordon slings his arm around Virgil’s neck.

They’ve had a lot of practice. Lift from the legs, never the back.

Gordon hisses with the movement and tucks his head into Virgil’s chest.

“What furnace ran you over?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I know. Sorry about the smell. I was welding.”

Gordon grunts in reply as Virgil situates him in the recliner, raising the footrest and lowering the backrest into position. They have a few heating pads around the villa, the closest being in a supply cabinet, but Virgil treks down to Gordon’s room instead for the one that lives there so he can also bring back Gordon’s hoverchair at the same time. Gordon’s not fond of the chair and what it means, but he’ll appreciate the independence it  affords him once he’s feeling better. He’ll be able to come and go as he’s ready.

Gordon nods appreciatively when he sees what Virgil has brought back, and it is with expert hands that Virgil guides the heating pad to Gordon’s lower back. The blond exhales, breathing deeply.

“30 minutes only, Gordo. Set a timer.”  He gives him a thumbs up, but Virgil knows he needs to keep an eye too. Gordon has a habit of just leaving the heat on. “I mean it.”

Water next. Even though the headache behind his eyes has a bit more of Gordon’s name on it now, he is still parched. And Gordon could use some extra fluids too.

He heads to the kitchen and fills up two 32 oz jugs.

“Here you go. Hydrate,” Virgil says when he returns, handing over Gordon’s favorite. He is happy to see Gordon’s small smile at the cartoon llama and motivational phrase: Listen to your llama, drink your water and hold the drama. Virgil has an entire shelf of coffee mugs to express himself. Gordon has water bottles.

It’s such a simple thing, Gordon’s smile. But he’d thought for a long time he’d never see it again.

For a few moments, the dim lounge is quiet save Virgil’s desperate guzzling as the water soothes his dry throat. Finally, some relief.

“You going to slow down there, big guy?”

He shakes his head as he swallows.

This evening was too much.

From the throb of his headache to the prickling in his fingers, Virgil’s body vibrates with the whiplash of the emotions from the past few hours. Exhaustion, anger, fear, anger again, sadness, guilt.

“Do you want to maybe not drown yourself?” Gordon asks. “That’s my job.”

Virgil stops gulping the water with a gasp of air, and the remaining fluid sloshes as the water jug topples out of his trembling hand. Gordon flinches at the loud thump it makes as it hits the hardwood and rolls. Virgil is shell shocked where he stands.  

“Fuck. Not like that,” Gordon corrects quickly. “Shit, sorry. I just meant no one can drown you but me.”

Ah.

“I need to sit.” Virgil falls back to piano bench, dropping his head into hands and rubbing at his eyes.

Too much.  

“A-are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” A pause as Virgil looks up. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

They’ve made a mess of this evening, such terrible things they said to each other in Gordon’s room, and they’re both tired, drained, with maelstroms behind their eyes.

Gordon holds his gaze as Virgil looks away.

Virgil glances over as Gordon looks away.

Beneath fluttering fingertips, Virgil bounces his knee. Gordon closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the heat on his back, on the beat of Virgil’s foot tapping on the floor.

He asks, “Hey Virgil? Can you play something?”

“Yeah,” Virgil breathes. “I can do that.” He had been about to ask Gordon if he minded.

Back poised, Virgil turns away and opens the lid of his baby grand in the moonlight, and he plays, channeling every moment of the night into melodies that speak in ways he knows neither one of them can.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Then again, maybe it is that simple.

[pynkhues]

For the WIP word ask (for GG fic preferably): empty, darling, furious or memory

Ooo, I have one for each of these, anon! Thank you!

GG, Beth x Rio, Parents Group AU

“They ain’t twins,” Rio grunts, lowering Jane gently back to her own mat, in front of the empty spot her mom’s supposed to be. His gaze darts back to where Elizabeth is frantically unpacking the basket on her stroller, trying to find the missing toy for one of her snotty-nosed toddlers, holding up the entire damn class, and just to punctuate the point, he adds: “I don’t even know this kid.”

GG, Beth x Rio, What the Sea Wants 4

“I ain’t your governess, darlin’, and I definitely ain’t your lord husband,” he bites, the words sudden, and Beth can only stare, the fleeting image shattered as she watches Rio drop his hands and roughly do up the buttons of his shirt as he starts back across the cabin towards her. “I ain’t got time to hold your hand so you can play at a title you ain’t got anymore. Now, move over.”

GG, Beth x Rio, Warm in the Fire of Us Part 3: Master of Anticipation

There’s something furious to the way she kisses him then, her body hot, her grip hard in the back of his shirt, the edge of her canine sharp as it pierces his bottom lip.

And just one little Succession one too, sorry, haha, from my post-s3 Naomi x Tabitha fic

But that’s the thing – reality is slower than memory, and so when she remembers it, it’s like it happened all at once. This deluge of shit from the asshole of life, a torrent, a tempest, whatever. It doesn’t matter, because what Naomi remembers is her life on fire, any marker of time swallowed up by the relentlessness of every undying ember, every stream of smoke, every bit of kindling stoked at her feet.

Send me a word and if it's in a WIP, I'll post the sentence (or two) that it's in!

[jacksgreysays]

For fake title: still waters (run deep) character: Shisui and or theme: Uzushio

The fisherman doesn't look surprised when Shisui arrives, not by the suddenness of his appearance or his age or the fact that, excepting the crow on his shoulder, he is entirely alone. No, the fisherman is not surprised, but that doesn't mean he's relaxed either: a large man, nearly two heads taller than Shisui with muscle honed through hard work. But it is a civilian level strength. For all that the fisherman is accustomed to shinobi, he is no match for one.

"You're headed to Uzushio, huh?" the fisherman says, less a question than an accusation without any heat.

"Yes, I am" Shisui answers anyway with a polite sort of cheer; there is a reason why he's the one being sent to Uzushio and not one of his cousins. "Tazuna-san said you're the best at navigating the whirlpools."

The fisherman gives him a skeptical glance which is fair. What Tazuna actually said was that if Shisui was fool enough to go to Uzushio, then this particular fisherman would at least make sure Shisui's fool head didn't get dashed on the rocks of the shore.

But the fisherman shrugs, accepting enough, and tilts his head at a small wooden boat tied to the dock with nets bulging with fish. "That one's mine. Are you in a rush? Because I have to get these to the monger first."

"No, I can wait," Shisui says, because that's the polite thing to do and if this fisherman is his best way to Uzushio then its worth waiting for... except, as Kansoku reminds him with a sharp tug on his hair, he is actually kind of in a rush. Shisui is a shinobi, so of course he's smelled worse, and so he doesn't wrinkle his nose at all when he offers, "Would you like some help? Four hands are faster than two."

"Alright, kid, I'll take you up on that." The fisherman's expression lightens into a wide, friendly smile and Shisui who can't help himself, returns it with one of his own. The fisherman introduces himself, "You can call me Kaiza."

---

A few weeks ago, Hidden Rain broke their decades-long silence with increasingly concerning news:

Hanzo the Salamander long dead.

A heretofore unknown organization leading the village.

Active recruitment and retainment of various S-rank shinobi.

A grudge against one Shimura Danzo, former council member of Hidden Leaf.

One year--maybe even as little as a month or two previous--would have made this the most momentous occasion in international shinobi politics since the last world war.

Unfortunately, it only just barely makes top three in the past year.

---

"So, kid," Kaiza says as they're coasting over the waves at a clip much faster than Shisui would have thought possible for the small wooden boat, "You're from Leaf, right?"

"Yes." It's literally on his forehead and more straightforward than some of the other villages' symbols, but Shisui gives him the benefit of the doubt. Kaiza is a civilian, after all. And to be fair, some of the Uchiha elders were considering changing it to match the new regime, but Fugaku-san--sorry, Hokage-sama, Shisui's still getting use to it--felt it would be best to at least try to maintain a semblance of stability.

He doesn't know if news of Konoha's turmoil has reached this far. Or if the people of Wave even care. They certainly didn't bat an eye at Shisui's questions of their new neighbor--old neighbor? returned neighbor?--all incurious shrugs and silence or entertaining but unhelpful tall tales.

"Have you ever met another shinobi?" Shisui asks conversationally, though he already knows the answer to that question. "Am I your first shinobi passenger?"

"I've seen a few Mist ninja from a distance. A very far distance, thankfully," Kaiza responds, casual and earnest; Shisui sees no reason to doubt him. "Never had a ninja join me sailing on my boat before, though. Not one that helped me unload my haul. You're a good kid." 

Shisui has killed more men than there had been fish wriggling in those nets. He appreciates the sentiment anyway. Kaiza is an honest sort of man, Shisui is glad to have met him.

He could use more straightforwardness in his life.

---

The Mist Rebellion overthrew the Yondaime Mizukage after an almost tidy public assassination and thirty six hours of civil war with minimal casualties.

Terumi Mei, newly coronated Godaime Mizukage, only mentions the "grace and goodwill of allies." Neither of those words particularly apply to the surly looking Momochi Zabuza standing two steps back and one step to the right of her, but if there is another ally in the works they're not claiming the limelight.

Hidden Mist has always been a tumultuous village. Tidiness aside, nothing was surprising about it.

---

It's strange.

When Shisui pictured Land of Whirlpools, he had a vague idea mostly cobbled together from the grey, cloudy skies of Mist, or the eternal deluge of Rain, or even the foggy, sepia tones of Wave.

He was not expecting clear skies almost impossibly blue and lush treetops tall enough to rival the forests of Konoha. The beach is pink.

It's vibrant. It's strange. There's a giant chakra turtle monster happily splashing in the shallows, waving tendrils in their direction as a greeting.

The sharp jagged rocks and erratic whirlpools between them and the shore are real, at least, so Shisui hasn't been completely fooled, but from the wry, almost apologetic smile on Kaiza's face, Shisui's not great at hiding his hurt.

Kaiza pulls out a decorative coin--what Shisui had thought was some kind of superstitious fisherman charm that he'd touched before they set sail from Wave--and passes his thumb along the surface. After a moment or two, the swirling slows, the water calms, and the passage is traversable. A small figure appears on the pink beach. The giant chakra turtle monster reaches a gentle tendril out and is metaphorically met half way by an arm absolutely minuscule in comparison.

"Don't worry, kid," Kaiza says reassuringly. It's the kind of statement that would be accompanied with a clap on the shoulder, but whether the fisherman can sense Shisui's betrayal or, more likely, he's been around more shinobi and knows better, he keeps his distance. "Tazuna vouched for you and you didn't even get mad when the monger threw a fish at you and said it was a cultural tradition."

Kansoku had been less than pleased and Shisui's shirt still smells like fish. 

"You'll be fine. She'll like you."

---

There is an oasis in Land of Wind. An earthquake in Land of Hot Springs caused the controlled collapse of a temple and new arrangements of the surrounding town's infrastructure. A dilapidated and forgotten shrine in the outskirts of Land of Fire was completely relocated across the ocean. Only the first has any sort of influence on shinobi politics and even that has more to do with the Yondaime Kazekage's sudden attitude adjustment than anything else.

But the revival of a nation thought long dead with the power to back it up?

Well, even if Konoha is still struggling to cobble together a government, it's the sort of occasion to send one of their best and brightest as an ambassador even if there's no firm idea what might be on the other end of the journey.

