#the battery was one of them since it had some fire & water damage

[martinsorbit]

[Finders Keepers au] From the crappy sketches folder; Unstoppable force meets an immovable object (y/n and moon are both at all times)

lore dumping in tags cuz i will get insufferable

[sashi-ya]

𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑨 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻. Trafalgar Law x F! Reader

🌨 a/n: so I recently been to Austria, a country I often visit since it's literally like a dream. (plus, my mom knew she was pregnant with me there, so I was used to come back to Innsbruck as much as I could with her). But in any case I got inspired there to write this little fic, that might -or not- be a multi chapter one if you all like it. The place exists and the scam part, happened to me -kinda, the airbnb existed, but not as it was listed :P- but in any case, please enjoy and don't forget to leave some feedback if you want more~ ❄ tw: a very sfw story, that might evolve into something else if you want me to keep writing about their trip 😏 ☃ wc: 2.6k

Hijacking for the first time, what could go wrong? Maybe everything, maybe nothing.

A two-month long trip all around Europe has found you on a little village of Austria. Your boots are cold, but luckily they are snow proof ones. Your skin all bumpy, your cheeks irritated. It’s been snowing all night, and despite the sun rising for now, some clouds in the sky menace with more white blessing to fall upon your shoulders very soon.

Those little mountain streets around the Alps are wonderful, they surround mountains going up and down and in a spiral way. But those are wonderful, as long as you can drive a car with heating. And you don’t have one right now.

The crunchy sound of the snow beneath your boots mix with the melody of a glacial river running in between the mountain and the road. It is certainly beautiful, the little rocks and stones being bathed by such pure and cold water, the rests of dry leaves and some moss growing on an everlasting shadow casted by tall, enormous peaks.  Everything is worth taking a picture, but you should prioritize your battery life this time around. The GPS is sometimes wonky, being that high can affect the service.

Many cars have passed by, but none of them have stopped. Little lorries carrying logs pass, cars completely drenched in dirty snow and that mix of salt that roads have during winters.

However, just when your hopes for finding someone to at least give you a ride to the next village were about to run out, the yellow shine of an old VW ban flashes before your eyes.

There, behind a curve -a very dangerous one if you ever went to the mountains- something smells like smoke and a tall man of white furry hat swears up to the skies.

You walk towards him, carefully. Who knows what is happening? Who knows who that man is capable of? There is one thing you are sure, however, and it is that this man is absolutely mad at his old van.

When peaking behind a dark wooden tree that’s now covered in spots of white snow, you discover the annoyed man is a young -handsome- one.

His van, a little rusty but still cute, seems to be having problems to keep going and the smoke coming from it shows it very well.

“Sir? Sir! Your van is catching fire!” you announce, realizing the smoke is indeed a very serious issue.

The guy of chocolate skin and tattooed hands turns around to look immediately at you and then to the back of the van. Those 70’s vehicles had actually their engines right in the back instead of the front.

And Indeed, you were right. Apparently the climb had been too tough for the poor old VW and its engine couldn’t take it any longer.

He quickly opens the back door, maybe searching for a fire extinguisher while you grab fistfuls of snow in an attempt to put down the incipient flames. Quickly enough, and with not many damages to count, the fire stops, and the only thing left is a big black spot on the back of the caravan.

“Thank you” he says, as dry as hopefully your socks. “No problem. What happened? Did the engine over heat?” you ask, curious despite his “I don’t want friends” face. “Yes; these hills are no joke. This never happened to my Polar, but there is always a first time…” he sighs, assessing the damage with a sad expression.

Apparently his van has a name; “Polar”. That’s very cute, and his eyes too. A golden shine in them looks even beautiful with the pristine white around. His tattoos do as well. You wonder about his name, and what is he doing on the road, but you are not sure if it’s proper to ask. However, he asks first.

“What are you doing here? do you have a car?” he mumbles, his voice is as attractive as he is. His eyes scan the place, but nothing catches his attention.

“No, I am actually hijacking. No one stopped so I started walking before the sun starts going down. I definitely got scammed; the Airbnb I was supposed to stay in didn’t, in fact, exist.

He grunts, almost silently. Apparently he is not happy with what happened to you but that’s it.

“Well, that’s so unsafe. I am sorry I can’t give you a ride right now. Apparently none of us have been blessed with good luck today” he says, walking around his vehicle with long legs covered in spotted jeans.

You nod. Your tongue is aching to ask about him, but you clearly catch the hint… he doesn’t want you there.

“Yep. Well, I wish you luck! I must keep going” “Same to you, be careful”

He doesn’t even look at you, something that makes you -somehow- very sad. In any case, you start walking away. There is no point in staying there… even if you have great mechanical skills that could help.

And as you do, you also have a very, very loud consciousness voice screaming at you on how could you leave him with no solution if you know it…

“Sir, you should check your water level…”  you shout, a few meters away from him. The sound of your voice echoes in the huge natural immensity of the Alps and his golden eyes finally fall upon you.

He stops moving for some seconds, lost in you. You, as well, wait for him to say something else. Something like “stay with me” or “don’t go”. A total stranger you want to hang up with. A total unknown woman he wants to protect.

“You know how to fix this?” “I do…”

Or so that was what you thought.  

No more than a couple of minutes took you to help him out. VW vans are noble machines; they are durable and easy to fix despite their particular design. And soon, as a part of your payment, the man that you learned is called Law and you drove away through intricate roads and huge snowflakes.

“Where are you going, (Name)-ya?” he asks, handing you an old cover from an old comic, Germa 66.

“I was supposed to stay for a couple of days in Bad Goisern, and then I thought of visiting Salzburg. I am on a long trip through Europe. What about you?”  you ask, cuddling with the blanket. A certain blessing for your freezing hands.

He nods, checking the breaks before going down the hill.

“I am too. I just graduated medical school and I thought of taking a little vacation before my residency starts. I’m going to be a surgeon. A cardiac surgeon” he tells, full of dreams he fails to cover up behind a tough guy expression.

You celebrate his success, and the next couple of hours become a ping pong of questions and answers. A smile on your face that leaves your cheeks hurting accompanies you until the sun hides and the little lights on the mountains start to scatter.

You didn’t want to go down in the first village, nor the second, nor the third. Law, didn’t want you to go down his van either. You named Salzburg, and he promised you to take you there.

But the night found both of you, and apparently your mechanical skills weren’t as good as you thought the would… Polar decided to stop, in the middle of nowhere during a dark, very dark winter night.

You close your eyes as the sound of rusty gears fail and Law’s annoyance grows stronger than ever. When Polar finally loses all of the power, Law manages to agonizingly park on the side of the road and a huge sighs escapes his lips.

You peak through your left eye; his DEATH tattooed fingers squeeze the wheel, and you know he will snap at any moment. But he doesn’t…

“I’m sorry. I thought- I-“ you try to give a plausible apologize, even though you had nothing to do with it.

“No. It is not your fault… it is mine- As we didn’t stop, I have completely forgotten to fuel Polar up” Law says, absolutely mortified for such stupid mistake. Apparently you were enough distraction to keep him from the basics of road tripping.

You breath alleviated and try to stop your upcoming laughter. Your grimacing did nothing to hide it, and a big burst of laughter took over the van and everything around.

Law looks at you pissed, but a soft smirk garnishes his lips. You can’t stop, perhaps it isn’t that funny… but you feel so happy right now. And you have no idea why, since you are literally stranded in a very dark wood with temperatures below 0C and snow pooling on top of that van.

“Welp, it’s ok. We should wait until tomorrow, then” you say, knowing the risks. “You- you prefer spending the night in here? aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asks, surprised.

“I am, in fact, scared of dying. That’s why I know very well I can’t walk during a snowstorm in the middle of the night in the Alps. Plus, you are too sweet to be considered a threat” you joke, searching for some chocolate inside your backpack.

Law narrows his eyes, deepening his frown. Apparently being called “sweet” and “not a threat” is not something he enjoys.

“I could cut you open and took all of your organs out during the night” he says, serious as hell. “Go for it. Don’t forget to steal my heart, doctor” you laugh, taking your jacket off.

Law is flabbergasted; he has never confronted someone like you before… but he is beginning to like it now.

A bar of chocolate that you had kept in your backpack for too long lays too close to his nose. You shake it, offering its sweetness to him.

He takes it but doesn’t eat it. Instead, his hand gets pressed against the window behind you. Law has pinned you against the door of your side. He is not a very muscular man, but he is indeed very tall and lean… if he wanted, he could do anything to you.

Your eyes widen, big as the moon. You swallow, thinking maybe walking through the forest might be a safer option.

“L-Law… I- didn’t mean to-“ you tremble, asking yourself where did you put the Victorinox blade you bought in Switzerland… it should be enough to defend yourself, right?

You notice his chest is also tattooed as his clothes open just a little. His arms, are too. His scent, despite the danger, smells deliciously tempting…

“Don’t trust strangers that easily, (Name)-ya” he whispers, a few centimetres from your lips. Letting you go after and biting the chocolate bar as if nothing has just happened.

You remain there, frozen up with your eyes widen and your lips softly trembling. He is, in fact, very right. Law is indeed a stranger, after all.

When oxygen finally begins to reach your lungs and brain again, you move and blink the dry eyes away. Silently you sit back, properly. You aren’t able to say anything, somehow you have run out of words.

You squeeze the blanket he gave you, covering you as much as you could, making yourself as tiny as possible on that old leather seat.

“Are you ok?” he asks, so nonchalantly.

“Ye-yes, I’m… ok” you mumble back, almost sticking yourself to the passenger door. “Is it ok if I go to sleep? I’m tired”

Law nods, confused. Maybe he was just joking around, but it did scare you big time. He goes down the van and opens the back doors. You look at him disappearing in the darkness until a very little glimpse of silver light coming from the moon filters through the doors.

But, soon after, fairy lights illuminate the back allowing you to discover a very cozy space behind the front seats.

“I am glad I installed this independently from the fuel tank. I have a little power generator for the back. It’s not a hotel bed, but it does the job” he says, showing you a precarious mattress covering the entire floor of the vehicle.

You smile softly, it looks cozy and pretty. The walls are full of random posters and maps, and there is even an old picture of a younger Law with three more guys wearing fancy hats with something written in the snow. You take a closer look at it, to discover it says, “Pirates of Heart” and you giggle. What a peculiar gang name.

“Law, this is really cute. You even have a lot of blankets and cushions!” you chime, easing a little bit.

“My best friend Bepo decorated it for me, I only helped him with the lights” he says, a little embarrassed.

You jump right back, leaving your backpack in the front seat and forgetting everything for the moment. What a reckless lover girl.

“I am going to sleep in the front seat, don’t worry. Use as many blankets as you need” he informs you, closing the back doors and leaving you there. You most probably were to say “no, stay here” but you simply couldn’t.

After all, this tattooed doctor is a gentleman. Right?

You let yourself rest for a bit on that improvised bed, with your sight blurring while looking at the fairy lights. The scent of the blankets and pillows is the same as him, something you secretly enjoy without even knowing. You catch a glimpse of the reflection of him sitting in the front through the back windows, at how he takes his hat off revealing a dark shade of onyx spiky hair.

For the next half an hour, or maybe less, you both become silent. The only sounds are the huge slaps of snow falling from the sky against the van and the subtle whistle of the wind filtering through the doors.

It is cold, but it’s probably colder in the front as Law is only using his Germa 66 blanket to cover up…

“Law? Are you awake?” you ask, shyly.

“Mh? Yes... why?” he asks back, with not much emotion but a soft tremble on his voice. He is probably cold, very cold.

“I feel bad for you; you must be freezing. There is plenty of room back here, you could sleep here. It’s ok with me” you say, taking advantage of not being in front of him.

Law takes a few minutes to move, but he ultimately does. He hops to where you are and sits there crossing his long legs. He is not wearing his black leather boots, so you can see Sora’s socks.

“Cool socks” you say, sitting right in front of him watching his cheeks go blushed. “Here, cover up. You are freezing, doc”

Both of you cover up with heavy blankets and fall into the mattress at the same time, facing each other.

Maybe, it is too strong to deny it. The attraction is natural, and you both can’t stop it… Exactly like the wind and cold reaching your skins.

“I am still cold” you mumble.

“I read in one of my books that the best way to keep the warmth of our bodies is to share it… skin to skin” he whispers, unable to take his eyes away from your lips.

“Is that so?” you breathe, coming closer to his embrace, allowing his arms to surround your frame and your hips to join with the other’s.

His forehead slowly touches yours, the bridge of your noses do as well. Your fingers, playfully but slowly, crawl to the crook of his neck. While his, squeeze your waist with delicate dominance. A leg that snake into the other’s, crossing, tangling…

Lips coming closer, so close. Breaths warming up, going faster and bumpy. Hearts that indeed had been stolen, the first kiss of two strangers, meeting for the very first time like two snowflakes join while falling from an endless sky

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWill they continue their journey together? 🦢

[fallout4-reacts]

if you dont mind doing reacts based off other posts, how would companions react to a low int but max luck sole?

hoping links work in asks 😭

I sincerely believe that as long as I don't plagiarise another author's work, there should be no problem. However, if I have a writer who is upset because I've been asked the same request, I hope we can clarify it Unfortunately, it appears that there is an issue with the link, but I believe that it's better that way so I can react without being influenced by what has previously been done

So there! How companions react to a very stupid yet extremely fortunate Sole (It makes me think of Gontran from Picsou). I write them a little clumsy to add effect, hope you'll like it  PS : Yeah, I know, I have forget Cait... but it's fix

Cait : She wasn't really paying attention as Tommy wooed the stranger on her behalf. As long as she has her psycho, she doesn't give a hoot about anything else. Now, Sole and Cait were prowling an ancient factory in search of salvageable equipment and materials. They had hardly gotten a few steps ahead when they heard someone else's feet approaching.

Cait reached for her weapon and signalled for Sole to keep silent. They peered over the bend and saw a band of raiders coming at them with weapons blazing.

“Methinks we have some guests," Cait whispered. "We must find a way to flee with haste."

After agreeing, Sole turned to run, but their foot became hooked on a stray part.

A loose piece of metal grabbed Sole's foot as they turned to run, and they lurched forward, toppling a pile of crates with a loud crash.

As soon as the raiders noticed them, they opened fire, sending bullets flying past their heads. While Sole and Cait were running through the factory, dodging gunfire and looking for an exit, a stray bullet hit a gas tank, causing a massive explosion that sent debris flying in every direction.

Miraculously, neither Sole nor Cait were hurt as they were tossed to the ground. However, the factory was completely destroyed, and all of the raiders were wiped out in the explosion.

"I cannae believe it," Cait exclaimed. " Ye almost killed us, but we made it oot alive."

Sole smiled awkwardly. "I already told you. I seem to attract unusual luck."

Cait shook her head, but a grin spread across her face anyhow. She remarked, "Well, I dinnae ken how ya do it. Verily, I am relieved to have ya by ma side.”

Codsworth : From day one, when Nate activated him, he could see the extent of the damage… and somehow understand why they made his purchase in the first place. On that first day, he was able to count thirteen accidents. From something as stupid as stepping on the carpet to failing to set the house on fire for a cup of coffee, Sole is a walking disaster. That’s why Codsworth goes way beyond being Butler to make sure Sole doesn’t touch anything in the house. Since the bombs, the poor robot has been having anxiety attacks. How could someone barely able to survive in a relatively safe world do so in an extremely dangerous one? But ironically, it does. Like when Sturge asked Sole to install a suitable water line for Sanctuary and the city wall collapsed in the river, sparing the purifier. Since then, they have a clean pool free of any radiation, to the delight of all who can go wading and unclog a little at the end of the day without risking becoming a ghoul. Sturges has learned a lesson, and Sole is forbidden to touch anything that could be crucial for the colony since. Anyway, it’s not like the poor bastard can distinguish a battery from a switch.

Curie : Before she realised there was a living being on the other side of the door, the said door literally collapsed on itself. Curie never left the chamber where she had been kept for so long. She doesn't need to be asked to accompany Sole inside the vault. Unfortunately, one of the molerats carrying the infection bit Sole. To be honest, they fell on the corpse and stuck the teeth in their buttocks, even though the man in Sole's company had taken care to exterminate them all to ensure Sole was not worried. However, Sole refuses the treatment. Instead, they want that Curie cures a child. Curie is concerned about the virus's repercussions. But, once again, she has no idea what God Luck the Klutz must pray for, but the virus does not appear to be suitable for development in Sole's system. They will have to deal with some repercussions, but Curie has seen influenza cause more harm.

Danse : As he was about to give up after seeing the ferals rush waves after waves, he heard a voice behind him.

"Don't be afraid! I'm here to assist—oops!"

And Danse sees all of the security fences around the police station collapsing one after the other. How is that even possible? He has no idea. These barriers are built to withstand violent attacks. They are now sure they are dominoes. As panic gripped the Brotherhood, he realised that, by an incredible chance, the barriers had collapsed on the ghouls, flattening them like pancakes. When the last one has passed, the soldier turns to face the newcomer and a companion who appears to be in exasperation.

"Good…work…I guess. You have just spared us from terrible death." "Good job?" Rhys, the knight, becomes irritated. "That jerk almost got us all killed in less than a few seconds!"

"Keep calm," Haylen said as she shaved him on the train. "In the end, we are saved."

The paladin looks at his officers, then at the newcomer, who is attempting to untangle a chewing gum caught under his sole. When he loses his balance, the man beside him advances almost instinctively to receive him, almost as if he had the strength of habit.

"So, uh... listen, I have a mission for you if you're interested."

The man in the Minutemen's hat looks up, surprised, and drops his friend to make large hand movements, but it's too late. Sole, sitting on their hindquarters, nods their head.

"With great pleasure!"

Deacon : To put it simply, he hasn't laughed this hard in... ever. He was having problems laughing despite his attempts to drown his misery in humor, and he now goes to bed every night with a stomach ache so severe as he bends in half all day. He has seen them evolve in the world from the day they left the vault and has only one regret: not having popcorn. He has no idea how the individual made it this far. First, the Concord raiders: Sole fell down a well when the hatch that concealed it crumbled beneath their feet, unleashing a deathclaw in all his rage. While Sole ran like crazy up the street to avoid the huge beast's claws, the monster literally shredded all of the raiders present. When the deathclaw followed Sole into the museum, they collapsed the platforms on which the raiders were standing... raiders that the deathclaw has now shred in pieces. Finally, as Sole climbed four to four floors to escape their pursuers, the monster slipped and fell two floors on his head and died. Deacon almost roasted himself at the time, an intense chuckle escaping him despite himself. The adventure did not come to an end there. A completely taken aback Minuteman also arrived at the scene, but instead of making him laugh, it seemed to make him believe in the possibility of fate. So he began by worshipping Sole... for a few moments. Everything went to hell when Sole opened their mouths. This person isn't simply clumsy; they're plain dumb. But Preston appears to have a good heart in the face of bad luck; he takes Sole under his wing, and their adventures that begin then give Deacon so much pleasure that he is eager to go and tell everything at HQ.

Dogmeat : Dogmeat is delighted with his new master. But they can be strange at times. His new master seemed to disregard everything that people normally know. Instead of bang bang bang, they threw their weapon at a molerat. Dogmeat is unfazed; he shreds the molerats. Then there are the men-who-kill. Sole appears to believe that they can be their friend and greets them enthusiastically. When the men-who-kill turn towards them by raising their weapons, Dogmeat grabs Sole by the bottom of their trousers to make them get back. The metal plate on which they stand then falls beneath their feet, revealing a furious deathclaw. When the monster chases Sole and Dogmeat, they run belly-dn ahead. Sole does not accompany Dogmeat forks into a place where he knows they will be safe. They kept running straight forward, as if they could outrun a deathclaw. Dogmeat lets out a whine and dashes behind the deathclaw. It has been stated that Dogmeat was a bright dog, but the canine never imagined that he would one day be more intelligent than a person.

Elder Maxson : Danse stands behind the new recruit, completely uneasy. The Elder addresses him first.

"I'm having difficulty comprehending your report. You appear to be saying that Sole is the element that helped your missions work in your benefit, but you also appear to have some concerns. Why beg for their promotion and support them while expressing uncertainty?"

"I recommend that you make up your own mind."

The Elder then turns to the recruit and begins his lengthy speech. Sole maintains a straight posture and attentive listening throughout. Maxson is animated and takes his time explaining himself. When he has finished his long speech, he turns to Sole, waiting for their decision.

"So... I can get a Power Armor?"

Arthur is shocked. He frowns and glances at Danse, who appears to be trying to hold back a grin.

"Indeed, yes. But, more importantly, do you understand what is being asked of you?"

"Oh, to put on your uniform and go about doing your errands. When will I receive my armor?"

"Our… errands?"

"Yes. Go there, Sole, and bring that back. I'm not upset. But I'm looking for my armor."

Maxson's eyes widen in astonishment He again catches Danse's eyes, and he is certain now that the paladin keeps his cool not to chuckle. He instructs Sole to await them on the bridge.

"What's the backstory?"

"This... this recruit is a very interesting element. He fulfils all our requests. But to be honest, it's a miracle more than anything else."

"Do they... do they appear uh... capable of thinking?"

"I have my doubts. The Minutemen who accompanied them were equally sceptical. Furthermore, I do not recommend accompanying them on a mission or entrusting them with anyone. But they do the job... in their own way."

Arthur pauses for a moment before sighing.

"I must admit that the hopelessness of our situation compels me to grant your request. As a result, as you suggested, I raise them to Knight. I have a first task for both of you."

"Us two, sir?"

"You brought them to me; now you will manage them."

Danse lets out a sigh. That was his greatest fear. But, hey, Sole isn't a bad guy. He's only had concerns after nearly being roasted alive in Arcjet.

Hancock : "Wow! Insurance! You're such a kind man!"

The mayor of Goodneighbor looks at the newcomers with a snigger. Finn is defrauding them. Then he encounters the irritated, perhaps tired, look of Diamond City detective Nick Valentine. He doesn't want his drifter to play games with someone he likes, so he approaches Finn and instructs him to comply.

"Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to town, and you’re hassling his friend here with that extortion crap?"

"No problem here," the newcomer hurriedly stated. "This gentleman was just selling me insurance."

Nick seems to open his mouth in protest, but Hancock take it in hand.

"You’re soft, Hancock. If you continue to allow strangers walk all over us, there will be a new mayor."

"Come on, man. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something."

Sole seemed to be aware that something is about to occur. They approach towards the mayor, opening their mouth to speak, but their foot become caught in a slab on the ground.

