#got another one shot in the bank so expect that to drop sometime soon for realsies this time

[cocolacola]

it's here!!!!!!

thanks to everyone who was so so patient with me. i have finally written again! i love me some time skip so i got a little silly. go check it out if ur chill like that ^-^

[outerbankies]

close to you — rafe cameron

request: “Don’t act as if we’re friends. I know how much you want to slit my throat.” + “You know it’s not like that.” with Rafe please? 🤍

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of throat slitting

a/n: i’ve been dying to write a bev cart reader x rafe fic. i just love the idea so much, and i’m glad i could fit it into this! i’ve never written a pogue x kook fic so this was super fun. thanks for the request @taylathornton, i hope you like it 🖤 y'all can send more!

my writing

The golf course at the Outer Banks Island Club had finally re-opened after Hurricane Agatha, and you were absolutely drowning in customers. It seemed like you were stopping your cart every five seconds to sell drinks to another group of golfers. The tips were huge though, so you didn’t mind dealing with all of the demands.

Especially when it means you get to see your favorite club member.

Rafe is standing with his two friends when you approach the hole they’re at, looking full-kook as always in his polo shirt and undoubtedly expensive white gloves. You take a second to admire him when you stop your cart before waving them down.

“Hey guys! Drinks?”

Topper and Kelce immediately drop their conversation to approach you, but your eyebrow furrows when Rafe hangs back. He’s turned away from you now, working on lining up his shot and surveying the rest of the course.

“Wanna do a shot with us, Y/n?”

Kelce’s quip brings your attention back to the task at hand, and you try to put on your best employee smile for them. “You know I can’t on the job, Kelce.”

You attempt to laugh and joke with them, but not flirt for an extra tip like you normally would—not when Rafe was still ignoring you. Not that you’d ever flirt with Topper and Kelce in his presence anyways, not for a long time now.

When you started this job months ago, you’d never expected to find yourself looking forward to serving snobby kooks in garish plaid pants that probably cost more than your entire paycheck. You were in it for the tips and the tips only, until one day when you happened upon Rafe Cameron golfing with his father, Ward.

You’d approached the two men timidly, fresh on the job and ever intimidated by the family that owned half of the Outer Banks. Not your half, the Cut.

But you’d stopped in your tracks as soon as you heard yelling. You couldn’t make out exactly what Ward was berating his son for, eyes darting away as soon as you made eye contact with Rafe. Everything you knew about Rafe came from your friends on the Cut, and none of it was good. But you didn’t really know him at all.

You headed back to your cart quietly, opting to give them some privacy.

“Now make yourself fucking useful for once in your life and go get me a drink,” Ward had said. Rafe took the money from his father, muttering a ‘yes sir’ and heading over to you. His pace was urgent, but his shoulders still slumped as he approached your cart.

“Hi, double whiskey,” he mutters, holding an a hundred dollar bill in between two fingers.

You nod, hands moving to prepare the drink as fast as possible. You’re not sure why you felt the need to make it so quickly, but deep down you knew it was because you wanted to send Rafe back as quickly as possible to keep him out of anymore trouble.

Your eyes darted from what your hands were doing to his face, zeroed in on the embarrassed blush on his cheeks and the way he was gnawing on his bottom lip.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, rushed. “Your dad seems like a dick.”

Now your cheeks are burning, and you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting your mouth get the best of you. You can kiss this job goodbye.

“You have no idea.”

Rafe’s got one corner of his mouth upturned, handing you the cash and accepting the drink.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. See you ‘round...?”

“Y/n.”

“I'm Rafe. See you 'round, Y/n.”

And since then, Rafe Cameron had always made a point to come talk to you whenever you drove by. Sometimes he wouldn't even buy a drink, just coming to say ‘hi’ and ask how your shift was going. You’re not sure when the talking had turned into flirting, but at some point you’d started wearing a little more makeup to work, spending more than ten minutes on your hair and maybe hiking your uniform skirt up just the tiniest bit more. But that helped with the tips too, so you really couldn’t be held responsible.

When you send Kelce and Topper back on their way, and Rafe still doesn’t even look at you, you can’t help the sinking feeling settling into your stomach.

You try to shake it off but the boy is on your mind for the rest of your shift, wondering if maybe one of your jokes about his dad or his rich kid tendencies had gone too far. You racked your brain for anything that had seemed off the last time you saw him, but you kept coming up blank.

When you punched out for your fifteen minute break, Rafe was crossing through the parking lot at the same time as you. When he pretended he didn’t see you again and kept his head down, your curiosity finally got the better of you.

“Rafe!” you call, walking over to him. You trail behind him because he doesn’t stop for you, noticing the way his shoulders are set under the blue material of his shirt. “Rafe, wait.”

“What do you want pogue?”

He rounds on you, ripping his glove off angrily and shoving it in his pocket. Your heart stops at his tone of voice. But he looks rattled and embarrassed, and you can feel your heart aching for him the same way it had the first time you met him out on the course with Ward.

“Are you okay?”

“Am I—” he cuts himself off with an incredulous laugh, scoffing in your face. “Don’t act like we’re friends.”

“Rafe,” you say, hand moving to his arm. “What are you—”

“I know how much you want to slit my throat.”

You feel your blood run cold at his words, hand immediately dropping from his tricep.

“Yeah, didn’t think I heard that, did you?” Rafe accuses. “Didn’t think I heard all of your stupid fucking friends talking about me?”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Y/n?”

You can’t come up with a reply, because he’s right. JJ had said that, at a Boneyard party last weekend.

“God I just fucking hate when those spoiled brats come out of Kooklandia just long enough to come drink our beer,” he spat.

“Right?” John B agreed. “Like why the fuck is Rafe here?”

You tried to play it cool and not snap your neck up at the mention of his name, but the temptation was too much for you. When you looked up, Rafe was in fact on the beach just ahead of you, backwards cap on and a beer in hand. You looked away before he could notice you—none of your friends knew about your thing for Rafe and you wanted to keep it that way. But after a while you saw him make his way to the keg, getting closer and closer to where you sat with your friends.

“What do you think the best way to kill a kook is?” John B joked.

“Take away the keys to their Daddy’s Jag,” Kie laughed. “They’d double over from the pain.”

“Or you could just,” JJ started, pantomiming a grotesque act. “Slit their throat like an animal.”

“That’s true,” Pope said, pointing at his friend. “Not like they’re human.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to play along, even to keep up appearances. You had always thought you hated kooks, too. Maybe a few weeks ago you would’ve joined in, even if your friends were a bit more spirited then you would’ve been. But that had all changed as soon as you got to know Rafe, really know him.

“Rafe, they were just being stupid,” you plead.

“I opened up to you, like an idiot,” he admits. “And the entire time you never saw me for anything more than a rich kid.”

“That’s not true.”

“Do your friends know that?”

“I don’t care,” you say, honestly. “I don’t care what they know, Rafe. You’re gonna act like you’ve never talked like that? When you just called me ‘pogue?’”

“Maybe if you stood up for me—”

“You’re right, I should have.”

Rafe looks shocked that you took accountability so easily, that all he had to do was talk to you about what was bothering him to resolve it. You know for a fact he’s never had much of that in his life. He finally lets you approach him then, and you’re soon standing closer to him than you probably ever have before.

No matter how flirtatious things had gotten between you, it had never moved beyond lingering touches to your arm or hands, and on one occasion, your lower back. The memory gives you shivers now; the two of you jumping apart as another party approached your cart to buy drinks.

And whatever you two had going on had never really made it past the golf course, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of all of the people around that could see you right now.

“I didn’t want to speak out of turn, if this isn’t what I think it is,” you continue quietly. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know that we talk to each other.”

Rafe crosses his arms over his chest, kicking some pebbles around on the ground with one of his expensive golf shoes.

“Y/l/n, my best friends watch me bend over backwards for you every time we come around.”

You let out a relieved laugh at that, feeling yourself gaining ground in steadier waters. An angry Rafe was unsettling, even if it was justified. You much preferred this Rafe, the one who cracked jokes with you. And he's right, because if you peer over his shoulder, you can almost make out Topper and Kelce spying from the former boy’s gray Jeep.

“I really am sorry, Rafe. That you heard all that at the Boneyard.”

“Good to know you don’t actually hate me after all this time.”

You can’t imagine what he must have felt like, after all the moments you shared and all of the things you told each other—your mother gave Ward a run for his money sometimes—that you were faking all of it. You can't fight the need to reassure him.

“I’m gonna hug you now, okay? Friends hug.”

The feeling of Rafe’s chest vibrating against your body as he huffs out a surprised laugh is enough to make your stomach flutter. His arms uncross to hold you close to him, and you tighten your arms around his waist momentarily before extracting yourself from his hold.

“My break's almost over.”

“Yeah, no, go ahead,” Rafe says, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“I’ll see you later?” you ask, slowly walking backwards.

“Yes, you will.”

That satisfies you enough, and you turn around to hide the smile splitting across your face.

“Y/n!”

You turn back when he calls out for you, right as you approach the employee entrance of the Club.

“I wouldn’t count on that ‘friends’ thing for too much longer.”

[sicparvismorrigan]

Big Fun

Sam helps you feel better after you lose your temper.

Uncharted/Sam Drake/Post-U4

Viewpoint: 1st person gender-neutral reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: ~2.6k [complete]

Okay, outing myself a little here in the hopes that it’ll be a comfort to at least one other person. This happens…more often than I would like. I’m working on it.

This came about because of a discussion with @writingawaymylife thanks Aerin!

Read on Ao3

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you shitting me!”

You finally lose what little patience you had left and punch the wall. Underneath the cheap wallpaper it’s solid concrete and you instantly regret your feral outburst. There’s a millisecond of nothing before the pain comes rushing in, and then you’re bent double, clutching the wrist of your injured hand with the other and groaning.

You try and flex your fingers to check if they’re broken, but you can’t really tell. It’s too late. Your hand is numb within the minute. Shit, that’s really going to hurt in the morning.

You’re clumsy anyway, it’s the way it’s always been and the way it always will be. You know what you need to do, how you need to move, but your body won’t respond how you want it to. You’re always dropping plates and glasses, smashing them to bits. Usually when you’re already running late, and then you have to waste more time by scurrying around looking for a dustpan to get rid of the evidence.

You’re forever bumping into things, stubbing your toes and taking layers of skin off your shoulders and shins when you walk straight into doorframes. When you try and pour things you spill them more often than not. Yet more mess to clean up, yet more time wasted.

Your fingers just won’t work sometimes, often so badly it takes you multiple attempts to tie your shoes. And when it’s cold you’re practically useless. You just give up and tuck the laces into the shoes, feeling them rub through your socks, promising yourself to fix them once you’re back in the warm, everything will work out as long as you don’t trip over your own feet before you get there.

It’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Normally you can shrug it off, you’re used to it by now. But things had been going wrong all day, even without your clumsiness, and matters just came to a head.

You remember exactly what caused you to erupt into expletives and punch the wall. It had already been a frustrating day, work was a pain in the ass, as usual. All of the most awkward customers in the world had decided to descend upon you right before your break. By the time you got home you were in a pretty foul mood. Too wound up to relax, you decided to take a load of laundry downstairs to put in the washer.

You attempted to, anyway. After trying and failing 3 times to pick up the same damn sock from the floor of your room that your fingers just would not grasp, you’d given up and kicked it away under the bed in anger. Oh sure, couldn’t pick it up but you managed to land a furious kick the first time around.

Though you were trying your best to manoeuvre around the doorframe with the pile of clothes you still bumped off it with your shoulder, muttering ouch as the latch scraped your arm. Then you overcompensated by moving too much in the other direction and stubbed your toe on the corner of the door. Instant pain that made you see red.

The pile of clothes in your arms were promptly thrown on the floor in a fit of rage. That was when you punched the wall. And now you’re a sorry state, fingers throbbing and face red, trying not to scream.

Oh shit, you hear Sam moving around in his room down the hall. There’s no way he didn’t hear you. Well, this is embarrassing. There isn’t time to pick everything up and hightail it down the stairs before he catches you, not with your mangled claw out of action.

You hear his door creak open. You slowly turn around and stare guiltily at your roommate as he pokes his head around the doorframe.

“I heard…” He takes in the sight of the pile of laundry scattered on the floor and you holding up your tingling hand, still hopping from foot to foot. “Jeez, again?”

***

Sam is your friend Elena’s brother-in-law, or something like that. You aren’t clear on how exactly they’re related, but you knew her from college, long before she got married. She heard you were looking for a new roommate a few months back, and she got in touch, telling you she knew just the person.

You baulked initially when you got a phone call from her after sparse contact over the last few years. You were actually enjoying living by yourself again, though money was a bit tighter. Your last roommate was pleasant enough at first, however they soon turned out to be a nightmare, it was a relief to get rid of them. But you liked Elena a lot, and you did owe her one or two favours. For some reason she thought you and Sam would hit it off.

And much to your surprise, you did. You were a bit nervous of him to begin with, but Sam turned out to be so laid back he was almost horizontal. The perfect foil to your occasionally manic energy. Living with him was easy, there weren’t any awkward silences. If you were in the same room but didn’t feel like talking, he was fine with it.

Your apartment was pretty basic but he seemed happy there with you. He even made you dinner sometimes when you’d had a tough day and you’d just come in and flop face down on the sofa. Sam would wordlessly stand up and then half an hour later come back through to get you with the same phrase every time. “You gonna eat something, or what?”

Elena had reassured you he probably wouldn’t even be there a lot of the time. He just needed somewhere to touch base every few weeks, she turned out to be correct.

You didn’t even really know what Sam did. He didn’t appear to have a job, he was almost always home during the day and seemed to spend a lot of time on your Playstation (“our Playstation” according to Sam). But he came up with his half of the rent every month and then disappeared again for a few weeks. You didn’t ask, not your business. You’d started to find the house too quiet and empty when he wasn’t there and you were always waiting to hear the keys in the lock and his joking “Honey, I’m home!” whenever he came back.

After moving in it didn’t take him long to pick up on your quirks, or notice that you were more accident-prone than the average person. It had led to the only argument you’d ever had with him.

One time while making dinner you’d dropped a plate and cursed yourself as it cracked in half on the tiled floor. You’d stared daggers at him, daring him to say a word about it. You totally weren’t expecting what he did next.

He’d just looked at you dead in the eyes as he pushed another plate off the counter. Exactly like a cat would.

You blew up at him. “What in the hell did you do that for? Now there’s twice as many sharp bits to clear up!”

“It’s just a plate.” He had shrugged, leaning back on the counter.

“What’s your damn point?”

“That it really doesn’t matter, and that I don’t care that we’ve had to replace pretty much everything in this kitchen since I moved in.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Not everything. You owe me a plate now.”

“You know, maybe we should invest in plastic ones.”

“We are adults Sam! And it’s not good for the environment.”

“And the current… situation is not good for your bank account!”

“Just because you’re used to plastic cutlery.” Kind of a cheap shot, but you’re still mad. You’d gathered he’d done jail time, but you didn’t dare ask what for, or how long. You caught him saying weird things sometimes and eventually realised it was because his concept of time was a little warped. He kept referring to the 90’s like it was only last week, instead of nearly 20 years ago.

Sam just laughed at your plastic cutlery comment, not at all offended. “Yeah, and I like living here so much I’m willing to do that if it means you’ll stop beating yourself up.”

“I’ll think about it.” You grumbled. But you got some plastic cups and plates on your way home from work the next day. Sam was right, it was a lot better, though it made you feel like a kid again.

As you’d gotten more comfortable with Sam you’d given up trying to hide the fact you were a walking health hazard and didn’t stifle your curses anymore.

At first he seemed amused by your clumsiness, he even laughed the first few times you did something stupid. But he quickly realised how upsetting your lack of control over your own limbs was for you, because it happened so damn often. He stopped making fun as soon as he noticed you couldn’t laugh it off with him. It wasn’t a joke to you. From then on he’d been surprisingly nice, he always attempted to make you feel better when it got too much.

***

Even so, right now as you were having a stand-off with him in the hallway, you gritted your teeth and tried to keep your voice even. Stay calm, he’s just concerned. “Yes, again.”

“What did it ever do to you? Y’know, standing there, being all wall-like…stopping our house from collapsing?”

“I lost my temper again. Punched the damn thing.”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you, you’ve got to look after those hands.”

“But they’re so fuc-“ You stop and sigh when he raises an eyebrow. Calm. “Flipping useless. I’m useless.”

“Not true.” Sam steps out of his room and walks in your direction. On the way he kicks a rogue sock back onto the main pile of mess on the floor. “Take that, you scoundrel.”

“I just wish my brain worked normally.”

“Your brain is fine. Your music taste on the other hand.” Sam moved his hand up and down in an ‘ehhhhhh’ motion and shook his head. “No no.”

He’s kidding, of course he is. Damn his sense of humour. But you don’t feel like smiling just yet. It still fucking hurts. “I think I broke something this time.” You really thumped the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve actually done damage.

“You want me to check?”

“Please.”

You hold out your hand for him and he carefully wiggles and stretches your fingers one by one, watching your face for any reaction. You wince once he gets to your thumb. Oh, that one hurts the worst.

“No, thumb on the inside? For real?” Sam looked at you in disbelief.

“Apparently so.”

“That’ll learn you. That’s like rule number one of punching anything.”

You sigh. “Anything broken?”

“No, we’re all good. But keep your thumb on the outside next time or you really will break it.”

“Surprisingly, I wasn’t really focusing on technique that much. Oh hey, you should check this one again.” You hold your middle finger aloft.

“Very funny.” But he smirks at you, knowing he’s helping you feel better.

“Come on, you do that one to me all the time.”

“Learning from the best, what can I say? Oh, shit…” Sam’s staring past you.

“What, what’s wrong?” You glance back in the direction he’s looking.

Sam moves to the wall, right where you just punched and looks at you in faux-panic. “I need a medic!”

“Really?” You watch in amazement as he starts to do something to the wall which looks an awful lot like the chest compressions from CPR. Wow, he’s very committed to this bit.

“We’re losing them!”

“Sam, there’s barely a scuff on the wallpaper. I definitely came off worse.”

“I need a crash cart stat!” He yells at nobody in particular.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve been watching too many daytime medical dramas.” You just shake your head, but the corners of your mouth are threatening to twitch upwards.

“Have not…Beeeeeeeeeep! Aw, we lost them. RIP.” He finally steps away from the wall and shrugs. “I tried.”

“You’re such a goofball.” At least you’re smiling now.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it? Frown upside down.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You really did a number on that wall though, huh? I heard it all the way down there. Hell, I felt it. Made the stuff on the shelves rattle.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a bad day. A really bad day. People are assholes.” You glance down at the pile of laundry still littering the floor. “I should pick this up.”

“Do you have to right now?”

“Well, yeah…I was on the way downstairs to wash it.”

“I’m not sure the structural integrity of our house could take it if you had another…incident on the way to the washer. That wall’s concrete but you’re gonna end up going clean through one of the others. Then you’ll lose our security deposit.”

“My security deposit.”

“Right, right, right. That doesn’t mean you can punch holes wherever you like.”

“You could fix it though if I did?”

“Yeah, I guess. Y’know, I’ve never really asked you about it before, but talk me through it, what goes on in your head right before you flip out?”

“I don’t know, I just…see red and it happens before I can stop it.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s nodding. Bizarrely, he doesn’t look too freaked out to you admitting you pretty much go into berserker mode over minor inconveniences. “I know you can’t do anything about having 2 left feet, but you can do something about letting it get to you.”

“What, count to 10 or something?” You ask, mocking. Like you haven’t heard that one before.

“Yeah, seriously.” You get the impression he’s talking from experience. “It works, don’t question it.”

Screw it, he’s being really nice. At least he understands it’s not because you’re an idiot, it’s because your brain isn’t wired like most peoples. And he was right about the plastic plates. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“And you come tell me if this thing pisses you off again, I’ll deal with it.” Sam shakes his fist at the wall. He really is an idiot sometimes. But he does make you laugh. He’s your idiot.

“Gotcha.” You give him a thumbs-up with both hands, wincing again, the movement hurts.

He gives you a sly look. “How about you flex those fingers, and we play a game awhile. Crash Bandicoot maybe?”

“Again? I’ve got loads to do….” You fidget anxiously. you know what he’s up to though. Trying to get you to chill out.

“Just for a little bit. Scared I’ll beat ya?”

“Pffft, not even close, but I’m at a disadvantage this time.” There’s still no way he can win.

“I resent that, I’m getting pretty good.”

“You just mash the buttons.” It’s a fact and he knows it.

“C’mon, c’mon. I gotta at least beat your high score before I have to leave again.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m in. Let’s go!” You nod in the direction of the stairs.

“Loser deals with that later on.” He points at the abandoned pile of laundry on the floor.

“Deal, don’t go easy on me.” You step around it and follow him to the sitting room. Even with a crippled hand you’re pretty sure you can thrash him. “Elena and I used to play this in college, wonder if she still has it…”

***

Thank you for reading!

Yeah…I am not just clumsy, I am more like ‘danger to myself and others’ levels of uncoordinated. But I can’t be the only one! Don’t worry, Sam’s got your back ;) Also the title is the song Big Fun from Heathers the Musical because once again it has invaded my life. The whole soundtrack has been on a loop for days now. I LOVE IT. Punch the wall and start a fight!

- Sam Drake and Elena Fisher belong to Naughty Dog/the Uncharted creative team and I (sadly) take no ownership of them.

- This work is not for profit though it belongs to me and I must be credited when copying or reposting elsewhere

- As mentioned before reader is intended to be gender-neutral so please interpret this fic however you like. This is my first x Reader fic published and first g/n reader viewpoint I’ve attempted so I hope I did okay. I myself identify as mostly female so that’s what I normally write because it’s easier for me to connect with. But this was fun.

[cakesunflower]

Outer Banks Series Rewrite/JJ Maybank Fic Series [5. Midsummers]

Disclaimer: None of the characters (except for Stella) or their dialogues (for the most part) are my own, and belong to the writers & creators of Outer Banks!

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read on AO3!

Here’s episode 5 “Midsummers”!

“Dude—Mom catches you out here, and you’re dead.” Stella peeked one eye open, catching sight of her sister standing over her, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised. “You’re literally out in the open.”

Kie’s concern came from the pen Stella was currently twirling between her fingers as she lay on the ground in their backyard. Stella didn’t say anything, instead took another pull from the pen, letting the familiar smoke invade her lungs before blowing it out slowly. The act did its job in calming her down, and Kiara let out a sigh before shifting to sit down next to Stella, before going down on her back, too.

Stella could feel her sister’s gaze on her as Kie turned her head to look at her, but Stella kept her gaze up at the sky. It was sort of cloudy, but there wasn’t a threat for rain. If there had been, the celebration later tonight would’ve been rescheduled ages ago.

“Look, I know you’re worried about JJ—” Kie began, but Stella cut her off.

“He willingly let himself get arrested for something he didn’t do, and he has a drug-addict, abusive dad to go back home to. We haven’t heard from him yet.” Stella looked at Kie, then, jaw hard. “Of course I’m worried.”

Kie’s gaze was soft with sympathy, but Stella could see her own concern swimming, too. After all, Kie cared about JJ as well. Maybe not in the way Stella did, but just as good. “He’ll turn up,” Kie assured. “He always does.”

Despite Kie’s efforts, Stella wasn’t all that comforted. And maybe Kie saw the deep worry that had etched itself into Stella’s features, because Kie’s face softened even more, looking at her sister gently as she asked, “What’s going on?”

Stella’s throat worked as her heart drummed in her chest, forcing herself into a sitting position while Kie kept on her back, looking up at her. For a moment, Stella hesitantly chewed on her lower lip, wondering if now was the right time to indulge, but it was Kie. It was her sister, and if Stella couldn’t tell her, she couldn’t tell anyone.

“JJ and I kissed.” There. She said it. Now it was out in the open.

Kie blinked once before her eyes widened almost comically, shooting up in a sitting position opposite of Stella as she demanded, “What? When?”

“Yesterday,” Stella admitted, stomach flipping as memories of her and JJ’s actions played through her mind like her favorite movie. She couldn’t stop the small smile from playing on her lips. “We were at John B’s, before coming to the summer series.” She fiddled with the pen between her fingers. “It just—it kind of just happened.”

Kie scoffed with a shake of her head. “It didn’t kind of just happen,” she mocked. “This has been waiting to happen for so Goddamn long.” Stella tried not to laugh at the happiness shining in Kie’s eyes, which did a lot to relax Stella. She’d been worried Kie would ram on her for breaking one of their friend group rules, but Kie seemed anything but disappointed. Her eyes widened then, shoulders lifting. “Oh, shit, John B and Pope owe me twenty bucks!”

Stella blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Kie snickered, looking all too delighted. “We kind of had a bet going on over how long it’d take for you and JJ to get together.” Stella’s eyes widened, jaw dropping in disbelief. “I bet it’d happen before Midsummers and would you look at that! You just made me forty bucks richer, sis.”

