#and finally she can just hang out with her horse instead of doing all this maintenance care

[softquietsteadylove]

What came to my mind recently is a AU in wich Thena is a very talented and famous dressage rider. For Gil I thought he would be the one who is responsible for looking after all the horses at the most luxurious horse riding club. And Thena is a member at this club.👀

"Whoa, girl," Thena crooned, pulling back on the reins gently as Olympia slowed to a canter and then to a walk. Thena lowered to the saddle before dismounting and pulling off her helmet, patting her mare's sheer white side of gossamer fur. "That groomer really knows what he's doing."

"It's apple juice."

Thena whirled around, glaring at the sudden source of sound intruding on her space. He wasn't as close as she had feared, although most at the club still knew to give her an even wider berth than the horses.

She hadn't actually met the caretaker in person yet, mostly having heard how much the horses all seemed to adore him. She had doubted it to a certain extent, especially in the case of her Olympia. The sparkling white mare was just as antisocial as her rider.

Or so she thought.

Thena stared as Olympia happily nudged the caretaker's hand with her nose, inviting him to pet her with a swishing of her tail behind her. Her ears even flicked with joy as he showered her with compliments on her coat and her form and anything else he could think of.

And the stubborn and aggressive Olympia ate it right up.

"Thena, right?" he looked at her with a smile, still rubbing Olympia's nose as he took her reins in hand for himself. "I'm Gilgamesh, the new carer for the horses."

"Yes," she murmured, eyeing the man cautiously. He seemed nice enough, but didn't most people, at first? He was tall in stature and even wider than that. Perhaps it came from having to haul the hay. "I have heard about your exemplary work with them."

"Aw, that's sweet," he grinned at her, uncaring if she was making it up or paying him a false compliment or not. "I don't know about that. Some of us are still getting to know each other."

Thena was still taking in the way Olympia was nearly giddy from the presence of the caretaker. She had never seen her horse like this before. "Will you stop it?"

Olympia whinnied at her, though.

Thena bristled, "are you laughing at me?"

Gilgamesh tickled between Olympia's nostrils. "She's just excited because I promised her some sugar after your ride today."

Thena crossed her arms at the caretaker, walking beside him - although Olympia had proudly stuck her head between them - as he guided them both back to the stables. "And how often do you let her have this?"

"Just once a week," he promised her, unminding of her sharp line of questioning. "I know Olympia doesn't do well with a lot of sugar. But she really loves it. That's where the apple juice comes in."

"Don't tell me-"

"It's not from concentrate," he assured her preemptively this time, which only made her even more annoyed with him. "I press the apples myself and then I add it to her mix. It all tastes a lot sweeter for it, so then I can add more vitamins to it without having to argue with her to eat it."

"Well, that's..." rather brilliant, actually. Thena had long suffered Olympia's stubbornness about eating a well balanced diet. "I suppose that was a good idea."

Gilgamesh let Olympia nudge his face with her nose in affection, even giving his ear some attention. He just patted her cheek, letting her express herself freely. "She's a beautiful mare, and she's stronger than any of the others. She needs the right nutrition to keep that up. But she's also just like any young horse who wants to let loose and have fun sometimes."

Thena observed Olympia critically. It was true, she was relatively young for a mare in competitive dressage. And she had been in a rather good mood the last few weeks, the reason for which had eluded Thena. It seemed she had found it at last.

"Thank you."

"Hm?" he looked past Olympia's nose at her.

"For caring for her so," Thena ran a hand down her mare's neck, "diligently. It assures me that she's in good hands when I'm not here."

Gilgamesh ducked around Olympia's head to walk on the same side as Thena, still holding the horse's bridle gently. "You take really good care of her, and I know you want to know I'm doing the same here."

"Of course I do." It baffled her that some of the other riders in the club didn't care for their horses so much as see them as vehicles. She had heard some of them refer to the horses' rest days as 'tune ups', as if they were racing cars.

"I've met a few horses like her," Gilgamesh offered lightly in conversation. "It takes a strong rider to tame one this strong willed. I can see why you two get along."

"Because I am also stubborn and difficult?" Thena raised a brow at him.

"I was just gonna say because you both hate Ikaris."

Thena turned her head back to the track as a tiny laugh escaped her.

As if sensing her desire to keep her laughter concealed, Olympia nickered loudly instead.

"That's right, don't you?" Gil cooed to the horse, who stomped her front hooves in glee.

"Olympia," Thena sighed, although she had already gotten the impression that scolding her horse would do no good when the amiable caretaker was around.

Finally at the stables, Gil undid Olympia's bridle and slipped it off her head. He scratched her face for her, which made her shake herself off in appreciation. "It's friday, girl; let's get you that pedicure."

Thena smiled to herself. She could see more and more reason the horses enjoyed his company so much. "Thank you, Gilgamesh."

"It's nothing," he shrugged off her genuine praise of him.

She crossed her arms, "it is not nothing. I am trying t--Olympia!"

The horse whinnied again, nudging Thena continuously in the back with her massive snout.

"Olympia, that's enou-" Thena didn't get the chance to finish, nudged directly into the chest of the caretaker.

"Whoa," he let out a puff of air, one of his hands coming up to her arm. "Are you okay?"

Thena growled, pushing off of his - stupidly firm - chest and whirling around on her horse. "You and I are going to have a chat, young lady."

Olympia turned away from her like a sullen teen, flicking her tail.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

Gilgamesh just chuckled to himself, beginning the process of putting away Olympia's equipment so he could scrape her hooves. He let Thena have her discussion with her suddenly disobedient companion. He wouldn't want to interrupt and undermine Thena's discipline. Plus it was cute to see her arguing with a horse.

[ghouljams]

All the baby talk got me wanting to live vicariously but with Bee and König, mostly their horses like oops Honey got out for a little too long one day while no one was looking and now is expecting a foal from one of König's horses any day now 🐴💕🐴 Bee and König prepping Honey's stall for the new arrival and he daydreaming about Bee having the same enthusiasm for their gaggle of babies one day 😭

The way this just pierced my heart... I think we all have baby fever thanks to the fae-by. I knew she was a bad idea...

That said I did actually plan on Honey hooking up with one of König's studs lol, Bee isn't the only one who likes a big boy.

Honey has been sick all week and it's starting to make you worried. Or, not starting. You've been losing a lot of sleep over it, calling König for advice and avoiding calling the vet in the hopes she'll get better. You finally caved last night when she hardly wanted to leave her stall for a walk around the pasture.

"Congratulations, she's pregnant." The vet tells you after a thorough exam. She seems like a nice woman, a little severe in the face but warm enough in the way she interacts with Honey.

"Pregnant?" You confirm, trying to think of how, when, who... The vet's brows shoot up.

"Not trying then, alright." The vet sighs and pats Honey's ribs, "Well, we'll take her off any cambendazole dewormers for now, and I'll give you a few days to decide if you want to keep it." She hands you her card, as if you don't already have her number. You see her back to her car, worrying now more than ever.

You call König as soon as the vet leaves. His horses are the only ones Honey's been around, and you can't imagine he's looking for any foals.

"Honey's pregnant," You tell him as soon as he picks up. König is silent for so long you have to check to make sure he didn't hang up on you.

"And she only gets into my pasture," He says finally, filling in the blank you'd purposefully left out for his own nerves.

"Yeah..." You wince. Somehow it feels like telling him you're the pregnant one. You imagine the spike of anxiety is the same. The long silences from you co-horse-grandparent feel very similar as well.

"Is she alright?" He asks, concern coloring his voice in a way you didn't expect. Well, you suppose he is a horse guy.

"Vet said she's perfectly healthy, but you know Honey. She's moping. Guess she didn't think her fun would have any consequences." König laughs on the other end of the line and you feel the anxiety in your chest loosen.

"Good. That's good." He hums, thinking, you like this better than his silence. "I'll come over, we can figure out what you want to do." You smile a little to yourself at the way he says it, like yours is the only opinion that matters. You've never had anyone put you first like König does.

"Ok, see you soon." You don't mean it to sound as sappy as it comes out, you really have to work on that, keeping your cool when König is just being himself.

You let Honey out into her pasture and go to sit on the fence to wait for König. You think this is the nicest part of sharing a property line. Waiting for him to walk over instead of listening for the rumble of a car engine. You raise a hand to wave when you spot him, earning a raised hand in return. It makes you giddy just seeing him.

It's terribly endearing when he greets Honey first, eyes soft on yours before they turn to your horse.

"Sehr gut, Mama? Bist du in Schwierigkeiten geraten?"

König strokes a hand down Honey's nose, gentle as ever with her, murmuring his German affections. You pretend not to notice the sugar cube he slips her, more focused on the after. When he plants his hands on the top of the fence and hops it with little more than his raw strength. His feet hit the ground on your property and his hands leave the fence to settle on your waist, lifting you off your perch to set you back on your feet.

His hands slide off of you, idle touches, his fingers lingering even as you turn to grab Honey's lead. He makes heat bloom over your cheeks, more tactile now that there's something settled between you. There's truly no chance of acting normal around him now.

"Are any of your horses acting..." You fish for the right word, not even sure what you're asking.

"Paternal? No," König shakes his head, a laugh edging into his voice, "they're the same as always."

You try not to feel too crestfallen. They're male horses of course they wouldn't be feeling any different. Poor Honey is the only one suffering for her night of fun. All by her lonesome with her consequences and no idea what went wrong. Left to pick up the pieces of her life when her beau abandons her. He wouldn't care if he knew how badly he hurt her anyway, probably did it on purpose. Ok, maybe you're projecting a little.

"Typical men," You grumble, leading Honey into her stall, "Why should they care when they already got what they want." You put an extra helping of alfalfa into her feeder while König hovers nearby. He seems twitchier than usual, fingers playing with the hem of his bandana like he can't decide what to do with it.

"I would." König says, flinching a little when you turn to blink up at him in confusion.

"What?" You can't figure out what he's responding to, you hadn't really been talking to him. Oh, no, did he think you meant him? His fidgeting makes you think maybe he's taking your bitterness to heart. Your heart hammers in your chest, the wheels spinning as you try to remember what you've told him about your life.

"I'd care, I'd want to be-" He stops himself, rethinks, "If it was me, if it was my baby, I wouldn't want to be anywhere but with you." You think steam might actually come out of your ears with how quickly you feel your face heat up. Blush popping onto your face like a gunshot.

"What?" You repeat, because you are stuck with your thoughts twirling around the "you" part of that statement. König seems to realize his mistake just as quickly.

"I'm- Please do not look at me right now, Hummelchen." He says like it pains him. You turn back to Honey quickly, lock your eyes on the wall of the barn and try to keep them there. "I misspoke, I was only trying to-"

"Let's focus on Honey." You offer, listening to him isn't helping you calm down your rapid pulse. Is König thinking about babies? You haven't even- Wait, babies? God, he only mentioned the one, why did you have to tack on the 's'?

"Right, Honey." He sighs, almost too happy to have you redirecting the conversation. "I'm a little worried about her," It's all business now, König's hand reaching past you to scratch between her ears, "It's a miracle one of my boys didn't hurt her, but a draft foal is..."

You worry the inside of your cheek between your teeth. You hadn't thought of that. Hadn't thought of how much bigger than Honey her potential Beau must be. She was little more than half their size. You shoot her a look, a very disappointed parental look. How the hell did she manage this? You glance at König's hand, his fingers gentle but so very big. Come to think of it you're sort of in the same position.

"I'll call the vet back and see what she thinks," You glance over your shoulder and up at König, he seems focused on Honey, "Do you, uh, want to be there?"

"Only if you want me there," He doesn't take his eyes off Honey, stroking down her nose with all the care in the world.

"I do." You tell him before you can really think about it. When did König become such a source of comfort for you?

"Then I'll be there." It's good practice, König thinks, good reassurance that he isn't going anywhere, that he'll find every shred of doubt and crush it. He's not a good man by any stretch of the definition, but he's damn sure better than the jackass that left you in the dust.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Hi! Can i request the devil’s night misamo christmas sweater prompt? Maybe sana inviting mimo to spend christmas somewhere and once they get there, sana gifts them the silliest christmas sweaters? Them eventually relaxing by the fireplace and talking abt their supernatural features. Then sana offering the “next time” that mina and momo were talking abt at the end of devil’s night, so they have sex by the fireplace with sana telling mina and momo that they’ll all keep the sweaters on while fucking hehe. Thank you!!

Merry Christmas, anon!

Christmas Dreaming

2.6k words

Requested: Yes

CW: GP, vampires, werewolves, demons, Sana is a masterful manipulator (not that she’s manipulative, just… don’t forget) 

[GP!Vampire!Mina x Succubus!Sana x GP!Werewolf!Momo] 

Mina approached the black, two-headed draft horse in front of her and raised her arm to pet its thick, furry neck. It was so cold outside that she could see steam rising from the horse’s back and chest. As the horse shifted its weight from two hooves to the other, the vampire’s mouth watered as she thought about how much nice, warm blood was running through the animal’s body. But as her hand finally made contact, she realized there was no horse anymore. Instead, her hand landed on the soft, pale cheek of a face she recognized immediately. 

“Sana?” Mina blinked in disbelief. 

“Hey stranger, sorry to interrupt your cute little goth petting zoo dream,” the succubus giggled, taking a glance around Mina’s dreamscape. “But I missed you. Missed those pretty fangs…” she trailed off, closing the gap between the two of them and lifting her hand to run her thumb along Mina’s upper lip. “Mmm,” the demon hummed, gently flipping Mina’s upper lip to get a glimpse of her sharp, gleaming teeth. 

Seeing Mina’s confused look, Sana smiled and stepped back a bit. “I don’t really text, you know?” she said. “But I wanted to ask what you’re doing for Christmas.” 

“Christmas?” Mina raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you celebrate?” 

“Not since…” Sana shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I just thought– we had fun around Halloween, didn’t we? The three of us?” 

Mina found herself nodding. She really did have fun on Devil’s Night but there was something about seeing Sana rock back and forth on her heels a little that made her want to keep the demon happy.  

Sana brightened when the vampire nodded. “In that case,” Sana said, “I want both of you–” she paused. “Hang on.” Her facial expression darkened for a moment as she concentrated, the whites of her eyes disappearing in a blink. The vampire gulped as she watched, unable to tear her own eyes away from the dark, onyx pools that had become Sana’s. 

“Found you,” Sana said, but the voice was nothing like the one Mina knew to be Sana’s. This voice was icy, two-toned, soft yet predatory. Mina did her best to hide the fact that hearing this new voice alone had been enough to send a chill down her spine. 

The two-headed horse that had disappeared earlier suddenly trotted back toward them, but it wasn’t alone. On its back rode another familiar figure. 

“Mina? Sana? Wait– what are you doing here?” Momo asked. She looked down at the horse, bewildered. “Hey, what happened to the jokbal festival I was just at?” 

“You’re dreaming, Momo,” Mina said. “We both are.” 

“Yes,” Sana said, slightly apologetic in her tone. “Sorry– I’m really trying to stay out of people’s dreams, I swear, but I just had to see you both. I needed to know if you had Christmas plans.” 

Momo shrugged. “Not really,” she said, her dark golden eyes taking in the other two. “Sometimes I like to see what kind of scraps all the really fancy restaurants have in their dumpsters out back, but I can do that any time,” she said. 

Mina watched as Sana took in this new information. Sana did her best to pretend like that was a perfectly normal Christmas activity and she smiled endearingly at the werewolf. “Well gosh, that does sound…nice,” she said. “But let me treat you both to something a little more special this year.” 

Mina’s eyes then flicked over to Momo, who was already looking at her. Mina shrugged, letting Momo know she had no idea what Sana had in mind. Before either of them could ask anything else, their bodies and eyes grew heavy. Mina felt like she was about to fall over standing up, and Momo slumped suddenly against the two-headed horse. The last thing Mina remembered was seeing Sana stand over her, watching her with uncanny fascination as the vampire struggled to make sense of what was happening and why the world around her was turning dark. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mina awoke feeling entirely too exposed. She blinked heavily, taking in her surroundings slowly. The environment was cozy and warm. But this wasn’t her home. She jolted upright, placing a hand on a couch that definitely wasn’t hers. Had she been sleeping out in the open? 

“Oh good,” a voice came from nearby. “You’re up. Looks like Momo’s waking, too. I don’t suppose you like cocoa?” Sana came into view, as did the rest of the room the vampire had woken up in.

Mina couldn’t respond right away. Her fingertips took in the texture of the soft couch she was sitting on and her eyes wandered over the stunning large, dark wood coffee table sitting on a plush fur rug before her. In front of that was an exquisite, historic-looking fireplace and hearth, decorated with garlands and twinkling lights. Large floor to ceiling windows lined either side of the fireplace, and the living room space was modern and open, letting Mina, and now Momo too, get a glimpse of the expensive kitchen and solid marble island behind them. 

On the other side of the couch, Momo was up and she cautiously sniffed the air a few times. “Where are we?” she asked. “And wh-what day is it?” 

Sana chuckled. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said. “And I hope Italy was on everyone’s dream destination list because…here we are!” 

Mina and Momo’s eyes widened. “Italy?!” 

Momo got up, making her way over to the windows and watched as the sun set slowly in the distance. They were up high somewhere; tiny cottages and dark green pines covered in blue-white snow littered the scene down below. Warm glowing Christmas lights on the houses and trees added an extra festive flair, as did the light snowflakes that had started to fall outside.

Sana nodded. “I think the nearest major city is Venice,” she said casually. “But we’re staying in. Now let me be a good host and serve you some cocoa! I should have started the fire sooner too, but there was so much to do…” 

Momo took the deep red ceramic mug out of Sana’s offering hands and took a sip. “Oh that’s good,” the werewolf said. 

Sana beamed. “Dark chocolate and espresso,” she said proudly. 

Mina was still fixated on the space. “Did you decorate this all by yourself? How– how long were we out?” Not only were there decorations on the hearth, but a large green wreath hung above the fireplace. In the corner of the room, a large, real fir tree stood proudly, surrounded by a stunning Christmas tree skirt. Ornaments of gold and pearl decorated its branches, and there were two lavishly wrapped presents beneath the tree. 

“Uh,” Sana hesitated. “Well, it took a lot of energy to get us all here. And I needed to gently convince the resort staff to help me set up. Of course, there’s time zone changes, too…basically you both lost a full 24 hours. But look at that view, isn’t that alone worth it? It’s like we’re in a snow globe,” she said dreamily.  

Mina felt a bit sick, thinking how far away she was from her source of blood. “But–” she tried to remain calm. “It’s stunning, Sana, really. This was so thoughtful. But I– well, I guess I could go hunt on a local. What is this, a private ski resort town or something?” 

Sana frowned. “There’s no need to bleed anyone dry on Christmas Eve,” she said. She went over to the massive double door fridge in the kitchen and opened it, showing Mina the array of blood bags inside. 

Mina perked up instantly, her worries fading. “No way. Are those Italian? Oh you’re a saint– er, forgive the language.” Sana rolled her eyes but brought a small bag over to her. “Is everyone okay now? I raided your closets for some clothes and personal items but anything you don’t have, I can secure,” she said. 

Mina and Momo both nodded, and with that, Sana got the fire going and lit a few candles. Momo explored the space a bit more while Sana tended to the fire, and then the three of them settled onto the large, light colored couch. 

The vampire felt happy to be back with Sana and Momo. She glanced at the succubus, though, slightly wary of just how powerful she was. She knew the demon had power after they met a few months ago, but this was beyond anything Mina had ever seen. 

“So…let me get this straight,” the vampire said, sipping lightly from her pouch of blood. “You were able to find us in our sleep, transport us to another fucking country, again– in our sleep, and get the local Italian resort staff to help you decorate and set this place up for us?”

Sana smiled. “And what if I told you they liked me so much they also comped our entire stay?” 

Mina chuckled darkly. “Of course they did. Like when we got into that VIP section for free and those drinks on the house?” The vampire watched as Sana smiled amusedly. “I wouldn’t know what to do if I had powers like yours,” Mina said after a moment. 

Momo piped up before Sana could respond. “You’re just as powerful as Sana, Mina. I wouldn’t know what to do if I had powers like yours. I can only turn into two animal forms– you can turn into a lot!” 

Sana turned to the vampire. “Is that true?” 

Momo bounced excitedly where she sat. “Oh Mina, show us, please? I’ve been so curious since we met…” 

Mina smiled a little at the werewolf’s eagerness and thought for a moment. “...Maybe. Sana, do we have any alcohol?” she asked. “If I’m gonna show off, I need a little liquid courage first.” 

After a round of festive tiramisu shots, the trio loosened up more and grew chattier. Sana put on a few holiday tunes in the background and she and Momo clapped encouragingly for Mina as she stood up and moved the coffee table out of the way. 

“Okay, okay,” Mina said, “What do you want to see?” 

“BAT!” Momo blurted excitedly. 

“What kind?” Mina replied. 

“You can turn into more than one?” Sana asked in disbelief. 

Mina smirked, suddenly feeling pretty good about her own abilities. “Watch this.” 

Sana and Momo kept their eyes on her with fascination as Mina flitted around the room in her white winged vampire bat form. “Another!” Momo encouraged, and Mina transformed again, this time into a hairy legged vampire bat. 

She flew into Sana’s open hand when she’d had enough, and the demon and werewolf cooed over her teeny tiny fuzzy bat form. “Oh I could cry, look how cute she is,” Sana said. 

“Can you do any other bats?” Momo asked curiously. Sana set Mina down on the coffee table and then screamed in horror as Mina took the form of a giant flying fox bat. 

Sana covered her face with her hands, but Momo leaned in for a closer look at the large bat. “Aww, her face is still cute,” Momo said, petting Mina’s head. “Kinda reminds me of me in dog form.” 

Mina, hearing that, transformed back into her regular self so she could speak. “Dog form? I thought you just had a wolf form.” 

Momo grinned proudly. “Nope,” she said. “Look!” And then Momo was gone. In her place was a large, solid black long-haired dog, like a German shepherd but with fluffier pointed ears and her signature deep, golden eyes. 

Sana, recovering from Mina’s big scary bat form, rushed to pet Momo. “Oh Mina look, we could take her for a walk like this! What if I got her some cute little winter booties? Pink ones, or maybe a cute gold color to match her eyes–” 

Hearing that, Momo quickly transformed back and got up off the floor. “No booties,” she said sternly. “I’m no pet.” 

“Okay, okay,” Sana said, pinching Momo’s cheek teasingly. “Works out for me anyway because the present I got you only works for you in human form.” 

“You got us presents?” Momo asked, immediately forgetting about the dog boot comments. 

Sana nodded. “Would you go get them for me please?” she asked sweetly, and Momo stood up almost immediately to go grab them. Mina laughed softly under her breath as Momo shook the boxes a little and cocked her head to listen for any sort of clue as to what was inside. 

After handing the vampire her gift, Momo sat back down and Sana watched as they started to open the immaculately wrapped presents. 