---

"Hello, Uchiha Shisui of Hidden Leaf," says the girl on the shores of Land of Whirlpools. Somehow, even with the grown man twice his size and the giant chakra turtle monster, she's the scarest thing on the beach.

Which is still bafflingly, vibrantly pink.

"I heard you were asking questions about Uzushio," she says, with a smile as dangerous and beautiful as the land she's made her home. "Let's talk."

~

A/N: Sometimes, you’re in a writer’s block and a prompt just punches you into the right headspace. Thank you, damnsmartblueboxes. (You know I have so many Uzushio feelings, how dare you! :D)

If anyone wants to ask me questions about this, please do. Please.

Oh, but I should clarify here: this was written intending to be in a post-Split Gardens!verse. But if you’re reading this you probably have already read some of the Gardens!verse stuff so...

Also, yes, Kaiza is the fisherman who would’ve been killed by Gato and now kinda works for Shikako as a more active and less suspicious Sazanami from the Land of Stone Arc. I mean, kinda all of Wave works for Shikako? But in a much more benevolent way than that might imply. They’re fond of their weird neighbor with her giant chakra turtle monster.

(Also, also, yes, Tetsuki Kaiza does get her name from this Kaiza though in the Naruto world she actually never has the name Kaiza. She goes from orphan Tetsuki no-family-name to either Tetsuki Utsugi or Agent Shu. Depending on how fucked her situation is)

Also, also, also: Ask Box Advent Calendar 2020!

[kurowrites]

Anytime

So, I saw this post and @sarah-yyy‘s tags, and since I’m a dumb person with the attention span of a goldfish, I completely forgot about all my other projects and wrote this instead.

So have Wei Ying owning a car, and Lan Zhan being very, very weak for that smile. Enjoy.

---

The first time it happened, it was… not necessary, perhaps, but certainly welcome.

Lan Zhan stood just outside the large central entrance of the library, barely shielded from the downpour by its projecting roof. The weather broadcast this morning hadn’t announced rain, so Lan Zhan had rode his bicycle to university as he usually would. While he had been studying in the library, however, the weather had changed from partially sunny to what some might be tempted to call the precursor to the apocalypse, and he had missed his chance to return home unscathed. The library would close soon; returning inside wasn’t an option. Neither was riding his bicycle home in this deluge. He could only wait, and maybe call his brother if the bad weather persisted.

He had just made peace with the thought that he would be standing there for a while when someone bumped into his side. Taken by surprise by the sudden physical contact, he swung around, stepping back, but what he found... was Wei Ying, smiling up at him with his usual incandescent grin.

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying had shared exactly one class in their first year of university, but ever since then, Lan Zhan had been unable to escape the acquaintance. Had eventually given up trying to escape the acquaintance, submitting to the inevitable.

It didn’t help that Wei Ying’s happy smile always made his knees weak. Wei Ying was loud and obnoxious, but Lan Zhan would gladly take that loud and obnoxious if it came in combination with that smile. The one that Wei Ying always used on him.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed happily. “Fancy meeting you here! Are you going home?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

When he didn’t move, but simply kept staring out at the falling rain (in an attempt not to stare at Wei Ying for too long), Wei Ying’s smile turned into a frown.

“Ah,” he said, concern now tingeing his voice. “You forgot your umbrella, huh? Not that it will help you much today. It might break in this weather before you’ve made it as far as the next building.”

Lan Zhan had expected Wei Ying to leave after he’d made his customary greeting, but a moment later, he bumped into Lan Zhan again.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Want me to give you a ride? I have a car!”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth to decline politely, but Wei Ying was already pulling on his arm.

“Look!” He pointed through the heavy rain, though Lan Zhan couldn’t see what he was pointing at. “My car is right over there. If we run, we can make it!”

And with that, he ran out into the rain, pulling Lan Zhan after him.

It was a mad scramble to reach the car relatively unscathed, and Lan Zhan was panicking about the contents of his bag all the while, but eventually they made it, only halfway drenched. They jumped into the car and slammed the doors shut as fast as they could, not caring about anything but getting out of the rain. For a moment, they just sat there in the front seats, breathing heavily as the rain kept pounding onto the windshield. Suddenly, Wei Ying laughed, shook himself, and inserted the key into the ignition.

“That was something, huh, Lan Zhan?” he asked between his laughter. “Look at us, two rats drowned in a storm.”

He shot a look at Lan Zhan.

“You still look as handsome as ever though. That’s so unfair. Do you ever suffer from the phenomenon known as human condition?”

Lan Zhan didn’t bother to reply to that, but privately, he thought that Wei Ying too looked as handsome as ever. The wet hair and drenched jeans added something to his look. It was... Lan Zhan quickly averted his eyes.

“Come on, Lan Zhan, tell me something fun,” Wei Ying continued, not cowed by Lan Zhan’s unresponsiveness. “Is there a time of the day where you don’t look perfectly put together? I’m asking out of scientific interest.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said in warning.

Wei Ying laughed again, more quietly this time, put the car in reverse, and skilfully manoeuvred out of his parking spot.

“You can’t blame me for my curiosity, Lan Zhan. Can’t you help a fellow man out?”

“There is nothing for me to help out,” Lan Zhan replied. It was, after all, the truth. Wei Ying was already handsome enough. Beautiful enough. Attractive enough. Bewitching enough. There was nothing that Lan Zhan could do to improve that.

“Ouch, Lan Zhan, that stings!” Wei Ying said dramatically. “I know I am a scruffy, feeble man, but do you have to say it like that?”

That was certainly not what Lan Zhan had meant. He opened his mouth to reply, but Wei Ying shot him a teasing look.

“Careful, Lan Zhan,” he warned him with more laughter in his voice. “If you aren’t nice to me, I’ll leave you on the roadside, drowned rat or not. See if someone else will pick you up in this weather.”

Wei Ying would never do that, Lan Zhan knew, but he didn’t want to risk insulting Wei Ying by accident a second time. He kept his silence.

“Honestly, Lan Zhan, I had figured you’d own a car. Your family is certainly rich enough for it. “

“Unnecessary,” Lan Zhan replied. “Uncle is strict about protecting the environment.”

“Ah, I see, I’m an evil polluter then,” Wei Ying laughed, shifting gears. “Sorry. I swear the car is necessary, or I’d never make it to university.”

“It was not a judgement.”

“I know that, Lan Zhan, I know that.”

He quickly patted Lan Zhan’s knee, probably to express that he wasn’t angry, but the gentle touch robbed Lan Zhan of his breath. Wei Ying had touched him again. This was the fourth time tonight.

Not that he was counting.

Silence settled over the car, only interrupted by the unceasing sound of pounding rain, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Being with Wei Ying was never uncomfortable, unless one considered Lan Zhan’s inappropriate feelings.

One day, he would learn better than that.

One day.

From time to time, Lan Zhan gave the necessary directions, and before long, they arrived at their destination. The rain had grown slightly weaker by now, though definitely still not enough to risk going home by bicycle.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said into the silence of the car as it idled at the side of the road. “I’ll see you at university.”

“Anytime, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying folded his arms and leaned on the steering wheel as he smiled at Lan Zhan, a Cheshire grin as if he was letting him in on a secret. “I’m always happy to drive you around.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say or where to look, so he simply bowed his head once before he opened the door and dashed to the entrance of his apartment building, his bag of papers clutched to his chest to shield it from the rain.

That had been the first time Wei Ying drove Lan Zhan home, and, Lan Zhan assumed, the last time, as well.

He was wrong about that.

 ---

It wasn’t a big difference to take public transportation to university the next morning, though Lan Zhan missed his customary bike ride. The public transport took longer and he’d never particularly liked being surrounded by so many people at once. Still, he arrived at the university in good time and went on with his day as he usually would.

He didn’t see Wei Ying that day and returned with his own bicycle in the evening. He banned all thoughts of Wei Ying and moved on. It was useless to dwell on it. It had been a favour, and Wei Ying was simply a good person for making sure Lan Zhan made it home safely in a rainstorm.

Three days later, when he was leaving the library, someone bumped into him again. This time, he didn’t startle, but simply turned around, and there he was: Wei Ying. He looked good in his usual black leather jacket and high ponytail, smiling up at Lan Zhan with that particular smile of his that seemed fine-tuned to make him weak.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying greeted, repeating his words from last time. “Fancy meeting you here! Are you going home?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Well, in that case, let me give you a ride again, okay? You were such a good customer last time.”

And just like last time, Wei Ying took his hand and led him over to the parking area, and Lan Zhan, smitten fool that he was, followed without complaint.

During the drive home, Wei Ying chattered on about his day, about his siblings, about the horrible dog he had seen the other day; about anything his brain would settle on for a moment, it seemed. Lan Zhan enjoyed the chatter, offering quiet, encouraging noises for him to continue from time to time. Before he knew it, they were already home.

“Thank you again, Wei Ying,” he said when Wei Ying stopped the car.

“Anytime, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied with a smile.

Lan Zhan’s bicycle had been left at university again, but that didn’t matter. Not when he had found a way to spend time with Wei Ying, just the two of them on their own.

 ---

The next day, Lan Zhan found a notice from the university tacked onto his bike to not leave it at university at night, or it would be towed.

We-ll, he thought to himself, this was a sign that he should stop accepting rides from Wei Ying.

And yet, when Wei Ying asked him the next time, he let himself be guided to the parked car by Wei Ying’s hand, and he sat next to Wei Ying during the ride thinking to himself that he had to go back and pick up his bike later on. It was a waste of time, and yet he found himself incapable of rejecting Wei Ying’s offer.

“Lan Zhan, my neighbour got pet rabbits,” Wei Ying excitedly told him. “They are so cute, I tell you. I could eat them, they are so cute.”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Not food.”

“I know, I know. Have you never seen anything so cute that you’ve wanted to eat it?”

You.

The thought came unbidden, and it startled him. He felt his ears burn at the thought, but luckily, Wei Ying kept his eyes on the road.

This time, he stifled a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at their destination. He felt like he was losing his mind. Wei Ying was too much.

“Thank you again, Wei Ying,” he said out loud.

“Anytime, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied with a smile.

Returning to university to pick up his bicycle was a waste of time, but he had to do it.

It was also so, so worth it.

 ---

Lan Zhan’s new habit of letting Wei Ying drive him home, returning to university, and driving home again continued for a while. It was fine, he told himself. He wasn’t hurting anyone with it. Except for himself. Keeping his desperate hope up that Wei Ying could ever see him as more than the person he sometimes drove home after seeing him at the library.

It was fine.

Like all good things, however, it had to end at some point. The end came unexpected.

Wei Ying had driven him home that day as usual, talking about his neighbour’s rabbits and how much they had grown since they had first arrived. As usual, Lan Zhan had thanked Wei Ying before he’d gotten out of the car, and Wei Ying had replied, “Anytime.”

As usual, he had returned to university to pick up his bike. Before he could pick it up at the parking area, however, he had run straight into Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed with surprise. “Didn’t I just drop you off at home? Did you forget something? Do you want me to drive you back?”

“I– Wei Ying is still at university?” Lan Zhan asked, confused.

“Ahahaha yeah, funny story that, I forgot I still had a meeting to go to!”

Was it just him, or did Wei Ying seem strangely nervous?

“Forget, my ass, you’re just trying to avoid your responsibilities,” Jiang Cheng groused.

“Hey! I had important stuff to do!”

