#anyway. it’s not that he believes miles killed him. it’s that he feels as though going back to him would be too much.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

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Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.  

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead. 

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries. 

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.” 

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—” 

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.” 

That kills the impulse to shout for help. 

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile. 

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right. 

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him. 

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now? 

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world. 

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry. 

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death. 

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real. 

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket. 

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning. 

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince. 

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention. 

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy. 

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again. 

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches.  When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt. 

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind. 

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust? 

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?” 

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun. 

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known. 

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin. 

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems.  But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out. 

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest. 

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps. 

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you. 

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes. 

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would. 

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt. 

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.” 

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank. 

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in.  When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left. 

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter. 

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins. 

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer? 

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you. 

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it. 

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together. 

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg. 

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you. 

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running. 

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear. 

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm. 

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat. 

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away. 

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest. 

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly. 

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now. 

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it. 

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling. 

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified. 

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat. 

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong. 

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town. 

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun. 

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff. 

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.” 

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder. 

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight. 

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other. 

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything. 

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice. 

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush. 

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier. 

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place. 

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will. 

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot. 

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property. 

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores. 

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified. 

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively. 

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that. 

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man. 

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust. 

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you. 

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets. 

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin. 

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists. 

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest. 

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons. 

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable. 

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut. 

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat. 

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements. 

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory. 

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward. 

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle. 

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did. 

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable. 

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow. 

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat. 

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm. 

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though. 

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out. 

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet. 

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement. 

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel. 

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.  

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right. 

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once. 

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky. 

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course. 

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on. 

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence. 

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words. 

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.  

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb. 

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged. 

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you. 

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one. 

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow. 

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs. 

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth. 

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken. 

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face. 

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip. 

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body. 

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden. 

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words. 

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp. 

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage. 

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding. 

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods. 

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you. 

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.  

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon. 

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow. 

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit. 

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that. 

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him. 

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints. 

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens. 

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves. 

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing. 

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

[genderqueer-karma]

tempted to write a gregory “came back wrong” au

[shoyudon]

dad!choso is on my mind. he’d be the sweetest husband/father to-be. i just know he’d hold our hand the entire time and say things like “i wish i could take this pain away from you.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 .ᐟ

keeping up with the choso family

starring. choso x fem! reader

heads up. pregnancy, giving birth, you're in you're 20s during shibuya (around nanami's age), all information are from research.

note. NONNIE, FIRST OF ALL YES. I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS??? i just know he'd cry during every one of these moments, i'm gonna sob, i miss him so much.

the first time choso met you, he didn't know you'd be his life companion. pushing aside at the fact that you both were enemies at first, being a jujutsu sorcerer assigned to shibuya wasn't really the best circumstances for first meetings — which practically didn't happen smoothly.

long story short, he actually hurts you with his blood manipulation. not enough to kill you, but enough to consider it a 'medical emergency'. he is really sorry about it though; when he saw you protect yuuji despite your injuries, he just knew he had to have you.

choso made it clear that he regretted hurting you — especially when his technique left a scar on your skin. specifically on your shoulder, and your lower abdomen. occasionally pressing his lips onto your scars, the vivid drawings of your stitches still embedded into your skin.

"'m sorry . . ." choso whispers out into your skin, burying his face into your stomach as you both lay down on the bed. once again, he was feeling apologetic for hurting you more than a year ago. every day after shibuya, he was busy apologizing to you for hurting you.

"cho, that was what . . ? more than a year ago? you need to stop apologizing, baby," raking your fingers through his hair, he sighs out in content, leaning his cheek onto your stomach — his arms draped around your thighs.

when he asks you to marry him, he subconsciously did it because he panicked. choso had it all planned for a whole month, and managed to ruin it in three minutes on the day he was going to propose to you because you were just so captivating, he just lost all senses of everything he practiced.

"please, marry me," choso blurts out, his mind going one hundred miles per second — he wasn't even sure if he was conscious at that point, "i love you so much and i can't think of my life without you, please marry me," he whispers, squeezing your hand gently.

choso actually got help from everyone on what to say and what to do, which all went down to drain when he decided to use his heart to propose to you. and it worked out well anyways, "seriously? i'm gonna cry," you fanned your eyes.

believe me when i said that choso was on the edge of his seat, waiting for your answer. when you exclaimed out a happy and tearful, "yes!", he could finally breathe out in relief, raising your hand up to his lips in happiness, slipping the ring he even forgot for a second.

choso actually told himself that he wouldn't cry during his own wedding. months before the reception — he finds himself watching wedding videos and happily kicking his feet at the sight of the groom crying, he believed he wouldn't, because he's seen you everyday. right? right?

wrong. the moment the tall doors opened and there you started walking down the aisle slowly, choso felt overwhelmed at the fact that he was getting married to you, and you were getting married to him. he swore if it wasn't for yuuji, he would be laying down in front of the whole guest list, crying on the ground.

he stood there, instinctively wiping his tears — that were never-ending, and god, you looked so beautiful that all he could see was you. choso felt like it was just you and him at that moment, no guest, no yuuji, just you.

after the ceremony, choso just wanted to go back home and if it weren't for you telling him to wait until everyone goes home, he'd technically kidnap his own wife and bring her back to their home. with a pout and a long face, he greets the guest with you, hand in yours like a little child who didn't get what they want.

"can we go back home now? my legs are killing me," he whispers, squeezing your hand, tugging you towards him, "jus' leave them, they're eating the night away . . ."

"let's wait until everyone goes home, okay?" you tell him. almost wanting to laugh at the sight of his fake offended gasp right after, choso didn't complain anyways — nodding his head as you tugged him towards a group of people to greet them.

when you both got home after a long day, choso immediately headed for the bedroom, tossing himself onto the bed, white shirt wrinkled and his tie messily pulled towards one side. eyelids half closed.

"cho, you know you have to shower before you sleep. you stink."

"mmm . . . wanna sleep," he moans out into the pillow, reaching his hand out to you in an attempt to bring you onto the bed, which did not work since you were too busy wiping off your makeup, "can't we just shower tomorrow? 'm so tired."

choso's never really thought about having kids. he didn't know how to take care of kids, nor how to react with kids. for some reason, the universe though — seemed to have bless him with a wave of "baby fever" one and a half year into the marriage. watching videos of random babies from all over the world doing baby things, and he felt his heart flutter at the sight.

that was when he knew, he wanted a family with you. technically, the two of you were already a family the moment you both got married — but he wanted an addition to your small family. a child.

he didn't really know how to break the fact that he wanted a baby with you, and so he tried subtle ways to do so. showing you baby videos, telling you how cute your kids would be, even pointing at baby shoes or onesies when you both go out.

by that point, you'd caught on to his little scheme, "why're you talking about kids a lot? baby shoes, baby onesies, baby videos, baby this, baby that," you informed him, threading your fingers through his hair as he laid his head on your lap.

"wan' a baby."

so when you broke the news that you were bearing his child, he cried. and by cry — i mean bawled out like a baby. clinging to you, overwhelmed at the fact that he was going to have a child with you, he was actually going to have a little family of his own.

just a few days after the news, he'd grown a lot more protective of your wellbeing. asking here and there about what you could and couldn't eat, or what might harm the growing baby inside you. searching here and there.

during your first trimester, more precisely, during your fifth week; the cravings began getting heavy and wonky. despite all that, choso still indulged in your cravings. hell, he even had to try some because he couldn't say no to you when you tried to share with him.

peanut butter and salmon sashimi, pickle juice with honey, cream cheese and fried chicken, ramen soup popsicles, bacon and toothpaste, milk and ramen seasoning, and more of those odd combinations. choso never did complain even once, if you wanted to eat something at three am, he'd run out and go find some no matter what — you were carrying his child, and he figured that was the least he could do for you.

"taste good, baby?" choso asks you, swiping his fingertips over the cream cheese spread on the corner of your lips.

nodding vigorously, you brought the half-eaten fried chicken messily dipped in the thick and white cream cheese spread — eyes shining brightly, as if asking him to try some with you. blinking in surprise, he took a bite. definitely a weird experience for him, and it was one of the oddest combination of food he had ever tried.

"'ts funny, but it's not bad," he swallowed after chewing the chicken a few times; reaching for the glass of water by the nightstand.

throughout your pregnancy, choso made sure to spoil you with a lot of things. the doll you looked at for a split second while the both of you ventured into the mall, the food he sees you browsing through his phone or your phone, tucking you in bed using the pillow he bought for pregnant women, and the feet massages for you everyday.

"where are you going?" choso asks, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. the dark spots under his eyes were getting darker every time — it was obvious the changes in his life had made it, but choso was more than enlightened to do it for you.

"want to drink," you whisper, letting out a cute incoherent noise as you tried to roll off the mattress.

choso was quick to hold you back, tucking you inside the bundle of covers, "i'll get it for you, stay here, okay?" he whispers, hopping off the bed to fetch you a glass of water — choso didn't want to keep you waiting, running off to the kitchen and fetching you a glass of water topped with a lot of ice cubes; something he noticed you'd chew on a lot ever since you got pregnant.

"here you go," he walks back carefully, handing you the water, pinching the skin on your nap gently as he watches you gobble the water down, parting your lips to pop in an ice cube or two.

nearing your due date, specifically just a few days after the 37th week — the contractions started. it was the ninth month, and it was expected. choso heard your hushed whimpers in his sleep, he would probably guess it was at dawn, probably around four? he didn't even bother checking on the time because all he cared was you.

he was barely awake, kicking off the covers and helping you. ushering you to slowly breathe in and out, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the hollow of your back. choso figured that he wanted you and the unborn child to be safe, and so he decided to bring you to the hospital where the experts are.

choso was worried beyond anyone else; even you. constantly staying by your side, his hair disheveled; a few strands going the opposite way, and tangled with each other. he laid his head down on the mattress, by your hand. choso laid his hand on your belly, rubbing against the cloth gently to ease the pain from the contractions.

at the early stage of labor, you were feeling cramps and an intense backache — which choso helped you through. he was glad he brought you to the hospital because not long after, your water broke. and he was there to help you through it all, clutching onto your hand as if he was holding on for dear life.

everything that the doctors or the nurses do, he felt his heart beat a notch quicker than earlier. choso was afraid, and he wasn't really afraid to admit it — i mean, you're his wife and you were carrying his child. he didn't want anything to happen to the both of you.

choso heard the doctor explain to him about what was going to happen, but everything that came in from his left ear exits through his right. he could barely remember anything because through out the explanation, he was too busy caring for you throughout the contractions that had grew a bit more intense during your active labor.

he hated everything inside the delivery room. it smelt like blood — choso was used to blood. but he didn't like it when it came from you, his heart drumming against his chest as he felt your grip tightened on his hand. frankly, he could care less if he broke a few bones as long as you and the baby were both okay.

choso hated seeing you in pain, even while delivering his baby. he didn't blame the baby, of course; he just wishes he could do something and take away the pain from you, latching his lips onto your sweat painted forehead. salty. he could taste your sweat against his lips, and despite that, he still refused to move.

"wish i could jus' take away the pain away from you, y/n," he whispers — hearing your pained grunt, your eyes glazed with fresh tears. and he kissed them away, whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

telling you it was just a bit more until you could see your baby, how proud he is of you, how much he loves you, how much he wished he could take away your pain, everything he felt in his heart at that moment all poured out into hushed whispers.

when the first cry of your baby echoed inside the rowdy delivery room, choso cried. he looked down at you, cradling your face in his hands, singing out, "good job, good job. 'm so proud of you, i love you so much."

the baby's a beautiful baby boy.

choso didn't want to hold the baby first as much as he wanted to — he felt like you deserved to touch the baby first after risking your life to birth him. and so he told the nurse to let you at least see the baby first, he refused to carry his son until you, his wife, touched him first; whether using your hands or any part of your body.

he stared in awe when the baby's loud cry eventually stopped when the nurse brought him to you, letting you coo at your own newborn son. his tears freely dropping, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand.

when the nurse asked him to have skin-to-skin contact, choso was nervous. what if he dropped his son? what if his son doesn't like him? what if his son doesn't like the way his skin feels? so many out of the box questions that didn't need to be answered were roaming in his mind.

as he slowly cradled his son, he blinked back the second round of tears that had threatened to fall. the light blue beanie stuck to his son's head seeped with a few drops of tears, leaning down to press his lips onto the baby's skin a few times. introducing himself as the baby's father and how happy he is to be one,

daichi l/n. that's the baby's name — it meant great first son. the both of you felt that it was a suitable name for your first baby.

choso slept on the small couch inside the hospital room during your healing week, in the middle of both you and him was daichi's small basinet where he slept soundly. he made sure to knock himself awake every now and then to check after both you and daichi.

when the hospital permitted you to go home, you completely relied on choso on heavy things — which you didn't even have to ask, he was already doing it for you. daichi gets a bit fussy at night, and choso always tells you to go back to sleep and that he'd handle the baby.