“Let me guess,” Mina smirked. “You had the staff help you with this, too?” Her smirk faded suddenly as she held up the contents of the box. “Oh my god,” she said. “Sana, what is this?” 

The vampire held up the piece of clothing as if it was made of radioactive fabric. Pinched between her fingers was a heavy knit winter sweater. But not just any sweater– it was specifically designed to be worn at Christmas. The neck and sleeve edges were black and the rest was a blend of black, white and red zig zag stripes with tiny snowflakes embroidered on the front and back. And smack dab in the middle of the front of it was an embroidered image of three reindeer mounting and fucking each other.  

“This is obscene!” Mina scoffed. 

Momo just giggled as she opened hers. The werewolf got a sweater too, but the one Sana had chosen for her was a bright, gaudy shade of green. Momo’s sweater had no reindeer on it. Instead, it was sewn to look like a baby carrier was being worn by the wearer of the sweater, with what appeared to be baby Jesus sitting in the carrier. He sported a wide smile with just one little tooth showing. His tiny fist held a candy cane, and he had a small halo around his head. 

After seeing Momo’s, Mina snickered. “You’re sick, Sana,” she said. Glancing between hers and the werewolf’s, Mina shook her head. “I’m not sure which is worse,” she said. She went to set her sweater back down in its box, but she suddenly stopped herself, as if she’d changed her mind. 

“I thought maybe you two would humor me and wear them,” Sana said, twirling some of her dark brown hair around her finger. “Please? 

Momo nodded, needing no extra encouragement. She stripped off the dark long-sleeved henley she was wearing and threw on the garish sweater. 

“How does it look?” she asked Sana. 

Mina rolled her eyes. If Momo had a tail, it’d be wagging, she thought. 

Sana beamed at the werewolf. “Now that’s Christmas spirit!” she said. The demon turned to Mina. “Minari,” she said, “Please? Momo is wearing hers.” 

Mina frowned, still not moving. She held the sweater in her hands and wanted to set it down, but for some reason just couldn’t bring herself to. 

The succubus watched her carefully. “I got it just for you,” she continued. “Don’t you want to match Momo? I promise to make it worth your while,” she said, crossing her legs and sitting back a bit. Her eyes never left Mina, and a moment later, Mina found herself taking off her own shirt and pulling the ugly sweater over her head. “I want to match Momo,” Mina found herself saying in agreement. 

Sana smiled, watching Mina brush her hair out of her face after she put it on. “I thought so.” She stood up slowly, moving to the other side of the couch so the vampire and werewolf sat next to each other in their sweaters. 

“Now then,” Sana said. “I promised I’d make it worth your while, didn’t I? I think I know just what the two of you deserve for Christmas...” 

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Chapter 3

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 6.7K

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 2 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 3

“Lookin’ good, cowboy!” Shayla called, phone held up as Jake cantered back to the barn. The mare he was riding - Starlight - tossed her head, and he couldn’t help but smile. It’d been too long since he’d been in the saddle. 

“I didn’t think you’d be up,” he replied, gently tugging the reins to stop Starlight beside her. 

“Your mom was vacuuming the hallway,” she shrugged. He chuckled - he’d been wondering how long Mama would let her sleep in until 10:00AM before getting her out of bed. Apparently, guest privileges lasted two days. Shay stepped back, panning the camera to follow him as he dismounted, patting the horse’s neck before taking her bridle and leading her back into the barn. When he glanced over his shoulder, she was still filming. At his raised eyebrow, she giggled. “Sorry, you’re just so fucking sexy. This is gonna get a ton of views.” Facing forward, he clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything. Leading Starlight into her stall, he removed her tack and gave her a quick brush before tossing a blanket over her back. Shayla stopped him when he moved to get a treat from the feed barrel. “Can I?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, retrieving a carrot and handing it to her. She shoved the phone into his hands and looked at him expectantly until he lifted it to film her feeding the horse. As soon as it was gone, she spun towards him and threw her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. Jake kissed her back, willing himself to feel something as her tongue traced his lips. Her hands fell to his waist, slipping into his jacket and tugging his shirt from his jeans. “Shay,” he said, catching her hands.

“Come on, Jakey,” she cooed. “I miss you.” 

“I - ”

“Jacob THOMAS Seresin!” Jumping back as though he’d been scalded, he turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and green eyes flashing. 

“Ma’am?” he frowned, watching as her eyes shot to Shayla and her scowl deepened. 

“Do you have something to tell me?” 

“Ma’am?” he repeated. 

“Do you. Have. Something. To tell. Me.” He glanced at Shay, who gave him a shy smile. 

“Uh…” 

“I’d like you to explain to me, young man, how it is right for a mother to find out that her baby is having a baby on the internet. Why did I get a text from Betty, whose daughter found it on TikTok, instead of hearing it from you? Hm?” 

Jake whipped around to scowl at Shayla, stepping back from her. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I… may have dropped a hint in the last video. It was just us getting here.” He ran a hand down his face, remembering how she’d filmed herself with her hand on her stomach in the car. Turning to face his mother, she said, “Sorry to have you find out this way, but surprise! Looks like you have two grandbabies on the way!” 

Taking a deep breath, his mother closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and pinned them with a heavy gaze. “I’m happy for you, but you need to tell your father before he finds out this way. We deserved to hear it from you directly, not from some video about you coming into our home and sneaking around with the news.” 

“Yes, Ma’am. We’ll do that right now.” Jake sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Mama.” She stared at her youngest son, her face the picture of disappointment, before nodding and spinning on her heel, leaving the barn. When she was out of sight, he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his phone.

“Ja - ”

“Stop. You’ve already made this bad enough,” he cut Shayla off while pulling up her account and looking at the newest post. She’d done a voiceover explaining that they were visiting his family to share some exciting news and had filmed herself standing behind his family. He watched as she collected eggs with his mother, when his father had taken her on a tour of the milking barn, and Ally and Will exercising one of the horses on the walker. In each clip, she had her back to them, her hand on her stomach, and winked at the camera. “Did you even ask them if they were okay with being in your video?” Jake demanded. 

Her silence spoke volumes, and he glanced at the stats. It already had over ten thousand views and hundreds of likes and comments. “I’m sure they don’t - ”

“My family is off limits,” he snapped. Without another word, he stormed out of the barn. The cold air cooled his flushed face, and he pulled off the Longhorns hat he’d found in the back of his closet to run a hand through his hair. “Fuck!” he growled, throwing the cap onto the ground in a moment of frustration. After snatching it up and dusting it off, he folded the bill, slipped it into his back pocket, and headed toward the milking barn where he’d helped Pops and Will drive the herd. After swapping his shoes for wellies, he stepped inside. 

“ - Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” he heard his father say, frowning as he spoke into his phone. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” Jake glanced at Will, who raised an eyebrow. 

“Everything alright?” Will asked as soon as he hung up. Bill Senior glanced at his sons, gaze lingering on Jake momentarily before nodding.

“Need to head into town for a bit. You two able to take care of all this?” he asked, motioning to the cows. Will nodded, raising an eyebrow - their father was always supervising milking, only taking a day off when their mother forced him to stay in bed sick. With a firm nod at his sons, Bill headed out.

“Sir, can… I need to tell you something,” Jake said, hurrying after him after trading a look with his brother.

“Make it quick, son.” Standing before his father, Jake suddenly felt like he was 16 again, telling him he wanted to join the Navy instead of following the family farming tradition. 

“Sir… Pops…” Bill pressed his lips together and glanced at his watch. Taking a steeling breath, Jake straightened his shoulders. “Shayla’s pregnant. I…I’m going to be a father.” 

The older man wasn’t expecting that. His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth fell open. The two stared at one another for a long moment before Bill smiled and pulled his son in for a hug. “Congratulations, Jacob. I’m happy for you.” 

It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to admit his fear. He was worried that he would never feel for Shay the way that Pops felt for Mama. That he would be a horrible dad. That he would screw up his kid by trying to force himself to fall in love with their mother. But instead, he simply hugged his father back, clearing his throat before saying, “Thanks.”

Julie forced herself not to turn and investigate the screeching noise, instead continuing work on her batches of buttercream frosting. Taking a deep breath, she checked the consistency. She tried not to panic at how much her oven going out was throwing off her carefully created schedule to complete the massive order for the mayor’s Christmas Eve party. 

By this time, she should have already had nine pans of macarons cooling and another two baking. The morning had started normal enough - she’d taken the day off of work but was up at 4:00AM to bring her ingredients to room temperature and get through some emails. A bride she was working with for a mid-January wedding was debating her flavor choices again. Julie hoped she didn’t need to add updating a contract to the list of tasks.

The first few hours were spent prepping and portioning out her ingredients. The mayor had asked her to make 8 heart shaped cakes (one for every year they’d been in office) as well as party favors - about 300 macarons in assorted flavors in small boxes, as well as 100 cupcakes and a cookie decorating set to keep the kids entertained. With a day and a half to get everything done, it shouldn’t have been a problem, especially with the plan of getting up early and staying up late. It was her last big order before calling it for Christmas baking. 

That was until her oven started acting up. It had taken forever to heat up yesterday, and the first cake had been undercooked and tasted sour. After checking her ingredients and confirming that everything was still fresh, she had a sinking feeling when her oven turned off.

A muttered curse followed a bang, and she turned to see Bill Seresin scowling at the back of the oven. When their eyes met, she panicked - those warm, familiar brown eyes were hesitant. Turning off the mixer, she turned to face him fully. “I’m afraid to say it, but you need a new oven.” 

“What? No! It’s… it’s just acting up, right?” Julie said, stepping closer and placing a hand on the cold stovetop. “There’s a loose connection or something. Has to be.”

“I’ve taken this thing apart, and I’m not seeing it. You can call Joey to take a peek, but from the looks of it, this thing’s ready for the scrap pile. I’m surprised it lasted this long.” 

“No, no, no, no, no.” Dropping her head into her hands, Julie felt tears prick in her eyes. She could not get an oven purchased and delivered to meet the deadline. She would have to call the mayor, apologize profusely, and refund her the total cost. And be out the cost of ingredients and a new oven.

There was a shuffling noise, and Mr. Seresin pulled her into his arms. “It’s alright, honey. We’ll get this figured out. I’ll have the boys haul this out, and we can head to the store this afternoon to get you a new one.”

Julie mentally ran through the calculations. Financially, her bank account could handle the unexpected expense. But even if they could get Jake and Will here to haul it out right away, it would be a three-hour round-trip drive to the nearest appliance store. If they had the oven she wanted in stock - a big IF - getting it back and installed would take even longer. And then there were the practicalities of breaking in a new oven - learning the hot spots, figuring out if the display temperature was the actual temperature, the timing, etc. “Even if I get a new oven, I’ll still be too far behind schedule,” she huffed, forcing herself to straighten. 

“Alright. Pack up your stuff. I’ll let Kerry know that we’re on our way.” 

“What?” 

“You need a kitchen, and we’ve got one. You get to gatherin’, and I’ll let Kerry know we’re on the way.”

“I… it’s not that simple,” Julie said, glancing around her kitchen. The idea of packing up everything and moving to another location was…And even then, she would need to figure out the nuances of the Seresin’s oven.

“Julie, you either bake at the ranch or call the mayor. What are you going to do?” 

“Jake, Will - go help your father,” Kerry said, glancing out the kitchen window to see her husband pulling into the driveway. Jake glanced up from his lunch and frowned. 

“What’s he need help with?”

“Carrying things in. Now go.” Both men pushed away from the table at their mother's brisk tone and wiped their mouths on their napkins. Shayla glanced up from her phone momentarily before scrolling her comments. Jake caught Mama’s irritated look - she hated phones at the table. After slipping their shoes back on, they descended the steps just as he pulled to a stop.

“Good. Hurry up and get this stuff inside,” he said, opening his door. 

“Need to go to the barn?” Will asked. 

“Kitchen. Put the bowls in the fridge and everything else on the counter.” The brothers shared a look and circled the truck to see the back seat stuffed with boxes and bags. 

“What the hell is this?” Jake asked. 

“Julie’s comin’ to use the kitchen. She had to run to the store to get more stuff, and I told her we’d set this up for her by the time she got here. So quit yapping and get movin’.”

“And she needs all this?” Bill and Will shared a look before shoving a box of cookie sheets into Jake’s arms. “I’m missing something.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Will muttered. “Julie’s a baker.”

“Since when?”

“What part of quit yappin’ and get movin’ didn’t you understand, Jacob?” His father snapped, adjusting his grip on a tote containing a mixer and another with some other machine. Flushed, Jake turned and walked back into the house. His mother was already wiping down the counters.

“Put that right there. Julie’ll get everything where she wants it when she gets here.”

“Since when is Cece a baker? I thought she worked at the bank.”

“She does both,” Mama replied, peeking into the box when he set it down. When he was about to ask another question, Pops entered the kitchen and nodded.

“There’s more that needs to come in.” Dismissed, Jake went back outside and completed an additional three trips. 

“Is she moving in?” Shayla asked, smirking at the bags and boxes currently cluttering the kitchen. 

“If that’s what she needs to do, then absolutely,” Mama said, glancing at her. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Shay stood and yawned before putting a hand on her stomach. 

“I’m gonna go take a nap. The baby’s making me tired.” She cast an expectant look at Jake, who glanced at his parents. When Shay took his hand, he let himself be led upstairs to the guest bedroom. 

“You feelin’ okay?” Jake asked while shutting the door behind him. “Other than tired, I mean.” It dawned on him that he hadn’t asked her how she was feeling with the pregnancy. 

“Ugh, I’m just ready to go home,” she replied, flinging herself onto the bed. “I miss my comfy blankets.” Pushing away the surge of irritation at her insulting his mother’s quilting, he crossed the room and sat beside her. Hesitantly, he reached out to put his hand on her still-flat stomach. It was crazy to think that in 7 months, there would be a little them. Shayla’s hand covered his, and his eyes rose to meet hers. 

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“A girl. You?” He shrugged, thumb lightly stroking. 

“There hasn’t been a Seresin girl in a couple of generations, so the odds are it’s a boy.” 

“Well, if that’s true,” she said coyly, running her fingers along his leg and sitting up. Her nose brushed his cheek before whispering, “I guess we’ll have to keep trying until we have a little girl.” Shayla kissed him, licking into his mouth as her fingers traced his cock through his jeans. When she tried to undo the button, he stopped her. She pouted while pulling back. “Jakey!”

“Not at my parent’s house.”

“But it’s been forever!” she whined. And she was right. They hadn’t slept together since the night of the Halloween party. As determined as he was to ensure they worked things out for their kid, he found it hard to forgive her for making out with someone else. She’d assured him that it was just a drunken accident, but he was struggling to move past it. 

“Not at my parent’s house,” he repeated. Standing, he moved to the window to shut the blinds, glancing down at the driveway. He watched as Cece pulled up, and his mother walked out to greet her. As soon as the car door was closed, Mama took her hands and squeezed them. 

Cece frowned and then smiled at whatever Mama said, shaking her head. Jake recognized the concern on his mother’s face as she reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Cece’s ear before cupping her face and saying something. The younger woman nodded and allowed herself to be pulled into a hug. 

“Come lay down with me, at least,” Shayla huffed. Reluctantly, Jake closed the blinds and laid down beside his fiancee, closing his eyes and thinking about the future. 

“Julie Louise Ryan!” Pops yelled as they sat around the dining room table waiting. Ally smirked at Will before quickly sipping her water to hide it. Jake lifted a hand to cover his mouth, exchanging a look with Mama. 

“Sorry,” Cece apologized, stepping out of the kitchen. “Just needed to get the cakes in the fridge.” The only open seat was between Shayla and Pops, and she quickly dropped into it. A smile tugged at Pop’s mouth as he nodded and clasped his hands, bowing his head. Everyone followed suit.

“Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this food we are about to receive to nourish and strengthen our bodies. We thank thee for our family seated around this table and for another day on this blessed land. We ask for a special blessing for Julie as she works tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Everyone echoed the amen. Opening his eyes, Pops reached over and covered Julie’s hand, squeezing gently before nodding at Mama. She took the platter of roast beef she’d made in the crockpot to ensure that the oven was open all afternoon for Julie and passed it to Will. 

“How’s it going?” Ally asked, reaching for the dish of cooked carrots.

“I’m still behind schedule, but the cupcakes are done, and I’ve got three more cakes to do. The cookies and macarons will be the worst,” Cece replied, handing the salad bowl to Shayla. 

“Can we help?” Mama asked.

“No, I’ll get it. I just need to figure out the system for the macrons since they’re the most temperamental. It’ll be a lot of trial and error, but I grabbed more almond flour on my way over, so at least I’ll have that.” 

“Well, you’ve got plenty of taste testers,” Will added. “I still have dreams about that bourbon bacon cake you made for my birthday.” Cece smiled and accepted the roast beef Pops handed her, spearing some onto her plate. 

“Thankfully, there’s nothing that fancy this time. Just doing gingerbread, cranberry, peppermint, and eggnog.”

“If you want, I could include you in one of my videos. Maybe get you some more attention outside of here,” Shayla offered. “I’d just want to get a couple of shots of myself helping you with something. Maybe frosting one of the cakes?” 

“Oh.” Cece glanced at Jake, who raised an eyebrow at Shayla’s unexpected offer. “That’s…that’s generous, but I’m good. I…uh… film for my own account.”

“How many followers do you have?” Shay asked as Jake’s eyebrows shot higher. Beside him, Will nudged him to pass the mashed potatoes. 

“Four hundred thousand, last I checked.” Smiling a bit more pointedly, Shayla chuckled.

“I remember when I had that many. I’m at 3 million or so. If we collab, I’d tag you so my followers could find you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Stay up with me for a 22-hour workday! Between my day job and baking - ” Jake tapped his phone screen as Cece’s video looped, pausing it as she buried her face in her hands while leaning on the kitchen counter. He’d been scrolling her page for about an hour, working backward through her content.

He was impressed and exhausted just watching her. A lot of her videos documented going from her job at the bank right into the kitchen and ending with her in the car for a delivery. It was clear why she was always busy - Cece was talented. Jake had never been interested in watching cooking videos. Still, he was glued to the screen, watching her smoothing icing, decorating, and pouring ganache into bowls. There were also a couple of brand partnership videos. 

But it was the video announcing Mr. Ryan’s death that broke his heart. Jake had watched it three times. There were clips of them working together in the kitchen, her father helping her package her treats, tasting flavors, and bandaging up her finger when she sliced it with a knife. And then Cece was alone, sitting on the floor next to the oven with her back against the cabinets as she sobbed. “My daddy always told me that I needed to start living for myself, so that’s what I’m gonna do,” she said in a voiceover while breaking a peanut butter cookie in half and popping it into her mouth. “I promised him that I’d follow my own dreams for once, so I’m putting it out into the universe that I’ll be a full-time home baker one day. Hell, maybe I’ll have my own bakery.” 

Sighing, he set the phone on his chest and ran a hand down his face. When Mama had called to let him know about Mr. Ryan, Jake had almost picked up the phone and called Cece. But after nearly seven years without talking - only exchanging ‘Happy birthday’ messages on social media - calling out of the blue seemed like a lot. Especially when she was mourning. The family had ensured he knew how Mr. Ryan was doing, and he wasn’t surprised when Cece moved back to Magnolia. As much as he loved her life in Austin, she was a daddy’s girl through and through. She never would have let him go through treatment alone.

Jake reached for his water glass and frowned at finding it empty. Shit. Knowing that Cece was still working, he debated calling it a night but was still wide awake and thirsty. Grabbing his shirt from the dresser, he crept into the hallway. Light shone from Shayla’s doorway, and he quickly darted past it to the stairs, hoping to avoid another confrontation after sending her back to the room earlier in the evening.

“Shit, god damn, motherfucker,” Cece hissed, setting another tray of macaron shells onto the countertop. Her head whipped up when she heard Jake snort, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “Don’t tell your Pops.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. He’d wash your mouth out with soap,” he chuckled, walking to the refrigerator. It was filled with wrapped-up cake layers, chilling bowls of filling, and cupcakes. Turning, he glanced at the counters covered with unbaked trays. He could see her phone set up on a tripod, recording her as she worked. “I’d ask how it’s going, but I get the feeling it’s not good.”

“Nope,” she replied, tugging the pot holder from her hand and running her fingers through her hair before turning off the camera. “I’m on my sixth tray of these and can’t get the fuckin’ oven figured out.” 

“What’s the issue?” he asked, glancing at the tray of cracked white cookies before her. 

“It’s too hot, and there’s a hot spot in one of the corners.” Picking up one of the cookies, she turned it over and glared. “It doesn’t even have even feet.”

“Feet?” 

“The shells rise a little bit when they bake.” Tossing the shell back onto the tray with a huff, she turned to the oven and lowered the temperature. Jake snagged one of the overbaked cookies and ate it.

“’Face good, dough,” he said, breathing out steam as he burned his mouth. Cece raised an eyebrow at him and smirked as he chugged half of his water. “Damn, that was hot.” 

“Overcooked and straight out of the oven. I thought you were supposed to be smart, Seresin.” 

“You know better than to put something you made in front of me and not expect me to try it,” he shot back. She rolled her eyes and walked to the sink to wash her hands, drying them on the towel thrown over her shoulder. 

“At least try something that’s not burnt,” she prompted, grabbing a plate with cake scraps. Jake cocked an eyebrow and took a piece of the brown cake, groaning at the rich gingerbread taste, making her grin. 

“Jesus, Cece, this is great.”

“Thanks. I had some extra gingerbread cupcakes, so I figured I’d decorate those for your parents as a thank you for letting me take over the kitchen today.”

“I think my parents would agree with me when I say you don’t have to do that, and you should focus on your order so you can get some sleep.” 

“I’ll sleep tomorrow after I deliver this,” she shrugged, setting the plate down and lightly running a finger over one of the uncooked macaron shells. Apparently satisfied, Cece nodded and opened the oven, peering inside. “Okay, let’s hope tray seven is a winner.” After sliding it onto the rack and setting a timer for 13 minutes, she turned to face him, glancing at her camera. “Do you mind if I… I’ll keep you out of the frame and edit you out.” 

“Yeah, sure.” She nodded and repositioned the tripod before picking up an icing bag. Jake watched as she piped wreaths onto five of the smooth, white tops of the cupcakes in individual boxes before picking up a pair of tweezers and placing sprinkles. The timer went off while she was working on the third one.

“I’ll get it,” he offered, grabbing the pot holder and quickly shutting off the alarm. Making sure the hot tray wasn’t close enough to burn her, he held it out and watched her scowl. “No?”

“Better, but still not it. Would you mind dropping the temp another 5 degrees?” Setting the tray down, he did as she asked and sat on one of the kitchen stools to watch her. Cece looked up at him through her lashes as she resumed decorating. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just… I didn’t realize that you were doin’ this.” 

“Baking?”