“Oh yeah? What’s the oh-so important stuff you had to do? Every Thursday, you say you have important stuff to do and end up being late, but you evade answering what that ‘important stuff’ is.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flickered over to Lan Zhan for a moment, before they settled on Jiang Cheng again, teasing whim while simultaneously trying to appease him without actually answering the question.

Something stuck in Lan Zhan’s mind. Thursday.

Thursday was generally the day that Wei Ying would catch him at the library and drive him home. Thursday was apparently also they day on which Wei Ying had meetings which he was late for regularly.

Wei Ying shot him another look, his cheeks tinged red. He looked… panicked.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I came to pick up my bicycle,” he said.

In a moment, Jiang Cheng was forgotten. Wei Ying’s attention was all on Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan! You commute by bicycle? I didn’t know!”

“You never asked.”

“Oooh, shit, you are right! Oh man, I’m so sorry! You were too nice to say anything! I feel so bad now!”

“I did not mind.”

Wei Ying stopped and looked at him with big eyes.

“I did not mind… Wei Ying driving me home.”

There was a punctuated moment of silence between them. Lan Zhan was quite sure Jiang Cheng was frowning somewhere in the background, but he could not attend to that now.

Slowly, understanding dawned in Wei Ying’s eyes.

He took one step ahead.

Then another one.

Then he latched onto Lan Zhan’s wrist.

Squeezed once, and smiled when Lan Zhan’s hand turned around to hold onto Wei Ying’s wrist, too. They were almost holding hands.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying quietly said, looking at their hands and then up at Lan Zhan’s face. Looking at their hands again, holding onto each other. “Next time… let me pick you up in the morning.”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed. His ears burned, but he wouldn’t let go now.

(“Not with me in the car!” Jiang Cheng shouted from somewhere behind them. But Lan Zhan couldn’t be bothered, because he was currently faced with something far more devastating. Wei Ying’s smile, while he had thought it impossible, had just managed to grow so impossibly bright he had to close his eyes. He couldn’t look, or he might go blind by the sheer force of it. Still, he looked. The damage was worth it, he thought. That smile was sure to burn itself onto his soul, and he could not find it inside himself to regret that the slightest bit.)

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

since you've been writing a lot of spn stuff- can i request something with hands, autumn, & raphael. if not its ok!!!

My lovely, it is more than okay, and it is my pleasure. I hope you enjoy!

Patient eyes regarded darkening skies, glancing surreptitiously for the first flickers of lightning, counting each second between one breath of thunder and the next. The heavens were dancing in the fading violets of the setting sun, twinkling with their robust bedazzlement of stars. But the creeping greys and navies drew ever nearer, an ominous formation promising devastation should its warnings not be heeded. You took another sip of your drink, eyes slipping shut against the threat drawing nearer and nearer. Goose flesh rose on your arms as the barometric pressure continued to drop, electricity a near tangibility in the air. Still, you paid no mind, rather distracted by the delightful mixture of warmed spices harmonizing on your tongue before steadily making their way to settle within the cockles of your heart. The first hissing droplets of rain against the concrete made you pause, lowering your cup. Your eyes remained shut however, keenly listening to each huff of the wind, each furious growl of thunder. There was a righteous fury to this storm, rapidly centering itself around the small pavilion in which you had claimed temporary sanctuary. A small irritation of your own began to swell, enough to remove the contentment from your lips, eyes opening to narrow slits as you beheld the chaos beyond the wooden structure. Leaves formerly splattered in scarlets and golds and blazing siennas had been cast into murky waters, all vibrancy overwhelmed by the melancholic ferocity tossing them about in a whirlwind. Soft illumination from antiquated lanterns was subdued to dimmed pallor, spectral shifts shimmering against near impenetrable shadow. Somewhere nearby, but beyond line of sight, a tree creaked as it succumbed to the wind, the echo lost to the relentless chaos of the storm. Mild irritation grew into surging irascibility, cup set onto the wooden planks of the tabletop beneath you as you stood on the bench, devoid of any of the carefree optimism that had been so abundant earlier in the evening. "You can cut the theatrics; I'm not going anywhere!" Your words could have been nothing more than a bee's wing brushing against a flower petal, the shift of a spider's leg as it perfected another layer of its web; your proclamation was near unintelligible when faced with the terrible volume from the storm. But between the small shift in the direction of the wind and the answering roar of thunder- loudest of all- your confidence grew. Resolute, you leapt from your post, striding to the edge of your shelter, a feral smile crossing your lips with bitter abandon, doing well to hide the first twists of anxiety deep within your gut. You had worked so hard to create this confrontation, and now when presented with the grim reality of your circumstances, fear was worming its way through you, whispers from Panic tracing against your neck, her loathsome ally Doubt curling her fingers against your spine. Determined, you ignored those annoying agents of Chaos, stepping forward into the deluge. The first strike of lightning hit scarcely meters away, flash temporarily blinding you, crack deafening and shaking the ground beneath you. Reflexive instinct had you stumbling away, trying to shield yourself against the effects far too late. When your vision faded from jaded blue and thistle-tinted spots, phantasmal remnants of staring down the fulmination, you were at last able to truly cast your gaze upon your companion. Seething fury pooled around her, rage reflecting in the spark of her eyes. The shadow of a dozen wings played on the ground and in the canopy above you, shifting with each twist of the wind. Revulsion marred her features, the detestation eliciting a trace of contriteness deep within your chest. “Tell me why I shouldn’t smite you here and now.” The command was issued with all the potent magnificence of any Celestial, sparking trepidation deep within your soul. She towered over you, looming magnificence and vengeance mere moments from annihilation. Familiar blue danced in her eyes, a visceral reminder of how furious she truly was. But you had picked up on the plea within her decree. Shrouded beneath epochs of steadfast detachment was someone who felt so deeply, so thoroughly, that they had concealed themselves eons ago beneath a stern exterior, beneath a visage of a calculating strategist and general. The image was so strong, so consuming, she scarcely seemed aware of it herself sometimes. It was in those more intimate moments however when you began to read her, peering into the complexities of each mask she adorned. And in this moment, it was clear to see that beneath her fury, beneath her scorn, there was a searing pain in every movement she was making; more than all else, Raphael felt you had betrayed her, and that single sting of knowledge was more than sufficient for your gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry." Your placating tone did nothing to calm her, pulchritude somehow magnified through her scathing gaze. Encouraged by her lack of reply however, you took a cautious step forward, continuing your explanation. "I knew going to him would hurt you, and I still did it. You have every right to be pissed at me." "There are no words known to man in this world or the next to express-" There was a pause, a flicker of a scowl as she turned away from you, blue fading from her eyes as she surveyed the nearby trees. "You cut me deeply." Perhaps it was some remnant of stubborn indignation, or perhaps it was the inability to keep the passing thought contained, but Amara-help-you, the bite passed through your lips before you could restrain yourself. "At least the feeling's mutual." It was barely a breath, scarcely a coherent thought. Yet still she heard it, the words rippling through her wings as if she had been physically struck by them. Affronted gaze once more pinned you in place, the hairs along your nape rising in the face of thrumming electricity. "How dare you." She may have shouted or perhaps she had whispered; the hubris coating each syllable ate away at you, gnawing you in the ceaseless reminder that you were nothing compared to her. It was a logic that for years you had abided by, treading carefully alongside the ragtag collection of Hunters and Hosts, guarding your words and thoughts from Monsters and Malevolents alike. But much like the gods and goddesses of old, you had come to discover the immortals who walked the Earth were just as flawed as Humanity; you refused to display even a fraction of your fear in the face of her fury. "How dare I?" Memories assaulted you, vivid recollections of the hours spent raiding any literature you could find, the desperate summons to lesser Celestials, to Demons, to Pagans, to Fey, those excruciating evenings spent yearning for her presence, praying and cursing and crying into the darkest hours of the night. "How dare you!" Fervent prayers had proved useless, anxieties tying into fears and a dark web of self-doubt, eating away at your spirit. Desperation had left you precariously balanced on a precipice that surely would have damned you, had not one of the Archangels- the most unexpected- come to guide you back home. She had broken the oaths she made to you, disappearing from your side with no warning, no indications that she planned on returning. Having offered her your very soul, your every heartbeat, every inch of devotion- You had expected more care than what had been provided. Her touch had been so alien, her sweetest nothings oft hovering on the cusp of disturbing. But her love had been clear, her adoration shining as she watched you create, fondness blinding whenever you were lost in debate. She gave no indication of discontent, the warmongering visage that she brazenly wore crumbling to that of the Healer- curious, warm, and so full of life and light and hope and love that you could scarcely breathe around her. You had had no doubts of her affections, but her abandonment- Moisture stung your eyes, the yearning for those halcyon days depleting whatever pride you had been trying to maintain. Ferocity in your gaze, yet once more you turned to face her. "You abandoned me, Raphael." Your words sparked no form of reaction within her, nothing beyond the roiling rage radiating within her burnished orifices. "And still, you dared t-" "I did what I had to!" You spared her no mercy, once again stepping nearer, interrupting her condemnation before it could be truly vocalized. "We- I needed you." There was a flash of realization, so brief and sudden that had you not known her so well- not known by your own heartbeat the rhythm of her Grace, not known by memory the very slope of her eyes, not known by your very spirit the sensibilities within her- you surely would have missed the remorse reflecting in her eyes. "I needed you, Ra'phael. And you weren’t there.” The storm continued to rage all around you, fierce gale tossing loose twigs and leaves and rubbish from the nearest bins into a wall of relentless fury. Another flash of lightning electrified the air, the shadow of her wings nearly intimidating with their breadth. But you were long past the point of fear, beyond coercion. The very starlight that shimmered through her veins was as intimately familiar to you as the callouses on your own hands, and despite the severity of the storm around you- Not a drop of water had reached you, and only a few stray whispers of wind teased your eyelashes. For how angry you were, a sliver of hope embedded itself into your heart, a yearning to move past your own damnable pride now that you finally had her attention again. Her next words however, a low undercurrent of tension that echoed deep in your bones, forcefully smothered the flicker before it could fully begin to burn. “You forget your place, Oracle. I am not some pet,” she spat out, hauteur coating each syllable, grinding against your resolve. Raphael’s scowl, bitter expression coated in disdain, ate at your confidence, making you feel all that more insignificant in her presence. “I am the Wind and Skies. I am Majesty and Divinity; you are nothing more than an exiguous assemblage of quintessence.” The intensity of her proclamation- searing lightning, sharp tempest- wedged itself into your chest, corporeal reaction just as palpable as it would have been had she chosen instead to drive her halberd directly into your heart. This was not the being who had whispered stories of Creation into the pale hours of the morning, not the begrudging ally you had welcomed with equal wariness, the entity who you had come to see as so much more than a Primordial Agent of God. She used to smile for you, laughed with you. Aggrieved and enduring what felt a betrayal, your arms folded together in an attempt to shield yourself from further agony. Turning away from her, you nearly missed the transition in her expression, almost missed the pain in her own eyes. It was scarcely a flicker, but it was enough to give you pause, eyes narrowing in accusatory suspicion as she once more began to speak. “I have one final question for you, Oracle.” You had barely acknowledged her approach until she was standing right in front of you, wings folding away into their own stratum, features vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. She was fully unguarded, all traces of anger fallen from her frame, the crisp autumn air teasing loose strands of her hair. But it was her eyes- Timeless, boundless, beguiling in ways you could never even hope to describe- Her eyes drew you in, weaving into your curiousity, tugging so slightly at the tiniest shred of faith you had stubbornly clung to, hope having refused to retreat entirely. “How is it that someone so infinitesimal has so thoroughly ripped my plenary existence asunder?” Many of her English expressions were significantly outdated, but it was a rarity these days for her words to leave you completely befuddled. “What?” Her lips curled, a soft, achingly familiar smile creasing her features. There was a slight trace of mirth sparkling in her eyes, as well as some other unnamed emotion you didn’t dare wish for. You couldn’t look away even if you had longed to; the simple truth was that you were still spellbound by her presence, captivated by every motion. And that soft, gentle, affectionate smile- You hung your head in shame, desperately wishing you could cling to your anger, could somehow rid yourself of this depthless yearning. Her hand rose slowly, as if she were approaching a startled animal. The movement in your peripheral had you instinctively take a step back, once more studying the Archangel, now with far more confusion. “What it means, mi praevideat, is that I forgive you, and I apologise for departing without proper explanation.” Her words had only just reached you, spoken so softly that they nearly were lost to what remained of the breeze. You stared dumbly at her, doubting your own senses. It was inconceivable; Raphael was just as proud as her siblings, in many ways even more so. For her to be expressing any form of remorse- The light from one of the lanterns reflected in her eyes, the shifting shadows tugging you away from your suspicious rumination. You allowed yourself the diversion, taking a moment to study the eyes you had drowned in countless times before. Shifting axinite and bronze, and always that faint flicker of beryl- They were a cacophony of colour, ringing with a whole symphony of emotion. Doubt clung to you, your eyes narrowed as you tried to detect any insincerity from the Archangel. But her posture was tranquil, hands extended slightly from her sides in mimicry of a gesture you yourself had made thousands of times before. She was truly offering her atonement, truly regretted ever harming you. That simple asseveration was sufficient enough to pacify what had remained of your insecurities. Raphael sensed your crumbling barricades before you yourself could even begin to acknowledge them, meeting you directly, steering you safely into the harbour of her embrace. "I'm sorry," breathed tenderly against your temple, cautious fingers tracing new paths through your hair. You sighed, trying to continue grasping the threads of your anger, the fading traces of former anguish. But the memories were hazing away, all aching and suffering retreating under the Healer's tender supervision, adrenaline ebbing away with each breath. There was a moment when the atmosphere around you shifted, the cooled night air replaced with the glowing warmth of a candlelit room, torrential downpour replaced by the gentle medley of droplets against ancient windowpanes. Sometime in the hazy, blissful moments that followed, you had found yourself lying on a bed, the familiar hints of somnolence creeping ever closer. You had never dared to hope for anything beyond a few moments, had not dared to dream of the possibility you could weather the storm together. Your fingers drifted languidly across her back, pausing over each scar, every rise and fall of bone beneath her skin. You brushed aside stray feathers as you explored, giving into the inescapable smile at being bequeathed this vulnerability. An austere prayer of gratitude slipped past your subconscious, the smallest hint of praise to the most rebellious of Angels. You had to give the Devil his due; Lucifer still knew the exact words to prompt his kin into action. "It's highly impolite-" A drowsy voice interrupted your chain of thoughts, drawing your focus back to Raphael’s visage. Satisfied she had your attention, her eye closed once more, a small hint of bemusement coating her words. "-that you're thinking of my brother right now." Guilt summoned a wince from you, one you quickly shoved aside, favoring instead to fall once more to the empty space beside her, patient eyes taking in every crease, every pore, every millimetre of perfection to your beloved's physique. Surrender was a word neither of you would ever dare speak, but as you allowed yourself to relax in Raphael's embrace, your heavy eyes drifting gently over umber wings still sparkling with residual energy, you accepted the irrefutable truth of your circumstances. You had fallen irrevocably for an Archangel. And somewhere, only just piercing the cusps of whim and fancy, as you succumbed to the steady crescendo of slumber's sirenous strains, the lingering scents of cinnamon and petrichor drizzled softly on a breeze sighing: I love you, too. 

