#the worst is there is always some elderly woman with nothing better to do than be the HOA police

[malleleothreesome]

i wish i could have a silly little day on tumblr but I have to read my 80 page HOA document to see if the boomer condominium overlords will ALLOW me to get my new dishwasher (that i bought on black friday like a true, miserable adult marching towards death) DELIVERED AND INSTALLED on the 23rd as expected or if I have to cancel the delivery because there are too many rules for me to abide by and my soul is simply too tired to jump through the necessary hoops to comply.

[maluron]

help i have fallen down the Arcane hole and I can't get up (~500 words of "Ximena seeks out Viktor shortly post-Divorce" just because)

A strange figure made its way through the Undercity. Elderly woman, face set with purpose, bearing stately. Nobody really thought about mugging her—not out of pity: everyone down there knew at least of one example of a little grandma that was a survivor and would viciously fight back, not out of respect either: she hadn’t done anything yet to deserve it, but out some sense of reservation. She wore nice, rich clothing that screamed Topside but the hand that held her travel cloak close was half-flesh, half-shiny metallic, and when she spoke—very politely, to ask for directions to the Doctor who repaired people’s limbs’—her accent was not Piltie. Most Zaunites knew better than to just assume but one could easily make an educated guess. And nobody in their right mind would dare to butt their nose uninvited in The Machine Herald’s business, whatever business this old little lady had with him. So no mugging occured and rightful directions were given to that one house on Emberflit Alley. The wrought iron gate opened before her. "Mrs Talis. What are you doing here?" "Why Viktor, I believe it’s called a courtesy call. How have you been, my dear boy?" Courtesy goes both way and whatever the circumstances you do not let your (ex?) mother-in-law out on the porch. The Machine Herald stepped aside and let her in. He held no hostility toward her. But if she was to yell at him, better not the whole of Zaun to hear it. He and The Defender of Tomorrow would throw back and forth the worst insults and make a game of it, but to have Jayce’s Mother scold him? He would never live that down. "Mrs Talis, if you’re here on his behalf…" "Viktor. Please. no. I love my son dearly but we both know how what a subborn idiot he can be. No, I’m not here to plead with you to just take him back." Viktor gesturing for her to make herself at home in whatever corner of his workshop that would be hospitable enough. "I’ll get us some tea started." When in doubt and awkward social situations, tea was always a good answer. Fidegeting with kettle and hotplace and tea stuff gave him time to regain composure. And tea was nice. Ximena accepted the offered cup gracefully. Appreciated the warmth, the scent, the taste. Gave sincere thanks. And yet something stern remained in her eyes. No, something sad—worry remained in her eyes. "I know you both hurt each other deeply and that can’t get just… taken back and forgotten." (To say nothing of forgiven. Not matter how much they’d loved each other. Probably because they’d loved each other so much. That made the betrayal all the worst.) She reached for his hand, half-flesh meeting full-mechanic. "Now. I mean it. Tell me, cariño: how are you?"

[silverloreley]

Well, no problem, the comment is gone and even the replies to it are, the whole post is now commentless LOL! OP was clearly worrying about something there.

I never heard of the Mellon Chronicles before, I’ll look for it when I can, thanks for the suggestion!

To be honest I’m not a Tolkien expert by any means, I read the trilogy so long ago and when I was a preteen so my understanding of it was sorely lacking, I can barely remember it, but I know the messages Tolkien wanted to convey and whatever came off in recent times is deeply different. Homoerotic media have nothing wrong, I don’t consume nor write them (save for the one notable exception that is Harumichi in my main fic), but forcing a romantic LGBT reading where there was a clearly platonic one always baffles me, especially so when romance has nothing to do with the theme of the story. When everything is reduced to shipping, you know the fandom is working on the wrong basis. When a character expresses no inclination towards romance, I should feel free to headcanon them as aro-ace, but most the time the fandom decides they must be homo (like Merida, to say one) and bashes everyone who thinks otherwise. That’s sad because it propagates many harmful stereotypes.

It’s not only about shipping, tho. To circle back to the original topic, Pinocchio was a cautionary tale for kids in a very specific environment. To be honest, I never liked the story but not for the “enforcement to fall in line“ (also because that was not the actual point, the point was to teach kids to value the chance to study and learn about the world, not to fall for the scams that promised an easy life but in reality led to misery, that everyone can get better and that pleasures without work have a high price to pay), but because of how gritty the depicted reality was. It's even worse that the original ending had Pinocchio hanged for his crimes, that was changed by Collodi’s editors who asked him to remove that and go on with the story, the reality in the books was sad and cold and harsh that only magic can really fix, so not my kind of tale.

In my opinion, the point of Pinocchio was to teach kids to learn to think critically, to see things for how they were. The part when the Fox and Cat scam him with the money tree tale, for instance: Pinocchio lacked the knowledge on how trees and money worked, school would have taught him, but he fell in the trap because he didn’t know better, the point is that knowledge helps you. The Magiafuoco part was to teach how some realities, shiny on the upside, can be harder than they seem, but also that even the worst person can be moved to compassion, although some people manifest it in peculiar ways (he sneezed instead of crying). Il Paese dei Balocchi (Pleasure Island) was about not falling for easy gain because addicts fall into disgrace, a very modern message, no? And there is a huge part about the injustice of police in the very first chapters and underlined in the whole story that is still relevant, but people think the story is about adhering to the estabilishment and they not see that it was very anti-police even on a surface level.

The Turquoise-haired fairy is a very complex character, a woman of many faces, a drowned girl, an elderly lady, an helper, a confidant, a mother figure, someone who steers Pinocchio to a certain extent, but not the one who made him alive, the wood he was made of was alive to begin with, and mischievious too! Pinocchio is a character who autodeterminates from the beginning but he’s cold and hard-headed (not a pun, but a veritable metaphor) at first and he needs to learn some values like honesty and filial pity, to listen to others (I can’t forget the part where he kills the Cricket without an ounce of remorse) and most importantly to be constant and not be swayed from his purposes by the mirage of easy gains. I don’t see those as wrong messages, or even as restrictive ones.

Yet, the message I got from del Toro’s movie was not this. His Pinocchio is good from the start, he thinks about fitting in and wants to send money to his father and opposes war, all good values that don’t allow for a real growth of character. In fact, the whole existence of Pinocchio is on service of Geppetto and his trauma here, it conveys a message that kids exist to make their parents’ lives better, but only as long as the parents are virtuous (the parallel between Geppetto-Pinocchio and the Podestà-Lucignolo is emblematic of this). Geppetto is the one that changes over the movie, that learns to accept his loss and accept Pinocchio as he is... but that’s still after Pinocchio gave all himself to him! So children must die for their parents to accept them as they are?! How does it make sense? How is it any better than the message to conform that del Toro seems to have gotten from the story?

In fact, I think the message in the new movie is even worse than the original. Sure, the part about being against fascism is meaningful and important (although it doesn’t depict the actual realities of fascism in Italy and that’s another can of worms), the Pinocchio coming back from death again and again like a videogame character vs him deciding to be real through real mortality can be important for kids to realize that reality is not a game, but that could have been achieved through another character, another kind of story. Ultimately, del Toro’s Pinocchio is not Pinocchio at all, just like Astro Boy was loosely inspired by Pinocchio but was his own character with its own values.

I’m not against rewritings, on average, but I’m against violating the heart of stories.

And sorry, I went off a tangent too, lol.

Have a good day you too!

Hello! Sorry for bothering you, I got a notification of a reply by you to a comment I made but I can't seem to be able to read it (I think the OP blocked replies, or me, idk which one), could you tell me what was your reply? I don't want to start a fight or else, I'm just curious.

Hi there😊

Yeah, weird. I went and found the post again, but all replies except for yours just vanished 🤷🏻‍♀️

Any, I thanked you for speaking my thoughts (and wording them so nicely). People all too often forget to see the historical context, and that fairytales used to be educational first, entertainment second.

I'm all for adapting the story to fit society's new rules (because there is a lot of change in 140 years, for better *and* worse).

What I didn't like was (in this part of the interview) that he disrespected the source material by claiming the moral being "wrong". The story was usefull in it's time and served it's purpose.

Morals will have shifted a lot in the next 140 years, who knows what they'll think about us🤷🏻‍♀️

Yeah, that was pretty much it😅

[just-a-sleepy-idiot]

Brahms Heelshire Imagine: He reveals himself and you panic

Content/Warnings: Female Reader, Angst, NSFW ENDING, Dub-con, probably fear kink & size kink, Possessive!Brahms, Jealous!Brahms

With lots of backstory so hold on my thirsty pals the smut is coming at the end 👀

When you first arrived at the manor you expected a lot, but certainly not this. At best you would find a well behaved boy, but since the Heelshire‘s were a quite wealthy family so in the worst case you expected to be babysitting a bratty child with the attitude of a noble. Either way you would have your hands full with work, but the generous payment that was promised to you would cover your daily efforts completely.

When you arrived you soon found out about the true circumstances that you would be working with- instead of a child you were met with a doll that resembled the real child Mr and Mrs Heelshire once had. They treated it like a real human being and that act didn’t break once, they really meant it.

On one hand you felt bad for taking money just to look after a doll.. but if that made the elderly couple feel better bout going on their vacation you would provide that aid for them. Especially since you saw how emotional the woman was over leaving her son.

Soon they went on their vacation and you were left to take care of the doll and the mansion. It felt ridiculous following the schedule for a doll, but it wasn’t like you could do anything else around here. You read a little, and looked forward to the delivery guy coming here once in a while o you could have a proper chat. But other than that here was nothing, so you might as well do what the schedule said.

It felt a bit like you were a little girl again, dressing a doll and taking it wherever you went. You didn’t take it very seriously, it was more like a game to you than anything else because it was only a doll after all. Sometimes you talked to Brahms, just to talk at all, just like you would to a boy that age.

Like when while you were preparing breakfast.

„I hope you slept well.“ You said while you peeled an apple, „I had a nightmare last night, I think I still need to get used to this house. It can be a bit scary here when it’s dark, don’t you think?“

You smiled and sat down next to him on the kitchen table. „But at least a strong boy like you is by my side, so nothing can happen to me.“ You gently put the dolls hair in place again, before you started eating.

Little did you know that only a few meters away behind the kitchen wall there was someone pressed against the wall, watching you and listening to every word you spoke. His gaze fixated you through the small gap between the wooden boards, soaking in every bit of your voice he could hear through the walls.

He was aware that you didn’t think much of it, that you just pretended but then again.. the way you talked to the doll even though you didn’t think of him as real exposed your kind nature nonetheless. Because when you talked to him you would always be so considerate, asking about his thoughts and feelings even though you wouldn’t get an answer. He often thought about what he would answer to these things, and in a way it felt like he was having a conversation with you.

To you, the first week went by without anything majorly interesting happening, the only thing that was bothering you was how some of your clothes seemed to be missing after a while. You couldn’t explain how you managed to loose them nor were you able to tell were to look for them because there was no trace wherever you would have put them. Maybe you should take up on the delivery guys offer and let him show you around the town? There you could surely find a nice replacement for that dress that went missing.

Lately you also grew closer to him when he came around. He knew you were on your own in here so he kept you company for a few hours in the last few days in between or after Brahms schedules. Brahms didn’t like this development at all, so sometimes when you were talking the walls would be creaking all of sudden from when he hit the wood in anger.

The more you started to get along, the stronger he gave you signs of his presence. First there were minor things that you could explain by yourself, but soon that wasn‘t possible anymore. Like when he would start playing the music all of sudden at full volume, or mess up his room. Childish tantrums as a way to communicate his anger with you even though you had no idea why he did those things. But right after seeing your scared reaction, seeing the way you would be so much more cautious around his doll.. he regretted it a little. He didn‘t want anything to change from how it was before, but he couldn‘t control his temper at times when he saw just how clearly that guy was flirting with you.

When he first started with it you would lock yourself in your room, trying to calm down as you paced around in an attempt to comprehend how this was possible. You continued to be uneasy around him as you tried to deny the thought that it might actually be the doll.. maybe you didn‘t sleep enough, maybe the music somehow started by itself? But there was no proper way to explain it without getting seriously concerned about your mental health.

You didn‘t knew what was going on but you would try to think that there was somehow a way this was explainable without assuming that you were alone with the haunted doll of a possibly murderous child. You didn‘t know what it meant, but you sternly tried to believe that it was nothing.

The only thing he benefited from throwing these tantrums was that you would send the grocery guy away sooner than he usually stayed lately, following his first rule ‚no guests‘. Because you thought if he left sooner he didn‘t count as a guest right? You tried your best not to freak out, yet you couldn‘t help but feel anxious about not following the rules correctly after the things you saw happening around the house.. just in case.

He was pleased to see when you send the man away, even though it didn‘t change anything about the attraction that this guy was expressing towards you. Never before had he been the target of his anger, but now that you came here.. he felt as if his very presence was a threat to what he considered his.

You were his Nanny, his Y/n. You were supposed to pay attention to him, and him only.

Wherever you went he could easily follow, it made him feel in control of the situation, at least as long as you followed the rules. But if something didn’t go his way.. then it was very hard for him to do something about it without risking to scare you away. Brahms tried to calm you down again, so you weren‘t scared anymore and treated him as kindly as you did before he made himself known. He did so by actually behaving- and he even returned some of your clothes as a kind of apology for the scare he gave you.

But it became even harder when the delivery guy asked you to go out on a date.

„It‘s kinda sudden, but if you want to I can pick you up at eight? We could get a drink or maybe have dinner?“

He was working so hard on making him trust him again and make you forget about the things he did, but now that this happened it was impossible for him not to do something. Because he had to stop that from happening. He couldn’t let you go.

Once you were out of the house you were out of sight, out of his control. He is used to be able to watch what you are doing every moment since you came here, the thought that he would have no idea what you are up to.. he feels anger rising within him. You can’t go. The thought alone that something could happen between you made a vein on his neck pulsate.

He considered slipping out of the walls as Malcom walked out to kill him, but unfortunately you accompanied him on his way out. If he had a opportunity.. he would end him. You would be sad, but you would be happy to have him here and everything would be as it should be again.

The day of the date came, this evening the Grocery man would come again to pick you up and take him from him. And he just knew he would try to kiss you, he would put his disgusting mouth on your beautiful lips. The lips that kissed his doll self good night every day. No other man was allowed to feel you like this, for he yearned to this so much longer than this Malcom. That guy only saw you a few hours a day, but he saw you almost every waking second even though you weren‘t aware of his presence.

It was almost seven pm now, and the sun had set already. The shadows grew longer in the manor and eventually swallowed it whole. Only a few dim lights were on, and as the darkness closed around you with every hour so did Brahms.

You got yourself ready for the date and slipped into a lovely dress that made him yearn with the desire to trail his hands up to the hem and feel those thighs.. this sight was only meant to be for him. When you came out of your room you soon found a note sitting on a nearby table that caught your attention. You were certain that it wasn‘t there before, and carefully picked it up to read the two words written on it.

DONT GO

Your breath picked up, your eyes fixated on the note as if you were frozen. Your palms felt colder all of sudden, and the fear that you had felt before grew within you again like a rapid fire that clouded your mind with an instinctive, mind consuming fear. You clutched the note and pressed your back against the wall behind you.

This couldn‘t be... your thoughts were spiralling back to all the incidents that you couldn‘t explain before as they were met with the realisation that this was indeed.. Brahms. All of this, the noises, the chaos and the music.. every time, it had been him and now he expressed himself in a way to you that couldn‘t be mistaken in any way. He was there, he was actually there with you the whole time and even though you weren‘t aware of just how much more true this was than you thought right now.. you knew now.

This was a crucial moment, and Brahms watched you closely as the fear passed through your features. You would be afraid now.. more than before, but it was the only thing he could do to keep you to himself by now.

All of sudden the house that you slowly grew used to became like a trap to you, you were living here alongside a haunted doll for the whole time without being aware that you were in the presence of something very dangerous. Something that proved itself to be so much more real than you thought when you were first met with the doll. Your breath picked up and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears, that way you hardly heard the rain that was picking up outside.

The only thing that you could think of was to get out of here. You didn‘t even think about getting anything from your room as you begun striding through the old corridors, clenching the fabric of your dress in fear as you picked up the pace to get through the darkened floors. You were almost at the end, almost were the big wooden doors waited for you. The floor was dimly lit, and the light flickered in like a cruel addition to your fear.

Your steps were muffled by the carpet, but your breath was fast and gave away your position. It was like you were a scared bunny, he almost liked the sight. The walls were creaking as you approached the flickering lamp at the end of the hallway, but you froze on the spot when you heard a childlike voice ring out to you muffled but.. so terribly close that you instinctively held your breath.

„Don‘t go away Y/n.“ It said, „I will be good, I promise. Don‘t go.“

You gasped and rapidly looked around, where was he?! It sounded like he was almost right next to you! You didn‘t dare to make a sound, and slowly started walking again with eyes widened in fear. Once again the walls creaked, and as the flickering lights went out again you suddenly saw a figure.. a tall figure slipping through the walls in front of you. You could spot dark, chaotic hair and a spot of white, porcelain like skin. Your heart felt as if it was going to stop any second, your hands were shaking.

„Brahms..?“ You breathed in disbelief, and in the next moment the figure was dipped into light again, exposing a real, actual man standing in front of you with a mask on his face that almost perfectly resembled the doll. A scream escaped your lips, and in the next moment you were running in the opposite direction. You could barely feel your legs as you lunged yourself forward and tried to go for the door at the opposite side of the house. But you heard his steps pick up right behind you and he was fast. He was a lot taller than you, so it was easy to catch up to you and chase after you closely.

You made a few turns, tried to shake him off but soon he was able to reach for you and grabbed you strongly, throwing you back at him as he caged you with his arms from behind. „Ah, no! No let me go!“ You yelled and tried to fight him off, but he was strong and kept you close with ease, pressing you back against his heaving chest.

God how much he loved this feeling, how he loved finally feeling your body against his. His masked face nuzzled against your neck, taking in your lovely smell as you quivered in his arms. His hands dug into your hips, not being able to resist letting his fingers wander a few inches over your belly.

„You‘re mine Y/n..“ His voice was different from before, dark and raspy all of sudden differing completely from the childish act he used to sound more disarming to you. „But I‘ll be good.. I‘ll be good to you if you let me.“

You felt the vein on your throat pulsating, your chest rose and sunk rapidly but you went quiet now as you felt yourself unable to escape his grip. You were unable to physically fight him off, no matter how much strength you put into your attempts he withstood them without budging a bit. You shrunk in his embrace now, eventually staying still. Tears ran down your cheeks as he slowly.. slowly started to loosen his grip.