“As a business.” At her shrug, he sighed and motioned to the phone. “And the whole… How long have you wanted to do this?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a baker.” When he let out a huff of surprise, Cece set down the sprinkles and quickly closed the cupcake boxes, stacking them at the end of the counter. 

“You never said anything about it.”

“I didn’t think it was an option.” Jake watched her check the oven before putting another tray in. 

“Why wouldn’t it have been an option?” 

“It takes a long time to build up the skills and even longer to build a client base. If we were going to - ” She cut herself off, and Jake felt a jolt in his stomach. “I didn’t think I would have time to do it.” 

“And you do now?” 

“The internet helps. I do a lot of orders out of state, so I drive a lot. And I’ve figured out how to ship so I can get some cookies out. But yeah, I’ve had more time to focus on building my business.” Assembling five more boxes, she dropped cupcakes into them and picked up the piping bag again. “What about you? How’s life in the Navy?”

Lonely was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. When he’d moved to San Diego, he’d gotten closer to the Daggers, but since Shayla had entered the picture, it felt like they’d regressed from friends to coworkers. Nights at the Hard Deck were rare, and he was unlikely to have much time to hang out with a baby. “Fine,” Jake shrugged. Pausing to twist the bag, Cece raised an eyebrow.

“Fine? After all that work and excitement to finally fly, it’s just ‘fine’?” For something to do, he grabbed the cupcake boxes and assembled them, setting them to the side. 

“I love my job. It’s just… all the other stuff.” 

“Well, you’ll have a new adventure to keep you occupied at least,” Cece said, intently peering down at the cupcakes. “With the baby and all that.”

Jake froze, the kitchen silent except for the faint crinkle of the piping bag. “You, uh…I didn’t realize that you knew.”

“If you thought that Betty, the biggest gossip in town, wasn’t going to call me as soon as she found out to ‘warn’ me” - she lifted her fingers to do air quotes - “then you’ve been gone from Magnolia for too long. Plus, your Mama told me as soon as I got here.” Forcing her gaze up, she smiled, trying to banish any trace of sadness from her expression. “I’m happy for you, Jake. You always wanted to have kids.” 

Saved by the timer going off, he pushed to his feet and walked to the oven. The flash of heat when he opened the door gave him a cover for why his cheeks were flushed. Taking the pan out, he pushed away the memories of lying in bed together and trading half-conscious hopes for the future. “How are these?”

“Not quite. Another five degrees?” He nodded, placing the pan on the stovetop and lowering the temperature before returning to his seat. “Can I do anything to help?” 

“No, it’s fine. Don’t feel like you have to stay up - I’ve got this covered.” Ignoring the dismissal, he continued to assemble the cupcake boxes, sneaking glances at her as she worked. As the pile of boxes grew, he opened the fridge to count the cupcakes she’d be making. 

“Where are the finished ones going?”

“I have a bigger box in my car that I’m going to put these in,” Cece explained, glancing at the growing pile of finished cupcakes as she placed sprinkles.

“I’ll get it.” 

The clock was edging towards 2:00AM when Cece was finally satisfied with the macarons and was ready to work on the shells. Jake started another pot of coffee after finishing the first in the two hours they’d been working. While he stacked the finished cupcakes into a large box, she measured the ingredients, tossed them into the mixer, and prepared her cookie sheets. 

“Skip,” Jake called out as Achy Breaky Heart started to play in his earbud. 

“No appreciation for the classics,” Cece muttered, a smile tugging at her mouth as she tapped her earbud twice. The opening strings of Neon Moon started, and she couldn’t help but start to sway at the counter as Kacey Musgraves covered Brooks & Dunn. Jake heard her singing softly.  “I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows of this smoke-filled room. No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried or how many lies that I've lied, telling my poor heart he'll come back someday.” 

The song faded into the next as she hand-finished mixing the meringue to ensure consistency. They started laughing at Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off. “Damn, I haven’t heard this one in forever,” Jake chuckled. Moving closer, he tapped her phone, pausing her recording, and pulled up the playlist to scroll through the songs. It took a minute to realize that it was a recreation of one of their road trip playlists from when they would drive the seven hours from Annapolis to Myrtle Beach for Spring Break. Pink dusted her cheeks when he glanced over at her, almost as though she was remembering those long drives, singing along with one another and brimming with the anticipation of finally being alone in their hotel room. No matter how much his buddies always wanted to split the cost, Jake and Cece had made sure that they had privacy at the end of the night to lose themselves in drunken kisses and hot showers. Those five days at the beach were stolen time that they needed. 

Back then, they thought one week together was enough to sustain a relationship. 

Cece shimmied while lifting the spatula to test the consistency. Satisfied, she brought the mixing bowl to where her piping bags and tips were prepped, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. She flicked her head to clear her sight when it fell back into place. Unwilling to strip off her gloves, she attempted to brush it away with her shoulder. “Hey, look at me.” 

“Huh?” Jake smiled and brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Goosebumps erupted on her skin when his fingers trailed down her neck, eyes widening as they met his. He watched her cheeks flush, her breath stuttering against his wrist. “T-thanks.” 

The song ended, fading into a slower ballad. “When I first saw you, I saw love. And the first time you touched me, I felt love,” Shania sighed. “And after all this time, you're still the one I love.” 

Cece dropped her gaze and tapped her earbud, changing the song without looking at him. Jake hesitated a moment before changing it back. “Can’t skip Shania,” he said gruffly. 

Widening her eyes, Cece blinked hard as she smoothed the icing of her last cake. It was Christmas Eve and the sun had already risen over the Seresin ranch, and she could hear muffled footsteps upstairs. Cooling racks covered all available space in the kitchen, and the dining room table was covered with boxed cakes and cupcakes. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, she glanced over at Jake, who had his head resting on his arms as he closed his eyes after matching the 600 macaron shells for her. Thankfully, they didn’t need to make too many extras. They only required a little decoration - before baking, she’d shaped the red, green, and silver cookies like Christmas ornaments, so a little drizzle of icing and a spritz of edible glitter would be enough to make them look shiny and finished. 

“Jake,” she said softly, smiling when he grunted in response. “Go to bed - you’ll be more comfortable.” 

“’ M awake, babe,” he mumbled, sitting up. Cece felt her heart clench at the slipped term of endearment, but Jake didn’t seem to realize he’d said it, so she also chose to ignore it. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for his cold coffee and drained the mug as they heard the stairs creak. 

“Morning,” Mama Seresin said, tucking her robe closer as she entered the kitchen. “Did you two sleep at all?”

“Mornin’ Mama,” Jake said, his lip twitching when his mother leaned to kiss his cheek. She circled the counter to do the same to Cece. “‘Izz it time for chores?” 

“Not for you,” the older woman said, giving her son a fondly exasperated look. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“I’m on the final stretch,” Cece yawned. “Just need to finish these two cakes, and then I’ll do the macarons and call it.”

“You’ll finish the cakes and then go to sleep, Julie Louise.”

“Yeah, Julie Louise,” Jake echoed, his smile fading as he lifted his empty mug. Narrowing her eyes, Cece plucked a candied cranberry from the tray drying at her elbow and lobbed it at him. Reflexes dulled by fatigue, the berry hit his forehead and fell into his lap. Grinning, he popped it into his mouth. 

“Jacob.” The warning tone in his mother’s voice made him try to stifle his grin, but he was unsuccessful. Setting aside her icing smoother, Cece picked up the tray of cranberries and dropped a handful into a dish of waiting sugar, shaking it to coat them. The Seresins watched - Cece flushing at their joint attention - as she arranged the berries along the edge of the two cakes before ripping apart rosemary sprigs and placing pieces. Taking a step back, she rubbed the back of her hand on her cheek as she studied them, debating adding more berries. “They’re beautiful, Julie. I’m sure the mayor is going to love them.” 

Without a word, Jake retrieved cake boxes from the dining room and assembled one while Cece did the other, trading a tired smile. She glanced at her watch as soon as they were slid into the boxes. Still behind schedule, but the macarons should only take about three hours between the decorating, assembly, and boxing. The sugar cookies would take another two hours to roll and bake, with another hour and a half to make the decorating kits. But as she stripped off her gloves and opened her mouth to say she was okay, Mama Seresin pinned her with a look. “Bed.” 

“But - ”

“Bed. Both of you. You have plenty of time to get the rest of this done before this afternoon, and I’ve already made up the guest bed for you. Now get.” 

The stern expression left no room for debate, and neither did the hand she wrapped around Jake and Cece’s arms and guided them out of the kitchen. Jake paused at the foot of the stairs to allow her to climb before him, watching her heavy footsteps as fatigue seemed to drag her down. Without thinking, he placed a hand on the small of her back to ensure she didn’t tip backward. 

Cece’s shoulder bumped his as they walked down the hall, and he nudged her back. Her tired eyes darted to meet his, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth before she hip-checked him. His lips curved into an answering smile as they paused outside the second guest bedroom. “Thanks, Jake. I wouldn’t have gotten nearly as much done tonight if you hadn’t helped,” she said, voice rough with exhaustion. 

“It was fun. Feel like I got a masterclass in making macarons.”  

“You were a pretty great assistant. Might hire you on for the next round of Christmas baking.” 

“Not done yet. You gotta show me how to get the ganache in them, and I’ll put the boxes together.” 

“You really don’t - ”

“I’m gonna help. I feel like I’ve earned at least tasting one of the finished macarons.” Chuckling, she shook her head.

“Maybe even two.” The playfulness disappeared from her expression as she looked up at him, “I’m serious, though. Thank you.” Jake nodded, catching the fleeting moment of hesitation before Cece stepped forward and hugged him. His arms wrapped around her, hand coming up to cup the back of her head and holding her tighter. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss into her hair. Her head lifted from his chest, and he spied sugar crystals on her cheekbone. Jake brushed them away with his thumb before lifting it to his mouth to lick away the sweet taste.

Cece’s breath caught, gaze narrowing to the flash of tongue behind his parted lips. His chest brushed hers with every breath. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his. Confusion and something so familiar swirled in those green eyes. She took a step back, only half surprised when he followed to pin her between the wall and his body. Her fingers curled in his shirt, and she wasn’t sure if it was to pull him closer or shove him away. His hand rose, hesitating a moment before curving around her cheek. 

Jake’s lips were soft against hers, a tentative brush that she could have imagined if it wasn’t for the rough scratch of his stubble. Her grip on his shirt tightened as he planted a hand beside her head, boxing her in as he pressed against her. The move made her whimper, and his breath caressed her skin as he laughed before they kissed again, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and sliding against her own. Cece dug her nails into his back, inhaling sharply when he moaned against her mouth, his hips pressing against hers. “Baby,” he panted. “I missed you.” 

The words were like a wave of cold water thrown over her, and Cece shoved him away. Jake stumbled back, catching himself on the opposite wall. “Shit,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her mouth. 

“Cece?” Jake reached for her before letting his hand drop when he realized what they’d done. 

What he’d done.

The door to his parent’s room opened, and - when he turned to meet his father’s gaze - Cece darted into the guest bedroom. “Son, everything alright?” Pops asked, frowning at his youngest.

“Y-yes, sir. Just headed to bed,” Jake replied. 

Julie leaned against the door and hung her head inside the room, blinking back tears. “Fuck,” she whispered. 

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

Read Chapter 4

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[jankwritten]

I’ve been thinking a lot about what a Hazel and Jason friendship would look like.

Hazel tentatively reaching out after finally understanding that Jason isn’t everything she built him up to be in her head, influenced both by Nico and by what she actually observed of Jason herself

Jason assumes she just wants tips on leadership or maybe how to fight better, so he obliged by offering to train with her

Hazel expects Jason to go easy on her like Percy and Annabeth and Piper do, but instead she gets taken down within a few minutes and has Jason ruthlessly pointing out what things she could improve on.

(Cue: Hazel finally having an opponent who doesn’t underestimate her. Hazel who finally feels like she has somebody she can spar against who will help and not just let her win because she’s young and small. Hazel who finally gets why Nico spends so much time talking about how kind and helpful Jason is, even if what she’s seeing isn’t necessarily kind.)

Jason starts hanging out with Hazel outside of sparring but in other groups, like with Piper, or Nico. He learns that she loves dancing and horses and likes to test the hardness of a stone against her fingernails, likes to collect shiny non-precious things just like Nico does, likes to swear loudly whenever possible as if she’s doing it to purposely piss people off.

Hazel asks Jason if he wants to go hang out one day after the Argo quest is over, maybe go to some museum in NYC that she’s heard Percy talk about, or find metaphysical shops to walk through (I HC that Hazel really loves modern mortal interpretations of magic and that she’s fascinated by the ways mortals accidentally connect to the gods etc.) and Jason assumes she means with someone else and agrees, only to find out they’re going alone.

Jason panicking for a moment about potential misinterpretations, once he realizes, and stammering out some garbled thing about how he really likes her but not like that because ofc all he’s known so far is that being alone with a girl = someone will assume romantic intent. Hazel openly laughs in his face and rather boldly states that she KNOWS Jason is in love with her brother.

Hazel, eventually, being the first person Jason feels safe coming out to. Jason, in return, being the first person Hazel feels safe to talk about being asexual with. The two of them discussing their feelings more and more often while exploring new places together, like Hazel talking about how she did so much researching into queer history and labels when she first found out Nico is gay, Jason telling her that he still doesn’t feel like Thalia is his sister as if he might not be the same Jason Grace she remembers, the two of them coming to terms with being on the aromantic spectrum together.

Jason talking Hazel out of joining the Hunters when she’s having a very very bad day. Hazel stopping Jason from disappearing back out into the mortal world to finish school without first giving his other friends a chance to have input.

(Hazel and Jason inadvertently saving each other’s lives by tweaking fate, thus making their friendship literally woven into their lives forever indisputably. Hades/Pluto patting Jason on the back and telling him thank you with no context or clarification the next time they meet. Hera/Juno, tight lipped and silent, offering Hazel some kind of gift or blessing the next time she returns to New Rome. Hazel and Jason laughing it off when they tell each other because wow, their godly parents are weird as hell.)

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Movie Night

Summary: Danny, Sam, and Tucker have a movie night at Sam's house on a rare night off from Danny being grounded.

...

It takes a while, but things do start to mellow out after another couple weeks.  Danny eventually catches up on homework, and now he’s back to only sort-of failing instead of actually failing.  His parents let up on the grounding a little bit, and he’s allowed to spend time at Sam’s house and Tucker’s house sometimes, though nowhere else yet.  He settles into a ghost fighting routine with Jazz and they both work up a rhythm that works well.  (Danny does most of the physical fighting and Jazz does a lot of background strategizing and overlooking of the fight that makes things run way smoother.)

Eventually, he does seem to improve his reputation at least back to where it was pre-Freakshow.  Especially when Jazz manages to make it known he was part of the reason Freakshow was captured and all of the valuables returned.

Unfortunately, the one person it doesn’t seem to have any effect on is Sam, which is really inconvenient given that she’s kind of the point of all this.  Danny can’t blame her, though.  He hasn’t had a chance to talk to her directly as Phantom, and he doesn’t want to just ambush her at school one day, that would be the opposite of helpful.  So Sam’s only one-to-one interaction with him continues to be “that time he tried to kill me by dropping me several stories to the ground.”  Honestly, her being suspicious is probably the logical choice.

He tries hard not to be thinking about that when he’s with her as Danny Fenton, though.  Compartmentalizing can actually be very helpful.  Prevents him from screaming in frustration every time she goes off on a rant about how everyone’s being fooled by that Invis-o-bill idiot again.  (Could she at least not use that stupid name?)

And this week isn’t going to have anything to do with Phantom at all, because the three of them are going to hang out in Sam’s basement with a lineup of scary movies and enough popcorn to put them into a food coma.  (Sam’s three favorite horror movie icons are going to be fighting each other in an upcoming movie, so they’re rewatching all of the old ones first at Sam’s insistence.)

Danny got special permission to go from his parents on account of his improved grades and good behavior, meaning things almost feel normal as he walks up to Sam’s house and knocks on the door.

Sam pulls it open a second later, a bright grin already on her face.  “Danny, finally!  Come on!”  She grabs his wrist and yanks him into the house before Danny can say anything, and pulls him past her parents without letting him get out so much as a hello.

Tucker’s already waiting in the basement when they get down there, and gives Danny a wave in a break from shaking a truly ridiculous amount of salt onto his giant tub of popcorn.

“Yours is on the left,” he says, nodding at one of the three tubs.  “Sam’s has the vegan butter.”

“Thanks Tuck,” he says, picking it up and heading over to his usual movie chair as Sam grabs her own popcorn tub and does the same.

“This is going to be the greatest movie ever,” Sam says, a grin lighting up her face as she turns the giant movie screen on.  “Plus I already bought us tickets, I cannot wait to see it on Friday.”

“I thought ticket sales didn’t open until Monday,” Tucker says as he finally sits down, apparently done taking years off his life with the amount of salt he’s using.

“There’s still a couple advantages to being filthy rich,” Sam says.  “We have three reserved seats right in the middle of the theatre.  I decided to cheat just this once.”

Danny snorts.  “Figures you’d break for horror movies.”

“Hey, I’m not breaking anything.  This is a one-time thing,” Sam says very seriously.

“Sure,” Danny says, giving her a teasing smile.

“I mean it!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think Danny’s just telling you to get off your high horse,” Tucker says with a smile of his own.  “So much for hating being rich, huh?”

“Guys.”

“We’re just teasing, Sam,” Danny says, nudging her in the side.  “You know we’re gonna love having those seats too.”

Sam gives him a not-very-serious-glare, and then starts grinning again as she turns back to start the first movie.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t care either way,” she says.  “I don’t think anything could ruin this week for me.”

Danny smiles at her for a second, enjoying the image of her being so happy.  He settles back into his own chair and tosses a first handful of popcorn into his mouth.  Horror movies may not actually scare him much anymore, but Sam loves them enough that it’s incredibly easy to care, if only just for her sake.

Tucker still hides his head between his hands at a couple points, but he sticks it out through the whole movie, which is impressive enough for him.

“God,” Sam says, leaning back with a grin after the credits finally roll.  “It’s still good.  Isn’t it still good Danny?”

“It’s still good,” Danny agrees with a fond smile.

“Speak for yourself,” Tucker mutters, from his clenched up position in his own chair.

“Well I hope you’re ready for more tomorrow night!” Sam says with a grin at him.

Tucker gives her a look.  “You’re both so lucky that you’re my only friends.”

“Aww, he loves us,” Danny says.

“He does,” Sam says, putting a hand to her chest as if moved.  “Isn’t it so sweet, Danny?”

“It is, Sam, it really is.”

“I hate you both.”

“Inclined not to believe you,” Danny says with a grin.

Tucker rolls his eyes and sits up.  “Please, I would totally be sitting out on this if it wasn’t the only thing outside of school your parents were letting you do with us.”

“Somehow, still inclined not to believe you.”

Tucker crosses his arms with an annoyed huff, meaning Danny is totally right.

“Tell you what, you can bring a cooldown movie tomorrow night,” Sam says.  “That way we can all stay longer and you don’t have to go home terrified.”

“Except I still do tonight,” Tucker says.

“Not much I can do about that, you didn’t bring another movie.”

“I’ll walk home with you, Tuck,” Danny says, standing.

Tucker gives him a curious look.  “Do you have time to do that and still make curfew?  I thought you’re parents were being really strict about that.”

“I have my ways,” Danny says.  “See you at school tomorrow, Sam.”

“See ya!” Sam calls.  “Don’t let my parents yell at you on the way out!”

“That’s easier said than done,” Danny mutters, but they both head up the steps anyway.

They do actually make it out without any yelling, though they don’t manage to avoid a couple glares.

Tucker turns to him as they start the walk towards his house.  “I am glad your parents are letting up on you a bit, though,” he says.  “Especially considering you being gone wasn’t actually your fault.”

Danny nods, though he doesn’t really want to talk about it.  “Yeah, I don’t think they can really stay mad for too long.  I think it’s also pretty clear to them that I learned my lesson, which helps.”

“Your lesson about not getting kidnapped?” Tucker asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Still not gonna tell them, but thanks, Tucker.”

“Still don’t understand why, but alright.  I won’t push.”

“Thank you,” Danny says, and he means it.  “I do think the whole experience has thoroughly ruined circuses for me, though.”

“You and Sam both,” Tucker says.  “Though I think maybe part of that was Invis-o-bill’s fault.”

Danny winces and doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, you okay?” Tucker asks, clearly noticing.

“Fine,” Danny lies.  “Look, we’re here.”

He gestures at Tucker’s house just a couple houses down.

Tucker keeps looking at him as they walk.

“I’m not gonna push,” he says again as they reach his house, turning to face Danny.  “Just know that offer to tell me anything is still open.”

Danny looks at him, chewing on his lip.  “Hey,” he says quietly.  “You know I’d never want to hurt you guys, right?”

Tucker blinks.  “Uh, yeah, duh.  Was that in question?”

Danny huffs a laugh.  “No.”

Tucker looks at him another second.  “Danny,” he says.  “You know what happened wasn’t your fault, right?  I mean, how would that even work?”

And it’s funny, because he does know that, mostly.  Sure, the issue with Sam is tangled up in guilt and worry and other complicated feelings, but when it comes to actually being gone those weeks, he does know it’s not his fault.  He means it when he says that to Jazz.

But now, looking at Tucker, that stupid long-familiar voice creeps up in the back of his head: He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew.

Danny shakes his head, mostly to tell his brain to knock it off.

“I know,” he says to Tucker.  “I just… I hate that you guys were so scared for me.  I don’t want to worry you.”

“Dude,” Tucker says.  “You’re our best friend, that’s our job when you get hurt.”

“It’s not like that’s new,” Danny points out.  “Dash shoves me into lockers all the time.”

“Dash doesn’t kidnap you and hold you hostage for several weeks,” Tucker says.  “Little bit of a difference there.  And for the record, I get worried when Dash messes with you too.”

Danny shakes his head.  “It’s really not a big deal,” he mutters.  “I’m fine.”

“Danny,” Tucker says.  “Please stop lying to me.”

Danny looks down.  “No.”

They both stand there in silence for a couple seconds.

“I have to go,” Danny says finally.  “Curfew.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tucker agrees quietly.

Danny waits until Tucker goes back inside to slip down a side alleyway, transform, and fly home.

[star-filled-arcade]

On the Road Again: Chapter 4

CW// hospitals, mentions of addiction, brief mention of vomiting

Rating: M (Mature)

~~

Anthony found his sister crying in their bedroom one day. He hadn't seen her all day, despite being in the same fifth grade class as her. Her attendance was perfect, but Anthony had already caused the truant officer to give up on him long ago, and his teacher was lucky to see him once a week for a morning lesson. He hated school; he wasn't good at it at all, and sitting still for any length of time made him itch, so he stopped bothering some time around third grade. If he went, it was usually because Molly had asked him to, and then he'd spend the morning getting teased for looking like his sister until he walked out during recess.