"you know, you're really noisy, right? mama's really worried about you," he gently poked the baby's cheek with his thumb as he cradled the small bundle of life affectionately, singing out a lullaby he remembered you singing to him years ago.

choso never knew he had a knack on changing diapers until you were occupied, and he had to change daichi's diaper. turns out he was really good at it, and from that day on — he's also told you that he got it. your body was still sore from delivery, and so everything around the house was mostly done by choso under your watch.

although choso's been the one taking care of daichi, he could definitely see how much the baby's turning out to be a big mama's boy even at a few months old. he noticed how daichi would only let you burp him, or sometimes daichi would get fussy when he felt choso raising him up during early mornings until you had to do it.

he didn't care. he wasn't jealous, daichi's still his son and he was glad that daichi loved you a little more than him. he'd like it if his baby prioritizes you first before him.

being a father is a great wonder to him. daichi's first word being 'mama', and his first steps was done while he was sauntering clumsily towards you. choso is such a proud father.

growing up, daichi turned out to be a big mama's boy. but still he loved choso too. now daichi lets choso carries him during mornings, and he relies on choso when something scares him while clutching onto your hand, taking small steps to hide behind choso. using his own father as a shield for him and you.

"don't worry, baby. 's just a lion in the screen, dada will protect us," you scooped the boy into your arms, pointing at the screen where a lion and its cub are walking.

"mmm. dada will protect you both," choso chimes in, ruffling daichi's thin hair.

daichi grew up loving boxing. you didn't know how he knows about it, but at the very next second, he was pestering choso to teach him boxing. and choso dreaded this because what was his son going to do at four years of age in pre-school with boxing? was he going to use it on his teachers? or his friends?

"no . . . maybe when you're older," choso's always said that, patting daichi's head as he does.

daichi whined every single time, but managed to forget when he saw some people drawing on TV. choso once again being a victim of his own son's pleading for some drawing lessons. as a father, choso of course accompanied daichi during his draw sessions in the living room right after the kid comes back from pre-school.

sometimes choso would draw too, having a little competition with his own son. which daichi mostly won — but at the same time, choso never complained about his loss. he was always proud of daichi.

"look, look mama! this is you, this is daichi, and this is dada!" daichi announces, pointing at every aspect of his drawing, explaining to you.

and to the fridge the drawing goes.

when daichi graduated pre-school, choso again, cried. taking pictures using the camera he had asked you to teach him how beforehand, and the pictures weren't the nicest. most of them being a blur of daichi walking down the stage with his small cap, waving his little hand to the camera.

choso was so proud of his son, of you, of himself. looking back— he's realized how far he had come despite not having to expect all of this. a loving wife. a son. a family.

choso was just glad he had his own little family now with you and his son. although . . . he wouldn't mind having another addition to the small community.

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[blue-sterling0357]

how about some ciel headcanons with a demon s/o? not with angst, like s/o is a young chaos demon that just squeezed themselves on the contract so s/o helps ciel with his work and so.

🐈‍⬛ anon

(I remember a very similar thing of demon! Ciel with a albino! demon! S/O, it's quite cute, but I'm not adding it here! Hope you enjoy reading this!)

Ciel with a Demon! S/O

✣ You met Ciel, when Sebastian introduced you both to each other. Sebastian was an elder demon who used to follow you since he met you because he had this instinct to follow you, no matter what you do and he was right as you being a chaos demon happens to be quite harming to his contracts...

✣ Whenever you would get even a hundred mile near the person he has a contract with, they would get in some type of wierd situation, but he enjoys your company even though he hates all demons, except you as you're quite helpful and you knew how to protect his masters and wouldn't be salavting over his master's soul, like he though you would.

✣ So, upon his introducing you, Ciel took you in as one of his maids and upon taking you in, he noticed the immediate change it had on the manor, the trio would cause less problems for him, Sebastian's cats aren't shoing up as often, the place is often clean and Elizabeth ins't decorating it in embarrasing yet cute decor he hates so much.

✣ As he slowly developed feelings and you both started dating, he got to learn about you being a chaos demon, he learnt how Sebastian would protect him from you accidentally bringing chaos everywhere you go, but he doesn't care as you bringing chaos isn't going to change his loves for you.

✣ He is actually quite happy you're a demon, it's because he knows you won't die and it definitely won't be easy to kill, with Sebastian polishing your skills and helping you and though you're younger and around Ciel's age in demon years, you're a fast learner, except sometimes in battles you zone out, but are still fighting and dodging your enemy amazingly except you're staring into nothing...It concerns both Ciel and Sebastian as is this even normal?

✣ Ciel now has another protector, also since you eat the souls of certain people who try to attack Ciel and have a tasty soul, you're rather full and have no need of eating Ciel's soul. If it's Sebastian who kills the perpetrator, he will bring those souls to you, but only if they are high quality souls, he refuses to have his child/sibling/problem child figure have low quality and disgusting souls..

✣ Ciel allows you wayyyy more freedom than he allows Sebastian, like you have brought in three, white tigers in the manor, and Ciel didn't even care, he was also wearing a mask, did those even exist back then? But anyways, Seb is jealous at the amount of freedom you have, except it goes away when you invite him to cuddle with those three, adult, white tigers.

✣ Also, you're just as talented in things as Sebastian despite being at such a young age like you already know 21 languages, can manipulate anyone you want, great st using multiple weapons at the same time, fighting and dodging while drinking a smoothie or eating a cake at the same time. And even though Sebastian says it's because of him, Ciel doesn't believe him because he believes you're just amazing like that!

✣ If you're happy with showing him your horns and wings on occasions, he would love to groom them, clean them, wash them and polish them nicely for you and he does it so often, he knows everything about demon self-care, you'd look all shiny and whenever you and Sebastian show each-other your wings and horns, he's surprised at how clean they are, despite knowing how you don't clean regularly...

✣ Oh, speaking of wings, he loves to cuddle you and sleep with you while you have your wings out, he gets all whiny and upset if you refuse to show them to him when you go to sleep because they're dirty or smell or whatever because you know he will drag you to clean them no matter how late at night it is, cause he now can't sleep without stroking, touching or cuddling your wings..Have fun!

✣ Overall, he doesn't really care, but he's less possessive because he knows demons don't fall for just anyone they meet, only special chosen one, so you won't fall for anybody else and because he knows you won't die during a stupid assassin!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Reptile/Syzith hc with a gender neutral partner who can respawn after death and he's not aware when it hoppemd? Like it's not something they told him be sure they didn't anticipate to die but one day they die in an accident. They stay dead for a bit but eventually 'load' back in and respawn completely unharmed as if nothing happened like it's a video game.

Gifted with an ability to seemingly never stay dead might’ve been a power many would make a wish for, but you would always say it was because they were looking at it from a surface level, seeing it as something for what they wanted it to be rather then acknowledging it for what it actually was; a curse. They’d never be able to comprehend the catastrophic consequences that comes with the ability, nor would ever understand how much it takes away from you until it was far too late.

Not to mention the toll it takes on your mental psyche.

To you, it wasn’t necessarily something you’d boldly put out there in the open nor admit to having pride in, for upon every time you’ve come back from the dead, it had left you feeling less and less human in every sense of the word.

You did feel some guilt when you actively decided to not tell Syzoth about your powers, seeing as you weren’t put in a situation where you could demonstrate actual proof of your ability. Yet due to this lack of foresight and preparation, it made the accident all the more heartbreaking for your reptiloid lover, who felt as though his last chance to being happy was ripped away from him in a violent manor; that of which left him feeling a sense of desperation to save you anyway he could.

Syzoth felt as though he was the one who died the night of the attack, he wasn’t that far away from the scene when it happened, but then why did Syzoth felt as though he were miles away as he watched with vengeful eyes and his heart in his throat. He tired to close the distance between him, you and your supposed killer but as he managed to make it to your side, the kill had cowardly ran off into the shadows; leaving a poor weeping Syzoth to pathetically scoop you up into his arms, cringing at how cold you were within his arms that felt all forms or wrong to him.

He didn’t want to believe it, not one bit. Someone or something out there didn’t want him to be happy and wanted to see how far they could break him. So to test that theory, they just had to take you from him didn’t they? Syzoth wished he had died instead and would probably ask for someone, anyone to kill him so that he may be with you in whatever afterlife you were currently residing in, waiting for him.

However those who were made aware of your abilities from firsthand experience should try and hold Syzoth from doing something rash before you returned. They’d look out for Syzoth on your behalf, much to his distain, but none of them were willing to risk the reaction you’d have should one of them ever have to tell you that Syzoth died to join you in the afterlife. After all it was only a matter of time before you’d respawned and it was up to them to keep Syzoth moving until then.

Unfortunately for them and Syzoth, it would be a long while before you finally managed to respawn again, meaning that you were genuinely dead for a bit and at first you thought that your powers had been taken from you, but it wasn’t long before you found out that was completely and utterly not the case as you found yourself with a face full of life and no visible wounds that you could see. So naturally you went to find Syzoth and tell him the truth.

Now imagine Syzoth’s surprise when he caught sight of you, alive and unharmed. The poor guy thought he was seeing your ghost or believed that his mind was messing with him into believing his most deepest of delusions. So right off the bat he was both startled and skeptical at the sight of you, thinking it was some darker forces at work who wanted to use your death as a way to manipulate him. His hurt was still fresh and Syzoth would very much like to not be reminded of his losses, especially during the times where he is most vulnerable and susceptible for manipulation.

Syzoth: who are you and why do you wear my lovers face?! Are you the one who took their life?!

You: woah Syzoth! Allow me to explain-

Syzoth: there is nothing that is needed to be explained! Reveal your true self before things gets messy! For I will avenge my lovers death.

You: I will not fight you Syzoth!

Syzoth: that’s too bad because I’ve been needing an excuse to start one.

You: you liked being cuddled up against me at night because you say I make the nightmares go away, that I make everything okay by putting you back together again piece by piece. You’d like to tell me that I’m your better half but i would always counter and say that you’re my better half.

Syzoth: …y/n?

You: You’ve always have been my better half Syzoth because ever since we’ve been dating I’ve been hiding apart of myself from you that I am ashamed of.

Syzoth: and whatever could you ashamed of, my love?

You: my power, my power is what I am ashamed of my beloved, for I can’t stay dead not matter what for I always seem to wake up with no dire wounds to speak of. Which is why you can see me as clearly as you do now.

Syzoth: you’re actually alive?

You: yeah. I’m sorry for lying to you my sweet.

Syzoth: you need not apologise my love, to know that you are still will me is all I ever wished for nowadays.

That night and every other night after Syzoth clings to you just that little bit tighter and stays by your side, refusing to ever part from you for long periods of time.

[madaqueue]

playlists

broke her daughter's legs in two | "bruno is orange" x hop along

synopsis: geto finds you after the village massacre, but things went differently

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. loss, death, mentions of possible abuse.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: a little angst to get me out of my smut era (jk i have so much more lined up lmao) anyways once again i highly suggest listening to this song while reading :)

“suguru?” you whisper hesitantly to the man standing in your doorway. the moonlight shines through the curtains of your dorm room, illuminating him just enough to make out his figure.

he says nothing, staring blankly ahead.

“what happened?” you ask, rubbing sleep from your eyes. he slowly starts walking towards you, a pit of dread forming in your stomach as he silently approaches your bed.

you shouldn’t be afraid. you know you shouldn’t. he’s your best friend.

but you also know what happened - you had read the report earlier today.

112 villagers died.

not a single person left in the village.

concluded to be that of suguru geto’s curse manipulation.

geto set fire to the village and fled.

subject to execution.

the weight of his body at the end of your bed causes it to sag slightly as he sits next to you. the smell of ash, blood, and death hangs on his clothes.

the cicadas chirp outside your open window, filling the air between you until he takes in a shaky breath, shoulders raising ever so slightly.

“i had to,” he mouths, the words barely audible.

his eyes stare straight ahead, empty.