[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x F!Reader) [Ch. 3] [FINALE]

hi!! well, this is it. the final chapter of operation confession. to be very honest, with everything going on it was quite difficult to write this, but i hope the quality is still relatively the same as my previous chapters! i had so much fun writing this series, and i hope reading it was just as entertaining! thank you so much for sticking with it-- it means the absolute world to me :)

this will prob be my last post for a bit before i head off to college; please rest assured i do not plan to leave this blog or this wonderful community anytime soon! thank you for being patient with me as i adjust to this very new chapter of my life!!

without further ado, please enjoy ch. 3!

~*~

“Hey, false alarm!” Sylvain traipsed back in, hands behind his head. “(F/N) and Felix are actually gonna freshen up a bit before heading to dinner.”

Groans and angry huffs spilled out of the frazzled Lions; the menacing stares that the redhead bore made him squeak, and he cleared his throat.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry! They ran into us while His Highness was changing--”

“While he was changing?” Dedue and Ingrid looked like they were about to have a stroke.

“I-It’s a long and,” Sylvain looked at The Hand, “painful story, but what’s important is that they didn’t see him! All thanks to Yours Truly.”

“You were a blubbering idiot. The only reason why (F/N) didn’t bother questioning you further was because she was too tired to care.” Felix joined in, the permanent scowl on his features deepening.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s countenance lit up joyfully before hazing into confusion. “Wait, I thought you were gonna freshen up before heading to dinner.”

“I don’t need to. Hardly broke a sweat during training.”

“W-What?! How?!”

“I guess you wouldn’t understand, seeing as how your only form of exercise is chasing after anything that wears a skirt.”

Sylvain’s eyes took on a glossy, hollow quality as the Lions hollered in laughter.

“Uh... So Sylvain, where’s His Highness?” Asked Annette, having expected him to walk in.

“Oh, he ran back to his quarters to put his clothes away. He should be coming back any minute now.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After neatly hanging his uniform in his closet and giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror, he gave himself one last pep talk before swinging the door open and--

Seeing the side of your head as you idly engaged in conversation with a fellow student.

Oh Sothis, help him.

As quickly (and loudly) as he opened the door, he closed it and promptly went back inside to scream into his pillow. Where in the world did you even come from? Weren’t you supposed to be ‘freshening up?’ Your quarters weren’t even down this hallway; what in the Goddess’s name were you even doing here?

He pressed his ear further into the door, straining to pick up bits and pieces of your conversation in hopes to inform himself on your sudden visitation. Nothing. All he could hear was muffled banter bouncing between either of you-- muffled banter that didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon. He screamed curses in his head and awkwardly slid down onto the floor, lightly banging his cranium against the solid wooden door.

He desperately wished for someone, anyone to save him.

He sighed while rubbing his temples-- a desperate attempt to quell the arising headache. Dimitri combed through his options, each less viable than the last. After eliminating any and all half-baked ideas of escape, he was face-to-face with the one option he didn’t want to consider.

Sit here and wait until you left.

So Dimitri sat (more like paced) in his room, occasionally pressing his ear against the door in hopes that he didn’t hear your lighthearted banter outside. Why was it the one time he didn’t want to run into you, there you were! Right outside his door. You might as well have come with a giant bow on your head!

The floor beneath him rumbled slightly, pulling him from his thoughts; the even pacing grew stronger and stronger until it stopped just a little ways past his door.

“(F/N).”

Wait... That’s... It’s unmistakable! That has to be--!

“Dedue! Hello!”

“I apologize for the interruption, but I have come to remind you that it is your turn to tend to the greenhouse today.”

A short pause ensued, followed by an audible gasp.

“Wait, yes! You’re right! I’ve completely forgotten, thank you so much for reminding me!”

Dimitri heard muffled apologies and goodbyes sputter out of your lips, followed by light footsteps scurrying away. Your former companion proceeded to engage in very light talk with the Duscur man before quickly excusing themselves from the scene; Dedue, glancing down the hall to ensure that no one else was nearby, approached and gently rapped his lord’s door with calloused knuckles.

“Your Highness, you may come out now.”

The inner mechanisms of the door clicked softly, the hesitancy of the room’s occupant translating directly through the brass knob.

“Oh, thank the Goddess you came, Dedue. Frankly, I had given up any hope of escape.” Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.

“I knew something was wrong when you did not return. I am glad that I came.” Dedue gave a curt bow.

“Thank you Dedue. Come. Let us head to the dining hall, shall we?”

“Of course, Your Highness. (F/N) should be preoccupied with her greenhouse duties for a time.”

“Yes... Actually, Dedue, how did you know it was (F/N)’s turn to tend to the greenhouse today?”

“Truthfully, Your Highness, I didn’t. It was pure luck she was scheduled today.”

“You mean--” Dimitri’s eyes widened.

“Yes. That was just a fluke. I have no knowledge of the schedule, other than the times either you or I are assigned.”

“Hah!” Dimitri’s hand landed on his retainer’s shoulder. “What luck! After hearing that, I can not help but feel a bit more confident about tonight.”

“And why is that, Your Highness?”

“If fate is as real as the ground beneath us, I would say that, perhaps, (F/N) and I are truly meant to be together.”

“That is quite a romantic notion, Your Highness.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dimitri sighed as they crossed the threshold to the outside. The sun was just starting its descent past the hills; the slowly extinguishing rays of light brushed the sky with vibrant hues of vermilion and marigold.

“Despite that, I can not help but feel... hopeful. And... happy.”

“I am glad that this whole experience has collectively been a pleasant one, Your Highness.” Dedue responded as they neared the dining hall. “You deserve to be happy.”

Dedue’s words echoed in Dimitri’s head, ringing alongside Sylvain’s previous sentiment. Guilt wrung his heart until the familiar pangs of remorse pounded in his chest.

“Do I... Do I really deserve such a thing?”

“Without a doubt, Your Highness.”

“Even after everything that I’ve done... Even after... everything... I still... deserve it?”

“Of course, Your Highness. You deserve to be happy, just like everybody else.”

As the duo ascended the stairs and approached the Lions that were all congregated together for Dimitri’s cause, the prince’s features relaxed and-- just for a moment-- the voices that incessantly plagued his thoughts ceased.

“Thank you, Dedue.”

“I am always happy to help, Your Highness.” Like his prince, Dedue’s rough exterior melted away to reveal a warm, genuine smile.

“Hey, there you are!” Sylvain bounded up to them, meeting them halfway across the platform. “We were gettin’ worried about you! What happened?”

After Dimitri and Dedue explained what transpired, Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible wonderful luck that Dimitri possessed.

"Dedue really got you out of a tough spot, huh?”

“As he always does.” Dimitri cast a grateful look at his retainer.

“I was shocked when I learned that (F/N) was actually scheduled today.”

“What were you gonna do if she wasn’t?” Sylvain queried.

Dedue paused thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I could have asked her to help me weed the courtyard, or to tend the horses.”

“Fair enough.” Sylvain nodded. “Well, it’s getting late so people are starting to leave the dining hall. Hopefully by the time (F/N) is done tending the plants, you two will be all alone.”

Sylvain wriggled his eyebrows and peered cheekily at the reddening face of the prince.

“Please do not be so nervous, Your Highness. (F/N) will surely appreciate all the effort you had put in.”

“Yeah!” Sylvain propped an arm on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you, Your Highness? You’re the leader of the Blue Lions! Start actin’ like your namesake! You gotta be bold!”