That day, he'd been hanging around with his friend Bobby, who was the last of the newsboys and hadn't attended school since his parents died a few years ago. He worked on the streets instead, and Anthony usually kept him company. Bobby had a curfew, though, set by the orphanage he lived in and Anthony had no choice but to head back home before the sun even began to set. Neither his father nor his brother were home, so he went to see if Molly had returned from school yet or if she'd gone home with a friend instead. The house was quiet, so Anthony assumed the latter, but as he reached his bedroom door, he thought he heard the sound of muffled crying. He and Molly shared a room, and sure enough, there she was curled up on her bed, crying quietly into a pillow.

"Hey..." said Antony, making his way over to her bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of it. Her face was tear-streaked and blotchy, and he wondered how long she'd been lying here on her own. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whimpered.

"It don't look like nothing. C'mon, what happened?" She sat up slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes and pulling her knees up to her chest. Anthony did the same when he was upset, but he always hid it. Boys didn't cry, after all. That was the first thing his father ever said to him.

"Just some girls at school," she replied quietly. "They all think I'm ugly."

"You?! You ain't ugly, you're probably the prettiest girl in the whole school." He grinned at her, placing a hand on her knee and squeezing it comfortingly. "Believe me, I've seen the other girls at school and they're horses compared to you." Molly giggled softly, her face instantly becoming brighter as she cheered up a little. Anthony loved being able to cheer her up, and it made him proud that he was the only person in their family who could, like he was finally worth something to someone. He didn't feel like that often, especially around his dad and brother.

"Stop it, that ain't nice."

"I'm serious, they're just jealous! What do they say's ugly about you?"

"Oh, they just say I'm too tall and that my feet are too big and that I look like you, which means I must look like a stupid boy." Anthony pulled a face, but he found her words pretty funny nonetheless.

"Gee, I should be taking that as a compliment," he said. "Usually people say I'm the one who looks like a girl... they gotta start making their minds up." Molly gave another laugh, but it was weak, and lasted merely a second. Anthony could joke all he wanted, but she was still obviously hurt, and as her twin brother, it was his duty to make her feel better.

"Hey, listen," he continued. "You don't need any of those dumb broads, alright? Remember how I used to do your hair for ya? Braided it good as any girl could do and made you look real pretty? You want me to do that again like the old days, and then we can go see a movie or something? That'll cheer you up, right?" He looked at her expectantly, and she smiled back at him. The smile didn't quite meet her eyes still, but it was a start.

"Okay," she replied.

They'd had a good day together, and Anthony did whatever Molly wanted, even if it meant participating in a makeover and having her try to braid his short hair once he'd finished hers. She'd always liked to dress him up, just as any sister did, and he never minded until his father had caught him once and beaten the shit out of him til he was black and blue. Anthony never went near Molly's clothes again, but for an hour or two on that particular Friday, Anthony made an allowance that he'd put on whatever dress or skirt she wanted, as long as he could see her smile and laugh again.

"You got money for the movie?" Molly asked later on, while the two were strolling down the street in the early evening, licking ice creams that Anthony had bought for a quarter each.

"Uh, yeah, sure." His pockets were empty and he knew they'd have to sneak in, but he didn't need to tell her that. She always disapproved of his more illegal activities, so he tried to keep them to himself as much as possible. Luckily she was too involved in her ice cream to care about why he was ushering her through the back of the theatre.

There weren't any cartoons showing this late, and most of the live-action movies were too scary. Dracula, Nosferatu, Manslaughter... none of these were fit for a little girl like Molly. Instead, he went for Robin Hood, and the two enjoyed themselves immensely. He was pretty keen on the idea of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and Molly said that Robin Hood reminded her of him, which made his chest swell with pride as they walked back down the street.

"You did good," Anthony remarked. "I thought it would be pretty scary for you what with all the arrows and stuff." Molly scowled at him and punched his shoulder.

"I ain't a scaredy cat," she said. "You think I can grow up in a mobster family and get scared by stupid arrows? I seen way worse than that, boy." Anthony rubbed at his arm and frowned.

"You have?"

"Shit, I ain't stupid, I see all the Tommy guns and the knives poking out of Sal's back pocket." It was strange hearing her talk like that, since she tended to keep her language clean and polite, to the point where Anthony forgot that she was a part of their family at all. Of course no movie could scare her when she lived with way worse every single day, and the thought saddened him. He tried his best to protect Molly from all that shit as much as possible, but how could he when he could barely protect himself? She was left alone all day while the men of the family went off doing their own thing, and she was far too smart to fool into thinking they weren't up to no good.

"I'm sorry you gotta see all that," murmured Anthony.

"Whatever," she said. "I don't care about dad or Sal cuz I know they're just like that, but I hate it when you start acting like 'em."

"Hey, I don't act like them!"

"Not when you're with me, but when you're around them you try to act all tough and mobster-ish." She stared down at her feet for a while, suddenly quiet, before looking back up towards her brother. "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not really gonna be a mobster one day, are you?"

"I... I dunno... ."

"I know dad and Sal are gonna force you, but can't you just get out of it? That life ain't for you, and you know it."

"Listen, Molly, it ain't that simple. You're right, dad and Sal are gonna force me, and there ain't nothing I can do to stop 'em. You want 'em to kill me? Cuz they sure as hell will if I don't do what they say." Molly didn't reply, because she knew Anthony was right, but he saw how much it broke her heart. He sighed.

"Tell you what," he said. "I promise I won't never hurt someone unless I have to, alright?"

"Have to?"

"I mean if they try to hurt me first, ya know? I won't hurt someone who don't deserve it."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die." He put an arm around her. "I'll be like Robin Hood, but I'll only hurt the bad guys and then I'll be nice to all the good guys, like you and Bobby and Georgie and that nice old lady down the street who makes us those cannolis."

"Aw man, now I'm hungry."

"Yeah, I'll cook us something when we get back. Whatever you want, little lady."

***

Anthony woke up late the next morning in a hospital bed, faint images of Molly lingering behind his eyes as he blinked against the fluorescent lights above him. He had no idea how he'd even got there, but the nurses cooed over him the moment he opened his eyes, batting their eyelashes and giggling behind their hands. Anthony took no notice in the unfamiliar environment. Usually he'd wink and flash them a smile, winning them over immediately with his innate charm, but he was too disorientated to care. He'd never woken up in a hospital before, because no one had ever taken him to one. Partly because of the fear of authorities being involved, and partly because no one around him ever gave enough of a shit.

"What happened?" he asked, flagging down a passing nurse.

"You hurt your head pretty bad," she replied sweetly. "But the wound looked worse than it was. We patched it up good as new, and you can go home now that you're awake."

"Someone bring me here?" Last night was fuzzy... he remembered the ride to Brooklyn and walking into that bar, but his head swam just trying to think about what happened next. The nurse shrugged at his question.

"I don't think so... you walked right in, told a doctor that your head had been busted open, then passed out cold onto the floor." She smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. "We thought you were dead, but turns out you were just drunk." That would explain the fuzziness. He must have spent another long night drinking himself into a stupor, no doubt embarrassing himself in front of that bartender. What was his name? Husk. Stupid name, of course, but as he thought about it, the memories began to trickle back. He'd been talking to Husk, and they'd been in some car, and he'd told him all about Molly.

He never told anyone about Molly, not even when he was drunk. Even when he was high off his tits, he kept his wits about him, a learned trait from growing up in the mafia, so he knew he hadn't just spilled his guts for the sake of it. That Husk guy seemed to have a knack for drawing things out of people, and for Anthony that meant nothing but danger.

"Are you alright, honey?"

"Hm?" The nurse was still looking at him, probably worried that he still hadn't quite recovered from his head injury, but he smiled assuringly in response. "Never better, doll face."

He discharged himself as quickly as possible and took a few minutes to realise that he had no real clue where he was. He'd never been down this way specifically, and Husk had just dropped him off without any directions on how to get home. Anthony sighed. He'd have to go the long way and start asking around, and hope that his brother didn't have a job for him right now.

"Do you know where, uh... that fuckin' bar is... ." Anthony suddenly realised he had no idea what Husk's bar was called; he'd simply walked in one night because it looked quiet enough and sat himself down at one of the bar stools. The passerby he'd stopped scoffed and began walking away.

"Boozer," he heard them mutter under their breath. Ordinarily he would have spat back a response, but he couldn't exactly blame them. He still hadn't quite recovered from last night, and he was certain he looked a mess. His clothes were still bloodstained... with Georgie's blood, said a voice in his head. Anthony gulped and stumbled into a nearby alleyway. Shit... how had he forgotten about that? Last night's events had slowly been coming back to him as his body filtered away the last remnants of alcohol and whichever powder he'd snorted before carrying out Sal's job, and now it was all flooding back in a sickening rush.

Georgie. He'd killed his friend. The kid who used to hang around with them and make them laugh and buy them colas. He was dead, and his blood was all over Anthony's clothes, staining his fists no matter how much the nurses had scrubbed away at his skin. Anthony shivered, doubled over and vomited against the brick wall. He desperately needed a drink. Anytime he was sober enough to start remembering details of his life, his body reacted like it was trying to reject them; hands shaking, bile rising up his throat, head spinning, until he finally got a hold of whatever substance would knock him out for long enough.

Some may call it an addiction. Anthony just called it survival.

If he didn't look drunk before, he certainly did now, and people purposefully avoided him as he staggered down the street, throwing disgusted glances in his direction. Anthony didn't care. He just let his legs do all the work, leading him down a path he didn't realise he recognised until he finally came face to face with the now familiar outlook of... Runaways Bar. That was its name, because of course it was. Anthony huffed out a small laugh at the irony. It wasn't open at this hour, but when he pushed against the door, it opened easily.

He saw the figure cleaning down the bar and knew without even looking past the shadows that it was Husk, standing there like a beacon of calmness in a whole, disorientated ocean, and while Anthony tried to force himself to be as wary of him as any other stranger he came across, he just couldn't quite muster it. He already felt like spilling his guts just by looking at him, and Lord did it scare him shitless.

~~

Read on Ao3!

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 16

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is the longest chapter yet! Just shy of 10,000 words!

For the first time in forever, we're blessed with a slow day.

The sun crests over the clouds in the early afternoon, glazing the Greene house and its golden paddocks in a soft, buttery glow. Slow once meant boring, but now it means peace. My Dad's awake now, albeit bed-bound, but he's more or less as healthy as a horse. I don't need to keep glancing at his pale form anymore, watching for disaster. Not having that threat of death lurking around the farm makes the air feel so much clearer. I can finally relax a little. I think everyone feels the same relief. There's one less problem ready to strike at us.

Maggie lets me use the guest bathroom to take a hot shower in the afternoon.

After helping me tape a scrap of plastic over my stitches to ensure they stay dry, she lends me some fruit-scented shampoo and body lotion, assuring me she'll be right downstairs if I need anything else. I luxuriate under the warm water for some time, suds-ing up my dirty blonde hair and scrubbing the dirt form underneath my fingernails. I feel my muscles let go of all my tension in real time. It's the best feelin' ever.

I tweak the water off and step out onto the green bath-mat, face to face with my reflection in the mirror.

Last time I got a proper look at myself, I was dying in the back of the RV. I look at myself again; at my healthy, clean complexion.

"Hey," A girly voice calls out gently from behind the door — Beth, I think. "I got you a spare shirt, if you want. Is white your color?"

I look down at myself. "I'm more of a beige color."

She laughs. "No, silly. I meant... never mind. I'll leave it here for you."

After her footsteps recede down the corridor, I fetch the shirt, close the door, and hold it up in front of me. It's a tight, white blouse with frills down the front of it, and two, tiny puff-ball sleeves that each look a little like a lily-of-the-valley flower. I peel the plastic off my side and pull the shirt on — almost a perfect fit, but a little loose — combined with my blue jean-shorts, socks, and yellow rain boots.

I clomp back downstairs and into Dad's room, where he's trying to read a book he found in the bedside drawer, but failing.

It must be a romance. He hates that sort of thing.

I ask him if he wants to do my hair instead, and he agrees to the distraction right away.

With the window wide open to the smells of sweet pollen and farm life, I sit between his legs as he brushes my hair. I'm just so glad he's alright. He gives me two neat braids, ties them off with my hair lackeys, and then I ask Maggie for a pair of scissors so Dad can trim my bangs up a little. She's hesitant at first, but I tell her that my Dad's been cuttin' my hair since, well, I had any hair to cut, and that he's actually not half-bad.

She lends me some kitchen scissors, and I happily thank her.

I make myself comfortable on the bed, on top of a towel to catch the clippings, and I snack on a red apple as Dad cleans up my out-grown, wonky bangs. He tells me he's rusty, but he does a good job. They'd gotten long in our weeks on the road, but they look much better now.

After my hair's done, I kiss his cheek goodbye and head outside.

I find Carl over by the shed. He's playing on the swing that hangs from the burly tree growing beside it in a ray of sunlight.

"Hey, Harley." He greets me, digging his heel in the dirt to slow down. "Want me to push you?"

I smile, "Yeah, okay."

We exchange places, and he gives me a gentle push.

I can see Rick over by the tents, talking to everyone. He's probably sharing the disappointing news that it really was Shane that shot my Dad, so that everyone's on the same page. We're not supposed to tell the Greenes about this discovery. We need to make a good impression, and having a trigger-happy murderer in our group ain't the best way to achieve that. It's better if they continue believing it was Otis that caused all this, otherwise we're gonna get booted to the streets again. I never wanna go back to living that way. We need this place, for Sophia.

I don't wanna talk about Shane, so I won't bring him up.

Nobody's told Carl about any of it, anyway.

"I didn't even know this swing was here." I say as I enjoy the breeze on my freshly washed skin. "This is just like the one I used to have."

"I never had a swing." He muses as he pushes me again. "I miss playgrounds."

"Betcha don't miss school, though."

"Eugh. No." He exclaims. "My Mom still makes me do homework sometimes. It sucks."

I remember doing all those spelling quizzes and math problems back at the quarry. I don't miss it one bit.

I ask him, "What grade was you in, before?"

What grade 'were' you in, Lori would correct me, not 'was'. It always annoyed me when she did that.

"Sixth." He answers. "What grade were you in?"

"I was in second grade."

"Second grade?!"

"Yeah. What grade did you think I was in?"

"I dunno. Five, maybe?"

"I'm eight." I giggle. "You're twelve. We can't be in the same grade."

"But we're friends." He counters. "I've never been friends with someone outside of my grade before."

"Well," I sing-song, "Now you have."

"Even my cousins were the same age as me."

"Mine were all older."

I haven't thought about my cousins in forever. They're all on my Momma's side, from her two brothers. There was Vicky and Tobias, the twins. They were super old. Like, fifteen. Then there was Hunter, and Lillian, and Georgia. I miss them the most. They always treated me nice.

I've never had friends or family younger than me before. I've always been the baby. Even here, that still hasn't changed.

As I'm gazing out onto the distant cornfields, swinging back and forth relaxingly, Maggie approaches us with a friendly wave.

"Hey, y'all." She smiles. "Havin' fun out here?"

We both notice her, and answer, yeah, at the same time.

"Who built this swing?" Carl asks her. "It's awesome."

"My Daddy built it, a long time ago," Maggie fondly says. "When I was just a little girl. Nice to see it gettin' some use, again."

"I reckon I could touch the sun." I hum to myself, looking at the sky.

She chuckles. "Don't go testing that theory. Your Dad would kill us all."

"You wanna play with us?"

"I actually wanted to ask you guys somethin'. I heard from Daryl just now that you found a walker in one'a our wells today?"

Oh, yeah. That ugly thing.

Carl corrects, "Technically, I found it."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be a smart-ass."

"Hey. That's a swear word."

"It's fine. My Daddy don't care 'bout swears."

"I was just wondering which well it was." Maggie interjects. "We've got quite a few around here, and I don't wanna search them all."

"Oh, it was the one near the barn." Carl says, pointing in that direction.

I ask her, "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I talked to Rick about it, and we reckon we're gonna try using a winch to pull it out. Can't have it dirtying up the water."

"What's a winch?"

"It's like a really long, metal rope you can attach to a car." She explains. "We've had ours for years, and luckily for us, it hasn't rusted."

I bring myself to a stop, widening my eyes. "Can we come watch?"

"Yeah!" Carl enthuses. "Can we?"

"Sure ya can. I don't see why not."

With a small cheer, we abandon the swing and follow Maggie across the field, rambling about all the gross stuff we think is gonna happen.

Everyone pitches in to help clear the well, except for Shane. He's off somewhere, brooding.

At first, we try dangling a chunk of canned ham over its head to see if that'll get its attention, but since canned ham don't bleed, kick, or scream when you bite into it, the walker doesn't want anything to do with it. We realize we'll need live bait, and for some reason, everyone's eyes fall onto Glenn. He thinks that's super unfair, but he is all better now, and he does have the fastest reflexes out of all of us.

"Have I mentioned that I really like your new haircut?" He smiles lopsidedly at me, thinking I'll save him. "Really suits your face."

"Don't worry about it." Rick reassures him. "You'll have four of us on the rope. We're gonna get you outta there in one piece."

"One living piece." He emphasizes. "The living part's important."

Dale drives over the car they're gonna use for the process, while Andrea retrieves a thick coil of rope, making Glenn go pale at the sight of it.

Rick and Jacqui start wrapping it around his body.

"We'll give you the winch." Rick says. "Just try wrappin' it around its neck."

He sighs in defeat, "Let's get this over with."

As soon as he's in the well, he's screaming bloody murder.

If not for the suspenseful atmosphere, it would be super funny. Me and Carl watch from the sidelines as Rick, Maggie, Andrea, and T-Dog work together to lower Glenn into the well with nothing more than a rope looped around his midriff to keep him from falling to his death. Dale sits in the driver's seat of Maggie's Subaru, waiting for the signal to start reversing. There's a mechanical lookin' thing attached to the bumper. It looks like a garden hose, but it's made of metal. It must be the winch. The end of it leads into the well.

"You people are crazy!" His disembodied, terrified voice shouts from below. "This is crazy!"

"We got you!" Andrea calls out.

Rick grunts, "Give us an eye, Maggie."

At the front of the line, Maggie peers in. "Doin' okay?"

"Can't believe I'm saying this," His wimpy voice echoes, "But I need to be lower."

"Lower." Maggie parrots.

They all shuffle forward a couple steps — a couple too many steps, apparently.

"Higher!" He shrieks. "Higher!"

The rope strains against the cobble as it's tugged again, backwards this time.

I chew my fingernail nervously.

"Can you get it around that thing?" T-Dog asks, sweating. "Sometime today, please?"

"Fuck you!"

Me and Carl exchange glances, biting down shocked giggles. This is the first time I've ever heard Glenn say, Fuck.

"How's that now, Glenn?"

He takes some time to answer, grunting, "Living the dream, thanks."

"Just get the winch around its neck." Rick coaches calmly, "Easy as pie. Then clip it onto itself, and it should secure."

We wait with bated breath as he wrangles the walker.

After about a minute, he calls out again.

"That's it! It's on! Pull me up! Pull me up!"

"Get him up!"

"Pull! Pull!"

"Come on!"

They wrestle with gravity to lift him back out the well, struggling in unison as Dale reverses. The winch immediately pulls taut. It creaks loudly, mixing with the sound of the engine and Glenn's panicked screaming to create the worst, most cacophonic song I ever head, and I've had to listen to my Dad's favorite music all my life. We cheer them on anxiously, watching closely in anticipation. The grass begins to split under their boots from the force. Just as the rope is about to give way, T-Dog gives one last powerful tug.

"That's it!" He says, "Come on, grab him!"

Glenn scrambles over the lip of the well, panicked, as me and Carl rush forward to help everyone pull him out.

"You okay?!" I ask him.

"God, get me out." He cringes. "Get me out."

As he lands on his ass, soaking wet from being splashed, the walker is next in line to be pulled from the depths.

It gets caught on the edge of the wall like a thousand-pound pinata.

"More force!" Rick orders.

Dale stomps on the gas, making the tyres squeal.

"Come on, you ugly thing." He goads. "Come on."

As the winch begins to cut into the walker's neck, the growling is hitched suddenly, replaced by choking.

Its eyeballs bulge under the pressure.

The engine revs once more, and Rick ushers us out the way. "Get back! Get back!"

All of a sudden, the well cracks and breaks apart around the walker's fat body as it's dragged out onto the grass. Rick's on it before I can even blink. He unsheathes his knife and sinks it into the mushy, water-logged skull with a satisfying squish. At last, the darn thing goes limp.

We all catch our breaths as he stands.

Dale turns off the engine.

"It's uglier in the sunlight." Carl muses, revolted.

No doubt about that. It's disgusting.

Eventually, Glenn deadpans a celebratory, "Anybody thirsty?"

There's a weak chorus of laughter amongst us.

I stand next to Dale and Glenn, watching as Rick and T-Dog drag the walker off the property.

"You know," Dale ponders aloud, "Did they ever mention how that thing fell down there in the first place?"

Mmm... Nope.

No, they didn't.

"This whole farm is fenced off." He continues, thoughtful. "How could a big thing like that just wonder in?"

"Maybe it's been there since before the fences." Glenn guesses. "They might've put them up after everything."

"No," Dale hums. "I was talking to Herschel about it yesterday... He said it was all built in the seventies and they do maintenance every month."

The walker is silently dumped on the ground.

All Dale muses is, "...Strange."

"And then it exploded!!"

My Dad's eyes widen.

"Just kiddin'," I giggle. "Rick stabbed it in the brain."

"I was gonna say." He scoffs. "Explodin' walkers? That'll be the day."

Dad missed out on the action of the well today, so I decided to recount the whole thing to him after. I left out the part about Glenn screaming like a baby goat, though, 'cause I think he'd appreciate that. He's already got enough humiliation for a lifetime with the whole jerky fiasco.

"You really believed me?" I grin, shaking my head. "Actually, I ain't surprised. If you believe in chupacabras, you'll believe anythin'."

He smirks, "Watch yer mouth, girl."

"Whatever." I keep giggling. "I gotta go now, Dad."

"See ya later, baby. Stay where people can see ya."

Carl uses the situation to convince Rick to let him carry a gun. I don't know why he wants one so bad, but he sure is stubborn.

"What if another walker gets in?" He needles. "I need to be able to protect myself."

"Under different circumstances, I'd consider it." Rick explains. "But for starters, I promised Herschel no firearms on his property."

"But—"

"I've also been reassured that this was a one-time thing, Carl. Nothing else is getting onto this farm anytime soon. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not worrying." He argues. "I'm just tryna be smart, like you guys."

"You are smart. I know you are. That's why you're gonna let this go."

With a great big groan, Carl rolls his eyes.

From over by the campfire where he's polishing his pistol, Shane throws in his two cents. "Might not be a bad idea, Rick."

He looks over at him. "What?"

"You know we're both certified instructors. Plenty of land 'round here that ain't Herschel's. We could set up a shooting range, see how it goes."

I scoff hearing that, anger rising up inside me.