„Don‘t run away now.“ He allowed you to turn around to face him. He eyed you curiously through the mask, and now you were able to see him fully. He towered over you, taking in the sight of you actually being in front of him without any walls between you. You were even more stunning up close. Brahms curiously tilted his head to the side and wiped away the tear that was making its way down your cheek now. You flinched a little when he touched you and made a few steps back until you were met by the wall behind you.

He wore a white top that partly exposed his broad chest and a green cardigan. The porcelain mask had delicate features and dark eyes looked at you from behind them. Brahms.. was still alive, and he was the furthest from a child anymore. In front of you stood a full grown version of the boy who‘s resemblance you have been taking care of. He had been living here.. all the time that you were here he had been in the walls! But you couldn‘t think about it, about anything else but what he was going to do with you now.

„Please.. don‘t kill me Brahms.“ You breathed with a shaky voice and held back a sob. You tried to put as much space between you as possible, pressing yourself against the wall as he approached you further.

He came even closer, and as you looked up to him the light illuminated your tear stained cheeks, your fearful eyes.. your lips.

He closed the last distance between you and caught your lips with his, your breath picked up in surprise before you could feel the cool porcelain softly pressing against you. His big hands held you by the hips and you could feel their warmth even through the fabric of your dress. Suddenly the fear mixed with something else, and you were absolutely unable to tell if the tingling you felt rushing through your body came from the terror that was sitting in your limbs or the sensation of this kiss.

When he let go you were slightly out of breath, your gaze was clouded and you stumbled upon your words as you spoke, „Brahms wha..what are you..“ but he wouldn’t let you finish your sentence as he was so utterly intoxicated by you that he couldn’t hold back any longer.

From one moment to another he leaned down, wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up with ease. Suddenly your feet were in the air- you were gasping in surprise as you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. One arm was around your hips while the other one was wrapped around your thighs.

He felt ecstatic, loving the way how easily he could pick you up and how well your smaller frame fitted into his arms as he held you a bit higher up. The way you gripped onto him send a wave of thrill through his body, imagining like so many times before how you would cling onto him while he roamed every inch of that beautiful body with his hands.. but now he could actually feel how it felt to have your hands hold onto him.

You were utterly at his mercy now, he just grabbed you like you weighted nothing and there was nothing you could do about it! Your breath was shaky, fearing what he would do to you now that he had you to himself. There was no way you could tell what he was thinking behind that mask as he carried you up the stairs.

You held onto him tightly as you looked down the stairs behind him, you were held up so high that you could seriously fall if he let go of you. You were heaved up a little with each stair he walked and so the hand that was around the back of your thighs slipped up a little, sliding under the hem of your dress. He walked into the corridor and towards your room now, you faintly hoped that he would just drop you off there but you could feel that this wasn’t going to happen- now that he finally revealed himself to you he wanted you all to himself.

Brahms breathed heavily as he nuzzled his face against your your chest, an excited hum left his lips. How often he had wished to bury his head in your chest or your cute belly.. As you came to a stop in front of your door he made eye contact and curiously looked up to you as if he was trying to say something. You looked back at him with your shoulders drawn up, reflecting the tension in your body. Soon you begun to understand- he wanted you to open the door.. didn’t he..? He was holding you, and he wasn’t planning on giving you another chance to run away now so..

You held eye contact as you slowly reached over to the doorhandle and opened it. He seemed to be satisfied by that as he nodded and pushed the door open with his back so you wouldn’t accidentally bump against the door handle. Walking in, he then gently set you down to sit on your bed. He was.. surprisingly careful about it, and sat down next to you with a little more distance. He took a moment just eyeing you, looking you up and down as you were finally, actually sat beside him. You could feel his gaze roaming your body and your stomach tingled with fear and.. something you might mistake as excitement.

You couldn’t tell if it was cautious or possessive- the way he now slowly crawling closer to you on the soft mattress, looming over you in a way since he was still so much taller even when he was sat down. You watched every move he made, gripping the sheets as you awaited his next move. You were silent like a frightened bunny yet your breath was going fast.

To your surprise he crawled up behind you, lying his long legs out beside yours and the strong arms wrapped around you once again like when he caught you just much gentler. You were startled by this, feeling goosebumps rise up when you could hear the dark voice of his next to your ear.

„You belong to me now..“ One of his hands lightly trailed your collarbones now, while the other one felt up your stomach. You felt his broad chest behind you, trying to sit up as straight as possible so you didn’t touch. You were incredibly responsive right now, your body reacting immediately in response of your nervousness.

He wondered how you would feel.. but it was actually so much better than he had imagined you to feel. Your body was so.. soft, completely different from him. But he needed to touch you more, he wanted to mark you as his. The hand that was on your stomach now slowly pushed the hem of your skirt further up your thighs, feeling the warmth your skin radiated. You whispered his name, wordlessly asking him what he was doing as you felt the tingling in your stomach intensifying. The adrenaline made you feel funny inside.. you didn’t know what was happening right now as the fear kicked off yet another sensation within you.

Lightly his fingertips grazed over your panties, tracing down your core trying to make out every part of your clothed sex. Your hips twitched in response- which made him pause for a moment. He curiously gazed over your shoulder, doing the same movement again as he tried to get a reaction like this from you again. You slightly pushed your legs close, which earned a displeased grunt from him. Firmly he hooked his hands under your knees and spread them apart- „W-Wait“ you tried to stop him but your words were cut off when he then shoved his large hand in your panties, making you gasp out loud. Your eyes fell close for a moment and you clung onto his arm in shock.

You heard a satisfied hum from him as he was met with a warm, wet feeling on his fingers. He started rubbing you up and down, feeling that you became even wetter from that and when he accidentally put some pressure on your clit you couldn’t help but stifle a small moan. But he heard you nonetheless, and gazed at you intensely as he did it again. Your body jerked back, trying to escape this overwhelming feeling but you ended up pressing yourself further back into his arms.

He proceeded to explore your heat and ended up finding your entrance. You didn’t have time to catch your breath before he pushed two fingers into you, groaning darkly behind you as he felt just how tight you were. He was already throbbing behind you and imagined just how good it would feel if he could feel this tightness right now around him. You gasped for air, now clinging with the other hand on the fabric of his pants which made him dig into you even deeper. „Ah! H..m..!“ Your moans aroused him even more, and he begun to push his fingers in and out of you, going fast and listening to the wonderful wet sounds it made when he did that. You blushed heavily, not believing what was happening right now and being overwhelmed by the mixture of fear and arousal that rushed through your body.

He moaned lowly, loving the feeling of how your melted back into his chest, being so completely at his mercy as he pistoled into you with his fingers. His other hand came up to cup your breast, lightly squeezing you. When the doorbell rung downstairs he pushed into you even faster, claiming you as his. When Brahms begun to circle your clit with his thumb in addition you begun to shake- feeling your release drawing loser.

That was when suddenly he withdrew from your heat- and as you thought he had enough Brahms came up beside you, pinning you down the bed before climbing on top of you.

He fixated you with his gaze, breathing heavily and you noticed the bulge in his pants. Your eyes widened, his tall frame towered over you, covering you whole. Suddenly he grasped your thighs, lifting them up so your legs were hooked over his shoulders. That way he could easily strip off your panties, now having full access to you. He needed to be inside you.

He rushed to open his pants, pulling himself out. Your heart raced and despite still being afraid you were pooling with arousal. Brahms crawled over you holding himself up beside your head, and as you looked deep into his eyes you suddenly felt his cock rubbing against your slit. Your were both breathing heavily now, and he watched your expression closely. Watched how your lips formed a moan and your hands clung onto his clothes. For a moment he eventually buried his head in your neck as he aligned himself to your heat before slowly pushing in.

„A-Ah..!“ He closed his eyes, feeling you tighten around him and a low grunt left him. For a moment he sat up again, just to see his length completely pushed into you. He enjoyed seeing how deep he was inside of you now. This was how it was supposed to be- you were his now and this was the first time he claimed your body as his. Your eyes were clouded with lust as this so much taller man hovered over you. He came back to lie on top of you, giving you a moment to adjust before you shakily breathed out, „B-Be careful with me..“ you pleaded.

You were so wet that he had no problems moving, slowly beginning to push himself in and out of you. The dark haired man groaned, you felt like heaven. So nice and tight for him, so perfect. Soon he couldn’t control his pace anymore, this wasn’t enough. Brahms pounded into you, huffing and moaning lowly while you clung onto him.

He fucked you into the mattress, making the bed shake with the strength he used to push himself into you. He had wanted you so much, for so long that he wasn’t able to take his time to be more sensual. His tip hit that sweet spot now over and over again and it didn’t take long for you to reach your orgasm. Your whole body twitched, back arching and hips jerking. You tightened so much around him that it was too much for him, with your name on his lips he came undone inside of you and pressed himself against you. Your legs wrapped around his waist while you both delved into that high and you threw your head back into the pillow.

Slowly, you both came down from your high, and you were catching your breath. He slowly pulled out, and pulled you into a hug as he lied down next to you. He was checking on you with his eyes- there was this possessive feeling yet a childish gleam in his eyes as he studied your face for a reaction. He didn’t talk, but you could tell that there was no way he would let you go from now on.

- - -

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[dendro-darling]

“sometimes,  i just need the world to be beautiful.  i know how dark and ugly it can be but i just want to see something good and focus only on it for a few minutes.” With Jason??

"Maybe it's stupid to ask, but why are you carrying boxes of clothes?" It's an honest question, and Jason can't blame Roy for asking. To anyone watching him, it must seem weird to see a grown ass man carrying four big boxes of clothes down the street, but Jason had his reasons.

"Why don't you grab one and find out?" Jason replied, pausing to look over at his friend. Roy shrugged, deciding he may as well since he had nothing better to do. Taking the top two boxes, Roy fell in-step beside Jason as they walked into what Roy had assumed to be one of the worst areas of Gotham City. At least, that's what everyone told him.

"Sooo... you gonna tell me where we're going? Or am I just supposed to follow you like a lost puppy?" Roy asked, watching as Jason turned down an alleyway. He received no answer, instead sighing as he picked up the pace to keep up.

Jason weaved through the cluttered trashbags and dumpsters, and Roy got the feeling Jason had memorized this path half a dozen times by now. He nearly tripped twice on stray pipes, passed by broken bottles and discarded needles that made his skin crawl. Jason didn't give them a second glance. Finally, Jason stopped outside of a rundown building that somehow, despite all odds, was still standing and operating like a normal business.

The bricks were worn and faded, the lettering on the building long-worn away by the elements. Still,, Roy recognized a shelter when he saw one, even in Gotham's underbelly. Jason seemed to forget he was there, pushing the door open with his hip and holding it with his foot so Roy could enter after him. The lady at the desk waved, smiling at Jason and welcoming him in.

"Hey, Maria. I'm here to drop off some stuff. Should I just take it in or leave it with you?" Jason asked, pausing by the desk as the polite elderly woman stood up from her seat.

"You can take them in. I'm sure the younger kids would love to see you again, Jason, especially Rory and Michael." Maria said, her crows-feet crinkling up as her eyes squinted under the sheer joy of her smile. Jason nodded, shifting the boxes to his other hip as he moved to the pair of doors. Maria shuffled ahead, and Roy watched as she held the door open for them.

As soon as the door closed, Roy witnessed what he could only describe as a dream play out before him. A herd of kids, anywhere from his own daughter's age to teenagers, stop what they were doing and let out tiny joyful sounds from yells to laughter. The group rushed forward, the kids eager to see Jason and the teenagers quietly offering their aid to take all four boxes from both Jason and Roy.

The boxes were opened, their contents dug through and distributed in order of need and want. Teenagers took less, only what they needed, and Jason passed out a few toys to the younger kids in the shelter that had been tossed out by family. Roy couldn't describe the feeling that welled up in his chest, not until hours had passed of him watching kids hang off Jason's arms and him shoot the shit with the teenagers and staff.

"I didn't know you were such a good-spirit, Jay." Roy finally said, earning a soft laugh from the man on the sidewalk beside him. "What prompted all that? Clearly they know you pretty well."

"Y'know, Roy... Sometimes I just need the world to be beautiful. I know how dark and ugly it can be. Hell, I lived it, and sometimes I still do. But here? That little bit of help I can do that makes these kids' lives a little better?" Jason mused, his gaze on something far off, beyond the horizon and beyond what Roy could see. "It lets me see something good, and focus on that, even for just a few minutes."

Roy snorted, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall behind them. In all the time he'd known Jason, he was always a little more surprised than when he started.

[heyyyharry]

Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

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“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

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“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

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Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

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Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

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Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

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.

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Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

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.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

[space-city-traffic]

yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

[osferth]

the haunting of cookham house: chapter 1

summary: In the midst of an exhausting flat search, newlyweds Sophia and Anjali Abbot suddenly inherit a large country house miles away in the serene village of Cookham. It proves to be much more than the couple bargained for, however, when they arrive to find it already occupied... by nine ancient ghosts.

tagging: @lauwrite1225​ @maggiescarborough @morosemagick @solinarimoon @lannisterdaddyissues @firexfate @93xdiagonxalley @aadmelioraa @emilyhufflepufftlk

“Won’t be long now,” murmured Finan.

The laboured breaths of the elderly woman began to slow as the ghosts grouped around her bed watched over almost reverently.

“She had a good life,” Uhtred said quietly.

“At least she’s comfortable,” Sihtric added.

“Yeah, there are worse ways to go,” Osferth pointed out, gesturing to the arrow lodged in his chest. There was a mumbled chorus of assent amongst the ghosts before Hild shushed them all.

“Quiet,” she hissed.

“I think it’s happening,” said Father Beocca. “Look.”

Silence finally fell as a bright light began to emanate from the woman’s body, Beocca making a sign of the cross as her spirit rose up to face them all. “Who are you?” she asked.

Everyone immediately looked toward Uhtred, who for some reason was still considered their unofficial leader despite being… well, dead.

“I was once the lord of the village you call Cookham,” he began ostentatiously, “true Lord of Bebbanburg and a warrior with great reputation, now forced to wander the lands where I was slain as a ghost for all eterni-”

“And she’s gone,” finished Father Pyrlig unceremoniously.

“This always happens,” muttered Uhtred, staring at the patterned wallpaper before him. “I do not understand.”

Pyrlig shrugged. “Yeah, well, the rest of us do.”

“I have always thought not everyone seems to enjoy your speeches as much as you think,” commented Skade, appearing suddenly behind Osferth and making him jump.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that all the time,” he grumbled.

“Oh, honestly!” snapped Hild suddenly, glaring at all of them. “The woman has barely passed on! At the very least, we should show some respect.”

Father Beocca nodded. “The abbess is right. I shall say a prayer for her soul.” He cleared his throat slightly before beginning. “Our Lord in Heaven…”

Finan leaned across to Sihtric. “Bagsie her room,” he whispered over the prayer, to which the Dane only rolled his eyes.

“Amen,” said Beocca finally.

“Amen,” chorused the ghosts, Finan a little louder and later than the rest. With nothing more to add, silence returned for a brief moment until it was broken by Osferth.

“I wonder what’ll happen to this place once she’s taken away.”

Pyrlig looked sideways at him. “Well, I imagine someone else will move in,” he said dryly.

“All of you!” said Hild exasperatedly. “Please! Her body is still warm, for goodnessʼ sake.”

Looking appropriately chastised, Osferth looked down at the floor. “Perhaps one of us should say a few words,” he suggested. 

“I shall do it,” said Uhtred immediately, straightening up. “As the lord of Cookham, I…” 

“And he's off again,” muttered Pyrlig, shaking his head as he left the room. The other ghosts quickly followed suit amid murmurs and eye rolls, although Uhtred did not notice as his speech grew more passionate and heartfelt. 

“Who will be the one to reclaim this as their home?” he sighed finally, looking through the window at the overgrown front garden. 

~~

“Um… let’s take a look at the view, shall we?”

The estate agent led Sophia over to the window with an apologetic look on his face, Anjali trailing slightly behind with about as much enthusiasm as you would expect when buying a cramped, one-bedroom flat in the middle of nowhere. 

Peering over Sophia’s shoulder, she was greeted with the scenic image of a local chip shop sandwiched between a defunct barber shop and a Londis. Just on time, an old poster tacked onto the front door swung off one corner and was quickly carried down the street by a gust of wind.

“Well,” began Sophia uncertainly, “at least we won’t have to go far for groceries. Or fish and chips.”

“I don’t like fish or chips,” Anjali muttered.

Sophia squinted at the shop sign. “They also do kebabs,” she suggested, although she did not sound too keen.

“I’ll leave you two to have a chat in here,” said the estate agent tactfully. “Just give me a shout when you’re ready, alright?”

Anjali watched him disappear into the kitchen before turning to her wife. “I do like kebabs, I s’pose,” she conceded. Sophia smiled slightly, but before she could reply, her phone started buzzing.

“Hang on, I’ll just… hello?”

“Hello, is this Sophia Abbot?” asked a slightly-garbled male voice.

“Speaking,” she replied.

“I’m calling about a house.”

“We’re only looking at flats, we can’t afford to buy a house.”

“This one’s not for sale.”

Sophia frowned. “Well then, why are you calling?” she snapped, ending the call. God. Some estate agents really were the worst-

Her phone buzzed again before she could have a chance to think. Still irritated, she picked it up but did not answer.

“Sorry, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” said the same man quickly. “I’m a solicitor at Willard and Phillips and I’m calling to inform you that you have, in fact, inherited a house.”

~~

The moments after that were a blur for Sophia and, after being informed of the news, for Anjali, too. Their estate agent simply seemed relieved to not have to accompany the couple on visits to flats that had, quite frankly, seen better days.

An appointment was scheduled for the very next morning. It all felt wildly surreal to Anjali and particularly Sophia, who was baffled upon being informed that the previous owner of the beautiful Cookham property was actually a distant great-aunt… or something along those lines, anyway. Even the solicitor seemed to be having trouble connecting the two, but as there was no other living relative, the house was legally Sophia’s. 

Unable to contain their excitement, they promptly called off the flat search and decided to move in that same afternoon. Neither of them were familiar with Cookham, but the further they drove through the more they grew to love the village. With its gorgeous landscapes and old-fashioned architecture, Sophia and Anjali felt only enthusiastic to be able to call this place home.