“had to what?” you prod, gently reaching a hand up to his back. he flinches at your touch.

“i had to save them.”

you wouldn’t understand, he thinks. nobody else will ever understand.

the things he saw in that village, the way they hurt them - the two girls. it wasn’t their fault. and yet, there they were. they put them there. in that fucking cage, like animals.

the young girls begged him, tears in their eyes. “please don’t tell.” “please don’t yell.”

he was good. he knew he was good. he had to save them.

suddenly, the old woman behind him, their captor, spat back at them, “don’t speak. you’re both going to hell.”

he did what a good person should do. he saved them.

the world is not kind to sorcerers - he knew this all too well. especially in places like these, the outskirts of society where sorcery was equated to evil and condemned, they hurt them. they blame them. they punish them. the world is a dangerous place for sorcerers.

as he sits in your bed, he starts to shake. no tears leave his eyes, but his breathing becomes ragged, shoulders heaving as he stares into the distance in front of him, eyes unfocused.

in the quiet of your room, all he hears are the crackles of the flames. he didn’t even hear the screams, the pleas, that fell from their traitorous lips. because he was doing good. he was saving them.

your voice pulls him back to reality slightly, still unable to tune out the ringing of bloodshed from his ears. “suguru,” you murmur, “whatever happened, it’s okay.”

he wants to believe you, he does. he wants to feel your hand stroking his back, but it just feels like everything is a million miles away. he’s watching himself break down in the moonlight of your room. he wants to be good.

“i killed them,” he finally utters.

the words make you flinch, even though you knew they were coming.

“i killed all of them. the entire village.”

“why?” you ask, not wanting but nevertheless needing an answer, an explanation, for what happened.

“i had to save them.”

“save who?”

“the girls.”

a sigh leaves your lips in relief. you knew it, you knew suguru wouldn’t just hurt people. he must have seen them, they must have been hurt, and the only way to help them was to burn the village down. you needed this to be true, to reassure yourself as much as him. you knew he was good.

he was your best friend, after all, and right now he needs you.

you think back to the last time you saw him before this mission, how different things were, the morning he left.

–

the two of you sit on a picnic bench, shaded by one of the trees in the courtyard outside the school. geto holds an orange in his hands, peeling it with a small knife. he was always so careful with things like this, never daring to nick the soft flesh of the fruit, a care he brought with him into every aspect of his life. he was always calculated, a quiet thoughtfulness that came second nature to him.

your eyes trace over his hands before moving up to his face, the dark circles under his eyes a physical manifestation of the exhaustion you had seen growing in him the past few weeks.

“suguru?” you get his attention.

“mhm?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the orange as he continues working his knife around it.

you sigh, not knowing how he’ll react to the question you’ve been dreading. “are you…are you okay?”

his hands freeze for a moment, body tensing, before he returns to his movement. “mhm,” he affirms.

you want to reach across the table, grab him by the shoulders and yell that you know he’s lying, that he is so clearly and undeniably not okay, that he just needs to talk to you and you’ll do anything you can to help him.

but, of course, you don’t. instead, you tilt your head back as your gaze shifts up to the sky, bright blue through the leaves above you.

“you know,” you start, scanning the branches that shake softly in the wind, “i heard that people used to eat oranges in the morning if they weren’t feeling well, the idea of a fruit-curing fever, something in it warming and soothing. they thought it could heal sickness.”

“mmm,” suguru hums softly. without another word, he splits the orange in two, handing you half. “worth a shot,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

–

remembering him, his kindness and hurt, your body language softens. “that’s okay,” you explain, more at ease now that you know he acted out of compassion. “where are they now, the girls? we can go help them, together.”

geto is silent. his eyes slowly move from the floor up to yours, a new darkness in them.

“suguru…” you start.

he just stares.

“w-what did you do?” you stammer, fear reappearing in the pit of your stomach, your hand freezing in place on his back.

“i saved them.” his voice is low, resigned. “it was too dangerous for them. they couldn’t live in this world, a world built to hate them. i needed to protect them. i needed to help them. and i did,” he pauses to take in a sharp breath between his rambling. “now, they won’t have to live in a world that would hurt them. it was too dangerous. i helped them. i did. i saved them.”

as he talks himself in circles, his grasp on everything becomes undone. he loses himself in his words, the mantra he so desperately clung to, the one he needed to say until he believed it.

he was good. he saved them.

your eyes widen as the realization sets in: the girls are dead. just like everyone else in the village. just like the reports said.

as he babbles out the same explanation, shock takes over your body. you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move, the only words leaving your mouth are “it’s okay,” over and over again, the sounds mixing with his in your room, chaos swirling in the night air as you both drift away from this reality.

“it’s okay” “i protected them” “it’s okay” “i helped them” “it’s okay” “i saved them” “it’s okay”

suddenly, your body jolts forward as you sit up in bed. the action surprises suguru into silence as he watches you, eyes following your every move as you walk to the small kitchen in your dorm room, taking an orange out of a bowl that sits on the counter.

you shove your thumb under the thick peel, tearing at the flesh of the fruit as you pull it apart in strips. juice leaks down between your fingers and drips onto the counter. holding the fruit in your palm, your bare feet carry you back to suguru. holding out a hand, you both sit in silence and eat the orange.

your voice is raspy and worn as you speak to him.

“you saved them.”

[hetalia-club]

Hetalia Characters & How I Think They Would Fare In a Teen Slasher Movie (Ain't gonna lie most of these bitches die & you know it)

(Based on a lil fic I started last Halloween and gave up on. I cleaned it up and made it sound more like a movie plot rather than just a messy fic outline.)

Movie Plot: (Just so you're like not confused on what is supposed to be happening here) After the untimely death of their beloved high school friend, a group of young adults meet up for their annual camping trip to honor the death of their old friend (Italy). They all have grown apart over the years getting their own lives and separate friends. They have proclaimed this to be the last camping trip they will do before going their separate ways for good. Most of the group is happy for the tradition to end, some saddened feeling like they are just forgetting their friend by ending his tradition. Their finale camping trip is cut short when the group is plagued by an hooded figure seemingly hunting the group for sport, or is revenge? wooooo~~ scaaary.

Nyo!America- Is the final girl aka the 'main girl' (This is how I will refer to her to save time) the movie is centered around. we are rooting for her the entire time. Think Sally in Texas Chainsaw, or Sidney Prescott in Scream. (Lives) America- America would be the mean jock/popular/rich guy, probably had a girlfriend he wasn't very nice too. Does not really want to be there. His sister is the main girl. (Gets killed but does get a few good swings in on the killer/monster though. You don't really care that he dies he was a dick anyway.) England- The nerdy book worm kid that you're like "surely the killer will take pity on him" but they don't. Probably one if the first few to die before everyone is really aware there is a killer about. They find his body later while running away (Gets killed and you are meant to feel bad a bout it. His death is uncalled for and not deserved. Used to set a tone for how cold hearted the killer/monster really is.) Canada- Ends up getting away. He's sent to get help with the only working care after the killer sabotages the rest of them. He drives to the nearest gas station 10 miles away and no one believes him. Instead of going back he leaves everyone there stranded. It's a real dick move. But he does end up coming back at the end to pick up the survivors. Like thanks I guess? (Lives, but a what cost honestly. Can you blame him though?) Russia- Is helping the killer/monster in some way. His betrayal is a big reveal at the end. It shows little flash backs showing him thwarting the heroes at every turn. He has a change of heart last second. (Gets killed by the killer close to the end after siding with the heroes.) China- He is pushed off a cliff by Russia (secretly) when they all split up to find help and everyone thinks he's dead but he comes back later limping out of the woods all cut up to rejoin with his friends after the killer is dead. Everyone who lived is really happy to see him. (Lives) Italy- Gets killed pretty brutally by the killer several years before the story stars. He was known to be someone that everyone generally liked. His gruesome death took their small town by storm. What's worse is his killer was never caught and remains at large getting away with it so it seems. The whole movie is centered around his friends getting together for an annual camping trip several years after his death. (Killed) Romano- Surprisingly, he survives! He is the one who is with the main girl the entire time. He probably get's hurt really bad at some point. Loses a finger, breaks his arm or leg, and or gets stabbed. You are lead to believe that he will die at one point and he confesses his feelings for the main girl. The main girl leaves him some place for awhile saying she will "go get help". She comes back with Japan. (Lives) ~Everyone else is down below~

Germany- The voice of reason. The one who ends up making a great sacrifice to take out the killer/ monster. Stand back to hold the door for everyone so they can run. It was his car Canada stole. He feels responsible for the group since it was his idea to go camping one more time in the first place. (Killed/sacrifices himself) Japan- Because he was driving in from out of state he was supposed to meet the group at the campsite. On his way he’s run off the road by the killer/monster. He never shows up and no one can get ahold of him (no cell service of course). We are lead to think he is dead him being the killers first victim but he’s found later knocked out in his car by the main girl. He’s hurt but only has a few cuts and bruises (lives) Prussia- At night he goes off by himself to wait for Japan's car to pull in to the camp site. So he could lead him to where they made camp. They are still hoping he'll show but he is instead found by the killer (Killed)

Austria- Thinks everyone is playing a joke on him. He does not think it's funny that everyone 'keeps disappearing' and thinks it's bad taste considering the reason they are all on this trip. Everyone begs him not to break off from the group but he goes off by himself anyway. (Killed) Spain- Is actually the killer hiding behind a charming personality & his devilishly good looks. Why was he so mad at his former friend group that he felt the need to pick them off one by one? Don't know never got that far tbh. Was going to work that out as I go. Probably a pretty shit reason though imo. Most likely jealousy over something.(Dies...OR DOES HE? Yeah he does.)

[vodika-vibes]

Could I please request a mystic same faces gods au with Echo, I feel like Echo would be the god of the people who are physically and mentally affected by war or something.

I also like that Rex could maybe be the god of survivors guilt a more last one standing type thing, the good and the bad, because I saw you were having trouble writing for him.

No hurry on this I know you have a shit ton of requests, so be sure to pace yourself and don't feel bad for taking time off for writing.

Accidents Happen

Summary: War has swept through your small village. The Imperial army has killed almost everyone. You’re one one a handful of people who managed to escape the slaughter. And now you have to bury your people.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1996

Prompt: Mystic AU - Same faced gods AU

Warnings: Reader survives two massacres

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So it took me a little bit to come up with an idea that I was happy with. And, while I'll never say migraines are good, taking two days off back-to-back seems to have helped me get my mojo back. Anyway, I hope this is close to what you wanted!

It’s hot.

So very hot.

You push a strand of sweaty hair out of your face and then kneel next to the small canoe that you’ve been repairing for the better part of the day. Confident that it’s as repaired as it needs to be, for what it’s going to be used for, you straighten and wave toward a man near the water.

He waves back and then says something to the teenager standing in front of him before he turns and jogs over to you. “This one all set?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s not perfect, but it’ll work.”

He kneels and checks on your work before he nods once. “You didn’t do half bad. Good enough for someone who has never done this before.”

You shrug, “Thanks, I guess.”

He shoots you a sympathetic look, and lightly touches your shoulder, “We’re almost done here.”

“And then what?”

He averts his gaze, “I don’t know, kiddo. I really don’t. But, we’ll make it through this.” He squeezes your shoulder, “Will you go and make sure that the bows are all in working order?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good lass,” He pauses, “We’re going to be okay. You’ll see.”

You’re not sure you believe him. You’re not sure you want to believe him, but you don’t have the energy to argue with him. So you just nod and turn to trudge towards the hunter’s hut.

Three days ago, you joined your uncle and cousin on a fishing trip upriver. It was supposed to be a fun day, you were going to teach your cousin how to repair fishing nets, and your uncle was going to teach him how to find the best places to lay nets, and throw out a line.

A sudden violent storm forced the three of you to take refuge in a cave miles from home. The storm raged for hours, and you were only able to return to the fishing village after your uncle determined that it was safe to get back on the water.

You returned to the aftermath of a massacre. 

Homes burned to the ground, market stalls shattered in pieces, and bodies strewn across the place.

There were no survivors.

But then, when the Empire decides that a place no longer deserves to exist, it’s quickly wiped off the map.

This brings it up to two massacres that you’ve survived since you were born. The first one happened when you were a child, your Uncle had always been a loud adversary against Palpatine and the Empire, and the Empire decided that his whole family needed to die for it.

That time you escaped with a missing arm and severe burns across the majority of your back. Though almost your entire family survived the massacre.