"Yeah, you'd know all about shooting things, wouldn't you, Shane?" I snarl sassily.

There's a very stiff, very awkward pause between us all. It's lucky it's just us around, and not any of the Greenes. I guess I wasn't thinking, but when my temper flares up, I never think before I speak. That's how you know I'm my Dad's daughter, I suppose. Shane stares at me like I've just slapped him sideways across the face. I glower at him; a seething, hurt look I've never directed at him before, one I know will pain him. He knows he's broken whatever it was he'd built between us with this stunt. He's damn right I don't wanna be his friend anymore.

It's so frustrating that we all know what he did, but none of us can do anything about it. He gets away with everything.

At least I can hurt him with words.

Rick sees that I'm getting angrier by the second and puts a comforting hand on my back.

"Huh?" Carl asks, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Carl." Rick warns.

"No, I wanna know. What did you mean?"

"He shot my Dad, is what I mean." I exclaim, heated. "He was gonna leave him out in the woods to bleed to death. Ain't nothin' more than a murderer."

Carl's gaze snaps onto Shane, a look of betrayal skirting over his features.

"It was you?"

"Carl, it's already been discussed." Rick tries calming him down. "What's done is done. It's over."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Listen, buddy," Shane placates, for some reason looking at me when he does. "Sometimes things just happen. Heat of the moment."

"Weren't no 'heat of the moment'." I shout. "You followed him through the woods for hours!"

"I didn't—"

Carl taunts, "You gonna shoot my Dad next?"

"This is gettin' outta hand." Rick intervenes, standing up from the picnic table. "Come on. Let's go cool off. Both of you."

"I hate you." I call out to Shane as I'm pulled off the bench. "I fucking hate you!"

He doesn't even have anything to say. There's nothing he can say. He ducks his head, unable to look my way, and once Rick gets himself in my line of sight, I can't see his guilty expression anymore and I don't care to. I shove Rick off. He respects that I don't want him crowding me so much and opts for just holding my hand, instead, telling me everything's alright. My eyes well up, lip wobbling. I hate people seeing me cry, but Rick's probably seen Carl cry a whole bunch of times. I don't need to be too embarrassed. He would never judge.

He guides us both toward the side of the house.

"Here." He gently says as we approach a trough of clean water. "Wash your face off a bit. It'll feel good."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." Carl frowns. "Were you ever gonna?"

I splash some water onto my already wet cheeks, catching my breath.

"Shane's been with us for a very long time." Rick confesses, "I didn't know how to break somethin' like that to you, but yes, we were going to."

"What does Mom think?" He pouts.

Rick nods. "She's disappointed."

I dry my face off with my shirt, mumbling pettily, "Murderers go to prison, y'know. They don't just sit around, cleanin' guns."

"What are you gonna do, Dad? Is he just gonna stay here?"

"Do you want him to?"

Carl seems torn on how to answer. "W—Well, yeah, but you don't usually get to choose, right?"

"We do now." Rick tells us both. "Lots of people make mistakes. Shane's definitely made a mistake by doin' this. I recognise that. But things are different. We need each other to survive out here. We need this place to survive. Putting that at risk will be hurting us, too."

"He's sorry, right?"

Rick doesn't know how to answer that one.

"I hate him." I sniff, miserable. "I can't look at him no more."

He gives me sympathetic look, rubbing my back.

"We can't kick him out." Carl worries. "He's our family."

Everybody is someone's family. My Dad's a murderer, and he's my family. That's why I forgive him. I guess that's why Rick, Lori, and Carl forgive Shane, too, even though they're angry like I am. I wish I could have that gene for moving on, but I just don't. Shane ain't my blood.

"Things are weird right now." Rick admits. "I know. But we just have to stick through it for a while."

"Until when?" I demand. "When's it gonna be okay that he tried to kill my Dad?"

"Never." He appeases. "You have every right to be upset with him. I just want to secure our place here, first."

"How you gonna do that?"

"I'm going to talk to Herschel tonight."

"And then what?" I spit sarcasm. "My Dad can have at him?"

"It's tricky, Harley. I can't kick Shane out. I can't kick you an' your Dad out. I can't have you around each other. There's no good option, here."

"When my Dad's all better, he's gonna kill him." I grind out. "That's a good option."

"No, Harley, it's not." He sighs patiently. "Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Why the Hell not?"

"Because I will not allow murder within the camp. That's a line we do not cross. Ever."

"Then kick Shane out!" I scream in his face, as if that'll make him listen better, turning on my heel and storming away.

With anger coursing through my veins, I search the farm for Shane.

He made himself scarce after Rick forced us to give him some space, but I'll find him. I don't know what I'm gonna do once that happens, but the first step is to find him. Maybe I'll shout at him. Maybe I'll punch him in the face. Yeah, that's good. I'll do that. I'll break his nose, just like my Daddy did. I ask Jacqui if she's seen Shane anywhere, and then I ask Andrea, and Beth, and even Jimmy. They all give vague, unsure answers, but they all mention the direction of the back gate, so that's where I go. I'm an arrow, soaring toward its target.

Sure as shit, I find him on the outskirts of the farm. He's sitting in the neglected, tall grass, staring out onto the distant sunset.

When I see him rub the heel of his palm over his eye, I realize he's crying.

I approach him from behind, not caring how loud my raging footsteps are.

When I'm within ten feet of him, he starts to turn around, sighing, "Rick, listen—"

"It's me!" I shove him harshly, surprising him. "And yer lucky it is, 'cause if I was him, I'd kick you out right now!"

Shocked, he faces me with wide, wet eyes.

"Scratch that, I'd kill ya!" I seethe. "Just 'cause my Dad survived, don't make you any less of a murderer! That's what you are!"

"Harley—"

"I don't wanna hear nothin' you have to say, no more." We're nowhere near the main part of the farm. From here, the house looks like a miniature. The sky is open wide. I can scream all I want, and nobody will be the wiser. "I don't care. You can't say sorry for somethin' like this! Everybody knows what you did, Shane! Rick knows, Carl knows, Lori knows, I know!" My voice cracks. "I gotta live with it! With you!"

I don't care that he's been crying. He could cry an ocean of tears, and I still wouldn't care.

"When my Daddy comes for you," I shout, "I won't stop him. Ya hear me? I won't!"

As soon as my Dad's better, this place will become a hunting ground. As long as one of 'em is alive, the other won't stop 'till they're dead.

A flash of violence glints over his eyes when I say this. This was never his plan. If he had things his way, not only would that bullet have gone straight into my Dad's head, but I'd also probably be mourning in his arms right now, letting him replace what he'd made sure I'd lost.

"I did what I did for you." He snarls, offended. "I did it to protect you. You think this is what I want, Harley?"

"I know it's what you want. You're a fucking murderer."

"Yeah? I want my best friend lookin' at me like he doesn't even know who I am, anymore? I want you tellin' me that you hate me?" His lip curls around his biting words. "That's what I want? I'll let'chu in on a little secret, here, Harley. I don't. This is Hell for me, too!"

I shove him again, but he doesn't retaliate. He takes it; deserves it, even.

"You can't protect nobody!"

I smack him again.

"Nobody!"

"Harley—"

"I was your friend!"

"Fuck!"

I punch him square in his stupid face.

He grunts under the sheer impact, his hand going to his nose. He pants, dumbfounded. His fingers come away wet, red; bloody. I stand there, huffing and puffing, my knuckles sore, as he looks up at me like he doesn't recognise me. His eyes are wide pools of incomprehension. I-I just punched him. I have never in my life punched an adult, before. It feels good. It feels really, really good. It feels better than just washing my face off, that's for sure. Sometimes, two wrongs do make a right. I know, 'cause I'm starting to grin, now. Rage, to me, feels like a medicine.

He gulps, blood trickling down into his gaping mouth. He frowns lightly at me.

"That make you feel better?" He asks without venom, as if he's genuinely curious; as if he's got an idea.

"It did." I breathe. "Made me feel a whole lot better."

He pauses.

Then, he mutters, "Do it again."

"What?"

"Hit me again." He shuffles onto his haunches, presenting his bloody face to me like a prize. "Hit me again, Harley. Do it."

I hesitate at first, not believing this is really happening, but then I see that he's serious. He cups his hands around both his knees, ready to be my punching bag. He raises his chin; takes a deep breath. For once, this isn't a trick. This is plain, raw indulgence. The slithering delight of violence is all mine to take. I feel it building up inside of me again, fighting to be let out. I slowly curl my fist again, rearing it back into the air.

I bring it down onto his face again with a dull, painful thud.

He straightens again.

I lay into him for a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. I think of Dad's unconscious body, the sound of the gunshot, and the way he was tip-toeing alongside death for three whole days. I think about how Shane almost took my Dad away from me forever, and I make him hurt.

By the time I'm done with him, his cheek is already turning an ugly green-brown color, bright blood smeared across his chin.

That's the best thing I've done all week.

He sits back down in the grass, adjusting his jaw, groaning, "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"

"My Dad." I pointedly spit. "Taught me to punch people who are mean to me."

He chuckles weakly, accepting my punishing words instead of arguing. "Well, you got me."

"This don't change nothin'."

"I know it doesn't." He pants. "No matter how many times you hit me, you're Dad's still a fuckin—"

"I told you I don't wanna hear it."

"A fucking asshole." He finishes. "Hell, he's no better'un Ed was. You— You wanna know the difference between him an' me?"

I refuse to answer, glaring at him.

"I have never hit you." He says, knowing I can't argue with a fact. He's infuriating, that way. "Hate me all ya want, but... I've never hit you."

We stay like that for a strangely painful and gaping moment, face to face with each other's honest presence.

In the distance, we hear people calling for me.

He sniffs wetly, bringing his shirt up to clean his face. "Best you get back, now."

"Harley, where'd you go?"

"Harley!"

"Harley!"

As a parting goodbye, right before I walk away, I mumble, "You can't protect nobody."

He doesn't come back to the farm until after dinner.

Rick's a little angry when I return to the farm, but he hears me out.

"I just went on a walk," I fib, hiding my bloody knuckles. "To calm down."

"Are you alright?" Lori fusses.

I smile. "Yeah, I'm... I'm really good."

They glance at each other, but it looks like the matter is already settled.

"Come on, then." He sighs. "Dinner's almost ready."

Lori grabs my clean hand and leads me toward the house.

"You need to reconsider." Rick comes out and says that night, helping the Greenes clear the dining table.

Herschel frowns, "I beg your pardon?"

"Asking us to leave." He sets the dirty dishes down in the sink, and then turns to face him, his arms crossed. "You need to reconsider."

At least he wasn't lying, I think to myself as I finish off the last of my peas. This is him following through on what he promised me he'd do.

"If you saw what it's like out there," Rick continues, "You wouldn't ask. You're a man of belief. If you believe anything, believe that."

"You're putting me on the spot, here, Rick."

He doesn't back down.

"Well, I mean to. Those people out there look to me for answers. I wish they didn't, but they do. That includes Harley."

Herschel glances at me, a soft look in his eyes.

"After everything that's happened," Rick doubles down, "The least you can do is reconsider."

"You're a plain-spoken man."

"I'm just doing what's best for my people." He humbly says. "We've been to Hell and back these past few months. This whole journey started for us when Harley got scratched by one of the dead, right in the beginning. We honestly believed that we were going to have a child's blood on our hands. You don't forget somethin' like that. I know I won't. I know her father won't, either. Now I fear the same thing might happen with Sophia. I know you're a man of good morals, a man of faith. You got two girls of your own. If you kick us out when Daryl's better — before we can have a good chance at finding Sophia — Then this time, I'd say the blood will be on your hands. Not ours."

Herschel is confronted by his words, glancing over at Beth and Maggie, the apples of his eye, as they clean dishes together.

"Will you consider my request?"

"There are... aspects to this." Herschel says. "Things I can't and will not discuss. But if you and your people respect my rules... I will reconsider."

I try not to let my excitement show on my face.

Rick smiles. "We will. You have my word."

Herschel nods. "And you have mine."

Dad's still reading the book when I go into his room that night and change into my pyjamas.

"Dad, guess what?"

He hums.

"Rick got Herschel to think about lettin' us stay longer." I smile, stepping into my sleep shorts. "We might not have to leave."

He lowers the book at that, a sceptical look on his face. "He did?"

"Yeah." I pull on my shirt and hop on the bed, taking out my braids. "You know what that means?"

"What?"

"Shane can get punished, and the Greenes won't care."

As I move onto the second braid, content with this development, I don't notice my Dad looking over me, a dark look in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that?"

He grunts as he sits up slightly, reaching out to grab my wrist. I look down at it, only now noticing a tiny speckle of Shane's blood on one of my knuckles. Damn it. I thought I got it all off when I washed my hands this evening, but I must've missed a spot. I lick my thumb and wipe it away.

My gaze averted, I confess, "I punched Shane today."

"You what?" He scolds harshly.

"I punched him a whole heap of times, actually." I say somewhat proudly. "He let me. He said it would make me feel better."

He looks like he wants to strangle something.

He demands, "Who else was there?"

I realize I might actually be in trouble for this, and I mumble, "Uh... No-one."

"Fuckin' Hell, Harley." He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He drops it, revealing a deep frown. "You stay away from him, okay?"

"But, you said—"

"Don't back-talk me, girl. You know what he's capable of, and ya still went and talked to him."

"I wasn't nice to him, Daddy. I promise. I was real mad."

"A guy like that, it don't matter." He insists. "He gets in ya fuckin' head, Harley. He already has. Do not do that shit again. Ya hearin' me?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Creepy piece'a shit." He grumbles to himself as he sits back, taking a deep breath. "You remember what I did to Ronnie?"

Chewing my lip, I murmur, "Yeah."

"And how you weren't scared of me, after?"

"Uh-huh."

He nods. "Well, keep that in mind."

"Why?"

"'Cause I told you to. Now, c'mon. Time for bed." He lifts up the covers for me, and after blowing out the candle, I wiggle myself in beside him. This will be our last sleep in the house. Herschel reckons Dad will be able to walk tomorrow, and after that, we're gonna get kicked outside with everyone else. I don't mind. I can't wait to sleep under the stars again. Once I'm comfortable, he offers, "You want me to sing you to sleep?"

I nod, closing my eyes.

His soft words begin to fill the quiet room, a pretty echo of an old life.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word... Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

"He-lloooo, farmer's daughter."

The next morning, I send Glenn an unimpressed look from my seat on the porch.

"Gross, Glenn."

He continues peering through his binoculars at Maggie as she rides up the road.

I roll my eyes and go back to eating my small breakfast of peach jam on toast.

They're going on a run today. Between me, T-Dog, and my Dad's injuries, the painkillers and antibiotics have run out pretty quickly. He's gonna try walking today, so he'll definitely need them more than usual. They're going to check out a nearby pharmacy for more. I asked if I could go with them, but Rick, Dad, and Lori all answered me with a synchronized scolding of, No, so that idea's out the window.

As Lori comes up the porch steps, Glenn startles, trying to hide his obvious spying.

"Oh, h-hey, Lori. Nice morning, huh?"

She raises a brow. "I'm not even gonna ask."

"You got the list?"

"Yeah. Here it is." She hands him a crumpled slip of paper, glancing around, lowering her voice. "And there's one other item on there."

He unfolds it, reading down the scrawled words.

"I wrote it down separately. It's personal. If we could be real discreet about that, okay?"

When he makes it to the bottom, his eyes go wide.

"Uh, s-sure." He promises. "I just need to know where to find it."

"Try the feminine hygiene section."

His cheeks go a little pink, but he nods, "Consider it done."

"What is it?" I nosey.

"Just some lady products." She brushes it off, taking a seat beside me. "Don't worry about it."

Glenn mutters, "Can I ask... Whose—?

"No." She chides.

He nervously gives up on his question. "O-Okay."

Maggie makes it to the front of the house, leading another horse alongside hers for Glenn. He quickly snatches up his backpack and rifle, heading down the steps. We watch as he clumsily mounts the saddle with some coaching from Maggie, which makes us both giggle.

He gets it, eventually.

As they trot down the path together, Lori gives me an amused look. "He's totally sweet on her."

I scrunch up my nose. "Don't put me off my food."

"Sorry," She laughs.

Later in the morning, I join Andrea on the roof of the RV as she stands watch.

Looking through her binoculars, she mutters to herself, "What is he doing?"

I frown. "What is it?"

She hands them to me, and I peer through the lenses in the direction she was facing, met with the peculiar sight of Dale on the border of the farm, kicking a fence post. He continues along the line, giving the next one a firm shake. I lower the binoculars, mildly entertained.

"I think he's investigating." I snicker to myself.

"Investigating?" Andrea looks at me, confused. "Investigating what?"

"He thinks something's up with the fences." I tell her, watching his distant figure move onto the next one. "I guess he means to find out what."

She laughs. "He's gonna break a toe if he's not careful."

I've never known anyone nosier than Dale Horvath.

In the afternoon, Glenn and Maggie return with everything on the list.

Dad insists that he don't even need the painkillers, but he gets forced by Maggie to take 'em, anyway. We wait half an hour for the pills to kick in, and then after some more arguing from Dad's end about how he can do it on his own, he yanks the IV needle out his arm and scoots onto the edge of the bed. With some effort and a few heavy grunts, he manages to get onto his feet, wobbling only slightly.

I cheer him on, making him smile a little.

We trail him out onto the back porch, hovering nearby in case he falters, but he stands strong the whole way.

He breathes in the fresh air. "Almost forgot what real life smelt like."

I pace around the house with him as Maggie and Glenn clear out all evidence of him ever existing in the guest room.

Herschel checks him over one last time and gives him the official green-light to return to life as usual.

We all spend about half an hour pitching a tent and driving over all our chairs, rucksacks, and other belongings to a nice spot on the far reaches of the property, under a patch of healthy, green trees, per Dad's request. It'll make the walk to camp that much longer, but he's willing to deal with it. He makes it very clear that he doesn't wanna be within a hundred fuckin' feet of Shane. Maggie and Glenn express vehement understanding.

"He's like a bomb waitin' to go off, that man." She scoffs, setting the last item, a crate, down in the dirt. "Don't know why you keep him around."

Dad mutters sardonically, "He's popular in the Grimes department."

"Well, if he was in my group," She drawls, "He would've been gone days ago."

"Trust me, I share the fuckin' sentiment." He takes the last bag from Glenn. "I got it."

"You sure, man?"

He grunts uncomfortably as he tosses it into the tent. "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't need no babysitters. I'm fine."

"Well, that's everything." Maggie sighs. "Come back to the house for dinner tonight. We're havin' veggie soup and grilled cheese."

"I think I've had more than enough of that house for a lifetime."

"Half an hour won't kill ya." She rolls her eyes. "Do it for Carol. She made it happen, after all. We'll see ya then, okay? Bye, Harley."

"See ya later." I smile, giggling as Glenn flicks my ear as they both walk off.

Dad settles down in his camping chair, hissing.

I ask him, "Ya feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, baby. Just sore. Start a fire, will ya?"

"Sure thing," I say, turning away into the treeline to search for twigs.

In the afternoon, Glenn and Maggie return with everything on the list.

Dad insists that he don't even need the painkillers, but he gets forced by Maggie to take 'em, anyway. We wait half an hour for the pills to kick in, and then after some more arguing from Dad's end about how he can do it on his own, he yanks the IV needle out his arm and scoots onto the edge of the bed. With some effort and a few heavy grunts, he manages to get onto his feet, wobbling only slightly.

I cheer him on, making him smile a little.

We trail him out onto the back porch, hovering nearby in case he falters, but he stands strong the whole way.

He breathes in the fresh air. "Almost forgot what real life smelt like."

I pace around the house with him as Maggie and Glenn clear out all evidence of him ever existing in the guest room.

Herschel checks him over one last time and gives him the official green-light to return to life as usual.

We all spend about half an hour pitching a tent and driving over all our chairs, rucksacks, and other belongings to a nice spot on the far reaches of the property, under a patch of healthy, green trees, per Dad's request. It'll make the walk to camp that much longer, but he's willing to deal with it. He makes it very clear that he doesn't wanna be within a hundred fuckin' feet of Shane. Maggie and Glenn express vehement understanding.

"He's like a bomb waitin' to go off, that man." She scoffs, setting the last item, a crate, down in the dirt. "Don't know why you keep him around."

Dad mutters sardonically, "He's popular in the Grimes department."

"Well, if he was in my group," She drawls, "He would've been gone days ago."

"Trust me, I share the fuckin' sentiment." He takes the last bag from Glenn. "I got it."

"You sure, man?"

He grunts uncomfortably as he tosses it into the tent. "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't need no babysitters. I'm fine."

"Well, that's everything." Maggie sighs. "Come back to the house for dinner tonight. We're havin' veggie soup and grilled cheese."

"I think I've had more than enough of that house for a lifetime."

"Half an hour won't kill ya." She rolls her eyes. "Do it for Carol. She made it happen, after all. We'll see ya then, okay? Bye, Harley."

"See ya later." I smile, giggling as Glenn flicks my ear as they both walk off.

Dad settles down in his camping chair, hissing.

I ask him, "Ya feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, baby. Just sore. Start a fire, will ya?"

"Sure thing," I say, turning away into the treeline to search for twigs.

We stay in our new little camp until the sun goes down. When I start to notice our people heading inside the house, I put my book down and convince him to come have dinner with everyone. It's only polite. He stomps out the fire, grabs my hand, and we make the short hike back.

When we step inside, the delicious smells of melted cheese, spices, and fresh bread fill my lungs.

"You made it." Maggie's delighted. "Nice walk over?"

"Sure." Dad replies gruffly, way out of his element, here. "This food better be good."

"Harley told me ya like scrambled eggs, so I made ya a portion to go with the rest of your plate. A little present to celebrate you walkin' again."

He seems caught off guard by such thoughtfulness, but he's grateful, anyway. "Thanks."

We make our way into the dining room, where everyone is finishing setting the two tables that they've managed to manoeuvre in here. They've even brought in a vase of wildflowers to serve as a nice centre piece. We take a seat at the table that naturally seems to have been designated the non-Greene table, next to Carl and Lori, who smile when they see us. Conversation is easy amongst our group, but there's not really any cross-contamination between us and the Greenes. This is the first time we've all been in the same room together. It's pretty awkward.

A bowl of colorful, steaming vegetable soup and a side of hot grilled cheese is served in front of everyone.

"We better thank Carol." Jacqui smiles as she hands us some cutlery. "This was all her idea."

"Oh, it was nothing." Carol meekly chuckles. "I just thought it would be a nice way to thank you all for everything you've done for us."

"Well, it looks delicious." Beth says kindly. "I can't wait to eat it."

After Jacqui sits down, Herschel's table join hands and say Grace together. Then it seems like we're in the clear to start eating.

Everybody makes little hums and pleased noises to let Carol and the other women know that the food is good, but nobody is brave enough to try and start a conversation. What do we talk about? The funeral? Shane going crazy? The possibility of getting banished to our deaths?