"Oops!"

However, they cling to the dagger that Finn hid to cut Sole's throat at the first move, and the little scoundrel turns impaled on his own blade. Hancock, for his part, didn't have time to pull his own, which he had hidden behind his back, ready to impale Finn as well. He seems perplexed, Sole apologising repeatedly to Finn's body, which is now stiff on the ground.

"I'm very sorry, man. I didn't want to murder him... Mr. Ghoul, are you listening? I didn't want to murder your citizens. Please do not hurt me."

Nick shakes his head in disbelief, and the mayor cracks a faint smile.

"It's not the sharpest pencil in the box, is it?" He then explains "This guy was going to cut your throat. You had an amazing chance."

"Wait, no, I think you're wrong; he just wanted to sell me insurance."

Nick raises his hand as Hancock prepares to explain again in simple terms.

"Lost time, pal. Take this buddy as they come. I don't think they've realised I'm a synth yet."

"I'm not that stupid!" Sole objected. "But I know you don't make music. So, if you want to pretend to be something you're not, go ahead; but stop wanting—

"Synthetic! Not synthesizer!"

Hancock busts out laughing, and someone else behind his back does as well. He recognises Deacon's voice, but as he looks about among the street drifters, he doesn't see the Railroad agent.

Gage : Weeks of effort. It took weeks of miracles to get the stiff hands on a common project. The entire Gauntlet has now collapsed. Gage sighs and shakes his head. This new player is not playing. They are, nonetheless, intriguing. They will now have to handle Colter at the arena's door. Porter uses his intercom to confront the newcomer.

"Who's the one talking?"

"Porter, please answer the intercom. Approach, we’ll talk."

"Porter? That's... God's new name?"

Gage pauses, frowning. But dammit, he's met the stupidest guy he's ever encountered, and yet he evolves above the raiders.

"It's the intercom! It's on the wall! Near the lockers."

"Ah! Eheh. Yeah. I see. So, what do you desire?"

"If you play it right, we'll work together."

Porter then has a second thought. He can't possibly appeal to this person's brains. He shrugs his shoulders and decides to improvise.

"Look, you're going to find a water gun in a locker...hello?"

"Oops! Sorry. I was... looking around..."

"Huh? Power to the Arena's down by 30%. You do that? Not bad. You're still gonna need the gun, but... that oughta help."

Sole finally found the water gun after numerous clues. Porter began to question if his strategy was really that good...

MacCready : Hancock ushers a newcomer into the VIP room. Poor timing. Those idiots Winlock and Barnes have tracked him down and are attempting to intimidate him. It's going to get ugly fast...

"Wow, this is a true family reunion! Wow, you've got a lot of guns!"

MacCready was still astonished after Hancock struck his forehead. Giggles escaped the gunners. Mac rushes to return them to their home.

"Are you the mercenary I can employ?" It's Hancock, he stated I need God's help and don't know who I can afford to stay alive."

Mac casts a glance at the mayor, who shrugs and walks out of the room, unable to keep back his laughter.

"Yeah, I do offer my rifle services to those who can afford them."

"Oh, yes, caps!"

The new person slings a bag over their shoulder, but in a clumsy action, all of the contents and the container fall to the ground. They see something under the table as they bend down to pick up their mess.

They reach out their hand and pull out a plasma grenade. MacCready rushes to take the toy from their grasp as they prepare to engage it accidently.

"Obviously, you're going to need all the help you can get to survive, but if you really want to pay for my services, it'll be...500 caps."

Sole takes out a purse containing their belongings.

"There must be at least five or six hundred. It's difficult to count that many. Okay, maybe ten or twenty capsules. But more than a hundred? You're insane; I don't have all day."

Perplexed, the mercenary scratches the back of his head and sighs. He didn't expect the new would accept such a high price, so he's not going to start recounting behind them. There are clearly several hundred caps by weight.

"Well, you've just paid for Robert Joseph MacCready's services!" he attempts cheerfully.

"Great!" exclaims the other. "I'm Sole. That's how they refer to me."

Nick Valentine : After only a few minutes, he begins to question if it might not be preferable to remain trapped in the vault. Dyno died literally laughing. He fell over the railing and into the atrium at the bottom after seeing the other get entangled in wires while attempting to draw their rifle. Nick has been waiting impatiently for the other to figure out how the terminal works since then.

"Listen, uh... detective, I'll be right back."

Nick hears the other one come down the stairs, then return after a long time. Dyno appears to have had a piece of paper with the password in his pocket, and Sole can finally open the cage, which is not gilded at all.

"Ah, my knight-in-shining-armor. But the question is, why does he come all this way, risk life and limb, for an old private eye?"

"Who! Is that a robot? I'm sorry, Mr. Robot, but I'm searching for a detective. Did you happen to see him?"

"I believe I'm the detective you're looking for."

"No, I mean a private investigator. I was told he went to look into Malone's side of the vault and that we haven't heard from him since."

"I am the private detective."

"Nick Valentine! That's his given name. Nick Valentine, I recall."

"I AM NICK VALENTINE."

"Okay. Is this some sort of a game? You've been programmed to deceive others? What happened to Nick Valentine?"

Nick takes a deep breath.

"I’m a synthetic man. I’m a synthetic detective."

"You’re a synthesiser? So, you're a musician? Wow. When the detective’s going to figure it out... But I don't have time to listen to music; I need to save the detective."

"Lord…"

Piper : "Play along!"

"Are you playing a game? Great!"

Piper casts a sidelong peek at the new one, but she's not going to pass up this opportunity. She eventually persuaded Danny to open it up to her with a lot of luck. However, the person in blue almost blew it. She rushes into Diamond City as soon as the gate opens, and the new follows her, but she will worry about them later, as MacDonough awaits her around the corner.

"Piper! Who you let you back inside? I told Sullivan to keep that gate shut!"

"Hey!" interrupts the newcomer right away. "How could Quincy's surplus have been sold to...crazy Mirna... if you had left this gate closed?"

«It was a lie to go home," Piper says as she passes past.

"Do you mean I'm not a Quincy trader? Oh, how I would have liked that."

The mayor, by some miracle, appears to believe that the newcomer is important and ends up leaving them alone, tail between their legs, after the other voices two or three well-placed remarks. Piper is impressed, because in fact, they appear to have only two cells, one to keep them from peeing everywhere and the other to...

"So, Blue, do you want to tell me a little bit about your backstory?"

"Blue? Why do you call me Blue?"

"The vaultsuit."

"Oh, yes, it's true that it's blue."

Piper lets out a sigh. She hasn't even left the inn yet.

"Please join me at the Publick Occurency (if you can find it) and we can talk. Okay?"

The new one says, "Agreed." Piper rushes away, wondering who she has just met, when she catches the smile of a guard she does not remember.

Preston : Oh my fucking goodness! Preston isn't the sort to curse, but as half the museum collapses on the gunners and deathclaw, the notion flashes through his mind as vividly as if he'd said it aloud. He, on the other hand, cannot believe their good fortune. It's amazing! To accomplish such a feat, this individual must be a genius. But as he watches them emerge from the rubble, he begins to wonder if...

"Wow, that's impressive. But a couple of shots could have done the same thing without... destroying everything."

The blue person simply steps over the balcony and approaches Preston.

"Hello there! What exactly are you doing here? Isn't this a really depressing place to be?"

Preston looks at the refugees before returning his gaze to the vaultie.

"The raiders threatened us, so we took refuge here. But now that we've done that, we must decide what to do next. Sturges?"

Preston notices that Sturges is entirely frozen in place, detailing the new one as if it appeared out of nowhere.

"They did... they destroyed the museum!"

"Yes, Sturges. I was present. But, at the very least, the city has been cleaned up. We can proceed safely."

"Safe? With…that?!"

"That's referred to as Sole. Pleased. You are?"

"The survivors of Quincy."

"And we'd like to be able to survive," Sturges continued. "There will be no more williboumbatpouf! Okay?"

So, the survivors of Quincy and Sole set out for the location seen by Mama Murphy: Sanctuary Hill. When they arrive in one piece, Preston has the brilliant idea of inviting Sole to assist Sturges in establishing them. And that results in a lot… a lot of problems. 

Strong : Strong doesn’t see the problem. Strong finds the puny humans very lucky. Other humans seem to think the puny human is stupid. Strong think the puny humans is very smart.

X6-88 : He cannot conceive of this individual being able to conceive Father. Probably the other parent was a genius outside of their field, and Father got the best of both worlds. There is literally no other option. And their chance! Surely, wherever they go, this extraordinary chance rescues them from the direst situations.

"Wow, X6! I stumbled onto a honey storage tank. It's incredible!"

X6 heaves a murmur of exasperation as he leans over the edge of the rusted tank, whose metal has yielded under Sole's weight. It is indeed honey that has been partially solidified but is still viable.

Truly an incredible chance.

[over-the-time-flow]

Back to our turn! With Gyunei and Quess both capable of all-range attacks, there's no point in turtling here anymore. Time to advance.

But first, let's have Bright show some Guts and heal his HP fully.

He aims for a Jagd with the machinegun batteries, and Chan finishes the job with a Support Attack.

Some more moving + enemy weakening. I always make sure Hathaway and Kayra are adjacent, since they're so good at keeping each other alive. Just to be sure, however, i had Kayra cast Alert and Indomitable. Can never be too safe!

Speaking of being safe, i park Chan here without even attacking. We can't risk anything happening to her, even if the Re-GZ is rather good at surviving.

Then i move Amuro up, giving us a chance to test the waters with Quess, and some more dialogue!

Quess: "I won't let you get to Char!" Amuro: "I sense malice..."

empaths when someone fires an all-range attack at them

As expected, the α is rather beefy. At least we don't have to worry much about the counter; if anyone's qualified to parry funnels, it's Amuro.

Finally, Raul, who hasn't done much today, weakens a Geara Doga.

And obliterates another on the enemy turn.

This ups his level of Potential and gives him a level in Blocking!

Other than that, it sure was an enemy turn. Just about everyone aimed at Bright.

Back to our turn, there's very few real threats left. Let's get started on getting rid of Quess.

We get some nice damage in. By the way, in that second image, see that message on the top right? Chan's support attack triggered her I-Field, an anti-beam barrier that outright negates most beam attacks. the Re-GZ's Mega Beam Cannon is strong enough to penetrate it, but in the process is severely weakened, as demonstrated here.

Despite using beams, Funnels are generally not affected by these in SRW. The logic is probably that they can simply fly within the barrier's outer range and attack unimpeded.

Anyway, it's Raul and Kayra's turn to weaken Quess. We do make progress, but Raul takes some heavy damage.

Time for Chan to cast Valor, Focus and Luck. She's going boss-killing one last time.

That's right, i'm not feeding this Quess kill to Hathaway!

Somehow, the Valor is enough to let Chan one-shot Quess past her I-Field. I really thought i was gonna need the Kayra Support attack!

Quess: "Aah!"

Our bodycount rises. Rest in peace, Quess.

NEVERMIND THAT, LOOK AT THAT PAYOUT!!

Hathaway is furious at Quess' murder. Chan may have done it because she was out of options, but those words won't reach Hathaway right now. She was just a kid, much like him, and she was killed without a thought spared... it's exactly because of these attitudes from adults like Chan or Char that someone can justify wiping out the Earth! Right now, in Hathaway's eyes, Chan is no different from an enemy. And accordingly...

He shoots her down.

Raul: "Hathaway, how could you..."

I think that's the only time that that scene's ever been adapted into SRW.

God i love CCA.

In any case, with Quess out of the way, it's basically just us and Ch-

Gyunei: "How dare you kill Quess!!"

oh right forgot about you

[amphibia-words-suggest]

They arrive just outside of Wartwood, smog clinging to Marcy’s delicate lungs and making it hard to breathe. She hates feeling so weak, but there’s nothing the girl can do about it as Yunan helps her and then Olivia off of Flapjack. 

The cardinal hops from foot to foot, but doesn’t take off. 

“Guess he wants to stay with us?” Marcy shrugged. No sooner does she step towards the archway proudly displaying Wartwood’s “Slow to accept, even slower to respect” sign than a shout rings out and a bunch of frogs wielding various weapons jump out at the girl, and she falls over with an oof. 

“AMBUSH!”

The taste of battery acid rises in Marcy’s throat and she finds herself pinning one of the attackers, who squirms and lets out a yelp under her boot.

“Hey, get offa me!”

Marcy makes a noise of surprise and backs away, blinking the orange haze out of her eyes. The bright yellow frog she’d pinned to the ground glares up at Marcy, and guilt squirms in the girl’s stomach. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. 

“Good heavens! What’s going on?” Olivia, ever the diplomat, steps forward to deescalate the situation. Yunan, who had already taken up a fighting stance, relaxes her posture and sheaths her blades, but her distrusting glare at the frogs doesn’t soothe Marcy’s fears at all. 

“If you want to enter Wartwood, you’ve gotta state your business,” the yellow frog replies. She can’t be much older than Sprig - and then Marcy remembers meeting her during her time in Wartwood - Ivy Sundew, right? Ivy points an accusatory finger at Marcy. “Especially since you attacked me!" 

"Sorry,” Marcy repeats, though for some reason the word feels less sincere this time around. “We’re looking for Sasha." 

Ivy glances at the other frogs - there’s a blue one with one eye scrunched closed, an older, pale purple frog, and a few others. Marcy doesn’t see Maddie, and ignores the little flicker of disappointment in her gut. 

"Alright,” the elderly purple one says finally - Mrs. Croaker, Marcy thinks, “come on in." 

Yunan obviously looks uncomfortable being treated like a prisoner, but Olivia touches the general’s shoulder and the pink newt sighs heavily.

Wartwood looks about the same as when Marcy last saw it, but the grass is less green and some of the buildings are damaged by what looks like laser fire. Attacks from the frog-bots?

They find Sasha sitting by the water fountain in the middle of town, head resting on her chin as she stares into the water. 

Is Sasha… brooding? Marcy’s never seen her friend look so melancholy before. Sasha’s always been the overconfident, cocky, proudest member of the trio - so to see her looking so dejected makes a worried little moth flutter around the Taiwanese girl’s heart. 

"Someone’s here to see you, Sasha,” Ivy hops over to her and the blonde looks up. Her eyes meet Marcy’s, and immediately it’s like a million little sparklers exploding in the air around them as she runs to squeeze Marcy in a hug. 

“Oh my frog,” Sasha breathes. Her hair smells like strawberries. “You're alive. I thought that - that-" 

"I missed you, too,” Marcy winces when Sasha hugs her a little too tight, and the blonde immediately releases her from the embrace. 

“I’m so sorry,” they say at the same time. Marcy glances at the ground and Sasha reaches out hesitantly, as if to make sure she’s real, but quickly pulls back again. Marcy never expected their reunion to be so… awkward. She’d sort of almost thought things would go back to normal. 

After everything you’ve done to them? Really, Wit?

Yunan steps towards them, her hands balled into fists. 

“I hate to interrupt, but it looks like we’ve got company." 

Marcy and Sasha glance in the direction of the Newtopian general. Beyond the city, flying in a skillful arc, is a wave of frog-bots. 

"Here we go again,” Sasha murmurs. 

[greatworldwar2]

• Doris Miller

Doris "Dorie" Miller was a United States Navy cook third class. He was the first black American to be awarded the Navy Cross, the second highest decoration for valor in combat after the Medal of Honor.

Miller was born in Waco, Texas, on October 12th, 1919, to Connery and Henrietta Miller. He was named Doris, as the midwife who assisted his mother was convinced before his birth that the baby would be a girl. He was the third of four sons and helped around the house, cooked meals and did laundry, as well as working on the family farm. He was a fullback on the football team at Waco's Alexander James Moore High School. He began attending the eighth grade again on January 25th, 1937, at the age of 17 but was forced to repeat the grade the following year, so he decided to drop out of school. He filled his time squirrel hunting with a .22 rifle and completed a correspondence course in taxidermy. He applied to join the Civilian Conservation Corps, but was not accepted. At that time, he was 6 feet 3 inches (1.91 m) tall and weighed more than 200 pounds (91 kg). Miller worked on his father's farm until shortly before his 20th birthday. Miller's nickname "Dorie" may have originated from a typographical error. He was nominated for recognition for his actions on December 7th, 1941, and the Pittsburgh Courier released a story on March 14th, 1942, which gave his name as "Dorie Miller". Since then, some writers have suggested that it was a "nickname to shipmates and friends."

Miller enlisted in the United States Navy for six years on September 16th, 1939. He did his recruit training at Naval Station Norfolk in Virginia, then was promoted to mess attendant third class, one of the few ratings open at the time to black sailors. After training school, he was assigned to the ammunition ship Pyro (AE-1) and then transferred on January 2nd, 1940, to the Colorado-class battleship West Virginia (BB-48). It was on the West Virginia where he started competition boxing, becoming the ship's heavyweight champion. In July, he was on temporary duty aboard the Nevada (BB-36) at Secondary Battery Gunnery School. He returned to the West Virginia on August 3rd. He was promoted to mess attendant second class on February 16th, 1941.

Miller was a crewman aboard the West Virginia and awoke at 6 a.m. on December 7th, 1941. He served breakfast mess and was collecting laundry at 7:57 a.m. when Lieutenant Commander Shigeharu Murata from the Japanese aircraft carrier Akagi launched the first of seven torpedoes that hit West Virginia. The "Battle Stations" alarm went off; Miller headed for his battle station, an anti-aircraft battery magazine amidships, only to discover that a torpedo had destroyed it. He went then to "Times Square" on deck, a central spot aboard the ship where the fore-to-aft and port-to-starboard passageways crossed, reporting himself available for other duty and was assigned to help carry wounded sailors to places of greater safety. Lieutenant Commander Doir C. Johnson, the ship's communications officer, spotted Miller and saw his physical prowess, so he ordered him to accompany him to the conning tower on the flag bridge to assist in moving the ship's captain, Mervyn Bennion, who had a gaping wound in his abdomen where he had apparently been hit by shrapnel after the first Japanese attack. Miller and another sailor lifted the skipper but were unable to remove him from the bridge, so they carried him on a cot from his exposed position on the damaged bridge to a sheltered spot on the deck behind the conning tower where he remained during the second Japanese attack. Captain Bennion refused to leave his post, questioned his officers and men about the condition of the ship, and gave orders and instructions to crew members to defend the ship and fight. Unable to go to the deck below because of smoke and flames, he was carried up a ladder to the navigation bridge, where he died from the loss of too much blood despite aid. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

Lieutenant Frederic H. White had ordered Miller to help him and Ensign Victor Delano load the unmanned number 1 and number 2 Browning .50 caliber anti-aircraft machine guns aft of the conning tower. Miller was not familiar with the weapon, but White and Delano instructed him on how to operate it. Delano expected Miller to feed ammunition to one gun, but his attention was diverted and, when he looked again, Miller was firing one of the guns. White then loaded ammunition into both guns and assigned Miller the starboard gun. Miller fired the gun until he ran out of ammunition, when he was ordered by Lieutenant Claude V. Ricketts to help carry the captain up to the navigation bridge out of the thick oily smoke generated by the many fires on and around the ship; Miller who was officially credited with downing at least two enemy planes. "I think I got one of those Jap planes. They were diving pretty close to us," he said later. Japanese aircraft eventually dropped two armor-piercing bombs through the deck of the battleship and launched five 18-inch (460 mm) aircraft torpedoes into her port side. When the attack finally lessened, Miller helped move injured sailors through oil and water to the quarterdeck, thereby "unquestionably saving the lives of a number of people who might otherwise have been lost." The ship was heavily damaged by bombs, torpedoes, and resulting explosions and fires, but the crew prevented her from capsizing by counter-flooding a number of compartments. Instead, West Virginia sank to the harbor bottom in shallow water as her surviving crew abandoned ship, including Miller; the ship was raised and restored for continued service in the war. On the West Virginia, 132 men were killed and 52 were wounded from the Japanese attack. On December 13, Miller reported to the heavy cruiser Indianapolis (CA-35).

On January 1st, 1942, the Navy released a list of commendations for actions on December 7th. Among them was a single commendation for an unnamed black man. The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) had asked President Franklin D. Roosevelt to award the Distinguished Service Cross to the unknown black sailor. The Navy Board of Awards received a recommendation that the sailor be considered for recognition. On March 12th, an Associated Press story named Miller as the sailor, citing the African-American newspaper Pittsburgh Courier; additional news reports credited Lawrence D. Reddick with learning the name through correspondence with the Navy Department. In the following days, Senator James M. Mead (D-NY) introduced a Senate bill to award Miller the Medal of Honor, and Representative John D. Dingell, Sr. (D-MI) introduced a matching House bill. Miller was recognized as one of the "first US heroes of World War II". He was commended in a letter signed by Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox on April 1st, and the next day, CBS Radio broadcast an episode of the series They Live Forever, which dramatized Miller's actions. Black organizations began a campaign to honor Miller with additional recognition. On April 4, the Pittsburgh Courier urged readers to write to members of the congressional Naval Affairs Committee in support of awarding the Medal of Honor to Miller. On May 11th, President Roosevelt approved the Navy Cross for Miller. On May 27th, Miller was personally recognized by Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet, aboard the aircraft carrier Enterprise (CV-6) at anchor in Pearl Harbor. Nimitz said of Miller's commendation, "This marks the first time in this conflict that such high tribute has been made in the Pacific Fleet to a member of his race and I'm sure that the future will see others similarly honored for brave acts."

Miller was advanced in rank to mess attendant first class on June 1st, 1942. On June 27th, the Pittsburgh Courier called for him to be allowed to return home for a war bond tour along with white war heroes. On November 23rd, Miller returned to Pearl Harbor and was ordered on a war bond tour while still attached to Indianapolis. In December, and January 1943, he gave presentations in Oakland, California, in his hometown of Waco, in Dallas, and to the first graduating class of black sailors from Great Lakes Naval Training Station. He was featured on the 1943 Navy recruiting poster "Above and beyond the call of duty", designed by David Stone Martin. He then reported to Puget Sound Navy Yard at Bremerton, Washington on May 15th, 1943 when he was assigned to the newly constructed escort carrier Liscome Bay (CVE-56). He was advanced in rank to cook third class on June 1st. The ship had a crew of 960 men, and its primary functions were to serve as a convoy escort, to provide aircraft for close air support during amphibious landing operations, and to ferry aircraft to naval bases and fleet carriers at sea. After training in Hawaii waters, Liscome Bay left Pearl Harbor on November 10th, 1943 to join the Northern Task Force, Task Group 52. Miller's carrier took part in the Battle of Makin (invasion of Makin by units of the Army's 165th Regimental Combat Team, 27th Infantry Division) which had begun on November 20th. On November 24th, the day after Makin was captured by American soldiers and the eve of Thanksgiving that year (the cooks had broken out the frozen turkeys from Pearl Harbor), the Liscome Bay was cruising near Butaritari (Makin's Atol's main island) when it was struck just before dawn in the stern by a torpedo from the Japanese submarine I-175 (fired four torpedoes at Task Group 5312). The carrier's own torpedoes and aircraft bombs including 2,0000 pounders were detonated a few moments later, causing the ship to sink in 23 minutes. There were 272 survivors from the crew of over 900, but Miller was among the two-thirds of the crew listed as "presumed dead". His parents were informed that he was missing in action on December 7th, 1943. Liscome Bay was the only ship lost in the Gilbert Islands operation.

