#only thing i’ve thought of so far is he sews peoples mouths shut

[bluuscreen]

redesigned an old creepypasta oc of mine. plus some doodles because i thought it’d be funny to ship him with jeff the killer [my personal headcanon version]

[fallen-in-dreams]

Moving On

Also on AO3. Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata. Summary: Everyone was lying to her. Killing her with kindness. Shielding her from the pain they all know is coming. But now it was time for some hard-hitting truths. And from the most unlikely source. SasuHina.Post-war. Prompt: Day 25: The Season of Grief. Rated: T. Words: 7,566. Status: Complete.

Author note: Angst and Hinata POV as she slowly comes to the realisation that she can’t have the life she’d been planning for. The Season of Grief = The Five Stages of Grief. The grief of losing the love she used to have.

Warnings/tags: One-sided SasuSaku. One-sided NaruHina. Naruto/OC. Angst with denial, pining, and romantic existential crisis. But with a happy ending.

Thank-you so much @sasuhinamonth​ for hosting this. I'm later than I’d planned, sorry. Hope that’s okay. :)

“There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you.” – Unknown

.

Denial.

.

Life was a series of choices.

For example, Hinata Hyuuga could choose to accept the arranged marriage her father had planned for her, or she could refuse to sign on the dotted line and hold out for love. She chose the latter. She was sure that fourth cousin her father had in mind for her was a nice man, but she wasn’t interested. And after surviving the war and learning to defend herself better emotionally, the last thing she wanted was to regress into the dutiful daughter who never complained. She was finally in control of her own life.

And she was still waiting on Naruto-kun.

Hinata was tired of the sad looks her clansmen would give her when she rebuffed their advances. Centuries of marrying their third or fourth cousins had instilled it too deeply in them that they couldn’t live any other way. Naruto had taught her she could do better, and she was determined to do so.

All of her choices to move forward were the reason Hanabi had been named Clan Heiress. She was already being prepped for it before the war, but their father’s insistence on an arranged marriage was the final straw. Hinata had been officially removed from the running. She would’ve been concerned about being branded with the Branch’s Curse Seal if Naruto hadn’t been so vocal in his disagreement about the practice. The Leaf hero’s words resonated with the village, and Lord Hokage started negotiations to prevent further sealings. Kakashi had also made motions to have those who currently bore the juinjutsu to be released from it. It would take a few more years to fully circumvent it, as the seal hadn’t been designed to be removed, but it was a step forward for the clan. A hope for a better future.

Everything Neji had wanted.

Hinata couldn’t be happier. She only wished to share in that future with Naruto. He was her hero. And the love of her life. She just needed to be more patient with him. But it was frustrating some days. She tried to talk to him and only succeeded when they were alone. Around friends and in crowds, he was so distracted by everyone. One-on-one he became fidgety, but she just chalked that up to him not being very good with girls. He’d stopped asking Sakura out, and the two were nothing more than friends, and he hadn’t asked anyone out. He was just shy.

Hinata already had a plan in place to ask him out herself. She just needed to work up for her own confidence to do so. Someone had to get this relationship going. In the meantime, she daydreamed about how it was going to go. But her days were lonely right now. Waiting. Patiently. And never quite making that important step forward. She had her family and friends and teammates but wanted more.

Her heart could only take so much.

“I just need to be brave.”

Hinata wasn’t brave, emotionally. In dire moments and with important things and people on the line, she knew how to be brave. Adrenaline and determination got her a long way. But in the aftermath, she found herself succumbing to the fear of rejection and crippling shyness.

“Yes, you do.”

She started, realising she’d said that out loud, in front of her sister. She’d been so lost in her thoughts and forgotten where she was for a moment. Hanabi was sitting across from her, the low serving table between them, ignoring the servants as they poured the tea for her before turning to her older sister. Hinata’s sister was clutching a half-finished kimono to her lap and lazily sewing at the hem of it. For such a skilled fighter, her movements were surprisingly delicate.

This was a weekly thing for them. Every Sunday at lunch, when their father was too busy with clan duties to interrupt or overhear them, they would talk to each other about anything or anyone, and when the Hyuuga servants left, even gossip sometimes. Hanabi had been carrying that kimono around all week, taking her time with building on it. Hinata knew her sister well enough to know it was a project with no defined outcome. She was just adding to it at her own leisure. Who knew what it would look like when she was finally done?

Hinata delicately sipped at her tea as Hanabi continued to ignore her own; her eyes narrowing as she focused intensely on the needle and thread. Her sister had developed a habit of people watching, since the war ended. And her insight was far sharper than anyone that Hinata knew. It made her feel insignificant.

“Spoken to Naruto lately?”

Hinata nodded. It was a silent lie. But she could’ve easily ran into him a few days ago if she wanted to so she didn’t see the point in saying otherwise. He was very busy with missions and handling Sasuke. The Uchiha’s release from jail had come as no surprise, given who was Hokage now. Kakashi had always had unwavering faith that he’d return. Just as Naruto did. Sakura… Hinata had seen her waver. But she was more confident now than ever about their team returning as family. Hinata only hoped that when she started dating Naruto herself, that it didn’t upset their dynamic.

“You’re grieving.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow at that. “What am I grieving?”

Her sister smiled. “Love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Naruto-kun isn’t the smartest person,” Hanabi said. “And I think you know that.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Her sister smiled. Again. A knowing smile that Hinata didn’t appreciate. But she said nothing of it and returned to watching Hanabi’s expert hands as she weaved the thread in and out of the kimono. This was a hobby for the younger sister. They’d both learned how to sew traditional garments as well as fix them, when they were still barely able to fight. It was second nature to them both. But Hanabi found a kind of peace to the process that Hinata never could.

“Father wishes you to marry soon.”

“And you?”

Hanabi shook her head. “A few more years, perhaps. When I’m ready to begin training to take over the clan.”

She was still too young to learn everything. Given that Hiashi was nowhere near retiring, it didn’t serve any purpose to put her through those rigorous trials just yet. But Hinata was surprised their father wasn’t thinking about grandchildren yet. At least not from his heiress.

Hanabi put the kimono down and finally sipped at her tea. “How do you feel about Naruto-kun?”

“I love him?”

It was immediate and instinctive, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. Hanabi didn’t react to the questioning tone of her voice. She just gave her older sister a look that told her she was questioning her for more than just curiosity.

“Are you sure, Oneesan?”

She had convinced herself so thoroughly that it was going to happen. Hinata brushed at the hem of the sleeve of her Yukata. Was she? Did she?

Yes.

She still loved Naruto-kun. Of course, she did. She’d gone through too much to just suddenly stop caring about him. He was in her heart. Just like Neji still was.

Was.

“I asked him out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘let’s go to Ichiraku’.” He also said, “that bum Sasuke can pay for mine this time,” but she didn’t see how that was relevant. It was a date. And only two people could go on a date at the same time.

Right?

“Will the rest of Team Kakashi be there?”

Hinata opened her mouth to answer then shut it, her eye twitching in annoyance. She calmed herself and shook her head. “Of course not.”

She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall. They normally took tea, and then lunch, all awhile talking of friends and goals. It was funny to her that they’d never done this until recently. What exactly was the point before now?

Hanabi placed her tea down, almost finished. “We should have the food brought in, before it gets cold.”

Hinata nodded mechanically and waited for the servants to finish setting the table before disappearing. They could not be overheard in this room by anyone who wasn’t already in it. The jutsu that allowed this privacy had been in place since long before either of them were born.

Hanabi started talking about a jutsu that their father wanted to teach them and Hinata calmly dug into her Udon noodles. Silence eventually fell until they were both done. After the servants retrieved the plates, Hanabi went right back to pressing and hemming the edges of the kimono in her hand.

“Sasuke-kun walked by the compound again this morning.”

“Hm?” Hinata sat up straighter at that.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Hanabi mused. “But not last week when you were staying over Sakura’s.”

For Ino’s surprise party sleepover. Which was Sakura’s idea.

Hinata hadn’t slept in her own bed for two nights. It was a first for her, for a long time.

“Sasuke-kun looks in here too. Like he’s searching for something. It’s a barely noticeable glance, but I’ve been staking out the gates.”

“Do you like him?” Hinata was surprised at her sister as well as the strange clenching of her gut.

Hanabi scoffed. “No. But ever since I first saw him watching you training with your team after he got out of prison, I’ve been noticing he does that with you a lot.”

Hinata scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably just plotting to kill you.” Hanabi ignored her sister’s worried expression. “Or wondering why you always look so sad these days.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

Hanabi set the unfinished kimono down and stared her sister straight in the eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Who?” Hinata hated how her voice rose a few octaves.

“Naruto-kun.”

“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”

She would wait for Naruto. For him to come to terms with what had happened and realise they were meant to be together. Hinata would be the quiet voice he can’t block out because he loves her so much. No matter that he had already had numerous occasions to prove it to her. Even someone as clueless as him couldn’t not know how she felt. She just needed to give him a push in the right direction.

That’s what I have to do.

And she went right on back to pretending she didn’t see the pitying look on her sister’s face.

  .:.

  Anger.

.

The restaurant was noisy by the time Hinata arrived, dressed up and twisting her fingers nervously. She looked up into the colourful lights that decorated the restaurant of choice. Night-time made this place come alive in a way that surprised patrons that saw it for the first time. This was also one of the newer restaurants that opened after the war. So many things had changed, and so fast and it felt like Konoha was quickly becoming a very different village. Kakashi had authorised integral changes and Hinata could see the village one day becoming as large as a city. She was kind of nervous about that. Their population was steadily growing too, even only a year out.

She sighed and stepped forward in the waiting line. Naruto had said he’d come about seven and it was only a few minutes before. Hinata had spent the last hour already dressed for this date. Her stomach had twisted, making her throw up twice, before that. The line moved again, and she found herself at the head of it faster than her nerves could handle.

It’s finally happening.

“May I help you?”

Hinata cleared her throat. “Party for two. Under the name Hinata Hyuuga.”

The server looked through her list and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, we were told that was a party of four.”

“A-are you sure?”

The woman turned the clipboard to show her. When Hinata had asked Naruto to make the arrangement, because she’d been called away by her father, she’d assumed he had made it just for the two of them. It was supposed to be a date… right? When the venue was changed from Ichiraku to The Sannin Sushi House she assumed this was finally going to be more intimate.

Hinata swallowed heavily. “I-I, uh. He must’ve made a mistake.”

The server nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t change your table. There aren’t any spare ones tonight.”

The sound of the other patrons hit her then, reminding her of how loud and full the restaurant was. She just nodded and Hinata went along with it, hiding her disappointment. They would just have to do with a larger table between them. A voice in the back of her head scoffed at her.

Who else is coming tonight?

Maybe Naruto had misheard her? She didn’t understand how he could have but it had to have been a mistake. She shook her head, chastising herself for worrying over something so trivial. She was stronger than this.

“Thank-you,” she bowed to the server. “Where is the table?”

Hinata followed the woman and settled into the chair that gave her the best view of the restaurant entrance. She was already on edge, with the change in her plans, and worried that something else might sneak up behind her if she wasn’t careful. All the courage she’d learned from Naruto-kun had boiled off and she needed to get a hold of herself.

“Dining alone, again?”

Hinata gave a start at the familiar voice. “Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.

Why is he here?

Did this mean Naruto had invited him too? No, that didn’t make any sense.

The Uchiha slid into the chair across from her. This was one of the non-self-serve restaurants that had popped up in Konoha in the last twelve months and as a result the space between them, under the table, was minimal. His foot accidentally brushed against hers and she started again.

“A-are you here–”

“Hm. Naruto said he’d pay this time if I turned up early.”

They got dinner together a lot, then? Hinata struggled not to lose the soft smile she’d plastered to her face. It was only natural that Naruto would make time for his former teammate who was also his best friend. This didn’t mean he was avoiding her.

Of course not. Why would I even think such a thing?

“W-where is Sakura-san?”

Sasuke picked up the menu in front of him and lazily perused it, not answering her question. He didn’t look over at her when she repeated the question and began tapping the table with the menu absentmindedly. She wondered what was going through his head. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.

“Why are you here?”

Now, he looked up at her. “There are no more free tables.”

Is he making fun of me?

She assumed he was a joking. He had to be. This was supposed to be just her and Naruto. Sasuke was ruining everything. She didn’t want to burst that out at him, but it did really feel like he was getting in the way deliberately. Hanabi’s words to her the other day about Sasuke following her around popped into her head, but that was ridiculous. Everyone knew he was dating Sakura, just like Hinata hoped to begin dating Naruto. Why else would Sakura be so adamant something was going to happen between them?

“He’s just shy, Hinata,” the pinkette had told her yesterday. “And we’re going out tomorrow night anyway.”

Tomorrow night is tonight, she reminded herself. So where is Sakura?

A waitress sidled up to their table, giving Sasuke a once over with her eyes before asking them for their orders.

“Pork Katsu Curry,” Sasuke said. “With a side of Kani Salad and Green Tea.”

“Certainly, handsome.” The waitress turned to Hinata. “And you, sweetie?”

Hinata felt very uncomfortable under the stare they were both giving her. It felt like she was on a date with Sasuke, not Naruto. She didn’t know how to handle this. It felt like the world had just tipped on its axis. When she was this uncomfortable, Hinata usually just caved to whatever was expected of her. But she didn’t want to keep doing that with the important things in her life. However, this was too public and sensitive a venue for her to start putting her foot down without repercussions. Saying anything about her disappointment and desire to get rid of them both would only make her regret it later.

She blinked heavily. Uh, right. They were still looking at her expectantly. Though Sasuke’s eyes were occasionally drifting off to the side like he was embarrassed, but he still looked more bored than anything.

“Miso Soup,” she said finally, going with something she knew well. Hinata wasn’t hungry enough for a side, but she didn’t want them to think she was angry with them. “And M-Moyashi Salad on the side.” She cleared her throat. “And just some water, please.”

The waitress read their orders back to them then winked. “That’ll be ready in a jiffy. You two lovebirds let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Hinata’s skin flushed crimson and she lowered her gaze to the table, not daring to see Sasuke’s reaction to that.

“How long until Naruto-kun arrives, do you think?”

Sasuke glanced over at her and shrugged, then leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, now staring at her. It was making her uncomfortable, so she looked back down again. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Hinata entertained herself by counting the tassels on the edge of the tablecloth. Over and over again.

“You…”

Hinata looked up quickly as Sasuke trailed off, the look on his face suddenly uncertain. Before she could ask him what he was going to say, the waitress returned with their orders. She felt herself turning beet red, realising they’d been sitting like this for at least ten minutes. The waitress was eyeing them curiously, like one would a couple of bugs under a microscope.

“Thank-you,” they both said at the same time.

Hinata sighed deeply as the waitress bowed to them. She was eerily silent this time and moved away quickly.

“I think we unnerve her,” she said softly.

Sasuke glanced at the woman’s retreating back before digging into his food. For him, it was digging in. Hinata had been in many group outings with Team Kakashi since the war ended and Sasuke was allowed free reign of the village. He ate like a nobleman; picky and proper. Not at all like Naruto.

She sighed again and picked up the bowl with her Miso Soup. If he wasn’t going to turn up, she might as well enjoy the night air and good food. They ate in silence and Hinata slowly settled her nerves, finding the quiet between them a comfortable surprise. The loud noises in the restaurant didn’t bother her anymore and she proceeded to escape into her own little world, just thinking about things.

Her father had been asking her about her future lately, instead of telling her what it would entail. She was finally having conversations with him in which taking part meant that she could approach the subject matter honestly. He’d even stopped asking her about her love life. (His attempt at a marriage of convenience notwithstanding.) Hinata put her bowl down and glanced over at Sasuke. It seemed nobody had a handle on their love life lately.

“Are you…” She hesitated when Sasuke put down his spoon and she suddenly had his full attention. “Um. I thought you were coming here with Sakura-san on a date.” He shook his head. “She, uh, said so yesterday.”

Was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.

“Sakura…” he cocked his head to the side. “She has different ideas on what an invitation out with friends means.”

Hinata understood what he meant but frowned softly. Everyone knew that Sakura was obsessed with Sasuke and saw any attention from him as evidence of their undying love. A simple invitation with Team Kakashi could set her off on a soliloquy about star-crossed love. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t here. Her absence made even less sense than Naruto’s.

Sasuke sighed, obviously realising she wanted to know more. He sat back in his chair heavily.

“I… told her we were meeting at Ichiraku’s.”

“You…”

He told Sakura the wrong place on purpose. He had no intention of being honest with her. Was it a trick? Or just him being a douche? Hinata narrowed her eyes at Sasuke. A familiar feeling of annoyance rose up inside her and if she’d been paying attention to why this bothered her so much, she’d have realised Sasuke was giving Sakura the same kind of brush off that Naruto had done to Hinata.

But she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him either. She ground her teeth. “Take it from me, Sasuke-kun, you wouldn’t like someone you care about doing that to you.”

“Don’t call me Sasuke-kun.”

He hated honorifics.

“You have no idea.” He said it like he’d come to some kind of existential realisation.

“About what?”

“You’re quiet and shy and sweet to everyone. Always putting yourself down and picking up everyone else.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Sasuke continued, now leaning forward and pointing at her like he was her sensei, and she was a naughty genin who refused to listen.

“Despite having such a powerful dojutsu, you don’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. Naruto has obviously left you in the dirt, but you keep holding out hope he’ll come around.” She fidgeted as he continued to reprimand her. “Face it: he lied to you.”

“He was just trying to spare my feelings.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.

Sasuke scoffed. “By dragging the decision out.”

“What are you doing to S-Sakura-san?”

“That’s different,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve told her I’m not interested but she won’t take the hint.”

“Naruto-kun’s–”

“He’s a dobe. And he isn’t going to date you, no matter what you think.”

“How can you call him your friend and speak of him like this? I thought you cared–”

“I never said I cared about him.”

“I suppose you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not the only one running away from the truth.”

“No, you’re perfect,” she said, spitting out the last word.