Eventually, Rick comes up with an idea, 'cause he's good like that. "How about that walker today, huh?"

Our table is clearly up for the distraction, but we're cut off almost immediately.

Herschel frowns. "What walker?"

Oh. He doesn't know.

There's a series of glances thrown around the room.

"There was a walker stuck in one of your wells." He awkwardly explains. "We, uh, pulled it out."

"I'm not sure I appreciate you poking around my property." Herschel says. "You should've come to me."

He nods, looking like he regrets even opening his mouth in the first place. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Another bout of silence falls over us.

Glenn tries next. "Anybody... know how to play guitar?"

"My Dad can play." I offer, poking at my soup.

T-Dog asks, "You any good?"

Dad shrugs. "I'm decent."

"Otis knew how to play."

We all try not to look at Patricia when she says this. She's just made things ten times more awkward for everyone.

It's almost as if Otis' ghost is in the room with us, and we just have to do our best to ignore it.

"Yes, and he played very well." Herschel quietly reminisces, before the silence takes over again.

I take four bites of my grilled cheese before Beth speaks up.

"What happened to your face?"

Shane chokes a little on his spoonful of broth, reluctantly answering, "Oh, uh, it's— I just tripped a little, that's all."

"Looks like you got into a fight." Patricia comments.

"No, that's— That's not what happened at all, ma'am."

Beside me, my Dad glowers across the table at Shane. Rick notices and adopts slightly nervous look, as if he thinks they're gonna jump on top of the food right this very second and stab each other with their butter knives. Honestly, they might.

"You sure?" Dad mocks Shane, a strange lilt to his voice.

"S'what I said, ain't it?"

"What?" He chuckles. "Did ya step on a fuckin' banana peel?"

"Don't start with me, Daryl."

"Daddy, leave it." I grumble harshly under my breath. "Just keep eatin'."

Jacqui suggests a change in subject. "How about you tell us how you learned to play, Daryl?"

"I think I'm good." He scoffs.

The tension grows to be so unbearable that I eventually excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

As I meander down the corridor and pass the empty kitchen, something on the other side of the window catches my eye. I pad over to the sink and go on my tip-toes, peering out into the dark. Over by the barn, there's a short, skinny figure standing in the grass, hunched like it's in pain. My eyes widen. Sophia? Is that her? With a glance back at the dining room, I decide it's best I don't bother anyone, and I head outside alone.

The warm night air surrounds me as I softly call out her name.

The figure groans lightly in response.

I can't see all too well, but I can make out a pair of thin legs, a stringy, knotted mass of hair, and two bony hands that twitch rabidly at its sides. I creep closer, slowly taking in the figure's too-tall height; the way it convulses lightly, unable to keep its balance. The moonlight peels over the clouds, then, splaying out across the silent field. The breath leaves my lungs. The figure is illuminated, revealing itself only now to be someone I don't recognise at all. It wheezes painfully, twisting to look at me with a face riddled in decay. My skin goes cold at the deadly sight.

It's a walker. Of course it's a walker, you stupid girl.

Dale was right. They're getting in, somehow.

I don't get a chance to turn around. All at once, a second body latches itself onto me, knocking me over into the grass. I cry out. Oh, God, there's more than one out here. I try scrambling away, but its cold hands grip my knee and anchor me to the spot. It climbs up my stomach, looking like something out a Goosebumps special. A pair of staggering footsteps approach, and when the second walker appears over the first one's wrinkly shoulder, I let out a blood curdling scream that rings in shockwaves through my skull. I can't take on two walkers. That's impossible.

In the distance, the back door swings open.

"Harley!?" My Dad hollers, echoed by the other men as they bound down the steps.

The walker's large crucifix necklace dangles tauntingly over my nose, shining with the yellowed spit that leaks from the gaping mouth above it.

I grab it, trying at the same time to kick the walker off. Its chiselled edges bite into my skin. Anything can be a weapon.

The walker flails angrily, possessed with hunger.

I drive the cross into its skull. It gives out a gurgling, beaten cry, and I stab it again, and again, and again, only stopping once the bone cracks around the dreadfully blunt end, and it slumps on top of me, dead for a second time. I push the top half of its heavy body offa me, ripping the beaded necklace from its neck with a dry snap. The grabbing hands and loud growling of the second walker quickly replace it.

I ready the crucifix again, but it's hard to aim when I'm seeing two of everything!

Its jaw hinges open above the soft skin of my leg.

Right as it's about to bite down on me, Shane suddenly comes into view.

His knife glints in the moonlight. He rears it back above his head, burying it deep into the walker's face in a swift, brutal motion. Black blood splatters his front as he pulls it out, grabs its shoulders, and throws it angrily into the grass, where it lands heavily, giving out one last croak.

I'm finally able to crawl away, throwing the necklace onto the ground.

Before I know it, my Dad is crouching at my side.

"Are ya bit?" He frantically demands to know. 

"N— No." I shudder. "No, I ain't— I ain't bit."

"What happened?"

"I thought I saw someone, but..."

"You weren't there, Daryl!" Shane laughs loudly, now, still clutching the knife, sounding as if he's just won something. "You weren't there, man!"

"Bullshit, I wasn't!" Dad sneers, standing up. "I was two fuckin' feet behind ya!"

"And that walker's teeth were two hairs away from Harley's leg!" He retorts. "One more second — One second — And she'd be bit right now!"

"You don't know what the Hell you're talkin' about."

"All crippled and beaten, bumblin' over here like an old man. This is what happens, Daryl. You can't afford to be slow, no more!"

"I can protect my own!"

A grin splits his face. "Don't look that way from where I'm standin'."

"My own!" Dad growls. "You get that through your thick head, Shane! Mine! My fucking daughter!"

"And what a sad shame that is!"

You can't protect nobody.

Oh, why'd I have to go and tell him that?

The others finally make it over just in time for Dad's temper to snap.

I think my heart stops in this next moment. In a fit of rage and fire that nobody can stop, he pulls his knife from his sheath, jumps forward, and tackles Shane to the ground. I shriek as Rick and T-Dog hurry over to them, shouting at them to stop it, god damn it, stop it. Blades go flying left and right. Shirts are slashed. Curses are bellowed. Dad mounts his squirming body and lifts his knife into the air, making me squeal in horror. Rick takes a big handful of the back of his shirt, and right before he manages to drag him off, the knife comes down into Shane's shoulder. He cries out in agony, clutching the gash. He's lucky Dad missed in the chaos. Otherwise, it'd be in his throat.

Andrea and Lori throw themselves at the ground near Shane, feverishly putting their hands over his gushing stab wound.

"Oh, you're attackin' people, now, are ya, Daryl?" He goads, groaning through the pain. "You've always been a damn feral animal."

"At least I ain't a fuckin' creep! Goin' around, askin' little girls to hit me!"

"Maybe you should keep a closer eye on her, then, huh?"

Dad rushes forward again, but Rick catches him. He wrestles the knife out his hand and tosses it away.

"Holy shit!" Glenn exclaims, pulling on the roots of his hair.

Dale and Maggie rush over to me, their faces pale and panicked at the scene around them.

"That's enough!" Rick grinds out, forcing Dad backward with the help of T-Dog. "That's enough!"

"You say that shit again!" Dad roars over their heads. "Next time, I'm breakin' your fuckin' neck!"

Jimmy stares depressingly at the bodies. I think he must know who they were.

Carl sobs from nearby, "Dad, what's going on?"

Rick gives my Dad a shove, leaving him to stumble, clutching his hurt side. He reprimands, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinkin' he deserves worse." He groans.

"So, you kill him? That's your solution?"

"Why don'tchu ask him? He knows all about killin' folk, don'tchu, you fuckin' schizo? Betcher sorry I lived, huh?"

Shane tries to make a retort, but the people around him encourage him to stay calm.

Maggie helps me to stand, asking me if I'm hurt anywhere, to which I dazedly shake my head. We watch as Shane gets escorted back into the house, where they'll probably get started stitching him up right away. He pushes them all off of him, enraged. I can't believe that just happened. I don't think anybody else can, either. They're all frozen in place, eyes wide and darting around for answers to questions they didn't even know to ask.

My Dad slumps down in the dirt, his chest heaving from exertion, head hanging low. He cradles his aching stomach.

It finally happened.

"You okay, man?" T-Dog uncomfortably asks.

Dad spits blood into the grass. "I been wantin' to do that for about a month."

"Well, I hope it was worth it." Rick jibes. "We might lose our place here, now, thanks to you. You want your daughter back on the streets?"

"Long as she's nowhere near that crazy son of a bitch, I'on give a rat's ass where she is."

Rick scoffs, completely done with tonight. "You're unbelievable. Both of you, unbelievable, and outta your minds."

Jimmy pipes up, "What did he mean about killing folk?"

"Nothing. Get back inside." Rick scolds, turning away alongside Maggie to go follow after everyone else.

Then, it's just me, Dad, and Dale left out in the field to process everything that just went down. I head over to him, and he wraps me up in a tight hug that I never wanna leave. Shane's blood stains both our clothes, and I'm horrified to learn that it's all still hot and sticky. This was a total disaster. I knew this would happen sometime or other, but I thought I would be prepared to face it. I don't know what happens next.

This might be the push Rick needs to kick Shane from the group. He must see now that they cannot co-exist peacefully.

After a while, Dale inspects the dead walkers and murmurs to himself, "I knew something was fishy."

He paces along the footprints they left behind, following them this way and that, further and further away.

When he comes up just short of the barn, I frown in confusion.

He tugs at a few loose boards, poking around. He makes it to a crate that he pushes out the way, revealing a gaping hole in the wall.

"What the—?" I hear him exclaim, right before a dead hand shoots out from between the planks.

He steps back, astonished.

Dad's hand curls tighter around my shoulder.

When he calls out to us, his voice frail, I feel like I might faint.

"They're keeping walkers in the barn."

Author's Note.

There's a reason Shane rhymes with insane. That's all I'm gonna say about that 😵💫

Also, I rearranged the order of events a little bit for this one. The way I write this story is I bring up a script for the episode I'm following as well as the wiki page for the season, bc I don't have anywhere I can stream TWD. It was a little confusing having to combine stuff from different episodes, but I hope it flows well. I try very hard to mix canon with non-canon things in a way that feels seamless.

Basically, it goes - Walker in the well, shooting lessons are considered, Maggie and Glenn pharmacy run, awkward dinner, someone discovers the barn walkers. Same outcome, just different.

As always, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading. Sending love! <3

[gogogoats]

Dragonblade Deep Dive - Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter twenty

Welcome to the final chapter of this madness (save for an epilogue still to come) and boy is it a doozy. First of all, that MASSIVE SPOILER EVENT has finally happened, and it disappoints in ways I really didn’t think this book had left to offer. Secondly, if you thought the final chapter might actually resolve some things, please leave your expectations at the cut.

Chapter twenty-one – Acts of Courage

We open in Jester’s POV. He’s lurking outside of Magnus’ house, where he can’t hear or see anything. If this were a well-written novel that could have been foreshadowing, but it isn’t so it’s not. Moving on. The door opens and he hides behind it as one of the henchmen appears, very drunk and apparently incredibly stupid as he repeats his task out loud to himself, which is very handy for Jester. He is to saddle up a pony and cart (NOT a horse and wagon, in case you were wondering. And no, that’s not a crucial detail we needed to know). The Henchman (I would say he is privileged to have a name, but it’s ‘Ox’ so, no) stumbles into a laneway beside the house. Jester assumes he is doing some dodgy deal for Magnus, then repeats Ivon’s line about the princess being his duty now and thinks about how he must do what he can to keep her safe until help arrives and that she’s almost certainly in the house at Magnus’ mercy and… follows Ox into the laneway. There’s no logic here but we’re supposed to understand that Jester following Ox is going to help the princess.

The laneway is very messy and cluttered with objects, which doesn’t seem right for someone as possessive and mercenary as Magnus Breech. Instead of being an opportunity to show how years as court jester have made Jester nimble and light-footed, allowing him to be sneaky, this obstacle course is a struggle for him, but it allows him to stay hidden from the drunk Ox (henceforth known as Hugs and Kisses) who is in a yard at the end of the passageway untying a pony (not a horse!). Another man appears from nowhere to see what he’s doing, they talk, the second man helps Hugs with the pony and points out he’s drunk, and gets efficiently knocked out by said drunk. It’s really hard to tell if Ox actually is drunk or if he’s faking, but I think he’s supposed to be drunk for real. Then again that’s a transient state at best in this novel.

Ox picks up the man he just knocked out and carries him over his shoulder to the laneway. Jester searches for a hiding place and finds a pile of musty, stinky, gross damp sacks. He crawls under just in time for Ox to dump the unconscious man right on top.

We join Gunther now, who is shaking so hard he’s almost rendered mute, as his father continues to beat him. Magnus curses him for his fear and Gunther defies him for it, claiming he’s angry not scared. He tries to persuade Magnus that this is not who they are but Magnus strongly disagrees, and tells Gunther that he is of Magnus’ blood, so his parentage now gets even more confusing.

Magnus lays out his plan to Gunther. He has promised to pay Ox a vast sum of money if he kills Lavinia by throwing her off a cliff and making it look like she fell off Dragon. He says Ox will do it for “fear of me and love of gold” so he really knows how to motivate his employees. Gunther is still shaking violently (this is really focused on a lot) as he tries to point out that Ox can’t keep a secret. Magnus says that won’t be a problem because Gunther is going to follow along behind and kill Ox. I’m really starting to question Magnus’ ability to formulate a plan at this point, if he honestly thinks that Gunther will stand back and watch Ox kill Lavinia and then walk up and kill him.

Magnus tells Gunther that they either succeed together or hang together. Well at least someone finally acknowledges that Gunther wasn’t exaggerating about how this situation would probably get him killed. Yay?

Gunther tries to protest and is smacked around some more.  Magnus continues to extrapolate, telling Gunther that Lavinia was always meant to die, after Gunther had married her and they had produced an heir. Cuthber was supposed to be killed too so Gunther would be regent until his child came of age. This is a very convoluted plan with lots of room for error.

Magnus tries to “calm his rage” by pacing and punching his own thighs. It’s as strange and awkward as it sounds. He insists that tonight Gunther will leave his “spoilt, comfortable childhood behind.” For those playing along at home, Gunther has been hiding money in his bedroom walls since he was thirteen in expectation of the day he will need to run for his life from the house where his father beats him and he serves as unpaid labour. I think whatever childhood he had ended long ago.

Magnus tells him that tonight he will kill Ox.

Dragon joins Jane and Robert, and is immediately angry at Robert as he can feel Jane’s pain through their psychic link or whatever. Jane tells him it was wolves, and that he should thank Robert for saving her. Blech.

Jane asks about the Princess and Dragon tells her where she is. Both Dragon and Robert want to take Jane back to the castle to have her injuries seen to as they both say she is more important than the princess. Not sure why Robert gets a vote here but Jane overrides them both anyway.

Robert “assists” Jane onto Dragon, and Dragon is briefly annoyed but then realises that Robert is agreeing with him and is mollified. He also mentions Robert’s TEETH, in case you’d forgotten what book we’re reading.

Dragon argues in favour of letting Pepper patch Jane up and Robert agrees again, saying that his hands have (miraculously!) started to mend.

Robert starts giving Dragon orders and call Jane his Dragonblade, which gets Dragon indignant and then confused. It’s worth mentioning at this point that Dragon has been told literally nothing about all of the life-altering information Jane has learned thus far.

Jane overrides them both and tells them they are going to find the princess.

We’re back at the merchant’s house, where Lavinia is less than impressed by the Ox and Pony show. She tells Magnus she would rather walk back to the castle and that Gunther should escort her. Magnus insists that she ride in the cart and Lavinia is quickly distracted by a not* at ALL** important*** pile of canvas in the back of the cart (it’s not even shiny?) and agrees. She reminds Magnus that he and Gunther are to come to the castle tomorrow and sort out the whole misunderstanding. I’m struggling to believe that she’s really this stupid. She offers Magnus her hand so that he can kiss her ring and as he does so she notices that his sleeve is completely soaked through with blood. She comments on it and Magnus sighs, which is apparently Ox’s cue to stuff her into a sack. Magnus tells him to make sure her death looks like she accidentally fell from Dragon.

*definitely not

**not even a little

***nope

Jester is watching all of this from the alleyway, and jumps unseen onto the cart as it passes by. We’re given a long-winded insight into his decision making leading up to jumping in the cart but it’s completely unimportant. The main point is that he’s being Very Brave.

Now he’s on the cart, where he climbs over the canvas. The canvas is mentioned A LOT. If this were a well-written novel that would NOT have been foreshadowing, but it isn’t so it is. He sits behind Ox and deliberates for a seemingly endless amount of time over what to do, if/how to over power him, if to call for the guards at the castle gate as they pass by, wishing he had paid more attention to Jane and Gunther’s training over the years etc. etc. ad nauseum. Ox turns the wagon away from the castle towards the cliffs. It’s a dangerous stretch of road with one corner known locally as “Widow’s Bend”, for the many fatal accidents it has caused. Jester finally decides what to do and it’s… pulling his hat down over Ox’s head? Ugh. Ox has his hand over Lavinia’s mouth to keep her quiet (why didn’t he just thump her over the head? He’s good at that) and she bites him, so he’s doubly distracted.

Lavinia tosses off the sack and sees Jester. The pony freaks out and takes off, Ox and Jester are thrown into the back of the cart but Lavinia remains on the seat. Ox tries to stab Jester with a knife but is thrown out onto the road. Lavinia grabs the reigns and tries to get the pony under control and Jester crawls forwards to help her, holding onto the back of the seat for support (what a good idea). They approach Widow’s Bend and Jester knows they won’t make it. He tells Lavinia they have to jump (another good idea) and they both get ready when Lavinia spots Dragon flying towards them.

Jane has seen the wagon and instructs Dragon to grab hold of it. He swoops down and Robert holds tight onto Jane’s waist (eyeroll). Jane hadn’t even known who was in the cart until they got closer, she was just following her heroic instincts.

Jester sees Dragon coming and tells Lavinia to hold on tight to something (a GRAND idea). Lavinia grabs hold of the bench seat and wraps her arms around it. Jester jumps onto the pile of canvas and holds onto a piece of rope that holds it together (a very, very bad idea).

Dragon grabs the pony and cart as they careen off the road, and funnily enough he’s not particularly slow or gentle about it, so the loose cargo (and the jester holding it) slide right out. Jester lets go of the cloth and tries to grab the cart, but is left with nothing but air.

Jane didn’t see him fall, but she notices his absence when the cart is back on the ground. She tells Robert (the guy she just met who recently escaped from the castle dungeon) to get off Dragon and look after the princess, and she and Dragon race off to find Jester.

They find him and Dragon lands close by. Jester is still alive as Jane runs to him, heck he’s even singing! He’s a mangled and bloodied wreck with some bones protruding, and Jane knows there won’t be any saving him. He asks if Lavinia is safe and Jane says she is thanks to him.

Jester claims he’s a hero, and Jane agrees. She tells him he will have to write a ballad about it.

Incel!Jester makes his move, telling Jane he wrote ballads for her, and she requests to hear one. He sings for her as she watches her friend dying, but this scene is all about Jester. He makes Jane promise that she will find Gunther and keep him safe because of all the blood on Magnus, then he tells her how he wants his funeral arranged (I shit you not). He wants to be cremated on a boat Viking-style with dragon fire because it’s the colour of Jane’s hair. He tells her he would have brushed her hair every day of her life. Jane kisses him as he dies, then starts crying.

End chapter.

Overall Impressions:

UGH.

Last chapter we learnt that Gunther isn’t Magnus’ son, but in this chapter we’re told they’re still blood relations. Is this supposed to absolve everyone who failed to intervene in Gunther’s life because it turns out he IS a Breech after all? Because it doesn’t, just to be clear.

I know the scene between Gunther and Magnus is overshadowed by the end scene but the disturbing undertone of the previous chapter really carries through here. Why, in a chapter called “Acts of Courage” is Gunther’s fear focused on so intently? Jester is off being a man of action while Sir Gunther the Knight quivers and quakes with no reprieve. His reasonable fears have been dismissed by everyone he has shared them with throughout this novel but now that we are seeing how on point his predictions were, the focus is on how terrified he is? We don’t even get to see if he was able to make any difference at all, or how hard he fought to stop his father, or even if the blood dripping from Magnus’ hand is his or Gunther’s. We ALREADY KNOW he’s scared; he’s spent the last twenty chapters explaining WHY he’s scared and if one person had listened to him this whole mess could have been avoided. Instead, everything has imploded, and doubtless Gunther will be blamed and probably called a coward to boot.

ROBERT’S HANDS. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this last chapter but he fought off those wolves with bandaged hands?? Which have already started to heal even though they were only burned THAT AFTERNOON???!!?!?!? Anyway, he sure can’t keep those hands off Jane, which is a detail that really didn’t need to be included full stop, but in this chapter especially.

Robert telling Dragon that Jane is his Dragonblade is really telling of his attitude towards Jane and her autonomy in this whole situation. It should be up to Jane to have that conversation with Dragon when they are able to on their terms, it’s really none of Robert’s business. But of course he can’t let a chance to exert control over Jane pass him by.

Now, about Jester. I found his POV in this chapter frankly exhausting. So much time spent extrapolating all of the things he could/should/would do before he just goes and does the dumbest thing. I’m not sure if all the reasoning was meant to show how intelligent he is and how deeply he thinks everything through, but really it contributed nothing except a higher word count.

His death was meaningless and unnecessary. He didn’t die to save Lavinia, she was already saved, and would still be saved if he had not died. It could be argued that sometimes death is unnecessary and meaningless and that is the point, but I don’t think that applies here. If Jester had just listened to Gunther instead of dismissing his warnings, then this could all have been avoided. But no, better to call him dramatic and then grandstand from his deathbed by making Jane promise to find Gunther and keep him safe. Never mind that Gunther would be safe and Jester would be alive if he’d been just a bit smarter earlier in the day.

The death scene itself was painful to read for all the wrong reasons. He has fallen to his death from some kind of height, his body is destroyed but his lungs and brain are working just fine. He gets to have the “death he deserves”, confessing his feelings to Jane as she cradles his head, singing the ballads he wrote for her, alone with her at last. We see this from Jane’s POV but as usual she is just a passive vessel into which male characters pour their adoration, and we get very little insight into how she actually feels about it. Does she kiss Jester because she realises she loves him, or because she pities him? We don’t know.

Time passed since the start of the novel: day two - night

Mentions of the word gong: 1

Mentions of Robert’s teeth: 1

[ficsofabotchedmind]

I think I’m in hell 2

Summary? Nuh Uh. 🤭

Warnings? Yes.; Bones breaking, talks of blood and killing animal, Wednesday giggling, talks of impending doom

Chapters 1

——————————————————————————

Chapter 2 

In the woods surrounding Nevermore  

You see Wednesday wasn’t stupid by any means, and she doesn’t understand why Principal Weems would allow this. So, she watches Enid and asks, “Enid, may I ask a question?” 