“Wha—” Stella cut herself off with a scoff, ripping up some grass before tossing it at Kie. She shrieked through a laugh, jerking back before brushing away the pieces of grass. “Are you kidding me?! You guys bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Kie responded with a smirk, not at all looking apologetic. At Stella’s gaping expression, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Stel. You two have been dancing around each other for so fucking long. We were getting tired of waiting, so we thought we’d have some fun with it,” she finished with a shrug.

Stella couldn’t believe what she was hearing, cheeks heating up at the information. She wasn’t mad or upset that her sister and friends bet on when she and JJ would get together—she was just surprised, and a little bit amused. She wondered how long the bet had been going on for. But instead of asking that, she instead inquired, “So I’m guessing JJ and I are in the clear for breaking the no Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule?”

Kie waved her off, smile still in place. “You two are the exception to the rule,” she said confidently before crossing her legs and shooting Stella an expectant look. “So? Tell me how it was.” She quickly held a hand up. “But not too many details because it’s JJ and he’s like my brother and, ew, gross. But I still wanna know! How’d it happen?”

At that, the heat in Stella’s cheeks intensified into a fire as she recalled every single detail from yesterday—as if she could ever forget. “I was, uh, persuading him to come to the summer series with us.”

Kie’s eyebrows shot up. “Persuading, huh?” she repeated with an impish grin, prompting Stella to let out a giggle. “Well, looks like it worked. Not that I’m surprised. That boy is stupid for you.”

Stella pressed her lips together to keep her giddy smile from widening. “Stop.”

Kie snickered. “Man, you two are gonna be unbearable now, aren’t you? All over each other all of the time.”

“Dude, I don’t even know what we’re doing,” Stella instantly responded with a shake of her head. “All we did was kiss. We’re not suddenly together, Kie.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Only a matter of time.”

Stella’s heart fluttered in her chest. Of course she wanted to be with JJ—it was all she could think about for so long. After that kiss, it was closer to being a reality than she could ever imagine, but they needed to talk about it, first. “Maybe. But first he needs to let us know he’s okay and that his dad didn’t fucking kill him.”

Her words were tight in her throat as she said them, sending a new jolt of worry through her. JJ never really talked about it, but she knew the kind of man his dad was, knew what he was capable of. JJ getting arrested wasn’t going to go over well; it wouldn’t with any parent, but God only knew how Luke Maybank would react to it. So, yeah, Stella was sick with worry over JJ, and she just fucking wished he’d call or text her back.

Kie sighed. “Listen, maybe—”

Whatever Kie was about to say was interrupted by their mother’s voice shouting at them from the back porch. “Girls! Get in here! You need to start getting ready.” Simultaneously, both Stella and Kie threw their heads back and groaned, loudly—loud enough for Mrs. Carrera to hear them. “I don’t wanna hear it! Get your butts in here now!”

They stood up, and as Stella shoved her pen in the pocket of her shorts, Kie grumbled, “I hate everything.”

While every other soul on Figure Eight either was overjoyed to be attending Midsummers or envious that they couldn’t, Stella and Kiara were probably the only ones who hated the party. For Kie, it was more of a socialist thing that Stella respected her for, but she also knew that her sister’s disgust with Midsummers, ultimately, existed for the same reason as Stella’s: they hated the people they were surrounded by.

All of the Kooks would be gathered tonight for the party—this year a celebration for Ward Cameron, A.K.A the father of Sarah Cameron, Kie’s worst enemy. Stella didn’t care what the party was for—she despised it. The most Stella liked to dress up was in clothes of her choice, and sure that could sometimes include make-up and dresses, but not full on evening gowns with flowers in her hair. It often felt like she was getting dressed up as a lamb for a slaughter, being pushed into a crowd of Kooks who thought they were better than everyone else because of their overflowing pockets. The adults were bad enough—Stella did not want to even see the people her age.

Namely Rafe, Topper, Kelce, and anyone who was associated with them. Especially after what they did to JJ and Pope yesterday. Dicks.

But Midsummers, much to both Stella and Kie’s chagrin, was important to their parents, especially their mother. So as soon as the two girls returned inside the house, Mrs. Carrera was ushering them towards the bathrooms, like they were toddlers who needed supervised bath times.

“Hold on a second—” Mr. Carrera paused, and Stella and Kie exchanged looks when their mom sniffed the air around them. Her eyes then zeroed in on Stella, hands on her hips and eyes blazing as she demanded, “Did you just smoke, Stella?”

Knowing there was no point in lying, Stella huffed. “I needed something to take the edge off if I have to go to this stupid party.”

This wasn’t the first time their mom caught them smoking or smelling of weed, but it pissed her off just the same. While Kie tried to stifle a smile, Mrs. Carrera glared daggers at her Stella. “You’re not getting out of this, Stella. You better drown yourself in body wash and perfume when you get ready.”

Stella rolled her eyes behind her mom’s back, but listened all the same, albeit reluctantly. Kie was the first to hop into the shower in their shared bathroom, so Stella took the time to lay in her bed and unlock her phone, hoping to see a text or missed call from JJ. Her heart jumped when she saw just one text from him, chest tight as she read it quickly.

JJ: Don’t worry about me. I’m good. I’ll see u later.

That was it. Just ten words of reassurance and then nothing. Part of Stella was relieved to have received anything from him at all, but another part still felt worried and a little annoyed. She—all of them—had been worried sick over him after yesterday, and this was all he could say? Stella figured she shouldn’t be too surprised. It was typical JJ behavior. He got in a bind and somehow got himself out of it, and never really let his friends in on if anything was wrong. But the tough guy persona could only get him so far.

Chewing on her lower lip, Stella drafted a text, but not to JJ. Instead, she sent a message to John B.

Stella: You heard from JJ? Do you think he’s okay?

John B responded within moments.

John B: Yeah, it’s all good. I’m with him right now. We’ll see you guys tonight, alright? Keep an eye out.

Stella blinked at the cryptic message, wondering what the hell he was talking about. But if recent circumstances were any indicator, something was probably going down tonight. Stella’s stomach flipped in both apprehension and excitement. These boys might be the death of her.

Soon enough, Kie was out of the bathroom and it was Stella’s turn. She showered and brushed her teeth, stepping back into her room to catch sight of a satin slip dress with a halter neck waiting for her on her bed. It was a pretty golden color with a V-neck trimmed with lace, and a pair of white and gold sandals were waiting by the bed, too. Stella huffed, the towel wrapped tightly around her. She knew for a fact that her mother thought she needed to have everything out for her otherwise Stella would be useless in getting dressed for Midsummers. It was kind of insulting.

Stella expertly dried her hair, letting the natural curls come into place, before doing her makeup. She kept it light, as always, because not even Midsummers was going to make her slap on a face full of makeup, especially in the middle of summer. Some foundation, mascara, highlighter, and lipstick was as far as she went, with her jewelry consisting of a dainty diamond star necklace and the rings on her fingers.

“Oh, good, you’re dressed,” Mrs. Carrera said upon entering her room. “Come on, let me do your hair.”

Stella frowned but listened, sitting down in front of her dresser while her mom stood behind her. She worked quickly and efficiently, braiding back the two front locks of her hair and intertwining small yellow flowers in them that Stella tried not to wrinkle her nose at.

As her mom worked, Kie wandered into Stella’s room. Her slip dress was spaghetti strapped and a lavender color, a couple of layered necklaces around her neck, and her hair down in an updo with a crown of pink and purple flowers and locks of curly hair framing her face. She looked stunning, even with that scowl she wore as she stormed into the room.

“This is disgusting,” she announced without preamble.

Mrs. Carrera wove another flower into Stella’s braid, her voice dry above her as she responded, “I know. It’s just horrible. I’m asking you two to relax and go to a fun party.”

Kie scoffed, towering over their mom. They may be twins, but Kie somehow got the tall gene from their dad, standing at the elegant 5’8”, while Stella hadn’t grown past 5’5”. “We look like bourgeoisie pigs.”

Stella tried to keep the snort from escaping, covering it up with a cough as their mom finally patted down Stella’s hair, letting out a satisfied hum before stepping back. She shot Kie an exasperated look and said, “Will you please not worry about socioeconomic injustice for one night?”

Kie scowled and Stella’s face scrunched up. This was so much more than that. She twisted around in the seat and stood up, crossing her arms and siding with Kie, “Mom, people not three miles from here have no power, no running water—and we’re going to Midsummers.”

Kie nodded vigorously, gesturing to Stella. “That’s so tone deaf.”

Mrs. Carrera huffed, picking up the little pouch she’d dropped on the dressing table and pulling out the diamond earrings. As she put one in, she said, “Do you know how hard we had to work to get into the Island Club?”

Both Stella and Kie rolled their eyes, having heard this a hundred times before. “Yeah, Mom, how could we forget?” Stella sighed. “You had to grovel for, like, ten years—”

“Twelve,” Mrs. Carrera corrected, “and we also had to cough up a huge chunk of dough, and do you know why we did that?”

Kie wasn’t impressed. “To keep up with the Joneses?”

Mrs. Carrera’s hands were on her hips, looking at her daughter pointedly. “No. So you two could have the experiences that I had as a child. Sweethearts, do you know what the Island Club is?”

“A factory farm for debutantes,” Kie flatly said at the same time Stella said, “Where brain cells go to die.”

Kie gave her a subtle fist bump as their mother glared at them before smiling exasperatedly. She placed one hand on each of their cheeks, looking at both of them as she said, “It is a nice place, with nice people, where you can do fun stuff.”

Neither of them bought the company line. “With out of touch rich people,” Stella added.

Kie rightfully finished, “While the island sinks slowly into the ocean.”

Their mom dropped her hands from their cheeks, stepping back and shooting them a look. Clearly, she was done trying with her stubborn daughters. “Okay, I want you two to put on your party faces if you wanna live,” she said before walking out of the room.

Both Stella and Kie sighed, looking at each other in resigned defeat. Stella picked up her pen, offering a half hearted smile. “Wanna take a hit before we go?”

Kie scoffed, taking it from her. “Or maybe ten.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, the girls were at the Island Club with their parents, and instead of doing the polite thing and greeting the other party goers, Stella spotted a familiar face and grabbed Kie’s hand, jerking her chin to where Pope was working out on the lawn at the grill. She’d almost forgotten that he was working the party with his dad. Thank God for small miracles.

As they approached him, his back to the girls, Kie startled Stella by speaking in a terrible British accent, “Excuse me, sir. Do we have to shuck these ourselves?” Pope swiveled around as Kie grinned and Stella shook her head in bemusement. “’Cause it might mess up my costume.”

Pope chuckled. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” he asked and Stella stepped forward with a laugh, slapping her hand against his, front and back, before ending with a snap of her fingers. Their handshake. As he repeated the act with Kie, Pope added, “That accent was bad.”

Kie nodded. “It was. I was gonna let it go.”

Stella scoffed. “I wish you had,” she said as they came to stand next to Pope, arms folded across her chest. The three of them observed the scene before them, of all the guests gathered around in their fancy dresses and suits, drinking from flutes of champagne or drinks from the bar. “You ever seen this many Kooks in one place?”

“Yeah. Last year,” Pope answered.

Kie was squinting against the sun, but just like Stella’s, her brown skin glowed a pretty golden color against it. “We’re in the lion’s den.”

“Exactly.”

Pope glanced at the two of them, gaze lingering on Stella longer as he asked, “Have you heard from JJ?”

Kie shook her head. “No.”

“Just a text,” Stella answered, prompting Kie to look towards her, raising an eyebrow. Stella’s lips pursed. “He said he was okay and not to worry about him. But I won’t really believe it until I see him.”

“He’ll be all right,” Kie said, frowning to herself. “He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach.”

Stella swallowed inaudibly. Kie wasn’t really wrong.

“It’s all my fault,” Pope said, the guilt thick in his tone as he frowned at nothing. He looked like he might be sick over everything that’s happened.

Stella frowned as Kie said, “Uh, you didn’t do this, Pope.”

“Yeah,” Stella chimed in firmly. “Topper almost killed you. Remember?”

He shot her a dry look. “Not something I can forget.”

Stella shot him a small smile. “JJ was just trying to do right by you. He—he knew what he was doing.” She stumbled over her words briefly because, well, she wasn’t entirely sure if she believed them. She believed that JJ thought he was doing the right thing, but getting arrested was no small thing. He was just adding onto his record, and this time for something he didn’t even do. JJ put loyalty above anything else, and it was one of her favorite things about him—until it landed him in trouble he might not be able to get out of.

Midsummers, as expected, was boring as usual. The adults drank and the teens snuck in their own alcohol in hidden flasks, dancing to the music from the live band while almost everyone kissed Ward Cameron’s ass. Stella stuck by Kie’s side, mostly because she didn’t care for anyone else there and because Kie kept glaring at Sarah Cameron, who looked like the perfect Kook princess. She was missing her not-so-Prince Charming, Topper, who seemed to be sticking by Rafe and Kelce’s sides than with Sarah. Hmm. Interesting.

At one point, Stella excused herself to go to the bathroom, walking inside the country club and down the hall. She did her business, ignoring the giggles of the few other girls inside as she washed her hands. Just as she stepped out of the bathroom, however, she let out a gasp and stumbled into the doorframe as a figure rushed off in front of her, her gaze instantly following.

She’d recognize those blonde locks anywhere.

Stella’s heart thundered, gripping the doorframe tightly as she called out, “JJ?”

*****

Despite the severity of needing to find a hiding spot or escape, the sound of Stella’s voice had JJ stopping in his tracks. He turned, catching sight of her down the hall, too far down the hall, looking every bit as breathtaking as he expected her to in a golden dress that hugged her so perfectly. And the way she was looking at him—the surprise and relief and tenderness he was sure she reserved just for him—had JJ’s heart pounding right out of his chest, and not just because he was trying to save himself at the moment.

“Stella—” JJ stopped, looking through the glass of the doors, seeing Rafe, Kelce, and three of their suited up buddies purposefully making their way over. “Shit.” His blue eyes met her concerned brown ones. “Sweetheart, I’ll explain everything later, but I gotta run right now. Just—I’ll see you in a little, okay?”

“Wait, JJ—”

But he didn’t stick around, as much as he wanted to, and instead turned and ran off just as he heard Rafe and his buddies walk in. They’d spotted him talking to Sarah because he’d needed to give her a letter from John B, after he’d spoken to and received a surprising hug from Pope, and now they were hot on his ass looking to throw more punches. JJ’d already received a beating from his dad—he didn’t need anymore, thank you very much.

Except he made his way into the men’s room, and Rafe and his buddies were pretty fast and managed to corner him no problem. Five against one—this was totally fair. Assholes.

Rafe pushed him and JJ grunted, struggling as Kelce came up behind him and locked an arm around the front of his neck, the other keeping his head in place as JJ grabbed at Kelce’s arm to loosen the grip. He struggled, heart pounding, as Rafe looked at his friends. “Hold him still. What—what do you think? A four iron, right?” He mimicked holding a golf club. “Keep his head still. I’m gonna line this up.”

JJ didn’t make it easy for Kelce to keep him still. “Very Rafe of you,” JJ said through gritted teeth. “Five on one?”

Rafe looked pristine in his stupid blue suit and bowtie. JJ hoped he’d choke on it. “If you could please stop talking? It’s very disrespectful. I’m trying to hit a ball.” Oh, fuck no. “Learn your etiquette, my friend.”

JJ kept grunting, struggling against Kelce, using his hands as much as he could to try and get away. JJ’s voice was hoarse against Kelce’s grip as he spat back, “I’m gonna kick your teeth in.” As much fire as there was in his voice, JJ wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to deliver on his promise. Not when the odds were stacked against him.

Rafe smirked sardonically, crouching to look up at JJ with a mocking sort of sympathy. “Your face looks really bad. Starting to look like your dad a lot more.”

The insult was grating, especially given that the bruises and cuts on his face were courtesy of his father. JJ couldn’t do much more than spit in Rafe’s face. He jerked back, wiping the saliva off his face as he grinned. “Oh, shit. Alright. It was—”

The lights began flickering. “Gentlemen!” Kelce roughly let go of JJ and pushed him off, prompting the blonde to struggle before he righted himself. The security guard approached them. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh! Pardon me, officer. No, there’s not an issue. I just—” JJ cut himself off, his breathing labored as he panted to catch his breath. He looked at the others and JJ ran his fingers through his hair before deciding on a different course of action. One he knew would likely get him out of this. “Actually, yes. No, there is an issue. Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep!” He waved a finger around. “Call it in, right?” The others looked at him, trying to appear casual and like they weren’t doing anything wrong. “Blatant disrespect for private property.”

Rafe clicked his tongue, scratching his ear. “Yeah.”

JJ turned to the guard. “I’m in violation of all kinds of shit, sir, but these young gentlemen—” He made a show of righting Kelce’s bowtie before he jerked him away.

“Don’t touch my shit,” Kelce said lowly.

JJ continued, “Uh, caught me, sir, and they’re about to take me away. And that’s what you should do.” He held his fists up like he was ready to be handcuffed. Again. “Escort me out of here. You got me.”

The guard grabbed his arm. JJ was relieved. “Come on.”

“All right.” JJ looked over his shoulder as the guard pulled him out, looking at the Kooks. “Fix that tie, son,” he said to Kelce before looking at Rafe. “You’re lookin’ spiffy, too. You Powerpuff Girls have fun,” he turned back around.

Rafe took a step forward, his voice smug. “Tell Stella she looks pretty hot for a scarred Pogue.”

Fire erupted in JJ’s veins at Rafe’s comment, a newfound anger rushing through him at the blatant insult from the son of a bitch. JJ didn’t care who they were—nobody talked about Stella like that. Not at all, not in front of him. JJ’s body moved at his own accord, a low growl escaping him as he jerked away from the guard and tried to launch himself at Rafe, consequences be damned of a five against one. The asshole insulted Stella. JJ couldn’t just let him get away with that.

He rushed towards Rafe, only for Kelce to jump in and push him away as the guard came to his back and pulled him away. “Hey! Stop it. Come here! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

But JJ struggled, the urge to bury his fist in Rafe’s face overwhelming after his words. “You think I’m afraid of you, bro?”

The guard pulled him back. “Come on.”

JJ turned and was guided out as Rafe’s voice followed him out of the locker room. “Hey, safe travels back to the cut!”

JJ shouted back, “This ain’t over!”

The guard didn’t let his grip on JJ go as he guided him down the halls and towards the doors, his grip tight as they burst through the doors out onto the patio. “Look, man, I can walk myself!” JJ exclaimed, earning gasps and looks from the guests at him being escorted out. “I got legs. Can you see that, brother?”

The guard didn’t seem to care. “Come on.”

“I really appreciate what you did back there. Let me just walk out by myself.” He struggled against the guard’s grip before spotting the older gentleman from earlier who had asked JJ for a drink. At this point, JJ didn’t care for the attention he was drawing on himself, stumbling over to where the man stood. “Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink. Good, that’s really nice of you. I’m actually gonna down that,” he said quickly before grabbing the drink and downing the whiskey in one gulp.

The man gaped at him, the guard apologized before pulling JJ away. Everyone was watching, murmuring, and JJ never had mastered the art of subtlety, so he made a commotion as he was so kindly escorted out. Might as fucking well go out with a bang.

“Let go of him!” JJ turned at the sound of Stella’s voice, standing up on the patio with Kie by her side. Their parents were behind them, quietly telling Stella to stay quiet while her gaze met JJ’s. He stopped, kind of fucking mesmerized by the sight of her. “You can’t just boot him!”

The guard stopped, still holding onto JJ, who was still watching her. “Excuse me, ma’am?” the guard asked.

“I invited him here,” Stella continued, her voice loud and carrying over the newfound silence amongst the crowd. Everyone was looking at her, but she didn’t seem to give a shit, and JJ kind of fell in love with her all over again.

Next to her, JJ could hear her mom say, “Stella, stop it.”

“No, she’s right,” Kie spoke up, glaring at her parents and then at the guard. “We’re members of this club.”

“Girls, stop it,” Mr. Carrera seemed to be saying to them.

JJ took the opportunity of the guard being distracted to jerk out of his grip and push him, wincing as the man went stumbling into a waiter carrying a tray full of glasses that went shattering on the ground. “Sorry about that!” JJ said over the commotion before looking towards the girls. He pointed at them, blonde hair falling over his shoulders. “Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, ladies.” His gaze found Pope’s amidst the crowd’s. “Pope, you as well, all right? Rixon’s cove. Let’s roll.” He was walking backwards, people making their way for him as they all gaped at him in disbelief and annoyance. JJ looked back at the girls, holding his arm up. “All right, girls, come on.” He gripped his wrist. “Workers of the world unite. Throw off your chains!”

His gaze met Stella’s, who was watching him in, what he realized with relief, was amusement. He saw the looks she and Kie exchanged, a silent communication going on between the twins while their parents most definitely murmured warnings at them. And then, much to JJ’s relief, Stella and Kie broke away before running down the stairs.

JJ grinned widely, finally facing John B, who had been watching the whole thing with a grin. “Colonel.”

John B returned the salute JJ offered him. “Captain.”

JJ grinned. “Mission accomplished, sir.”

John B laughed as JJ shouted for the girls, watching as Pope pulled off his apron and handed it to his dad before running towards John B and JJ, all the while Mr. Heyward yelled, “Don’t do this! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

But Pope didn’t listen, instead high fived John B and JJ, before John B ran off ahead and the two of them faced the girls running over, as well. Kie and Pope ran side by side, laughing, and JJ opened his arms so Stella could run into his embrace, and he laughed into her neck as he lifted her off the ground with a spin before setting her down, grasping her hand in his, and following the others as they ran.

“Later, losers!” John B shouted over his shoulder towards the partygoers.

Stella was laughing, the sound brilliant and wonderful in JJ’s ears as Kie cheered while they ran. JJ couldn’t help but laugh as well. It may have been a shitty couple of days, but at least he had his friends.

*****

The fire crackled between them as Stella sat on a log next to JJ. The cicadas were chirping against the otherwise quiet of the night, and JJ had changed out of the waiter get up and was back in his signature hat, shirt, and shorts combo. The sight of the shark tooth necklace Stella had gifted him around his neck always made her chest tighten in the best way. She and Kie were still in their Midsummers dresses, but mosquitos and bugs never bothered Stella, so she sat comfortably as the fire warmed them.

She kept looking towards JJ, though—at the cuts and bruises on his face. The sight of him injured tightened her chest uncomfortably, made her stomach twist nauseatingly. No doubt his dad had done this to him, and it enraged her. She wished, with every fiber of her being, that she could get him as far away from his dad as possible. It hurt, so badly, to see JJ injured at the hands of his abusive father. JJ, despite what others may see as faults and flaws, was probably the best person she knew. He had such a big heart, a soul that deserved to be loved and protected instead of stepped on and beaten. She desperately wished she could protect him from the cruelty of others. He deserved someone to do that for him.

“Hey, guys. So, like, my dad’s already gonna kill me,” Pope said as he and John B dropped some sticks to feed the fire before sitting down. “So what’s this mandatory meeting about?”

Stella watched as John B looked at JJ, pointing at him as if he needed permission. JJ nodded. “Might as well tell him, man, before we’re gaffed.”

John B smiled like he held some kind of secret. “You ready for this?” he asked, looking at Kie and Stella.

The two girls nodded impatiently. “Yeah.”

The fire glowed against John B’s skin as he looked at all of them. “So, the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant.”

Stella blinked as Pope groaned. “Oh, my God. Here we go again with this.”

Next to her, JJ sat up, holding out a calming hand to Pope. “No, all right, wait. Hear him out, all right?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Pope and the girls.

John B had a finger to his lips before continuing, “It’s been here this whole time.” He looked to Kie. “It’s on the island.”

Her expression was one of shocked disbelief. “Are you serious?” She looked at John B before laughing in astonishment. “Oh, my God.”

Pope held up a hand. “I’d like to voice my skepticism.”

Stella was still trying to wrap her head around what John B said as he stood up. “I’m sure you would, Pope, but can I please present you with my evidence, sir?”

Pope rolled his eyes. “Proceed.”

John B held up a piece of paper he pulled out from his bag, proceeding to tell them about a letter he had from Denmark Tanny, a slave who had survived the wreck of the Royal Merchant. He showed it to Pope and the girls, telling them that the slaves weren’t mentioned as crew members on the ship, but that his dad found the complete manifest—his big discovery. Stella listened attentively, mouth agape, looking towards JJ who nodded with a smile on his face. He knew all of this already, it seemed. It was probably why he and John B had been together earlier.

“So Tanny used the gold from the Merchant to buy his freedom,” John B was saying. “After that, he bought his farm. Drumroll, please, because that farm is,” he paused dramatically as the group of them slapped their knees with their hands. “Tannyhill Plantation.”

Kie stopped. “Tannyhill?”

John B nodded, standing like a professor giving a lecture. “Yeah. So, after that, he used his money to free even more slaves, and then he sold a shit-ton of rice, which pisses off all the white planters, and then they decide to lynch him. So on the day they were coming to get him, he writes a letter to his son as a farewell, and in the last line of that letter, he leaves a coded message about where to find the gold.”

