#i mourn ain’t no fish inside

[pinespittinink]

as I’m going through my Intense™️ backlog of likes and coming across doctor who content, I’m reminded again of the silly inside joke I have with myself that’s just the fact that my main blog is the one that has the poetic, writeblr-esque title quote (“we’re all stories in the end”), while my writeblr right here is titled with the most obscure bts reference possible (“crotch was mentioned”)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

"you were missed, you know.” the voice is light, balancing on the edge of airy like a coin on its rim, in a way only careful practice yielded. so jason whirls around, faster than he normally would in a neatly-pressed suit and loose dress shoes. 

there’s a woman, close cropped red hair swinging into her face and pulling at the corners of her mouth until her expression is as severe as her form. there’s a scar on her jaw and, oh, the memory tumbles into his head as if pushed. kate kane, proof that vigilantism is genetic, once tugged jason into into her side and pulled him away from a particularly leering investor at function. the bite of her nails on his skin was a thousand times sweeter than the man’s smile.

she smirks. “hi.”

“haven’t seen you in a while,” jason responds, attempting casual and instead tripping, falling into his crime lord persona, since he doesn’t know how else to interact with people when he’s jason peter todd-wayne. 

“not since you died,” kate remarks and damn, right for the gullet. “you’ve grown up.”

jason shrugs, suddenly feeling thirteen years old again, suddenly feeling all of four feet, eight inches in the face of her candidness. “time’s funny like that.”

she eyes him carefully, trying to fish for the truth in what she believes is a lie wrapped in a careful quip. jason doesn’t blame her: he’s cultivated quite a reputation for himself. but he stripped the sarcasm from his words before he spoke them, and their rawness is shrouded in the bubbling champagne and crystal chandelier around them, but it’s no less present for anyone who knows how to peel the veil back.

“you were missed,” she repeats, satisfied with his answer. “not sure anyone’s told you that since you’ve come back. your family’s a stubborn bunch. i just wanted to make sure.”

“make sure i knew i was missed?” jason clarifies, feeling a little foolish, because dick wouldn’t beg to save his life but there were a few times that his words came close to pleas, and tim had made it clear how much he’d upheld the pedestal he’d put jason on, and alfred had actually told him that to his face. 

but this was the first time he found himself truly believing those familiar words. he hadn’t known kate, not at all. and yet, she nodded, clapped him on the shoulder once, twice, then left, completely unaware of the pit of resentment she’d carved out of jason’s stomach and thrown on the ground until jason felt like he’d slip on it if he moved, if he breathed.

she didn’t look back, but jason’s eyes didn’t stop following her until she was out of sight.

*

"you were missed, you know.” jason doesn’t startle, his training is etched into every scar decorating his skin, and there are times that he grips and holds onto those scars like a lifeline. he’s far too practiced to flinch, but he’d be lying to himself if his heart didn’t skip a beat.

he forgave himself in the next second, though. cassandra cain could make men much more experienced than him recoil. she appeared soundlessly, and folded down beside him with a grace that jason hadn’t seen anywhere outside his family. the amount of space she left between them, the relaxed posture that left visible tension cording through her arms like pulling steel taffy, the tilt to her body that made jason automatically want to open his mouth and let his tumultuous thoughts come out as an oil spill: right now, cass had dick grayson’s brushtrokes all over her.

“dick put you up to this?” 

cass shook her head, then bit her lip in a considering movement. jason wondered if he’d practiced, because bruce had long since broken that dangerous habit out of his children. 

“i am still working on comfort. assurance,”  she said, rifling through the words like flash cards, picking the most accurate ones. “i thought i’d practice.”

“oh? and why exactly do you think i need comfort.”

“i overheard your argument,” she admitted, “with bruce.”

“i didn’t think anyone was there.”

“i didn’t mean to,” she said. “sorry. but i heard what you said.”

jason scoffed. “prove me wrong. one step forward, two steps back with that dense motherfucker.”

“sign of protection,” cass said. “not distrust.”

out of everyone to say that to him, cass was probably the least likely. jason had thought she, of all people, would be on his side after he found the microchip in his helmet. she, of all people, would value independence after being owned for so long.

“by the time he found you, you were dead. and he missed you more than anything. he will never let that happen again.”

“oh yeah? privacy mean nothing to him? i know he’s crazy about this stuff but come on. there’s a limit.”

“you are not relying on him because of this.” cass stood up, stretching her back, though jason was sure she really didn’t have to. “he is relying on you. let him.”

*

“you were missed, you know.” 

“what, speaking from personal experience? i ain’t you, west.” jason could feel the gentle thrum of electricity behind him, making his hair stand on edge. two steps backward, and he’d be pulled into that void, that black hole of energy, that swirling vortex of pure power condensed into something human-shaped.

except he wouldn’t. it was just wally. just dick’s best friend joining him outside on the balcony. jason didn’t know how dick and tim could stand to be around speedsters willingly, for fun.

“i mean, sort of,” wally shrugged. “but me and you had very different experiences.”

“yeah, west, i’m not sure who else has been stuck in the fucking speedforce.”

wally snorted, an if only you knew hidden in plain sight. jason decided he really didn’t want to know. “i mean there’s that,” the speedster concedes, “but also, everyone forgot i existed. that didn’t happen with you.”

“you sure about that?” 

“hey,” wally eyed him, his eyes suddenly sharp. “don’t start that shit. i was erased from the memories of everyone i loved. you did nothing but stay in the memories of your family.”

“now i know we’re talking about two different things.”

“jason,” wally sighed, and the sheer exasperation pouring off him made jason want curl his fingers, bring them up for a swing, taste the bite of pain that would prick at his knuckles, nevermind the fact that wally would dodge anyway. “don’t do that.”

he turned to face the speedster, arms crossed deliberately over his chest. “where the hell do you get off acting like dick?”

“you’re more like dick than you realize,” wally said, “and i spent half my childhood dealing with his moods. actually, i still do.”

“do you have a point?” jason snapped, starting to get irritated. he wasn’t sure why. he’d spent his entire life one one end of a scale, dick grayson on the other. he’d always tipped his end down. this was the first time someone was telling him the scale was even.

“just because your family didn’t mourn the way you wanted them to,” wally said, “doesn’t mean they didn’t mourn you.”

“fuck you.”

“they loved you. and they missed you,” wally continues, steamrolling right over jason in a way most speedsters were prone to do. “there’s no minimum requirement for loss. no ‘if you didn’t do this, then you didn’t grieve me.’ that’s not even a situation, ever.”

“so that makes everything bruce did okay?” jason sputtered

“not at all. god knows i disagree with bruce on more things than i tolerate. but this is one thing you can’t fault him on.”

it wasn’t that easy, though. jason wanted to scream it at wally’s face, it wasn’t that easy. it wasn’t about whether bruce loved him enough,,,,except maybe it was. jason wanted bruce to have loved him enough to make a difference in gotham. jason wanted bruce to have missed him enough to change things, because change meant that bruce had been so hurt by his death that he refused to let it happen to anyone else again.

bruce had made a vow after his parents died. the fifteen year old inside jason was begging bruce why he hadn’t been afforded the same devotion. jason was his son.

“just something to think about,” wally said, then stepped backward, making to go inside where dick was calling him. ��you were afforded the luxury of coming back with a place left empty in your family for you. you didn’t have to make it, like i did.”

“being dead, then coming back wrong isn’t a fucking luxury,” jason snarled.

with a shrug, wally turned, a little faster than the average human, lightning sparking at his heels as he left jason alone on the balcony. “depends on your definition of wrong.”

jason get therapy. please. also happy deathday

honestly i couldn’t decide whose side of the argument i was on, jason’s or wally’s.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from the movie “Dogma”

“I’m as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll.”

“May I continue uninterrupted?”

“Mention something from a Charlton Heston movie and suddenly everyone’s a theology scholar!”

“Read that book again sometime. Women are painted as bigger antagonists than the Egyptians and Romans combined. It stinks.”

“So you were an artist? Big deal.”

“That’s why he’s the King, and you’re a schmuck.”

“ I repeat; this is not a drill. This is the Apocalypse. ”

“ We call this piece "The Fecalator.” One look at it and your target shits him or herself.“

” I just love to fuck with the clergy, man, I just love it.“

"Let’s kill people.”

“Ah, Sweet Jesus! Did you have to use the whole can?!”

“Or you’ll do what exactly? Hit me with that…fish?”

“Honestly, you bottom feeders and your arrogance, you think everybody’s just trying to get in your knickers.”

“Do you go around drenching everybody that comes into your room with flame-retardant chemicals?”

“I am to charge you with a holy crusade.”

“What’s the fine print?”

“I hate when people need it spelled out for them!”

“We’re here to pick up chicks.”

“Well, it’s a lot more compact than the flaming sword, but it’s not nearly as impressive.”

“How am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked with this thing? ”

“What work did you do? You lit a few fires.”

“Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, outside of soccer.”

“You’re a man of principle.”

“We figure an abortion clinic’s a good place to meet loose women.”

“You’ll offer us sex as a reward?”

“Fucking Breakfast Club; all these stupid kids actually show up for detention.”

“Movies are fucking bullshit.”

“This is gonna sound really bad. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this, but…”

"Someone told me I’d meet you and you’d take me some place I was suppose to go.”

“I feel like Han Solo, you’re Chewie, and she’s Ben Kenobi and we’re in that fucked up bar!”

“She’s the slut. Booong!”

“All right, well lets say we’re caught in a situation where we have like five minutes left to live. I don’t know, a bomb or something’s gonna go off; would you fuck us then?”

“Tell me something nobody knows.”

“When you do it, you’re thinking about guys.”

“Wars, bigotry, televangelism.”

“You’re saying having beliefs is a bad thing?”

“My eyes are open. For the first time, I get it.”

“Ours was designed to be a life of servitude and worship, and bowing and scraping and adoration.”

“You know, all I’m saying is that maybe one of us needs a little nap…”

“I think we may have to dispatch our would-be dispatchers.”

“See, don’t let your sympathies get the best of you. They did me, once. ”

“I’ve heard a rant like this before.”

“I have seen what happens to the proud when they take on the throne. ”

“Would you - could you - have believed me? You had to come to it gradually. Only now, after all you’ve seen, could you accept the truth.”

“I don’t want this. It’s too big.”

“It’s unfair! It’s unfair to ask a child to shoulder that responsibility, and it’s unfair to ask you to do the same.”

“I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t. This is who you are.”

“Everything I am is a lie.”

“No one can take that away from you, not even God. ”

“I guess this means no more cheating on my taxes.”

“Come on, demon, I wanna see you try that shit on someone who’s already dead!”

“And the pawns are moving into place as we speak…”

“But then your kind came along, and made it so much worse.”

“But true to his irresponsible nature, man won’t own up to being its engineer, so he blames his dark deeds on my ilk!”

“I’d rather not exist than go back to that…and if everyone has to go down with me, so be it.”

“The whole fucking world’s against us, dude, I swear to God. ”

“If I had a dick, I’d go get laid.”

“I think that God is dead.”

“I can’t wait to die.”

“Do you know what makes a human being decent? Fear.”

“I’m responsible for nineteen of the twenty top-grossing films of all time.”

“The humans have besmirched everything bestowed on them.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we went home?”

“No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.”

“What the fuck is this shit? Who the fuck are you, lady? Why the fuck did you hug my head? ”

“What the fuck is this, The Piano? Why ain’t this broad talking?”

“You of anyone should know that tits don’t make a woman.”

“But I’m a fuckin’ demon.”

“Guys like us just don’t fall out of the fucking sky, you know.”

“Beautiful, naked, big-titted women just don’t fall out of the sky, you know.”

“You’re Catholic, can’t you talk to them?”

“Consequences schmonsequences.”

“Snootch to the motherfuckin’ nootch!”

“Let it never be said that your anal-retentive attention to detail never yielded positive results.”

“You can’t be anal-retentive if you don’t have an anus. ”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been judged guilty of sinning against our almighty God, and I promise you, you shall pay for your trespasses, in blood!”

“I’m feeling a little exposed here…”

“Wings, now!”

“I know they were just kids, but we kicked their fucken pube-less asses!”

“Anyone who isn’t dead or from another plane of existence would do well to cover their ears right about now.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“I’m telling you, man, this ceremony is a big mistake.”

“Go back to your paper routes, you Mighty Duck fucks.”

“Very basic strategy. If your enemies know where you are, then don’t be there.”

“Your continued existence is a mockery of morality.”

“You’re his father, you sick fuck.”

“You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life.”

“You have more skeletons in your closet than the rest of this assembled party. I cannot even mention them aloud.”

“You’re awfully nude.”

“You know, maybe you’re wrong about this slaughter thing.”

“The major sins never change.”

“What, are you insinuating that I don’t have what it takes anymore?”

“Get me a… Holy Bartender.”

“Not born. SHIT into existence.”

“I can take anyone I meet and give a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can’t keep any for myself.”

“I have issues with anyone who treats God as a burden instead of a blessing.”

“You people don’t celebrate your faith; you mourn it.”

“Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains got to wake up.”

“You were martyred?”

“I can’t believe we forgot about the magazine.”

“Smoke that motherfucker like it ain’t no thang!”

“NOBODY IS FUCKING ME! YOU GOT THAT!?”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m going to yank your sack off like a paper towel.”

“Your hard-on for smiting has prevented us from negotiating what should be the relatively simple matter of catching or staying on a bus.”

“Well, I say we get drunk, because I’m all out of ideas.”

“Oh no, I’ve seen way too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal all the details of your plan, no matter how close you may think you are to winning.”

“You’re looking at eons of repression getting purged.”

“If only they’d let us jerk off.”

“Quit killing people, that’s high profile.”

“So do you do anal? Is it true that chicks fart if you blast ‘em in the ass?”

“The man was right about you. And I am going to go home and tell him so.”

“Quit leering at me. People are gonna think I just broke up with you.”

“You know, I hear pregnant women can have sex until their third trimester.”

“You’re a pure soul… but you didn’t say "God bless you” when I sneezed.“

"Holy shit, it’s the Pope!”

“Ever the fucking apple polisher!”

“Hey Big Bird! Wanna play the Counting Game? Count the shells, Sucker Duck!”

“Snoogans.”

“So this is all about revenge.”

“After the first couple million years, escape from hell became my all consuming reason.”

“You mean, I’m pregnant?”

“You think someone threw him out of a plane with a message written on him like in Con Air? You ever see that flick?”

“It’s the living dead! Kill it! Kill it!”

“Wait a second! Between guys with wings, guys falling out of the sky, and guys trying like hell to fuck me, I think I’ve been pretty patient so far, and I’m not taking another step until you tell me where the hell you came from!”

“I came from Heaven.”

“Is this why I had to come down here this morning, man? Is this why I had to miss my fucking cartoons?”

“Let me give you a little inside information about God.”

“People die for it, people kill for it.”

“His piece will be rubbing inside of your armor!”

“You know ,death is a worry of the living. The dead like myself only worry about decay and necrophiliacs.”

“I told them I was coming up on a routine possession.”

“'Makin’ with the love.’ It’s a nice way of saying boning.”

“Do I come off as gay?”

“I got half a stock when she kissed me.”

“I hope you’re the skeeball type.”

“Bow down, stupid!”

“It never ends!”

“What the fuck happened to that guy’s head?!”

“She’s a clever girl, that one.”

“You ready to make some of those changes I’ve been talking about?”

“One of the drawbacks to being a martyr is that you have to die.”

“All is being taken care of.”

“Why are we here?”

*touches nose and makes funny noise*

“I told you she was a woman.”

“She’s not really a woman. She’s not really anything.”

“She’s something alright.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“Crisis of faith over?”

“Why don’t you name the kid after me?”

“We’re in Mexico?”

“I couldn’t help it, the bitch was hot!”

“You know, you can’t talk to me like that anymore, I’m gonna be somebody’s mother.”

“Yo, we should go to Quick Stop.”

[boffeeceanside]

Change Your Life

Chapter Six

Ao3

"Sex and Alcohol doesn't solve anything, Elijah!"

 "You should try it sometime, maybe it'll remove that stick up your ass."

 "You're pathetic!"

 That was the end of the last conversation he had with Beatrice before he decided to take a ride to clear his mind. He was only supposed to be gone for a couple of hours and return before she woke up, but he has been on the road for two days now or more, only stopping to let his horse rest. Elijah should've turned back and he knows it, but he couldn't even if he wanted to.

 He was lost, starving, and broke. But most of all he was mad. Beatrice was able to get over the death of their mother in a week, but he couldn't do that. He did try though, it's what she wanted, to mourn for a week and then move on like nothing happened. Elijah didn't understand how the hell he was supposed to do that. He had tried to distract himself by playing the guitar, but she taught him how to play and it reminded him too much of her, so he moved on to alcohol and sex. It didn't always work, sometimes it just made everything worse. It just made everything worse. But he couldn't stop.

 Elijah focused his eyes on the stars, maybe they could help him find his way back, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how. Glancing around him, he spotted a river and steered Aphrodite off the road and towards the body of water. He kneeled in front of the water after dismounting and looked at his reflection. He was a mess, His hair more disheveled than usual, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever and his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion or crying he couldn't tell. He splashed some water and his face to wake him up and drank some of it too. 

 But there was something different when he looked at the reflective surface again. There was someone behind him with a gun in their hand, pointed right at the back of his head. Elijah slowly stood up and turned around with his hands raised. He saw two more men by his horse, searching the saddlebags.

 "There's nothin' in there."

 "Quiet," The man in front of him said and reached for Elijah's gun and searched his pockets, but found nothing.

 "No, he's right, Declan. Nothin' of value in here, "One of the men who stood by his horse said.

 The man now known as Declan took a step closer, "How come you can afford such an expensive horse and not have any money?"

 He did have money, just not with him and not enough to buy a horse like that, "Stolen," He answered.

 "So you're a thief."

 Elijah shrugged and grinned, "I try not to take too much pride in my work."

 That seemed to get something like a chuckle out of the other man, "You got family?"

 "No."

 "A gang?"

 "Not anymore, why?"

 "Alright," Declan said, completely ignored Elijah's question, and turned his head to look at the others, "Colin, fetch me that rope."

 Elijah seemed to stay calm on the outside, but he was starting to panic on the inside. He decided to stay quiet, not wanting to aggravate them and get himself killed, even if they might kill him anyway. Colin came over with a rope and Declan started tying the rope around Elijah's wrists. Declan pushed him towards Aphrodite and told him to mount up, Elijah hesitated but did as told with some struggle.

 "What's your name?" Declan asked once he tied Aphrodite's reins to his saddle and mounted his own horse.

 "Wyland," Elijah gave them the first name that popped up in his head.

 "Wyland who?"

 "...Wyland."

 Dumbass.

 "Your name is Wyland Wyland?" Declan asked with a raised brow.

 "Yeah.." Elijah wanted to scratch his neck, but remembered that his hands were tied, "My mother was a… strange woman."

 "Well, Wyland Wyland, Make yourself comfortable 'cause we got quite a ride ahead of us. Try anything stupid and you're dead."

 Elijah sighed and looked up to the sky, the bright stars, and even brighter moon. He should've turned back as soon as the sun started rising for the first time, he shouldn't have left. He should've stayed and talked it out, even if that would most likely lead to them yelling at each other, it always did.

 "Made a damn right fool out of myself now, didn't I, ma?" He whispered, quietly enough for no one but him to hear.

 He closed his eyes and enjoyed the slight breeze that hit his cheeks and ruffled his hair.

 "I'm sorry…"

 ---

 Declan was right, they were in for quite a ride. It had been hours before they even took a break, a break that only lasted ten minutes to let the horses rest. While Declan and Colin were talking between themselves, Elijah got to talking to the one that had been quiet, who was now known as Aiden. He was a likable guy who didn't talk much, that had taken to calling Elijah 'princess'. He asked him not to, multiple times, but he stopped after the third time.

 After some more excruciating hours, they finally decided to set up camp.

 "There's no need for that, I ain't going anywhere," Elijah said while Aiden tied his arms around a tree.

 Aiden walked around to face Elijah once he finished tying his hands together again, he took Elijah's chin between his thumb and index finger and forced him to look in his eyes, "I don't quite trust you yet, princess."

 Elijah expected him to leave after that, but instead, his gaze lingered on Elijah's eye, his right eye to be more specific. Both his eyes were blue-green, however, his right one was almost half brown. "Like what you see?"

 Aiden scoffed and let go of his chin, "Creeps me out."

 The smile that formed on Elijah's face while Aiden walked away couldn't be helped. He watched them drink and chat for a bit before they all turned in for the night, that's when Elijah started to work on the rope around his wrists. They weren't very tight and easy to get loose from, he didn't know if it was because Aiden is horrible at tying knots or if he's actually growing on him. But that didn't matter, he was free. The thought of leaving only crossed his mind for a second, he had nowhere to go and he was curious where they were going to take him.

 Elijah carefully walked over to his horse and hoped the others didn't wake up, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a half-empty whiskey bottle before settling back on his spot under the tree. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, filling his lungs with smoke, and held his breath, savoring the burning feeling in his lungs before slowly exhaling through his nose. He hoped Beatrice was okay, that she didn't do something stupid that would get her killed. He hoped that he would see her again, even though the chance wasn't likely. Hoped that if they saw each other again, she would be able to forgive him.

 Tears were freely streaming down his face by the time he smoked almost all his cigarettes and finished off the whiskey. He didn't try to stop it, knowing it would be a futile attempt. He pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees, he let the tears fall and soon drifted into a dreamless sleep.

 ---

 "Wake up."

 Elijah groaned and rolled over, "Five minutes." A kick to his shin made him sit upright and face the person that was bothering him, "I said," He opened his eyes and stared down the barrel of a revolver. "Shit."

 "How the fuck did you get free?" Aiden asked, clearly agitated and a little confused.

 Elijah chuckled, "I hate to break it to you, friend, but you're not great at tying knots."

 "Then why are you still here?"

 He shrugged, "Don't got anywhere to go."

 Aiden nodded and holstered his gun, "Get up."

 "Huh?"

 "You heard me, princess. On your feet."

 Elijah stood up and followed Aiden to the horses, "Where're we goin'?" He asked. Once there, Aiden rummaged through his saddlebag and shoved a fishing pole in Elijah's hands, and kept walking. Elijah continued to follow him, he now knew what they were going to do, but where exactly they were going was still a mystery.

 They arrived at a river after walking for ten to fifteen minutes in complete silence. Aiden tossed Elijah some bait without saying a word. Elijah shrugged, hooked the bait, and cast his line out into the water. He expected Aiden to kill him, with the gun pointed at his head and all, not to go fishing, but it was nice. It was something he knew how to do and enjoyed doing. Also gave him time to think, which he tried to avoid, knowing where that would lead. Instead, he looked out to the water and focused on the fish, reeled one in when it took the bait. He only turned his attention on Aiden when he spoke to him.

 "What happened to your nose?" Aiden asked without taking his eyes off the water.

 Elijah gave him a questioning look, "Where the hell did that come from?"

 "I'm just tryin' to make some small talk."

 "You? Small talk? Who would've guessed."

 "Just tell me already."

 Elijah sighed and briefly touched the scar on his nose, "My sister broke it."

 Aiden gave him a sidelong look, "I thought you didn't have any family."

 "Not anymore," Elijah lied; at least he hoped he did, "Anyway, my sister broke it after I accidentally shot her," He chuckled for a second before continuing, "In my defense, we were running from the law and I thought they found me, but she wouldn't hear any of it and smashed my face into a tree." 

 The laugh that came from Aiden took Elijah by surprise, "Let me guess, little sister?"

 "Twin actually, not that it matters."

 "Sure it doesn't," Aiden said and tossed a fish in the bucket, they got four, which was enough. He picked it up and started back to their little camp. Elijah followed, unlike the walk to the river the silence on the way back was uncomfortable. Colin and Declan were restarting the fire when Elijah and Aiden returned.

 "Why ain't he tied up?" Declan asked upon spotting Elijah.

 "Shut it, Declan, he's one of us now. Ain't ya princess?"

 Elijah hummed in response, being with this lot was better than being alone on the road without a destination.

 "Besides," Aiden started, "He's the one that caught your breakfast." He placed the bucket with fish in front of Declan, who looked pleased with it.

 They cleaned the fish and cooked them over the open fire. A bunch of questions were thrown Elijah's way while they ate, like: 'What happened to your eye?', 'What happened to your family?', 'How long have you been on your own?', and 'How come your first and last name are the same?' Elijah answered some of them truthfully, others were more difficult; he has never been a great liar, but they didn't seem to notice. They packed up and got back on the road after they finished eating.

 The following weeks weren't anything special, they followed the same routine of riding, camping, fishing, and riding again. Elijah started feeling more and more comfortable with the others, causing him to talk on and on about everything and nothing at all. They mostly just let him ramble on, but every now and then they'd get sick of it and tell him to shut up.