“Of course, my tiny raven!” Enid said, already knowing exactly what the question was going to be 

“Why did Principal Weems agree to this? Allowing us to go hunting is already one thing but hunting in your werewolf form, now that is not something she would allow. Now, will you tell me what’s going on?” Wednesday watched as Enid tensed at the question, now knowing something was not right 

“I begged and begged until she got tired of hearing me talk about it?” Enid supplied  

“No, as much as that sounds correct, she loves you too much to do that. Now, try again.” Wednesday said in her usual flat tone 

Enid huffed, she knew if she didn’t put her foot down this wouldn’t work so she spoke in a firm tone, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Wednesday. So instead of questioning why, let’s just go ahead and do what we came out here to do, ok?” 

Wednesday, taken aback by Enids abnormal tone, nodded and said with a rare smirk, “You are right, let’s not waist our time, Principal Weems will probably realize her error at any moment. Now, let’s hang our bags on these limbs so nothing or anyone bothers them.” 

Enid, now happy that Wednesday was no longer questioning as to why they were allowed this, stripped down, handed her clothes off to Wednesday to be put into their bag, and prepared herself for the inevitable pain that was about flowing through her body. 

Wednesday watched as Enids body contorted in all different ways and listened as her bones snapped out of and back into place with fascination and a twinge of sadness. While she enjoys the process, she knows how much Enid hated it and how much pain it causes her blonde companion. 

Enid was finally finished, she loomed over Wednesday a tad disoriented. Panting heavily, trying to catch her breath, and trying to find balance in this form. Once that was achieved, she looked down only to see Wednesday and with a small howl of joy, she pounced, pinning the small girl beneath her. 

“Enid! En-ack! Enid, ge- what have you been eating! Enid, get o- “next thing she knows a giggle clawed its way out of her throat, she stops and thinks to herself, “No, that did not just happen! Wednesday, you can’t be doing things like that!” 

Upon hearing the girl beneath her laugh, Enids tail started wagging faster, gave the best smile she could, and made a noise that sounded much like a coo. 

Wednesday, knowing that if she didn’t stop this now, gave a huff and a glare, “Enid, you need to get off of me this instant. We need to get started before all the good kills are gone.” 

Enid, with a huff, begrudgingly gets off of Wednesday and starts following after the smaller girl already knowing it’s going to be a long day. 

2 hours later 

Enid had been following Wednesday allowing her to track the animals while she went for the kill. She loved Wednesday she did, but she was growing tired of it. They had just finished harming some poor unsuspecting squirrel and all Enid could hope for at this point was that her mom had already gotten Wednesdays parents settled in. If not, there would be hell to pay. It’s not easy getting all of this blood out of her hair and off of her body. She got up at the sound of Wednesdays voice, and all she could think was, “I guess we are off to maim another poor creature.” 

Back at Nevermore  

Larissa stood watching as Morticia admired her classroom, “So, how do you like it, Mrs. Addams?” 

Morticia let out a happy sigh and met the platinum blondes eyes, “I love it! Thank you, Larissa. Thank you for allowing Gomez and I to help you in any way we can.” 

Larissa ducked her head, blushed, looked up, and surveyed the area for anyone else. Approaching Morticia, she gently smiled and pulled the woman in by her hips and said, “Well, I couldn’t bare being away from you for so long, it would have torn me apart being away from you again.” 

Morticia smiled and gently pulled Larissa down by her neck and laid a gentle kiss upon her lips, “I know, ma chérie. We have been apart long enough, but I don’t wonder something.” 

Larissa, in a daze, hummed, “What’s that, my darling?” 

“How the children are going to take this.” Morticia, only slightly regretting saying that, let out a forced laugh 

Larissa, giving her girlfriend a funny look, said, “Oh God. Well, I’m sure all of them will be fine,” she thought for a moment, “except Wednesday that is. That girl already tries her best to cause me to go into cardiac arrest every bloody day, what do you think she’s going to do know…” 

Morticia chuckled, “Oh darling, that’s her way of saying she loves you and I’m so very glad she does.” 

“Sh-That is her way of telling me that she loves me?? You know, I’ll believe it when I hear it, my love.” With that, Larissa placed a soft kiss on Morticia's lips and walked out of the door, all the while massaging her temples. She already knows she’s going to be in for hell. 

Morticia couldn’t help but laugh as she trailed after the tall goddess. Making their way through the halls of Nevermore, they finally arrived back at Larissa’s office, when they entered Gomez had already arrived back with Pugsley. 

Gomez greeted the two women, “So, was everything to your liking, Tish?” 

“It was! Larissa made sure everything was absolutely perfect upon our arrival. How was weapons class, darling?” Morticia breathed out happily  

Gomez then went on a rant of how much there was to do and to teach, even Pugsley started in on it with his father. Larissa, sitting at her desk, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at how much Gomez was speaking. She loved the man, as a friend only, but if he didn’t shut up her foot would be shoved up his ass. 

Morticia, sensing the impending explosion from the blonde, questioned Pugsley on how he liked Nevermore and if he would be excited for when he was able to officially attend. 

“I love it! I already know what the grounds look like, and I’m excited to go hunting with Wednesday. I met Eugene, he’s nice and he even has bees he can command to attack!” Pugsley went on and on until eventually Morticia had to stop the poor boy in fear he may pass out 

“Alright, now that we have made sure everyone is comfortable and happy- “before Morticia could finish, Pugsley chimed in, “All except Wednesday!”  

Larissa let out a snort and Morticia gave the woman a look to which she responded, “He has a point, Morticia. Now before I blow this whistle, Pugsley?” 

“Yes ma’am?” the soft spoken boy asked 

“Do I need to protect anything in this office from your sister? What can and can’t be used as a weapon and do I need to wear protective ear covering and protective gear?” Larissa questioned nervously  

Pugsley laughed and then started pointing out what Larissa needed to get out of Wednesday’s reach and helped her hide them, “As for your ears, Wednesday doesn’t scream. As for your body, mom will probably stand in front of you. So, I think that covers it all, Princ-Larissa.” 

The woman smiled gently and touched his cheek, “Thank you, dear boy.” She then pulled back and clapped, “Now! What do you say we call them back, hmm?” 

Everyone agreed that it was time, Larissa walked to the window, stood in front and carefully opened it, and before she blew the whistle, “May god help our souls, especially mine.” and with that, her lips clasped around the whistle and blew. 

Out in the wood surrounding Nevermore 

The blonde werewolf heard the call of her mother and whined happily. All she could think was, “Thank God!” 

[tricornonthecob]

Will someone please get this boy a Xanax

Felicity Steals An Entire Fucking Horse: The Movie (2005)

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9

"Jesus Christ why do I keep doing this fuck fuck fuck fuck"

Mom-Friend Ben is having his daily aneurysm a little early today

Yes its supposed to make him look slovenly and he's a dickhead but if his shirt were clean, this is just the Slutty Historical Novel look.

you know maybe if your first interaction of the day wasn't immediate and unprovoked violence, the horse might be more inclined to working with you and then you wouldn't have such awful buyer's remorse.

Finally, a task that Ferrari was actually bred for!

You ought to be more mindful of the chaotic good and lawful neutrals hanging out in your weed gardens before you go yelling things like that, Nye.

"No, Felicity, I was trying to not die."

The Ben/Felicity ship dynamic is The Anxious One That Survives To At Least Act 3 Of A Horror Movie and Absolutely Zero Self-Preservation Instincts. Also girl what the fuck is going on with your bangs.

"Girl what the fuck are you talking about that's a domestic animal that wasn't even feral"

Yes, that's a valid point and an important Life Lesson, but I feel like there's a better and more immediate way of introducing to her the concept of Consequences In Horse Theft. Such as "Hey did you know this is the 18th century and what you're doing looks exactly like Horse Theftin' and the punishment for Horse Theftin' is probably death by hanging hahahahahahaha I knew."

Also like, can you image. "I disguised myself in your clothes so I could trespass and steal a horse, then brought you to the scene of my doings instead of just telling you outright, potentially implicating you in crimes punishable by death."

...Felicity did you not just see the horse run away. Did you hear the part about "Give the horse to anyone who can ride her" and stop listening to all the parts about him saying "never come back," she's probably safe from that rn.

"Neither are all the people your family enslave, but that's another story."

That is the look of "...I really. REALLY. Don't have the stomach to be the punishable-by-death crime secret keeper."

And that is the look of "Oh, Goddammit, I'm about to be the punishable-by-death crime secret keeper, aren't I."

"Go down to the creek and buy it off the Dutch pirates!"

what the fuck is she huffing.

wow way to interrupt an outrageously shippable moment. Christ this really is the superior ship.

Annabelle you do realize adding "Forbidden Romance" elements to the ship only makes it stronger.

Felicity I love you but your ADHD-ass is so dense sometimes.

"We are going to die on this hill with all the social awareness of a bitchy potato."

She's a loyalist to you.

When the fourth graders debate politics on the playground and it gets dramatic.

she's either highly amused, screaming internally, or a little day drunk. Maybe all three!

awwww the loyalty themes!

"Bitsy!"

"Oi, fuck off, yeah?"

[shivunin]

Pip

(I've been rereading what I've got for that arranged marriage au all morning. I wanted to share the scene were Cullen and Adahlena meet if nothing else, because I had a really fun time writing it c: This is about two chapters in.)

Adahlena didn’t know how long she’d spent with her hands in the earth, but the sun had changed position when she looked up and realized she was no longer alone. The light had shifted from golden to faintly orange now, and the sun was nearing the horizon. She had an hour or two before sunset at the most, she supposed, which meant she was drastically late for the evening’s preparations. 

“Ah–” a deep voice said, and she jerked her head up, “En'an'sal'en. Could you perhaps…point me to the, ah, castle?”

The human man’s accent was bad, but comprehensible. He would stand nearly two heads taller than her when she rose, and his hair was wavy and golden in the early evening light. He led a horse, had carefully halted it beyond the orderly lines of herbs–she was grateful for that–and wore a relatively simple pair of black trousers with a red tunic that complemented his coloring. 

This was the first of her suitors that she’d actually spoken to. Few of them knew what she looked like outside of her nightly costume, for she’d been dodging them all week. It helped that most people were not waiting outside her window to speak with her, and that’s how she’d been entering and exiting the building since the first human had swaggered in. 

“Oh,” he said, forehead creasing, “Ah–Ahn mar melin? Dirthas Common?”

Well, it was more Elvhen than she’d expected. Adahlena was frozen with her hands still half-dug in the soil, her fingers poised to pull up a particularly tenacious weed by the roots. She had no idea how something so large had grown here for so long, except that it was at the edge of a row and blended somewhat into the surrounding foliage. If left to her own devices, she’d be forced to move the soil aside with magic instead of brute strength, and some of the more delicate plants reacted poorly to magical interference.

“Do you, ah…need assistance?” he asked, his eyes straying to where hers were still reaching for the weed. He looped the reins around a lower-hanging branch and approached slowly, hands in view the whole time. 

“I grew up on a farm,” he said in a calm voice, stopping several feet away, “I remember the late summer weeding well, if not fondly. We were always relieved when harvest time came and we didn’t have to do it anymore. May I?” 

Adahlena freed her hands from the soil and moved away, shaking the loose clumps from her long fingers. What was he doing? All the visitors been told about the evening banquets. She would have expected he’d be trying to quickly get to his rooms so he could wash up and make a good first impression. 

The man dug callused hands into the soil and plucked the weed out without effort, and she noted with surprised pleasure that he’d managed to get all the little threadling roots, too. He tossed it into the pile she’d been making and dusted off his hands. 

“There,” he said with satisfaction, “Can you give me directions? Ah…”

“My name is not important,” she said finally, standing to gather the uprooted weeds into a fold of her long tunic, “I speak Common. You’re already going the right direction; just continue on along the edge of the field until you reach a well, and then you’ll want to go right. You’ll see it before too long.”

Adahlena tilted her head, examining him carefully as he stood and absently dusted his hands against each other. Strong, muscular thighs–clearly he was used to riding horses–and similarly strong upper arms. No wonder he’d had no trouble pulling the weed free. Perhaps Anuon was right about…

No. She wasn’t getting attached on account of something so trivial as size or physical appearance. It was far too early for that.

Adahlena moved past him and piled the weeds in a heap near the trees, which someone would come by and clean up later if they knew what was good for them. Her legs ached badly now that she was moving around. She’d spent more time climbing than she usually did these past few days, and hours of kneeling had made her joints stiff.

The human was untying the horse, looking at her from the corner of his eye every few seconds. She sighed and propped her hands on her hips. 

“I’ll lead you there if you let me ride your horse,” she told him, and he straightened in surprise. While he considered the offer, she eyed the horse dubiously. It seemed like a nice enough creature, for all that she’d only ridden a handful of them. 

“Oh,” he said, “My thanks. Do you need help –”

“Yes,” she said, and he cupped his gloved hands just below the stirrup. When she stepped into them, he lifted her up and into the saddle. It was in one of the human styles, though thankfully it still had the saddle horn she was used to. Adahlena steadied herself, found a good place for her feet to hang since they would not reach the stirrups, and gestured forward. 

“Straight from here,” she told him, and he started moving. 

“You never told me your name,” she said, and the human turned to look at her over his shoulder. He had a scar on his lip, she noticed. Interesting. She wondered what it would feel like to…no. No. She wasn’t getting attached and she certainly wasn’t interested. It was far too early for that. 

“My name is unimportant,” he said. She tried to restrain a smile, but it tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“Fair,” she said. 

“Are you a gardener? A farmer? Did you grow all of these?” he asked.

“In a sense.”

They were quiet for a time, and then she directed him to the right at the old well. 

“What did you catch?” she asked. 

“Catch?”

Was that not the right word?

“Your quarry,” she said, “You had to bring something back with you to be let past the city limits.”

“Oh. Yes. A brace of pheasants. I left them with the sentries.”

“Hmm,” she said. One of her favorite treats was a pheasant pie. 

How had she not noticed how hungry she was? How long had she been weeding?

“Is there truly a feast every night?” he asked doubtfully a moment later. 

“For the duration of the event? Yes. More’s the pity.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I prefer not to make idle conversation with people who are trying to impress–” don’t say me, she reminded herself, “—everyone around them.”

He snorted. 

“I can understand that.”

“Hold here,” she said, and he did. She sat up straight and gave a sharp whistle. Another came in return. 

“Made your choice already, Adahlena?” the taller sentry called down to her in Elvhen. 

The human’s head had moved to watch them, she noticed. Sharp eyes, to see them both when their clothing blended into the surrounding trees. 

“Not yet,” she called back. 

“Well, you should. He’s the size of a horse. You’d never have to walk again.”

“Yes,” the second one called down, stepping up to the edge of a branch, “And if his size is proportionate, you won’t be able to walk again!”

The two of them laughed while Adahlena flushed at the ears. The worst part of this whole thing, she decided, was the way her personal life and personal preferences were now the purview of the entire clan and all their allies. 

“I’m telling the cook to save you waybread and nothing else,” she told them in Common, and looked back to the human. 

“Walk on,” she told him, “Ignore these fools.”

“I didn’t know what they were saying anyway,” the man said sheepishly, but tugged the horse forward. 

From this angle, she could see the red-flushed curve of his neck, the small hairs at the base that curled into tight spirals. When he shifted his grip on the horse’s reins, the muscles in his back shifted slightly, growing tight against the fabric of his tunic and then softening again. Adahlena glanced away. 

“You wouldn’t want to know,” she said darkly. The sentries’ laughter hadn’t died down. 

“Is, ah,” he sighed, “Does…Adahlena mean something in Elvhen? Or were they speaking of the lady?”

“Both,” she said cautiously. 

“What does it mean?”

“Hmm,” she thought, “In your tongue–something like ‘friend of the forest.’ But…several her age were named the same. We knew this generation would bear the bride for the Compact and the sound of the name is very similar to the first bride’s.”

“And what did they say of her? The sentries.” 

She wished she could read his tone better. Was he skilled at hiding his feelings or was she just not used to the way humans expressed emotion? It was important that she knew which was true before she tried to pursue a relationship with one of them. 

“They asked me if she’d chosen yet. She hasn’t.” 

He glanced over his shoulder at her, revealing a crisp profile, nose sharp like a dagger, pink lips and a scar on one side. There was something about it that tugged at her memory—something she’d meant to do, or recall—but no, it was gone. She pulled a face when the man looked away. 

“That makes sense. I understand that not everyone has arrived yet.”

“Accurate; tomorrow is likely the final day for that.”

They were passing through the outlying houses now, and some of the children raced alongside them as they passed over the road. This time of day, washing was being gathered from the lines and suppers were being cooked. The air filled with the scent of roasting grain and fish, the bittersweet note of elfroot threading through it all. 

“The people here won’t eat at this banquet?” he asked, and she read a note of judgment in it. That was fair; it was right that the clan eat together. 

“They prefer not to at the moment,” she told him, “Many elves have suffered at the hands of humans. Not all of our clan were born in the clan, or in our lands. We will not force them to entertain our visitors.”

“Ah,” he said. Then, “You don’t seem very curious about me or any of this. You speak the trade tongue with little accent. Have you lived among humans?”

“For a time,” she admitted, “When I was younger. As for my curiosity, you forget that I have been amongst this furor for a month now, though the suitors have only begun to arrive over the last week or so. I know–”

I know everything I need to know about the ones coming here, she resisted saying. It was technically true–she had the dossiers in her bedroom now–but she hardly had an encyclopedic memory of them all. If she were being honest, she’d avoided looking at most of them since she’d selected her choice of candidates. Didn’t want to know too much; didn’t want to get attached, or hope for something that would ultimately disappoint. Better that she not know at all. 

“You know?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder at her again. 

He really is quite handsome, she thought, once you get past the odd ears and the ungainly breadth of him. 

“I know I’ll have time to ask if you…remain.” 

From the look he gave her, they both knew it wasn’t what she’d intended to say.

“Not far to the castle now,” she told him by way of apology, but he didn’t complain. 

“What are these banquets usually like?” he asked, skirting a puddle in the stone pathway. 

“Loud,” she said grimly, “Less so than they were, unless many new suitors came in today. We dismissed two after yesterday’s dinner.”

They’d both fallen for one of her tricks, the fools. So funny what men thought to say when they believed themselves in like company. She wouldn’t tell this human about that, though; better she find out for herself what kind of man he was when nobody was looking. 

“Truly?” he sounded surprised, “How many are left?”

Adahlena shrugged, shifting on the saddle so she could look ahead. The broad road stretched ahead of her, stone laid so tightly to the ground that no weed dared poke its head up. This path was kept cleared of trees, though she’d coaxed the council into allowing embrium beds along either side. They stood evenly now, nodding their ruby heads in time to the melody of the wind. 

“Perhaps eleven or twelve, not counting the new arrivals. Fewer after tonight, I expect.” 

“Twelve,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Afraid of the competition?” she asked. He huffed. 

“No. It’s much fewer than I expected. I was told seventy had been proposed.”

“Ah,” she said, “Well, we rejected most out of hand. We’d no desire to be part of some elaborate political game, and the Orlesians would doubtless refuse to leave their carriages behind. Fancy pricks.”

He laughed; must be Ferelden, she supposed. They seemed to dislike the Orlesians nearly as much as the elves did. Conquering countries that did not wish to be conquered had that effect on a people. 

“We,” he said, and just that. The castle was coming into view now, blended into the surrounding trees as it was. 

“We?” she said. 

“You said ‘we,’ both times. Are you responsible for some of the eliminations?”

“Clever as well as good with his hands,” she mused, nodding to another of the sentries as they passed a checkpoint. The sentry immediately turned and began whispering to the other. 

“Is that a yes?”

They paused outside the gates and she dismounted carefully, unable to use stirrups sized for someone much taller than she. She patted the horse’s dappled grey neck carefully (it was beyond her to understand why the humans were so enamored with the creatures; one well-placed kick and they could split one’s skull wide open. At least halla had to work to get at you with their horns) and looked past it to the man, who was waiting quietly. 

Patient, too. He was a decent enough candidate, she supposed. He certainly wasn’t painful to look at. She wished she could remember what it was about his face that made her think of…

“Adahlena! Where have you been?” Her mother snapped from the steps in Elvhen, “Anuon said you left hours ago.”

“Adahlena?” the man asked, not looking away from her. She grinned at him, suddenly very pleased with herself. 

“One could say I’m responsible for all the eliminations,” she told him, and held out her hand in the human manner, “Adahlena Lavellan, Bride of the Compact.”

To his credit, he didn’t blink twice at taking her dirty hand and bowing over it. He did not, she noticed, press his lips to her knuckles as she’d seen men do in human cities. Good. It might be a courtly action to them, but to her it seemed like a great deal too much contact with someone she didn’t know yet. 

“Cullen Rutherford,” he told her, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Are you?” she smiled, “Interesting.”

“Adahlena!” her mother called, and when Adahlena glanced at her she’d been joined by two others–the ones responsible for dressing her today, she supposed. 

“I will see you at the banquet, Cullen Rutherford,” she told him, taking her hand back and turning away, “Perhaps you’ll still have time to wash your hands.” 

Cullen Rutherford, she thought as she climbed the steps, Cullen Rutherford. What do I remember about that name?

When she turned away to walk toward the stairs, he was looking down at his hands, as streaked with dirt as hers were.

[youngerdrgrey]

all the pieces aren't even in the box // the morning show, bradley/laura, chapter two

about: Bradley and Laura's last few months in Montana and how the world reacts along the way (and maybe how they find their way back to each other) ~ read chapter one chapter two summary: in mid-July 2020, the gulf between Bradley and Laura widens as Sandy's funeral approaches. Laura's well-meaning ideas could change their relationship forever.

notes: my friends have requested/actively campaigned that this is not solely a break-up story. (they're anti-break up in general. we'll see, but either way, there will be joy as well.) it's not long after chapter one. Here's Bradley Jackson to kick us off before Laura takes the reins again. (read chapter one on AO3)

mid J U L Y (2020)

Somehow Sandy Jackson’s funeral becomes the hottest ticket in West Virginia.

It’s not like Bradley can go either way, but suddenly everybody she’s ever known wants to go and pay their respects. And fucking Hal — bless him — he’s never made an e-vite in his life. Bradley’s the one who types up the information and sends him the template. All he has to do is input the emails and paste it on Facebook.

But when Hal finally fucking posts it, he’s taken out the note about masks and social distancing. Bradley calls him up immediately, but he screens her call. Of course she leaves a voicemail.

“Hal! Don’t make me call you again. I haven’t asked for much, but you’d think since our mom died of fucking Covid that you would keep the mask mandate at her funeral. Or do you wanna die too?”

Bradley winces as soon as the words leave her mouth.