“R-Right. Bold.” Truthfully, Dimitri looked anything but; however, this only prompted a deluge of much-needed encouragement and hype that the two happily supplied-- Sylvain taking a more... fiery approach to his psyching while Dedue slightly doused the ecstatic flames set by the redhead with more grounded assurances.

“Now remember, Your Highness. Look her in the eyes, smile, and tell her that she’s beautiful. Like this!” Sylvain turned to Dedue, who suddenly became an unwilling participant in the playboy’s example.

“Hey, babe. You look gorgeous tonight. I gotta admit, I’m no mathematician, but I can still see you’re a ten outta ten.”

“Please get away from me ... Thank you, Sylvain.”

Dimitri stared at the duo with a confused fixed smile plastered on his face. The gears in his head took their sweet, sweet time to churn and process the cursed pick-up line, but it eventually clicked.

“Hah! I get it now! That’s a great one, Sylvain. I’ll definitely remember that.”

A flush of pride stained Sylvain’s cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks! Oh, here’s another one. This one’s also super popular with the ladies.”

Sylvain cleared his throat and turned to Dedue, who was quietly trying to shuffle away.

“Hey, hun. Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

“If that is the case, perhaps it would be in your best interest to stop looking at me.” Dedue lightly glared. Dimitri’s eyes crinkled gleefully.

“Ah, these are all wonderful! I look forward to using them on (F/N).”

“Great! But remember Your Highness-- too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can’t just spout a couple lines like that and expect her to fall for you instantly. You gotta do it tastefully.”

“Tastefully... Got it.”

Dimitri nodded his head, soaking and digesting this newfound knowledge. His eyes suddenly shot up, excitement bubbling out of its watery depths.

“Oh! It appears that I have come up with something!”

“Go for it, Your Highness!”

“I’ve got no taste, but I’d still like a bite of you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

“Sylvain?”

. . .

. . .

“Dedue?”

. . .

“... Perhaps the map one wasn’t so terrible after all.”

“You said it, Dedue.”

“Wha--! Surely it wasn’t that atrocious, was it?”

“I believe it would serve His Highness well if you taught him more pick-up lines, Sylvain.”

“Sure. Whatever it takes to keep him from saying stuff like that.”

“H-Hey!!!”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After sprinkling the few remaining drops of water onto a patch of slightly wilting plants, you dropped the empty watering can with a clatter and threw your arms high above your head, stretching all the bundles and ties that knotted in your shoulders. Your stomach gurgled and a pulse of hunger radiated throughout your core. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea to completely skip your meals.

You placed the watering can in the shed and, making sure everything was as orderly as it could be, stalked out of the greenhouse while still massaging the few stubborn knots that remained tied in your muscles. The sun had long disappeared below the horizon; whatever light remained served only as a prelude to the beginnings of a starry night.

A nippy breeze nibbled your exposed skin, contrasting the slightly humid atmosphere that you’ve grown accustomed to in the greenhouse. Teeth chattering and tummy churning, you hastened your feet to move faster to the brightly lit dining hall.

As you approached the door, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the hall was practically empty, save for some guards and faculty sneaking in a nightly snack-- but even they didn’t linger for long. As you were racking your brain for ideas on what to eat, you walked into the warm building; the ambrosial aroma of succulent, roasted duck caught your attention immediately.

To say that you didn’t shed a small tear from the experience would be a lie.

You scouted and scoured the kitchen for the fowl of your dreams, but it eluded you. Where in the world could this duck--

“A-Ahem.”

You had come dangerously close to collapsing from shock.

Your body jumped and slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice.

“Good evening, (F/N). You look as radiant as ever.”

A young man wearing a white suit decorated with small pins and medals stood before you. Gloved, quivering fingers delicately brushed the lone strands of hair that slipped onto his forehead to the side.

“D-Dimitri...? Is that you?”

“Ah y-yes, it is I. Please forgive me if I had surprised you.”

“N-Not at all!” You replied, your cognitive processes hiccuping at the sight of this magnificent angel. The light from the torch gently surrounded the prince with an almost ethereal quality, rendering him simply divine. The corner of his lips turned up slightly, pulling his handsome features into a half-smirk.

“Please, allow me to escort you to our table.”

“O-Okay...”

He took a step towards you and his eyes flickered down; you followed his gaze and saw his slightly shaking hand slowly reaching for yours.

“May I...?”

Whether it was a simple case of the jitters or the excitement bubbling from within, it didn’t matter much as you enthusiastically clasped your hand in his. Dimitri froze in place, every muscle in his being stiffening at that small point of contact. However, he managed to get his racing pulse (somewhat) under control-- just enough to pull you into a stiff walk at least.

“Please follow me, (F/N).”

The pounding in Dimitri’s heart found its way into his ears, drumming and thundering an aggressive beat. He never knew that fear and glee could intertwine so readily with one another-- until he felt your hand gently press into his palm. Worries and questions and warmth spurred his thoughts into a hazy flurry of emotion. Was he squeezing too hard? Was he holding your hand correctly? Were you at all uncomfortable? Oh Goddess, you look so beautiful when you smile like that--

“Ah! Dimitri, what is all this?”

“W-Well,” Dimitri swallowed what felt like a boulder, “it is our dinner.”

“Our... Dinner...?”

“Yes. Um...” His locked fingers reluctantly separated from yours. “We have prepared a roasted duck, a fine, savory pastry called ‘garlic bread,’ a simple salad, and baked sweets made by Mercedes. I pray this is enough to whet your appetite.”

“You whet my appetite Everything looks so good...” You swallowed thickly, eyes resting heavily on the succulent fowl. “Heh, well... I actually didn’t eat at all today, so--”

“I beg your pardon?!” You blinked and immediately found yourself sitting in front of the palatable entrees. Dimitri’s countenance-- full of concern and tinged with anger-- stared at you from across the sea of food.

“You mustn’t skip meals. That is terribly unhealthy for you.”

“You’re one to talk, Dimitri!” You laughed. “You skip meals all the time!”

Dimitri’s visage fell and his entire face took on all shades of red.

“I... admit, I am not one to berate you on this matter, but regardless, I ask that you still heed my warnings... You should never skip meals.”

Giggling to yourself, you rested your chin on folded hands and your head tilted slightly. That, combined with your killer smile and rosy cheeks, introduced Dimitri’s palpitating heart to a livelier pace.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do my best not to skip meals.”

“Urgh-- Yes! Please... don’t.”

Your lips curved into a smile and your eyes lustily darted to the food in front of you.

“Well, let’s dig in, shall we?”

You, of course, immediately reached for the duck-- as did Dimitri.

Your hands collided en route to the silver cutlery by the fowl, and a fountain of apologies spewed out of either of you. Dimitri, somehow managing to awkwardly bounce back from the innocent error, cleared his throat and took this opportunity to impress you with his... gentlemanly charms.

“Please excuse me, (F/N). Allow me to cut a slice for you.”

“Oh! Well, um... sure?”

Dimitri’s fingers rounded the shiny handles of the knife and fork before cutting into the tender meat. Delectable smells spilled forth from the bird, eliciting a growl from your stomach-- a... very, very loud growl. A growl that was loud enough for Dimitri to stop and look up.

“Uh... I’d like to apologize...” You mumbled ashamedly, your cheeks growing hot to the touch.

Dimitri chuckled, slipping a thick slice of duck onto your plate along with a small bushel of salad, a few pieces of garlic bread, and some sweets.

“Do not worry, my Beloved. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

You smiled, graciously accepting your plate filled to the brim with food. You cut the slice of meat into more manageab--

Wait...

‘Beloved?’

It seemed that Dimitri realized his mistake around the same time you did.

“Dimitri--”

“Er, (F/N)! Aside from this morning, how was your day?”

“Huh? I-I mean it was fine, but Dimitri--”

“Ah, splendid! I am glad your day had gotten better. I was really worried when you suddenly left class like that.”

“Dimitri,” you cut in, “did you just call me... your... ‘Beloved?’“

Dimitri simply sat there as his brain was fried and shriveled into a crisp.

“W-Well, uh, I-- You see-- I deeply apologize for-- That was, very inappropriate of me--”

“Oh! No, no, it’s okay... Um, I was just a bit surprised is all.” You brought your cup to your lips in a pathetic attempt to cover the bashful grin that threatened to escape.

“Ah... Of course...” Dimitri stabbed a small tomato with the prongs of his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, his cheeks seeming to absorb the color of the little red berry.

You cleared your throat and thumbed the surface of a macaron with light fingers, a heavy silence blanketing the table. The quietly screaming royal took a bite of some garlic bread, his brain hardly processing the soft, fluffy texture of the dish.

Dimitri’s eyes widened inconspicuously, his mind flashing to the one thing that could save this dumpster fire of a date from certain demise--

His pick-up lines.

He could only pray that you were a fan of such things.

He cleared his throat and borderline slammed his fists onto the table, rocking a handful of mini cupcakes from their tiered seats. You quite literally jumped in your seat and got caught in the fierce stare of your house leader.

He can do this.

Come on, Dimitri! Remember your training with Sylvain!

He can do this.

Be a lion! Be bold!

He can do this!

“A-Are you ten? Because y-you look lost and I’d like to bite you.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

If-- in that moment-- Dimitri were to suddenly be thrown onto the path of a charging chariot, he would make no effort to move.

Simultaneously, you were well on your way to combusting into open flames-- if your swiftly coloring cheeks were any indication of that.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, gawking at the other in a silent, unconscious contest to see who could reach strawberry red first.

And Dimitri was the unwilling winner.

“I--”

“You--”

“I am so--”

“What did you--?”

“I am so, so sorry--”

“You want to bite me--?”

“Oh Goddess, I am so sorry (F/N)-- I can explain--”

“U-Um, perhaps it would be best for me to go...”

“Wait!” Dimitri shot out of his seat with a clatter. “I-- um--”

“Goodnight, Dimitri.”

You made a mad dash for the door, leaving the flustering royal a metaphoric fish out of water.

“(F/N)!”

He tailed after you, the delicious food that he and all the other Lions labored to prepare becoming a distant memory.

The sun and any trace of it had all but vanished from sight, replaced by its nightly counterpart. You were speed walking to the stairs when your wrist was snagged by a firm grip.

"(F/N)...!”

“Dimitri, listen, I really appreciate the food and everything, but I really should get going now--”

“Wait, please! I...” He gulped, finally throwing caution to the wind. “I love you.”

Your heart had stopped beating altogether and your lungs ceased operations. Your clenched jaw prohibited you from speaking, and you simply stared at him as those three simple words resonated in your mind.

“Er, that is to say...” He sighed, resignation taking hold of his features. “Can we... talk about this please?”

He loosely pointed to a nearby bench shaded under a tall tree. His hard grip softened, moving to interlace his fingers with yours as he led the two of you to the secluded spot. He sat with a deep exhale and pulled you beside him.

“(F/N).” He gazed at you steadily, his fingers rubbing shallow circles into your hands. “It is no exaggeration on my end to say that you mean everything to me. I-- along with the other Lions-- labored to make tonight the best it could be. Though truthfully, I never imagined my confession would turn out like this. But alas...”

Dimitri chuckled tiredly then sighed.

“I’m afraid I can’t hide my feelings for you a moment longer. I love you, (F/N). With all of my being. You motivate me to work harder, train harder-- to be a better man. You are so kind, and smart, and... absolutely mesmerizing. I can not keep my eyes off you, really.”