You suppose there was no way you were going to get that lucky twice.

Which brings you to now.

It’s not possible to bury the dead, the village is too close to the water, so the village practices water burials. When done right, they’re beautiful and tastefully done.

However, with only three people, and one of them under the age of 15, these funerals aren’t going to be beautiful or comforting. It’s just going to be another reminder of everything you’ve lost.

And you’ve lost everything.

You stand in front of the Hunters hut, your hands, both flesh and metal, are shaking, and all you want to do is close your eyes and pretend that the last week never happened, and you can open your eyes and your mom will be there again—

But that’s not possible anymore. 

Your mom is dead. Just like your dad. And your brothers.

And you come to the stark realization that you can’t do this.

You drop your hand to your side and then pull your hands to your chest. You can’t do this. You can’t be here. You can’t stay here.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

With that final thought, you turn on your heels and you run into the forest.

You’re vaguely aware of your uncle and your cousin calling your name, but you ignore them.

Maybe, if you run far enough fast enough, everything will stop hurting. 

You run until your lungs are burning and your legs are aching, and then you keep going. You run and run and run until the moon rises over the horizon and your legs collapse under you.

A roll of thunder jerks you from your spiraling thoughts. Slowly, you push yourself to your aching feet and look around the dark forest, looking for shelter. 

There.

Not far from where you finally collapsed is a massive tree. If nothing else, the branches will offer you some shelter from the weather. Though, as you approach the tree, you realize that there’s a hollow beneath the tree.

It’s risky. Very risky.

But a sharp crack of lightning loud enough to make you flinch encourages you to toss caution to the wind as you carefully lower yourself into the hollow.

The hollow is bigger than you expect.

The tunnel leads deeper and deeper beneath the tree until you trip over a tree root and fall into a room that can only be described as magic. If only because the moment you fall into the room, braziers light up with a warm flame.

Warm in the sense that the moment they light, the coldness that’s sunk into your very bones since the day you discovered the massacre lessens, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days.

You shift so that you’re sitting properly, and look around the room properly.

The walls seem to be made up of roots from the tree sitting over you, while the ground feels like it’s some kind of stone.

Most interesting is the bed nestled against the wall. The bed looks clean and the blankets look warm. And, even though the bed looks brand new, it doesn’t look like anyone has been down here aside from you in ages.

Thunder rumbles loudly above you and you nervously bite your lower lip, before slowly walking over and sitting on the bed. It’s softer than you expected, like something from another life, rather than a random bed found under a random tree miles from civilization, and you can’t help but run your hand across the soft, almost velvety, material of the blanket.

When was the last time you had the chance to enjoy something nice like this?

Years, probably.

Surely there’s no harm in sleeping here, just until the storm finishes. Just until you feel better. Until you feel like you can face your uncle without screaming at him for ruining your life.

You kick off your shoes and lay your head on the pillow, burying yourself in the soft blanket and the soft material, and drifting off into the best sleep you’ve had in years.

You wake the following morning feeling more rested than you’ve ever felt in your life.

There were no nightmares, no memories of burning skin or laughing monsters lurking in the shadows. You still feel like you’re in a dream, kind of.

You feel warm, floaty…and safe.

You can’t remember the last time you felt safe.

Slowly you sit up, though you really don’t want to, and you’re about to swing your legs off the bed when you notice the strange man sitting at a table that definitely wasn’t there the night before.

He graces you with a small smile, “Good morning,”

In your experience, a strange man in your sleeping quarters is not generally a good thing, but you aren’t afraid of him. Actually, you still feel very safe.

“...good morning.” You greet slowly.

His smile widens, and you can’t help but notice that he has a nice smile. “Did you sleep well?”

You consider him for a moment, “I did. Better than I have since I was an infant, probably.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He stands, and you note that he has a prosthetic arm, and both of his legs are prosthetics. “My name is Echo, this,” He gestures to the room with his prosthetic hand, “you can call it my temple.”

“Temple?” You ask as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You notice his gaze drop to your legs, specifically the burn scars on your left leg. Normally you’d toss the blanket over your leg, and make a smart comment about how staring is rude, but you have the feeling that he isn’t judging you.

“Temple.” Echo agrees. He crosses the room to you and kneels at your feet, it feels wrong, somehow, but you can’t quite put into words why it feels so wrong, “I am the Patron God of the innocents who have been irreversibly harmed by war.”

His flesh hand brushes against the scars on your leg, and for once, you don’t jerk your leg away.

“I don’t understand.”

His smile is sad, “You summoned me.”

“I didn’t.”

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, “Unlike my brothers, I can only be summoned under a very specific set of circumstances. Involving physical injury,” He lightly touches his prosthetic hand to yours, “and mental anguish.”

“That’s an awful way to have to be summoned.” You finally say.

He chuckles, “Well, because of the very specific requirements of my summoning, this is the first time I’ve been summoned.”

“I’m sorry, you must have been busy—”

“Not so busy that I couldn’t come when called,” There’s something strangely fond about the look on his face, and you can’t help but reach up and brush your fingers against the ports on the side of his head, “I also admit to being excited to finally having a priestess.”

That should make you nervous, right?

“But I didn’t summon you intentionally.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately,” Echo replies, amused.

“I don’t know anything about being a priestess.” You add with a small frown.

He lightly pulls you off the bed so that you’re sitting in his lap, and his forehead lightly presses against your own. “Close your eyes.” Immediately, and without really thinking about it, you do as he asks. “Good, very good. Do you feel it, cyare? There’s the beginning of a bond—”

He trails off as you find the thin thread connecting yourself to Echo. It’s thin and wispy, like a spider thread, though you have the feeling that it won’t break easily. 

You lightly touch the thread and feel a surge of affection from Echo, and you can’t help the small sigh that falls from your lips. “Is that…you?”

“It is.”

“It feels like it should be stronger,” You murmur.

“It will become stronger, once we solidify the bond.” Echo promises, “That will come naturally, we don’t have to rush.”

You hum softly, although—

“We don’t have to, but you want to,” You notice, as you focus on the bond for a moment. His, slightly flustered, embarrassment washes through you, and you open your eyes to peer at him.

He looks slightly sheepish, “I’d like to get to know you before I take you to bed. Doesn’t mean that I don’t want you, though.”

Slowly you nod your understanding, and then you close your eyes again. Echo makes you feel warm and safe, and you could drown yourself in him if he let you.

His fingers are warm against your jaw, “Can I kiss you, cyare?” Echo murmurs, “I think it’s a good first step.”

You nod once and tilt your head slightly. He leans in and brushes his lips against yours in an innocent kiss, and then he kisses you properly, his hand settling firmly on the back of your neck while his other arm wraps securely around your waist.

Echo breaks the kiss and releases a contented sigh, “I’m going to take care of you, cyare.” He murmurs against your lips, “Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”

And, for the first time since childhood, you believe it.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if some beautiful day post BD Belka lost her gift? Honestly I would love to know what would happen at any point of the story should she do, but I won't burden you with a mile-long answer, so just the most interesting to me. Feel free to drop some other ideas if you feel like it!

Depends how early on.

Very Early in Twilight? Edward eats her. He assumes her silent thoughts were a fluke/he must have missed it that few times and finds himself face to face with a girl he'd label as vapid and far too interested in Edward's appearance in the manner Jessica Stanley is. The mystery of Bella is lessened, he can't project what he wishes onto her, which leaves him with only one door.

Later? He finds himself unwilling to admit that he's frustrated and disenchanted with Bella's thoughts now that he can hear them. Edward hates this about himself, as Bella's perfectly fine, and he can tell himself everything he believes is true, it's just--God, sometimes she thinks such petty things, or it turns out when she's staring out at the room nothing interesting is going on in her head, and she like everyone else thinks mundane unordinary thoughts. Bella, for her own part, becomes hyperaware and terrified that Edward now hears her every thought (even in moments like sleep when she can't control it) and is desperately trying to hide what she's thinking even from herself (which backfires as it only makes Edward more aware how uncomfortable she is with this). They end up doubling down, though, both believing they can only find happiness in one another, and ignoring the red signs.

Post Breaking Dawn? There's some concern that Bella won't be able to shield them from the Volturi if that ever comes up again but Edward isn't worried because it was never about Bella anyway. (Jasper is terrified as is Alice, but they can't get through to Bella and Edward that this is bad and may be the Volturi taking action against them/preparing to kill them all by shutting off Bella's gift). Indeed, I imagine Bella with her gift shut off is uh killed by a hit squad with Demetri in the very near future. However, before that point, Bella and Edward slowly realize that Bella having her shield down all the time, permanently, is actually a problem and neither like it. Bella doesn't like Edward hearing what she thinks all the time and Edward's not liking Bella's mounting frustration or the various thougths he doesn't like from her.

I imagine they start arguing without admitting what the problem is (as it can't actually be that Edward just doesn't like what Bella's thinking/Bella doesn't want her husband in her head all the time) and the family watches with wide eyes as Bella and Edward completely implode. An intervention is held which does not go well.

[roosterr]

guardian angel ✹ ch 3

note: this chapter gave me so many problems :') i have a love hate relationship with it. but anyway i hope yall enjoy :D

pairing: nikolai x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k

your callsign is 'kilo 0-9', no use of y/n, no description of reader

summary: you're gone and the gang is scrambling to get you back. nikolai has someone to sink his teeth into, and he's prepared to get his hands dirty if it means getting you back

warnings: nik's pov, canon-typical violence, a bit of light torture, english speakers attempt at russian, nik being a bit of a dick

ao3

[two] || [four]

nikolai must be losing his mind.

"you lost the sergeant?"

he has to be, he refused to believe that you were actually gone. alex's words were still ringing in his ears, the stabbing pain in his heart when he heard through the radio fresh in his memory.

you promised you'd come back to him.

he curses – the higher powers, alex, even himself for letting this happen. he drags an incredibly stressed hand through his hair, thoughts running a mile a minute thinking about where you could be, what could be happening to you. it's been a long time, longer than he can remember, since he's had someone to care about; the two of you may not have known each other for that long, but being faced with the prospect of you not coming back, he feels a genuine twinge of fear in his chest.

"i tried to follow, but the gps signal went cold and i couldn't pick it back up," alex explains with his head in his hands from where he sits at the table. "i should've intervened, i should've done something."

"it's a little late for that, no?" nikolai seethes, shooting daggers into the back of alex's head from behind his sunglasses.

"i know," he's clearly wracked by the guilt, but nik can't find the means to care, the miserable tone of alex's voice only serving to aggravate him further, "i fucked up, i'm sorry."

nikolai tuts, stepping closer to where he sits. "why are you apologising to me? 0-9 is the one missing, not me." his voice drips with venom as he drops a hand onto alex's shoulder, roughly twisting him so they can glare at each other head on.

"enough!" farah’s voice breaks them apart, as she enters the room and comes to stand across the table from them, "arguing will not fix this. we don't have time to fight amongst ourselves." she fixes them both with a stony expression, but her uneasiness bleeds through the cracks.

"i'm sorry, farah." alex sighs, and despite not being able to see his face anymore, nik can tell he’s giving her a look comparable to a kicked puppy.

she shakes her head. "i had hoped 0-9 would have more sense than this," she says. her words ignite a new wave of red hot anger within nik, and he’s about to lay into her until she continues, "but that being said, i don't believe they would put themselves at risk like this for no reason."

nik pauses, his expression relaxing. "you think something else is going on?"

"i do." farah nods, crossing her arms over her chest with a serious look on her face.

"so, what's our move, commander?" alex stands up from his seat, making his way around the table to stand next to her.

"malika has the man you captured – the original buyer – in the interrogation room." she says, looking between the two of them, "we may be able to get something out of him."

"i can make him talk." nik growls, already stalking towards the door. as far as he's concerned, it's not a matter of if they can get him to talk, but when.

farah grabs his arm as he brushes past her, "nikolai–"

"i will not take no for an answer this time, commander." his had a dangerous tone, and his face a dark expression under his aviators when he looks at her.

he and the commander hold their stares for a tense moment, neither willing to back down. farah sighs, "...very well. but please, try not to kill him."

"of course." he replies, though it's not entirely true, he has no intention of killing him until he's sure they've gotten everything they can out of him.

"nikolai," farah holds him still as he moves to walk away, as if sensing unease. "we will find them." she tells him, a determined sound to her voice. nikolai huffs, a small lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

"i will not rest until we do."