A memorial service was held for Miller on April 30th, 1944, at the Second Baptist Church in Waco, Texas, sponsored by the Victory Club. On May 28th, a granite marker was dedicated at Moore High School in Waco to honor him. Miller was officially declared dead by the Navy on November 25th, 1944, a year and a day after the loss of Liscome Bay. One of his brothers also had served during World War II. Miller was 24 years old at the time of his death. Miller's legacy continues in many memorials to his service. Doris Miller Memorial, a public art installation honoring Miller on the banks of the Brazos River in Waco, Texas. A bronze commemorative plaque at the Doris Miller Park housing community located near Naval Station Pearl Harbor; organized by the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority and dedicated on October 12th, 1991, which would have been Miller's 72nd birthday. Even the U.S Navy honored Miller with the USS Miller (FF-1091), a destroyer escort (reclassified as a Knox-class frigate on June 30th, 1975) was commissioned on June 30th, 1973, in honor of Miller. Miller's likeness and story has also been portrayed in films, such as Miller being awarded the Navy Cross was portrayed in the 2019 film Midway. In Michael Bay's 2001 film Pearl Harbor, Miller is portrayed by actor Cuba Gooding Jr. Although he is not identified by name, Miller is portrayed by Elven Havard in the 1970 film Tora! Tora! Tora!

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 64

The sound of cannon fire broke through the silence. It came with a flare of light from the Spanish forces in the fortress. The last holdout of the Spanish army on his land. 

Mexico let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. It had begun, just as the morning light broke. He hated the time that came before a battle, and the first shot came as a comfort. The preparations had set him on edge. Working with Santa Ana to shore up the defenses had served a purpose, but it had felt like waiting for the inevitable. 

Cuba’s warning had given them enough warning to prepare, and the Dutch aid had freed up enough of his ships to mount a defense of the harbor. It had surprised him at first to read how few Spain had been able to muster for his reconquest. In his nightmares Mexico had seen the armada of old looming on the horizon. But, an empire crippled by a decade of war could not field the power that he once could. As the Netherlands had told him, Spain was weaker than he had been in a very long time. He had known that it would be a smaller force than Spain in his glory days, but it had done little to make him feel calmer. 

Even with Santa Anna’s cool confidence in himself and the defenses, he couldn’t stop himself from dreading the silence before battle. In the nights before he had tried to listen to his intuition, which seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict the outcome of battle. If he felt dread, then Spain may succeed. But even his gut had felt frustratingly uncertain and undecided. But if there was anything that Mexico was certain of, it was that when he could fight he could have a part in ensuring a victory. 

As the canon shot from the fortress raised splashed in the low light of dawn, Mexico tightened his hand on his sword. Though there was no one to fight yet, it felt right. The moment that a Spaniard dared to set foot aboard he would be ready to cut them down. 

He knew little about sea warfare, but he could judge that there was not a danger from the batteries yet. The shots, clearly meant to be frightening, were landing in the water of the bay. Though the splashes were impressive, they were harmless. Mexico guessed that the cannons of his own forces were not firing because the shot and gunpowder were expensive and limited. It seemed that Santa Anna was capable of some restraint, though everything about the man said otherwise.

The captain joined Mexico at the railing and said, “Calm yourself. Patience determines victory at sea.” 

Mexico nodded and tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders. This was not a battle on land, and combat with swords would not come as quickly. He asked, “Why are they firing when we are out of range?” 

He knew it was something of an obvious question to a sailor, but the captain already understood that he was a soldier. He saw the smallest suggestion of a smile on the mortal’s face, which reassured him that his interest was appreciated. He answered, “They’re trying to draw us out of position so that we can’t counter their ships as well. I expect that we will see their fleet any moment.” 

Mexico nodded; he could understand the strategy at play. It was bait, and it was not being taken. The captain raised his spyglass and said, “And there they are.” 

Mexico glanced at the horizon and saw that the Spanish fleet was appearing at the mouth of the bay. It was not the mass of sails he had imagined, though he had known the numbers. When they were spread out across the surface of the water, it did not seem quite as frightening. Mexico realized how much he had allowed himself to fear Spain in a way that was unwarranted.

 As the ships got closer, the guns at Mexico’s back began to fire. The cacophony of the dueling cannons seemed like a prelude to the fight that was coming the moment that the ships were in range of each other. 

The captain confirmed it by turning to Mexico and saying, “I must go. Hold on when you need to. Things are about to get bumpy.” 

Mexico was certain that if he could hold himself steady enough to shoot on a galloping horse, then a heaving ship would prove little challenge. He had never fought at sea before, but he had faith in himself. 

There was a moment of silence, which he took to steady himself, and fix his gaze on the imperial flag flying from the Spanish flagship. If Spain was leading the offensive, then that would be where he was. And if Mexico could just reach him, he could take back the mercy that he had offered in the last battle. There was no way to secure the peace other than to defeat Spain soundly again, and leave him incapable of continuing to fight. This time Mexico was prepared to not stop short when he had the chance to end it. 

He felt the wind fall quiet. As he glanced behind him, he saw the sail fall flat. For a moment, it felt like the world held its breath. The air smelled like gunpowder and salt. 

Then the quiet was broken by a shouted order from the helm. It was followed by a flurry of activity. As if nature itself was following the command, the wind returned pushing from behind. For the little he knew of naval tactics, he knew that it was a favorable wind. 

The ship jerked forward beneath him, and Mexico had to put a hand on the rail to steady himself. He hadn’t anticipated how unnerving it felt for the ground beneath his feet to shift so suddenly, but he righted himself quickly enough. The movement of the ships was difficult to follow as the fleets seemed to merge into each other. From what he could tell, their target was the Spanish flag ship, while the smaller ships were busy with each other. 

This was the reason Mexico had chosen to put himself on the largest ship; it gave him the ability to get close to Spain. Though he wanted a victory for the safety of his fledgling empire, his personal goal was to get close to Spain again. 

He put his hand on his sword again and waited with bated breath for a moment. Mexico felt the ship shake again as the cannons let out a series of bellowing shots. There was a crash of wood as a few of the shots found their target. The spray of seawater and the smoke from the guns made it difficult to tell if they had done any damage. 

Mexico leaned forward on the rail, trying to assess what had happened. He could see places on the side of the ship where the shots had impacted, but it hardly seemed enough to cause significant damage. 

He caught a flare of orange in his peripheral vision, and realized a moment too late that he should not be standing so close when the Spanish ship fired back. The awareness came too late, but someone grabbed him from behind and dragged him away from the railings. The force of the pull unsteadied him enough for him to lose his footing and fall. As he lost his footing he pulled his rescuer down on top of him. 

A shot hit where he had been standing, sending a shower of splinters and hot sparks over the deck. Mexico drew in a breath of thick air, and tried to comprehend what had just happened. The smoke clouded his vision and made his eyes burn. 

He turned his gaze to his rescuer. The man had been knocked unconscious, though there was blood seeping into his hairline on one side of his head that made Mexico suspect that it may be something worse. He put his hand to the man’s neck to feel if he was still alive. He felt a pulse, though the man’s heart rate was slow. 

Mexico gently pushed the weight of the man’s body off of himself. He didn’t want to hurt the man, but he had to get himself free. 

As he got to his feet, less gracefully than he’d hoped, he felt the ship shudder again as another broadside was loosed directly into the Spanish ship. He assumed that it had done significant damage, though naval battle was still a mystery.

Mexico could barely make out what was happening through the smoke, and the cacophony. But, he could tell that sailors were massing at the side of the deck. It seemed that they did not expect another broadside from the Spanish ship, so it was safe enough to stand close to the edge. He assumed that their last shots had done enough to delay the enemy guns to silence them. 

He felt like he was beginning to understand how battle between two ships was fought. He also felt like he was also starting to find his feet on the swaying surface. For all of his grace, trying to keep himself sure of his footing on deck was proving difficult. 

Once he was certain of himself again, he moved to join the other sailors waiting to see what came next. He heard a bellow that he assumed came from the captain, “Boarding!” 

He was not certain whether it was an order or a warning. But it did not matter to him either way, since it meant a fight was coming. It was the kind of fight that he understood, one with swords and pistols. 

Before diving into the fray, he drew his pistol. He had loaded a shot into each before the battle had begun, so he needed only to aim and shoot. 

The sailors were throwing grappling hooks across the gap, pulling the gunnel of the Spanish ship closer. A symmetrical series of grappling hooks flew from the enemy, creating a firm netting between the two, and pulling the two ships close enough that a man could jump from one to the other. 

The Spanish sailors were gathered on the other side, just as he had anticipated. In the moment, the battle would become the same as any other. With the hulls practically touching it would be impossible to effectively fire cannons into the other ship. It also seemed that the gun crews had taken to the deck with weapons in hand. 

This was the moment that Mexico had been waiting for. He leveled his pistol and waited to choose a target. His hand was steady, though his footing was not as sure as it would be on solid ground. 

An enemy sailor attempted to cross the gap, and Mexico fired with well honed muscle memory. The bullet found its mark, and the mortal fell into the gap between the ships. Mexico heard the splash as the body hit the water. 

With that, all restraint broke. Sailors from either side cleared the gap, and there was the sound of sabers colliding and a series of shots. Mexico tucked his second pistol into his belt. In the smoke and chaos he could not be certain who he would hit if he fired into the crowd. He didn’t dare take the risk of hitting any of his own men. 

The blade was certain though. An enemy landed right in front of him, and Mexico acted on instinct. He cut the man down easily. 

It almost felt like there was little challenge in anticipating that more men would pour across the gap, and taking them out as soon as they landed. It would also do little to end the battle. The average sailors were not driving this attempt at reconquest. 

He had to find Spain, and he had to end him. That was why he had decided to be on this ship, and it was the only thing that mattered. He tried to see through the mass of bodies to see if he could catch a glance of Spain through it. He knew what to look for, the scarlet coat and the glare of his eyes. Mexico couldn’t see him, but he continued to look because he knew that Spain must be on the other ship somewhere. 

He didn’t realize how intently focused he was until he felt a sharp pain in his side. He broke his gaze away from the crowd and looked down at the source of the pain. A sailor who he had failed to notice had managed to stab him. But it seemed that he had not found quite the right stance, and the stab had only managed to touch his side. 

He gritted his teeth, turned, and hit the man with the pommel of his sword. The mortal stumbled backwards and fell into the gap, disappearing into the water.

 Mexico put his free hand to the wound. It didn’t feel deep, but his hand was stained with blood when he pulled it away. He was used to the sight of his own blood after all of the years of war. He wiped it on his own jacket, and tried to focus on Spain. Being injured meant it was even more important to find him, since he could not afford another lapse of judgement. 

He glanced around. His eyes fell on the upper deck, and he smiled. That would be the best place to get an elevated view of the deck. It looked as though a couple shots had hit the upper deck and shattered the railings. But, the stairs had little damage, and that would give him the advantage that he needed. 

He looked around to make sure that there was no one who was about to stab him again the moment that he turned his back. He did not see anyone who seemed poised to attack him, so he took the moment to make a break. He took quick steps up the stairs, and then turned to face the battle. From above he could get a better sense of what was happening, and from his perspective it seemed to be a perfectly even battle. 

He scanned the men, looking for Spain. After his moment, his eyes landed on him. As he caught sight of Spain, the man turned and met his gaze. He saw the way that Spain’s lips curled into a smile, like he had been looking for Mexico too. 

Mexico knew that he had to take advantage of his position and the distance between them. It would not last, because he was aware that Spain would get closer. He wanted a decisive fight as badly as Mexico did.

He drew his pistol. A single shot could do enough to remove the other man from the war. Mexico leveled the gun and took aim. He couldn’t squander the shot, so he was hesitant to pull the trigger. He could feel the enormity of the moment on his shoulders. 

He lined up the shot, and took a breath to steady his hands. But, before he could fire, Spain moved into the fray. Mexico couldn’t fire without possibly hitting someone else. He would not waste his one shot on that. 

Instead he tracked Spain’s movement through the fray between the two ships. Mexico put his finger on the trigger, waiting for the first moment that he could get a clear line of sight. He waited, and was uncomfortably aware of the swaying of the boat beneath him. It seemed somehow less predictable than a galloping horse. 

He saw Spain emerge, and he fired immediately. He felt the way that the ship heaved again as soon as he fired, but he could not take it back and hope for a better shot. 

Spain staggered, and Mexico thought that the bullet had found its mark. He could not see the other clearly enough to tell where it had hit. But, as Spain straightened up, he felt his heart drop. Spain had his hand pressed against his left shoulder. 

It wasn’t even his dominant arm. 

Mexico put the pistol back into his belt, saying as he did so, “God fucking damnit!” 

He could have made that shot easily on land, and he knew it. It was enraging when Spain met his eyes again and raised an eyebrow like he had expected better. Mexico clenched his teeth, and decided that he would finish the job with his swords. He drew both, and waited. 

Spain reached the stairs and said, barely even sounding winded from the rush to reach Mexico’s position, “Shall we dance again, my dear?” 

Mexico loathed how confident he sounded, like he didn’t have blood soaking into his jacket around the bullet wound. He took a step closer to make it clear that Spain did not intimidate him and responded, “That didn’t go very well for you last time. Are you sure you want to try again?” 

He was amazed that the stab wound from their last battle had already healed. He would have to do it again. Spain smirked, “You won’t get that lucky again.” 

Without further warning, he lunged. Mexico caught his blade with his own. The force of the blow caught him slightly off balance. To regain his footing he took a step backwards up the stairs. He said, as he parried Spain’s second blow, “What are you trying to do? I will not surrender.” 

Spain was making a point of attacking aggressively, and Mexico chose to play the defense for the moment. When he got on the level ground of the deck it would be easier to push back. Spain responded, “I’m taking back what is mine. If you think I will not fight to my last breath for you, then you underestimate me.” 

Mexico felt his foot hit the flat of the upper deck and prepared himself to push back. He spat back, “You are being pathetic. I am never going to accept a monster like you.” 

He deflected Spain's next strike and countered with one of his own that Spain managed to dodge. Mexico retreated enough to find his footing. Spain took the opportunity to keep talking, “You call me a monster, but I heard what you did to Tlaxcala. I kept that useless old man alive for centuries, and you killed him without a second thought. I didn’t think you were capable of it.” 

Mexico felt like Spain had knocked the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t realized there was anyone who could have heard that conversation and told Spain. The mere implication that it was anything like Spain’s crimes made him see red. He said, through clenched teeth, “You could not possibly understand.” 

Before Spain had a chance to make another comment, he aimed a slash at Spain’s side. The other caught it and parried, then transitioned smoothly to an attack of his own. Mexico saw it coming and caught it. 

Spain leaned forward over the crossed swords, “You’re just like me now. You have blood on your hands.” Mexico felt the rage in the pit of his stomach. He pushed Spain away as hard as he could. He said, barely containing his own rage, “I am nothing like you.” 

The way that Spain continued to look mildly amused made him even angrier. He threw another blow, intent on causing damage. Spain caught it and said, with a sickening smirk, “Just admit that we are meant for each other.” 

Mexico could feel Spain pushing him backwards, but he refused to break the guard yet. He shifted his grip enough to get the right angle, and then pushed against Spain’s sword enough that it slipped out of his hand. The sword clattered on the deck, and Mexico took it as a sign that he had Spain where he wanted him. 

He stepped back and raised his sword, and said, “I have you again. When will you understand that you’re beaten?” 

Spain met his gaze unflinchingly. He didn’t seem to understand that he was unarmed and at Mexico’s mercy. He said, “You have so much to learn about naval battles. First, you need to learn to pay attention to your surroundings.” 

Mexico had no idea what he was talking about, and quickly glanced around to figure out what he had missed. In the momentary distraction, Spain charged him. He felt Spain’s shoulder hit his chest. Suddenly the ground disappeared under his feet. 

He was falling for a long moment, and then he hit the deck hard. There was an immediate splitting pain in his head where it had impacted the wood. 

His thoughts felt fuzzy as he slowly opened his eyes. He couldn’t figure out how long his eyes had been closed. As he looked up, he realized what had happened. He was looking up at the break in the railing on the upper deck where Spain must have pushed him off.

The next thing he was aware of was that Spain was no longer on top of him. He was standing, dusting off his own jacket. Once he had pulled himself together, he said, “Now I am going to take you home.” 

He sounded very far away, and there was a ringing in Mexico’s ears that nearly drowned him out. Mexico felt strange, but he knew that he would not let Spain touch him. He drew a small knife from within his jacket. 

As gracefully as he could, he sat up and jammed the knife into Spain’s stomach. He saw the look of shock on Spain’s face at the injury.

The Spaniard growled and responded by headbutting him, which sent a new spike of pain through Mexico’s aching head. Mexico’s eyes watered at the pain, but he refused to look away from Spain. He would not concede, not for a moment. 

Spain pulled the knife out of his abdomen and tossed it across the deck. Then he said in a voice that sounded like he was trying very hard to hide how angry he was, “It’s over. Come with me, now.” 

He leaned down and reached for Mexico’s jacket. Mexico wished that he had another knife, but he had used his only one, and could not figure out where his sword had gone. So, he reached up, pretending for a moment that he was reciprocating the gesture. 

But it was only to get close enough that he could seize Spain by the shoulders. Once his hands were firmly in place, he responded, “Damn you, bastard.” 

And then he drove his thumb into the bullet wound on his shoulder. He could tell that Spain was surprised by the way he reacted to the pain.He grimaced and his knees seemed to buckle. Mexico knew that he had him off balance, and he pushed hard enough to get Spain away from him. He made sure to put particular pressure on the wound, so that he’d have more leverage. Spain lost his footing and fell.  

Once he had made distance, Mexico managed to scramble to his feet. Standing up made him feel dizzy, but he would not allow himself to show it. For the moment, he had the advantage.

He caught sight of his swords, which had not flown too far when he fell. He wouldn’t have time to retrieve them before facing Spain again, but he was glad that they had not ended up in the bay. 

He turned to face Spain again, and raised his fists to defend himself. Spain did the same, though Mexico could see that his left hand had a slight tremor. That shoulder must hurt terribly. 

Mexico was about to strike when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked next to him. He turned to see the captain with a pistol in hand, with it trained on Spain. 

Spain glanced from the mortal to Mexico and seemed to decide that he was outmatched. He gave Mexico one more withering look before turning and fleeing back to his own ship. 

Mexico let out a long breath. Once the adrenaline of facing Spain started to wear off he realized that the ringing in his ears had not completely stopped. He also felt a very uncomfortable awareness of the boat’s movement in his stomach. 

He bent to recover his swords. As he bent down, he realized how dizzy he really felt. He staggered as he straightened up, and the captain said to him, “Are you alright?” 

Mexico wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He could feel his side bleeding, and he was sure that the shirt was ruined. His head was painful, and it took some focus to keep the world from blurring at the edges. 

He countered with the more important question, “You should have just shot him. Did we win?” 

The captain nodded, but something about the look on his face said that he was still concerned about his unanswered question. Mexico nodded, and said, “Good. I’m going to bandage my wounds. Tell me when we reach dry land again.”

Once he was alone in his cabin he tried to center himself. The pain in his head had faded, but he still felt strangely disoriented. He could have taken the moment to lay down and rest, but he refused to. He had too much to think about, and too much that he needed to deal with. 

The wound to his side was the first priority. He retrieved a roll of bandages. As he moved he felt the ship move, and lost his footing again, and had to put his hand out to steady himself. He breathed deeply and tried to orient himself again. 

Once he felt centered, he pulled up his shirt and began to wrap the bandages as tightly as he could on his own. It was not perfect, but it would stop the bleeding long enough for it to heal. 

As he worked, his mind slipped back to what Spain had said during their clash. He should have guessed that the spy who had told Spain about Guerrero would also have told him about Tlaxcala. 

He did not think he had done anything to equal Spain’s brutality. He had not cut down the man where he stood, though the thought had crossed his mind. Spain would have never hesitated; he would have killed the man on the spot. 

He finished wrapping the bandages and tucked the end in so that it would hold. With that dealt with, he turned to his hands. When he looked at them he realized that they were caked with blood. It did not surprise him after such a brutal battle. He knew that he had touched his own bleeding wound, and made Spain bleed as well.

He poured water into a basin, which he knew had been provided because of his status as an officer. He dipped his hands in the water and watched as the red began to float off. He couldn’t put his mind completely at rest as he looked at his hands. 

It was his own blood, and it was Spain’s and his own, but he also could not help but think that it was also Tlaxcala’s blood. He had condemned an old man to a slow death. It was a cruel decision, and not one he would have made if he had taken a moment to consider it logically.

Perhaps the man had remorse for his role in the conquest that he had never had the chance to express. Mexico rubbed his hands together, trying to get the blood off. The water quickly turned murky and red. He realized, with a sinking sense of guilt, that Spain had lied to Tlaxcala too. He had used everything that he could to secure his victory. 

Mexico pulled his hands out of the water and began to wipe them off. He could see that there was still blood under his nails, and he began to work at cleaning under them with the edge of the cloth. 

He felt like a fool for not knowing better. He had more experience with Spain’s charm and his ability to lie than anyone. He should have been the first one to give the man a chance to speak. His heart felt heavy as he had the thought. He should not have done what he did, but there was no way to turn it back. He had already severed the man’s connection to immortality, and had no power to give it back. 