He smiled at that. Genuinely. Her frustration seemed to amuse him.

“Why are you saying these things to me?” She asked, clenching her fists and glaring openly at him.

“Because no-one else will,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Least of all the one person who should.”

But why did he have to be so rude about it?

He levelled her with the most intense non-glare stare she’d ever seen from him. “Kindness doesn’t seem to work on you.”

Damn. She’d asked that question out loud. Hinata couldn’t get a handle on the emotions bubbling up inside her. It was too painful. She’s waited for years. Held herself up high and given every inch of herself. But Sasuke knew Naruto better than she did. He said the blond had no intention of doing anything with her. He said that he was just a dobe who wasn’t telling her what she needed to hear. She was so furious now that Hinata couldn’t hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears.

How dare he?

“You are a low life.” Hinata could hardly believe the words were out of her mouth as she stood up, her body shaking with anger. Sasuke just stared back at her, not surprised or offended one bit. “Sakura-san could do so much better than you.”

“Tell her that.”

She desperately wanted to throw her untouched water at him. But she reigned in that emotion, not wanting to cause a scene that could get back to her father. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Instead, Hinata huffed, rifled in her purse and threw down just enough money to only pay for her own food. Naruto had apparently promised to pay for Sasuke, and he wasn’t here to do so. But that didn’t mean that she had to do it in his stead. Feeling quite unlike herself, she scowled at him before storming off.

Hinata didn’t see the genuine curiosity on his face at her actions. The small smile of interest she’d sparked. She could only see red. It would be hours before she could calm down enough to realise, he’d been right.

  .:.

  Bargaining.

.

If only she’d been stronger. And more forceful, like Sakura, then none of this would’ve happened. Her life had spiralled out of control. Before that dinner with Sasuke, Hinata could just go along and pretend that one day Naruto would ask her out for real, or at least take her asking seriously. He wasn’t in a relationship of his own, though – to her chagrin – his fangirls were still as stubborn as ever. And that lack of a relationship had given her hope.

Now she had all kinds of thoughts about what was really going on. And the truth was, that Sasuke was right. Naruto-kun wasn’t interested in her like that. It was still hard to grasp since she’d held onto it for so long and it didn’t feel real. They’d shared a moment during the war, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. She’d taken it as a declaration of love while he’d been talking about friendship. Granted, the kid of friendship you kill and die for, but friendship all the same.

I’m as bad as Sakura.

Or maybe only almost as bad as Sakura, since the pinkette was still talking Sasuke up to everyone. He’d made a scene the day after that dinner date (and she could admit that, although accidental, it had been a date), which should’ve put Sakura in her place. Hinata hadn’t seen either of them since then, so she didn’t know if it worked. But she had bigger fish to fry.

Hinata needed to regain control of this chaos she’d created. Maybe she was still in denial though, and it would explain why she’d deliberately made her way to Ichiraku’s, knowing he’d be there. He always was at lunchtime. Everyone knew that Naruto got up at nine o’clock, had breakfast (sometimes in his apartment and sometimes at Ichiraku’s), headed over to the training grounds where he’d work out (and sometimes spar, if any of his former teammates were available), then practically skip to Ichiraku’s for lunch. He’d spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour there, depending on how hungry he was and how many fangirls slowed him down. Then Naruto would promptly return to the training grounds for a few hours before tracking down his former teammates to see who wasn’t busy and then bug them until they either kicked him out or he got bored. If the sun hadn’t set yet he’d wander through the village, waving at people, being waved at, and stopping to talk to other Konoha Eleven members.

Sometimes he spent the late afternoon with Konohamaru and his friends. Then he’d go back to the training grounds and use the dark to hone his sensory skills. Naruto would go at it until he dropped, then drag his arse back home, eat, bathe, and finally sleep until morning.

His schedule was a little different sometimes, depending on his mood and available friends (Kakashi didn’t send him on many missions because he was too overpowered for most of them) but the lunchtime and when he started night-time training were like clockwork.

When he would find time to do the things he’d always gone on about, she didn’t know. But Hinata knew his current schedule because she was a stalker. It was obvious to her now. Nobody else followed him around like this. She wondered if he’d ever taken the time to notice. She needed to get a hold of this before she wasted her life away.

But Hinata couldn’t stop wondering what could’ve been if she’d approached Naruto right after the war instead of waiting for him to get into a routine of ignoring her. Maybe she’d have shown him just how right they were for each other. And he’d finally listen.

This was why she was walking toward the Ichiraku Ramen stand. It was why she stopped next to a stall of flowers and pretended to be interested in them as she watched the ramen stand in her peripherals. And why she didn’t move away the moment she realised he was on a date. Her stomach clenched, but it was a milder pain than she expected. Even so, it still threatened to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes to watch him with this girl.

Naruto was the only member of Team Kakashi at the stall. He stood outside, laughing and joking with someone that Hinata didn’t recognise. The girl was really pretty. With short auburn hair and a petite figure that her clothes highlighted, and her makeup complimented. What made Hinata realise it was a date was not only how the girl was dressed to the nines (Naruto, too, for him anyway), but also how he reciprocated when she ran her hand along his arm. He was blushing and trying to pull of the cool guy act. If this was just another fangirl, he wouldn’t put that much work into it, surely.

They talked and laughed a few minutes more before clasping hands and ducking under the flap to take their respective stools in Ichiraku.

Definitely a date.

Hinata let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned away from the flowers. The stall server was disappointed but quickly turned to another customer.

Story of my life.

A sudden flare of chakra had her spinning around and she found herself suddenly face to face with Sasuke Uchiha. Had he seen her stalking his friend? There was nothing but his usual aloof stare on his face as he silently appraised her. But she knew. He knew. And the shame of it made her body shake with both anger and humiliation. So, she did the only thing her body was willing to do in that moment.

Hinata ran away.

She took to the rooftops and pushed herself to her limit, trying to get away from Naruto. From Sasuke. Her tears dried on her face by the time she found herself at Team Eight’s old training ground. She wiped at them then found her favourite oak tree and sat down. Even under the shade, the sun was warm and comforting on her skin. She basked in it, closing her eyes.

This time, Hinata felt him arrive. But she didn’t feel childish enough to tell him to go away. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He looked radiant, with the curve of the blinding light almost silhouetting him. Sasuke moved forward to better block the rays and she lowered her arm.

“Why are you h-here?”

He moved out of the way of the sun and Hinata shaded her eyes quickly. Sasuke always did have a thing for being dramatic. She turned to look at him as he sat down on the grass next to her. He didn’t answer at first, staring up into the sun like it didn’t bother him at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Finally, he sighed.

“I told you so.”

The floodgates opened. She broke down. Hinata couldn’t stop it. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, her face in her knees as she cried. She wasn’t upset at him. Only herself. Hinata didn’t react when Sasuke shifted his bum to press his side against her and gave her a one-armed hug. Her head lolled to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to himself, but she didn’t relent on the tears. His hand was large and warm against her, making Hinata cry even more.

Eventually, she stopped shaking and sniffled heavily.

She hated that he could get over their argument so easily and yet she was still plagued with doubts about how she’d acted. How rude he’d been. Hinata gave herself a few silent moments to compose herself before sliding out of his grip and wiping her face. Hinata rose shakily to her feet and gave him a slight bow.

“Thank-you Uchiha-san. I can see myself home now. Good day.”

He watched silently as she walked away solemnly.

  .:.

  Depression.

.

She avoided every member of Team Kakashi for weeks. Hinata couldn’t avoid Kakashi forever however, as the Hokage called her in for a pep talk – his version, rather, which was to ask her if she wanted a mission outside of Konoha. “To get away for a while. You could treat it like a vacation.”

Did everyone know about her problems? Kakashi probably just knew because of the other members of his former team, but it felt like a spotlight was suddenly shining on her and the whole world had gathered to watch her humiliation. She understood his concern. Hinata would think less of him if he hadn’t been. But she couldn’t deal with being this exposed right now.

“No thank-you, Hokage-sama,” she’d said, bowing lower than usual. “I am expected to join father in a mission soon and it would be disrespectful of me to leave Konoha right now.”

He just stared back at her for a moment but eventually nodded his head slowly.

Naruto’s voice interrupted them, suddenly bouncing off the walls as if he was standing right there and making Hinata jumped. But the loud blond was actually just booming down the hall outside.

“Hang on,” Kakashi said, then stood and disappeared out of the room.

Hinata could hear them talking, and Naruto’s whining voice and something about Ichiraku. Naruto yelled out, “woo-hoo!”.

Lord Hokage is trying to get rid of him for me.

But it sounded like he was too excited to get the hint.

Hinata couldn’t stand the pity. The deep, painful feeling that churned in her gut and worked its way up through her body like acid reflux. Hinata stumbled slightly from the physical shock of it. Kakashi meant well and she understood this, but it just made her feel so small.

She couldn’t let people cover for her anymore. Hinata realised that was what people had been doing. Trying to help her by keeping them apart. But all that had done was blind her to the truth. She loved her friends, but this was not the way to moving on. She had to be braver than this. Steeling herself, Hinata pushed her shoulders back and pushed the doors open, leaving the Hokage's office. Kakashi looked surprised to see her come out. His former student went silent upon seeing her, then started fidgeting.

“Hinata…” Naruto trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.

But Hinata ignored him, her chin high and face resolutely forward. She would not give herself the opening to fall back into the comfort of lies. She would not regress. She was stronger than this, damnit! Nobody said anything else as she left the Hokage Tower. When she was out of sight, Hinata finally breathed, shaking her arms to release the tension. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I need to go home,” she said to herself, shivering. A storm was on its way, and she didn’t want to walk home soaking wet. She picked up the pace and quickly entered the front gates of the Hyuuga compound. The rain started pelting down the moment they closed behind her, and she sighed deeply. The guards nodded to her, and she smiled at them with all the warmth she could muster.

The grounds of the Hyuuga compound were beautiful no matter what time of year it was. Even in the moist air they came alive. Hinata walked through the covered walkways between the houses, mulling over what she’d just done.

I ignored Naruto-kun.

She’d never done that before. And she had no idea how to deal with it. A part of her wanted to break down again. The other was feeling light as air. Free. Hinata could feel the emotion building up inside her again so hurried into her room and slid the door closed, before anyone could see her. She carefully placed her sandals on the shoe rack and pulled a coat from her wardrobe. The temperature had plummeted, so she sent out her chakra to get the attention of a servant and had them bring her a hot chocolate. Once she found herself alone, she sat on the window seat of her study and stared out through the glass window at the rain below her, hugging the hot chocolate to herself as she took tentative sips.

She was just daydreaming about figures dancing in the rain when she spotted something.

A figure walking in the rain. It was definitely male, his hands in his pockets and exuding chakra from his body to keep the rain at bay. She could sense it faintly, even from this distance. It reminded her of that mission so long ago when she’d been encased in crystal and would’ve died if she hadn’t expelled chakra from her chakra points. It was an easy thing for a Hyuuga to do, but this person wasn’t a Hyuuga.

They paused and looked up toward her. She couldn’t see his face clearly because of how hard the rain was coming down but Hinata was sure now: it was Sasuke. Hanabi was right. She kept watching as he slowly turned away and continued walking. Had he seen her? Did she want him to? Did it even matter?

Yes. Yes. And emphatic yes.

She had no idea why, but yes. Hinata wanted him to care enough to take the long way home that took him past the Hyuuga gates. He was the only one telling her the things she needed to hear. Even Hanabi’s questions weren’t as blunt as they should be. Sasuke was the only one not pitying her. She found she hated pity. She appreciated him so much in that moment. More than she’d appreciated him before.

Hinata swallowed heavily, palming her hand against the glass windowpane as his figure disappeared into the haze of the heavy rain.

“Sasuke.”

  .:.

  Acceptance.

.

All she felt now was exhaustion. She had just run a marathon and dragged herself through most of it, but eventually the energy would return. Her body would recover, and her mind would follow suit. She hoped. She had put so much of her energy into the life she’d imagined with Naruto.

Hinata was surprised she hadn’t snapped much earlier. Looking back, it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen.

He hadn’t left her for someone else. Because they’d never been an item. Her heart still wrenched at the thought of what might’ve been, but she was finally taking those steps to let him go. She had no business shoving him into her heart anyway. Hanabi told her, “You’re finally accepting your grief” when she told her and gave her the warmest hug she’d ever received. It almost made her break down again.

Then Hanabi asked her about Sasuke.

“Sasuke-kun?”

He looked up as she approached, seemingly surprised that she’d sought him out this time. Normally it was him hounding her. No, that wasn’t the right word. He didn’t hound her. He wasn’t some obsessed fanboy. She smiled at that. No, Sasuke was a good friend. She swallowed heavily at the weird sensation that sentence had induce in her gut.

Friend.

The word didn’t sound right either.

So, she’d tracked him down, only to find him in the Uchiha compound graveyard. She almost turned around and left right then, to give him privacy, but figured if he could interrupt her when she was doing something important then she could do the same.

“Hinata?”

He didn’t complain as she knelt next to him and offered a prayer to the headstone he was sitting in front of. It had his parents name on it. She closed her eyes and silently wished them well in the afterlife, then opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“I was looking for you.”

“Obviously. Why?”

She smiled. “Why not?”

He scoffed, but she didn’t lose her smile. He stared back at her before finally relenting and offering up his own light smile. They both turned back to the headstone and silence reigned for a while. It was comfortable and companionable.

“I’m leaving Konoha.”

She was surprised. “Where will you go?”

“I have a mission.”

Hinata frowned. “Lord Hokage is letting you on missions outside the village?”

He pulled a face and she almost giggled. “Kakashi has little choice.”

This told Hinata that the mission was international. She was suddenly burning with curiosity, but held back because, likely, it was top-secret. And she wasn’t in the know on top-secret missions. The inner circle of the Hokage was always a tight, handful of people and this Hokage was no different. She had no doubt that the rest of his former team knew what he was going to be doing.

“It’s just politics,” he offered, sitting back on his bum now and pulling mindlessly at the grass. “Nobody but I can do it, apparently.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Hinata was quite enjoying his openness right now.

“And it’s for an indefinite amount of time.”

She nodded but he wasn’t paying her any mind. It wasn’t personal so she didn’t take it to heart. She wondered how long he’d be gone. If Hinata was honest with herself, she was going to miss him. Before he got involved with her problems, she wouldn’t have really cared either way. But things were different now. Every day since that evening, she’d seen him in the rain, she’d sat at her window and watched him walk by. Every time he stopped and looked up at her, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. Like he knew she was watching him too.

“What’s the mission?”

Why did I just ask that?

She’d held back because it wasn’t her place. Was she really this desperate to know all about him?

Sasuke stood slowly and stared down at her. “Agree to come with me first.”

“What?” She scrambled to her feet.

“Agree to come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He was serious. She frowned. “But Hokage-sama–”

“Kakashi already offered you an out. He won’t complain about you finally taking it.”

“I’m not approved for the mission.”

“You don’t have to be.” He stepped closer to her, and she felt rooted to the spot. His eyes were intense on hers and in the back of her mind she realised she was seeing a side to Sasuke that few ever did. It was intense. The way he looked at her would haunt her dreams if she said no.

She shivered. If I take too long to answer, will he beg?

His comment had a “they don’t have to know” vibe. Like they were runaways. Star-crossed lovers. She felt herself flush at the thought of that. The idea of going with him sounded exciting if not terrifying. But the idea of staying here, not knowing when she would see him again, was worse.

“You can return to Konoha anytime you want,” he added, stepping impossibly closer. “To whatever life you think you will have back here. Or you can come with me, do some good for the village without having to deal with all the shit you’ve been going through.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. His verbal acknowledgement of her problems seemed so out of character for him. But she was grateful and offered a small smile, which he quickly returned, also to her surprise.

Who is this man standing in front of me, asking me to basically run away with him?

It would be a huge undertaking and she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But suddenly, the rush of the unknown wasn’t so scary to her. It would be an adventure. One with purpose. And perhaps, she could find a little of herself out there. With him.

Hinata widened her smile and nodded. “Okay.”

He was full of surprises, because the next thing she knew, Sasuke’s hands were cupping her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he licked his lips before slowly moving in toward her. He was giving her time to pull away and change her mind. Hinata didn’t take it, closing her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers.

She should’ve seen this coming. This was why Sasuke had even bothered to give her the time of day. This was what all their little moments had been leading up to. This odd feeling of belonging was reciprocated.

I am so blind.

The taste of salt mixed in with the taste of him as she deepened the kiss. But for once, they were happy tears.

  .:.

[azulaang-chakras]

"I want you to be a part of my future." For Azulaang

6. "I want you to be a part of my future."

Waking on a morning that followed an hour’s worth of sleep felt similar to rising after a night of ten hours. Azula’s eyes crept open slowly, like a snake in the shade looking for the sun. The first thing she wanted to do was stretch, to shake the stiffness out of her muscles. She wanted to yawn, long and loud. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to wake him.

The lemur sat curled at the foot of their bed. The heavy, rhythmic breathing of the bison from the next room pressed against the wall and spilled from the open door that connected their rooms. That Momo seemed fine with sleeping on either side of the bed now was a comforting thought. That she had grown almost reliant on the sound of Appa’s snoring to fall asleep was as bewildering to her as it was amusing.

The sounds of the Southern Air Temple came through the window on the breeze. Some of the new Air Nomads took their master’s teachings on rising and sleeping early too literally. The monks and nuns would no doubt be starting their morning meditations soon. Someone would be putting the first fruit pies into the ovens by now while also doing their best to keep the lemurs out of the kitchen. Others would be sweeping dust and fallen leaves off the temple grounds, tending to the gardens and orchards, sewing or washing clothes, cleaning dishes, all the constant, mundane labors that kept civilizations alive. She could precisely envision what one of the temple residents was doing at the moment. The girl, a fifteen-year-old who had only recently joined them, still felt that she didn’t belong, a feeling Azula knew all too well. She had caught the girl on multiple occasions looking for an extra chore to do so that the others would see her as useful. When the Nomads stopped to play their games, the girl would stand on the sidelines, too afraid to join the revelry. The master of the temple, as compassionate as he was, could be forgiven for failing to notice an individual’s crippling shyness when he had the needs of the group, the needs of the whole nation, weighing on his mind and shoulders. Azula would find her later and again encourage the girl to join one of the games. She would order her to have fun if that’s what it took.