✹✹✹

the heavy lock clicks as malika turns the key, pushing the door open and watching nik from the corner of her eye as he passes her. the room is bare apart from a table, covered by a cloth, and a single chair in the centre, where their prisoner sits with his hands and feet tied securely to the wooden frame. his head hangs, and nik can clearly see his body shaking with a pathetic kind of fear.

at the clunk of the door shutting and locking again, the prisoner raises his head, his expression hardening as he looks up at nikolai – an attempt to seem tougher than he is, which is, honestly, easier to read than a wide open book. for a moment or two, he simply leans back against the wall with his arms crossed, fixing the prisoner with a glare so cold it could freeze him.

"your name?" nik finally breaks the silence, causing the prisoner to startle with they way his voice cuts through the air. he flinches slightly and tries to disguise it by shifting in his seat, the wooden chair creaking under his weight.

"i– i'm not telling you anything." he stutters, the quake in his shoulders still very much apparent.

nik hums with a disarming thoughtfulness. he was scared, that much was obvious – no matter how desperately he tried to hide it – so perhaps it would be easier to break him than he'd thought.

"it's not you i'm interested in, you're simply collateral damage." he says, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to the chair. he leans back as nik approaches, as far as his restraints would allow.

the prisoner pauses to think, seemingly having some sort of internal battle before responding. "...sergei."

"sergei," nik gives him a smile that doesn't come close to meeting his eyes, "tell me about the man you were meeting with."

"you– you're going to kill me, right?" sergei looks up at him, his expression more apprehensive than before. nik still has the false, almost mocking, smile on his face as he stares back down at his prisoner.

"if you tell me what i want to know, i will reward you with letting you keep your life."

"...you'll just kill me anyway." sergei mutters, avoiding nik's intense gaze.

"die now, or die later." nik leans down, unfolding his arms and leaning one on the armrest of the chair, invading sergei's personal space to make him squirm. "your choice."

"e– even if you let me go, there's no way baranov will let me live after–" sergei freezes, clamping his jaw shut with a distressed look on his face, and nik smiles. though tempting, he resists the urge to laugh at the obvious panic emanating from him.

"ah, now we're getting somewhere, sergei." he says, leaning back again with an amused expression. "so tell me, this baranov, where would he be now?"

sergei sputters for a moment, "i'm not– i– i won't talk." he finally hisses, the mirth in his voice no match for the desperation in his eyes.

"дружище, you already have. you think this will help you? would your comrades protect you the same way?" nik leans in closer again, a sneer on his lips, "ребёнок, i apologise."

"…what?"

"i apologise," nik repeats, the faux sympathy absent from his voice and replaced by a seething venom. "i let you think you have a choice."

without warning, he pulls back his arm and delivers a fierce and satisfying slap to sergei's face. his head whips to the side, drawing a pained grunt from him as he reels from the blow.

"fu–uck you." he spits, rolling his neck grimacing at the feeling of blood falling down his face from the fresh cut on his cheek. "you'll never find them or your soldier."

"is that so?" nik scoffs, dry and clipped as his patience wears thin. he stands back up straight, looking down his nose at sergei with a disdainful glare. "then it's also true that your little friends will never find you – though i doubt they would even look."

"...fuck you."

"they allowed you to be captured so easily – it's like i said earlier, you are simply collateral damage."

"shut the hell up!" sergei yells, lurching forward in his restraints and baring his teeth, "your moron fucking foreigner is probably missing their head by now! i bet they died wondering why you didn't save them."

the mention of you has nik seeing red, his blood practically boiling under his skin as he watches sergei insult you. it was a rookie mistake to let him get under his skin like this, but he would be damned before he let someone disrespect your name – especially in front of him.

nik lifts his boot to sergei's chest, effectively shutting him up for the moment, and with all the anger building inside him he shoves his body backwards, toppling the chair over and sergei along with it. his head makes a sickening thud when he hits the stone floor, the choked whine that leaves his throat the only indicator that he was still conscious.

nikolai smiles again, a little more genuinely this time, and steps around to stand at his side. he crouches, watching the dazed look in sergei's eyes melt into fear, and plants his boot firmly on his sternum.

"i will give you one. last. chance." nik growls, leaning more and more pressure onto his chest with every word, "tell me where my sergeant is, or i will make you beg for death."

"g– go f–uck yourself…" sergei coughs out, pulling his lips into a faint, defiant smirk.

"then we'll do this the hard way." nik sneers.

he stands, making sure to put the most weight on the foot pinning sergei, and makes his way over to the table in the corner. lifting the cloth covering it, he glances at the various tools and weapons laying in front of him. he considers all the ways he could make his prisoner bleed, slowly claw the answers he needs out of him and make him pay for how he spoke about you.

after some deliberation, nik settles on a rusty pair of long-nose pliers, replacing the cloth over the table as he turns back around to where sergei still lays helpless on the floor.

a moment passes, serving to make him even more uneasy in the silence, before nik stalks back to the middle of the room. he leans over the chair, his furious gaze piercing through sergei, and pulls it up by the armrests.

sergei's head drops forward, and he lets out another pained groan, but nik ignores his discomfort and roughly yanks his head up with a hand on his jaw. he squeezes tightly, and as sergei opens his mouth to whine again, he clamps the pliers firmly around one of his teeth.

sergei's eyes fly open at the sensation, feebly trying to shake his head in nikolai's grip. "wai– no, no no– i'll talk, i'll talk!" he sputters around the pliers, struggling in his restraints as he attempts to lean away from nik.

"then speak." he gives the pliers a sharp tug, stopping sergei's writhing and drawing another pathetic whimper from him.

"the– the meeting– it was a setup," he begins. nik lets go of his tooth and moves his hand to his throat, pulling back slightly and gesturing for him to continue. "they screwed us over – a while ago, back in russia – so baranov set the meeting up as a trap…"

a cold sense of dread settles over nik; the same feeling that had pierced his heart when alex first broke the news of your disappearance. there had been a spark of hope when farah had allowed him to question sergei, but that had been quickly snuffed out by what he'd pried out of sergei.

the hand around his neck subconsciously tightens as he processes sergei's confession. not only had they known who you were from the very beginning, but the intel you'd gathered and going undercover to catch them out – it had all been a part of their plan.

sergei lets out a choked cough, "i– i just work for him– i was just following orders, i swear!" he gasps, desperately trying to draw in a breath through nikolai's iron grip.

with a sharp click of his tongue, he releases sergei's throat, wiping his bloody hand on his shirt and giving his head a shove for good measure as he turns away. sergei's pleas and begging are white noise to nik as he throws the pliers on the table and knocks on the door for malika to let him out.

he'd have time to take his anger out later; for now though, his focus is solely on finding you and, most importantly, bringing you safely home to him.

[shannendoherty-fans]

The Rolling Stone

AMERICAN IDOL

Nobody Could Break Shannen Doherty, and Everybody Tried

The Beverly Hills, 90210 star was America's favorite Nightmare Girl — hated, feared, idolized. She embraced it all with an ever-present, knowing smirk

BY ROB SHEFFIELD

JULY 14, 2024

MARIO CASILLI/"TV GUIDE"/© AARON SPELLING PRODUCTIONS/EVERETT COLLECTION Rest in peace, Shannen Doherty — the quintessential Hollywood bad girl of the Nineties, the Heather-est of the Heathers. Doherty made her legend on Beverly Hills, 90210, the best TV teen drama ever by a mile, playing teenage chaos agent and drama factory Brenda Walsh. The world is mourning the news of Doherty’s death, at only 53, after an agonizing, nine-year, public battle with cancer. Yet she faced her health struggles with the same fighting spirit she brought to everything she did. Doherty was always defiantly herself, America’s nightmare of a Difficult Girl, which made her the most vilified celebrity of her time. But she wore it proudly. “I have a rep,” she said in 2010. “Did I earn it? Yeah, I did.”

She always had that wonderfully cocky grin, from 90210 to her Let’s Be Clear podcast. It was that grin, more than anything, that made her controversial. It wasn’t her brief marriages or her “difficult” work rep or her tabloid feuds that made her Hollywood’s most hated woman — it was the smile, her cool self-satisfied look of knowing she was the shit. That’s what America could not forgive her for — she loved being Shannen Doherty and refused to apologize for it. Nothing she went through, even in her final years, could break that grin.

She blew up right before the Nineties explosion of feminist pop culture, as the Alanis/Fiona/Courtney/Missy/Liz/Left Eye revolution took off. She was the jagged little pill that America could not swallow, and it got her crucified in public. But it’s why so many of us idolized her.

In Heathers, Winona Ryder’s Veronica Sawyer asks, “Why do you have to be such a mega-bitch?” Doherty, as queen bee Heather Duke replies, “Because I can be.” Only Doherty could give that line such a stiletto twist.

I saw her last year making a rare public appearance at a Nineties pop-culture fan convention in Florida. She had the longest lines at her autograph booth — fans told me they’d camped out for hours before her sessions even started. Everybody knew she was battling cancer, so it was emotional to see the crowd erupt when she came out for a Charmed reunion panel, saying that she was “feeling great,” holding court with that same cocky smile. She also refused to take part in the Beverly Hills, 90210 reunion panel, featuring almost all her castmates, even though she was right there in the building — she scheduled an autograph session while it was happening. What a Brenda Walsh power move.

Even before 90210, Doherty was ferocious. She was just 17 when she became one of the all-time-great movie supervillains in Heathers, as the high-school mean girl Heather Duke. It was supposed to be a star vehicle for Winona and Christian Slater, but Shannen steals it, especially in the funeral scene. She’s dressed to kill, in black gloves and a royal-wedding hat. She kneels by the casket to pray over her dead friend’s body. “I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times,” she tells the Lord. “And I felt bad every time I did it, but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything. Praise Jesus! Hallelujah!” Her sadistic smirk is still shocking after all these years.

Doherty was a child actress, appearing in Little House on the Prairie when she was 11, alongside frontier patriarch Michael Landon. She credited him for inspiring her combative streak. “He told me, ‘Go with your instinct, and never let anybody walk over you, and always stick up for what you believe in,’” she once said. She stood out in the bizarrely underrated masterpiece Girls Just Want to Have Fun, one of the Eighties’ best teen movies, as Sarah Jessica Parker’s sassy little sister.

But she became a household name with Beverly Hills, 90210. “This receptionist told me, ‘What you have done for brunettes is amazing,’” Doherty told Rolling Stone in a 1992 cover story. “‘It’s always the blondes that get the guy, who have the wonderful life, who are perceived as the most beautiful one. And you have totally turned it around.” Brenda and her twin brother Brandon (Jason Priestley) had just moved to Beverly Hills from Minnesota. The Walshes were an innocent Midwest family dropped into the decadent SoCal fleshpots, where her mom fretted, “You didn’t wear this much makeup in Minnesota.”

The joke was that Shannen didn’t have a drop of Minnesota in her — her family was from Memphis, but she grew up in L.A., with showbiz written all over her face. “I dress more for my figure than Brenda does,” she said to Rolling Stone, explaining why she wore a bodysuit to the interview. “She’d probably put a dress over this bodysuit to hide herself. Brenda’s more apple pie, girl next door, America’s sweetheart.” That wasn’t Doherty’s style. Her glamour was more suited to the L.A. shoulder-pads era — she made a fantastic hair-metal muse in a video for the band Slaughter’s power ballad “Real Love.” Brenda was originally scripted as the nice, wholesome heroine, but Shannen turned it around with her sheer force of personality. Brenda had drama with practically everyone at West Beverly Hills High School, dating the bad boy Dylan. (Luke Perry tragically died of a stroke in 2019, only 52, a year younger than Doherty.) Jennie Garth played her best friend Kelly, yet they famously despised each other; one on-set brawl got so intense that Brian Austin Green had to break it up. (Green and Doherty had a laugh about this last year on her podcast.) The tension blew up with the Brenda/Dylan/Kelly love triangle. Dylan and Kelly try to keep it secret, until the legendary scene when Brenda catches them at a restaurant. Naturally she turns an awkward public encounter into World War 3, snarling, “Kelly, if you’re trying to lose your bimbo image, I honestly don’t think this will help.” If you doubt her greatness as an actor, watch her in this scene: She was a genius at hostile eye contact. Doherty made it a classic TV moment — even though Dylan really did belong with Kelly, sorry.