As he put aside the cloth, he thought about what he could do to set things right, something that Spain would never do. He had to see Tlaxcala before he died, and express his regret to him. He could not let the man think that he was numb to what he had done. He had to make it clear that he felt regret, and for his own future he had to face the consequences of his actions, so that he never acted so quickly out of anger again. With the decision made, he let himself slowly sink onto his bunk, so he could rest until they reached the docks.

Mexico changed into riding clothing and paused only briefly to check the bandages on his torso. They seemed to be holding, so he decided he didn’t need to change them before he left. With that, he intended to go straight to the stables and take his horse to see Tlaxcala. 

But, as he crossed the hall he heard a familiar voice, “Are you going somewhere?” Santa Anna was striding across the floor towards him. Mexico had hoped to sneak away without an explanation, but the man’s presence made that impossible. Santa Anna continued, “I hope you are not. I was planning to celebrate the victory with you.” 

Mexico appreciated his enthusiasm, but he did not feel like celebrating at all. The feeling of guilt was far too strong for him to put it aside for the night. His heart was set on making everything right as much as he could. He replied, “I must. I have something that I have left unfinished.” 

He didn’t feel like he owed the man any other explanation, and he hoped that Santa Anna would not ask for more. All the mortal asked was, “Does it have to be tonight?” 

Mexico nodded, “I’m afraid so. It cannot wait.” 

Santa Anna shook his head like he was deeply disappointed, but his answer was, “Very well. I trust you to do what you must.” 

He paused for a moment before adding, “And come back soon. I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” 

Mexico couldn’t help but smile as he replied, “I will.”

It was a long ride to Tlaxcala, but it gave him time to think through what he was going to say. It would be strange to walk into the home of a man who was dying because of him, but it was better than ignoring the problem. He knew that the last words to the man had been callous, and he wanted to end things on a better note. 

Perhaps it would be no better if he expressed himself, and he would be thrown out immediately. But, even that would feel better because it would give him the chance to express himself. It would also give Tlaxcala the chance to express anger that was very well deserved. 

Mexico ignored the way that the movement of the horse made his head ache again. The blurring in his peripheral vision had faded, but he could still feel the dull ache in the back of his head. He tightened his hands on the reins as he felt another wave of rage at the thought of Spain. 

If not for the underhanded push, he would not be in pain. Spain was dishonorable, and he should have expected as much. But the unfamiliar environment had been enough to catch him off guard. If the fall had succeeded in knocking him unconscious, the consequences would have been terrible. Being at Spain’s mercy could have had dire consequences, but he had recovered fast enough. 

It made him deeply angry, but he tried to repress the feeling. For the night, he had to focus on the guilt festering in his gut. He gritted his teeth and hoped that the anger would fade before he got to Tlaxcala. Anger was the emotion that had gotten him into this trouble, and he refused to walk into the conversation angry. 

As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, he began to realize how long the ride would be. He had no desire to rest for the night, since he was certain that the feeling of guilt would only worsen when he closed his eyes. If he slept at all, it would have been uneasy and troubled. He had no desire to do that in some unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place. If he rode through the night, he would reach his destination by morning.

He decided that it would be best to get there as soon as possible. He leaned forward and patted the horse on the neck, and said, “I’m sorry that I’m going to do this. But we’re going to keep going.” He set his gaze on the horizon as the sky darkened and continued.

The sun was rising as he reached the house in Tlaxcala. As he had entered the city he had realized that he did not know exactly where he was going. He had decided that he would trust his gut and what he knew about his kind. Countries often chose to live in the heart of their capital, and it wasn’t difficult to find. 

Mexico also trusted his gut to tell him that he was in the right place. It was not logical, but it was usually right. 

As he stopped his horse outside of the courtyard, he wondered if this had all been a terrible idea. Had it been worth it to ride through the night to be told that he was hated and thrown out? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. If the dull ache would go away, then he could think clearly about what he was doing. His heart told him that it was right, and that it would soothe the feeling of guilt either way. If he turned away from the uncomfortable feelings, then he was no better than Spain. He needed to know at least that he was better than Spain, otherwise the feeling would haunt him.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever was about to happen. Then, feeling as centered as he possibly could, he turned his horse and entered the courtyard. As he dismounted, he still felt slightly off balance. It must have been some lingering effect from spending time on a swaying ship. 

He gave the horse a few loving pets to the mane, because he knew that he had ridden the poor creature harder than he should have. He said, quietly enough that someone wouldn’t hear unless they were very close, “You did very well. You can rest now.” 

He wasn’t certain whether he would be back quickly, since it depended on Tlaxcala. But, he hoped that his horse had the chance to rest. 

As he turned, he realized that the door had already opened. In the early morning, the sound of hooves must have been quite noticeable. He took it as an invitation that Tlaxcala had not immediately closed the door and locked him out. If he had not wanted to see Mexico, then it would be easy enough to keep him out. Mexico hoped that he had drawn the right conclusion from the gesture. 

As he walked closer, he realized that the person standing in the doorway was not the old man he had spoken to before. There was a woman looking at him, and he couldn’t read her expression. Perhaps he had come to the wrong house after all, though his heart told him that it was not. 

He also could not shake the feeling that he had met the woman somewhere before. Her face felt so familiar, but he could not think of a reason why. 

He pushed all the thoughts away and tried to focus on the reason he was there. He said, trying to sound polite, “I’m sorry to bother you. I am looking for Tlaxcala.” 

He spoke in Nahuatl, though he hadn’t made the conscious choice about the language. It came naturally to him, and he chose not to question it. Her eyes widened slightly when he started speaking, and for a moment he thought she would not understand him.

But, that worry was assuaged when she responded, “My husband? He is here, but he is asleep.” 

She sounded shocked, but Mexico was too focused on the word. He didn’t know the man was married. He felt even worse knowing that he had killed a man who had a spouse who would mourn him. If they had children, his guilt would be even more terrible. He knew what it was to lose a parent.

He tried not to betray the thought as he said, “I would like to speak to him if he is well enough to see me.” 

He did not know what state Tlaxcala would be in, since he didn’t know how long it took an immortal to die. It felt far too forward to ask whether he was still capable of carrying on a conversation. It had felt like his father had faded very quickly based on his limited memories, so the same may happen to Tlaxcala. He also wanted to give her a reason to politely decline him if his presence was too uncomfortable.

The woman nodded and answered him, “You can see him, if you would like. He won’t be expecting you.” 

Mexico could not help but wonder if she knew who he was, because it felt like an understatement. He expected Tlaxacala to neither be expecting him nor be happy to see him. He could not think of a single person who would be happy to see his killer.

She stepped aside and said with a slight smile, “Please come in.” 

It felt strange to step over the threshold. He felt like an incredibly unwelcome guest. He didn’t know why she would look at him so warmly, unless she had no idea what he had done. It made him feel like she would notice at any moment and throw him out, as she had every right to. Perhaps it would happen once she spoke to Tlaxcala and he made the whole situation clearer. 

She led him to a comfortable kitchen, and then said, “You should sit, and I will wake him.” 

Mexico found the welcome entirely too warm, but he was not going to question it. He made himself as comfortable as he could at her kitchen table. Much to his surprise, she placed a cup of coffee in front of him, and gave him another smile. He found it hard to smile back while being so aware of his own guilt. 

After the long ride and the sleepless night, coffee seemed very welcome. But, he felt like he could not take a drink of it, because it would be taking something from a dead man. To drink the coffee would be to accept the hospitality, and he could not do that. 

He put his hands around the cup and felt the warmth, but he would not allow himself even a sip. She left the room, and he was left alone with his thoughts and a coffee that he didn’t feel he deserved. He stared at the surface of the coffee, and tried to collect his thoughts. 

He had not thought through what he was going to say to Tlaxcala. The important part was that he said he was sorry, and Tlaxcala could react to it however he wanted. He was uncomfortably aware of how long the woman had been gone, and he began to wonder if they were trying to decide to tell him to leave. 

He tapped his finger on the table, trying to force himself to be patient. He could feel the nervous energy building up in his body. Remaining sitting felt too uncomfortable. He felt far too nervous to be alone with his thoughts. 

He pushed the cup to the side and stood up. He intended to pace, to do something with his nervous energy. He would have thought that the night would have exhausted him, but he still felt awake and anxious. 

He began to pace, thinking about the words he wanted to say if he got the opportunity. He wanted to sincerely express that he was trying to learn, though he knew that was little consolation to a dying man. It was all he could think of to say, and he was not certain that he would remember any of it when he was faced with the conversation. 

He paused by the door when he realized that he could hear voices on the other side. He knew that should not listen to Tlaxcala speaking to his wife out of respect to both of them. But, he could not resist the temptation of knowing if he was about to get anger from either of them. 

He leaned close enough that he could hear the voices. All he could make out was Tlaxcala’s voice saying, “You should tell him. He’ll feel better if you do.” 

He didn’t hear the answer. He had no idea what they could be talking about. He dared not push the door open to hear better. Instead, he turned away, feeling ashamed of himself for even listening. He heard the sound of her footsteps returning, and decided to sit again so that she did not know he had been wandering. 

She returned and said, “He’s ready to talk to you.” 

Mexico swallowed his nerves and responded, “Thank you. You’ve been so kind.” 

He felt like he should say it in case he was about to get castigated and have to leave in a hurry. If Tlaxcala threw him out, he wouldn’t have a chance to thank her, and she did deserve thanks for all her hospitality.

Tlaxcala was laying in bed with the curtains drawn so that it was bright enough for Mexico to see him clearly. He looked like he was ill. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked older than he had the last time Mexico had seen him. He had very distant memories of his father looking faded when he died, and Tlaxcala looked much the same. 

He had thought of so many words to say, but he wasn’t sure what to say to start the conversation. To his relief, Tlaxcala met his eyes and said, “You are a surprising guest.” Mexico replied, “And I am sure that I am not a welcome one.” 

He felt like it was better to open the door for Tlaxcala to tell him exactly how he felt. It felt better to allow the possibility of rejection, so that it did not feel like such a blow when it came. 

But, the old man didn’t have any anger in his face as he answered, “That depends on why you are here. If you want to gloat, then I will ask you to leave. But, judging by your face, I do not think you are.” 

Mexico settled into a chair at his bedside, because he felt like he had just gotten the permission to stay and talk. He replied, trying to say what he had been thinking about, “I am not. I wanted to speak to you because I am sorry for what I did.” 

The words felt heavy in the air, like they could never be enough. He watched Tlaxcala’s face as he spoke, and tried to judge the reaction. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t look upset. Mexico couldn’t help but continue to voice his thoughts, “I was angry about so many things, and I took it all out on you. But, I should not have hurt you for what Antonio did.” 

He could think of more words to say about how he had taken his pain out on the person he could hurt, instead of the one who was threatening him. But, it was better to hold his tongue and give Tlaxcala a chance to respond. 

The old man took a moment of quiet before he said, “It makes me glad to see that you have reflected on it.”

He adjusted himself in bed with a groan, so he was sitting up and looking directly at Mexico. He finished his thought, “I want you to look at me, and remember this. Your actions have consequences. You have more power now than you ever have, and you must be more careful with your temper.” 

Mexico felt like this was an oddly measured lecture for what they were discussing. He leaned forward and said, trying to make himself clear, “You do not have to forgive me. I do not expect you to.” 

He felt particularly uneasy with the idea, and wanted harsh condemnation. To his great surprise, Tlaxcala leaned forward and took his hands in his own. Tlaxcala sounded like he was speaking patiently to a child when he said, “Listen to me. I know that I do not have to, but I never wanted to be your enemy. These old grudges have to end. This cycle of conquest and revenge and pain has to end with you.” 

Mexico felt like he was a foolish child, and he didn’t know what to say. He simply nodded, hoping it was clear enough that he understood. He could not quite comprehend how someone could not resort to anger, but it felt like a skill that he should learn. 

He felt absurdly like he might cry, because the relief was too strong and he could hear compassion in the old man’s tone that he had not earned. Tlaxcala held his hands a little tighter, and said, “I knew from the moment you were born that you would represent something bigger than any of us. I want you to take this as a lesson. Be a better ruler than your mother. Be better than Spain.” 

Mexico found his voice again and said, “I am so sorry. If I can do anything to make you more comfortable, please ask.” 

He could feel moisture welling in his eyes, but it felt wrong to cry when he was the guilty one. Tlaxcala gave him a pained smile, and said, “You’ve already given me peace by coming here. Now I would like some rest.” 

Mexico nodded. He understood that this conversation had been everything he could have asked for already. He said, “Thank you for hearing me out.” 

He was holding back tears as he left the room. He could not understand how someone could be so understanding. He leaned against a wall and felt a new wave of guilt and uncertainty. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself. 

He felt like he was losing someone he had never known, but who could have supported him. The strange grief and guilt mixed to feel like something somehow worse. 

He felt the soft touch on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Tlaxcala’s wife standing in front of him, looking oddly concerned for him. For the briefest moment, he thought that she looked like his mother if Aztec had ever been able to grow old. It made him feel even stranger. 

She said, “Are you alright?” 

It was the same question that the captain had asked him, and he still did not know how to answer. He said, “He was very kind. I am just tired.” 

It was the best answer he could give to avoid discussing the turmoil in the chest, and the ever present ache in his head. She said, “You were in a battle, weren’t you? At sea, I would guess.” He had no idea how she could have made such an accurate guess. He replied, too quickly to be fully polite, “How do you know that?” 

He had changed out of his uniform, so it could not possibly be that obvious. She put a hand to his forehead and said, “I saw this.” 

With that, she pulled something out of a spot near his hairline. He winced at the pain, and was utterly confused until she held up a long, bloody splinter. She said, “You brought part of the ship with you.” 

It must have happened during the broadsides, but he had no memory of it. He felt a droplet of blood forming where the splinter had been. She pulled out a kerchief and offered it to him, saying, “Press on it and it’ll stop bleeding.” 

He took it and followed her instructions, but he was confused. He voiced the thought, “I am very grateful. But I do not understand. I am causing your grief. Why would you want to help me?” 

He pressed the cloth to the spot that was bleeding, and began to wonder if his side had also started to bleed again. In these strange circumstances, he was not sure what he would do with an answer. 

She took a deep breath and answered, “You are young, and you made a mistake. I’m not going to punish you for that. If you learn to do better, then that is all any of us can hope for.” 

He wished that someone would just be angry at him. It felt like the kindness was unwarranted and unearned. She made it worse by saying, “You can sleep here. We have extra rooms, and you seem quite tired.” 

Mexico stared at her for a moment, trying to comprehend. The whole day felt utterly strange and he found himself wondering if he had slept after the battle and this was all a very lucid dream. People were usually only so kind in his dreams. But, given the pain he was still feeling, that was impossible. 

He answered, “I could not possibly do that. You have both been incredibly kind, and I have asked for enough.” 

He was absolutely certain that he would not sleep in the same house as a man who was dying because of him. He guessed that offer was what Tlaxcala had urged her to tell him, to let him know that he was welcome to stay. But the idea made him feel no better. Even the thought of laying down and attempting to sleep brought another wave of hideous guilt. 

He shook his head, and added, “I think I have been here long enough, and I should go back to Veracruz.” He felt deeply uncomfortable with how long he had been in Tlaxcala’s house, even if no one was being unkind to him. His own deep awareness of what he had done felt like it was wearing on him. 

She looked like she wanted to say something else, and he hoped that she would not. He said, hoping to stop the conversation, “Thank you for everything. If either of you need anything, please do not hesitate to write.”

He was back on his horse and riding away as quickly as he could, despite his fatigue. His racing thoughts and volatile emotions were enough to keep him awake through the night. No matter how much he thought about it he could not make sense of the whole series of interactions. It had violated all of his expectations about people, and he could not decide how to react. 

Even as he returned to Veracruz, he could only think that he should take Tlaxcala’s words to heart and keep closer control of his temper. 

It was late afternoon when he returned to his own room in Veracruz. He needed time to sleep and think through what had happened, since he could feel the way that the exhaustion was starting to set in. As soon as he reached his room he flung himself onto the bed, fully determined to sleep. 

But, his hand hit a note that had been left on his pillow. As soon as he saw Victoria’s handwriting, his heart sank. He could already guess that it was an invitation to a meeting. When he opened it and saw the word “tonight” he groaned at the prospect of yet another night with little sleep. 

He could not possibly choose not to go. If he wanted to keep his word to Victoria about supporting the republic then he would need to accept secret meetings when they happened. He read through the rest, because he would need the details. 

The words blurred as he tried to read them, and it took substantial effort to focus. It was all very straightforward, and he was very glad that Victoria had opted for little poetic language. For a man who had trained in law, he was surprisingly talented with brevity. 

The end of the letter intrigued him the most though. It said with ample mystery, “It would be best if you were there. There will be something you will not want to miss.” In normal circumstances, he would find that undeniably tempting, but he couldn’t help but feel like a chore. He groaned again, rolled over, and got out of bed to pull himself together to leave again.

It was not difficult to find the beautiful mansion, and as he looked at it he wondered if Victoria owned it, or if it was the home of someone who was sympathetic to the rebellion. Victoria never seemed to have a shortage of friends. He also had the passing thought that it was not very subtle, but he knew better than to question someone who had been so effective at organizing rebellion. 

Mexico found the man waiting for him in the foyer, looking very pleased to see him. Mexico saw his face slightly fall when he got closer, and he could only assume that the lack of sleep was obvious on his face. The past day was beginning to blur in his mind, and he was certain that he must look exhausted too. 

But, Victoria hardly hinted at it when he said, “I am glad that you are here.” Mexico smiled and responded, “Your letter was interesting. It seems like you have a surprise for me.” 

He had assumed it was something very exciting, like a clear idea how to topple Iturbide. The sparkle of intrigue in Victoria’s eyes didn’t particularly worry him. He was certain that anything that Victoria would play would be for his benefit, because the man was sincere in his patriotic convictions. 

Victoria responded, “I do. Come with me. I have something I think you should see.” Mexico wasn’t certain why he was feeling the slightest sense of foreboding, but he blamed it on his exhaustion. He followed Victoria as he led him to one of the many rooms, and paused in front of the door. Victoria turned to him, with a look of intrigue, and said, “I think you should go in by yourself. It will be better.” 

Mexico was very tempted to ask what was worth all the secrecy, but he trusted him well enough to not question him. He pushed open the door. And his heart dropped the moment he laid eyes on the man who was sitting at the table. 

Vicente Guerrero looked up and met his eyes. 

Mexico felt goosebumps bloom on his skin. He had no idea what to say to the man, or even if he wanted to speak to him. He heard Guerreo start to say, “Ale-” 

But before he could finish what he wanted to say, Mexico turned and left the room. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t collect his thoughts. He stepped to the side outside the room and tried to collect himself. 

He heard Victoria approaching him, and he said, “You set me up! You both conspired to do this.” He wished he could sound angier, but he didn’t have the energy. The sleepless night had rendered it impossible.

Victoria shook his head, and said firmly, “No, he didn’t know either. I invited both of you without telling either of you.” 

Mexico gave him the best glare he could muster. He could not put into words how much it felt like a betrayal to be suddenly faced with Guerrero in the flesh again. He asked, “Why would you do this without telling me?” 

Victoria seemed to have far too much confidence in himself as he said, “Because you would not have come if I told you, and neither would Vicente. And I need you both to talk. I cannot effectively lead with you two avoiding each other.” 

Mexico’s head was swimming, but he was certain that he was frustrated. He responded, “I am supposed to decide when that happens.” 

He felt another spike of pain in his head, and he put his hand to his head. He couldn’t sustain the anger enough to yell at Victoria, not while he was tired. He winced at the pain and said, “I cannot have that conversation tonight. I’m not ready.” 

He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, but fleeing completely would make him look like a coward. He had no idea what to do, since every option would bring confrontation. Victoria sighed like he was deeply frustrated and said, “You cannot run from this for your whole life.”

Mexico’s voice was quiet as he closed his eyes and said, “Please leave me alone. I need to think.” He knew he was just pleading for time, but it was all that he could do. Victoria said, “Very well.”

The sound of retreating footsteps brought him some peace, though he knew it was temporary. He wished that the ache in his head would fade enough so that he could think clearly. If they could be alone, he might be able to express his feelings to Guerrero, but his mind was blank when he tried to think of what to say. He pressed his palm firmly against his forehead, trying to force himself to focus. It hurt far more than he expected it to. He had forgotten that Spain had headbutted him exactly where he was pressing.

He thought he was alone until he heard a familiar voice, “Alejandro, we need to talk.” Mexico opened his eyes and saw Guerrero. He must have followed him out of the room. He was annoyingly persistent, as he always had been. Mexico knew he should have expected it.

 His heart beat skipped several beats as he realized that this conversation could not be avoided. Without a response from Mexico, the mortal launched into a prepared speech, “I know that I disappointed you, but I need you to give me a chance to explain myself. I need you to know that -” 

Mexico interrupted him by saying as firmly as he could, “I cannot do this right now, Vicente.” 

It was all that he could think of to say that would stop a deeper conversation. If Guerrero said anything too intimate, he felt like he would either cry or rage, and he could not handle either. 

He saw Guerrero’s face change immediately as he heard the tone of his voice, and he abandoned whatever he had planned to say. He asked, “Are you alright?” That damned question. 

Mexico replied, without thinking about what he was saying, “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” 

He still had no answer to it, especially not for Guerrero. The other man answered the rhetorical question, “Because you look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Mexico scoffed. It could not possibly be as bad as that, and he hoped his reaction would convince the man that it wasn’t. But, Guerrero’s eyes widened and he said, “And you’re bleeding.” 

Mexico assumed that the splinter wound had started to bleed again. He put his hand to his forehead to stop it, only to find that it was dry. Guerrero said shortly, “Not there.” 

Mexico then put his hand to his side, and it came away red. He said, “Damn it.” He had forgotten to check his bandages before he had left to meet Victoria. 

He glanced back up at Guerrero and was struck by how concerned he looked. The man had curled both of his hands into fists, like he was holding himself back from doing something with them. Guerrero spoke, and Mexico could tell his jaw was clenched from the stiffness of his voice, “May I touch you?”

The question puzzled him for a moment, and then he remembered that he had told Guerrero emphatically not to when they had last seen each other. The man looked like he was hardly holding back the urge to embrace him. 

The fact that Guerrero asked was enough to soften Mexico’s defenses. He answered, “You can.” 

With permission granted, Guerrero used one hand to gently brush Mexico’s hair off of his face. Mexico heard him draw in a sharp breath through his teeth before he said, “That looks painful.” Mexico guessed that he was looking at the bruise from where Spain had headbutted him.