She wasn’t their lady, as the Air Nomads knew no nobles or royals, no leaders save the wisest of their own, but she knew these people as well as a good queen knew her realm, and wanted nothing but the best for them.

Her ears took in the whole world around her. Her eyes, however, only cared for the man still sleeping in her bed.

Aang was such a peaceful sleeper, so unlike her. He preferred to sleep while embracing her, even if it meant waking up to a numb arm. She had convinced him to settle for letting one hand rest lazily on her back. The drool on his pillow chipped away at the image of the all-powerful, respectable avatar, but it amused her. It humbled him slightly, and gave her something to make fun of.

She stared at him for however long it took for him to finally wake. He blinked slowly, trying to escape the feeling that wanted him to shut his eyes again and fall back asleep. Once he made eye contact with her, though, there was no way he would allow himself to sleep in. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice deep and parched, as it was every morning. His hand slowly rubbed her back, appreciating the smoothness of her skin.

“Morning,” she replied. The way her voice sounded so soft in her ears whenever she was alone with him still surprised her. She never thought she could be this way around anyone, or that she’d find someone who made her want to be like this. What had been drilled into her since birth as a weakness had been turned by him into an invaluable power.

He could bend her perceptions and feelings as easily as if they were air and fire.

“How’d you sleep?” asked Aang, the ever attentive and caring lover.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “I think you already know.”

She thanked Agni that last night hadn’t been particularly bad.

Aang didn’t have to be the light sleeper that he was to quickly stir awake when he slept next to her on one of her bad nights. The first time they slept together, she had thought it a miracle that she hadn’t ruined their intimate moment. The middle of the night had proven her fears well justified, when a scream erupted from her nightmares into reality.

Don’t touch me, she had thought as her tiny, shivering frame rocked in his arms that night.

Don’t let me go, had been the next thought.

Her mind had called him a liar when he assured her that she was safe, that it was going to be okay. She couldn’t deny when he reminded her that he was there for her.

Azula had never truly grown accustomed to her bad dreams, but she had once reached a point where she had accepted them, like an old warrior who accepted the poorly crafted piece of wood that had long replaced their lost leg. That had changed once she started sleeping with Aang. It had proven that the old wound she thought was finally closed was actually infected, and needed to be reopened so that it could be properly tended to.

While some minds had to rely on fantasy to craft their nightmares, Azula’s mind only needed her memories. The image of Aang writhing painfully in the air as her lightning surged through his body. The venomous, shameful smile she wore when Zuko fought father, or the way he struggled in the dirt after she struck him down. The blinding fury that had seized hold of her and almost killed Mai. She had never truly forgiven herself for any of that. Perhaps the most frustrating thing about Aang was that he had unequivocally proven that she had never started to heal. That he was willing to help her was a close second.

It made her feel cowardly and selfish, the way she had come to rely on the shelter his arms could provide her. It made her feel weak whenever she thought of how she relied on his strength to make up for her own shortcomings. It was the avatar’s duty to bring peace and balance to the world. Only the greedy princess of the Fire Nation could demand that he do the same for her.

She knew she didn’t deserve him. She also knew he disagreed with such conclusions.

“What do you want to do?” he inquired. “Sneak some breakfast out of the kitchen? Take a morning flight to the next mountain over?”

“Maybe later,” she answered. “I just want to lay here for a while longer.”

He gave her a little smile that was more welcome than the sunlight seeping through the gap between the curtains. “As you wish.”

He nestled back into bed and closed his eyes, moving a noticeable inch closer to her. Normally, a shared silence was enough, but Azula was overtaken by an impulse, one she could not ignore but wasn’t sure how to properly embrace. A healer Aang had put her in touch with, one who saw to ailments of the mind instead of the body, once counseled her to speak honestly with those she cared about. “Look at me, Aang.”

“Always,” he indulged. He turned to rest on his shoulder so that he could slip his free arm under her, enclosing her in his embrace.

A huff of a laugh escaped her nostrils. The way she would tease his romantic side never failed to please him, and the sight of his joy never failed to please her. Knowing that she had inspired such feelings in him put her in an undeniably good place.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he asked.

She pressed a hand gently to the center of his chest. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course.”

She took a single, deep breath to calm her muffled nerves and find her resolve. “I spent too long not knowing what to make of you.”

“And now?”

One of the first things she had learned about Aang, when he had returned to her life to give her a chance to truly learn about the man behind the avatar, was that if she acquiesced to traveling an inch with him, he could easily convince her to travel a mile. He always wanted to hear what was on her mind, and knew just what to say to help her put words to her thoughts. “I can think of two things I’ve decided about you,” she explained.

“Would you tell me what they are?” he asked with optimistic curiosity.

“I wish you lived in a better place in my past.” If she could tear the memories from her mind, she gladly would. Even if she had to tear something good out with them, at least the intrusive, ugly images would be gone. But she couldn’t, so the bad remained with the good.

“And the second?”

Azula took a moment to study his gray eyes, the warmth of his chest as she felt it rise and fall with his breathing, the way his strong hands felt gentle against her skin. She moved her hand up until her palm covered his cheek. “I want you in my future.”

His smile widened, exposing the grin beneath. He pulled her closer until her chest met his and kissed her. Azula never wanted to know another morning when those lips weren’t there to greet her.

He only stopped to kiss her cheeks, the first stop of his lips on their familiar journey southwards. “Don’t get sappy on me, avatar,” she teased.

She could feel the satisfaction in his smile as his mouth fell against her again and again. “We’re far too late for that, princess.”

A light stream of laughter flowed from her throat, and Aang kissed every sound as it traveled up her neck.

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect• 

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

  The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

  Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

 Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

  You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

  Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

  Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

  Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

   Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

  Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years.  Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

 The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

 The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

 Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

    Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

 Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

 Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

  Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

  Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

 The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

  The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

  Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be,  so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

 "Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

 His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

 Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

 I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

 Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"

[justcourttee]

And They Were Roommates-Pt 6

Marinette spent all day Saturday and Sunday in the workshop working on her new designs. Whenever the memory of Friday night tried to slip it’s way into her thoughts, she was quick to push on with her sewing, attempting to focus on anything but it. She would never admit it out loud, but she was mostly using the excuse of her portfolio to avoid Damian.

She made sure to leave at 6 in the morning and didn’t dare return until well past 11, doing her best to tread lightly as she raced back and forth from her room to the bathroom. She had been doing good the past two days, but Monday night she wasn’t quite as lucky. As she opened the door to her apartment, she almost let out a silent curse. Damian sat on the sofa watching the news intently, not paying any mind to the girl as she stood in the doorframe staring.

“Did you know that Superman is going to be attending the Christmas drive this year?”

His eyes never let the screen, but there was no doubt that he was talking to her. Swallowing hard, Marinette stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her.

“What is the Christmas Drive?”

“It’s a big gala at the LexCorp building. Every year, Lex Luthor hosts it as matches the donations made by attendees. It’s free to anyone who brings a check or a wrapped gift for the orphanage.”

Marinette placed her keys on the ring near the door, careful not to take her eyes from the boy.

“He sounds like a great guy.”

Damian let out a sound that was close to a snort while shaking his head.

“Most businessmen do. If only people dug a little further into their past or their spendings, they’d be in for a shock.”

“That’s the truth.” Marinette meant to mumble it to herself, but the way Damian’s eyebrow rose as his eyes darted toward her direction let her know she said it louder than she would’ve liked.

She shuffled toward the love seat, awkwardly sitting down as she avoided his gaze. Out of instinct, she traced over her wrist causing his eyes to drift down. A small frown appeared on his face. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, deciding against speaking out. He tossed the remote on the coffee table, startling the small girl. “What do you do for such long periods of the day?”

“I uhm, I’m working on a portfolio for possible sponsors. I have the pictures from my models that I have to arrange and I have to sew at least three outfits for sponsors to view and decide if they like the quality of my designs. It’s all due before the spring semester begins.”

He nodded his head in thought, the intensity in his eyes felt as if it was reading straight into her soul. She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Seems like a waste of your talent.”

“What does?”

“You’re obviously very adequate in academics, specifically history. Why would you want to throw away a steady career for a hobby?”

“A hobby?” Marinette felt her face heating up as she sat up straight in the chair. Damian obliviously continued on, ignoring the girl’s reddening features.

“Yes, sewing is childsplay. History however is ever changing and continuous. You could take a job as a professor in a university making at least $50,000 starting off.”

“Childsplay?” She couldn’t hold back the crack in her voice. He might not know it, but he was one wrong word from an explosion.

“Yes, are you deaf in your ears? But I suppose practicality isn’t for everyone. You’ll have to fail on your own before you consider a reasonable career.”

Marinette slammed her hands on either side of the love seat pushing herself into a standing position.

“My career is my choice. I want to own my own business with my designs, which are really good mind you. I’ve turned down some of the biggest names in the fashion industry to ensure that my designs aren’t exploited as their own. I have an excellent chance of making it in this world, making triple what you’re predicting in an “unreasonable” career. So you know what? Fuck you Damian Al Ghul.”

She didn’t even offer the boy a chance to respond as she pushed past him and into her room. Slamming the door, she sank down onto the floor, trying to level out her breathing.

“In for 4, out for 8. Calm Marinette.”

Tikki’s concerned face hovered in front of Marinette’s trying to count for the girl as her breaths slowly became even. Marinette let out a groan as she buried her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry Tikki. He just-he makes me so mad sometimes! An unreasonable career, as if I haven’t heard that enough times in my life.”

“He didn’t know Marinette. He was just stating his point of view, he has no idea of what you’ve been through, you can’t be mad at him for that!”

Marinette peeked through her fingers at the floating kwamii.

“I know Tikki, but he pushed it too far and he didn’t even apologize.”

“You didn’t give him the chance to.”

Marinette let out another groan, pulling her head from her hands. She really hated when Tikki was right, but it was too late. Her pride wouldn’t let her go back out there to apologize herself. With much effort, she stood up and made her way to her nightstand. Picking up the pen, she hesitated over her arm. Normally, she would turn to her soulmate after a rough day, but he hadn’t written to her in two days.

“Hey you okay?”

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring madly at her arm as if she was willing him to write her back, but after ten minutes, she gave up. Grabbing her pjs, Marinette made her way to the bathroom, hoping to wash away her stress. She stood under the hot water for fifteen minutes, glancing at her wrist every so often in hopes that she hadn’t felt his answer.

Turning off the water, she wrapped herself in the closest towel, staring at the mirror.  She tried to straighten her posture but it didn’t seem to work. She still felt like a terrible person and a nervous wreck. As she slipped on her sweatshirt, she didn’t even bother to roll her sleeve up. He wasn’t going to respond for the third night in a row. Three years of writing back and forth and sure the responses were slow sometimes but he never made her wait a full day before responding.

“Tikki? What if my soulmate found someone to be with and they cut me off?”

“You mean like Adrien’s?”

The girl nodded, her eyes flickering between her covered wrist and Tikki.

“Marinette, Adrien’s soulmate was already in a relationship when he turned 18, he didn’t want to break that off on the chance that he would find him some day! That is not the relationship that you and your soulmate have. There’s a real connection there Marinette, I just know there is!”

“I just need to sleep Tikki. I need a break right now. I don’t think I can-”

She didn’t even finish her sentence; she simply shook her head and crawled into her bed, pulling the covers over her head. Tikki settled onto her head, trying to provide any comfort they could to their chosen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Marinette woke at 5:45, the sunlight not yet peeking through her windows as she stumbled around the room, trying to find her shoes. She shut her bedroom door softly, trying to avoid making any noise as she padded into the kitchen. Before she could flick on the light by the stove, a stray piece of paper caught her attention.

Lifting it close to her eyes, Marinette’s face softened. In elegant handwriting, the note read:

‘I apologize for my behavior last night. I am still learning how to interact with people who are not family.  I hope this tea will make amends.

Sincerely,

Damian’

She placed the note to the side, picking up the pot from the stove. Inhaling deeply, her body instantly relaxed. It was Earl Gray, her favorite, and it was fresh. That meant he was possibly still awake. Her hands moved on instinct, flipping the paper over with one, and uncapping the pen with her other. She scribbled down a quick note before recapping her pen, placing it back into her purse.

Taking a few timid steps toward his room, her eyes darted down to the soft light emitting from under his door. As quickly as she could, she slid the note under his door before rushing back to the kitchen. She poured her tea into her travel mug and grabbed her keys from the ring beside the door. Her hand was on the knob when she heard light footsteps behind her.

“Marinette?”

Her hand remained on the knob, not risking a look back at the man.

“I just wanted to let you know that I accept your apology as well. Enjoy your day in the workshop.”

Marinette turned the doorknob, pushing the door open. She tried to hide the small smile that threatened to overtake her face as she shut it behind her, turning the lock. Maybe things were finally starting to look up.

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @tis-i-beanbandit @rebecarojas07 @abrx2002 @ash-amg @loveswifi @heaven428 @dreamykitty25 @marinettepotterandplagg @smolplantmum @clumsy-owl-4178 @books-and-left-behind-journals @joejoejodee

[writesowhatnext]

can I get that in writing? // seamus finnigan

Summary: Slytherin!reader has a little crush on Gryffindor’s favourite Irishman. Unbeknownst to her, the feelings are very much mutual. Not the best timing though, is it? With a war going on and all.

Request: I adored your writing and was wondering if you'd write for Seamus Finnigan with a Slytherin reader the angst/fluff prompts of 44. “You’ve always felt like home.”?

A/N: I actually had no idea where to start with this bc I had a general vibe I wanted to aim for but couldn’t figure out where to beginnn, sort of pleased with how it turned out though

Reader: female

Warnings: spoilers I suppose? Mentions of the battle of Hogwarts, abuse, the Carrows, injury, sewing I guess??

You couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to justify your crush. It wasn’t without effort on your part, either. You’d lost a good deal of sleep and favour with your teachers during sixth year for how distracted you were by the whole ordeal; as if their best student dipping a little was their biggest fish to fry with a war on the horizon. If you were to make a pros and cons list of crushing on Seamus Finnigan, there were no pros. Just cons. Only cons. He was a Gryffindor, for a start, if that wasn’t enough. He was also completely incapable of performing any magic without somehow blowing something up. And he swore like a sailor. And he had those annoying Gryffindor traits of never thinking anything through ever and not having even a single ounce of self-preservation. And it was hardly time for a crush. But he was Seamus. And, Merlin, was he funny – especially when his potions were disastrous. He was brave too. He’d been part of Dumbledore’s Army, so you’d heard, before the Umbridge fiasco. Bugger having feelings.

To say you knew each other would be a stretch: you knew of each other. You shared some classes and he hung around Harry Potter so you’d seen him around because, obviously, Harry Potter. The first time you’d spoken to him, actually, was in sixth year. You’d seen him from afar before then, of course. What, with his tendency to get explosive. But after disagreeing with Draco Malfoy on a shockingly Potter-related incident (he had said Potter was an awful seeker, you merely recalled statistics), you were temporarily shunned by many members of Slytherin – as if you hadn’t been already for being a halfblood. And so, you became a lone wolf in many subjects for a short time near the end of the year. You hadn’t intended to strike up a conversation with your crush; it had just sort of happened, but thinking back, you were grateful. You’d watched from the bench opposite Seamus, in Potions, as he attempted to brew an Alihotsy draught.

He was hopeless. With him throwing ingredients in without much regard, you were more than surprised that the potion hadn’t exploded. Thirty seconds later, it did. His hair stuck up away from his face, his eyes wide and green dust all over his skin. You didn’t mean to laugh, and certainly not maliciously, but you couldn’t escape your giggle at his frazzled and frustrated expression. He looked up at you at first with angry, embarrassed eyes: he saw your tie, heard you laugh and immediately took a disliking. Then he remembered something he’d heard from Parvati about you defending Harry to Malfoy. He also noticed how pretty you were when you laughed. And so, he laughed back.

“Not my finest.” He said to you, almost bashfully.

“Not your worst.” You replied with a teasing smile.

And that’s when you- sort of- became friends.

You didn’t speak to him for a while after that. You smiled in corridors, though, and across classrooms. And the great hall during meals. You’d hoped after so long that your crush might disappear, but it only grew. You knew how he felt about Slytherins and honestly, you weren’t too fond of Gryffindors either. So, it’s not like you held out a lot of hope for the two of you: you both had your houses’ reputations to upkeep. Reputations became irrelevant, though, after the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. You’d seen friends of your parents and your friends’ parents hurt in that; fighting on the wrong side. And even though he was the head of your house, Snape’s new post as Headmaster after Dumbledore’s death did not sit well with you. To say Seamus was far from the forefront of your mind through this would be an understatement.

You did think of him, though, when you started seeing DA slogans on the walls at Hogwarts. Slytherin became a hard place to be in seventh year; especially if you disagreed with You-Know-Who, even subtly. The treatment of muggleborns made you sick and you knew you had to do something. Anything. Your fear stopped you to start with: you saw what the Carrows were doing. Practising curses on students had your heart in bits and most Slytherins didn’t speak to you, either too scared or too blinded with power and hatred. Hearing about Neville Longbottom, a wizard you didn’t know well who appeared to be the spearhead of the movement after Harry Potter’s disappearance, being persecuted was what made you snap. You began to speak out against the use of unforgivable curses on students for detention. You didn’t turn up to the muddle studies class – unable to sit through the lies Alecto Carrow sprouted.