Brenda became the most hated character on TV. The zine Ben Is Dead did a spinoff called I Hate Brenda, with lines like “Shannen: The Other White Meat” and fantasies about Ted Nugent bow-hunting her. Plus a spinoff album full of bangers like “Brenda Can’t Dance To This” and the sensual slow jam “Horny Brenda.” It came with an “I Hate Brenda” T-shirt riddled with bloody bullet holes. When Doherty hosted Saturday Night Live in 1993, it became a horrifyingly misogynistic get-the-guest episode, sadly typical of that SNL era. In one sketch, Doherty was in the dock at the Salem Bitch Trials, with the whole cast chanting, “Burn the bitch!” (When Luke Perry hosted SNL, one of the first jokes in his monologue was “Be nice or I’ll get Shannen after you.”)

The tabloids were obsessed with her public fights, especially when she battled with Paris Hilton over Rick Salomon, Doherty’s ex from a quickie Vegas marriage. When her name came up on The Simple Life, Hilton just sniffed, “I hate that girl.”

Doherty was the bad conscience of Nineties girlhood, which was why America was so fascinated with the idea of hating her. Like Brenda, she was judged by ridiculously hypocritical double standards, sexualized and then demonized for it. She was about one-sixth as destructive as your average Hollywood male star of the time, yet she was the one constantly on trial for being everybody’s worst-case-scenario of a messy girl in public, prosecuted in her own real-life Salem Bitch Trials. Yet she refused to back down or play nice. This bitch would not burn.The 1992 ABC TV movie Obsessed is largely forgotten now — it’s total trash, but Doherty is brilliant in it. Her character spends the movie stalking her ex, who is (of all people) Seventies character actor William Devane, who was in McCabe & Mrs. Miller before she was born. (When this movie comes out, she’s 21, he’s 63 — exactly three times her age.) Naturally, the movie presents him as an innocent family man seduced and trapped by a stereotypical psycho sexpot, but Shannen’s feral intensity makes it very different — she’s in a totally different movie from anyone else onscreen. It’s full of normal people living their hypocritical lives, all agreeing that she’s the problem. But she doesn’t see it that way and won’t play that role. It’s the Alanis “I’m not quite as well and I thought you should know” brought to life.

Doherty moved on to Charmed, in a threesome of witch sisters with Alyssa Milano and Holly Marie Combs. After three seasons of conflict with Milano, Charmed finally killed off Doherty’s character and replaced her with Rose McGowan. Doherty reprised the role of Brenda in the terrible 2008 Beverly Hills, 90210 reboot, and again in the campy 2019 BH90210 miniseries. She also had a great 2006 reality show on the Oxygen network: Breaking Up With Shannen Doherty. Each week she met with people desperate to escape their dysfunctional relationships, so she stepped in and did the breaking up for them. A perfect use of her skill set: the emotional assassin.

At the Charmed reunion panel last year, she kept snuggling on the couch with fellow bad-girl lifer Rose McGowan, who said her biggest career regret was that she and Shannen didn’t overlap on the show, so they never got to be witch sisters. A fan asked if Rose, Shannen, and Holly-Marie Combs would say the Power of Three ritual together, since they never got the chance on the show. It was indescribably moving to see these three women — all outcasts in Hollywood, all women discarded and demonized in different ways, all counted out and written off — huddle together and chant, “The Power of Three will set us free!”

It was a moment that said so much about her power, and why she will be missed and remembered. But she always lived up to that answer she gave Winona in Heathers. Why did she have to be Shannen Doherty? Because she could be.

[ghostradiodylan]

I'm on a four hour car drive, singing at the top of my lungs (terribly, I'm so congested right now, not gonna stop me though lol), and having quarry brainrot. Who among the counselors do you think can sing well and who do you think can play an instrument?

I looove this question and I have to admit I haven’t thought about it that much so this is gonna be kind of off the cuff, instinctive stuff and I’m sure I’ll refine my opinions if others chime in (please!).

It’s kind of weird we never get any campfire singalong action in the game when there’s a guitar in Chris’s bedroom and he mentions Kumbaya, but maybe they’re tired of that from camp by the time the plot line picks up.

Miles obviously is a musician and Dylan’s the music guy so I’d imagine he’s musically inclined in some way. I’ve seen headcanons that he plays guitar and I could see that but I lean more toward thinking he would have taken piano lessons when he was younger and moved on to keyboard and adding on techie stuff like the Mellotron and Moog synth. I think he loves dials and buttons and weird sounds and he can sing but he’d rather fuck around in the noise. Any instrument he plays is gonna get a bit sad if he loses his hand but maybe he’d get more into sampling and remixing and looping computer generated beats as a result.

I think it would be funny if Jacob had a surprisingly angelic singing voice that was completely uncoached and no one ever expected out of him, sort of like Finn from Glee (RIP) but less auto-tuned. I think he’d be an acoustic guitar guy for sure just for the romance of it. Anyway, here’s “Wonderwall.”

Actual footage of Jacob serenading Emma, feat Abi.

Kaitlyn does not strike me as particularly musical though I headcanon that she and Jacob slay karaoke together. She just kind of shouts into the mic like a 90s riot grrl and sings Alanis or Joan Jett and kills.

Abi is so high school marching band nerd coded to me and I feel like she’s a total flute/piccolo girlie or else clarinet/oboe. Or maybe she plays violin in the school orchestra. Something sweet. She’s good but too nervous to perform or audition in front of people very much so it’s just a hobby she shares with people she trusts.

Emma I think would have a perfectly nice mid range singing voice that she’d wish was better. She probably started her influencer career recording Taylor Swift covers for YouTube but she’s a much better actress and dancer than she is a singer. Not quite triple threat material but she believes in herself so she’s trying.

Ryan has such a unique voice that I can’t decide if he definitely can sing or if he’s practically tone deaf. I kind of lean toward the latter. I imagine he hates his singing voice and rarely sings even for fun but if Dylan catches him singing or humming he’s like smitten times one million about it. I could see Ryan playing drums though, I’d imagine he has a good sense of rhythm.

Max, on the other hand, cannot carry a tune but sings ALL THE TIME anyway. And Laura cringes but finds it endearing all the same. He probably plays the ukulele. He just seems like the type.

Laura was a choir kid for sure and probably got solos in school plays and Max was accompanying her on ukulele and playing unnamed roles or else he was painting backdrops or something. We know Siobahn can sing and I feel like that would carry through with Laura for sure. I imagine them doing elaborate musical routines together on car rides even with their vastly different musical abilities.

Nick reminds me of a bassist I know who is maybe the weirdest human being alive. So that’s where I see him. He can sing a little but it’s definitely a backing vocals voice. I feel like he’d be in a stoner jam band just fucking around, playing the same song for an hour while both the band and audience are too high to know the difference.

Chris Hackett obviously plays guitar and Travis accompanies him on harmonica. Bobby plays blowing air over the lip of a jug and also cowbell.

I LOVE THIS ASK EVERYONE TELL ME THOUGHTS!

[loganwalkerz]

Ajax x Rorke again,

I'm actually semi proud of this one and maybe will write a part 2? Depends on what everyone's thinkin

Tws: kidnapping, mentions of torture but none, mentions of blood.

Not fully proof read+I'm dyslexic so <3

Also, requests are open if anybody is interested. My inbox should be open, I haven't written smut before, but I can sure try lmao <3

Fic starts now:

Rorke, who doesn't kill Ajax but instead keeps him "safe," locked away from everybody, including the fellow federation who believe Ajax was disposed of.

Rorke has a secret cottage that's hidden from civilians and military because he kinda already planned to take Ajax away from the very first time he laid eyes on the smaller male.

He kept his intentions a secret, though, and just worked his way slowly into Ajax life day by day, making sure Ajax's tasks constantly surrounded the commander and no one else

It was clear ever since they started dating, Rorke became more and more obsessed with the sergeant. Keeping him on a short leash, literally whenever somebody asked about Ajax, it was common for Rorke to respond with "My Ajax is busy," like the man was some sort of possession.

So when it was spread that Rorke apparently shot him, no one thought otherwise. Maybe Rorke got bored of his toy? Maybe Rorke truly went insane and got blood thirsty?

But poor ol Ajax was stuck inside the cottage, one that would've looked like a fairytale if there wasn't for the large chains on the door that prevented Ajaxs escape. The freshlh planted and grown flowers around the front of the cottage, the newly painted white fence that was placed around the cottage. The interior decorations were something out of a dream. It was warm and cosy, just like a home should be, right? The tinted windows and the stained glass that glew as the sun hits it, creating colours on the wooden floor.

Ajax could break a window and run, but in reality, he knew there would be nowhere to go for miles. And he has a sneaking suspicion that anybody nearby probably was on Rorkes side anyway. They'd call Gabriel and give him Ajax location and he'd probably get there before Ajax escaped.

Even before he'd find people, Ajax would probably get lost in the woods that Rorke knew like the back of his hand.

He was just stuck alone until Rorke would come back and tell him all about the missions and how he's still hunting the Ghosts, how he's so close to being successful now that Elias is out of the picture. It almost makes Ajax wonder if Rorke was ever the person he fell in love with in the first place. But who knows? Maybe deep down, Gabriel Rorke was still that stern yet caring commander Ajax remembers all those years ago. Maybe it's all a plot for Rorke to take down the federation? Or maybe Ajax was just hoping for the best as perusal.

The next time Rorke came home, he had been gone for a good few weeks, and Ajax had been bored out of his mind. When Rorke comes in with blood, Ajax assumes he got hurt during a mission, or he somehow got punished by the Federation for screwing something up.

But what he didn't expect was for Rorke to reveal the most dreaded news Ajax could think of.

Rorke had been successful in capturing Logan. The blood didn't belong to Rorke, but the teammate Ajax used to care for like a little brother.

It made Ajax blood boil and feeling like he could vomit knowing exactly what was probably happening to the poor boy. He's read the files about what the federation done to Rorke. He had been there to comfort Elias throughout all the guilt and pain of the past. It was the same files Ajax had read every night crying, wondering if his boyfriend would ever come out alive.

And by the looks of it, Rorke didn't. At least not the Rorke that Ajax remembers, Ajax knows that man died inside that pit. The very same pit Logan was now stuck inside

But there was nothing Ajax could do or say that would change Rorkes mind. Especially not with how possessed Rorke is, like a different man wearing the skin of the commander. This new man was insane and crazy. He knew Rorke had eyes on him at all times. From security cameras placed outside the home in every direction to Cameras disguised as teddy's or other items around the inside of the cottage in every room.

But Ajax did have one idea, one that could possibly save Logan's life. It was a stupid foolish one that probably would end with hell rising and the end times staring, but Ajax didn't care. He was desperate for Logan's safety and return to his brother.

"Let the kid go, and I'll marry you, I know that's what you've been wanting. I've seen you looking at rings online. I've seen your diary and wedding planner, i know what you want." Ajax announced one day during dinner.

The two sat on opposite sides of the table, and a staring contest began as Ajax poked at the food. He's still nervous about eating in case Rorke laced the delicious smelling dinner with something

"Logan goes free, and you get me fully. We can have a big or quiet wedding. We can invite whoever you want and it can be wherever you want. But you gotta let that kid go"

Ajax says with a firm voice, the firmest he's sounded since he originally was trapped inside the cottage and was constantly fighting against Rorke.

And Ajax doesn't miss the way Rorke's eyes lit up as Ajax offers this new deal, cutting into the finely cooked steak with almost a smirk crawling upon the usually blank cold face.

"...I'll think about it,"

Rorke replied smoothly, acting like he wasn't bothered by the offer, like he didn't feel his heart pick up in beats or the weird giddy feeling in his stomach like a high school boy who just had his first kiss.

But Ajax knows Rorke's already made up his mind. He's just playing hard to get like always. Just like when they were younger. He knows Rorke is going to say yes. He also knows Rorke will need to plan this properly so the federation keeps off Rorkes back and clueless about the cottage and Ajax presence

"Well..don't keep me waiting"

Was all Ajax said as he pushed his plate away and simply walked to the bedroom, leaving the grinning commander behind

[pxnsneverland]

Beauty and The Boss | austin!elvis x oc (part 12) {THE END}

plot summary: Laura Jean Walker is the daughter to Louisiana’s most powerful mafia boss, but to her, he’s just her jail warden. When she sneaks out to the Louisiana Hayride with her friend she sees Elvis Presley perform and instantly knows something is special about this boy. Especially when he saves her from being assaulted by a townie. She thinks she’s on cloud 9 until she gets kidnapped in the middle of the night by the Memphis Mafia led by Elvis himself. Will Laura Jean try to free herself or will something hold her back from finding her way home?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 1257

warnings/notes: Gun Violence

Chapter 12

Everyone became quiet after the gunshot. No one moved as though their feet were firmly planted on the ground. I looked into my father's lifeless eyes. They were as vacant as they had been when he had been alive. I was expecting to feel some shame or guilt. I felt nothing but relief because I was no longer bothered by an issue. My gaze slowly lifted to my father's guys, who were still stunned. Most of them had known me since I was a child, and I knew none of them could have predicted the conclusion of this visit. Even I couldn't have imagined it, but I'd done it, and there was no turning back now.