“Feels like we’ve gone back in time, doesn’t it?” Anjali sighed, gazing out of the window.

“Yeah,” smiled Sophia, “it’s nothing like Croydon.”

Anjali consulted her phone, reading through the Wikipedia entry on Cookham. “It’s got a lot of history to it,” she said. “Listen to this: ‘By the 8th century there was an Anglo-Saxon abbey in Cookham and one of the later abbesses was-” sorry, no idea how to pronounce that- ‘widow of King Offa of Mercia.’ It’s still there, I think. We could visit at some point!”

“8th century,” repeated Sophia. “Bloody hell, it’s ancient, isn’t it?”

“Ooh, look: ‘It became the centre of a power struggle between Mercia and Wessex. Later King Alfred made Sashes Island one of his-’ er, berrs? Boors? Dunno- ‘to help defend against Viking invaders.’ This is so cool!”

“Is there anything a bit more recent?” Sophia asked. 

Anjali rolled her eyes, skimming over the rest of the article.

“Nothing interesting… ooh, except,” she snickered, “a ‘Miss Isabella Fleming in 1869, who wanted to stop nude bathing at Odney.’”

Sophia snorted. “What?”

“Yeah, there is zero elaboration on that one.”

“Shame.”

~~

“That yellow wagon’s given me an awful headache,” Finan complained, rubbing his head. 

Brida looked disdainfully at him. “That’s not possible,” she said flatly. “You’re dead. And I believe they called it an ambulance last week.”

“Well, I would’ve had a headache if I was still alive,” muttered Finan. 

Beocca sighed. “I am beginning to miss her already.”

Uhtred nodded, although the other ghosts suspected that had more to do with her being an indirect relative of his rather than him having any actual interest in her as a person. It was taken for granted that he continued to behave as though he still had ownership over the cottage - and indeed the village itself - even if he was because he was physically unable to leave it.

A creak sounded from the far corner of the room suddenly, startling most of the ghosts. Skade looked up from her seat by the table, a vase slightly out of place, as she met them all with narrowed eyes. 

Thoroughly unsettled, Uhtred and all three of his men turned around without a word. Brida shook her head at all of them and marched off to sit beside Skade. Their relationship had been rocky at first, certainly characterised by animosity while they were still alive, but spending over a millennium together had softened it somewhat. It was more to do with the fact that nobody else, other than Hild and sometimes Osferth, tended to visit the lake she haunted. While Brida spent the most time at the lake, Hild had started venturing out to visit every so often, her hatred of the seer lessening as her curiosity grew. Osferth’s visits were still rare, however, given that he remained wracked with guilt. 

“I wonder-”

“Who will come to reclaim this place as their home,” Pyrlig said, interrupting the former Lord of Bebbanburg, “yes, we wonder that too.”

Despite their respect for him, Finan and Osferth snickered.

“Well,” said Hild, “I don’t think we’ll have to wonder for much longer.” She waved all of them over to where she was standing by the window, Brida being the last to get there - the last they looked, Skade remained in her seat.

Standing near the back, Osferth suddenly felt a presence on his left. He jolted upon seeing the seer standing only inches away, smirking. 

“Y’know, I’m beginning to think you enjoy this,” he grumbled.

“Looks a bit like that medical wagon, doesn’t it?” Finan commented, watching the car pull into the driveway.

“Ambulance,” Brida supplied flatly.

“I don’t think that’s an ambulance, Brida,” said Uhtred wisely, blind to the dirty look she gave him.

Hild shushed them as two women climbed out. One was considerably shorter and clad in an oversized jumper and jogging bottoms. Her skin was brown and her hair dark and wavy, curling over her shoulders. The other was slightly taller, dressed in jeans and a lilac knitted jumper. She was dark-skinned and her curly hair was pulled back, away from her face. Her arm was around the other woman’s shoulders as both gazed in awe up at the house.

~~

“I think - this is it!” Sophia announced, slowing down as the car bumped over the gravelled drive. “Oh, wow.”

Parking the car, she turned the ignition off and opened the door to let herself out, taking in the sight of the grand house before them.

“It’s even prettier than in the photos,” Anjali sighed dreamily. “And it’s all ours.”

“I still can’t believe it,” said Sophia, breaking her gaze from the house to look at her wife. 

Anjali beamed, pressing a little kiss to her lips. “Well, shall we?” she said, offering Sophia her arm. Sophia smiled and hooked her arm in Anjali’s, the two of them making their way over to the door. 

As she turned the key in the lock, she felt a strange sensation from above, almost as though she was being watched. 

Anjali shook her arm a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, “it’s nothing.” Shaking her head, she pushed the door open. 

~~

“Did you see that!” Finan exclaimed, watching the young couple before them briefly kiss before disappearing under the doorframe.

“I think we all did,” said Osferth dryly. 

“Times have changed,” Uhtred said thoughtfully. 

Sihtric rolled his eyes. “Have they?” 

He was the only one who noticed the way Brida had begun looking longingly towards Skade, the seer seemingly having tired of tormenting Osferth for once. 

“Well, it’s been a thousand years,” Father Pyrlig pointed out snidely, missing what was going on. “Obviously they have. Jesus.”

Clearly in a rush to get a closer look at the people who had ‘reclaimed his home’, Uhtred quickly left the room - prompting the other ghosts to follow.

“He was never one for patience, was he?” huffed Father Beocca as they descended the stairs. 

Hild raised her eyebrows momentarily. “I’m afraid not.”

~~

“How old did they say the actual house was?” Sophia inquired, peering over Anjali’s shoulder at her phone. 

“Er… oh, yeah, here! It was built in 1808 and renovated in 1953.”

Sophia grinned. “Reckon it’s haunted, then?” 

“Probably,” Anjali said, all-too serious. Out of the two, she was the believer - Sophia was the staunch sceptic. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary terrified Anjali, from flickering lights to objects moving without cause, while Sophia always had a rational explanation handy. Perhaps it was a good thing, then, that this fear did not extend to spiders - those were Sophia’s weakness. 

The chess board was what caught Sophia’s eye first. “This is so cool,” she murmured, leaning over to pick up a pawn. Upon seeing that it was coated in a thin layer of dust, however, she pulled away. As she did so, she felt a strange sensation course across her forearm, almost as though a cold breeze had blown its way over. Ever the sceptic, she assumed there was a window open nearby and thought nothing of it. 

~~

Finan shuddered, backing away from the chess board. “God, I’d forgotten how awful that feels.” 

Pyrlig rolled his eyes from where he was standing a safe distance away.

~~

Just as Anjali was about to collapse onto the couch with the golden-gilded legs she had been eyeing for several minutes, Sophia pulled her away.

“It’s all dusty down here,” she explained, her voice muffled by the hand she was using to cover her nose. “Let’s dump our stuff upstairs and take a look around.”

“Won’t it be dusty upstairs, too?” Anjali dubiously pointed out.

“Nah, they'll have cleaned the bedrooms out at least,” said Sophia, “‘cos the last owner died up there.”

Anjali stared at her. “What?” she exploded. “Which one? I don’t want to sleep in the same room where someone died, what if-”

“It won’t be haunted,” Sophia quickly reassured her, “‘cos we’re not gonna stay in that room, not if it scares you that much. Ghosts aren’t real either way, so... you’ll be alright.”

“Agree to disagree,” mumbled Anjali, letting Sophia lead her upstairs anyway. As she left, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. It could have been simple paranoia, as Sophia would explain it away as, or it could have been something Anjali did not even want to consider - but either way, she was beginning to understand exactly why old houses gave some people the creeps.

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She’s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. “I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

silver, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Who said humans were animals of wisdom? For Yoongi, they’re animals of regret. Does that justify him cheating on his girlfriend with her/you? Absolutely not.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, car sex, fingering, m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU; angst; cheating; don’t do this to your significant other, please; Yoongi’s POV

--

Bad decisions are born from frustration and resentment.

None of it was supposed to happen. His life was fine, perfect in some people’s eyes. He was dating the girl his parents had introduced him to because it made them happy. She was polite, had a good background, and a nice smile. There wasn’t anything wrong with her.

Except he felt miserable.

Min Yoongi felt suffocated, uninterested, and annoyed at their lack of chemistry. His girl was pretty, the conventional kind of prettiness that couldn’t be denied. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he just didn’t understand beauty or something. Maybe he was being selfish for wanting more. At the start, it was alright. It was a fun little game, figuring someone out. But instead of a maze, he was on a seesaw, trying to determine if this up and down was as simple was it seemed. It sucked. And now Yoongi wanted to get off, but it seemed too difficult. Too difficult to disappoint his parents, her parents, and her aspirations of him being a good little husband.

He wanted to throw up thinking about it.

And then, she was there.

Dark lipstick and a playful smile. Black eyeshadow, eyes like a panther. Silver rings that glimmered in the flashing club lights.  Silver chain necklaces tangled in a mess around her neck, framing that slightly rounder face instead of the conformist v-line everyone was starving themselves for. Black oversized hoodie that hung on her smaller frame, paired with that short, short black dress paired with chunky black ankle boots. Thighs that he wanted to sink his teeth into and mold with his hands.

That night, Yoongi had sat there with his beer, fixated on this new presence and wishing for the first time that he was single as fuck. He didn’t know if it was because he was so unhappy in his current relationship or if it was because he liked the way she looked. It didn’t matter. He burned with jealousy as she chatted with the bartender, silver rings flashing as she moved her hands animatedly to her story. At home, Yoongi had a good little girl waiting for him with her vanilla tastes and it made him sick to his stomach.

The worst part was, other than being boring as fuck, his girl was fine.

He watched as she leaned on her hand, grinning as the bartender poured her another shot. The grin of someone who did not give a fuck what anyone thought of her actions. Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that face.

His phone buzzed and he wanted to throw it across the club. Instead, he pulled it from his pocket with a neutral expression and checked his messages. His girlfriend asking if he was alright or if he needed to be picked up. He responded that he was fine and that he would call a taxi home to be safe. Told her he loved her and realized he didn’t even mean it.

He must be the awful one.

When he looked up, she was gone. Good. Maybe she had finally left to give him and his mind some peace.

Jeon Jungkook was looking around, blinking confusedly. The youngest in their group, Yoongi always thought he looked the cutest when he was bewildered. Yoongi raised his eyebrow.

“Something wrong, bro?”

Jungkook frowned. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Ah, yes. Kim Taehyung. The one Yoongi thought was the most trouble even though he was a year older than Jungkook. Maybe it was because they had different viewpoints and they often clashed in opinion, Yoongi finding him too childish and simple in mentality in comparison to his. But eventually they learned to get along – a different viewpoint is not necessarily a wrong one. Yoongi learned that being childish once in while might actually lighten his outlook on life.

Alright, to be honest he realized he was a bit of a pessimistic jackass.

In any case, it was with that question that shit started to go downhill. Because the next thing Yoongi knew, Taehyung’s boyish, boxy smile came back with a grin and dark lipstick smeared down his chin. Next time he was with his friends, she showed up again, elbow resting on Taehyung’s shoulder, looking cool and comfortable in her black leather jacket and tiny as fuck black T-shirt dress.

Yoongi hated it.

She wore too many silver accessories that flashed in the light and made her stand out. Her makeup was too dark and haunted him in his dreams. She would sit next to Taehyung like his pet panther, complimenting his dark hair and sharp jawline with her wildness. It was torture, because Yoongi knew that he had a pretty little thing with a cute little voice waiting for him at home. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was this dangerous-looking woman who climbed into Taehyung’s lap and straddled him right in front of them, unashamed and unapologetic. Her fingers tangled in Taehyung’s hair and Taehyung’s large hand planted firmly on her ass as they had a casual conversation with Park Jimin like nothing weird was happening. Jimin had an open mind about it all – for him, as long as his best friend was happy, he didn’t see the problem. Also, she liked to press her tits against Taehyung’s chest and Jimin was a pervert.

Okay, yes, Yoongi knew he was jealous as fuck.

When Taehyung and her parted ways after a few months, he thought he was free. He thought he could forget about it all. He and his girlfriend were happy. They didn’t have sex anymore, but that happened sometimes. It was normal to settle down a bit after the honeymoon phase – if their few times of starfish sex could be considered a honeymoon phase.

He knew he was being overly mean, but he honestly didn’t give a shit at this point.

It wasn’t until he was having dinner with one of his close friends, Jung Hoseok, that he thought about her again. Hoseok was smiling, handing him some grilled meat, and chatting away. He liked talking to Hoseok. Hoseok made everything more light-hearted and fun. Hoseok was going on about something, but when Yoongi looked up, he saw her. All the way at the front of the restaurant, standing there with a leather jacket and tight black jeans. She was handing an elderly woman in a dirty apron a thick stack of papers and smiling. Tiny white crop top, lips painted dark red and eyes smoked with black. But the elderly owner was smiling, nodding as she pointed to the papers and spoke about them. The silver rings and silver chains flashed in the fluorescent lights.

Hoseok noticed his change in demeanor and turned around.

“Oh, that’s that woman Taehyung was seeing not too long ago,” Hoseok noted, tilting his head. “Taehyungie said she’s some kind of accountant for small businesses, but I didn’t know she did it for this place! Shall we go say hi?”

“No.”

Hoseok turned around, staring at him. “Huh?”

Yoongi looked down, staring at his bowl of rice. “She seems busy. Let her be.”

“Oh... Okay.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He wanted to smash it. Instead, he pulled it out of his pants and stared at it. His girlfriend, asking him to come home and not stay out too late. He frowned at it.

Hoseok prodded him and smiled. “Ah, sorry, have I kept you out too late? You better go home – I’ll pay today.”

Yoongi shook his head, pulling out his wallet. “No, no, I’ll pay. Least I could do,” he said. He pulled out some bills and stood up. “Stay and finish eating. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Hey, hyung,” Hoseok called as Yoongi began to walk away. Yoongi turned to look back at him, seeing his friend’s heart-shaped smile and calming brown eyes.

“You should do what makes you happy, okay? Don’t get too caught up in who you think you should be.”

“Ah… right.”

He left the restaurant, out into the night. The cheer of the bustling street, filled with happy couples and laughing friends. The happy noise taunted him. Yoongi zipped his parka, shoving his phone deep in his pocket. He could smell the delicious scent of meat and rice from the restaurant behind him, mixing with the faint scent of cigarettes and car exhaust.

He looked up and she was there. Standing a little to the side, speaking with an older guy who was eyeing her tits. She shook her head, moving deftly away from his outstretched hand. Her fingers curled into a fist, silver rings flashing.

“Hey.”

Her head whipped around, eyes widening as she recognized him.

“I thought we were leaving? Come on.”

Yoongi grabbed her hand and pulled her along, burying them in the crowd. Her silver rings cut into his hand, but he held it tight, as if he was afraid that she would run away. After a few meters, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

“Oi, you didn’t have to do that,” she said sternly, frowning.

Yoongi shrugged. “I was just trying to save you the assault charges.”

She sighed and raised her hands, as if she was admitting her guilt. “Eh… alright then. Thanks, I guess.”

It was awkward. They never really talked when she was dating Taehyung, mostly because he knew he couldn’t control his mind when he was around her. She was polite to him, but there was definite distance between them.

“Hey, uh… can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, running the tip of her tongue over her painted lips. Fuck.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Me?” She pointed to herself and laughed, shaking her head. “Nah, I don’t want to be in a relationship. Just casual sex for me.” She pointed to him. “But aren’t you with someone? I recall Taehyungie telling me you had a cute little girlfriend.”

“We broke up.”

He said it without thinking. His face was neutral. She pursed her lips, watching him carefully.

“Hmm, I see,” she finally said.

He told himself to do it. He wanted it. He wanted it right now.

“Want to come with me for a bit?”

-

That’s how they ended up in the back of Yoongi’s car, her ring-covered hand grabbing the back of his head, pulling his lips to hers. She smelled like dark cherries, sugary and heavy. He felt her hot breath on his lips, her tongue darting out and licking him like a snake.

“What do you want? Your dick sucked? My pussy on your face? Me bouncing on your dick or on all fours?” she whispered, biting his lower lip and tugging on it lightly.

Fuck. All of it and there wasn’t enough time or space. “Don’t tempt me or I’ll rip your clothes off,” he growled.

She chuckled slyly, crashing her lips to his. Her lips were slippery, lipstick smearing against his lips as he kissed her, sucking on her tongue. She moaned into his mouth, so hot and sweet that his cock strained in his pants. She pulled back, lipstick down to her chin. One look in the rearview mirror and he knew he looked the same.

“Damn, Yoongi, you look sexy as fuck,” she breathed, grinning at him.

He felt his cheeks grow hot at the compliment. He hoped the dim streetlights of the parking lot didn’t give him away. She unzipped his parka, pulling his black shirt up his chest. He raised an eyebrow. She smirked, running her nails over his skin, giving him goosebumps. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey, if you’re going to look, let me look too.”

She raised her hands and grinned. “Sure.”

She shrugged off her leather jacket, letting it fall. Pulled down the straps of her tiny white crop top, letting her breasts spill out from the top. His eyes widened seeing her hard nipples right in front of his face. Tinted windows or not, it was still a semi-public area.

It made him even harder, if that was possible.

He reached up and rubbed his thumb against one, breath hitching at the hardness. She raised an eyebrow.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a vanilla boy,” she taunted, rolling her eyes.

His eyes narrowed and he pinched them roughly, making her squeal.

“What was that?” He let his voice drop several octaves, pinching them again.

She winced, but didn’t back down. “Best you can do?”

He gripped her nipples tightly and pulled up, earning him a pained moan. “Who do you think you’re testing?” he drawled, feeling her grind against his lap, too much fabric between them.

“That’s better,” she growled back, cocking her chin defiantly.

He grabbed her breasts and dug his nails into them, rubbing his palms against her nipples. They were deliciously soft, the skin smooth against his callouses. He could feel the cool metal of her silver necklines against his fingertips.

“Take off your jeans.”

She struggled to get out of them, pulling her jeans and panties off together. His heart skipped a beat as he witnessed the string of her juices snap against her thigh, glistening in the low light. The scent of her sex filled the small car, intoxicating him.

“Already wet for me, huh?”

She smirked. “What can I say? I have a weakness for assertiveness.”

He let go of her tits, tracing his fingers on her thighs. The thighs he dreamt about, the thighs he jacked off to when he was alone in the shower, the thighs he watched enviously clamp around Taehyung’s waist right in front of his face. They practically fucked when they were in public and it made him jealous and angry seeing their obvious lust for one another.