 Declan reluctantly gave Elijah his gun back when they decided to rob a homestead, but not without making it very clear that he'd be dead if he tried anything. Elijah felt much better with a gun at his hip and some money in his pockets.

 If Elijah thought it was just going to be the four of them, he was wrong. They met up with a slightly bigger group, apparently, they were all part of a big gang called the O' Driscolls, and now Elijah was as well.

 April turned into May and they found themselves in the grizzlies, where Elijah got to meet the big boss, Colm O' Driscoll. Colm stared at him for longer than Elijah would have liked, almost like he looked familiar. Luckily, Colm didn't say anything and just dismissed him.

 ---

 Elijah stood with his head leaning against Aphrodite's neck, exhausted. He had guard duty all night and now Colm wanted him, Colin, Aiden, and Kieran to ride out to Six Point Cabin. Why he wanted Elijah with him was a mystery, but he wasn't about to complain, it was certainly better than staying in the snow.

 "Wyland," Colin called out, "you comin' or what?"

 "I'll be right there," Elijah answered. He pulled himself up in the saddle and directed his horse to the others.

 Something felt off when he joined them like they were being watched. He quickly looked around but saw nothing, so he just blamed it on the lack of sleep.

 They rode out and Elijah watched how all the white turned into green, happy to be out of the cold. Six Point Cabin wasn't much, but he enjoyed the time he spent there. When he wasn't running small jobs with Aiden he was doing what he did best: drinking, whoring, and forgetting.

 Elijah sat on a log with a working girl on his lap and a beer in his hand. They were about to leave to get some privacy, but a shot rang out, Elijah stumbled backward and tripped over the log as soon as he got up, taking the working girl with him.

 "Men in the camp! Men in the camp!" Someone yelled out.

 "Run and hide if you know what's good for you!" One of the men that invaded their camp said.

 "Stay low and get the hell out of here," Elijah told the working girl. She nodded and quickly scurried out of there. He checked his surroundings, still lying on the ground, there were men dropping dead at every side of him.

 "Princess!"

 Elijah looked at where the voice came from and met Aiden's eyes, who was hiding behind the cabin and gestured for Elijah to come over. Elijah quickly looked around him again before scrambling towards Aiden.

 "How you doin'?" Aiden asked.

 "What do you mean 'how am I doin'?' We're being shot at and they're damn good shots too!"

 "So are you."

 "I'm seeing double here, Aiden. I don't think I'll be able to shoot much of anything."

 Aiden took the gun from Elijah's holster, shoved it in his hands, and turned him around, "Just try!"

 "Goddamnit…" He raised his gun, aimed, and took a deep breath, focusing his vision for just a second and in that second he shot at someone. Almost hit him. But before he could try again, but the man spotted him and shot right back. The bullet flew past Elijah's face, he got back in cover and slumped to the ground.

 "You almost had him!" Aiden said.

 Elijah shot Aiden a look, "I almost lost my goddamn brains!"

 "But you didn't, so try again."

 "No," Elijah said and got to his feet

 "What do you mean 'no'? Where are you goin'?"

 "I don't know about you, but I ain't dyin' today."

 Aiden thought for a second but quickly realized that they weren't going to make it out alive if they didn't leave right that instant. They ran and whistled for their horses as soon as they got out of sight, Aiden waited for his horse while Elijah mounted Aphrodite.

 "Shit." Aiden whistled again, but his horse didn't come.

 "We ain't got time for this," Elijah held his hand out for Aiden, "come on."

 Aiden took his hand and pulled himself up on the back of Elijah's horse. Elijah spurred Aphrodite on and rode off at a gallop, only slowing down when he was sure they were in the clear. The feeling of Aiden's hands on his waist and his breath on his neck made shivers go down Elijah's spine. The shivers were so bad that Aiden noticed.

 "You alright?"

 "I'm fine," He said and steered Aphrodite off the road and into a small clearing, "It's gettin' late, we should rest up."

 They dismounted and Aiden went off to find firewood while Elijah untacked his horse. After that he laid down a bedroll and a blanket, he sat down with his back against the saddle and waited for Aiden to return.

 Elijah had a bottle in his hand when Aiden got back and started the fire. "I barely see you without a drink," Aiden said and sat down next to him. close. too close. Elijah shuffled a bit and took a long swig. "Care to share?"

 He passed the bottle over to Aiden. They talked for a while, mostly about what happened at Six Point Cabin and who the people were that attacked them. Aiden told him that Colm has some history with another gang leader and that it was probably them.

 Time passed and the bottle was almost empty, Elijah took the bottle from Aiden's grip and was about to take the last swig.

 "What do you think you're doin'?" Aiden asked

 "What do you think I'm doin'?" Elijah laughed and brought the bottle back to his lips.

 Aiden laughed as well and reached out for it, but Elijah moved and kept it out of his reach. Aiden didn't give up though, he kept reaching out and getting closer until Elijah was laid on his back and Aiden hovered over him. Before he knew their lips were pressed together. a few seconds passed and they were full-on making out, the bottle completely forgotten. Aiden moved on from Elijah's mouth to his neck. Lower. Unbuttoning Elijah's shirt and leaving kisses on his chest. Lower.

 He knew it was wrong, that people got killed for acts like this, and that it shouldn't feel so goddamn good. Small moans escaped his mouth, heart rate, and breathing quickening. He closed his eyes and got lost in the pleasure, forgot about everything else. for now.

 ---

 Elijah woke up before Aiden, he felt uncomfortable, disgusting, wrong, all of the above. He had to clear his mind, so he got dressed, saddled up Aphrodite, and went out looking for a horse for Aiden because he wasn't going to ride on the same horse after the previous night. He soon found someone alone on the road, threatened him, took his horse, and made his way back.

 "Almost thought you left," Aiden said, now awake and cooking some kind of animal, probably a rabbit, over the fire.

 "Got you a horse."

 Aiden looked up, eyes going from the horse to Elijah, and smiled like the previous night never happened, "Thanks."

 Elijah just nodded and stood against a tree.

 "Want some?" Aiden gestured to the rabid.

 "Not hungry."

 "Your loss." He shrugged.

 Elijah stared into the fire with his arms crossed, he couldn't stop thinking about the previous night, what people might think if they found out. What Beatrice might think if he ever saw her again and she found out, she probably already hated him and this would certainly seal the deal. But what bothered him most of all was how he felt towards Aiden, a feeling in his stomach that he only ever felt with a girl and shouldn't feel with another boy. He wanted to be close to Aiden, but at the same time, he wanted to get as far away as possible. Elijah got pulled out of his thoughts when Aiden put out the fire.

 "We should get goin'," Aiden said.

 "Sure," Elijah said and moved away from the tree, he rolled up the blanket and bedroll and stowed them on his saddle, "Where we goin'?" He asked and turned around just to find out that Aiden was standing extremely close to him. His breathing hitched and he took a step back, his heart started beating faster and that feeling in his stomach returned.

 "I was thinkin' of Hanging Dog Ranch." He looked Elijah over and noticed how tense he was, "Something wrong?"

 "No," He said, intending to end the conversation there, but continued anyway, "Actually, yes."

 "What is it, princess?" Aiden asked and reached to place a hand on Elijah's shoulder, but Elijah didn't let him and slapped his hand away. "This about last night?"

 "What else would it be about?"

 "Did I… did I hurt you?"

 "No, it's just… It can't happen again, you can tell anyone, and please stop calling me Princess. It's Wyland from now on, alright?"

 Aiden was shocked, he thought they had something, something real and good. But clearly, Elijah didn't think the same and it hurt. He sighed and slowly nodded his head, "Alright."

 "Good," Elijah said and mounted his horse, "Lead the way."

 ---

 They rode the whole way to Hanging Dog Ranch in excruciating silence, they didn't even look at each other when they arrived. Aiden didn't even spare Elijah a single glance the following week, while Elijah could barely keep his eyes off him. It was weird, he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, but at the same time, he wanted to be close to him. He thought about that night every waking minute and it confused him, and being confused made him frustrated, and being frustrated just made him mad, which wasn't going to get him anywhere. They had to talk.

 Elijah looked for Aiden but couldn't find him anywhere and when he asked about him he was met with a shrug or an 'I don't know.' The ranch wasn't that large so it really shouldn't have been that hard to find him. But it was and he was about to give up. Until he saw him. Walking through the trees quite a distance away and Elijah couldn't exactly see his face or anything, but he knew it was him by the way he carried himself. Elijah just stared for a minute before hesitantly taking a step forward, he continued to slowly approach Aiden, every step making his heart pound faster, until he was there, right next to him.

 Aiden stopped and glanced at him, "What do you want?"

 Silence.

 Elijah swallowed, he didn't think he'd get this far, was half expecting to chicken out and turn back halfway.

 "Y'know, if you're just gonna stand there and say nothing you might as well-"

 "How did you know?" Elijah blurted out.

 "What?"

 "How… How did you know that you…"

 "Liked guys." Aiden finished the sentence for him and sighed, "I don't know, guess I always knew. Why?"

 Elijah threw his head back and hit the tree he was leaning against with a loud thud. "I don't know," He groaned, "I'm just so goddamn confused."

 "I think you know."

 "And how do you know that?"

 Aiden moved closer, he raised his hand and waited for Elijah to slap it away like the last time, but he didn't. Aiden rested his thumb on Elijah's cheek and his index finger under his chin, slowly lifting his head and making him look him in the eye, "'Cause someone who doesn't wouldn't've reacted the way you did."

 The distance between them quickly closed and their bodies were pressed together and so were their lips. It didn't take long for the kiss to deepen and grow hungry. Elijah completely melted into it, but Aiden pulled away before it could go any further. He looked down, his eyes on Elijah's crotch, and then looked back up, a playful grin gracing his lips, "I think you know," He repeated and walked away, leaving Elijah flushed and wanting more.

 He thinks he knows. And he thinks he's okay with that.

 ---

 Elijah stayed at Hanging Dog Ranch for another month and a half, in that time he and Aiden got more serious. They often snuck off into the trees or said they were 'going on a job', while in reality they just wanted some privacy, but they still did real jobs to not look suspicious.

 They were just about to sneak out, but Colin came riding in and told them they were needed at Lone Mule Stead. Apparently, Colm had something big planned with that rival gang Aiden told Elijah about. Colin rounded up some more men and they rode out. The ride wasn't long, just an hour or two, but it did feel like it to Elijah. Luckily Aiden was there to keep him entertained.

 Lone Mule Stead wasn't much to look at, just some rundown homestead. What caught Elijah's attention though was the talk about a girl they captured. He already knew that those were the kind of men he ran with, but it still disgusted him, especially the way they talked about her, like she was some kind of object, hoping that Colm would let them have a go at her. But there was more, the feeling like something was wrong. And he heard it. Dutch van der Linde. And he panicked. It couldn't be her, could it? It better not be.

 He quickly dismounted and walked over to the basement where they were keeping her. And then he saw. His sister strung up, shot, beaten, bleeding, and a hand around her throat. He was furious, her eyes met his, they were blurry and unfocused, she looked mad at first sight, but he could see the fear and surprise behind her eyes right before she lost consciousness. Colm held his hand on her throat for a while longer until he was sure she wasn't waking up for now.

 Elijah walked back, he wanted to kill Colm right there and then, but then he'd also get killed and Beatrice would never get out. He stopped at the other side of the house, he dropped to the ground, shaking. He had to do something, but there were too many of them.

 "Hey, you okay?" Aiden knelt down to his level.

 "Does it look like I'm okay?"

 "No, what's wrong?"

 Elijah sighed, he had to tell him the truth. All of it, "I can trust you, right?"

 "Of course."

 "That girl down there is my sister."

 Aiden's eyes widened just a bit before going back to normal, "I thought she was dead."

 "Well clearly she ain't, and my name ain't Wyland Wyland, It's Elijah Morgan." Elijah was glad to get that out, keeping his real name a secret made him feel kind of guilty.

 "Morgan? Heh, you know Arthur Morgan by any chance?" Aiden said with a nervous little laugh, trying to make light of the situation.

 "Not really, but… I'm his son."

 "Jesus Christ."

 Elijah didn't respond, he had to make up a plan to get Beatrice out of there and quick.

 "Hey," Aiden said and placed a hand on Elijah's shoulder, "we're gonna get her out of here."

 "We?" Elijah asked.

 Aiden smiled, "Don't think for a second that I'm gonna let you do this on your own."

 ---

 Two days. It took two days for an opening to get Beatrice out, Colm was gone and took some men with him. There were only five men left keeping guard on the property itself and a few more guarding the road, but they wouldn't be alerted if Aiden and Elijah were able to do this quietly. They each took out two men near the entrance before Aiden went to get Beatrice's stuff and the horses ready. Elijah went to take out the others, one at the side of the house, one by a tree, and the last one in the basement.

 Elijah slowly descended the steps and tried not to make a noise, but of course, the last step had to creak. The man reached for his gun when he turned around, but Elijah was quicker and plunged his knife into his gut. The man grabbed Elijah's wrist and tried to pull the knife out just for it to be pushed further and twisted. Elijah watched the life slowly drain from his eyes and dropped to the ground. He looked at Beatrice, unconscious and just hanging there, she almost looked dead. He pressed two fingers under her jaw and felt a faint pulse.

 "Bee, wake up." He gently tapped her on the cheek, she let out a soft groan and slowly opened her eyes.

 "Eli?"

 "I'm getting you the fuck out of here," He said and started working on the lock. Beatrice let out a soft sigh of relief. Elijah carried her out of the basement and to Aiden and the horses.

 "Help me get her on," Elijah said and passed Beatrice over to Aiden before mounting his horse, Aiden lifted her and Elijah pulled her on the saddle in front of him and wrapped his coat around her.

 "We should come out on a road if we ride to the shore and follow it," Aiden said after mounting his own horse. Elijah nodded and did what Aiden said. "What now?"Aiden asked once they got to the road.

 Elijah shook Beatrice awake again, much to her dismay, "Where we goin'?"

 "Clemens… Point."

 "Follow me," Aiden said.

 They rode in silence, the only noise that was made were the horse's hooves hitting the ground and Elijah occasionally trying to keep Beatrice conscious.

 Aiden stopped, "Into those trees."

 "You're not coming?" Elijah asked.

 "Nah, I assume they'll bury me alive," Aiden chuckled, "Meet me in Valentine, two weeks." Elijah nodded, they both went to ride off but Aiden stopped, "Hey, Princess."

 Elijah turned to look at him, slightly annoyed by the nickname.

 "Good luck."

 "Thanks."

 This time Aiden nodded before riding off at a gallop. Elijah took a deep breath before going through the trees and into the camp. He was met with a girl, "Beatrice!" She said and then met Elijah's eyes, "Who are you?"

 "Doesn't matter," Elijah said, "Just help her."

 More people gathered around, none of the faces familiar, except for one, Dutch van der Linde. Dutch looked at him and he could tell he knew exactly who he was.

 "Charles, go find Arthur," Dutch said

Arthur. Elijah was not looking forward to meeting him. But he had to.

[megan-is-mia]

One Night Only Chapter 1 (Poly! Giomis w/ Artist! Reader)

(more reposting, reader’s nickname is ember)

((the gangbangers names are a reference to the three stooges))

“This is nice” (Y/n) said to herself laying on the floor with her sketchbook open and a pencil in her hand. Her phone was unlocked and was displaying a picture she’d taken that morning. There was a light knock on her apartment door that was then followed by the handle being turned as her boyfriends let themselves in.

“Shit it’s been a long day” Mista groaned kicking off his shoes and tossing his hat and coat on the couch before sinking into the floor next to (Y/n).

“Hang your coat up Guido, at least be a courteous guest,” Giorno said clicking his tongue, he hung his coat up and put his shoes away before joining his lovers on the rug in front of the couch.

“Nope, too tired” Mista replied slumping back and using the couch as a back pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. (Y/n) let out a chuckle as she blew a kiss at her boys before returning her attention to the sketchbook.

“Whatcha drawing?” Giorno said leaning down to squint at the few lines of graphite already on the paper before glancing at (Y/n)’s phone for context.

“Don’t look! It’s not ready yet!” (Y/n) protested trying to swat him away. “It’s supposed to be a sketch of the Veiled Christ, but I’m having some trouble with drawing the fabric,” she said glumly. Giorno let out a soft hum before pressing a kiss to the top of (Y/n)’s ear.

“I think it looks nice,” he said with an affectionate purr that was answered with a light punch from the girl who’s face had turned pink with a blush.

“Oh shush, how would you know? You say that about everything I draw, you know flattery will only get you so far” (Y/n) mumbled with a serious expression despite her flushed cheeks.

“Oh? How far will flattery get him, Ember?” Mista chimed in his eyes dropping down as the pet name left his lips and he grinned at (Y/n). She rolled her eyes and sat up closing the sketchbook with a sigh.

“Maybe a kiss or two. Anyways it doesn’t look like I’m not gonna get any work done until you idiots go home” (Y/n) said getting to her feet and putting her sketchbook away in her bedroom. When she returned, Mista was still sitting on the floor but Giorno had moved into the kitchen and started preparing dinner in her brief absence.

“Since I told you what I did today, mind filling me in on what shenanigans my gangstars got up to since I last saw you?” (Y/n) said sitting down next to Guido and leaning against his shoulder. (Y/n) had learned that Giorno and Mista were in the mob very early into their relationship.

To be honest, it kinda bothered her, but she understood why they did what they did. Between the choice of having them in the mob and having them behind bars for their crimes... she’d always chose the former without a second thought. (Y/n)’s only rule was that they were as honest as possible with her about what they did as mobsters.

“Nothing much ran from the cops, shot some drug dealers. You know the usual” Giorno provided nonchalantly as he mixed something in a pot as a pleasant aroma began to permeate the apartment. When he was finished cooking he called (Y/n) and Mista to the table so they could eat.

Halfway through the meal (Y/n)’s phone began ringing loudly. With a bemused expression, she rose from her seat to answer it, walking to her bedroom so she could have some privacy.

Giorno and Mista exchanged looks, shrugged before continuing eating. They stopped eating upon hearing a mournful cry from the bedroom. Rushing to the door and peeking in to watch (Y/n) pacing back and forth with the phone pressed to her ear.

“Summer’s in the emergency room? She was shot ten times? In the head and spine?! The surgery’s been going on for two hours? Is she gonna be okay?! Yes, I want to see her! Yes, I’ll be over soon!” (Y/n) said before hanging up and shoving her phone in her pocket.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, lock the door when you leave. I love you!” she said throwing a passing glance at the boys as she went. Running as fast as she could down the street before hailing a taxi to speed her the rest of the way to the hospital.

Bursting out of the cab and sprinting to the front desk, (Y/n) slammed her hands down on the counter in front of the receptionist. The woman to her credit did not jump and instead looked calmly up at the frantic girl.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The woman said smoothly in a tone meant to put others at ease. But (Y/n) was not at ease as she panted furiously trying to catch her breath so she could speak.

“Which room is Summer O’Reilly in?! I’m her sister (Y/n), O’Reilly! I want to see her as soon as possible!” She babbled out still a bit out of breath. The receptionist, with a smile still on her face, looked down at her computer screen and typed something in. A few moments later she looked back up to address (Y/n).

“Officer O’Reilly is still in surgery but I can direct you to which room she will be taken too once the operation is complete,” the lady said helpfully and wrote down on a sticky note the location of Summer’s room before handing it to (Y/n) who uttered a quick thank you as she rushed towards the elevator.

Waiting for and then riding the elevator felt like an eternity to the girl who spun around impatiently. Once on the correct floor, she dashed to the room to find it mostly empty. The only person present was Summer’s patrol partner Officer Arabella Aramina who was slumped in a chair by the window.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up kiddo” Arabella said barely gracing (Y/n) with a glance. She kept her face neutral even though on the inside she was seething with rage and sorrow.

“The hospital just called me but they didn’t tell me much. Only they Summer had been admitted to the emergency room with multiple gunshot wounds” (Y/n) said dragging a chair over to Arabella and sitting beside her.

“Yeah gunshot wounds that’s putting it lightly,” Arabella said with a derisive snort. “It was more like those motherfuckers were trying to turn her into human Swiss cheese” she added with a growl. (Y/n) gave her an inquisitive look and she sighed deeply.

“Let me give you the facts before anybody tries to feed you shit. It wasn't supposed to get nasty yah hear. Me and Summer were scoping out a drug deal undercover. We were gonna find the perps and arrest them no pain no foul. But then a third party decided to show up. Turns out the deal was just a set up by Passione to clear out the bottom feeder drug dealers on their turf” Arabella explained her eyes darting around the room trying to avoid making eye contact with (Y/n).

“It turned into a firefight and Passione’s men slaughtered the dealers in a matter of minutes. I managed to get to cover but Summer didn’t and took the worst of it. Weird thing is they quit shooting after her sunglasses came off. And one of the thugs said something about them getting killed for injuring the Don’s member or whatever” Arabella said finishing her story and leaning back in her chair.

“What do you mean the Don’s member? And were they talking about Summer?” (Y/n) said more questions forming in her mind as she proceeded the details of Arabella’s story.

“I don’t fucking know, I couldn’t tell what they were saying! I was hiding in an alleyway. Though if I had to make a guess, I think they mistook Summer for a member of their Don’s inner circle” Arabella said with a sigh. (Y/n) felt her stomach twist into knots as she slumped down into the chair.

About half-an-hour later Summer was rolled in on a gurney and transferred into the hospital bed. Leaping out of her chair (Y/n) was by her sister’s side in an instant hugging the older girl lightly and crying.

“Sumi! You’re okay!” (Y/n) babbled using her sister’s childhood nickname as she pressed her head against the other’s chest. Summer raised a gauze-covered head to weakly ruffle the younger girl’s hair.

“Yup I’m okay, sorry for worrying you Emby” Summer said using her childhood nickname for her little sister in an effort to calm her. It didn’t help much as (Y/n) continued to sob against Summer’s hospital gown. The sisters remained embraced for a long time neither speaking until Summer began drifting off from all the drugs still in her system.

(Y/n) didn’t want to leave her sister’s side but the night-nurse kicked her out after about an hour. She began walking home to jittery to call a cab, her eyes darted mistrustfully down every alleyway she passed as she balled her hands in her pockets.

“Well, well, well what do have here? A little lamb wandering out in the night all by her lonesome” a creepy man’s voice said as he sidled up to (Y/n). His grin was rotten and half the teeth were missing from his mouth.

“She’s a real cutie ain’t she? What’s a fine young thing like you doing with a frown on your face?” Another man had snuck up on (Y/n)’s other side also grin unpleasantly. He had more teeth than his friend but his face covered in scars and bumps from brawls.

(Y/n) kept her head down trying to ignore the men, she even tried to walk faster to shake them off but they easily kept pace. The men (Scars and Smiles is what she decided to call them in her mind) were soon joined by a third man who walked directly behind the girl.

“Did your boyfriend dump you, sweetheart? I could be your new boyfriend sweet cheeks” this third man said, (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder and shivered at the sight of the man’s heavily tattooed skin.

“S-s-sorry, I’m not interested. I already have boyfriends, but thank you for the gracious offer” (Y/n) said her stomach flipping like a fish. She quickly dubbed the third man Tattoos as she tried to get away.

“Aww the little lamb is so flustered she can’t even think straight” Smiles groping (Y/n)’s ass and chuckling cruelly when she let out a squeak.

“I bet that pretty mouth of hers can make lots of other cute noises when it’s wrapped around my cock” Scars growled and smacked his lips loudly before grabbing at (Y/n)’s ass as well. Unlike Smiles though, he didn’t let go and continually squeezed the girl’s rump like a stress ball. Without thinking (Y/n) swung her fist and slugged him in the jaw. Scars released her ass to grab his face while Smiles and Tattoos stared dumbly.

Not wasting a moment (Y/n) began running as fast as she could. If she could make to her street she’d probably be safe but that was eight blocks away and the men chasing her were closing distance fast.

One of them took the lead and threw himself on top of her slamming her to the cement. Her hands were torn up by the friction of the concrete against her flesh and her nose was broken on impact.

“Gotta now you little bitch” Tattoos hissed and leaned down to lick (Y/n)’s neck having been the one to tackle her as Smiles and Scars finally caught up.

(Y/n)’s head had hit the ground pretty hard so it was understandable that her ears might be ringing a bit and her vision might be cloudy as a black limo pulled up to the curb beside her.

“Well, what do we have here? If I’m not mistaken it’s Liario, Elmo and Ricci~” A familiar voice said as the limo window was rolled down. “Weren’t you three already warned that the Don won’t tolerate this behavior anymore” the man in the limo went on in a bored tone.