“If any of you boys have an issue with this turn of events, I’ve got plenty more bullets in this gun.” My voice never wavered, and I was shocked by my newfound assurance.

Nobody argued. Instead, they knelt before me, one by one, like a freshly crowned queen. And I guess that's what I was now, since the line of succession went with the most powerful and vicious. Who wouldn't think that someone who had murdered a previous boss and father wasn't the strongest? I lowered the gun with a sneer on my face. “Good.”

That's when Elvis rediscovered his voice. “You alright, darlin’?”

I returned his stare, which was filled with worry. I smiled at him, soothing him. “I’m fine. Somehow…it was always goin’ to end this way. If he had killed you, I would have eventually killed him anyway.” I believe I was fortunate in that I was faster with my draw. Because if he had shot Elvis, a part of me would have given him a lot slower death than a gunshot through the skull.

Elvis approached me and drew me into his arms. I hid my face in his shoulder, taking a deep breath and sobbing. My adrenaline was wearing off, and I felt like I had ran 10 miles. Elvis massaged my back and kissed the top of my head softly. He spoke quickly in my ear words of comfort and encouragement till I was able to stand on less unsteady legs. Even when I confronted my new mafia lackeys, he maintained his arm around me.

“Take Daddy’s body and bury it somewhere no one will ever find it. Not even me,” I ordered, “He doesn’t deserve to be buried on his land with Mama.” They moved fast, four of them effortlessly pulling Daddy off the floor. “Oh, and before you go do that…know this. The rivalry between the Presleys and the Walkers is over. We are one mafia family now and we work together.”

“And any of you who don’t like it can join Walker in his new unmarked grave,” he said. He returned his gaze to his subordinates. “That goes for y’all as well.”

Everyone agreed with a nod of their heads.

***

The next months were a flurry of joy. Elvis and I had a magnificent wedding on the grounds of Graceland, recognizing that having it at home was more meaningful than having it in Hollywood. Anne became my maid of honor after I persuaded her that Elvis wasn't the rotten offspring of Satan she imagined. Jerry was Elvis' best man, and Elvis insisted on having the Colonel escort me down the aisle. I was on the verge of tripping the old snowman with each stride, but I held my cool for Elvis. I knew he'd realize who the Colonel truly was one day, even if it wasn't today. It was a day filled with smiles, giggles, kisses, and photos that were plastered on every magazine cover the next day. I swear I could hear Elvis's fans all sobbing together the moment he said "I do."

Colonel maintained his word and landed Elvis an acting contract in Hollywood after the honeymoon in Hawaii. The Colonel practically urged Elvis to leave me at Graceland, claiming that the movie star life was too hazardous for me. Colonel caved when Elvis stayed firm and threatened to ruin his Hollywood career if I wasn't allowed to go. It was difficult to leave Graceland since it had become my home, but Elvis was my heart, and I would follow that wherever.

We'd been in Hollywood for about a month, staying in a home paid for by the studio. Elvis returned home late from filming most evenings. In the beginning, I would be with him in the studio during the day and at night. But I had a cold from being outdoors the first week, and Elvis required I go home around sunset if he was still shooting. I was almost happy at his demand for the sickness still hadn’t disappeared after a few weeks. Most days, I got a headache and felt sick. I had gone to the doctor that morning, and now I was looking in the bathroom mirror, wondering how I hadn't seen it sooner. I couldn't decide whether I should be delighted or afraid, and what would Elvis think? His film career had just begun; he didn't need this further burden, did he? He was already exhausted.

I was still lost in contemplation when I heard the bedroom door open. Elvis stepped in with his hair unkempt, his shirt undone, and traces of performance makeup on his face. “Laura Jean?”

“I’m here,” I said from the restroom. I took a big breath and tried to relax. I needed to tell him, and I needed to tell him immediately. I stepped inside the bedroom.

Elvis grinned the moment he spotted me. He approached me, placed his arms around my waist, and pressed me against his body. “How’s my mafia queen doin’?”

I chuckled lightly. “Making sure all the business Daddy had been neglecting because of his vendetta against you is settled. Seems he forgot about everything else when you bested him.”

“A mafia boss with a one track mind ain’t never gonna succeed in his game. It was only a matter of time before someone dethroned him.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “So, I went to the doctor today…”

Elvis' brow wrinkled, and the playful expression on his face faded. “What’s wrong? Is this about your stomach bein’ upset all the time?”

“A-A little…they figured out why.”

Elvis pressed his palms on my cheeks, compelling me to face him in the eyes. “Laura Jean…darlin’ tell me what’s wrong.”

Looking him in the eyes shattered me, and the tears I'd been holding back flowed down my cheeks. “I’m pregnant, Elvis.”

As Elvis maintained eye contact with me, I could see gears working in his mind. Waiting for his reply was like treading on pins for me. He brushed my tears away with his thumb before bending down and kissing me tenderly. He lingered for a few minutes on my lips before drawing back. When he did, I saw his eyes were glossy from the unshed tears. “I ain’t never thought I could be more happy than I already was. I was sure I didn’t deserve anymore happiness after all that had been given to me. Now, I feel like I’m gonna burst into sunshine or somethin’. I love you so much.” He put his palm on my stomach, which had not yet started to reveal what was going on inside of me. “Both of you.” 

Wrapping my arms around Elvis' neck, I finally allowed myself to feel thrilled about my pregnancy. “We love you too.” He clutched me hard, his face buried in my hair.

THE END

[brilliant-red-eternity]

Do you believe im Ko-Chan und Akane-Chan supremacy?

I’m sorry for the late reply. I’ve been up to my ears in work lately and I needed some time as English is not my mother tongue. I hope I understood your question correctly. If by "supremacy" you mean do I believe in Shinkane then my answer is yes, of course. I guess my blog betrays my true feelings for this ship ;)

I’m very excited about Providence and would like to use this opportunity to express my thoughts and expectations. I must admit that I’m out of practice when it comes to writing, but this is my first Ask and I want to make an effort. I really enjoyed writing about this ship in the past and I’m still in love with their dynamics. Hopefully the muse hasn’t left me yet.

From what I saw in the trailer, it looks as if Akane and Kogami will once again work together as a team and solve a case that will bring to light another mystery of the Sibyl System. We’ve been waiting quite a long time for this to happen, but it remains to be seen whether their relationship will also develop in a romantic way. I really hope so, even though Shiotani keeps emphazising that PP is not a Shoujo anime. The authors will probably just drop a few breadcrumbs here and there and we’ll have to read between the lines to understand the personal motivations and relationships of our characters – but who knows?

I think Akane and Kogami’s relationship is very complex and it's always fun to watch them work together and mature. Despite their different opinions and occasional disputes, their actions were always proof of how deeply these two care for each other. Not only have they always tried to protect the other from physical harm/death but also they have always supported each other mentally in times of doubt. There’s mutual trust and respect. And there’s this insanely powerful connection between them, this spark they can ignite in each other, even if they're miles apart. Kogami was subject to Akane’s influence while he was living abroad in war zones. His firm belief in her righteousness and the fact that his revenge led him into exile made him reflect more closely on moral duties. On the other hand, Akane developed this peculiar habit of lighting Spinels that helped her solve cases in Tokyo. There’s also this bittersweet scene in the PP movie where Akane finds a paperback of Proust: she immediately associates it with Kogami, takes it home and therefore withholds evidence. The authors have taken great pains to avoid the stereotypical portrayal of romance but the message gets across anyway if you pay attention.

Providence will very likely focus on their professional teamwork. Still, it will be exciting to see how they approach each other after all this time – and not just because of their mutual attraction that seems to become clearer with each new story. They both have matured on their individual journey, and they both have changed. Akane has gotten quite tough and she is more committed than ever to changing the Sibyl System and society for the better. She still rejects violence and strictly adheres to the law. While Kogami admires her for it, these are qualities which he himself does not possess. After he killed Makishima, Kogami had to survive for a long time in a lawless world and he wandered around there without any real goals. I had the impression that he hated his new life and eventually got weary. Akane's sense of justice has always been the magnetic north of his compass, so if there was someone who could provide him with a sense of purpose again it would be her – or some task associated with her. I really hope that he’s willing to get his life back on track this time.

(-Did you come back to fight violence with violence?

- I’m just doing what needs to be done. I don’t have any regrets.)

The phone call probably occurs at the beginning of the movie and I bet you that it was Kogami trying to get in touch with Akane for the first time. The atmosphere is tense and it provides a good starting point for the hero’s journey. One of the basic dramaturgical recipes in PP has always been Akane and Kogami pursuing the same goal while favouring different approaches. Personally, I think this is due to the different realities of their lives and individual experiences. As an enforcer and mercenary, Kogami was always in a position of powerlessness and only violence could help him change a situation. Akane, on the other hand, was able to seek peaceful solutions because of her relationship with the system by either slapping Sibyl’s wrist or negotiating deals. Moreover, it seems as if Akane has worked her way up on the job ladder since she is now shown as a supervising inspector. Kogami is still in the dark about Sibyl’s true nature or Akane’s dangerous ties to the system, so I think we’re looking forward to some kind of collision here.

Kogami seems a bit depressed during the conversation and the falling rain enhances the impression. It’s unrealistic to expect that he could immediately reconnect with his friends after all this time but man, does he have to be so bad at making conversation or saying sorry? He’s lying through his teeth when he says that he doesn’t regret anything. He’s full of regrets but as always his pride prevents him from being honest. I have long suspected that PP actually stands for "pride and prejudice" as Kogami seems to have no idea how to handle his own wants and needs or Akane’s newly acquired toughness. But you don’t have to be a profiler to know the reason why Akane acts so business-like and tough: she seems to protect herself emotionally because she didn’t do so in the past and therefore got her heart broken.

Kogami should have known that Akane won’t be thrilled to bits. She probably worries whether or not Kogami was only allowed to return to Japan to do the "dirty work" for Sibyl. We know from SS that Akane doesn’t trust Frederika or Foreign Affairs. There’s a lot of competition between their ministries and the SAD is a brand new unit whose mission is still unclear. You can’t blame Akane for being suspicious and wondering what to make of this. However, given the development of his character, I think Kogami won’t let himself be used for fights he doesn't believe in ever again. But I'm not so naive as to think that he suddenly stops doing what he always does (fighting fire with fire or whatever the fate of Kei’s brother may be) and be good, especially when he comes under emotional pressure or has to defend his idealism. Akane knows that he can’t help it. Of course she knows.

 (-The next time you violate the law, I will stop you no matter what.

-Even so, I’ll believe in you who strives for righteousness.)

I think Akane says that more to herself. She must have realized that his return has the potential to become a great burden for her. She has a soft spot for Kogami and she knows it. She has proven more than once that she is willing to put herself in jeopardy for him and as much as she despises his illegal actions, she has never held him accountable. At the present time, she would have to use a dominator or arrest him. Both options would put Kogami at the mercy of the Sibyl System and that’s exactly what she has always wanted to avoid. Now that he’s back, she must be afraid that Sibyl may only spare his life as long as he complies and makes himself useful. Kogami created chaos in everything he did and the system is notoriously unforgiving. But not Akane. She has always tried to protect Kogami either by letting him go or by warding off an overly harsh judgement. Considering that, it’s kind of crazy that he of all people always emphasizes Akane’s sense of justice. Objectively speaking, she let a murderer go because she has feelings for him and knew that Sibyl would execute him. That’s why Kogami looks so pathetic every time he begs for condemnation. He must know that he’ll never get it from her.

Anyway, a collaboration between the PSB and SAD seems to be under way and they will probably meet regularly in the future. Keeping Sibyl in check and ensuring justice is Akane’s second full-time job. She has enough on her plate already and she certainly doesn’t want to babysit Kogami, who she knows will neglect his duties whenever he feels like it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get to see Kogami disobeying Frederika’s orders in Providence just so he can support Akane and follow the path of her "righteousness". As always, he’ll wreak havoc on the mission and his life will probably hang by a thread again causing a distraction for Akane who will then be compelled to save him from one of Sibyl’s crazy minions. She’ll go to jail for this, but we all know she will forgive him in the end. I can’t wait to see something like that in Providence. These two are practically made for each other. Try and convince me otherwise!