He laughed at your sheepish response then continued.

“You mean the world to me. So... I humbly ask that you... Um...” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Be mine.”

A gentle breeze swept through, carrying his small plea along with it. He stared at you, intensely and unblinkingly, with bated breath.

“Although,” he added, pain thinly veiled in his eyes, “if you do not feel the same way, I understand. I promise I will not hold anything against you. If it’s not too much trouble, I... I hope we can still be friends after all this--”

You dove straight into Dimitri’s arms, effectively knocking his words and the air right out of him. You felt his muscles tighten and the thumping in his chest blared loudly in your ears. You nuzzled your face into him and looked up, smiling.

“I love you too, Dima!”

D-Dima...?!

Poor Dimitri looked like he was about to choke. The little streams of moonlight that slipped through the holes in the trees reflected off of the prince’s reddening face; for a long time, all he could do was stare at you-- cheeks darkening and eyes widening.

Finally, the Goddess re-granted him the ability to speak.

“R-Really...?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Your arms moved from his torso to snake around his neck, pulling him a bit more to your level. “I love you, Dimitri. I’ve loved you for so long...”

You drew him into a hug again, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The crisp, sharp scent of his cologne flooded your senses, sending pleasant tingles and goosebumps throughout your body. You felt the prince’s arms wound around your frame, pulling you closer to his racing heart.

“If this is a dream, I wish to never wake.” He muttered into your hair, thankful that he could appreciate the light apple notes that came from it to the fullest.

“This isn’t a dream, Dimitri.” You whispered against his skin, causing a sweet shiver to run down his spine. “I love you, Dimitri. I love you so, so much...”

“My (F/N)... My Beloved...” He pulled away from you slightly, cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing it gently. He could hardly contain all the love and pure adoration he held towards you; the way that you and only you reflected in his beautiful eyes showed that. With a gentle smile he pressed his forehead against yours, relishing the moment.

“May I... May I have the honor of kissing you, my love?”

His hot breath tickled your sensitive skin and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sensation, in addition to his endearingly adorable politeness.

“Yes, you may.”

Dimitri’s eyes flickered to your slightly parted, wet lips and leaned closer, his eyes fluttering shut. You followed suit, guided only by the synchronous beating of your hearts. A warmth like no other blossomed upon your lips, melting any and all tension into nothingness. Your lips engaged in a clumsy yet heartfelt dance, eliciting an airy chortle out of you.

Dimitri’s chest rumbled with a chuckle of his own and he parted to catch his breath. Not a moment later, his lips found yours again and again, more ravenous than the last. Each kiss left your head spinning faster and your heart wanting more, more, more. His teeth nibbled your bottom lip, drawing out a gasp from you; his fingers found residence in your hair as he slipped his hot tongue into your mouth. He explored your wet cavern excitedly, every one of his senses wracked with newfound pleasure. Your moans and sharp breaths intertwined heatedly, sending your thoughts into a frenzy and numbing oblivion all at once.

The chatter of guards and metal boots clanking against cobble spurred warning bells in your head, and a painful reminder of how exposed you were for any curious passerby. Dimitri reluctantly leaned away, still pressing his lips to yours until the last possible moment.

“Ahem... M-My apologies... I got a little too excited just now...” Dimitri panted, a dazed yet elated expression on his face. You, panting as hard as he, shook your head in response and pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead, down to his nose, his cheek, and finally stopping at his flushed, pink lips.

“Not a problem, Dimitri. I know you mentioned you wanted to bite me.” You gazed at him teasingly.

“T-That’s...” Dimitri sighed, burying his face in your neck to hide his blush (though how hot his skin felt against yours was all the confirmation you needed). “Please don’t tell anyone what I said...”

You snickered and patted his head, smiling when you felt him relax into your touch.

“Okaaay, I promise.”

“Good. Thank you, (F/N).”

He pulled away from your neck and adjusted himself into a more comfortable seating position. He securely placed his arm around your shoulder and you both sat in comfortable silence for a long time.

“It’s getting quite late, no?” Dimitri mumbled out of the blue. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

“Actually, Dima... Do you think we can go back and finish dinner? I’m still really hungry...”

“O-Oh! I have completely forgotten about that! Yes, of course we can. Although... Regrettably, our food would have gotten cold by now.”

“That’s okay. Being with you warms my heart anyways.”

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri coughed, looking away. “I confess that your teasing will take some getting used to... But it is a pleasant thing nonetheless.”

You giggled as he stood up and helped you to your feet.

”Hey, Dimitri?”

“Yes, my Beloved?”

“I love you.”

Dimitri planted a soft kiss on your forehead and stared fondly into your eyes.

”I love you too, (F/N).”

bonus: despite swearing to himself that he would *never* use pick-up lines ever again (its powers being too great for any mortal to fully wield), dimitri would still indulge a line or two for you if you asked him hard enough (and swore on your life you would never divulge what he shared with you to anyone else). and yes, when you two eventually got more comfortable with each other, he did get a bite of you from time-to-time but that’s a story for another day.

[justlookatthosesausages]

“In the eye of the storm” :: a post-Frozen 2 fanfic ◊◊◊◊ CHAPTER 1: Forecast

She was completely and utterly drenched. It had reached such a stage that she was pretty sure she was imbued with water. The deluge continued to fall on her as she stepped to the heavy doors of Arendelle's castle walls, holding her snow hood with one hand above her head to prevent it from falling back with the wind. It was useless, she started to realize, and she soon vanished it in a cloud of snowflakes. The storm was so strong that they got swept away in a fraction of second, and she watched her magic go in the horizon as she shielded her eyes from the scratching rain blowing her in all ways. The storm had gone on for nearly a week now. And even herself couldn't do anything to stop it.

She finally made her way to the door, and in the dark of the night, she didn't realize that two guards were standing by the entrance. In fact, they hadn't notice her either until now, lightening lanterns being completely useless with such a weather.

"HALT!" Barked one of them as they aimed at her. His voice was loud to both be menacing and to cover the deafening sound of the wind.

"Identify yourself!"

"I'm Elsa!"

"What?" Winced the guard, wind blowing her answer away.

"Elsa the Snow Queen!"

They stepped forward to better hear her, still taking safe distances in case they needed to attack.

She cleared her throat, about to yell.

"Snow Queen Elsa, Fifth Spirit of Nature and guardian of Ahtohallan!"

As if by magic, the wind had calmed just for the moment she exclaimed her three titles, and the guards widened their eyes before promptly bowing to their former Queen and now equivalent of a goddess.

"Snow Queen Elsa, we didn't recognize you." Apologized the second guard.

"It's okay. This storm is really powerful."

"Please come in."

They pushed the doors to let her enter, and even if the courtyard was a bit more protected now it was inside the walls, she was just as buffeted after they closed the gates behind her as she made her way to the castle.

Once in, she got circled by caring maids, who exclaimed at her state. She was dripping enough water to fill several buckets and catch a pneumonia right away.

"I'm alright, I'm alright." She assured at their worried reactions.

She refused the towels and help they offered. Some servants exchanged a look. Who would be foolish enough to go out in such a storm willingly and not want to sit by a fire once in?

Elsa let out a sigh once she saw Gerda among them. She didn't even have to say anything. Her eyes screamed 'Go get my sister please'.

"I'll wake up the Queen. Wait here." Nodded Gerda.

The servant hurried upstairs, not stopping until she reached Anna's and Kristoff's bedroom. She knocked softly but urgently.

Anna groaned at the too-familiar sound on wood calling her. She hated that it was always the same sound taking her away from her blissful sleep. Would a servant ever wake her up with, for instance, a harp? Gerda insisted her knock, and the redhead groaned louder this time.

"Uhhh... Five more minutes, please." Begged Anna.

"It's urgent, your Majesty." Insisted Gerda.

Anna groaned again, and this time it woke Kristoff up. They both lifted their heads, looking at the time on the clock of the room.

"It's 3 a.m., Gerdaaaa..." Complained Anna, rubbing her forehead.

"It's Elsa, your Majesty."

"M'HERE!"

She jolted from the bed, tossing the sheets away, followed closely by Kristoff whose blood also rushed up at the sudden news. They barely made themselves presentable before rushing to the door. Gerda took a wise step aside before her Queen opened the door fast and wide.

"She's downstairs?"

The maid nodded, but Anna had the answer from her gaze. She hurried down the corridor and stairs and Kristoff gave the woman a thankful sign. As he rushed after his wife, he wondered why the hell had Elsa come to Arendelle at such a time. They weren't even on Friday. Did something bad happen to her?

When Anna and Kristoff finally reached Elsa's level in the Great Hall, she was still dripping with the exact same state. She was standing awkwardly, looking around, using the tapestry as a distraction to not clench her hands.

"ELSA!" Yelled her younger, and the wind got ripped off her lungs when something orange and green jumped to her for a hug.

"Hey..."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

Elsa blinked, hugging her back but taken aback by the questions. "Uh... Yes, no, and yes."

Anna stepped from the hug, joining Kristoff's side. He looked at her with concern. Half of her white outfit was covered with mud, she had twigs and leaves in her short hair, and one of the shoulder pieces of her light armor was shifted. Anna came to the same observation, but also looked at her general appearance.

"Goodness, you're dripping."

"I'm fine. You know I'm not cold. I came here to—"

"Don't tell me anything until you're dry. I'll ask to make some hot chocolate for you."

"No, Anna, there's no need."

"You just came back from a storm! On foot, apparently! You—"

Elsa cut her. "Anna, it's quite urgent... I have to tell you something, but I don't want to alarm you at the same time."

"That's quite contradictory. Come on, spit it out."

Elsa gulped, raindrops running down her neck. "The reason of this storm... It's not just any storm."

"I knew it!" Muttered Kristoff.

"I think that Nokk and Gale are fighting."

The couple shared widen eyes.

"What? Why?" Asked Anna.

"I have no idea!" Exclaimed Elsa, powerless.

They had saddened expressions now, and Anna stepped forward. "Then you should go to Ahtohallan for answers."

"I planned to, but I can't cross the sea. Without Nokk, there's no way to get there."

"Sure you can. I know you can."

"You don't get it. It's not a polished mirror like you always see, the sea is raging now."

By the way Elsa said it, Anna knew she wasn't exaggerating a bit. And the Queen had seen the way the fjord's waves got accentuated since the storm. She gulped.

"And Nokk isn't there. They're up in the sky, battling against Gale. If they're not there to challenge me, I can't... I can't do it without them. I tried. Many times."

Anna missed a heartbeat. "How many times?"

"A... Lot."

The redhead gulped. Did Elsa sleep since then? Did she sleep at all since the storm started almost a week ago?

"Anyway, I came here with the Giants. They deposited me just above the village. They were too scared to shatter the cobblestones."

Her sentences were short, just like her breath. Anna put her hands on her shoulders, not caring if they were as wet as the rain. "Relax. You're okay now."

"But Nokk and Gale aren't."

Anna bent her head with a meaningful look. Elsa lifted a hand.

"Sorry, it's not that I'm overthinking it, it's just that I can sense it."

"Are you certain they're angry?" Frowned Kristoff.

"A hundred percent. And I caught a glimpse of them between the clouds two days ago. They are the reason of this weather. They were turning around each other with great force. And I can feel right now that they're doing it with all their power."

Anna had a sorry pout, because she felt bad for Elsa to sense that hate in her soul and to not be able to stop her allies.