He sunk his fingers into those juicy thighs, sucking in a breath in satisfaction. Fuck, they were so fucking soft, so full and sexy in his hands.

“Spread those lips for me,” he breathed, eyes fixated on her pussy.

She leaned back a little, tongue in cheek. His eyes widened as he realized she had a tattoo on the right side of her inner thigh. A laughing cartoonish skull. God, what lucky fuck had done that? She reached down with her ringed fingers and forced her pussy open with two of them, wet, shiny, and quivering, the pink bud swollen with need. His arousal so strong that he would remember it for nights on end.

He reached out and pulled her to him by the waist, sliding his fingers up her inner thigh. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, nipples brushing against his skin. He squeezed the flesh next to her pussy, feeling her juices drip down the back of his hand. She sucked in a breath in anticipation. He turned his hand, brushing a fingertip against her wetness.

“Such a fucking tease,” she hissed, grabbing the back of his head and tangling her fingers in his hair.

He grinned devilishly. “So needy. Tell me what you want.”

Her lips brushed against his, eyes boring into his, burning with desire.

“Finger me with those delicious hands of yours.”

She kissed him, roughly, and he plunged his fingers into her wetness, almost moaning into her mouth as he felt her walls clench around him. He ground his knuckle against her clit as he worked her, turning her into a ruined mess above him. He was sure her juices were dripping onto his pants, covering him with her scent.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”

He didn’t care if she came or not, just kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, hard and fast. Her necklaces clattered against each other, clinking in rhythm of his thrusts. Each moan was his adrenaline, fingering her so hard she was bouncing in his lap, probably making his car rock with the motion.

He didn’t even care if someone knew. In fact, he wanted someone to know.

Her rings dug into his skin as she gripped onto his shirt, shuddering as she came all over his hand, so slick and wet that he slipped out by accident. He readjusted, but she grabbed his hand, pulling it up.

“You trying to put us in jail?” she snickered, backing up a little.

“If I can still fuck you in jail, does it matter?” he countered, licking his fingers. Oh, God. Sweet with a hint of sour, so fucking delicious that he wanted to drink it out of her right now.

She pushed him up, unbuttoning his pants as she did so. She yanked them down, his bare ass sticking to the leather of his seats. That kind of thing would really annoy him if it wasn’t for her bending down. The metal of her rings felt cool against his cock. She opened her mouth, tongue out and ass up. The image burned into his mind.

Fuck his girlfriend, he should have taken her home so they could have fucked on his bed.

She took him in her hot mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. Down, down. Lips pressed against the base of his cock. He could feel the lipstick leaving an imprint on his skin. Messy and erotic, exactly what he wanted. He pressed his head against the window, groaning as she began to bob her head up and down, awkwardly positioned in the car. The head of his cock hit the back of her throat and he moaned, feeling the muscles grip the head tightly before backing up again. The head scraped against the roof of her mouth, making his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. Was getting head ever this good? Were lips really this soft, mouths really this tight? Her hands were gripping his hips, rings pinching his skin a little, but he didn’t care. The hint of pain heightened his senses, mixing with the pleasure.

He felt her pause and he looked down, seeing her mouth open just a little. He felt her tongue press against the base of his balls, teasing them and coating them in saliva.

“F-fuck me…” he hissed, breath hitching as she started up again, faster, tighter. He gripped the seat, not wanting to grab her head and ruin her pace. Her tongue pressed against the bottom of the head and he groaned, feeling the familiar tension at the base of his stomach.

“S-shit, I’m going to–”

He didn’t get to grit out any more words, because they turned into a dragged-out moan as he shot into her throat. She swallowed, holding to him tightly. He could hear each gulp loud and clear, punctuating his damnation. She licked him slowly, softly. He gasped at the sensitivity, squeezing his eyes shut as she milked out every last drop.

His dick slid out of her mouth with a wet plop, limply falling between his legs. Dark lipstick down to her chin, smokey eyes devilishly looking up at him. At that moment, Yoongi knew.

She was who he wanted.

-

Yoongi sat in the driver’s seat, wiping his mouth with a spare tissue. He was a sticky mess underneath his clothes. He didn’t really want to think about what he had just done. He could still smell her, her taste still coated on his tongue.

He sighed. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, turning it back on. He waited patiently, sitting in the darkness. He had offered to drop her off wherever she liked, but she just laughed and said she would be fine.

“I’m worried about the poor fool who tries to pick you up,” he had said with a smirk.

She was halfway out of his car, turning back and smiling.

“No promises.”

He touched the scrap of paper on the dashboard. He should throw it away. He felt the vibration of his phone, loading up all the messages and missed calls. He didn’t have to look. He knew who it was. After a long moment, Yoongi unlocked his phone and swiped all the notifications away.

And then he saved a new contact.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

[dragoneyes618]

Ben didn't have official days off, but every so often he (and his mother) made himself ignore any pileups of work that may have been looming and relax. King of Auradon he may be, but he was also a teenage boy, and everyone needed some down time once in a while.

So now he was sitting in an armchair in one of the small, private sitting rooms that Belle referred to as her "hideaways." It was a small room, with comfortable chairs, beautiful curtains, and hanging lamps. And, of course, piles of books.

His mother was in her own chair across from him, reading. As he was himself. As even his father was, sitting near the door.

His mother was right, Ben mused. There was nothing quite like a good book.

Someone coughed.

Ben looked up.

A woman was standing by the doorway.

That in itself wasn't so unusual. There were many people who lived and worked in Beast Castle, after all, although this room was off-limits. But it wouldn't be the first time someone had snuck in, usually to read one of the books. Belle never punished anyone who did that-in fact, she always gave the perpetrator as many books as he or she wanted.

Ben vaguely recognized the woman as one of the new servants. He didn't know her name, though. He felt bad about that. He always did his best to know the names of all the workers in the castle. Their literal job was looking after his family; the least he could do in return was call them by their names. This woman, however, tended to avoid people, and so he hadn't learned her name yet.

She was elderly, with a lined face and hair that was almost completely white, with just a single strand of black running through it, tied up in a bun. She looked as though she could use a cane, although she wasn't leaning on one at the moment. She wore an old-fashioned dress, all black but with white lace.

Also, she was holding a pistol in her right hand. That was definitely unusual.

It too looked old-fashioned-the kind of pistol that had exactly six bullets, that you needed to manually reload and put in gunpowder each time you used that, that wouldn't work if it got wet, and that had an even chance of exploding when you fired.

Still, a gun was a gun. And she would only need three bullets to kill all of them, if she was so inclined.

"You-" the Beast sputtered. "How-Guards!"

Nothing happened.

"I'm afraid your guards are somewhat indisposed," the woman said, training her gun on the Beast. "They won't be coming to help you anytime soon."

"You didn't..." Belle whispered. Ben swallowed nervously; but they would have heard gunshots, right?

"Oh, they're all right," the woman said. "They're just a bit...tied up at the moment." She laughed. "I didn't do it myself, of course; my family still does have allies, you know. Even now."

"What do you want?" Ben asked.

Both his parents moved toward him, as though to shield him; but he was king. Surely dealing with dangerous assassins was his job?

The woman focused on him. Her face was lined not just with age, Ben realized, but with grief and stress. Her black eyes seemed to scorch into him.

"The boy king," she said musingly. "The one who overturned a generation of wrongs-or tried to, at least. Too late for most. But, as some say, better late than never." She sounded sarcastic.

"No one pays attention to the servants, do they?" she mused. "No one wondered who I was, or where I had come from. It was ridiculously easy getting a job here. I suppose you've gotten complacent, with all the villains on the Isle?" she sneered.

She looked at Ben. "What do I want? I want to have my say."

"Then-speak," Belle said. The longer this strange woman kept talking, the more time there would be for someone to find them, or discover the guards.

The intruder nodded at the Queen Mother. "My name is Madeline. Madeline de Vil. But you probably know me as Malevola."

Malevola de Vil.

"So you have heard of me," Malevola said with a wicked smile. "What do they say about me? That I was one of the greatest fashion designers of the last century? That I was the best owner of the House of De Vil in three generations? That I was a respected member of society? That I would do anything for my family?"

Her face darkened. "Or do they say that I, like all those bearing the de Vil name, are cursed? That I care more for fur than my family? That I am frightening, mad, evil, just like my daughter?"

Ben found his voice. "Cruella de Vil."

Malevola glared at him. "Don't call her that."

"But-that's her name."

"No, it is not," Malevola said, quietly, menacingly. The hand holding the pistol remained steady. "Do you really think that I would give my own daughter a name like Cruella?" She shook her head in disgust. "No. What runs in the de Vil family, particularly with the females, is that people-and by people I mean the general public, people who don't even know us-they give us nicknames.

"Not friendly, endearing nicknames. Perhaps nicknames isn't the right word. I don't know. I was ten when people started calling me Malevola. Ella was twelve when they called her Cruella. My own mother, her name was Dinitia, but do you know what people called her?" Malevola sneered, but in that sneer was anger and hurt at lifetimes-not just her, but many members of her own family-of mockingly being called the wrong name. Perhaps parody was the word she was looking for. Or travesty. "They called her Dementia. You think my daughter is cruel? At least she calls others by their proper names."

"They fear us, you see," Malevola went on. "And they scorn us. So they either name us to fit their beliefs about us, or they mock us, so that they can pretend we don't frighten them."

"I'm sorry," Belle started.

Malevola whirled on her. "You think I have finished?! I have barely even started!"

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she continued. "You have done me, and many people, a great wrong." She sounded like she was trying to be formal, like she'd rehearsed this in her mind.

"What have we done?" the Beast asked.

And just like that, her composure was gone.

"What have you done?" she hissed, her knuckles white, her eyes wide. "What have you done? You take my children from me, and you ask what you have done?"

She laughed bitterly. "The enchantress who cursed you was right. You are a beast inside and out."

The Beast paled; that was his worst fear.

"First, you took my Ella," Malevola went on. "You took her, and you locked her up, and you said she was a danger and a menace to society and that we should be glad you were taking her away.                                                                          "For stealing dogs." Her voice shook. "Even young Anita said that the punishment didn't fit the crime. But no, you take her, you do not help her, and you send her away to an island full of murderers."

"She's a villain," the Beast tried to reason.

That was the wrong thing to say.

"She is my daughter!" Malevola screamed.

Ben suddenly understood why people feared the de Vil family. Malevola truly looked like her family's surname.

"And my son, Cecil, came to you," Malevola continued. Her voice was dangerously calm now. "And he begged you, lowering himself, a bearer of the de Vil name, for you. He asked you to help her, to be kind to her, to do something else-anything else-but you refused.                                                                    "Tell me, Beast, what is the line between villainy and insanity?"

The Beast did not answer.

"And with no other option left," Malevola continued, "my Cecil volunteered to go to your cursed Isle, to be with Ella, to help her, because he could not leave his sister alone. You agreed to that. And you sent both of my children to the Isle."

"Did you plan," Malevola wondered, "for there to be no communication from the Isle at all? Did you want us all to forget about them, to pretend the villains never existed?      

"I had no letters. My own were returned, marked Return to Sender. There were no phone calls. Nothing. The de Vil family has much influence, but I could do nothing.      

"Do you know what it is like, not to know if your own children are alive or dead? I would not wish that on my worst enemy."

She locked eyes with the Beast. "Twenty years I have waited for word of my children. For twenty years I have not known if they live, or if they were killed within days of arriving on the Isle. And now your son brings my grandson over..."

She sighed. "He looks like Ella. Cecil, too. He has the de Vil hair. All the de Vils, we look like each other. It is yet another reason people find us strange. But my grandson, he is frightened of me. We never knew each other. You took that from me, too. He fears I am too much like Ella, for he tells me that Ella has deteriorated..."

She could have been a hundred years old.

The Beast stepped forward. "If you are here to punish me, then-do so." Belle gasped, but he continued. "Do not make my wife and son pay for my crimes."

"You are brave," Malevola conceded. She looked almost surprised. "But no."

She looked at Ben. "I do thank you, you know. You brought my grandson off the Isle, and he brought me news of my family."

She looked back at the Beast, meeting his eyes directly. She did not speak for a long moment.

"You misunderstand me," Malevola–Madeline–said finally. "I am not here to kill you. I am here only to cause you the same pain you have caused me."

Moving swiftly, she turned, pointed the gun straight at Ben, and fired.

[nythberryy]

Hold Me Tight (Erwin x fem!Reader)

I wrote an Attack on Titan fanfiction (oneshot) in which Erwin Smith is a real gentleman.

Words: 2955

Warning:

The story contains 18+ scenes and builds up slow.

-They'd known each other for a long time, yet none of them confessed until that rainy night.-

It starts a bit sad, but trust me, it ends well. 💞

It's my first story written in English, so I apologize for grammatical mistakes and cringe writing.

I hope you’ll still find it enjoyable. 💞

(I also posted it on ao3. You can find me there as: NythBerry)

Thank you for your time!✨

September was usually gilded by the last sunbeams of summer, however that day was colder than usual. As clouds gathered, the sky turned grey. Raindrops began to knock on the red tile roof just to then fall and soak the ground. It was raining all day without a break. Everyone from the city struggled to get through the mud. The carts couldn't fight it, the horses neighed as they tried to push forward. Wooden wheels crackled, some even broke in two.

A tall man walked into the guesthouse. Water was slowly dripping from his clothes. With each step he made, he left a puddle on the freshly washed floor. (Y/N) recognized him in a blink of an eye though his face was covered by the green hood he was wearing. He stopped at the counter and revealed his face. His blonde hair, that was always slicked back nicely, now was a mess. Wet strands fell on his forehead.

(Y/N) put down the mop and wiped her hands to greet the man. "Erwin!"

"Good evening, (Y/N)! I'd like to book a room for tonight."

"What happened to your trousers?" it was covered in mud to the knee "Is it that bad outside?"

"It's raining quite heavily" he said "I don't think I would be able to go back tomorrow."

"I'll prepare a room for you. Just sit down please. There's no one here anyway, except an elderly couple upstairs. Do you want to drink something warm? Tea maybe?"

"Tea is fine, thank you."

Erwin took a seat in front of the counter and watched the woman placing the teapot on the stove. She quickly ran into the pantry and returned with a basket full of baked goods. She put some on a plate and gave it to the man.

"How's your father?" he asked while (Y/N) wiped the floor again. Her father owned this little guesthouse that once was famous.

"He's alright. But I'm afraid we won't be able to afford his medications. Less and less people can afford to book a room and we simply can't make the prices cheaper. I don't really know what to do."

"Don't worry, (Y/N)!" a kind hoarse voice appeared from behind. It was her father. "Welcome, Commander Smith! What brings you here again?"

"Good evening!" he greeted back. "Just another budget negotiation. As usual, the government has no intentions of increasing funds."

"As much as I want to support the Scouts, I unfortunately see why they don't want to do so in moments like this." Her father was in the regiment before he retired. Erwin and he shared similar views on the importance of going beyond the walls. "(Y/N)! Go prepare a room and find some clothes for him."

While she went to search dry clothes that would fit the commander, the two man began to talk about a different topic.

"I know why you visit this place so often" chuckled the father as he opened a bottle of whisky. He poured them both. "I see how you look at her."

For a moment Erwin didn't know what to say, which was quite unusual of him. A small smile curved his lips. "So, you found out my secret."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out. I have eyes. It's that simple." he sipped "You've known my daughter for years. Since when...?"

"It's one of those things that just can't be put in words. It was four years ago, that moment I realized I wanted to see her as many times as I could."

"Why didn't you tell her? You're afraid I'd bring the rifle? Or maybe you're more afraid of her? You think she would reject you?" he smiled "I can tell she has feelings for you too. Haven't you noticed how excited she is seeing you? She's not even looking at other guys, though she's in the age of marriage. What will she do when I'll be gone? At least you, as a commander, would make a great reputation for her." he joked "She'll be left alone like the last leaf on a tree before winter begins."

"That's why I won't tell her. I don't want to cause pain." he grabbed the glass and drank from it "To be honest, I don't even know if I'll be here next month. There's just no guarantee." he sighed "But I'm a selfish man. I still want to see her every time I'm near her. I'm truly the worst. I can't give her happiness, only suffering. I don't want (Y/N) to lose more people."

(Y/N)'s father knew Erwin was right. Her mother passed away, when she was fourteen; lost many loved ones when Shiganshina fell. Childhood friends, friends whom she trusted the most, old neighbours she liked and nearly all relatives of their family were gone now.

Both men knew the feeling. Without further words they agreed and sat back quietly.

(Y/N) heard the conversation. When she heard that Erwin had feelings for her, she thought her heart was going to break through her ribcage, like a desperate bird ready to be free. However, as he continued, her hearth shattered into pieces. (Y/N) pretended she didn't hear anything and told the blonde man his room was ready. He stood up and walked towards the stairs where she was standing.

"Change into these" she gave him the dry clothes "I'll knock on your door in ten minutes."

...

"Can I come in?" she asked. Erwin replied with a yes. (Y/N) walked into the room catching a glimpse of the commander's chest while he was buttoning the last button. He picked up the soaked clothes from the chair and held it out for (Y/N).

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"Erwin..." she began faintly and grabbed his arm "We need to talk."

"About what?" he looked surprised.

"I heard everything and-"

Erwin interrupted. "You don't have to worry about it. I won't do anything." he shook her hand off.

"You don't even want to know how I feel?"

"What would it change? You should find someone better. Someone who can be there for you. Someone who's not selfish. There're many good men out there."

"What about my choice? You think you can make decisions for me?"

He put the clothes back on the chair. "I don't want to put you through hell."

"It's already hell." she said with a slight hitch in her voice "You have no idea how long... How long I've ... Erwin..." Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheek.

It pained him to see the woman, whom he loved the most, looking so defeated.

"I love you, Erwin!" she cried out "And nothing can change that."

It snapped him out of his stubbornness for a second. He gently pulled (Y/N) into a hug, placing her head on his chest. The feeling of his warmth and beating hearth was pure heaven.

"I want you. Only you."

"(Y/N), I can't give you happiness."

"What it is at all?" she sniffled. "There's no such thing as that... It's not a destination you can arrive to and stay there for the rest of your life. Happiness is a temporary state. It comes and goes. And... What defines it anyways?

"I still don't want you to get hurt. Especially because of me." he paused for a bit "I could die at any time. What if I go on a mission and never come back?"

"You think I don't know that, Erwin? Every time you go out the walls I worry, but... Did you know that in this awful world you're the one who keeps me alive?" she pressed herself against his comforting chest "And what about you? You think you don't deserve your so-called happiness? If you have feelings for me, why don't you..."