John B had Stella’s attention as she hung onto his every word, shaking her head as she asked, “Where?”

John B grinned. “Harvest the wheat in parcel nine, near the water.” He held up a hand. “Except, there is no wheat. You see, wheat is code for gold. Check this out.” He walked over to Pope, pointing at something in the paper Pope was holding. Stella leaned over to look as well. “The gold is in parcel nine, near the water.”

Kie laughed in disbelief as Pope murmured, “Holy shit.”

John B slapped his arm. “All we need is an original survey map of the property and we’ve found the gold.”

He was grinning widely as JJ stood up. Pope slowly started, “Okay, so this might have a small chance of being actually true.”

Kie bounced excitedly where she sat. “Dude, it’s like King Tut!” she exclaimed, earning a laugh from Stella.

“I am a genius,” John B announced, just as JJ tackled him into a hug. “Hey, whoa!” They teetered slightly where they stood before JJ lifted John B up. “Hello! Fire! You’re near the fire. You’re gonna burn.”

JJ pulled away and Stella snickered as he said, “I’m so proud of you right now.”

John B nodded somberly. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

With a shake of her head, Stella interrupted the moment by asking, “Okay, so, guys.” They all looked towards her. “What’s the plan?”

John B pointed at her as JJ made his way back. “Good question. Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight. She’ll bring the original survey map—”

JJ sat down next to Stella just as her eyes widened, gaping at John B before her gaze instantly shot to Kie, who was frowning. “Hold on,” she interrupted. “Sarah? Wh-why Sarah?”

Stella tensed, looking between a bewildered Kie and a hesitant John B. She and Pope exchanged glances, both of them suddenly aware of the tension building in the open space. “Um—” John B trailed off.

JJ took off his head, muttering, “This is gonna be good.”

Stella looked at him, catching the wince he shot her way. Silently, she frowned at him, but JJ shook his head before nodding towards John B, who stood with his fists on his hips. “Sarah, um, she. . . She got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday, and there’s where I got the letter.”

Kie’s face scrunched up even more, looking a mix of pissed off and confused, while Stella gaped up at John B. “You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?”

John B’s throat worked. “Yeah, um. . .”

Next to her, JJ announced, “He was mackin’ on her.”

Stella gasped as she stared at him, wide eyed, and JJ nodded somberly while Pope coughed uncomfortably into his fist. Across the fire, Kie was glaring up at John B, and Stella hated the betrayal she could already see melting into Kie’s eyes. John B shot JJ a glare. “I wasn’t macking.”

JJ lifted his chin, unrelenting. “You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.”

He wasn’t helping the situation, so Stella lightly flicked his arm, prompting JJ to immediately look at her, pressing his cut lips together to keep himself from smirking. She narrowed her eyes in warning, and all JJ did was link their arms together and pull her to his side.

“I wasn’t macking on her, okay?” John B spoke up, exasperated. “I was using her for access.”

JJ scoffed lightly. “There was access, alright.”

Stella pinched his side at that, despite the inappropriate laugh threatening to burst. Kie wouldn’t appreciate it, and Stella could tell her twin was seconds away from pushing John B into the fire. “Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kie demanded.

John B’s eyes widened. “I was trying to get into the archives.”

Kie’s voice grew loud with disbelief. “Is that a yes?”

“I. . . I left out key details,” John B said, looking to the others for help. Stella pressed her lips together, pressed up against JJ. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything, not with the current situation going on. Poor John B wasn’t going to get help on this.

“Yo, what?” Kie scoffed with a shake of her head. “You let a Kook in on our secret? What about Pogue Lyfe? What about the T-shirt company, bro?”

Suddenly, it was a battle between Kie and John B, and all Stella, JJ, and Pope could do was sit on the sidelines silently and watch. “I was just using her for information,” John B tried.

Kie shot him a wry look. “Why don’t I believe you?”

John B was growing exasperated already, shaking his head at the unhelpfulness of the others before looking back at Kie. “I’m trying to make us filthy rich here, okay, so that we can pay off a boat, or. . . or, uh. . .” He looked towards Pope, “send you to autopsy school to study bed bodies.” Stella’s face scrunched up as JJ suppressed a snort and Pope blinked owlishly. “Look, you guys know me. Do I look like the type of person to fall for Sarah Cameron?”

JJ blinked. “Uh—”

Stella tilted her head at John B. “Do you want us to answer that?” She could guarantee neither he nor Kie would appreciate the answer.

John B held up a hand at Stella. “Just—just stop.”

Kie shook her head, her jaw tight as she frowned deeply. “Look, you don’t know her yet. I do! You can’t trust her.”

Pope chimed in, “Her brother did hit me in the back with a golf club.”

John B looked to Pope. “Rafe and Sara are different human beings.”

JJ’s cheek was resting on top of Stella’s head as he asked Kie, “What did she do to you, exactly?”

Stella sighed. Oh, boy.

Kie held up two fingers and jabbed them forward. “She’s like a. . . a spitting cobra.” Everyone blinked, bewildered. “First she—she blinds you, and then—”

Stella was already shaking her head, sitting up straight as she said to her struggling sister, “This is a bad analogy.”

“Listen to me!” Kie exclaimed, clearly fed up with the situation. “Whatever we get, she’s gonna try to take.”

Her words were met by silence, other than the crackling fire and chirping cicadas. John B stood quietly, throat working, clearly unsure of what to say as JJ and Pope stayed in their own awkward silence, too. Stella suppressed a sigh. It seemed as though it was up to her to smooth things over, even if she did slightly side with Kie in all of this. She didn’t have a begrudging hate towards Sarah like Kie did, but they were sisters, and Stella needed to show solidarity. But she could also, in some way, see John B’s side of things. God, this was gonna be tense.

“Kie,” Stella spoke up carefully, prompting Kie’s gaze to connect with hers. “Whatever John B promised Sarah, that’s his issue. But if she’s the only way we can get the map, then we need to let it happen.”

Kie’s jaw was hard. “I don’t want her involved. I don’t want to deal with her.”

“We won’t,” Stella said, glancing quickly at John B before looking at Kie again. “Let John B deal with her.” When Kie didn’t look entirely convinced, Stella let out a huff. “This is bigger than your beef with Sarah. I know you know that.”

Silence fell upon them for a few moments as they all waited for Kie to respond. She sat quietly, hands gripping the log she sat on, mulling over Stella’s words. Stella, in turn, hoped she got through to her sister. They needed Kie to be on board with this, no matter her issues with Sarah. They’d already gotten this far in their treasure hunt—an old beef shouldn’t hinder them now.

Stella remained quiet, waiting for Kie to make a decision, although she silently enjoyed the sensation of JJ’s fingers ghosting up and down her arm, their arms still linked together. It was calming when others would argue JJ was anything but.

“Fine,” Kie finally gave in and everyone instantly sat up. She glared at John B. “As long as I don’t have to speak to her.” John B pressed his hands together and brought them to his mouth, his grin already forming. “I just hope you know what you’re getting us into.”

After John B profusely thanked Kie for agreeing, they killed the fire and got up before heading back to the van, since they had to drive to meet Sarah. The twigs and leaves crunched under their shoes as they went, but as Pope, Kie, and John B chatted while walking ahead, Stella lingered back and grasped JJ’s hand to slow his pace down.

He looked at her, eyebrows raising. “What’s up?”

Stella looked up at him, her fingers ghosting on his chin. Finally, she let the worry come out in full force as she asked, “Are you okay? Did—” she stopped, throat working to get rid of the lump that formed. “Did your dad do this?”

JJ’s jaw worked, blue eyes glimmering under the moonlight as he looked down at her. “Got a good chunk of money to pay in restitution,” he told her. “The old man’s not too happy about it.”

Despite herself, Stella felt the hot tears sting in her eyes. She preferred the pink in JJ’s cheeks when they were flushed when he was happy or even drunk—not the pink and harsh reds that surrounded the cuts and marked the bruises. Stella wasn’t sure she ever hated anyone as much as she hated JJ’s dad. Her throat was tight, unable to say anything except to croak out his name, “JJ—”

“Hey, hey,” he shushed her, hands coming up to cup Stella’s that had been ghosting along his sharp jaw. He held her hand in both of his before pressing a kiss to it, blue eyes locked in her brown. “I’m okay, Stel. They’ll heal. It’s no big deal.”

Stella scoffed, though her concern remained clear. “You can’t actually expect me to believe that.” The flutters in her stomach returned when JJ kissed her hand, when he looked at her with those baby blue eyes she loved so much. She let out a breath. “You’re sleeping over at John B’s, right?”

JJ offered her a small dimpled grin. “When am I not?”

Stella pinned him with a stare. They’d stopped walking and she knew they had to move soon, but she took a breath. “Whenever you can, either sleep at John’s or you sleep at mine. Okay?”

JJ raised his eyebrows, though she could see his gaze soften at her offer. But he kept the mood light as he teased, “You inviting me to your room, shark bait?”

Her heart jumped. “Wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed,” Stella pointed out. It was the truth. They shared hammocks, chairs, couches, and beds countless times before.

“Yeah, but it’s different now, isn’t it?” JJ questioned.

She looked at their hands before meeting his gaze again. “Is it?” she returned, throat working in anticipation. This was it. This was Stella asking JJ if whatever was happening between them was real, if something more was going to come out of it than a few kisses shared.

JJ’s gaze was intense, deep in a way she wasn’t used to as it stole her breath. “It is.” Steady, resolute, firm. No room for arguments. Thank fuckinf God.

Stella felt her grin appear before she could help it, relief warming her, and JJ mirrored her smile before ducking his head and pressing his lips to hers. She returned the kiss slowly, gently, not wanting to hurt his cut lips. Her heart jumped excitedly as he kissed her, but it was cut short, unfortunately, when John B’s voice cut through the air.

“Oi! What happened to no macking?”

The two of them pulled apart, but John B was grinning, as were Pope and Kie as they looked at the two of them. Stella’s face flushed as JJ slung his arm around her shoulders before they began walking towards their friends. “I’m sure we can make an exception,” JJ said smoothly, cockily.

John B’s grin was wicked. “If it means you’ll finally stop whining about how much you looooove Stel, then yes we will.”

Stella laughed, cheeks flushing, while JJ spluttered. “I never whined!” he protested as they joined their friends.

Pope rolled his eyes. “That’s true. You just bottled it all up inside because you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Sounds about right. I’m the one who made the first move,” Stella said, grinning widely at JJ’s betrayed expression, laughing as he used his arm around her to push her away. Stella continued laughing, along with the others, as she stumbled away, but didn’t lose her balance because JJ instantly caught her hand and pulled her back to his side.

“Whatever. I like an assertive woman,” JJ said with a charming grin, pressing a kiss to Stella’s temple as they neared the van.

Pointing at Pope and John B as they climbed inside, Kie said, “You two owe me twenty bucks, by the way.”

“No, we don’t!” John B argued as he started the van. “It’s after Midsummers.”

Pope nodded in agreement as Kie grinned wickedly before meeting Stella’s gaze as she sat on the back bench. With a giggle, Stella confessed, “It was actually yesterday. Before the summer movie series.”

John B and Pope’s gazes swung to JJ, who leaned back with his arms propped on top of the back bench casually as he said, “It’s true, boys.” John B shook his head and began driving, and JJ added, “Can’t believe you three bet on us.”

Sitting on the floor opposite of them, Pope scoffed. “Can’t believe it took you two this long to get together.”

“Okay!” Stella spoke up loudly, clapping her hands together once and shooting all of her friends a look. “We’re done talking about this.”

They reached their destination soon after that, a spot off in the middle of the woods where a tower stood, the apparent meeting spot John B had set up at Kildare Hawk’s Nest. As soon as he parked the car, Pope slid open the back van door as JJ slapped his knees. “Hit it, boys! We’re goin’. Recon mission.”

But before any of them could even get up, John B turned to face them. “Yo, uh. . . So, uh, I think I’m gonna do this one by myself. . . Tonight.”

Thunder rumbled overhead as Kie rolled her eyes and Stella and JJ fell back in their seats. She raised her eyebrows as JJ drawled a knowing, “Really?”

John B frowned. “What?”

JJ took off his head. “Nothin’.”

John B sighed, fixing his own hat atop his head. “I don’t want to spook Sarah with the peanut gallery.”

Kie shrugged, voice sharp and annoyed as she looked at John B. “I just don’t understand why we’re involving her at all.”

Stella let out a sigh as she leaned back, JJ now sitting on the ground next to her, his head resting against her leg as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Kie, we’re not involving her, okay?” John B said, exasperated. “It’s—it’s just, uh, like a—a business meeting. . . Thing.” On the ground, JJ made a crude motion with the joint he held and made a gulping sound, prompting Pope to grin in amusement while Stella rolled her eyes at John B. He was not selling this well. “Look, once we get what we need, we cut her loose, all right? Plus, we need the map.”

Yeah, okay. Stella wasn’t quite sure how much she believed that.

Kie pursed her lips, leaning forward as she stared John B dead in the eye. “Promise me nothing’s happening between you two.”

John B widened his eyes, answering breathily, “Nothing is happening, Kie.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Okay!”

Kie was still frowning, as if she was trying to get John B to get the message through her glare. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about us. This is about her.” Stella pressed her lips together as she watched them. Kie’s beef with Sarah was so damn deep, she wondered if they would be able to do with if she wasn’t on board with Sarah helping out just this once. Personally, Stella didn’t give a shit about Sarah Cameron; she just didn’t like her out of principle for the way the end of that friendship hurt Kie. Everything else was between Kie and Sarah. “Dude, she’s gonna get inside your head. Just promise me nothing’s happening between you guys.”

John B looked at her as lightning flashed outside and thunder rolled. “I promise.”

“That was really believable,” JJ piped up.

Pope nodded. “A hundred percent believable.”

Stella lightly knocked JJ with her knee while glaring at Pope, effectively shutting both of them up. John B didn’t dignify them with a response, instead saying, “Anyways, um, I’m gonna take care of business.”

JJ shook his head, playing with the joint. “You’re gonna take care of it so well.”

Stella waved John B off dismissively. “We’ll just sit here,” she said dryly. “In the hot-ass car.”

Pope added, “While it’s lightning.”

They left the back door of the van open as John B got out, backpack on as he walked off towards the tower. The wind rustled outside, thunder rumbling every now and then to accompany the flashes of lightning that warned of a storm rolling in. “Kiara, holding onto your grudge is like drinking poison and thinking Sarah will die,” Pope said once John B was gone.

“Exactly,” JJ nodded.

Kie shot the two of them a withering stare before looking at Stella. Her twin merely shrugged. “You know I’m on your side,” Stella said. “But you can’t really tell John B what he can or can’t do.”

“I’m not trying to tell him what to do,” Kie shot back. “I’m just warning him against the kind of person I know Sarah is. She’s gonna fuck us over.”

“Look, we just—we just gotta trust that John B knows what he’s doing,” Pope tried to placate, looking between Stella and Kie. “That he’s using his head.”

Kie scoffed, not really convinced. “I know what head he’s using, and it isn’t the one on his shoulders.”

“That’s a good one,” JJ mumbled quietly where he sat.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the rumble of thunder, before conversation started up again. Pope had asked about what happened at Midsummers, and JJ launched into the story that led up to the Kooks cornering him in the men’s room while they waited for John B to return with the map.

JJ was saying, “Rafe and Kelce followed me—”

Kie cut him off. “Wait, do you guys hear that?” Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Sh.”

Stella frowned. “What?”

And then, in the distance, over the sound of the wind howling and thunder rumbling, came a girl’s voice yelling, “Please, somebody, help!”

All of their eyes widened, instantly on their feet as JJ grunted, “Oh, wait, no, I hear that.”

“Shit,” Pope cursed as they all stumbled out.

“What the fuck?” Stella muttered, gripping the skirt of her dress so it didn’t get tangled in her feet as she ran.

The voice, Stella realized, belonged to Sarah, and her heart started pounding as they ran towards the Hawk’s Nest, throat already drying in worry. The first thought in her head was that something went terribly wrong, that John B was hurt, and when they all cleared a group of trees towards the base of the Nest, Stella’s fear came true as a gasp ripped through her at the sight of John B lying on the ground, Sarah crying as she cradled his head and begged for him to wake up and open his eyes.

“Sarah! What happened?” Pope asked as they came running over, skidding to a stop, their breathing labored.

Sarah was crying, and Stella’s heart clenched at the sight of John B, unconscious, fear drenching her veins in ice as she instantly gripped Kie’s hand. “I don’t know what to do,” Sarah sobbed. “He needs help. Topper shoved him.”

Anger heated Stella’s skin, momentarily taking over the terror trembling her body as JJ demanded, “Where the hell is he?”

But Sarah just cried, “Oh, please, please, please get help. I don’t care who. Just call someone.”

Stella pushed Pope away as she panted, “Go! Call 911! Go!”

Pope took off and Kie shouted after him, “Pope, hurry!”

They all stood, breathing labored and hearts pounding, unsure of what to do as their friend lay unconscious. Worry weighed heavily on them all, to the point where Stella couldn’t even stop to question the way Sarah was holding John B to her, crying for him, kissing him and begging for him to wake up. No, nothing else mattered other than their injured friend, the tears stinging in Stella’s eyes as she prayed to anyone who was listening that he would wake up. Soon. Now. Please.

[neonthewrite]

Field Trip

Another contest prize! The request this time was for some quality fluff between Jacob Andris, a human, and Vel, a young wood sprite of Wellwood. Jacob is the gentlest giant around, so it's no wonder that little sprite wanted to hang out with him!

Reading time ~5-10 minutes

~~~~~

Jacob smirked when Bowman flitted towards him. As he predicted, the fussy sprite wasted no time scolding him. “Could you be any more of a stompy giant?!” he complained, banking in a wide arc around Jacob’s long, striding gait. “You’ll scare everyone off before you even show up.”

Jacob had put a lot of work into walking carefully enough to avoid that exact situation. Even knowing he could do more, he was confident in his skills. Naturally, that did nothing to stop Bowman from scolding him. Jacob would worry about the little guy if he ever kicked that habit. “Nah, I won’t,” he countered. “I had you to warn everyone I was coming. They know I’m on the way. Bet I’ll even have a big welcome party.”

Bowman scoffed. “Welcome party or not, you’re blasted loud, Jacob. No storm clouds to be seen and yet there’s thunder.”

That earned another chuckle from Jacob. “Dude, what’s got you so worked up? Trying to convince people you trained a giant again?”

Bowman groaned, and Jacob spotted the look on his face before he could flit away. “Bowman, you don’t need to fret about it. I’ll be on my best behavior, like I always am. No one will find a reason to scold you, at least not from me.”

Another little scoff. This time, Bowman swooped close so he could land on Jacob’s shoulder. With his perch claimed, he finally admitted “Fine. You’re right. But if someone gets upset, I might just get chased out of the village. Last visit a nestling climbed into your hood but I’m the one who got bopped for it!”

Jacob laughed, though he tried to rein it in with Bowman perched on him. “Dude, they wouldn’t do that. And if they did, you can just chill with me. That’s not so bad, right?”

“Ha. If any nestling gets in trouble, I’m pointing at you, giant.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but wasn’t surprised. “And if someone tries to bop you, I’ll probably have to let ‘em. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m not trained, right?”

“Oh, climb a dead tree. And then behave. We’re almost there.”

~~~

Jacob had visited Wellwood several times before. It never went as badly as Bowman assumed it might, though not for lack of griping. Most of the residents of the village trusted Jacob to be near their vulnerable homes; he’d stood up for them against other humans before, after all. He protected the secret even from his own family. Even those who were still wary of him didn’t begrudge others a chance to visit with him. Jacob had no intention of forcing someone to be around him if they didn’t want to, anyway. He had plenty of visitors as it was.

True to his word, he behaved well. He put up a calm front for Bowman, but in reality Jacob was careful to watch every move. He didn’t want to break that fragile trust he’d built up with the wood sprites of Wellwood.

While some of the younger sprites came to see Jacob, with their parents nearby just in case, Bowman had spent some time wheeling about in the air, chasing or being chased by other sprites his age. It was a pleasantly uneventful afternoon, as far as Jacob was concerned.

He made his way back to his clearing near dinnertime. While the sprites all wandered home to eat, Jacob wanted to be well away from the village. Seeing him eat made them nervous sometimes, and it made him feel awkward. He’d go have his dinner at his camp and the sprites needn’t be bothered.

The clearing, his temporary residence whenever he visited, was just as he’d left it earlier. His tent waited to one side with some firewood piled next to it. A plastic cooler sat in the shade next to a bucket for water. He had a sturdy line tied between two trees to hang up some of his other belongings, particularly food he didn’t want some forest critter to drag away.

He took a few steps towards that line only to halt in surprise at the sound of a giggle. The sound startled him enough that he swayed in place from the sudden stop. It was not a sound he expected out here, not with the village so far behind him.

“Alright, very sneaky,” he said to the open air before looking down at the pocket on the front of his hoodie. An innocuous pouch of fabric, it fascinated most of the sprites that encountered it. They didn’t have pockets on their clothes at all, so he didn’t have to wonder why.

Gingerly, Jacob reached a hand into the pocket, wary of bumping into tiny wings at the wrong angle. A small figure shifted away from his fingers and another giggle emitted from the pocket, and he couldn’t help a faint smile of his own. Whoever it was, they were young and quite pleased with themself for their deception.

A deception Jacob would take the blame for, he was certain.

“C’mere, kiddo,” he said, scooping his hand beneath the miniscule sprite and ferrying them out into the open. Little movements fluttered on his palm as they settled, and before he even had them in view he felt little hands clinging to his thumb for stability.

It turned out to be one of the nestlings, an absolutely tiny child with wings too small to do more than flutter along on the ground. His light brown hair was mussed and staticky from the pocket, and his wings stretched out as soon as he was back in the sunlight. He grinned at Jacob as he rose to eye level with the would-be giant. “Hi, Jacob! I was hiding!”

“I noticed,” Jacob replied, amusement coloring his voice. “You’re … Vel, right?”

If possible, the boy’s grin brightened. “Yeah! I’m Vel! I wanted to see your, um, your camp! So I was real sneaky.”

That exuberance was hard to deny, so Jacob only shook his head ruefully. “You don’t need to be sneaky to come visit me here, Vel. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind bringing you, but you should have asked so they’d know where you went.”

The boy stuck out his lip in a defiant pout, and his little wings flared open in a show of confidence despite the way his arms still wrapped around Jacob’s curled thumb. “But I wanted to be sneaky! And my mama wouldn’t have said yes, not when it’s dinnertime. But I thought, maybe, I could just have dinner here! Then when we go back she won’t get upset!”

Oh she’ll be mad alright, Jacob thought. Just probably not at you. It looked like Bowman’s worrying earlier would come to pass and Jacob would earn a few tiny bops.

He looked over his shoulder as if he might see a pair of angry sprite parents darting out of the woods right then and there. When he looked back, he was met with some very potent puppy eyes from Vel. “Okay,” he conceded, earning another enthusiastic grin. “But you’ll have to be good, and you have to promise me you won’t hide in my pocket again, okay? It’s not safe for you to be in there without me knowing.”

Vel nodded vigorously. “Okay! Yeah! I’ll be good, Jacob, I promise!”

“Good, we don’t want to make your mom worry any more than she already will,” Jacob replied with a faint smile.

Jacob had no doubts the kid would do his best, but really the responsibility all rested with him. He sighed and determined not to let that thought worry him; it wasn’t like he would let Vel wander into something dangerous, and the kid really couldn’t go all that far on his own. His wings were still small, occasionally fluttering involuntarily.

He moved his hand closer to his chest, offering his tiny guest better stability as he continued towards his hanging food bags. “You might end up having a dinner of human food, I can’t remember everything I brought,” he warned.

Vel didn’t seem worried. “Yay! Is it candy?”

Jacob had to chuckle at that. He grabbed one of his bags down from the line and made his way to his dormant campfire to have a seat. “No, I’m not gonna feed you candy for dinner,” he chided. “You need something healthier to make sure those wings grow big and strong.”

Vel pouted up at him, but didn’t have any further arguments. He clung tighter to Jacob’s thumb as he settled himself on the ground. He watched the sturdy food bag curiously, eyeing the zipper as Jacob opened it up.

First things first, Jacob rummaged in the bag with his free hand until he found a handkerchief, little more than a worn swatch of cloth he’d meant to use as a napkin. This he set on the ground before finally lowering Vel down. “Here you go, bud. You can sit here so you’re not right in the dirt, sound good?”

Vel scooted himself to the edge of Jacob’s hand, pausing to survey the offered picnic blanket before he hopped down. His wings fluttered and his arms shot out to his sides so he could prevent a stumble, and then he grinned proudly up at Jacob. “Thanks, Jacob! It’ll be fun! I’m gettin’ hungry! What’re we gonna have?”

Jacob couldn’t help an endeared smile. He gently nudged at Vel’s tiny stomach, earning a burst of giggles. “Hungry, huh? Let’s see what I have, maybe we can fill that tummy right up.”