They beat you more for being a Slytherin than they had any of the other rebelling students and you knew if you didn’t hide, you wouldn’t last. You couldn’t leave Hogwarts - your parents were on the run for being muggle and blood traitor. Being one of the more astute Slytherins, you knew where everything was in the castle. You guessed that the Room of Requirement would give you some salvation at the least. You didn’t expect to see the DA hiding out there, but you were grateful for your luck. When you walked into the room to see a dozen missing Hogwarts students shocked to see you, you realised that being in Slytherin at a time like this was truly being stuck between a rock and a hard place; distrust wherever you went. You recognised people from all houses but your own. It took seconds before their wands were pointed at you and through his bruises, you recognised Neville Longbottom at the forefront.

“I’m here to help.” You said, hands in the air, wand tucked away. “I just want to help.”

“How can we trust you?” a voice shouted from the back.

“Look at my face.” You said, fully aware of your split lip and the purple-coloured skin around your eye. “I’ve been fighting this just like you.”

“But you’re a Slytherin.” Another voice called out.

You looked around them almost desperately, knowing you’d probably be killed if you went back to the dungeon. You recognised Seamus despite his bruised face; you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile.

“That didn’t stop them.”

There was a deafening silence.

“I say she stays.”

You looked up at Seamus, somewhat shocked. You didn’t expect him to vouch for you. He shot you a half-smile, turning to the rest of the group. “We’ve all taken beatings for the cause.”

To say you were accepted into the army with open arms would be a falsehood of massive proportion. Whilst nobody was rude, they were all wary; though, it was a great deal warmer than the chilly atmosphere of the Slytherin dungeon. One day in early April, there was shouting from the entrance of the room. Two boys were dragging a third in over their shoulders. Neville, the boy on the left, was shouting.

“I need help, now!”

You went over to see what you could do, a few others following. A circle formed around the boy. His face was bloodied and unrecognisable and for a second, you worried that you hadn’t seen Seamus around today. But that didn’t matter. Whoever it was needed help. You bent down in front of him, aware of dozens of pairs of suspicious eyes on you, and took out your wand. A simple spell your father had taught you to make cleaning your room a lot easier erased the blood from his features and you couldn’t help the lump in your throat when you saw Seamus’ face.

“I can fix him.” You said quickly, looking up at Neville. He, too, was bruised from whatever they’d been doing. You just stared at each other for a moment as he debated trusting you. He didn’t speak, only nodded.

“I need a needle and thread.”

You pulled Seamus’ head into your lap, looking at a deep gash on his forehead.

“What happened?”

A Hufflepuff girl dropped a first-aid kit next to you; you made an effort to smile at her in thanks. Neville said down in front of you and watched you work. The rest of the army dissipated, either to leave you to it or cause more havoc elsewhere.

“We were writing on the walls. The Carrows found us. Seamus fell and hit his head when they stupefied him.”

You nodded, beginning to sew the gash shut. Neville watched you closely. You didn’t take it personally. When you were finished, you held the needle in your mouth, tying off the end of the thread.

“How do you know how to do that?” Neville asked, looking you in the eye for the first time.

“My mum’s a nurse. A muggle nurse.”

“Your mum’s a muggle?”

You nodded, smiling slightly as you brushed Seamus’ hair back from his face.

“He fancied you, you know.” You looked up at Neville, frowning. “He wouldn’t shut up about you last year.”

You huffed a laugh. “I fancied him too.”

You were surprised to see Neville smiling at you. Maybe you’d made a friend after all.

You stayed awake all night, waiting for Seamus to wake up. You were sat by his bed, back against it as he slept peacefully. It must’ve been the early hours of the morning when you felt eyes on you. You weren’t sure you were still awake but you could hear birds outside somewhere and figured you had better things to dream about. You turned around to see Seamus sat up slightly, watching you. Neither of you spoke. He sat up with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his head.

“Easy there.” You said softly, offering him some of the water you’d placed near him. You barely thought about the way you instinctively placed your hand on his back or the brush of his fingertips against your own.

“What happened?”

“Neville said you took a nasty fall after being stupefied.”

He groaned.

“He also said you fancied me.”

“Christ,” he said, rubbing his head as you sat back down, smirking. “A man gets stupefied once and all his secrets come out.”

“So, it’s true?”

“Blimey.” He muttered.

“Because if it is, that’s quite convenient.”

He frowned, his muttering stopping after a second. He looked at you, clearly confused.

“I had quite the crush too.”

“Had?”

You didn’t reply, only smiling as you grabbed his arm and pushed him back down to get some rest.

“You’ll be here when I wake up, I suppose?”

“Nowhere else to be.”

And that’s when you became sort-of more than friends.

Though there were much more pressing matters leading up to Battle of Hogwarts and lots of much bigger feelings, you and Seamus enjoyed what you had going. You never talked about it explicitly though, not really. You laughed together, a lot, and he was constantly teasing you. You returned the favour though with your fair share of flirting. You bandaged each other up whenever you needed to and he even introduced you with pride when Harry Potter finally returned. You were happy about that, of course, but you knew Potter returning would mean something big.

And you were right.

That’s why you were currently running down a corridor after Professor McGonagall in a desperate attempt to find Seamus. You pushed through some other students to reach the front doors.

“Boom!” McGonagall said, Neville on her left and Seamus on her right. As you got closer, you saw her gesturing to the Wooden Bridge; no doubt she was hoping destroying the bridge would stall the invasion.

“Wicked,” Neville said, as you pushed behind another student. “But how are we gonna do that?”

You were right behind Seamus, reaching out your hand to grab his arm.

“Why don't you confer with Mr Finnigan? As I recall, he has a particular proclivity for pyrotechnics.”

“I can bring it down!” Seamus insisted, moving away from you unknowingly.

“Seamus!” you called out, following him, Ginny Weasley and Neville towards the bridge. He stopped, waiting impatiently for you to catch up with a frown on his face. You were acutely aware of the sounds around you, the battle already underway.

“You have to be safe,” you said, now face to face. “You need to get home safe.” You smiled slightly. “Back to your ‘mam’”

He just stared at you for a moment, a smile twitching at his lips. And then he leant forward, very slowly, and kissed your lips. A short and sweet kiss that made your heart sing.

“You’ve always felt like me’ home.” He said, smiling and tilting his head to the side. You stared at each other for a moment longer before Neville interrupted, hurrying the moment along impatiently, reluctantly.

“They’ll be more where that came from when I get back,” Seamus said, walking backwards away from you. “Believe me.”

[cavalierious-whim]

Two’s a Crowd (FE3H)

Felannie | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Teen | Complete There’s only one horse. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

----

A/N: This was a Secret Santa give and I was asked to write ‘There was only one Horse’. Read here on AO3 for better quality! Also, I’m on Twitter!

----

While Felix has never been one to follow the rules, he now understands why Byleth is so reluctant to let them roam outside the gates of Garreg Mach freely.

Sure, they’re adults and they can make their own dumb decisions. Still, it’s wartime; there are crest beasts and ample opportunity to be stupid enough to get yourself into a pickle.

Felix frowns. Annette’s colorful words, not his.

Byleth often turns a blind eye to the odd training session outside the Monastery, especially when it comes to Felix. Byleth knows that Felix can handle himself when it comes down to it, and while the Professor’s expression is prone to permanent frowning, he’s never said no. Not outright.

It’s more like carefully placed and unasked advice that he knows Felix won’t ever listen to but can claim to have given all the same.

“Just in case you find yourself gored,” said Byleth one dreary afternoon. “I’ll have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.”

So far, Byleth has been denied the pleasure because Felix is a slippery bastard; far too stubborn to die. And, as it turns out, he’s not the only stubborn person in the world, which brings him to his current problem:

Annette crashes through the underbrush alongside him, sagging with weariness and covered head to toe in mud and Goddess knows what else. It’s exactly Felix’s luck that she’s the one to sneak out after him because her curious little nose got the best of her.

At least it’s a cute nose.

“It just had to be a crest beast,” says Annette, mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. That’s cute on her too.

“It had to be two,” amends Felix. He’s never had any luck with anything, least of all women, so he doesn’t know why he insists on longing for Annette. Then, he suddenly remembers something else, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Ingrid is going to kill us.”

A long moment stretches between the two of them as they stand there in the woods looking at each other.

“We’ve lost horses before,” says Annette. Sure, they’ve lost horses, but never a Fraldairan Marsh Tucky. And its accompanying mare because, naturally, that was the horse Annette picked. Ingrid’s captious about her thoroughbreds and she’d brought those from Galatea personally. Felix pauses in his step, leveling Annette with a tired stare, to which she sighs in response. “Okay, yeah, she’s going to kill us.”

Annette is lucky that Felix likes her. More than likes her. Kind-of maybe loves her, not that he’s the confessing kind. But, all her goofy songs and eternal optimism in the world won’t save him from Ingrid’s wrath, Mercedes’s clipped threats for endangering Annie, or Byleth’s contempt for attracting her attention by merely existing.

Byleth’s a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to intra-army romance.

Annette’s mouth then tips into a tiny little smile and Felix wonders if it’s a bad thing that he likes the idea she’d followed him. She’d said that it was dumb of him to go it alone and that she’d been worried. The only person that worries about him nowadays is Sylvain, and it’s entirely unwarranted, unwanted, and suffocating in every way possible. The change is, admittedly, nice.

“There’s a village this direction,” says Felix, pointing to the west. “They’ve got a decent inn with tolerable food, and a stable with likely a few horses for sale.”

“Do we have the coin?” asks Annette.

“We’ll manage,” says Felix, thankful that he’d brought his purse with him that day. He doesn’t always, so maybe he’s luckier than he’d thought. His gaze slides back to Annette who watches him with interest, her eyebrows drawn up. “What?” he snaps, testily.

“Nothing,” says Annette, but judging by the sly little smirk on her face, it’s anything but. Felix doesn’t have the time to think about it anything further.

“We’re losing daylight,” says Felix. “We should get walking, otherwise Byleth will close the gates for the night.”

“He’d let us in,” says Annette.

“He won’t,” says Felix. He’d know, he’s camped outside the entrance before, punishment for making it back late. There’s a pause and then Annette laughs, causing Felix to scowl. Even if he likes the sound of it.

“He’d let me in, then,” says Annette.

Felix grumbles at that. “He probably would.” Annette smirks at him again and Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s only mildly irritated. Truly, Annette is lucky that she doesn’t incite his ire much. Felix wonders how this entire thing would go if it was literally anyone else stuck out here with him.

They’d probably have a sword through their neck already, or at least, be slightly maimed. Felix is in a maiming sort of mood. He and Annette head westward, slogging through the slick mud leftover from earlier rain.

“Hopefully, there won’t be any more beasts out here,” says Annette, and Felix whirls on her, pressing a finger against her lips. She blinks, surprised. But she doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans into the touch.

“Don’t!” hisses Felix.

“Don’t what?” she says against his finger, her breath warm against his skin.

“Say something like that. Don’t you know that’s exactly how it works?”

“What works?” asks Annette.

Felix groans, almost certain that she’s being obtuse on purpose because Annette’s the teasing sort. “It’s bad luck,” he says. “The moment you say something like that, it--”

There’s a deafening roar behind them that echoes through the trees. And then the woods fall deathly quiet. Annette swallows thickly, but to her credit, doesn’t pale or look scared. She’s a plucky little thing and that’s in part what Felix loves about her most. Annette isn’t one to back down, she seeks danger out. Case in point, trailing after him on her own.

Felix pulls his hand away from her.

“We’ve no choice,” says Annette. It’s not a question.

Felix draws his sword and readies a bolt of Thoron. “Might as well make it quick,” is all he says in return.

Annette answers with a resigned sigh.

#

Turns out, their luck is worse than anticipated, not that Felix is surprised. This entire trip has been working against him since before he left the Monastery.

“I have a bad feeling,” Byleth told him as he saddled up.

“Nonsense,” Felix said, annoyed at the Professor’s incessant mothering.

Felix is eating that word now, laying on his belly in the underbrush, slick with muck and worms. Annette shifts beside him, leaning closer.

“How long do we wait?” she asks.

“Until the damn beast is gone, obviously,” says Felix.

Annette’s eyes narrow at his tone. “This isn’t my fault.”

“You said the words,” says Felix. “You should never say the words.”

She huffs at that. “You’re the one that forgot a spare blade. Since when do you strap only one sword to your hip?” Then she pauses. “Also, what are the chances that it would just crack right down the middle--”

“The entire point of laying in this filth is to be quiet, Annette, and let the beast leave.”

Annette’s mouth snaps shut, but it’s not without an annoyed scowl shot in his direction. “You’re evil,” murmurs Annette, just loud enough for him to hear. Felix knows it’s absolutely on purpose. She’s got a mean streak in her at times, he’s just never been on the end of it.

The mud and foliage hide their smell, and eventually, the crest beast determines them to be a lost cause and saunters away. Felix reaches out to grab Annette’s wrist before she can get up. “Wait, just a little bit longer. It might come back.”

They lay there for longer than she wants, Felix can tell by her squirming, but Byleth’s words have been prophetic: it’s just one of those days. Finally, they rise. Annette looks down at her dress and cringes at the sight.

“I’ll have to burn this and get Mercie to make me a new one.”

“Mercedes has more important things to do than sew garments,” says Felix with an annoyed huff.

Annette narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll remind you that this is your fault.”

“I didn’t ask for you to sneak out after me.”

“You brought that upon yourself when you decided to go out on your own.”

Felix glowers. “Which I do, often.”

Annette shoots him a rival glare. “Because you have no sense of self-preservation. Honestly, Felix, I should have come with you sooner. How often are you so ill-prepared? How unlike you.”

Felix can’t deny that one; how unlike him indeed. “I’ve been distracted lately,” he finally says, and Annette’s face softens slightly. She thinks that he’s talking about the war, but that isn’t it actually, it’s more so the tight feeling in his chest that he gets when he looks at her. He’s taken to marking up trees in frustration, away from prying eyes in the training ground.

The dramatic irony of her blaming Felix isn’t lost on him.

“It’s going to get dark,” says Annette. Felix frowns. How astute and glaringly obvious. “And, according to you, Byleth will abandon you outside the gates.”

“Wouldn’t be a first,” gripes Felix.

“So,” starts Annette, rolling back on her heels slightly. Her hands are tucked neatly behind her, all manners despite looking like she crawled out of a sewer. “To the village then. We’ll get a room.”

Felix, who’d already turned around to head west, stops dead in his tracks. Then he closes his eyes. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Two rooms, he thinks. He can afford two rooms, he’s got enough gold for at least that.

When he looks back to Annette, she’s already beaming at him like she always does. Felix wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. Instead, he wants to do something a little more drastic, like pull her in for a hug.

Which is ridiculous, because Felix doesn’t hug people.

“Felix?” asks Annette. “You’re staring.”

It takes everything in him not to wince. “Mud,” he says, dumbly. “And sticks. In your hair.”

Eloquent, Felix is not. Despite this, Annette takes the explanation in stride and their walk to the village isn’t so terrible considering.

#

“Say that again, but the answer better be different.”

The innkeeper swallows, his thick neck turning a little bit red. Felix threatens people often enough that he’s got it down to a science. Arms crossed over the chest, his foot tapping in annoyance. The worst scowl he can manage followed by a flash of steel.

He’s having to make do without that last one.

“We’ve only one room left,” says the Innkeeper.

It takes everything for Felix not to jump the desk and choke the man out.

“Felix,” says Annette, resting her hand against his arm. He doesn’t pull away and neither does she, her fingers curling into his quilted sleeve. “It isn’t his fault. The men out in the bar must be the reinforcements we’re waiting on.”

Felix massages his temple. Right, reinforcements; Byleth had told them all they were expecting another Magic Corps to show up. Just their luck. Or lack thereof. He looks to Annette, who looks back at him, large eyes framed attractively by delicate eyelashes.

Goddess above, he can’t do this.

“You’ll take the room,” says Felix, finally tugging his arm away from her grasp. “I’ll stay in the stable.”

“Absolutely not,” says Annette.

“There’s no room there, either,” says the innkeeper unwisely. Upon Felix’s dangerous glare, the man immediately adds: “I’ve got two stable boys who bunk there.” They would find the one inn that employs by way of food and shelter, and not coin.

The innkeeper takes a deep breath and then bravely says, “There are two beds. If that makes a difference.”

It does, but only barely. Felix eyes the man warily, but slaps down a handful of gold.

That’s when Annette does the unthinkable and says, “And a bath, please. And fresh clothes.”

Felix is going to sleep in a stall with a horse if that’s what it takes, because he cannot, cannot share a room with Annette if she’s intent on bathing. Annette doesn’t think about these kinds of things. She’s not a healer like Mercedes, but she does her share in the medical tents. She sees a body like she sees everything else; just as it is and nothing more.

When he finally meets her gaze, she’s looking at him expectantly. Her eyes flash to his coin purse and then back to the pile he’s left on the counter. Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh and slaps down a few more coins.

“For the bath. And the clothes,” he says tersely. All Annette does is smile widely, happiness practically beaming off of her and she looks utterly ridiculous, covered in the mess that she is.

The room isn’t large, but there are two beds as promised. The stableboys haul a bath inside and Annette has the forethought to direct them to place it behind the changing screen. Felix lets loose a breath. Small blessings and some actual luck, finally.

Annette sings as she bathes. Felix washes his face in the basin by the door and changes into the clothes they’ve been provided, before settling into one of the beds. The moment he hits the mattress, he realizes how weary he is. It’s been a long day of dodging crest beasts and avoiding pesky feelings.

“Felix,” calls Annette from behind the screen, “has Byleth actually left you outside the gate after coming back late.”

Felix snorts a laugh. “Once. The lesson was learned.”

Annette chuckles and then goes back to her made-up tune. “Oh, how I love to bathe. Wash away the icky bits, ‘cause being dirty is just the pits.”

It isn’t so much that her voice is good, it’s just nice. Calming. Sweet. Felix closes his eyes and listens, drifting off to the soft tune on her lips. Comforting when you think about it because Annette sings about the things that she loves.

He falls asleep before her song shifts, singing about a dark, handsome swordsman instead.