As she looked up, her eyes met with his. Tears were coming to his sky-blue eyes.

"Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

"I am. I want you to hold me tight and never let go."

...

Erwin placed his hand on her face caressing her cheek gently with his thumb. He leaned closer to kiss her forehead, then gave another kiss on her nose making her blush. Finally, he pressed his warm lips against hers. He sucked her lips slowly, evenly, as he was dining something sweet as nectar. She was his delicate flower.

His kiss was subtle and tender, however a wave of heat flushed through him causing to kiss more passionately. Erwin slid his tongue across her bottom lip luring her mouth to open for him. His tongue swirled around hers composing an intimate, sensual dance. A slight moan escaped from (Y/N) in response. She slid her hands up his back, running her fingers through his soft blonde hair. As a result, he groaned, and the urge to pull her hips against his grew. As much as he wanted to devour her, he had to resist.

The commander pulled away, only to realize that he wasn't the only one getting excited. The woman's body was filled with desire too. He watched her chest rise and fall hastily with each breath she took. He couldn't help but admire the beauty that was in front of him.

"You're gorgeous, (Y/N)." he held both of her hands and placed two gentle kisses on them "If we don't stop now, I won't be able to hold back. You're driving me crazy."

"I feel the same. I want you, Erwin."

Their lips met once again. The passion they felt had been buried in their hearts for years. The man possessed her lips claiming every centimetre of it while she held onto his strong shoulders tightly. Erwin guided her slowly to the writing table, not breaking the kiss even for a second. He lifted her up and placed her on the desk.

The commander's lips travelled down her neck and goose bumps flooded her skin tilting her head to the side. He tucked her blouse out of her skirt to slide his large hands under the fabric. When he touched her stomach, a sudden thought startled her. What if she's not good enough?

"Erwin... The candles..."

"I want to see you" he whispered in her ear.

"But..." she grasped his shoulder.

"No buts. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. No one can compete with you" the man kissed her cheek "Can I take your blouse off?"

She'd been deprived for far too long of this man who now was standing right in front of her. She nodded, and looked away in fear of what he would see might disgust him. Erwin took it off her and freed her breasts from the undergarment.

"Look at me, (Y/N)." he begged and with a bit of hesitation, she did so, finding his sparkling blue eyes, so full of love and excitement, staring down at her. Meeting his gaze, she smiled sweetly before closing her eyes as he inclined his head. He also pulled his hips tight against hers. "You did this to me, (Y/N)."

He laid her down gently on the wobbly desk and his mouth was on her breasts quicky, conquering all of it. His fiery tongue played with one of her nipples while the other was held in his hand. Next, he travelled lower and lower, down to her stomach, only to find the skirt in the way. She felt a sudden wetness between her legs.

"Can I?" he asked for permission. She nodded. She ached for it.

He removed the skirt and her shoes too. Erwin placed a kiss on her beauty through her panties before he pulled it off and trailed it down her leg. He kissed the hill again and ran two fingers down on it.

"You're soaking already, (Y/N)." then he started to explore her slit with his tongue "You're so sweet, my darling."

He sucked on the folds a little, then parted them to make his way up to her clit which he tickled wickedly. With a finger he began tracing circles around her entry. Shortly after, he slid it in. (Y/N) flinched a little, letting out a moan. After he realized she could take more, he added another one.

She enjoyed it greatly. She grabbed Erwin's head, ran her fingers through his soft hair while pulling him closer to her hips. She wanted more. Erwin was surprised by her action, and began to lick and move his fingers more passionately. Her body was burning in explicit heat. A sudden wave of extasy rushed through her and he was proud seeing his efforts paying off.

The man straightened up to hurriedly rip his shirt off and throw it on the floor. (Y/N) was mesmerized by his well- built form. She wanted to touch it, so she sat up to lean closer. She explored each muscle with her finger, even caressed his hard nipples. She travelled further down to his pants. Hearing the sharp intake of breath as her fingers lightly touched his sensitised flesh made her wanting Erwin even more.

"If you touch me like that I might..." Erwin's mouth left an excited hiss as she pulled down his trousers a little.

He stepped back to take it off along with his shoes as well. As he tugged down his underwear, his rock-hard, massive manhood revealed.

"Well..." she said in surprise "That is a titan."

He couldn't help but giggle. (Y/N) glanced up, seeing him smile at her with a sweet, sensuous smile. He stepped closer to possess her lips and lift her up from the desk just to then put her gently on the bed.

He was on top of her. The woman's breast against his chest while she wrapped her legs around his trim waist made him lose it all. He wanted to be inside her.

"(Y/N)" he sighed "Can I?"

"Yes, Erwin!"

He began to trace her entry in circular motions with his member. Softly, he placed the tip inside. She moaned in pain, feeling it tearing her walls.

"Are you alright, darling?" he asked with worry in his eyes.

"I'm okay. It's okay" she caressed his clean-shaved face. "Go on, my commander."

Their lips joined again, while he grabbed her hips and plunged deep inside her. He waited a little so she could get used to his size. A couple of minutes later, he began to move gently, sliding in and out gradually going further and speeding up the rhythm. As he heard her sweet moans, felt her warmness and tightness around him, he fell into an abyss of pleasure. Erwin couldn't tame his desire anymore, finding himself thrusting into her with an enormous intensity. He couldn't get himself to stop now. He wanted her.

Erwin grunted and groaned which she found immensely sexy. The pain already faded away, endless pleasure and joy replaced it. His thick hands made their way up to her breasts, grabbing it with more and more greed.

"I love you, Erwin" she cried out.

"I love you more."

Shameful sounds filled the room and the man increased his speed to the maximum. (Y/N) latched onto his shoulders and buried her head into his chest, trembling hard against him. A wave of pleasure started to hit them both. She tightened around his manhood, and he couldn't hold on any longer as she continued to clutch. The unbearable yet wonderful torture of being lost in her made him release his seed inside of her. It was an indescribable feeling being filled up by the man of his dreams. They remained like this for a while, panting heavily.

Erwin pulled out of her but didn't let go as he wrapped her arms around her.

"I'm sorry." he said, stroking her hair.

"For what?"

"For loving you so badly, that I lost myself and couldn't hold back."

"You're so silly." she chuckled "I enjoyed every minute of it."

"Can I clean you up?" he asked placing a gentle kiss on her forehead "I've made a mess down there"

She nodded and the commander put his underwear on. He brought a wet towel and sit back on the bed. He gently spread her legs to wipe her womanhood. Then he softly stretched her entry with his finger. Erwin blushed as he saw his liquid oozing out of her.

"Erwin?" she noticed the rosiness on his cheeks.

"Nothing..." he said looking away "I apologize."

"No need to." she sat up giving him a quick little kiss on his pink cheek "I love you!"

"I love you more, (Y/N)"

...

Morning came shining its warm, golden sunbeams. All the clouds were gone and she was in his arms, all his and he would never be so foolish to let her go. She opened her eyes, only to get lost in his sky-blue iris.

"Good morning, love!" he caressed her face.

"Morning, Erwin..." she yawned and quicky realized, that she should've been up a long time ago. "My god! I should be downstairs! What time is it? Oh! And I haven't even washed your clothes!"

"Shhh..." he stopped you from jumping out of the bed by hugging you from behind "No need to hurry. It's only six thirty."

"I wake up at five!"

"You're open at seven..."

"Yes, but there's work to do. Buying things from the market, breakfast to prepare, cleaning..." she counted on her fingers.

"It can wait. Just stay with me like this for five minutes"

"Then hold me tight, Erwin."

She couldn't resist him. She was lost in his alluring presence whenever she was with him. It was pure heaven to be in his loving arms.

The end

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 1

And, here we go. Chapter 1 of this monstrosity (no pun intended) is now up and running below, on AO3, and on FF.net.

I'm going to be completely and 100% honest with everyone before you start reading, so please heed this warning! This first chapter is rough in the sense where it contains a bit of brutality and the death of a child. So far, this is the only gruesome chapter, and while the gore is NOT detailed, I still want my more sensitive readers to be wary.

This is the most action-packed fic I've ever written, and also the most expansive world I've ever built (in my humble opinion). With that being said, while the setting is a bit more on the historical side, there are plenty of modern references. For instance, not in this chapter but in future ones, a bathroom is just a bathroom. I don't mention plumbing or the lack thereof. My attention and energy was on more important things and I just didn't care about those details, lol. Additionally, a lot of slang, jokes, and references are fairly modern. Don't @ me (but also do). All-in-all, what I'm trying to say is I built my own damn world where there is no historical accuracy, so don't go looking for it, lol.

Unless otherwise stated, I plan to post each new chapter every Friday. So, yeah... I think that's all I've got to say.... have fun! Enjoy! Thank you for reading! Ily! Bon Voyage! Don't hate me!

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The responsibility is ours.

Kagome gasped as her feet slid in the mud, the small decline of the path she and her younger brother hurried down gradually becoming more slippery as the rain began to pour harder. Through the noise of the droplets and the sloshing of their boots, she heard a slight commotion; horses’ huffs, heavy feet, and boisterous men barking orders. Initially, she’d figured it was the village men ushering their families indoors, their livestock into barns, their carts and tools under shelter, and their firewood into a dry place as the storm reared its ugly head. The sunset sky was shadowed in gloom, thunder making it’s entrance in the far distance as it was bound to be banging on their doors and windows in no time. But, at the tug of her arm by her sibling, her attention was shifted to the actual cause of it all: Naraku’s henchmen.

“Again?” She shuddered resentfully.

“Third time this month.” Sota confirmed, clenching his jaw as he slightly tugged his sister behind his smaller frame. He was perfectly aware that he was only twelve, well in the know that he stood no taller than her shoulders, but he’d be damned if he did nothing because of it.

This time, there wasn’t a hoard of them. No, there were merely four, all of which were already off of their horses on the main path through their little village, making demands and threatening anyone who got in the way of their objective.

Throughout the last four and a half years since Naraku rose as a fearsome demon that easily brought down peaceful powers and attempted to control the world Kagome knew, she’d become more than familiar with this procedure. It wasn’t until just recently that they’d started coming more often than a monthly visit, though. And, it was no secret what, or who, they were after.

Her.

Anyone of her kind, really.

She was different. She was hunted. Those like her were supposedly powerful, but matters being what they were had caused anyone who shared a similar fate to subdue their abilities to the point of total lack of recognition of their true potential. At least, that’s how it was in most cases. Because, if they were found out, they were killed on sight. The reason for it was entirely unknown. Naraku didn’t just target them, though; he made everyone’s lives hell, especially if they stood out in a supernatural manner. So, while she figured there had to be a yet-to-be-identified reason, she felt it was safe to assume it was also just because he could. Maybe he didn’t like the threat of other, similar forces that could collide against him. Maybe he was egotistical enough to think he was the only deserving being. Whatever the case, he was cruel.

Kagome’s kind had several names through the decades - so many, she hardly knew the correct term for herself. At one point, ages ago, they were called banshees. The title didn’t make sense whatsoever, given their powers and what a banshee actually was, and the story was so old that she didn’t know where the justification even stemmed from, but it caused them to be feared, and for that, she honestly wouldn’t have totally minded if the name stuck around. They were called priestesses, but then it sounded too peaceful, too practiced, and it painted them as “good.” They were called witches, mages, sorceresses, but they committed no typical magic of that sort. Kagome didn’t know a single spell, nor did she have nearly enough time in the day to pack an array of herbs, spices, and what have you into jars that were sealed with candle wax - though she had caught wind that there were some older women of her kind with the ability to curse. Now, they were called conjurers. Their abilities were that of the spirit, aiding with protection, purifying dark forces - passively or forcefully, bringing forth light, and more she was sure.

In Kagome’s unpopular opinion, given what they could do and what they supposedly stood for, priestess was more suitable a term, but she also understood that there was nothing holy about the world they lived in.

There was no birthmark of the conjurer. There was no dead giveaway of their kind. The powers were gifted at random, as far as she knew, not passed down through lineage. The only thing Naraku and his followers seemingly had to go off of was that conjurers were born female.

Sometimes, they’d conduct their mission by way of senseless inspections. They’d rip apart the insides of homes looking for all the wrong things in all the wrong places. Truthfully, with how absurd they carried themselves, it was obvious they didn’t know the telltale signs they were looking for and were wasting their time. Which was what made it clear that for them to be so clueless, even Naraku didn’t know all there was that made up a conjurer. They were ignorant and they were blind, but they were also relentless and ruthless.

The days where they singled women out were the worst. Kagome, so far, was spared that cruelty, but that didn’t make it any better. It was usually the more mature, the elderly, that received the short end of the stick.

More often than anything, they’d line up every woman and girl in town and go down the rows one-by-one, stimulating their nerves in one way or another to see if they could get a “conjurer’s reaction.” Kagome could only guess that meant a sudden surge of purification power. It was the main trait conjurers were known for; but they were going about it wrong. Screaming in their faces, threatening everyone, or jostling them around a bit wasn’t going to get the demons purified, no matter how much she wanted to toss something their way. Of course, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that.

Every so often, they’d come in a pack and create havoc with violence. They said it was their way to pressure people into giving up any information they might have, but in all honesty, the smiles some of the brute demons wore said they were bored and simply wanted a little entertainment. Apparently, screaming and pleading were equivalent to a musical number in their bloodlust eyes.

Their own little group of demon slayers that resided in the village helped prevent this from happening when they could, which was why the henchmen came in numbers. The demon slayers fought for a sense of control, not to kill. They would only allow so much, but belligerent violence was not an option. It was obvious that, as of late, their village was a targeted spot, one that got a little more attention than neighboring towns, and for what reason, no one knew. They didn’t have the fighting power to win that sort of fight, though, and the leader of the group of slayers was sensible enough to understand this and explain it to the masses that questioned them. They were made up of a handful of men with rigorous combat skills they didn’t learn from home, refused to take recruits below a certain age, and could only train so many at a time. As much as they’d all love to retaliate and end things for good, intuition was telling them not to in that manner. Even Kagome felt that. Deep in her gut, she knew that even if they could, killing them would only put the people of the village in a worse position. This wasn’t something that would stop by taking out the underlings. Not at all. Far from it. Anyone who was paying attention could see that they’d need to exterminate the head honcho in order for any positive difference to be made.

Unfortunately for them this time around, their little pack of demon slayers had left on a request to take care of a troublesome demon a little ways off just that morning. And, listening to the henchmen now, seeing them in their dark leather, their cloaks, feeling their dangerous energies wafting through the streets of their little town, Kagome could tell that they were going to do whatever they wanted tonight, despite the fact that it was just the four of them. It wouldn’t be horrible, and would most likely be a lineup, but they were definitely going to take their sweet time and see who they could break.

“There’s still time. They haven’t noticed you. We can hide you.” Her younger brother said, his tone more on the convicted side as opposed to suggestive. He should have known she wouldn’t have gone for it, though. So long as every other woman and girl had to stand in front of their villainous promises and vile breath, so long as her mother had to keep a straight face, Kagome would always stand there with them. She’d made a promise to her brother, her older cousin, and especially her mom that she’d never willingly out herself for no reason, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hide when everyone else had to stand through their harassment. She swore that if the demons were ever convinced an innocent was a conjurer, that was the reason to give herself over.

Never would Kagome allow another to mistakenly go down in her stead.

No one but her family knew of her powers, and until necessary, it would stay that way. According to her cousin, the more people that knew, the increased danger she was in.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She shook her head, minding her steps through the small slope of mud as she gently pulled her arm out of Sota’s grip.

“Miroku would say the same thing if he were with us.” He argued.

“Yeah, well he’s not. In fact, he’s probably getting himself into trouble by picking a fight with one of those goons.”

“Kagome, I have a bad feeling about this. Come on, just listen for once.”

“Okay,” She stopped, turning around to challenge his look. “Say something bad is going to happen. Knowing these assholes, you really think my absence will stop that?”

“No, but -“

“Right. They’re going to do something no matter what, correct?”

“Kagome -“

“And then what?”

“And then they’re wrong, but they didn’t get you.”

“How is that fair to the person they might hurt?”

“That person isn’t my sister.”

“What if it’s mom?”

Sota’s eyes slighted to the side, a heated huff leaving his lips just before he begrudgingly sealed them. His jaw clenched minutely as his head gave a little shake, brown eyes once more meeting his sibling’s. “Miroku and I will protect her.”

Kagome gave a fed up smile, sighing, rolling her eyes, and turning back on her heel to continue toward the main path. Families came out of their homes dressed in cloaks as they prepared to, once more, be harassed until Naraku’s men exhausted themselves, husbands and male relatives holding resentful expressions as they guarded their female family members until they couldn’t any longer.

“Kagome!”

“Sota, quit it. The louder you are, the more suspicious we become.” She quietly warned. Kagome heard her brother’s aggravated grumble before he jogged forward to catch up, his demeanor holding much like every other male in the village.

No one’s feet rushed toward the excitement. The tension of the town was up so dramatically that Kagome could physically feel the crushing weight of it all, the anxiety as they made their way closer to their disgusting visitors was causing her stomach to bubble and waver, and her throat constricted nervously as she and Sota finally met up with the crowd, her brown eyes scouring over shoulders to scout out her family. Sota’s hand encircled her wrist firmly, tugging her to the right as he found them and guided her over. Miroku stood tall in front of their mother, brows noticeably creased and indigo eyes straight ahead until he’d caught their movement in his peripheral vision. Immediately, his posture squared further, as if enlarging his shoulders so that he’d be able to successfully hide both Kagome and his aunt behind his frame. Her mother held out her hand for Kagome to take as soon as they were close enough, a peaceful smile unsurprisingly gracing her lips while she pulled her in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, she always did her best to calm Kagome’s nerves with the simplest of sweet gestures. Sota took his spot before them, influenced by Miroku’s stature as he replicated it.

Allowing herself a brief moment, Kagome bowed her head further, bracing it on her older cousin’s shoulder. She shut her eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply, attempting to release her trepidation with a long and heated exhale before composing herself and straightening out.

“- But this is too much! Why the hell are you back again!? There’s no conjurer in our village! Don’t you fucking get that by now!?” A man shouted, livid, and it was evident she and her brother had missed the beginning of the argument playing out in the center of the uneven circle created by people.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” One of Naraku’s men yelled back.

“Not until you tell us why you’re back for the third time!”