"That's why it hasn't stopped raining for all that time. And why the storm doesn't calm down." Nodded Kristoff sadly.

"Yeah, one thing that is common to all Spirits is that they're relentless."

"Hey!"

"I didn't mean that in the wrong way only." Teased Anna. "And look, I brought a smile on your face. I won."

The blonde smirked as they exchanged a gaze.

"Let's get to the meeting room. You need to sit down. Especially if you have been standing on a Giant's shoulder the whole time."

Elsa followed her in the big room, and she didn't waste time until she sat down, with the King and Queen looking at her. However, Anna couldn't focus more longer on her face when Elsa was still drenched. She signed the servants standing by the door.

"Bring her a towel, please. She's still wet."

"No, I'm alright."

"Elsa, I know that you can't catch a cold, but I insist: you'll feel better if you're dry."

The Snow Queen gave her a reassuring look. "I can take care of that."

She closed her eyes, focusing, and instantly, all the water drops on her white outfit levitated in the air, delicately flying away from her skin and short hair. Her blonde locks became more yellow and fluffy in a few seconds, and all the drops went up, like rain falling backwards. Each of them slowly dissolved in the air, making it more humid, but dispersed enough in the room to not make the other feel unease.

"Heavens, I'll never get tired of that trick." Muttered Kristoff, eyes wide, and he looked like he was about to faint.

Anna had an expression that was exactly in between a smirk and a dropped jaw.

"You minx. You really got good at this, uh? I've never seen you doing it that quickly and easily."

Elsa pouted to hide her smile. "I use it a lot after washing in the river."

She was now entirely dry, and she passed a hand in her locks to clean it from dirt and twigs and leaves, and have it back in her style.

A servant brought a towel, and she used it to clean her face. Once done, Elsa put her arms on the table, not really knowing how to sit. Anna recognized in her gesture that she felt awkward now. They surrounded her in pajamas, and her gaze indicated that she would have grabbed and hug a cushion against her if there were one nearby. Only, they were in the meeting room, and there obviously was none. The Queen twirled around and opened a closet.

"Hold on."

She took something out, and when she unfolded it, Elsa understood she was about to wrap her in a blanket like a wounded animal. Yet, the "I'm fine, you know" got stuck in her throat. That blanket looked really comfy. She let her do the move.

Something small and fast suddenly barged in the room.

"AUNTIEEEE!"

They all turned around, and Elsa saw her niece come in running, her hair disheveled and bouncing on her shoulders, with her night gown rolled up on one sleeve and down on the other. The simple sight of her being an adorable mess made Elsa's heart soar.

Eydis hurried to Elsa to hug her, and the latter got tackled by the young princess with force, though she didn't mind it at all, and even encouraged it with an embrace just as loving.

Gerda came in with a heavy breathing, holding to the handle and visibly after Eydis. There was no way on Earth she would ever catch up on her. She was getting too old to cope with two generations of fiery princesses.

"Oh... Your Highnesses, I'm so sorry. She asked what all the noise was about, and when I told her that it was you..."

"It's alright, Gerda. Thank you." Laughed Kristoff.

"When did you arrive?" Asked the girl, overexcited, her big eyes staring at Elsa admiratively.

"Well, I just did." Smiled the Snow Queen.

She then realized that her niece almost was on her eye level, even though she was sit.

"Whoa! You've grown since the last time I saw you."

"And your hair has grown too." Noted the girl, frowning as she looked at it. "I preferred it when it was even shorter."

"Eydis!" Exclaimed Anna.

The princess didn't apologize, for it was the truth, and turned to her mother who had her hands on her hips.

"It's okay." Chuckled Elsa to both her sister and her niece. "Truth comes from the mouth of children!"

Eydis bit her lip with a smirk.

"And it's been a while since I last cut it." Smiled Elsa, looking down at her niece still in her arms.

Eydis wrinkled her nose. "You smell like Papa's stew."

"Hey!"

Kristoff and Elsa had said that at the same time, Elsa on a laughing tone at how frank she was, and Kristoff because that was offensive.

Anna laughed quietly behind her hand because of how bad he took the remark. The blonde smiled.

"I came here under the pouring rain, and it took me almost a day, that's why I smell like stew."

Eydis laughed.

Elsa lifted her hand to pat her niece's head. "Look at that! You're almost as tall as me now."

Eydis giggled. "But you're sit."

"Still." She smiled.

The girl knew that she was teasing and not serious, but her cheeks puffed with happiness.

Anna's tongue ticked when she saw that since Elsa hugged her daughter and now lifted her arm, the blanket had fallen to her thighs, and obviously the blonde hadn't noticed. She stepped to her, and put it back on her shoulders in a swift move. Elsa gave her a thankful and sorry look.

"Hey, maybe drink something." Suggested Anna. "Have a glass of water."

Elsa scoffed. "I drank enough rain coming here, thank you."

"Please drink. I know you by heart, I'm sure you haven't eaten and drank anything on your way."

Elsa looked at the lacquer of the table, admitting she was right. Her gaze was distracted by the shimmer of water as Anna poured a glass for her. Luckily, the meeting room always had a jug with fresh water in a cupboard – and a globe filled with bottles of strong alcohol, but it wasn't what Elsa needed at the moment – and Anna held out the drink.

The Snow Queen couldn't help but gulp the entire content almost greedily, and Anna smiled silently as she poured her another glass. Elsa muttered a "Thank you", and Kristoff bent to her to gently squeeze her arm covered with the blanket. Elsa smiled slightly at his affection, and looked down at his hand. Only then she noticed that the blanked was knit in Arendelle's colors, the spruce green and zinzolin warming her shoulders and falling on her legs, the golden crocus spreading on her back. The blonde felt like she was wrapped up in the Arendelle flag, and it made her feel protected in an unsuspected way.

"You know you're welcome here", smiled Kristoff with love. "Rest for the night, and we'll talk about all of this tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks, Kristoff."

She took two other glasses of water, and stood up, accompanied in her move by Eydis who had been sitting on the table, her feet dangling in the air – despite Kristoff's warnings.

"I don't suppose that you need a night gown, uh?" Smiled Anna as they all walked in the corridor.

"No, I indeed don't." Smiled Elsa.

"I'll ask the maids to prepare a room." Suggested Kristoff, then Eydis tugged on his sleeve.

"Oh, Papa! Can she sleep with me? Please, please, please!"

She was begging, but there was no need. Her brown eyes were irresistible, and the King wasn't able to be authoritarian towards his daughter.

"If you want." He puffed. "Elsa, do you mind?"

"Not at all." Assured the Snow Queen. "It's been a long time since we saw each other."

She wondered if she missed her niece as much as the latter missed her. Judging by the burst of joy that emerged from her little body at the great news, she admitted that the princess was even happier than her.

"Where is Olaf?" Asked Eydis out of the blue as they made their way to the private quarters. Her head darted from side to side, even looking behind her to see if the snowman was pranking her, but he wasn't there.

"He's stuck in Ahtohallan, on the other side of the Dark Sea." Revealed Elsa. "But don't worry", she added when she saw her panic – and all had widened their eyes, actually – "He's fine, I can feel it."

They seemed reassured by her sincerity.

"He's with Marshie and the snowgies, and it's actually better that way. I know nothing will happen to them. And they kind of guard the glacier in my absence."

Anna nodded with relief and smiled at Elsa's attitude towards the situation. She passed a hand on her daughter's head. The girl didn't stay still for long, however, and already ran in her bedroom. Elsa followed, and Kristoff told his wife that he would go to theirs ahead, to which she responded that she'd come soon.

The little princess jumped on the bed, delighted to know she was about to sleep with her idol. Elsa smiled and passed behind the screen to melt her current dress and create a skin-like one, ideal to sleep in. She gave the blanket to Anna who had her arm stretched on the other side and waiting for it. When she stepped out, both the Queen and her daughter admired her sparkling work. Elsa started to melt her ice sandals.

"Where's Auntiemaren?" Asked Eydis.

Elsa stopped in her move, her eyebrows down. "Who?"

She was comically standing with one foot up and the other down, but Eydis didn't notice.

"Auntiemaren!"

"She means Honeymaren." Whispered Anna.

"Oh." Smiled Elsa, then she puffed. "Well, she... Uhm..."

She stretched her smile. "She's very busy, only I could come. We're very active, lately, with... The season of harvest and crops, you know."

Anna and Eydis bent their heads on the side at the same time. The girl then clapped her hands at a memory.

"Oh! That's why you couldn't come for a month to do game nights! Mama showed Yelena's letter to me."

"Yes, that's why." Smiled Elsa, with a sigh.

Anna frowned a bit, but was too tired to take note of Elsa's attitude.

"Okay, time for bed, you two."

Elsa climbed in as Eydis wiggled under the sheets, and Anna booped both of their noses. They all smiled, and the redhead picked up the candle she had brought, before leaving the room, slowly closing the door behind her.

=======

Several minutes passed, and while Elsa easily found sleep, Eydis didn't stop tossing and turning, waking up every time the wind would whistle loudly outside or rain poured violently on the window.

"Auntie?"

"Hmm?" Murmured Elsa back, noticing well that the girl was waking up every time the weather got loud.

"I can't sleep."

Elsa turned to her niece.

"Are you scared of the storm? Is that why you asked for me to sleep with you?"

Eydis looked offended by her insinuation.

"No!" She assured. "That was to be with you", she added, hugging her above the sheets.

Elsa chuckled, hugging her back. After a while, she looked at her in the dark. Eydis noticed, and frowned her small eyebrows.

"I'm a big girl now. I don't wake Mama and Papa up when I have nightmares anymore."

Elsa smiled tenderly. "8 years old isn't that much. There's no shame in doing so."

The princess was stubborn however. "I don't need it!" She insisted.

"Alright, alright..." Grinned Elsa.

A moment of silence passed, suddenly interrupted by a powerful gust of wind, and the window even trembled from it. Eydis gasped and clasped her hands on Elsa's arm.

"I see." Smiled the Snow Queen. "It's the noise."

Eydis had a tiny nod.

Elsa lifted her available arm and waved her wrist in the air. A blue glow emerged from it, and with a dance of snowflakes, a large and delicate chime formed in the air, hanging from one of the joists. Floating above them with magic, the chime turned slowly, jangling with soft notes.

The little girl let out an appreciative hum, and her squeeze on Elsa's arm relaxed.

"Here. Better?"

Eydis watched how the different shapes and parts hung with thin ice strings and tapped each other as they turned, shining in the moon light. She blinked a few times tiredly, and it became blur. It was like watching stars.

"Be... Better..." She murmured before falling to sleep, her head tilting on her pillow.

Elsa smiled and placed her arm back, tucking her correctly in the bed.

She closed her eyes in turn, and let the chime lull her too.

Outside, the storm however didn't reduce, and got even stronger than before.

[ryqoshay]

How to Handle a Nico - Reunion B&B

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~1.4k Rating: G Time Frame: Summer break of Maki’s 2nd year of high school and Nico’s 1st year of college. Story Arc: “Beach Reunion” Sunscreen The No. 1 Masseuse in the Universe Reunion B&B

Author’s Note: Sat on this a bit too long as I had no idea how to end it or what to title it, but at long last, here is the third entry to the Beach Reunion arc. Woo!

Also, I’m assuming my readers have seen the movie by now as there is one reference to it here. … Did I point that out in my other recent posts? I’ll have to check.