“I betcha have a lot,” Vel mused, dropping to a seat while Jacob searched through his bag. “That bag is big enough for a whole house! Maybe two!”

“It’s pretty big alright,” Jacob agreed. “Gotta have a lot so I don’t run out while I’m visiting. Then I’d have to eat leaves, and those don’t fill me up as well as they do for you sprites.”

Vel giggled some more, but was distracted from responding when Jacob produced a few clear baggies from the large canvas bag. Raisins, granola, trail mix, and a few other things that kept well were separated into the bags; Jacob set aside a few that definitely wouldn’t work (thankfully Vel didn’t notice the M&Ms in the trail mix before it was out of sight again). Jacob picked out a raisin and a broken shard of a banana chip, thinking they’d be plenty to get the kid started.

He held them out and Vel, his eyes wide, took both in his hands with an endearing kind of reverence. “Thanks, Jacob! These look really good! This … what’s this yellow thing?”

Jacob helped himself to some granola, but before eating any he explained the food for Vel. “The yellow thing is a dried piece of a banana. It’s a kind of fruit. The other thing is called a raisin. It’s a dried berry. They’re still good like that, I promise.”

Vel wrinkled his nose in thought, then eyed up the two unusual fruits in his lap. “That sounds like winter food,” he pointed out. “But they’re not cold!”

"Nah," Jacob agreed, keeping an eye on the fascinated little sprite. "Maybe they were cold when someone dried them out. I don't know how they make 'em."

Vel nibbled at the banana chip and pondered it. Jacob took the kid's distraction as a chance to sneak a few more bites of granola. Vel didn't seem as worried about it as most of the adult sprites, but Jacob didn't plan to take any chances upsetting him. The kid had an innocent trust in the would-be giant in his midst. Breaking that trust would be deplorable.

After a few minutes of quiet, Vel finally had a verdict. "I like this banana thing," he announced, holding up the piece he'd barely made a dent in. "You said it wasn't gonna be candy, but this is just as good as candy! It’s kinda hard but I don't mind 'cause it's really yummy!"

"Well, good," Jacob said with an endeared smile. "It’s good for you. Much better for those wings than candy would be " To punctuate his claim, Jacob nudged one of Vel's fluttering wings with a fingertip.

Vel squirmed away on his makeshift picnic blanket, clutching his banana chip close to his chest as he did. “Wait, wait, I wanna try the other thing too!” he said in between giggles.

Jacob relented and nodded pointedly at the raisin Vel had left behind in his scrambling. “Oh, that thing right there? I thought you were leaving it for me.”

Vel gasped and dove for it. “Nooo, I still want it! I promise!”

“Alright,” Jacob conceded, doing his best put-upon expression. “Go ahead and try it out. Whatever you don’t manage to fit in your tummy can go home with ya, okay? Maybe your parents would like it.”

And maybe a peace offering will get me out of trouble, he amended silently.

Vel fidgeted to settle himself comfortably again. “Yeah! I bet they’d like to try it. Winter food that isn’t cold is so weird!”