“Would you rather we made ourselves at home!?” Silence from the opposing man answered his question clearly. “That’s what I fucking thought.” He spewed, and Kagome could hear the spittle fly out as he cursed. His attention returned to the general public, his tone shifting from vicious to gruff as he made his command. “Only girls ranging from ages five to twenty, line up! Now!”

Increased unsettlement coursed through the crowd, mothers and fathers clinging to their young daughters, little girls’ fearful whimpers polluting the air as they hid their faces in their parents’ legs, and even Kagome’s own mother’s hand tightened her grip as a breathy gasp left her lips - understanding that this meant her eighteen year old daughter was being sent into the fire without her. They were narrowing down, slimming the numbers, and the small smiles on the villains’ faces made Kagome assume that something last time may have tipped them off to lessen the demographic.

“What do I do?” Kagome whispered to her cousin, failing in her attempt to hide the sudden panic striking her.

“Nothing. You do nothing.” He urged quietly, shifting his head to look into his younger relative’s eyes. “Listen, Kagome, treat this like routine -“

“This isn’t routine.”

“Treat it like it is. Keep your head down.”

“If they -“

“No.”

“But, they’ll -“

“Kagome, no. You made us a promise.” Miroku reminded firmly, knowing exactly where her mind was traveling. In the case of an incident, which there seemed to be a higher chance of this time around, she may need to intercede.

She took a deep breath, straightening her face as much as possible so Naraku’s men wouldn’t grow suspicious as they impatiently yelled again for the girls to gather before them. “If this means they suspect something -“

“It may just be a tactic they’re using. For all we know, they have nothing and could leave here with the same. So, treat it like routine. Okay?”

“Promise.” Sota insisted during Kagome’s silence. The mens’ barking got louder, more demanding, as did the crying of little girls being pulled away from their parents. With the building weight in her chest, like a liquid filling her lungs quickly, the density making it almost impossible to take full breaths of air or move without falling forward, all she could muster was a meager nod before forcing herself to walk out. Miroku and Sota both leaned to opposite sides to part their shoulders for her to move through, her mother’s soft hand still lightly holding her own until she was far enough for their fingers to slide away from each other’s.

At most, there were about twenty girls in that age range to offer, and Kagome’s brown eyes drifted over the uneven row of heads as she approached, finding her friend in the mix trying to calm the little girl beside her. Sango glanced her way, as if feeling Kagome’s eyes on her, giving an apprehensive grin and waving her over.

“Ready?” Kagome asked, though it was completely rhetorical. It was just habit for these things. It was unavoidable, unexpected, and overall, impossible to be ready for. But, when they bounced the question off of each other, it was like one final reminder to stone.

Sango knew. Sango and her family were the one exception to the familial rule. She was Kagome’s closest friend and Miroku’s significant other. She was more than trustworthy. And, more importantly, had known since Kagome accidentally found out, herself, as a kid. Because, that’s how it was being a conjurer. You weren’t born knowing. You didn’t have an outward appearance that proclaimed your status much like demons did. It was always an accidental happenstance; in her case where she put a little too much oomph into her bow and arrow lessons and purified the evil - and life - right out of a passing crow demon after missing her target.

She remembered the feeling of total surprise, then tremendous fear because she thought she’d be in a lot of trouble. Kagome had literally thrown her bow to the ground like the thing, itself, was the culprit of the power. Miroku was gawking, Sango was covering her mouth with both hands, and their dad’s shared an identical, tight-lipped expression. Her papa was motionless for an overwhelmingly-tense sixty seconds before shifting his wide, curious eyes to her.

“Did you know you could do that?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.” Kagome innocently answered, but she could feel the red, hot heat in her face from her lie. She was awful at those when it came to the people she was close to. Still was to this day. Give her a stranger and she could keep it straight, but in the face of friends and family, she cracked almost too easily. It was a guilt thing.

But then he’d laughed, ruffling his little girl’s hair before reassuring her that it was okay. He said they’d just have to go about her training a little differently from that point on to make sure accidents like that didn’t keep happening, and it was only because of him, his adventurism, his accessibility to knowledge from his travels, that she even discovered what she was in the first place.

Back then, though it wasn’t quite as dangerous to exist as a conjurer, her papa had still suggested they keep her abilities under wraps. She distinctly remembered binding that with a pinky promise after Sango’s dad had a private discussion with her own. Maybe it was because Sango’s dad was even more educated with the world, and knew the potential hardships that could come her way, being the leader of the demon slayers that he was - and still is. Honestly, the reasoning was hard to determine now because she didn’t put much thought into it when she could and should have. Being the young, spunky, loyal girl that she was, if her dad wanted her to keep a secret and held out his pinky to her, that was all the reason Kagome needed, and nothing pleased her more than making her papa proud. And, when he and her uncle were fatally wounded in a demon attack on their village, even though Naraku’s name had never once yet been muttered near her ears, he still made her do one final pinky promise to him saying, “Protect yourself for me, my little bird. Keep it in its cage. I love you so much, Kagome.”

She wasn’t even a teenager when that had happened. There was a part of her that wondered here and there if he was secretly clairvoyant, or if he merely studied the patterns throughout history of people of her kind and wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and make her life as easy as possible, given the reputation they had, their ever-changing titles, and the ignorance others had of their nature. If only he knew where she was now. Would he still ask his little bird to stay in the cage while the door was wide open?

“Ready. You?” Sango returned, standing straight and allowing the little girl to cling to her leg.

“Ready.” Kagome breathed.

Those not lined up hesitantly backed away, creating space and growing agonizingly silent as they seemingly held their breaths for those that were chosen. Kagome hated when they did that. It was like she could physically feel the onlookers’ anxiety, and it was the last thing she needed on top of that of those actually subjected and her own.

The four men walked back and forth, up and down the two rows of girls, criminal eyes taunting them with silent threats and menacing grins. It was creepy, but no longer was it fear-inducing. Kagome had a bad habit of not shying away anymore. Sure, she was nervous beyond belief, but the last thing she was afraid of were their snarls, scarred and dirty flesh, and crooked teeth. That, of all things, was the least intimidating factor for those who were calloused to the routine.

But, when an abrupt instruction was given by the leader, her already-loose expectations of “routine” fell apart completely.

“Hold out your left hands, palms up!”

Confusion soared through every individual, and Kagome met Sango’s brief side glance, minutely comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one without a clue as to what was going on. Questions weren’t allowed though, and even the little ones were well aware of that, so as the small group of men demanded everyone shut up and do it, all outward bafflement dissipated.

Slowly, Kagome raised her left palm, her arm outstretched, swallowing as she willed the slight trembling to cease. Brown eyes searched quickly as she waited for whatever to begin, weeding through the crowd and finding Miroku already pinning her with a stare. It was wary, but hard, his jaw visibly tense.

The sound of an unsheathing blade was unmistakable, and immediately Kagome’s attention bounced to her left where the leader danced the grip of a knife in his fingers, his lips curved downward into a permanent frown. The first girl in line couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, noticeably shaking as her anxious stare bounced from the man to the blade.

A man in the crowd began shouting, stirring, pushing forward through the heap of villagers to reach the forefront, “Hey! No! What are you going to do!? That’s my daughter; what are you going to do!? Don’t you dare touch -“ Abruptly silenced by a defensive elbow to the diaphragm, gifted by an all-too-fast demon.

The young teenager shuddered, not sure what to worry about first as the leader gave her no moment to react, grabbed her hand, extended it further, and gave a small slice with the tip of his knife to the center of her palm. She winced, a whimper easily escaping her mouth from the sharp pain, tears leaking from her eyes quicker than the blood that seeped from her laceration. And then he grabbed her hand in his, sealing their palms together as he stared her in the eyes for a moment. She was utterly terrified, wanting to pull away while knowing she shouldn’t, but as nothing else happened, the man released her, murmuring to stay in line as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his blade, his hand, then moved onto the next.

Kagome’s attention snapped back to Miroku as it dawned on her, his eyes holding the same idea as he gave a steady but stern shake of his head in retort. They were looking for the untrained conjurers. The conjurers who weren’t skilled in holding back. Everyone was already scared, and the wound inflicted a heightened sense of fight-or-flight. Then their hands gripping the victims’ - their demon hands against the victims’… they were working to spark a purification reaction, and they were going about it right this time. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill them, nothing that small or unsuspecting would be, but it would hurt - much like the notorious fairytale of a vampire taking a quick step into the sunlight before swiftly turning around and heading back inside. And, that was all they needed.

Unbeknownst to everyone but Sango and Miroku, Kagome wasn’t completely helpless. Not only was she well-versed in subduing her powers, but alternatively speaking, she could knock a guy completely on his ass. She’d practiced. She’d practiced for hours at a time for several years now to see what she could do, what sort of strength she possessed, all on the far outskirts of the village, hiding near caves with only her friend and cousin who'd agreed, despite promises and secrets, that they all should try to be prepared for anything. By no means was she an expert, but she could handle her own for the most part and a situation like this was something she’d been well-conditioned for, for quite some time now.

Especially since she’d first received that message in a dream.

The responsibility is ours.

Whatever it meant, no matter how bleak it felt, it was a no-brainer that Kagome couldn’t go on without some sort of knowledge of her own potential.

She took a shallow breath, diverting her gaze to the goon before her as he happily took out his own blade, the other two following suit as they set out to narrow the time this was going to take. He stepped forward, grasping the wrist of the frightened and resistant girl beside Sango, who Sango had to hush into calming, telling her it would be done quickly. When nothing gratifying came from the occurrence, the man moved on to Sango, pinning her with a glare that she challenged right back. She hardly flinched at the slice of her skin, brown eyes never leaving the demonic ones of her assailant. When she shrugged a brow as he clasped their hands together, Kagome could practically see the heat rising in the man’s body language, quickly fuming from how audacious Sango was acting - which Kagome couldn’t help but respect, not knowing if the chuckle she forcefully swallowed was one of matched humor or nervousness.

The man threw Sango’s hand to the side, merely wiping her blood from his palm and blade on his pants before vehemently grabbing Kagome’s and extending her arm completely, bringing an inadvertent gasp to escape her throat. As the tip of his knife pierced her palm, dragging slowly to create a burning gash - one larger than Sango’s, so she suspected her nonchalant pass of amusement wasn’t as admissible as she’d thought - Kagome couldn’t stop the hiss that slid off her tongue, her brows creasing and jaw dropping as crimson dripped from her hand to the mud. With a clap, he pressed his palm to hers, fingers squeezing her small hand with unmitigated pressure. She felt a flurry in her abdomen, her diaphragm, her chest, warmth that drove her power, and that was her cue to hold her breath, to pretend everything was fine, to tell herself she was safe and trick her mind when she really wasn’t. She pretended she was holding Sota’s hand - the first person that came to mind, and the least intimidating one that she knew. Sota as an adult whose hand was finally bigger than hers. She couldn’t help but feel this was a huge insult to her younger brother, so she subconsciously apologized as she continued her visualization. It was like a lump built in her throat, the kind that grew too difficult to swallow, but she also felt completely in control, returning the man’s stare before he dropped her hand and moved onto the girl beside her.

“Shh,” Sango gently hushed the small child. “Everything’s fine now, but you have to stay quiet. Give me your hand.”

Kagome slowly let out her captive breath, the air she sucked in to replace it cold and not the least bit comforting despite the danger she’d evaded. She kept her palm face up but closer to her heart, cradling it for a moment as she tried to ignore the searing pain, diverting her attention to Sango and the kid. Her best friend was already looking up at her, using the long sleeve of her shirt to clean the blood from the girl’s hand and apply pressure so it’d stop bleeding, never minding the bleeding of her own palm. Thankfully, it only looked to be a little knick, and Kagome wondered if the creep of a demon that had handled them secretly had a soft spot for children.

“You okay?” Sango silently mouthed to Kagome. She nodded in reply, picking up the bottom hem of her own shirt and pressing it to her wound.

A sudden, deep, and broken yell punched through the air as one of the demons stumbled away, his hand yanked back, fingers furled in offense, and face twisted in rage. A little girl shrieked as he lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her cloak and pulling her out of the line, her feet stumbling to keep up as she cried apology after apology.

No. Conjurers weren’t common; now more than ever. How could there be two in one village? Especially one as small as theirs? How could there be more than one not even miles apart? How did Kagome not know? Didn’t conjurers have the ability to sense one another? She’d only assumed that was the case because of the seemingly-prophetic dreams she’d been having; because of the woman that had been coming to her in those very dreams. It was a weak hypothesis to go off of, but it was the only answer that made sense to Kagome. But, now there was a child being dragged into the center of where the town congregated, begging and pleading for her life while her mother screamed from the sidelines where she was being held at bay, and Kagome was none the wiser to her existence.

She wanted to yell that they were wrong, but how could they have been? It was a physical test. The accidental reaction of her powers was a dead giveaway. They couldn’t even lie their way out of this, or pretend the allegation was false. She was a conjurer. And they were about to kill her.

Kagome’s heart twisted and bunched painfully, that hard lump once more building in her throat, a murmured, “no,” barely leaving her parted lips, and her brown eyes caught a pleased grin on the approaching leader’s face that, just moments ago, seemed stuck in a scowl. He twirled his dagger in his fingers before kneeling down in front of the weeping girl.

“Found you.” He snickered, plunging the blade into her abdomen.

“No!” Kagome gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth in shock. The village was alight with terror, screams, cries, the rumble of defeat, the wailing of a grieving mother striking over all other sounds. Still, she was withheld from her little girl, reaching for her over the shoulder of the unforgiving demon who kept her away.

The knife was yanked free of the girl’s gut and she fell to her knees, her hands braced before her stomach as crimson crawled out, staining the front of her rain-soaked dress. Small hands weakly pressed into her abdomen, the wide look of horror, of pain, of fear etched into every inch of her expression as she gasped tremblingly. All too easily, the leader stood and walked away, not an ounce of remorse displayed.

“She was… she was just a kid.” A sympathetic village man stated morosely. “She wasn’t even ten yet.”

“She wasn’t dangerous!” Another testified.

“Would you like to be next?” A demon threatened, thinking his raised voice would retain order.

Kagome could hardly breathe, tears burning and brimming at her lower lid. All she could think to do was try to stop the bleeding, try to save the child, her feet moving on their own accord as she rushed out of line. Beyond the anger building in the crowd, the yelling growing louder, and the intense disturbance increasing rapidly and overwhelmingly, Kagome heard her name called multiple times. But, she couldn’t bring herself to listen, to stop, as she skidded to her knees in the mud, her arms catching the little girl as she fell forward. Her mother was finally freed, racing over and falling to the ground at her child’s side, helping through her weeping to lay her on her back.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” She soothed as best as she could, hovering over her daughter's face so the rain wouldn’t hit it, shaking fingers pushing sopping hair from her cheeks.

Kagome grabbed the length from the girl’s cloak that stuck out on her side, bunching it and pressing firmly into the wound. The choked gasp that came from the kid was agonizing, and Kagome apologized profusely, blinking away her own tears as she whipped her head around to take in the rousing group of people, fury evident in their tones, in their bodies, as they returned threats with the offending demons.

“Where’s the doctor!?” Kagome asked as loudly as she could, her soaked, dark hair whipping her in the face as she spun her head around to try and find their town's self-proclaimed physician. “Help! We need help!”

“He isn’t here; he left for herbs yesterday.” Sango informed as she dropped down beside Kagome.

“And he still isn’t back!?”

“The storm must have delayed him.” Sango shook her head in response, her brows creased together as she glanced over her shoulder to quickly mind the budding commotion before turning her worried expression back toward the crying child. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t - I don’t know.” Kagome stammered, her breathing growing heavier as she panicked, noticing the blood was barely halting, the stain in the girl’s dress expanding and absorbing through the cloth she pressed against the wound.

“Apply pressure!” Miroku instructed when he slid to his knees in the mud on their opposite side, careful of the girl’s mother.

“I am!” Kagome cried.

“Stay with me, baby! Stay with me! I’m right here, look at me!” The woman coo’d, sniffling and gasping with her tremors while the comforting smile never left her lips.

“Hey! Leave her! Let her die, or we’ll kill you too!” One of the vile men demanded, though his shouts went ignored, easily drowned out by the encroaching, enraged men who finally appeared fueled enough to physically challenge them. Kagome could only hope they’d hold the demons back so they’d have the chance to save her.

“Here, let me see!” Miroku pushed Kagome’s shaking hands away, pulling aside the cloth of the cloak to take a peek at the wound in her stomach. Kagome had to look away then, the sight of the thick blood seeping through too much to handle. Instead, she focused her attention on the little girl, crawling up to hold her cold, bleeding hand.

Scared, pained, blue eyes focused on Kagome as she took shuddering breaths, her chest convulsing slightly as her small voice broke with her cries. Little fingers softly gripped her hand in return, and the tiniest of smiles curved her lips upward, light beginning to dim from her irises.

“Miroku!” Kagome urged. She glanced back at him and noticed the hopeless expression on his face. One that claimed there was nothing anyone could do. Her heart dropped, a nauseating weight filling her stomach. Quickly, she turned back to the little girl, leaning an inch closer. “Kikyo and the other conjurers, they’re gonna win, okay? We’re gonna win. I promise.”

“Who’s…”

“You! What did you just say!?” Heavy steps sloshed in the mud toward them, his voice low, growling, dangerous.

Kagome had spoken up to be sure the girl had heard her over the yelling, but she hadn’t realized that it could have been heard by anyone else. She didn’t think about the ramifications. She didn’t think. She’d just wanted to fill the child with some form of final hope. What was wrong with that? Was it the fact that she’d said Naraku would fall?

She’d hardly had enough time to turn and react before she was grabbed by the hair and lifted to her feet, yelping as she was dragged back and away.

“You mentioned Kikyo!” He exclaimed, giving a forceful yank as Kagome loudly gasped from her constant stumbling, the pain on her scalp, the fear racing through her. In the thick of it, she’d forgotten Kikyo wasn’t a person who was widely known. She’d forgotten Kikyo was a secret beacon of hope to the surviving conjurers, who appeared in dreams and spoke in riddles.

“No!” Was all she could manage to reply, screamed brokenly, heard clearly throughout the number of villagers around as the action died down and all attention was on them.

“How do you know her!?”

She yelped again, forcefully pulled backward and released to only trip and fall over some tools.

“Tell me, wench!” He demanded, picking Kagome up by her throat and slamming her back against the wall of a home.

“I don’t!” She adamantly swore, still able to speak. His grip was there, but not choking.

“Liar!” He said, slapping her hard across the face. “How do you know Kikyo!?”