He said, trying to remedy the worry, “I am fine. It’s just some blood.” Guerrero met his eyes and said, “You are not fine. Come with me.” 

He slipped his arm around Mexico’s waist and pulled him close enough to support him. Mexico was certain that he should push him away, and maintain his anger about the lie. But in the moment, it felt good to have someone hold him. There was something about being so close that felt achingly familiar, like his heart had been craving it.

He said, trying to make it clear that nothing was forgiven, “I am still mad at you.” It didn’t sound particularly convincing, and Guerrero responded, “Right now I don’t really care. You need rest. You can be mad at me tomorrow.” 

He let Guerrero lead him back into the room, and said, with a gentle firmness that Mexico had sincerely missed, “Sit down.” 

Without thinking, he obeyed. In the back of his mind he wondered where Victoria had gone, but he assumed that it was a choice to give him time alone with Guerrero. This conversation had been the point of this whole charade.

He wasn’t certain how he felt about any of this, but he could not muster any anger at his former general. Guerrero kneeled in front of him so that he could look him in the eyes while he was sitting. He asked, gently, “Ale, when was the last time you slept?” 

The question felt like it struck too close to home, and Mexico glanced away. He answered, feeling ashamed of himself for being too careless, “Two days ago. Before the battle.” 

Guerrero took one of his hands in his own. It was incredibly comforting, in a way that Mexico had not anticipated. He had not had someone touch him so gently in quite some time. He felt his eyes start to sting. He had not realized how deeply he had missed this. 

Guerrero asked, “What happened?” 

Mexico could not remember the battle well enough to tell him what happened. After the fall, his fight with Spain got terribly blurry. The memories of the battle were a jumble that it would take too much effort to untangle. 

But, he guessed that the question was about what had kept him awake all night. He tried to provide an answer, “Antonio said something and I had to make amends to someone I hurt. I couldn’t live with myself if I was like him.” 

It was hard to explain without saying what he did to Tlaxcala, but he did not want to admit to that yet, not to someone he held in such high regard. He hoped that Guerrero would understand. 

The mortal seized upon the name, “Antonio? Spain was there? Is he the one who did this?” 

To make it clear what he was talking about, Guerrero softly brushed the bruise on his forehead with his thumb. Mexico knew he could not avoid the question, so he answered with a wry smile, “You should see what I did to him.” 

Guerrero was immune to his attempt at humor. He said, “Right now I am looking at you, and you look like you were in trouble. How close did he get?” 

Mexico bit his lower lip, uncertain of how he should respond. In truth, he did not know how close it had been. Guerrero seemed to understand his silence, and his grip tightened on his hand. He said, with a dangerous edge of anger, “I cannot believe that anyone let him get that close to you.” 

Mexico finally decided that he needed to clarify how he ended up in battle. He said, “It isn’t anyone’s fault. I insisted that I wanted to fight. It was my fault, and I got unlucky.” 

Guerrero’s hand touched his cheek softly, and he felt his heart thundering. He had missed this touch so dearly. The mortal said, “Ale, my dearest, you always insist. You are too noble to let anyone fight in your place. But, you need to be protected. Did you have guards?” 

Mexico hadn’t even thought about it, though it had been normal when Guerrero was his commander. He shook his head. He could see the way that Guerrero’s expression darkened. He was angry, and Mexico knew it; he had seen that expression enough to know. 

Guerrero drew in a breath through his nose, like he was trying and failing to keep himself calm. He said, “That’s how this happened. I am going to kill him.” Mexico said, with an attempt at levity, “I tried to kill Tony. It’s difficult.” 

But, Guerrero was not amused and said, “Not him. I am going to kill Agustin. I promised you that if he hurt you, I would kill him.” 

Mexico remembered it clearly. He had never thought that it would come true in this way. Guerrero continued, “If something had happened, we could have lost you. And if that had happened…” 

He stopped himself before he finished the thought. His hand slipped off of Mexico’s and he curled it into a fist. He repeated, with his voice filled with righteous anger, “I will kill him.”  He was looking away like he could not stand to show how enraged he really was, and it spoke volumes. 

Mexico’s anger at him evaporated, because the display of concern was too sincere. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes from the days of stress and sleeplessness. 

He craved Guerrero’s touch, and with the man so close it was exquisitely painful. He could handle dreams of his general’s comfort. But, it was too hard to deny the affection when it was so close. He knew what his heart wanted.

He said, “Chente, please.” 

Guerrero looked up at him again, tenderly this time. Mexico extended his arms, hoping it was clear what he wanted. Guerrero immediately understood and pulled him into an embrace. He spoke softly in Mexico’s ear, “I’m here now. I will make this right. I promise you I will.” 

He caressed Mexico’s hair softly. Mexico let himself close his eyes and put his head against the man’s chest. It felt so familiar and comforting. It felt like home. He said, his voice almost shaking, “Why did you lie to me? I’ve missed you so much. Chente, you don’t know how alone I’ve been.” 

He held firmly onto the back of the man’s jacket with both hands. The physical presence was so comforting; it made it all real. Guerrero gently cradled his head against his chest and said, “I promise we will talk about that tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I should have never left you alone with these people. They don’t understand how important you are.” 

Mexico wished he could spend the rest of his night with his head against Guerrero’s chest. If only he could stay and sleep assured of the protection of his general. 

The same thought seemed to occur to Guerrero. He took Mexico’s face firmly between his hands and said, “Stay here. Take some rest, and we can discuss everything when you feel better.” 

Mexico wanted to accept the invitation with every fiber of his being. But, he thought of Santa Anna, and what the man may tell Iturbide if he did not return soon. It could put everything in danger if he stayed. Though he was not sure if Santa Anna even knew he had returned from Tlaxcala. It was possible that it would not matter, but he could not take the risk.

He swallowed his emotions and said, “I cannot stay. The commander will notice. I have to be back tonight.” Guerrero said, unwavering, “I cannot let you leave in this state.” 

Mexico shook his head. He was emotional and tired, but he was not incapable of riding. He said, “I will be fine. I can still ride.” To make his point, he stood up again. 

He realized a second too late that it was a mistake. His vision went black, and he felt his knees buckle. For a moment he felt himself falling, until arms caught him.

 Before his consciousness faded out he heard, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”  

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 8

Hello people :)

here's chapter 8 for you. This chapter is a turning point in Aelin and Rowan's relationship. Nothing major... but definitely a major development for them.

I hope you love it.

Gaelic: "Thig a-steach. - come in

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

The next morning the weather was giving its worst. A terrible storm had abated on the town. According to the news from Aelin’s phone the wind had reached peak speeds over 120kph during the night. And she had heard that. Her windows had rattled all night long. She has spent the night hidden under the duvet trying to ignore the storm outside. She had been scared. Heavy rain had fallen non stop. On top of that the town had suffered a major power cut and they had been without power since the middle of the night. When morning finally came she opened the curtains and noted the sky laden with dark clouds. The rain was still heavy and the sea was angry. The pier was empty and she assumed the ferry did not manage to travel that morning. It would have been one heck of a hellish crossing. In the distance she heard sirens from the emergency services and guessed that the damage was quite bad. Very quickly she got dressed and then tried to phone Rowan and suddenly realised that, apart from the number of the shop, she had no other way of contact him. An error that had to be rectified immediately. She wore a few layers of clothing and a waterproof jacket and then left the house. Once out of the house she discovered that the wind still had not abated and it was howling.

A massive wave crashed against the pier and the spray reached all the way to her “Bloody hell.” She braced herself and ran. Ran all the way to Rowan’s and by the she time arrived she was soaked through and freezing. She reached the shop and of course it was closed. So next stop was Maeve’s. Once there she found Rowan helping Maeve cleaning up the coffee shop which looked like it had suffered some flooding “Morning.” She said sleepily. Maeve noticed her “Aelin darling, come in please it’s horrible outside.” Looking around she noticed that most of the water had been cleared and she and Rowan had created a safe corner with two camping gas stoves. It looked like Maeve had coffee on the go and some sort of warm breakfast. In that moment she was greater for the woman’s resourcefulness. “How are you?” Asked Rowan moving closer to her. When he noticed she was shivering her pulled her to him “You are cold.” He brushed his hands on her back to try and heat her up a bit “Take off the jacket, it’s wet and cold. Not good.” He left for a moment and came back with a hoodie in his hands “Put this on. Maeve has gas heating in here which is still working and it was on the radiator.” Aelin grabbed the hoodie and wore it and it was warm and soft on her skin. She snuggled in it and breathed in the scent. Pine and snow. That was Rowan’s scent. “Can I help with anything?” She offered. “My aunt is trying to prepare breakfast enough to offer it to first responders and people who need it as well. Some of the houses closer to the waterfront have suffered heavy flooding.” Then he stopped and realised he had no idea where she lived and if her house was safe. “Is your house okay?” Aelin nodded, “I live towards the end of Newton st. and I am further away from the pier. But the road was flooded and my garden was swimming as well. But the house is fine a part from not having power.” “The whole town is down.” “I kinda guessed.” Maeve reappeared at the front “Rowan darling, go and tell the first responders that I have food, coffee and tea ready. Food is very basic given the situation but at least I have something. Aelin and I will hand out provisions.” Inside Maeve’s shop it was quite nice and cozy and slowly people started to flock in, in search of some relief, warmth and a dry place. "Thig a-steach.” She said to the people and Aelin helped handing out the food. Some people stopped to talk to her, fascinated by the Londoner who had moved to Stornoway and was learning Gaelic. A few grandmas had even played matchmaking with their handsome and single grandsons. Rowan came back half an hour later with a couple of firemen. She hoped Maeve’s place was okay. She really loved it there. Aelin walked up to Rowan and the firemen “Hi,” she said interrupting them “My name is Aelin. I am doctor. Is there anything I can do to help?” One of the firemen looked at her “We have set up a temporary tent operating as triage. A couple of paramedics are looking after the minor cases. The ones that do not have to go to the hospital. We are trying not to overwhelm the A&E.” Aelin had done enough shifts in overwhelmed A&E especially on a Saturday night and knew how bad it was. “Take me there, please. I can help. I want to help.” One of the firemen nodded. Aelin noticed that he looked familiar and wondered if that was Elias’ brother. Rowan looked at Aelin and gave her a smile. Then she removed the hoodie “Keep it warm and dry for me for when I come back.” He nodded and took the hoodie back. “Oh, and by the way… you know that that hoodie is now mine, don’t you?” “I’ll make sure it smells a lot like me when you come back.” And gave her a huge grin in response. “You better.” She added with a smile and followed the fireman out of the shop. Once arrived at the tent the fireman explained the situation to the two paramedic women and they were very grateful for the extra help. Aelin got all geared up and began working through the queue. Their patients were mostly minor injuries but still, it gave her back the vibes and the adrenaline of an A&E. By the time lunch and afternoon came, Aelin was exhausted and famished. But it was a good exhausted. She had helped. Made a difference and it helped her renew the love for the job she had chosen. Not long after she finished, Rowan showed up at the tent. “Hey,” he said staying on the threshold. Aelin removed her gloves and went to him. “How’s aunt Maeve’s shop doing?” “Fine. The fire dept gave us more camping gas stoves. She called a couple of the other staff members and now they have a full kitchen up for the people and everyone working.” Then he lifted a bag “And I am bringing lunch. Aunt’s orders.” “Thank you. I am starving.” He smiled, deposited the bag on the floor and zipped up her paramedic jacket “It’s cold outside.” He picked up the bag of food again and took her hand in his “Come.” “Uh?” “We are going to have lunch in a quiet and dry place.” “Okay.” He put an arm around her shoulder and tucked her close to him while they were walking along the road. She loved the feeling of being so close to him. His scent relaxed her. “Where are we going?” “My place.” Aelin turned to him in disbelief. When they finally arrived at his place she noticed he stayed in a small semi-detached house and he had a well tended garden. The house seemed very cozy. She followed him inside removed her jacket and her shoes and stood there. “Go to the living room.” And he passed her the bag full of food. “I’ll go and get some stuff.” Tentatively she took a few steps inside the room. The curtains were still drawn so the place was bathed in darkness. She took her phone from he jeans and switched on the torch. Once having reached the windows safely, she opened the curtain to let the light in. She then turned and noticed the incredible amount of books. That room was paradise. He had books everywhere, in all the possible nooks and crannies. “I run out of space a long time ago. I have my least favourite in the attic. I just love books.” And he shrugged. “This living room is just wonderful. I am so jealous right now.” “I have some candles. The light coming from the outside is not much and this should help.” He placed a few candles around the house and she laughed when she noticed they were battery powered. “Really? You just killed the mood.” He looked up at her grinning “There is no way I light up real fire near so many books. Such a massive hazard.” Aelin laughed and started unpacking the food containers and placing the stuff on the plates he had brought through. “I put the heating on as well, so it should get cozy soon.” “Come sit down and eat. You must be hungry too.” And she patted the spot beside her. He nodded and sat beside her. They ate quietly. Aelin a few times did try to start a conversation but always stopped not sure if he wanted to talk or not. “Did you go to uni?” She asked. That was a safe question, hopefully. “I did. I studied business management in Glasgow. It came quite useful once I opened my bookshop.” “How the idea came about? To open the shop?” She noticed Rowan stiffen. Shit. Wrong question already. Rowan breathed deeply and decided it was time to listen to his aunt. It was time to open up. He placed his plate on the coffee table “There was this girl, Lyria.” He started, and the usual tug of pain was still there. “We met at uni down in Glasgow. She was from the islands as well. We started dating after we both came back here after graduating.” He closed his eyes and leaned a bit deeper on the back couch “I always loved books. But I hated the idea of using my degree for a boring corporate job. It was not for me. So I started working on an idea: open a bookshop.” He breathed deeply again, trying to chase away the pain “My parents had passed in an accident when I was little but they left me a fund. It allowed me to buy this house and also have enough money left to start my shop. So I used every penny to buy an empty shop in town, I did it up and a year later I had my shop.” Aelin stretched a hand and placed on his, now in a fist on his knee. “I knew Lyria was looking for a job so I offered her one and we started working together. We picked the name of the shop and began thinking about what books to have. She was not a proper bookworm like me, but she liked books enough.” Aelin looked at him and noticed the pain in his eyes. What had this woman done to him to cause him such anguish? “We started dating. Quite seriously. She moved in with me after a while. We started talking about the future, dreams and whatnot. I was never one for flings. I was committed to her to the fullest. I wanted a family, a nice house and kids. The whole package. At the time she told me she wanted it too. And I believed her.” He stood irritated and walked to the window “Just over a year ago I proposed to her. I was ready and she gave me the impression that she was ready too.” “Shit.” “About nine months ago she started getting weird with me. Some nights she would not come home and I later found out she was staying at a friend’s house. She barely talked to me anymore and we stopped…being intimate. She started making up excuses why she was not in the mood. Then all of a sudden she stopped coming to the bookstore and she never bothered to tell me why.” Hi voice now a mere whisper. “Finally I decided to confront her and find out what was happening. She told she was getting cold feet, that she didn’t want to get married anymore, that she made a mistake and she thought she loved me but it was more an infatuation. She told me that my obsession with having a family was freaking her out. But I never pushed the whole kids issue. I was happy to wait for her to be ready. She told me we wanted different things and that I had to go and find myself a woman who wanted all that because she was not the one. The next day she came to the bookshop and gave me back the ring.” Aelin reached him at the window and put a hand on his shoulder “I am sorry, but what a bitch.” She heard a very soft chuckle “I called her worse. Apparently my aunt spotted her a few times with a guy while we were still engaged. I never knew if she was fully cheating on me as well. Anyway, she got a job at An Lanntair.” Aelin face lit up in surprise “Is she a brunette? Brownish eyes?” Rowan nodded “Shit. The first day I was here I went inside and then asked for a bookshop and she told me to look for Rowan’s. Not the name of the shop but yours.” “I can’t go in there anymore, And I love that place but the idea of seeing her…” She took his hands and squeezed it. Then she leaned against his back and hugged him from behind. He did not shy away from the contact. On the contrary he grabbed her hands on his stomach and squeezed them tightly. “Sounds we both have horrible exes.” Aelin knew that was the time. She had to open up to him. She did it with Elias but it had not felt satisfying. She had a feeling that opening up to Rowan was her chance to finally move on and begin to heal. “What do you mean?” He asked not moving from the position they were in and Aelin thanked him for that. It felt perfect. “I was married, Rowan. Until a year ago I was married.” She felt him stiffen “What did he do?” His tone was cold. “He was a police office. We met at the hospital after his partner got injured badly. We had coffee… we hit it off, the usual thing. We started dating and I was happy.” She felt his hands squeezing hard “We were together for four year before he proposed to me. We were married for five.” It actually felt good to talk to him. Just as good as it always felt with Lysandra “But toward the end he became weird too. Life of a police officer is quite hectic too, and we could go on for a whole week without seeing each other, that had happened. But all of a sudden I noticed his shift pattern had started to change to a point that he was never home when I was.” She inhaled Rowan’s scent to try and calm down “One day I was on my break after surgery and I decided to go and see him at his work. Once I got there he was outside Police HQ, with another woman. And they were making out. I walked to him and punched him hard in the face and told the bitch to keep her tongue out of my husband’s mouth.” “Remind me not to piss you off again. Ever.” Aelin chuckled “Three days later I went to his job. Reached his office area and dumped divorce paper on his desk and told him Try and solve this case, officer Westfall. That night he came back home from work and we had a brutal fight. During the afternoon I had asked my friends Lysandra and Aedion to help me move out the following day. Lysandra had a spare room and she took me in. The divorce was brutal.” She hold him as tight as she could “He kept blaming me. According to him it was my fault. I was the one who was too obsessed with her work to care about her husband. He had the guts to tell the lawyers that I induce him to cheating because I was not committed anymore to the marriage. He brought up that I had told him I did not want a family. Which was a lie by the way.” Rowan finally turned around and pulled Aelin to his chest “I did want kids. But we were not thirty yet at the time of this conversation and I told him I wanted to wait a bit. He agreed. But during the divorce he lied.” Aelin pulled away from Rowan and went back to the sofa and sat down, her head in her hands “And I am so damn glad we did not have kids. Imagine the mess.” He heard her sob “He made me pass for a monster. For the one that had given up on our marriage. He was the one fucking another woman for months. And when I told the lawyers that he was never at home and probably sleeping with another woman, he told them that he had been moved to the night shift.” She brushed away the tears with the back of her hand “I checked with is CO. Chaol was not on the night shift.” Rowan kneeled in front of her, with a finger lifted her face staring at her in her eyes, now puffy “I am glad you punched him. I hope you broke something.” Aelin chuckled “It has been almost a year, but I still have so much rage.” “That I can relate to. A least you could punch him. I could never do that to Lyria.” “I can do that for you.” Aelin offered with a grin. Rowan sat beside her and they stayed in silence for a moment. “I am so tired…” she leaned on the side and ended up against him. Rowan got up and came back after a few minutes with a blanket and a fluffy pillow. He got the sofa ready for her “Lie down and rest. The sofa is very comfortable.” She followed his suggestion and lay down. “I am going back to my aunt and see if she need more help.” “I should come to.” She sat back up but Rowan was on his knees near where her head was, he removed hair from her face “No. Stay here and sleep, please.” “Leave me you mobile number.” Rowan looked at her “I… I actually don’t have a mobile phone.” Aelin sat up abruptly “No way.” “I just don’t need it.” “How can I call you?” “Just phone my aunt, if you need me.” He kissed her head and stood “Come on. Stop being a spoiled brat and sleep.” Aelin plunged back on the sofa and buried herself under the cozy blanket transforming herself in a human burrito. “Be careful out there.” Rowan smiled at her tenderly and left.

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 10

Summary: y/n almost murders someone but jake peralta talks her out of it

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma, the end is nigh

Word Count: 2095

A/N: it’s almost done. 

                                                    //////////

Wong dropped Peter and I off on the roof of my apartment. “Stay safe.” Then he was gone, and we were alone. Well, alone until the calvary could get there. The Avengers were working with the FBI and the Nine-Nine for a perimeter, but I didn’t really think it would matter. This person was clearly determined to get to me, they wouldn’t let a police perimeter get in the way.

“Who do you think it is?” Peter asked quietly, his eyes on the sky. He was decked out in his Spider-Man suit, his first appearance since his name was cleared, and I could feel his leg bouncing with joy. Sam mentioned a suit at some point for me, but we were a bit preoccupied to actually get around to it. I had to make do with my Vans and the comm in my ear.

I kept my eyes on the ground. My apartment building wasn’t exceedingly tall, but it gave me a fairly good vantage point for the happenings of New York City. “Someone from Beck’s crew. I did kind of ruin their lives, someone is bound to be pissed as hell.”

“I didn’t even — do you feel that?”

It started out subtle. Barely a flinch. But then the ground started to shake harder and harder. And then I saw the cause.

Sand. Tons of it. Rolling in from the coast.

And straight toward a person.

The sand piled around him and he just kept getting bigger and bigger until a giant sand man was standing in the middle of Fourth Street.

And all I could think of was Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” he (It? Do we even worry about proper pronouns?) shouted. Peter flinched at how loud his voice was, but that was the least of my concerns. “It is time for you to meet your doom!”

“Good!” I shouted back. “Make it quick, I hear they have unlimited mimosas in heaven!”

Maybe (definitely) my self-preservation skills were skewed, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity. And the longer I had him monologuing, the longer he didn’t kill people.

“You made me become this,” he shouted again, “and now you will pay the price!”

Then he slammed his sand-fist as close to me and Peter as he could reach.

“At least he just got right to the point,” I mumbled. I looked at Peter. “I’m really hoping him being this big makes him slower. I’ll see if I can do something about the sand.”

“I’ll try and web him up, see if we can topple him over.”

“Great.” Peter swung away and I lifted myself between buildings, trying to get close enough without being in hitting distance.

Sand is trickier than rocks because the particles are loose. But if I could compress them, or maybe add some water...

Fuck it, let’s just do it.

I got closer (my first mistake) until I could feel the sand particles whirling around me. I latched onto a few (my second mistake) and tried to pull them away from the Sand Man (my third mistake).

Why are these mistakes, Y/N, this sounds like a foolproof plan.

Well, you see, I thought I was pulling the sand away from the body.

Nope.

I was pulling the Sand Man toward me.

And I realized it a second too late.