#

There’s only one horse.

It’s a curse, straight from one of those ridiculous romance novels that Sylvain pretends he doesn’t like to read. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

Annette has the gall to look amused. “It’ll be fine, Felix,” is what she says.

It will be the exact opposite of fine because while Felix has been very good at keeping her an arm’s length away, that isn’t an option here.

Felix glares at the stablemaster who regards him with an apologetic look. The only reason Felix doesn’t gut him right then and there is because it isn’t his fault. The man isn’t responsible for the delay in new livestock, the rain had done that. Regrettably, because Felix very much wants to stab something. Anything.

His head falls back, cheeks to the sky, eyes slipping closed as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. This is divine punishment, Felix thinks, because he’s too much of a coward to just tell the damn girl that he likes her.

Or loves her. But really, at this point, what difference does it matter?

Annette pulls herself up first, settling into the saddle with ease. Felix turns to drop gold into the stablemaster’s hand, who offers a small smile in return.

“If it’s any consolation--”

“It’s not,” Felix cuts in.

“-- I think that she likes you back.”

At that moment, Felix wishes that murder for entirely inane reasons is legal. But alas, it isn’t, and Byleth would be quite irate if Felix were to remove the head of this man. The Professor loathes cleaning up messes and Felix makes a lot of them. So, the stablemaster keeps his life.

Only because Felix is too lazy to think of a valid excuse, or cook up a proper plan.

He pulls himself up behind Annette and settles in easier than he thought possible. Annette’s tiny enough that it’s not as awkward as it could be. Felix slips his arms around her waist and she hands him the reins, and then they’re off at a small trot.

The horse is calm and moves along the road well. Annette leans back against Felix’s chest, humming a tune. Felix is relatively relaxed. The Goddess hasn’t set the world on fire just yet. Small blessings.

“This is nice,” says Annette.

Not how Felix would phrase it. He’s caught somewhere between ‘this is divine’ and ‘this is absolute hell’. He allows himself the former though, arms settling around her closer than he’d normally allow. His nose close enough to the crown of her head that he can smell the fresh soap she’d bathed with. He enjoys the way she fits against him.

Felix would say that Sylvain’s a saint for putting up with this on the regular, but it’d be a lie. Worse, Felix gets why it’s a lie because Annette in his arms feels nice, even if it’s on the back of a horse, and only because there isn’t another choice.

“Nice,” agrees Felix halfheartedly, when he remembers to reply.

“You know, one could even say romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about being forced to share a horse because the Magic Corps didn’t think to bring their own.”

Annette turns her head slightly to look back at him, lips quirked into an amused smile. “Not one bit?” she asks.

Felix looks down at her, frowning slightly. What on earth does that mean? And why is she so amused? “I said that it was nice.”

“Felix, you look like you ate some of Flayn’s cooking.”

“This is definitely preferable to that,” says Felix, meaning it.

Annette sits there, twisted awkwardly in front of him for a moment longer, watching him. Felix squirms slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Finally, she says, “I must admit, I’m at a loss.”

“For what?” asks Felix.

“Nothing,” says Annette. Felix frowns again because now she just isn't making sense. But then again, Annette often doesn’t make sense, it’s part of her charm.

The Monastery isn’t far from the village, barely an hour by horse. The rest of their ride passes without any issue. No crest beasts, no bandits, and miraculously, Felix doesn’t entirely combust after enduring close contact with Annette.

He’s decided to treasure the moment because it’s never happening again.

It’s no surprise that Byleth is waiting for them at the gate, their arrival having been spotted by a lookout and announced. The Professor looks calmly collected and not at all worried. Felix’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious.

Felix drops from the horse first before reaching up and helping Annette down. She lands gracefully, her hands grasping Felix’s forearms. She doesn’t let go. Felix tries to pull away, but she holds tight, and damn, she has an impressively strong grip. She just looks at him, a soft little smile on her face.

“Annette,” says Felix, unsure how to continue.

“Felix,” replies Annette. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re such a gentleman.”

Felix is anything but, and he’s about to tell her that when she finally let's go. Only to reach up and grab him by the face, fingers curling around his jaw. She yanks him down, none too gently.

And then, Annette’s kissing him, pressing her lips against his with careful precision. Felix is surprised but he doesn’t go entirely rigid. His hands slide up to grasp her cheeks and he kisses her back. It’s not sweet in its touch, but it’s not scorching either, somewhere middling of the two. Her hand snakes around the back of his neck to grip him possessively, pulling him closer.

Felix responds eagerly, his fingers slipping into her hair, tugging her face into a different angle to slot their mouths against each other better. Then, he parts his lips, intent on licking into her mouth--

There’s a cough from next to them and they break apart. Felix doesn’t look away from Annette whose cheeks are tinged pink. Annette looks to the side. “Byleth,” she greets coolly.

“Um,” starts Felix, but can’t think of words past that.

“I’m pleased to see that the two of you are okay,” Byleth deadpans.

Annette is looking at Felix again, and his gaze is still glued to hers, unsure what’s just happened, still trying to process the kiss. That she’d started. That she’d enthusiastically responded too. That she seemed annoyed to have been interrupted in the midst of. The stuff of dreams, really, specifically his dreams, and more often than he’d like to admit.

Felix’s brain is having a hard time comprehending.

“As I said, Felix took fantastic care of me,” says Annette kindly. Then, she reaches up and brushes Felix’s bangs away from his forehead.

“I’d prefer it if the two of you would continue taking care of yourselves within the gate.” Byleth pauses. “And after the meeting. We have things to discuss.”

The mention of a war council breaks the spell that’d fallen over Felix. He can feel his skin burning bright red in embarrassment, and worst of all, Annette looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

And she’s holding his hand. He hadn’t noticed her grabbing it.  

“When I was singing about the dark, handsome swordsman, who’d you think I was imagining?” asks Annette, words quiet enough for only Felix to hear.

“When you were singing about what?”

Annette pouts. “Oh darn, so you were asleep then. I’d hoped you weren’t.”

“Annette, what on earth--”

“Later,” says Annette. “Mostly because Byleth is giving you the stink eye, and I think it’s because we’ve delayed his carefully planned schedule.”

One look at the Professor proves her right. Felix clears his throat and takes several steps away, before grabbing the reins of the horse. “Right, then. I’ll just handle this. The horse, I mean.”

“I’ll see you in the war room,” says Annette, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Felix decides that he doesn’t hate the light-hearted, flabbergasted feeling that’s floating through him. He also knows that the moment he regains his wits abashment will hit him full force because he’d practically eaten Annette’s face off in front of half the Monastery guard.

And Byleth.

So, Felix properly excuses himself in favor of stabling their new horse and perhaps locking himself away forever out of embarrassment.

If he’d stayed just a moment longer, he’d have seen Annette flash Byleth a conspiratorial wink as she passes him by. And how Byleth smiles slyly in return, tapping at his nose like he’s keeping a secret.

[majesty-madness]

An Outlaw’s Better Half (Arthur Morgan x reader series)

https://giphy.com/gifs/rockstargames-revolver-rdr2-reddead-5WIMcQNeu6TWoIrkfB

Summary: Y/N lost her only friends to a gang of thugs, who murdered them all. With nowhere to go, she wanders the streets only to be met with a certain cowboy. After saving her life, Arthur brings her back to camp and everyone is very welcoming. Y/N begins to think maybe this could be her new family, a real family, but how will she react when she learns that the gang that welcomed her with opens arms, steals and kills to get by? 

Chapter One

Word Count: 4000+

Warning: Angst, violence and murder, blood, cursing

Violence wasn’t something that she hadn’t experienced in all of her life of living. It was everywhere and sometimes a necessity if you wanted to survive.

There were times when she had actually used brute force to get away from a sticky situation but it wasn’t until afterward that the events would truly dawn on her. Though she never dwelled on it for long. As long as she made it out alive, that’s all that mattered.

Y/N had recently settled about a mile away from the town of Valentine, the spot was hidden by massive trees and overgrown bushes.

She wasn’t alone, a few other individuals had joined her or rather she joined them. They were a relatively small camp with only ten people. Not at all capable of taking on a whole gang by themselves but strong enough to survive.

Y/N was patching up a ripped hole in a thin quilt of hers when a woman in her mid forties, walked up to her.

“Need any help with that?” She kindly asked, taking a seat next to the young (h/c).

Y/N smiled, “No thanks, Isabelle. I think I can handle it this time. Besides, I’m not sure how you could help me with sewing anyway.”

“I could hold it for you.” Isabelle replied.

The (h/c) abruptly stopped what she was doing and plopped her hands in her lap. “Hold it?” She asked, raising her eyebrow.

“What? I meant like keep it still for ya, that’s all.” Isabelle defended. She gestured to the blue quilt in Y/N’s lap.  

Y/N let out an airy laugh, her body convulsing harshly. “Thanks but I’ve got it.” She wiped her teary eyes and continued to sew.

The older woman playfully scowled. “Alright, fine. Don’t come crying to me when you forget how to tie off the ‘nd.”

“That was one time!” Y/N jabbed back, an amused smile still plastered to her face.

There was a moment of silence, different members of the small group attending to their own chores or activities, and Y/N just remained sitting on a log that sat only two feet from her tent. Then the familiar ear shattering noise caused Y/N and Isabelle to jump up from their seats.

Other members' attention had also been directed toward the sound of the noise. But before they knew what hit them, men on horses were charging straight for them.

Y/N’s small group of people tried to retaliate but were far too late and lacked better aim.

She and Isabelle were attempting to escape when Isabelle caught a bullet to the back and crashed into the young (h/c), sending them both to go tumbling to the dirt ground.

With the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/N’s legs were tempted to pull her body back up and push her to start running the opposite direction but her mind quickly came to a conclusion that made every muscle in her body freeze.

If she did try to run then she would surely be killed on the spot so she did what she thought would at least give her a chance to survive. Nothing.

She laid still, right where she had fallen, and closed her eyes. Waiting. Praying that whoever was there would just go away. Especially when she heard the gunslinging gang argue with one another.

“Why did you shoot all the women?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” One man yelled.

“What’cha you talkin ‘bout?” Another man snapped back.

“We could’ve brought’em back to camp, had a good time with them but no! You had to go in guns blazing and now they're all dead!”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat at this bit of information. She silently thanked the universe for giving her the wisdom to play dead.

“Oh shut up, you drunken bastard.” The one man grumbled, taking heavy footsteps away from where Y/N was lying.

Hours past. Late morning turned to early evening. The sun was beginning its descent and not once had Y/N moved from her initial position, keeping as still as her body would allow. On several occasions though, she wished she could sink into the ground below and use mother earth as her protective shell when the men wandered particularly close.

And as if the universe was answering her silent pleas, the sound of gravel and dirt crunching under someone’s footsteps shattered the silent air. “We gotta go guys! The law is gonna be on top of us!”

“Damn it! Let’s go boys!” Another man, assumingly their leader, said breaking into a full sprint to his horse.

The way the hooves of their horses made contact with the ground, it was obvious that they were leaving quickly, not sparing another glance back on the camp they’d destroyed only hours ago.

Y/N waited a few minutes just to make sure that they were really actually gone.

When she could only hear the sound of the wind rushing through the trees, she wiggled herself free from the cold, dead grasp of what once was a kind older lady.

She crawled across the ground, her body becoming covered in mud. A few grunts and groans of excursion left her mouth, and eventually she flopped down on her back when finally free.

All was silent. Not a word was spoken. Not a single animal call could be heard. Just the wind, blowing softly through nature’s livelihood.

It was an absolute nightmare.

The silence felt  like a hot knife in her chest, burning and suffocating. She was left to rewind to the events of what had happened.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she quietly cried to herself.

Was she crying for her group or for herself? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was, once again, on her own.

__________

It was night by now and the moon was in full bloom.

Arthur and John were making their way back to camp after finding out a tip they’d heard about in a saloon turned out to be a bust.

Should have known better than to listen to a drunken idiot.

“Got any idea where we can start looking for another score?” John asked, his eyes darting to the back of Arthur’s head.

Arthur shrugged. “I ain’t got a clue. But I’ll head back into town tomorrow, see if there mighta been something we missed.”

“Let me know if you hear about anything.” John replied as he and Arthur continued to make their way down the dirt road.

Arthur nodded. “I will.”

Recently, they haven't had any luck getting any money. Yeah, there was the few occasional stagecoach robberies and such but nothing that could help them move the whole camp somewhere no one would find them. That would require more money than they were able to get.

They needed to leave and soon or else things were gonna end badly for them.

“Get the hell away from me!”

Both Arthur and John raised their heads at the sound of a woman shouting.

About ten feet in front of them stood a group of men, completely surrounding a young lady.

“Stay back!” The woman fearfully hissed, holding up her knife so as to give the impression that she wasn’t afraid but anyone could tell otherwise. Especially these arrogant bastards.

“Oh come on, we just want to have a little fun.” One man smirked, licking his lips with lust coating his eyes.

He reached out to take the woman’s arm and as soon as his hand made contact, she pulled him towards her and jammed her knife deep into his throat.

The man stumbled back as he gurgled on his own blood, eventually flopping down onto the dirt ground. The rest of the group of men stared at their dying friend.

John and Arthur watched as the events unfolded, hands pressed to their revolvers just in case things were going to get messy.

“You’re gonna pay for that bitch!” Another man yelled, pulling out a gun from his holster.

However, before he could even wrap his hands around the handle, another loud boom echoed in the air.

The loud gunshot caused everyone to turn to the origin of the noise.

There sat Arthur, revolver in hand, and a thin trail of smoke seeping from the tip of the steel barrel.

“Any of you think of reaching for your guns, I’ll put a bullet in ya.” Arthur said, his voice low in tone and VERY intimidating.

He didn’t have to tell the group of men twice as they quickly scurried away.

Arthur set his revolver back into his holster and hopped off his horse.

When the young woman caught sight of the mass of the brown haired, blue eyed cowboy approaching her, she pointed her now bloody knife toward Arthur.

“Whoa there, ma’am.” Arthur immediately raised his hands up in surrender. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Heavy pants slipped past the lady’s pink lips as well as a few pained whimpers. She was dreadfully scared but based on her demeanor she was not going to let someone threaten her without a fight.

Though Arthur decided he might press his luck.

“Are you alright, miss?” He asked with some variation of concern but readied himself in case the lady tried to attack him.

She hesitated but eventually shook her head. Arthur looked back to John and he only shrugged.

The cowboy took another step forward. “Are you alone?”

The lady’s eyes darted to the ground, her quivering lips and watery eyes telling Arthur all that he needed to know.

Even though she hadn’t said anything, it was obvious that this poor, fearful woman had been through some kind of trauma.

Arthur’s eyes squinted in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

The lady looked back up, her expression softening just a bit.

“You’re bleeding…” He pointed to the blood dripping from her temple then again looked back at John to see if maybe he thought there was something wrong. Though, he didn’t seem bothered by it all, in fact, he nodded his head knowing what Arthur was insinuating.

“If you want, you…” Arthur paused. “You could come with us, we’ve got some other women back at our camp that can help you get cleaned up.”

“How-” The woman finally spoke. This perked Arthur’s attention. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I saved your life. And if I was a threat, you would’a known it by now.”

Arthur could see the gears turning in her head as she thought through her options. Stay to die alone or get some help from a couple of cowboys? She chose the latter.

She slid her bloody knife back into her sheath and nodded. “Okay.”

Arthur gestured towards his horse that was waiting next to John, and the young lady followed behind him. She kept a considerable distance away from the man that saved her just in case he was going to try something.

He stepped up onto his saddle, pulled himself up, and swung his leg to rest on the other side then held out his hand for the lady to take.

She grasped his hand in her own and used her own strength to help Arthur lift her up on his horse. She sat side saddle, her hands resting on Arthur’s broad shoulders. It would be weird if she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Or at least she thought so.

The three individuals made their way back to camp. For the rest of the trip, no one said a word. Instead there was silence except for the occasional animal calls which Y/N made sure to admire as her mind wandered into the abyss.

From this point on, she had no way of knowing what was going to happen to her next.

Either she was actually going to get help from these strangers, get killed, or…

Y/N shook her head. She didn’t want to think of what they were capable of doing to her. Terrible things she imagined. However, even though she didn’t know these people there was this gut feeling, an instinct, telling her that maybe, just maybe they were trustworthy.

After all, this man saved her life. Anyone else would have walked by, without so much as batting an eye but not him. He saw she was in trouble and came to her aid.

Suppose there was still some good left in the world.

Arthur and John approached the edge of camp, their horses trotting towards Charles who was guarding the camp this particular night.

“Arthur. John” Charles greeted.

His eyes then wandered to the young lady seated behind Arthur. She quickly looked away from his intimidating stare. “Who’s that?”

“Someone we picked up coming back to camp.” John answered, still following behind Arthur.

Arthur hitched his horse and hopped off. He turned to Y/N and held out his arms toward her to help her off the back of his horse.

She looked down at his hands, a perplexed expression bent into her features.

Arthur bobbed his hands up and down for a second before saying, “Come on.”

Y/N hesitantly leaned forward and rested her hands on Arthur’s shoulders as he lifted her from the horse and placed her on the ground.

“This way.” Arthur said, leading Y/N towards the center of camp.

Her eyes darted around the makeshift camp, searching for anyone she’d consider friendly. Not many of them looked all that amicable but she did see some woman which she wasn’t sure that relieved her in some way or made her even more skeptical.

Though when members of the group began to form a crowd around her and Arthur, that small relief soon vanished.

“Ah, Arthur.” Dutch greeted him as soon as the stocky cowboy came into his vision. “How’re things in Valentine?”

Arthur scratched at his stubble, “Not so good. Turns out the leads were nothin’ but rumors.”

“We’ll just have to keep looking.” Dutch said and Arthur nodded in agreement.

Just then Dutch caught sight of the young lady timidly standing behind Arthur’s towering figure.

“And who is this young lady?” Dutch said strutting around Arthur to see Y/N more clearly.