“I heard of her in passing!” Kagome cried, wincing from the sting before she was forced to look at him again.

“I find that hard to believe.” He growled, inching closer to her face. His hold on her throat tightened, cutting off air, thick fingers pinching painfully into the sides of her neck. “Where is she?”

“I - I don’t know.” She sputtered, wheezed, her tears hot as they glided down her face. The rain was nothing but a drizzle now, though the distant sound of thunder roared angrily. She was both cold and hot, her lungs begging for air as his hand pushed further against her windpipe.

“Stop it! Let her go!” Miroku barked, and his presence was just enough to distract Naraku’s henchman and cause him to release some tension from her throat. Kagome greedily sucked in as much air as she could, though he still constricted his fingers against her. It was like breathing through a straw.

Her cousin stood there, dark hair sticking to his temples, bloodied hands braced before him as if to reason. “She doesn’t know anything; she just told you!”

“Oh, another tough guy?” A demon behind him chuckled. “A little scrawny for that, don’t you think?”

“You have me wrong, I don’t want to fight. Release my cousin, and we’ll back away peacefully. She meant no harm.”

“The harm was done when she stepped out of place to save the girl!”

“She was a child!”

“She’s a conjurer! She has no place in this world!”

“She did! She did have a place in this world, and we all know it!”

“You best shut the fuck up, boy.” The leader said from the sidelines. “Word may carry that you’re on their side. Now, you wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

“Tell him to let go of her.” Miroku sternly ordered.

“Back off.”

“Let her go!”

“Suit yourself. Have some fun.” Their leader flicked a finger at the two other demons, allowing them to do as they pleased.

Miroku hissed a low, “Fuck,” before dodging a hit from one of the two demons enclosing in on him. He was able to throw one of his own, nailing an ugly bastard in the face before he was grabbed from behind, bulky arms wrapping under and over his shoulders to hold him in place. The other demon was eager while he arrogantly approached in front of him, smiling as he punched Miroku in the stomach.

“Stop! Miroku!” Kagome squirmed against her own offender’s grasp, her instincts beginning to kick in as she felt a wild sensation build in her veins. Something righteous whispered the power she held in her ear, told her to use her abilities to save her cousin, further fueling the heat that made her forget about the nip in the air.

“Kagome, don’t!” Miroku coughed, pinning her with his indigo gaze before his eyes pinched shut from a swift hit to his diaphragm, blood dribbling over his bottom lip and down his chin.

Control sucked Kagome back to the present, the earnest crackle of Miroku’s voice ringing in her ears and overpowering the one that told her to fight. The grip against her throat tightened again, closing off her air passage as red eyes turned back to her, the lines of his frown deep.

“Don’t, what?”

Kagome wasn’t sure if he actually expected an answer or not, but he’d made it physically impossible. She clawed her nails along the thick skin of his large hand, trying to pry him away so she could breathe. It was dire that she didn’t use her powers; she understood this. But, as the adrenaline raced violently through her body, it was growing increasingly harder to keep it subdued. She’d be killed in a heartbeat; she’d already witnessed their unforgiving lack of hesitation. Her mother and younger brother would have to watch. Her cousin, too. She’d promised everyone she would protect herself, and she'd promised herself that she would protect them. Above all that, a different, deeper, more rational voice spoke to her, drowning out the one that told her to take action just a moment ago, telling her that her fight was meant for somewhere else. Something bigger. She could practically feel the breath hitting her ear, urging her of the importance. It told her to swallow it, hold it at bay, keep it buried no matter how badly it burned for release at the underside of her flesh. Keep it in its cage.

Finally, the demon released his tight hold on her neck, opting to firmly grip the front of her shirt. His upper lip twitched in disdain while Kagome sputtered, and coughed, and gasped for air to fill her lungs.

“Don’t, what?” Naraku’s henchman repeated, this time a little lighter, and it was impossible to miss that he was visibly analyzing for any sort of body language that could tip him off.

“Fight.” Kagome attempted to say, though her voice came out incredibly raspy and broken.

“Like I’d be worried about what a girl as small as you could possibly do to me. Unless,” He cocked a brow. “I’d have a reason to worry. Unless, you’re a conjurer.”

She shook her head, scared to look away from him, hyperaware of any movement she made in that moment. She was absolutely terrified of letting him know she was lying, but what if her stiffness was what told him the truth? What if the vehemence behind her objection was exactly what he needed to convict her? Where was the happy medium? Was there one? Kagome’s bottom lip quivered, resisting the impulse to glance Miroku’s way when he continuously coughed, the sound slightly gurgled, scared the shift in her eyes would be mistaken for something else.

“How else would you know who Kikyo is?”

“I - I h-heard of her in p-passing.” Kagome said, still unable to use her voice, and she wondered if the strangulation was enough to damage her vocal cords or if her anxiety was the cause of it. “I-In a nearby town. By - by the r-river.”

The demon yanked her forward and slammed her back against the wall, the back of her head smacking the wood painfully. “Are you a fucking conjurer, wench!?”

“No!” Kagome wheezed, releasing her own hold on his fist to emphatically present the blunt cut on her palm to him before she repeatedly smacked it against his forearm, smearing hers and the little girl’s blood, showing him the exact reaction - or lack thereof - they were looking for in coming today in the first place.

“Let - let her go.” Miroku was on his knees, breathing impaired, holding his side with one hand while the other braced his weight in the mud. “She’s not a conjurer. She’s not. She can hardly even hunt. I have to take her everywhere. There’s no way anyone that knows her would believe she’s one of them.”

“Being a conjurer doesn’t have anything to do with hunting, boy!” One of them spit.

“Well, how the hell would anyone know!?” Sango shouted from the side, still seated on her knees beside the child. Her cheeks were flushed furiously, and her hands were held out inches from her chest, palms up, covered in blood that she was afraid would never wash off. Their attempts were in vain and the mother wept, clinging to her little girl, her face buried in her daughter’s still chest. “Conjurers are practically going extinct; you’re all winning! We don’t know what they can do! They probably don’t know what they can do! Conjurers either have to hide to save their lives, or they don’t even know they are one yet!”

For a brief second, Kagome allowed herself to glance beyond Sango’s head, finding her family. Her mother’s hands were cupped in front of her mouth, trembling as she never removed her eyes from her daughter. Her brow was creased deeply, concern etched so thick you’d think an artist may have been too heavy with their pen. Kagome couldn’t tell if her mom was breathing slowly, or if she was holding her breath. She couldn’t tell if her mom was saying a silent prayer, or if words could barely form in her mind as she had no choice but to watch the scene unfold. Her mother had to witness a daughter torn away from another; a daughter who held the same, supernatural fate as her own. Kagome could only imagine the stress that currently laced her mom’s system.

Before her stood both her brother and Sango’s, Sota bearing a wide expression, neck tense and lips parted uncertainly, and Kohaku wearing a more cautious grimace, watching apprehensively. Knowing her onlookers were nervous, worried, should have been the very thing to cause Kagome to proceed carefully, but instead it served as the switch that flicked on in her head. She was tired of living like this, done with the dreadful thought that this was their normal. This wasn’t going to continue.

She’d been waiting for a sign, waiting for her cue. Bags were packed and weapons were stored in a hiding place where they’d been training outside of the village. Miroku, Sango, and she had discussed a while ago that they were going to eventually leave together and find the called-upon conjurers, and join Kikyo to fight against Naraku. It was their - the conjurers’ - responsibility. As much as she wanted to know why, pleaded with the apparition of this seemingly all-powerful conjurer time and time again for an answer, at this point it was no longer deemed necessary. Not anymore. Kagome figured she’d hear this magical invitation telling her when and where - which was farfetched but a fair assumption given she barely had anything to go off of. She even thought she might have to wait a while longer until she was stronger, more trained in her capabilities, before Kikyo gave her some form of clear signal instead of these ominous, detail-lacking prophecies in her subconscience that she was currently getting every other night. But now a tick in her core, an itch in her chest, a steady deepening in her resolve told her the time was now. Screw waiting, screw messages, screw rolling over, screw self-pity, and screw Naraku. If he wanted a fight, if this was his initiation all along, his declaration of war, then he was finally going to get one.

“If that’s the case, bitch, then what were you telling the girl?” The demon holding her collar jerked her slightly to demand her attention, receiving it with vexation.

“I,” Kagome took as stable a breath as she could, her throat aching and voice pathetically weak, clearly evident now that it was due to the ruthless strangling she’d received. “I told her Kikyo would kill Naraku.”

“And, why the fuck would you say that?” He asked, almost surprised at her bold statement.

“I wanted her to go with hope, not fear.”

He guffawed, his chest pumping. “You don’t actually believe that!”

Without hesitation, as straight as she could manage while she halted his laughter, Kagome replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His smile faded quickly, humor replaced with anger as his fists bunched tighter and he heatedly pulled Kagome away from the wall and threw her to the floor. Kagome landed on her front, quickly pressing herself to her hands and knees just before he pushed her belly down, her wrists sliding and giving out so the side of her face planted in the mud.

“Kagome -“ Her cousin called, stumblingly crawling her way before another demon kicked him in the side he’d been clutching, a tiny crunch being heard just as Miroku choked in pain.

“Miroku, stop! I’m fine!” She attempted to say clearly, a foot braced on her back.

“Enough.” The leader stated. “Everyone back in line. We haven’t finished yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” A man asked disbelievingly. “You don’t think you’ve done enough damage already!? Get the fuck out!”

“Yeah, get out of here!” Other villagers began to call out, joining in. “You aren’t welcome here! You’re only taking advantage because our demon slayers are gone!”

“You think that matters?” The leader chuckled. “Go ahead. Revolt. Fight back. Make us leave. See how quickly your entire village will be wasted the next time around. You see four of us and think you stand a chance. You see a large group of us and think you’re safe because you’ve got a little pack of demon slayers protecting you. Funny, that’s never stopped our inspections before, so I don’t see why you think that’d stop us now. Either way, not a single one of you would be left alive if we brought a fraction of the wild demons under Naraku’s control, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if we borrowed them to kill you all. In fact, that’s already in the plan if we don’t check in. You kill us all, congratulations, but you’ll be worse off. Compared to him, we’re the most compassionate monsters you’ll ever meet, and I suggest you learn to appreciate that. Now, get your girls back in line.”

“It’s okay, papa.” An older girl spoke. Kagome couldn’t see from where she lay, but she recognized the seventeen year-old’s voice. Ayumi. She was soft-spoken normally, but also fairly brave and kind. The only child of a widowed father, and a girl, like the rest of them, forced to grow up too soon.

Ayumi walked forward, having backed away from the rowdiness with the majority of the girls who hadn’t run back to the safety of their parents. Notching her chin upward, she raised her left palm, “Let them finish. They won’t seem so big forever.”

“Bold girl.” The demon complimented.

“Yeah. The more I find myself hoping the conjurers win, the bolder I feel.”

“Careful, now. You’ll wind up getting yourself killed.”

“Looks like being female might just get me killed, anyway. So, I might as well go down confident that Naraku is the true evil here, and evil never wins.”

“What a disgusting cliche.” He groaned. “Grow a brain and come up with something original before you spew that sort of shit. It’s embarrassing. Look, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but as the chick over there stated, we already are. We’re winning. Now, I won’t argue that we’re the bad guys here, but at this point in time, that doesn’t really matter.”

Ayumi swallowed thickly, eyes faltering downward for the smallest moment before she rose them to meet the red eyes of Naraku’s henchman. As sickeningly as that notion sat in her esophagus, Ayumi felt it would be worse if she’d sunken her shoulders at the validity of their power. By no means was she strong, and by no means was she actually all that courageous. Ayumi, true to heart, was a daydreamer, was a fantasy-enthusiast, was a soft, sweet, and hopeful wisher, was tired, was passive. So, while she could admit her stare wasn’t striking, her irises would never be vivid with the passionate heroism she dreamed about, her lips would never curve with a compelling and threatening snarl, she could also admit that just the act of matching his gaze was all she needed to do to defy defeat. With chapped lips parting, not a waver traveling over her tongue, she spoke. “Yes, it does.”

“Yes, it does.” Another girl agreed, approaching to stand beside Ayumi.

“The world hasn’t always been this way. Naraku only grew large less than five years ago.” A woman said, a mother, holding her fearful daughter in her arms. Several more girls got back in line, their shoulders a little more broadened than before. “I find it appalling how arrogant you all have gotten in such a short time. I assure you, conjurer, demon, human, or anything in between, I’d give them my trust sooner than I’d yield to the idea of life staying like this. Good and evil, the difference will always matter. So, yes. Yes, it does.”

“Inspirational.” One of Naraku’s demons remarked sarcastically, cringing.

“Hey, whatever blows your skirt up, lady.” The leader shrugged. “You can believe whatever you want. No sweat off my back. Funny enough, I’d put down all the money in my pockets right now to bet not a single one of them would return that trust, nor would they risk their lives to save you. I mean, not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but look at the twisted circumstances. What the fuck have you done to help them? Human’s are selfish; only looking out for themselves. You hate us showing up because you don’t want us to hurt you. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us hunting down conjurers, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that little girl on the ground over there. If it did, you would have never watched it happen. If it did and it was just the ‘shock factor’ holding you back, you still would have done a little more than yell at us about how unfair it was. Oh, cry me a fucking river.” He grinned, stepping over to the first girl in the newly-formed line. There were less than half left that hadn’t been tested, and he got straight to work, unforgivingly slashing at the pre-teen’s palm and slapping his own to hers as he continued his heartless speech. “Even better, there’s two of your own on the floor, both of them getting quite the beating, and not a single fucking one of you did a damn thing to help. I understand the lad; that’s his - er - sister? Cousin? And, I mean, at least the chick tried to help the conjurer survive. I’ll give them kudos, but I think I speak for all of us non-humans when I say fuck the rest of you egotistical pricks. Oh no, my child might have a scar on her hand. Oh no, more trauma.” The leader mocked, his tone high and whiney. “Yeah, well, at least they’re not dead in the mud like little Suzie over there.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience at the harsh and morbid insensitivity. Still, no one challenged him. Someone should have, and no one said a thing.

Kagome tasted bile on the back of her tongue from the disgusting sentiments plaguing the thick, electric air. How cruel. She wanted to open her mouth and beg him to stop and just finish his job already, force her broken voice out to demolish his train of thought and hope he doesn’t mention the death for the remainder of his stay. The only thing stopping her was Miroku’s steady stare on her. It held more power than an order from his mouth to stay quiet ever could. With a foot on her back as a warning for more damage, the impending threat that he would easily be hurt again, and the fact that she’d said enough as it was, no matter how bold she felt in the face of this evil, she knew she was meant to face the source. She could only do that alive. So, begrudgingly, she obliged to his logical demand.

If they wanted them to finish, they needed to stop fighting. They needed to shut up. A double-edged sword. Like bowing their heads to the abuse. Enabling it. Allowing it so it ends quicker.

Kagome could feel her palms burning in the mud, a sense of humiliating defeat flooding her chest, making her feel sick to her stomach. She kept her eyes on Miroku, he kept his eyes on her. She tried to raise the volume of her thoughts, no matter how negative they were, to tune out the gasps and muffled cries of the young girls as they received the cut to their palms for testing.

How could she hold any form of power, yet still feel so powerless? How could she have the privilege of a voice, but feel so irrevocably silenced? She wanted to believe she could save everyone there if she just untied the knots concealing her abilities, but it physically pained her to understand that it was the wrong thing to do. It would be counterintuitive. It would wind up getting them all killed later. She could fight, but she also couldn’t.

“And, there you have it.” The leader finished by wiping his knife clean and slipping it back into the little holster on his hip, the hint of pride and sarcasm on his tongue. “Thank you so much for your cooperation and understanding. We’ll be seeing you.”

The demon holding Kagome down applied a small kick of pressure as he lifted off of her, chuckling as his dirty boots stuck in the mud with each step away.

There was an eerie silence, one that grew more deafening as the henchmen took their horses and disappeared from the village. It was heavy, thick, like sludge. Weighted with failure and death. Even the cries from the mother were muted. For a moment, Kagome thought that instead of drowning out the pained noises with her own thoughts, her brain had responded late to her distress by completely disabling her sense of hearing instead. But, she could hear the stickiness of the mud as she peeled herself from the ground to sit on her knees. She could hear feet slowly walking - most likely children rejoining their families. She could hear the thunder threatening them of the next onslaught of rain to come. The silence that captivated them was one that couldn’t be lifted with a simple, “Thank god that’s over.” No one could make it dissipate by asking if everyone was okay. Because, it didn’t matter.

And, that was something everyone, even the young, could recognize.

The small talk that would eventually come when everyone was back in their homes, the whispers, the crying, and maybe even tiny chuckles from people trying to find the little joys to get them through this, they would all be irrelevant. Because, outside there would be a blanket of despair thicker than the friction-inducing clouds hanging over them at this very moment, and it promised them there that it would stick around as long as it needed to.

“Hey,” A soft voice spoke in Kagome’s ear, a gentle, cold hand brushing her arm, and it was only when she gasped and jerked upright that she realized she’d been hanging her head, sights stuck on her hands on her thighs. “Sh, sh. It’s just me.” Her mother reassured, kneeling beside her and using her sleeve to try and wipe her face clean of some clumpy mud. “Are you alright, honey?”

Out of sheer reaction, she gave a meager nod.

“Look at me, Kagome. Look at me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Kagome said as convincingly as possible. When Miroku groaned, catching her mother’s attention and even her own, she was happy to have the focus off of her. Kohaku and Sango were beside him, trying to sit him up, freezing as he struggled.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get you home.” A couple, larger village men came over, better suited to help. One of them firmly clasped his hand in Miroku’s, quickly pulling him up to his feet so the pain wouldn’t be dragged out. Her cousin hissed at the shock, clenching his throat to try and swallow his grumble, and the two men supported him by pulling his arms over their shoulders.

“Can you stand?” Kagome’s mother asked.

“Yeah.” She whispered, not wanting to irritate her throat further and finding no real need to speak up right now. “I’m fine, mama. Don’t worry about me. Miroku needs your attention more.”

“Even if that were true, he’s kind of surrounded. I don’t think I’m needed there, love.” She replied, grabbing her by her elbow to support her as they stood together. “Sota, take her other side, please. Just in case.”

“Wait.” A broken voice called to them, trembling but by no means weak.

They all stopped just two steps in, looking over to the mother on the ground. Her daughter’s body, from head to toe, was covered by a long cloak belonging to one of the villagers beside her now, attempting to give comfort.