“Help me! Please!” (Y/n) croaked spitting out blood that had trickled down from her nose into her mouth.

“Shut up bitch the men are talking!” Tattoos snarled slamming (Y/n)’s head back down against the ground. She let out a howl of pain which was answered by the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Please don’t shoot me! I don’t wanna die! Please, my sister’s in the hospital!” (Y/n) blathered the blood running into her eyes now as the limo door was opened and the man inside stepped out before slamming the door shut behind him.

“I told you to be quiet!” Tattoos roared bringing his hand back to strike (Y/n). She squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the hit but when it didn’t come her eyes popped open in curiosity. The man from the limo had grabbed Tattoo’s wrist mid-swing before pressing a pistol against his temple with a grim expression.

“I wouldn’t hit her again if I was you Ricci” the man from the limo said coldly. “I really wouldn’t, do you know how many times you just insulted the Don just now?” the man said in a low tone his eyes dropping down to look tenderly at (Y/n) before returning to gazing at Tattoo with an icy gaze.

“What the fuck is going on?” Scars muttered massaging his still sore jaw as the man from the limo clicked his tongue.

“By my count that was two acts of physical assault and two acts of verbal abuse against the Don’s property,” the limo man said his brow furrowing in annoyance. “Of course it had to be four, absolutely unforgivable” he added which rung a faint bell of recognition in (Y/n)’s pain-addled mind.

“I don’t think you even deserve a second warning for this heinous crime. No one disrespects the Don of Passione or his prized Ember” the limo man said firing a bullet through Tattoo’s brain killing him instantly. Scars and Smiles received similar punishment even as Smiles tried to run yelling “Please Capo forgive us! Have mercy Capo Mi—“ but he was dead before he could finish the plea.

With all three thugs dead, the limo man pulled (Y/n) up from under Tattoo’s corpse and off the pavement into his arms. He opened the limo door and gently placed the girl inside before sliding in himself. Blinking weakly (Y/n) felt her heart skip a beat as she realized there was a second man in the limo.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to get out to scold them Guido, or kill them for that matter. They must have really ticked you off and—” the second man whose voice had been causally bored came to an abrupt stop when he looked down at (Y/n). The girl felt herself blushing under the blood on her face and tried to sit up but the first male put a hand on her chest to keep her laying flat. The second male gently cupped her face in his hands with an expression of concentration.

“Stay still Ember, this is going to hurt but please bear with it” the second male said his golden curls of hair resembling an angelic halo to the bewildered girl’s unfocused gaze. A moment later sharp pain shot through (Y/n) and she began moaning out in pain. The first male had taken up petting her sides and mumbling encouraging words while his partner fixed up her wounds.

The shock of the fix-up was too much for (Y/n) to handle and she passed out before it was over. When she next woke up somebody was dabbing a wet towel against her face. Her eyes flickered open to see an unfamiliar girl with a determined expression dipping the towel back into a bowl of warm water and continuing to clean up her face.

“I’m Shelia E” the girl provided before (Y/n) could even open her mouth to ask. “The Don and his right-hand man brought you in about an hour or so ago” she added answering the second question (Y/n) had planned on asking as she looked at the room around her: it was a very ritzy looking bathroom.

“You were covered in blood and your clothes were filthy so they were throw out” Shelia E went on moving the towel to clean behind (Y/n)’s ears. At the mention of clothes the girl’s eyes darted down and she blushed when she saw all she had on was a silk bathrobe. Even her bra and panties had been removed making her shift uneasily as she became aware of the sensation of the air on her nethers.

“Hold still, I’m almost done. I had to cut part of your hair off because of all the blood and dirt. Hope you weren’t too attached to it” Shelia E said sternly as she finished cleaning (Y/n)’s face and surveyed her work with a satisfied nod.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Shelia E said pulling (Y/n) to her feet and herding her out of the bathroom into the small sitting room attached. (Y/n) sank into a large comfy looking loveseat that took up a quarter of the room trying to process what was going on.

“Wait what? Why do I have to get dressed?” (Y/n) said confusedly as Shelia E dropped a large box with a bow on it in her lap.

“Well I don’t want to judge but I think you need a little more clothes than just a robe. I don’t think the Don would like want your first introduction to his underlings to be so racy... but hey that’s your decision, not mine” Shelia E said with a shrug. Blushing vividly (Y/n) opened the box to find a beautiful red dress made of crushed velvet. Lifting out it out of the box, the bottom of the dress fell to the floor and the shoulder straps tied behind the neck.

“Where are the undergarments?” (Y/n) said turning the box upside down with a perplexed expression, a throng dropped on her lap but there was no matching bra. Shelia E shrugged and gave (Y/n) a nonchalant look.

“Great he’s a pervert just my fucking luck. I hope my boyfriends never find out about this, they’d never let me hear the end of it” (Y/n) grumbled and untied the robe dropping it on the floor. She slid the panties up before letting Shelia E help her into the dress which zipped up the back and fortunately had a build-in bra so her boobs were under control.

She refused Shelia E’s efforts to style her hair or put makeup on her face. Tying her hair back into simple braids that wrapped around her head like a circlet before joining into one braid that ended at the nape of her neck. Then applying some light make-up before turning back to Shelia E with a nervous smile.

“Okay, I’m ready to meet the Don... I guess” (Y/n) said allowing Shelia E to lead her out of the sitting room and down a set of carpeted stairs into the bustling club below. (Y/n)’s heart pounded and she kept her eyes down as she was led through the crowds of people talking, drinking, and laughing.

Until a familiar laugh caught her ears and made her head shot up to look for the source: Giorno. Once her eyes locked on him it was like everyone else in the room faded away as she sprinted towards him. She bumped into people and almost tripped in the stupid shoes she’d been forced to wear but it didn’t matter.

“GIORNO!” (Y/n) squealed and threw herself at the blonde. Giorno barely has time to react to his girlfriend launching herself into his lap but he managed to wrap his arms around her even as his chair tipped and toppled under the sudden movement.

The Don’s guards hadn’t been able to react in time to the girl throwing herself into the Don’s lap and knocking him over but they quickly swarmed in ready to remove the intruder. Giorno put up a hand to signal there was no need to act even as his face was covered in kisses by (Y/n).

“Hey don’t I get some sugar too?” Mista said squatting next to (Y/n) and Giorno. Without a single word (Y/n) eases her waist off of the blonde so she can tackle-hug the brunette and shower him with the same intensity of affection.

“God I’m so happy to see you! I was hoping I’d have a chance to... before I had to go see the Don and his lieutenant and thank them for saving me from some thugs” she said half-laughing and half-crying from the stress. Her head dropped to press against Mista’s chest as the laughing devolved into just crying.

“I’m a fucking mess aren’t I?” (Y/n) said between sobs. “Summer got shot by mobsters and I think she might have accidentally gotten involved with Passione’s Don because.... because” she was too distraught to speak as Mista scooped her up and carried her into a quiet drawing room with a couch at the back of it. He sat down on the couch with (Y/n) curled up in his arms like a puppy.

Giorno followed after his boyfriend and girlfriend into the drawing-room shutting the door behind them. He placed a hand on (Y/n)’s back petting lightly as he sank onto the couch beside Mista.

“Start from the beginning, all we know so far is that you left your apartment in a hurry and ended up on the bad side of town,” Giorno said in a soothing tone as he continued to pet the girl’s back.

“You’ve met my sister Summer right?” (Y/n) began and received affirmative nods. “And you know she’s a cop...” again she paused and again she was given the go-ahead to continue speaking. “Well while she was on a stakeout for a drug deal there was a firefight lead by Passione. And they stopped after hitting her cause they didn’t want to get in trouble for killing the Don’s member. She’s at the hospital now and in critical condition” (Y/n) managed to say without falling back into sobs.

“And then on my way home from the hospital I got jumped by gangbangers but a limo stopped and I guess the man erm men inside were the Don of Passione and his right-hand man. So now I owe a debt to the Don for saving me and I need to make sure my sister won’t be attacked by anyone while she’s in the hospital” this time she fell into sobs and Giorno and Mista let her cry until she regained control of herself.

“You look nice” Mista offered trying to lighten the mood. He hated seeing his girlfriend cry and he hated seeing her stress over things even more. He was hopeful that the flattery would trigger the normal response of brushing-off the words yet secretly accepting them as well.

“Don’t you even start Guido! I didn’t pick this monstrosity! Apparently, the Don had my old clothes thrown out and left this red eyesore as my only choice of attire” (Y/n) irritable said before Giorno’s nose pressed against the nape of her neck under where the dress was tied.

“So you don’t like the dress?” The blonde commented nuzzling absentmindedly at her neck. (Y/n)’s cheeks turned almost red as the dress as she let out a nervous giggle.

“Well okay, I guess calling it an eyesore is a little strong. It’s just... this dress must have cost thousands of lires. It’s too expensive for me and I’ve got practically nothing on underneath this thing” (Y/n) admitted quietly, noticing with some secret satisfaction that both boys looked hot and bothered now. Giorno has started kissing down the expanse of her bare back and Mista’s face had burrowed into her bosom to motorboat.

“Stop it! I still need to look presentable for the Don! I’ll come find you after my appeal and—“ (Y/n) was cut off by Mista’s head popping up from her boobs to crush his mouth against her lips playfully.

“—Nope, your appeal is happening right now” Mista said pulling back briefly then sticking his tongue in (Y/n)’s mouth and reaching around to untie the straps of her dress. Giorno has taken hold of the dress zipper in his mouth and began pulling it down. The drawing room’s door opened as Shelia E poked her head in. Both boys paused while (Y/n) scrambled to make herself presentable again.

“The car is ready and waiting out front Don Giovanna,” Shelia E said neutrally before shutting the door. (Y/n) stared blankly at the door before beginning to laugh nervously.

“Funny, that’s funny I could have sworn she called you Don just now” (Y/n) said still laughing uneasily when Giorno and Mista stared at her calmly her laughter began to fade into silence.

“Y-y-you’re the Don of Passione?” the girl said incredulously. When she received only cool nods, she felt her stomach twisting and her limbs became wobbly. If Mista hadn’t been keeping her on his lap with one arm around her waist, (Y/n) was sure she would have fallen onto the floor.

“I think I’m gonna faint” she mumbled as Giorno and Mista led her to the limo the blonde sliding in first before (Y/n) was set in his lap and the brunette sat beside them slamming the car door shut as he did. (Y/n)’s brain struggled to put all the pieces together but when it all came together her face fell into a grimace.

“Summer’s going to be targeted for being my sister isn’t she?” she said numbly. “I’m entwined with the mob now and that means I’ve put her in danger just for sharing blood” (Y/n) tearfully melting against Giorno’s chest desperate for the stability he usually brought.

“Don’t worry about your sister, I’ll have some of my men sent over to the hospital to watch over her. Nobody will lay a finger on her except for the doctors until she’s at full health again” Giorno soothed running his fingers up and down (Y/n)’s sides in a calming matter.

“Really? You’d do that for me? Th— How much will I owe you Don Giovanna?” (Y/n)’s tone warped halfway through her response going from cheerful relief to cold resignation. Giorno felt a painful pang in his chest at hearing his title leave her lips.

“There’s no need to call me that Ember. Giorno or GioGio will be fine” he said nuzzling her forehead and kissing her. “Nothing’s changed, I’m the same person I was a few hours ago” he added pressing a kiss to (Y/n)’s chin.

“But I’m not! A few hours ago I was just (Y/n) O’Reilly. Now I’m Don Giovanna’s hussy!” (Y/n) said as a troublesome thought started worming its way into her mind. What would happen when Giorno and Mista grew tired of her? Surely they wouldn’t have her killed right? But the memory of how Mista had coldly executed the gangbangers was still fresh in her mind and she shivered in silent terror.

“Don’t worry so much, everything will be fine. Believe me” Mista murmured into her ear reminding (Y/n) that he was present and slipped his hands under her dress, pulling at her panties so they slid to her ankles. “We’ll be home soon so we can resolve some unfinished business” he added with a purr and kissed her bare shoulder.

Despite these words sounding like there’d be a brief respite for the girl, the dress was already on the floor of the limo before the three reached their destination. (Y/n)’s shoes had also been lost somewhere in the car amidst the passionate chaos.

Mista took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around (Y/n) making her decent enough as he lifted her up into his arms to carry inside the mansion and upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Giorno. The girl hid her face against his chest which made his heart skip a beat excitedly. Once in the seclusion of the bedroom he set (Y/n) on the bed and began smooching up her neck before making hickies. However, he didn’t get much further before the sound of light snoring ruined the mood. Somehow, someway, (Y/n) had fallen asleep despite the romantic attention.

“Heh guess somebody’s too tired to get freaky” Giorno commented yawning and stretching as he began to undress. Mista threw him an evil look but also began changing out of his suit. (Y/n) continued to sleep sprawled out naked as a babe until one of the boys’ finally manned up enough to grab an old tee shirt for her to wear.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to talk business tomorrow then, maybe she’ll finally agree to move in with us” Mista mused as he tucked (Y/n) under the covers before sliding in beside her and pressing his face against her chest. Giorno made himself cozy against the girl’s back kissing her shoulders lazily a few times before resting his head on a pillow. Tomorrow would be a new day, and a new dawn would rise on the story of the Don, his Lieutenant, and their Artist Ember...

[mileycfan4eva33]

Fandom: SVU

Title:Epitaph Song

Chapter: 1 Down South

P O V: Amanda Rollins

Billy's Diner

Loganville, GA 2020

(A/N: Thank you as always for the readers who take the time to review, favorite or follow. As usual I own none of these SVU characters just my original characters. All others belong to NBC, Dick Wolf and Wold Ent. Jessie, Billie do not exist in this fic, I am still deciding if Noah dose or not. If you have a preference as to if you want Noah in it or not hit me up reviews motivate me.)

"Oh, Air Condition, thank God! It's hotter than a roasted pig on a skewer out there." Olivia Benson's laugh is light and airy as we enter the restaurant. "Oh, Amanda, I love your expressions, don't ever change. Seriously your southern drawl is so cute. Don't ever lose it."

"No worries, Olivia; it's been nearly ten years since I moved to New York. I haven't lost it yet." "Thanks again for coming down south with me. It means a lot."

"Your welcome Amanda, are you feeling any better since this weekend?" Shaking the soreness out of my weary bones I feel a yawn snaking up my jawlines as I try to fight it off to no avail, the yawn is relentless in its attempt to escape.

"A little thanks I am still tired and nausea I don't know why I slept all weekend, yet I still feel dizziness not as much as this weekend, but I am still weakened almost as if I am drained of all energy." Sliding into the booth, I lean back against the cool plastic backboard. "I'm sorry for calling out on you this weekend, Captain."

"Amanda, please, stop don't worry about it your health is too important don't apologize." "I am sorry, Liv, not just for this weekend, but now we're both away from NYC."

"Because your dad passed away, Amanda, we're not here on vacation. Kat and Fin understand, and Chief Garland sent two detectives to help out, SVU is covered. Please take some of this concern and apply it to yourself; you lost your dad. I know you haven't been close to him in years, but he is still your dad, give yourself the allowance to mourn, Amanda. Don't hide your emotions down and pretend that everything is perfectly fine."

"I don't think it's hit me yet, Olivia. I just don't feel anything." Olivia's hand slips over my hand as we lay them on the table, waiting on the waitress to come over to us. "It will Amanda, I don't know when sweetie, it may take weeks, days, months, but it will hit you. I just want you to know that I am here, honey, whenever you want to talk."

"Thank you, Liv; I appreciate this jester I know we haven't always been close, but I love the friendship that has been built over the last four years." "As do I Amanda. I love the trust that we've built within each other, the respect. Where is the waitress?"

"Liv, it's the south; we take our sweet time with everything, ain't no rushin' in the country life."

"You ever miss living down here, Peach?" "Honestly, Liv, there are parts I miss like my family, friends. I miss the comfort in knowing there is always someone here who will have your back. What I don't miss is everyone knowing everyone else business."

"Is that a true thing? Everyone else knows each other's business?"

As if God was given me a clue incomes Betsy Jane Rose "Oh, my bless my heart Amanda-Taylor Rollins, is that truly you?" I pick my head up, gritting my teeth as she comes flying inside the restaurant arms wild "Betsy Jane Mary-Sue it sure is, wow child it's been yonders since you've rolled back into these parts."

"Oh, I am so sorry about your daddy, such a shame bless your heart honey-bee."

"Oh well, how sweet of you, Ms. Betsy, so very kind of you thank you, how did you hear about my daddy's passing per se? We didn't put it in the Tribune or online."

"Oh, Sugar, you know how these things work, Lord, who needs that dingy old paper when we gave word of mouth. Has it been that long Darlin? Surely you remember the good old Betsy-Jane- Mary-Sue train."

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Oh Amanda, let me enlighten you wow New York City has slapped you silly, child. Anyways So Mary-Jo Higgins oh heavens I was born at night, but not last night! Duh, of course, you don't know who Mary-Jo Higgins is, well back in our days of youth she went by Mary-Jo Robins, so any who baby, Mary-Jo is now an RN."

"That's a Registered Nurse, by the way." "Yes, Ms. Rose, I know what an RN is."

"So yeah Mary-Jo works a that's Loganville Medical Center where your daddy was brought to by the Ambulance. So Mary-Jo was there when he passed bless his heart so Mary-Jo well you know good ol' Mary-Jo never could keep a secret so of course, she told her Mama who had to run down to the Salon to say to Ms. Sue who of course told the whole Salon."

Both of us laugh, "How did you find out, darlin?"

"Oh, you know this little thing called HIPPA they like to notify the Next of Kin, and since my parents you know divorced many moons ago, that would make me the eldest child his next of kin, since he hasn't gotten to remarry yet."

"Speaking of kin-folk dear, where is that sister of yours? She straighten her life out yet? Kimberly coming on her own?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm afraid she ain't gonna make it, you know the whole being in jail thing it kind of puts a cramp on a person's freedom. Thank you so much for coming over though, I sure don't want to keep you."

I don't give her a chance to answer quickly, sliding back into the booth turning to Olivia. Just as our waitress comes over. "good afternoon- honey pies, what can I get you ladies?" after we order, I lean back as Olivia starts to laugh, unable to hold in her amusement over Ms. Rose any longer. "So that's how news travels down south Captain." eagle eyeing Betsy across the room, I can already see she's on her cell phone. "Well, the whole damn town will know I am back soon enough." "that has to be frustrating, Amanda." "Oh, Liv, you ain't got a clue. Every day dealing with women like, is there any doubt about why I got out of here faster than a bat out of hell."

I stay silent about the other reason I left Georgia as soon as I was old enough my sexuality there's no room for differences here in the good old south. No way could I tell Olivia this though she has no idea I am a lesbian. "So, is your Mom coming?" "Lord, no Liv she's up in NY taking care of Mason, Mama said she was sorry the son of a bitch died, but she dumped his ass years ago, let his new hussy handle the affairs."

"My dear new sister, who I haven't even met yet. She's handling everything as per my dad's living will."

"Amanda, I am so sorry." "Don't be Olivia, I am fine." "Of course you are." I don't reply not because I don't have the response in me but because the doors burst open and a vast mass of people come pouring into the already packed diner.

"Amanda! It is true! You are back!" Tommy Jake Edwards "TJ" calls out "Yo Ms. Betsy Jane was right boys. Good Ol Rollins is back in town." there are rumblings from the entire group of men "Liv meet the former jocks of Loganville High School Pyro Red Devils who ruled LHS's halls from 1996-1999."

"Rollins, how can you sneak back into town and say nothing? Yo, Rollins, that is rude! I thought we were your boys!"

"Bump that T-rolls, I am pissed forget these clowns, I am your cousin! Uncle Jimmy is my kin-folk too. Where's my love?"

"Hey, Jensen, I just got back into town like literally ten minutes ago. I'm sorry it's been crazy these last few days. My head is still spinning. I haven't told anyone yet, sorry, truly."

Jensen's arms wrap around me tightly. "No worries, cuz. I got you. I am sorry I know you and your Pa wasn't close but damn it still sucks." "Thanks, Jensen, yeah, it does."

Coming out of his hug, I'm met by his brother Blake who I hug as tightly. "Yo boys will catch you later going to hang with family." the rest of the crew waves blowing me kisses as Liv, and I make room for these two. "Hi. I'm Olivia Benson, Amanda's boss, and friend."

"Oh honey-child we know who you are, we've heard all about you now haven't we Blake?" "Oh, yes, Yes, we have well let us introduce ourselves since Miss. Amanda has the manners of a pig. I am Blake Yankee; Jensen is my twin brother; our Mama is Amanda's dad sister."

"Were you three close growing up?" "Oh, tighter than chili papers, Mama, us, and our uncle TC's kids, our cousins Alonso and Scottie, are coming in tomorrow." "They called us the Rollin- Yankee-Terrors." Sipping my sweet tea, I groan, remembering all the names the seven of us use to get growing up. "don't tell her that she is my boss."

"Oh relax Junebug, it ain't like I told her about the time you put laxatives in Ernie Reynaldo's cornbread when you were ten and locked him in the outhouse for the whole day and told our teacher he ran away to the circus."

Olivia laughs so loudly. I feel my temperature rise in my face. "You what?" my face buries into the palms of my hands. "Yo, boy, that was nothing. Remember when we were twelve, and Kyle Kane told Manda she was uglier than a burnt barn, she took his pants and underwear while he was changing and threw it into the river."

Both boys bang on the table laughing, shoving each other as Olivia arched an eyebrow in my direction "Oh, yeah I do, she let the anger seethe inside all week till Saturday when the whole town was gathered for the annual fishing competition. When Kyle's dad was with the reporter for Atlanta news, Kyle comes walking bare-ass naked; the entire town saw him walking his little dude swinging in the breeze. Kyle was grounded for months. "

My embarrassment only increases as I lay my head down, groaning while all three laugh. "Oh, God, even as a kid, Amanda, you were a rule-breaker and a little shit-head." I feel Olivia's hand stroke mine laughing as she hangs her head down tears running down her face, which a lovely rose color.

I only pick my head up when the food arrives, feeling my whole body shiver and jolt as I lean back, smelling the greasy food. Reaching for the ketchup, I pop a fry in my mouth. I still can't shake this feeling of being drained or the tightness in my head.

"Oh My." another voice pops into my world as I see Mr. Jason Axson and Mrs. Janet Axson coming in with their two kids Christopher 17, Savannah 14. her voice cuts through the air. "How are you, Sugar?' "I am just peachy; thank you, just enjoying dinner with my family, here."

"Oh, of course, we don't mean to interrupt. You could use the food; obliviously, you are mighty thin sugar. Your daddy was right; they are working your tail to its bone up there in that big city unless you are sick again, darling."

"No Ma'am, I am right as a peach as I said, but I am trying to enjoy my dinner." "Yeah, Janet let these nice folks eat; worry about our own family; I do apologize, Miss. Amanda lovely to see you again, we shall pop in at another time."

Olivia's eyes stare right into mine. I know she's wondering about the "Are you sick again" line my face flushes as I look down, avoiding her eyes and the question. Another part of my past she has no idea about, My stomach rolls as I think about all the secrets and pressures I have on top of me, none of which Olivia needs to add to her plate.

"I need to use the bathroom, I'll be back, excuse me." getting up I start to head there, of course, a two-minute walk becomes ten as I am stopped by multiple people offering their condolences. My back hits the wall just as another wave of dizziness hits me; I do everything inside of me not to show it to anyone, I can see Olivia's eyes on me from across the room. Yet it isn't Olivia who catches my attention, rare I know.

This time, Savannah's voice so young, scared, and nervous. I am standing right next to their table as I hear Savannah say. "Mama, Daddy, I have something to tell you." Savannah's beautiful emerald eyes glisten as she stares at her parents. "I am a Lesbian, and I plan to come out this weekend at the prom."

Savannah's courage freezes me. I am forty and don't have the courage she has at fourteen-years-old. I can't think fast enough to react before her mom is out of her chair, smacking Savannah across her face. "You are not gay! Stop your lying, you fifthly whore! Who put these lies in your head? You are a good girl, a good baptist girl. Take it back!"

"No Mama, I can't I won't because I am gay, and yes I am a good girl, I am a baptist and MVP for the last two years in all the southern regions. I will play at college, and I will go pro, and my sexuality won't stop me from doing any of that."

"Fool, of course, it will, but you won't have to because you are not gay!"

"Mama, I am please just listen to me. Stop being such a bitch."

Her dad jumps up, grabbing at Savannah as I react, finally racing towards Savannah as Jason starts yelling. "Don't talk to your mother that way! Ever! No daughter of mine will be a sinner! I could deal with you being pregnant, not this! This is unforgivable. You either get over this phrase you little slut or you are OUT OF THIS FAMILY! Let's go now, Christopher, Janet leave her."

I hurry towards Savannah, who is trying with her whole body to remain strong as her family walks out. I know her face is stinging from the assault, but it's nothing like the pain in her soul. The rest of the restaurant sits there, not offering to help just turning to their families. My hands connect to Savannah's as I help her sit down "Sweetie, I am so sorry that your parents reacted to you."

"It's okay, ma'am, I excepted this. It was so so stupid-crazy to even except for any different outcome."

"No honey, it isn't it's not crazy or stupid to except unconditional love from your family; that's what parents are supposed to do. Of course, you wanted to tell them living in secrets, hiding who you are, it's exhausting. The if only or what-ifs or the I should have's, they take their tolls."

"It's 2020, not 1990 times have changed; maybe the south should catch up." My hands rub Savannah's back softly. "I'm from here honey, so I get it baby-girl I know how scary accepting your sexuality is, I know how painful it is to hold this all inside, to feel as if you ain't normal simply because you don't feel fireworks when the popular jocks kiss you."

"I knew that when I was thirteen, I felt it already I was great to hang out with boys all day when it came to playing ball, or telling dirty jokes or pulling pranks, but when it came to who I was attracted to sexually or emotionally, guys they just didn't do it for me. I could feel myself gravitating toward girls in ways that I didn't with boys."

"Don't let your sexual identity label you or define you—whether it be as lesbian, bisexual, asexual, or another term—how you choose to label yourself is not based on a checklist. You can still be everything you just told your parents; you can play any instrument you want to learn, you can be the best damn softball player this world's ever seen."

"Savannah, I started figuring it out at thirteen, but I didn't let myself act physically until I was 16, I kissed a girl at a party for the first time, and it was magical. Everything flowed so naturally, my body just knew what to do. I reacted to her in a way that felt right—the way I had always envisioned the first kiss to be. I tried saying I was bisexual for a quick minute and even had sex with several guys to prove that I wasn't an abomination the way the church, my family, and everyone else in this town always said gay people are. Still, I could feel myself gravitating toward girls in ways that I didn't with boys."

"Did your family accept you?"

"I don't know I never told anyone I was too scared. It was a different time back then before it got better or internet support. There were no Gay pride parades even now at forty living in NYC, a place filled with cultural and sexuality differences. I am still living in that small-town mindset. I can't tell anyone. I can't even tell the woman who I am madly in love with who I know is so accepting of people. Because I am still afraid that even with an open mind as beautiful as Olivia's, I am afraid she'll reject me."

"Savannah, I know this feels like the end of the world right now, it's not I am right by your side. I will support you; you can stay with me. Will get through this together."

"Thank you, Miss. Amanda. Thank you so much. I think you should tell this Olivia lady how you feel. Even with my parent's rejection, I feel such a weight off my chest; I feel as if I can finally breathe."

"Amanda, maybe you should listen to Savannah, she seems like a brave young lady, and I love women who are strong in body, mind, and spirit. You have a very sexy strong body, and I know your mind is sharp, so if you get some balls Amanda and tell me how you feel face to face, I think we might be able to make a beautiful connection, of our minds, souls and our bodies." Olivia's voice completely freezes every sense, emotion and body function inside of me. I can't speak, think, move or even breathe.

Did she just hear me confess my deepest feelings for her?

[dontdietwd]

until day 308

So this motherfucking life tried to break me.

You bitch.

This fucking fate or destiny wanted me down. Kicking me down a deep well to find rock bottom and throwing shit on top of me to bury me down there.

Well guess what.

Jack’s mom wasn’t going to say down there. Jack’s mom might hurt and cry, because she’s human and would never not be, but she just wouldn’t fucking stop.

I’d rebuild using that fucking rock bottom as the bedrock of the castle I was going to build.

So every day I would wake up with the sun, wash my face, drink strong coffee and go out there. With the shaved head, with the non-extended belly and without a baby in my arms. But I went out there, head high, crossbow hanging from my back, and I worked my ass off. I ran the Village, I went outside, I killed walkers, I scavenged, I took my guard shifts, I made decisions, I oriented the others, heard their opinions and ideas, went back home, washed up and started it all over again next morning.

And I’d smoke a lot of cigarettes. And I’d constantly crave for a drink.

While I was gone, Michonne had stepped up as the leader and she’d done a wonderful job. Things kept on going as planned, the chicken coop Morales had planned was done, now all we needed was birds, and he had started building the wall inside the hedge. There was a huge pile of bricks at a corner of the Village, cement, sand, all he works. It would be slow because we didn’t have enough people, but it’d get done.

Michonne and Merle had gotten even closer and were great friends now. Andrea had been hanging out a lot with Will and she liked Ma’s company. Ma had been sick lately, nothing specific. She was simply ninety-eight. I spent days thinking about having a conversation with Will and Mikki about her. If she passed away on her sleep or something like that and nobody saw it… She was going to turn.

I’m not even sure how I knew this. I’d seen D dying from a stab and turning, I’d seen many walkers wandering without a visible bite mark, so I was pretty much sure anyone who died would turn.

Although Jack never did.

Thank the Gods I didn’t even really believe in.

But I thought there was a strong possibility Ma would turn when she passed and we’d all have to know how to act in this case. I needed to talk to them.

But I hadn’t yet. It was sensitive and I was running from it. I started going out there alone again, with the same old excuse of looking for signs of Daryl and the group. I did look for signs; I did… But I was lying. To everyone, to myself. There was a laundromat on a little town nearby and in there I had created myself a little hideaway. To myself, to be alone and mourn and hurt without anyone seeing it. And to drink. I had hidden bottles there and I controlled myself, never got too drunk, or so I thought. It’s the mentality of the addict, always thinking we’re in control, always believed it’s no harm, it’s just a little drink, no problem. I’d return home after a few hours and nobody noticed, so why should I have to stop? Everything was fine, I was in control.

What I didn’t see, couldn’t ready understand then, was that when I was drinking the thoughts in my mind were always terrible. It made me feel worse, it made the pain even more painful, instead of numbing me, it made me think terrible things, when I slept under the effect of the alcohol my dreams were disturbing, full of walkers, Daryl turned, Michonne and Merle turned, Jack in my arms trying to bite me. It was awful, but my addicted mind could not understand that taking another shot to forget those images did not work at all. So I kept on.

Merle knew something was up. He may not know exactly, but the way he’d been looking at me with suspicious eyes was clear. He knew something was wrong. I mean, still wrong. Or maybe he was just worried because it hadn’t been long since I lost my baby, so I was obviously not fine.

One day he told me now I knew how to shoot with the crossbow and was good at it, I could take a step further and learn how to hunt, maybe even track. He’d been the one responsible for going hunting once a week bringing us all any kind of animals he could find, and he said it would be good to have someone else able to do it in the group. He was right. As I leader I should have thought about it.

So we were on the woods, Honey tracking in front of us, smelling everything and very attentive. We were silent for a long time, tracking something he had detected but I hadn’t been able to see, and Merle, even still tracking, kept looking at me and starting to say something but stopping himself. It was so unlike him that I knew something was up, and feared he was going to talk about my continuing drinking. But it eventually got to my nerves and I had to ask.

“Alright, Merle, what is it?” I said as I stopped and lowered my crossbow to the ground.

He stopped too, fished a pack of Morley’s from his pocket, offered me one, lit his own and then reached with the lighter to light mine.

“Ya know I ain’t smart, right?” he started

“Why do you say that?”

“Things I just can’t wrap my head around…” he looked far into the woods as he spoke. “Like Mikki.”

Well, that I wasn’t expecting.

“Mikki?”

“Yeah… Says she’s a girl but ya can see she ain’t a girl. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Ya can’t understand that?”

“Nope. Knew my whole life that if ya got a dick, you a man, if ya got a pussy, you a girl. That is ya wanna be the other way ‘round, you a freak.”

“Yeah, you’ve known wrong then.”

“But how?” he asked turning to me, and I could see his question was genuine. “How can Mikki says she a girl if she got a dick down there?”

“Well… I don’t know how to explain it, maybe she’d be the best one to do it. But just think it like that: you know you’re a man. Right?” he nodded the obvious answer. “And you’ve always known you a man, nobody had to tell you, you knew it since you was a little boy. Never had a question ‘bout that. And you know that, like, inside, you don’t have to look down and see a dick to know you’re a man. Right?” he nodded again. “But now imagine being this sure ‘bout it, but looking in the mirror and seeing the body of a woman. But in your head you know you’re a man, but what you were born with is different from what you know, from what you’ve always known your whole life.”

He shook his head, confused, “Nah, can’t see that happening.”

“You can’t see, but tons of other people can. Don’t matter if you don’t see, Merle. Mikki is a girl and she knows she’s a girl since forever, but something went different and she was born with a boy’s body. It’s wrong for her, her body don’t match her head, her soul, ya know what I mean? She is a girl, no matter what the register said when she was born, no matter that they yelled ‘it’s a boy!” when she was born. It being there make no difference. You’d still feel like a man if you, god forbid, lost yours, wouldn’t’ you?”

“Don’t even say somethin’ like that!”

“You know what I mean, Merle. A dick or a pussy don’t make a person a man or a woman. It’s all in the head.”

“But… It’s there, ain’t it?”

“Yep. I don’t know, it’s probably there, I don’t think she had it removed before the apocalypse. I’ll never ask either, it’s too intimate,” he said nothing, was just thoughtful smoking his cigarette. “Merle?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like her?”

He threw to cigarette to the ground and turned to walk, “I ain’t no faggot.”

“Merle, stop,” he did and turned to me again. “You ain’t, I know that. She’s a girl. You’re just a man who likes a girl.”

He turned to walk again, saying nothing, thoughtful.

“Does she know? Something’s happening between you two?”

“Think she does. Think she likes me too.”

“Then it’s a good thing, Merle,” I said smiling I was happy for him. Merle was overcoming a lot from his past. His prejudices, his racism, his homophobia. He was changing for the better, had already all those months, but now it was more. He liked someone and this was huge for a man like Merle. “Just don’t go breaking her heart, alright?”

 * * *

 I made a mistake.

I should have never kept on drinking in the first place, but that goes without saying. It was obvious that I should have stopped it again, I’d done it once, I could do it again. I could and I should. And every day, even as I drank, I knew it was bad for me. I knew my thoughts got fuzzy and way too negative under the effect. My dreams were terrible nightmares of everyone in the Village turned, Merle, Michonne, Andrea, all trying to eat me. Daryl, Carol, Glenn, Lori, all dead and invading the Village and the constant cry of a baby in the background, and I looked for him as I tried to escape the dead and couldn’t find him. I’d wake up heavy hearted, which made me want to drink more, which made the dreams even worse, and the thoughts in my head even when I was sober were dark and hopeless. So drinking was bad for me, for my mind, for my body, bad for everyone and everything, but I just kept on.

But that day, my mistake was to bring the booze I’d gathered into the Village. I brought it home, hidden among my personal stuff, and I drank at a night I wouldn’t be on watch.

And I obviously lost control.

My house was still isolated from the others. I had moved from the one I’d given birth in, and chosen an even farther one. It was nearly on the back of the Village, still near the lake as the other one had been. It was a nice area, trees all around, birds, the water. The kind of place I had always wanted for me before it all happened, and now I had it. But the fact that it was away from the others’ made me too comfortable and I got drunk in there, sure nobody would notice.

But they did. Michonne came first to check on me because I apparently had turned on some loud music, and there was nothing wrong with listening to some music in the Village as long as it wasn’t loud enough it could he heard outside the walls. If it could be heard outside, walkers would come, people could come.

It was a huge mistake. I put them all in danger, our home, our Village, the safety of my people.

But somehow, I think it had to happen. I needed Michonne to find me drunk at the house. I needed her to call Andrea and Merle. I needed them to see me like this, I needed their help. I needed help and I didn’t even know it.

It just had to happen.

They cleared my house of any alcohol, put me under a cold shower, told me off, and kept careful watch over me for the next few weeks. I wasn’t allowed to go outside alone anymore and I hated it in the beginning. I craved a drink and couldn’t have it. I fought with them, told them to leave me alone, said they had nothing to do with it, that they had no right controlling me like this.

But they saved me.

Merle understood well. He’d been though it in the few months after the hand incident in Atlanta. He’d gone through withdrawal from alcohol and drugs and he knew how I felt. He was not a patient care provider, though. He was more of a tough love kind of guy. Andrea was sweeter, but Michonne… She’d been disappointed.

And that’s what hurt the most. My very best friend got disappointed at me and this hit me hard. This is what made me, after the first few terrible days, understand what I’d done and understand the need of what they were doing for me. I talked to her, apologized, made promises all over again. But she knew promises meant nothing, I’d broken them before.

Over a week into it, Merle came to my place. I’d been pacing, making even Honey distressed. I asked him to leave me alone because I was not a good company then, I was aching for a drink, but he didn’t leave, shaking a bit, heart pounding. Instead, he sat on my couch, took something from his pocket, and lit it.

A joint.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Lightin’ up a joint, what ya think?”

“Have you been smoking?”

“Found this stash a few days ago. Little country home with a dead plantation in the back. Lots of it, years’ worth if we don’t let’em dry.”

“Merle… What?”

“What?” he looked up at me. “You saying you’re against it? Can have all the booze and be addicted to it, not function right without alcohol, but weed is bad? Weed’s what will do ya harm?”

I had no answer. It had been years since I had a joint, but I knew it was never as bad as alcohol. Or any other drug, for that matter. I’d liked it once, but never even got addicted to it. Drinks and other drugs, yeah. They were the ones that nearly destroyed my life, but nothing bad had ever happened after smoking a joint.

“Ya an addict, Sam,” he told me in all seriousness. “Ya can’t go anywhere to get treated. Ya can’t make therapy. Can’t go to a meeting every time ya need some. Ya hear me out, if ya smoke a joint now, ya gonna relax. This think ya feeling now? Will get numbed and will go away with time.”

“Ain’t that just exchanging a drug for another?” I still rebated even as I sat down on the couch by his side.

“Ya damn right it is. But at least it won’t do you too much harm. Ya gonna smoke one at night after a long day, relax, laugh, eat a lot and fall asleep. If ya gotta have somethin’ because you’re too damn used to have some substance in your system, at least won’t be much of a bad one.”

Did it make sense or was it just my addicted mind wanting to believe it?

Merle took a long drag of it, holding it in for a moment and then started couching like crazy. I had to laugh. What a pro!

“Fuck you, it’s been a while!” he said when he could and saw me laugh at him.

“Are you sure about this, Merle?”

“Ya do what ya want. I ain’t saying it’s the best solution, is just the least worse, is all.”

“I can’t do this… Michonne –”

“Is the one who suggested it in the first place when we found it. She ain’t no dimwit, Darlin’. She knows this ain’t as bad for you or anybody as alcohol.”

And then he handed it to me. I hesitated for a moment, but I knew he was right. Weed had been smoked since the beginning of humanity’s ability to plant stuff, thousands of years. The prohibition of it was recent, but not it’s usage. If this made me stop craving for a drink, it would help me get clean. I mean, as clean as someone is when smoking weed.

So I took it. Probably not the best solution, but it was a solution.

It turned out that, that night, I didn’t crave a drink anymore. At least that night, I calmed down, wasn’t shaking anymore, and my thoughts got lighter. No negativity about never seeing Daryl again. No pain for Jack’s loss. Just good memories, just Daryl’s voice calming me down, just Jack’s cute little hand clutching my finger. Just the good parts of the little while I’d had with him. And when I fell asleep – after Merle and I drowned in a family size pack of Cheetos – I didn’t have a nightmare. No dreams at all, just slept long and deep and woke up still feeling sleepy, but simply fine.

And I hadn’t felt fine in a very, very long time.

 * * *

 Merle and I were hunting. I had finally been able to pick up an animal trail myself and we were following it. I wasn’t sure what it was and Merle refused to tell me, because he obviously knew what it was. Honey was with us, silent on her paws, sniffing and attentive to all around us all. I had had a lot of success in training her. She’d come to me and be silent at a short whistle, sit by my side and stay put at a hand gesture, look for threats at a low, long whistle and relax and be free to play around at a click of my tongue.

And it was her who warned us someone was around. She froze by my side, eyes fixed somewhere high up a tree, completely still, just one short low growl to get my attention. Looking up, our weapons ready without even knowing why, Merle and I saw the ruins of a hunting platform. We couldn’t see anyone, but Honey knew for sure there was someone. My crossbow pointed up, Merle with a loaded pistol, we exchanged a look. We couldn’t keep walking and pass under the tree to the risk of getting attacked.

“We know you’re up there!”, I said and my voice echoed in the woods. “We mean no harm, just passing my, hunting some food. Will you show yourself?”

There was silence. Whoever was up there had surely heard me, but was keeping hidden. This could either mean it was someone really scared of people who just wanted us to go away, or a threat, someone who’d attack and try to rob and kill us.

“We just want to pass by knowing you won’t attack us, alright?” I kept on. “Come on, show yourself.”

It took a few more seconds, long ones, but they did. A boy who looked barely eighteen poked his head out of the platform, a rifle in hand pointing down at us, looking repeatedly to Merle and I.

“Good, thank you,” I told him. “You alone up there?”

“Yes!” he answered really fast and I knew it was probably a lie. “I don’t have stuff, so please just leave us alone!”

See? He wasn’t alone.

“Us?”

“Me! Leave me alone!”

“Hey, it’s alright. We don’t wanna rob you. I told you, we’re just hunting out here.”

“Go on, then!”

“And how do we know you ain’t shooting and robing us? Not taking the chance, kid.”

“You say ya don’t got stuff?” Merle said by my side. “Mean ya hungry?”

Oh, so proud of Merle! The old Merle I knew from before would never ask anyone that. He just wouldn’t care, but this Merle did.

“Why you ask?”

“If you’re hungry we can get you something,” I told him. “But we won’t if you don’t put your gun down.”

“Why would you help us? Nobody helps anymore these days!”

“Not nobody, kid,” I told him, my arms hurting a bit from pointing the crossbow up and steady. “We been hungry. Been there, alright?”

“Why should we trust you?”

Merle was the one to answer “Alright, I can see you gone through some shit, kid. You’re right in not trustin’ people, good thing these days. But we both down here got ya on our aims and ya not even hiding right, coulda shot ya between the eyes three times by now. What’s that tell ya?”

He hesitated and didn’t lower his rifle. Quietly, I told Merle to keep his own pointed at him and lowered my weapon. The kid’s attention picked up at that, as I rested my crossbow to the ground, removed my backpack and crouched down to open it. I had water and a packed lunch I’d brought from home, some real cooked food. I got up and help it on his sight.

“We’re offering you food, real food. Now, please, lower your weapon for once and come down or you won’t have it, simple like that.”

He wanted to believe us but hesitated and I admired him for that. It was good not to trust people easily these days and I knew it quite well. After a moment he did lower his rifle and by my side Merle visibly relaxed. I patted honey’s head to calm her down a little but didn’t tell her it was fine to relax. He disappeared from our sight for a moment and them we saw him star to climb down the stairs, and he really wasn’t alone. There was a girl with him, just a child who kept hidden behind him all the time.

These were David and Emma, brother and sister who’d been on the road with their two uncles after their mother died on the first few days of the outbreak. They had been robbed of everything weeks before and, when the men tried to react, they were killed. David and Emma had to watch all of it when they hid on top of a tree, or they’d have been doomed as well. Emma didn’t say a word, too scared to speak even as Merle and I led hem both back to the Village with us.

Our family was slowly growing.

[marblesarelost]

Sneak peek into the Weyland WIP

Pain flared up through his flesh, pain that he knew too well; the bitch had spared what was left of his hamstring this time, slicing through the sinew of his ankle instead.  Still, he struggled forward, leaning heavily against the wall as he staggered out of the pit that had too long held him.  Vengeance was for another day; today, if he tasted fresh air, if he felt sunlight, true sunlight, on his skin, he would call himself content.

“Latropot, ton erac I,” he murmured, laying his hand on the cavern wall.  “Zuflecht.  Ekato Zuflecht.”  For a breath, he thought his escape thwarted.  He’d known the hole she’d had him in to be somehow warded against his power, but surely even she couldn’t wind such spells throughout all her realm.

The damp stone warmed under his palm, and began to glow a dull blue.  “Zuflecht,” he repeated, trying desperately to concentrate on the thought of safety, of sanctuary, just the idea of being safe, away from here, safety somewhere the Alabaster Enchantress could not follow.  The dull blue deepened, swirling into cerulean, stars glittering in the distance.  A long, mournful howl came from somewhere on the other side of the portal, and he fell through it.

The Hunter winked down at the little cabin, the night’s frost turning Sammie’s breath into icy fog in front of her.  She stood on the porch, wrapped in leather and fur-lined denim, looking up at the stars and sliver of moon.  Her boots clattered just a bit on the floorboards as she crossed them, heading for the firepit.  She should go inside, go to bed, she knew.  But it was such a beautiful night.  And for once, there was close to nothing to do the next day.  The wood for the winter was cut and stacked, the cupboards, the smokehouse, and the root cellar were full to bursting.  She might go hunting for fresh meat, but that’d be about all she needed to do.

A sound from the woodline drew her attention, an odd sound; somewhere between a whimper and a moan.  She frowned, the gesture twisting her mouth into thin, tight lines, before stepping off the porch.  Hair twisted to fur amid silver snapping sparks, and a dark brown wolf, long and lean, her belly all but furless, landed on the well trod path rather than the woman.  The scents that rose to her muzzle were not unfamiliar, but they were out of place; hot iron, black pepper, fire of ash and thorn...and at the bottom, a scent she knew far too well.  Blood on blade.  There was another, too, that made her nose wrinkle, made her want to rub her nose against good clean grass; a distant, murky scent, an odd aroma of rotting fish and moldy silk.

The wolf huffed, shaking her head to clear it, but followed the hot iron scent, stepping cautiously about and beside the protections laid against the Feyrie Rade.  Annwn’s border laid close, and the more human did well not to cross most of the Feyrie blooded.  A few, a precious few, could be trusted, but better to lay out the salt and red brick dust, the iron shavings, than to invite trouble.

A heap of flesh and rags lay in a heap beyond the woodline, and though he smelled odd, Sammie never had been cold hearted.  She snuffled about the man, found his back trail and followed it about twenty, maybe thirty feet back, before ozone and hot stone met her questing nose; magic.  No other explanation for it, that was magic, pure and true, and the fish gut and rot scent was stronger there, too.

Cautiously, she approached the unconscious man.  He smelled of metal, of earth, good black dirt for planting, but also his sweat told her he had suffered...and bled.  There was blood on the blade in his belt, but more from his own self.  And that turned it.

The wolf reached out a paw, but the woman’s hand brushed filthy hair back from the stranger’s face.  She frowned, but shook him anyway.  “Hey, Mister.  Hey.  You’re in some trouble, ain’t ya?”  He didn’t move, didn’t stir, and Sammie sighed.  “Wake up now, friend.  I can’t carry you and there’s sticker thorns ‘tween here ‘n the house.”  She shook him again.  No response.  “Well,” she sighed.  “Stay here then; I’ll get the brothers, we’ll be right back.” @cakeisnotpie @systlin @coppercorn-and-cauldron @palaquinn @cipheramnesia

[galadrieljones]

Yours, Sadie Adler.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Sadie Adler | Rating: Mature (Grief/Mourning, Coping, Adult Content) | Length: ~6,000

Summary: Eight years after the fall, Sadie Adler is very good at hiding her pain. But her relationship with Arthur was more complicated than anybody knew, and without him, deep inside, she still struggles every day to reconstruct the pieces of her puzzled heart. So when John shows up, out of the blue, with a relic from their shared history, Sadie finds herself reliving the past, facing the hard realization that she does not have to suffer alone.

Read at AO3

Sometimes Sadie Adler looks back, but not often. When she is making her home in a good town. Blackwater. Valentine. She knows the bartenders who rent her rooms on a discount tab. They make good conversation. She smokes and plays solitaire or else she folds paper into delicate animal shapes like her mother used to show her. Once, many years ago, when he was still alive, she went down to Flat Iron Lake with Arthur, as she had complained of being bored and so he took her out fishing. She put her feet up on a log while he stood out by the water with his rod and reel. She folded up a little elephant and then a polar bear. When he came over to see what she was up to he was taken with the paper animals. The level of detail very much impressed him. She let him have them both and would make many more in the coming months and sometimes surprise him when they were out riding or robbing or shooting or other such unsavory enterprise. The little animals always made him smile, and he was good to her. She thought smiling is something he deserved.

John is back in town.

He comes to meet her in Valentine. They visit for a while at the saloon bar, drinking warm whiskey out of glass cups. He looks older but in a handsome way, the way some men get with age. He has filled out and seems adult in the manner that he is full of problems in the world: his marriage, his property, his money. Abigail has left him, apparently, and she took the boy, and he is in a somber way. She’s never seen him so stressed.

And yet John wears his stress in a simple manner. He seems to meet it like a challenge. He does not let it consume him. He is full of eternal youth, she thinks.

“I found Arthur’s old journal the other day,” he says after a little while. This is a surprise. John is wearing an old pair of fingerless gloves that she thinks she recognizes. He is turning a quarter between his fingers. She wonders how much of Arthur is left behind now, in John, and then she looks away. “Couldn’t bring myself to open it for...years.”

“So, did you?” says Sadie, peering down into her glass.

"Did I what?"

"Finally open it?"

“Not yet,” says John. “But I might.”

He sighs. She drinks. Somewhere in the back of the bar, a scuffle breaks out. They both glance, disinterested, only in momentary fashion.

“Don’t you think it’s...disrespectful?” he says eventually. He is pensive.

She thought they were there to talk about bounties. “What do you mean?” she says.

“I mean, reading a man’s private thoughts. Arthur never meant nobody to see what he wrote, I reckon. He kept his journal a secret his whole life. Even when we was younger.”

“He ain’t here no more,” says Sadie, shrugging. She throws back the remainder of her whiskey. She gestures to the bartender for a refill. “Anyway, he left it to you.”

John nods his head, defeated. He pockets the quarter. “Still feels...wrong."

Sadie says nothing. She taps her fingers on the table.

#

Sadie and John go along and get one of the bounties the very next week. Having John along makes it a lot easier, she thinks. For as brash as she is, there is nothing quite like a trusty van der Linde gun to help speed things up in a pinch. But John is grittier than Arthur, she thinks. With the gun, on the job. Arthur was more like a surgeon. He operated with such technical skill and proficiency. He never made mistakes, was the cleanest, quickest, most accurate and intelligent gunslinger she ever knew. But this meant that jobs with Arthur could take a long time. He liked to plan. He liked things to be just right. Meanwhile, John is somewhat explosive in his demeanor if pressed to the brink. He tries to make plans but when he does this she can see it is like him wearing his big brother's clothes. It is unnatural. Meanwhile, he'll kick your jaw clean off in a temperamental fit if you rile him up enough. She thinks he must still have some unresolved anger inside him that ain't yet simmered.

"You seem rusty," says Sadie on the ride back to Blackwater. "What you been up to these past eight years?"

John sighs. He seemed exasperated. "Odds and ends," says John. "I don't know. Worked on a ranch for a long time. I can't seem to keep my hands clean."

"Is that why Abigail left you?" says Sadie.

John gets quiet, but there is little darkness there. Everything with John is right on top, right on the surface, real bright. "Guess so," he says. "I don't know what she wants me to do. She wants me to...live straight. Live a quiet life. But I don't see how that's possible. I still got a price on my head. People want to see me hang. It's hard to live a...quiet life when there's always something."

Sadie laughs, real calm. "I hear that."

“Anyway,” says John after a little while as they ride. They're trotting side by side, straight into the dusk. "I, uh, I finally did it. I wanted to tell you."

"Did what?"

"I opened Arthur's journal."

Sadie lights a cigarette. "And?"

“And,” says John, “I’ve been reading it, a little, steady every night. It...calms me. I thought it would make me feel guilty but it’s like having him back in a way. It’s been so long, you know? It’s like--it’s like I pushed that whole day so far down, I almost couldn’t feel it no more.”

“Ain’t that what you’d prefer,” says Sadie, flicking the cigarette. When the bounty on the back of her horse starts to bicker, she puts his lights out with the blunt end of her pistol. “Not feeling it no more?”

“I thought so,” says John, scratching at his overgrown beard. “For a long time. But now I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.”

Sadie nods. She has little to say.

"You wanna see it?" says John. "It's okay. You guys was friends."

"No," says Sadie without delay. "That's okay, John. You hang onto it and...well, it's yours now."

They get back to Beecher’s Hope together in the early night. There are coyotes and cougars screaming in the distance, but she's tired. She will not set foot inside.

“Come on,” says John, elated. “You should come in. We got food, whiskey. There’s a bed for you. Or, it’s more like a pile of blankets on a bunch of hay, but it beats the cold, hard ground.”

“Not tonight,” says Sadie. She hustles up her pretty horse and smiles. “Give Charles my best though, and old Uncle.”

John sighs, salutes her. "Well, we'll be in touch."

"Sounds good." She tips her hat, says she’ll see to it his funds get straight to the bank. As she rides away, she thinks that she sensed a boyish kind of disappointment upon her departure. Maybe he wanted to talk more, about the old days. He seems the sort. For a moment, it warms her heart, but then it’s gone. She rides.

#

Usually, Sadie would make camp or go back to her rented room in Blackwater. But tonight, she doesn't feel like stopping. She rides to Valentine, getting in in the very early morning hours. She realizes she wants to be somewhere familiar, but she has a hard time articulating this to herself. She goes to the saloon where the hall is mostly empty, but the bartender is a veritable night owl. He is still wide awake and serving the passers-through. She orders a bottle of gin, which she intended to share with him. Sometimes, she preferred conversation with strangers, as she could make things up as she went. The bartender is friendly, as usual. His name is Earl, but this all turns out to be a bad idea in the end. She is unable to stomach the company and finds herself being short with him in ways she will later regret. The bartender though, he is simple in his soul and takes it upon himself to compliment her hat.

“What’s that lining you got in there, Miss Sadie?” he says. “You know, I never noticed that before. I never seen a hat with such a delicate lining as that. Is it French?"

Sadie scoffs and pushes off the bar. “Ain’t no miss,” she says. “It’s missus, remember? And the lining of my hat ain’t none of your business.” She gives him a sly look, but it is all an act. He finds her to be humorous, another reason why she likes this place. She then says thank you and rides out of town and camps in that old spot of theirs--Horseshoe Overlook. She has almost forgotten what it was like, but she remembers the trail like it's yesterday. She’s not sure why she’s doing this to herself all of a sudden. She thinks about John and his aimless, boyish sadness and how he seems so alone without Abigail, and yet, he doesn't let it consume him. She sits down to remove her hat. She builds a fire and her tent. She sharpens her knife on a whetstone and cooks up a rabbit. The sound of the meat on the spit quiets her brain for a while. When she is full, she moves on to the bottle of gin. She puts the hat back on and leans against an old tree stump. She feels wistful.

#

“I feel like a boarded up window, Arthur,” she said one day, in St. Denis. Eight years before. Arthur had been up in Wapiti for a while, doing god knows what, but now he had returned and he was full of weariness. He didn’t have much to say about it. They were meeting because she wanted to ask him if he would ride with her to Hanging Dog Ranch. She didn't want to go alone, and there was nobody else she trusted. Nobody else she wanted. They were sitting at a table, by the window, in the saloon. Arthur had not really touched his whiskey. It was late at night.

"How do you mean?" said Arthur.

“I mean, I can’t see nothing in front of me but dark no more. It's maddening.”

Arthur sighed. He clearly had something hidden deep inside of him that she knew was there but she could not see. Tragedy here, tragedy there. Just dustings along the lining of his sad heart. “You’re just grieving,” he said eventually, real straight with her, as he always was.

"I can't still be grieving," she said, full of impatience and heat. "It's been months."

“I know how that goes," said Arthur. "And truth be told, months ain't nothing, Mrs. Adler. It can be years before...anyway, I know it don’t mean nothing right now, but give it time. You’ll see the daylight again.”

He drank, finally. He smiled. He was filled with wisdom, she thought. Always. And yet he had grown so defeated. She wondered how it was he had gotten to this place.

“Will you ride with me?” she said after a little while, sensing something was wrong. Really wrong with him. She placed her hand on his. He seemed a little surprised by her touch. He looked at their hands, touching, if it were all a foreign entity, but he did not pull away.

"I will," he said.

He hesitated after this, seeming tired, but then he placed his other hand on top of hers. His hands felt like canvas, she still remembers. Worked too hard. Stretched and scraped.

#

She decides to stick around New Hanover for a couple more weeks, chasing a curious lead on an outlaw fitting the rank description of Micah Bell. She ends up at the fence in Emerald Station, who says he pulled a stage through on a sale from a man who mentioned running with an old van der Linde gun. She wouldn't have thought twice about this, except for the fact that, according to the fence, there was a dead body in the cabin when he bought it, a woman, stabbed up pretty bad. Stabbed women didn't sound like no van der Linde gun but for Micah Bell.

The fence in Emerald Station is an old friend that Sadie has been relying on for some time. In the mood to visit that day after a bunch of riding alone, Sadie finds herself drinking with him out in the warm sun, sitting on folding chairs next to the cattle yard. They have never discussed her past before, preferring to stick to matters of enterprise, but that day, with mention of the old gang, he becomes sentimental.

"Hey," he says to her after a little while. "You ever hear from that one feller anymore, used to run with your kind? Another van der Linde. Name of Hosea Matthews."

"Hosea?" says Sadie. She smiles and shakes her head. She's slicking up a peach with her knife, eating it piece by piece. "Yeah, I knew Hosea. He's dead though. Been dead for...more than eight years."

"Oh, that's too bad," says the fence, sighing, looking down into his bottle. "He was a real good guy. And a fine thief. He brought a feller around her once, came back a lot with goods for selling, fine coaches. He wasn't much for conversation but seemed decent. He liked to camp in the hills around here. I remember once, he cleared a true-to-life escaped lion out the barn, armed with nothing but his wits and his shiny volcanic."

"A lion?" says Sadie. "What the hell are you on about, mister?"

"It's true!" says the fence, laughing. "Ask anyone. He's a legend around here. Big man. Light hair. Blue eyes. Was always carrying really beautiful guns. Engravings and such, fully customized. Real works of art. He took great care of them guns. I offered to buy a few of them on more than one occasion, but he wouldn't part. I can't remember his name though."

"Arthur Morgan," says Sadie. It is strange to hear him described like this, and he never told her about no lion. She finishes the peach. She is sucking on the pit. "The man you're describing, that's Arthur."

"Arthur," says the fence, reminiscing to himself. "Yes, that was it. Arthur. Whatever happened to Arthur?"

Sadie sighs. She hocks the pit and takes a toothpick out from behind her ear to pick at the loose pulp in her teeth. "He got sick," she says.

"Sick?" says the fence. "What kind of sick?"

"Tuberculosis," says Sadie. She drops the toothpick, stares at the place where it sticks into the dirt. "He died, too. Not long after Hosea."

"Jesus," says the fence. He seems downtrodden by this. He takes a long drink from his flask. "Tuberculosis? Did any of the old van der Lindes survive? Besides you, of course."

"There's a few of us," says Sadie. "Here and there. Though I don't much consort no more with those unseemly in the sight of the law."

The fence waves this off as a joke. "Aw, shit on the law," he says. "Wasn't the law who cleared the damn Murfree Brood out the Roanoke Valley. Wasn't the law who got them vaccinations for the poor Indians up north. Shit on the law. Things is changed, sure. But the law don't do nothing worth remembering. You all, however...nah. I remember you." He drinks more, and then more. "Yeah, I remember."

Before long he tips over, sleeping in his chair. Sadie folds him up a little paper dragon and leaves it sitting on his knee before riding off into the sunset. On that paper dragon, she has written a note:

Thank you for the company, says the note. I will return in a few months, probably. Try not to die. Yours, Sadie Adler.

#

“Buy me a damn drink, Arthur,” she said, exhausted and all fucked up. “I deserve it.”

They were in the old farmhouse of Hanging Dog Ranch, in the dark. They were alone now, their hands and clothes covered proper with O'Driscoll blood. Arthur said that he would buy her ten drinks. "How's that?" She laughed in her sad way as he patted her on the shoulder. She didn't know what the hell she was anymore.

Before they rode away, he helped her clean up her face with a handkerchief from his pocket. He tucked the loose hair behind both her ears and smoothed her hair in the back. He even fixed up her braid. He had a tender touch for an outlaw, she thought. More tender than she could have realized. He gave her his jacket, and they burned hers in the pit out back. Death hung all around them, everywhere, like jungle vines.

It was hard to tell at this point, what level of affection this all was between them. Somewhere between comrade and lover, she thought, and she didn’t know the difference anymore.

She didn’t much care.

#

A long while back, right around when the gang got down to Shady Belle, Sadie finally got the guts to ride her horse back up to the old ranch in Ambarino. She went to try and salvage a few things that had not been lost to the fire, and to take communion with her grief. She told only Arthur what he was doing, and he thought it was a good idea. He offered to ride with her, but she wanted to be alone, and of this, he was always respectful. It was cold up there, but she was used to it, even still. She preferred it to the swamps and the disgusting heat of Lemoyne. The cold made her lungs feel clean and wide open. Among the salvage of the old house was Jake’s wardrobe. It was merely singed, and inside of it, she found many items of zero consequence, but importantly, she found his hat. It is the hat that she continues wearing today, but at the time, the lining had grown thin.  She wore it every day like a testament to her old life and sadness, but after a while, it became near on unwearable.

She showed Arthur, who advised she speak to Abigail. "She's real good with a needle and thread," he said. "She's mended my hats on more than one occasion."

Sadie did as he suggested. But nothing Abigail suggested would do. She then took it to a tailer, and a milliner in St. Denis. But nothing was right. Nothing was soft enough. She retired the hat for a long time, worried all of a sudden that she would lose it or that it would fall to pieces.

When she and Jake were married, it was in June, and she was twenty-four. It was the best night of her whole life. They had drunk beer and danced in the church. But at the end right before they went to sleep she got a bee sting. It was strange. Why was there that bee in the house? How had it got there? Did it fly in through the door after them, or through an open window during the day? There weren't many bees in Ambarino, even in summer, so this was a mystery. Jake removed the stinger for her with a little pair of tweezers and kissed the tender, swollen spot on the inside of her arm. She was hardened in many ways in life, but not to this. Not to him. They made love finally as husband and wife, and they slept in the bed well past sunrise.

She hoped for many years to become pregnant with his child, but it just wouldn't take.

After Arthur was gone, Sadie hid out for a couple weeks all alone, way up north in the Grizzlies. She rode back south to Butcher Creek at some point to see what she could make of the wreckage. This had become a pattern, she realized. Arthur’s tent was rumpled, but sort of like with Jake, he had left a hope chest behind, filled with his belongings. Among his belongings was an old white french dress shirt with a delicate collar. She recognized it, and it still smelled like him still, a little. She folded it up and tucked it into her saddle bag and rode away like hell, leaving everything else behind. She rode out to Big Valley where it was she could be incredibly alone. When she got there, she set up her camp in a huge, vast and never-ending, breathing field of lavender. It was beautiful. It was not far from the ranch at Hanging Dog. She took out her needle and thread, and using tips given to her by Abigail, took Arthur’s old french dress shirt apart seam by seam and sewed it right into the lining of her hat. It worked. Finally she had found something soft enough.

#

They rode a long way that night, after the massacre at Hanging Dog. They stopping in Valentine. She had a hard time admitting to herself that he looked unwell, and that he had for some time, ever since he’d got back to Lakay, but she could not yet find the courage to ask him what was wrong. He was turning a coin in his fingers in the saloon there, wearing fingerless gloves that were unique to him. They drank until they were soft, and they leaned against each other in a booth at the back of the bar.

"Arthur," she said after a little while, her brain filled with an old pain and a new sense of relief.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"I know I ain't a lady of frills. I ain't mild."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was just wondering if..." She sat up. She did not finish her question.

"What's wrong?" he said. He cared so genuinely about everything he touched.

She kissed him.

He was taken by complete surprise, but he kissed her back.

The next morning, when she woke up they were in one of the saloon hotel rooms, upstairs. Arthur was already dressed, sitting in a chair across from the bed, writing in his journal.

"What are you writing?" she said, looking around for her hat.

He was quiet when he saw her. He closed the journal. He seemed hesitant. "Sadie," he said. "We oughta talk."

She huffed. "Don't you give me them puppy dog eyes." She got out of bed. She buttoned up her shirt. She went right over to him and grabbed his face with her hands. "That was my choice, last night, Arthur Morgan. You hear?"

"You was vulnerable," he said, shaking his head.

"Well, you was vulnerable, too," she said. "And I don't regret it. It was what I wanted. Is it what you wanted?"

He blinked. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "It was."

She half-smiled. Half-smiles were about as good as it got with Sadie Adler. "Good," she said. She noticed the shirt he was wearing--a white, french dress shirt that she had never seen before. Its delicate nature balanced finely with his otherwise rugged demeanor. “New shirt?” she said.

He looked down at his sleeves as if he had forgotten what he was wearing. “Oh. Yes. I suppose it is.”

"It looks good," she said.

He was pleased. "Thank you, Mrs. Adler."

"Please Arthur," she said, tugging him on the collar, "it's just Sadie."

#

They went on and on like that, in and out for months in the end. It was a whirlwind and a secret. Sadie cried herself to sleep some nights.

The night before the last train, she asked him to ride with her to the coast of the Lanahechee, north of Van Horne, like a punctuation of all they’d been through. It was not a short ride. He was weary and did not ask many questions, and when they got there, he set up their camp in his rote but reliable fashion that made her feel safe.

He didn’t cough a lot when he was with her, not really ever. If ever he did, he walked away. She had never asked him what it was that he suffered from so, but she had guessed by now. She thought she remembered Hosea having a similar affliction and wondered if that was where Arthur had caught it, or if it was something else. Again, she would not ask. For she had loved a man who was doomed without her knowing, and now she was loving a man who was doomed, and she knew it. She began to wonder if it was her. If she was cursed. If she was the reason.

“I just needed to get away,” said Sadie when he asked what they were doing there. She tossed her cigarette into the fire. “I didn’t wanna come alone. I hope that’s okay.”

He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, like he always did when she just liked being with him, as if the prospect of her simply wanting to spend time with him were foreign. He took a drink of the gin and passed her the bottle. “I am flattered, Mrs. Adler,” he said. He smiled. "And relieved. To be away from there. You know I am."

They looked out at the water. They sat together for a long time. The river was so big and wide you could not see to the other side. It felt like they were looking at the sea. There were fireflies everywhere. She felt like crying. She did not. He was strong beside her, his jaw set. It didn't matter how bad things got, he never complained.

Sometimes, Sadie Adler thought she might tip over in the wide, frustrating world. Even in sickness he held her up. He was like a pillar.

“I am truly grateful,” he said to her at some point, out of nowhere it seemed.

"For what?"

He took a deep breath. It all rattled around in his lungs and she closed her eyes. "You and me," he went on, "we're more ghosts than people. But as a ghost, I am mighty glad for your company, Mrs. Adler.”

This broke her, in the end. She set her head on his shoulder because it was the only thing left to do. “Thanks, Arthur,” she said. He put his heavy arm around her to shield her from the cold. “And it’s just Sadie. For the umpteenth time.”

He laughed, deep in his warm chest.

When she glanced up at him a little later, he had his eyes closed. He looked so tranquil, she thought, his chin pressed to the top of her head, like he was asleep.

It was the last night they’d ever spend before the storm.

#

Now, tonight, camping out at Horseshoe Overlook, she gets very drunk and passes out in the chilly weeds. She dreams of guilt. She dreams of regret. She dreams of eating fresh berries under the wide, warm sun in St. Denis and of Arthur Morgan. Normally, Sadie would kick and scream her way through the pain. She might even take a swing. But just like with Jake, she is realizing that she is not so hard as she thought. She is not so hard, just alone.

When she wakes up, it is morning and she feels stupid, and she feels like hell. She puts on her hat, and she pens a letter to John, letting him know of some more bounties she has learned of in the greater region of New Austin, and the information she has gathered on Micah Bell.

I’ll be riding back your way if you’re interested, in the coming weeks, she writes. You can find me at the saloon in Blackwater if you so please. I rent a room upstairs, and I will be there most days.

Yours, Sadie Adler.

She postmarks the letter in Valentine, and she goes back to the saloon for a quick bite to eat before heading back out to Blackwater.

"Well if it ain't the missus with the gun," says Earl the bartender when she comes through the door. He is shining up a glass and smiling. "What can I pour for you today, my lady?"

#

In the meantime, John finishes reading Arthur’s journal. He stays up late many nights to do so. He grows rapt in the beauty on the pages. Everything Arthur wrote about, John recognizes to some extent, but the way that Arthur saw the world and funneled it through words and pictures--it is truly remarkable. The ending brings surprises that even John could not have foreseen. He tells Abigail all about it one night while they are lying in bed together. She seems pained but happy as she listens. Thinking about Arthur makes her sad.

“Did you know?” she says. "About the two of them?"

“No,” says John. “Arthur was so secretive. I had no idea.”

“Well you gotta show Sadie,” she says eventually. “Didn’t you say you got a letter from her the other day? Saying she'll be in Blackwater?”

“I did,” says John, scratching at the beard on his chin. “And you’re right. She should see this.”

Abigail kisses him, this man who she has chosen. Things aren’t perfect yet, but they’re trying. They are. She asks if she can see the journal then. He gives it over, and she holds it in her hands. It is heavier than it looks. When she opens it up to flip through the pages, a bunch of little paper animals fall out into her lap. They are delicate and fancy, she thinks, and they come in many colors and shapes.

"What are all these?" she says, sifting through them, delighted. "Little animals? They're wonderful. You ever seen Arthur make one of these?"

"No," says John. "But then again, there was a lot I didn't see. It seems like something he would do though."

Abigail asks if she can keep just one. "Of course," John says, putting his arm around her. "Take your pick."

She chooses the little cat with the long tail. She will keep it displayed on her piano, a keepsake.

#

Abigail is not happy about the bounties, but John goes anyway after meeting up with Sadie at the saloon. Together, they ride out to Tall Trees, handle the bounty, and then they ride right back to Rhodes. They run into some trouble, but for a couple of old van der Linde guns, it’s no big deal.

When they are finished, they go to the saloon, which reminds them both of old times, bad and good. John is nervous. He gives Sadie the journal and tells her that he has finished it, read it front to back, and that she ought to do the same.

“I don’t think so,” she says, smoking and drinking and acting real tough. “But thanks for the offer."

John is nursing his whiskey. She drinks him under the table most of the time, and he is man enough to admit it. He sighs. “You might just...want to,” he says. “Or, just flip to the last entry. Just read the last entry. Please. For me. For Arthur. Just do it.”

She takes the journal, even as she seems reluctant to do so. She nods, and she promises she will read the last entry, but another time. They drink, and John makes sure to remind her that she is always welcome at Beecher’s Hope. Then he leaves, and Sadie is alone again.

#

Sadie stays in Rhodes for another two days, drinking and avoiding. In a fit of restlessness and sobriety one night, she gets on her horse, and she rides due south to the swamps where she feels endangered and full of electricity. She finds refuge at an old haunt. Shady Belle, which has been abandoned by all but the gators. She goes upstairs and she sits on a chair on the balcony. It is late. She remembers all the good times. She drinks a little gin and removes her hat. She does not think about how that hat is a composite of the two of them. She thinks she can almost hear Cain barking. She can hear little Jack Marston making his ruckus in the puddles. She takes out Arthur’s journal and thinks about how he was about as closed and tough as it was, with so much sadness and mystery hidden inside. She runs her thumb along the sturdy leather spine. She flips through the pages, finally. She finds all her old paper animals, which make her smile, and she reads the occasional entry, sure, but mostly she finds herself lost in the drawings. She knew he had liked to sketch but he had never shown her. The familiar sights and sounds of the world as rendered by his hand in pencil make her feel like he is here, with her. Alive. Just like John said. When she feels one little piece of warmth unleash into her bitter heart, she becomes emboldened. She vibrates. She turns to the last page, like John told her to do. She takes a sip of gin, and she reads. She is surprised by what she finds there.

#

My Dearest Sadie,

If you are reading this, that means that I am gone, and that John has done me a great favor. I do not have much time, but what little I do have, I will spend writing this, to you:

We will never spend another moment of peace together, Mrs. Adler. It is true. But please know that even though our circumstances meant it never could have worked out between us, and I am certainly a damn fool for even thinking it could, I want you to know that if we had more time, I would try. I ain’t a good man, but you made me feel like one, for a little while.

I will miss you and what poor, little iteration of time we have spent together these past months. I know that you get sad. I know that you have demons that you bottle up and you hide from me and everyone. I know that you are like me in a lot ways, but I hope that you will remember that you do not have go through all of this alone. That is what you showed me, in the end.

At this point, it goes without saying, but even in these final hours, I am yours, Sadie Adler. No woman ever really got me but you. Thank you.

With Love,

Arthur Morgan

#

Sadie Adler cries alone at Shady Belle. She is a haunted woman in a haunted house. Her whole world is ghosts. She thinks of Jake, and how after he was gone, she stopped feeling things for a long time. Then Arthur was there, and he was gone, and she stopped feeling things again. For a long time. She holds the journal to her chest as if she can feel its beating heart.

But she is feeling things now, the full brunt of her entire sad, burnt out existence driving straight into her chest. She cries until her lungs hurt in the swampy heart of Shady Belle. It is daylight when she is finally finished and the whole world is a jungle, mean and pretty. She carefully removes that last entry from Arthur’s journal, tears out the page. She’s gotta let John have it back, because it is his now, but she just wants that last entry. She folds it into a simple square. She puts it away. She mounts her horse then. She doesn't know what to do or where to go, but she decides to head back west, toward Beecher’s Hope, to see the only people left who truly know her. It has been such a long time, but she is not without love in this world. Cursed or not, she never was.

So, Sadie Adler puts on her hat in the early morning sun, and like she is always wont to do, she rides again.

[sith-shenanigans]

OTP Song Meme

Tagged by @lumielles and @frozenabattoir— thank you both so much! You may regret this. :>

I am going to wildly ignore the rules of this and post their entire playlist instead of a single song.

1. Lost Girls — Lindsey Stirling

[instrumental]

2. The Long Way Home — The Birthday Massacre

Here in the dark, don't fall asleep / We walk through the snow, trying not to breathe / Don't let me go / Stay close to me / Don't look behind us / There's nothing to see

Below / Let me go / From here I know / It's a long way home

Into the woods, under the trees / We follow the trail, down to the sea / There's nowhere to hide / Don't wait for me / Don't look behind you / There's nothing to see

Below / Let me go / From here I know / It's a long way home

3. Still Alive — Leslie Fish

Running from the living / Running from the dead / Running from the memories / Just one jump ahead / But you're still alive— / There's a face in the mirror / Still alive, the dead don't bleed / Still alive, life is a changer / And you're no stranger / Come take what you need

There will be an answer / The sun will rise / Love is a survivor / Open your eyes

4. Wish That You Were Here — Florence + the Machine

And if I stay, oh, I don't know / There'll be so much that I'll have to let go / You're disappearing all the time / But I still see you in the light / For you, the shadows fight / And it's beautiful, but there's that tug in the side / I must stop time traveling / You're always on my mind

You're always on my mind...

5. Still Here — Digital Daggers

Musing through memories, losing my grip in the grey / Numbing the senses, I feel you slipping away / Fighting to hold on, clinging to just one more day / Love turns to ashes, with all that I wish I could say

[...]

Every night, I dream you're still here / The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear / When I awake, you'll disappear / Back to the shadows / With all I hold dear / With all I hold dear...

6. Back From the Dead — Skylar Grey

I'm so confused, I don't know what to feel / Should I throw my arms around you or kill you for real? / 'Cause I worked so hard to put the past to rest / Now it's tumbling down on me just like an avalanche

[...]

I never thought that you and I would ever meet again / I mourn the loss of you sometimes and pray for peace within / The word "distraught" cannot describe how my heart has been / But where do we begin, now that you're back from the dead?

Where do we begin, now that you're back from the dead?

Where do we begin, now that you're back from the dead?

7. Bound — Suzanne Vega

Once you said I'm made of fine stuff / I've been corrupted, and taken enough

Now you appear, making your claim / Inside my heart is the sign of your name

8. Bleak December — Set It Off

In that bleak December, you're just too cold / But I need the answer before you fold / You would hold your cards inside your chest / I think I drove too far / For that bleak December / And how full of shit you are

[...]

Now what are you to me / But a fly inside a web of lies you weave / You're not fooling anyone, not you, not me / So I wonder how you stay alive / When all I do is freeze

9. How to Start a War — Simon Curtis

I thought we were meant to be / Thought it'd be you and me / Standing together at the end of the world

I guess that's not what you want / I guess that I should just move on / So tell me, how am I to move when I can't even breathe

This is not how you make love / This is not what we signed up for / This is not how it's meant to be / This is how you start a war...

10. Down — The Birthday Massacre

Tell me why / We never cared to do this when we still had time / We'll never have to give up if we never try / I know I'll only want it when it's gone / Into the fire

Show me now / I wish that I could fake it but I don't know how / I know we'll never make it but I can't stop now / We're only just beginning and it's over

[...]

Leave me here / I'll never see tomorrow 'til my eyes are clear / We never could run faster than the passing years / I know that I won't miss you 'til you're gone / Into the fire

Cross my heart / We'll never have to let this end if we don't start / We'll never see the light 'til we step into the dark / We're only just beginning and it's over

11. Enemy — Simon Curtis

All this time I thought you knew, I thought you were aware / Of how much I would do for you, of just how much I care / All this time you sat here thinking that I wouldn't give / Every bit of life of mine just so that you could live

And now I've got a feel from you it's bitterness and cold / I'm hearing what you say but not believing what I'm told

[...]

You built so many walls around me that you couldn't see / That without you there is no us there is not even me / I'm standing here before you with no armor lying bare / Lying stranded and defenseless you could help me if you care

You built so many walls around me that I wouldn't dare / Try to climb them but I'm standing with a white flag in the air

12. Bleak December (Acoustic) — Set It Off

[reprise]

13. Lies — Martina McBride

Hummingbirds don't fly backwards / Lovers don't say goodbye / Saturn has 7 rings / And I have never told a lie

[...]

I'm finally moving forward / Getting on with my life / I never dream of you and me / It's strange I don't know why

I'm really not that lonely / You never cross my mind / And when I hear your name / It doesn't cut me like a knife

I don't walk these halls / And I don't climb these walls / Every night...

14. Thick as Thieves — Shinedown

Evidently we can't work it out / I guess that courage ain't allowed / Evidently you're not in the mood / And everything I say just bothers you

You built this fortress / I stumble towards it

Evidently you look furious / Walls up and I know you're serious / Evidently I'm not always there / But you left and I looked everywhere

You built this fortress / I stumble towards it / I stumble towards it...

15. No Light, No Light — Florence + the Machine

Would you leave me / If I told you what I've done / And would you leave me / If I told you what I've become / 'Cause it's so easy / To say it to a crowd / But it's so hard, my love / To say it to you alone

16. Half Light — BANNERS

Sometimes I join you / Let you wash over me / When we're in the darkness / Only the blind can see

And you can tear it up / Oh, no one tears it up like you / Oh, you can rip it up / Oh, I can rip it up like you

When you're in the half light / It is not you I see / And you live a half life / You only show half to me

And can you shake it off / Oh, can you shake it off for me / When you're in the half light / I don't like the half I see

17. Burn — Silent Rival

You wrote a note from a pile of ashes / The pen in your claw got me laughing / No one believes I still feel the weight of your head in my lap

I shudder to think of you out in the cold / Wherever you are I hope you’re warm / Don't worry about me, I'll find my way back / Fire light in my path / Your light in my path

Watch you burn / You light up, you rise up, and you burn / Glow as you fly from the earth / Watch the engines ignite as you burn / Before I could say my goodbyes / Goodbyes, goodbyes, goodbyes / You’re burning and burning

Some call it pain, it's just a feeling / Some call it pain, I call it healing / Will I ever heal, I'm always raw / I'm always raw / Set fire to it all / Set fire to it all...

18. If I Say — Mumford & Sons

I came here without a choice / I'm sorry I could never thank you / For saving me more trouble / I didn't want any trouble / If you were given one more chance / Would you bring me back to life / Bring me back into the light / Into the light

[...]

Show me your hands / Are they cleaner than mine? / Show me your face / Did you cross the line? / Show me your eyes / They any drier than mine? / Your soul survives / But peace, you'll never find

19. Things We Lost in the Fire — Bastille

I was the match and you were the rock / Maybe we started this fire / We sat apart and watched / All we had burn on the pyre

You said, we were born with nothing / And we sure as hell have nothing now / You said, we were born with nothing / And we sure as hell have nothing now...

20. Magpie — The Mountain Goats

Feed the kittens in the kitchen / Set food out for the strays / Try hard to do your best / The magpie will have his way

Fill your mouth with berries / By the full light of the moon / Work all night if you have to / The magpie comes at noon

Shore up the crucifixes / Above the archways and the doors / The magpie will come at midday / And you will go down on all fours

And when the cherry's white with blossoms / Be ready and be brave / And remember what we had here / When there was something left to save

21. Supernova — Within Temptation

I'm waiting for your last goodbye / 'Cause I'm not over it, not over it / I'm waiting for your last goodbye / The kiss of time

Like thunder screaming out for a flash of lightning / Stars are falling down for God's applause / I'm waiting for the light of your supernova / Your last goodbye

22. Through the Mirror — Beyond The Black

Watch you spin in your veils of protection / Layer on layer of dark colors unwind / Shake them off, but you never forget them / Show your scars to the mute and the blind

Only showing your face to the lonely / Wear a mask for the masses so cold / Choosing roads that are broken and stony / Let me tell you my dreams of our destiny

Speak to me, sing to me, bare your soul to me / Step through the mirror, join me inside / Run to me, stay with me, till eternity / Show me the faith that you hide / You hide

You are wandering spaces in limbo / Hearing words from the voice in your head / Give a sign and I'll open the window / Step outside and I'll hold you instead

Only showing your face to the lonely / Wear a mask for the masses so cold / Choosing roads that are broken and stony / Let me tell you my dreams of our destiny

Speak to me, sing to me, bare your soul to me / Step through the mirror, join me inside / Run to me, stay with me, till eternity / Show me the faith that you hide / You hide...

23. Mercy Mirror — Within Temptation

I don't like to think about the pieces / All the cracks in the bricks that still remain / If I could breathe, I'd ask you

To look in my mercy mirror / I need you more than I have known / So look in my mercy mirror / 'Cause I'm not ready to let you go...

24. You Are the Only One — Sergey Lazarev

We can never let the word be unspoken / We will never let our loving go come undone/ Everything we had is staying unbroken now / You will always be the only one / You're the only one

Won't ever give up 'cause you're / Still somewhere out there/ Nothing or no one's gonna keep us apart / Breaking me down but I'm still getting nowhere / Won't stop, hold on

Thunder and lightning it's getting exciting / Lights up the skyline to show where you are / My love is rising, the story's unwinding / Together we'll make it and reach for the stars

You're the only one, you're my only one / You're my life, every breath that I take / Unforgettable, so unbelievable / You're the only one, my only one

25. Paradise (What About Us?) — Within Temptation

There's no sense, the fire burns / When wisdom fails, it changes all / The wheel embodies all that keeps on turning

Blood red skies, I feel so cold / No innocence, we play our role / The wheel embodies all, where are we going?

All in all, you'd expect the wise to be wiser / Fallen from grace / And all in all, I guess we should have known better, 'cause

What about us / Isn't it enough? / No, we're not in paradise / This is who we are / This is what we've got / No, it's not our paradise / But it's all we want / And it's all that we're fighting for / Though it's not paradise

You and us, or I and them? / There comes a time to take a stand / The wheel is watching all that keeps on burning

The venom works, it's like a curse / A Trojan horse, when will we learn / The wheel embodies all that keeps returning

All in all, you'd expect the wise to be wiser / Fallen from grace / And all in all, I guess we should have known better, 'cause

What about us / Isn't it enough? / No, we're not in paradise / This is who we are / This is what we've got / No, it's not our paradise / But it's all we want / And it's all that we're fighting for / Though it's not paradise

What about us / Isn't it enough? / No, we're not in paradise / This is who we are / This is what we've got / No, it's not our paradise / But it's all we want / And it's all that we're fighting for

What about us / Isn't it enough? / No, we're not in paradise / This is who we are / This is what we've got / No, it's not our paradise / But it's all we want / And it's all that we're fighting for / But it's not paradise

What about us, what about us, what about us, isn't it enough?

What about us, what about us, what about us, isn't it enough?

What about us, what about us, what about us, isn't it enough?

What about us, what about us, what about us, isn't it enough?

[buckylogy]

The World I Used To Know

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re living the perfect life; With your fiancé, non other than Bucky Barnes, you share a small but comfortable apartment. What’s left? Of course, the perfect job. Studying to become a doctor you leave your past behind to live the life you and your brother Tony always wanted. Safe and Sound. But what happens when the almost forgotten past comes back one day?

Warnings: fluff; angst; language; smutty references you must be at least 18 years old to read this, I’m sorry!

Words: 4.9k

A/N: This is the second chapter of the series ‘Step by Step’. Each chapter is a one-shot and can be read without knowing the content of the chapters posted before. As always: This story might include endgame spoilers, so if you haven’t seen it, save it for later! ♡ This one-shot will be continued with the next chapter. You still can read them separately!

“I’ll look back on this and smile because it was life and I decided to live.”

They say your past doesn’t define your future.

It’s the decisions you’ve made along your way that lead your way towards your future.

Whether it’ll be filled with light or drowned in darkness - - well, nobody can tell you what’ll happen, because it’s ‘in the stars’.

There it is, another quote of society to sympathize a future that’s hidden somewhere deep within the cold, thick fog. But that’s not the point, is it?

The thing is; when it’s not your past defining your future but your decisions, well - - those exclude each other, don’t they?

Because the decisions you’ve made in the past would define your future.

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

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Julia prompted through the phone, “Tell me it’s a fucking joke,” she laughed nervously.

You huffed at her hilarious reaction but knew as well that she was only ‘joking’ to hide her surprise. “Nope, not at all,” you said calmly, “I did it. I passed.” In your head you see Julia drinking a glass of fresh water, suddenly spitting it out all at once at your statement and you have to bite down your smirk.

“Seriously, you can’t be human. You’re a freak, damn it!” There was a break of silence before she added, “But I’m proud of you, you little freak. It’s finally going somewhere for you.”

“Why so full of surprise? You should’ve known before that I’m a genius. Of course I’d do it in such a short amount of time!” You joked with false pride in your voice.

Surely Julia knew you weren’t being honest with your arrogance but played along anyway.

“Hmm, you really are a Stark. I’d recognize that sound of arrogance anywhere. Tony teached you himself, didn’t he?” If she’d said that 2 years earlier you would’ve immediately said goodbye to her but, now that you’ve learned to progress your brother’s death, you could talk about—hell, even joke about him. Life was so much easier if you’d just allow yourself to mourn over the lost lives.

“Damn right you are,” you reply while laughing, “Name someone who managed to finish his studies within one and a half year, I’ll wait.”

“Always so bloody arrogant,” Julia stated with a tease in her voice, “little bitch.”

Neither of you could stay silent and you especially couldn’t care less at the weird glares the passengers sent you. You fished the keys to your apartment out of your jacket pocket while you pressed your phone between shoulder and cheek to open the door.

“‘Kay, I’m hanging up now, I’m home,” you said in a matter-of-fact, allowed Julia to say her goodbyes before you stuffed the phone into your bag. Opening the door to your apartment the first thing you do is throw your shoes into the next corner, soon followed by your bag, not caring about your phone at all.

“Buck, I’m home,” you announced into the emptiness. Walking through the floor to head for the kitchen to get yourself a fresh bottle of water you scream as two strong hands grab your waist from behind to pull you straight into a tight hug.

“Bucky, stop it, stop I-,” you squealed as he tickled your sides. He let you back on the ground and you immediately turned around, standing on the tip of your toes, pulling him down for a sweet kiss. “I missed you, idiot,” you chuckle sweetly against his lips. With his hands still resting on your sides he pulls you impossibly closer and you feel the devilish heat radiating off his body, embracing your whole being and you can’t fight the shiver to run down your body.

“Missed you more,” he whispered, his lips too close to yours and he eventually catches your lips with his teeth, softly carrying you into the next kiss. Neither of you fought the rising tension and soon enough both of you decided it was time to get rid of your clothes.

“That’s so cliche, Bucky!” You laugh between wet kisses and dancing tongues. Bucky hummed in response, too far lost in the kiss but managed to pull one of your legs up to his hip and you immediately understood so you wrapped your other leg around his hip as well. He carried you blindly towards the bedroom, never daring to break the love-filled kiss.

Seconds later and your back hits the mattress of your king size bed and soon after Bucky follows, gently laying down on top of you, with his hands resting on either sides of your face to steady himself. The only clothes left were your bra and panties and his shorts but neither of you paid attention to that as you were still to focused on exploring each other’s mouth.

Bucky’s lips start their way from your mouth up to your nose to leave a small kiss, then moving to your eyelids, leaving kisses here and there before traveling back towards your mouth.

Every touch lights up a new fire in your skin and slowly but surely, you were growing impatient. You knew he took his time teasing you but as you pressed your hips against his he couldn’t hold back the deep, lust-filled groan coming out of his mouth. “Doll,” he whispered, his ice blue eyes shining dangerously, “we’ve got time and I’ll take it,” he grumbled, “no need to rush things.” He finsihes his words with yet another wet, passionate kiss on your lips and the way he did that - - you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, while your panties were already soaking through; Gods, you were more than ready for him. Bucky was no different, though. He was already rockhard but when you try to sneak one of your hands inside his shorts he quickly grabs your wrist to pin your arms above your head.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered against your lips, with your bottom lip between his teeth, “I had to wait for you the whole day, now let me welcome you properly.” That wasn’t true, at least not entirely. It was just afternoon and you hadn’t been out for more than eight hours. Damn, Bucky could be so dramatic. And needy. Of course you didn’t mind at all - - Sex with Bucky was always more than breathtaking. He was a damn sex god, not more and not less. That’s why you didn’t mind that you couldn’t tell him your great news, they could wait but the sex? Well that couldn’t.

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

“Something the matter?” Bucky’s flesh hand stroked through the strands of your hair, gently massaging your head as you cuddled your entire being against his warm, strong and muscular chest. You hum in reply, cracking an eye open to glance up at his beautiful face, immediately pressing yourself against his warm skin, seeking warmth. “I... passed,” you said in a yawn.

There was a moment of silence where Bucky slowly progressed your words before it hit him hard.

“Wha- You’re joking, aren’t you?” He sat upright within seconds, forcing you off his chest and you send him a pout but eventually follow his move.

“I ain’t joking, Buck.” You tried hard to give him a serious glance but your mind was too dizzy to keep up the facade. You were about to turn around with a yawn when Bucky’s strong arms shot around your chest from behind.

“Jesus, why haven’t you told be earlier? Damn, that’s amazing, doll. I’m proud of you. You did great,” he praised, squeezing you tightly as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re right,” you yawned once again, “I’m sorry I didn’t. It’s just that, uh, I don’t know. Was busy having sex with you I guess.”

Bucky couldn’t help but grin at the teasing sound in your tired voice but said nothing in the end as you were obviously on the edge of falling asleep.

He never let his eyes off your peaceful sleeping form, smiling gently as he grabbed the blanket to you properly. With a kiss on your cheek he silently heaved himself off the mattress, heading towards the kitchen on naked feet - - after picking up his shorts, of course.

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

Heavy darkness all around, weighing him down. The blood of thousands on his hands. Death had once been his best friend.

Then came Steve and saved him; dragged his vessel back on his own, brought his soul back from the shadows and gave him a reason to live. Although... No, scratch that. Bucky still hadn’t had a reason to live. The only reason he hadn’t committed suicide was his friendship with Steve. He‘d felt like he owed him his life, even if it was in the way that he wouldn’t end it.

Memories of those he had killed still haunted him every night and no matter how hard Bucky tried, he couldn’t wash the blood off his hands. And the guilt... it had almost completely eaten him out from the inside.

‘Till the end of the line.’

Turned out the end of the line had been reached after the death of Tony Stark. Bucky had known the second he’d seen Steve on that particular day, that his best friend wouldn’t come back.

Once more on his own, the former asset of Hydra was forced to stay alive - - somehow.

Sam had been there, he remembered now. But still, Bucky had felt that drowning emptiness within his heart. A life worth living without the one person that believed in him? Ha, that’s out of the question.

With yet another hole in his scarred heart he’d left, standing on the verge of giving up.

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

Bucky breathes in and out as he stands in the living room, looking out of the great windows, embraced by the gorgeous view of the city.

He feels his heart beating weightlessly and even though those certain, painful memories haunt him from time to time, the former asset was able to brush them off without much effort. Once they were becoming too much, he‘d tell you and that alone helped to ease the pain.

Now that he was free from handling dangerous missions that would eventually turn into nightmares in his sleep, Bucky learned to enjoy the little things in life. But the greatest gift he‘d achieved so far was your love for him. Living the normal (for others rather boring) life with you in a small yet comfortable apartment with a normal job felt like a dream he’d given up long ago.

Brooklyn together with his family, his best friend... all that before the war. It had been a hard time and yet filled with joy and happiness.

His instincts had never been gone, they’d just been resting in the depths of his mind and it took one noise to wake them up. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he feels a shiver running down his spine. Bucky wheels around, his body on high alert as he ghosts through his own apartment. At first he even plays with the thought to wake you up but seeing you in the threshold of the bedroom already tells him that what he’d just heard wasn’t an imagination. He sighs in relief as your instincts were back as well. As much as you tried to be normal, once you were an avenger, some habits would follow you anywhere and they turned out to be quite helpful in the end. Bucky presses a single finger to his mouth, motioning for you to stay in place to avoid the old floor cracking any traitorous sounds.

Standing on the tip of his toes he silently steps through the living room, careful not to leave any tell-tale sounds as he heads towards the front door. Every nerve told him to prepare for a fight. Whoever this intruder was and whatever his intentions were, they wouldn’t be here without a good reason. It was most unlikely though, for a burglar to break in during the afternoon.

Chances were that some certain ghosts of his past decided to hunt him down and by doing so, potentially hunting you down on their go as well. Bucky frightened at that thought. Never would he let something happen to you, his last beautiful fire that lightened his darkness.

The killer in him cracked his eyes open, yawning like a bear that’s just woken up after a long and hard winter, now ready once more to tear his victim into messy bloody pieces.

His hands didn’t need a weapon to kill; Bucky himself was the weapon - - the most deadliest the world had to offer.

Yes, he was close. He could hear the stranger‘s beating. Judging by the direction the intruder was either in the kitchen or close by.

Bucky glanced around the corner but saw nothing. He stepped forward, keeping his body close to the wall, his breath low, too silent for someone to notice.

One more step forward and he‘d be able to take another glance. He prepared his fists for a fight but when he stepped inside he found he was already awaited. He knew that man; he would never forget him. Bucky began to wonder what brought this man into his apartment illegally, instead of knocking or sending a damn message or something like that.

“Nick Fury?”

“‘m sorry, didn’t want to...,” Fury looked at Bucky from head to toe, searching for the right words as the former asset wore nothing more than simple black shorts on his hip, “disturb your love life.”

Bucky startled at Fury’s words. He’d been too focused to pay any thought at his clothes but the situation in itself was too weird to feel embarrassed.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks instead.

“Not because of you. Where’s your other half?”

“Here,” you responded as you walk around the corner and into the kitchen, coming to a halt next to Bucky. He recognizes his shirt you’d put on, with lose shorts over your hips. Messy but still adorable on your small figure, he notices.

“You had no other options to bring me your... What brought you here, again?”

Your arms locked around your chest and you glare at your former director with an arched eyebrow. He knew not to contact you ever again. Whatever it was that brought him to you, you wanted non of it.

“It’s about Stark,” Fury tells you, his only eye on level with yours. Your confidence doesn’t crack, not even a little. As your hands wander to your hips you wait for him to continue.

“Could you be any less vague at least? I’m not thrilled to have you here, Fury and you know why.”

“Sure but maybe we should...,” His eye wanders over to Bucky, then back to you, “talk about this under three eyes.”

“No. Whatever you have to tell me, you do it before all our eyes. This is our home and I decide who leaves and who doesn’t.”

Fury sighs in both exhaustion and annoyance. You were such a Stark. “Fine,” he said, “but you may better take a seat.”

You huffed at his words once again, still pissed that he broke into your apartment instead of respecting your wishes. “Yeah, seeing that you already followed your own offer, I’m glad to be allowed to sit down in my kitchen.”

Bucky has to swallow his laughter, then coughs awkwardly with his fist before his mouth.

Once either of you are seated in front of S.H.I.E.L.D’s former director, heavy silence falls over the room. While Bucky is rather relaxed, though a bit curious, he feels you burning in anger and suspense. You’re kneading your tensed muscles in your hands, let the knuckles in your fingers crack while you all but stare Fury down with the deadliest glare you could offer.

Fury’s having non of it, glaring you down equally with his only eye and any other would’ve probably felt too small to withstand his authority but you never backed down in front of anyone. There was truly Stark’s blood running through your veins.

“So,” you muttered, “can we finally get this over with? ‘Cause I’m quite busy here.” A blatant lie, for sure, Bucky knew. You were done studying and had the day off, the only plans you’ve had were having sex with him and relaxing in bed for the rest of the day. It was obvious you wanted Fury out of your house. As much as you’ve accepted the past, you definitely didn’t want it back in your life now. Bucky had no idea as to why Fury was here but it definitely wasn’t for small talk, that much he knew about that man.

“Last time we’ve seen you’d been a lot more... talkative,” he commented but eventually reached the topic. “The reason I’m here is because you’re the best to deal with this - actually, you’re the only one.” You arch a single eyebrow at his dusty explanation. He knew you weren’t an avenger anymore and not a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, either, so what was he talking about?

“Some one infiltrated Stark Industries and managed to get his hands on Tony’s tech - the Iron Suits, to be more precise, as well as his A.I.” Oh, he must be joking, you thought. Your eyes are opened in shock, your mouth forming a slight ‘o’. During the next seconds you couldn’t push a word out of your throat, too much of an impact had the information on you. However did that surely hadn’t the best intention to use your brother’s tech. At the moment not a single soul would pass by your mind; you had no idea who would be able to do such a thing.

“Why- Wh- Why... me?”

‘Why are you telling me?!’ You wanted to scream at him. The new were heavy and managed to shake your precious wall that used to protect you from your past life.

“We don’t have any information on the perpetrator as of now, although I’m pretty sure with your help we’ll hunt down these motherfuckers in no time.”

He’s been right then, Bucky notices as Fury’s words reach his ears. He was really playing with the thought to send you after them - whoever they were. “N- No, I can’t... can’t do that,” you whisper, your body language telling how broken you suddenly are. “I left this life behind. Besides, there are plenty other people who’re able to do that. Ask some of the remaining Avengers, maybe Parker? I- I don’t know but don’t ask me, of all people!” All Bucky could do at that time was to hold your hand reassuringly to prove that he was there for you.

“Parker doesn’t have your abilities, Stark. No one does and that’s why you’re the only one to take over this mission. Tony was your brother. Don’t you think you owe him protecting of what remains of him?” Fury’s words hit you one after another and your strong, confident figure dared to break apart.

“Yes, he was my brother but he would’ve accepted that I’m different now. Tony always saw me as who I am. Sure I’m different from other - normal - people but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a normal life now. He wanted me to live the life he wouldn’t, couldn’t have,” you explained, “What happened is terrible, but I’m not doing this. I’m not going to drift into my old habits again. I know you have people able to track those idiots down and then get them, so don’t try making me feel guilty.” You make an attempt to stand up to send Fury out of your apartment. When he doesn’t move in his seat, however, you frown at him in confusion.

“I thinks that’s all, right? You better leave now and you should better stay away from us from now on, I mean it, Nick.”

It hurt to know what’s been done with Tony’s creations but you felt it wasn’t your place to save them. Or was it? You were torn between your decisions and your past. Sure, those people had to be stopped but were you the one to put a stop to their plans? You were somehow involved in this case, just because you were Tony’s sister. But still... What about Rhodey? Or Parker? Both had been close to your brother as well and they’d probably take over the mission wholeheartedly together.

“And I’m still convinced that you’re the only one who can manage this,” he says with that stubborn head of his. “At least take some time to think it through. I’ll send you everything we’ve got so far.” He finally rises from the chair, sends you one last intensive glare and turns around. “I’ll find out on my own, no need to guide me out,” he stated with his back turned to you.

“Yeah, figured as much,” you mumble between your teeth, aware that he wouldn’t hear your words anymore. It’s now Bucky who leaves his current seat to step beside you, turning you around gently to pull you into a comforting hug. He’s aware that no words would help you now so he does the only thing that helps. His metal hand runs over your back in circles while his chin rests on your small shoulder with his eyes shut.

Betrayal, that’s what you feel. Tony was dead and some idiots dared to get their hands on his work, no, his life! Madness joins the pool of your messed up feelings and you can no longer hold back the tears in your eyes. It doesn’t take long for Bucky’s shirt to be soaked through but he couldn’t care less about that. What mattered was you and only you. Always.

“Hey,” he whispers, “‘s okay... cry it out, I’m right here. You’re not alone, ‘kay?” He pulls you a little closer, careful not to hug you too tight in his arms. He wished nothing more than to take away the pain. You’d been doing so great for the longest time and it took one conversation with Fury to turn your strength into ashes.

“We’ll make it through together. ‘m not going to leave your side. Never. I promised you, remember?” You free yourself out of his arms if only just a little to meet his gaze. Your eyes are heavy red, your hair a mess but to Bucky you were the most beautiful being the world had to offer. Even though your world’s been shattered your able to send Bucky a small smile.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes,” you sniff, your eyes shining with passion and love, “When everything’s breaking apart, you’re still with me. You’re my greatest support; always manage to keep me at bay. Thank you, Bucky, for everything.”

You stand on the tip of your toes, your arms thrown around Bucky’s neck as you pull him down into a soft kiss. He follows you into the kiss gladly, sucking on your bottom lip just a little bit. If he wanted to, he could’ve turned the kiss into something more but Bucky knows the situation isn’t right to do so. You were hurt, you needed comfort and he’d give you everything you needed without you even asking him to do so.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks as he pulls away slowly, cupping your face in his cheeks, keeping your face close to his. “Guess I need to talk to Pepper. She’ll want to know if she doesn’t already. Probably will be as hard for her as it is for me... Maybe she’ll help me figure out what to do,” you explain, immediately feeling the ache in your heart.

“You know you don’t have to-,” Bucky started,

“No, I know but, I still need her opinion, Bucky.”

“Still, there’s plenty others who could do this. I don’t wanna see you-,”

“Bucky!” You shout desperately, close to shedding tears once more, “This hasn’t gotta do anything with you! Keep out of it,” Bucky stares at you with wide eyes. “Please,” you add silently, turning around to set your plan into reality.

Bucky could do so much more to help you through this but right now he’s left to watch you torturing yourself and he hates it.

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

“Hey Pep. Yeah, it’s me,” you greet her nonchalantly the moment she’s answered your call. “What’s going on? You sound... different,” she notices quickly.

“So you haven’t heard? Can’t imagine that actually,” you stated simply. “What’re you talking about? Is it about Stark Industries? Only thing I know is someone stole some of our products but that’s not a big thing. I mean, yes, it’s terrible but it could’ve been worse. You’re not calling me to tell me that, right?”

“Actually, I am. And it’s worse than that. We’re not talking about the things you sell on the market,” you start, thinking about how much you were going to tell her. “This is serious, Pep. Listen, Fury’s been at my apartment, told me some one got his hands on Tony’s suits and his A.I.” You let the words pass her mind a few minutes before you continue, “I- I don’t... know what to do, y’know? He was my brother and I feel like it’s on me to set things right; to save the last remaining pieces of him but, I’m torn, okay? It’s just that... I left this life behind for a reason and now I’m going to go back and I’m afraid and-,” Pepper suddenly interrupts your train of words.

“Stop,” she demands seriously, “You need to stop this, okay? I know how you feel, well, to an extant, I mean. Tony was the same way,” she chuckles weakly, “It’s strange to hear these news, you know? They didn’t tell me what exactly happened. I mostly run this company from home, because I can’t make a step into these walls, it’s too much... Tony. And Morgan needs me, too.” You’d been surprised as well to hear that Pepper hadn’t known the truth but understood why she’d chosen to coordinate everything from home. Now that you thought about what she’d told her just seconds before, you start to have some suspicions.

“Pep, who told you about it?” You had to think straight now. No feelings, no empathy, nothing.

“I-It was Fury. He called me.” He called her?

You couldn’t remember a single time he called anyone, no, he chose to break in their houses or send some of his agents. It wasn’t Fury. You choose to not tell Pepper, however, you didn’t want the woman to worry even more, she had a hard time already raising her daughter on her own while running the company from home.

“Okay, Pep, I’ll settle things right, I promise.” With that, you hang up the call and deactivate your phone. She’d try to call you back, you knew, trying to talk you out of all this. But there was no going back now. As much as you didn’t want to do this, you knew deep down you had to.

For Morgan and Pepper.

For Tony.

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

“No matter what you say, Bucky, you cannot change my mind,” you whisper with trembling lips. You’d walked into the bedroom, opening the wardrobe to quickly stuff some plain clothes into your bag. After receiving Fury’s reports you’d gotten immediately to the task.

“I know I’m not in the place to talk you out of this,” Bucky started, “but remember what we promised each other. If you’re going to do this, you’ll only end up falling further, back into that hole of darkness.” Oh how right he was, you agreed in your thoughts.

‘We’ll never look back, no matter what may come. We’ll only look forward from now on. That’s how we can deal with the pain. The past can’t be forgotten, but accepted. And that needs distance.’

The promise was fresh in your mind, as always since it was something you reminded yourself of every day. You wanted to scream at Bucky, admitting that you didn’t want to do it but if it weren’t you, who else would stop them? You’d known the answer before but that seemed forgotten as of now. It was on you, it’s always been on you and now that you’d faced the truth, you came to acknowledge that things would never change. Had you really been that oblivious, living in that one dream to escape your fate?

“I’m already falling, Bucky,” you muttered, more to yourself than him but he heard your words nonetheless.

“Then let me come with you,” he decides promptly, “If I can’t hold you back, I’ll follow you.” Your heart immediately skipped a few beats.

“Hell no, I dare you to come with me, Barnes,” you speak, stepping back towards the wardrobe to pull out what you’d thought you would never need again: your suit. Not an iron suit - those belonged to Tony.

Yours was similar to Natasha’s, also known as the ‘Black Widow’. The former spy had once been your best friend - until she sacrificed her very own life for a damn infinity stone.

“You’ll stay here. I’m not gonna pull you into this. At least one of us should live their life, got that?” You throw the suit onto the bed, then quickly start to free yourself out of your daily clothes.

“Well, that’s still on me, doll and I’m not gonna let you go alone. Told you I’d never leave your side. We’re in this together, remember?”

You’re only left in your underwear when you pause your actions with a sigh on your lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Barnes.”

“As long as it’s me, I’m alright with this, doll.”

[sky-kiss]

Ghouldyn AU

A/N: Look. Just. Stick with me, okay? Or don’t. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. @morelemons and I were like. Hashing out the broad strokes of a Fallout 4 crossover AU. And like. Ghoul!Ardyn. And a whole story line. But then we needed setup to justify all that cuteness and Diamond City Adventure Boy!Noct and Vault Tech!Luna. So uh. This is that backstory. Just big old. Weird broad strokes. Of Ghoul!Ardyn’s life. I’m sorry.

_____

October 23, 2077

______

Centuries later, it will strike him as funny. Not in the traditional sense of the word. But a breed of humor purely unique to his life: macabre, grim. He’ll laugh as tears prick at his eyes.

The truth is Ardyn doesn’t remember the bombs dropping. He manages to miss the end of the world. He’s too piss drunk to make it home and too poor to call a taxi. It’s warm for October. Warm enough that he doesn’t think twice about slumping down in an alley. It was a nice neighborhood. He’d sleep off the whiskey and then stagger back to his apartment.

Yes, yes, dearies. The bombs fall and the radiation hits. Families are left clinging to one another, powerless as the fallout rolls towards them. And where is he? Alone. Slumped in a puddle of vomit, arm slung over his eyes. The curtain closes on a most ignominious scene.

When he finally awakens, the world is forever changed. Ash still drifts  lazily on the breeze. The blue sky is gone, replaced with a perpetual orange. Some days the light with filter through at a strange angle and treat him to a flash of green.  

There’s no bird song. No dogs barking. No ambient conversation to fill the emptiness. There’s only the silence and all the weight that comes with it. It’s the sound of death, he thinks. Death has come and stolen everything away.

Ardyn pulls his knees to his chest. His skin is badly burned; his body is bruised. The tears sting as they cut lazy rivulets through the dirt staining his cheeks. It’s deja vu. It’s Aera all over again, magnified to the nth power. Death sweeps into his life and steals everything away.

Only he is left behind.

____

The radiation does not kill him.

In some ways it is a far less mercyful fate. He manages to pick his way through the wreckage and find his back to what remains of the apartment complex. The silver lining of the whole situation is that he’s barely aware of his hangover. He’s too shell shocked to feel much of anything.

By some miracle, the building is still standing. Ardyn climbs those three familiar flights of stairs on instinct. He fishes inside his jacket for his keys. He locks the door behind him before stumbling over the liquor cabinet. The powers been out long enough for all the ice to have melted and so he takes four shots of whiskey neat. It helps take the edge off. Three more (simultaneously all that’s left in the bottle and the last bottle in the house) are just enough to chase him off to sleep. He never dreams when he drinks. For the first time in years, he dreads the silence.

____

His body begins to change. The radiation does not kill him, no. But it changes him.

His will not lie. He’s always taken a certain level of pride in his looks. People would stare as he passed. He was tall and strong and beautiful. And now, his skin seems to rot. His nose is gone. The bone structure remains the same but he is left an echo of his former self, monstrous.

It’s the hair he mourns the most. Strange and maroon and long enough to tickle at his shoulders. Aera had begged him never to cut it. Had delighted in running her fingers through the mass as they settled to sleep at night. The radiation takes that too. A pittance, in the grand scheme of things, but he mourns all the same.

____

Time passes.

His body continues to decay. He is...corpse-like and monstrous. The few humans he does stumble across scream at the sight of him. Some shoot.

It’s easier to lock himself away.

So he drinks. He sleeps. He forgets the world outside and it forgets him just the same.

_____

The first few decades are the most difficult. Later, he will learn the name for his condition. The people of the Commonwealth refer to him as a ghoul, an aftereffect of the freshly irradiated world. The body was capable enough of change. It’s the mind that’s more...tenuous.

Most ghouls went mad. There were a variety of causes: the radiation fried your brain. The self loathing. The suicidal thoughts. The dissociation. Truly, the mind boggled. He thinks it’s a hint of everything. He hates this new body. He hates this new world.

It’s easier to wrap himself in his memories. Aera is still there. They still live in their house outside of Salem. She’s still heavy with child and...the clouds have yet to settle over their life. He still wakes up every morning with her head pillowed on his chest and her leg hooked over his hips. He’ll listen to her soft snores (no one would believe her capable of it; he knows better) and they will chase him back to sleep. He’d rather languor in his past then resign to the present silence.

Years pass. Decades pass.

And then one century and then another.

_____

The earth...never recovers in the strictest sense of the word. It adapts. Life returns. Strange, mutated, creatures roam the streets of Boston. Some of them he recognizes. There are still humans. There are more ghouls.

He is far more comfortable with the latter.

A gentleman named John Hancock comes calling for him one evening. Despite the severity of his condition, John carries himself with all manner of aplomb. He sweeps a ridiculous tricorn hat from his head, drops into an exaggerated bow. Ardyn scoffs, inwardly delighted. It’s been decades since he was treated to such theatrics. He’s missed the levity.

“It ain’t much but it could be,” John fumbles with a tin of mentats. After a moment's consideration, he holds it out to his fellow ghoul. Ardyn waves him off. “Real uh...well, sanctuary sounds like some hippy shit. But a good place for freaks like us to get some much needed r&r.”

“You’re intending to build a town?”

“Naw. Naw. Buildings are already there. We throw up some walls. Get some people. Bingo. Got yourself a community.”

“I fail to see what I would contribute to such an endeavor.”

John shrugs. He knows the broad strokes of the ghouls life; by traditional standards, he’s not a good man. Here, in this new world, some leniencies can be made. He’s trying. He wants to help, junkie, killer, or otherwise. John fumbles around in his pockets until he finds a crumpled cigarette, “Eh, maybe ya don’t add anything. Lots of those types out there too. But c’mon, man, its gotta beat holin’ up in this dump waiting to go feral.” Which...is true.

He doesn’t give John an answer that night.

It’s another year before he finally makes the move to Goodneighbor.

_____

One of the other ghouls suggests he take up a hobby. Something to take his mind off his condition and keep him from wallowing in the past. He reclaims an old building on the outskirts of town, tucked away in one of the smaller alleys. Before the loss of his wife and the drink, he’d quite enjoyed his position at the university.

“I dunno.” It’s all John will say. Ardyn has little room to judge but the other ghoul is woefully expressive when he speaks. He swings his arms out wide, a healthy plume of smoke trailing behind his cigar. Ardyn winces. Aged papers are scattered across more than a dozen desks. It doesn’t take an active imagination to see the place going up in flames. “Library ain’t really what I had in mind. Little more...Diamond City if you catch my drift.”

“To the contrary. I dare say your goons might benefit with a little exposure to higher learning.”

“Hey. I don’t need clever trigger boys. Smart men get ideas. Ideas…”

“...get people killed. Yes, I’m aware.”

John shakes his head. Takes another drag and exhales a rasping chuckle. “Fuckin’ library. Shoulda figured.”

“Perhaps,” he says, dryly. A spark drifts on a nonexistent breeze and Ardyn lurches forward, snatching the cigar from the mayor’s hand. He snuffs it out. “But someone has to do it. Why not me?”

“Yeah. Why not you, buddy?” John grins. He tips his tricorn and saunters back out into the street, whistling to himself. It is an entirely unremarkable interaction and...somehow more thrilling for it. For the first time in too long, Ardyn feels...vaguely human.

_____

He collects books.

He helps John negotiate a few...profitable arrangements with the triggermen.

He finds bits and pieces of the old world and brings them back to his home.

Little by little, he feels more like himself.

______

The world ends on October 23, 2077. He is thirty three years old when the bombs fall. He’s barely thirty four when radiation ravages his body, transforming it forever. He drifts through the next two centuries. He begins to heal.

Life begins again two hundred and ten years later to the day. It’s a tedious cliche but he’ll commit to it regardless.  The bell above the library door chimes. He glances up from his reading and comes eye to eye with two humans. The young man is scowling, grumbling to himself as he struggles to balance an armful of books.

And the young woman is familiar enough that he might as well be staring at a ghost.

She smiles at him, soft, hesitant, clearly taken aback by his appearance but unwilling to relent.

October 23, 2287 marks the day Lunafreya Nox Fleuret and Noctis Lucius Caelum stumble into his life.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Lady Celista Spencer was in mourning.

All her life she’d imagined crossing the Atlantic with her aeroplane, and now it’s twisted wreckage lay half-buried like a statue of a mighty king that had been wrenched off its pedestal and left to sink back into the earth. She was heartbroken. As soothing winds whispered off the ocean, the waves crashing relentlessly behind her, she sat down in the dirt and began to cry. First it was just a quiet murmur, but within a few moments her child-like wails could be heard from miles around. She was the type of person who felt things more deeply than other people, whose emotions could overwhelm her without warning. She sprawled on her back and screamed her lament at the afternoon white. Eventually her sadness turned to anger.

When Big Sal arrived on the scene, Lady Celista had donkey-kicked a hole in the fuselage of her beloved plane. Her black hair swept around her face like the tentacles of a drunken squid. When she spun to inspect the intruder she found herself faced with a gargantuan Nova Scotian wearing stained overalls. At least 50 years old, she had black-stained fingers and close-cropped grey hair that stuck up like porcupine bristles. The two of them stood gazing at each other for a long time before either spoke. 

“I heard you were a feisty one,” Big Sal said. “You left ol’ Jim with a pretty mean shiner there. Not that he didn’t deserve it.”

Celista frowned. “And who are you to decide what people deserve?”

This made Big Sal laugh. “Well, I’ve been around long enough to figure out who has a functioning soul, and who doesn’t. It’s the type of thing you can see in somebody’s eyes the moment you meet them. And I’ve been around a lot longer than you, little lady.”

“Don’t call me little.”

“I take it back. I’m sorry. The fact is, it looks like you need some assistance. That’s why I’m here.”

“Unless you’re an expert at fixing planes we have nothing to talk about.”

Sal smiled. “As it happens, I do know a thing or two about fixing vehicles. I run an automotive shop up in Lunenburg that could use an extra hand or two. Plenty of scrap metal laying around. The type of metal that might be put to good use plugging holes like that one right there.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

She sighed. “Girl, there ain’t anybody you can trust in this world. Not if you’re smart. But it seems to me like you don’t have many options left here. Now I’m ready to throw you a life preserver, the only question is whether you’re ready to catch it.”

Celista had calmed down by this point. She bit her lip, weighing her options, as this giant woman stood stoic. Growing up she’d always been suspicious of men, but that didn’t mean she liked women either. Nobody had shown her true kindness her entire life, so she didn’t understand why Sal would even bother to offer help. She was a stranger, right? A foreigner? She studied the deep wrinkles of Sal’s forehead, the kind blue tint of her eyes. This was a woman with a hard face, but an honest one. 

“What are you proposing exactly?” Celista asked.

“Well, if you’re willing to put in some work around my shop I can pay you in room and board. Then, with your earnings, we can work together to get this thing back into flying shape.”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think is possible. The only thing that matters is what you do, and how well you do it. I’m not looking for dead weight. If you come work for me I’ll expect you to put your back into it. Do you think you can do that?”

That afternoon they transported the plane, which had broken into three pieces, down the winding highway to Sal’s shop. Celista rode shotgun with her window wide open, sucking back deep nostril shots of the ocean air. She loved the windswept lighthouses, the battered-looking historical churches and brightly coloured shanties. The yards she passed were full of fishing nets and lobster traps, old schooners up on blocks and deconstructed boats that yearned to return to the sea. Canada was nothing like the country she’d left behind. She was still far from her destination, but a hesitant hope was birthed deep in her soul. She could do this.

Big Sal’s shop became Celista’s home. Week in and week out she would labour away in the garage, rolling under malfunctioning cars to examine their undercarriages or change their oil. She began to learn all the different makes and models, quickly becoming Sal’s most efficient and trusted mechanic. And little by little she began to earn the cash she needed to repair her dreams. As one Christmas passed, and then another, she watched her aeroplane begin to take shape again. By the time she’d been in Lunenburg for four years it was sparkling and pristine, ready for the next leg of the journey. She didn’t want to stop until she reached British Columbia. She was 20 years old now, and had been reading book after book about the Shuswap. Her goals had crystallized around one particular body of water: the magic and meandering Adams River. 

“If there was a way to keep you here, I would try it,” Sal said, sinking down at a table across from Celista the night before she was scheduled to leave. “But I have a feeling like nothing could come between you and your goals.”

Celista didn’t say anything.

“Do you know how hard it is to find good help in in Maritimes? What am I supposed to do without you, girl?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a woman.”

“I suppose you’re right about that, aren’t you?”

Then Sal produced a rotund brown bottle with XXX inscribed on the side. She pulled the cork and poured two healthy shots. Celista could smell the stink of alcohol, and it reminded her of the disinfectant wash they used in the shop. She examined it with trepidation, thinking of all the stupid drunks she’d encountered during her years in Nova Scotia. Alcohol made people stupid, she knew that much, and Celista did not want to be stupid. 

“When I heard you were bound for the Shuswap, I decided to get you a special present. This here was brewed right in Salmon Creek. They call it Shuscotch.”

“Shuscotch?”

“It’s Scotch that was made in the Shuswap. They say they’ve got a distillery hidden off in the forest, and they smuggle the barrels down Salmon Creek to Shuswap Lake. This stuff is world famous. I thought you might like to taste it ahead of time. So you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Sal lifted her glass for a toast, and after a moment of trepidation Celista lifted hers too. They clinked, then each took their shot. Immediately she felt the fiery burrowing down her throat, like she’d swallowed an electric worm. She coughed into her elbow, tears in her eyes, then felt a magic warmth growing in her chest. She liked Shuscotch.

An hour later, as Celista stumbled drunk back to her lodging, her mind began to swirl above her into the purple heavens. She gaped with wonder as the clouds parted like theatre curtains to reveal a man’s rugged visage. Her vision filled with this man’s face, with his tri-coloured beard. He looked like a lumberjack of some sort, in red flannel, and as she watched he sprinted through gunfire. Flames licked into the air behind him as he jumped into a barrel and rode it bobbing down Salmon Creek. She gasped as the night sky exploded, beautiful orange flames overwhelming her and ascending hungrily. With that she doubled over, retching, and vomited until there was nothing left inside her to throw up.

The next day, nursing a vengeful hangover, Celista packed her belongings into the plane. As she prepared for her journey, she wondered about the figure from her vision. In all her life she’d never been attracted to a man before, finding them slovenly and entitled, but there was something different about him. He seemed more alive than most people, more magic, like his eyes were dancing with fire. She wondered if it was a dream or a prophecy of things to come. She’d never been religious and she didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but he seemed like the sort of person that could change her mind.

“I don’t suppose you’ll ever be returning this way, so I guess this is goodbye,” said Sal, reaching out her hand. “You were the best mechanic I’ve ever hired. I mean that. You’re going to do just fine in British Columbia, I believe that.”

Celista fought back tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Sal. I’m never going to forget you. I promise. And I’ll write you postcards once I get there, once I land in the Shuswap.”

Sal produced the jug of Shuscotch. “Why don’t you take this with you? As a token of my friendship. And if you ever track down the men who make it, let them know they’ve got a fan in Nova Scotia.”

Celista took it, then threw her arms around Sal. Throughout her childhood she’d always wanted a mother, and now that she found one she was leaving her behind. For a moment she doubted herself. She didn’t want to let go.

“Okay, Lady Celista,” Sal said. “It’s time for you to fly.”

The Kootenay Goon

[wingardium-letmefuckyou]

Agate (part 11)

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: When you were kidnapped and experimented on you never thought you would see the daylight again. But your family refuses to give you up. When you later find yourself safe but with unstable powers, you find comfort in someone not so unlike you. He refuses to give up on you either.

Word count: 1088

Warnings: none

A/N: Finally, after many months, I have found the courage, energy and inspiration to write again. This might be a short chapter but it’s a big step for me. As most of you know, I went through (and am still going through) a very rough period in my life. I went to a period of mourning and dealing with PTSD, I still am. But the sun shines again and life ain’t all bad. So, even if no one is still interested in reading this, I still want to finish this story, cause it is something I have to do, for myself. Thank you to everyone to stick around. Hugs and lots of love. PS: some of the tags don’t exist anymore, let me know when you have changed your username and you want to be tagged again. Or if you’re not on the taglist yet and you want to be.

Masterlist

Metaphysically, Agate has a lower intensity and vibrates to a slower frequency than other stones, but is highly regarded as a stabilizing and  strengthening influence. [Simmons, 6] The layered bands of microscopic quartz in Agate may appear delicate, they are actually very strong. Agate is excellent for balancing emotional, physical and intellectual energy, and in harmonizing the positive and negative forces of the universe.   [Hall, 39]

Agate promotes inner stability, composure, and maturity. Its warm, protective properties encourage security and  self-confidence  

(Source: https://www.crystalvaults.com/crystal-encyclopedia/agate)

A soft knock on the door wakes you up from your peaceful slumber. You try to ignore it, too comfortable and sleepy to get away from your safe haven but the person on the other side seems quite persistent. You gently shove Bucky’s arm aside so you can climb out of bed to open the door, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes. You don’t want the mysterious knocker to wake up Bucky. He is still sound asleep, his breathing soft and relaxed. It surprises you to see Wanda, you had been expecting Shuri or maybe Steve. Her eyes are cast down, almost as if she’s too shy to look straight at you. While you may look like you just got out of bed, she looks like she never got into hers.

“Y/N, can we talk for a moment?”

For a split second you consider to slam the door in her face. After what she did to you yesterday, it’s hard to look at her with sympathy. If it hadn’t been for Shuri and Bucky you’d probably be hiding somewhere now, still shaken up by what she planted in your brain. But instead of sending her away,you sigh deeply and you nod, whatever she has to say might be worth hearing. An explanation of some sorts might be nice. “Let me get a sweater first,” you say and you disappear in your closet. You want to grasp the warmth that has settled in your body for a while longer. Your hand grabs for the oversized, black hoodie. The one that smells unmistakable like Bucky. It’s just because it comfortable, you tell yourself, no other reason. You are definitely not ignoring all the other stylish sweaters Shuri provided for you.

Wanda and you walk in silence, heading for the kitchen. A cup of coffee can only improve the conversation to come. Besides, you need to give your brain that last little nudge it needs to wake up and start functioning properly. The other woman seems nervous, fiddling with a strand of her long hair. She doesn’t start talking while you brew a cup of your favourite drink, leaving an awkward silence hanging between the both of you. You sigh again, turning around to face her, cradling the steaming mug between your hands.

“Spill the beans, Wanda.” you urge, your patience wearing thin. You could still be in bed, wrapped around an incredibly warm and huggable super soldier. No cup of coffee could ever replace that, so she’d better start talking soon.

“I want to apologize. I did not mean to make you see what you did. All I wanted was to give your brain a nudge, but something went wrong” Her voice is soft, careful. If you didn’t know better you might think she sounds afraid of you. As if you would ever harm anyone on purpose, let alone that you knew how. There had never been much violence inside of you, your sister always being to one to beat up bullies or shout at rude people for you.

“But I did see it, even if you didn’t mean it. You were inside my brain, you showed me horrible things. Can you explain how that happened?” You’re not planning on letting her getting away that easily. Did she really expect that she could manipulate your mind like that and get away with a simple apology? One side of you wants to let it go but the other is still too shaken up. “I… I lost control.” It is difficult for her to admit it, she hasn’t lost control in a long time. Her powers are her own, part of her and they obey to her will. Yet yesterday, they didn’t, for the first time in a very long time. It makes her feel weak and small, scared even.

“You lost control…” The statement sounds ridiculous to you, Wanda was supposed to be your teacher, the one to learn you how to be IN control. She was a heroine, the Scarlet Witch.  “Listen, Wanda. I get that you hate me, for some reason I haven’t figured out yet. But just go home then, instead of traumatizing me. You don’t have to teach me.” Wanda’s head snaps up and for the first time she doesn’t look nervous. She looks insulted. “I don’t hate you.” “Then, what…?” You thought of the cold looks she gave you, the way she ignored you. Did you interpret all of it wrong? “I thought you hated me,” Wanda explains “That is how I lost control, I was so nervous. I wanted to reach out for you with my powers. And then everything went wrong.”

You are completely baffled by her statement, opening and closing your mouth. Words ain’t coming, so you figure you must look like some retarded fish. Apparently you did interpret her behavior wrongly. You remember her telling you that her powers are fueled by emotions. So if she really was nervous… But it makes no sense. “Wh-why would I hate you?” you finally manage to ask. You barely knew her, you’d never hate anyone you hadn’t had the chance to get to know. “Y/N,” Wanda’s voice is gentle, guilt is written all over her face, “The serum. Your unstable powers. It’s all me, it’s my blood they used. Surely, you must resent me for that? My existence helped them make you into what you are.”

Wanda is surprised when you start laughing, the guilty look on her face fading away into confusion. You finally see how you had misunderstood one another. It’s ridiculous now that you can see it all clearly. “Wanda, unless you were the one that injected me, there’s no way I could hate you for this. I don’t blame you at all.” You smile at her, a genuine and warm smile. Somehow, your heart has decided that she is forgiven. Life is too short to hold grudges.

When Bucky enters the room he is welcomed by a sight he did expected to see. You and Wanda, preparing breakfast side by side, chattering amicably. He is secretly pleased to see you in his sweater, though he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. What confuses him most is Wanda’s presence and the way the two of you seem comfortable around each other. The look he sends you is full of questions, your answer just a shrug. There is enough time to explain after breakfast. Right now, you just want to enjoy your eggs and bacon, accompanied by two friends.

Taglist: @lavieenlex @babymorganna @fandomtime-123  @blueswedebeatbox @shamelessbookaddict @libbymouse @eyesofgoldenambers @moni-poloni @super-witty-fandom-girl @lkcarts @micolegg @in-the-potterhead-know @thegirlwiththepurpleguitar

[the-barn-rat]

IB 1. Dianora Brixie, Sk.

SUP FOLKS i’ve decided im literally going to just post monster hunters (working title Iron Bound) as i fucking write it?? because 1. i really like hearing what people think about what’s happening/what’s going to happen as i go, which ties into 2. I Want The Validation

this is literally a fresh completely unedited draft, so there will be a lot of changes & additions, especially to descriptive setting prose. that being said, if there’s specific shit you want to hear more about immediately, lemme know and i’ll make sure it goes in draft 2

These posts will all be tagged “monster hunters draft” in case you want to track them or don’t want to see them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: that monster hunters shit i’ve been planning since like november

.....

Sigi is the only one who can tell that she is distracted. They are twins, and so they know each other’s tics and tells, but it still feels like a weakness. He eyes her across the table, squints and tilts his head—dark and owlish like hers, with sharper angles—and she lets out a long breath through her nose, ignoring him. A folded-up letter sits heavy in the pocket of her waistcoat. Dia can’t think about it now.

At the centre of the cabin, the hunter kneels for preparation. She could be made of lifeless bronze but for the steady rise and fall of her breastplate. The mentor, whose virtue-name is Eager, clasps golden ornaments into her hair and onto her black horns.

There’s a murmur outside, beyond the stone walls and locked shutters. Townspeople have gathered, doubtless fascinated by the spectacle of a hunting crew. Dia ignores them in favour of the crossbow resting in front of her: she fidgets with it, checks the springs and sights and checks them again. There is nothing wrong with the crossbow, but she needs to occupy her hands.

Eager steps back, and the hunter stands. Dia never feels right sitting down when the hunter stands. The hunter is too tall, too broad, and it makes her nervous. She feels as though she must be ready to flee or hide at any moment, however futile an exercise that would be.

At least this one is Cornuta, and not one of the stranger breeds. Not Seguna with their twisted animal faces, or fish-like Pescqui with their gills. Hollow comforts. This hunter could still slaughter all of them if she chose to. If the rumours are true, she might yet choose to.

Eager produces an elegantly carved mahogany box, about the size of his own palm. He presses his thumb to the rune on its front, and it opens for its keeper. The single vial inside glows a soft, sickly yellow-green.

“In defense of the common folk, your masters,” Eager intones, “sharpen your senses and steel your mind.”

Wordlessly, the hunter takes the vial, uncaps it, and swallows its contents. If Dia were closer, she might see the hunter’s pupils shrink down to dots for a breath and then dilate until her irises are slender lilac rings. Dia prefers not to be closer until absolutely necessary.

Sigi fits a belt of flasks and tiny grenades around the hunter’s hips. Dia slides the crossbow into the hunter’s hands, checks the straps on her quivers, and backs away.

The pathfinder speaks: “It was last sighted eight miles north of town, in a valley bog between two nameless peaks. We have no expert testimony, but eyewitness accounts continue to support our initial conclusion that the creature is a green hag.”

“You hear that, Ferro?” Eager says, addressing the hunter directly. “This is a fawn’s assignment.”

The hunter nods once, terse. In theory, her kind can speak. Dia has never heard this one’s voice.

“Medic, is she sound?” Eager says.

The medic, Antare, has not risen from his seat at the table. “Do you reckon she injured herself kneeling on the floor?” he asks.

Eager reddens. His mouth twists underneath his full silver-specked beard. “The rituals are not for nothing,” he starts.

Antare sighs, but he stands. He’s the tallest and broadest of them, the only one who can look the hunter right in the eye. Dia has wondered privately if that’s why they sent him to replace the last medic. If she snaps again, he’s the only one with half a chance.

The medic stands square before the hunter. “The body is sound,” he says.

Eager says, “You haven’t…”

Antare cuts him short. “I checked her over at dawn,” he says. “She’s in excellent health. The body is sound.”

“The path is clear,” says the pathfinder, effectively delaying the inevitable argument.

“The steel will bite,” says Dia.

“The fire will burn,” says Sigi.

Eager collects himself. “Murat’s light guide you to your quarry,” he says. “In his name, Valiera’s Nezetta Six Ferro, strike true.”

The hunter gives a shallow, wordless bow from the hips, and otherwise does not respond to any of the proceedings. Eager unlatched and opens the door, and the smell of pig shit and springtime mud billow in before the hunter steps out.

The small gathered crowd flows away from her like water. They fall silent, staring up at this tamed creature of legend. She may well be the first and last they ever see; Apla is a small, unimportant farming village well-protected from most fronts of the First War. This hag is an irregularity at best.

She stands there, not looking at the people, until Antare brings the horse they bought from one of the farmers for well above its value. It looks small and scruffy beside the hunter. When she sits astride, it drops its parrot-mouthed muzzle and arches its ewe neck as though it knows that this is the most important thing it will do in its life.

A murmur starts to rise again from the farmers. Dirty-faced and small-minded, they cast wide-eyed glances at each other, up at the hunter, at the crew standing behind her. Dia knows what they will say, to each other and to Eager and to whomever else is stupid enough to stay outside the tower for longer than necessary. They will continue to say it until the hunter returns with the head of a hag.

Eager senses the shift. “My friends,” he booms, opening his arms wide. “The hunter is strong and true. She will bring your tormentor’s end.”

“We sure that ain’t a demon also?” someone says.

“Go, hunter,” Eager intones. “Win their hearts and minds with the highest gift.”

The hunter swings the horse about and kicks it into a trot, and then a gallop. None stand in her way. Dia watches horse and rider disappear up the dirt road, between the pig farms and into the encroaching woods.

Dia tunes out the villagers’ concerns as well as Eager’s responses to them. As soon as the hunter is out of sight, she turns back into the tower, giving Sigi a look on her way past. He understands and follows her up to the third level, to the bed chamber she claimed as hers.

Sigi goes to open the shutters on the single window.

“Don’t,” Dia says. “I can’t stand the fucking smell.”

Her twin shrugs. “City smells worse.”

“That’s why we don’t live in the city, either.”

Sigi smirks. “That and no other reason, right?” he says.

Normally, she would laugh. This time, she half-turns away from him and rubs at her eyes. His face falls; she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the folded-up letter.

“Courier caught me right before we boarded the Olunaria,” she says. “I forgot about it until this morning.”

When she holds it out to him, he approaches it like a skittish deer. He reads it in silence, a small frown wrinkling his brow. He does not shed a tear; neither had she. They were never close to their lord father.

“What does it mean for us?” he says carefully, once he’s through.

Dia sighs. “Hopefully, very little. We weren’t expecting an inheritance, were we?”

“No, I meant…” Sigi says. “Should we go to Brixi? Cecilia may need us.”

“Cecilia needs us as far away as possible,” Dia snorts. “If we go now, the nobility will decide that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to mine the estate.”

“Or perhaps that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to their sister’s aid in her time of mourning,” Sigi says. He is charmingly naïve, sometimes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We can’t leave the crew now.”

He doesn’t argue. He folds the letter up and slips it back into her pocket. “I’ll be in the cellar,” he says. “Knock before you come in.”

And that’s the end of that, she supposes. They ought to write to Cecilia, eventually, but that will fall to Dia. Sigi is better at expressing emotions, but Dia knows how to avoid political misunderstandings.

There is no one here to call for wine. This little tower is barely maintained and has not hosted a hunting crew in years.

Dia goes to the pantry on the main floor, freshly stocked with bread, cheese, eggs, cured pork, and root vegetables from the local baron’s kitchen. The carrots and turnips are firm and fresh, but they’re not what she wants.

“No drink allowed in a sentinel tower,” says a voice at the door. The pathfinder leans against the frame, a performative boredom etched across his face. Every member of the crew is well-dressed and groomed, but the pathfinder’s class is still obvious to a trained eye. He wears silks, embroidery, and ennui like the wearing is sport.

He pats the limestone wall. “These are sacred stones.”

Dia stands up straight and gives a short curtsy. It feels ridiculous when she’s wearing breeches and a waistcoat. It must look ridiculous, too, because the pathfinder gives a snort of mocking laughter.

“My lord,” Dia starts.

“We could see if Apla has a tavern,” he says. “Though they’re as like to brew pig piss into ale as grain.”

She says nothing. He looks her up and down.

“I’ve heard the Fiadri is short a patriarch,” he says. Dia feels a misplaced flare of anger at his flippancy, but then she notes the wine skin dangling from his hand. He holds it out toward her. “Lesson one of crewing: bring your own.”

Dia takes the wine skin. “Thank you, my Lord,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The pathfinder’s brow knits. He tips his head back to squint at her down his aristocratic nose. He always manages to look tired, but now the circles under his eyes are especially pronounced.  “Aren’t you highborn? You’ll take my wine, but you can’t say my name?”

Dia carefully keeps her expression neutral. “Forgive me. It’s safer to stand on ceremony.”

“Fair enough. Drink, it’s Luquian.”

She does. The wine is good: robust and sweet, blooming on her tongue for a long breath after she swallows. She tries to hand the skin back, only to have the pathfinder push it away.

“I have more,” he says. “A Kyriak dry white and a Sahnish spiced red. Both excellent.”

“Each more expensive than that farmer’s horse, I’ll wager,” Dia said, but she took another drink of the Luquian.

“A discerning Brixian palate,” says the pathfinder.

“My lord is too generous,” Dia says, to see if he insists.

“Corso,” says the pathfinder. “Valiera, if you must, though I’m about as near the Valiera seat as you are the Fiadri. If you really think about it, we’re equals.”

“You’re no bastard.”

“Neither do I hope for my brothers to die,” he said, somehow blunt and nonchalant at once. It occurs to Dia that this might be Corso Valiera’s way of offering his condolences. She won’t ask how he knew; information is a pathfinder’s currency. She takes another drink.

“Corso,” she says.

“Dianora,” he says. “There, now we can be colleagues.”

Below their feet, something rumbles like distant thunder. The pathfinder’s thick black brows climb, and Dia sighs and hands him the wineskin. “He’s the more emotional between us,” she offers, by way of explanation.

“And yet you’re the one hiding in the pantry, sharing illicit drinks with your patron’s fifth-born,” says Corso. “At least that sounded productive.”

Dia’s scalp tingles with embarrassment. “I had neither the time nor the space to bring my prototypes,” she snaps.

“Easy, there,” he says and, maintaining eye contact, takes a drink.

She realises, suddenly, that he’s still standing in the doorway, effectively blocking her path. Eager is outside with the masses. Sigi is in the cellar with his concoctions. Antare’s movements are nigh impossible to track. Corso Valiera outranks them all by far.

Dia’s heart beats rabbit-quick. Idiot. “I should go,” she says, controlling her tone. “My sister will expect a reply.”

The pathfinder hums. “Right, yes,” he says. “The worst part, this. The performance. The determination of what parts and pieces of your grief to display, to hide, to inflate for others to notice.”

He seems to turn inward, eyes distant and faded. Dia makes for the door, and the pathfinder stands up straight, blocking her path. He’s not much taller or older than her, but he’s broader and stronger. She doesn’t look him in the eye.

“Take this,” he says.

Dia blinks. The wineskin hangs between them, still mostly full. She reaches out and carefully takes it by the neck, and the pathfinder looks down at her.

“My advice, for what it’s worth, is to write at least four letters and burn the first three.”

She’s quiet and still for long enough that he notices, sighs, takes several deliberate steps backward. It’s the sudden release of tension from a spring, knocking the fear out of her lungs.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Dianora,” he says. When she looks up, he winks. “I’m shocked that you haven’t heard the rumours.”

She has, actually. She assumed they were slander. “I apologize,” she says stiffly. “I’m sure you are an honourable man. I have wronged you with groundless conjecture…”

He waves her off. “Go write your sister,” he says.

A part of her still expects that he’ll stop her as she goes by, but he doesn’t, and she’s left to feel childish and strangely dirty as she half-jogs up to her chamber. She hates it. It’s not Corso Valiera’s fault, really. He gave up a dangerous truth to calm her. Dia wondered, once a heavy door was closed and locked behind her, if he somehow knew or sensed the truth about her.

She takes his advice about the letter, sort of. The first sheet of parchment is utterly wasted on failed greetings alone:

I am so sorry to have heard—

My deepest condolences, dear sister—

We have just received—

This awful spectre follows us to Apla, where—

Father’s timing is impeccable as always—

Dia takes a long pull from the wineskin, corks it, and buries her face in her hands. She might sit there for a minute or an hour, and then she burns the parchment over a candle.

Hoofbeats drum on the dirt road outside. Dia starts: that’s quick, much too quick, even for a hag. She cracks the shutters, holding her nose against the smell. The shaggy brown horse gallops home, riderless.

Dia rushes down the stairs, teetering only once with drink. Corso and Antare stand in the doorway; Eager is outside among the people, has been for hours. Dia stands between the two men, peering out, listening.

“Is it dead? Is the demon dead?”

“We’re doomed. It’ll come for us next.”

“You said the hunter would stop it!”

“It ate my goats.”

“Liar!”

Eager stands, stoic and still, with a hand on the horse’s bridle. The beast is unharmed, without a drop of blood on it that Dia can see. A man comes wading through the crowd, and Eager hands him the reins.

“She has sent the horse back,” Eager intones. “You see? She has returned him unharmed to his master. The hunter will follow in time.”

“He speaks with confidence,” Antare mutters.

“An impressive front,” Corso replies. “He’s about to piss himself, as he should be.” Both Dia and Antare shoot him a look. The pathfinder shrugs and meanders deeper into the tower, ignoring the throng outside and leaving Antare to shut the door.

“I wasn’t aware you were concerned,” says Antare.

“You didn’t see the body,” says Corso. “To be frank, we should already have a courier running back to my father.”

Dia understands, belatedly. “You think she’s gone feral. So suddenly?”

Corso levels her with a look. “You didn’t see the body,” he says again. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and leans against the table at the centre of the room. He looks exhausted. “Maybe, when this is over, we’ll all be reassigned to something normal. I’m fond of the Ottiudi strain, myself, which of course means that the Signore will give me a Seguna. What are the two of you being punished for, by the way? I never asked.”

Antare says nothing. Dia swallows. “We wanted to work a hunting crew,” she says to fill the silence. “Your brother…”

“Ah, yes, right,” says Corso. “The University man himself. I suppose it was the best he could do for a pair of bastards. Terribly sorry that you’ve stepped out into this mess, green as grass.”

Dia has read the last medic’s journals, of course. They all have, but the tension in the pathfinder’s voice is a stretched bowstring, ready to snap. Drinking wine in the pantry, Corso’s face had been a healthy, warm brown. Now, it’s gone grey.

Antare stares out the window like it holds a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “Why would she run off now? She must know she’ll be hunted in turn.”

“You talk like she is a rational, thinking creature,” says Corso. “She was not thinking then, and she is not thinking now. I’ll draft a letter to my father.”

The door swings open. “You’ll do no such thing,” Eager says. “Have a little faith. She either fell off the horse or sent him back and out of danger.”

Corso presses his lips together. Dia thnks that gesture is all that keeps him from yelling at a Brother of Murat.

“You fear her,” Eager says.

“Bloody right I do,” says Corso.

“As you should,” the mentor says, nodding sagely. “As one fears the wolf, or the mountain-lion, or the summer storm. She is a force of nature. She has not lost her mind to a hag.”

Corso scoffs.

Eager presses on. “Do you remember what she was, before? The monsters she slew? She can be that again. It is our task to keep faith and to help her reclaim herself.”

The pathfinder complains, but the mentor helms the ship. They wait. Eager goes back out to the villagers after a time. Dia bangs on the cellar door and tells Sigi what’s happened now. Corso produces the Sahnish red and drinks most of it himself. Antare seems to vanish and reappear at will.

Near midnight, Corso balls up the fourth draft of his letter to the Valiera and tosses it into the hearth. Sigi reaches across the table for what’s left of the Kyriak white. Eager joins them, at last, and bolts the door behind him.

“Sleep soundly, my friends,” the mentor says. “Murat’s light will guide her home.” He flows up the stairs, calm as anything. Antare is the first to follow. Sigi goes next.

Dia meets Corso’s eye. “You saw the body,” she says.

The pathfinder’s face is lit with firelight behind and candlelight before. It flickers across his skin, casting a twisting grimace across his still features. “There was no head,” he says. Slurs, but only barely. “She had not cut it off, mind you. It was gone. It was paste on the stone. My nephew found a tooth in the garden, just last week.”

Dia nods. She sits in silence for a time, watching the fire burn. “If you’re right, then she’ll be gone soon.”

He doesn’t respond. She rises, at last, and puts herself to bed, where she stares at the ceiling until a dozen shouting voices stir her at dawn.

She staggers down the stairs just in time to see Antare shoving his way past Corso and Eager, rushing out the door with his equipment under his arm. Outside, another small throng has gathered, milling about with wordless shrieks and cries. Antare shouts, disperses them just enough for Dia to see the hunter’s body, face down in the mud.

The smell of pig shit hits her then, stained with something acrid and sharp that burns in Dia’s lungs. The hunter’s face is tipped just enough that her nose is not submerged in muck, but her eyes are shut, and they don’t flutter when Antare turns her over. The medic’s eyes bulge, and he swears.

“Clear the table,” he shouts over the din. “Clear it, there’s no time to move her!”

Antare lifts the hunter’s body, draping her across his arms like a gruesome bride, and marches through the villagers in a straight line. It’s only when he passes through the door that Dia sees the gore and sinew dropping from the empty socket of the hunter’s right shoulder.

“Alchemist!” the mentor shouts. Sigi has already recovered Antare’s equipment. He arranges knives and cloth and bottles of bubbling fluid on the table beside the filthy, prone body.

Corso mumbles. “Just let her die. Just let her die. It would be a mercy.”

Eager grips him by the shoulders and shakes, once, before turning to Dia. “Take him away, girl. You don’t need to see this.”

Dia wants to protest that she’s seen any number of surgeries and dissections. Instead, she grabs Corso by the arm, decorum be damned, and pulls him toward the stairs.