His hand swiped me off the roof and sent me crashing into the ground below. “You won’t fool me so easily, Y/N. You’re going to pay for what you did.” I brushed the gravel off my palms and groaned as I stood up, my ribs on fire. Before I could get my bearings, though, sand started to swirl around me and lifted me into the sky. Sand Man tossed me around like a rag doll, trying to give me whiplash, before he threw me up in the air and let me fall, no support.

He wasn’t expecting Peter, though.

“I gotcha,” his voice rang in my ear. We landed a couple blocks away and his hands immediately reached for my shoulders. “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I snapped probably a bit too harshly. “Look, if we’re going to be successful at all with this thing, just assume I’m okay, okay? Thanks for catching me.” I leaned forward and kissed him right on his jaw, mask and all, then I ran back into the center of the street.

“You want a piece of me?” I shouted at him (I’ve decided on ‘him’). “Come and get me.”

Then I pulled a Bolin and made the street split with lava.

Peter stayed up top and tried to tie up the Sand Man, but I pushed the lava forward, underneath his feet. I was hoping it would start to melt the sand, but he just compressed the particles and held his ground.

“It’s like he is the sand,” Peter’s voice echoed in my ear.

He is the sand.

“I have an idea! I could really use some back up.”

“What’s up?” Peter, Sam, and Wanda met me on the ground.

“Distract him. Get as many bits of sand away from him as possible. Not enough to notice, but enough to start shaking him down. Got it?”

They nodded. “You’re the boss, Y/N,” Sam said with a wink, then he flew up in the sky.

I stayed low, but close. And I let my senses take over.

This guy, he was literally the sand. The more sand, the bigger he got. So, take away the sand, and he’ll get smaller. I just had to keep the sand away.

I was chucking rocks and balls of fire and gusts of air at the Sand Man, but that was all on autopilot. The main part of my brain was focusing on the sand that fell, and making sure to blow it far enough away to stop him from getting it back so quickly.

And it started to work. Slowly but surely, Sand Man was getting smaller, and he didn’t notice.

But he would eventually, and I needed a plan for that.

Sand castles stick together better when the sand is damp, that’s just how they work. But when sand is too wet, it falls apart.

No sand, no man.

“When you guys see the big wave coming in, get the hell out of here, got it?”

“Y/N, what are you planning?”

“It’s kind of a long shot, but just let me try it. Keep the sand away until the last second, okay?”

I walked out into the middle of the road and reached for the water. There were thousands of gallons rushing beneath me, but those were too damaging to New York City, and it’s been through enough. I reached further and further until I felt the salt of the ocean and I let it take over my senses. There was a huge tug in my gut and the sound of the waves rushed over my ears.

I looked at the Sand Man, the guy responsible for my parents’ disappearance, the guy who had made my life a living hell the past week, and I screamed.

A huge maverick of a wave came through New York City and crashed on the Sand Man. Wanda, Peter, and Sam got out of the way just in time.

The Sand Man toppled over and lost even more sand, but he started to get back up.

“Hell no.” My hand formed a fist and I felt the water following my movements. The huge water fist came up and landed one huge uppercut to his jaw and sent him down all over again. Then I made my own hurricane with him in the middle of it. More and more sand was lost in the water, and once he was down to size...

I dropped him.

But he didn’t have Peter to catch him.

He slammed against the asphalt and finally dissipated into a normal-sized man, even if he was still made out of sand. I unclenched my fists and the water made its way back to the ocean, taking a few park benches and a hot dog stand with it.

I stood over him and shouted, “Who the hell are you?” hoping he would open his eyes at my unrelenting fury. This jackass had my parents, I wasn’t going to show mercy.

And he had the audacity to laugh. “You’ll never find them, Y/N. Over my dead body.”

My hands flickered with lightning. “That can be arranged.”

“No killing, Y/N,” a new voice rang out in my ear.

“Jake? You’re on comms?”

“I know, cool, right? I’m talking directly into Spider-Man’s ear. Whatever, anyway, no killing, we still need information from him.”

I glared at the Sand Man and he just blinked lazily at me. “What’s your name?”

“Like I said, over my—“ I zapped him once, just a little spark, but his body (can we even call it that? it’s literally sand) shuddered. “Bitch.”

“That’s not very nice.” Peter landed softly beside me and glared at him too, his mask eyes narrowed. “If anyone’s a bitch, here, it’s definitely you.” Sam and Wanda joined us on the ground, and eventually the 99 joined us too, Jake at the front.

“Y/N that was awesome! The way you got the huge wave to come through and then you made a hurricane and ohmygoditsspiderman.” Jake couldn’t help but start blushing, just a little bit. “Can — can I have your autograph?”

Peter glanced at me, a smirk on my face, before responding, “Uh, yeah, sure, ‘course. You got a pen and paper?”

“How are we supposed to cuff this guy?” Diaz asked, looking at the Sand Man. “Last I checked sand isn’t the most stable.”

We all just kind of looked at each other for a second before I stepped forward and grabbed Sand Man’s wrists. My concentration was kind of shot, but I had enough left to focus all of my energy into my hands, heating them to a temperature well above comfortable. Slowly, glass started to form from the melted sand, and I slammed his wrists together, bonding them. “You’re not going anywhere any time soon.”

“That seems like cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Tell me where my parents are and maybe I’ll let you out.”

He just grinned and followed the detectives into the squad car, where Detective Diaz may or may not have smashed some sand in the door.

I turned to Peter and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Can we go?”

“I don’t see why not.” His grip tightened around me and we swung out of the wreckage. I completely wrapped my legs around his hips and latched my other arm around his shoulders, but I kept my eyes wide open.

I could get used to this.

I recognized the apartment building we landed on — I’d visited Peter up here plenty of times to remember the small dying plant in the corner of the roof and the twinkle lights that ran out of battery a long time ago. “C’mon,” Peter said as he started for the fire escape, “let’s get cleaned up.”

May washed my jeans while I showered and I airbended them dry, but my shirt was torn to pieces. Peter left out his old band t-shirt, but I could barely get it on. My rib cage was already starting to splotch with blue and purple bruises, and with my adrenaline wearing off, I felt every hit I took today. After a few grunts a multiple hisses of pain I looked over at my jeans then back down at my legs and had one definitive thought: “there’s no way in hell I’m putting those back on.”

I stuck my head out the bathroom door and whispered, “Pst, Peter.”

His own head popped out of his bedroom door. “What?”

“Can I steal some sweats?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” His head disappeared and reappeared a second later. “Here.”

“Thanks.” A couple more grunts later and I was completely dressed in Peter Parker’s wardrobe (no complaints there). I walked back into his room and he was laying on his bed, Gilmore Girls playing on his laptop. “I got you hooked, didn’t I?”

“I just want Luke and Lorelai to end up together, is that too much to ask?”

I snickered. “No.” I laid down beside him and, ignoring the painful protests my ribs screamed at me, I curled into his side. We got ten minutes into an episode before I whispered, “Do you really think we’ll find them?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

His heart was steady.

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​ @yougottalovefandoms​

[nakedmossy]

Depth Over Distance - Part Eight [Rudy x Reader]

[A/N: Yikes. Honestly just....sorry. Anyways... Peace and love, Mossy x] 

You called your parents from the road after you got off the ferry before you lost service and explained what had happened, albeit in very brief detail. You knew you sounded bad, your voice was flat and emotionless, and you could hear the concern in their voice as they questioned you and you tried your hardest not to make them more worried. You had reassured them you just needed a few days away from everything and were going to the cabin, and begged them to please just give you the space you were asking for and not tell anyone where you were. You told them you would get a hotel on the mainland and start the drive tomorrow morning, but that was a lie. You would drive through the night, sleepless, and arrive before dawn.

Your family had an A Frame in the mountains, deep into a range that was surrounded by old growth forest and small glacier fed lakes that saw more rain than sun. It took a full 8 hour drive after you got off the ferry and the majority of it was on a dirt road that was lightly travelled. You spent a few weeks here every summer (as if you really needed to be more off the grid than you already were in small town Alaska), and could do this drive with your eyes closed. Your car creaked and moaned as it ambled over the washboard and through the pot holes, splashed into puddles and swerved around tree debris that was on the road. You slowed down as you saw the flick of a tail over a patch of white, a small doe moving up the ditch into the tree cover. It had started to rain as soon as you had climbed higher in elevation, the ground was dark with wet dirt and the mist snaked its way through the trees eerily as the light of dawn peaked over the mountains and tree tops.

You turned off the main dirt road onto a smaller side road, which was very unclearly marked with a Do Not Trespass sign, and felt a calmness wash over you as you got closer to the cabin. You expected there to be some damage to the A Frame, or to the property, as there usually was the first trip in the summer. A fallen tree, some sort of water damage from the snow melt, but there was nothing. You slowed your car to a stop in front of the old Cedar tree that you had hung a tire swing from as a kid and put it in park, turning off your music (the most depressing Bon Iver album you could find) and slumped deep into your seat with pure exhaustion.

Hilariously the first thing you had thought to do when you drove off the ferry was stop at the gas station to fill up some jerry cans, buy propane, and get some groceries. There would be no food left in the cabin - that would be an open invitation for bears and rodents to wreck your belongings - so you had grabbed a loaf of bread, some deli meat that barely passed as edible, and a couple apples. You knew you wouldn’t eat much anyways, but it made you feel better about it, like you had the option if you wanted to, to really flex your control over your appetite.

You looked out your windshield which had immediately started to fog up and was covered in rain drops and felt your throat tighten. In fear of thinking too much about what you were doing here or why you opened your door and climbed out, your feet smacking into the cold hard earth, the smell of the fresh rain and trees and moss overwhelming your senses. You grabbed your bag and the brown bag of food and walked to the door of the cabin, placing your stuff down on the bench before unloading the propane and gas cans, and looked for the keys. You hadn’t grabbed the set from home, they were still hanging on the key ring by the door, but the spare key was snuggly wedged into a hidden crack in the door frame which was usually covered by moss and tree droppings anyways. The key slid out and you unlocked the door, the ungreased hinges squealing as you pushed it open, scraping it along the floor in the groove that had been there longer than you had been alive, and looked around.

It was a simple cabin, not much in the way of furniture or aesthetics, but it was comfy, and it was home. The kitchen cabinets were hand built by your dad, the counter tops long planks of cedar, the metal basin for washing (with no running water) rested in its carved out nook. There were no lights, no electricity, just a few battery run lanterns, a massive fireplace, and candles.

The window over the counter looked out at a small clearing behind the cabin, where a creek ran through the trees. It was cold, unbelievably cold, and the air was stale. You walked through to the windows on the first floor and cracked each one enough to let some fresh air in, then began to climb the stairs to the top half floor that looked out over the cabin with a railing. The window up there was built into the roof and covered in seeds and debris and rain water so you left it shut, but opened the door to the balcony, looking out over the clearing and into the forest. You were as high as the trees up here, and felt a cold wet breeze on your face. This was where your parents slept when they were here, there was a second much smaller room on the main floor of the cabin where you had a bunk bed set up. You thought about sleeping up here but felt a pull on your heart and a heaviness in the back of your skull. You just needed to feel some comfort that you were used to, something that made you feel like yourself again.

You walked back inside, closing the door behind you, and descended the stairs to the main floor where you rounded the couches and entered the small room that was next to the bathroom. Inside, your bunk bed stood, mattresses stripped of any sheets or blankets, a single gas lamp on the bedside table under the window. You slid down onto the bottom bunk and curled into a ball, blowing warm air into your hands before nuzzling your face and closing your eyes. You felt yourself exhale for the first time since you pulled your car out of your driveway last night.

--

You woke up a few hours later to the sound of thunder overhead. It hadn’t stopped raining judging by the smell, and you were shivering from the cold, and your neck ached from the position you had slept in. You laid still for a while before moving, staring at the wall, your thoughts drifting in and out flashbacks of Rudy, of her, of the feeling in your gut when you understood that everything you thought you understood or believed was a lie.

You sat up and moved slowly to the main room, realizing you had left the door open and your stuff outside. Mindlessly you floated around, putting things away, bringing things out, taking blankets and sheets out of the closet and hanging them over the furniture to air them out, lighting candles. It was brainless work, it was you going through the motions without actually needing to think. It was a distraction.

Time passed, even for you. Even when it hurt, even when you felt yourself standing and staring out the window for minutes that turned into hours, it passed. Before you knew it, it was dusk again, and you hadn’t even lit a fire yet. All your motivation was exhausted in just getting here – getting away from there – that the simplest task like keeping yourself warm felt like the biggest burden. There were several things you started to simultaneously understand as you paced in circles around the cabin.

First, you were slipping dangerously fast into a comfortably numb depression.

Second, you didn’t have any intention to stop it from happening, which was as close to cognitive dissonance as you had ever come.

Third, you had lied to your parents.

You had told them you just wanted a couple days away from town, from people, to be by yourself and reconnect, but of course this wasn’t true. As soon as you left on the ferry you felt something split in you that you hadn’t quite understood yet – but standing here, in the cool dark cabin, surrounded by the ghost of your former self, you figured it out. You had no intention of going back at all. You wouldn’t be able to free yourself by simply spending some time alone and coming to terms with everything that had happened since Rudy came back. At least, it didn’t feel that way right now. Right now it felt like the only way you would ever truly be free from this darkness, this heaviness in your soul, would be to get as far away from it as possible. The only part about that realization that scared you was that you didn’t know how far that would be.

Don’t be stupid. You heard Rudy’s voice in your mind, you pinched your eyes closed and grasped the kitchen counter to stabilize yourself. Don’t run away.

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. The memory corroded your peace and infiltrated your psyche.

Don’t run away from me, don’t run away from us! Rudy begged, but you continued to back up, almost tripping over the twigs and rocks that littered the beach path. There is no Us you said to him, tears on your face.

“SHUT UP” You screamed out loud, smacking your hand against your head. You breathed heavily, deeply, and hardly at all, all at the same time. You turned around and slid down to the ground, your back pressed to the cupboard, a sob welling in your chest. It erupted, full of rage, and you clapped a hand to your mouth to stifle the inhuman sound retching itself from you.

You had no idea how to cope with the overwhelming range of emotion that was currently swirling around inside of you. You cried, releasing all the screams of anger and pain you had kept inside, and felt yourself slipping into absolute chaos. When you had nothing left to pour out of you, you slid into a ball on the kitchen floor and shut your eyes, letting the chaos pull you into yourself, and laid there awake and unmoving until the sun rose again.

--

The morning came quickly.

The sounds of the birds and the creek rushing below the window and the rustle of leaves and branches in the wind was an unwelcome sound. You moved your hands and feet slowly, waking them up from the painful cramped position they have been pinched into for the last however many hours. You opened your eyes painfully, they were nearly swollen shut from the puffiness of crying, and looked around before pushing yourself to a sitting position.

The hard reality of where you had been mentally last night crept in like the sunlight permeating the windows and you swallowed the stale taste out of your mouth. You grabbed a sweater out of the closet and pulled it over your head, your stomach rumbling and moving. Something forced you to walk into the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror, unrecognizing your own appearance. Your hair was dirty and your face was puffy, your skin was flushed and your freckles looked shades darker against your pale skin. You stared at yourself with no expression and watched as you mindlessly lifted up your sweater and let your eyes follow the sharp lines of your ribs down to your protruding pelvic bones.

You didn’t know who you were looking at. This person was starved, deprived, malnourished. This person was turmoil personified through flesh and bone.

Your eyes trailed back up to your reflection and you stared at yourself until it felt like someone else was looking back at you.

Who am I? You whispered to yourself, letting your sweater fall back down and cover yourself. Disgusted, you walked back into the kitchen and began to fill the pot with water from the cooler, placing it on the rack over the fire, then gathered fire wood and placed kindling in the holes before striking a match.

When the fire was hot and the water had boiled you poured a cup of tea and walked onto the porch, leaning over the railing and looking out into the trees and at the creek. This place was untouched, seemingly, exactly how it had always looked, unchanging yet changing all the time.

You wondered if that was how life was for other people. If it was normal to feel some sort of change or growth, but not enough to feel like a completely different person. You thought surely, for some people, change happened in small doses or slowly, but they still felt like themselves on the other end of it.

You didn’t feel like yourself. You didn’t feel like the same person who used to come here every summer with her family, happy, unknowing how cruel the world could be yet, innocent and honest and eager.

You thought about the summer you had brought Rudy here, in high school, just before the 9th grade. You had known for a while that your relationship with him had been different than your relationship with your other guy friends, but it wasn’t until that summer that you had understood what that meant. You would blush when he would smile at you, you were self-conscious about your body around him, you had concocted every possible scenario to be alone with him, and you thought you would faint when he put his arm around your shoulder. If you could go back and tell that girl how terrible you felt right now, how your heart would be broken, you would. But you couldn’t. So you sipped your tea and let your eyes drift around the woods, the wind in your hair, and tried to smile.

You had to move forward. You had to move on. Whatever that meant, however that looked, you had to keep going, as impossible as it felt.

You heard the fire crack inside and felt the urge to shower, so you boiled more water until you had enough to fill the shower tank, then undressed and stepped into the tiled space in the bathroom and turned the faucet on. You knew you only had about 2 mins before the hot water ran out, so you turned it off while you lathered the shampoo into your hair and soap on your body, shivering as a breeze came through the open window. When you turned the water back on to rinse the soap out, you were visited by the unwelcome memory of Rudy staring at Anna in his driveway, and the way she had looked at him. Her expression was what had unsettled you the most…the look on her face had been almost…kind of like what a bully looked like when they hit you but you got in trouble for it. Satisfied in a cruel and unusual way.

You felt your anger dissipate for a moment and sadness trickle in, sadness for Rudy and the clearly fucked up situation he now found himself in. It didn’t disintegrate the anger you felt towards him for lying to you, or for letting you make a fool of yourself, but it opened up a new vein that you hadn’t exposed yet. It must have been truly terrible in LA for him to abandon it the way he did and run home, especially considering the new evidence. He had been running away from so much more than you had understood. He had clearly gotten himself in over his head.

As you felt the water getting colder, you blinked out of the thoughts and finished rinsing your hair before stepping out from behind the tiled area and grabbing a towel.

You realized at that moment that you hadn’t checked your phone since you hung up with your parents and shoved it into your bag. It would have lost service shortly after that call…but something might have come through before it did. You walked with wet feet and wet hair to your bag which still lied unopened on the ground beside the door, clutching your towel around you. You grabbed your phone and walked to the fireplace where you sat down on the stool next to it and turned it on. Nothing at first, then a text message loaded from Rudy.

Don’t leave me Little Fern. I need you.

You suppressed the groan that nearly escaped you and put a hand on your mouth, your eyes closed. You dropped your phone to the ground and placed your face in your hands, your wet hair falling around your shoulders. The fire was hot on your bare legs and arms, the only real source of comfort you had felt since arriving. You regretted checking the message immediately, now feeling sufficiently racked with guilt.

How could you do that to him? How you could bail on him, when you knew that he probably needed you more than he ever had in his life? You had been so selfish. Of course he hadn’t done this to hurt you, he was probably just as confused and fucked up by it as you were. He was your person….or at least he had been, and you walked away from him when he needed you. No matter how hurt you were or how angry you felt…that wasn’t you. He was still your best friend. You felt a haze pass through your head, a dizziness that moved you to place a hand on the wall beside you to stabilize yourself.

This was your way forward. It hit you like a brick wall.

You stood quickly, so quickly it made your head spin, and tripped forward, your towel dropping around your feet. You grabbed your clothes from the bathroom and got dressed before pouring the bucket of sand on the fire.

You practically ran out of the cabin, blind to what was around you, your soul focus to get back to cell service and call Rudy. You knew there was a cell tower an hour or so north of the cabin, up the road and along a trail that followed the creek, in a clearing that had a high point with no natural obstructions, you should be able to get a signal there.

With shaky legs you climbed into your car, the engine rolling over as you put it in drive and pulled out of the parking area and back onto the dirt road. A dark cloud rolled overhead and thunder boomed, it started to pour rain so heavily that you felt your tires slipping every time you went over washboards or rocks. You turned on the windshield wipers distractedly, holding your phone in your hand up against the window, praying you would get a signal faster. Your head was cloudy and your arms were shaking, you thought briefly about how you hadn’t eaten in over 2 days and hadn’t slept properly since the morning Rudy came to your house. None of that mattered, all you could think about was what a terrible friend you had been, and how upset Rudy was when you left. You were a horrible person, but you were desperate to fix it. You couldn’t fail him now.

You followed the road, pressing the gas a little harder, constantly checking your phone for bars of service.

You rounded a corner and saw a flash of lightening, jolting you to drop your phone.

“Fuck” You muttered as you leaned down, one hand on the steering wheel, the other rummaging around your feet. You couldn’t feel it.

You bent down, looking at your feet for a moment until you found it, but when you looked up at the road something large and dark was moving across it, mere feet in front of you.

Adrenaline shot through you and you screamed, your reflexes pulling the steering wheel hard to the right. Your car spun and drifted, hydroplaning across the wet road, the trees and rain obscured as you shut your eyes and felt your body tense.

You felt the car spin off the road, then a hard thud, the deafening sound of metal crunching and rubber popping, all of this until your body weight was forced forward against your seatbelt. Waves of adrenaline and pain and shock cascaded over you until your head collided with the steering wheel.

Darkness pulled you under.

____________________________________________

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[songsformonkeys]

Pedro Character match-up for my darling @alwaysbethewest​. Written by me. Awesome banner by @yespolkadotkitty

I’m pairing you with single space dad Din Djarin:

It's a slow day at work and you're alternating between browsing the internet for baking recipes and pictures of cute B&Bs littered about Scandinavia. You sigh as you look at the various places, each one different but all fitting your dream perfectly. Imagine owning a place like that! You sigh again. Maybe one day...

The calm is suddenly interrupted by loud explosions and shots being fired. You barely have time to do anything beyond looking up from the computer before a figure covered in metal barges into your office, carrying a bag in his arms.

”What's your opinion of the Empire?!” He barks loudly, making you jump. You stutter, unsure both which Empire he's referring to and what the right answer to his question is. ”Ehum...bad?” you try, hoping it's the right answer. The tin man looks at you – at least you think he does as you can't see his face. ”...Good enough,” He says and thrusts the bag into your arms. ”Take him and run to my ship! It's parked out back! There's a device in the pocket of the bag that will allow you inside. Once you're in, press the red button and wait there! Understood?” You nod, despite not understanding at all what is going on. But the instructions seem fairly straight forward.

The stranger has left the office before you can ask any further questions and when you look down at the bag a small green face peeks out. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen!