“Kikyo? Is that what you’d said? Kikyo?” She asked Kagome.

As clearly as she could, with a little nod of her head as she processed the question, Kagome said, “Yes.”

“Who is that?”

Kagome could feel the tension in her brow falter as the sympathetic, concerned curve in them wilted away to change more into dubiousness. “You - you don’t…” She didn’t know who Kikyo was. Even her own mother knew who Kikyo was. Her mom was the first to hear about her dreams before she started discussing them with the rest of her family. Had her daughter not had the same messages coming to her? Or, was she so confused, so distraught from them all, that she chose secrecy over being seen as insane?

“She’s a conjurer.” Kagome answered.

“Is she - is she a strong conjurer?”

“I think so.”

“I’m sorry, did your daughter never mention anything about Kikyo?” Sango carefully asked.

“N-no. Why would she?”

“We were just under the impression that she may have been sending survivors telepathic signals of sorts.” She said.

“That’s preposterous.” A man scoffed.

“Maybe. We heard it in passing. From an old man, no less.” Miroku said, discomfort laced in his tone.

“What - what could she possibly have had to say to a little girl?” The mother asked, her bottom lip quivering while her hand rested on her daughter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew.” The words were painful to speak. Not from her throat, but from the fact that she had to lie to a woman who’d had her everything stolen from her. A woman who, more than anyone, deserved the truth.

When she’d said what she’d said about Kikyo before, the little girl had muttered something in return before the demon tore Kagome away. It seemed like she was about to ask who Kikyo was. Kagome was sure now that the kid didn’t know. She hadn’t had the dreams, the premonitions, the one-sided conversations, nothing. She hadn’t had any communication with Kikyo, whatsoever. Maybe Kikyo was kind to exclude the young, and only spoke to the older, potentially more conditioned conjurers.

Or, maybe there was a possibility that Kagome was the only one.

And, it terrified her.

“Will she win? Kikyo? Will she defeat Naraku?” The crying mother asked.

Kagome was finding it hard to reply, to communicate. Her throat was tightening up as she watched the woman’s body begin to crumble once more toward her little girl’s; like she needed to be connected with her to prevent her from going cold. She could feel her eyes stinging, tears brimming, her fingers quaking and legs growing weak. Her cheeks felt hot and her chest wouldn’t allow a full breath of air - only unsteady, unmatched, quick puffs that burned. A hot hand slid into her right, her brother’s fingers tightening their grip, but she couldn’t control her body enough to grab it back.

“I refuse to believe otherwise.” Sango answered confidently.

The mother now sobbed, nodding in acknowledgment as she weeped over the covered body of her daughter. “Thank you.”

Kagome wanted to apologize profusely. For failing to protect her. For failing to try to protect her. For her loss. For the chance she was never given to learn to defend herself. For the silence she had to keep. The guilt was so heavy on her shoulders, she was ready to give in in front of them all, but the hand in hers pulled her back, made her move.

More villagers were moving toward the mother and child to help comfort while they removed the body, and that was the prime opportunity to get Kagome out of there. Sota could tell from the moment it started that she was going to break down, maybe even panic. He knew his sister, he knew the signs, he understood the stress she was under, and he wanted nothing more than to get her away and help her as best as he could. So, he disregarded everyone else and began pulling Kagome ahead. Miroku would have to move at a slower pace, Sango and Kohaku would stick by him and the men that helped, and he figured their mom would respect that they needed a moment of peace where they weren’t under more eyes than necessary.

Sota ignored the broken utterances of his name that came from his sister, he ignored the threatening weather, and he ignored anything that could potentially get in his way. He directed Kagome around their house, to the back, and toward the tree line of the woods. Three trees in past the shrubbery bush, on the opposite side of the trunk, Sota found the rope ladder to the treehouse their dad had built them hanging. Holding it steady, he released Kagome’s hand.

“Come on. Climb.”

-> | next chapter |

[seasonsofeverlark]

$1 Smooches

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: Everlark and a Kissing Booth [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Modern AU. ~1600 words _____________

“That game was rigged!” Katniss seethed.

“Lower your voice, Brainless! Do you want the carnies to curse you? I don’t, I’m standing right next to you!” Johanna hissed, slapping a hand over Katniss’ mouth. 

“I’m sure carnival workers consider that a derogatory term,” Prim sighed, done with her companions silliness.

“Anything is offensive nowadays,” said Johanna, winded, after Katniss shoved her away. 

Katniss scowled, giving another shove for good measure, “Cut it out, Johanna!”

Prim rolled her eyes. “You are aware, this is a charity event benefiting the hospital I work for, right? all booths are operated by volunteering hospital employees, which means the ring-the-bottle game wasn’t rigged,” Prim stared pointedly at her sister, “and nobody is getting cursed!” She glared at Johanna next, “Behave!”

There was nothing Katniss hated more than disappointing her baby sister. “I’m sorry, Prim, we’ll be better,” Katniss glared at her friend, “Right Jo?” 

“Fine! But I demand a greasy, deep fried treat, and a big sugary drink to go with it!” 

“Yay!” Primrose clapped, hooking her slender arms through her sister and friend’s elbows, “Lets have some fun!”

The trio came to a food booth, Prim piped in, “I’ll ordered us a funnel cake and two giant lemonades, you guys go find another game, I don’t mind waiting in line,” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah…and then we can go to the booth my department set up. My favorite nurse in the whole world is manning it!”

Katniss and Johanna walked past the inflatables and the bouncy castle, trying not to bump into families with rambunctious children, and then, they saw a ridiculously loud-excuse-of-an-eyesore-shack painted in pepto pink, decked to the gills with giant red and pink hearts sprouting from every corner of the stand, and a large, white sign crowning the top, announcing: “$1 Smooches”, spelled in blinking light bulbs, with a neon yellow arrow pointing downwards.

“A kissing booth?” Johanna arched her eyebrows, curiously. 

The queue to the booth was very long and to Katniss’ surprise, composed mostly by female patrons. 

“What. Is. that?!” Gasped Johanna, pointing to the booth while fanning herself with her free hand. Without further comment, Jo grabbed Katniss’ hand and marched straight for the kissing booth line.

“What—?”

“Come on Brainless, I have two singles in my wallet and a tube of chapstick ready for the hunk selling kisses!” 

Katniss was momentarily confused, until she saw a muscular man with a boyish, lopsided smile, taking a crisp dollar bill from a very enthusiastic woman; a second later, the man puckered up his pink lips, and leaned forward, just outside the big window of the booth, forearms flexing deliciously against the sleeves of his polo shirt; a wayward curl of his ashy blonde hair fell over his forehead in just the right way.

“Oh!” Katniss gulped, falling into step with her best friend. 

The line advanced impressively fast, for how long it was. In a matter of minutes, which was truly appreciated, since nobody particularly enjoyed being sandwiched between the baking sun and the suffocating blacktop of the lot. The girls were second to next line, but Johanna started sneezing uncontrollably, thanks to the cigarette smoke of a passerby. 

“Ugh! This is a hospital’s parking lot! A no smoke zone!” Jo rasped angrily, “Here!” She shoved a balled up wad of cash into Katniss’ hands, and before her friend could stop her, she went after the smoking a-hole, to rip him a new one. 

Katniss found herself at the front of line very suddenly, and the man beckoned her forward, lopsided grin, so inviting, she stepped up without consciously deciding to.

The man studied her quizzically for a moment, “Hello, there,” he greeted, “Are you an employee at Panem General, or are you a guest? You look familiar,” he said.

“Guest,” Katniss answered, a little too fast. She stepped backwards, rethinking her situation, the woman directly behind her, gave her a weak push forward, to keep her from stepping on her toes. 

The man looked at the ball of cash in Katniss’ hands and smiled brightly. “Would you like to make a donation to Panem General’s pediatric wing? Every dollar counts,” he said softly.

Katniss nodded bashfully, not really understanding his words, too preoccupied with how velvety soft the man’s voice was. She handed him the whole wad, which apparently was $5 in crinkled $1 bills. 

The guy took only one, and placed the rest of the money on the counter, next to Katniss’ hand, before leaning forward to brush his lips against Katniss’. 

There was no telling how long the kiss lasted, but judging by the aggravated buzzing of complaints coming from behind Katniss, it had been long enough to warrant an annoyed calling out.

“Hey! Stop holding up the smooches!” 

Katniss opened her eyes, shifting down to the ball of her feet. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes and stretched on the tip of her toes during her kiss. She stared at the guy, who looked slightly dazed as he admired her back; his smile seemed even more crooked than before. 

“Oh my gosh, you found our booth!” Prim cried out, startling Katniss. “Oh, and you met nurse Mellark!” 

“What?!” The crowd behind Katniss grew restless and annoyed by the second. “I haven’t met any nurses—“

Katniss peered back at the booth suspiciously, expecting to see this nurse her sister spoke so much about, but the only person currently in the booth was the kissable blonde man, watching his sister with arched brows and surprise in his deep blue eyes. 

“Hi, Peeta!” Prim waved, the guy in the booth waved back, but the next person in line stood in front of him, blocking his view.

“Wait…” Katniss pulled Prim further out, before the mob of angry women throttled them, “That man is nurse Mellark?” She asked, pointing back as discreetly as she could; the man was looking at them with badly veiled concern, while still trying to do his job, as host of the smooching booth. “You mean to tell me, the handsome man kissing half the fair is the nurse Mellark you’re always gushing about, with the home baked cookies and the cute little drawings for the oncology patients?” Her gray eyes x-rayed her sister.

“Uh, yeah,” Prim sounded a bit too nonchalant. “He’s amazing, let me tell you,” she sort of mumbled, studying her cuticles. 

“Hey! What did I miss?” Johanna came back munching on a box of nachos, swimming in melted cheese. “Oooh! Elephant ear!” She said, snatching the funnel cake Prim was holding awkwardly. 

“Primrose forgot to mention that her most favorite nurse in the whole world is a HE!” Katniss snapped. 

“What?!”

“What’s so wrong about that? Men can be nurses,” Prim shrugged.

“But you didn’t tell me he was a man!”

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were a sexist pig, Katniss.”

“I am not!” 

Johanna giggled, stuffing her face with fair food. 

“Nurse Mellark is a great care provider who loves children and does his absolute best to bring joy during the worst time of our patients’ lives…What does it matter if he’s a guy? He’s great! What did you expect anyway?” Prim countered defensively, stubbornly.

“I don’t know! An elderly lady, with lots of motherly wisdom or something… I mean, every time you talked about nurse Mellark, you mentioned delicious homemade pastries, and finger paints, and sweet bedtime stories… I never pictured nurse Mellark to be so…”

“Manly,” Johanna finished, looking at the man in the booth, dreamily, finally having caught on. “He’s more of a tall tree trunk I’d like to climb like a koala bear in heat… now where’s my cash, brainless, my lips are ready for some smacking,”

“Johanna!” Katniss growled, but her friend waved her off. A thought occurred to her just then. “Prim…” Katniss whispered into her sister’s ear, “Are you…okay with this?” She said motioning to the 20 or so women in line. “Are you okay with all these people kissing nurse Mellark?” 

Primrose’s lips twitched, “Why wouldn’t I be? This booth was sort of my idea… it was actually more about  Doctor Odair selling the kisses, but nurse Mellark was very good sport, volunteering, ” She rolled her blue eyes. 

“Mmm… I just thought, maybe you had a thing for him?”

“For Peeta?!” Prim said loudly, before laughing hysterically. 

Katniss’ eyes shifted everywhere, and to her chagrin, the man in question— Peeta, apparently— looked up at his name.

“Not so loud!” Katniss hissed, but got interrupted by a booming voice. 

“Ladies, it is time for me to take a break.” Announced nurse Mellark— Peeta— A chorus of disgruntled patrons filled the air, but the man raised his hands placatingly, “Not to worry everyone, my pinch hitter, Doctor Odair, is ready to take over!”

As if by magic, the most attractive man Katniss had ever seen in her life— besides the beautiful male nurse, of course— popped from beside nurse Mellark and a collective swooning sigh rapped over the small crowd. 

Prim laughed. “Come on, I’ll introduce you guys properly. You’re going to love Peeta!”

“Hell no! I’m paying double for the new guy! You gals go ahead,” Johanna called, wolf whistling at the newcomer, waving two dollar bills in the air. 

A moment later, Prim had dragged Katniss to meet her most favorite nurse, secretly crossing her fingers as she made introductions…she thought Peeta and Katniss were perfect for each other, and she wholeheartedly hoped they would kick it off right away, so when she was wrinkly and white haired, she could tell her grand nephews and nieces the story of how their grandma paid a dollar to kiss their grandpa for the very first time. 

[wizkiddx]

Admit you miss me

hello hello!! I’m trying to get better at this whole thing and also how to (ahem) use tumblr cos apparently have the abilities similar of an elderly woman but we move. hope people are okay, ik Christmas isn’t the easiest for everyone so sending love <3

I would also really really appreciate some improvements to my writing, I got loads sitting in my drafts but my dyslexic ass is struggling to sorta combine it all - so any help would be incred x x

Small and fluffy for you ;))) , Tomhollandxreader

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

Y/n/n - iMessage

[you]

‘Sorry I missed you call was in a meeting, you okay?’

[y/n/n]

‘Yeh I’m fine but can you call me please?’

Tom quirked an eyebrow at the almost instantaneous response of his girlfriend it was very out of character and made him worry a little.

1. Because she was the WORST replier he’d ever met, in the early stages he had really thought she hadn’t been interested at all given the typical 12 hr response time, so her answering before he’d had time to put the phone down was weird.

2. Because they’d already phoned today, always at 6 o’clock UK time and 1 o’clock (lunchtime) in Atlanta. The time difference was 5 hrs, which comparatively wasn’t that bad, but now for Tom is was half 8 in the evening, meaning for her it was more closer to 1 in the morning. Y/n never stayed up late either she was one of those earlier riser types, which always slightly infuriated Tom who occasionally just wanted days of lying in bed, legs tangled with his beautiful girl. But no, that was never allowed - instead sunrise walks or drives to the countryside for some fresh air.

So she had him downright worried, making him instantly leave the living room and Harry on his own, taking the stairs two at a time before reaching his bedroom and pressing the FaceTime button next to her contact as he flung himself on the plush duvet.

“Hey darling you okay?” He had to smile as her face appeared on the screen, the soft light of her bedside lamp casting soft glows across the left side of her face. Clearly in bed, Y/n was wearing a rather familiar burgundy hoodie and her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, loose rogue strands framing her face beautifully.

“Mhmm I just need to speak to you.” She replied in a slightly muttered manner, running the nail of the third finger across her lip - something Tom did when she was thinking a lot- while she stared intently at the screen.

“You sound all serious love, what’s up?” He tried to stay calm, but being separated from her for so long meant it was only natural, he was worried this was something about them

“Well I just couldn’t sleep and was scrolling on instagram, saw the video you did for the brothers trust.”

“Is that it?” `he was a little perplexed, nothing in that video should’ve alarmed him.

“No because you looked all soft and tired and all I wanted to do was wrap you in a blanket and climb into bed with you” She rushed through the sentence, more than a little embarrassed.

“Thats what this is about?”

“No because you said you weren’t working too hard and that was a lie! Whats a relationship without trust Tom!”

He had to laugh at that too. His girlfriend was also possibly the most confusing person he had ever met. She was proud, headstrong, motivated and to almost everyone appeared to have a heart of stone. Tom knew better though. It made him smirk.

“Uh-uh don’t try and turn this on me, just tell me you miss me.”

“No I am strictly just worried about you health Tom! You haven’t stopped since you went to Berlin and I’m worried about you!”

“Or you couldn’t sleep because, as you have admitted to me before, you sleep better when I’m with you and that’s why you texted me as if something awful had happened!” The boy was good. He countered Y/n’s arguments perfectly with the truth that she wouldn’t admit.

“No..” She murmured while momentarily looking away, while she paused and laughed to herself about how well he knew her “and anyway you do look tired.”

“I sleep better when you’re here too” Tom spoke so softly, which made Y/n blush. And didn’t he know it.

“You are coming back at the same time in December right?”

“Yep and you better be ready to be stuck by my side for the rest of the year.”

“If I’m not busy with all my other boyfriends.”Y/n grinned, her tongue ever so slightly running across the back of her teeth - it was her mischievous look. Tom just snorted, which didn’t seem to be the reaction she had wanted, going by the immediate scowl.

“Oh really now?”

“Oh yeh since we went instagram official you are just one of my many options Tommy.”

“Better get my act together then!” Y/n smiled but let the conversation drop, as she just looked at the slightly fuzzy image on the screen. His face just made her heart ache because she really did miss him. Especially since the UK went into lockdown 2.0 a week ago because of the situation. It meant Y/n, a young working professional, was isolated into her own flat all bay herself. Last lockdown, she’d moved in with all the boys and Tom at their big all-expenses-paid house. But now Harrison had moved out, and since Tom and Harry were away it just made sense for her to stay at her place - she was paying rent for it anyway. But it was lonely as hell, even if she could ‘bubble’ with Harrison he was often at work because this time round he’d been allowed to continue unlike y/n who was working from home.

The reason she had called though, was because she’d just had to cancel her flight out to visit Tom. It had already been 2 months since she’d seen him, so Tom had offered to book her a flight to come see him for a week or so before shit hit the fan again. It scared her as well, feeling like this, Y/n wasn’t one to ‘fall in love’- not a cushy romantic at all. But now, she almost felt slightly dependent on Tom, he was a primary source of happiness - and right now was also on the opposite side of the world.

“,,,I’m sorry I can’t come next week. Second lockdown is shit by the way, I’m all alone and-“

“In the nicest way, shut up. It’s not your fault… and I’m sorry your finding it hard.” She hummed at that, as she wiggled down in the bed, getting a little more comfortable. “It’s late though love, why don’t you try get some sleep?”

“I like talking to you though.” She pouted in such a child like manner, making Tom laugh softly as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I do too but we can do that tomorrow. Call me whenever yeh?”

“But Tom!” She quickly sneaked in, worried he was about to hang up on her… which of course he was not. “Will you stay on the phone for a bit? Just till I’m a bit um asleep?”

And that’s what they did, Tom whispering little stories about nothing until he was very sure she was deeply asleep - her chest rising and falling slowly and rhythmically in his jumper. Yes, they were far away geographically and yes, she clearly was having a hard time. But they’d get through it together.

Even if together meant through the ingenious invention of FaceTime.