Nico opened her eyes slowly to stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling. She knew the ceiling belonged to the master bedroom of one of the Nishikino family’s vacation homes, but it was still the first time she had seen it upon awakening in the morning. And she decided it wasn’t an unpleasant sight by any means.

The gentle sound of breathing beside her reminded Nico of the night’s sleeping arrangement and she couldn’t help smiling. She had slept well, sharing a small blanket with Maki, and now she was about to behold a much more pleasant…

Wait, what was that? As Nico attempted to sit up, she became aware of a weight on her stomach. The movement caused the girl beside her to shift in her sleep and murmur something unintelligible. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be… Nico lifted the blanket to check. Sure enough, Maki’s arm was draped across her. That meant…

Oh gods…

Nico turned her head slowly, just enough to see…

Oh gods…

Maki’s face was mere centimeters from hers. Literally any closer and the younger girl would be nuzzling Nico’s cheek.

Maki-chan… Nico pleaded silently. When had the other girl moved to such a position? Why had she done so? Had she been awake or asleep? Was Nico herself still asleep and this was a dream? What the heck was going on? A deluge of questions flooded Nico’s mind as she felt her pulse quicken and her body stiffen.

And that was enough to cause Maki to stir again, managing to move her head even closer, enough that Nico could feel her breath. Geez… What to do? If Maki woke up now, would she get embarrassed and avoid Nico for the rest of the vacation? Nico absolutely didn’t want that. Well, even if Maki didn’t avoid her, she’d still undoubtedly be embarrassed and make all manner of expressions that Nico found irresistibly adorable. So maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad...

Nico sighed. At least this was ten times better than waking up to Honoka sprawled directly on top of her, even if a hundred times more stressful. And as much as Nico wanted to just lay back down and bask in a few moments of sleepy affection from the far-to-often standoffish Maki, she knew the other girls would be getting up soon. Thus, if Nico wanted to have breakfast ready for everyone, she had to get up.

Slowly, gently, and with no shortage of reluctance, Nico slid Maki’s arm off her before crawling off the bed with an equal amount of caution. She slipped into the bathroom to quickly remove her mask and wash her face before making her way down to the kitchen.

Maki opened her eyes slowly. For the briefest of moments, she questioned her location before remembering that she had claimed the master bedroom at one of her family’s vacation homes. And Nico had stayed with her.

Nico-chan…

Maki’s gaze found an empty bed beside her and a sense of disappointment washed over her. Apparently, she had fallen asleep before Nico and awakened after, thus missing the opportunity to see Nico’s ador… sleeping face… Even with that mask treatment Nico insisted on wearing every night, Maki couldn’t help thinking it was cu… well, it wasn’t completely uncute, at least… in a way, maybe. Anyway, for some reason, not being able to see Nico sleeping somehow bothered Maki far more than she would have otherwise expected.

On the duvet immediately next to her, Maki noticed a pillow. A second pillow, in fact, though having fallen asleep during a wonderfully relaxing massage, Maki didn’t remember claiming one for herself. But the second one most certainly had to have been Nico’s. Also, Maki hadn’t gotten under the duvet, so Nico must have found one of the blankets in the closet to use for her. Or both of them, it seemed, as Maki didn’t see another blanket. And since the one currently covering her was a bit small, it was really only meant to cover one’s legs while sitting, that meant Nico must have slept beside her. As in right beside her, close enough to have likely been touching…

Without her bidding, Maki’s hand reached out to touch the indentation in the duvet next to her. Was it her imagination, or did she detect remnants of the warmth left by the girl who had slept there not too long ago?

Wait, what the heck was she doing? Maki pulled back her hand as she felt heat rise in her cheeks as if transferred from the bed through her arm. What if Nico came back in and saw her? Well, it wasn’t like she was doing anything particularly embarrassing… right? Still, knowing Nico, she’d find a way to tease Maki over it.

A yawn escaped and Maki sat up to stretch. Once her blood began proper circulation again, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and made for the bathroom to wash her face. A few minutes later, she opened the door to the hallway and was immediately greeted by a wonderful aroma.

Nico-chan’s cooking…

Maki swallowed the saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth at the thought of a breakfast prepared by Nico. With as much haste as her caffeine deprived body could muster, she headed toward the kitchen.

“Maki-cha~n~!” a voice greeted from behind her just as she rounded the corner to catch a glimpse of the girl at the stove. “Ohainya!” a weight crashed onto her back.

“Rin…” Maki grumbled. “Get off.” She gave a halfhearted shrug in a tired attempt to shuffle off the cat like girl.

“Awww…” Rin complained, as she obeyed the command. “Maki-chan doesn’t push Nico-chan away anymore. It’s not fair, nya!”

“Haah?” Maki raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, she still does.” Nico spoke up, turning away from the stove to face the second-years. “Sometimes Nico wonders if Maki hates her.” Her tone went up an octave as she pretended to pout.

“W-what the heck?” Maki protested the sudden tag team teasing. “I don’t… why would I hate you, Nico-chan?”

“Because Maki-chan loves tomatoes more than Nico.”

“Buweeeh?” Maki had all but forgotten that bit from the magazine interview almost a year ago.

“And that’s why Nico made sure to include extra tomatoes in Maki-chan’s omurice.”

Maki’s stomach growled, interrupting any retort she might have had.

Nico laughed.

Maki growled.

“Don’t worry, Maki-chan.” Nico continued to giggle. “Nico won’t tease you about preferring tomatoes over her.”

“But… you just did…?” Maki’s early morning muddled mind struggled to keep up as the older girl stuck out her tongue at her.

“Good morning, you three.” A cheerful voice greeted as a new aroma made its presence known. “Here you go, Maki-chan.”

A steaming mug of life-giving coffee entered the redhead’s vision. Like a zombie seeking brains, Maki’s hands reached for her beloved beverage.

“Thank you, Kotori.” Maki managed to murmur before the mug reached her mouth and she immediately downed more than half of it.

“Do you two prefer tea or coffee?” Kotori turned her attention elsewhere.

“Kayo-chin and Rin like tea in the morning.” Rin explained.

Wait, Hanayo was here too? Maki turned her head. Sure enough, just behind her orange-haired friend stood a brunette who looked even more disheveled than Maki felt. The younger second-year yawned and rubbed at her eyes before squinting as though she hadn’t even put in her contacts yet.

“I’ll have that ready for you in a moment.” Kotori smiled before turning away. “Sorry to not have it ready earlier, I only got Maki-chan’s because Nico-chan told me her favorite.”

Nico-chan told her… A small smile turned Maki’s lips as she lifted her mug up to take another sip, barely noticing whatever Hanayo had said to Kotori.

“Maki-chan’s getting a lot of special treatment here.” Rin pointed out. “Especially from Nico-chan.”

“Well, she is our host, after all.” Nico replied, sliding a portion of egg over a mound of rice. “And with that,” she directed a squirt of sauce into a quick design “breakfast is ready. You three can get started while I go check on Nozomi and Eli.” She motioned to a set of plates, each with a girl’s name written in sauce over the omurice.

“I’ll check on Umi-chan to see if she’s done with her morning meditation.” Kotori said. “If she is, she can help me wake up Honoka-chan.”

“Good luck.”

Whatever else may have been said by anyone was lost on Maki as she claimed her plate and made her way to the table. Though her mug was all but drained, the caffeine wouldn’t fully kick in for a few more minutes, and in the meantime, Nico’s tomato laden omurice demanded her undivided attention.

Author's Note Continued in Followup Post

[sayse]

Sorry to anyone following me who has had to endure the deluge of ladybug posts from my blog all of a sudden. It won’t be stopping anytime soon.

[lovehugsandcandy]

Just Drive Part 1 (Colt x MC)

I posted this on AO3 already so sorry to double-dip if you saw it there.

Length: ~750 words

Pairing: Colt x MC, RoD

Rating: PG-13 (swearing?)

Summary: School is not where Ellie wants to be.

When she’s feeling stifled, she drives.

She doesn’t drive far, not the 2,990 miles she can calculate in her head, can recite rote formulas with the hours she has spent mentally working the miles and feet and minutes and hours, but she drives.

It’s easy to feel caged here. Almost as soon as she pulled into campus, she dove into her studies, hitting the library before she unpacked her last suitcase. In high school, she was determined to be the best. Over the summer, she was determined to fill every moment of free time so she didn’t need to think, didn’t need to feel. (She was terrified that, if she stopped, even for an instant, the grief would wash over her, less a wave than a deluge, sudden and unrelenting, with a force that would drag her under and leave her reeling for days.) Now, she has settled into a routine, classes and books and calculations that provide some comfort during the dark nights when she longs to be free.

80 times 11 is 880.

But she still needs to get away, sometimes, away from the books and the homework and the people, every one of them determined to be the best, determined to leave behind pieces of their own past. (It seemed like everyone on campus had something they were running from, family drama or rough neighborhoods or just the weight of their own expectations. She has something she is desperate to run back to, if only it didn’t mean giving up everything else she worked towards for years.)

The highway is just a smear of grey. Everything is washed out, dull, the concrete her tires roll over, the sky dimmed by clouds, even the trees stretching spindly fingers towards the heavens. The car is an extension of herself by now, steering wheel molded to her fingertips, gear shift fitting her palm so precisely that she swears she can see her lifeline etched in rubber if she looks closely enough. Shifting is second nature, the delicate balance between her feet practiced, easy. Changing lanes is a glance behind her before the car glides over, almost following her thoughts as if they shared a brain.

Her assumptions might be off. She tries again. 75 times 10 is 750. Not fast enough.

People drive fast here in the Northeast. She keeps it right at 80, flying past cars in the right lane as if they were stock still, but slow enough that the Staties don’t give her a second glance.

She calculates as she drives. 2,990 divided by 750 is almost 4. Not short enough.

Sometimes she drives south, past the traffic and water towers, to the straightaway at the beach where the tuners will race, late Saturday nights, when the clam shacks are dead and she is a blur of pink flying to the marina. When the races are over, she sits and watches the expensive cars heading to the ritzy condos. Her fingers itch to swipe a set of keys. She thinks of a boy who would lift these luxury vehicles without an inch of guilt. Her heart aches.

Sometimes she drives north. The highway narrows to rotaries as she goes as far as she can, flying around the curves, body leaning with the car as she pulls out to the exits. This is one of the places where the rich people from the city come on vacation, where they come to get away. She knows where she wants to get away to.

Sometimes she stays in the city, drives to where she can see the planes takeoff, landing so close to the ocean it feels like they will sink into the horizon.  She knows that wanted criminals can’t get through security. No one on these planes will come for her. It hurts.

She never drives west. If she did, she doesn’t think she would stop until the road ended, dropping into a deep blue expanse in the land of opportunity and street tacos and boys with fire in their eyes and ice in their veins.

2,990 miles. 750 miles a day. 3.386666 days, where the six repeats forever, trailing into eternity like the horizon and like the pain and like her love.

She misses street tacos.

She misses other things about LA more.

Maybe she should just call it 4 days. Enough time to travel 2,990 miles, stop to pick up tacos and a boy, and then go, just drive, when they both felt stifled and wanted to run, from the weight of their expectations, from the cops, from the pain, just drive.

Just drive.

.

Perma @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard

ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580   @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices​  @maxwellsquidsuit  @liamzigmichael4ever​ @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction