#and i hope i don’t slice my thumb open again. and i hope the bucket doesn’t leak again

[fingertipsmp3]

Looking at the rota app thinking well. Tomorrow is going to be fascinating

[myownworstenemyyy]

All I Wanted - Part 10

a Javier Peña x Reader series

Word count: 4.9k (gif by @pedropcl​)

Warnings: angst, trauma triggers (mentions of blood/gore), SMUT, unprotected sex, mentions of scars, fluff, mentions of vomiting, ANGST, cliffhanger (let me know if i need to add something please!)

S/O: my lovely Tumblr wife Sarinaaa @captainclod​ 😘

A/N: this takes place right after part 9 (the morning after, anyone? 😏) i really hope y’all enjoy it! thanks for reading 🥰 (masterlist in bio)

Part 10 – Misguided Ghosts

You’ve been awake for some time now but you’re so comfortable in Javier’s warm embrace, you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed. He has one arm draped over your middle and his face is buried in your hair, his breaths tickling the skin on your neck. Throughout the night you would feel him pull you closer to his body, but even in his unconscious state, he was mindful not to squeeze you too tightly so as to avoid exacerbating your injuries. 

Occasionally you would hear him mumbling in his sleep, things like sí, mi amor and love you and be safe. And you’d smile to yourself, knowing he was dreaming of you. 

Eres el amor de mi vida, he had promised when he was making love to you - when you were making love to each other. The moment he said those words it was like the tether between your souls solidified, forming an unbreakable bond that both fills you up and steals the air from your lungs. Since that moment, every breath you take is like the first - so new and pure. You see the world with brand new eyes and you know you’ll never be the same.

Javi stirs behind you and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest, sleepily planting a kiss just behind your ear. You think he might be waking up but then you hear his breathing even out again and you chuckle lightly at how exhausted he must be after your activities from the night before.

You wish you could stay like this forever, but your bladder seems to think otherwise. You intertwine your fingers with his and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, before you slowly slip out from under his heavy arm.

“¿A...dónde vas, hermosa?” he whispers when you stand up from the bed. You turn and find him watching you with sleepy half-lidded eyes. His lips are plump and slightly pursed and you can’t resist pressing a kiss to them. He instantly deepens the kiss as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, pulling a moan from you. 

He places his hands on your hips and starts pulling you back onto the bad. Reluctantly, you press a hand to his chest, whispering against his lips, “bathroom.” You chuckle when he pouts and lets his head fall back against the pillows, “hurry back,” he pleads and you almost roll your eyes at the childlike expression on his face.

You shake your head with a smile as you turn towards the bathroom. When you reach for the doorknob you hear him call your name, making you turn back towards him with questioning eyes. After a beat of silence, which he spends ogling your naked body, you fight a blush and breathe, “Yes, Javi?” and you place a hand on your hips as you face his heated gaze head-on.

His lust-filled eyes travel back up your body and finally land on your eyes, saying, “Nothing, I’m just - admiring,” while he licks his lips. Feeling bold, you wink at him and bite your lip, making sure to turn extra slow as you saunter into the bathroom and close the door with a click. 

You lock it out of habit and lean against the door as you place a hand on your stomach, trying to calm the butterflies that took flight just from that small interaction with Javier - he is just pure sex, you sigh as you push away from the door.

After you’ve done your business, you look at yourself in the mirror and your jaw drops when you see how disheveled your hair is, though your skin practically glows. You run your fingers through your hair, trying to untangle the numerous knots but with little luck, so you decide to just take a shower - especially after you realize how…sticky your skin feels. 

Without a second thought, you step into the shower and turn the water on. Normally the water takes only a matter of seconds to turn warm, thanks to the sweltering heat this time of year. But as soon as you feel the freezing temperature on your skin, your stomach drops and your heart hammers in your chest. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as goosebumps rise all over your skin. “No,” you croak out as you lean against the tile wall for support but find yourself sliding downward, knocking over a couple bottles of soap along the way. Your vision becomes blurry as the memories flash in your mind–

You’re then greeted with a bucket of ice water to the face as a voice exclaims “MIRA quién por fin se despertó,” the sound echoing off the walls and making your eardrums ache.

“¿Sabes qué, putana? I change my mind - why don’t you shut the fuck up so I can actually enjoy what I’m about to do to you.”  

“No! Stop–p-please,” you screw your eyes shut and cover your ears to block out the loud banging coming from somewhere in the room as another wave of memories crashes down on you.

“Good girl,” Serpiente says before he lowers the knife and plunges it into your stomach.

“Hey, stay awake. You’re gonna be OK, mi amor, I promise,” Javier’s eyes frantically search yours for any indication that you’re hearing him. “‘Mi - amor’?” you whisper.

The rope burns into your wrists and ankles as Javier’s lifeless body is consumed by a river of blood, just before the monster slices his blade across your throat.

“NO!” you scream when you feel warm hands wrap around each of your arms. You push back as hard as you can but your back hits the wall and there’s nowhere for you to go. 

“Hermosa, it’s me! It’s Javi,” the concern in his voice breaks through your brain’s assault. You open your eyes, trying to catch your breath but it’s like your lungs refuse to expand, making it impossible to breathe. You see spots in your vision and find his eyes through the steam of the now-hot shower. He’s somehow managed to squeeze into the small bathtub with you, his knees pushing against yours as he squats in front of you with the water from the shower raining down his naked back. He brings his hands to your face, saying, “Breathe - it’s okay. I’m here - you’re safe, mi amor.” 

Your teeth are chattering and your whole body shakes uncontrollably. It’s like you’re still in that chair, frozen to the bone though the water in the bath is almost boiling hot. “Th-the w-w-water,” you stammer and as soon as Javi understands what you’re saying he turns and shuts the water off with one aggressive turn of his wrist. “There - it’s off. OK? You’re safe,” he keeps repeating until the look of sheer terror on your face crumples with a shuddering sob.

Your head would’ve fallen forward against your knees if Javi wasn’t holding it in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the sides of your cheeks as you weep. He doesn’t try to shush you or stop you from shedding the tears that have been building up inside you ever since the day he found you. He just sits with you as he alternates between resting his forehead against yours and pressing gentle kisses to your skin, quietly reminding you, “Aquí estoy - you’re safe.” 

When your breathing finally calms down and you regain control over your limbs, you bring your hands to Javi’s wrists, causing him to lean back and stare at you with concerned eyes. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks quietly as he brushes hair away from your face.

You stare back at him for a second, then without warning, you crash your lips against his and wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer when he starts pulling back from you. You trace your tongue along the seam of his lips until he allows you entrance and when he does, you plunge into his mouth with a moan. He puts his hands on your hips, his fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts and you break away with a gasp, your chest heaving against his.

“Fuck it out of me, Javi,” you breathe against his lips as he watches you with confused eyes. You place your hands on his shoulders for balance as you tuck your legs under you so that you’re kneeling in front of him, the tops of your thighs brushing against his shins.

You reach for one of his hands and place his palm against your throbbing center. “Wait–” he starts to pull his hand away but you tighten your grip, pleading, “Help me forget - please,” you swallow the lump in your throat as you search his eyes for - for what? Understanding? How could he possibly understand what’s going on with you when you don’t even understand it yourself? Christ - you were just having a panic attack and now you’re asking him to fuck you? 

What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Your shoulders drop in defeat as you look away from him, your bottom lip quivering from trying to contain another wave of tears rushing to the surface. Maybe I should just...leave. You look towards the door and notice that the doorknob is hanging from where it used to be embedded in the wooden door, and chipped pieces of wood litter the tile.

Jesus, he broke the fucking door. You look back at Javi who watches you with a worrisome expression. He holds one of your hands in his and when a stray tear falls down your cheek, he squeezes your hand. He swallows hard and shifts his body so that he’s on his knees, the two of you mirroring each other. 

“Please,” your voice is barely audible and you wonder if he even heard you when all he does is stare back at you - his expression unreadable. 

But then he’s reaching for you, his strong arms wrapping around you as he kisses a spark of life back into you. You almost sob from relief, and another emotion you don’t quite comprehend. He lifts your hips and helps you to your feet, but he remains kneeling in front of you. Your breathing speeds up when he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee and makes a trail of kisses up your inner thigh until you’re practically hyperventilating from anticipation. Then he looks up at you through those beautiful lashes of his and whispers, “I love you,” before he buries his face in your pussy, flattening his tongue as he licks from your wet folds to your sensitive clit.

You moan his name as you thread your fingers through his hair, and your legs nearly give out when he starts circling his tongue over your clit in an intoxicating rhythm. You feel one of his hands slide up your stomach until he reaches your breast and expertly rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Your head falls back against the tile with a desperate cry when he slowly inserts one finger into your aching cunt as he simultaneously sucks your clit into his hot mouth. He’s only pumped into you four times when you start to feel that jolting tightness deep in your belly. 

“Oh, god - Javi,” you breathe when he adds a second finger and moans, the vibration nearly making your knees buckle beneath you. He must sense your impending demise because he lowers his hand from your breast to your hip, holding you steady. He curls his thick fingers inside of you and sucks hard on your clit, sending you plummeting over the edge of an orgasm so intense your knees actually give out. But Javi reacts quickly and he’s standing up to catch you with one arm while his other hand remains between your thighs, his thumb vigorously massaging your clit to draw out your orgasm.

Your whole body feels like jell-o as you place your hands on his shoulders for balance, pressing your lips to his and dipping your tongue in his mouth to taste yourself. He brings a hand to your ass and squeezes, pulling a gasp from your lips, “Fuck - you taste even sweeter than I remember,” he breathes into your neck before sucking on your skin with a pressure that will surely leave a gorgeous bruise.

You reach between your bodies and find his cock stiff as a rod, dripping into your hand as you slowly start to pump his length, “I want you inside me, Javi,” you murmur into his shoulder before biting into his flesh, pulling a surprised hiss from him. He pulls back and captures your lips in a bruising kiss.

When you pull apart he takes a step out of the tub, presumably to lead you to the bed, but you tug him back, saying, “No, here. I want - I need–” the words get stuck in your throat as you try to think of a way to express what you’re feeling.

I need to replace a bad memory with a good one. It sounds simple in your head, but for some reason, the idea of actually voicing it out loud is utterly terrifying - because it makes it real. It gives life to all of this. Your fear and your pain - all of it becomes real the moment you acknowledge it to the rest of the world. But you’re not sure if you’re ready for that yet.

As if he can read your mind, Javier steps back into the tub and cradles your face in his hands, promising, “Anything you want, mi amor - I’m here.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, but you instantly deepen the connection, needing to be so overwhelmed by his touch and his love that you forget about everything else in existence. 

Breaking apart from him - and before you can change your mind - you reach behind him and turn the water on, your body instantly tensing when the cool liquid hits your skin. You close your eyes and try to focus on the warmth of Javi���s body flush against yours as he slides a hand down your ass to lift your thigh and hook your leg around his hip. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips back to yours with a newfound purpose. 

This is real - Javi is real - I’m safe in his arms, you think as Javi reaches between you and teases the head of his cock along your entrance. And when he taps it against your clit, you moan loudly from the current of electricity it sends throughout your whole body, your cries echoing off the walls of the intimate space. He rests his forehead against yours as he looks into your eyes and thrusts his entire length into your throbbing cunt.

“JAVI,” you cry out from the intense pleasure of being completely filled by him. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades with a grip that’s sure to draw blood if you press any deeper. He slowly pulls out of you only to slam his hips back into yours, swearing, “I’ve got you, hermosa - never letting you go,” he breathes into the crook of your neck as he starts to move with more rhythm. 

You feel wetness on your cheeks - either from your own tears or from the water cascading down Javi’s back and splashing onto you, you don’t know. But it doesn’t really matter because all you feel - all you are - is Javi’s body connecting with yours over and over again as he brings you both closer to that state of absolute euphoria.  

He fucks into you with fervor, hitting a particularly exquisite spot deep in your core, and you whimper against his shoulder when you feel the pad of his thumb press down on your clit. “Fuck, Javi - s-so good,” you praise as you thread your fingers in his damp hair and bring his lips back to yours.

You’re teetering on the brim of another earth-shattering orgasm, every snap of his hips inching you closer and closer to the edge. Then all of a sudden he’s lifting your other thigh and wrapping your leg around his waist, pinning your body against the cold tile as he drives his cock home with more urgency.

You dig your heels into his ass to push him deeper as your walls begin to clench around him. He drags his teeth along your throat as he groans, “Love the way you grip my cock - ’s fucking incredible,” he breathes into your skin and when he bites down on the region where your neck meets your shoulder, you lose all sense of reality as your orgasm takes over.

Javi follows you right over that blissful peak as his hips stutter against yours, his warmth filling you in the most primal way. He pumps into you a few more times as he comes down from his high and you bring a hand to his cheek, captivated by the lines of his face as his expression softens when he meets your eyes. You run your thumb along his bottom lip, swollen from your own lips’ passionate embrace. The warm water streaming down his face continues down your hand and onto your breast, leaving goosebumps on your skin. 

Your legs slide down his body, your feet silently landing on the tile while he slowly pulls out of you. He winces from the overstimulation as you release a quiet moan. You rest your head on his shoulder, both of you still breathing hard and too exhausted to speak. You look down and watch as the water from the shower streams down his softened cock and washes away his release mixed with yours. 

You feel his fingers under your chin, gently lifting your head so that you’re forced to look him in the eyes. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are glassy as they search yours, “You OK?” he asks quietly, his words nearly drowned out by the water raining down on you. You close your eyes and inhale deeply, nodding your head as his thumb strokes your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before wrapping you in his arms and pulling you in close. You weave your arms under his and bring your hands to his shoulders, leaning your forehead against his as you whisper, “Thank you.”

You barely notice when the water goes cold some time later - the comfort of Javi’s embrace providing all the warmth you could ever need. 

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

One month later

“Are you nervous about Monday?” Connie asks you as you stand in front of your closet, trying to pick an outfit for your first day back to work.

“Not really - I’m on light duty, which basically means my ass is gonna be glued to my desk chair for the next three weeks,” you sigh as you rest your hands on hips and gnaw on your lower lip. 

Truthfully, you can’t wait to get back to work, even if it’s just to sift through some boring-ass paperwork until your eyes bleed. Over the past few weeks, you’ve done nothing besides eat, sleep, read and then reread the few novels you had brought over with you from the states, and of course spend time with Javi, which obviously was your favorite pastime.

After the time you spent together in the shower that day - an activity the two of you have since enjoyed on a frequent basis - you and Javi have become closer than you ever thought was possible. You’d stay in his apartment while he went to work and he’d call you at least three times a day just to check in.

“Yes, Javi, I already ate breakfast,“ you shake your head against the phone receiver as you put the last of the dishes you just used into the sink.

“What about your meds? The doctor said you need to take them–”

“For two weeks to avoid infection, I know,” you chuckle at his probing questions, but your heart swells at the concern in his voice - no man has ever cared for your wellbeing the way Javi does and you’re still getting used to the feeling. “I’m good, Javi, I promise,” he’s silent for a minute before he responds, “I know, I–,” you hear him release a nervous breath before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper, “I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

You swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat, wishing he were here so you could comfort him and prove to him just how OK you really are. “Thank you, Javi - truly. But I don’t want you to worry about me, OK? I’ll be right here when you get home.” He hums in approval, and the baritone of his voice reverberates over the line when he says, “I like the sound of that - coming home to you.”

Your breath hitches and your heart hammers against your ribcage as you take in his words - home? Sure, you were the one who just brought it up, but coming from his mouth it sounds so - tangible. Yes, you do feel at home whenever you’re with him, even if the two of you haven’t exactly discussed any plans for the future - especially given the whole Columbian drug war situation. 

But when this was all over - then what? You love him and you know he loves you, but your life back in the states - back home - is completely different from this way of life. Over there it’s less demanding and, sure, not having to worry about getting kidnapped by some narcos assholes (again) is obviously a plus - but - will the love you share for one another still burn just as bright as it does here?

“Hermosa?” you hear him ask and you have to shake your head to focus, “Yeah, sorry - I’m here.”

Javi sounds uncertain when he says, “Maybe I should head home a few hours early” - and there was that word again. God, pull it together - it’s just a word. “No, no, I’m fine - besides, I told Connie I’d help her with something later tonight so there’s no reason for you to come - home - early,” the words tumble out of your mouth in one breath and you hope he doesn’t call your bluff about helping Connie tonight.

You hear someone call his name in the background and breathe a sigh of relief for the distraction, “OK, I gotta go - I’ll just - see you later then, “ he sounds annoyed, but not at you - most likely at the person who interrupted your phone call because he quickly continues with a soft, “Te quiero,” and you instantly feel at ease.

You smile and respond in a voice just as quiet, “I love you, too,” before ending the call. 

“Ooh, I like that one,” Connie raves when you pull out a plum-colored button-up top to match your black pants. It’s one of your favorites actually, but then you realize how low-cut it is - low enough to show the jagged scar running down your clavicle - and suddenly the thought of wearing it out in public makes you slightly queasy. 

“I think I’ll just go with that gray one,” you mumble and Connie’s expression turns to one of confusion until she realizes what the problem with the other top is, responding with a simple, “Oh, okay,” and a small smile but you see a sympathetic glint in her eyes. 

It’s not that the scars themselves bother you - you’re actually starting to accept them as a part of you now, thanks to Javier’s constant reassurance as well the therapy sessions the DEA made you attend in order to be able to go back to work. No, you’re not ashamed of them, but you really don’t feel like facing the stares or, god forbid, any questions from your colleagues - at least not yet. So for now, you stick with the safer option.

There’s a knock on your apartment door and Connie stands up from where she was seated at the foot of your bed, saying, “That’s probably Steve with the food,” as she goes to open the door. Sandra, one of the secretaries at the embassy, had called you earlier that day to tell you she was going to send you some of her famous enchiladas - which were to die for - as a celebratory feast to welcome you back to work. You nearly cried from gratitude as you thanked her for her kind gesture - and also probably because you were super excited to devour those enchiladas - they were that good. 

You drape your top over the sofa that sits in the corner of your bedroom and follow Connie out to the living room. As soon as she opens the door to greet her husband - who’s holding a covered tray in his hands - you’re met with the scent of chile and spices that… 

Make your stomach turn violently. 

You quickly rush off to the bathroom, your hand covering your nose and mouth to block out the scent that caused such a repulsive response. You barely make it to the toilet before bile rises in your throat and your stomach heaves, sending you face first into the toilet bowl. Hardly anything comes out, seeing as you hadn’t really eaten all day because you were looking forward to having the enchiladas - the thought of which has you leaning over the toilet once more.

You feel a small hand on your lower back and another holding your hair out of your face as Connie reassures you in her motherly tone, “It’s OK, you’re OK - breathe,” and you start to relax as she rubs soothing circles on your back. You cough and spit into the toilet a couple of times before you slump back against the wall, letting Connie flush the toilet for you.

You’re about to get up and grab a glass of water - and a toothbrush with a whole tube of toothpaste - when Steve steps into the doorway of the bathroom, holding a glass of water out for you to take. He looks a bit sickly himself as you quietly thank him and gulp down the entire thing. Then Connie turns to him from where she’s seated on the edge of the bathtub next to you, and says, “Could you give us a minut–”

“Yup,” he answers immediately as he’s already walking away towards the living room. The guy has seen dead bodies - the aftermath of massacres, even - but he can’t handle the sight of a little vomit, you laugh internally, your stomach still too sensitive to handle even the slightest movement. You look up at Connie who’s been silently staring you down with a suspicious look in her eye. You furrow your brow at her and ask weakly, “What?”

She’s quiet for a few more seconds before asking, “How long have you been feeling like this?” her expression is unreadable as you think of the answer to her question. “Uh, a couple of weeks I guess - I’m pretty sure it’s a side effect of the antibiotics - the doctor had me taking,” you say slowly as you take deep breaths when another wave of nausea hits you.

“But that was weeks ago, hun. You shouldn’t still be experiencing those side effects. When was–” she clamps her lips shut as if she’s second-guessing whether she should ask the next question. You raise your eyebrows expectantly as you think, spit it out, already.  

“When was your last period?” her words come out rushed and it takes you a second to decipher what she’s said. You look up towards the ceiling while you think, “Like…the week before I was - before they–” you swallow hard as bile starts to rise in your throat again, but then it’s like your brain finally catches up to the conversation and you slowly start to comprehend what Connie’s implying.

Wait, no - oh, shit.

“No,” your head snaps up.

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Yup.”

“It can’t - I can’t be–” you trail off, too distressed to even think about finishing that thought.

“Well,” she winces as her shoulders shrug upwards, “if that was your last period - which was like over six weeks ago - then, I’m just saying, it is a possibility.” Your jaw nearly hits the floor from shock, but your brain refuses to accept the very probable truth.

“But I take birth control - for years, I’ve taken it and it’s never failed,” your heart hammers in your chest and the ringing in your ears makes you feel light-headed. 

“What about when you were in the hospital? I’m pretty sure you didn’t take it while you were in a coma,” Connie suggests as she offers you a hand when you start to stand on your feet. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks and you instantly regret leaving the safety of the floor because the room starts to shift a little. 

Oh, god - how’s Javi gonna react if we’re - if I’m - I’m–

“We can go to the hospital right now and have them do a blood test to be sure,” Connie holds you steady as she gently squeezes your arms with unwavering support, “I’m here for you, OK?”

–pregnant.

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

Translations:

Aquí estoy - I’m (right) here

Te quiero - I love you

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

Aaaah shit, what’d you guys think?? I super enjoyed writing this, especially that last part 😉 any feedback is always welcome!

p.s., there’s only one chapter left! 😱😭 but I’m thinking about writing an alternate ending in addition to the last chapter - I’ll keep you posted 😁

tag list: (let me know if you wanna be added/removed)

@captainclod​ @stevieharrrr​ @zeldasayer​ @cptnbvcks​ @spacegayofficial​ @themandjalorian​ @hiscyarika​ @mandoispunk​ @madadlorian​ @pedrolorians​ @forever-rogue​ @longitud-de-onda​ @certifiedskywalker​ @dindjarindiaries​ @no-droids-allowed​ @aerynwrites​ @buckyodinson​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ @gooddaykate​ @fanfiction-trashpile​ @arrowswithwifi​ @letaliabane​ @thinemineours​ @ham4arrow​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @thisainttheway​ @bluemoon-glen​ @katialvi​ @theforceofdarkandlight​ @24kgolden​ @livasaurasrex​ @c-ly-g​ @womp-ratt​ @fangirl-and-stuff​ @mrsparknuts​ @and-i-swear-we-are-infinte​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @kimljn​ @fatbottomedcurls​ @auty-ren​ @mabelleen​ @rzrcrst​ @pascalisthepunkest​ @blushingwueen​ 

[writers-thoughts09]

True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3.  I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

*

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands, 

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.  

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

~

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

[platypanthewriter]

Yuletide fic 2/5!

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five Read them as I post here, or all at once in Ao3 under peterqpan

Dustin and his mom showed up ten minutes later, and Joyce threw her arms around Mrs. Henderson before dragging her into the kitchen and setting off another round of shocked gasps. Dustin walked in and burst out laughing at them all silently lighting up the twelve foot tree and enduring the Muppets.

“Fuck you,” Billy muttered, passing a string of lights to Will.

“Jonathan, my man, we definitely need pictures of all this,” Dustin cackled, and Will brightened.

Billy was turning his glare on Dustin when the main Christmas offender put an arm around him, hauling him close to whisper “I’m gonna take a look at Joyce’s car, cover for me.”

“What,” Billy said, staring at the tree.

“What?” asked Will, and Steve bent, pulling Billy with him.

“I’m gonna take a look at why your mom’s car won’t start.”

“Is that something you...know how to do?” Jonathan asked warily, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s good at shit,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “Fucking straight A’s in shop.”

“El and Hopper are coming over,” Dustin said, grinning, and Steve squeezed Billy’s shoulders.

“Perfect, they can help,” he said happily, and Billy wondered what had happened. Where he’d gone wrong, and ended up in Christmasy hell.

Steve slunk off to the garage—Will helped by stealing Joyce’s keys out of her purse while she sorted piles of food, and they drove her car in next to Steve’s—and Billy and Jonathan strung lights around the trunk in awkward silence until another knock came on the door, and Billy dropped the lights to run and get it, opening the door in hopes of directing Hopper at the damn tree, and finding...Max and Lucas, on their bikes.

They stared back at him with set jaws, and Billy tried to figure out what was going on. “Did something happen?” he hissed at Max, closing the door behind him, and rubbing his arms in the chill air.

“Yeah,” she raised her eyebrows. “You’re throwing a huge fuckoff Christmas party. Let us in.”

“No,” Billy stared at her. “No, it’s not—”

“You’re not letting us in? She’s your sister,” Lucas hissed, and Billy groaned and yanked the doorknob, letting the door fall open behind him.

“It’s not a party,” he hissed as they elbowed past him. “People keep coming, I don’t—”

“We’re here!” Max yelled, and Dustin cheered, and then Will and the moms cheered, and Lucas clambered up the ladder to grab the lights from Will. Max started digging through the boxes again, Jonathan got his camera, and Billy backed back into the kitchen, where Joyce and Mrs. Henderson were staring into the fridge.

“He’s lost it,” Billy told them, leaning over the door. “I think he bought the whole store. Did he even get anything you can put together? I think he had some magazine with recipes—”

“...I can make hors d'oeuvres,” said Mrs. Henderson, rolling up her sleeves. “And pie. The turkey will be cold if we cook it tonight—”

“I think there’s stuff for sweet potato casserole,” Joyce muttered, hands on her hips.

“I can make that,” Billy offered with a sigh, imagining Steve’s eyes lighting up at a whole Christmas spread.

Their eyes narrowed as they surveyed him.

Billy shrugged. “Or some pie?”

The doorbell rang just then, though, and Billy wandered in a daze to let Hopper and El in. He leaned out to frown up and down the road, just in case the Wheelers all showed up, or maybe a busload of scientists, from the lab. Or Santa, he thought, ready for anything.

“The hell is all this?” he heard Hopper ask, and Joyce started laughing.

As Billy wandered back in, he saw El pelt over to Max, Lucas, and Will, who were doing a respectable job of lighting the tree, and Hopper lean in between the two moms to start discussing the menu. “Sounds like Billy can cook too,” Joyce said, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry I left him alone in the grocery store,” Billy said again, and Mrs. Henderson smiled.

“Sounds like if you hadn’t, Joyce would still be stranded on the side of the road!”

“Wait, what,” Hopper asked, and Joyce distracted him by handing him all the cans for pumpkin pie. Hopper huffed, glowering down at her, but turned to dig around in the fridge for butter, and Billy got him the flour, and got back a grumbled lecture on proper pie crust.

“My mom used vodka,” he offered, and Hopper frowned deeply at him.

“...’cause it evaporates out,” Hopper said. “Leaves just the good stuff. Smart lady.”

“Waste of vodka, though,” Billy muttered, rattling around for the can opener when he was blinded by a camera flash.

Joyce yelped like she had her mouth full, and Billy frowned over to see she had an olive on every finger, and she was trying not to choke laughing. Hopper threatened her with the wooden spoon, there were more flashes, and Mrs. Henderson patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Could you help me move some things around?” she asked, and he nodded, feeling weirdly lightheaded as Hopper squeezed his shoulder to thank him, and Joyce patted his hair, and Mrs. Henderson thanked him again.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Joyce told him, as he helped her chop green beans. Billy nodded, frowning at her. Hopper said “Atta kid,” as Billy got a pan under the pie just as it threatened to tip, and when Mrs. Henderson accepted his bowl of chopped vegetables and said “Bless you,” he fled to the garage, his hands shaking.

Steve’s legs were sticking out from under the car, and Billy dropped to lie on the floor, staring underneath. “Harrington,” he hissed.

“Whumf?” Steve asked, looking over. He had a plastic cap in his mouth. Billy stared back at him, took a deep breath, and nodded, scrambling back to his feet. “What? Billy!” Steve yelled, and Billy scrubbed at his face with his hands, and straightened his shirt. “Wait, Billy,” Steve’s voice said, closer, and Billy let himself be tugged backwards into a tight hug. “You okay?” Steve asked, and Billy laughed, nodding.

“Need me to come help?” Steve asked, and Billy shook his head, smiling as Steve turned him by the shoulders to see his face, frowning. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Billy huffed a laugh, his face still warm from being treated like one of their kids.

Steve narrowed his eyes, and then cupped Billy’s face with his stinky motor-oil hands, and kissed him softly. Billy lost time when Steve pulled shit like that, he was pretty sure, the same way he didn’t know where he’d been sometimes, between his dad getting home and going to bed—but it was only a few seconds, with Steve, and he liked it, chasing the feeling and Steve’s mouth as Steve stepped back, laughing, and Billy hugged him close again around the neck. He always came to himself safe, with Steve.

Billy stumbled back into the kitchen with his cheeks aching from his wide smile, and Joyce...stared at him, for a long moment, before snaking a hand out like a striking cobra and dipping it in Hopper’s pumpkin pie mix (he swore, and smacked her wrist with the spoon)and poking it all down Billy’s nose.

She grinned at him. “Go wash your face.”

“What the fuck,” Billy hissed, as she shoved him back out of the kitchen, but when he got into the bathroom and glared into the mirror, his stomach roiled, because Steve had left black fingerprints where he’d cupped Billy’s face, and there was a smear of oil where he’d run his thumb across Billy’s lower lip. Billy’s fingers shook as he washed it all off.

He forced himself to leave the bathroom, finally, when he heard Mrs. Henderson ask where he was, and walked back in the kitchen feeling like he was wading through cement.

Joyce— Mrs. Byers, he corrected himself, reminding himself to be respectful, at least—pulled him over and ruffled his hair, and when Hopper grabbed Billy’s arm, he only moved past the knife in Billy’s hand, and let go. Billy watched him walk by, the knife loose in his fingers, and Hopper patted his back.

Max gave him a weird look when she walked by with Will and Lucas, hunting up more lights, and found him cranking the apple corer Hopper had found and brought over for apple pie. “The hell are you doing,” she whispered.

“Making a fucking pie,” he hissed back, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you the slice with the apples I got off a wicked witch,” he told her, turning the handle, and watching the apple skin spiral away hypnotically. “She said it tastes like sleeping death. Yum.”

“...fuck you,” she said, after some consideration. “Lemme try that.”

“Hopper told me to make pie,” Billy told her, biting back a grin, and she growled.

“Share your toys,” said Mrs. Henderson, and Joyce and Hopper snickered, glancing at each other, and back at Billy, and he had to look away fast because it looked like they might kiss, which he did not need to watch.

“Fine,” Billy said, getting up to let Max try the apple corer/slicer/thing. “If you’re a shit,” he told her under his breath, “—I can figure out how to use this on you.”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying,” she shot back, eyes sparkling as she shoved an apple over the spikes to hold it in place, and began cranking like a demon so apple juice sprayed across the table.

Billy wandered out into the front room to avoid the apple carnage, and the tree looked good. He couldn’t see the bucket—somebody’d wadded something red up under there to hide it—there were enough lights that it lit the room by itself, and Lucas was up the ladder directing like a drill sergeant while Dustin made commentary on the ornaments. Will passed them up, mumbling things like “Sir, yes, sir,” as he swayed slowly to the Muppets. Jonathan wandered by Billy and took some pictures in the kitchen, and Joyce and Hopper started swearing, so probably that was a success too.

“Huh,” said Dustin, frowning down at the ornaments in his hands, and Billy sidled over to look.

“What.”

“Oh, no, just…” the kid glanced up, saw Billy, and glowered. “Nothing. Why the hell are you here?”

“I’m the one who told Steve to invite you, so suck it,” Billy told him, crouching to look at the ornaments. “What’s wrong, they broken?”

“Noooo,” Dustin drew the word out, screwing his whole face up at Billy suspiciously. “They’re just, y’know. Like, Hallmark, they put dates on the ornaments, right?”

“Yeah, I can read numbers, shithead,” Billy said, reaching in for a little Rudolph from 1976.

“Well there’s none from after 1976, fucknuts,” Dustin whispered back, and Billy frowned into the box. “Bunch from before that. Then it just kinda stops. Also, we’re almost out.”

“Shit, I coulda gotten some more,” Billy muttered, glancing around at the layers of dust on the boxes, the yellowed newspaper wrapping, and pushing down the idea of Steve’s Christmases stopping when he was ten . He frowned from the box to the tree, and Dustin snorted a laugh.

“F’I’d’ve known you had a tree, I coulda brought some,” Dustin whispered.

“We didn’t have a tree,” Billy hissed back. “I found Joyce Byers freezing to death and he went nuts. I’d have grabbed something—”

“We could make cookies,” Dustin bit his lips, thinking. “Popcorn balls. My mom made caramel popcorn balls last Halloween.”

Billy nodded, thinking. “We could make paper chains.”

“I can make snowflakes,” said El, dropping to sit between them, and pushing the mostly-empty box towards Will. “We made them in school.”

“I can find some paper,” Billy said, getting to his feet, and running upstairs to the electric typewriter in Steve’s parent’s room. He hauled a stack downstairs just in time to see Dustin climb up to sit on the kitchen counter next to his mom, and lean to whisper in her ear as she hissed at him and pointed to the ground like he was a misbehaving cat.

“Will has some, too,” said Eleven, yanking the stack out of his hands, and trotting over to Will, who had dropped next to the tree with his backpack, a stack of construction paper, and scissors.

“Pies are in the oven,” Hopper announced, wiping his hands dry on his pants. “Who’s hungry?” There was a chorus of “Me!”s, and he nodded. “Sandwiches,” he said. “Who wants a PB & J?” There was another chorus of “Meee!”s, and he nodded, grabbing the bread, as Dustin and his mom flanked Billy, asking about popcorn, and Joyce started digging through the fridge chanting “Jelly! Jelly! Jel—ew, what? Jelly…”

“We have some microwave popcorn,” Billy told them, warily, and Mrs. Henderson cocked her head, pursing her lips. “It’ll do,” she said. “Dustin, find the waxed paper.”

“On it,” he saluted, and dove between Hopper’s feet to dig through drawers. There was a lot of crashing and swearing from that direction for a bit, and Billy ducked back to the door to the garage to see Steve.

“It’s insane out there,” he said, stepping into the silence of the garage, broken only by Steve’s muffled humming. “...Harrington?” Billy asked, and Steve’s head popped up near Joyce’s hood. “You need any help?”

“Fuck you and your shitty Camaro,” Steve muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You just wanna bend over the engine so your ass sticks out and I drop something on my foot.”

“...yeah, probably,” Billy said, grinning.

“Just tweaking her battery terminals,” he said, and Billy nodded leaning to kiss his boyfriend’s head. “Hey,” Steve said, grinning up. “Thought I’d, y’know, change the oil, all that.”

“You want a sandwich?” Billy asked, squatting next to him, and reaching out to roll up the sleeve that had slid down Steve Harrington’s engine-oil streaked arm. Steve leaned over to kiss him, warm and soft in the cold air of the garage, and Billy scooted closer, sliding his tongue over the edges of Steve’s teeth, and tasting probably...more engine grease. “Hopper’s making PB&Js,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, and Steve grinned.

“Sure,” he whispered back. “Why’s Hopper here? Now? Aren’t they coming tomorr—”

“Everyone is here,” Billy groaned, letting his head drop on Steve’s shoulder. “Everyone. The pope might be coming—President Nixon—”

“Holy shit,” Steve snickered. “Yeah, bring me a sandwich, little woman.”

“Y’know most murderers are the spouse,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes, and Steve giggled, grinning.

“...you really like Christmas, huh,” Billy sighed.

“Nah,” Steve said, lying. “I’m just—this is kind of fun, y’know?”

“Fixing her car for Christmas,” Billy said flatly. “You should tell Shortness and Camera Perv to vacuum it out.”

“Ohhh,” Steve’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good, yeah.” He leaned in close again, warm against Billy’s side, his breath hot against Billy’s cheek, and kissed his jaw. “You like Christmas too, huh?”

I really don’t, Billy thought, eyeing his boyfriend’s bright smile. “Yeah,” he lied in return. “Yeah, I, uh, I have...memories. Of Christmas.” Steve looked away, laughing uncertainly, and Billy yanked him close, squeezing his ribs. “There’s pies in the oven,” Billy told him. “Will’s dancing around to the Muppets. I think Hopper and Joyce almost kissed over the sandwiches—” Steve snorted, letting his head fall against Billy’s neck, and nuzzling in with a sigh. Billy stroked the back of his neck, and kissed his ear. “Max is murdering some more apples, I think,” he whispered, feeling Steve’s laugh hot against his skin. “—no idea why. She’s gonna be in slasher movies one day.”

Steve hugged him tighter. “You think it’s gonna screw everything up, having us here?” he asked softly, and Billy cocked his head, frowning at the wall.

“...it’s your house, dumbass,” he said into the cool strands of Steve’s hair, wondering what the hell.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the shit, then,” Billy asked. “Respectfully.”

Steve burst into snickers again, scooting closer until he was practically in Billy’s lap, and Billy sat on the ground to steady them. “Feel like I stole Christmas,” he mumbled, and Billy squinted at the wall again, opening his mouth to ask for clarification. “Stole their Christmas,” Steve sighed. “We coulda put plastic over the broken windows. They could have had the Christmas they wanted—”

“Jesus Christ Whittaker,” Billy said, ignoring Steve laughing harder. “They’re all having a great time out there, you—defective. Fucking. Dimwit. Doofus. Is that why you’re hiding in the garage?”

“It’s a family thing!” Steve hissed. “Maybe they didn’t—”

“Look, we’re gonna make some goddamn Christmas cookies,” Billy told him, “—and you’re gonna come out of the fucking garage and watch something irritating on TV, and put on more torture music—”

“You hate Christmas,” Steve wheezed, like he’d taken a blow, and Billy gritted his teeth.

“Don’t make me spank your ass,” he told Steve, who was laughing too hard to talk. Billy pushed him away enough to stare into his wide brown eyes. “I love you a hell of a lot more than I care about Christmas. You want a turkey? I will cook you a goddamn turkey. You need to know they want you here? I will sit on your ass while they sing—” Billy tried to think of the worst of all Christmas songs, and had too many options. “—Jingle Bells,” he said. “You want a fucking reindeer I will go bludgeon one with those ski poles, okay?! Fuck.”

“Love you too,” Steve said, going all misty-eyed and goopy at the most annoying time ever.

Billy leaned in and kissed him, batting his dirty fingers away with one hand as he lifted Steve’s chin with the other. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, rolling his eyes. “You’re full of Christmas spirit. I’m gonna get you a sandwich.”

“I still love you when it’s not Christmas,” Steve muttered, rubbing his eyes on his rolled-up sleeve. “Don’t murder a reindeer.”

“What about that Rudolph one,” Billy asked, narrowing his eyes, and running his knuckles over where Steve’s cheeks were pink from the cold air in the garage. “Lot to answer for. Talk about annoying.”

“Don’t kill Rudolph,” Steve whispered, leaning into Billy’s hand for another kiss.

“What if I drop his body on Frosty,” Billy countered, and Steve raised his eyebrows, considering.

The faint sounds of Muppets and shouting suddenly blasted as the garage door clicked open, and Billy’s heart pounded in his chest, grateful they were tucked back behind Joyce Byers’ car.

“Billy?” came her voice. “Steve? Don’t just hide in here—”

“We’re not,” Steve said, standing, and hurriedly straightening his clothes like a character in one of Susan’s Edwardian romances, who’d been interrupted in the lap of a duke. Billy stared at him, then at Joyce, who was frowning at them.

“Uh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Dustin’s mom was going to come in, so—” she said, grimacing, and Billy realized she wasn’t going to say anything, and felt so lightheaded with relief he had to reach out and steady himself on her car.

“We’ll be right out,” he told her. We weren’t doing anything, I swear, he thought, glancing from her doubtful expression to Steve, who was still tucking the shirt in his pants, and yanking at his sweater like Billy’d just been halfway to third base. He was pink right down his neck, and Billy longed to slide his hands up under his boyfriend’s clothes, and see how warm he was with the embarrassment of nearly getting caught by Joyce Byers.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve mumbled unhelpfully, touching his cheek where Billy’s hand had been, and Billy groaned.

“Go clean up,” he hissed. “Put a different sweater on.”

“Oh,” Steve looked down. “Yeah, I should—probably should do that.”

Joyce turned and left before Steve, and Billy watched them go, wondering whether she was still deciding what to do, or whether she was giving them a break, for Christmas, and then she’d kind of—be a little distant, and Billy’d know it was because she’d caught him with marks where Steve’s fingers had held him close for a kiss.

She wouldn’t tell my dad, he told himself, because he’d seen Will flinch when Hopper reached over him to hang an ornament, and Jonathan curl in on himself, a little, when Hopper yelled sandwiches. Billy drew a long breath. It’s safe, it’s safe, he chanted, silently moving his lips. It’s safe, we’re safe from that, she wouldn’t, we’re safe from him.

He’d get her alone, he decided. Until then, there was no need to tell Steve they’d fucked up.

Billy walked out of the garage and got snagged by Mrs. Henderson, who wanted to know where the sugar was, and thought Billy was gonna know, like he lived there. He handed it over, and found her a pan, and a mixing bowl, and then Max kicked him right in the ass and ran, and he chased her out to the front room.

She slid to a stop in her stockings, waving at the sparsely decorated tree. There were two short, fluffy gold garlands, and for some reason a lot of wide, glittery ribbon, but even then, it looked like the decorators for a 5th Avenue department store had been kidnapped before they’d gotten rolling.

“It doesn’t look...too bad,” Billy said guiltily, eyeing the department-store sized tree with one measly box of ornaments.

“It looks dumb as hell,” Lucas said, frowning up. “I’m thinking...paper chains.”

“I’ve got colors,” Will said, cutting carefully around a snowflake, and Max held a hand out to Billy.

“Scissors,” she said, and he glared at her, but stomped over to the phone and grabbed the pair out of the pen jar and smacked the handles into her outstretched hand, along with a roll of scotch tape.

El was putting Will’s snowflakes on the tree, and it...didn’t look bad, actually, even if there weren’t nearly enough.

“We wrapped the ribbon around it, too,” Max shrugged. “From in with the wrapping paper.”

“Dustin’s on popcorn balls,” Billy told her, and she nodded, cutting thick strips out of Will’s red paper, and passing them to Lucas, who chained each loop off the next.

Hopper came out with paper plates and handed around a sandwich each, and Billy started wondering where Steve was—whether he’d hidden in his bedroom, or taken a shower, or fallen asleep—when Joyce came up and grabbed his arm, and Billy jumped and nearly smacked her in the face with his sandwich.

“D’you know if Steve has any more sleeping bags?” she asked, and Billy opened his mouth to ask why the hell she thought he’d have any fucking idea, then remembered them, next to the skiwear in the garage.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, leading the way, and realizing too late it left the two of them alone as the garage door closed behind them.

“Oh, good,” Joyce said, trotting over to where he’d been crouched holding Steve. “That’s one for El, and Dustin—and I can sleep on the couch—”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Billy said hoarsely. “Ma’am,” he added, belatedly. “About—about us. It—he’s all happy about Christmas, just—just let him—”

“Oh jesus, no,” she breathed, dropping the sleeping bag she’d stuck under either arm and walking up to squeeze his hands as the bags bounced behind her on the floor. One of them rolled around to bump Billy’s legs as she frowned up at him. “You two—”

Billy swallowed hard, having still, somehow, hoped she’d be surprised and confused.

“You two...” she repeated, squeezing his hands and patting them between her own as she frowned up at him. “It’s—it’s okay to be different,” she said, setting her jaw. “Everybody’s different, you—you can be a little—a little more different—”

“...you’re not pissed at us,” Billy breathed, closing his eyes. He felt tired, suddenly, and he leaned against the hood of Steve’s car, sighing.

“No—no, I’m not—how could— Will’s different,” she gritted out. “Will’s different, and—and he’s such a good kid, I—I love him so much,” she said, and Billy laughed, opening his eyes to see her stare boring into him. “I love him so much,” she repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with him. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“...okay,” Billy said, feeling like she needed him to respond, and she shook his hands like she was trying to get his attention.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, and he laughed, unable to meet her eyes. “Billy,” she said, and he nodded automatically at the stern voice. “Thank you for inviting us for Christmas. Thank you.” He nodded again, his eyes stinging, and she blew air through her cheeks, squeezing his hands again. “...who else knows?” she asked, and he took a weird shuddering breath, shaking his head when his voice wouldn’t come out.

“Just Steve?” she whispered, and he nodded, flinching as she reached up absently and messed up his hair again. “They won’t get it out of me,” she said, linking her pinky with his, so he snorted a wet laugh. “You two might want to be more careful, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and she stepped up next to him where he was leaning against the car, and pulled his head into her shoulder, stroking his hair. She smelled like cigarettes, the sandwich she’d been eating, her shitty car, and baking, and he let himself close his eyes again, inhaling.

“I wondered why you two were making a turkey,” she said, idly, and he laughed, relaxing as her arm tightened around his head, and he had to turn his head a little to breathe against her shoulder. “Sounds like he really wanted a nice Christmas with you.”

“He’s loving this,” Billy whispered, sighing. “He’s gonna wanna watch Christmas specials. He’s probably hanging his actual sweat socks on the tree. He’s lost it.”

“Hrrrrm,” she said, swaying a little back and forth, and Billy never wanted to move again, even as he started to shiver in the cold garage. “Y’know, kiddo,” she said, “—Hopper’s made fancy Christmas cookies before, with his—” she cleared her throat. “—uh, his—he’s—he knows how. What say we go make some gingerbread and blow your, um,” she paused, and Billy waited. “Your boyfriend away,” she decided, and he groaned, his face heating like he had a heatlamp inside.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, and she gave his head a last squeeze, ruffled his hair, and let go. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s get going.”

The shower turned off upstairs as they hauled the sleeping bags out of the garage, and El was shaping the first popcorn balls, pressing M&Ms into them in zigzag patterns like glass ornaments. Dustin wedged a candy cane in each, forming the popcorn around it as a hook, and Billy tried to remember how much candy he’d unpacked.

The popcorn was hot and gooey, and Mrs. Henderson grabbed Billy by the shoulders and pushed him at the sink as Hopper shoved the kids at the sink and watched them wash, and then coated everyone’s hands with butter. Popcorn balls started covering every surface in the kitchen, as Jonathan’s flash worked overtime.

“Whoa, wow, what’s happening,” Steve said, at Billy’s elbow, and Billy wanted to spin around and scream into his sweater, but instead he just pulled him closer and washed all four of their hands at once, while Steve smiled, watching his face.

“We’re making ornaments for your giant tree,” said Dustin, and Steve blinked, but the next moment Billy had a handful of butter, and he was rubbing it into Steve’s fingers, and watching him turn slowly red over his entire body.

“O-o-okay,” Steve yelped, staring at Billy as Dustin smacked a malformed popcorn ball into his hands.

“Hurry up, they’ll harden!” he barked, and Steve nodded, glancing around wide-eyed to see what everyone else was doing, but avoiding looking at Billy.

“Lemme know if I need to grease you up again,” Billy drawled, and Steve glared at him, his cheeks nearly magenta, before Joyce smacked them both, lightly, on the backs of their heads.

“Boys,” she said, and they both shut up, occasionally exchanging glances. Steve leaned to bump shoulders, and Billy grinned at his popcorn ball, pressing brown M&Ms in as a mouth, and orange for a nose.

“It’s a snowman,” he announced, and El gasped.

“I’ll make a Rudolph,” Steve whispered. “Candy canes for antlers?”

“Tomorrow we can crash them into each other,” Billy muttered. “Like a monster truck rally.” Steve snorted, reaching over and popping an M&M in Billy’s mouth with a warm, sugary, greasy finger, and Billy stared at his popcorn ball for several long seconds, willing his erection to subside.

On to Part Three

[artificialqueens]

Stupid For You, Chapter 2 (Crygi, Jankie, Jaida x Nicky) - Metaluna

Summary: It’s everyone’s final day of training, and then the big opening. Everything is going to go smoothly, or so Gigi hopes….

The rest of training was a blur. Brita and Jaida forgot on the first day, but on the second day, they gave their trainees tags that stuck on the bottom of the nametag that said TRAINEE in big block letters, and explained the tradition of dramatically ripping them off upon completing training. Gigi and Jan learned how to stock the shops. Jan decided pretty quickly that it wasn’t for her, mainly because she found out she’d be talking to guests a lot less. Gigi loved that aspect, since she was afraid talking to the guests. She also loved that the stockers got to bounce from store to store throughout the day. There was a lot of freedom, which is something Gigi liked. They were also shown by Brita how to pull products from the case at the candy shop and how to slice the caramel apples. Gigi wasn’t a fan of this, because her apple slices were always uneven, and it was embarrassingly hard for her to pull the sticks out. Of course, Jan excelled at this, just as she did with everything else.

Their last day of training was the day before opening. Every year, the day before opening was a preview for season passholders.  This was the day that Jaida and Brita had to assess their trainees and either pass or fail them, depending on how they performed. The day before, they had their stocking assessment. Both Jan and Gigi easily passed. The sales assessment was straightforward. They just had to act like they were already trained, greeting guests, doing transactions, answering questions, all normal things.  Except, Jaida and Brita were standing in the background with a clipboard watching them like hawks.

At first, Gigi hid behind the register. She knew that was exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do, but she couldn’t help it. Jan, on the other hand, was actively talking to guests and just being Jan. As soon as she was about to go to the floor, a guest walked up. It was a girl that couldn’t have been more than nine. Brita stood behind Gigi.

“Hi,” Gigi said warmly with a smile. “How are you?”

“Good. How about you?”

“I’m great, thank you so much for asking! What’s your favorite thing you did today?”

The girl smiled. “I did The Genie for the first time today!”

“Oh my goodness, did you get scared?” Gigi’s tone was overenthusiastic, but that was the Paradise Isle way.

“Only a little bit!”

“You know what that means right?”

“No, what?”

“You have to go on The Jinn!”

“I’m going to with my big sister later!”

“Well you’re going to have to come back and tell me how it was! That will be 20 dollars before the discount, can I please see your season pass? Since you definitely aren’t old enough to drive, I just need to see the pass.” The girl held up her pass. “Amazing. After your discount, it’s going to be 16 dollars.”

The girl handed over a twenty, which Gigi appreciated because it was easy math.

She handed the girl her change and said, “Have fun!”

Gigi was shocked at how well she interacted with the little girl. She looked back at Brita who gave her a thumbs up. This gave her the confidence to wander the floor. A guest asked for directions. Thankfully, it was to the bathroom right outside of the store.

After about a half an hour more, Jaida gathered her trainees in the stockroom.

“Ladies,” Jaida began, her tone serious. “I have to say that I’m disappointed.”

Gigi and Jan’s excited facial expressions dropped. Tears began to brim on Jan’s eyes.

“I’m just kidding! Y’all did great. You pass.”

“You rotted bitch,” Brita teased.

“Oh, you know it’s tradition to make the trainees squirm. I expect you to do the same when you get trainees of your own. Jan, Gigi, rip those things off your badges. You’re officially sales hostesses at Paradise Isle.

Gigi smiled as she tore the TRAINEE tag off of her badge.

“Time for lunch!” Brita exclaimed.

….

Jackie hated doing assessments. Because she was a trainer at The Genie, she ended up failing about half of her trainees. Since it was such a safety critical ride, the assessment had to be nearly perfect. While failing trainees didn’t mean they were fired, it meant that they had to do an extra day of training. This made Jackie feel like she was a bad trainer. Thankfully, Nicky caught on fast. Jackie stood behind Nicky as Nicky stood at the console in the tower.

“And how do you ride stop?”

Nicky pointed to a red large button on the console.

“The emergency stop?”

Nicky pointed to a raised red button with a yellow square around it.

“Why would you rather ride stop than emergency stop?”

“Because emergency stopping cuts the power, and we have to call maintenance.”

“Perfect. How old do kids have to be to ride by themselves?”

“They have to be eight years old, and if they’re under they have to be accompanied by someone who is at least fourteen.”

“Look at you! Alright, so we’re getting our first guests for the day. I always offer, do you want to do the easy stuff first or the hard stuff?”

“Let’s get the hard stuff out of the way.”

Jackie was impressed with her trainee’s confidence. Nicky was an absolute rockstar. She remembered everything Jackie taught her. Nicky did the load one, load two, and tower positions flawlessly. The only position she struggled was greeter, the position that most people excelled at. The guests struggled to understand what Nicky’s accent at times, but considering that it wasn’t her fault, and half the time that position wasn’t used anyway, Jackie passed her on greeter.

“Well?” Nicky questioned. “Did I pass?”

“Nicky…” Jackie said with a serious tone. “I’m sorry to tell you… that you were one of the best trainees that I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

“Seriously?” Nicky was stunned. She thought she was going to fail like half percent of the other people, considering Jackie, who was a great rides hostess, needed an extra day when she started. She explained to Nicky that she accidentally took her eyes off of the train at load one when she sent it.

“Yes, now rip that tag off your badge so we can go to lunch.”

—

Crystal was nervous as she waited for a guest to come up and play her game. The past few days, Crystal learned about all six of the games on The Boardwalk. Even though it took her longer than Widow to catch on, Crystal eventually caught on and became much more confident. Although, when it was time for her assessment, Crystal was a nervous wreck, and begged her partner to go first. They had done mock assessments at five of the games the day before. Because she was so nervous, Crystal cried twice. But, because she technically did everything correctly, and there weren’t actual guests, Heidi didn’t fail her.

Now that it was time for the actual assessment. Crystal and Widow had to run a game by themselves. Crystal begged Widow go first again. Heidi put Widow at the ring toss game. Two preteens came up and handed Widow the money. Widow explained the rules as she set the bucket of rings down.

“You have to completely get the ring around a bottle. It can’t be on their halfway. I’m watching, so don’t cheat.” Her tone was kind, yet stern.

Crystal watched the girls go through every single last ring with no luck.

“Better luck next time, ladies,” Widow said sympathetically.

The three went into the basketball booth. Heidi chose it for Crystal because it was the game she was least likely to get yelled at. Heidi knew that if Crystal cried during her live assessment, she would have to fail her. Heidi never had to fail a trainee, and she wasn’t about to do it now.  

“Hello!” Crystal greeted a boy who was about her age and what looked to be his girlfriend. “Would you like to play?”

The boy nodded and handed over his five dollars. Crystal put the bill in the bank that vacuumed the bill into the bank while her hands shook from nerves. In exchange, Crystal handed over three small basketballs. She watched as the boy failed to make any of the baskets. The girl next to him looked disappointed, yawning while she was on her phone.

He handed over another five. Again, no baskets.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” the girl announced.

Once she was out of earshot, the boy said, “How much to just buy a prize?”

“Sorry, but you can’t do that,” Crystal explained. “None of them are for sale.”

The boy pulled out a twenty. “How about now?”

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The boy huffed and walked away. “Fucking bitch.”

Heidi looked at Crystal in suspense, hoping to God that she wouldn’t cry. Crystal took a deep breath to compose herself, but managed to hold it together.

“Oh my God, Crystal you didn’t cry!” Widow hugged Crystal.

“I didn’t cry!”

Heidi looked at her trainees sternly. “Unfortunately though, girls, I just gotta say that you could both improve vastly on… absolutely nothing, you both pass. Let’s go to lunch.”

Crystal confidently ripped the TRAINEE tag off of her name badge.

–

When Gigi, Jan, Jaida, and Brita made it into the break room, Heidi’s training group, as well as Jackie’s were sat at the large table in the middle.

“Normally you aren’t on break at the same time as all of your friends. But, all the trainers may have ‘accidentally’ scheduled break for the same time. Oops,” Brita explained as she sat next to Jackie.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Crystal exclaimed as Gigi sat across from her. “How did it go?”              

“I passed! I talked to a guest and didn’t freeze! You?”

“I got called a bitch by a guest and didn’t cry! I passed, too!”

“Oh my god!” Jan exclaimed. “That’s terrible! Proud of you for handling it so well!”

“Thanks!”

“Jan passed too, of course,” Gigi said. “Did you pass, Nicky?”

Gigi didn’t really know anyone outside of her training group, outside of Crystal, so she was doing her best to make friends. Even though Gigi was a cheerleader and class president in school, she never had a close group of friends, which is something she longed for.

Jackie answered for her. “Nicky was one of the best trainees that I’ve ever had. Not only did she do every position perfectly, but she answered every question that I had.”

“Wow,” Jan said looking at Jackie. “You must be a pretty good trainer.”

Jackie’s face flushed. “Oh, you know. I do my best.”

“Ladies, there’s a tradition that has been upheld since before I started working at this hellhole. After every opening day, there is a huge party in which we all get completely shitfaced to bless the new season. This year, it’s going to be at my place. We close at nine, party starts at 10:30. I know it’s late, but thankfully, the schedulers have mercy on our souls, and if you work the first day of the season, you don’t work the next day,” Heidi explained.

Jan’s face lit up. “I love parties!”

“Me, too!” Jackie spoke a little bit too quickly.

Heidi created a groupchat and sent her address to everyone. Because Heidi was attending the local community college, her apartment was close to the park. Plus, Heidi didn’t have roommates, so they were free to do as they pleased.

“Hey, Gigi could you—”

“I’ll pick you up at 10, Crys.”

The rest of the day, Jaida and Brita’s training group hid in an office talking. There was really no one around to catch them. They had finish the assessments early, so there was nothing else for them to do but sit and talk.

“We have some cute new girls this year. That Nicky, she’s gorgeous. Plus that accent…” Jaida trailed off.

“Are you going to go for her? Do we know if she likes girls?” Brita questioned.

“No, but we will find out tomorrow, won’t we?”

“Are you guys straight?” Gigi was surprised at how blunt Brita was.

“Honestly, I never really thought of it! I’ve dated some boys, and kissed a girl this one time. I think girls are beautiful, like Jackie? She’s gorgeous. So I guess I’m not? I’m not sure. I don’t know what to call myself, ya know? Like I could be bi, I could be pansexual. What’s the difference anyway? Anyway. That’s what’s college is for, right?” Jan laughed at her own joke. “What about you Brita?”

“I–” Brita began.

“She’s straight,” Jaida interrupted. “We all have our flaws. Just like Jackie. Sorry Jan, but that girl is the straightest girl I’ve ever met. Gigi?”

Gigi was hoping that she wouldn’t be asked this question. She’d never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend either. But, one time back in eighth grade, Gigi kissed her best friend at the time, who was a girl. She hadn’t ever felt anything for a boy before, despite being asked out multiple times by football players.  

“Oh, uh. I don’t date.”

“By choice? Or no one’s wanted to hit that?”

Brita clapped. “Jan! The shade!”

Gigi forced a laugh. “I don’t know. The right one hasn’t come along, I guess. Anyway, about this party…”

—

When the day was over, Jan and Gigi made their way to their cars. Jaida, Brita and the other trainers had their own tradition of getting dinner together. If anyone had trainees that failed, they would have to buy everyone’s dinner. But, since everyone passed, it was just dinner.

Once in Gigi’s car Crystal admitted, “I’m kind of nervous for this party!”

“Nervous? Why?”  

“Well, I don’t drink.”

“You don’t have to drink,” Gigi reassured. “Lots of people don’t. I’m not one of them, but I know plenty who don’t.”

“It’s not just that it’s just…”

“What?”

“I’ve never really had a lot of friends, just a few super close ones, and we were never cool to get invited to any parties so…”

“Crystal, I’ve been to a bunch of parties, and they’re fun. If you don’t end up having fun, we can dip. I think it’ll be a great time. You can get ready at my house, if you want.”

Her face lit up. “I’d love that!”

“So how are you feeling about opening day tomorrow?”

“Nervous. Excited. Kind of like I wanna throw up when I think about it? You?”

“Same. My assessment was okay. Nothing bad happened, but still…” Gigi trailed off.

“I feel like things went a little too well today, you know?”

Crystal, someone literally called you a bitch.”

“Well yeah, but it could always be worse right?”

Crystal’s positivity was contagious. “Yeah I guess so!”

–

Just like the night before her first day, Gigi didn’t sleep well. She kept thinking about all the horror stories Jaida and Brita told her. Jaida talked about the time a woman stripped naked in the store to try on a swimsuit. Brita dramatically told the story of when a guest threatened to call the cops because she wouldn’t give her the season pass discount on an expired pass. Gigi really hoped nothing like that would happen, especially not on her first day.

She dragged herself out of bed. Her eyes didn’t look as tired as her first day, so she went with light makeup. As she tightened her belt, she looked into the mirror. She looked ridiculous in her uniform, as did everyone else. Everyone but Crystal. Somehow she looked amazing in the uniform.

Once she pulled into her driveway, she texted Crystal

Hey, I’m outside.

omw!!!!

Crystal got into the car and handed Gigi a cup of coffee.

“Hello, my love! Cream and sugar, just how you like it.“

Gigi took a sip as she turned up the radio. Crystal gasped. “Oh my god, are you listening to One Direction?”

“You may or may not have gotten me hooked.”

Their drove consisted of singing off key and sipping coffee. Gigi kept stealing glances at Crystal. The amount of joy on her face filled Gigi’s heart. After parking, the two girls sat in Gigi’s jeep trying to compose themselves. They both had to walk in different directions, so they weren’t able to calm each other’s nerves.

When they could no longer delay the inevitable, Crystal gave Gigi a hug. “Good luck, beautiful!”

She smelled so good, and her hair was so soft. As she walked the opposite direction to the games base, Gigi couldn’t help but watch her walk away.

Gigi made her way to the stockroom at the main store on The Landing, Isle Mercantile. Jaida, Jan, Brita, and a bunch of people didn’t know were waiting. One of them was an older woman in a plain blue polo and khaki shorts. Jaida explained in training that someone dressed like that was a supervisor.

“Hello!” the woman said. “My name is Nina.”

“Hi!” Gigi said shyly.

“Well everyone, we have first two newbies this year. This is Gigi, and this is Jan. We’ll have more people as the season goes on, but right now, make sure these girls feel welcome. Jan, Gigi, this is Dahlia, Rock, and Aiden. Of course, you already know Brita and Jaida. Jaida, you’re going to be the lead today, okay?”

“Lead?” Gigi whispered.

“I’m in charge of choosing your assignments, making sure you go on breaks, and more importantly, making sure y’all make it back from your breaks.”

“I think that today’s going to be a great day that’s going to lead into a great season. Jan, Gigi, I’m so happy to have you with us. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to give me a call!”

Jaida sent Gigi to Candy Kitchen, which is exactly what she was dreading, but she wasn’t about to tell Jaida that. Her hair was going to get ruined by the hairnet that she had to wear, and she sucked at cutting apples. She only hoped that the girl, Rock, would be nice.

Once they made it to the store, Rock asked, “What kind of a name is Gigi?”

“What kind of a name is Rock?” Gigi retorted.

He looked taken aback before saying, “Fair.”

The morning went smoothly. Gigi rang up some transactions. She started out slow, but her speed increased as the day went on. She weighed the bulk candy as people purchased it. At times, she forgot where menu buttons were on the POS, but Rock was always there to help. Rock offered for Gigi to work at the caseline to grab apples, but that made Gigi nervous. Rock agreed to pull apples, but made Gigi promise she would do it after lunch. Gigi made good on her promise, putting on gloves and the apron that was hung up.

A stressed out looking came up to Gigi. “Hi, can I get a chocolate peanut apple, an apple pie apple, and one candied apple?”

“Of course! Do you want me to cut the caramel ones?”

“Are you dumb? Of course I do.”

Gigi was taken aback. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gigi set the apples on the counter, and struggled to remove the sticks. She grabbed the blade, and just like in training, struggled to make slices. Cutting through layers of caramel and chocolate was hard. After a while, she managed to make slices. They didn’t look as nice as Rock’s, but they were mostly intact. She put the two cut apples into containers.

“Umm…” the woman trailed off.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t cut the candied one.”

“Oh, we can’t cut those. The candy will just shatter right off.”

“So I’m supposed to break my teeth on this thing? I don’t care if some falls off, I just want it cut into slices.”

“The apple won’t be as good…”

“Well can you do it anyway?”

Gigi looked at Rock, who shrugged.

Gigi unwrapped the candied apple. This time, she really struggled to remove the stick. She was pulling with all of her strength. She felt the candy coating crack. Shit. Well, it’s what the woman wanted. After finally wrangling the stick out, she cut slices. Almost all of the candy fell off. Gigi put the candy on the bottom of the container and the ugly apple slices on top.

“Here you go, ma’am!”

“Are you serious? It looks like shit!”

"I did tell you that if I cut the apple into slices all the coating would fall off, but you told me that it was fine.”

“Well, maybe, if you didn’t have those skinny chicken arms you could have actually done your job! Also! What’s with your attitude? I know that you don’t give a shit about your job, and you’re probably just some lazy teenager who would rather be making out with her boyfriend all summer, but you’re running my vacation! I spent a lot of money to bring my family here! And I can’t even get a damn apple cut right? What’s your name? Georgiana? I want to speak to your manager.” The woman was nearly screaming. Thankfully, there was no one behind her in line.

“I–”

“Yes ma’am, right away, ma’am.” Rock picked up the phone. “Hi, yes, Nina it’s Rock. I’m in Candy Kitchen and I have a guest requesting a manager. Okay. Thank you.”

“Our supervisor will be here shortly.”

The woman got out of the queue and shot Gigi dagger eyes the entire time. She felt like she was about to have a panic attack. Was she going to get written up? It was her first day and she already had her first guest complaint. After what felt like an eternity, Nina arrived.

“Hello!” her tone was pleasant. “What can I do for you today?”

“This girl ruined my apple.”

“That’s not good. Can you explain to me what happened?”

“She went to cut my candied apple and everything fell off. It’s just an apple and some candy on the bottom now.”

“Ma’am, did Gigi tell you that those apples weren’t meant to be cut?”

The woman mumbled she had.

“And you insisted that she do it anyway?”

“She just must have not done it right! Just look at her, she looks so weak! I’m sure if the oriental one did it, she’d do it fine!”

“Ma’am, please don’t refer to my hostess with that offensive term, and don’t insult my other hostess. Those apples aren’t meant to be cut. You were told that, and still insisted on Gigi cutting it, anyway. It sounds like you were the one in the wrong. Not Gigi. I won’t make you pay for that apple, but I am making you apologize to my hostesses here.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman mumbled. She silently paid for her other two apples with Rock and stormed out, muttering something about leaving a bad review as she left.

“Are you okay?” Nina asked sincerely.

Gigi could only manage to shake her head. Her chest was tight and tears were running down her face. Thankfully, it wasn’t a bad panic attack, but it was a panic attack nonetheless.

“I’ll go with you in the small stockroom. Go back there, have a seat. I just need to call and have Dahlia cover. She’s stocking and should be around soon, anyway. Can you handle the shop by yourself Rock?”

“On it.”

The small stockroom was right behind Candy Kitchen. The entire room smelled like sugar, which made Gigi’s stomach turn. She tried to level her breathing as she sat on the ground.

Nina sat with her and handed her a water bottle. “Hey, listen to me. It’s okay. You weren’t wrong at all. That woman was completely unreasonable.”

“Am I in trouble?” Gigi managed taking a drink of water.

“Why would you be in trouble, when nothing you did was your fault? You are fine. Take as much time as you need.”

Gigi nodded. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. If you ever need anything, call.”

—

Across the park, Crystal was also having a panic attack as she sat in the money room in the games department. A middle aged man kept losing at one of the games. He offered to pay her for a prize, and when she refused, the man lost it. He screamed every bad word and insult that he could muster, right in front of his young daughter. He also threatened to “punch her pretty little face in.”  It was to the point that other guests told him to stop, and security was called. The lead, a boy named Ben, covered for her.

Brooke, a pretty blonde supervisor made her way into the money room. She didn’t say anything, but hugged Crystal, which made her break down. Brooke kindly rubbed Crystal’s red hair.

“That man has been banned from ever coming back.”

“Are there a lot of people like him?”

“Not that bad, sweetie. That was one of the worst ones I’ve seen in my six years here. I’m so sorry that it happened to you, especially on your first day. I promise that it’s usually better. You get to make people’s days. You get to make first dates memorable. You get to make little kids happy. Don’t let a couple of bad people ruin this for you.”

Crystal smiled. “Thank you.”

Brooke sat with Crystal until she calmed down.

“Here, let me fix you.” Brooke wiped all of the eyeliner and mascara that had ran down Crystal’s face with a Kleenex.

Thankfully, there was only about half an hour left of her shift, so Brooke let her hang out in the back.

Brooke’s radio went off. Before taking the call, she asked, “Are you going to be okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah, I will. Thank you.”

Brooke winked. “Anytime.”

–

Gigi met up with Crystal at the lockers and groaned.

“Bad day?” Crystal asked grabbing her bag.

Gigi nodded. On the way to her car, Gigi told Crystal the tale of the candied apple. Crystal looked mortified.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you!”

“I hope your day was better,” Gigi said adjusting her rearview mirror.

“Not… exactly. A grown man threatened to punch me in the face while calling me bad words, some of them I’ve never even heard before.”

“Oh shit Crys,” Gigi said looking at her friend. “I’m so sorry. That makes my story sound like nothing!”

“Gigi, no it’s okay! We both had crappy days, it doesn’t matter which was worse. They were both bad to us, and they’re both over now.”

This made Gigi smile. “Crystal, how are you always so positive?”

“Honestly? I used to not be. But one day I realized that being negative was tiring, so I decided to try to be as positive as possible. Oh, and Gigi?”

“Yes?”

“You know how I said I don’t drink?”

“Yeah.”

“I think after the day I had, I think tonight’s a great night to start.”

“Agreed.”

TAGS: Gigi goode, Crystal methyd, jan sport, jackie cox, jaida essence hall, nicky doll, brita filter, crygi, jankie, jaida x nicky, lesbian au, stupid for you, metaluna

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

All Treats No Tricks

Plot: AU Instead of going to your friend’s party, you decided to compile a stash of candy to share with your merman friend. He’s not too familiar with human candies, so it’s a real hoot watching him try different things and react accordingly.

Rating: PG (Mention of grandparent falling)

Characters: Merman!Baekhyun x Reader (Any gender), plus mention of other characters.

Notes: I know many hoped I’d write more for merman!Baekhyun, but I didn’t want to write something where I wasn’t happy with the end result or the concept didn’t fit. This idea came to me after celebrating Halloween yesterday and I finally had a chance to sit and type it out. This is the same universe as the original two part series I wrote for Baekhyun some years ago – this is more of a slice of life story.

Tagging @shesdreaminginoverdose and @myeoning-call who wanted me to share any updates or additions to this storyline.

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

“Done already?” a co-worker asked as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

You nodded and tapped your watch, explaining that you had come in early today, so you could get home at a decent hour.

“Halloween party?” she guessed.

“No,” you answered. Although it was funny she mentioned a party, as an old friend from high school had invited you to their house for a huge Halloween bash. Everyone had to wear a costume and bring something, whether it be drinks, food, or something Halloween-inspired. But you opted to decline the invitation, remembering that you weren’t as close as you used to be. Plus you weren’t in the mood to dress up in a cliche or sexy costume tonight.

“Handing out candy?” your co-worker guessed.

“Yeah and stay in with Mom,” you offered. You took this moment to bid her goodbye as you headed home to change clothes and grab your skateboard. 

Once you got back, you called out for your mom, looking from room to room to see if she was there. You paused by the kitchen and frowned when you saw a note laying on the counter that you hadn’t seen there this morning. You put your keys down and picked up the sheet.

Y/N,

I know we planned to order takeout and hand out candy to the kids, but I got an emergency call from your grandpa – he took a nasty fall this morning and no one else can take care of him. I’ve got my cell with me if you need to reach me for anything. I left money for takeout and you can either hand the candy to the kids, or leave a bowl out with a note.

I’m really sorry about this – I’ll make it up to you!

Love,

Mom

You put down the note and noticed the neat stack of crisp bills lying on the counter with a paper clip. Part of you felt bummed that the plans changed, but you knew that grandpa lived alone and he refused to have a caretaker, arguing it was too expensive.

Your eyes drifted to the colorful bags of candy you and mom bought from the drugstore with a coupon, all mixed with different types of candy. Next to the bags was the Halloween themed bowl your mom made when she was pregnant with you. That became the designated candy bowl you used every year you handed out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

Your eyes drifted to the staircase and you decided to put your stuff down so could change out of your work clothes, then make a decision about your plans. Once in your room, you glanced at the shell, given to you by a merman you met a few summers ago. You tried keeping in contact with him when possible, but both of you got busy, you with university and work, him with his duties as a royal prince in his realm.

You reached for the shell, then hesitated. Would it be rude to bug him on a night like this? Surely he had to be busy, right? You stared at the shell for a few minutes and decided to give it a try.

“Ah what? Who is this? Did I know a human by the name of Y/N?” a familiar voice teased once you connected.

“Very funny,” you remarked. “Sorry about the radio silence, school has been kicking my butt. How are you?”

He shifted his shell to the other ear and smiled. “Oh fine really. I finally managed to convince my parents to stop planning a marriage for me. It took a while to persuade them, but I did it!”

You smiled as you remembered meeting him when he was escaping the talk about an arranged marriage to a princess he didn’t like. It seemed surprising his parents would change their minds on something like this, but you guessed that they finally concluded that their son was old enough to make his own decisions.

“I’m really happy for you, really I mean it,” you replied. “Um hey, if this isn’t too last minute, would you by any chance like to hang out tonight? My mom said I’m on my own tonight, and I don’t wanna sit at home and hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters.”

The merman paused and tilted his head at the mention of your offer. He was excited to see you again after so long, but he wasn’t super familiar with all of the human customs and behaviors, seeing as his school skipped that bit of information growing up.

“What do you mean by ‘trick-or-treaters’? What’s candy?” he asked.

You glanced over at the door and an idea popped into your head. “If I’m taking this to mean you’re free tonight, then why don’t I bring some candy and show you? Oh and by the way, I was gonna order a pizza – did you want me to order half for you?”

“Pizza?!” the merman declared with a giddy smile. “I missed pizza! Oh yes, you know what I like – thank you!”

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

It was quite a challenge juggling a pizza box and trying to move fluidly on your skateboard. A couple of times you heard some people crack jokes about this being the new wave of delivery transportation, but you ignored them as you made your way to the beach. Napkins were stuffed in one pocket and a bag of candy was in the other. You slowed down as you neared the area of the beach that split between the sands and the dock where boats were tied up.

Your eyes scanned the area and you whipped your head around when you heard someone softly call your name. You scanned the dock and saw a guy in a bucket hat waving to you.

Your brows creased as you tried to get a better look at the guy. You rolled closer to the entrance to the dock and saw it was Baekhyun. In addition to the bucket hat, he was wearing a vest with multiple pockets down the front, the zipper tugged 3/4 of the way up.

“What’s with the outfit?” you asked as you put the pizza box down and caught your skateboard before it rolled to his arm.

He grinned and spread his arms out proudly. “Ta-dah! Chanyeol-ah told me I should wear a costume, because I guess you humans do that tonight. Also, it’s a good disguise, no?”

You laughed as you shook your head and took a seat on the dock next to him. You removed the napkins from your pockets and unclipped your water bottle from your belt loop, placing it on the dock beside you.

“Hot and fresh out of the oven. Should be perfect temperature by now and you won’t burn your tongue like the last time,” you said as you flipped open the pizza box.

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

The merman almost reached for another slice and you held up a free hand to stop him. With the other, you removed your zip bag of candy from the other pocket and placed it between the two of you.

“You asked what candy was, so I brought you some,” you explained. “There’s different types, but they are mostly made with sugar and other ingredients, which make it taste sweet. Tonight, you give it out to children in costume. Don’t worry, the kids back home will have enough – I grabbed a couple of pieces to share with you.”

Baekhyun beamed and closed the pizza box lid. He picked up the bag and took a closer look at the contents with a curious look.

“There’s a lot,” he mused. He looked at you and asked if there were any that tasted like that chocolate nutty dip he had once with pancakes.

You bit your lip and shook your head. “I don’t think there’s anything with chocolate and hazelnuts in there, but there are chocolate candies in there. What do you want to try first?”

Baekhyun shook the bag and noticed a slender roll of circular candies in pastel colors stacked in their cellophane wrapper. He pointed to it and you helped him open the bag. He reached in and plucked the roll out, turning it in his fingers.

“Smarties,” he read. “Will they make me smarter?”

“They didn’t work on me,” you shrugged.

“Ah but you’re already really smart!” he insisted as he twisted the cellophane wrapper to open it. He blinked as the cellphone crackled, amused by the noise it made. The cellophane loosened and the rounded candies began to tumble out of alignment. He quickly caught a few and popped them in mouth. His eyes went to his fingers, which were coated with a light powdery dust.

He squinted and pouted as the candies dissolved in his mouth. “These are...kind of weird and they’re a little tart?”

You held your hand out for the rest and he dumped them into your hand. You dug around in the zip bag and selected an individually wrapped red licorice rope.

“Try a Twizzler,” you said once he swallowed the Smarties. You tore the top of the wrapper for him and he thanked you as he took it from your hand.

“Do I need to untangle it, or can I bite it?” he asked as he looked at you.

“Whatever you want, there’s no right or wrong way,” you replied with a shrug.

Baekhyun hummed and dove in, chomping off a good-sized bite and chewing it thoughtfully. He hummed and waved his hand side to side.

“I like the texture, but this is kind of sweet,” he commented.

“I have lots of candy,” you told him as you held up the bag. “We’ll find one you like best.”

He grinned and flashed you a thumbs-up.

“I can’t wait – what’s next?”

[nalgenewhore]

obliviate ~ masterlist 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

She had long since run out of charcoal to mark the days she spent wasting away in her tower. Elide no longer craved the sun to slice through the barred window as now daybreak brought only the sounds of death and destruction. 

The chains around her ankles, she had never gotten used to them. They were cold and heavy, weighing her to the far wall. She hadn’t set her eyes on the battle below as she wasn’t able to walk more than five feet in any direction. 

Elide had felt the change, had known that Perranth would not be lost to the demons plaguing it when the castle became quiet. Quiet and empty, she felt it in her aching bones. 

Then, when no one came to throw her a moldy heel of bread or a rotting root vegetable and no one came to change out the water in the bucket next to her, Elide had known that this was where she would die. 

Forgotten and alone, chained to the tower of a crumbling castle. The walls, the walls, that she had pored over, taking whatever bit of burnt wood she could find to draw with. She drew ravens, with great big wings, soaring high over the mountains and forests. She drew the big, bright, moon that was her only companion when the hunger pains kept her awake at night. The moon was her companion on the nights that her love didn’t scale the walls to see her. It was her salvation.

Her dirty and ragged dress, hung in tatters off her skeletal frame. The rips showed that every bone on her sickly form stuck out harshly. She gathered every scrap of cloth she could, every grubby, flea-ridden blanket to cower in the corner, just waiting for Death to claim her. 

It didn’t matter how many blankets she had, Elide’s weak body was still wracked with shivers so hard, she was left with bruising on her garishly pale skin that bloomed a deep purple. She had once loved the colour purple, but now it made her sick to her stomach. 

The stench from the dead far below her wafted up into her tower and the smell had her vomiting whatever was left in her meager stomach. After there was nothing left at all, the bile burned her throat, already tender from screaming for somebody, anybody to help her. 

After the first two days, after her voice was completely shattered, she realized that no one was ever coming to get her. When that reality settled in, for the first time in five years, she tugged at her chains. Elide tugged on the wall so hard, just hoping for a brick to come loose, that when a stone finally cracked, her nails were split down the middle and her hands were bloody and raw. 

It took all her strength to slam it, over and over, on the shackles. She yanked and yanked at the bolts in the wall, sobbing through gritted teeth. 

She just needed to be free, she just needed to break the chains, then, then she could open the door. 

Her uncle’s most depraved act of cruelty had been to unlock the door keeping her from the stairs. He had laughed in her face the day he left the door unlocked. If only she could free herself, she could open the door and race downstairs, she could be free. 

But she couldn’t free herself and the exertion of her waning strength cost her as she fell and blacked out, waking to a fresh wound that pounded on the back of her skull, her already matted and dirty hair now wet and sticky with her blood. 

The moon was shining into her window when she awoke, only for a moment and she knew it had been three days since she was last conscious. Her head pounded and when she summoned every dredge of strength in her skeletal body to raise her hand to her head. Her fingers came away shaking and dripping red. Her ears caught the strained groans of men from the ground far below her, under her clothes, a clammy sweat broke out over her skin. She reached for the bucket, scooping out water in her cupped hands and drinking from it, the dirty liquid dripping down her chin. Elide attempted to rise to her knees, to stretch as far as she could for the kiss of the night breeze on her hot skin, but just as her arm reached out, the blackness swallowed her whole.

The second time she awoke, it was of the hunger that gnawed on her stomach, that begged of her to be sustained. Her head was stuffed with cotton, but she still heard the scuffling and squeaking of rodents. Elide sat up slowly, already gagging at what she would be forced to do. It was either this or die and though she cried silent tears at the humanity she had lost, Elide waited until the fat rodent crossed into her reachand she closed her eyes as she snatched for and mercifully snapped its neck. 

It took every ounce of tenacity in her tired self to keep down the raw meat she had choked down, her stomach rolling and heaving until finally, she was granted that sweet oblivion once more.

After a week of the same, wakingand capturing any critter that approached her, the animals learned not to go near her and now she was out of options. 

On the eighth day, a raven landed on the windowsill, its claws tapping on the iron bars. It crowed at her and flapped its wings. She could’ve sworn that a tendril of black smoke creep from him, slithering across the floor to her. She reached out to it. It was a mockery of what had once been said to her, the promise he had made to her as a child. He would see her free as a raven soaring above the mountains even if it killed him. 

And now, he had died and she was close to it, she could taste past the blood on her tongue that she did not have longer.

Elide knew she had little time before she would fade into the Afterworld as she lifted her hands and saw the fine bones jaunting out at her, her moon-white hands webbed and mapped with her veins, her jagged nails lined with dirt.

A soft peace settled over her, like the warmest, thickest quilt that had ever been made, like a hug from her long-lost love, who had never returned to her. 

She had been told he had died, by her uncle, as he tortured her, believing her to hold information she kept from him. She held no such secrets, no such messages to be hid from the demon army. The moment he had uttered her love’s name in mock grief was the moment she became useless. The moment he uttered the words, He’s dead, you stupid girl, she had given upand lived only to await Death, so that one day, they would be reunited once again. 

Elide would go to the next world willingly, knowing that her people had been freed. There was a smile on her cracked lips as she rejoiced silently. 

Perranth was free. 

Terrasen was free and so her people were. 

She had done her duty, to her, to her parents and her country. After her lifetime of suffering, Elide had done her duty and she could go now. 

The world began to fade and her belly was full again and she was so deliciously warm. Come along, my child. I promise, all your pain will be fleeting. 

It was the soft voice of her mother, one she had not heard for twelve long and lonely years. 

They had not all been lonely, her nights had been filled with the truest love and friendship that had ever been. 

Elide could not find the strength in her to keep her heavy eyelids open and so she let them fall shut. Her mother and father waited for her, soft smiles on their faces as they beckoned her forward. Mama, she breathed, tears spilling down her cheeks. 

She rose from her body, reaching out to them when another person appeared before her. 

He appeared as a boy of seventeen, anger on his face, his brows lowered. He wouldn’t allow her to pass and Elide thought she heard the pounding of feet outside the door. Let me through, now, before I am killed. 

It is not your time, Elide. You cannot join them. 

Elide slammed her hands against his chest, Let me pass, Lorcan. I cannot stay here, I cannot live any longer without you. Please, she caressed his face, feeling tears build in her eyes, please let me be with you.

He took her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones, You will not find me here, my love. 

Then where? Where will I find you? 

Exactly where you are. I will come home to you, like I promised. Won’t you wait for me?

Yes, yes, I will wait for you. How long will you have me wait this time? She asked him, a giddy laugh on her lips as he would return to her, after all these years, she wouldn’t live the rest of her days alone.

Lorcan laughed, but all she could hear was the slamming of her door being opened and the cries of men, “She’s here! We found her!” 

Not long, Elide, I swear to you, mahasani, I will be with you by our lunar eclipse. 

He began to fade and she dug her hands into his shirt, crying and holding him. Don’t you dare leave me again, you bastard, don’t- 

I must, I am so sorry, I must leave you once more, when I am next with you, I shall never leave again. But, for now, he rested his forehead on hers, I am with you, always. She closed her eyes, tears cutting through the grime on her cheeks. He pressed his lips to hers and Elide could taste the salt of his own tears. When she opened her eyes, Lorcan was gone and she saw someone with silver hair and a black ink marking the left side of his face raise a gleaming hatchet above her. 

She cowered and let out a hoarse scream, waiting for the blow that was sure to come. Instead, she felt a jarring blow reverberated up through her legs, the straining feeling as she sought to get as far away as she could from the wall lessened. Hands, the feeling of them foreign to her after not being touched for longer than she cared to remember, lifted her and her shackles were still around her ankles. “Get them off, take them off, please, please, take them off,” she sobbed, scratching at the arms of the man with a golden halo of curls who carried her. She thrashed, “Free me!” 

Her screams cleaved through the castleand she was jostled as whoever carried her sprinted down the stairs. “Take them off!” 

“Majesty, majesty, we found her.” 

She was set on a soft surface and a gentle hand caressed her face, a golden voice that soothed her like honey on burns, “You are safe, Elide, my sweet, you are safe.” 

Elide knew that voice, had dreamt of that voice for ages, “Ae-” 

“Don’t- don’t talk, my heart, I am here with you,” the queen whispered. “I am here with you.” 

“Take, take them off, please, take them off,” she begged. “Get them off of me.” 

There were soft hands stroking over her brow, a cool cloth patted on her cheeks. But they were not the hands she wanted and she thrashed again, screaming for someone, someone to free her. “Take them off, take them off of me!” 

She sobbed and strained at the hands holding her down, her nails cutting into forearms corded with muscle. Something was held to her lips and she shook her head, whipping it back until a hand gripped her jaw and forced a cool liquid into her mouth before tipping her head back, the medicine falling down her throat. 

Elide coughed, trying to expel whatever this was she had been made to drink, but the fight left her as she began to float to a softer oblivion, one that did not lead to death. 

She was a child once more and the moon, that blessed, beautiful, bright moon, was the very same as the night she had first met Lorcan, one she had drawn so many times on her walls and one she would never be able to forget. 

They had been children, though at the time, Lorcan, in all his ten years of life, would have vehemently insisted that he was no longer a child, Elide, at only nine was a child, but not he! 

Night had fallen and Elide was alone again. At least during the day, she had Finnula and whichever of her uncle’s croneys he sent to torment her, some way or another. 

The one thing they had never managed to do was to cut her hair and Elide would be damned if her uncle took her dark as a starless night locks. 

If she had her hair, she could pretend that she was a princess, locked away by an evil witch, just waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive. 

The boy that appeared on her windowsill was definitely not her Prince Charming. He had no white horse to take her away nor was he royalty. Prince of the gutter, perhaps, but not her Prince Charming. 

He was scrawny and anger rippled off of him, as well as these shadows that felt like death. Curious, maybe, if she drew him something, he would tell her about them. 

“Who are you?” he demanded from his perch her windowsill, soot and dirt on his face. 

As soon as the first hand had appeared on the stones, quick to be followed by a body, Elide had thrown herself in the far-most corner of her wall, the scrap of paper and pencil held menacingly in front of her. At his demand, she forgot her fear and rose to her feet, stomping over to where he was. “Who am I? Who are you? How’d you get up here?” 

It was a long, long, long, way down to the ground. She knew that because after the first week of her confinement, when the jump down started to seem more and more appealing to her, her uncle had dropped one of her ceramic dolls out of the window and they watched it fall. That is what will happen to you, girl, if you jump. And so, she had never contemplated it again and stayed in her tower, only to be let out for one hour of sunlight each week and if she misbehaved, it was to the dungeon for her. 

“Um, I climbed,” he told her, his tone making it seem like it was very obvious. “What’s your name?” 

“Elide Lochan. I’m the heir of Perranth,” she said, pompously as she put her hands on her hips. “And what, exactly, is yours?” 

“Lorcan Salvaterre.” He jumped off the window and into her room, walking around it. “Why don’t you come and play outside? Oh,” he said, looking at her with a distasteful sneer, “are you one of those silly girls who don’t like playing ‘cause they don’t want to get dirty? I never understood that, you can just wash your clothes.” 

“Oh, no, I love playing outside, but my uncle, the Lord, says someone could steal me away and kill me, so I only go outside when I am good and with a whole bunch of guards, but not my old ones, new ones. They’re not as nice, they don’t like to play with me.” 

“Hm, that doesn’t sound like much fun.” Lorcan sat himself on her floor, looking at the pictures she had drawn, “Ooh, these are pretty good, you know. You could sell them in the marketplace, Elide.” 

Elide liked how her name sounded when he said it, like it was something special. It sounded like a curse on her uncle’s tongue and Finnula always sounded sad. She didn’t care much for Finnula when she was sad. “I’m not allowed to go to the marketplace, it’s not safe.” 

Lorcan rose his brow, “Can you go anywhere?” 

Elide sat next to him and shrugged, “I like my tower, I can pretend I’m a princess.” 

“Yeah, but princesses in towers are always put in towers by a bad guy. Who put you in the tower?” 

“My uncle, Lord Vernon.” 

“I don’t think that’s what uncles are supposed to do.” 

“Me neither.” 

“My mother works here, she’s the healer. I bet she could take care of you,” he told her, picking up her drawing of a raven. “Oh, I like this one the best, I like ravens.” One of the shadows that leaked off him approached her and she jumped when it brushed against her hand. 

“What’s that? The black smoke stuff.” 

“My magic, I’m not so good at controlling it right now but my mother says when I grow up, I’ll be really strong. My father was a Fae warrior.” He seemed to puff up when he said that and Elide giggled. 

Lorcan looked at her, his brows furrowed as her giggles turned into full-blown laughter and he couldn’t help but join. They laughed until their stomachs hurt and then fear, the scent of fear shoved itself up Lorcan’s nose as they heard the scuffling of feet outside and quickly, she hauled him to his feet and pushed him to her bed, shoving him under. “Don’t say a word!” 

He nodded and disappeared in the shadows, as the door swung open and her uncle stood there. Even from across the room, Elide could smell the reeking scent of booze. “What’re ya laughing about, girl? Who’s in here?” he shouted at her, stumbling forward a step. 

“No one!” she yelped as he got too close and she was forced to step back. “It’s just me, I promise.” 

“You’re a liar, a liar, you stupid girl!” He reached  to grab her hair, but Elide was smaller, quicker and most important of all, sober. She duckedand cowered by the fireplace that was still cheerily burning. Vernon stepped on one of her drawings, the one with the raven that Lorcan liked. He laughed cruelly at it and stooped to pick it up. “Well, ain’t this a pretty little drawing? Would be a shame if,” he crumpled it and she squeaked, tears choking her as he threw it into the fire. “Oops.” 

“No! What did you do?” she cried, scrambling forward only to be struck across the face by the back of his hand, her hands flying to her stinging cheek, smarting from the rings he wore.

“Stay back, girl, or the next thing in the fire will be you!” 

Elide began to sob as he ripped every single one of her drawings and threw them into the fireplace, laughing at her tears. The bottle of alcohol in his hand was near empty and after he had emptied it with one last swig, he threw it. The glass bottle shattered and the shards surrounded her. “You don’t question me, or you will be punished, you ungrateful wretch.” 

Vernon pulled her head back by his painful grip on her hair and slammed her head into the stone wall she cowered against. “That’ll teach you.” He spat at her feet and left, locking the door behind him. 

Elide was crying as Lorcan crawled out from underneath the bed, his eyes wide. “A-are you okay, Ellie?” 

She smiled despite her pain at his new nickname for her and found that she quite liked it. “Yeah,” she breathed, wiping her tears away. “Sometimes he drinks too much, he’s not always like that. I’m not supposed to make him ma-ad.” Elide hiccuped and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and heard Lorcan moved away glass shards to sit next to her, his shoulder pressed against hers. 

“I’m sorry, Ellie, I shouldn’t have climbed up here, I was just curious.” 

“It’s okay, it was nice that you did,” she whispered, breathing in and out, past the sobs that threatened to wreck her. 

“Ellie, what did he mean by ‘you’ll be punished’? You’re locked away in a tower, isn’t that punishment enough?” 

“We have a dungeon. When I misbehave, I get sent there.” 

“What? For how long?” 

Elide shrugged and tentatively leaned against him, “I don’t remember, it’s so dark down there that time doesn’t exist.” She felt him stiffen and she thought it might be because she rested her head on his shoulder, but he let her continue to shore up against him. “I think I would like it if you visited me.” 

“I don’t want you to get into trouble, Ellie,” he said quietly, his voice remorseful as he stared into the fire. “It’s my fault all your art got burned up.” 

“No, he’d probably do it anyways. Please say you’ll visit me, please?” Elide lifted her head to turn and look at him. “Will you?” 

Lorcan looked like he would come to regret these next words, but he nodded. “Yes, I will come to visit you. Don’t you have any friends who come to see you?” 

Elide looked down at her hands, her cheeks heating. “No, I’m not allowed to have visitors here. Or friends.” She shyly looked up into his eyes, “Would you be my friend?” 

“Yes, I will be your friend. I gotta go, I’ll see you later, alright? Next time,” he said as he hauled himself up on the windowsill, “I’ll bring a toy for you, so you can have one too.” 

“Really? You mean it?” 

“Yeah, what are friends for?” Lorcan disappeared down the tower without another word. 

Elide gasped as she came to and winced against the brightness of the candles lighting the room. There was a soft blanket tucked snugly around her and her skin, for the first time in forever, was clean. Her hair was washed and dried, twisted into a thick braid that reached beneath her hips. It was too soft, the bedand the sheets, she felt like she was sinking down through a cloud and she floundered. “Ae-” she cut herself off with a hacking cough, her throat dry and scratchy. 

Her oldest, most dear companion awoke in the chair she had been dozing in and tears pooled in her turquoise eyes. She quickly stood and poured her a glass of water, helping her to sit up and drink small, little sips. “There you go, El, it’s alright.” 

After she had taken a couple sips, the cool water cutting through the dryness in her throat. She pushed Aelin off, shaking her head, “Ae, Ae,” her voice was still only a whisper and her stomach turned over the water she drank. “He’s alive, Lorcan, Lorcan is alive.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

ope-

thenk u 2 my luvs 4 beta reading 🥺🥺🥺 

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@myfeyrelady @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @highqueenofelfhame @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @court-of-fuck-me-daddy @chemicha​ @sezkins79​ @someonemagical​ @yikesitsmaddie​ @thephilosophyofblank​ @mis-lil-red

[neoatiny]

Ateez!pirate au (Horizon)

Chapter 3: Eunsung (3)

Plot summary: Obedience has been the very core of who she is. Cursed with not being able to identify faces and haunted by dreams of a monstrous woman, she spends her days serving under the feet of others with no hope of freedom. Later proving herself on a slave ship, she's recruited into the ranks of the Horizon and meets the infamous Pirate King, Kim Hongjoong. The pirate life is uncertain, but at least she's free.

Warnings: mentions of slavery, death, burning, scars

Word count: 2129

Synopsis: Fear of water.

Masterlist / Next chapter / Previous chapter

Leaving the healer's quarters, Eunsung trails behind San as he guides her through the halls of the lower deck. They stop in front of a double door, and he turns to face her. He jabs a thumb at the circle-shaped windows and she spots a young man wiping the kitchen counter.

"Watch this." He whispers mischievously and she sends him a confused look. San turns on his heel and kicks the kitchen door open.

"Seonghwa! Come out, you have a new mouth to feed!" He says in a chirpy tune. For a second, the kitchen is completely empty and she wonders if her dreams have finally affected her mental health.  A black-haired figure appears behind the counter, wielding a pan.

"Who?" The man's voice comes out deep in annoyance. San steps out of the way to introduce her, now dressed in some crew member's clothing. "This is Eunsung. She was one of the slaves on board of the ship we raided a few days ago."

"I know who she is, Choi. The captain's been telling us about her for days."

Eunsung faces the cook nervously and bows to their surprise. Seonghwa lays the pan on the counter, crossing his arms. "I'm not the king of the seas for you to bow to me."

Eunsung stammers. "I-I'm sorry, it's just that on the ship we needed to bow to everyone on board as a sign of respect." San places his hands behind his back and laughs. "We don't do that here. Especially not to Seonghwa." Seonghwa throws a kitchen towel in his direction in response.

She nods slowly, feeling out of place. The cook points to one of the empty wooden stools. "Sit there. I'll go make something."

As they wait patiently, Eunsung stares in amazement as Seonghwa begins to cook. The fire burns bright, but he remains unaffected to how close the flames are to his hands. She recalls the boy slave again. The way his skin had burned away etching deep into her mind. She swallows hard.

He must be dead.

San sits in front of her, clasping his hands together. "You don't have to watch him cook the entire time, you know?" She turns to face him, quietly apologizing.

He waves it off.

"So.." He starts. "You really don't know how I look like? Or Seonghwa?" She nods hesitantly. "Then how are you able to identify people?"

"I-uh, by their clothes and their hair. Sometimes it's by their voices." She answers, drumming her fingers lightly on the wooden surface.

"How were you even able to get in touch with a witch in the first place?" His voice comes out curious and her eyes turn downcast. "I mean, you must have known the risks when you went to negotiate with one."

She drums her fingers harder, now more focused on the sound than his voice. Risks? Had she known the risks? She didn't even know what she wished for or what she had given away. She shuts her eyes for a moment and she's greeted with bloodied green eyes.

"Most ask for something non-material, but sometimes they ask you to commit a ritual of some sort-"

A plate is loudly set down on the table, cutting off San and stopping Eunsung's nervous drumming. "I think that's enough." Seonghwa moves his head to face the healer as he talks. There's an unknown tension around the table. "Wouldn't want her to think of you as a big mouth."

San's voice lowers. "I appreciate the concern."

The cook makes an effort to slowly pull out the chair at the head of the table before sitting down. She notices three unusual white scars at the side of his neck. He faces her suddenly and she's quick to turn her eyes away to look down at the table.

Seonghwa props his elbow on the table, resting his head against his hand. San grumbles, moving his chair so his face isn't covered by his arm. "What are you waiting for?" He gestures to the sizzling meat sat on the plate and a glass of water. "Eat."

She reaches for it, dragging it slowly towards her, the delicious intoxicating smell beckoning her to eat. She stabs it with the fork, quickly bringing it to her mouth.

Gods. She couldn't believe how hungry she was at that moment. As she continues to hungrily scarf down, she listens in on their quiet conversation.

"You shouldn't fire at her with all your questions. She's a former slave, she'll get overwhelmed." Seonghwa scolds. Her heart tightens at the word slave.

San scoffs, crossing his arms. "What would you know? At least I'm actually talking. Don't think I forgot about you though. Glad to hear your voice box is still working." He taps at his adam's apple.

Seonghwa huffs. "I can't believe the captain assigned you to show the newbie around."

"Who else would do it? You?"  San suggests amusingly. "Do you think you'll do better than me?"

"At least I won't chew her ear off with my incessant questions for my useless research."

San lightly claps his hands onto the table, letting out an amused sound. "You have a complaint, you tell it to the captain. Don't waste my time with your pettiness."

The tense atmosphere grows thicker as she swallows the last slice of meat down her throat. She shifts awkwardly in her chair, taking a sip of water. "Hey, look. She's done." San announces emotionlessly. "I guess we'll get going now." He rises from his seat, looking down at Seonghwa before quickly making his way towards the exit.

"Let's go, Eunsung. Say bye to Spark."

"Spark?" She asks, confused at the strange name. Seonghwa sighs. "It's a childish name San gave me. The 'S' stands for my first name, Park is just my surname."

She gradually nods. Her eyes wander back to his neck again and she notices that he has the same three scars on the other side of his neck as well.

"You should get that checked." He points at her side. She thoughtlessly moves her hand to her faint bruise. "The shirt got raised a bit, I'm sorry for staring." He admits.

She's slightly taken aback from his apology. A horrible feeling washes over her for even staring at his scars. She clears her throat. "I did already. It's okay, I've endured worse."

"Well, you shouldn't have to." He responds neutrally.

San yells from the other side of the door. She catches herself bowing again. "Goodbye."

--

After leaving the kitchen, San brought her to every other room in the lower deck. They went by them in a flash, but the most memorable room to her was the living quarters for the Powder Monkeys. She had expected it to be similar to the nightmare that was the hole.

It was separate from the rest of the crew's living quarters, but when San opened the door and greeted them all by their names, her expectations disappeared in an instance. Some boys were sleeping on clean hammocks, and Eunsung wonders if there was another ship with this kind of nice treatment. She could only see their bright hair colors, but they greeted him back in the same friendly manner and waved at her before focusing back on the game they were playing.

She bows at them before he closes the door. "You're very old-fashioned," San mentions. "You seriously need to stop bowing to every person you meet."

"It's a habit." She murmurs.

They're both now at the upper deck. She steps on the wooden floor and her knees ache with a familiar dullness to get down and scrub. Close by, a man carries a bucket filled with water in her direction and she visibly stiffens, her eyes transfixed on the object. He stops a few feet in front of her and spills the water over the deck and it carries away the dirt and muddy shoeprints, disappearing over the ship. His nearby crewmates yell at him for getting their shoes wet, but he merely laughs at them until they join in on his merriment.  

"Eunsung? Are you okay?" San's worried voice snaps her out of her trance and he appears beside her in an instance. She's quick to look at him despite his lack of a face. She nods. His head moves in the direction of the laughing men, but if caught on to what she was looking at, he didn't say anything. "Come on. Don't want you going missing now, do I?"

She's not a slave anymore. Never again.

They move to the right side of the Horizon. Some of the men working stop and whisper amongst themselves as they pass them. "that's her..", "The captain's life.."

She stares over the railing and she sucks in a breath and almost expects a giant hand to rise from the water like in her dreams. Her throat tightens and she realizes she's afraid of the darkness of the sea.

She tears her eyes away and struggles to focus back on what San was talking about.

San slaps the sides of one of the cannons. "Here are the cannons, I won't go into too much detail since you aren't going to work here. The powder monkeys fire the cannons and are usually the new members of the ship like you, but you're a special case."

San cups his hands at the sides of his mouth and yells towards the mizzenmast. "Wooyoung! Come down here! Captain finally assigned your pathetic butt an apprentice!"

She strains her head to look above and sees a flash of purple before a young man skillfully climbs down the Riggs.

"An apprentice?" The man, supposedly named Wooyoung, asks exasperated. "I just helped raid a ship a few days ago and the captain is already giving me more responsibility?"

Wooyoung points at her, his tone annoyed. "You. What's your name?"

"Eunsung." She replies, straightening her back after being addressed. He scoffs. "I can't believe we're already replacing the old gunman."

"The..the old gunman?"

The head gunner points at his neck. "Poor man got shot right here and fell off the foremast. It wasn't pretty."

She gulps and San fake laughs, patting Wooyoung on the back. "Captain's orders, so please don't try scaring her off on the first day. She's a pretty decent shot from what I heard. Maybe even better than you."

Her eyes widen. Nobody said anything about that. San waves, giving words of encouragement before disappearing downstairs to the lower deck.

Wooyoung crosses his arms, giving attention to the gun in his holster. "You were one of the slaves on board the snake-something, right?" She nods, the action feeling more forced.

He stays silent and she awkwardly speaks up again. "I'm cursed." Her words feel heavy on the tongue. "I can't see what expression you're trying to show."

He groans, pointing towards the Riggs. "Start climbing. I'm not going to waste time on someone who won't even be able to qualify as a rigger."

She stares at the tall wooden beam and she swallows nervously. She's never been that high before. "Get going!" Wooyoung commands.

She slowly makes her way towards the tied ropes, getting used to the strange texture.

It's just like the ladder back in the hole. Just treat it like the ladder.

She begins to climb. She imagines the top to be the hatchet door -- her temporary ticket to the outside. Her foot slips momentarily and she exclaims in surprise. She hangs by both of her arms and she struggles to pull herself back up.

Her heart plummets down to her stomach in fear and she does the mistake of looking down. Everything looks tiny from her perspective. Her grip begins to slip and she holds on for dear life. She's going to die if she falls.

She stares down to see the small figure of Wooyoung watching her, and she admits that she's even more afraid of what he might do if she fails.

She's not going back to being a slave.

Her muscles strain and she hooks her foot back onto the rope and continues to climb until she finds herself pulling her body onto the top of the mizzenmast. She stands in victory and she finally smiles for the first time in a long time. She leans against the railing to look down at Wooyoung. "I did it!"

He walks towards the Riggs and in a couple of seconds, she finds herself face to face with Wooyoung. Her mouth opens slightly in disbelief. "You passed..for now." He concludes. "Did you think we were over? I'm not going to let you go until you're able to climb as fast as me."

He cracks his knuckles and even through the blurry facade, she can imagine him smirking. "Get back down and restart."

[mintchocohip]

featherweight︱ yoongi x reader ︱ r: explicit

While on vacation in London, you meet somebody who clicks.

 —   notes: sub!yoongi, domme!reader. y/n who does not enjoy vaginal penetration.

 —   kinks:​ clothed clitjob  |  warnings: alcohol

 —   wordcount​: 3.3k [oneshot]

20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Leaning against a wall outside the pharmacy, you watched Yoongi pull waxy black paper off a purple lollipop. You weren’t certain what flavor to buy him, so you bought something that matched his head-to-toe black.

It’s cold. A small group of tourists across the street were flocked together and bundled up like they were about to hit ski slopes. Traffic rolled thin across the road. Behind passing vehicles, Big Ben towered into a heavy dark grey sky. Cameras angled; chatter in Spanish drifted away behind the heavy roll of a passing bus.

Oncoming fog gave light to the evening. The sun was setting when the first mists appeared. You sucked in a deep breath of frigid air, and popped the sugarfree mango lollipop between your teeth. You glanced at Yoongi. With the stick of the blackberry lollipop pressed tight between his lips, he shifted his mouth, and rolled his jaw.

Under the brim of his bucket hat, smiling eyes surveyed the air. A piece of trash or a leaf was skidding across the pavement to your left. You glanced. It was a piece of trash.

You couldn’t believe it’s took you so long to ask the question.

“Yoongi, right?” You heard it at the police station. He saved himself in your phone as Min Yoongi. You were at a show when he pinged your phone—Do you still want to drink that wine? Between those moments and now, you never asked. You never put the word Yoongi into the air.

“Yeah. Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” Pulling the lollipop out of your mouth, you extended a hand. Yoongi glanced from your hand to your face. The white paper stick switched to the side of his mouth. A small smile lifted his whole face, and a lighthearted laugh filled the air between you.

He accepted the handshake.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

“Y/N,” you confirmed.

“Y/N—” Yoongi’s back hits the door, and your name hits you on a staggered gasp. The knees pinned between your body and polished wood are buckling like they’re about to collapse. All you did was unzip his jacket, and kiss his throat.

Fog clouded visibility before you and Yoongi stepped under the hotel’s overhang. The crystal-clear lobby smelled like glass, and velvet, and dusty lilacs. A Christmas tree near the sitting area is decorated with fake snow and lights shaped like icicles.

All you can smell behind the door of your hotel room is Yoongi. Dark wood against red wallpaper have transported both of you somewhere relaxed.

Shoved into the window between his slender waist and his elbows, your hands are splayed out over the frigid door.

“That eager,” you laugh—more to yourself, than to this dazed guy. “Huh?” Your huh was a retort, but it almost became a moan. Yoongi just opened wide eyes. He smells like the weather outside. Fresh, and cool. Everything is delicately laid over the promise of heat. Yoongi’s stunned eyes fly away. He’s looking everywhere and nowhere, and trying to flatten into the wall.

Caution pulls you back to his throat.

A gentle kiss hints at tongue. He tastes how he smells. Fresh. Needy. You pull away. Yoongi’s attempt to hide his moan sucks in a shaking breath, and turns it into a slow, cracking swallow.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

He loves this.

30 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

“Do you drink?” Yoongi stared at the pavement through the question. A follow-up question was inevitable. You heard it in his attempt to keep his voice even; you sensed it in everything about the way this guy acts around you. “There’s this pub…” he might have said something like that, “do you want to go? With me?”

“I drink. I have plans tonight, though,” you say with the confidence of somebody who regularly cancels plans for a hookup. “I’ll give you my number. You can call me if you need anything.”

“Oh?” Disappointment blinked Yoongi’s eyes down to his shoes. “Right. Yeah.”

There were questions under your ribs. Why are you here, in London? When did you arrive? How precious are the things you lost?

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow night, though.” There's something about this guy that you liked. He was also vulnerable. Turning him down was natural. If he had space to breathe and think, maybe you could look at him in a new light. “My hotel’s room service has a wine menu. Do you like wine?"

It took Yoongi a moment to understand.

“Oh?” The first “oh” was a sigh. This one was a hiccup. He put a hand on the top of his head, and pulled his hat back. A smile that rose up past his gums glowed his face in the darkness. He already looked drunk. LED snowflakes were strung up in passing shopfronts. They made his teeth sparkle. When he met your eyes, a single jolt of laughter shook his shoulders. “Really?” His voice smoothed. "Yeah. I like wine."

An energetic tourist who was willing to drop everything to help a stranger. The side of yourself Yoongi soaked up yesterday has retreated. An overwhelmed guy in need—that side of Yoongi has twisted him up completely.

Popping open the button of your jeans and pulling down the zip has given Yoongi free range to move. Your hands are too occupied to pin him. He’s still holding his arms flat on the wall behind himself, staring at your hands, and breathing so hard his long, oversize coat is catching on your knees with each rise and fall. A vein on the back of your hand shifts. You see it in a haze below you; you see it in the sudden burst of light in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t fall,” you whisper. A tiny scrunch of sound tells you Yoongi’s parka is slumping down the wall. You push a hand against his solid chest, and hold him in place. “That’s not what I want.” The warmth of his skin meets your palm through the fabric of his shirt. “I want you to touch me. You want to touch me, don’t you?”

Meeting Yoongi’s eyes shows you a small, shifting smile. It’s impossible to know if he’s actually listening to you anymore. Communicating without words was the plan, anyways.

Through the thick of his coat, a shockingly solid wrist curls into your hand. Your grip is light. Yoongi’s arm pulls off the door weightlessly.

Where your raincoat opened and your jeans have been tugged down, sporty orange boyshorts have been exposed. They’re the brightest thing in this room.  You guide him. Yoongi is already pressing his fingers tightly. Tense, excited curiosity bubbles for a split-second, pops, and leaves a shimmer in the air as pressure slides between your legs. In the hug of warmth between your thighs and your cunt, a relative stranger’s palm presses against a faint pulse.

“It’s all about this thing,” you whisper. You have to arch your neck to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Swirling a finger on the puffy flesh above your clit through thin fabric, you tilt your head up, and speak down to him. “And only this thing. Do you understand?” Pulling him close isn’t an invitation to explore. This is a directive. Yoongi might be the type of guy who listens. Or, he’s the type of guy who thinks he knows what you want.

Dark eyes blink up, and down. Yoongi flutters his gaze over your expectantly raised eyebrows. His eyes fall to his hand. Fingertips are pressed against folds laying across your hole. He swallows.

Yoongi swallows again. All of these concentrated swallows are starting to click in your ears. He’s probably nervous. You don’t spring on guys unless you get those vibes from them. He’s a match. You know he is. You still have to gauge him. Then, you’ll force him to drink some water.

Soft pressure is a trail of tingles. There’s unpleasantness in the touch hinting into watery, wishy-washy flesh depth. Fabric is tugged tight. It tugs your chin up in a delayed succession, and a soft “Mh-hm.” of approval low in your throat guides Yoongi to his destination. A featherlight touch trembles out over your pelvis, before floating over the place where the beginning of soft, sensitive skin parts around your hood. Your chin nods down with silent approval.

There’s obedience in Yoongi’s mannerisms. There’s hesitation. Beneath that hesitation, you can feel something strong. He knows what to do. He’s just waiting for you to tell him it’s okay.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

An officer in a high-visibility jacket clattered the flat keyboard and recorded details—Lambeth Bridge; a black Raf Simons sling backpack, and its contents. A laptop. His passport. A ring of external hard-drives.

Yoongi kept glancing at you in the police station. The language barriers wasn’t a problem. Still, he eyed you like he was waiting for approval.

Settling into the chair next to his was easy. Like you, Yoongi is traveling alone. You parsed those details. If he wanted you to leave, he wouldn’t have frozen up and stared at you like a lost puppy when you pat his arm and tried to tell him “Good luck. I really hope they find everything.” outside the police station.

The officer’s eyes shifted between the two of you. You clarified that you weren’t with Yoongi when his bag was stolen. She didn’t need to know that you met him a few minutes ago.

Fingertips tug. Rolling your hips forwards into Yoongi’s hook, you bite down on your lip with a delighted sigh. 

His eyes are snapping down, and you follow behind. It’s a gentle touch. A faint curve of skin has pushed up around the two fingers he buried into everything soft and wet glowing around a slice of pleasure. His middle finger found the target. Everything shifts under a tentative stroke, and his thumb glides above it. Parted lips and the shining in his eyes looks like admiration. Whether it’s admiration for his own work, or admiration for you—that’s the sticky question.

The downwards curl is even slower. Through the rough of fabric, a fingernail skims across your clit. The hard on hypersensitive sends a jolt up to your gut. An electronic signal: tighten up; suck in. A tongue flicks out. Yoongi held the lollipop deep in his mouth. You know if he showed you more of his tongue, it would be purple in the middle.

Overwhelming cute guys is fun. Feeling their energy emerging from behind head-spinning clouds is even sweeter. It was an inkling, but it paid off: Yoongi wants focus. He needs you to tell him what to do. Approval in your nod is doubled by a slide of your tongue over your lower lip. It’s tripled when you squeeze his wrist.

Twisting his hand, Yoongi crests over folds. Rolling. Pressing in, parting, and finding the size and shape of what he’s working with. A delicate touch tests what he’s found. Slipping around wet territory, he arcs tension and release from one side of your hips to the other, and you rock into the gentle stroke he pulls down with a faint gasp in both of your throats.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Briefcases and business clothing had sandwiched you in the crowd of people waiting to cross Abingdon Street. 

Somebody was pushing through the crowd, and your bag was jostled and tugged before you felt knuckles skim the side of your raincoat. When you turned and studied the back of a man clad in black, he was falling through the opposite side of the crowd with a slap of sneakers that turned into a sprint.

“Hey! Get back here, asshole!”

It only took a block. Your hand was digging into the back of his jacket, Yoongi was wailing out a sound like a wounded animal, and a sudden curb tripped his thick-soled shoes. You caught him as best you could. The intention wasn’t to make this guy face-plant on cement. Crashing onto the ground with Yoongi outside of Westminster Abbey, you started to twist his body at the exact moment he turned over.

You knew something was wrong when he rolled over, and sat down on his ass.  

“Not a thief.” He held up a hand and shook it dismissively. “Not a thief.”

Sitting on the pavement with Yoongi after you brushed away a small crowed of concerned onlookers, you checked your pockets. You opened up your bag.

“Really?” Disbelief thinned your eyes. A tingly sting felt like your shoulder was singing. “Why were you running?”

“Running. For. Somebody.” Yoongi was miming grabbing. “My backpack. Thief. I lost them.” He shook his head, and crossed his hands over the back of his neck. “I lost them before.”

“Ouch.” Guilt cringed your whole body.

Admittedly, some weedy-looking guy pretending his backpack got stolen could have been a way to ease you into a scam. You decided to help this guy stand up, anyways. That was the minimum level of engagement you could justify.

A shiver racked your body when Yoongi accepted your hand. Exertion had warmed Yoongi’s hands. You suddenly realized how cold your own hands were.

“Are you here with anyone?” Swimming in a baggy black coat and loose sweatpants, Yoongi looked small. He felt massive. Your legs and abs tensed; your arms flexed. There was no attempt in his body to do more than wobble. As he stood up, he swiped a free hand over his face. You tried to let go. Yoongi’s fingers slumped over the side of your hand, and he swiped a hand over his face again. When you peered at his eyes under the hazy shadow of his bucket hat, the disorientation was obvious. He was swallowing hard.

“Do you have your phone? Your wallet?”

“Uh…” Yoongi nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. In my pockets. Important things in my backpack.“ Yoongi laughed, his hand dropped out of yours, and he straightened up his back. He glanced at you like he didn’t even realize somebody was standing there. “It’s… it’s been a long day.”    

“Here.” Your phone was already out, and you were looking up the nearest police station on Maps. “Let me help you.”

Little tastes. Something light-headed, and overwhelming. 

There’s no beat, but there’s a melodic rhythm. Downwards momentum. Pushing your hips forwards kept them there. It’s a simple detail. But holding forwards against him makes everything tenser, and headier. Needier. 

Taut concentration is pulling Yoongi’s face, and twitching his lips. You eye him with a soft smile, and swallow a thick of sweet-tasting spit. Your half-lidded eyes and unbidden smile must be speaking for you. When Yoongi sees them, he blinks hard. His expression is falling apart. Pieces of it drip down his body. His shoulders slope. Seeing that tremble of desperation perks your daze up too late. 

He thinks you want more. He thinks he can bring you higher—his chest falls forwards as eyes close and his thumb pushes in and rubs up like he’s trying to spark a fire.

“Shit,” the hand on his chest jerks. Yoongi is thrown back into the door like newspaper in a breeze. A shiver tenses in your chest so hard it hums in your ears, “that feels good. Don’t hold back, do you? A little too hard,” you smile, “maybe. Ah—” The whispered sigh overlays Yoongi’s gasp. He stuck his hand back between your legs. You sigh. It’s a pleasant apology. Heavy with your heartbeat, everything Yoongi is touching feel limitless—he can feel how turned on you are. Flush. It might be surprise. A faint sound just trembled in the back of Yoongi’s mouth.

You almost get a secondhand prickle of heat along your jaw. A cute face is turning bright red. Yoongi is rubbing. Over everything; under nothing.

Sliding your hand off his wrist, you reach between your legs, and cup the back of his hand. As your fingertips slide over his sharp knuckles and onto his roving fingers, you press up. Because you love it. Because you want to be closer to what he feels. The smile in your voice becomes a thin sigh. Your slowly closing eyes shoot open, and you roll in annoyance.

It’s like kissing somebody who ignores your tongue, and swerves to lap at the inside of your cheek. Mapping out the openings in jaw muscles between the banal hypersoft flesh; a doctor fumbling a cotton swab for DNA. Numb. Unpleasant.

Yoongi has pushed two fingers up into your cunt through the stretch of your panties, and shifted them around looking for something that isn’t there.

He’s looking for your moan. Attempts not to curl your nose or grimace succeed. Concentrating that energy into your hand, you pull a grip back onto his wrist, and tug. Fixing a finger and thumb around Yoongi’s chin, you meet his slowly opening eyes.

“Remember what I said?” The drive to wrap a hand around his throat while you ask the question is tossed aside. “Only here.” Your hand falls to tap two fingertips on the left and the right of the place you’re talking about.

He realizes you’re waiting.

Yoongi nods. Flush on his face blanched. His whole expression broke. His fingers are trembling as he rushes them up. It’s almost panicked. 

It’s adorable.

“Don’t worry,” you sight, “I’ll forgive you this time.”

A fresh inkling compounds on the way Yoongi has been acting since you met him. He gets lost outside of himself and inside of himself all at once. You need to keep reeling him towards middle ground. Laying your hand over his crossed those signals. Words. Gestures. Tight grips. Right now, everything is an unquestionable command.

The pleased hiss isn’t a lie. Residual chill from a splash of ice water has disappeared. Yoongi looks for your smile. He finds it. The swirl is magic. Yoongi rolls his fingers around, presses, and sends a spiking jolt up inside you that lifts your chest on the shivering words.

“Good,” you sigh out, “good.” As you speak, you pull your hand down off the wrist of Yoongi’s jacket. Sliding under his sleeve, you skim a thumb over the bottom of his calloused palm, and find the dip onto soft skin you know must pull thin over purple and green veins.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans. He barely moved, but you just felt his whole body snap. His fingers pause, and dab off you with a twitch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“It’s too sensitive.” His chin has lifted, but he’s still trying to gaze down between your legs and meet your eyes at the same time. Trembling eyes settle, then drops to the side. Studying whorls on the hotel’s thick cream-colored carpet, Yoongi swallows.

“The underside of your wrist?”

His chin lowers, and his back arches into the door. It’s a shy attempt to disappear from your intent eyes. If you knew him better, your thumb would be stroking back down on the emboss of veins you felt, and teasing their delicate raw. Instead, you press your thumb onto the side of his wristbone.

“Thanks, baby.” An involuntary wave that starts by lifting your knees and finishes by flexing your thighs relaxes. It was a nice refreshment. Pulling on Yoongi’s bare wrist, you tug up. “That felt amazing.”

Yoongi’s hand freezes. It splays. Damp fingertips pull up over fabric, and disappear.

“Let’s have that wine, now.” You push Yoongi’s wrist towards his stomach, and let go. Tugging up your jeans tickles.  

“Oh?” The question hits your back as you walk over to the simple black phone on the bedroom table. Walking around a pulsing cunt is the closest thing you know to flying. Picking up the slender handset, you hover the receiver over your ear, and flip open a room service menu. "Of course. Y/N.”

“That’s why we’re here, right?” It’s purposeful punctuation. The way Yoongi just said your name. It flashes a glance over your shoulder. The smile on your face curls up in one corner. The question is asking “Is there something else I should call you?” “Do you want some wine?” Your name is fine. 

Condoms you bought in the pharmacy are inside the plastic bag you tossed onto the nightstand. You already had a few in your luggage, but it was polite to ask if he had a favorite brand.

“Yeah.”

Of course, you’re going to lay him down, roll that shiny plastic on, and tell him not to move. Stiffness has tented his cock against the side of his baggy black cargo pants. A shadow casts down over the hem of his oversize shirt floating over the shape. His cock looks big enough under his clothes to press flat beneath your cunt. A thick, fat surface to rut yourself off on—a hot head; a dip of a frenulum you can touch with your clit, and grind. 

Maybe you’ll squeeze his hands in the air while you tease out your satisfaction. It’ll keep him grounded. And—he just seems like that type. 

Yoongi is still pressed against the wall. Dreamy. Red. Smiling. Tar melting on a hot day. For some reason, that’s all you can think of when you look at him.

“Take your clothes off,” you hold the phone against your shoulder. “Then sit down on the bed. Go on.”

Peeling off the wall is slow, but Yoongi is falling out of his jacket. You give him a smile, and laugh to yourself. The phone is ringing. You grab an unopened hotel water bottle next to the phone, and tap your fingernail over the lid while you wait for somebody to pick up.

[fericita-s]

The Bloom Is On The Rye

After the crossing at the Kansas River when her family had been lost, looking at the muddy Black Vermillion had her hiding under her bonnet like a bird tucking its head under its wings to sleep.

Emmry Forced Marriage Mercy Street/Oregon Trail crossover! Chapter 2 below, also on AO3

a continuation of In having new eyes by @jomiddlemarch​ and beta-ed into being better by @the-spaztic-fantastic​.  Thank you both for your contributions to this story!

Mrs. Foster helped her again with breakfast, as if they planned it, all the while keeping up a cheerful chatter about her husband, Dr. Foster, and the medical practice they would be setting up in California. 

“You won’t be going to Oregon!” Emma said, surprised and disappointed.  She had hoped this new friend might be a neighbor of sorts, though she knew Oregon was large and their party was likely to split up several times as they passed through different territories.

“We won’t head that way until after Soda Springs, that’s months away yet.” 

Emma found this a comfort and somewhat distressing - still months to go before they still had over a month to go.  She knew the journey would last about five months but it had been harder to keep track of time lately. Their days took on a rhythm: waking, cooking, gathering what useful foodstuffs they could on the trail.  Walking, riding, crying a bit less each day.  It seemed to stand still, go very quickly, and stretch on all at once but her legs felt stronger and her arms too, the tasks that seemed to drain her at first now coming more easily.

“Henry said he has bacon, shall I look for it to add to the spider? There’s enough to share.”

“Yes! Jedidiah would stop complaining so much about dried apple pie for our only sweet if I start his day off with bacon,” Mrs. Foster said, taking over the spider completely while Emma rummaged through the store of goods. “Where are you two settling?”

Emma produced the bacon and then paused, wondering as Mrs. Foster lifted the pancakes out and arranged the bacon. “I don’t know,” she said, and then after a brief moment of panic, laughed.  “I don’t know!” Mrs. Foster joined her laughter as Henry walked up with a bucket of water, smiling tentatively at their mutual delight. 

***

“Where exactly are we going?” Emma asked that evening when Henry finished with the nightly Psalm.  After he finished reading he’d put his arm around her while they talked. He still slept by the fire instead of in the wagon and Emma didn’t know how to tell him she wished he wouldn’t.

“Black Vermillion River is next.”  

“No, I mean to homestead.  Where do you - do we - plan to be?” 

“Oh. Dalles.  I thought you knew.” He furrowed his brow as he answered. “Is that where you wish to go?”

“It doesn’t matter to me where we go, as long as it’s not back to Virginia.” She wanted to say something about how even though this trip had begun in tragedy that multiplied in staggering ways, she found comfort in his presence and in his kindness.  But she couldn’t think of how to phrase it, so instead she asked him why he decided to go west.

“I was in seminary.  Thought I’d be a preacher or maybe a chaplain.  But then -” he paused and Emma reached for his hand, trying to encourage him to keep speaking with touch she hoped would be welcome.  “A friend and I went swimming.  I dared him to, he didn’t want to .  Said he wasn’t a good swimmer but I goaded him into it. And he drowned.  I tried to save him but I couldn’t.”

“That was an accident. Surely you believe God has forgiven you.”

He took a breath and spoke evenly, though she would tell it was an effort.  She was well practiced in it.  “It was hard to believe then. It’s sometimes hard to believe now.” 

“You saved me.  I would surely have drowned had you not been there, had you not been so quick.”

“God guided my hands.”

“If you believe that to be true then believe you are forgiven, too.”

“It’s becoming easier to believe that,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and she relaxed into him.    

The sounds of Silas’s fiddle washed over the camp and she wished Henry would hold her like this in the bed of the wagon, instead of leaving her alone to go sleep by the fire.

***

She couldn’t do it. 

After the crossing at the Kansas River when her family had been lost, looking at the muddy Black Vermillion had her hiding under her bonnet like a bird tucking its head under its wings to sleep.

Emma remembered an arm grabbing her tightly around the waist as the current pulled at her skirts, the relief she felt when Henry deposited her on the shore.  She had been drenched and gasping, Mrs. Foster’s arm around her, as she watched the canvas of her family’s covered wagon float swiftly downstream.  It had tilted at wild angles before flipping over and then it was gone - under the water and around a bend. Dr. Foster and a few of the men had run downriver to see what - who - they could rescue, but Henry was still in the water where the wagon had first pitched to the side and floated away.

She had watched as Henry stood with a body in his arms. It was a man - her father? Jimmy? But the face was so covered in blood that she couldn’t make out who from this distance. When she saw it was Jimmy, she had been disappointed. 

She hated that he had been the only body to bury.  

The one she had least wanted to mourn was the only one with a gravesite.  It was unfair.  Henry had conducted a short service naming them all, and Samuel Diggs, the wagon master, had made crosses with all four names burned into the wood.  But it was only Jimmy’s body that had been buried. 

And she hated it.  She hated Jimmy for that last act of displacing her family from its rightful place.

“We’ll take the ferry,” Henry said, gripping her hands and looking worried, bringing her back to the present and this new river to cross. “We won’t ford it.”

But even that couldn’t stop her panicked breaths and so eventually he consulted with Dr. Foster and then dosed her with whiskey, calling it medicinal.  She grimaced as it burned its way down her throat, then breathed deeply at the sensation of warmth spreading through her and the way she could feel her pearl drop necklace against her chest, her boots laced tightly around her ankles, her bonnet tied neatly under her chin.  All these pieces of clothing keeping her from flying apart and Henry there too, holding her around the waist like he had in the Kansas while pulling her to safety.  

When it was over, they rumbled along a bit more before nightfall, but the feeling of warmth did not subside.  Her brain felt like it was sloshing around inside her head and when Mrs. Foster brought her a dried apple pie, Emma thanked her without protesting that she hadn’t helped make it and called her Mary for the first time.

“I’ll show you how tomorrow. On rest day,” Mary said as she handed over the pie. “Perhaps have another drink tonight, to calm those nerves.  You’ll sleep better for it.”

“I didn’t mean to serve you this for dinner,” Emma told Henry as she sliced the pie clumsily.  He had given her another drink and taken one himself after reading from his Bible.  He said he would have skipped it but it was his favorite one, Psalm 23.  They both cringed when he read ‘He leads me beside still waters’, not relaxing again until he finished the verse with ‘he refreshes my soul’. 

“We had apple trees at home,” Henry said.  “I remember climbing one far from the house and then eating about a dozen before they were really ripe and making myself sick.” He looked at her, smiling. “Maybe we can plant two or three in Dalles.”

“I’d like that.  We had an orchard at home. Alice and I would steal them from the kitchens, the ones that had been sliced for pies. When they were mixed with sugar and sweet and syrupy.  I remember how it ran down our fingers and made our chins sticky.” She laughed and bit into the pie they shared now, worried she was missing her mouth with part of the crust but also too warm and full to really care.  “Once, when Alice was telling Mother she definitely had not stolen the pie filling, a bee came right up to her chin! Mother said even the bee knew she was lying!”

They laughed together and seeing him happy made Emma feel bold.  “Will you sleep here with me tonight? I think I would sleep better with you here.”

She watched as Henry stopped smiling and stopped chewing.  He nodded solemnly, like they were taking their marriage vows anew.  “Yes, Emma, I’ll stay here with you.”

His answer felt as good as his calling her Emma.

He turned his back as she undressed and she heard him securing the ends of the canvas cover so there was no longer an opening out the back.  With her whiskey-clumsy fingers she took twice as long with the buttons on her bodice and could not manage the corset at all. “Can you help undo these laces? I’ll sleep in my chemise, that’s on underneath.”

Henry moved towards her and she could smell the whiskey on his breath.  His hands felt warm against her skin and her heart, which had been beating out a strange rhythm since she asked him to stay, was so loud she thought he might ask her about it.  His hands finished their work on her laces, delicately unthreaded the loops entirely and she worked at the ribbons of her skirt until finally the petticoat and skirt fell into a heap on the wooden bed of the wagon.  

They stood frozen, looking at each other, as Henry reached for the pearl drop necklace now visible as it lay just above the low neckline of her chemise. He lifted it and ran his thumb over the smooth surface before gently placing it back against her chest in the valley between her breasts. “Beautiful,” he said, and she wanted him to press his hand against her fully, so he would hear what that word did to the beat of her heart.

Henry turned away and didn’t come join her again until she was on the bedroll.

She made herself as small as possible so he would join her on the pile of blankets and quilts, but when he laid down she only felt his hand on her back.  She wondered if she should turn to face him, then stilled as his hand traveled up her back and to the bun that gathered her hair against the nape of her neck.  He gently reached for the pins and combs holding it in place and took them out, brushing his fingers through her loose hair lightly.  She closed her eyes like his fingers were singing a lullaby and slept with his hands still stroking her hair.

The next morning he handed her one of his shirts as she swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and winced at the fuzziness in her head that now seemed to have sharp edges. 

“Use this to sleep in.  At least until you can make a new dress.  It should be more comfortable than wearing the same thing day and night.” She looked at him, taking in his rumpled pants and mussed shirt.  He hadn’t even taken off his outer coat or boots, had laid beside her fully dressed.  

He left their wagon abruptly and she ran her hands across the cotton, rubbed the collar between her thumb and forefinger and unfolded it to look at the long sleeves and how far down her legs the shirt would go. Then she hugged it to herself, wondering if he would sleep with her again.

Author’s Note:  Apparently bacon was such a common food staple on the trail, overlanders wrote of getting tired of it in their diaries. Can you imagine?! Tired of bacon!? Burying people along the trail was common, so much so that the Oregon Trail has been called this country’s longest graveyard.  About one in ten emigrants did not survive the journey, the most common reasons being accidental shootings, drownings, and disease. 

[moon-yeongjun]

Chuseok || Mu Jun

Summary: On Chuseok, the Baes and Moons gather as is tradition and a secret is revealed... 

@baenxietydad

JUN: 

Chuseok. 

Normally, Jun loved Chuseok. It was the one holiday that Jun could always afford to come home for with no guilt, to enjoy Eomma’s cooking and play games with his siblings. Last year’s Chuseok he had to spend it with Tiffany’s family and missed his own in the very fibre of his bones. He called Eomma and talked to her for two hours, nearly crying a few times, but of course, holding it all in. He had been looking forward to this Chuseok, then. Even though Abeoji would not be here...there would still be food and games and the Baes would come over like they always did--and Korean would flow, and the house would smell like egg batter, and he’d be...home.

But this year Chuseok came on the heel of Jun’s greatest shame. All the rich, delicious delicacies of Chuseok, the gifts, he didn’t deserve any of it. He woke up and wanted to walk out into the fields-- banish himself if Eomma wouldn’t. 

He couldn’t, though. Tradition was tradition, town scandal or not. Eomma found him feeding the chickens and gave him his to-do list for the day, mentioning the Baes would be over before noon.

So here he was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Onions actually. They burned his eyes, making him sniffle and  turn bright red. He looked up from the cutting board as he tried furiously to blink the onion-stench from his eyes when he heard a knock.

Ah, it was Mu-yeol hyung, sent in here by Eomma no doubt.

“It’s the onions!” Jun declared instead of hello, sensitive about the tear that rolled down his cheek. “Aiya, come here and take over, I need a break.” 

 MARLIN:

Mu-yeol clicked his tongue like he was admonishing Jun and quickly took over chopping the onions. Aiya, you’d think humans would evolve and immunity to the gasses onions give off considering they use them in cooking regularly.

“Fun fact-” the ‘about fairies’ bit was silent  “-onions don’t bother us. Evolution was kinder to us.”

He gestured to the counter with some shavings of veggie peels on it. “Scoop those into the trashcan before noonim yells at us both.”

Yells was used liberally here, as Eun-jung was more likely to go ‘omo, boys what a mess!’  and quietly do the spot cleaning herself while Jun insisted they were ‘about to do it, eomma!’

“Yah, you really took something out on the onions, didn’t you?” 

 JUN: 

Jun rolled his eyes at his hyung, though it was a good-natured kind of gesture (for Jun, at least). Of course fairies were unaffected by onions. You know, sometimes he wouldn’t mind so much being something like a fairy. It seemed idyllic from where he stood-- a kind community, lots of holding hands, one specific thing to do, even if that was, eh...garbage-talent! Or something. But anyway. 

He obeyed his hyung and put the food waste into the food waste bucket, since he would add it to the Moon’s compost pile later. Then he moved to the drawer to pull out another knife. He’d go for the mushrooms, eh. 

“Ah, just getting warmed up, hyung,” Jun said almost cheerfully. With a snort he took his place next to Mu-yeol and put the mushroom’s on another cutting board. “It’s election season. Plenty to be upset about, eh.” He began his furious chopping again. 

Yes, the election was what got Jun worked up. Nothing else! 

 MARLIN:

“The election? Oh.” Mu-yeol nodded slowly.

He almost forgot about that seeing as he never cared enough before last year. His son of course had only been going to human school for a year so it was just last year he cared enough to vote. If he recalled correctly he’d voted for Hades Acheron.

This year? He didn’t even know what seats were going to be open or who all was running yet. Of course that had yet to be announced but he imagined townsfolk had heard gossip of who may run.

“Are you looking to run?” He asked Jun, an eyebrow quirking up.

JUN: 

“Ha!” Jun barked at his hyung’s ridiculous question. 

Honestly, he could laugh even harder than that.

Jun, see, never had political aspirations. Politics were a bastard’s business-- necessary evil, yes, but not for him. Before his market was attacked though, he had hoped to help Al McWiggin with a campaign. Now? He wasn’t sure. It might be too dangerous. His store was targeted already. What if Swynlake went after his family next? What if Tae-yah was harassed at school? Jun fretted over these questions, and cursed himself for even caring in the first place--for ever wanting to make Swynlake better. 

Why did he care about Swynlake when Swynlake did not care about him? 

“Please, don’t you know we’re public enemy number one right now?” Jun said bitterly as he swept his mushrooms into the boiling pot. He reached for the carrots next. “I run, I get chased out of town with pitchforks.” 

 MARLIN:

“No? No, I didn’t hear. Who could be mad at your mother?” Mu-yeol wrinkled his nose in disbelief. Eun-jung was the kindest, most loving person. “Or is it you? You can be...abrasive.”

As Jun’s hyung, he can say something so brutally honest.

“Of course, part of that is our culture. We're blunt people. What makes you think people are so angry with you?” 

Being in the Hollow, he hadn’t heard of the vandalism. 

JUN: 

He scoffed again.

Was it a good thing that his hyung was clueless? Maybe, maybe not. Mu-yeol didn’t really count when it came to Swynlake. He avoided the town unless he was 1. Working; 2. Watching his son dance; or 3. Picking up Korean-specific groceries from the Moon Market. He had not come by recently and so he did not see the RACIST accusation nor did he go on Twitter or read the newspaper. Maybe it was a good thing talk did not reach the noisy dance halls of Pixie’s then? Or Jun should not count his luck. 

He began to furiously chop the carrots. 

“The store was attacked, hyung. A girl--she hated my petitions against vampires--against vampires, you know, the one many people signed! And so she vandalized the Market!” Jun brandished the knife very unsafely as his anger grew. “She said I was racist! I’m not racist, eh, I just don’t like vampires. You don’t like vampires!” Jabbed the knife toward Mu-yeol. “But I’m not racist. But no, now everyone is saying that we are unfriendly to Magicks and some are saying they won’t shop at our store-- but we are not, eh, we’ve never--we serve anyone who comes in, vampire, werewolf, fairy, sorcerer, we have never turned away a customer--all because I just wanted to make Swynlake safe against dark magic, dark magic, not all magic-- so I’ve ruined my entire fami--ah!” 

He hissed and his hand jerked away. He’d sliced into his skin with the knife as tears had blurred into his eyes once more. At least now he could blame such tears on the pain. Jun spat a very explicit Korean curse as he made to move over to the sink.  

 MARLIN:

Now, Mu-yeol was about to tell Jun it would be okay but then he had to go and damn near slice his hand off and that kicked him right into healing fairy mode. Jun swore and Mu-yeol followed him to the sink and turned it on so the water would rinse the cut. 

“Hey, hey, sh it’s okay. Don’t think about it.” Mu-yeol said gently. “I’ll fix it, give me your hand.

With her bare hand - which was not human medical practice - Mu-yeol took Jun’s hand in his and waved his other hand over the cut which in one motion stopped the bleeding. To seal the cut however he had to rest his other hand on top of Jun’s until it felt like they held sunbeams in their hands, complete with a little golden glimmer.

He pulled his hands away, still covered in Jun’s blood, and nodded to the hand. “Good as new.”

And with a flick of his wrists so that his palms faced up Jun’s blood disappeared from his hands. “And clean.”

 JUN: 

“Daebak.”

Jun did not say this.

He’d grumbled the entire time Mu-yeol tended his gash, tears stinging in his eyes. He had not heard the kitchen door open. He did not see Eomma enter. Only now he heard her soft exclamation. Jun jerked his head to see her holding freshly picked cucumbers from Appa’s garden. She had obviously brought them for Mu-yeol and Jun.

She had also, obviously, seen Mu-yeol perform magic. 

“Eomma,” Jun blurted and instinctively stepped in front of Mu-yeol as if he could hide--

Eun-jung blinked several times and then scurried toward them. “Aiya, already using both our cutting boards! Where am I supposed to cut these, hmm?” 

Jun blinked. He glanced at Mu-yeol--

Eun-jung pushed her way between them. “Junnie, the gim please.” 

“Eomma…”

“Stop standing there with your mouth open, you’ll eat a fly,” Eomma huffed. She looked at Mu-yeol. “Does this kid have rice stuffed in his ears? What?” A pause. “Are we still pretending I don’t know?” 

 MARLIN:

Mu-yeol stood there frozen like an ice block as his eyes flitted between Jun and Eun-jung. He used magic. He used magic on Jun (to help him!) and she didn’t even flinch. Apart from a soft exclamation of sur— no, not even surprise. She’d sounded impressed. Amazed? But not surprised.

And most importantly she didn’t seem angry. 

“I— what. Wait, what.” Mu-yeol finally stammered, looking at Jun as if to ask if he knew she knew. 

“You knew?” He asked quietly, barely above a whisper. “And you don’t care? For how long?”

 JUN: 

Jun watched his mother sigh, then smile gently at Mu-yeol.  

They had a rule in their household, very vague as to apply to many things. The rule was this: don’t talk about it. It could mean the recurring billywig blight that kept attacking their lettuce. It had meant Abeoji’s cancer. It definitely meant the many strange clients the Moon Market served, ‘strange’ applying to couples like Simba and Berlioz and to fairies like Mu-yeol. While these things were not altogether strange to Jun, he understood his parents’ stubborn silence as a conditional acceptance, for Swynlake had been what Abeoji could afford, and now that they were here-- it was home, flaws and all. They must respect those flaws. 

At least, that’s what Jun thought. Now? He felt like he’d just sliced his whole thumb off, even though the pain had vanished. What the hell was going on, eh?! 

“Oh, I don’t know!” Eun-jung said as she shrugged and laughed, though something in her sweet eyes remained sad. “Nam-minnie would always lose his hats, running around the store! You two aren’t so clever as you think. But you never said anything; I didn’t think you wanted us to know. It isn’t our business.” She shrugged a second time as she skinned the cucumber down. 

“You’re okay with it?!” Jun blurted. 

Eun-jung shot him a glare. “Eh, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because!” 

“They’re the Baes! What was I going to do, stop talking to them?” And though Jun knew she did not mean to, his Eomma blushed and looked back at her cucumbers, sucking her teeth as though Jun was ridiculous.

But--he understood at once. It was like he had always thought, the same reason why Jun had never said anything, following the rule of the Moon household to the strictest letter. The last thing he had wanted to do was take away one of Eomma’s friends. She hadn’t wanted to lose Mu-yeol, either. 

“Didn’t I tell you to get the gim?” 

Jun made a face. “Eommmaaaaaa.”

 MARLIN:

Eun-jung knew. 

Either she’d always known or she came to know and it didn’t matter to her, because she still invited them over for Chuseok; she still let Nemo sleep over with Tae; she still gently scolded Mu-yeol for telling Nemo to always help with dishes when he sleeps over. 

Had it not been for his being well-versed in Korean human culture, where showing the emotions he wanted to display now was frowned upon, he might have burst into tears and hugged her. He still almost did. 

“Tae eomma…” he said quietly — of course getting back to chopping onions because Chuseok meals waited for no touching revelation — “And you...don’t have any questions? It’s okay if you do. I owe you that much for intending to lie.”

 JUN: 

Eomma went quiet for a moment, but her hands didn’t stop. The knife banged against the cutting board as she sliced up the cucumbers, her movements quick and even. Jun watched, but those hands did not hesitate. Eomma did not seem to be uncomfortable either-- just focused on her task. Though he would be the first to admit that there was more he didn’t know about his parents. After all, he hadn’t known this! He’d foolishly kept a secret he didn’t need to keep. All this time, thinking he was protecting the Moons-- yah, what good was his gesture now? 

Though he wondered. About Abeoji. What about Abeoji? 

Eomma glanced at Jun first, probably sensing the loudness of such thoughts, but then smiled at Mu-yeol. 

“Eh, only if you want to share. I’ve lived in this town too long, I know such things are sensitive. It’s best to be polite.” 

Jun’s cheeks heated, hearing the lecture for him in it.

“Though--” she paused again, dropping her eyes. She tried to sound casual. “Can all fairies do that? What you did for Junnie? Is that why you look so young?” 

MARLIN:

That was the one thing about Korean human culture that really, truly, clashed with fairy culture. The whole ‘don’t ask about anything’ thing. He gave her permission, with his previous statement, and was incredibly thankful she did bite the bait, if only nibbled at it.

He chuckled low in his throat and got back to cutting vegetables, albeit slowly, before Eun-jung scolded him for just being a decoration in her kitchen.

“Not all fairies, only fairies like me. We’re all born with what we call Talents, and that’s our magic. Mine is healing, just like my youngest brother and one of my grandfathers. My parents were - are, they’re still alive - a Scout talent and Pixie Dust talent. Which means my father helps protect the Hollow, and my mother harvests and maintains the pixie dust supply for the whole Hollow. I look so young because once we hit about twenty-five we age slower than humans; a fairy’s lifespan is generally 150-200 years. Our Hollow Queen or King lives for centuries. My father is 103 and my mother is 75.”

Mu-yeol awkwardly cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was probably a lot.”

 JUN: 

Yah, talk about overexplaining. Though Jun only thought that because he was so used to underexplaining-- to excuses and hand-waving and looking the other direction. All such things became habits and habits were hard to break, even when there was no reason to keep them now. He saw the same behavior in his Eomma-- as she blinked and looked uncertain as to react to any of that. 

He wondered if she was thinking about Abeoji. 

Jun was thinking about Abeoji. 

Jun was thinking about how he had begged Mu-yeol to do something, and Mu-yeol said that he could not. It was hopeless, of course it was, and it was not Mu-yeol’s fault, but bitterness filled Jun anyway as his hyung spoke of living so long after healing Jun’s hand like it was nothing. Why did some creatures get such blessings when humans were forced to labor for the mere handful of years? Abeoji had only been sixty-one. Sixty-one. And he was gone. 

After a brief pause, Eomma nodded as though no such pause occurred. “Ahhh, I know about talents, of course. I did not know they weren’t all-- I though it was all in nature and we could get you to help our tomatoes grow.” Her eyes twinkled, all in jest. “But healing, yah, that’s very important. You must be so respected.” 

MARLIN:

Mu-yeol had already unloaded on Jun how very much not respected the Baes were in the Hollow, so he wasn’t sure how to answer Eun-jung. 

“At the clinic I am.” He didn’t lie because that was true. 

This was Eun-jung’s first Chuseok without her husband. He wouldn’t depress her by telling her about why outside of the clinic he and Nemo were a little...not everyone’s favorite. 

“Talents are unpredictable. None of my siblings have the same as my parents. But, Nemo is the same as his mother was. It just depends. On what, I’m not sure.”

JUN:

Jun was still watching his eomma as if she might transform in a moment-- turn from the sweet woman he knew that she was into the woman who ripped the covers off the bed and started shouting at her children if they stayed asleep for too long.

But of course Eomma didn’t. Why would she yell at Mu-yeol? There was no reason to yell at Mu-yeol. They were very different people, his eomma and his hyung, and yet it seemed there was enough similar between them that they both wanted-- to be kind to each other, to forgive each other for the things they might disagree on. 

It made Jun’s heart felt so soft and tender. He rubbed at his chest. Maybe it was just heartburn. 

“Ooooooh, I see. Well, that’s children for you anyway. Junnie takes after Appa, doesn’t he?” she smiled at Jun and turned Jun’s whole face red.

Jun sucked his teeth as if he were disagreeing.

“Who knows why they do? Eh, Junnie, start rolling these.” 

Jun had no choice to come forward to arrange the gimbap. 

Eomma turned to face Mu-yeol then-- and her face looked much more serious. “Mu-yeol ssi, I do hope… I think-- I am sorry,” she finally settled on. She bowed her head slightly. “If you felt that our family would not welcome yours if we knew about your heritage. I think, when we were younger… Yoon-seok and I, there was a lot we didn’t know how to talk about. There’s still so much. But I hope you will still feel safe here.”

[indiavolowetrust]

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER SIX

The knife strikes with a steady, precise rhythm against the board, the pearly onions rendered to slices within moments. Then there are the leeks, shallots, garlic, and bunches of mint, all of which sit idly by the expansive chopping board. The bandages wrapped around my hands prove to be rather cumbersome in the task, reducing my efficiency -- but it is my experience that allows me to work deftly around the obstruction. It is likely that I would have to change the bandages at some point within the next hour: the crushing of the cumin, cinnamon, wild bulbs, and numerous other spices that I had found myself unable to name have both stained and left the bandages with a savory smell, leaving me currently unable to work with other meat. Or any other food, for that matter. I imagine that baking a butterscotch pie with traces of pork fat and savory spices would have little appeal.

Despite my best efforts, I find that the image of her is branded into my mind. Seared deep into the recesses of my memory, dredging up both unpleasant and pleasant thoughts. Her dark curls had spilled over her shoulders as I pressed her to me, and I was vaguely aware of the soft, full lips that laid beneath my fingers. The moonlight had illuminated her features in such a loving manner, embracing the soft brown tone of her skin, the shape of her curls, the dark pools of her eyes. Everything about her had been impossibly ravishing, even more so than usual. Had I not known she was only human -- a human spirit, to be exact -- I would have assumed she was a fellow demon who had come to seduce me. A succubus in the most innocuous sense of the word.

At that moment, I had wanted to do nothing more than devour her. To tear her apart in the most wonderful ways imaginable. To feel her body writhing beneath mine as I brought her to orgasm again and again, her pretty mouth letting out soft moans. To hear my name on her lips as her blunt, human nails rake down the skin of my back, the control of her body having fully lost itself in the sensation. To feel my own release paint her insides white. I had prided myself once on my ability to resist temptation, even against my own nature as a demon -- but I could not help but become undone at the sight of her loveliness. Despite the guilt --

A sudden warmth carves a path down my palm. I pull myself back into the present, forcing myself to focus on the sensation.

There is a rather nasty, painful cut on my thumb. The blood spills into the bandages. I watch with horror as the skin does not immediately knit itself back together, the wound remaining a fresh, vivid crimson.

* * *

The hours pass by much quicker than I expected. While the other kitchen staff are allowed nearly an hour of a break for lunch, lower servants such as I have only been given half an hour’s worth. The higher-ranking chefs couldn’t be bothered to do something as lowly as peel potatoes and chop onions, after all. I make a note to increase the pay and rest hours of the castle servants once I return to Lord Diavolo’s castle. There are only twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds until I must return to the kitchens. Twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds for me to scout the servants’ halls and whatever else I can find.

And so I make haste.

Maria’s instructions had been vague, given her general unfamiliarity of Sanctum’s layout -- but they are enough. The marble corridors, great columns, and alabaster sculptures pass by in a blur. My eyes flicker towards endless halls and gatherings of various servants as I make my way towards what should be the laundry room, paying little mind to the vicious, judgmental gazes of the paintings as I pass. Even with the aid of the Apple of Lies, there lies enough power left in the paintings for the forms to sense my presence. Given my innate sense of time, it is all too easy to discern the thoughts of the silent works of art, their words echoing in the back of my mind.

Impostor! Impostor! a plump, painted cherub wants to cry out. Its stare is both hateful and scathing. This one is an impostor!

Sinful, abhorrent demon, another wishes to spit. If the alabaster sculpture could shift its features or throw its voice, it would. I hope you rot in the ashes of your own guilt. Have you no shame?

You are but a simple, loathsome creature, says the carving of Samson, one of the Celestial Realm’s greatest demon-slayers. Who were you to play god? Who were you to make her suffer for your own ends? The human hates you! Detests you! Loathes you with every fiber of her being!

Or perhaps it is only my imagination.

True to Maria’s words, a relief of an archangel stands just outside of the laundry hall. The sounds of splashing water and falling garments can be heard from within. I stride just to the threshold of the room, catching sight of a ruddy-faced angel. He stands on the highest most step of a ladder and reaches towards a clothing line that has been strung up high on the ceiling. A sopping wet garment and a pair of pins are in his hands. I knock on the door.

The angel nearly falls off the ladder. The pair of pins clatter onto the floor, the garment meeting the surface with a squelch.

He regards me, eyes wide. “You -- you --” he stammers angrily, clutching the ladder, “-- you could have killed me, you idiot! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“You know what I meant!” The angel looks with frustration towards the fallen garment. He begins to clamber down the ladder, each step prompting another creak from the rickety object. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. The head laundress will have my neck for this, I assure you, and I’ll be sure to mention --”

“I’m looking for someone named Maria,” I lie. “Do you know where she is?”

He raises a bushy brow. “Maria?”

“Frizzy hair, frail, stands at approximately this height.” I gesture with my hands. “Have you seen her?”

He taps a sole finger on his chin, his free hand holding himself in place on the ladder. “Frizzy hair, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You must be talking about the little one, then. The head laundress sent her out back to gather some water for the washing.” He juts his chin towards the end of the room. A painted door stands wide open, the rays of sunlight nearly blinding me as I look towards it. “Don’t expect info like that to come free, though. In exchange for nearly killing me, lad, you can --”

I’m already halfway to the door.

The sunlight nearly blinds me as I step outside, flooding my vision with pure white. I find myself blinking in the aftermath, shielding my eyes against the sun. Thankfully, the effects do not last long. It is only nine seconds and twelve milliseconds before I am able to fully discern the image before me, the overgrown flora nearly obscuring the path. The nearly hidden path seems to have experienced little, if any, tending, reflecting only a few other areas of Sanctum. Areas that are less likely to be seen by high-ranking officials tend to be either under construction or completely unattended. Even the great hanging garden at the heart of Sanctum appears to have just experienced the fruits of the gardeners’ labor -- an aspect that the pale creature had checked on the first day of our arrival.

That indicates one of two options: one, the new empress has little control over her servants and people, thus leading them to be disobedient; two, the new empress has just come publicly into her position and has had little opportunity to exercise her power. If it were the latter -- which I would assume it is, given the general lack of unrest -- that would further indicate an unsteady balance of power amongst high-ranking officials.

If the new empress wants to keep her head, she’ll have to rule with an iron fist.

I continue onto the path, deftly avoiding the brambles and clumps of thorny flowers that seem to lunge at my feet. Five minutes and forty-one seconds later, the path finally opens into something a bit more spacious. A dry well sits in the middle of the space, a bucket having been long abandoned beside the stone structure. The sounds of activity can be heard beyond the weathered walls of the buildings that surround me. I press forward.

The sounds of activity, as it would turn out, originate from a rather extensive training yard. Despite its size, however, as well as my own biases towards those of the angelic persuasion, I must admit that its design is rather clever. The training yard is divided into exactly three levels, each of which is populated by a number of recruits testing the true might of their weapons. Swords ring out rather noisily against spears; another group trains with a smaller set of daggers. A stairwell leads up to each level, allowing convenient access to the space, while an observation deck sits some distance from the highest level. My gaze flickers instinctively towards the observation deck, inspecting the figures that stand there.

My eyes widen at the sight of the pale creature. A rather thick veil covers her visage, creating a shadow -- but it is obvious that she is having great difficulty discerning the finer details of the training. Her pink pupils shiver and waver under the assault of sunlight, and she squints. A slightly shorter angel stands beside her, her skin a deep, rich umber. A number of painted designs trail what skin is visible through her light robes, the fabric dyed surprisingly a vivid collage of orange and gold. Her long, braided hair is beset with gold coils. She lifts her hand to her mouth as she laughs, the multiple rings on her fingers gleaming under the sun, and her teeth --

I pause. I have never seen such a sharp, fearsome maw on an angel.

“Barbatos?”

I turn towards the noise, despite the nearly inaudible quality of it. Maria stands by a well that is situated on the far end of the training yard, hoisting a  sizable bucket of water under her arm. A number of curls fall from her low bun, making her appear disheveled, but she strangely shows no other signs of effort. Then again, the shadow created by the awning above does much to obscure her form. Her sudden vigor is likely my imagination.

What are you doing here? she mouths. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?

I tap my wrist, miming a wristwatch. She nods in understanding, positioning the bucket of water at her hip as she begins to make her way towards me from the well. Given the odd structure of the training grounds, she manages to pass where it is cooler in the shade.

Tomorrow, she mouths once more. As if I would forget. She manages the steps quickly, spilling only some of the water over the edge of the bucket. I am only vaguely aware of the racket of the training yard as Maria begins to near me.  If --

I sense the shift in the air before I hear the scream. The sharp reverberation of a blade, passing wildly through the air. The gasp of an onlooking recruit as they turn to witness the disaster that will be, their own reflexes and speed too underdeveloped to make a difference. My eyes only catch the vestiges of the image as the blade moves towards Maria, the human continues unaware down the steps, the balance of the bucket occupying her thoughts at the moment.

I lunge for her. The blade nicks my cheek as it passes by, slicing open the flesh -- then it is embedding itself audibly into the column beside us. Maria squeaks as she falls beneath me, releasing the bucket. It is only a moment before we are both soaked in its contents. I wrap a bandaged hand behind her head before we can both fall against the stone, disregarding the pain that is to come. It is, as anticipated, as unpleasant as I thought it would be: the flesh of my hand nearly tears itself open upon impact, the cut on my hand reopening within the confines of the bandages, and I can just barely see the blossoming of crimson. No matter. Maria’s head has not met the stone. Her body has likely produced no more than a few bruises.

It is six seconds and twenty-one milliseconds before I pull myself away from her. One hand propped up against the stone, the other cradling her head. Her eyes are still wide with shock, the dark, coiled strands sticking her forehead, but upon inspection I discern that she is unharmed.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

There is a clamor before us. I look in its direction, curious -- only to see the empress making her way down the stairs in her finery, the gold coils clinking against one another as she does so. A portion of her robes are gathered beneath her fingers, allowing her to move with haste. Combined with her many rings and golden bracelets, however, it is a wonder how her pace has not slowed from the sheer weight of her jewelry. Even more surprising is the worry that is etched on her features. The pale creature follows close behind, nearly soundless as she glides down one stair to another.

“Are you two alright?” the empress asks, stopping a mere distance from our fallen bodies. Her robes meet the stone once more as she releases them, falling with a hush. Her golden eyes -- the form of which also seems a bit strange, I note -- inspect both Maria and I thoroughly. They widen at the sight of my cheek, which has now been fully drenched in its own blood. “You are wounded, good angel!” she cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. The empress turns to the pale creature. “Oh, Gallatha -- Gallatha, my dear, come closer -- this one is wounded!”

The pale creature, Gallatha, nods. “It would appear that he is. I will send for a healer.”

“Send for the best one that we have, my dear,” she orders. “What if he expires?”

“My Divinity, I am sure that he will not expire at this very moment.”

Before I can react, the empress pulls me from my position and back onto my feet with astounding ease. She reaches for Maria as well, searching her for injuries as she does so, and frowns at the sight of lacerations on her knees and elbows. Maria fidgets awkwardly beneath her inspection, clearly unsure of how to react to the overbearing empress’ attention.

Her face flushes, her eyes quickly averting themselves from the empress’ gaze. “My -- My Divinity, I’m pretty sure that Boris and I are --”

“Oh, nonsense!” She ruffles Maria’s hair with ringed fingers, smiling with the grace of a benign monarch. “There’s no need to be so reserved, my dear girl. The days of that horrid system are now gone. I will ensure that the recruits are duly reprimanded for their carelessness. My advisor will ensure that you two are treated in the infirmary.” She turns to the pale creature. “Gallatha?”

Gallatha steps forward. “Of course, My Divinity.”

I cannot help but stare in disbelief.

According to what Maria could remember in limbo, the coup d’etat had seemingly been the work of one ravenous, powerful beast. A golden creature had stormed into the throne room one day, interrupting a private meeting between God and his council members. The grand doors had slammed against the marble walls with such ferocity that none could help but stare at the intrusion, the sound giving the act a sense of finality. The air of an execution. It was only after a moment that God had dared to speak from his throne.

Begone, foul creature! he had ordered, rising to his feet. You have no business here. Leave this place, and you shall leave here alive. Stay, and I shall smite you until you are no more than scorched earth!

The creature had only tilted its head in a curious manner, its teeth clicking together in terrible humor. Is that so? the creature had said, the sound of its precious stones and many golden coils echoing in the hall. Will you smite me, truly? You, an insect who dares to place himself above the affairs of men and beasts? You, a cowardly beast who has become obsessed with power? You are nothing more than a false idol. Your throne is no more worth than a bed of mud.

And then the great creature had thrown back its head and laughed, its maw shining in the divine light. God had ordered his guards to seize the blasphemous creature, demanding that it be executed at once. Declaring it to be an affront to the Celestial Realm itself.

But he had neither the foresight nor the knowledge to realize what this creature was.

The creature took God by the collar, dashed him against his own throne, and devoured him whole. All was silent for a moment, the screams of the desperate being dissipating to the air. The council, who had for so long reveled in the absolute power and control over the caste of the Celestial Realm, could only watch with horror. And then the golden, wondrous creature had turned to the council with an all-consuming hunger, licking its chops, and the throne room regressed into chaos.

Rich, sweet blood, pooling on the marble. Lumps and limbs scattered about, the bodies having been long torn asunder. The golden creature had lapped at the remnants, its maw a deep, vivid crimson. And then it had plucked the crown from the marble, the precious metal stained with the blood of its former owner, and settled upon the grand throne.

For all that Maria could not remember of her time in limbo, given her state, she had told me these things with the utmost confidence.

And so the kind, generous empress before me cannot possibly be the one who had staged the coup d’etat. She cannot be anything more than a figurehead. I find myself searching the empress’ smile before she is escorted away by her guards, searching for any signs of that terrible maw. Yet there is nothing but the image of her plump, smiling cheeks, her teeth very decidedly not sharp and horrible, her genuine, kind gaze, and her array of golden adornments.

END OF PART ONE

[cutmyhairabovemyjaw]

Heaven and Hell Bound - Tommy Shelby ~ Part 4

Part 1

Part 2 

Part 3

Hi guys. Thanks for liking and commenting on the previous parts. Apologies for the slight delay but I hope you enjoy this chapter none the less. I realise that in some series’ the authors tag certain people in each update to ensure they get notified of it so if you would like me to do the same just let me know. Feedback is always welcome and Part 5 is on its way. <3

Part 4 - Bandages and Blushes 

Y/N’s POV

Tommy had been sleeping for nearly two days now. My heart jumps to my throat every time I walk past. I fear that the sleep he is receiving now shall be the only slice of peace he may experience for years to come. I selfishly couldn’t help but to prolong my time with Tommy. A typical 5 minute vital check and bandage replacement turned into more of a 15 minute endeavour, filled with stolen stares and gentle touches. My fingers danced over his skin, like a water kipper over a pond, fragile movements as to not break the surface below. I’d whisper to him, let him know I was there. Perhaps I could lead him to sweeter dreams. 

It seems my emotional brain had conquered my rational one at the point for I find myself counting every minute Tommy spends in slumber. My lower lip partly swollen, painted with a rubier shade of red from my insistent nervous biting. The mechanisms of my pocket-watch as worn as the bottom of my shoes, scratched and strained from my obsessive need to watch time pass. It seems that my anxieties resonated off me like the sound of the air-raid sirens bellowing across the fields. Either that or Rosaline hunts down panic like a bloodhound to a body. She had been watching me for the past few hours now, observing my distressed ticks and decided she had seen enough. “Y/N,” she spoke gently, her hand in mine, “he’s going to be ok hon, trust me. He’s a soldier and a strong one at that. What he does not need right now is you working yourself up over him.” We both knew she was right, she was always right when it came to this kind of stuff. “I’m sorry Ro, I only just got him back I can’t bear the thought of him leaving now” I blurt out, heart thinking before my head. “Come on, go have a rest on the hill, you've been working all through the night and into the morning. I’ll watch over him hey?” I listen to her request, my body  aching, it celebrates the idea of a break. I take a deep breathe, closing my eyes, listening to reason. I give her a small nod and in return she smiles wide and gives my hand one last squeeze.  I head towards my hill, walking past the unconscious Thomas on my way. I pause just as I am about to leave the tent, closing my eyes in frustration at myself. Just walk out Y/N he’ll be fine. Come on just take another step. Just go outside. He’ll be in the exact same spot as when you left. Just go Y/N...Fucking hell. I seem not in control of my feet as I walk towards Tommy’s bed. Once I get there my eyes trace him over, not believing the beauty which lay before me. I gently place my hand on top of his and whisper to him, “Hey Tom. I’m still here don’t you worry. I’m just going up the hill for a little. Once you’re up and about I’ll show you hey? That sounds nice doesn’t it? Now you wake up soon hey and I’ll be right here.” I lean over, placing a light kiss on his forehead. “Come on Tommy, please wake up.” I force my feet to walk away and lead me outside the tent. My lips can’t decide which one I crave more right now, a cigarette or Thomas Shelby.

Tommy’s POV

Ringing. A mad fucking ringing in my ears that’s all I can hear. It feels like my blood has been replaced with cement, the heaviest of weights flowing through my veins. The ringing has turned into muffled voices and sounds, my eyelids and muscles still stuck in unconsciousness. My senses seem to be awakening alongside me as the smell of antiseptic now flooded my nose. I try to make sense of what I’m hearing, ignoring the ocean-like muffling filtering my eardrums. “...up the hill...come on Tommy” I hear a light female voice say. I feel a warmth leave my hand, perhaps she had been holding it. My heart yells to me, Y/N, it speaks. It had to be her with me. With all my might I try to reach my hand out, to move my lips, to open my eyes. Please come back. With her distraction gone, the pain which rippled through my body finally came to my attention. Fucking hell. I try to think back to what had occurred before I slept, only receiving flashing segments of memory. Both the enemy’s and our own tunnel had become one and chaos had ensued, next thing I was in this bed staring at Y/N angelic face as the nurses began their work, and finally, screaming in pain as my pretty girl removed the bullet and stitched me up. I had to wake up for her, I need to know if she is ok. It took me another 10 minutes to open my eyes, another 5 to speak. Seeing as I had just woken up, various different nurses had looked over me and to each of them I said, “Please I need to see Y/N”. It wasn’t until the one who I had seen standing with Y/N the first time I met her came to me. Rosaline, I believe Y/N told me her name was. She listened and she followed. “Right away Mr Shelby.” I breathe in, nervous excitement swelling over me. Tommy Shelby, I said to myself, you haven’t been this nervous over a girl since giving one a squashed, half-dead flower when you were 7 years old. I will act calm and collected and pray the blush on my cheeks does not give me away.

Y/N’s POV

“He’s awake!” My eyes fly open and my head turns to Ro. I take in her smile and giddy hands. He’s ok. I knew he’d be ok. My mind begins to turn at a million miles an hour. I look horrible, what do I say, did he hear what I said to him as he slept, my brain ticks faster and faster. “Hey!” Rosaline speaks, now crouched down to my level, “Don’t worry about anything, ok? He specifically asked after you. And don’t tell him I said this, but he looked kinda nervous too.” Her addicting smile lighting up each word. I felt a shy tug pulling at the edges of my lips as she revealed this to me. “Well? Get your ass in there!” I laugh at her, rising to my feet. I look to her, giving her my silent gratitude. 

My heart moves as fast as my feet, I can feel the other nurses and patients looking to me, confused as to why such a contagious smile plagues my face. And finally I see him, and he sees me. We look to each other. He smiles and laughs. I do the same. Oh Tommy. I walk to him, sitting in the chair next to his bed. “Hello, pretty girl” He smirks. “Hello, pretty boy” I look down a shy blush painting my face. He reaches out, tucking a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze back up to his. “Not exactly how I planned our next meeting to go,” he says. “What? You in a hospital bed and me with blood on my apron isn’t your idea of a perfect first date?” I reply, sarcasm lacing my tongue. He laughs, a perfect melody escaping his lips, “As long as I’m with you, I think we could make hell pleasant.” I giggle, placing my hand upon his. We sit in silence for a few moments, his thumb moving back and forth on my soft skin. I see him close his eyes and gently fall back onto his pillows. I wonder what he’s thinking of. I don’t realise I’m staring until his eyes open and he pulls me out of my trace with a few gentle words, “Is there something on my face?”. He asks in obvious jest, making playful fun of me for staring. “No no no, I just, there wasn't, I-i” He laughs. “Shh, it’s alright Y/N. It’s just funny that out of the both of us, you’re staring at me.” I smile, butterflies engulf my stomach. “How do you feel?” I ask, a fragility to my voice. “Like shit. But, nothing I’m not used to at this point” he says sadly. I squeeze his hand, hurting over the idea of him in pain. He smiles at me in response.

I decide to check his report to see when was his latest administering of medicine was, perhaps I could lessen his suffering. I see that he’s due for a bandage change and vitals check. “Ok Tommy, seeing as I am a nurse and they don’t feed me just to talk to my patients, I’m going to change your bandages ok?” He smiles at me as I stand up, moving towards his wrapped shoulder and chest. As my fingers begin to peel the old bandages off, I notice how close we are. My fingers are tracing his bare chest, our faces barely a few inches apart, he’s looking at me, his eyes flicking from my fingers, to my lips, to my furrowed brow. I’d only done this while he was asleep and I’m beginning to wish he was as his eyes burn through me. My fingers brush against his neck, I hear him sharply inhale. I watch as he closes his eyes and drag his bottom lip through his teeth, perhaps as a way to prevent any noise from happening again. “I’m sorry Tom. Does it hurt?” I ask secretly wishing it wasn’t hurt making him react like this. “No no no... Y/N you’re alright...just keep going”, he quickly replies, his face flushed a warm shade of pink. I continue with my procedures, his eyes avoiding mine whenever I look up. Oh Tommy, what are you doing to me.

I finish up, discarding of any rubbish and taking my seat once more. “All better now hey?” I say softly, my tongue forgetting all words and means of conversation. “Thank you Y/N. For all this and for keeping your promises,” he says sweetly, gently grabbing my hand and placing it in his “looks like Arthur and John are gonna have to deal with me for a little bit longer then eh?” I chuckle. “Speaking of those brothers of yours, I had word sent down when you arrived to let them know you were ok. Couldn’t have them going off and celebrating prematurely now could we?” I smirk to him. He laughs, rolling his eyes. “They’re gonna love you Y/N. I sometimes fear maybe too much” he explains, kindness glazing over his bewitching blue eyes. “Do you think I will get to meet them soon? Properly I mean. Last time I met John he was throwing up in a bucket and all I know about Arthur is what you tell me in your stories which perhaps don’t show him in the greatest of lights.” I ask, wanting to further delve into Tommy’s life. He thinks for a minute, smiling at the mention of his brothers. “Well the Christmas Ball is coming up soon. It may be the case you see them soon.” As he speaks he reaches over to the cigarettes that lay on the nearby table. He picks up two and hands the first to me, which I then place between my teeth. I reach into my pocket, retrieving my matches. As I begin to take one out, ready to light, I feel Tommy’s hand over mine as he gently takes the matches from my hands, lighting one as the match’s head explodes into flame. He carefully moves his hand towards me as he offers to light my cigarette. Naturally I lean down, watching and inhaling as the flame moves from the match to my cigarette. Our eyes lock for a brief moment, a new type of air filling my lungs and it’s not just the smoke. I relax into the chair as he lights his own. “Christmas Ball?” I speak, cutting through the thick air, “where on earth have they found a place and time during this bloody fighting to hold a Ball of all things?” He begins to speak in response, but I find myself encapsulated by the new sight in front of me. Thomas Shelby smoking was a whole other level of beauty. “Well a 2 day ceasefire has already been agreed upon by both sides and orders have been made for drinks, food and music. Arthur’s already laid out his formal gear and John has given himself a horrible home haircut in preparation” he explains, his words shaping the smoke which framed him. “And what have you done to prepare Tommy?” the question slides of my tongue. “Well you see Y/N,” He taps out the burnt ends of his cigarette into the ashtray, “I think you’ll find I’m preparing right now. It is my goal to take the prettiest girl to this Christmas Ball and she’s already fallen head over heels for me”. “Oh really?” I play along, trying to hide my smirk, “Poor girl. She must be delusional.” He hums in agreement. “Or blind” I continue. He gasps, “Y/N! My poor feelings” he jests. “Well by the sounds of it you’ve already got a date so I better work on finding mine. Shall my next letter be posted to Arthur or John?” He laughs, his now classic smirk and eye roll taking my breath away. “Now that's a poor girl. Some say it’s harder to be Arthur or John’s women than it is to be in the trenches.” I laugh, his dark humour suiting his face well. 

“Ahem.” I hear from behind me. Oh no. Come on why now. I look to Tommy as he now begins to try and hide his smile by rubbing his bottom lip. “Ahem!” I hear once more. The distinct sound of the old, grumpy, hunched over, goblin-from-hell creature that takes the form of Matron Nurse Beatrice. Bloody fucking Beatrice. I quickly rise to my feet and turn to face her. “Yes Matron?” I ask, not ready for the grilling I’m about to receive. “It seems I’ve caught you once more frat-er-niz-ing with this soldier,” I try to hold my tongue as she over-enunciates every syllable in every word, “you are under gods watch young one and he wishes to see you do good work, not whisper silly things into this young man’s ear.” I can’t believe this is happening. Of all the times. Tommy’s never going to let this down. “Do you understand me young lady?” she grunts out. “Yes Matron” “I don’t have to beat you over the head with my bible again do I sister Y/N?” I hear Tommy laugh, quickly trying to cover it as I cough. I close my eyes. Can this get any worse. “No Matron.” “Good. Well get on with it.” She turns and hobbles away, I swear I can see devils horns on her head and hooves on her feet. I turn around in silence, not even daring to look at Tommy for fear I might explode from sheer embarrassment. “You’re under gods watch Y/N” Tommy says, now deciding that what I need to hear is a wonderful Beatrice impression just to kick me while I’m down. “Don’t you dare Thomas” I look up to him. “Where’s my bible I need to give Sister Y/N a good beating” he continues, for some horrible reason he sounds exactly like her. “I’m gonna kill you Shelby.” I begin to walk away. “Not before I kill you Y/N! Let’s hope I don’t die of old age first.” he goes on with that stupid fucking impression. By now I’m nearly out of his sight, quickly shouting back “Shut up Tom”. I can already tell that little bastard is still laughing about it. Some luck I have. 

A fair amount of time had passed since my last interaction with Thomas, yet I could not help but play it out on repeat in my head. I had already gushed out to Rosaline what had happened, mind you leaving out the Matron bit for I think I may jump off a cliff if i have to deal with anymore teasing. She responded with some giddy girly screams and jumping up and down. Classic. I continued my duties until the next day, having small conversations with him, feeling bubbly after each one. However, I knew that our time together would soon come to an end. Whilst not yet fully fighting fit, he was needed back down in the tunnels. I busied myself as he was getting dressed back into his gear and cleaning his bed. I was so scared in fact that it was him who came to me, lightly grabbing my arm and spinning me towards him. “Hey pretty girl” he says. “Hello Thomas” I reply, not bothering to hide the sadness in my voice. “You know, while I was asleep I heard you speaking of a hill and you’ve also mentioned it in your letters. I was wondering if, for the last 5 minutes, you wouldn’t mind showing me? It is the sunset after all” He smiles wide, his hand moving down from my arm and into my own, our fingers interlocking. I smile at him, “I would love nothing more pretty boy.” I lead him outside and onto the hill. Mother nature had sent us a gift with the sunset painting she had provided us tonight. “It’s beautiful up here” he breathes out. “Yeah it is isn’t it” I sigh with him. “Y/N” “Thomas” we say together, laughing at our nervousness. “Thank you Tommy, for everything” I look up to him, taking a step forward. “Likewise Y/N” he steps forward as well. As I dance within his eyes, I hadn’t noticed that he lifted up one of his hands and placed it upon my cheek. We move closer. This has to be heaven. He places a delicate kiss on my skin, just beside my lips. My eyes flutter shut. This has to be a fairy tale. He rests his forehead on mine. Tranquillity had never felt so tangible. But like everything perfect it has to end. “Tommy Sir. I’m sorry Sir but it’s time.” A soldier speaks from the foot of the hill. We open our eyes and smile to each other. “Write to me” he whispers. “I will. I promise. Pinky promise.” We lock our pinkies together, I promise to write and he promises to stay alive. I feel his warmth move away, leaving me in the coldness of reality. I stand by myself my arms wrapped around my body. Just before he enters the tent he turns to face me once more. He waves, as if we were neighbours, guaranteed to see each other tomorrow morning. I smile and wave back. I pray I have not sent him back to his death

[harristarrkey-blog]

Evermore: Chapter One

Summary:  Some believed the town was cursed, as it was the only place where winter was always present, others believed in the presence of a beast, lurking away in the forest and stealing children from their parents and killing farm animals. Ritchie didn’t particularly believe in any of those stories, but as a lot of people, he felt uneasy to enter the forest.

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul Mccartney

Also on AO3 by SpaceRavioli

The day was cloudy and windy, with no sign of the sun to be seen. The water was freezing cold and exuded a strong, salty scent that blended in with the smell of fishes’ guts and ashes from the town. The cacophony of fishermen grunting was his background music, and he joined while lifting a bucket full of fishes to the shore, where the sand was raspy and full of garbage.

It was all in all, a normal working day.

Ritchie’s joints screamed and his lungs burned, but he didn’t stop walking until he was in the store. He was ready to finally end this day and to finally return home to his parents and rest until next morning and repeat everything again.

Once inside the store, he dropped the bucket in the backroom and closed the door. He hated the way the fish felt through his worn-out gloves, but he despised the way the fish guts smelled, so he left them all for Bobby Thompson to mutilate.

“Leaving already? But you are gonna miss the best part!” Bobby said, already surrounded by a gory fest. Ritchie wrinkled his nose, clearly disgusted even after years of working there.

“I’d rather just leave now” He responded, taking his gloves off and putting them in a bucket full of sea water. He then continued stripping his work clothes and changed into his normal ones, just a simple long-sleeved shirt, some baggy pants, a coat that belonged to his father and his age-worn boots. “But you can ask me again tomorrow, maybe I’ll change my mind over night. “

“Hope you do” Bobby sliced open a fish almost joyfully. “See you later, Ritch”

“See you”

Ritchie left the store and started walking down town whistling. All his limbs felt tired and wanted nothing more than a good night rest, but he didn’t want to return home just yet. He enjoyed walking through town, looking into the nice little shops and meeting new people. Besides, he hadn’t seen his friends since ages ago and was dying of knowing what was happening with their lives.

“Oh, Ritchie, again so soon?” Maureen casted him a quick glance and smiled. She was fixing some gentlemen’s hair with fast, talented hands, with her own hair in a nice, tight bun and dressed in a long, pink dress and a black apron.

She looked beautiful.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mo.” Ritchie stood awkwardly under the door and shrugged. “It’s been a while now”

“You were here yesterday, silly”

“I certainly do not remember”

Maureen sighed and returned her attention at her client, smiling. She lifted a big mirror behind his head and asked what the guy thought of his hair. When he seemed satisfied with everything, he paid and left. Ritchie just watched everything unfold in silent, curiously probing at the tools.

“It must be the age” Maureen joked once they were left alone. Ritchie let go of a pair of scissors when she glared at him. “What are you really doing here?”

“Nothing, just the usual”

“You mean, annoying me?”

“No, I meant the just passing by part”

“Ritchie” She said sternly, and Ritchie just froze in place, comb in hand. With a frown, he avoided her worried eyes and pointed at the tools with the comb.

“You know, I still think you should teach me one day”

“Yeah right, because I need another reason for your fiancée to hate me”

Ritchie winced immediately.

“I’m sorry, Ritchie.” Maureen spoke softly, like she was talking to a kid and he hated that kind of baby talk, well knowing what she was gonna say. Still, he let her finish. “But we have to stop pretending she doesn’t exist every time you walk through that door.”

And he knew she was right, but he still asked in a small voice and grabbed a couple of scissors: “Not even a little bit?” But he already knew the answer.

You see, Richard Starkey was going to marry Bethany Shaw next month. The marriage was arranged between the two families in hope of survival, and so the date was unmovable and their fate unavoidable. Bethany Shaw was Ringo’s age, but appeared younger with her beautiful, long, golden hair and a chubby face that looked like it didn’t belong in her minuscule body. She was tiny, but her presence was not. She carried the confidence that Ritchie lacked and talked like everything she said was right, and still, nothing she had said made Ritchie love her.

But who loved someone that they barely knew, and was supposed to marry in two weeks?

“Ritch…” Maureen warned, but Ritchie ignored her in favour of playing around with the scissors. Because he didn’t love Bethany Shaw and wasn’t even sure he liked her enough to tolerate a lifespan with her for the rest of his surely short life, but he did like other things. His dream was to be a stylist, like Maureen was, but he also enjoyed things like spending time with her, painting, dancing and hearing the music at Pete’s bar and for now, that was enough. Things that helped him pretend that he wasn’t going to marry some girl he didn’t like soon.

“Are you going to come with us next weekend?” Ritchie changed the conversation, not wanting to follow that thought anymore.

“Oh, I don’t know, Ritchie. Not sure how it will look that just one lady is hanging with all of you guys”

“I can tell Rory to invite his wife, if that’s the only thing you are worried about” But he knew that wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. She surely was worried about a lot of other things, like Bethany, but Ritchie couldn’t care less.

“But--“

“It’s probably going to be the last time before I marry” He blurted before she could refuse him again. His eyes looked for her gaze, and when they found it, he smiled a little. “Please, Mo. For me?”

He saw the way her lips trembled a little, and his stomach felt empty. He never liked when she felt sad, and lately it looked like it was the only thing he could make her feel. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be alright, but that was lying, and he hated lying to someone he loved.

So, he settled for just waiting.

“I—I—” She stuttered, but after long, painful minutes, she sighed. “I’m gonna ask Isaac”

“Maybe he can come. The more, the merrier” Ritchie smiled and pushed her shoulder gently with his own.

“I’ll ask, I’ll ask.” She finally smiled again and pushed him back. “Just don’t get to excited yet, okay?”

“Oh, I promised I won’t” Ritchie crossed his heart and Mo laughed a little. “There’s just one last thing I need to do.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll ask everyone else about it” He said, fleeing from the store before she could process the words.

“Oh my— what?! Richard!”

 The bar Ritchie hang around all the time wasn’t his favourite, but it was the one Rory worked in.

The bar in question was the biggest one in town, with shows every night and a lot of people around it. It also served food, which was a big plus, but that didn’t take the owner’s personality away. Mona Best was a well-known character between all the townsfolks, with her ostentatious way of being and management of the place. In Richie’s point of view, she was one of those mothers that never let her chicks fly away. And just a quick look to Pete Best, one of her chicks trying to handle his waiter work, confirmed his beliefs.

He shook his boots before coming in, Mona would bite his head off. The bar was crowded, since a lot of workers had finished working like Ritchie. He swam in the sea of people before making his way to a lonely stool at the bar and sat before anyone else could take his place. It wasn’t long before he was attended.

“Ah, Ritchie, s—still don’t know how t—to cook?” The barman joked. Richie just snorted.

Rory was a tall lad, with blond hair and a charming smile, but the clothes he wore at work didn’t favour him and sometimes he would stutter, specially when he was nervous. Still, the ladies didn’t seem to care about all of that since he was being asked out all the time. He was handsome, and charismatic and Ritchie could see that. And agreed.

“Why? I already decided that you will be doing all my meals”

“Ah, e—even when you are getting ma—married?”

“It’s fine, we’ll find you a place. Do you mind the floor?”

Rory laughed, laying on the bar.

“What can I—I offer you t—today?”

“The usual, please”

Rory winked at him and disappeared behind the kitchen. Ritchie took advantage of this time to look around the bar, the sound almost overwhelming without anyone to drown it. His eyes fixed on a guy comforting a woman in the corner of the bar, but Ritchie could barely hear the words they were saying.

“Fish and ch—chips for the good sir” Ritchie jumped a little on his seat. “Anything else?”

“Eh, yeah” He looked down at his plate and then at Rory. “What is going on there?”

Rory followed his thumb to the scene before, and his face sobered up. He bended a little, just enough to be within Richie’s hearing and Ritchie’s only.

“They were mugged, just this morning. “

“Oh”

“Yeah, around the forest. They were blabbering about some beast following them before they collided with the wrong people, asking for help.”

“A beast?”

“Yeah, remember?” Rory’s voice was just a whisper now. “The legend about a beast living in the forest. I don’t believe it though, I think they were just scared of wolves or something.”

“Or a bear…”

“Yeah. Anyway, they are waiting for his son to come and help them return home.”

“Poor people, what an awful thing to happen.” Ritchie gulped, thinking what he would do in a situation like that. But how could he know? That was just bad, bad luck.

“Yeah” Rory sighed, clear pity in his eyes. “Anyway, I got—tta attend some other clients before Mona notices me just hanging here. If you need anything else, you call”

Ritchie nodded and looked at the poor couple one last time before starting eating. Later, he would ask Rory about meeting up in the weekend.

When Ritchie returned home, he was expecting to take off his clothes and disappear within his sheets, succumbing in a well-deserved sleep.

But he was wrong.

“You finished packing?” Her mother, Elsie, asked from the kitchen the moment he crossed the threshold. Ringo froze in place and winced, because of course he had forgotten about packing, or the trip altogether.

Tomorrow he had to travel with his fiancée, Bethany, first hour at dawn to find some stupid wedding dress because she didn’t like any from the shops in town. And of course, there was, supposedly, the best tailor in the next town over. Ritchie didn’t even remember his name.

“Uh, something like that” He answered, taking off his coat and boots in a lazy manner. He could hear his mother’s sigh from all the way to the kitchen.

“You had been planning this for days”

“You mean she has been planning this for days…”

He hung up his coat, hearing his mother’s steps from the kitchen to where he was. And finally lifted his gaze from the hanger to his mother when she was standing next to him.

“I know you don’t want to go” She started, searching his gaze. Ritchie preferred to watch her grip on a wooden spoon, though. “But it’s something you gotta do, baby”

Ritchie pouted. He didn’t want to go, as he didn’t want to marry Bethany, but knew his mother was right. If he weren’t to go, then Bethany would never forgive him, and it would be a worse start to their premature relationship. So, he sighed and nodded weakly to his mother.

“I understand, mum.” He whispered against her skin when she hugged him comfortably. When she let him go, and smiled at him, he felt a little bit better. Ritchie remembered that everyone was making sacrifices around him, not just him, because sacrifices were meant to happen if they wanted to live.

Even though now his mother was with someone she truly loved, at first she married his dad, a guy she didn’t loved. Just like Ritchie, she was arranged with someone they could afford to marry, And now she was trying everything she could to assure a future for his son. And, if Ritchie was lucky enough, maybe later in life he would be able to find someone he truly loved like his mum.

“I hope we arrive before sunset, I don’t want to go through the hassle of finding everything closed”

Ritchie sighed while lifting the last suitcase in the carriage, wondering why on earth they needed so much luggage since they were supposed to stay only three days at most. Bethany was already on the carriage, covered from head to toe with every coat she owned to prevent the cold. Ritchie, on his part, was only wearing his father’s coat, two pair of long-sleeved shirts and some old scarf he found in the closet.

“Winter came earlier this year, huh.” She whispered, almost naively. Everyone knew that in that part of England, winter seemed almost eternal. Ritchie himself didn’t remember a warm day since he arrived there with his mother.

When everything was ready to go, he hopped on after giving his horse, Tiger, a few pats on his powerful neck. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we will arrive”

Even though dawn was just starting, the town was already giving signs of life. The baker had his window opened just a crack, letting the smell of fresh bread bled through it; Mona Best was sweeping the front yard, cleaning everything the drunkards that had just stumbled home left behind; fishermen were already leaving home, preparing themselves for another day on wild and freezing waters. Ritchie was usually one of them, but today he had a free day.

More or less.

At least, for now, Bethany wasn’t in the mood to run her mouth. She preferred to lay down as far as she could in her seat and close her eyes a little bit, squeezing in some sleep before the sun was completely out. Ringo envied her a little, he too wanted to rest but someone had to take care of the road, especially in the forest.

Not a lot of townsfolk leave town, and Ritchie was one of them. He was more of exploring open waters, not the surrounding trees, but he did if he had to. Contrary of that, everyone was always a little nervous to get beyond the road in the forest, where it was always snowing for some reason, even in summer. Some believed the town was cursed, as it was the only place where winter was always present, others believed in the presence of a beast, lurking away in the forest and stealing children from their parents and killing farm animals. Ritchie didn’t particularly believe in any of those stories, but as a lot of people, he felt uneasy to enter the forest.

As they entered, leaving the dim lights of the houses behind, everything became more difficult to see, with the sun slowly coming out behind the horizon but quickly hiding behind the clouds. There was only one road to follow, as one could easily get lost in the forest, but with the snow covering every bit of soil available, it was hard to keep track of where they were going. And the deeper they went, the feeling of nervousness augmented.

Were they really following the right track?

The wheels of the carriage were squeaking with effort with every step Tiger gave, the snow under them crunching noisily. Beside him, Bethany was sleeping, hugging her own arms while her head dangled in front on her. Richie almost desired for her to be awake, since he was getting nervous.

What if they were getting lost?

“Nonsense” He whispered, face hidden behind the scarf. Still, small puffs of air escaped through the clothing. “We are still following the path, it’s below us. You just can’t see it well because of the weather.”

Ritchie looked far ahead, and he could see patches of road. But the path stretched on forever, or so it appeared like that, and it was getting on Ritchie’s nerves.

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Yesterday was a very tiring day and you haven’t recovered completely from that” He started chanting, breaking the silence surrounding him. “Think of the yummy food you will eat once you get there.”

But that just made his stomach growl. Maybe it had been a while since they left town.

“Are you hungry?”

“God!” He jumped, not expecting Bethany to be awake. She looked startled, but only laughed a little.

“Sorry, you woke me up with all the talking.” She said, not sounding sorry at all. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a basket full of homemade food they had prepared for the trip. It wasn’t much, but enough to not die of starvation until they reach the town. From the basket she put out two pieces of bread with cheese and extended one to Richie. “This is yours. Without onion, right?”

Ritchie nodded, surprised she remembered he was allergic to onions. Grabbing the leash with one hand, he grabbed the bread with the other and thanked Bethany before he started eating his lunch.

“Do you know how much longer it will take to arrive?” She asked through mouthfuls of food, picking the crumbs that fell to her dress with her index finger. Ritchie looked at the sky, still cloudy, and then the road, still full of snow.

“Not much, I hope. But we may take longer than necessary because of the snow.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Plus, we need to give Tiger some time to rest, water and some food.”

“Oh”

She sounded disappointed, so Ritchie tried to cheer her up.

“Still, we will be there before sunset, and then we can rest and tomorrow we will look for your wedding dress.” Ritchie smiled at her. “I promise”

She smiled too, and after swallowing a mouthful of bread, she spoke livelier. “I will look for the dress. You can do whatever you want”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, silly Ritchie!” Her laughed filled the void in the forest, echoing through the leaves. “You can’t see the dress before the wedding”

“Why not?”

“That’s just bad luck!”

“Bad luck? I don’t believe in bad luck!” Ritchie exclaimed, his voice reaching the deepest parts of the forest. With another bite to his lunch, he felt better, more joyful. And Bethany laughed beside him, because maybe not everything was gonna be awful forever. Both needed this, Ritchie thought, they just needed to know each other a little bit better. Maybe he really didn’t have bad luck, maybe it wasn’t going to suck.

But he was proved wrong, when an arrow flew next to his head to the tree in front of them.

“OH MY GOD!” Bethany screamed, flailing her arms wildly. Ritchie let go of his sandwich, not having much time to think what to do, and grabbed Tiger’s strap and hit the horse with it, urging to go faster.

That’s what happens when you scream in a fucking haunted forest, Ritchie vaguely thought, as another arrow flew, hitting one of the carriage’s walls.

Their whistling sounds would be forever in his mind.

“Can’t we go faster?!” Bethany cried, her eyes full of panic and tears, and honestly? Ritchie was just as panicked as her. He vaguely remembered the couple from yesterday, feeling so stupid for going out when he knew there were muggers running around the forest.

He pushed her head down, trying to protect her from the flying missiles and the chaos everywhere. He couldn’t see past the snow, and his ears were filled with shouting and Bethany’s cries, but he still knew enough that they were getting surrounded by them. His lungs started to burn, cold air filling his lungs in an uneven way, his eyes watered, and he almost didn’t feel the arrow piercing his right ar—wait.

“FUCK!” He screamed, letting go of Bethany to grab his wounded arm. Warm liquid escaped through his fingertips quickly and Ritchie panicked, not knowing what to do.

Tiger gave a sharp turn, grunting and panting loudly, and Ritchie fell, his fingertips just grazing Bethany’s arm.

“Ritchie!” She screamed. Ritchie lifted his arm, begging for her to stop Tiger and to return for him.

But she never did.

Quickly gazing back and forth, Bethany grabbed Tiger’s leash and urged him to go faster, rapidly disappearing between the trees and the snow.

He couldn’t believe it.

“Come on!” Ritchie heard someone shout over the white noise in his head, but when he turned to face the muggers a white, shimmering light emerged from the snow, blinding everyone in its wake. He couldn’t see anything, but only hear the surprised screams of the robbers and the grunts from the horses. Ritchie stumbled, covering his eyes.

“It’s the beast! Everyone run!” Was the last yell Ritchie heard before falling backwards and hitting his head with a tree.

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

A Foreign Tongue - 2

a/n: So you can thank @grungyblonde for this. I never really intended on writing a follow up, sure i had ideas bouncing around if i ever did continue, but then she kept telling me how much she loved it and i was re-inspired to write about the prince and the cook, so i hope you enjoy.

warnings: Explicit, very eager and consensual, no major warnings, like nothing too kinky. Also the cook is very chubby and that’s a thing that comes up a bunch.

Part 1

FF.net // Ao3 // Masterlist

Hvitserk X OFC // Vikings

word count: 3,040

“Tonight.”

That’s what he said to her in the kitchen, his hands holding her round, flour covered cheeks as he leaned forward to steal another kiss. He didn't care she couldn’t say his name, he still wanted her. Breaking the mood, one of his brothers called for him from down the hall. The prince looked over his shoulder at the door, then back to her.

“Tonight, during the feast,” he reiterated before he tore himself away, retreating to who ever had beckoned him.

She stood frozen on the spot, dreamily watching where he had been when she realized everything she’d have to do between now and Tonight. Grabbing a fresh log from the bucket, she went to stoke the fire, building the heat to cook the bread.

The afternoon passed in a haze as she prepared for the feast, trying not to let her mind wander off to fantasies of what Hvitserk may have planned.

“You seem happy,” Britt teased, leaning on the counter to watch as the cook sliced vegetables. “Is it something to do with a boy? Maybe a prince?”

“I do not know what you mean,” she responded, though notably avoiding the younger girl’s gaze.

“I think it i~is,” Britt dragged out the last word in a sing-song tone, bouncing around to tug on the cook’s sleeve. “Come on, tell me! Tell me what he said, I saw you kissing! Now tell me!”

“He said nothing for you to know.” Her statement was curt and finalizing, halting anymore of Britt’s childish bemoaning. “You are too young to understand.”

Britt rolled her eyes as she slumped onto the nearby stool. “That’s what everyone says,” she complained, looking down to pick at her nails as she continued in a high pitched, mocking voice, “You’re too young. You’ll understand when you’re older. That’s not for someone your age.”

The cook couldn’t help but laugh to herself, remember hearing the same comments. “You will be old soon, do not rush time.”

The young servant scoffed at the cook’s wisdom and decided to go find someone more entertaining to bother. With out the distraction she was able to work efficiently, having almost the entire meal prepped and ready to cook when it came time for the festivities to start.

Listening to the ruckus in the main hall, she watched the stove, making sure the leg of lamb seared evenly. Once done, she handed it off to the servants and began with the next dish. She knew there was no moment for rest, that once the following rack of ribs was finished roasting, the party-goers will have already devoured the former and be sitting, eager and waiting for more. Meaning she would have to immediately start plating the suckling pig that had been baking over an open flame all day as soon as possible. As the guests reveled, she fluttered around the kitchen, stirring the stew before hurrying to crank the rotisserie. While holding a hot loaf of bread with her apron, she whirled around to find the tall prince standing in the doorway.

“Too soon!” she yelped, dropping the bread onto the butcher block. Turning to search for a knife, she missed the way he cut across the floor in a few easy strides, coming to stand beside her.

“I know. I couldn’t wait,” Hvitserk explained with a shrug, trying to snake his long arms around her thick waist while his lips met her shoulder.

“No!” she shouted, tearing herself from his grasp. “I-I can not. Not now!” Shifting, she gestured wildly with the knife in her hand to the kitchen around her. “Later. Later, when there is no food. Ok? Then, then we may kiss.” The cook prayed he’d understand and though she felt bad watching his expression drop, she knew he got the message. Every part of her wanted to hold him and apologize but she could already smell the pork starting to burn and knew it needed another rotation. Hvitserk retreated, pausing in his exit to look back, watching the way she bent over the hearth to stir the bubbling stew.

Hours later, the cook sighed as she sat down, mopping at her brow. The fire in the stove was dwindling, baking the last loaf for tomorrow’s breakfast, but still its dim flickers lit the room. The shadows danced with the flames as she gazed absently at how it popped and sparked, letting her tired mind drift when a crash jolted her back to reality.

She hurried to her feet, searching the shaded corners of the kitchen for the disturbance when she spotted a dark mass. Bracing herself, she watched as the figure rose, not resting until the fire light revealed Hvitserk’s face.

“There’s no food,” he observed, scanning the counter with a smirk.

“There is no food,” the cook agreed with a giggle, reaching for him once he was close. Curling her fingers into his tunic, she drew him into her as their lips crashed together. She could taste the ale on his breath but that meant nothing, she knew even when sober he wanted her.

Breaking for air, the cook gasped, “No, not here,” as Hvitserk dove for her neck, leaving purple welts in the wake of his lips. “Not the kitchen,” she breathed as his fingers clenched one cheek of her bottom.

“My room,” he huffed, breaking contact with his lips and her skin long enough for him to bend over. With a quick and practiced maneuver, Hvitserk hoisted the cook on to his shoulder and made his way down the hall. She was beyond flustered, having not been carried since she was a small child. The cook yelped and hollered at him, ordering for the prince to set her down at once. He merely slapped her upturned ass and continued on his way.

Though it was her first time in his chambers, she had no chance to take in her surroundings. Once her feet touched the floor he was on her, his arms curled around her sides as his face nuzzled at her cheek, peppering kisses across her jaw. He moved quickly, fumbling with the ties of her apron as the cook tried to process in her mind everything that was happening.

She attempted to slow his motions, bringing his face to hers for a deep kiss but that seemed to only stoke the fire within, his touch becoming more frantic with every moment she remained fully dressed. Discarding his effort to undo the fastenings properly, Hvitserk gave a forceful yank to the collar, tearing the garment down the center. Letting the tattered wool fall freely off her shoulders, he pulled away to watch as more of her skin was slowly revealed.

Immediately her arms flew to cover her exposed chest, wavering under his hungry gaze. She could hear Hvitserk make a disapproving tsk before he pecked her blushing cheek.

Using a more gentle and patient touch, he slid his warm palms along her forearms, bringing his fingers to rest on her wrists while his thumbs rubbed her knuckles. “Let me see you,” the prince hummed into her ear, giving a soft but eager nip with his teeth. “Please, I want to see you.”

She hesitated for a moment until she saw his smile. Lowering her arms, the cook took in the way his expression deepen, a pleased grin unconsciously pulling at his cheeks. She watched how he licked his bottom lip as he cautiously cupped her right breast in his hand. At first contact she let out a sharp gasp, then whimpered when the calluses of his palm scraped at her hard nipple, as he covered the other with his opposite hand. His grasp was firm but not painful, the supple flesh spilling over between his fingers as he slowly squeezed and massaged her.

With every inch of contact she felt sparks under her skin, burning as they coursed through her, which only served to emphasize the throb in her vulva. She had never felt an excitement quite like this, even during the moments late at night when she allowed her hand to travel between her thighs as she imagined it was his. This was different, almost a hundred percent more visceral, more intense, and more addictive.

Raising his chin, he connected with her gaze, trying to read without words that she was enjoying his touch. He found confidence in her dazed expression, relishing at the glassly look of her eyes and the way her kiss-swollen lips hung, every so slightly agape. Arching towards her, he brought his face close enough their noses brushed and asked, “I want to take off your dress, may I?”

The cook paused, anxious at his request. She moved to raise her hands again—just as she had earlier—when he caught her wrists. Hvitserk held her arms in place and spoke cautiously, “I want to see you, all of you. I want to know all of you. Don’t be nervous.” Capturing her bottom lip, he slid his arms around her wide middle and pulled her flush against him. He gave an internal moan at the way every inch of her soft belly and breasts cushioned against his torso as her small hands clung to his biceps.  

He groped what he could of her ass, drawing her close as possible before pivoting to deposit her body onto his bed. She landed on her back with an ‘oof’ as he fisted at her skirt, dragging the wool over her broad hips. She lifted her bottom, allowing him to completely remove the garment, but kept her knees pressed together so her thighs were clamped tight, concealing everything but her triangle of curly hair. The cook awkwardly waved her hands, unsure where to keep them as he continued stripping off her stockings and boots. Eventually her palms came to rest across her breast again as she watched him make fast work of removing his clothes, hastily tugging at the fabric as if wearing it caused him pain.

Once he was nude she found herself too distracted by his growing erection to recognize the sour frown that crossed his features as he saw that her hands were once again raised, shielding her from him. Climbing to lay next to the cook, the prince let his fingers wander, gently ghosting over her curves and rolls as he acquainted himself. She giggled and shifted when his touch tickled her sides, exciting him with her slight noises. Carefully he brought his hands up to hers, gently urging her fingers to lace with his, directing her arms to lay flat on the bed at either side of her head.

He began kissing her lips, feeling the way her composure relaxed against him, while traveling across her collar bone. He nipped at the soft skin, leaving a cool trail as he searched for her nipple. Freeing one hand, he gathered her breast, lifting it so that he could envelope her peak with his mouth. His tongue toyed with the small nub, batting back and forth as she squirmed. Releasing with a pop he sat up, letting out a low groan as he continued to pay sole attention to her chest, “Your tits are glorious.”

“Glow-ree-os?” she asked, furrowing her brow as she tried to repeat the word. “This means?”

Hvitserk smirked, feeling himself twitch at both her accent and naiveté. “Glorious, like wonderful,” he began, openly mouthing at her skin as he lifted her tits to meet his lips, “or amazing, fantastic.” Giving a quick squeeze, he brought his left hand down to mimic his right. He brought her tits together, holding them tight as he buried his face into her cleavage. She could hear him continue to speak, his voice muffled while listing off synonyms, though she was confident she now understood.

Pulling back, the prince drew deep breaths, pivoting to rest beside her. Repeating his practiced gentle touch, he stroked her thighs, running his palms from knee to hip. With each pass he increased the pressure as he brought his fingers closer to her middle, easing her legs apart. There was a slice of his consciousness that wanted to wrench her knees onto the bed so he could finally feel her, but he knew that wouldn’t help, so he fought his urges—being patient for her.

The cook’s resistance melted with his careful ministrations, allowing her knees to fall open for him. He shifted, scooting closer as he braced himself on one arm. Lowering to join their lips again, he pressed his fingers against her mound. Growing nervous, she began to shift—still unsure of what to do—when Hvitserk broke away.

“I want you to be a good girl for me,” he hummed, his nose tickling at her cheek. “I want you to keep your arms on the bed, keep them where they were, next to your head. Can you do that for me? Will you be my good girl?” Ducking her chin, she gave a slight but affirmative nod and lifted her wrists to lay flat on the pillow beside her ears.

Once the question of what to do with her hands was taken away from her, all the cook had to focus on was the prince. The prince and the way his skin felt against hers, the nudge of something stiff she felt on her inner thigh, the way it felt when his fingers delved into her lips, rolling at the sensitive little nub the cook previously believed only she knew of. She couldn’t hold back her moans, arching as he pressed the pad of his finger flat. Fisting at the furs underneath her, the cook fought to keep her hands in place as he had requested.

Hvitserk could barely contain himself as he watched the way she squirmed under his touch. He brushed at her center, testing how wet she was before spitting into his hand. With a confident stroke he spread the saliva over his length, lining himself up. The cook was taken by surprised as he hooked his elbow under her left knee, lifting her entire leg to better the vantage point and sink his cock into her waiting warmth. Keeping one hand planted next to her head—the other holding her thigh—Hvitserk began to thrust, his mouth agape as he watched the way her breasts bounced on impact. He was settling into the motions when she began pushing back at his shoulders.

“Stop, stop!” she panted, as Hvitserk receded. “No air.” As she gestured to how he held her, and the prince seemed to understand, tugging at her waist.

“On your knees,” he suggested, guiding her to roll over. She braced herself on all fours as Hvitserk smoothed his hand down her spine, urging her to lay her head on the mattress. He reveled for a moment, enjoying the view of her ass stuck up in the air just for him, tempted to slap her just so he could see the jiggle.

Holding his straining cock, he rubbed the head along her slit, gliding it between her pillowy lips before finding his goal. With an easy plunge he began to work himself inside, egged on by her soft moans. Using a careful back and forth he was able to fit his head past her tight entrance. He paused, taking in the way she squeezed him and then slowly sinking as far as he could until his hips met her ass.

Hvitserk could hear her mewling below him, reacting to the intrusion but not opposing it. His slid his palm across her back as he lower his head. “You’re doing so good,” he groaned into her ear as she gasped at the feeling of him grinding into her. “I’m trying to be gentle, but it’s hard,” he rasped, using all his might to hold back.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, pushing her hips back into his. “Do this, please,” she breathed giving him the prompting he needed.

At her word he let himself go, digging his fingers into her waist to hold her in place as he drove into her, chasing his drunken id. He could hear her words—they started out in his language but as he carried on, she drifted further from what he could understand. Giving a shake of his head, Hvitserk stopped caring for the meaning of her words, and paid attention only to the tone.

Jutting his hips forward, his skin clapping hard against her ass, he hoped he could bring her to climax before himself, but with every passing thrust that seemed less likely. He was entranced with the way her body reacted, reveling in the way her flesh rippled on impact. Every thrust he made felt so much more important as he watched how her body flowed with his movements. With each strike of his hips against hers he studied how she responded beyond the slight sounds that left her mouth.

The cook felt the coil in her belly begin to tighten with each stroke until the building tension finally snapped. Hvitserk continued without a care, driving his hips into hers as she cried out. “Ha-vet-sick!” she called, unconsciously rearing away from him and the stimuli he brought as the orgasm washed over her. He pounded forward, letting his hips snap autonomously, only caring for the moans that left the cooks mouth. Though he realized he was holding her down so that her face was pressed into the bed, she still cooed from below him, submitting to his will.

With a deep growl, Hvitserk chased his release, spurting ropes of cum deep into her cunt as he pinned her against mattress. He stuttered and groaned, coming within her before finally relaxing and falling to the side fully expended.

She rolled over, laying in a more comfortable position, giving the prince a shy smile. Hvitserk was still catching his breath as he watched the way she bit her lip, her eyes relaxed and content. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned in to cup her cheek, drawing her closer for a slow kiss.

The prince pulled back slightly, freeing his mouth to speak while staying close enough his lips brushed hers as he did so. “Can’t imagine I’m saying this, but I’ve never been so happy there was no food in the kitchen.”

I hope you liked it! please tell me what thought!!!

@beautifulramblingbrains @ariwolf14 @titty-teetee @whenimaunicorn@sweetvengeancee @ivarinleatherpants @tiyetiye @romanchronicles @oddsnendsfanfic @murmelinchen @buckybarnesisalittleshit@laketaj24 @ivarslittlebadgirl @readsalot73 @imgoldielikehawn@ivarsshieldmadien @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @honestsycrets @lisinfleur [[if you want to be tagged for vikings stuff in the future, leave a reply]

[mnemememory]

here stand giants

Beau is the perfect fucking picture of mental health.

Fuck you.

(or, the life and times of beauregard in three and a half conversations)

It doesn’t come to much, in the end: just a man, standing in a broken room.

Beau can’t hear him. She’s knocked out on the ground, hair splayed, skin black and bruises. She’s breathing, but it’s a close thing.

There are people next to her – two kneeling at her side, and another two in the edges, waiting. They’re silent in a way that makes the man’s skin crawl, cobalt blue clothing a stark contrast to the austere brown furnishings. His wife is upstairs. She hadn’t wanted to see this.

“We’ll be taking her, then,” a woman says, brisk and professional.

The man doesn’t say anything as they drag away his daughter’s unconscious body, as they pack her into the prepared cart and start the long, lonely journey away from town. His purse is lighter, but his shoulders certainly aren’t.

“You need to sit down.”

Yasha glances up from where she’s wrapping fresh bandages around her forearm, back held up by the trunk of a large tree. They’re camping in the middle of a forest, with a canopy a good twelve stories above their heads and the sun a distant memory. Light filters down in green-grey streaks, illuminating the hollow gaps between the enormous trees that space out at even intervals. The roots are thick and ropey as they dig into the ground, easily reappropriated into functional – if slightly uncomfortable – seats.

“I’m fine,” she says, not sounding particularly bothered by Beau’s aggressive tone.

“No,” Beau says, shouldering her way over to Yasha. “You’re not – you need to sit down, you’re shaking –”

“I’m not shaking,” Yasha says patiently, knotting the bandage and letting her arm fall to her side.

“Yasha,” Beau says.

Yasha gives her a dubious glance, but after a few minutes she lets herself be manhandled into sitting down on one of the roots, long legs just barely brushing the dirt ground. Beau hops up onto an opposite root, so they’re facing each other.

“Oh, look. How cute,” Nott says, coming over to stare up at both of them. “They match.”

“I’m about to throw something at you,” beau says. “Something very pointy, and very sharp.”

“There’s no need to be rude about it,” Nott says, crossing her arms over her chest. “In any case, I just wanted to come and let you know that we’re heading off in about ten minutes. Caleb doesn’t want to stay here too long.”

In the distance, something howls.

“I don’t want to stay here too long,” Beau says.

Yasha says nothing.

Nott waits around for a few seconds, probably expecting more of a response, before huffing and leaving. Caleb is with Jester and Fjord, both of whom look bruised around the edges but otherwise alive. Beau has to keep reminding herself: they’re alive, they’re alive, they’re alive. That’s going to balance out any sleeplessness concerning Jester’s new habit of waking up in the middle of the night to squeeze Beau’s arm bloodless.

Beau turns her attention back to Yasha.

She had been…very calm, upon hearing about Molly’s. About Molly. She hadn’t done anything, just blinked and stared and nodded, like yes, of course, that was only to be expected. My best friend is dead. It was only a matter of time – look at him.

Dead man walking.

“Lorenzo is dead,” Beau says, and she’s trying so hard to be tactful, but Fjord hasn’t had much of a chance to pick up where their lessons left off.

Yasha’s face remains slack and expressionless. She reaches up to pull at the new bandage. “Yes,” she says, and that’s it.

Beau blows out a frustrated breath, fingers itching to do something, anything. Sitting still and trying to talk out trauma isn’t on her bucket list (she has a bucket list now, apparently). But it’s niggling at her, the way Yasha’s eyes won’t focus, the way the larger woman’s presence seems cut in half.

Molly had said, I left every town a better place than I found it, and Beau wonders how much of that included his best friend. He had certainly left a mark on Beau, and they’d only know each other for the last few weeks.

Eight months, Yasha had said, a world away. That’s how long she’s been out of Xhorhast, into the Empire. How many of those months had included Molly?

More than ten minutes passes, but Nott doesn’t come back to grab them. Jester looks like she’s fallen asleep, head nestled into the crook of Fjord’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind, so much, though Beau is going to have a talk with him, if he intends to kidnap her roommate.

“I’m leaving,” Yasha says, soft as a dreamless sleep.

It’s like something’s cut all of Beau’s strings – her shoulder slump to the ground, and she struggles to keep breathing past the sheer relief that sings in her chest. Now that it’s been said – now that it’s out in the open – there’s a kind of intenseness that bleeds out of the air. The elephant in the room has been killed. Thank god. Beau was tired of cutting out her tongue, anyway.

“I thought so,” Beau says, and she leans back and tries to smile past the knowledge of it. She can’t look into Yasha’s mismatched eyes, so she stares at the spot just above her head. “I’m surprised you stuck around for so long, this time.”

Yasha shrugs, picking at a small scab on her right thumb.

Beau breathes in, and in, and in. “Are you coming back?”

Yasha’s eyes jerk up to meet Beau’s, and the air liquifies around them. Beau’s lungs protest as she’s buried under the weight of – of something, something dark and lonely and clawing. The nothingness echoes in her head, the lack of noise deafening.

They both look away at the same time, and the connection severs. Beau tries to keep her breathing even and not focus on the dead thing between them.

“I hope so,” Yasha says, and she sounds so horribly small.

Beau rolls her shoulders back to stiffness, stretching out her arms and staring at the darkened silhouette of a sky. “Okay, then,” she says. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Beau comes to the Cobalt Soul with manacles weighing down her wrists.

“If you cooperate, things will go much easier for you,” a woman with sharp teeth and sharper eyes says, tinted blue hair falling in a fringe around her chin. “You have such potential, Beauregard.”

Beau spits at her.

Her skin is raw, and blood occasionally trickles down her arm every time she re-opens a welt with her struggling. One of her kidnappers looks distinctly uncomfortable at the sight of it, and she makes sure to struggle around him the most.

Damaged goods, she thinks deep into the night, looking down at herself and laughing.

Three days out from the decent-sized city, Fjord pulls the metaphorical short straw when it comes to watch.

Beau flashes a grin at him as Jester pouts at having both of her person-shaped-pillows out of reach. Still, she curls up around Nott happily enough when it comes time to get some sleep. Nott puts up some token grumbling, but they’re all bundled in one spot, so Caleb is trapped by the flailing blue arms as much as she is. If anything, Beau would say the little goblin girl looks satisfied.

Fjord settles himself next to Beau, eyes trained on the enveloping darkness. Beau snaps on her goggles for the first hour or so, but has to take them off when her eyes start to ache from the strain.

“So,” Fjord says, accent thicker off his tongue than before. He clears his throat and glances at her, dividing his attention. Not too much, though – Beau’s noticed that he can’t quite keep still, these days. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Me?” Beau says.

Fjord gives her a look of tolerant amusement. “Yes, you. You almost bit Jester when she tried to volunteer with me.”

Beau crosses her arms and pulls a tired smile over her teeth. “Well, maybe I don’t want you two on the same watch.”

Fjord sighs heavily. “Beau.”

“The last time you were alone together, you were kidnapped!”

“We had Yasha with us.”

“Well, let me tell you, you three aren’t ever allowed to take watch together ever again,” Beau says. “There’s only so much bad luck this group can take.”

Fjord doesn’t look terribly amused – though he hasn’t shut her down, which is saying something. A gentle word would get Beau to drop the whole thing, because she has realised over the course of this horribly cursed trip that she is attached to these people. Almost inadvertently, they had managed to burrow under her skin and wrap around her ribs, pulling her in all different directions. Yasha’s string is taunt and uncomfortable, thin enough to snap. Fjord, though – Fjord is made out of wire, enough to enough to slice through bone.

“I think this group has had plenty of bad luck as is,” he finally says. “I don’t expect we’ll get a reprieve just because of who we put on watch.”

“There’s such a thing as tempting fate,” Beau says. “Not that I believe in fate, but if I did, I wouldn’t want to piss it off.”

Fjord swipes a hand through his hair. His tusks are poking out from his lips, just a little bit. They haven’t had much time over the course of the week to be still, and before that Fjord hadn’t been – well, he hadn’t been present enough to bother with his appearance. Beau wants to reassure him, but no matter what she says, it never comes out right. Someday, she’s going to just stop trying, before she sends someone off a cliff.

They settle into silence, letting it draw out towards dawn. Beau thinks about the last watch she had with Molly, and thinks about all the things that she’ll never get to say to him.

“I missed you.”

It comes out in a panicked rush, and the moment she says the words, she wants to take them back. They feel clumsy, open, far too personal for Beau’s state of mind. Fjord side-eyes her, not saying a word.

Beau takes in a shaky breath, trying to focus. She very deliberately doesn’t look at him.

“I’m really – glad” – that was the right word, wasn’t it? – “That we got you, uh, out of there. We were all really worried” – wait, no, was she supposed to keep this group-related or personal? Gods, she should have taken a page out of Keg’s book and written this down – “I mean, I was really worried. We were all worried! Including me. And Caleb and Nott, of course –”

Ah, what a mess!

Fjord is smiling at her, though, soft and sad and real. Beau breaks off and stares at her clenched fists. Why was this so hard? Why did she always have to make things like this so hard?

“I knew you three were going to find us,” Fjord says. “Jester and Yasha knew, too.”

Beau clenches her jaw and doesn’t say anything else.

“You know, I don’t think any of us have said ‘thank you’ yet,” Fjord muses.

“We were a bit busy,” Beau says. And then – and then Yasha had asked after Molly –

“In any case,” Fjord says, ducking low so he can look Beau straight in the eyes. “Thank you for saving us.”

“You must learn discipline,” Xenoth says, eye twitching. “Or you will become nothing.”

“I’m already nothing, asshole,” Beau says, knees cracking the floor, staff sealed to her hand with sweat. She’s breathing heavily, but that’s nothing new. “You’re going to have to find me some better motivation.”

Xenoth looks down at her, frustration warring his face. After a few seconds, he shakes his head and moves onto the next person, correcting their form with his staff. Beau stares after him for a few seconds, fury winding through her veins, and then collapses down to catch her breath.

“She will be coming back,” Jester says, with a child’s faith.

Beau doesn’t know how she can do it. She honestly doesn’t know how Jester can stare at her with bruised eyes and a missing tooth and scars (there are so many scars) along her arms and says, She will be coming back, and mean it. Beau doesn’t have that much faith in anything, let alone Yasha.

Beau just shakes her head. “You take the bed.”

Even with Fjord bunking with Caleb and Nott, the two rooms they’d managed to snag at the head of a particularly nasty-looking snowstorm hadn’t been equipped with separate beds. Because the other half of their group was larger (and because Nott had called dibs, much to Beau’s annoyance), Beau and Jester were stuck with a single, while the others shared a double.

“No, no,” Jester says, though she does sag onto the bed with something akin to relief. She rubs at her ankles as she pulls her legs onto the bed to sit cross-legged, while Beau knocks her back against the wall and slides down to the floor. “We are going to have this conversation, Beau.”

“Please don’t,” Beau says. “I’m tired. You’re tired. I think we can put this off till morning.”

Jester rolls her eyes, pulling her sketchbook out of the bag and flipping it open to a random page. Grabbing a pencil, she begins to draw something in broad strokes, all the while keeping her body aligned towards Beau.

“You are being very silly,” she says. “I am fine. Fjord and I are both fine.”

That’s a lie.

Beau clenches her jaw and says nothing.

“Beau,” Jester says, scrunching up her mouth as she tries to find the right words to say what she means. “You are worrying over nothing.”

Beau presses her lips together tighter.

Jester makes a big show of putting her sketchbook flat on the bed, and then rolls so that she’s splayed out on top of the covers, arm flinging out to smack Beau in the face.

“What the fuck!” Beau says, ducking away.

“I think you want a hug,” Jester says.

Beau’s eyes widen in horror. “What? No!”

“Yes, I think you need a hug,” Jester says, scooching further over to the side of the bed. She’s got both her arms out, now, and her grin is as wide as Mollymauk’s. “You’ve been grouching around for the past week, and I think a hug will make you feel better.”

“Jester, don’t you dare,” Beau says. She starts to get up, but Jester is too fast for her, grabbing onto Beau’s shoulders and pulling her against the side of the bed. Beau flails ineffectually as Jester squeezes her tight, and then it’s too late, she’s trapped.

Grudgingly, with something like relief, Beau surrenders to the hug.

“You’re good.”

Beau’s head jerks up to stare at her instructor, shock electrifying her body still.

“You’re good,” she continues, oblivious to Beau’s surprise. “But you lack the proper form. Keep practicing, though. You could become better if you put your mind to it.”

(Beau wakes up, snow whiting out the windows.

Yasha is leaning against the far wall, skin pale stone, hair covered with frost, eyes closed.

Huffing out a small laugh, Beau rolls her eyes and gets to her feet).