It’s just the kind of shit her mom used to say. She can’t fucking put that on Hal. She doesn’t think he’s suicidal. He’s just…. He doesn’t use his head right. He doesn’t want to be uncomfortable because once he gets uncomfortable, he starts thinking about what makes him actually comfortable, and he’s not supposed to be doing any of that anymore. He’s managed to stay sober since Mom died. She can’t fucking push him to the edge now.

So she hits the button to re-record and snaps, “Don’t screen my calls. Call me back. I don’t want Mom’s funeral to be a superspreader. Just put the masks as optional if you have to.”

She hangs up so that version of the voicemail will go through. Huffs as her phone buzzes with another dozen RSVPs. Fucking Harvard boy Alan from South East News Network clicked maybe. He’d never even met her mom.

Who would’ve thought when you cussed out those coal protestors that you’d end up anchoring at UBA? Let me know if you’re coming back for the funeral. We should get coffee.

How in the fuck did he even see this?

.

.

Bradley spends the rest of the day on a warpath. She stomps ahead of Laura on their afternoon walk. She turns on a movie even though she knows Laura would rather watch another episode of SVU. She even finishes the coffee creamer and puts it back in the fridge instead of chucking it into the trash.

It’s not like it matters. She’s the one who has to take it out anyway. She’s the only one who ever leaves the house for real. She can go to the grocery store, but she can’t go say goodbye to the woman who raised her. She can talk to the whole country every morning, but talking to the rest of her family? Giving some emotional eulogy about who they lost, or why they have to fucking wear masks even though some random coworker on Facebook who hasn’t washed his hands in three years claims to be an expert on disease.

At least Laura takes it in stride. She pulls up a separate blanket for herself on the couch without comment. She pours her wine a little heavier and gives Bradley a wide berth for their unintended movie night. She’s more patient than Bradley deserves. More patient than Bradley would be in reverse. 

Bradley would’ve started emptying other things just to make the point of how fucking frustrating it is to have empty containers in the fridge. But Bradley’s a mess, and Laura is not. Laura has an entire ranch with horse stables and an in-home studio. A bookcase in her sitting room with her Emmy awards and her Pulitzer. A real life with real people who come over when she’s lonely and play charades in her backyard.

What does Bradley have? What has she ever had in this shitty world she’s trapped in?

Hal finally calls Bradley back an hour into the movie. Bradley waves Laura off before Laura even reaches for the remote.

“You can keep watching,” Bradley says as she gets up off the couch. 

She heads out the french doors to the backyard. Figures that way if she starts yelling at her brother Laura won’t freak out too much. Bradley’s gotta stop bringing chaos into Laura’s house. Wasn’t that what Laura said back in Nevada? No chaos. That’s why she cut off Alex. That and the outing, but it’s not like Bradley can out Laura a third time.

Hal launches into a speech the moment Bradley answers. He says, “I’ll have a box of masks there, but if I put that in the invite, that’s it. All they’ll talk about is masks and how vaccines won’t work once they’re ready. It’s a funeral, Bradley, not one of your debates.”

Bradley bites on her tongue so hard it stings. It’s not a debate either way, Hal. It’s basic science. 

She grinds out, “Fine. But where’s the Zoom link?”

“Come on, Brad.”

Her eyes flash. “Don’t ‘come on.’ There has to be a Zoom, or I won’t see it at all.”

“That’s not fair. I’m the one setting all this up.”

“And I’m the one paying for it! I’ve been making all the calls—“

“And I’m just the screw up who puts the tables out, huh?”

It’s a trap, but Bradley’s not letting it go. “You said it not me.”

“Yeah, I said it. You can make all the calls you want from your little girlfriend’s cabin, but I’m the one actually sitting in this shit.” Hal’s voice shakes. Like roof tiles in a thunderstorm. Garage doors on the way down. “You want to deal with all the fucking food in the deep freezer? All these shitty ass casseroles? You know the fridge couldn’t even close the other day? We should’ve had a death as kids. That would’ve filled it up.”

“Don’t say that.”

He’s not listening. He sounds manic. Not at full tilt, but ramping up. “Everybody’s got something to say. They miss her. They loved her. They’re full of shit. You know how many people called when she had Covid? Guess. Guess how many, Brad.”

Saddest fucking guessing game of her life. 

“I don’t know, four.” That’s Roberta from the church, Mary Anne from their old park, and Lewis from the senior center. He was sweet on their mom last Bradley heard. Better to her than their no good father ever could’ve been. Mom’s words.

“One. You.”

A chill rolls down her spine. Only one.

She averts her eyes out to Laura’s yard. Technically she’d been looking out that way before, but she wasn’t looking at first. It was just something to glare towards since she couldn’t glare at Hal. 

But there’s a squirrel picking at the open table fire pit. There’s probably some marshmallow if it digs deep enough. Laura dropped half of hers the other night. The s’mores were meant to be a pick-me-up for Bradley. They hadn’t been able to do them when Emma and Sam were over. Sandy’s death put a damper on their gay double date.

Sandy Jackson, for all her faults, didn’t deserve to die alone. A whole life, and the only people who checked on her were the kids who had to. Hal couldn’t avoid it. He lived there. And Bradley….

Maybe Hal was wrong. Maybe he missed the calls or the texts.

Bradley asks, “You sure? Nobody from the church?”

Hal sniffles. “Not until after she died. Then it was flowers by the screen door. Casseroles and all them knocking whenever they saw Ma’s car in the driveway. I put it in the garage. Turned off the lights so they’d leave me alone.”

Bradley’s heart aches. He used to do that as a boy. Sit in the dark during fights and try to see how quiet he could be. Like he could make himself small enough to just disappear. He should’ve grown out of that by now. He shouldn’t still be so damn afraid of being alive.

“What about Sheryl?” That’s Hal’s girlfriend. “Why don’t you go to her place? Hide out over there.”

“Like you and Laura?” Hal huffs. “I’m fine here.”

“You’re not fine. You’re —“

“I’m fine. Sitting in the dark’s a lot better than getting high. You want something to fix? Help me keep Dad from showing up.”

Bradley freezes. She hasn’t heard from their dad since she started on TMS. He’d called her out of the blue, and she’d told him never to talk to her again. Was he still talking to Hal? She can’t stop that. She can’t let him back into her life.

She must take too long to say something because Hal huffs a second time.

He says, “Didn’t think so. Forget it. You want a Zoom, then send a link. I don’t have the fancy one. Mine’ll cut off after an hour.”

“Alright.” Her voice sounds too soft. Quiet. Weak. She repeats herself with force behind it. “Alright, I’ll send you a link. Add it into the invite. Tell everybody they can log in if they don’t want to go in person.”

She knows as she says it that he won’t do that. He’ll add the link, but he won’t make the suggestion. He wants all those people there. He wants the strangers and the church fellowship and the fans who only go to see if Bradley will show up. He wants a village. And she can’t give him that.

“I gotta go, Brad.”

“Yeah, me too. Laura’s… watching a movie.” Bradley can’t remember which one now. “Call me if something else comes up.”

“Yeah, sure.” He hesitates, but he clicks off without saying that he loves her. 

“Love you too,” she says to nobody.

.

.

Laura isn’t watching the movie when Bradley walks back in. It’s paused on nearly the same screen Bradley left it on. An immature part of Laura had wanted to change the channel while Bradley was gone. They were meant to watch SVU tonight. Bradley knew that, but the blonde’s been lashing out in little ways.

She lets the trash overflow before taking it out. She makes her own coffee while Laura’s in the shower and stews in the studio until show time. She stops calling Laura babe.

But Bradley is allowed to be upset that her mom died. Bradley gets to react to that. Would Laura like if the reaction didn’t feel targeted at her? Of course. That does not change the fact that this is how Bradley needs to grieve. Laura can give her that. Until after the funeral at least.

So Laura finishes her first glass of wine and pours a second. Picks up the book on attachment styles that she’s only partially reading out of passive aggression. And she waits for her girlfriend to come back. And if it feels like she’s still waiting, even as Bradley returns and settles back onto the couch beside her, well, that’s between Laura and her next therapy appointment.

“How’s Hal?” Laura asks. 

Bradley circles her jaw, but she doesn’t make a sound. Not the worst call then. “He invited half of West Virginia to Mom’s funeral. Everybody will be there.” Except her. “Except me.”

Laura closes her book to reach for her wine. Says without thinking, “You’re welcome to go. You’d just—“

“Quarantine when I got back, I know,” Bradley finishes. Laura’s jaw ticks. Another little rebellion. Bradley’s eyes flash with recognition. “I cut you off.”

“You were right this time.” Not to do it, but about what Laura would have said.

If Bradley goes to the funeral, then they won’t see each other for nearly three weeks. There’s the nearly two thousand miles from Montana to the other side of country. The day for the ceremony and another to help Hal clean up before Bradley turns around to drive all two thousand miles again. Then two weeks of quarantining. That’s only if Bradley doesn’t catch Covid from anyone out there.

“Three weeks,” Bradley voices. “It’s not forever. You know Emma and Sam could come over. Have some s’mores. Talk all about me when I’m not inside cutting the strawberries.” She says it like it’s an actual possibility. Like it could be a change of pace and not the first step in their death march.

What if Bradley gets sick? What if she can’t leave West Virginia again? What if her case is serious, and Laura can’t get to her without it literally killing them both?

But if Laura doesn’t let Bradley go, isn’t that another end in and of itself? They’ve barely been dating five months. Four if they count from when they became official instead of when they kissed in Iowa. And again in New York. In Bradley’s hotel.

Five months is too soon to restrict somebody’s movements. Not quite restrict; it’s not an act of control. It’s an act of consideration. A relationship is compromise and partnership. Five months is too short a time to ask for this kind of sacrifice. If Laura even asks, she’ll sound unreasonable. Desperate and delusional. What kind of partner would Laura be to ask Bradley to miss her own mother’s funeral?

So Laura takes a heavier sip from her wine. Drinks until she can’t breathe and the only thing on her tongue is the black cherry notes in her cabernet sauvignon.

Bradley looks mildly concerned, but below that, underneath the fire that she barely tamps down, she looks hopeful. Laura can’t snuff that out.

Her mouth’s dry as she tries not to croak, “It’s not forever.”

Bradley almost squeals. She flips her phone over instantly. “I’ll message Gayle. She can coordinate with Stella and Mia. I won’t tell Hal until it’s official. Don’t want to get his hopes up if I can’t get another day off. D'you think Alison will do it, or do we need to see who else is available?”

She talks without looking at Laura. It’s for the best. Laura keeps a smile on her face, and she nods along, but all she really hears is three weeks. You’re welcome to go. And Bradley’s squeal at the thought of leaving Laura here alone.

.

.

read chapter three

[ladyriot]

This is the closest to humour I ever get. Snippet from a Blindspot fic, zapatterson, "Triboelectric" after the iconic elevator scene of course. Slightly suggestive.

~~

Tasha needs to learn to listen to her own damn advice. The leather couch in her apartment squeaks in protest as she throws herself down onto it, but she can't be bothered to care. Memories of her morning infect her brain instead. It's karma, really, how she'd pushed Patterson to move on and get back on the horse, then gets called into Reade's office only to hear that he's gotten engaged to Meg. 

Her chances have been swallowed up with the ring on Meg's finger. And it's only exactly what she deserves. She rejected Reade, when he kissed her all those years ago after the hospital. She doesn't get to take it back. Patterson's face had gone all… soft and concerned when she'd said that, told her "things change." Tasha had tried so hard not to spit the next words out, not at Patterson who could never deserve that; "and people get engaged." There's finality in that, at least the suggestion of permanence.

Her body is heavy and aching, like the air full of pressure before a storm. She wonders if that's what a body feels like when you refuse to let it feel all its feelings, hold back the tears and suck in breath after breath only never to exhale. How do you breathe again when you know you'll be alone forever, when the only person in years to want you, to think the two of you <em>just make sense</em>, finds somebody better, somebody not afraid of themselves, not too afraid of loss to commit to anything?

Her doorbell rings, startling her. But it's Patterson, with a six pack of Tasha's favourite beer.

"Thought you could use this," Patterson says, holding out the case. "I can stay or I can leave you alone, no offence taken."

"Stay," Tasha says. "Thanks for…" She takes the six pack in her hand. "Sit down, I'll get ice."

Patterson nods and goes. Tasha walks into the kitchen, fills a bowl with ice in contemplative silence and mindlessly sticks some beers in it to cool. She turns and opens her fridge, grabbing her last already cold beer to start with and wishes Patterson were just here to hang out, the morning's events having never happened, never led to her feeling so bitter.

Because, well, Tasha has never taken a more interesting elevator ride in her life. She'd stepped into the elevator of the FBI, greeted by the flustered nod of her friend as she got hit on by the scientist from upstairs. Patterson was delightfully pink, turning a shocked look over to Jack and revealing the tiniest sliver of a smile when he called her magnetic, stuttering out that the charge was actually triboelectric. Tasha had only grinned wider, both at Patterson's awkwardness and just… 

"Tribo," Patterson had explained, waving the errant dryer sheet as she spoke. "The greek term for rubbing"

And oh, Tasha knew and absolutely delighted in the humour of it. Tasha looked down so her laugh wouldn't be obvious in the space of the elevator. To her surprise, Patterson shrugged off the prospect of a date with just about the worst excuse Tasha had ever heard in all her life.

And now Tasha stands barefoot in her kitchen, thinking that talking about that elevator ride would be much more fun had it not ended in Reade's office with a ruined mood, if it didn't leave her in her apartment conjuring alternate endings to that moment before Reade's announcement, endings which would not end in her being upset, thoughts that spark little embers or like sparks on livewire in her stomach.

Tasha shakes it off, closing that box off in her head and marking it with a giant, red letter X. Patterson was, in her own way, incredibly vulnerable right now, untrusting of dating, of connecting. She'd come here as a friend. Tasha asjusts her shoulders and goes to meet Patterson in her living room, passing her the already cool beer while she pops open a lukewarm one and sticks a few ice cubes into it. Common decency or hostess code or something, not chivalry. Not… of course not. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Patterson asks carefully.

"What's there to talk about?" Tasha said. "I can't change it. And I don't even think I want to. I want him happy and he is. So." Tasha shrugs. "I'll be fine."

Patterson's face scrunches.  "You will be. Okay, I mean. You'll find someone else," Patterson insists. "I fully believe the right person's out there. Maybe it's just not now."

"Patterson," Tasha says as she raises an eyebrow and inclines her head. "You're the one who's magnetic. Me, not so much. No one's hitting on me in the elevator."

Patterson blushes. And then laughs. 

"Okay okay okay," she says. "Fine. But it's triboelectric. And I'm sure one day someone will hit on you in the elevator."

Tasha snorts through her nose. "Yeah, right."

Then she starts laughing. It just sounds so dirty.

"Stop laughing, no!" Patterson says. "You're worthy of love, you're attractive, funny, it'll happen if that's what you want. Whoever it is will be lucky."

"Thank you. But I'm not laughing because… but, triboelectric?" Tasha lifts an eyebrow suggestively.

Patterson blushes fiercely in response.

"I didn't think you'd fully get what I meant," Tasha leaps. "Did you...? When did you—wait, nevermind. I shouldn't ask that."

"I didn't say it was ever, you know, successful. The.. uh… anatomy has to match up."

"Oh, I know, Patterson," Tasha agrees. 

Patterson seems to stumble, her mouth not knowing what shape to move in. "I…"

[estherdedlock]

I’ve been in the mood to read some YA fantasy and all of Leigh Bardugo’s books were waitlisted at my library, so I turned to Cassandra Clare. I’ve heard about her for years, but never read any of her books. I’m just finishing Clockwork Princess, the third installment in the Infernal Devices trilogy and I have...questions.

I’m not going to get into the love triangle that’s the heart of the book because it’s been rehashed at length and I don’t really care about it. This is what I can’t stop thinking about:

Why TF does Will pursue Tessa on horseback???

It makes no sense. The book is set in 1878, not the middle ages. By then, rail service was extensive throughout Great Britain, even to remote areas like Wales. Sure, he couldn’t have taken a train all the way to the base of Cadair Idris, but he could’ve reached the region a lot faster by train than he did on a horse.

Here is the location of Cadair Idris:

And here is what the rail network looked like by the end of the 1870s:

You see? There were rail lines going all the way up to the north coast of Wales. The distance from Fleet Street in London (roughly the site of the Shadowhunter’s Institute) to Cadair Idris is approximately 240 miles. In the late 19th century, trains ran at an average speed of about 40 miles per hour. Even accounting for delays, transfers, stops, bad weather, etc., Will could’ve probably reached Wales by train in at most 10 hours. Then I’m sure he would’ve been able to buy or borrow a horse to take him to Cadair Idris. His total travel time would’ve been less than 24 hours.

Instead, he rides the whole way on horseback, and it takes him four days. And three nights. It takes him that long, in part, because the supposedly magic horse Balios exhibits neither magical speed nor strength, and constantly has to be rested and fed...as does Will, who pampers himself along the route with hot baths, warm meals, glasses of wine, and overnight stays in comfortable inns...all while he believes the love of his life to be in the captivity of an evil madman who has sworn to use her for some inscrutable and awful purpose. Four days. And three nights. That’s not a desperate rescue mission, it’s a Victorian gentleman’s country holiday.

“But Esther,” you say, “he went on horseback in hopes of catching up to her before she ever reached Cadair Idris!”

Nope - before he leaves London, Will admits that he knows he has no chance of outpacing the Magister’s mechanized horses, and can only hope to get to Cadair Idris "before it is too late.” But Will has a mechanized horse of his own!! The railroad! Back then, they even used to call it “The Iron Horse!” Tessa is in a stagecoach. Will could’ve gotten a train in London and reached Cadair Idris days before Tessa.

“But Esther,” you say, “he found a clue along the road...Tessa’s jade necklace! He’d never have found it if he’d been on a train!”

Good point, but what does Will do after finding the necklace? Does he pick up the pace? Spur his “magic” horse on to feats of magical speed and strength, renewed by the hope that he must be right on Tessa’s heels? Does he even skip a meal?

Nope, nope, and nope - he stops for the night and demands a servant procure him a private room and a hot bath. He bathes, shaves, and dresses for dinner...which, we are told, is not to his liking, the wine being sour and the meat being tough. Then the self-indulgent young wayfarer gets himself beaten up by werewolves, only to be rescued by the London pack leader, Woolsey Scott---who, inexplicably, is just hanging out at this remote inn that Will has taken two full days to reach on horseback. Perhaps Mr. Scott took the train?

Finally, our hero is in sight of Cadair Idris -- and it’s time for another break. With only 20 miles left between him and the imperiled love of his life, he stops off for his third night at an inn, where he sleeps so soundly that only an attack of demonic automatons can rouse him from slumber.

Later, Will cautiously reminds himself that Jem, “...had always said that Will rushed toward the end of a mission rather than proceeding in a measured manner.” But this entire trip has been nothing but “a measured manner,” laughably so! A trip that should’ve taken 8-10 hours takes four days and why? BECAUSE CASSANDRA CLARE WANTED WILL ON THAT HORSE. Will on a horse is dashing and romantic, Will on a train is not, I guess. But it’s not dashing and romantic when, instead of taking the quickest possible means of rescuing his lady love, the hero opts for a dilatory road trip! With dinner! And wine! And hot baths!

Moving on from this silliness, when Will finally does find Tessa, he literally walks right through her enchanted, invisible prison wall, even though the Magister said earlier that breaching the wall was impossible without a time-consuming spell. He walks right through it! Right through! Is this because he’s Nephilim? We never find out. Why? Because Cassandra Clare had to get Will through that wall so that he could mourn Jem by having sex with Jem’s fiancee.

And as for the Magister, his evil plan is dreadfully stupid. He’s bonded demon spirits to the bodies of his automatons, making it impossible for Nephilim to kill them with their special angel swords. But they can still be killed with...regular swords! And axes, and hammers, and basically anything wielded with enough strength. So he’s gone to all this trouble to create an army that does not need a race of angelic warriors to defeat it, just enough people with sharp blades and blunt objects. Hell, you could even run them over with a train. You know, like the kind Will should’ve taken to Wales instead of trotting on a horse for four freaking days.

Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed this book, and the two that preceded it. It takes a certain level of boldness for an author to write with such lack of concern for what make sense, to refuse to “kill her darlings” and instead, give them 500+ pages on which to play to her heart’s content. It sounds odd, but I actually admire such giddy brazenness, and apparently, it’s worked out very well for Ms. Clare so all props to her. Really.

But still...four freaking days?

[comparativetarot]

Ten of Wands. Art by Nara Lesser, from Neurotic Owl’s Faerytale Tarot.

I have no clue how well known the goose girl is and y’all are going to need the backstory so:  (you can also read the whole thing here and you totally should, it’s fucking wild)

Princess and her maid set off on a trip to a neighboring kingdom along with, for some reason, the princess’ talking horse, Falada.  On the way, the maid announces that she’s tired of being a servant and they’re going to swap clothes and jobs and just, y’know, lives.  I suppose I’m supposed to feel bad for the princess here, but luckily I don’t have to try because the whole natural world is constantly telling her how sad her old mother would be to see her being horribly tortured by doing some basic manual labour and wearing servant clothes.   Seriously, she has to drink out of a stream without using her golden cup and it’s all ‘If this your mother knew, alas, her heat would break in two’.  So far my sympathy is squarely with the maid.  

So ok, they get to the palace, the betrothed prince carries the maid away to be cosseted and such and the princess is sent off to help a slightly creepy gooseherd who keeps trying to steal a couple strands of her hair.  The maid has Falada killed so he won’t talk and look, I am not a fan of killing horses, but also that horse was really propping up the monarchy and snitches get stitches I guess.

The princess bribes the knacker to hang Falada’s skull over the passage where she walks every day (instead of maybe bribing him to not kill the damn horse?  I dunno, benefit of the doubt, maybe that would have been more expensive) and the creepy fucking talking horse skull keeps on alternately telling her how sad mommy would be and keeping the gooseherd away from her shiny shiny hair.

Anyway: the maid finally gets what this story wants us to think is her deserved comeuppance, and BTW this part definitely reads like SOMEbody knew the story of Purim, it’s the exact trick they use on Haman.  The prince asks the maid what punishment a traitorous servant should face, and if the talking horse skull wasn’t gruesome enough for you, this is where things get really gross.  She basically says to stuff the servant in a barrel studded all over inside with sharp nails and have her dragged through the streets like that till she’s dead.  And yeah, that is bad.  If she really thought they were going to do that to some poor servant, that is real psychopath bullshit.  But look, she knows she’s a maid surrounded by fancy bitches and what I hear there is the escalation of someone trying to cover.  Like in her head it’s {Oh fuck what would a real princess say?  These people are soooo fucked up, what would they do?  I know, shove the servant in a barrel!  (They don’t look satisfied yet) With nails!  And like, drag it behind horses, I dunno!  Yeah, that’s it, that’s what a real princess would say.}

And then they gruesomely murder the maid and get married and live happily ever after, presumably while Falada sings creepy dead horse songs of joy, the end.