Y/N’s (e/c) orbs flashed up to meet Dutch’s gaze and she found herself stepping closer to Arthur.

“This is… uh...well actually, we don’t know her name but we found her on the main road, a few men were becoming little less than friendly.”

Dutch welcomed Y/N with a smile. “Well, miss…” He paused, waiting for her to respond.

Y/N gulped, fiddling with her shaking hands. “L/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Well Miss. L/N, you are welcome to stay here with us for as long as you need.” Dutch then looked over to the girls that had conveniently gathered together. “Miss. Grimshaw. Abigail. Get Miss. L/N cleaned up and a fresh pair of clothes will ya?”

Miss. Grimshaw and Abigail nodded then stepped forward and guided Y/N away from the crowd.

Y/N let them lead her away but not before she turned her head to look over her shoulder to Arthur, getting one last glance at his blue eyes as she walked further away.

For some reason, she felt she would rather not leave him but did anyhow.

“Come this way, honey.” Miss. Grimshaw said, pulling Y/N towards Abigail’s tent.

They stepped inside the tent along with Mary-Beth and Tilly following suit.

Miss. Grimshaw turned to Mary-Beth, “Go get some water and clean rag.” She ordered.

Mary-Beth nodded and headed out of the tent.

Miss. Grimshaw turned her attention back to the young (h/c) standing patiently in the middle of the large tent. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes.” She reached out to help her but Y/N instinctively flinched away, startling everyone remaining in the tent.

They all stood with their eyes on Y/N’s stiff form. She seemed as if she were prepared for someone to attack her.

Abigail stepped just a tad bit closer. “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt ya. We just want to help.” The burnette reassured.

Y/N’s eyes darted from Abigail, to Miss. Grimshaw, to Tilly then back to Abigail again.

After a minute or two of waiting, the three women could visibly see the (h/c)’s body relax as she rested her arms at her sides.

“Abigail, get Miss. L/N some clean clothes. Looks like she’s ‘bout your size.” She said and Abigail agreed, walking over to a corner in the tent and beginning to rummage through her clothes to find something decent for the young (h/c) to wear.

Mary-Beth then walked in with a cool bowl of water, and a clean rag sticking out from the edge of the metal. She stood next to Grimshaw, a soft expression on her face as she made eye contact with Y/N.

Grimshaw grabbed the rag from the metal bowl and rang out the extra water the rag had soaked up over the course of the time it sat in the bowl.

When it was damp enough to her liking, she stepped toward Y/N and very gently placed one hand under Y/N’s chin to keep her head still while she wiped away the dried blood that lay against her temple.

Even though Grimshaw was usually a hard ass, she handled the scared woman with care, almost as if she were made of glass. Fragile to the touch. Which surprisingly comforted Y/N, they were much kinder than originally anticipated.

Once the blood was wiped clean, Grimshaw tossed the now blood covered rag back into the metal bowl. “Alright. You’re all good. Just get changed into some fresh clothes and bring these ones out. We’ll make sure to wash’em for ya.” Grimshaw said, gesturing to her dirt covered skirt and shirt.

Abigail walked back over, neatly folded clothing in her hands. “Here ya go.”

Y/N cautiously extended her arms to take the clothes from Abigail. “T-thank you.” she mumbled scarcely, her lips pressing into a tight line.

She wasn’t sure what to make of what was happening.

Most people weren’t so kind, and selfless. Not that she didn’t appreciate what they were doing for her because she did very much so, but why go out of their way just to help some stranger that, for all they know, could be a threat?

Guess they were willing to take that chance.

“Go on, get changed. We’ll give ya some privacy.” Grimshaw stated hurriedly gesturing for the rest of the girls to exit said tent, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

It was a good few minutes before Y/N even thought about moving and proceeding with swapping out her clothes.

The older lady was right, she was the same size as the burnette.

There was no mirror around to check out her appearance so she just had to hope that she didn’t look too ridiculous, not that it really mattered.

She approached the edge of the tent. Her nerves getting the better of her.

What would happen once she stepped out of the confines of the tent. Nothing? Her worst nightmare?

Arthur’s words rang through her head. “If I was a threat, you would’a known it by now.”

If these people went as far as to clean her, bring her clothes, and overall help her then maybe they could be trusted.

Y/N closed her eyes. “Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out” She took a deep breathe then let it out in an attempt to calm her nerves.

When she stepped away from the makeshift home, Y/N immediately saw that a few men had grouped together and were discussing amongst themselves.

It was hard to tell what they were saying at first but in curiosity, she stepped closer and was able to make out what they were saying.

“We’ve got to let the girl go.” Micah said.

“We can’t just throw her out.” John intervened, annoyance palpable in his voice.

“She’s a stranger. And a threat to all of us.” Micah continued.

Arthur scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were so concerned for the rest of us.”

“I’m only thinking about the group.” Micah defended, his tone hiding some ulterior motive.

A pang of sadness rushed through Y/N as she listened in on what they were saying.

Micah continued. “I say we send the girl on her way.”

“No. I think we should let her stay with us and if she wants to leave then-” Dutch stopped when he caught sight of Y/N who was standing a few feet away.

The other men followed Dutch’s gaze, seeing that the damsel in distress had been standing right there, most likely listening in on what they were discussing.

Y/N’s expression told them all they needed to know. Her brows furrowed inward, not in anger but in sadness. Her (e/c) eyes held a thousand words, and her slightly parted mouth emphasized how she felt.

“I-”

“There you are, honey. Let me take those-” Miss. Grimshaw interrupted, causing Y/N to look at her then she took a hold of Y/N’s dirty clothes. “And let’s go find you somewhere to sleep.” She continued, and quickly guided Y/N away from the men.

As Miss. Grimshaw led Y/N away from the group of men, she caught a glimpse of that saddened expression making a home into Y/N’s features.

“Oh honey, don’t you worry ‘bout Mr.Bell. He says a lot of things but he’s all talk.”

“But he’s right; I am a stranger.” Y/N objected earnestly.

Miss. Grimshaw quickly pulled Y/N over toward a propped up tent. “Listen to me; you might be a stranger but don’t mean you ain’t decent.”

Her answer surprised the young (h/c).

The elderly woman continued. “You needed help, and we took upon ourselves to help you. Now don’t go worrying about things that ain’t gonna happen.”

Miss Grimshaw turned away grabbing an extra blanket from the back of one of the wagons then turned back and plopped it into Y/N’s arms.

“Now you’re gonna sleep right next to Mary-Beth.” The older woman spoke as she led Y/N over to a pitched tent in the center of camp.

Y/N assumed that Mary-Beth was the one already standing under the tarp that was the roof of the tent.

As soon as Grimshaw was near Mary-Beth, she started to rapidly swat her waves toward her signifying she wanted her to move over.

“Scooch over! We need to make room for Ms. L/N.”

The brunette quickly grabbed the edge of her sleeping bag and scooted over just a few inches.

“There you go, honey.” Miss Grimshaw said, looking to the (h/c).

Y/N perked up and slowly walked over to the now vacant spot and stood there for a second.

Miss Grimshaw continued. “Now lie down, get some rest, and I’m sure things will look better in the morning.” And just like that she walked away and out of sight.

The young female merely stood frozen in her spot, letting the events from the day sink in. Before she could protest, hot tears fell from the base of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Mary-Beth could notice the change in aura around this young lady, and lightly rested her hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

A sniffle was heard causing a wave of sympathy to rush over Mary-Beth. She stepped out from behind the young woman to see her face. The tears were the first thing she saw even in the black ridden night.

“Here.” Mary-Beth dug into the pocket sewn into the front of her dress and pulled out a sparkling, clean, white handkerchief.  

Y/N gently took the handkerchief out of Mary-Beth’s hand and used it to wipe the continuous tears. “I’m sorry…” She whimpered her voice cracking in the midst of her apology.

Mary-Beth managed a light hearted smile. “Sorry for what? For crying? You got nothing to be sorry for. It’s alright to cry when you’re hurting.” Mary-Beth paused. “I know we don’t know you very well and we don’t know what you’ve been through, but it’s gonna be okay. You’ll be safe with us.”

Y/N looked up at Mary-Beth and saw the genuinity in her eyes.

She wiped her eyes once more before handing the handkerchief back with a nod following soon after. “Okay…”

The brunette flashed a smile again as she took her handkerchief and stowed back it into her pocket.

Y/N turned around and backed away from her designated spot to roll out her sleeping bag. Right now, more than anything, she just wanted to get to bed, though she wasn’t sure that she would be able to sleep. Not when she was in a strange place with strange people, but she could at least try.

She laid down to cover herself up with the thin fabric to hopefully fall into a peaceful slumber.

Despite the trauma, Y/N allowed her thoughts to linger on those of her fallen friends.

They were good, and hard working people trying to make an honest living.

Trying to survive. Same as her. They didn’t deserve being shot down by a bunch of two bit thugs who cared about nothing but their own desires.

Though, that was the world they lived in. Life and death go hand and hand and sometimes it was just a person’s time to go even if it was in a brutal fashion or even if it was unfair.

Most times it was.

______

Series Masterlist

[thatbloodymuggle]

the one with the blueberry pop tart

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 6/?

masterlist

word count: 3.3k

warnings: blood, cursing, the usual

-

Rosie had read a lot of books in her lifetime. It was safe to say she had a more extensive vocabulary than the average girl. Yet, despite the plethora of words in her internal dictionary, there was no word to describe the hangover you get from crying.

You know the feeling; the waking up with swollen eyes, a sore nose, and worst of all, a raging headache.

Maybe you don't. But Rosie surely did.

The Carolina sunrise was usually a pleasant wakeup, but this one was filled with pain and regret. Her eyes fluttered, but immediately squinted closed again from the burning brightness. Rosie forced them open upon feeling a stinging sensation in her hands. She glanced down to see both hands bandaged and held tight against her chest. The memories from the night before came flooding back, and she was suddenly aware of the pounding in her head.

Rosie groaned and stretched her sore limbs. Her hands grabbed at the emptiness beside her. She frowned as she stared at the ruffled sheets that smelled faintly of grass, firewood, and spearmint. You gave him no reason to stay, so you why expect him to?

The girl hauled herself up, but immediately regretted it. It felt as if her head was about to implode. From the throbbing of her eyes to the stinging in her hands, her entire body ached.

"Jesus, fuck," she groaned.

Rosie pulled herself out of bed, and padded towards the bathroom. The house was quiet, confirming her suspicion that JJ had left. She jolted in shock as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Her hair was a disaster. She felt so dirty.

She turned the silver shower knob and didn't hesitate to strip herself of the jean shorts and tube top she'd slept in. Rosie haphazardly unwrapped the bandages on her hands and cringed at the sight underneath. The blood had resurfaced at some point but eventually dried, leaving red smears behind. She had a rather deep cut down the middle of her right palm, and smaller ones littered her left. Rosie didn't hesitate to jump in the shower and wash it away.

The cold water felt soothing against her hot skin. Rosie watched red water trail down the drain until it disappeared completely. As she washed herself, she scrubbed as hard as she could. She scrubbed away the embarrassment of her episode. But the harder she scrubbed, the angrier she got. The one thing Rosie hated more than feeling weak was other people seeing her as weak. And she was far from just a little weak last night. She'd almost burned her fucking house down.

And JJ, of all people, had a front row seat.

Rosie hurried out of the shower, sick of dwelling on the night before. She threw on a pair of clothes that looked clean enough, and brushed through her wet, tangled hair. Not ready to deal with her face or hands, Rosie stepped back out into the hallway.

Her brows cinched together as she heard the rumbling of the laundry machine from the back room. She hadn't started a load.

"JJ?"

No response. Her frown deepened. Who the hell was doing laundry in her house? Rosie braced herself for the disaster she'd created last night before stepping into the living room.

But there was nothing there.

Apart from a broken window and some missing items, the room looked completely normal. She walked through the room on her toes, as if something might explode. JJ must have done this. Who else would've known?

"JJ?" she called again.

No response, but there was a rustling outside. She peeked out the front door and didn't see anyone. Rosie walked further outside, the wet grass tickling her bare toes. She rounded the side of the house. There stood JJ with a pop tart in his right hand, and the front half of Twilight in his left. He must have heard her approaching as he looked up to meet her confused eyes.

"Why do you read this bullshit?" crumbs fell from his full mouth.

"Didn't know you could read," she retaliated.

Rosie inwardly cringed knowing she should be nicer to the boy who'd just cleaned her entire house, but her mind just wasn't wired that way. Bickering with JJ was instinctual.

JJ simply laughed, "Contrary to popular belief. You got any better flavors?" he walked past her towards the house. Rosie furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Flavors?"

"Pop tarts," he deadpanned, "blueberry is the worst flavor."

"Clearly not. You're still eating it," Rosie followed him back inside.

"I know," he scrunched up his nose in disgust, but took another bite. "I'm hungry."

Rosie rolled her eyes and made her way towards the fridge, "What time is it?"

"11ish."

She went to swing open the fridge door, but immediately cried at the pain in her hand. She frowned at the deep cut she was yet to rebandage.

"You know, it was bandaged for a reason," JJ sighed, making his way over to Rosie. She reluctantly let him examine her hands. The cut on her right hand looked very red and irritated. He squeezed her hand lightly, and the blood began flowing again, though much more slowly this time.

A frown etched onto his lips, "Shit, it's deeper than I thought."

"I'll be fine," Rosie grumbled and tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip.

"You may think I'm illiterate but I'm not stupid," he moved her to the bathroom. "You need stitches."

JJ guided her to sit on the closed toilet, but she jumped up in protest, "I'm fine! I'll just keep it covered until it heals."

He forced her onto the toilet, "It's not gonna heal unless you stitch it, you dumbass. Look how far apart your skin is. And it's still bleeding. Even if it did miraculously come together on its own, it's gonna get infected, and then who knows, maybe you'll have to amputate your hand altogether."

JJ held Rosie's hand up to her face, and she cringed at the gory sight. "With what health insurance?" she pushed him back. "JJ, I'm not about to go waste a fat portion of my dad's savings on a stupid cut. News flash, my only income is from The Wreck."

"I know. That's why I'm gonna do it," he searched through her cabinets for supplies. Rosie's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She shot up from the toilet seat and tried to exit the bathroom.

"Absolutely not. I'd rather have my hand amputated than have you play surgeon," she snapped.

"Just shut up and sit down. I know what I'm doing," JJ pushed her back onto the toilet.

"Well have you stitched someone before?"

"No."

Rosie stared at him as if he'd grown another head. He paused his search for a needle and glanced back at the girl, "I've read about it."

He turned back to the drawers. Rosie moved to get up again, but was stopped by JJ's voice.

"You're not getting out of this."

She slumped back into her seat in defeat.

She watched JJ pull out a first aid kit and set it onto the counter next to a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a needle he'd found in a sewing kit. He darted out of the bathroom and returned with a water bottle before Rosie could leave.

"Hand over the tub," he instructed her to stretch her arm out.

Rosie complied reluctantly. He held a wet cloth over the bleeding cut. JJ sat on the edge of the tub while he applied pressure to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. They sat like this for a few minutes and Rosie occasionally huffed and puffed to show her displeasure. JJ ignored her childish antics, but couldn't force down the smile tugging at his lips.

He removed the cloth, and reached for the water bottle. "Don't drop your arm," he stopped Rosie from pulling her hand back. JJ proceeded to pour the water over her hand, clearing the wound. He set down the bottle and held Rosie's hand closer to his face, examining it further.

"There's probably still some fiberglass in there," he frowned. "This is gonna sting."

The brief warning couldn't possibly have prepared Rosie for the burning sensation that came next as JJ poured hydrogen peroxide over the open wound.

"Fuck!"

She tried to yank her hand back, but JJ held it firmly over the tub. The stabbing pain made Rosie's head spin.

"You're so enjoying this," she spit. He ignored her again.

After a minute or so of utter agony, JJ finally let up. He held her hand close to his face, examining it once again.

"Clean enough," he stated.

"Enough? If you're gonna stick a needle in me at least make sure it's clean, you--"

Rosie didn't get to finish her whining. JJ shrugged, and poured the alcohol over her hand again.

"Ahh! You dick!"

"Just making sure it's clean," he smirked.

Rosie watched closely as JJ washed his hands before picking up the sewing needle. He proceeded the pull a lighter out of his pocket. She watched his fingers expertly flick it on and hold the small needle over the flame to sterilize it. He then pulled out a roll of nylon sutures from the kit and thread some though the needle.

Rosie felt sweat build on her palms as JJ moved back over to her, needle in hand. He kneeled in front of her and gingerly took her hand.

"This is gonna sting too."

"Yeah, no shit"

Rosie tensed as he pinched her skin together and positioned the needle about a half a centimeter away from the middle of the cut.

"Don't move," he instructed, and she listened.

Rosie gritted her teeth as he poked the needle through her skin. She tried to distract herself from the pain and focused on JJ's face. She observed the crease between his brows which were furrowed in concentration. His tongue peeked out from between his lips, and his focused eyes were unblinking. She didn't dare look at her hand, knowing the sight would make her nauseous.

"First one's done," JJ mumbled and stood up to prepare the needle again for the next stitch.

This process continued for about 30 minutes or so. Rosie watched JJ stitch her hand together carefully. She was so immersed in the movement of the wrinkles on his forehead, that she hadn't realized he was on the last stitch.

"Done," he spoke while tying off the last suture, cutting off the excess material.

Rosie finally looked down at her previously bleeding hand, which surprisingly looked half-decent.

"Hey, it doesn't look horrible," she praised the blond who shot her a goofy grin.

"Yee of little faith. Take some Advil, though. And cover up the rest of your cuts."

He tossed the pill bottle and a box of bandages towards her, which she caught with her mildly-scratched left hand.

"And don't get it wet for at least a week," he added.

Rosie frowned at this, and opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

"That means no swimming, surfing, or diving."