Jacob hummed thoughtfully. “I bet it is,” he said, sneaking some more of his own food while Vel was preoccupied. “I wonder what your mom and dad will say about it.”

~~~

Soon enough, it was time to head back to the village. The sky was turning orange at the edge of the horizon. No matter the begging faces he got, Jacob’s resolve only wavered a bit. He really couldn’t let the kid stay out too long without his parents knowing where he was.

Arriving back at the village, he had a feeling he knew which of the trees held Vel’s home. A number of adult sprites fluttered around it in agitated patterns. They barely noticed his return to the village.

Until he cleared his throat. “Um. Hey, guys.” He held up his hand, fingers curled for the security of the nestling sitting on his palm. “I had someone sneak back to my clearing with me when I left for dinner.” Vel waved at the nonplussed adults.

Several of them darted over to Jacob, heedless of his size. Among them was none other than Bowman himself, who came to a hover right before Jacob’s face. “What did I tell you about behaving?!” he scolded.

Jacob blinked and leaned back. “I did behave! Vel here is very sneaky. So I gave him some dinner before bringing him home.”

Vel was grinning at a sprite woman that had landed right on Jacob’s hand to check on him. “I was so sneaky, mama!” he announced. “We had fun! Jacob let me keep the leftovers!”

At least he had Vel to smooth things over. Jacob could tell by Bowman’s narrowed eyes that he’d be bopped later. “It was just a little field trip. Won’t happen again without permission, I promise.”

“It better not,” Bowman warned, as if that was all it took to keep a nestling from misbehaving and landing Jacob in trouble.

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader 

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

X

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

[star-lemonade]

The Festival (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: fluff, cross dressing

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.2 k

Junhee was one of the most attractive people you knew. He was good looking, yes, but that was not the main source of his attractiveness. Somehow he always left you with the impression that he cared about people and put others before himself. You never told anyone but it would be nice to have someone care about you. Taking care of him for a change would be nice too. He seemed like he could use someone being there for him. You sometimes spoke in the company kitchen, but you never met outside of work. Maybe, one day, you would ask him out. Maybe.

That day your business trip took you out to a city you had not been to before. It was only a few hours away by car but you never had a reason to come here. The conference would last for three days, Wednesday to Friday. On the first evening there were some unofficial meetings, but soon the parties moved from the hotel to the city. A historical festival was taking place in the city center. The crowd was a mixture of people wearing modern clothing and hanboks. A lot of the vendors were also dressed in historical clothing. The streets were illuminated by lamps that looked like lanterns with open fire at first glance. The moving orange and yellow bands gave the illusion of flames. Foods from the different booths filled the streets with mouthwatering smells.

You noticed that you had lost the rest of the conference people while exploring the festival. Your stomach began to rumble. It was time to eat something. The selection was a bit overwhelming so you entered the nearest food stand that had some tables. Even here the historical feel was present. The low tables stood on elevated platforms with the guests sitting on cushions on the platforms. You sat down at the only free table. The waitress wore a beautiful hanbok, but the stress of working at a festival was written in the lines of her young face.

You ordered something to drink and to eat. Your drink arrived fast and you were thankful for it. You were starving but the drink filled your stomach at least temporarily.

Your eyes followed that waitress as she served food to another table. Two women in hanboks sat there. They looked like they were related, maybe they were sisters? One wore blue, the other green.

When the waitress approached them, you could see the face of the sister in green in front view. She looked familiar, but you did not know from where you knew her. You looked away so as to not get caught staring. Your food came and the mystery woman was forgotten. Your basic needs had to be satisfied. It tasted better than it probably was. Junhee. Junhee! That was who the woman looked like. The thought came so suddenly you almost dropped your spoon. He had sisters, that much you knew but did they live here? It’s probably a coincidence.

You finished your meal and decided to move on. The air in the plastic tent was too thick and hot to have a clear thought.

You left the restaurant wondering if it was just your brain seeing Junhee everywhere. Yes that must be it. Lately he had been on your mind a lot. He was a bit clumsy, but there was something charming about that too. Oh man, I have a crush on Junhee, don’t I?

You heard your name from behind you. The woman in the green stood behind you.

“Can we talk?”

Without saying a word you walked away from the crowds of the festival. You felt the tension of the other person and did not dare to speak up. Around a corner a dark patch came into view. The banks of the river were emptier than the streets with its booths. You stopped at one of the benches overlooking the river.

“I guess I should explain.”

Junhee‘s voice was softer than usual. You were sure now that it was him(?).

“You don’t have to. It’s none of my business.”

Junhee seemed to think otherwise. He(?) pressed his(?) lips into a thin line, but did not say anything. Whatever question came to your mind, seemed inappropriate to ask, but the silence began to weigh you.

“That’s a nice hanbok. It looks good on you.”

It was true and Junhee smiled a little.

“Thank you.”

He(?) looked down at the gravel path that spanned the river bank down to the small pedestrian bridge.

“I like being a man.”

He paused, thinking. You did not dare to say anything. This was a very private moment and even sitting on this bench, so close to Junhee felt almost too intimate. He did not have to tell you anything. Junhee nodded more to himself.

“But going out like this. It feels good.”

You touched his arm.

“You really don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I should.”

He insisted.

“Why? If it makes you uncomfortable? Don’t worry I will not tell anyone.”

“Because ..”

He looked away. The river gurgled and a couple strolled by, talking about something. Junhee stood up. His fist clutching the fabric of the hanbok.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow.”

You simply nodded and Junhee took off into the night.

You returned to the hotel tired and worried. The way Junhee had fled earlier did not leave your mind. You typed “Are you okay?” into your phone. I don’t want to bother him. The cursor whipped the message off the screen.

After a restless night your phone woke you up at 6:30 am the next morning. You had rolled from one side to the other but the unfamiliar bed had made it hard to sleep. Now It was time to meet some old business men. The shower helped to wake you up properly and the breakfast buffet in the hotel’s dining room looked better than expected. You filled your plate with everything that appealed to you in that moment and sat down at an empty table for two. None of the other conference goers were to be seen, so you could enjoy your meal. Your phone lay screen down on the table. How is Junhee doing? You picked it up and looked at the messaging app. Would it be good to text him?

“I hope I didn’t offend you yesterday. I’m sorry, if I did.”

It wasn’t the best thing one could say but needed to say it. You could not stand the thought of Junhee being hurt.

“I hope you are okay.”

Of course he did not reply right away. It was still early morning and he was probably sleeping. The next time you had a chance to look at your phone was during the “coffee and networking” break at 9:30 am.

“You didn’t. I’m okay. Let’s meet today. I have time around noon.”

It was not exactly the right thing to do but you excused yourself after the last talk of the morning session and left. The dinner would be more important, it would be okay if you missed the lunch buffet.

Junhee looked fantastic. He wore a brown leather jacket and his dark hair looked freshly cut. You were not sure which version of him looked more attractive, the one with the fake lashes or the one with the leather jacket.

The restaurant was empty. It was a bit too early for most people to eat. You basically had the place to yourselves. You chewed on your lip.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”

It was literally the last thing you expected to hear. His shoulders were slumped. It made him look smaller than he actually was.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable!”

Maybe it came out a bit too fast because Junhee did not look convinced. You wanted to say how much you liked him but how would that look? He may take that as just a thing you said to get out of this situation or worse. What if he thought you only said you liked him, now that you had seen him cross dressing. Was it okay that you had liked it so much?

“Really, it’s all good. It is all good between us right?”

Your tone got more uncertain towards the end. You did not have that much of a relationship with him yet, but you could not stand the thought of him avoiding you.

“You don’t find that weird?” He licked his lips. “That I like to wear women’s clothes?”

His shoulders were tense. What you were about to say next would determine how this thing would go.

“No. You are an amazing person no matter what you decide to wear.”

A blush crept onto his face.

A waitress appeared. You had completely forgotten that this was a restaurant. It had felt like it was only you and him.

When the waitress left with your order, Junhee leaned towards you.

“Can I ask you something?”

Something in his tone made you perk up. Usually this question preceded a not so usual question.

“Only if I can ask you something too.”

He nodded.

“Do you… hm .. is it possible that you.. like me?”

Your mind went blank. He looked at you from the other side of the table. The little beauty mark on his cheek was something that was easy to look at. Did he mean like as in like like? Your next answer could be game changing, for better or for worse.

“Yes, I like you a lot.”

Now you could just cross your fingers and hope that being honest was the right course of action. You did not want to look at him in fear that he would reject you.

The waitress was back with your drinks and it gave both of you a bit of time. Junhee’s whole face was red and it was cute.

“What question did you wanted to ask me?”

So he was just not going to address this? Okay. Okay. You felt your face burn but also did not have the courage to ask him how he felt about you.

“Did your ex know about you cross dressing? Does anyone know?”

It clearly was not the question he had expected, you could tell by the pause that followed. He looked at his drink.

“My ex knew but she didn’t like it much. She didn’t give me a hard time because either. It just wasn’t something we talked about much. My sisters know of course. My parents were a bit worried in the beginning, they are a little old fashioned.”

You nodded. Junhee had broken up with his then girlfriend a few months ago, as far as you had heard. You were not sure why you had asked that question.

“Do you want to go to the festival tonight with me? Like a girls night out?”

It kind of slipped your lips and you prayed he would not take it the wrong way. His brows shot up and looked down at his drink.

“Yes, I would love that.”

A breath you did not know you were holding released.

Your food came and the conversation shifted. You talk about the conference that you had not seen much of yet. There still hung this question between you. You had said you liked him but he had not said anything to address your confession.

He decided to accompany you back to the hotel and you secretly loved that. You walk side by side. The last few days had been a bit cold, but today the sun gave its best to make it seem like it was still summer. Your hands brushed and Junhee caught your hand. He slid his fingers between yours and just like that you held hands. You could not stop a big, stupid smile from break on your face. The streets were not familiar but Junhee seemed to know where you were going.

“This is not your home town, is it?”

“No but my sister lives here. I come to visit often.”

It felt nice to walk with him like this. Your steps had synchronized without you thinking about it. The hotel was not far now, you began to recognize the houses.

“You probably look very good in a dress.”

You could not look at him and your face burnt. Hopefully he did not take it the wrong way.

“You like it?”

The tone was neutral and you could not tell if he approved or not.

“Yes but you look good either way.”

Junhee stopped and you looked at him. A moment later you found yourself in a tight hug, pressed against Junhee’s upper body. You could feel his breath on your neck and tried to protect what little dignity you had left by not melting into his arms. It failed.

“Thank you.”

The words tickled your skin and Junhee pressed a kiss to your cheek as he pulled back. Your brain must have short circuited being in your crushes arms and your face being so close to his. You kissed him. It was more a short peck, really. You did not have time to apologize for your forwardness. Junhee was a good kisser. The way his lips moved against yours made your heart flutter. It ended too soon.

“I have to go.”

Your tone said ‘and I don’t want to’. Junhee nodded but his hands still held you close. How nice would it be to just stay like this?

Technically there would be a dinner with the conference people that evening but the temptation to just skip it altogether was very big. Spending more time with your maybe, soon boyfriend was more appealing than spending the evening listening to the old men. They would only repeat the same stories they told at the afternoon networking session and the morning session. You texted Junhee but he insisted you stayed at least for a bit. His argument of ‘he would take some time to get ready anyways’ seemed like a plot to make you work. Reluctantly you joined one of the tables. You knew some of the men on this table. They were that type that would leave and find a seat at another table soon. Exactly what you wanted. They just had to see you were there, so no one could complain. You doubted that any of them really cared but there was a chance your supervisor would hear about you not being at the dinner through the grapevine.

The dinner was a buffet and you were first in line for food. You did not even remember afterwards what you had, because Junhee texted you with two outfits and asked which one you liked more. One was a grey skirt with a black shirt and a white scarf, the other outfits was a dress. Both would look fantastic, you were sure of that but there just was something about the first outfit that made you send ‘I love the first one’.

After an hour a window of opportunity opened and you left for your room. You changed into something more casual and left the hotel. Junhee would be waiting at the river. A thought struck you. Did he use another name when he was cross dressing?

You arrived at the river and turned right like the evening before. Junhee sat on the same bench, waiting.

“Good evening.”

It was a bit stiff but Junhee smiled at your greeting anyways. You hugged and when he pulled back you used the chance to ask about his name.

“Junhee is also a woman’s name. So just continue to call me that.”

You strolled through the narrow streets arm in arm with Junhee. Even before today you had been comfortable talking to him but now all inhibitions had disappeared. You two giggled and smiled the whole way to the other side of town. Some older people gave you stern looks but it did not phase you. Junhee was in an extraordinarily good mood. You suspected that his secret had weighed heavier on him than he had let on.

Junhee suggested going to his favorite restaurant in town and you agreed.

The place was away from the festival but not too far away. The waiter showed you to a table in a corner.

“At day time you can see the garden, from here it’s really beautiful!”

‘Really beautiful’ was also the person opposite you. The long wig hid Junhee’s sharp jawline and made his face a bit softer. The dark blouse hid his muscular arms and the fake lashes made his eyes shine.

You felt awkward not eating anything so you ordered something small to eat along with the drinks. Junhee devoured his food and when he caught you staring, an embarrassed smile appeared on his face.

“I didn’t have dinner yet.”

The light blush on his face was very cute and you found yourself smiling like an idiot.

Junhee finished the food and got ready for a toast. You raised your glass too and Junhee said: “To us!”

“To us!”

It was not your first glass so it seemed a bit silly but you smiled brightly anyways. The restaurant was full and the noise made it harder to hear. You moved your chair next to Junhee. In your head that had seemed very casual but in reality it was intimate. You were sitting in a corner now with the wall on one side and gorgeous Junhee on the other. The fake lashes really were the worst. Your heart fluttered and you looked away, face bruning.

Junhee took your hand and interlaced your fingers. The thin rings he wore looked good on him.

“Junhee?” You chewed on your lip. It seemed stupid to ask but you really did not want to there to be any misunderstandings.

“Hmm?”

“Is this a date?”

You met his eyes and he smiled, but it was paired with a nervous laugh.

“Would that be bad?”

Junhee furrowed his brows. You panicked thinking he may take that as you not wanting it to be a date.

“Oh. No! no. I just.. wasn’t sure... “

Say something.

“You know.. We kissed and I thought..”

You stopped at the look on Junhee‘s face. You were so close, it would have been easy to lean in a bit more and press your lips against his lips. His hand tightened and his fingers pressed into the back of your hand.

“It is a date.”

The lipstick had the perfect color, You almost could not tell that Junhee was wearing lipstick. Now, so up close you could see the little imperfections in the outline of his lips. You remembered how they felt on your lip and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“Not here.”

The words broke the trance you had been in and you leaned back. He was right, the small town people may not be very happy with two women kissing, and even less so if they happened to notice that Junhee did not exactly fit their definition of 'woman’.

You held Junhee’s hand until your drinks were empty. It was pretty late and you still had to attend the conference tomorrow. Even Though you wanted to spend more time with Junhee, you had to go. The waiter came and Junhee lifted his handbag to look for his purse.

“I’m buying. It’s okay.”

Junhee let the small black handbag sink and smiled.

Arm in arm you walked back to the hotel. The night air cleared your head a bit but the giddy happiness remained.

Thanks for reading :)) see you in the next part.

A/n: this one was kinda tricky. Korean doesn't really have pronouns and especially no 'he' or 'she'. That's the main reason it doesn't get discussed in this fic. In gendered languages like english however it matters how you address people. Please respect people's pronouns.

[thejamesoldier]

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 3

A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx

Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II

First order of business is to wash.

You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.

One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.

You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.

"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.

Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.

In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.

"Um, Miss?"

It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.

"Miss? Are, are you okay?"

It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --

"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.

Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...

You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.

"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"

Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --

"Wait!"

-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --

"Wait! Wait!"

Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!

"Wait!"

As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --

Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!

Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.

"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"

--

Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.

"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.

"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.

"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"

"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"

Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.

"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.

--

Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.

The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.

Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?  

"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.

You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.  

"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.

"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."

You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.

Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.

"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."

"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."

"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."

"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.

There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.

"Thank you Kieran, I --,"

"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."

"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.

Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.

'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.

"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.

You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.

"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.

He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.

--

After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.

"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.

I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.

"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."

She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.

"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."

"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.

You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.

"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."

You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.  

--

The other women aren't too bad.

Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.

You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.

"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.

"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"

Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."

"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.

"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."

Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."

"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.

"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"

"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.

You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.

"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."

"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."

Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"

A harsh huff blows from your lips.

"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.

Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.

"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"

Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.

"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."

Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.

"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."

Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.

"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"

You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.

"Deal!" You confirm.

Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.

It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.

As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.

He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"

You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.

"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."

A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.  

"Do you? Care?"

"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."

You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.

"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.

"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"

Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.

"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.

Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.

"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."

Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.

"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."

"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.

"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."

You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.

"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."

Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.

"It's the only way."

There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.

"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.  

Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."

"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.

"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."

"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.  

Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."

There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"

You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."

"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"

"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."

"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."

"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."

You take a moment to consider this information.

"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.

The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...

--

You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.

With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.

"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.

You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.  

Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.

"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."

You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.

"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"

"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"

The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.

"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.

"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.

Fuck.

"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.

Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.

"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.

"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.

"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.

Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.

"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.

Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."

You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.

"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.

"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.

"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.

"Um,"

"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.

"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.

"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.

You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.

"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.

"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.

You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.

--

It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.

"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.

All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.

"He is not an O'Driscoll."

Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.

"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.  

You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.

You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.

"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.  

"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."

"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.

"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."

"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."

Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.

"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.

He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"

You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."

Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.

"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."

"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.

"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.

"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."

You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.

"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --

"Okay I'm sorry!"

There it is.

"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.

You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.

"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."

Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.

"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.

He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.

"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."

Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.

I guess men will be men no matter the time period.

"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.

You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."

Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.

"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --

"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.

Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.

"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."

"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --

"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.

"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.

"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."

Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.

"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.

Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.

"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."

Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.

"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.

"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.

Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.

"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."

You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.

"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.

This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.

"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.

Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.

"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.

"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."

Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.

Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.

"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."

"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"

"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"

Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.

"Ladies! Sing us a song!"

It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,

"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.  

"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.

The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.

--

"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.

Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.

"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"

"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.

Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --

"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.

The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.

"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.

"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.

Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.  

"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.

"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.

Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.

"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.

The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.

"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.

Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.

"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."

He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.

The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"

Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.

"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.

"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.

Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --

"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"

The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.

"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"

Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.  

"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.

"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.  

"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."

God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.

"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.  

Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.

"Well, you didn't!"

Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.

"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.

Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"

"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.

"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"

"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.  

"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.

Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.

"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.

"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."

They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.    

"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"

Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.

"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.

"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."

Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."

As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.

"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.

He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.

"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."

Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.

"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."

A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.

--

"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"

You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.

You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.

"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.  

"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.

Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.

Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.

"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."

"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.

You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."  

Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.

"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.

You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,

"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"

You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.

"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.

The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.

"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.

"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.

May 17, 1899, it reads.

1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.  

The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands

This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.

"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.

"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.  

You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.

You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."

"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."

A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.

For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.

"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.

"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.

Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.

"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.

You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.

Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...

"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"

It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.

--

Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.

His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.

She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.

"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.

Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.

"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.

"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.  

"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).

"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.

Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.

Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?

But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.

"Another." Arthur blurts.

He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.

"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.

Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.

This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.

The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.

"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.

With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.

Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.

Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.

(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)

Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --

"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"

The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.

"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."

Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.

"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.

He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.

--

You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.

The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.

"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.

You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.

Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.

You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --

Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.

"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.

His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.

"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.

Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.

"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.  

You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.

"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.

Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.

"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.

It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.

"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.

You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.

"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"

Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.

Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?

Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.  

"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.

"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.

You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.

--

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx

Masterlist

[belovedbangtan]

Dive : Part 3

<Part 1> <Part 2>

Pairings: Jungkook x y/n, Yoongi x oc

Word Count: 3.4k

Description:  Camping with your ex, sounds horrible right? The camping trip was   planned and payed for long before y/n’s shitty boyfriend broke up with   her. Her best friend Abby, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook are  there to make sure she has an amazing time. However, sharing a tent with  a smoke show like Jungkook is bound to lead to some complications.