(-Will you come with me?

-Even if you told me not to, I will follow you.)

Be still my beating heart. I’ve always believed that Akane and Kogami are more than just colleagues. The romantic subplot has always been there given that Japanese culture is based on subtlety. Japanese people love to beat around the bush. Admittedly, Akane’s girlish demeanour in PP1 gave the impression that it might only be a one-sided and immature crush, but once Akane began to mature as a result of the Makishima case, their romance gained momentum. I’m glad she never broke the habit of looking at Kogami with dreamy wide eyes. It’s quite adorable and reminiscent of their early days as inspector and subordinate.

Some people think that Kogami only recognizes his younger self in Akane and that for him their relationship is merely platonic. His idealization of Akane raises questions, though. It’s clear that he has irrevocably changed and will never go back to his old self. I don’t even think he wants to. He respects Akane as his equal but considers her sense of justice superior to his or anyone else’s. In the PP movie, we witnessed how carefully he weighted every word she said when they talked on the balcony at night. He shielded her from the explosion without a second thought and the first thing he did when the camp was under attack was to help her escape. He always treats Akane with extreme care and priority. And if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know, bear in mind that Kogami refers to Akane as her in the novel – as if he were sanctifying her. His character is not easily understood but I think it’s obvious that he has feelings for Akane. And from what I saw in FI and the new trailer, it seems that he no longer wants to hide them.

"Even if you told me not to, I will follow you". Kogami can be absolutely stubborn and persistent. He has already proven that in PP1 when he was chasing after Makishima. He was far too busy and selfish to be considerate of other people’s feelings back then and he didn’t let Akane’s warning get through to him. He had to learn the hard way. There’s something about this snipped that reminds me of Natsume Soseki’s "The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?" to which the answer is: "I can die happy." Both are confessions of love. By saying that he would follow Akane unconditionally, Kogami reveals his real motives for the first time. And no, I don’t think he’s doing that as atonement for his crimes. He has undergone a transformation in SS which allows him to stop running away and "take responsibility". He had strayed far from the straight and narrow and it added to his loneliness and made him unhappy. Frederika recognized that. She must also have recognized that Kogami feels drawn to Akane and that he has found hope through his encounter with Tenzing. So, wherever their path may lead, I think he’s willing to die for Akane and become a happy man.

And as far as Akane is concerned: Kogami has always been the person she trusted the most and I really hope he becomes Akane’s ally. I’d love to see her laugh and find some happiness in this crazy world. She has secluded herself from friends and family over the course of the series and she absolutely needs someone to open up to plus a shoulder to lean on. She should no longer be a lonesome queen. Providence could be a first step in that direction and whatever happens between them as colleagues, friends or lovers, I expect it to be very important for their character arc. Kogami will probably learn to hold back and try to see the world through Akane’s eyes. And since we already know that Akane will end up in jail, it would be interesting to see if her policy might change in the future. Will she lose her influence over Sibyl? Will she be able to hold on to her non-violent way of life if it means she can no longer ensure justice and create change in the system? A system that won’t stop its Machiavellian practices and has begun to spread its tentacles all over the world? In PP3 Akane says something akin to "justice must be enforced, even if it disrupts a peaceful society." It doesn't sound vindictive or bitter, just reasonable.

The system despises both Akane and Kogami. They have demonstrated time and again that they would rather act according to their own principles than blindly follow orders. This is not in the interest of an authoritarian system. We learned in SS that Akane is being observed by the higher-ups since SEAUn. My gut feeling is that we should probably not trust Atsushi Shindou who has been portrayed as a Sibyl enthusiast in PP3 and who seems to have practiced strange mind manipulation techniques as an inspector. But what do I know? However, I’m pretty sure that the authors won’t be able to avoid showing the romantic side of their relationship in PP4. After the ending of FI it would come across as very artificial and forced.

Gosh, this answer has developed into a novel! I don’t know if you enjoyed my rambling analysis but I’ve always loved this little fandom and it feels good to be back! I want to thank steoh @mochidoodle for the translation of the trailer which I have quoted above in brackets.

[weministertomonsters]

Gone Rogue - 2

The Isharin was right. The heat is going to kill you. You fled from the ruins of your home with nothing but the clothes on your backs. There was nothing to take anyway.

You have walked only a few miles, but the sun is baking your back and the air seems to be dancing. You understand why you must put some distance between you and the Isharin, and you wish to the gods that the sun will go down quickly. You never cared much for the gods of either of your parents, but you pray to both of them now, Minrūn for protection and Vorqa for endurance.

If you're up there, help us.

Kalen is a few strides ahead of you, looking out for danger. The rocky walls seem to draw closer and closer, and your eyebrows furrow. This is why the passage to the desert is called the Canyon of Pain, you realize as you slip on the loose stones.

Travelers have to pass through the canyon to reach the deserts and vice versa, and your parents capitalized on that and built their home near the mouth of the canyon. They became very wealthy from trading with the Tariq, the clan that lives in the desert beyond.

"Kalen," you gasp, leaning back against the crumbling rock. "Can we stop for a rest?"

He doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either. As you sink into a puddle on the floor he paces like a caged lion, craning his head up to look at the rocky overhang. Besides being a natural death trap, the Cayon of Pain gives bandits a way to ambush travelers from above.

"I'm sorry," you say, gulping down a sip of precious water from the waterskin and wiping the sweat from your upper lip. "I'm slowing you down."

"My Lady, I'm here to protect you. I am not running to save my own head."

"But you could. You still can," you protest. "You know I won't stop you."

Kalen crouches down in front of you and the seriousness on his face is almost scary.

"You forget the oath I took," he says. "I consumed your blood and I am bound to you, as you are bound to me. If we die, we will go together."

You scrunch up your nose to try and hide the fact that tears just rushed into your eyes. For a person to give their life up is no small matter, and you feel like you certainly aren't worthy of that.

"Um," you say, standing up quickly. "We should continue."

"Do you want me to carry you?" Kalen asks, and that makes you laugh.

"You're underestimating me, Kalen Talath."

"Very well," he replies, and the journey continues.

You're determined to push until you get out of this damned canyon, so even when your legs beg for rest and your feet prickle with pain, you forge on. Thank the gods your nails are clipped short, otherwise they'd be broken and chipped with the way you have to keep reaching to the rocky walls to catch yourself.

Kalen isn't struggling at all, you think as you glance at him through the corner of your eye.

His back is straight and his eyes alert, sharpening at even the slightest movement of a dry tumbleweed. If he is weary, it doesn't show. Then again, he is from the Tariq clan. The desert is like a home to his people and he is used to physical toil due to being a bodyguard. He took his job seriously even though there were little to no threats to your safety. There were many nights that you stayed up to secretly watch him practice his swordsmanship.

"This canyon," you ask to fill the silence, "was it always like this?"

"If we are to believe the legends, then we are walking on the bottom of the biggest river that ever was," Kalen replies. "When gods still roamed the earth, one of them grew so thirsty that he leaned down to have a drink and emptied the river. A goddess passing through many moons later languished of thirst and found the river was drained. In spite, she cursed the land with an everlasting drought and it has been so since."

"That came straight from Bella san Adenai. One of my history books," you laugh. "I have it memorized."

"So do I, at this point," Kalen says, and you pause and turn to look at him.

"How? If you don't mind me asking," you add hastily.

"I am present in the room with you in your studies, am I not?" He replies. "I listen."

"You really are something," you say. "I have known noblemen less driven to gaining knowledge than you."

"I have nothing better to do with my life, My Lady." Kalen laughs.

"Are you never getting married, then?" You ask cautiously.

"No." His answer is so short that you bite your lip and drop it.

Don't start now, you warn yourself.

It's none of your business, even though you want it to be. The silence is a little awkward after that. It feels like your prayers have been answered when the Canyon of Pain ends as abruptly as it began, spitting you out into an ocean of dunes that stretch as far as the eye can see. It's so open and empty, not a tree in sight. There are a few rocky outcrops that provide shade, but even the closest of them is still far away. The wind hisses around your ankles and the air shimmers.

"Wow," you murmur.

"We'll wait here until the sun goes down," Kalen says. "At least we have the shade of the rock walls. And then we walk by night and until take shelter so that we can weather the worst of the day."

"Very well." You sit down- on the ground since there is no other option- and pull off your shoes.

"My Lady!" Kalen says in that gruff tone that indicates displeasure.

"It just looks bad," you say sheepishly, studying your feet.

"You are not used to walking such long distances on rough terrain. I should have given you rest," he sighs.

"I'm fine! Really, I don't even feel the pain."

Kalen crouches and takes your foot by the ankle propping it up on his knee, examining it. He frowns.

"You will soon. You should listen to your body, My Lady."

Despite the heat, your cheeks warm.

"I-I think I am?" You stammer. "Listening, that is. Um."

He ignores your fumbling and reaches into one of his pockets and brings out a small jar. It is filled with a light green paste.

"What is that?" You ask.

"A soothing balm," he says, scooping some out and gently applying it to the soles of your feet and your ankles.

"You will rest until we have to walk again," he says. "Perhaps I will carry you."

You don't protest this time, because while his touch is gentle, it wakes up your nerves, so you're feeling the pain now, just like he predicted.

You lean back against the rocky wall and sigh. You'd be anything for a bath, but you're not even going to entertain the thought. You'd be lucky just to find enough water for drinking. You hold out the waterskin to Kalen and when he refuses you scowl and say,

"You need to drink. I don't want you fainting of thirst."

His lips twitch, but he takes it and drinks a little. Then he too sits down, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He doesn't seem to get tired of holding his back so straight. You fidget, then take your hair down and braid it up again so the loose strands don't tickle the nape of your neck.

The dots of paint on your fingers are beginning to flake and with a start, you remember you were going to be attending the Nin festival in Denara with your parents. You had been so excited as you went to buy the paint to prepare yourself for the festival, only to return and find black smoke billowing from the pile of rubble your house used to be.

"Kalen?" You whisper, but he doesn't respond.

He's probably meditating. You use the collar of your dress to awkwardly wipe at the stray tears on your face and try to close your eyes and rest as well. You trust Kalen to keep you safe.

What feels like hours later, you wake up to a sudden noise. The sky is orange, growing darker as the sun falls below the horizon. You've been sleeping with Kalen's coat bundled under your head as a makeshift pillow. And as you prop yourself up on your elbows, you see the entrance to the Canyon of Pain in the distance.

He must have carried you here, to the shade of one of the rocky outcrops. You hadn't woken up when he carried you and you're rather ashamed about that. Only a few hours of journey is enough to do you in like that.

Then you remember that something woke you. You turn your head, expecting to see Kalen, but instead you're staring at the bony knees of a shriveled old man. He's crouched beside you and has his head tipped back, guzzling down the last of your precious water.

You let out a startled shriek and grab the waterskin from him, which knocks him off balance. He makes pitiful sounds and throws an arm up, clearly expecting you to hit him. You were considering it, but now you lower the waterskin and stare warily at him. Maybe it's just age, but he's rather funny-looking. He has no hair on his head but sports a full, bristly white mustache that pokes over his wet pink lips.

His skin is the color of cocoa, so wrinkled that it resembles dried fruit. He's also very short, coming no higher than your hip, wearing a loincloth and nothing more, which makes you wonder how he's surviving the heat. Maybe that's why his skin looks the way it does.

Once it's obvious you're not going to hurt him he smiles at you with the few teeth he has left and turns to a dusty pack lying on the sand and digs into it. He brings what looks like a piece of cactus out. The spikes have been cleaned off and the part where he snapped it off from a larger piece of cactus is leaking clear water-like liquid.

He wants you to take it. You hesitate, clutching the waterskin and staring warily at him.

Kalen appears around the rock. "My Lady, we can begin walking now-"

He pauses for just a moment to take in the scene and then lunges forward, drawing his sword. The old man yelps and drops onto his knees, clasping his hands together.

"Alone!" He cries out. "Alone!"

Kalen stops short looks around for any others. There are none. He points the sword at the old man's neck, then uses the flat side of the blade to force him to look up. The old man grins sheepishly, transforming his face into a sea of wrinkles and yellow, squinting eyes.

"You," Kalen says with a scoff.

The old man shakes his clasped hands in a begging gesture.

"Old friend," he says. "Old friend yes?"

You glance at Kalen. "Do you two know each other?"