The girl pouted and groaned. She stood from the toilet and caught sight of her face in the mirror. The swelling of her eyes had gone down some, but her face still wasn't looking great. While JJ put the supplies away, Rosie wet her face with her left hand and reached for her bag of drugstore makeup. A little concealer and mascara would do the trick.

JJ observed from the corner of his eyes as she dabbed the cream over her problem areas and rubbed it in. He then watched Rosie curl her lashes and coat them with the black stick.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Rosie smirked as she caught JJ staring.

He winked back, but remained silent while he watched her get ready. The pair sat in comfortable silence for a while, neither one wanting to break it. Eventually Rosie sighed and set down the mascara.

"You didn't have to do all that, you know," Rosie glanced at the blond with guilty eyes.

"Yeah I did, if your hand got infected it would be all infected and gross and--"

"No," Rosie scrunched her nose up in disgust, "Not that. I meant last night; staying here and cleaning everything up. Why?"

JJ's face morphed from light and joking to hard and taut. His eyes glazed over. He opened his mouth to reply, only to close it again. Truth be told, JJ wasn't sure why exactly he'd done all that.

"I don't know."

JJ and Rosie held each other's gaze for what felt like hours, but was only a few seconds. She tried to decipher what he was thinking, but to no avail.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded sharply and broke their staring contest. Rosie watched him exit the bathroom.

"We should go to John B's. You know, figure out what we're gonna do about this whole Scooter Grubbs situation," JJ walked out of her front door.

She frowned at his abrupt mood change, but followed nevertheless.

"Walk or drive?"

JJ paused for a moment before replying, "Walk. Walking is less suspicious. It would look weird if we both showed up in your car."

Rosie's frown deepened, but she didn't argue and walked beside him. They went along in silence for a minute or so until JJ brandished a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He placed the stick between his lips and held up the lighter to his lips. The smell of tobacco clouded the surrounding air. He took a couple of drags before holding the cig loosely in his right hand to Rosie. She accepted it and mimicked his actions. The pair of teenagers continued on like this. Passing the tobacco back and forth until they'd reached the Chateau.

"You go ahead. I'll wait back for a little bit so it doesn't look weird," JJ threw the cig to the ground and stomped it out.

An unfamiliar feeling erupted in Rosie's chest, but she followed his instructions. It's for the best, she told herself. Don't wanna give people the wrong idea.

As Rosie approached the shack, she could hear her friends' voices. She forced a grin upon stepping onto the porch (it may not have met her eyes, but they didn't need to know that).

"Good morning," Rosie sang, falling onto the couch beside Pope.

"It's 12:30," John B cocked an eyebrow.

"Tomayto, Tomahto," Rosie rolled her eyes.

The air was tense. None of her friends knew what to expect after what had gone down between her and JJ at the beach last night, but they surely hadn't expected her to come in all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Kiara shot her look as if to ask, are you okay?

Rosie forced the most genuine smile she could to say, I'm great.

She was saved from an interrogation by the loud footsteps of JJ.

"Don't worry, I'm here," he wore his infamous grin which bothered Rosie even more than usual.

It was as if nothing had just happened .

Now that the entire group had arrived, John B stood up.

"We're callin' it off. Peterkin said that if I stay out of the marsh, she'll help me with DCS."

JJ interrupted, "And you believed her?"

"Yeah, I believed her."

Rosie frowned, but didn't say anything. There was no way Peterkin could legally help him with the DCS.

"Look, all I gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple of days and she'll help me out," he paused, before throwing down the stick he'd been holding, "And it doesn't help that your ass was the one shooting the gun."

Rosie could sense a fight brewing but she remained quiet. She didn't want another repeat of last night, especially now that JJ seemed to be back to normal.

"You know what I should've done? Should've just let Topper drown your ass, man," JJ chucked a rock in the direction of the water.

They bickered like children back and forth for a bit and Rosie rolled her eyes.

"They always win, man. Kooks versus Pogues. They always, always win!" JJ exclaimed.

"Look, it's okay!" Kie intervened but JJ whipped around to face her.

"No, it's not okay!" he yelled, "They don't want us to go down into the marsh. That means there's something valuable there, and you know it."

Rosie looked down at her hands, focusing on the fresh stitches instead.

"I understand why you don't wanna go," JJ turned to Pope. "You're the golden boy. You got way too much to risk. And you--" he turned to Kiara, "well you're already rich as fuck anyway. Why would you bother?" JJ finally turned to face you, making eye contact for the first time since you'd left the house. "And you," he paused before continuing, "If we get caught, it's big girl jail for you."

Rosie frowned, but she knew he was right. Now that she was legally recognized as an adult, she would be treated like one under the law.

JJ walked closer to John B and stared him dead in the eye, "But you and me, man? We got nothin' to lose!"

"JJ," John B shook his head but was cut off by his friend.

"I know it didn't use to be that way for you--"

"I don't wanna talk about this," John B walked away.

"So that's it?" JJ tried to pull him back, but John B shoved him away.

"Just get out of my way, bro."

JJ's stubbornness shined through as he followed his friend, "John B listen to me. I've got a plan."

He went on to explain his master plan. John B would use his key to Ward's boat to steal some scuba diving gear. They'd borrow it for the afternoon to explore the boat, and return it before anyone noticed it was gone. Pope, Kiara, and Rosie all watched in anticipation as John B reluctantly agreed, and the two boys made their way back to the group.

"Since when do you have stitches?" Pope frowned at Rosie's hand, diverting her attention away from the two approaching boys.

"Oh, um, went to Urgent Care to get them done this morning. Dropped a knife, nearly sliced my hand off," she made up a story on the spot with an airy laugh. Pope and John B seemed convinced and turned away, but Kie wasn't.

"What about the bandages on your other hand? Same knife?" she frowned at her friend.

"Yep," Rosie's smile never left her face. "Clumsy me."

She locked eyes with JJ, who was staring at her. She tried to decipher the look on his face, the same look from earlier, but came up short. Rosie fought the urge to scream and yell and throw something at him, and instead brightened her smile even further.

"So, what are we still doing here? I think we've got a boat to explore"

-

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine@thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza@dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox @anahgiedd @love-bean @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs @downbytheouterbanks @lostwnoah

-

not much going on in this chapter, but hopefully you’ll get more action in the next one! let me know what you guys thank :)

[ladyanaconda]

First Date

When Tenn awoke in the morning, she found a note from Purple in her bedside table.

Good morning, my dear!

I left a little present for you in your wardrobe. Meet me back here at seven.

Your Angel of Music

Curious, Tenn opened her wardrobe and found a beautiful scarlet gown hanging from it. She found it oddly familiar; it's the dress she saw at the mall the other day! Well, almost, this one's patterns were different. Purple most likely sewed it himself; he had made her a wedding dress, so it wouldn't surprise her.

After her morning performance, Tenn left the Opera House and went straight to her home to give herself a long, aromatic bath, then went out into the city to have some time to herself. She returned to the Opera House at half-past six and changed into the scarlet gown, examining herself in the mirror. She had to admit, Purple did outshine himself this time.

Before long, the mirror's secret doorway opened and a familiar purple-eyed Irken stepped out of the shadows, clad in the usual dark clothing and white mask. Purple stared at her, eyes wide. His exposed cheek had turned a deep purplish-magenta as his lekku straightened up.

"Tenn? I think I'm dead because there's an angel right in front of me."

Tenn rolled her eyes, smiling a bit. "You don't look that bad yourself, you know."

"Did you like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" Tenn twirled around in front of the mirror, the dress's long skirt flowing along. "It's even better than the original. You should consider working as a fashion designer."

Purple chuckled. "Nah, I don't like the idea of making clothes for a bunch of spoiled, paper-thin models. Besides, it's just a hobby. Music is my true calling." He held out a hand for Tenn. "Shall we go, then?"

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

Tenn accepted his hand and stepped into the secret passage, the mirror closing behind her. It was dark, but somehow Purple found his way through the corridors; he's moved through them for years, so he must know all of the secret passages like the back of his hand, even without light. He asked her to keep her eyes closed as he led her through some passageways she didn't know about. She was tempted to open her eyes after bumping her head or foot for the fifth time, but decided not to.

A while later after climbing what she assumed were spiral stairs, she heard a door opening. A breeze of cool air brushed against her body, sending shivers down her spine.

"You can look now."

Tenn opened her eyes; she let out a small gasp of awe and surprise. They were standing on a rooftop; the majestic city of Irk surrounded them with its tall skyscrapers and flying ships. She noticed they were a bit too close to the edge and unconsciously stepped closer to her companion.

"What do you think?" Purple inquired, smiling.

"It's so high…" was the only thing Tenn managed to say.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall." The Phantom assured her as he led her to a spot further back. It looked like he had set up a sort of picnic, with a basket and all. "Shall we?"

Tenn wasn't sure if she wanted to eat right now with vertigo overwhelming her, as part of her was afraid she'd throw up. She's never been that fond of heights. Perhaps that's the reason she clung so close to Purple as he led her towards the picnic. The basket was filled with snacks such as nachos, donuts, and a few pastries such as muffins with colorful frosting. Accompanying them was a blue wine of sorts.

"Did you make this?" Tenn asked curiously.

"Not exactly. I had help." Purple admitted as they sat down.

"From who?"

"I'm not sure if he'd be happy that I told you, but… Oh, what the hell. It's Red."

Tenn blinked. "Wait, Reddok? Our Red?"

"Yup, that one," Purple admitted in-between munching a muffin.

Red? Of all the workers in the Opera House, she didn't imagine him as the Phantom's accomplice. But then again, this would explain why he was always the one to deliver the letters, why he didn't seem to be afraid of the Phantom, and why Purple had gone so far to make Spork give Red back his job. He was always chastising anyone who spoke ill of the Phantom of the Opera, warning them to mind their tongues.

Her stomach reminded her that she hadn't had anything to eat just yet, so joined Purple in eating. The pastries were really good. Tenn grabbed some of the nachos and started eating them avidly.

"How did Red get these up here, anyway?" she found herself asking.

"He knows some of the secret passages I use. Not all of them, though." Purple explained, swallowing the donut in his mouth.

"You two are friends?"

Purple sighed sadly. "He's the only friend I've ever had in my life."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"How exactly did you end up living under the opera house?"

Purple raised his lekku. It's… been a while ever since he last thought about the past. Part of him didn't want to relieve it, but he went ahead anyway. She did deserve some answers, after all.

"You probably know this already, but I was born like this," his fingers gingerly touched his mask. "From what I was told when I was old enough, my mother couldn't bear to look at me, so she sold me to a carnival. Naturally, I was put with the freaks. The ringmaster was a nasty person. He forced me to live inside a cage, feeding me nothing but scraps. Not only that, he forced me to wear a dirty bag over my face so no one could see me. He only removed it when…" Purple clenched his fists and his lekku flattened.

"You okay?" Tenn asked.

"I'm fine, my dear. Anyhow, I was one of the main attractions at the freak show. The ringmaster would bring crowds of aliens around my cage, then he'd come inside to beat me and remove my mask…" Purple closed his eyes shut as waves of long-buried memories returned. "The worst part was the laughter. All of those people always laugh at me, calling me a freak and making fun of my pain…"

Tenn almost felt like crying, especially as she noted how Purple was doing his best not to cry himself. She had imagined his life must have been hard, but this is another level.

"One day, I decided I had enough. After the last beating of the day, I saw a rope at the edge of my cage… the ringmaster was distracted collecting money, so he didn't see me grab the rope and creep up behind him until…" Purple sighed. "That was the first time I stained my hands with blood.

"Then I saw someone in the tent's doorway. An Irken, like me, was staring at me in shock. I recognized him: he had come with the last crowd. I thought he was going to rat me out, but instead, he opened my cage and led me away from the scene. My companion helped me escape from the angry mob when they found the body and he brought me here, hiding me from the universe and its cruelties.

"...Red," Tenn said.

"Yes. He taught me about the secret tunnels throughout the opera, but I was the only one to fully explore them. I learned to move around without being seen to bring food and stuff down to my house in the lake, rarely seeing the light of day, if at all…" Purple turned to her, smiling as his hand touched hers. "Until the day I first heard you sing.

"You were so young back then, but your voice was like a chorus of angels. Ever since that day, I knew I needed you to compliment my music. However, I was afraid to introduce myself to you because I didn't know how you'd react to… Well, me." Purple shifted. "I found a way to talk to you, though."

"You mean the singing lessons? Is that why you've been teaching me all these years?" Tenn inquired.

"Yes. For that, and because…" Purple gave her a tender look. "Because I love you."

"Oh, Purple…"

Tenn didn't know what to say. Hearing his story and what he's gone through made her look at him in a new light. He never experienced love in his life, and now that he felt it he wanted to keep it. He wants to feel loved and thought that she could give it to him… but could she? Sure, he's been very nice, and she found him charming and liked his sense of humor, but… she wasn't sure if she'd ever grow to love him the way he wanted.

-IZ-

Looks like Purple can plan a decent date for someone who's been living underground for years. Good thing he has Red to help him.

[ktheist]

twenty-six

chapters:   25 / 26 / 27

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

x

Silver armor encases Taehyung’s body almost as though he was made for it - for war and the blood that is bound to spill when he puts it on.

You would know, you’ve been on the receiving end of the battlefield.

Yet you ask for the same suffering of Goldwald’s people.

Something in the bottom of your belly churns with unrest as your mouth sews itself shut. You’ve been a silent watcher as Taehyung draft out the map of the rich merchant-filled land, marking red dots upon the blueprint of where the soldiers will lay in hiding. Whether they attack or not is solely up to the young King of Goldwald - if he agrees to become part of the Southern Kingdom’s territory, then there was no need to make use of the soldiers. If he so chooses to go to war, then he is bound to lose.

This is the first time Taehyung rides for war ever since you got married - some had expected him to seize what’s left of the lone countries at first light the day after he takes the throne. As what was expected from his tyrannic reputation.

Some, as your sister had belatedly relayed before she left after the ball, had thought the Queen - you - had finally put the savage beast to sleep.

You didn’t know the degrees of truth that holds, but you do know it was you who poured the promise of blood over the beast’s lust.

A peck lands on your forehead, just inches from the jeweled crown that sits atop your prettily made hair. Yerin’s hairstyling skill is like no other - you’ve summoned her back to the palace and she’d obeyed every one of your command without so much as a complaint. It is unclear whether it was a good thing or bad.

“You’ll get wrinkles before you turn 30 with a frown like that,” Taehyung jests, a smile making its way to his handsome features - he does that a lot now, smiling that is, “fret not, I’ve given orders to the men to strike down Goldwald’s army only and spare the weak.”

And he’s become more considerate - for you. Because he notices the troubled lines that appears on your face as the men hustled around the palace with polished sword and shields for preparation of war.

At times you find yourself melting from how warm he felt but most times you step back like what you’re doing now, as though reinforcing the invisible line between you two.

The slightest flash of hurt in his eyes does not go unnoticed by you yet you school a stern expression - the way you usually would in his unwanted presence. Though you aren’t so sure why, even though he’s leaving you alone for at least three months, there’s a heavy weight in pulling on your heartstrings. 

“Thank you, my King.” You lower your head, “you are most considerate. Goldwald’s people are fortunate to be blessed with your kindness.”

When you raise your gaze, his is becoming shrouded with looming clouds. If there weren’t as many footmen and maids lined up from the palace’s doors down to the gate, you’re sure - he would have burst out. Begged you for your reason for being so distant when all he is, is granting your wish.

The young prince you married would have done so regardless of whether there were watching eyes - perhaps it’s true, the beast lying within the King has its claws clipped. He’s beginning to show much more refinement - a telltale of a wise ruler.

Surprise paints your face when he lowers his face to your stomach, a gloved hand caressing the side of your belly - between the ball and the preparation for Goldwald’s seize, you’ve found yourself due any day now.

“I won’t be here when you come into this world,” he murmurs low enough for only you and him to hear, “but I’ll come back as soon as I’ve conquered Goldwald. Don’t make mommy go through so much pain, yes?”

Guilt’s rears its ugly head at his tender voice and the jarring truth to the baby in your belly’s identity. You don’t regret having your child - but as days pass and as Taehyung’s tone begin to sound like a soft lullaby, the fact that you’re lying right to his face doesn’t sit as right with you. Not the way it used to.

He fixes you a smile - one that is so conflicted but at the same time longs to hold you. Yet he does nothing but bow before turning his back on you as he walks towards his horse, the men already in formation.

“Taehyung,” you find yourself calling his name, making him halt, one foot on the stirrup while he cranes his neck towards you.

Before you know it, the clicking of your heels echo into the air. His lifted brows are the last thing you see before your lips press against his. Surprise is still present on his face when you pull away - you couldn’t bring yourself to send him off with a smile. Perhaps it’s the gnawing feeling festering inside the lightless part of your heart, knowing Jungkook is somewhere in one of the towers, on the look out for enemies - possibly witnessing you run towards the man you swore to loathe. Perhaps it’s the brood of war that you’re sending Taehyung off too. But you mean it when you say-

“Come back to me safely.”

x

“My Queen, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Eunha laments, deep creases of frustration marking the spot between her eyebrows.

Unbeknownst to you, before Taehyung’s departure, he had gathered all the servants and gave orders to be on the look out for their Queen in case she overworks herself - said orders to be effective immediately after he passed through the palace’s gates.

Not even a day later, the servants greet you with wary bows and gazes. As though the baby was going to pop out of you right that instant. 

Eunha, having been with you for almost a year, had been more vocal than the first time you met her - but you supposed it was her own way of caring for her Queen. Even though some may deem it discourteous to speak to a monarch in that manner.

Perhaps, three days ago, you would have believed that she was genuinely one of yours if you hadn’t noticed the numbness in your fingertips and the slightest shade of purple underneath your nails - like that of a dead man’s.

“I was just getting some water from the table,” you simply say, holding the glass of water to your lips while you turn another page of the book Yerin lent you - for some reason she’d taken to standing by the sidelines rather than actively trying to get into your good graces.