Warnings:Language, Alcohol, alcohol poisoning, nipple play?, little bit of exhibitionism?, So MUCH fluff you might faint.

✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️

The morning arrived quicker than you expected. Cuddling with Jungkook gave you a sense of security that you had never had before. The sun instantly started to heat up the inside of the tent making it nearly impossible to sleep in very long. You throw the blankets off of your body, waking Jungkook in the process. He mimics you in discarding the blankets before he moves over to your side. He sleepily pecks your temple with multiple kisses, making you coo into is arms. He wraps them tightly around you for a moment before you interrupted by the sound of the zipper on your tent.

“Ah! That’s what I’m talking about!” You hear a high-pitched squeal as Abby peaks her head inside the tent. “Get up love birds, were going floating!”

You feel Jungkook’s chest quake as he laughs at how obnoxious her response was, his arms still tight around your body. Finally, you pull yourself away and the sight of him when you turned around was enough to break your heart and set your insides on fire. His full body, from his beautiful toned thighs to perfectly imperfect bed head; on full display for you. His bottom lip jetting out to tell you he didn’t want you to leave, and his puffy eyes signaling that it might take a few more minutes to get him moving. You giggle as his hand around your wrist tightens, he attempts to pull you back to him. Jokes on him because you didn’t really want to leave his side anyway. Smirking as you crawl back over to him, straddling his hips and placing your hands on his tones abs.

His eyes instantly pop open, he’s awake now. He slowly sits up to meet you, his hands finding your hips. His fingers slowly glide on the skin beneath the long t-shirt you were wearing. While his lips find your neck, leaving soft and lazy kisses all the way up your jawline.

“Don’t make me come in there!” Jimin screams from what seems like only a few feet away. Jungkook laughs silently before leaving one last kiss to your jawbone. You slide off of him, grabbing your bag full of clothes. You turn away from each other while he puts on his swimming trunks and you put your bathing suit and a pair of jean shorts. You throw a hat over your hair to hide the bed head you were sporting. There wasn’t really a point to try hard since you would be floating down a river all day.

Once you’re finally out of the tent, everyone is packing up their coolers to head to the river. We get in a bus that the campsite provides, and they drop us off at a starting point in the river. We float five miles until we reach the ending point, and the bus picks us back up to return to the camping grounds. Floating was always one of your favorite things to do with your family each summer. It was basically just you, an innertube, and a lot of alcohol.

Some of the groups rented a raft, and some of the guys chose to canoe. Your group decided that inner tubing was the way to go. Yoongi brought rope to tie all of the innertubes together, along with the innertube that held the cooler. You flopped into the tube laying back, while the boys pushed you off of the bank into the flowing river. The sun was out, and the day was absolutely beautiful. The bus driver from the campgrounds mentioned that a storm was coming in so we needed to be at the stopping point before it got bad. You figured you might as well get drunk now since you’ll most likely be stuck in your tent later on. To be honest it excited you thinking about getting to spend more time alone with Jungkook, and you hoped that’s how it played out.

You’re about a mile in and a few beers down, when you feel his fingers lacing with yours. You look up and he’s fully immersed in a conversation with Yoongi. It makes your heart skip a beat knowing that even while he’s distracted, he’s pulled to you. When Abby pulled Yoongi away to talk, Jungkook turned around, resting his head on your innertube.

“How’s it going gorgeous?” he asked softly.

“Oh you know, kind of buzzed and its only noon,” you lower your glasses to let him see your eyes, as you lift your beer to your lips.

He smirked at you and followed your lead, drinking his beer too. Getting drunk while you’re in water is always a dangerous game. Sometimes you can’t really feel the effects until you’ve been out of the water for a while. Simply put, you can really fuck yourself up if you don’t watch yourself. Taehyung opens the cooler and pulls out a bag of homemade Jello shots. Jungkook grabs one for you and brings it over.

He loosens the Jello from the container, “Open up,” you listen as he lets it plop into your mouth. You’re face scrunches in disgust, nearly making him choke on his own shot at he tries to control his laughter. Of course, Tae would use way too much booze in the recipe.

“Tae, these are so strong!” you whine as you force it down your throat feeling the sting of the Vodka.

“No shit, I’m trying to get drunk love. “He rolls his eyes at you, how dare I complain. You start to laugh, as he throws you another one, “Stop complaining and drink!”

You regret it as soon as it hits your tongue, swallowing quickly so you can wash down with your beer. You look over as you feel his eyes on you, he’s biting the inside of his cheek with a smirk. You know something is stirring in that brain of his, and you really want to know what it is.

One of the other groups finds a bank eventually and everyone pulls off to eat, and drink more. Some of them switching around in the canoes and rafts. You pull your tube to the rough sand, making sure it wont float away. You stand up, and your instantly hit with all of the alcohol you’ve drank so far. It wasn’t enough to make you stop drinking, but you knew you needed to eat something. Before you can find what cooler the food is in, you feel yourself being tugged away. He pulls you into the water deep enough so that no one can see our bodies, just your shoulders and head.

“There’s no current here, so we can swim.” He explains as he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you into him. You voluntarily put your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“You wanted to swim, yeah?” you giggle sarcastically

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse,” He starts as he pulls you in closer to him, lifting his hand to push some of your hair from your face, “to feel you again.” He shrugs.

He sighs, “You know, you’re really fucking killing me. I just want to rip your suit off.” He looks down biting his lip. Your eyes widen, and you look to see if anyone is watching you. When you realize no one is, and you’re far enough out, you slowly start to kiss his neck.

“y/n, baby,” He groans you giggle quietly continuing your attack. You decide to lean back in his grip, to pull your swimsuit top to the side. Your nipples hard from the cold water, he practically starts to drool. You know that no one can see what’s going on but the fact that you could get caught makes you feel so naughty. He brings one of his hands around to feel, taking your nipple in between his fingers tugging gently. You let out a soft moan before readjusting your top.

“As much as I appreciated that, it did not help my current situation.” He pouts, but all you can do is laugh. He starts to dip your head back into the water, leaving kisses on your collar bone each time you do. You loved how touchy he was with you; however, it was making it extremely hard to take things slow with him. After a few more minutes, you’re being called to the bank to start floating again.

The day was honestly picture perfect. You didn’t even realize that Ben was there, and it felt so amazing. Tae, Jimin, and Yoongi were way too drunk already, but that made for the best entertainment. Jungkook wasn’t nearly as drunk but you could tell he was tipsy, by the how clingy he was. Perhaps your earlier shenanigans didn’t help, since that he couldn’t stop touching you. Yoongi decided to tell you that Jungkook has never been this clingy to someone this quick. You know that you should be excited to hear those words, but your brain starts to panic wondering if things are going too fast. Abby, of course was eavesdropping on the convo and tried to calm your nerves but telling you not to over think it. You were the queen of overthinking, it was definitely easier said than done.

“Look, do you like him?” Yoongi said matter-of-fact.

“I mean, I do… but I ju-“He cuts you off instantly.

“No, none of that. If you like him and he likes you then that’s that. You know? That’s life. Maybe you guys won’t be together, maybe you will, maybe you’ll break up, maybe you’ll get married.” Your eyes widen at the words and he sighs, “The point is, you can play the maybe game all day, but don’t let it get in the way of something real.”

You nod in agreement. Yoongi was quite possibly a genius and of course he was right. You glance over at the Jungkook while he sings loudly with Tae and Jimin and you know that regardless of how scary the thought of someone like him was, there was absolutely no way you could deny the way he made you feel inside. The chemistry was undeniable, and unlike anything you had ever experienced.

With two miles left in the float, there was a massive cliff that was known for being jumped off of. Abby told you about how everyone would do it every year. You were excited about it until you saw it with your own eyes. It was massive, and you couldn’t even see how to get on top.

One raft pulled to the side and started to walk up to the top of the cliff. The trail was set, but it still looked incredibly dangerous. The guys in the group were helping the girls, which instantly discouraged you. When they finally got the top, you could see the pure fear in a few of their eyes. Within seconds one of the boys was running off the edge and into the deep water beneath it. The gasp that came from your throat each time someone decided to jump was involuntary. Jungkook thought it was cute though, peaking over at you each time it happened to watch your expression.

“You wanna come jump with us? Yoongi is gonna watch the tubes,” He asks already anticipating a strong ‘fuck that’ from your lips.

You watch the girl jump and come up from the water, she looked so thrilled. You wanted to feel that. A rush of adrenaline was exactly what you needed. You looked over at Jungkook and it makes your chest tingle when you feel like no matter what he’ll take care of you.

“Yeah, lets do it.” You respond quietly. His eyebrows raise and his smile stretches across his face, “Hell yeah, lets go!”

Jimin and Taehyung start to head up first with Abby. You start to follow them with Jungkook leading you by walking backwards, you giggle as he watches your every step.

“I’m good, Kook.” You look up at him, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t care how confident you are he’s not chancing it. When you finally get to the top its flat, but its so high. You take a deep breath as you look over the edge carefully. Taehyung pulls a bottle of Soju out of nowhere and starts to chug it, “It’s a tradition every year, you have to take a shot before you jump!” He explains before passing the bottle to Jimin, who passes it to Abby. She passes it to Jungkook and he tilts his head back downing the harsh liquid before holding it over you mouth. You open without thinking, he started to pour it in until its overflowing.

“Now we jump!” Jimin yells taking Tae and Abby’s hand. They scream as they run off of the edge before plummeting into the dark water below. You exhale the breath you had been holding when you see all of their happy faces pop out of the water.

You feel his arms around your waist, you didn’t realize how bad you were shaking.

“If you want to go back down, we can.” He mumbles, as you turn in his arms to look at him. He subtly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You shake your head no; you want to do this.

“We’ll just go on three, okay? Just close your eyes and jump.”

“Fuck its so scary,” you breathe holding his hand as you look over the edge once again.

“The most amazing things in life are. Sometimes you just have to take a breath and dive in, no matter how terrifying it is.” His voice is small, yet warm. You turn into him knowing that his pep talk is referring to more than just jumping off of the cliff. He’s talking about you, and the feelings he has. If you couldn’t breathe before, you definitely couldn’t now.

You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into you, “I think I’m ready,” You whisper just before pressing your lips into his. You feel his lips pull into a smile while he kisses you back. He takes your hand in his and he looks at you once more to make sure you don’t want to change your mind; you nod at him once before looking forward.

You both start running towards the edge when he counts to three, “LETS GET IT!” he screams as you both fall through the summer air and into the icy water. When you surface it takes you a second to grasp your surroundings. When he finds you and pulls you into him, you wonder if that’s all you need in life. You feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he holds your waist, floating in the water. Telling you how amazing you did and making sure you’re okay. Adrenaline had a funny way of making you feel like you were in love. Your head was spinning, and your breath was short. Perhaps it wasn’t adrenaline at all, maybe you were falling hard and fast for him. You held onto him tight, there was no way to stop it now.

Once you get back to the tubes, the others give you both a knowing look. Taehyung pulls out even more Jello shots, and you happily take all of them with out complaining this time. Jimin starts to pass the remainder of beers and shots out, demanding that we finish them before the float ends. The adrenaline and alcohol make you feel drunk, you seem to have a hard time saying no, so you drink everything that’s handed to you.

After what felt like an eternity you finally see the bridge that marked the end of your five-mile float, and the bus that was meant to take you back to the camp ground. As you took your seat on the bus, you feel your legs give out. Your head is spinning in a different way than before. Your limbs are heavy, and you know you’re drunk but it feels like more than that. Jungkook slides in next to you, instantly picking up on how off you are.

“What’s wrong?” He worries as he pulls you into him.

“Don’t feel good.” You answer quietly, your head dropping to his chest. He goes to get up but you pull on his shirt, “Don’t go, please.” You beg without opening your eyes.

“I’m not leaving, baby.” He coos as he runs his hand up and down your spine. He quietly asks Abby to grab one of the plastic bags in the front of the bus in case you needed to get sick. Despite the awful feeling in your stomach, having him next to you gave you a sense of security.

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You don’t know how, but when your eyes open, you’re lying in your shared tent. You look around you but you’re alone, and you still feel awful. Then you realize why you woke up; your stomach is turning and you have that familiar feeling in your chest and you know you’re about to throw up. You shuffle to your feet, unzipping the tent as fast as you could running to edge of the woods. You buckle to your knees, jumping when you feel your hair being pulled back for you.

Jungkook knelt beside you, while you threw up an absurd amount of booze. Once you were done he handed you a bottled water. You stood up with wobbly knees, walking back to the tent.

“Feel any better?” He asks quietly, sitting down next to you.

Lay back and you put your hands over your face, “A little.”

“You need to eat something, y/n” He grabs your hand and you look down to see a sandwich with chips on a plate, “Please.”

You sit up slowly knowing that you were genuinely worrying him, and suddenly realizing that you hadn’t eaten at all that day. You take the plate and you start to eat it in small bites. You ask him for the time and when he tells you its only 3 pm your eyes widen. You started the float so early, but there was no way to keep track of time on them. You wondered if you would be able to rally for the rest of the night. Jungkook makes you drink at least three bottles of water before he’s satisfied. The Advil he gave you with your food is helping slowly. You lay back on the mattress, and he lays next to you.

“You scared me,” He whispers, making you turn to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot for not eating,” You mumble turning on your side to be face to face with him, “thank you for taking care of me.”

He smiles and nods, “It’s impossible not to,” He explained and you swoon as usual. Mostly because you could feel how true it was. Ever since you had made a connection with him, he was always looking out for you, taking care of you.

Abby peaks her head in to tell you that she and the boys were going to play drinking games in her tent since the storm was coming in soon. You instantly want to vomit again at the mention of drinking or smelling anymore alcohol.

“Kookie, you can go. Im still really tired.”

“I’m good here.” He says not moving a muscle, “Do you want to change into something comfy?”

You take a deep breath knowing how good it will feel once you have his big t-shirt on instead of this uncomfortable swimsuit and jean shorts. Swinging your legs over the side of the mattress you groan as you start to get up. He pulls you back to the mattress telling you to lay back down. He started to sift through your bag and you watch, “Can I wear your shirt again?” You whine. He has to chuckle at you and how needy you get, its possibly one of the cutest things about you.

“You want my shirt, Princess?” He hovers over you. You nod with big pleading eyes, for whatever reason you think it will make you feel better. He takes your hands pulling you so that you’re sitting up. He slowly starts to untie the top of your swim top, then part around your back. He slides it off, before taking the shirt off of his back to slide it onto your body. You lay back, watching him as he starts to unbuckle your shorts pulling them off of your legs.

He laughs to himself when he sees how red your cheeks are, laying down next to you before pulling you on top of him. Your head fits perfectly in the spot in between in chin and his chest.

“Go ahead baby, I’ll be here.” He says quietly and that’s all you need to drift away again.

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Taglist:

@cainami @carolsummerlove @zeharilisharaban @jikooksgirl19 @fallen-for-luke @madygswich @sugalarity @itboykook

A/N: PLEASEEE dont forget to tell me your thoughts! It makes me want to write more! Also Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

[northcarolinanative]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞 - Pope Heyward

Description: After John B and Sarah are gone and Ward was able to get the gold off the Island Pope feels the most defeated he ever has. He’s losing control of his friendships, his family, and his life. He slips into the unhealthy habits of his best friend, JJ. Y/N doesn’t like the person he has become, but what can she even say to start to make it better. TW// Drug use 

A/N: I had this idea out of nowhere when rewatching Outer banks recently. Pope is so complex to me and I had a hard time trying to encompass him in this, so any feedback that you have would be so so appreciated. I promise I am working on collision and request this is just a lil break because all my requests are JJ (not that I am complaining haha). As always my Requests/asks/messages are open :) 

It had been a few solemn days since Ward Cameron had flown off with the gold and John B and Sarah’s disappearance. The two young teenager’s fates hung like an unsolved mystery heavy over the rest of the pogues. The conspiracies that each person had come up with circled everyone’s thoughts anytime a silence fell over the group. The group felt utterly defeated at the loss of their friend, their brother. They lost the gold to the same man that sealed the fate of John B, angering them even more. 

“I don’t even understand why Ward needed that gold so bad!” JJ said kicking the logs in the fire. The logs fell creating a flash of flames. The group flinched slightly at the sudden heat, causing JJ to step back, falling into his respective camping chair. “He’s already rich as fuck anyway.” He scoffed. He pulled a joint from his pockets placing it between his fingers and lighting it. We were used to JJ getting high to deal with the thoughts that overtook his brain. JJ wasn’t JJ without ‘taking the edge off.’ 

What did surprise me was how Pope leaned forward, skillfully taking the lit joint from JJ’s hand. He leaned back in his chair, bringing it to his lips. He took a visibly large hit, only letting out a few shallow coughs. He closed his eyes letting the feeling wash over him. JJ reached to take it back from him, only for Pope to pull it away from him. Kie and I shared a worried glance with one another before looking back at the two boys on the other side of the fire. 

“He’s just a greedy Kook. Rich people get richer, and we don’t. We aren’t the Camerons, we don’t get second chances. Ward robbed us of our one chance to make it rich.” Pope spoke, his voice coming out slow and his drawl becoming more prominent. He was on his fourth hit from JJ’s blunt, no longer flinching when he took a long drag. He finally offered the blunt back to JJ, who practically snatched it from his hand. 

“I was trying to get you to relax bro, not hog my shit,” JJ mumbled. Pope just responded with a groan. I kept my eyes trained on the boy in front of me. He had been worrying me lately. He had to have a lot of emotions building up inside of him. He had expressed to us many times that growing up, he never really learned the proper way to deal with emotions. We all knew Heyward expected nothing but the best for Pope, pushing him to be the best version of himself that he could be. Somewhere along the way, I think Pope worked so hard that he lost part of who he was to his studies. All he wanted to do was making his parents proud. I think that is why the treasure hunt was so important for him. It was developmental for all of us, but it allowed Pope to have fun and open up to experiences outside of the textbook, to live the rebellious teenage life. 

We were all quick to tell him to come with us, to stop worrying about the essay, the interview, or his dad. None of us thought about how that would affect him. He walked out of his scholarship interview, giving up his one-way ticket to a better life, just to help us. That is the kind of friend that Pope is. Since then it had been tearing the boy apart. He didn’t say much, but whenever Heyward had us packing orders at the shop I could hear the sly remarks made about how Pope had the opportunity for a better life, or how Heyward was angry that Pope let something so good slip from his fingers. 

My heart hurt for the boy sitting in front of me. If that wasn’t enough he had to sit with the girl that he confessed his feelings to, only to have her push him away. Kie told me about the interaction almost as soon as it happened. Every time I would catch his eyes wandering to stop on her face, or he would follow in behind her, my stomach would drop. I would do anything for Pope, he knows that. After Kiara told me about their conversation at Tannyhill, I decided that I was going to push my feelings for Pope down to the pits of my brain and forget them, even though that hadn’t been happening lately. 

I definitely did not have the best coping mechanisms for this, but JJ was always down to flirt with anyone. I started responding to JJ’s empty flirtatious remarks more often. They almost always caused the two of us and Kie to laugh, but Pope was always seemingly in another world. He was always one to have a witty one-liner or the perfect roast to knock JJ down a few pegs, but he was quiet now. His sense of humor fleeting the group. 

“That’s…” Kie started, looking between the group, trying to see a reaction from Pope’s train of thought. “Dark.” she breathed. 

Pope scoffed before promptly getting up from his spot by the fire and quickly walking toward the water’s edge. I looked at Kiara and JJ with a confused expression. She nodded her head in his direction signaling that I should follow. I knew that things between the two of them were tense, but every time Pope had gotten upset over the past few weeks my heart broke further and further. He was turning into a shell of himself from the overwhelming amount of rejection that he was feeling. 

I found him, leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods, his head hung low, looking at the sharp rocks that formed the jetty. The closer I got the louder the water crashing to the rocks became, helping to drown out some of the loudest thoughts in my head. I approached the tall boy, bringing my hand up to his shoulder, beginning to rub it in a comforting manner.  

He pulled his shoulder away from me with a shrug. He shook his head slightly, before looking away from me. It hurt like hell seeing him have this reaction to me simply trying to be there for him. I felt the tears prick my eyes, the events of the past few weeks coming back to fruition as I watched the broken boy in front of me. The moonlight was bouncing off his skin making him glow in the darkness of the moment. 

I decided that being by the water was the only way that I would feel calm at this moment. Saltwater ran in all of our veins, the closer we were in proximity to the ocean making us feel more at home. I stepped out and onto the jetty. Looking back at Pope, trying to elicit anything that I could out of him. I held my hand out to him, urging him to follow me to the waves. As his hand slipped into mine, I pulled him further and further from the edge of the island. I felt a glimmer of hope in the way that he gripped my hand and the soft smile that graced his face as we clumsily made our way over the jagged, mismatched rocks. 

We finally got the edge, finding a larger rock, suitable for the two of us to sit on. We sat on the rock, our arms and legs brushing against each other due to the limited space. Pope’s eyes were once again were trained on the water that flowed against the rocks underneath us. The silence was heavy for a while. 

Pope finally starting to speak. “I’m sorry that I went off like that.” He sighed, leaning back onto his arms letting his head roll back with his eyes closed. 

I didn’t respond immediately. I was distracted by the way that his demeanor had changed the anger that had held onto him moments ago was now replaced with sadness. The way that the solemn look on his face made me want nothing more than to melt into him. “You have every right to be upset, Pope,” I said reaching for his hand again. He let me pull it into my lap, holding it between the two of mine, my thumbs rubbing comforting lines, back and forth.

“It’s just so much. I don’t know how much I can handle. I am never enough.” He said. I felt his hand tense up as he lifted himself to sit up straight. “I have literally disappointed my father so much, he won’t even look me in the eye anymore Y/N. I gave up my one good shot to get outta here, at a better life, to help some damn treasure hunt!” He said the urgency in his voice. I was at a loss for words, not knowing what to say to help him feel better. “I gave up everything and it still wasn’t enough for the others. They want me to help them with research and give up my time, that I need to earn back my father’s respect, to go on another goose chase.” He said scoffing. 

“Hey,” I said forcing him to look at me. “They,” I said nodding my head back toward the other two. “May not get it, but I do. I realize that you gave up everything for your idiot friends. Me included.” I said, finally getting him to crack a slight smile. “And for what it’s worth, I appreciate every single sacrifice that you made through the entire treasure hunt, and I’m sure that if John B was here, he would too,” I said nudging his shoulder.  

He let out a slight laugh at the mention of John B. It was always a toss-up to see how we all would react to the mention of him and Sarah, sometimes it was a reminiscent chuckle, sometimes it was a few straggling tears. “Don’t sell yourself short. We would have never found that well without both our brains.” He said nudging my shoulder back. I was happy to see a little more of the Pope that I know, the Pope that I loved, peeking through all the emotions again. 

I laughed with him shortly before continuing. “As for your dad, he wants what’s best for you and I don’t think he knows exactly how to show his love for you, so he does it through pushing you to be better because he wished he had someone like that,” I spoke, recounting the time Heyward has told us about his family. I spoke softly trying not to overstep my boundaries. 

Pope nodded his head in response, taking in what I had just told him. “I’m glad that they always send you after me.” 

I snapped my head to look at him, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I met his deep brown eyes, filled with every emotion that he was feeling. Reading over my expression he became nervous about his statement. “I mean after everything with Kie, I just figured that they sent you.” He spoke in a low, uncertain voice, shrugging his shoulder, suddenly insecure in the moment. 

“No, I always come because I want to. Last time you stormed off, I practically pushed JJ off the dock to get to you.” I said giggling at the memory of the overdramatic boy we were speaking of. It was Pope’s turn to return my statement with knitted eyebrows, as his eyes searched my face for the meaning of my words. 

“After Kie…” He said, his voice shaky and low. No one really talked about Pope confessing his feelings for Kiara, we all pretended like it was a fever dream and did not happen. I heard him swallow before continuing,” rejected me.”  He said with a sigh. “She said that she wanted something different?” He said, his word coated with confusion themselves. “I just felt like no one really wanted me around, or wanted who I was.” Silence fell over us as I gripped his hands tighter involuntarily, hanging onto every word that left his mouth. Every word he spoke about Kie tearing at my heart. “I don’t love her like that though, I don’t know why I did it.” My heart wanted to shatter for him, but I settled for picking up the pieces to hand to him to put back together. He spoke, regret now evident in his voice. “I don’t why I am doing any of this. I’m getting drunk and high, picking fights, like I’m JJ,” He sighed. 

“I know we always said we wanted you to loosen up, this isn’t what I want” I laughed awkwardly trying to joke about the topic, but I meant every word that I said. “I want the old Pope back.” I felt him tense at my words. 

Pope stood up, taking his hand out of mine and wiping the dirt off the back of his pants. “I don’t! It’s like my life went downhill after that interview and no one gives a shit! The old Pope was walked over by all these people and I am sick of it!” Pope said, his voice rising as the distress became evident. He started stepping over rocks to move back to the forest. 

I quickly stood up, briefly contemplating the words that were about to come out of my mouth., I quickly swallowed my pride, not caring about the outcome. My heart was beating in my throat, making sure that the words had to claw their way out. “I care Pope! I have always cared! Probably more than just your best friend should!” I said. The tears started to prick at the corners of my eyes as the words left my mouth. 

Pope stopped in his tracks, turning to face me, his eyes wide as he processed the words that I said. I grew bold in my actions, deciding that if I was going to put it out there that I had to put it all out there. “I’ve always been here Pope, I wished I could have made you seen it sooner before you fell for Kie, but for me,” I stopped closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, “It’s always been you. You’re little witty comments never fail to brighten my day, or how you effortlessly help me to do better at anything, even the way that we used to sit on John B’s dock in the middle of the night and have those deep ass conversations.” I said, feeling out of breath. “You’re it for me.” I managed to get out as my voice finally broke. I opened my eyes to see Pope, walking back towards me, His steps careful and calculated as he crossed the distance that had been created between us. 

“You like me?” Pope stuttered out. His face was one of complete and utter shock. 

I shook my head and scoffed. “You don’t have to act so surprisedly.” The tears were falling freely down my face, as I tried to look anywhere but the curious eyes if the boy in front of me. I moved my hand to try and wipe away the tears that were falling down my face, embarrassed of how emotional I had become. 

I was stopped by Pope’s hand moving at the same time to cup the side of my face forcing me to look up at him. I felt my face contort to show the pain that I was feeling. His eyes flickered between the two of mine. I couldn’t help but melt into the touch of his hand, trying to savor the way that it felt to be in his grasp. 

It took me a minute to comprehend what was happening, but the Pope’s lips were on mine. I felt myself sway backward from the feeling. Pope wrapped his arm around my back to keep me upright as I kissed him back at a feverish pace. I settled my arms on either side of his neck, holding the back of his head in one hand. I wanted to pull him impossibly close. The world around us felt like it was spinning into nothing until it was just the two of us in the middle. I could feel the emotions of the night being poured into the kiss, the anger, the regret, but most importantly the passion. 

We finally had to pull away from one another in a need for air, but we stayed entangled together on the teetering top of a jetty rock. Pope leaned down once again resting his forehead against mine. The eye contact was so intimate that I felt like I could hear his thoughts. 

“Just so we’re clear. I meant it when I said I know that I am not in love with Kiara. I just thought that after all this time you would never see me the way I saw you, so I tried to move on. It really blew up in my face though.” He said, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He placed a soft kiss on the top of my head. “You’re it for me too.”

My Masterlist:) 

Tagging those who asked :) -- @kikifromtheblock​ @bedazzledbanks​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @poguelifesurfshop​ 

[ashliinks]

until finally | cedric diggory

prompt ; imagine being one of the mermaids who lived in the black lake

words ; 4.5k

pairing(s) ; cedric x maledictus-mermaid fem!reader, fred & george x reader                        (platonic)

a/n ; i wrote this at 3am after sobbing over goblet of fire, pls enjoy :) 

        take a shot everytime i saw grindylows for liver failure

Ever since you were as small as a guppy, you had always known you were different from the other merfolk who resided in the Black Lake. Your more human-like features and your lack of proficiency in mermish music, stood out amongst the folk in your village. It wasn’t until you were thirteen, that your mother revealed her darkest secret to you. 

Many moons ago, your family was bestowed with a curse. A blood curse. The curse had been passed down the women of your family for centuries it had seemed. From your understanding, the type of blood curse meant your fate was predestined; and that in time you would be permanently stuck beneath the dark waters of the lake. 

You had never thought to question the days you spent on land. The ability to change your tail into legs had never seemed odd to you, until a young mermaid told you that it was very strange indeed. You would be lying if you said it didn’t cross your mind as to why none of the merfolk took you up on your offers of picnics on the river-bank. 

You had come to realise that your mother had unfortunately succumbed to the curse, unable to transform into a human anymore. As the days went on, she seemed to grow more and more miserable, for she missed the feeling of the sunshine on her skin, the grass beneath her feet and the friends she made in the wizarding world. All of the young wizards she knew had abandoned her as soon as she was limited on the time she could spend above water. You tried to convince her that the younger generations of wizards were more understanding, and that those who visited you after school hours and weekends were the nicest people you had ever met. 

You took a deep breath as you broke the surface of the Black Lake, the warm sunlight being a welcomed feeling on your cold skin. As your ears adjusted and popped at the sudden assault of air, you heard cheering from the shore. Looking over you noticed a cluster of Hogwarts students jumping and waving to you. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your features, diving back under the water so you could swim closer to them.

“Y/N!” A voice called out to you as you resurfaced once more. Propping yourself up on the lakes edge slightly, your eyes instantly recognised the black and yellow robes of the Hufflepuff boy who had come to visit you.

“Diggory!” You yelled in glee, flinging your arms up into the air at the sight of him, making you fall back into the lake slightly. This seemed to amuse him and his rabble of fangirls, them all chuckling beneath their breath as your clumsiness. 

“How is my favourite wizard...Don’t tell Fred and George I said that,” You winced, only imagining the backlash you would receive from the twins if they ever found out.

“Cedric has only gone and put his name in the Goblet of Fire,” One of the Hufflepuff boys yelled with a giggle, making your smile drop suddenly. You pushed yourself up further, motioning for Cedric to lean forward. The boy did so wearily, noticing your sudden change in expression. He was right to do so, as when he was in close enough reach you sunk your hands into the collar of his robes, using your great upper body strength to fling him over your head and into the lake. 

Everyone went quiet.

He resurfaced shortly after, spitting water everywhere. “What in the bloody hell was that for?!”

“HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID TO PUT YOUR NAME INTO THAT STUPID CUP DIGGORY? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY KIDS WE HAVE HAD TO DRAG BACK UP TO THE SURFACE BECAUSE THEY NEVER MAKE IT PAST TWENTY MINUTES IN HERE?” You yelled, splashing water at the boy to emphasise your words. 

Cedric was silent. When he put his name in, he had heard of the terrible feats some of the tasks held. He had heard whispers of those that sunk beneath the murky waters of the lake to never return. So it was safe to say, your reaction had been pretty tame to what he initially imagined you would do.

“I might as well drown you myself! How could you be so, so-” Ah! There it was. He had half expected you to drag him straight down to the bottom of the lake and leave him there, but he knew you didn’t have the gall. You couldn’t even hurt a Grindylow, no matter how prickly they got sometimes. 

“I’m going to be fine! I have all but perfected the bubble head charm-”

“You think that now Ced, but wait until you're in the water. Because it's not just your air you have to worry about, there’s the Grindylows and the kelpies, not to mention the giant squid and he’s feeling particularly tender after those Durmstrang kids ran their boat over one of his arms-”

“Love, you’re overreacting! Plus I have you don’t I? Or will you bail on me if we have to come to the lake?” Cedric asked, cocking his eyebrow as he splashed you slightly.

“Are you doubting me Diggory?” You asked, raising your voice as you splashed him back once more.

“I would never!” He feigned hurt at the idea, making you burst out into laughter. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER RODE A BROOM?” Fred and George yelled in unison as you climbed further up in the tree you were all gathered around.

“My mother kept me in my mer-form most of my life! I’ve never even held a wand even though we’re supposed to be witches,” You giggled as you rose higher and higher.

“YOU WHAT?” They yelled even louder. Even Hermoine had a surprised look on her face at the remark.  It was no lie. Your mother thought it may have been best to keep you a mermaid most of the time, that way when the transformation became final you would not long for the wizarding lifestyle she so desperately missed. You had never ridden a broom, never held a wand. Hell, you had never even cast a spell as simple as an accio charm. 

“Well this simply won’t do,”

“Not at all,” The twins rambled on in turns. You could never quite get over that, their twin telepathy and always knowing what the other was thinking at all times. It must be a terrible thing to have to deal with. 

“C’mon then guppy, we’re off to the castle.”

“Wait, what? I mean is that even allowed, I’ve never been inside the castle, I don’t even have shoes, are you sure Dumbledore wouldn’t mind that I-”

“Christ, you’d think being underwater all the time would limit your skills of communication,” George laughed as you began your descent towards the ground. 

“Who cares if you don’t have shoes, Potter walks around looking like he’s just woken up in a parallel universe half of the time,”

The laugh that erupted from you had you throwing your head back, a chorus of chuckles resounding from below you too. You were laughing that much that you had forgotten to keep a tight grip on the branches, and in the next moment your wobbly legs had slipped from their place, sending you tumbling through branches and leaves. Hurtling towards the ground, you braced for the impact. You almost wondered what would happen if you were to break a leg. Your mother would kill you, there’s no doubt about that, but would your tail also be broken? You didn’t particularly want to find out. 