An explosion brings you back to the here and now and you run outside with the small green creature and find a spaceship standing in the staff parking lot. You get inside and lock the doors, just as the man had instructed. Then you wait.

The green child cooes and you think he sounds worried. You have no idea how much he understands but you try and talk soothingly to him, regardless.

When the metal-covered stranger comes back, he brings the chaos and explosions with him. In the midst of the fighting there's no time to let you off the ship. As soon as the stranger is inside, he heads for the cockpit to start up the ship. You follow him, asking him what's going on. He doesn't answer. The ship leaves the ground and you tell him that you need to get home. Then he speaks, promising to bring you back once it's safe but for now you need to strap in. You do as you're told. The ship is hit by blaster fire just as you jump into hyperdrive.

As you see the stars speed by you can't help but think that this is your first time out of the country. Off the planet too apparently. The thought makes you a little dizzy.

The stranger doesn't speak much and initially, you're too shy to talk to him either. There's something about the man in the mask that scares you a  bit. What's to say that you left with the good guys? But you relax a little when you see the way he interacts with the kid. Anyone that patient with the little one's antics can't be all bad, can he?

Two days into the journey you dare to ask him where you're heading and he tells you that the ship needs repairs and that it's probably safe to wait just a bit longer before dropping you back on your planet. The hyperdrive jump has damaged the ship even further and They-call-me-Mando (as he's introduced himself) doesn't dare to make another jump. So it's a slow trek to the next planet, at least by his standards. You're still amazed you're heading for a different planet!

The three of you settle into a sort of routine on the ship as you continue towards your destination. The routine mostly consists of Mando tinkering with different parts of the ship, trying to patch up certain parts from the inside, and you hanging out with the kid, trying not to bother Mando too much. Space food is a bit different from what you're used to but you like cooking and so you quickly figure it out and are glad to have another way to be useful. You're offered something like a cupboard to sleep in, while Mando and the kid sleeps in the cockpit.

One day the kid finds your handbag and, inside it, your phone. At first he tries to eat it but when you show him how to use it and shortly thereafter he manages to put some music on. Dolly Parton starts singing from the speakers. The child squeals with delight and for just a few moments you too have something familiar and safe. It makes you relax and you grab the child's tiny hands and help him dance a little, smiling at the awkward way he waves his arms.

After a while you notice the sounds of Mando's repairs have stopped and you look over to find him watching you, silently. You quickly turn off the music and apologize. Mando shrugs. ”It's fine. He seems to like it.” Then he goes back to tinkering.

Turns out that the kid likes the music so much that he hardly wants a quiet moment after that, and the battery is rapidly draining. When your phone eventually dies, he cries and throws a tantrum that no amount of finger pointing or Nos from Mando can help calm down. It takes less than a day of angry baby before Mando has managed to patch together a charger of sorts for the phone. Everyone relaxes considerably once the sweet sound of Dolly fills the air again. You even catch Mando tapping his foot to the beat every now and then over the next couple of days.

Your stoic pilot still doesn't talk much but he talks more now. You're fascinated by the star maps and Mando tells you about the different planets he's been to. You find that, while you sometimes miss home, spending time on the Razor Crest with him and the baby isn't as bad as you'd feared when you first got here.

When you finally reach your destination for repairs, you're delighted to find it's a planet with water and there's a coastline close to where Mando is landing. You beg him to let you take the kid there. He's a little reluctant at first but you reason that he'll seem more intimidating to any mechanic, and less likely to be scammed, if they don't think he's a family man. Mando does a double-take at you calling him a family man and you curse yourself, wishing you could take the word back. How bold of you to assume anyone would look at the three of you and think family.

Mando lets you go to the beach, though, and the kid loves chasing the waves, his green little butt wiggling back and forth as he runs across the sand. You walk next to him to make sure he stays safe since you don't know if he's actually able to swim. He's quite capable of catching the little crab-like creatures that sometimes scurry across the sand and the kid gulps them down before you can stop him. If anyone saw the way he ate, they would assume you and Mando were starving him.

The communications device suddenly buzzes and Mando's voice hisses ”They're here! Take the kid and hide! I'll find you!” You pick the kid up, desperately looking around for somewhere to hide. You spot some rocky outcrops a short distance away, at the edge of the water. You wrangle the kid back into his coat as you run.

You reach your hiding spot and a short time after you hear shouting voices, speaking a language you don't understand. You shiver and your teeth clatters, not only because of the cold water reaching your waist. Thankfully, the kid stays quiet too, and you hug him close. You would try and say something comforting to him but you're too worried to make any kind of noise so the hugging will have to do.

Hiding only works for so long, however, and it's only a matter of minutes before you hear the soft beeping of a tracking device - Mando has taught you to recognize the sound. There's nowhere else for you to go and you try to shield the kid with your body as best you can when an alien-looking man shows up, blaster aimed at you. He yells and waves at you. He either wants you or the baby but you don't want to give him either. He waves the blaster too and his voice gets more frantic when he continues to yell at you. You still don't move, partly because you're protecting the baby and partly because you're too scared. Then the alien man takes aim, straight between your eyes. ”Please,” you beg him, squeezing your eyes shut.

A shot rings out but it's not you that gets hit and when you open your eyes Mando is wading towards you in the water. The child cries and reaches for him. Mando plucks him from your arms and the child claws at his chest plate, making distressed noises. Mando shushes him. Then he reaches for you, a gloved hand cupping the back of your head as he leans forward to press his helmet against your forehead. It’s a new thing. He’s never touched you like this before. You bite back tears, refusing to cry in front of him, but you can't help but relax against him as he steps closer. ”You're both okay” he says and you're not sure if he's trying to reassure you or himself.

The child scratches a little at your jaw and you and Mando break apart. The kid wants back in your arms again and you let him.

Mando watches the kid settle in with its little face pressed against your neck, and then he beckons for you to move forward. ”It's safe. Let's go home.”

[kilojulietsierra]

Seis Dias - Day Three (Frankie Morales x OFC)

They survived the wreck, but now what?

Need to catch up?

Prologue/Day One

Day Two

Day Three

The morning was cold and grey, the air filled with mist from last nights storm. Jo sat huddled under a tree in a borrowed, waterproof jacket, listening as Frankie tried to reach someone on the radio. Eventually he joined her again. Dragging the rest of his gear and her bags with him.

"it's no good." He set the packs down in front of her and joined her under the tree. "Radio is fried. What isn't fried got sheered off in the crash." He stared forlornly at the wreckage of his plane. "I think the transponder is fried too."

Jo pulled his rain jacket tighter around her, "What does that mean?"

He looked at her, moisture dripping off the bill of his cap, his shirt soaked through from being out in the damp, "It means that... when they send out a search, they won't have a signal to hone in on. They'll just have to... fly around and look out the window..." He shook his head, upset with himself.

"And hope they get lucky." Jo added.

Frankie nodded, "And hope we get lucky." After a moment he sat up straighter and grabbed for an Army green backpack he had brought with him. "Here." He pulled out a heavy metal bottle. "Sip. It's the only fresh water I have at the moment."

She nodded and looked around her, eyes wide and thoughts foggy, "What are we gonna do? I mean..." She didn't finish her thought.

"For now we wait. Best case scenario, someone heard our mayday, second best is your people call when you don't show and they send out a search and they find us on their first pass." He sounded falsely optimistic.

"Worst case?"

He took a deep breath and looked from her to the somewhat clear, jungle valley around them, "Worst case; we're on our own."

Joanna didn't know what to say so she unscrewed the bottles lid and took a sip. "I'd kill for a cup of black coffee right now." She coughed out a dry chuckle.

Frankie looked back to her, a small quirk at the side of his mouth, "The good, stout, bitter kind you could clean battery cables with."

"Mhmm." She handed him the bottle and reached for her camera bag, scared at what she might find.

Thousands of dollars worth of lenses cracked or shattered, one of her telescopic lenses had even snapped in half in the landing. She was on the verge of tears until she pulled out her camera. It had survived, battery charged and all.

"Is it okay?" Frankie was looking over her shoulder.

With a small nod Jo began digging out her memory chip pouch and extra battery. Shoving them into her regular back pack before slouching back against the tree, cradling her beloved Nikon. She powered it up and aimed it at the wreckage in front of them. A sharp shutter sound snapped through the silence and she leaned back from the viewfinder to look at the display.

Frankie looked at the photo she had taken. The plane a indistinguishable heap in the foreground and the sharp, green ridge they had barely made it over last night in the background, obscured by a layer of tropical fog a few hundred feet up and draped in an eerie grey mist. It twisted something in his gut to see the photo, somehow even more haunting than the reality in front of them. "Wow." She didn't say anything, just stared at the screen, rubbing a thumb back and forth over the edge. "I'm glad it's okay."

That got her to look up, a dozen emotions in her eyes, half of them twisting the knife Frankie already felt in his chest for what had happened to them.

"So, what do we do."

Taking her clear plea for something to lean on Frankie focused. "Let's take another few minutes, collect our thoughts. Then we'll go through our gear and sort out the essentials. That'll give your people time to notice you didn't make it and call in S and R. The chance of them finding us with out a transponder are slim and they get slimmer after the first 24 hours. If nobody has shown up by tomorrow morning... we take the gear we can carry and hike out."

"Hike out? You've got to be fucking crazy!" Joanna turned to face him wide eyed, and pale. This isn't Yellowstone, you don't just hike out of the fucking rainforest!"

If only she knew, Frankie thought. "I'm open to other suggestions if you have one but Joanna listen to me, if they do not find us today, walking out is about our only option."

"This can't be happening." Without warning she shoved to her feet and walked out into the clearing.

Frankie stood and stepped after her but thought better of it, letting her go as long as she stayed where he could see her. So, while he let her have the space she needed, he began to dig more thoroughly through the wreckage and sort though his gear.

He had everything pulled from the plane by the time she joined him again. "I don't think I can do this Frankie."

Standing up straight he stretched his back and turned to face her, "I think you can Jo."

In silence they stood there, in the wild, looking each other in the eye, neither breaking the gaze until Jo nods.

~~~

The sun had burnt away the clouds and the drizzle that had clung to the ridges and now the air was overheated and muggy. Their shirts were soaked with sweat and their jeans covered in mud as they sat in the shade, each with their pack of essentials next to them. Ready to go. MREs, a fire starter kit, zippo lighter, the water bottle and water filtration kit, a first aid kit, wet gear, cold weather gear, a K-BAR knife, two flashlights, Joanna's camera with its SD cards and spare battery, a couple changes of clothes, as many dry socks as they had and their personal identification in watertight pouches, a machete and one flare gun with one flare in it. This was distributed between their two packs and that in addition to the clothes on their back is what they would take with them if they made that decision.

What gear they didn't plan to take they stowed back into the damaged fuselage of the plane, a perhaps meaningless attempt to leave as little mess as possible.

Jo spent the afternoon keeping herself occupied the only way she knew how.

Frankie watched her from the shade as she circled the crash site taking pictures, occasionally she would turn away and snap a picture of something else that caught her eye.

They hadn't spoken much since their minor disagreement. So when she sat next to him and held the camera out to him with the LCD screen displaying the pictures, and said as dry and matter of fact as a person could, "For your insurance, in case they ask." Frankie could not help but laugh out loud. A deep, honest, cheek burning laugh that soon took her along with him. Until they were both covered in sweat and mud and laughing hysterically on the jungle floor. Waiting for a rescue that they both knew now, would not be coming.

~~~

The sun had set and Frankie had started a small fire, mostly to see by and dry out their clothes.

"How long would it take?"

In front of him Frankie had a map and compass, "Depending on the pace we can keep; three days. There's lots of little villages on the rivers down by the coast. Just got to find the water and follow it out."

"That's actually really smart." Jo murmured, impressed.

"I have my moments." Frankie folded the map to stow it back in his bag, "If we are where I think we are, we should be able to find a river tomorrow. That will be the hard part, from there it's relatively easy." He paused as if unsure what to say next, "Have you ever done this type of stuff before?" Before she could hit him with the sarcastic comment about her lack of plane crash experience he saw coming he elaborated, "Do you camp, hike, hunt... anything like that?"

Uneasy Jo shrugged, "I used to camp and stuff but... more when I was younger and... it's been..." She did the math in her head, easy math, "A few years. Nothing this extreme."

"Some experience is better than none. At least I won't have to piggy back you out of here." Frankie chuckled.

"How about you?"

"What?"

"You seem like you have some experience with... this." She gestured at the wreck and the wilderness surrounding them.

He didn't say anything at first, just scratched at the patch of beard on his cheek. "Some yeah."

Taking the vague answer for the hint that it was, Jo asked the only question she had left to ask, "We're doing this aren't we?"

Neither of them slept much that night. They just sat across the fire from each other and watched the flames die out.

---

Day Four - Read it now!

[grumpy-zane]

((NS15 thoughts Under the cut! Fromatted as a live blog. Stopped at episode 4

EPISODE ONE

why has no one drawn the fire city lady. Miss. Demeanor.

WHAT, CRIMINALS *WANT* to be targets of the ninja??? Criminal Syndicate??

Property Damage follows the ninja no matter where they go.

Zane why are you so w e a k what. just un-spin the tornado.

‘vengestone has few practical uses’ hello??

Lloyd a ‘100 ft tall tornado of water’ is a water spout. WHY IS UR TECH NO WATER PROOF HELLO??

Wojira is a ‘Storm Spirit’ .

Merlopians are the first of Ninjago, Nyad is also a Merlopian. It sounds like Wojira was some sort of artificial construct, since she does not operate without both amulets. Perhaps resurrected, kept awake by the gems in her head?

Ray and Maya, hahaahah~ Waaaaa, I like them a lot.

EPISODE TWO

Maya really shoudl cool it a little bit, maybe understand your daughter first before whipping everything up.

Maya is a Vegetarian.

Maya is simply repeating what what drilled into her for the battle against the time twins/ serpentine wars at the ripe age of probably 16 %D

Kai ninjago. Got dang it.

Pixal and Zane hecking leave and do their own thing. ‘oh we got a mission’ takes a nice walk in the park first.

‘Tautaurus trench’ - deepest point in the oceans of Ninjago

EPISODE THREE

Pixal you built that submarine all by yourself? Borg is crying tears of joy, proud of his daughter.

Kai ninjago. Dang it. Care about him, he’s so. Kai ninjago.

Maya let your daughter live her life. I get it, you had no time to be a mom, but Kai is litterally RIGHT THERE.

Zane ninjago being weird again. Please do thousands of terabytes of cowboys next. Pixal how do you put up with him.

A good face to redraw.

‘as we go deeper, I can feel its elemental power growing, it’s almost oveerwhelming...’ Okay I wonder if this applies to morro as well when it comes to strong storms?

‘No ones ever been this deep before’ do you mean no human living? Probably crushed by the pressure.

Ducklesworth the Butler

Nya forcibly ejects Maya out the airlock. One Imposter remains.

‘Reduce speed!’ ship moves faster

EPSIDOE FOUR

Zane plunger.

Once again, I am glad that the submarine isn’t nuclear, that means pressure won’t lead to an explosion and/or radiation leakage, but just a compression!

the whoel thing about Jay not being permitted to charge the battery is the same feeling of when No one listened to kai in Decoded.

The water is surprisingly clear despite all of the geothermal activity.

‘Go no further ye who seek [Wojira], for the sleeper in the deep must not be disturbed until the end of days’ in a primitive dialect that predates the FSM. This could be taken multiple ways, either that it is a form of Old Ninjargon, serpentine, or flat out a different language completely. > I am ruling out the last option, for if it was completely different and that old, the data on it should be more scarce, especially if it was exclusive to the merlopian people.

[cutegirlmayra]

Metallic Need (Bonus Chapter unedited)

Metallic Need : Bonus Chapter (NOT THE FINAL, FINISHED CHAPTER YET.)

Because my friend loves it and I had to write something for her lolol Love you!

Here is what started it:

Idea about burning oil and Neo Metal Amy laying on her stomach seductively in it (since she can't catch on fire, but she could melt lolol) the oil is around and over her so it looks like she's on fire too.

The power walk like, "This alloy doesn't react to such small heat." (hahaha but the real heat is inside their coding lolololol)

Neo: I always knew you were prone to flames... I just didn't realize you wanted to die so quickly. Metal Amy: It's those red eyes that hold the real desire for destruction, Neo Metal Sonic. Neo: ... Who said anything about destruction? (~) lolol A purring lull in his metallic string of sounds (He's honestly so turned on and she's just like, ARE WE FIGHTING?)

Metal Amy: Let's rumble! Neo: Tumble? I like the sound of tha- Metal Amy: NO.

Neo: You will be under my power... -holds up a clawed hand seductively- Metal Amy: -leans head back and glares- You have no power! Neo: ... -pulls back- Is everything literal to you now?

(Friend: HE TRIES SO HARD, Me: Suffer my friend lolol I have a lot of metallic feels thanks to you and now I'm in the mood to write some robotic flirting XDDDD he's like 'how make robotic attracted to me without physically magnetizing her to me?' He did that... once lolol)

Neo: -walking around her, wants to say so many things but is having a hard time with his heart virus finding just one- Your attempt at luring me with your new form is pointless. I own you. I created you. There isn't a part of you I don't know already... I have your blueprints in my mind as we speak. Such a shame... you truly can't ruin what I have made. No matter what you invent yourself to be, you'll always have me in you. Metal Amy: ? Are you still calling me pretty after all I've done!? Neo: -wide eyed- 'SHE UNDERSTOOD?'

Neo: -getting frustrated and angry- YOU BELONG TO ME! -up in her face with his hand twitching and wanting to just slash into her. Metal Amy: If I had a tongue, I would stick it out at you. Disrespectfully. -looks unfazed. She turns to walk away and he's just crushing his body inwards and twiddling his fingers in the air like AHHHHHHH cause he doesn't know how else to flirt-

AND HERE'S WHAT IT IS:

Neo Metal Sonic paced the laundry room, hands behind his back, impatient. He looked at the clock with a look that stated that if it didn't tick correctly he'd have it destroyed with the broom of doom. He was already finished with the basket of organic filth that had been deposited into the washing machine of torturous existences... so now it was time for Neo Metal Amy to check in on him. He had a plan, a sinister way to escape this prison confine of Amy Rose's Home and take his creation back, it was flawless, the moment was right! He had planned everything down to the last drop of blood he'd drain from each of Sonic's friends... but where was she!?

The time seemed to slow down around Neo Metal Sonic, he grew increasingly hostile, flicking his claws to create heated sparks that flew off like a small sparkler in a fireworks demonstration as he stopped pacing and glared with a beam of red to the door. 'She's LATE.' his entire metal frame was on edge, as though his being was polarizing with magnetic force and crushing itself in and out. "That's it. My inferior programming has subsided for the day!" He looked to check that the dryer of all burning screams was almost completed, and so, he left his post...

Walking around Amy's home, he kicked and put nicks on all her furniture as he passed by, a way to vent without triggering his programming since the 'safety of inanimate objects' wasn't a prioritized programming... so Amy would finds steel foot dents and scraped wood on her cabinets constantly as a way for Metal to still protest his confinement as a butler. Needless to say, she hated it. Finally, he made his way to the flowerbed outside, pretending a moment in his mind to set the whole thing on fire like Amy's repeated red clothes that he wished he could dye in her blood instead of wash in detergent when suddenly... a flash of light came from the lake outside of Amy's home... He stared as the powerful force of whip-lashing wind blew the petals out from the backyard and surrounded the water droplets that sparkled around the metallic frame.

It was the first time Neo Metal Sonic realized... he couldn't fly to her. That sick, twisted realization sent a feeling of hopelessness throughout his heart virus... his shoulders wanted to fall back, but he tried to will them up... but with the heart programming it was useless. They slumped as he watched her send a blast through the lake, training maybe or figuring out better ways to perfect her battle abilities... against him? He hoped. At least that meant she was thinking of him again. At least he was still somewhat important... He tried to kick off the ground by lifting his heel up and shoving it down, but his jet didn't engage... Why... He kicked again, and again, and again, and again until his eyes squinted in their desperate need to grasp her... hold his creation again... be with her again... Like a flightless bird, he felt useless, defective. Out of all her 'tortures' she tried to conceive against him... this was the worst one yet. She finally did spot him, turning gracefully in the air with her duel turbo engines under her dress and by her legs, seeing him in the distance. '...Be with me.' he commanded, before glaring in his rage. 'BE WITH ME.' he tried to send the signal but she was already coming, a threatening claw reeled back to attack him. He waited quietly as her sound drew closer, and then dodged as she spiked the ground, jumping to the roof and making sure to damage it in the process. He held himself high, feigning dominance. "you're late... even for your own 'torture session'... pitiful."

"You say that as though you're excited." she yanked her hand out, glaring, "Prepare to feel death once more... Neo Metal Sonic!" he twitched at her saying he seemed excited, then mentally scolded the infernal heart programming again for giving it away. "I would say prepare yourself, NEO Metal Amy..." He flared, slowly to let the dramatic wind swoop his waist-cloak out flapping into the air menacingly. "I have plans for you as well..." He matched her glare, but it was much more regal then hers, and it infuriated her. She sent out a metallic cry and charged him, flying up to him. 'Yes... come to me... don't take your eyes off of me. Don't ever stop thinking of me.' he jumped to dodge her, as she materialized her hammer as the silver goop formed it and she sent electricity through it, hitting balls of sparking light towards him. He tilted himself in the air, before wildly gesturing as an acrobatic to dodge them, showing off. Not one hit... 'Pay attention, this will be your first lesson!' He twisted himself and landed beautifully on the roof again, slowly rising up. 'You will feel me... you will know only I can satisfy you...' he gripped his claws, and then shred them over her image a few feet away. 'I want to exist in those eyes... forever...' and then he charged her.

As she braces for impact, she also tries to secure her footing and grabs Neo Metal Sonic's shot out clawed hand, having it tightly compacted to look almost like a spike and flings him down like a martial artists dodge. 'Perfect' his eyes dim as he unparts his fingers and grabs her wrist. "What?" She looks confused, wondering what he could possibly be doing as he takes what looks like a charger pack from out of his waist-cloak, "You look a bit... thirsty." and spikes his thumb into it, having sparks fly out as he jams it into the crevice of her arm-guard. She is electrocuted, but with all her batteries, it's not really damaging. "What are you thinking?" She glares, her body twitching only slightly from the effects. "I could just shove energy out of me! This was your big threat!?" He continues to stare at her... "H-huh?" Then it occurred to her... this feeling... there was no pain associated to it anymore. Now that she looked down at her captive hand, she noticed the pleasant streams of... "Feeling." her eyes widened and she began to struggle to get his grip off. "Let go!"