After what felt like a lifetime, you landed. However, it wasn’t the hard, painful landing you were expecting. Instead what you had landed on was soft, and warm...and moving? Opening your eyes, that you had not remembered closing, you came face to face with a chest. It was only when you looked up, you were met with the slight pained expression of Fred Weasley.

“Try to be a hero and I just get the wind knocked out of me,” He wheezed, making you blush bashfully. 

“Could say you just took my breath away guppy,” He winked, making you burst out in another uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“CEDRIC?” You yelled out as you ran through the courtyard of the castle, the whole place completely unfamiliar to you. You did however, manage to blend in quite well, Fred and George had taken you to Hogsmeade and had provided you with a set of Hogwarts robes, out of the allowance their mother was sending them. You had nearly cried when you found out they had been saving up for weeks just to make you feel more included. Your heart swelled even more when they told you that you could come and visit the castle any time now, looking like a student wouldn’t put you under too much scrutiny. You were still scared as to what would happen to you if Dumbledore, or god forbid Snape, ever found you. 

“Y/N?” Someone called, making you spin around sharply. Your hair still dripping, as you had not waited a single minute from jumping out of the lake to sort yourself out fully, slapped you in the face at the speed of your turn. Looking through the flashes of black, blue and fur, your eyes landed on the boy you had been searching for.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, looking over you in worry that something had happened. He paused when he noticed the robes you were wearing. 

“Are those Hufflepuff robes?” He asked with a small smile.

Looking down, you took in the sight of yourself. The sunshine yellow looked amazing against your skin tone, and the slightly oversized robe made you feel so comfy and to your amusement was surprisingly swishy. 

“Uh yeah! Fred and George bought them for me!” You enthused, ever the one to be easily distracted. “They sorted me themselves, said I was the en-a-body-mans of a Hufflepuff,” You sounded out the word, some words were a little more difficult for you to say, still not entirely used to speaking English after years of speaking mermish beneath the waters. 

“Embodiment?” He chuckled, affection filling his grey eyes making them glisten like the river-stones you had been collecting from the river banks. He watched as slowly drying wisps of your hair swept across your cheeks, caressing them like he so desperately wished he could. He would never say it to you though. Terrified of your reaction. Of course he was, in himself, conflicted. He had been dating Cho Chang for a while now, and while he cared for the raven haired beauty from the neighbouring house, he couldn’t quite get over his feelings for the innocent Maledictus that lived in the lake just beyond the school grounds. 

“Yes that’s what I said,” You waved your hand, blushing at the correction. “Anyway, what I’m here for is to tell you about the second task!” You whisper-yelled, pulling him to the side, away from the hustle and bustle of the other students. 

“How do you know what the second task is?” 

“Because it’s me Ced!” He furrowed his brows, confused by your phrasing. “That egg you got from the first task? It’s mermish. There’s been whispers around the village for a few days now, I don’t know much, but I can tell you that you’re going to be in the lake for a long while.” You hated the thought. You had remembered telling the Hufflepuff about the bodies you had dragged from the lake. Even when there wasn’t an event on, there were many students that would go swimming too far or too deep and lose their lives. The Black Lake was not one to foolishly meddle with. 

Cedric had assured you that there was nothing to worry about, but you could see the flash of fear in his eyes at the mention of being in the lake for longer than twenty minutes. You silently vowed to yourself to do anything in your power to help him through the task though. You couldn’t, no, you wouldn’t lose him to the lake. 

When the day of the task came, you were unsure of what to do. Obviously, you didn’t want to get Cedric disqualified from the tournament, or all of his hard work would have been in vain. Fighting off that dragon was no easy feat. But you didn’t want to leave him completely alone in the water. You knew Harry was competing too, but you had also heard that Neville had provided him with some Gillyweed, and whilst its effects are a little unpredictable, you weren't worried. 

“You know you shouldn’t be getting involved with this Diggory boy.” Your mother called from just beyond the rocks.

“He’s a good person mum-”

“They all say that. They all act like they would walk the earth for you, but in reality, they would drop you the moment they have thoughts of you becoming a burden.”

“Yeah, well Ced isn’t like that. You’d know that if you actually took the time out of your busy schedule of moping around the kelp to properly meet him-”

“Do you have any idea who his father is Y/N? Amos Diggory is a very proud man. He will not settle on having a Maledictus as a wife for his precious son.”

“I didn’t ask for this mum! None of us did. But I sure as hell won’t let it define me and everything I do in life. If I am destined to be stuck underwater for the rest of my life, I would sure as hell love to experience life to the fullest before I lose it.”

“It will break you. It broke me.”

“I’m not you, mother.” You whispered, turning away from her and swimming off further into the lake to await the arrival of the champions.

About half an hour into the task, you had managed to locate where they were keeping the champion’s treasure. And you were shocked to say the least. For the ‘treasure’ the village folk had whispered about, wasn’t diamonds or gold. It was people. You were almost horrified at the emotional manipulation these games were playing with the students, the torment of having to try and rescue a loved one from the bottom of the lake; all whilst evading the things that posed a threat to them, trying to keep their charms working and all whilst being against the clock.

It was cruel.

You waited for what seemed like the longest time, not doubting Cedric’s ability to get past the first lot of Grindylows or even his charms skills. But you didn’t trust what might happen once he recovered Cho who was floating in the water. You felt slightly hurt that Cho was the one deemed as Cedric’s ‘treasure’, and your mother's words rang within your ears. It would be more trouble than it’s worth for them to try and capture you. Also, Cedric had been very publicly dating the Ravenclaw student. You had no ill feelings towards the girl, none at all. All of the times you have met, which have been seldom, she was always lovely. Her bright, yet soft voice dancing in the air. Her timid demeanour was very comforting. She was soft, delicate and entirely enticing. You could understand why Cedric was interested in her. They did make a lovely couple. 

It was a shame they had been arguing a lot as of late. Both Cedric and Cho had confided in you about their relationship troubles. The pair of them not being entirely sure whether they were meant to be. They cared for one another, but they weren’t sure whether their romance had run its course. You didn’t dare hold a bias to their troubles. It would be unfair of you to take advantage of a situation like that. No. Instead, like the good friend you were, encouraged them to talk it out between themselves and trusted that this was just a rough patch and they would be right as rain by next week.

Finally, you saw someone emerge from the kelp just beyond the village centre. It was Harry. He looked almost as confused as you were when seeing the students in the water. Ron, Hermoine, Cho and Gabrielle Delacour. She could only imagine the kind of internal battle Harry was currently facing. Ron and Hermoine were his best friends, he had quite the flaming crush on Cho, and Fleur had not yet arrived to collect her younger sister. 

Swimming closer to the boy, you placed a hand on his shoulder making him jump slightly. When he saw it was you he calmed down, you nodded towards the ropes tying the students down to the bottom of the lake. Harry nodded in understanding, reaching to untie Ron first. You noticed the other merfolk drawing closer, and you knew you were in for a lecture once the task was over for interfering.  You guarded Harry, worried more of the Grindylows may work their way closer and drag him down into the depths. You tried to stop him as he reached for Hermoine, but one of the merfolk got their first. 

They aimed a spear towards his neck in warning, “You must only take one,” They sneered, their long hair floating in front of their face. 

“But she’s my friend too!” Harry argued. You placed a hand on his arm and shook your head.

“Only one Harry, I know it’s cruel but someone will come for Hermoine.” You tried to reassure the Gryffindor. He sighed softly, looking back over between Ron and Hermoine. That was until you watched the mermaids scatter, spinning around you and Harry both noticed the shark head swimming towards you at a rapid pace. You weren’t scared as such. You knew these waters like the back of your hand, and you were sure there were definitely no sharks here. 

Your thoughts were confirmed when the shark headed figure swam past the pair of you, biting through the thick rope that held Hermoine. It was the Durmstrang boy, you couldn’t quite remember his name. Krun? Krud? Oh well it didn’t matter. You were still looking for Cedric. The shark man pulled the girl along, dragging her back up towards the surface. From said direction came a flash of yellow, making a smile stretch across your face.

“Finally, where have you been?” You asked, moving backwards in the water slightly. Cedric didn’t answer, only flashing you a small smile before tapping his watch, Harry nodded, the three of you knowing that time was growing short. You moved back as Cedric cast a spell, splicing the rope and letting Cho free. He took her arm and waved at you before heading towards the surface. 

“Come on Harry, there isn’t much time left.” You told the boy, he shook his head.

“I can’t just leave her here,” He pleaded, motioning towards Gabrielle. He was right. Fleur still hadn’t made an appearance. You had just hoped she had been pulled out of the water and hadn’t drowned. 

“Okay, but we’ve got to be quick,” Harry nodded, casting the same spell as Cedric, setting Gabrielle loose. You quickly swam over, taking the French girl into your arms and lead the way towards the surface. You could hear the screams of protest from the merfolk, you were so getting a lecture late. Tension started to bubble in your chest as you neared the kelp, knowing the Grindylows couldn’t be far. Making sure Harry was behind you, you continued on. 

But as soon as Harry breached the edge of the kelp, they came for him. Scratchy limbs and tentacles wrapping themselves around his limbs dragging him down. He let go of Ron, pushing him over towards you. “Get them to the surface!” He yelled, the water making his voice sound funny.

“But what about you?”

“Just go!” He yelled again. You complied, taking both Ron’s and Gabrielle’s hand and speeding towards the surface. It was no hardship for you, your large tail making gliding through the water so smooth. Just before you reached the surface, you pushed the pair up; knowing you couldn’t be seen or Harry would be disqualified. You waited for a moment, making sure they surfaced, and swam away before you dove back down in search of Harry.

You could vaguely see the boy, still being attacked by Grindylows. Racing down there, you were able to sweep a few of them off of the boy. Just enough for him to reach his wand up into the water. “ASCENDIO!” He cried, and just like that the boy went propelling through the water, breaching the surface like a torpedo and landing back on the dock.

“So when are you asking Cho to the Yule ball?” You asked Cedric as the pair of you walked through the school grounds. 

“I, um, we’re not going to the ball together,” Cedric trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck in awkwardness. You paused where you stood, Cedric not realising for a moment that you weren’t still walking beside him.

“What? Why not? You two would look amazingggg,” You dragged out your last word to further emphasise how strongly you felt on the matter.

“We broke up the day you told me about the task,” He started, looking down at the ground “We both decided it’d be best,” You looked at the boy in confusion. You had thought they were getting back on track. He hadn’t let anything on to you that day. You should’ve been able to tell, or something. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Cedric had just broken up with his girlfriend and you had been rambling incorrect words at him, like an idiot. 

“Cho had started to notice that I wasn’t entirely devoted to her. I feel awful about hurting her, but she found out I had feelings for someone else. I didn’t want to admit it to myself at first, but the longer I denied it the stronger those feelings got.”

“Oh?” Was all you could muster, the sinking feeling growing deeper and deeper. How stupid you had been to think that Cedric could be interested in you in the slightest. I mean look at him. The Hufflepuff Heartthrob and now heart-breaker it seemed. You were just a washed up maledictus, who would one day be just a forgotten memory when you were finally bound to the lake. 

“She’s amazing. She’s smart, yet totally clueless about the smallest things. She stumbles over her words in the cutest way, and when she laughs? It feels like it's warming my soul. She’s a Hufflepuff too, so we don’t have to worry about sneaking around, although she would probably prefer we would. I’ve never met her mother, but if given the chance, I would love to convince her how much I love her daughter and that I would do anything just to make her happy,” He sounded as if he was floating. The joy coming from his voice, made your head sink lower and lower until you could not take your eyes off of the ground. 

“Wow, uh, she sounds amazing Ced,” You muttered, not really knowing what to say. Because in all honesty, she did. She sounded like Cedric’s dream girl, and by the way he talked about her he knew it too. Cedric paused for a moment, looking back to notice you trailing behind him. He couldn’t miss the solemn expression on your face, he frowned for a moment. He hated seeing you sad. But then he smiled in realisation.

That smiled soon turned into a fit of giggles, slowly becoming louder and louder until you looked up. Cocking your head to the side, you were confused. “Is something funny?” You asked, looking down at yourself and then around the area, trying to locate the source of his amusement.

“You are so bloody clueless,” He whispered, coming to stand in front of you. You raised your eyebrows, still not getting what he meant. But from here, you noticed how smooth his skin was. The faint rosy blush of his cheeks made him look even more angelic. The soft breeze ruffled his honey-brown locks, always perfectly styled to give him that ‘boyfriend’ look. 

Cedric smiled looking down at you. He watched those gorgeous eyes glisten in the sunlight, plump lips looking irresistibly kissable. He watched as wisps of your hair swept across your cheeks, caressing them like he so desperately wished he could. 

Until finally, after so long…

He did. 

Reaching a tender hand up to cup your soft cheek, you leaned into his touch; the warmth from his palm comforting and addicting. Everything about Cedric was entirely comforting and addicting. From his homely scent of cinnamon, brown sugar and honey, to the small chuckles that turn into loud thunders of laughter that make your stomach do flips. Flips like they were currently doing and the thought of him being so close. 

Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you froze in place, not daring to move and ruin the moment. “I have loved you ever since I saw you sat on that stupid rock you love so much. I met the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, and I was so distracted I walked right into a tree,” Cedric laughed, the memory made you giggle too. The first meeting you had with Cedric had been the best way you have ever been introduced to anyone.

“And instead of leaving, you just laughed. You laughed so bloody hard that you ended up falling off the rock and into the lake. It was then, that was the exact moment I knew I was screwed. It was that moment that I knew that no one else would be able to compare. I don’t want to find anyone else, I don’t care if in ten years time I have to carry you around in your own luxury tank. I love you Y/N Y/L/N, and I would do anything to make you happy,” 

You were silent for a moment, the sinking feeling turning into the most boisterous of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. THE Cedric Diggory had just confessed his undying love for you. For you. He mistook your silence for rejection. Looking away from you for a moment. He went to move his hand, but you placed yours on top of it, keeping it firmly lay upon your cheek. He opened and closed his mouth like a guppy for a second, not knowing what to say. Before he could even utter a word, you did what you had wanted to do since the day you met the Hufflepuff Heartthrob.

Until finally, after so long…

You did.

You leaned up as far as you could, other hand coming to circle the back of Cedric’s head pulling him down. His lips met yours, and everything fell into place. Hearts beating like crazy within your chests. Breaths short. But everything, after so, so long. 

Was finally perfect.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Peace Talks, Pt. 1 (3/5/2021)

Alastor #1 (@usedhearts) contacts Alastor #2 (hi there) to ask #2 about why he intervened in #1’s fight with Sir Pentious (who #2 happens to be dating secretly). They meet up to discuss the fight, why that Alastor & Pent hate each other, and potentially how to reduce hostilities between them so these fights don’t keep happening.

(Part 2 where my Alastor goes and gets Sir Pentious’s side is here.)

usedhearts

🩸Alastor, I think we need to have a chat.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 What luck, I've been telling myself the same thing for a couple of weeks! Let's do lunch. I know a very discreet little café that loves to leave me alone and would be twice as happy to do so with two of us there.

usedhearts

🩸Send me the address, I'll meet you there.

dontasktheradiodemon

[Sends an address, as well as a picture of a map with the location circled in sharpie.]

usedhearts

🩸See you soon.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'll be waiting!

–––

dontasktheradiodemon

The café was an ugly place, in Alastor's opinion—concrete floors and walls, black-painted wooden booths, naked bulbs hanging from simple pipes—but attempting to look like abandoned warehouses was the fashion of cutting-edge restaurants these days, wasn't it? And anyway the coffee was decent and the employees didn't run out the back door when Alastor showed up, so it would do. He got a cup of coffee and some ridiculous fancy toast, claimed a booth, and waited.

usedhearts

He didn't have to wait long-- but a few minutes later and Leclerq was  walking in as well, receiving more than a few double takes. He'd swapped his glasses back for his monocle, and his coat was on-- the only thing differentiating him from his alternate his slight longer, wavy hair. Leclerq's smile turned a bit mischievous as the staff looked between him and Alastor, trying to be sure they weren't seeing double. He made his way over to the table and sat, ordering a cup of the strongest they had, black, from a passing staff person.

"So, my dear self, how's things?" He asked, looking at his gloves nails, feigning nonchalance.

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor smiled innocently at the staff's baffled glances. What, never seen two radios at once?

He beamed a little more brightly at his alternate—although there was wariness underneath it. He knew full well what this was about; what he didn't know yet was how, exactly, his alternate had taken it, or how bad the consequences were going to be.

"All going well! I can't complain." Walking on cloud nine and head a little foggy, in fact, but he was sure his alternate didn't want to know the details and even more sure he didn't want to share them. "And how about you—doing well, I hope?" With a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, "Recovered from those snake bites, I hope?" No point beating around the bush for *too* long.

usedhearts

The beaming grin was normal for Alastors in general, but considering the reason they were there, seeing his alternate looking at _him_ like that was a bit...strange. Leclerq  crossed his legs, and took a sip of the coffee set in front of him as soon as it arrived.

"Yes, recovered. Only took me a day to get back into working order. I suppose Pentell is doing fine now, considering he posted about his successful shed." He took a breath, smile firm as he folded his hands in his lap.

"Why did you interfere? You could've let someone else stop us. Charlie could've taken care of it herself, even, if she hadn't been panicking. Why not talk her down and get her to do it, instead of showing up yourself? And so _quickly_, too. We'd hardly even maimed each other by the time you showed up." Leclerq's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I simply must know why go through all that trouble? Explain it to me."

dontasktheradiodemon

“Glad to hear it!” He didn’t respond directly to the comment about the shed, only offering a vague shrug as if he wouldn’t know. He didn’t even flinch at the revelation that his alternate knew Sir Pentious’s real name... although he was certainly going to ask Telly about it later.

And his alternate had given him room to wiggle around with his answer. How very polite. They’d dance around it a bit. “*If she hadn’t been panicking.*” He scoffed. “That’s quite a big ‘if,’ isn’t it! Sure, I could have wasted three minutes of my time talking her down, and then twiddled my thumbs while waiting to see what she’d do—waste even more time trying to talk down the both of you? Join the fight herself and cause even more property damage? Or, I could resolve the whole thing with no further trouble in a mere fifteen seconds.”

usedhearts

Leclerq leaned in, propping his elbow on the table, chin in his hand. His head tilted at an odd angle and he picked up his coffee and took a drink.

"Yes, that's probably how it would've gone. But why stop it in the first place? Not like either of us can actually kill the other. Surely you weren't worried about _me_. If it had been me, I would've shown up with popcorn and a lawn chair. Fights between demons are free entertainment after all."

He sat back, arms crossing over his chest. "So, I'll ask again. _Why_ did you interfere?"

dontasktheradiodemon

“I have a question for *you* first.” He sat forward, lacing his hands under his chin, fixing his alternate with a keen, genuinely curious look. “It’s relevant, I assure you—but why fight him at all? It can’t be because he’s a challenging opponent—without his tin cans, there’s nothing stopping you from tying him in knots. And I don’t know about *your* policies, but *I* don’t tend to attack the physically weak unless I’m starving and don’t think a total stranger will miss a few pounds of meat—*or,* they’ve done something so outrageously offensive as to earn it. Now, he’s clearly no stranger, so the first explanation doesn’t apply—but for the life of me I can’t imagine *what* he could have done to warrant that kind of response? Or what *you* did to make *him* attack first, if that’s how it happened—but that seems even less likely to me, I can’t see him picking a fight without a dozen lasers at the ready.”

usedhearts

"He _does_ start it sometimes," Leclerq said, immediately. His smile twitched and his eyes narrowed again, before he gave a small huff and looked away.

"I suppose I knew it would come to this eventually, what with the both of us making friends in the same circles." He moved his monocle, taking it off to clean the lens, or so it seemed. "We used to be friends. When I first dropped in, he was an Overlord, and my massacre helped him gain some more ground, inadvertently. I started getting invited to all the big Overlord parties, and I went because I was still new to Hell and all. We met and hit it off, became friends and whatnot. About a decade later, we hardly spoke, and then V[BEEP]x dropped in and started his rise to power. Pentell was already washed up by that point, desperate, so he..."

Leclerq sighed and shook his head, putting his monocle back on, his smile turning wane. "He helped V[BEEP]x secretly convert some of the old radio stations to broadcast tv instead-- I don't know if it's the same for you, but for me, it felt like someone was tearing out pieces of my soul and roasting them with ten thousand volts. I don't know why or what V[BEEP]x promised him, but obviously he never got it, considering his standing hasn't changed since then."

Leclerq shrugged, feigning nonchalance again. "That's why I hate him."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up. “And a fair reason to hate him!” He himself didn’t hold any radio stations—had *never* held any—but just *imagining* stations slaughtered like sacrificial animals on the altar of network television made his heart squeeze in pain.

That long ago, stations had often broadcasted both radio and TV simultaneously. Hell, well into the seventies Alastor had considered a smattering of TV stations under his own protection because they shared a roof with a radio station. For the stations to be converted to broadcast TV in a way that *killed* their potential to broadcast radio—that wasn’t just the new guy in Hell wanting to increase his own power; that was a deliberate effort to decrease the Radio Demon’s. That was far worse than simply trying to get in good with two different overlords and accidentally screwing over one in the process.

“You said you hardly spoke—had you had some falling out...? Not that it’s any sort of mitigating factor, not for an action on *that* scale, but—well, nothing of the sort ever happened *here,* so I’m simply trying to understand the narrative! The treachery is self-evident, but depending on if it was motivated by hot vengeance or cold ambition... well, it certainly changes the *flavor* of the treachery, doesn’t it?”

usedhearts

He hadn't expected sympathy, or understanding, but then again, this was himself. If anyone would understand his pain, it was another version of himself. Leclerq felt himself relax, at least fractionally, and he picked up his cup for another sip of coffee.

"Yes, there was. Around, oh, '45 or so, Pentell was gearing up for a big push to conquer more territory-- he had a whole plan and everything, you know how he is, prepared every meticulous detail. _I_ was one of those details, of course. He was counting on my support when he set things into motion and I....well, I didn't show." He shrugged a bit, taking another sip.

"I'd gotten bored of waiting, I was still relatively new to Hell, and a decade still seemed like a long time-- especially for one such as us, you know how it is, don't you?-- and so I'd picked up some other hobbies, started doing other things. And I just didn't want to help anymore. I was _bored_, I never wanted to conquer Hell! But Pentell had been banking on my power backing him, and when I didn't arrive, well...."

His smile twisted a bit before he sighed. "It all sort of blew up in his face. He lost almost all of his territory and his Overlord title was stripped-- he became a laughing stock overnight. So, I suppose I betrayed him first, but this IS Hell. Who can you trust in Hell, except yourself?" His smile twitched into something wry for a moment as he met his alternate's eyes, then looked away.

dontasktheradiodemon

And his eyebrows twitched higher. He’d gotten *bored*? Bored of Sir Pentious, of all people? How in the world was that possible? How does one get *bored* of having a front-row seat to the greatest drama in Hell since whatever the hell happened in *Paradise Lost*?

Would he himself have left as quickly and carelessly if he’d gotten bored? Even if he couldn’t understand how *that person* in *particular* had bored his alternate—yes, if he *did* get bored of someone, he’d leave like that. Would he himself have stayed long enough to get as enthralled as he did if he’d met Sir Pentious in, what, the ‘30s, rather than in ‘51? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he’d have lost interest, but he didn’t know. Learning to exist in Hell had been a process. Maybe those eighteen years had made a difference.

“Well! If I were him, I’d want to hit you where it hurts too!” He laughed wryly. “And if I were *you*, I’d never forgive him for it, either.”

usedhearts

Leclerq took drained his coffee the rest of the way, holding his cup out for a refill-- which a staff member came over to give him as quickly as demonly possible. He set the new cup on the table, holding it between his hands.

"Yes, so, as you can see neither of us can forgive the other, and now we're expecting to exist near one another more regularly and tempers flare at the slightest provocation, etcetera, etcertera." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his smile tight and close lipped.

"I know that many of you are now mutual friends with the both of us, and I've been trying to be on my best behavior when at the Hotel, as we've a truce there, but the old resentments bubble up and we go at it. Generally, it's me blowing up his ship but since we've been seeing one another in person, it's just gotten to basic brawls." A small growl slipped out and he clenched his hand, cracking the cup and spilling hot coffee all over, though he didn't seem to care.

"I should have better control, but with him I just-- I see red--" A snort. "Or more red than usual at least-- and then we're tumbling around like feral animals."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor watched without a twitch of his expression as his alternate’s cup cracked. Yes, he certainly could comprehend the anger.

But when he tried to imagine the anger behind that shattering grip turned on Telly—his blood boiled.

“Yes, well. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

usedhearts

Leclerq grabbed some napkins, wiping off his gloved hand and sitting back, watching the coffee spread across the table. He put some more napkins between him and the coffee puddle-- no use letting it get on him-- and sighed.

"That's the problem, yes." He looked over at him and arched a brow. "And you still haven't answered my question-- why did you intervene?"

dontasktheradiodemon

His smile tightened. “Well, like you said—quite a few people are mutual friends with the both of you now! And while it’s an utter delight to watch *strangers* fight, there’s nothing pleasant about it when it involves friends! Particularly if one friend is at risk of being reduced to bone toothpicks and flesh confetti. And that’s even *more* the case when, from my perspective, the fight simply came out of nowhere! Who knows what will happen in a fight like that?” He shrugged broadly. “Now, typically if a friend’s in a fight, I’m happy to lend a hand—but it’s tricky if I’m on good terms with both combatants. The best thing I can do then is ensure they’re separated.”

usedhearts

Leclerq hummed, the noise droning in his static, his arms crossing again. His finger began to tap against his upper arm, and his foot tapped again-- fidgeting tics that were showing themselves in his alternate's presence.

"I suppose you're right. Fine, I accept that explanation." His cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "But I don't know how Pentell and I are going to co-exist when we're at each others' throats. The Hotel's been a test run and we've had at least three fights since he started making repairs and renovations there. Any bright ideas in that big bulb of yours?"

dontasktheradiodemon

*Three fights.* He tilted his head as he thought. “No, not yet.” Maybe he could persuade Telly to stop helping with the hotel upkeep. There were so many more important things he could be spending that time and effort on, anyway. Sure, Alastor was at the hotel, but only because he *wanted* to watch a train wreck happen in action—but there was no reason for Sir Pentious to waste his time tightening the bolts on the locomotive engine when it was chugging toward a fiery crash. “But I’m sure we both agree that this can’t keep happening, don’t we?”

usedhearts

"Yes, I agree. Especially if people are going to get in the middle now-- I can't even think if it was Valera next time, while she's, well..." He motioned with his hands to pantomime a pregnant belly. "I don't want her trying to get between us while we go at it-- we're both vicious in the moment."

His foot tapped a little faster and he huffed. "Perhaps I can just avoid him for now...and I'll try to doubly make sure I have a tight leash on myself if he is around. And perhaps you could talk to him, you two are chummy now, aren't you? We just need to learn to....keep our heads better."

dontasktheradiodemon

Oh right, this alternate had been getting chummy with Valera, hadn’t he? About every alternate but himself was. Just his rotten luck, wasn’t it.

“If you haven’t *already* been trying to avoid him, yes, I recommend it.” He scooted his unfinished coffee over to his alternate. Here, you look anxious, have a little more caffeine and calm down. “No promises, I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s going to say about *you*—but I’ll see what I can do.”

usedhearts

He took the cup gratefully and downed it, taking a breath after. "Probably something along the lines of--" His own voice cut out and then, in a perfect imitation of Sir Pentious's voice, he said. "HE DESSSERVED IT!"

Leclerq snorted and his own voice was back when he spoke again. "I may have cast the first stone, but teaming up with V[beep]x is just.....scummy."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor huffed. “Not to defend the unforgivable—but ol’ blockhead had only just died, hadn’t he? In my neck of the woods, it took until the seventies before he started showing his true colors. Taking down stations, sure, Sir Pentious should have known better—but doing it with *him*? There was no way to know what kinds of things he’d do *before* he started doing them.”

And who knew what promises Vox might have made? No doubt the sort of promises he made to every business and network he added to his growing mega-corporation. Fame, wealth, power, a treasured and valued position in his inner circle.

Alastor thought he was beginning to detect a pattern, here. Pentell, lonely and unappreciated; and then one man after another, charismatic and compelling, telling Pentell how much they adored his brilliant inventions; each of them using him—for sex, for entertainment, for power—before losing interest and casting him aside.

It was only when he heard something crack that he realized he’d started squeezing one of his fists in the other like a stress ball. He stretched his fingers and surreptitiously repaired the damage. But in his head, over and over, all he could hear were the words *how dare—how dare—how dare—*

usedhearts

"Yes, he had, and he's a cunning rat even moreso than that boyfriend of his." Leclerq sneered at the thought of the VVVs, and held the empty coffee cup, just to have something to hold on to. "Though he started being really ruthless once he found Valentino-- that was in the 80s here, I'm not sure when it happened for you. They really bring out the worst in each other, and not in the fun way."

His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the crack, looking down at his alternate's hands. "You alright there?" He asked, a little quieter than before.

dontasktheradiodemon

“About the same time, late seventies or early eighties. I wasn’t paying attention to celebrity gossip at the time. All I know is they’d made it into the toxic end of things by the mid-eighties.”

He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers, all fine. “So sorry, I know, knuckle-cracking, nasty habit to get into. Mother would be scolding me.”

usedhearts

"I only know because I was friends with Madame by that point and Valentino started out as one of her's." He tapped his fingers against the cup, still fidgety despite the caffeine.

"Well, since we hashed that out, is that it? Or did you want to brainstorm ways to get me and Pentell able to coexist in the same space without biting each other's heads off?"

dontasktheradiodemon

And Alastor only knew because he’d witnessed the results of their toxic sides up close and in person. He decided to keep that to himself. As much as he hated Vox, that wasn’t his dirt to dish.

“I’m not sure what there is to brainstorm,” Alastor said wryly. “If you’re in the same space, don’t be; if you have to be, don’t interact. If you haven’t been doing even *that* much before, I’d say that’s a good starting point, don’t you?”

usedhearts

"We have, since we made the truce, at least when inside the Hotel. But the second one of us steps outside, it's on." He leaned back in his seat a bit.

"We never made an official deal for our truce, but I gave my word, and I keep it, to the letter. We never fight inside the Hotel now-- we take it outside. Though the lawn isn't much better. I suppose I can try to keep the truce up outside the Hotel. If I think about it like that, perhaps it'll be easier to keep myself in check..."

dontasktheradiodemon

He fights a grimace. “Well. ‘Do what you’re already doing, except even more so, and hope sheer willpower makes up the difference’ doesn’t exactly sound to me like a winning strategy. Especially when what you’re already doing has resulted in three fights.”

usedhearts

"I'm not sure what other options we have, at least for now. Avoidance and sheer willpower will have to do for the time being." He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Talk to Pentell, I'm sure he's got insight from his side of things for you. Perhaps there's...something that can be done, to at least make things less hostile between us. You can tell him I'd be open to negotiations-- for the sake of our mutual friends. But for now, I think I need to go-- I need to kill something."

He stood, dusting off his jacket. "Is there anything else, my dear other?"

dontasktheradiodemon

He stood as well. “Yes, one thing—who’s going to pick up the bill?” Studio laughter. “Hah! No, nothing I can think of. Just try not to start any more brawls. I don’t want to make a hobby out of refereeing.”

usedhearts

"That'd be terrible! You'd look horrendous in horizontal stripes!" His own studio kicked in with their laughs, and Leclerq reached a hand to pat his alternate's shoulder.

"Speak again, soon, my dear me! So long!" And with that he faded into the shadows.

dontasktheradiodemon

He offered his other a half-bow in farewell—and then headed for the exit the more conventional way. Seemed like he needed to go have another conversation.

[backtothestart02]

Camera Shy - 1/? | westallen fanfiction {moved from Patreon}

A/N: I really love this premise. I hope you’ll like it too! :)

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: AU - Iris is a model with a history of no good photographer exes. So when Barry Allen, her new photographer, wants to take her out, she immediately refuses - save some life-or-death situation. 

...

Chapter 1 -

The slow hum from the alarm clock suddenly became a full siren, jerking Iris West out of her deep sleep. She jumped up, sending her arm flying towards the sound, effectively throwing her phone, glasses, and jewelry from the day to the ground. She grumbled into the palm covering her face and pulled back the covers, shivering for just a moment before trying three times to get all the items back on the bedside table. When the task was successfully completed, she pushed her hair out of her face and headed for the bathroom, her over-sized t-shirt just barely skimming the top of her thighs.

The sight that greeted her in the mirror wasn’t particularly pleasant, but she knew after smiles, make-up, and fashionable clothes were applied, she’d be looking at a whole different woman.

“Smile, Iris. Today you’ll be posing for a photoshoot in STYLE magazine. After their scandal last month, they’ve hired a new photographer that is squeaky clean and with entirely honorable intentions,” she quoted the e-mail her best friend had shot her at two in the morning.

She’d wanted to call the landline that Wally insisted on having for God knows what reason. But that would startle Linda and wake up their two-month old son, so she resisted. Not everyone needed to suffer because she was about to.

Did she already dislike the new photographer she’d be working with? Yeah.

Did she have good cause? Yeah.

Of course, she hadn’t met him, but every photographer she’d worked with was the same.

Scumbags. Pigs. Lecherous, arrogant, and sometimes… Abusive.

She pushed that last adjective to the back of her mind. There was no point remembering that experience after she’d finally gone through enough therapy to get past it. Besides, that was over three years ago. Not every photographer was abusive, she’d allow that. Every single one of them was worthy of disliking, though. She’d take that to the bank.

The only possible difference was that a newbie might take the assignment seriously for once and act like a professional. She’d appreciate that, even if he was still the scum of the earth in his free time.

Showered, make-up applied, and a fashionable get-up on her curvy figure, Iris headed for the door just as a knock sounded on the other side of it. One peek through the peephole told her everything she needed to know. And despite her previous irritation, she smiled at the sight of Linda Park-West waiting for her in the hall.

“Hello, best friend,” Linda sang, extending her hand with the hot beverage Iris loved and shaking a small paper bag that undoubtedly contained a blueberry and lemon poppyseed muffin. “You’re welcome,” she said after Iris had locked up and they were walking with arms looped down the street.

“You’re forgiven,” Iris said.

“What I’d do wrong this time?” Linda asked innocently as a grin spread across her face.

Iris shot her a glare, and Linda burst out laughing.

“Relax. This one’s different, I promise. He’s a real good guy. Momma’s boy, good grades, total geek.”

“I’ve dated creepy geeks before, Lin.”

“I’m not saying you need to date him. Just give him the benefit of the doubt as a co-worker.”

“If he’s professional, I’m professional. You know that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Iris ignored the sarcasm, and they continued walking in silence. By the time they reached the tall glass doors of Central City Studios, breakfast had been consumed, lipstick had been reapplied, and smiles were back in place.

“Good morning, Ms. West, Mrs. West,” the older receptionist said at the desk. Both girls smiled and murmured a good morning in return. “Oh, Ms. West!” She rose from her seat to call after her. Iris and Linda both spun around, pointing to each other in mock confusion, since they’d told the older woman multiple times how she could call them by their first names. “Iris,” she caved, and Linda waved goodbye to her friend as Iris returned to the front desk.

“Yes, Frances?”

The woman bristled slightly.

“Mr. Stueck wants to see you in his office as soon as possible.”

Iris stilled. “Do you know what it’s about?” she asked softly, telling herself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe she was getting a raise!

Talk about conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Frances said, pulling Iris from her thoughts. “But he wasn’t angry, so keep that in mind, dear.”

Frances pushed her glasses further up her nose and went back to her work at the computer. The phone rang and she had to pick it up before Iris could say another word.

Iris pouted but did as she was told, wiping the expression off her face before she reached her boss’s office at the end of the hall. She heard laughter from inside, which was a rarity. Mr. Stueck wasn’t always serious, and he certainly wasn’t usually mean, but laidback wasn’t usually something that was part of his daily work demeanor.

The door swung open just as she was reaching out to knock on the wooden slate. She found herself standing face-to-face with an attractive, tall, young man. He might have been younger than her but was definitely not older, and he looked as stunned as she felt. It was an awkward moment of subtly gathering air before her boss interrupted them.

“Iris! Good, right on time.”

All smiles – which was even weirder – Mr. Stueck gripped the younger man and Iris’ arms and looked at them both, drawing nervous smiles to both their faces as they snuck glances at each other from the older man’s antics.

“Iris, I’d like you to meet Barry Allen. He’ll be your photographer for the STYLE shoot this week and next.”

Her heart stopped and her face fell. Those were two pieces of news she did not want to have heard.

“Two weeks?”

“Mhmm.” He nodded enthusiastically. “They were so impressed with your work in our last two shoots, they’ve decided they want you as their star model for all the clothing pieces, possibly jewelry as well.”

“I…see.”

She tried to be happy. She really did.

But being stuck with a photographer one-on-one every day for the possibly next two weeks?

“This could be your big break, Iris. And what’s good for you is good for us. I’m so proud of you.”

She forced a smile. “…Thanks.”

Mr. Stuek sighed contently, not catching her inner battle in the slightest.

But Barry did. She could feel him watching her, and disapprovingly watching her boss in return.

“Maybe you want until the end of the day to decide,” he suggested gently, making her meet his eyes.

“The end of the day!” Mr. Stuek laughed. “She doesn’t need time to-”

“Mr. Stuek, isn’t it part of your company policy to not force assignments on your employees if they feel uncomfortable doing them?”

He shifted slightly. “Well, yes, of course! But Iris can’t possibly feel-”

“So, to be sure, you’d want her to think on it all day and come to you with an answer before the end of her shift.”

His jaw dropped.

“Maybe just until lunch?” Iris offered up. “I can call you from STYLE Studios, since I’ll be shooting there today, at any rate.”

“B-B-But they can’t make you their star model today and then bring in someone else for the remainder of the line!”

Iris waited, unused to her boss’s intensity, but certain it would pass soon.

“Fine,” he said with a giant sigh. “Check in with Helen and Rachel, then head over to STYLE Studios with Barry here.”

She froze. “O-Oh, I don’t need to- I mean, I can-”

“Not one more word out of you, Ms. West,” he said, and she knew he meant business. He was a first name kind of guy, except in the rare circumstance that he was about to lose his temper – for real.

“Go. Both of you,” he said, and no more than a moment later they’d both been shoved out of his office into the hall and the door had slammed closed behind him.

Barry managed a slight chuckle after a moment and turned towards Iris, expecting a laugh from her as well. What he got was an unexpectedly cold glare.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, then walked with purpose in the direction of – presumably – Helen and Rachel.

He wondered if it would be very difficult to get her to go into the same car with him.

“I’m driving,” she said, snatching the keys out of his hand when they reached his car in the parking structure. His shock almost left him standing sans-car and sans-Iris in the cool parking area alone.

She sped out of the spot and out of the structure, down the road to STYLE Studios and Barry could only think one thing to himself.

 What a woman.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[amoralityplay]

Tokyo, 1992

[Trigger Warning: Mentions of framed suicides. Genre-related violence.]

It had been nearly a month since Audrey had arrived in Tokyo and there was no sign that the Japanese coalition had accepted her application. Audrey had been to three different vampire-owned blood banks and been refused at each given she was not a member nor a guest of a member. She’d even gone so far as to try to bribe a mortal that worked in one of the Tokyo hospitals for a single bag of blood, to no avail. She was hungry and it might have been decades since she’d had to kill anyone for a meal…but desperation was kicking in. The young vampire, slender under the best of circumstances, was losing weight, the angles of her hips and collarbone growing sharp and her stomach constantly twisting with pangs of hunger. Animal blood and sometimes even just sucking on rare meat—more easily obtained, usually from butchers, had been staving off total starvation, but as Audrey examined her face in the small bathroom mirror of her high-rise apartment, tugging down her lower eyelid to note the pale membrane and pushing her lip up to see the same anemic paleness in her gums, she sighed and resigned herself to it: she was going to have to go hunting. [Cut for Length]

It wasn’t going to be very easy. Tokyo was a huge city, dense with many dark pockets and alleyways, but Audrey, tall and blonde, stood out. There were plenty of expats around, sure, but not enough for her to blend in like she could in Europe or the US. She’d have to be very careful…or…she could go home to Phersipnai and admit she hadn’t been able to take care of herself on her own—always a topic of conversation when they spoke. No, not an option. She’d spent decades hunting like other vampires—though not often alone, she often had company to assist—how hard could it be to pick it back up? 

Later, as she wrestled with a wiry British man she’d met in a bar, grabbing his face and slamming his head back against a wall in a dimly lit alleyway, she realized she was a bit rusty and the malnourishment had left her drained and weak. He’d been charmed by her usual tricks, sure, but that hadn’t lasted very long, and even though she was quite a bit stronger than he was—goddamnit—he wouldn’t hold still as soon as he’d spotted her knife. The third crack of his skull against the wall seemed to do the trick and he finally went limp, unconscious, and Audrey frowned down at the blood splatters on her shirt. It was black, of course—she wasn’t so out of practice as to have worn something light colored—but she hated a mess and, in the age of forensics, bloodied clothes were always a risk. She’d have to burn it. Sliding her knife along his forearm, knowing exactly where to find the radial vein and creating a three inch vertical slit. Audrey felt a wave of relief at the first bright red ebb—his heart hadn’t stopped, which would make feeing much easier. Pressing her lips to the wound, Audrey groaned quietly. She’d been so hungry for so long that even just a mouthful of fresh, warm human blood felt like a godsend…and here she had an entire adult man to feed on. Taking any blood with her would be impractical, especially with how she’d killed him—too risky, someone would find him soon and the police would be looking for a killer, but for a moment, she relaxed just a little, feeling less desperate with each pulse of blood. After a few minutes, the pulsing slowed, then stopped, and Audrey let out a soft sigh. It was just one meal—that wouldn’t get her by very long, but hopefully she’d be able to find a less risky source soon. “So, you do this often, or is this your first time?” Audrey’s own blood ran cold as she turned, hurriedly trying to wipe the blood off her chin. “Wha…what?” “I saw the whole thing. Figured dude here was about to get laid until you started bashing his head in…but damn, I sure didn’t expect that next part.” The man, hands tucked into his jean pockets, was obviously an American; she recognized his accent—a New Yorker. Tall, handsome, broad-shouldered. Audrey was very strong, but unlike the man she’d just killed, this one looked like he could have given her a much harder time; even obvious under the cable-knit sweater he wore, he was sculpted, toned, and built like an athlete or a soldier. Audrey had never, in almost 200 years, been caught with a victim; her heart thrummed against her sternum and her panicked mind tried to find some excuse. The man seemed to notice this and let out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m not calling the police. But…we should probably continue this conversation elsewhere. Put that knife away and wipe your face.” He took a few steps closer, apparently unconcerned that she was armed, had just killed someone, and was drinking blood. He extended his hand. “C’mon.” Still frozen in place, Audrey’s eyes flickered between him, the corpse, and his hand…and some other sort of hunger nagged at her. She hadn’t quite realized what this other pang was, wouldn’t until years later, but…for the last thirty years, Audrey had been alone. Not always literally…she’d lived with her grandfather in Kiev for much of that time, but…since the disastrous non-wedding, Audrey had avoided other people—vampires and mortals alike, lest she get burned again. She was lonely. “You’re…not afraid I’ll do the same to you?” The man laughed, rolling his eyes. “No. You look like I could snap you in half, you too broke to buy some groceries or something? I’ll buy you dinner…unless that just filled you up.”  Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her over-sized leather jacket, Audrey wiped her face, then her hands—most of the blood came off, though she could still smell it—and stuffed the square of fabric back into her pocket and very carefully placed her hand in the man’s. “I can’t eat food,” she said quietly as they walked down the alley, making a few turns until it rejoined a larger street. “Not much, anyway. I’ve got…food allergies, sort of. Too much of the wrong things will make me sick.”  It was very late and the neighborhood, occasionally lit by neon signs, was mostly abandoned. “Interesting excuse. What’s your name? I’m Nate.” Audrey hesitated again. She’d already told him far too much. She could be executed for telling him what she really was, but…he could have already killed her, could have called the police, could have done any number of things to endanger her, and he hadn’t. “Audrey.” “Well, Audrey. I’ll walk you home.” “Oh, that’s…not necessary, you don’t have to—“ “I do have to. Gotta say, I’m a little intrigued, Audrey. Pretty little thing like you, but with those glow-in-the-dark eyes, doing horrible things in alleyways, not being careful enough about it. I would like to know what you are…and, you need a lookout or something.” “…Okay.” It was about 20 minutes before the reached her apartment, and Audrey looked up at Nate as he stood next to her, releasing his hand. “Is this…some sort of trick?” “No. No trick. Invite me in.” Audrey squinted at that. She’d never mistaken another vampire for a mortal before, but that…was an oddly vampiric request. “Why?” “Because…I met some guys in Iraq a few years ago that were ranting about being vampire hunters, and I thought they were just crazy…but I’ll be damned if you don’t seem an awful lot like what they were talking about. And…they said that’s a thing. Vampires—real ones—are very particular about invitations.” Swallowing, Audrey reached into her pocket, fingering her keyring nervously. He was…charming, sort of, and she was lonely and…she supposed if anything went awry, she could kill him. As weak as she was, it might be one hell of a struggle…but she’d manage. “Okay…would you like to come inside?” A bright smile was Nate’s immediate response—and Audrey noted his definite lack of any sort of dentition that would indicate he was a vampire, too. “I would.” As Audrey turned to unlock the door, he rested a hand at the small of her back. “Wasn’t just saying things, by the way,” he said, leaning to murmur against her ear. “You’re beautiful. Nothing hotter than a dangerous woman, y’know?” A little startled by his sudden closeness, Audrey jumped over the threshold, dropping her keys and fumbling as she tried to pick them up. Nate laughed, leaning down to snatch the keyring off the floor, then slid it into his own pocket. “You’re awfully jumpy for a, uh, creature of the night, heh.” “Shhh,” she hissed, pushing the elevator button a few times. “If someone hears you—“ “We’ll kill ‘em.” He finished, draping his arm across her shoulders. “Don’t worry. You and your little secret are safe with me, darling.” 

Once they reached her apartment, Nate snorted softly, looking around the small living room; unlike her Boston home, Audrey had brought almost nothing of value with her to Japan, and she’d found a cheap studio apartment typical to young adults in Japan. It was little more than a kitchenette, a narrow living space with a sofa and a TV, and a bedroom and adjacent bathroom partitioned with a sliding door from the rest of the space.  The single window in the bedroom area was hidden behind a set of blinds and then covered with two layers of heavy, thick black curtains. “How luxurious…No Transylvanian castle for you, then?” Audrey frowned. “That’s a stereotype—“ Nate laughed, dropping onto the sofa. “Sorry, it’s just funny. Supposed to be so mysterious…and you live in this shit apartment like a broke college student. Aren’t you supposed to be some immortal being, thousands of years old and incredibly rich?” 

“I’m not that old…And I have plenty of money, I just…wanted to try something different.” “Ooooh. I gotcha. You’re slumming. Of course you are…heh. I should have known, never met a girl yet who does this grunge look,” he gestured to her outfit, “that wasn’t rich as—“ A low growl gave him pause and his brow shot up as Dogmeat stepped out of the bedroom, lips pulled back in an ugly snarl. “You, uh, didn’t mention the dog…” He squinted, then pushed himself to his feet. “A barghest, huh? Well, that’s a coincidence.” Audrey shrugged her jacket off, hanging it on a coat rack near the door, shushed at the dog, then what Nate had just said caught up with her. “You can…you can tell what he is?” “Sure I can. I’ve got one, too.” Nate looked Audrey over now that she’d removed her coat, then stepped by her to go to the kitchen. “Oughta get yourself cleaned up…You have anything you can eat in here? I’ll make you something while you take a bath.” This entire situation was so strange that Audrey still wasn’t sure how to respond…she stared at Nate for a moment, after which he sighed and leaned against the counter between them. “Audrey. I’m not a rapist or anything…I mean, I have killed people, but…I’m not gonna hurt you.” He shrugged, turning to open the fridge, which was nearly empty except for a few beef bones in tightly wrapped plastic and a foam meat tray with three uncooked steaks on it. “Can you eat this?” He asked, holding the tray out. “I can, a small piece. It’s better to just…suck on it a little, to get the juices out of it. I bought it mostly for the dog…animal proteins don’t make me as sick as other foods will, but…they don’t really do much nutritionally.” “Cooked?” “Only a little.” “Okay. Go take a bath.” Audrey nodded slowly, and for a moment she wondered why she was letting any of this happen. Maybe the starvation was getting to her. As he’d promised, Nate didn’t interrupt Audrey as she laid in the tub for a while, long enough that the water started to chill unpleasantly and she was finally forced to get out. The meal from earlier had started to kick in and she felt better. Dressing in a loose white t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, Audrey re-emerged to find Nate sitting on the sofa, eating one of the steaks himself while Dogmeat chewed a raw one nearby. Instead of the third steak, a glass with 2 inches of blood at the bottom of it rested on the coffee table. Audrey sucked in a small breath, biting into her lower lip. “Where’d you get that?” “It’s mine.” He held out his hand, which he’d wrapped a dishtowel tightly around. “Cut myself when I was cutting this steak up…why let it go to waste?” “…we’re…not supposed to drink from a mortal we don’t kill. It’s…against the rules.” “That so? How’s following the rules working out for you? That fridge was awful empty and you look like you’re starving even after that guy in the alley.” Audrey frowned, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her t-shirt. “There’s…some sort of problem with my application to the…well, it’s politics, that’s all. I can’t buy blood until it’s sorted out. But…I shouldn’t, it’s…not safe to drink from people anymore, I was just…I had to, earlier. And I shouldn’t…not again. Maybe you should go.” She knew she shouldn’t let him go, either. She should kill him, bottle up as much of his blood as she could and dump his body off the roof like a suicide. But…there was something about him. And he had a barghest, too…maybe it was fate that she’d met him. A mortal that was willing to feed her? It seemed too good to be true. “If you want me to go, I will…but I don’t think you really do. I’m clean, I’m in the Army. Get tested every few months. That’s probably the safest blood you’ll find anywhere this side of the Pacific.” Audrey didn’t move for another moment, considering. She was still hungry, and could smell the blood from where she stood, her mouth literally watering. She could figure out what to do about the rules later, she decided. She sat down next to Nate, picked the glass up and drained it with a low, pleased rumble as Nate watched, letting out an approving hum. “‘Atta girl.” “Thank you,” she murmured, setting the glass back down and glancing at Nate’s hand. “Do you need stitches?” “Nah. Had a lot worse. I’ll be fine. You probably need some sleep, though…” He glanced at his watch. “It’s 5am. Can, uh, vampires go out in the sun or is that another stereotype, too?” “No…that one is true. Vampirism causes extreme photosensitivity…UV light will burn me.”  Nate stood up. “Okay. I’ll come back later…8pm? We’ll go out to dinner…and find you something you can eat. Wear something nice. Grunge doesn’t suit you.” He closed the space between them, standing next to Audrey for a minute as he looked down at her, a crooked smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “You want a bite before I go? Saw those sharp little fangs of yours when you bit your lip…if you’ve got those, why’d you use a knife on that guy?” Audrey looked down, blushing. “N-no. And…it’s just…more efficient. And not as messy.” Nate snorted. “If you say so. I think there’s probably something to be said for living true to our most authentic selves, and seems like you were born to be a predator…but we can talk more about that some other time. I’ll see you later, Audrey.” Leaning as if he might kiss her, Nate stopped, turned on his heel, and abruptly left, leaving Audrey standing in the middle of the small living room, a little baffled…and maybe a little excited. 

[angst-fairygodmother]

"You don't have to talk. We can just sit together" - Jaskier x Reader pls/thx xoxo (also please also work on SOAWM at your convenience - we will wait patiently)

A/N: So many almost-versions of this...sorry it took so long for the final, soft and fluffy result. Word Count: 1647 Content Warning: None

Jaskier had always been the kind of person who believed that problems could be solved with open communication, or better, they would never become problems in the first place. Which is why when he and Geralt came upon the crying girl in the woods, his first instinct was to ask her what was wrong.

“Are you alright?” he asked, smiling softly as he approached you.

You sniffled, looking fearfully up at the two men, and one lovely brown horse, who had seemingly materialized out of the forest shadows.

“Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you. My name is Jaskier, and this is Geralt.” Geralt grunted what you thought might be a greeting, or the passage of gas.

“And the third member of your company?” you ask softly.

Jaskier frowns in puzzlement and you note that the face he makes is quite cute with his wide eyes and creased brow. And then he bursts out laughing and it is light and musical, and for a second the world does not seem as dark as it once had.

“I assume you are referring to Roach?” he gestures vaguely at the horse and you nod. “She is so much a part of Geralt I do sometimes forget to introduce her. My apologies.”

The tiniest smile creases your face and Jaskier finds himself stunned breathless by the beauty hiding there.

“Why are you out here?” Geralt asks brusquely.

“I’m running away. Only I’ve gotten horribly lost.”

He nodded and Jaskier frowned once more, now in concern. “Running away? From what?”

You turned your back and folded in on yourself, muddied knees tucked up to your chest and arms wrapped around them. You tried to bury your face and hide that you had begun to cry again. Strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into the stranger’s chest, and you were so tired, so hollow, that you let it happen without protest.

“Never mind. Forget I asked. If you like, you can stay with us tonight, and then perhaps we can help you find your way back to whatever path you were on in the morning. Right Geralt?”

There was silence, but you felt the bard nod. “That’s settled then.”

You leaned back to stare at him, finding his cornflower eyes boring back into yours.

“Why are you being so kind to me? I have nothing to offer you…”

“Must someone be seeking a reward to be kind?”

You frowned. “In my world, yes,” you muttered, pulling completely away from him and trying to busy yourself helping in the setting of camp.

~

For the next three days, you travelled with the witcher and the bard, a shadow bringing up the rear of their procession. You spoke little, only when directly addressed and refusing to say anything of yourself. Geralt seemed content with that, glaring at Jaskier when he pushed further than you were willing, trying to get to know you.

“Little Runaway,” he said, cheerfully enough, on the evening of the third day. “What do you plan to do when we get to town tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” you asked softly, laying the rounded biscuit dough you had prepared on the coals to cook.

“Well, will that be where we part ways? You still haven’t told us where you were trying to go when you got lost in the woods.”

“I…do you want me to go?”

“No! No of course not. I quite like your company. Though I had hoped with three of us,” you shot him a teasing glare and he corrected himself, “four of us, I wouldn’t still be the only one maintaining conversation.”

“You could try shutting up for once,” Geralt growled, dropping a pair of freshly caught hares beside the fire.

You set to work preparing the beasts, silent and deep in thought.

Jaskier sighed and pulled out his lute, strumming absently on it to fill the silence, knowing that it would be some time before he got more out of you.

“You know, Little Runaway, the least you could do is tell us your name,” he said a short time later, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you gently turned the rabbits and removed the bread from the fire.

You mouth twitched hesitantly. You wanted to tell them, to let them in. But the thought of it made your chest ache. Jaskier continue to study you. You were more nervous than those rabbits had likely been, skittish creatures though they were. He found himself wondering for probably the dozenth time that day alone what had made you this way, that you were willing to wander about a dark, dangerous wood with a pair of strangers, but you couldn’t bear to tell your name.

Just as he was beginning to think that he had unintentionally put his foot in his mouth again and wasn’t going to get an answer, you turned eyes brimming with tears on him.

“Y/N,” you said softly.

He smiled, soft and slow and blindingly adoring.

“Y/N,” he rolled the name around on his tongue. “It’s lovely. Very fitting, given that so are you.”

You ducked your head as you felt the heat of blush creep across your cheeks.

“So, Y/N,” he said, savoring the taste of your name in his mouth and deciding to push his luck. “You never answered, do you plan to leave us when we arrive in town?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He nodded. “A problem for tomorrow then.”

~

You kept your hood up and your head down as you passed within the high wooden wall of the town, despite the heat of the day and the brightness of the sun, praying that the villagers’ prying eyes would not catch you and Geralt would be content to keep moving, rather than staying the night or looking for work.

Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. Geralt insisted on paying for a second room, despite their meager funds, so that you could stay as well, and have a little privacy, and as soon as their possessions had been dropped, was off to look at the postings in the town square for anything suitable and Jaskier was arranging a performance.

~

“What is this?” Geralt growled, dropping a broadside in front of you, the ragged edge telling you that he had ripped it down from a board.

“A very large piece of paper?” Jaskier, sitting beside you tuning his lute, looked at his friend in confusion. “Geralt, what’s gotten into you?”

“He means what’s on it,” you said softly. “I can explain. It’s not…I’m not…it wasn’t my fault.” You felt tears stinging at your eyes as Geralt’s amber ones burned accusingly into you, just as they all did, just as you were sure Jaskier’s would when he read the sheet.

You decided to run before her could turn on you, you were getting good at running. You hadn’t expected anyone to chase you.

Jaskier found you, out of breath and sobbing, on the bank of a river not far from the town.

“Hey,” he called softly, trying not to startle you and wincing when you jumped and teetered uncomfortably close to the bank edge. “Y/N, it’s just me.”

“Go away Jaskier,” you muttered through your tears.

“No I don’t think I will. See there’s this wonderful, incredible girl I’ve been getting to know and falling quite hard for and I think she needs me right now.”

“Jaskier…I…what that paper said…”

“Shh,” he walked closer, taking a seat on the bank and holding his arms open for you. Gratefully, you settled in their gentle fold, burying your face against the soft chest hair that peaked out of his shirt.

“You don’t have to talk, we can just sit here. Until you’re ready. Until you’re okay,” he soothed, rubbing small circles against your back and rocking gently.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat like that, your sobs dying out and leaving the only sounds the river’s bubbling and Jaskier’s humming. Eventually, you shivered as the afternoon’s warmth began to fade and Jaskier suggested that you head back to town, offering you a hand up. You took it and stood, lacing your fingers through his so that he could not let go, not that he seemed to mind.

“Jaskier?” you asked as the two of you walked, side-by-side so close your shoulders brushed. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Every word of it,” he assured, then looking over at you in confusion. “But just for…you know…clarity, which thing specifically are you referring to?”

“About…well falling for me?” you muttered, scuffing your toe across the ground awkwardly.

“Of course I did. You are…lovely and kind and a wonderful cook. You tolerate me. And when you smile…well I could write entire verses about it.”

You thought about it for a while, silence falling not uncomfortably between you until finally, you pulled to a stop, not far from the town walls, just as the sun disappeared behind it in a golden ray.

“I think…maybe…I’ve fallen for you too Jaskier,” you said softly, gazing on the way his features somehow both softened and sharpened in the dying light, the way his hair seemed to take on a halo and his eyes glowed.

And then suddenly you couldn’t admire him anymore, because he was kissing you, soft lips moving gently, tentatively against your own as his hands came up to cup your face. You slid your own around his waist, pulling him close as you answered his kiss with passion and desire.

All too soon, he was pulling away to draw a deep breath, forehead pressed to yours.

“Well, Little Runaway? Are you going to?” he teased, as if his hold on you, one thumb still tracing your cheek and the other hand tangled in your hair gave you any opportunity.

“No, I don’t think I will.” You pressed another swift kiss to his lips.

[viskovie]

Almost Like Family

Chapter I

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      Following his return to the States, Matt would like to say he was productive. Would like to say that he found a job, connected with old friends again, and started looking at apartments so he could finally move out of his mom’s house. In reality, he put in an application for college - after haphazardly picking a degree - and then lay around doing nothing. For six weeks.

      He knows he needs to get his shit back together, but how the hell are you supposed to do that when some of it’s still in some godforsaken war camp on the other side of the world? His mom is worried about him, and usually that would be enough to guilt him into getting off his ass. But now it just gets under his skin. He’s been to war - literally. If he was only a boy before he left, he definitely isn’t anymore. 

      Part of him is uncomfortably aware that he’s being unreasonable. Of course his mom’s worried. Her baby just survived hell on earth - the same hell she lost her husband to. She doesn’t want to lose him, too. But still. Matt doesn’t appreciate the coddling. She was an army wife, so she of all people should know to leave him be. 

      The first thing he bought when he finally had his feet back on familiar ground was an armful of the most American fast-food he could think of. Later that evening, with his system flooded with relief and his belly full, he’d seriously considered ditching the whole college idea in favour of aimless travel. He’d wanted to buy a car and just roam the country until he’d seen everything there was to see. But his mom had - luckily - had the foresight to shut him out of his bank account before he got home. No better way of making your kid stick to the plan than not giving them any other options, he’d thought moodily, but he knows she was right. He still wants to travel around the States, but he reasons that he can do that after he’s graduated and got a good job. 

      He wants to be a veterinarian, although it was kind of a snap-decision. Besides, it’ll be a better reason to call himself a vet than going to war is. Will ever be. His time there was… useless. A waste of resources; of life… He doesn’t want to think about it. 

      He’s been having this recurring nightmare ever since he got home. He’s standing out in the desert - somewhere familiar, but he can never place exactly where. He always looks around, trying to remember, and when he turns back Chutsky’s walking toward him. There’s blood on his helmet and smeared all over his face. His gun is in his hands, but the trigger is missing. He gets close. Close enough for Matt to see how glassy and vacant his eyes are. He looks ragged and disoriented. He’s a shell of himself; all the life in him gone. Sometimes he just stands there, with a sad, longing look on his face, but sometimes he talks directly to Matt. 

      “Why didn’t you help me?” 

      “Why didn’t you try to stop me?” 

      “I had a family…”

      It’s infinitely worse when he speaks, because Matt can never answer. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d been too busy covering his own ass to worry about anyone else’s, and his teammate had died for it. Chutsky always looks at him like he’s waiting for a response, but when he seems to realise that Matt isn’t going to reply, he turns away with a lonelier expression than before. He breaks into a sprint, gets a few steps away, and gets gunned down. He hits the dirt exactly like he did in Baqubah. The shot echoes in Matt’s head even after he’s sat up in bed, drenched in an icy sweat. It’s his fault that Chutsky’s dead. His fault, and there’s nothing Sergeant Harper can say that will change his mind. 

      He often wonders how Harper’s doing. The Sergeant’s a career soldier, so for him this is probably just an intermission before the next tour. Matt doesn’t envy him, but he does miss him. He wonders if Harper ever reconciled with his fiancée (Anne? Andrea?). He doesn’t like to think about that either. 

      Matt had discovered his sexuality in ninth grade. It had not been a particularly fun experience; he’d immediately told his best friend at the time, but the friend hadn’t taken it well. He was never mean about it, and never told anyone else (which Matt was, admittedly, grateful for) but there had been a weird tension between them ever since. Eventually, they drifted apart and didn’t really speak to each other again. In eleventh grade, Matt had his first - and last - boyfriend. Once they’d moved past the excitement of a new relationship, the whole thing had been disappointingly average. It had ended quietly. There were no hard feelings, but they were never friends. All in all, Matt isn’t proud of his attractions and tries to keep them under wraps as best he can. He’d been doing a pretty damn good job of it, too - until he’d met Sergeant Harper. 

      It hadn’t been some Romeo and Juliet, love-at-first-sight bullshit. There were plenty of good-looking men around, and statistically speaking some of them should’ve been gay, but something about Harper fascinated Matt. 

      It could’ve been anything, really. Even after fifteen months in Iraq, living practically on top of one another, Matt still couldn’t say he knew much about him for certain, besides what he knew as a soldier. Harper was fair, he knew when to pull rank and when to let things slide, he did his best to keep his team safe, and he showed a sensitivity that most of the other blokes had lost long ago. The only thing Matt didn’t like was that he never stepped in when Burton, Enzo and Chutsky’s teasing had gotten nasty. Harper had a “fight your own battles” attitude, which was all well and good, but sounded frustratingly like his middle school teachers. And so Matt did his best to ignore them, but it was hard not to feel alone when he noticed Harper watching and never intervening. 

      He also had this weird ability to know what Matt was thinking. After he’d broken his hand, Harper had asked how it happened. The question was casual, innocent, but Matt couldn’t quite force himself to make eye contact as he answered. The sergeant wasn’t an idiot. No way he bought the story, even if he never really mentioned it again. The rational part of Matt knew he couldn’t actually read minds, but still. He’d tried not to take any chances.

      He knows he’d been in hot water by the time he finally left. He thinks back on their conversation in Baqubah, after the mission that was supposed to be quick and painless and ended up being a total shitshow, when he finally came clean and told Harper everything. Why he’d broken his own hand, how it’d happened, why he’d even signed up in the first place. Harper had nodded - he hadn’t brushed him off or told him to suck it up like the others would’ve, and Matt couldn’t tell him how much he appreciated it. Harper seemed to understand. But Matt thinks he’d confessed more than he’d meant to, even without explicitly saying it. Harper had given him a long, searching look before going back to his cigarette. Matt can’t stop thinking about it. 

      They were never exactly close, but did Harper suddenly seem to hold him at arm’s length? Was it because he’d known more than he was letting on, was it because he was still in shock over that ill-fated raid, or was it all in Matt’s head? Had he projected a little too much, desperately hoping for reciprocation and terrified of rejection? 

      He sighs, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. The paper stars he stuck up in sixth grade are still there, hanging from their fine white threads in a loose cloud. He thinks the original idea had been to cover his entire ceiling in them, make it look like a galaxy. He can’t quite remember. What would his twelve-year-old self think of him now? He’d dreamed of working at NASA. If he searches, he’ll probably find all the drawings and plans to build cool space tech that he made when he was a kid. The thought makes him smile, but it’s heartbreakingly bittersweet. Poor little Matt; lost his dad at six, lost his best friend at fifteen, and now losing himself at twenty-two. 

      His mom knocks gently on the door, tactfully waiting for invitation to enter. She’s holding the home phone. She looks a little sad, but quietly knowing. 

      “It’s for you, hun.” She says, holding it out for him. Matt accepts it and she gives him a small, tired smile. 

      “Don’t keep him waiting too long, he seems sweet.” She adds, shutting the door again as she leaves. Matt brings the phone to his ear. He doesn’t know who would be calling him, nor does he really care. It’s probably one of his few high school friends, making a token attempt to reconnect. He’s not expecting to hear Harper’s voice. 

      “Hey Ocre. How’s it feel to be home?” 

      Matt nearly drops the phone. He sits heavily on the edge of his bed. 

      “I- uh, good, sir. It’s good to be home.” Even to his own ears the words sound hollow. He sits up a little straighter, subconsciously falling back into the familiarity of addressing a senior officer. Over the line, Harper laughs softly. 

      “Yeah, it takes a little while to get used to the fact that nobody’s trying to kill you anymore.” He says. There’s a few moments of awkward silence, in which Matt can’t think of anything to say. Harper makes a sound like he’s clearing his throat. 

      “Are you still in the area?” He asks carefully. The question takes Matt by surprise. He fumbles his anwer, suddenly self-conscious about still living with his mom. 

      “Good. There’s some stuff we never got to talk about back there.” Harper continues steadily. Matt’s heart skips a beat and his blood runs inexplicably cold. No, no, no, no. What happened in Baqubah was going to stay in Baqubah, including their little ‘chat’. 

      “Ocre? You still there?” 

      “Uh…”

      “When are you free?”Harper prompts. Never, Matt wants to say. 

      “Whenever.” Is what he actually says. He cringes as soon as the word has left his mouth. God, he sounds like a teenager with a crush! He hopes Harper doesn’t notice. But of course, no such luck.

      “Damn, you’re that excited to see me again, huh?” Harper teases, laughing again. It sounds more genuine this time. Matt opens his mouth to snark back, but realises there’s nothing he can say that will let him win. They arrange a time and place to meet, and when they hang up he feels lighter than he has in weeks. He lies back on his bed, looking up at his stars again. 

      He isn’t sure whether to be relieved or agitated that he’s gonna see Harper again. He’d left Baqubah with the sense of absolute certainty that if he never saw or thought of the guys again he’d be able to forget what he’d seen and done. But on the other hand, Harper may well be the only other person in the world who knows exactly how he feels. It’s confusing, and Matt’s getting another headache. 

      He isn’t sure when he dozes off, but for the first time since he got home, he doesn’t have his regular nightmare. It’s not a peaceful sleep, but he doesn’t wake up with the shakes so he counts it as a success.