"How amusing... the creation that used to enjoy this so much... now fights against it..."

"You made me hate it!" she kicked his stomach in, but he held his ground, trying to trigger his engine but it still wouldn't work. He could have at least scrapped up her foot with it spinning, though it wouldn't leave a mark on the alloy... it would have still given off plenty of sparks to the party... "Tell me," He tilted one eyelid down, "If feeling was so terribly traumatic for you... then why insist I struggle with it? Has it not occurred to you that perhaps I-" Before he could finish his manipulation, his eyes widened as she began to glow bright yellow from within her systems, and then turned to him fully. "So you know my pain." and jammed herself up against him. The explosion broke the roof as the two fell through, and Neo Metal Sonic did feel the pain... but enjoyed every second of it. Though he was in immense simulated pain, he fought through it and tried to embrace her... even while falling through the roof... he just wanted to keep her locked to his side. When the crashing consumed them, Amy cried out from upstairs and came racing downstairs, jaw hitting the ground as though this was the last straw. He was steaming... his systems fired, but he had successfully locked himself to her... 'Now, to give the command.' his eyes flickered red, almost about to shut down in an emergency protocol. She started to get up, but he sent all his power to executing the command, and was like a stuck accessory around her. "Ugh, get off!" she faked exertion, as though an organic feeling strain. However, she stood up as the rubble fell around her, arms away, looking down at what seemed to be a destroyed Metal... Clinging to her and not letting go. "He must have locked his arms before destructing." she thought, before turning to Amy to apologize. But while she did... a deadly signal was being sent to her... Neo Metal Amy was scolded yet again and banished to the Lake while Amy called for some help. She was still stuck with Neo Metal Sonic's trash tightly holding itself around her, but continued to try and find ways to 'unstuck' herself from him. Until a sudden idea popped into her head. She didn't know where it had come from, but she pulled lightly against Neo Metal Sonic's head and looked into the blank and black screens of his eyes... "...Huh?" she suddenly saw it flicker with an image of her when she was incomplete up on Eggman's storage ship. "That's..." she watched memories pass by on Neo Metal Sonic's screen, of their first experience under the electric shower to the later advanced 'pleasurable' electric charging sessions they had... but he seemed to be purposefully leaving out more of the recent tortures... She shook her head, "So he thinks of the past too much, so what?" she let the head drop, "...There was once a time... I would have liked to see even a shred of kindness from my master..." she thought out loud, not sure why, as though answering another inputted question. "But those days can never be. Not when you're a robot..." What she didn't know... was that Neo Metal Sonic was searching her memories, learning about Omochao and her previous thoughts. Seeing how she escaped, her betrayal, and her reprogramming. But then he sent more signals throughout her, looking for any sign that she wanted to please or be pleased... any weakness that he can draw upon. "To you... my flaws were nothing more than entertainment and pleasure... but to me... All I wanted was your acceptance." she closed her eyes, not sure why she was digging this out of herself again. A twitching, burnt claw hand suddenly skimmed her back... "All I truly desired was to please you... but you never accepted me, and you wouldn't allow yourself to be errored even though you were!" she swiped at his head, so he remained still again. "No matter what I do, you still torment me! Acting as though I'm something valuable to you! When you didn't even know what to do with me in the first place!" she kept hitting him, as he indirectly triggered her with his searching for information. Then he found what he was looking for... He reactivated his flickering eyes, looking slowly up to her as she stopped hitting him and was pushed to the ground. Still holding her, he lifted his hand up to the crook of her head, "I remember... the last look on your face... before I threw you to the canon-fodder..." He clicked a switch that gave him access to her spine's wires... "I remember... how you looked at me that day." She was shocked he was able to survive that, but even more so how he was still operational. "W-what are you..? What do you possible think you can gain from-!?" He pulled a wire out, and her expression suddenly went limp and her head fell back. Electric sparks danced around the loose wire as he held it up to his mouth, figuratively drinking her energy in as he prepared for the last and final stage... "I never wanted to loose you... but I couldn't possibly lose TO you... So in a way, you still please me... whether by your own will or not, it's an objective you can't possibly erase from your programming..." He dipped down once his eyes stabilized from the power source, and began shocking her with her own power. Bending her into him, he made sure he had enough before rehooking the wire in, and watching her flare up anger, trying to pierce her claws into him as he continued to send a pleasurable amount of energy back into her. He was attempting the revolving door again... "Doesn't it feel... entertaining?" he suddenly laughed as her eyelids blinked a few times, as though trying to fight the sensation of being recharged. "Doesn't it make you wish you never tried to be organic!?"

With the sparks sending only good feelings, though some constant pain to Neo Metal Sonic through his spinal antenna, the two were back to their old ways again but Neo Metal Amy continued to struggle. He gripped the sides of her head and pulled her against his sparking frame, trying to replicate what she had done for him by taking a hand and looping it in a twist around her arm, letting the heat and electricity spark up in a jagged line to send the same memorable pleasures back to her. So it seemed like a role-reversal, but Neo Metal Sonic had no idea if this was even working or not. His first plan was to addict her to him again, make her realize he was the only one she could serve instead of the organics, but her flaws seemed to be strengths when he looked at her memories. He was amazed by her continual ingenuity, and how no matter what problem, she seemed to find a way to wrestle out of the sensations of touch were mostly on Neo Metal Sonic's side, he was suddenly finding himself even more drawn to the heart programming when it made him of think of things and do actions he didn't know were an organic sign of affection... but through her memories he found, stage two in finding a flaw and formulating what systems were still intact also came through to give him location to her wires... how to strengthen himself. He couldn't hurt an organic, but there was nothing that said he couldn't 'tempt' her to do the work for him... Finding that she wanted his approval was laughable to Neo Metal Sonic, but if it meant securing her to him, what was to lose? His pride was already tarnished, and he could punish her later... but right now... he twisted his head and turned her into him, desperate to give her what she wanted in exchange to having the command signal closer and hoping to brainwash her... however... the heart virus was immediately activated, and suddenly, he found himself twitching. "Noo..." He finally had want he wanted... why was it-!? "NOOO..." his eyes blared red, his claw left her form and gripped the ground, digging into it as he fought the new expression being triggered. However, he couldn't, and suddenly... his escape plan didn't matter anymore. Neo Metal Amy was under a lot of stimuli, it was as though being drugged up in delight, but her hand hit his chest, trying to force him off again, "M-Metal..." she stuttered, unable to fight for much longer... because this was something she had once wanted... love without pain. In his struggle, he found himself absolutely giving in and focusing only on pleasing her, something he'd never do if he was fully in control of his own assets. "Stop... stop fighting me..." she was confused, not sure why his demeanor had changed and why he seemed less hostile... more desperate... "Metal?" her eyes were closing as sent all he had to her... every last spark before she regained herself and the command signal stopped... Neo Metal Sonic being consumed in making her loyal to him again. She began to recharge normally, and grabbed him to look and see what was going on. "You..." His eyes were... Green. "You're feeling." He bent them, twitching. "No." he stated. "Yes." she nodded, amazed. "You are feeling... for me."

As Neo Metal Sonic's form shook from the realization of what the heart virus forced him to recognize and reveal, Neo Metal Amy couldn't help but be stunned at his vulnerable frame. She was sucked into the moment, the sparks still zapped at times, but now her entire focus was on this new experience he had never felt before. Could it be? Was he really solely thinking of her and nothing else? "... Metal Sonic..." she referring to his previous life, "Do you..." She placed her fingers lightly on his cheek as the heart virus forced him to react as though panting, his chest rising and falling. "I can't..." His eyes were bent... all the hostility and evil she had known looked completely gone from him in this moment. It left her completely taken aback. She continued to look over him, watching the 'errors' manifest so prominently now. "I can never be this..." He kept repeating more and more things, but she tuned it out. He was so afraid of being organic... she didn't realize it was fear. She moved up and cupped his face, her former compassion shining through one more time, even towards this weakened moment for Neo Metal Sonic. "NEVER say that." she tried to command, but she didn't have that programmed into him to obey. "You are not Sonic... but you can be whatever you choose to be. You don't have to be evil, Neo... you could be like me..." she skimmed her thumb upon his muzzle. "...But I want you." he admitted, his hands coming back up to her own, and then sliding down to cling as though ashamed to her face, scooting himself closer to it. "I just want you." She let go of his face, "No... N-no, it's emotions. Metal, you're feeling! You can feel! You can allow yourself to-!" He gripped her head and pushed it up to his forehead, his green eyes trembling. "No." he declared, "NO." he repeated. "I don't want to change, I don't want to reform. I only want you. I don't want to feel, I don't want to emote. I never wanted anything besides the death of Sonic, the title of the superior Sonic, and you. YOU. YO-! VVEEE...vveee...VVERRR..." he suddenly arched his back as he jerked forward, sparking out to have the sensation of her and him spinning in that heated, electric pleasure wheel again before he hadn't checked his own supply counts... plus, with his body mostly destroyed from their last brawl... it was no use. He had sparked his last and fell limp, shutting down. Neo Metal Amy moved quickly, placing his head in her lap, "Neo! Neo, stay with it! Don't say that! Please..!" She ducked her head, as though crying as he closed her eyes and simulated the desperate loss of hope she had just gained for a split second. "Don't give me hope like this and then just reject and deny it like you did me!" as she turned her head away, feeling the doom of him never truly changing... and him always staying the torturous fiend she knew him to be... a tender hand lightly tapped her nose and skidded his sharp finger off of it. "I never... rejected... you..." he then completely feel limp and shut down, fully nonoperational. He may have hated feeling, hated 'errors', hated that he could never measure up to Sonic no matter how hard he tried to be a better 'Sonic' than him... he never turned her away, but embraced her. Her heart programming was so torn. Omochao's data sparked to life again, pleading. 'You aren't meant to be this... you had a good life. Please. Don't get hung on this again... be free.' she shoved the thoughts away, "He's a machine that can FEEL! He wants only power and dominion! But I think... for the first time... he was forced to realize how organic he really can become..." She knew he was stuck in his ways... but for just a moment, a brief moment... he was almost ALIVE. A soul... that could feel and possibly change. When she carried him home and revived him, building him up again. He went back to the same old chores, and didn't speak to her for a full day. Staring at the stars, she finally confronted him... but he looked away, acting as though that exchange... never happened.

the end

(In conclusion, she's gonna name a child after me. My friend: "Micaela, you were named after disgruntled robots with sexual frustration." her: "What?"

Fanficiton: (x)

[greatworldwar2]

• HMS Prince of Wales

HMS Prince of Wales was a King George V-class battleship of the British Royal Navy. She had an extensive battle history, first seeing action in August 1940 while in her drydock when she was attacked by German aircraft.

In the aftermath of the First World War, the Washington Naval Treaty was drawn up in 1922 in an effort to stop an arms race developing between Britain, Japan, France, Italy and the United States. This treaty limited the number of ships each nation was allowed to build, and capped the tonnage of all capital ships at 35,000 tons. These restrictions were extended in 1930 through the Treaty of London, however, by the mid-1930s Japan and Italy had withdrawn from both of these treaties, and the British became concerned about a lack of modern battleships within their navy. As a result, the Admiralty ordered the construction of a new battleship class: the King George V class.

The main armament of the class was limited to the 14-inch (356 mm) guns prescribed under these instruments. They were the only battleships built at that time to adhere to the treaty, and even though it soon became apparent to the British that the other signatories to the treaty were ignoring its requirements, it was too late to change the design of the class before they were laid down in 1937. Prince of Wales was originally named King Edward VIII but upon his abdication the ship was renamed before she had been laid down. This occurred at Cammell Laird's shipyard in Birkenhead on January 1st, 1937, although it was not until May 3rd, 1939 that she was launched. She was still fitting out when war was declared in September, causing her construction schedule, and that of her sister, King George V, to be accelerated. During early August 1940, while she was still being outfitted and was in a semi-complete state, Prince of Wales was attacked by German aircraft. One bomb fell between the ship and a wet basin wall, narrowly missing a 100-ton dockside crane, and exploded underwater below the bilge keel. Buckling of the shell plating took place over a distance of 20 to 30 feet (9.1 m), rivets were sprung and considerable flooding took place in the port outboard compartments in the area of damage, causing a ten-degree port list. The flooding was severe, due to the fact that final compartment air tests had not yet been made and the ship did not have her pumping system in operation. The water was pumped out through the joint efforts of a local fire company and the shipyard, and Prince of Wales was later dry docked for permanent repairs. This damage and the problem with the delivery of her main guns and turrets delayed her completion. As the war progressed there was an urgent need for capital ships, and so her completion was advanced by postponing compartment air tests, ventilation tests and a thorough testing of her bilge and fuel oil systems.

She was powered by Parsons geared steam turbines, driving four propeller shafts. Steam was provided by eight Admiralty boilers which normally delivered 100,000 shaft horsepower (75,000 kW). This gave Prince of Wales a top speed of 28 knots (52 km/h; 32 mph). She also carried 180 long tons (200 t) of diesel oil, 256 long tons (300 t) of reserve feed water and 444 long tons (500 t) of freshwater. Prince of Wales had a range of 3,100 nautical miles (5,700 km; 3,600 mi) at 27 knots (50 km/h; 31 mph). Prince of Wales mounted 10 BL 14-inch (356 mm) Mk VII guns. The 14-inch guns were mounted in one Mark II twin turret forward and two Mark III quadruple turrets, one forward and one aft. The secondary armament consisted of 16 QF 5.25-inch (133 mm) Mk I guns which were mounted in eight twin mounts, weighing 81 tons each. Along with her main and secondary batteries, Prince of Wales carried 32 QF 2 pdr (1.575-inch, 40.0 mm) Mk.VIII "pom-pom" anti-aircraft guns. She also carried 80 UP projectors, which were short range rocket firing anti-aircraft weapons used extensively in the early days of the Second World War.

On May 22nd, 1941, Prince of Wales, the battlecruiser Hood and six destroyers were ordered to take station south of Iceland and intercept the German battleship Bismarck if she attempted to break out into the Atlantic. Captain John Leach knew that main-battery breakdowns were likely to occur, since Vickers-Armstrongs technicians had already corrected some that took place during training exercises in Scapa Flow. The next day Bismarck, in company with the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, was reported heading south-westward in the Denmark Strait. At 20:00 Vice-Admiral Lancelot Holland, in his flagship Hood, ordered the force to steam at 27 knots (50 km/h), which it did most of the night. His battle plan called for Prince of Wales and Hood to concentrate on Bismarck, while the cruisers Norfolk and Suffolk would handle Prinz Eugen. However the two cruisers were not informed of this plan because of strict radio silence. At 02:00, on 24 May, the destroyers were sent as a screen to search for the German ships to the north. At 05:37 an enemy contact report was made, and course was changed to starboard to close range. Neither ship was in good fighting trim. Hood, designed twenty-five years earlier, lacked adequate decking armour and would have to close the range quickly, as she would become progressively less vulnerable to plunging shellfire at shorter ranges. She had completed an overhaul in March and her crew had not been adequately retrained. Prince of Wales, with thicker armour, was less vulnerable to 15-inch shells at ranges greater than 17,000 feet (5,200 m), but her crew had also not been trained to battle efficiency.

At 05:53, despite seas breaking over the bows, Prince of Wales opened fire on Bismarck at 26,500 yards (24,200 m). There was some confusion among the British as to which ship was Bismarck and thirty seconds earlier Hood had mistakenly opened fire on Prinz Eugen as the German ships had similar profiles. Hood's first salvo straddled the enemy ship, but Prinz Eugen, in less than three minutes, scored 8-inch-shell hits on Hood. The first shots by Prince of Wales two three-gun salvoes at ten second intervals were 1,000 yards over. The sixth, ninth and thirteenth salvos were straddles and two hits were made on Bismarck. One shell holed her bow and caused Bismarck to lose 1,000 tons of fuel oil, mostly to salt-water contamination. The other fell short, and entered Bismarck below her side armour belt, the shell exploded and flooded the auxiliary boiler machinery room and forced the shutdown of two boilers due to a slow leak in the boiler room. Both German ships initially concentrated their fire on Hood and destroyed her with salvoes of 8- and 15-inch shells. Prince of Wales fired unopposed until she began a port turn at 05:57, when Prinz Eugen took her under fire. After Hood exploded at 06:01, the Germans opened intense and accurate fire on Prince of Wales, with 15-inch, 8-inch and 5.9-inch guns. A heavy hit was sustained below the waterline as Prince of Wales manoeuvred through the wreckage of Hood. At 06:02, a 15-inch shell struck the starboard side of the compass platform and killed the majority of the personnel there.

At 06:05 Captain Leach decided to disengage and laid down a heavy smokescreen to cover Prince of Wales's escape. Following this, Leach radioed the Norfolk that Hood had been sunk and then proceeded to join Suffolk roughly 15 to 17 miles (24 to 27 km) astern of Bismarck. Throughout the day the British ships continued to chase Bismarck until at 18:16 when Suffolk sighted the German battleship at 22,000 yards (20,000 m). Prince of Wales then opened fire on Bismarck at an extreme range of 30,300 yards (27,700 m), she fired 12 salvos but all of them missed. After losing Bismarck owing to poor visibility and after searching for 12 hours, Prince of Wales headed for Iceland and took no further part in actions against Bismarck.

Following repairs at Rosyth, Prince of Wales transported Prime Minister Winston Churchill across the Atlantic for a secret conference with US President Franklin D. Roosevelt. On August 5th, Roosevelt boarded the cruiser USS Augusta from the presidential yacht Potomac. Augusta proceeded from Massachusetts to Placentia Bay and Argentia in Newfoundland with the cruiser USS Tuscaloosa and five destroyers, arriving on August 7th. On August 9th, Churchill arrived in the bay aboard Prince of Wales, escorted by the destroyers HMS Ripley, HMCS Assiniboine and HMCS Restigouche. At Placentia Bay, Newfoundland, Roosevelt transferred to the destroyer USS McDougal to meet Churchill on board Prince of Wales. The conference continued from 10 to 12 August aboard the heavy cruiser USS Augusta and, at the end of the conference, the Atlantic Charter was proclaimed.

In September 1941, Prince of Wales was assigned to Force H, in the Mediterranean. On September 24th, Prince of Wales formed part of Group II, led by Vice-Admiral Alban Curteis. The force provided an escort for Operation Halberd, a supply convoy from Gibraltar to Malta. On September 27th, the convoy was attacked by Italian aircraft, with Prince of Wales shooting down several with her 5.25-inch (133 mm) guns. Later that day there were reports that units of the Italian Fleet were approaching. Prince of Wales, the battleship Rodney and the aircraft carrier Ark Royal were despatched to intercept, but the search proved fruitless. The convoy arrived in Malta without further incident, and Prince of Wales returned to Gibraltar.

On October 25th, Prince of Wales and a destroyer escort left home waters bound for Singapore, there to rendezvous with the battlecruiser Repulse and the aircraft carrier Indomitable. Indomitable however ran aground off Jamaica a few days later and was unable to proceed. Prince of Wales reached Colombo, Ceylon, on November 28th, joining Repulse the next day. On December 2nd, the fleet docked in Singapore. Prince of Wales then became the flagship of Force Z, under the command of Admiral Sir Tom Phillips. Japanese troop-convoys were first sighted on 6 December. Two days later, Japanese aircraft raided Singapore; although the Prince of Wales's anti-aircraft batteries opened fire, they scored no hits and had no effect on the Japanese aircraft. A signal was received from the Admiralty in London ordering the British squadron to commence hostilities, and that evening, confident that a protective air umbrella would be provided by the RAF presence in the region, Admiral Phillips set sail. The object of the sortie was to attack Japanese transports at Kota Bharu, but in the afternoon of 9 December the Japanese submarine I-65 spotted the British ships, and in the evening they were detected by Japanese aerial reconnaissance. By this time it had been made clear that no RAF fighter support would be forthcoming. At midnight a signal was received that Japanese forces were landing at Kuantan in Malaya. Force Z was diverted to investigate. At 02:11 on December 10th, the force was again sighted by a Japanese submarine and at 08:00 arrived off Kuantan, only to discover that the reported landings were a diversion.

At 11:00 that morning the first Japanese air attack began. Eight Type 96 "Nell" bombers dropped their bombs close to Repulse, one passing through the hangar roof and exploding on the 1-inch plating of the main deck below. Despite reports to the contrary, Prince of Wales was struck by only one torpedo. Meanwhile, Repulse avoided the seven torpedoes aimed at her, as well as bombs dropped by six other "Nells" a few minutes later. The torpedo struck Prince of Wales on the port side aft, abaft "Y" Turret, wrecking the outer propeller shaft on that side and destroying bulkheads to one degree or another along the shaft all the way to B Engine Room. This caused rapid uncontrollable flooding and put the entire electrical system in the after part of the ship out of action. Lacking effective damage control, she soon took on a heavy list. A fourth attack was conducted, this one scored hits on Repulse and she sank at 12:33. Six aircraft from this wave also attacked Prince of Wales, hitting her with three torpedoes, causing further damage and flooding. Finally, a 500-kilogram (1,100 lb) bomb hit Prince of Wales's catapult deck, penetrated to the main deck, where it exploded, causing many casualties in the makeshift aid centre in the Cinema Flat. Several other bombs from this attack scored very 'near misses', indenting the hull, popping rivets and causing hull plates to 'split' along the seams and intensifying the flooding. At 13:15 the order to abandon ship was given, and at 13:20 Prince of Wales capsized and sank; Admiral Phillips and Captain Leach were among the 327 fatalities.

Prince of Wales and Repulse were the first capital ships to be sunk solely by naval air power on the open sea (albeit by land-based rather than carrier-based aircraft), a harbinger of the diminishing role this class of ships was to play in naval warfare thereafter. It is often pointed out, however, that contributing factors to the sinking of Prince of Wales were her surface-scanning radars being inoperable in the humid tropic climate, depriving Force Z of one of its most potent early-warning devices and the critical early damage she sustained from the first torpedo. The wreck lies upside down in 223 feet (68 m) of water at 3°33′36″N 104°28′42″E. A Royal Navy White Ensign attached to a line on a buoy tied to a propeller shaft is periodically renewed. The wreck site was designated a 'Protected Place' in 2001 under the Protection of Military Remains Act 1986, just prior to the 60th anniversary of her sinking.