It was not a mystery why - what happened that night with Taehyung had embarrassed her greatly yet her family’s status would be ruined if she’d quit being your lady-in-waiting out of the blue. 

Two days ago, you would have let the tendrils of guilt bind around your throat until it was hard to even swallow.

You’d noticed it the morning after Taehyung left. The signs were subtle - you didn’t feel any pain but perhaps that was because of your high tolerance from the many times you’d sustained injuries during practice and on the battlefield.

Still, you’d skipped all meals, piling them underneath your bed, leaving empty plates for them to pick up until Eunha helped you bathe and Yerin helped you into your nightgown and combed your hair like she usually would.

It was something in the way the latter’s brows come together in a mutual uncertainty as she ran the comb through your hair, “your majesty, I hope I’m not overstepping my boundary but...”

“What is it?” Your tone was as cold as the fingers in your lap - perhaps, on days she didn’t hold so much motive to harm you, there would not have been so much animosity directed to her.

“Um - it’s just, you seem awfully quiet today - are you alright?” The mirror reflected every movement of her eyes as they darted away from your heated gaze, towards the corner of the room and finally fixed on your hair.

It could have meant many things. A mouse who got her tail stuck in the trap, being one of it.

But you couldn’t call the guards and have her thrown into prison with just a mere hunch - an assumption.

Eunha was not entirely out spared from it either.

With a sigh, you’d dismissed her with a, “I’m just tired - it’s my first time being pregnant and a Queen.”

As though you did not just snap at her a minute ago, Yerin had chuckled - it was the first time she ever did anything that required lowering the guard around you, apples on her cheeks and all whilst her hand went to cover her mouth, “I see, I can’t fit my foot on either shoes but I shall pray for my Queen’s health and safe labor.”

It had taken you awhile to register her well wishes and another to finally respond, “thank you, Yerin.”

As soon as she was gone, you’d hurried to the window. Torches lined down the pathway towards the garden and a few more scattered across the maze-like bushes. The moon had beamed at you in greeting.

“Jungkook?” You whispered into the night but it was another man who’d stepped out from the shadows.

“Not tonight - Jungkook has errands to run.” Yoongi informed, eyes as unfazed as ever.

By ‘errands’ he’d mean going to the bars and pubs - that was where rumors, regardless whether true or not, spread like wildfire. Jungkook had been your ghost - your eyes and ears.

“Come inside - we’re going to pay the physician a visit.” You left the window half-agape and disappeared into your closet where the cloak you’d used time and time again to sneak out, was lying in the corner underneath your ground-swept ballgowns.

There wasn’t so much as a thud to signal his entrance but you’d instructed him to bunch up the cloth that you’d piled your lunch and dinner over under your bed regardless. When you’d stepped out of the closet, dark cloak hanging around your body - you didn’t think it’d cover your stomach but it did - Yoongi already had one hand clenched around the cloth.

You’d use the servant’s passage to avoid the guards -  anyone who could have been planted here to keep an eye on what you’ve been up to, make sure you weren’t going far and beyond what they wanted and if you did they’d-

“Poison, your majesty.” The physician had been a man in his 60′s with graying hair and beard and moon spectacles sitting atop his bulbous nose. He’d stood in front of you with a darkened expression in a worn out green robe he’d hastily thrown on after being woken up from his deep slumber, “the way the tip of your fingers were blue and dark veins begin to appear over your stomach - I’m sure it’s because you’ve consumed the extract of the bloodflower.”

The rapid thrumming of your heart had spread throughout your body yet your voice had been startlingly calm as you’d gently rubbed the skin stretched over your stomach, just above the spot where you’d felt the kick of another life from within - perhaps it was the knowledge that your child was still alive that had grounded you, prevented you from ordering an execution of whom you did not want to think about.

“And my child?”

“I cannot say for certain,” he shook his head, “it is difficult to ascertain the amount from the food you’d brought as it’d been mixed together - I will send my apprentice-”

“No,” you speak over him, voice as sharp as the two swords hung over the wall just above the headboard in your chamber, “speak of this to no one. I will send you one of my ghosts - he’ll assist you in getting whatever you need to do to get the antidote. For now, whoever orchestrated this thinks we don’t know so they will be unprepared.”

You’d stood up from the chair, forcing your wobbling knees to hold you up even though all you want is to crawl into your bed and bury yourself under layers of blanket as though it would protect you from the spiteful hands of those who wanted to harm you and your child.

But it was the unsettlingly warm desire of Taehyung’s arms wrapping around you that made you clear you hold your chin higher as inner protest.

The physician lowered his head as he cede before speaking again, “one more thing, your majesty, if I may be so bold, I would advice against straining yourself working given the circumstances and until I’ve made a concoction of the antidote.”

“That’s reasonable,” you say after a moment of pondering - the physician’s crestfallen expression being caused by your next words, not going unnoticed but neither do you plan to change it, “but I can’t simply put matters of segregating resources to cities on hold whenever I want to.”

“You could have rang and I’d come and get it for you.” Eunha’s huff tears you away from your recollection. Hands planted on both sides of her hips, she’s a remark away from bursting into a nag.

“Alright,” you shut the book gently, but not before marking the page you’re on, “will you help me prepare for the day, Eunha?”

Despite her drawn brows and conflicted pout, she relents a heartbeat later, “as you wish, your majesty.”

Eunha helps you bathe and change into a teal dress that arrived from one of the boutiques from the capital. Except where you would accept her hand in assisting you to walk, you hold yours out to Yerin. The woman stares at you as though you’ve grown another head for the longest moment before dropping her own in a courtesy, “your majesty.”

Smiling, you hook your arm around hers when she offers it, noticing Eunha’s darkening expression before you begin to tread towards your office. The whole time, she trails behind you and Yerin like a maid would had it been within your own castle in the Northern Kingdom. Had your rise not been so opposed by the aristocrats and ministers that you were forced to find alliance in someone whose status was on the other side of the sphere compared to yours.

[drangues]

Impervious

The Armed Detective Agency was in something of a chaotic frenzy.

This, in and of itself, was not anything new- Day in and out, if one listened hard enough, they could hear the infuriated screams of one Kunikida Doppo as he frantically chased after his coworkers in a futile attempt to get them to complete whatever paperwork they were avoiding that day. Hearing the terrified screams of the patients- Or perhaps, the victims- Of one Yosano Akiko’s medical practices also wasn’t too out of the norm, for the area.

What was out of the norm was the genuinely fearful air about the workers of the Agency- Every single one of them was rushed, in some way, and they all bore a frenzied energy that seemed to refuse the idea of sitting still.

And if one looked into the Agency’s office space, they’d find the reason why.

xxx—xxx—xxx

There was not a single member of the Armed Detective Agency that was having a good day, and it wasn’t even in the “we’ll laugh about this later!” way that Dazai Osamu liked to torment his coworkers with. To be fair, the man himself was hardly in the mood to be pulling pranks and making a mockery of everyone- And it was all for one simple reason.

Nakajima Atsushi had gone missing.

He wasn’t sick or calling out of work for some other reason, because Izumi Kyōka had seen him before she left their shared apartment, Kunikida had called to make certain that he wasn’t feeling ill and had forgotten to notify them, and Dazai had even broken into the apartment (without asking Kyōka) after all was said and done, just to double check.

He wasn’t lost in the depths of Yokohama, because Miyazawa Kenji and the Tanizaki siblings, Jun’ichirō and Naomi, had been combing through the city on foot to make sure he hadn’t gotten sucked into any trouble, and Tayama Katai has been looking through the security records in every available place, both legally and illegally, just to cover all their bases.

He wasn’t in the custody of the Port Mafia, which they admittedly only knew because at least three separate people would have sent a message to gloat about having captured the weretiger.

(Also, Dazai had not-so-secretly pulled some of his older strings and broken out a few threats of dismemberment, but that was neither here nor there.)

No one knew where the white-haired male had gone, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that someone outside of the usual suspects had interfered in their lives.

Now if only they knew who the hell this new subject was.

xxx—xxx—xxx

When he opened his eyes, it became clear to Atsushi that something had gone very wrong between Point A and Point B on his way to work.

Admittedly, the day had started off somewhat badly to begin with- Kyōka has dropped the breakfast crêpe he’d made her on her way out the door, so he’d promised to make her a new one while she went on ahead. Then, once he’d finished with it, he’d realized that he was late, and that he was certain to get an earful from Kunikida about it. So he’d stepped up the pace and started running for the Agency, and then-

And then-

And then what?

He… Remembers, somewhat vaguely, someone stopping him as he ran. They wanted something, he thinks. Then… Nothing. The last thing he remembered seeing was-

Ah, he thinks, somewhat dully, I dropped the crêpe.

It wasn’t actually that big of an issue, all things considered- Clearly, he’d been kidnapped- And yet, that’s what stuck out at him. That’s what he remembered.

How stupid.

You couldn’t have remembered something actually useful? Your captor’s face, perhaps? Your surroundings?

Useless, awful beast-

Atsushi breathed in. Breathed out. Not right now. He couldn’t handle hallucinations right now. He needed to think. Whoever took him had to want something, right? Something from the Agency?

But what, and why-

Creeeaaak.

The door opens, slowly and loudly, and for the first time, he realized that he was, in fact in an inclosed space- He just hadn’t thought to use his senses to confirm it. He isn’t wearing a blindfold, but the light is flickering and dull- Certainly dim enough to offset anyone else, if they’d been caught. The air is stale, too, an old kind of scent that makes him think of earth and dirt- Underground, then. Maybe.

How would you know? You can barely even function as a detective on a normal day, much less when you’ve been taken by someone.

Should’ve left you to die in a ditch.

Should’ve let you starve.

Should’ve left you rotting in the basement-

With a shaky sigh, Atsushi manages to ignore the words that have always haunted him, and the figure of a man standing just at the corners of his vision. Instead, he takes in his captor.

They’re taller- Taller than him, anyways- With messy, frantically rumpled brown hair and wild, dark brown eyes. He looks like he just rolled out of bed- Or like he’s been too worked up to take care of himself.

Atsushi catches a whiff of his scent and immediately decides its the latter.

He doesn’t… Register everything the man says- He’s still groggy from being unconscious, and there’s a distractingly sickening pit in his stomach that gets deeper the more this man talks.

Dangerous.

Run.

Stay away.

Run

Run.

Run!

And it’s only as the man tightens his restraints and lets out an unhinged laugh that Atsushi realizes, with a dullness that only comes from experience-

Oh.

There’s a nail above his foot, and a few more set aside.

His captor raises a hammer.

I’ve seen your kind before.

Atsushi doesn’t scream.

xxx—xxx—xxx

It takes them four days, some intense virtual searching from Katai, and the intervention of Edogawa Ranpo (Who had been away on a mission for the Agency for the first three days, and who they hadn’t been able to contact) for the Agency to realize when Atsushi was taken, who took him, and where he might be at the moment.

Most alarmingly, alongside this information, they discover what might be happening to the weretiger while they tried to find him.

Hanmura Ryō was a man with an extensive criminal history, and the connections to make sure he never really had to suffer for it. He was well know for kidnapping and torturing people- Usually, those people are between the ages of seventeen and twenty one, and they mostly had silver or white hair. This torture could apparently range from a single day to a month, and he’d initially killed his victims after becoming bored of them.

Then his connections had proven to be powerful enough to keep him from facing any real consequences, and he took to leaving his victims alive after he was done with them- A last sort of mockery on their inability to do anything to him.

Needless to say, this information only worked the Agency up even further.

After all, Atsushi, as far as they were aware, had never really had any experience with being tortured- Which wasn’t to say that they’d be alright if he did have experience with it, but it made them worried that it would break him irreparably.

(Of course, unknown to them- Or perhaps, ignored by them- Atsushi did, in fact, have experience in that field.

It wasn’t his fault they didn’t believe him.)

Luckily, it only took a few more minutes of digging from Katai (Minutes filled with some very colorful threats from Dazai, and a distinctly murderous feeling from Kyōka) to narrow down the kidnapper’s location- And, with any luck, it will be Atsushi’s location, as well.

It’s Dazai, Yosano, and Kunikida that end up getting in the car to go on their rescue mission.

(Kyōka had wanted to go, but Fukuzawa Yukichi had very firmly put his foot down, regardless of her past experiences, and told her that Atsushi would much rather have the first face he sees upon returning be that of his little sister.

She was now waiting very stubbornly by the door to be exactly that, but he’d take what he could get.)

They just hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Atsushi doesn’t know how long it’s been, exactly, but he does know that he’s… Surprised? At how little this is all affecting him.

Oh, don’t misunderstand- He’s terrified out of his mind at being in a place that he never asked to be in, that’s so similar to a place he hated (Hates? Hated? Dazai and Jun’ichirō had made things so confusing…). He’s terrified that he can’t bring himself to use his Ability in such a place. He’s terrified that the Agency might not come for him- Because they can’t? Or worse, because they don’t want to.

But- While the nails going up and down his arms and his legs hurt- The torture itself isn’t getting to him. Oh, sure, the hot pokers that his captor had shoved in his gut hurt something awful, and getting his bones broken, only for them to heal, was an… Interesting experience, but.

But this wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. If anything, it was tame in comparison.

The man hasn’t even tried to sew his mouth shut, like one of the Sister had when he was a child. He isn’t being forced to do labor while injured. There’s blood- His blood- But he isn’t being forced to clean it up. Words on his own worthlessness as a human being aren’t being forced into his head, day in and day out.

Well, they are being forced there, but he isn’t sure if a hallucination counts- It isn’t anything new, after all.

It hurts- Everything the man does hurts. His body aches, and he knows that, without Byakko, he’d be irreparably broken, physically speaking.

But he’s used to this sort of thing. “This sort of thing” is one of his earliest memories.

His captor screams, frustration coating his voice as he kicks Atsushi’s chair down. The pokers twist in their wounds, making him wince, but he still doesn’t make much of a sound at the feeling.

Breath in, breath out.

The man shrieks again, foot coming down on his spine with an audible crack for what must be the fifth time.

Remember- What’s better than being alive?

xxx—xxx—xxx

It doesn’t take all that long for the trio to arrive at their location- A fairly normal house, all things considered, if somewhat rundown and a bit out of date. The key feature is, of course, the basement they’re almost entirely certain is holding Atsushi.

(Everyone hopes that’s where he is, at least. They’re pretty sure that Dazai will actually go on a killing spree if it isn’t- And they don’t think they’d stop him.)

The entire building is silent upon initial observation, though, and none of them are quite sure how to feel about that.

Is he okay?

Is he gagged?

Is he dead is he dead is he-

Yosano enters first, and Dazai would complain if he didn’t know it was to give her quick access to Atsushi if he had a fatal injury. (Also, she was generally a badass, but that’s another story, entirely.) The two men follow behind, all three quiet as they scan the first room for anything potentially alarming.

There isn’t much, really. Just some dull, ratty carpets, thrown over the floor in haste, and cracking wallpaper.

Also, there’s a padlocked door at the far end, and they could’ve sworn there was screaming of some sort.

It doesn’t take much more than that for them to break down the offending door, which was apparently soundproofed somehow, because the screaming, while still indistinct, became much louder without it. In fact, the screaming itself didn’t even stop at the noise of the door falling.

They take the stairs two at a time, with the exception of Dazai, who simply skips walking down entirely to throw himself at the bottom, hitting the floor in a neat roll as he gets back up.

All three of them get weapons out, turning to face the source of the noise.

None of them were quite expecting what they saw.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Atsushi doesn’t know what he did to make his captor so mad, but he’s kind of wishing he hadn’t done it, regardless.

The man will. Not. Stop. Screaming.

For someone with sensitive ears, like Atsushi, it’s hardly a pleasant experience, and he isn’t entirely certain what he’s yelling about in the first place- Wasn’t he the kidnapped one, here?

He shifted again, causing the plethora of nails, pokers, and stakes that his captor and pressed into his body to tug at him uncomfortably- Any bruises created from the beatings he’d been given had long since healed, much to the man’s ire, and he’d eventually chosen to keep going with the only things that left lasting marks.

(That they only left lasting marks because he wouldn’t remove them was ignored, apparently.)

His head fell back against the dirt floor he’d been laying on ever since the man had knocked over the chair that was holding him.

You deserve this.

Weak. Useless. Mindless.

It’s your own fault, couldn’t even hear him coming-

Monster monster monster monster-

He shut his eyes, trying to block out the voices hissing in his ears- But concentrating was a lot harder with the hunger twisting in his gut. His captor hardly felt the need to feed him, after all.

A foot lashed out, driving a trio of nails on his collarbone deeper into his body, and he choked at the sensation.

It still wasn’t a scream, though, and the man snarled, foot reeling back to repeat his actions-

Thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud-

THUMP.

If he’d been using them, Atsushi’s tiger ears would’ve twitched at the noises- As it stood, he simply raised his head, attempting to peer into the front of the room, where his captor typically used as his entrance and exit.

He blinked.

To be fair, he didn’t think the man was expecting the sight behind him, either, if the look on his face as he twisted around was any indication.

Behind him stood Dazai Osamu, Yosano Akiko, and Kunikida Doppo of the Armed Detective Agency.

And they did not look happy.

xxx—xxx—xxx

When they found their missing coworker, they’d expected blood- Lots of blood, to be honest. Broken bones, screaming, the whole nine yards- And they technically got that.

They just. Weren’t expecting the screaming to come from Hanmura.

Oh, Atsushi was clearly in pain, sure- His eyes were glassy, and his breathing was far to rapid for their comfort- But he wasn’t screaming or cowering, as they were afraid he’d be.

By all rights, he seemed almost… Used to this.

Had they still been too late? They’d moved as fast as they could-

Had he broken completely?

Was he just stronger than they thought-

God, they hoped he was stronger than they thought he would be-

It takes them only a moment to regain their bearings, and within seconds, Dazai has shot Hanmura in both kneecaps with pinpoint accuracy, with Kunikida moving in to fully restrain him a moment later. Yosano, meanwhile, had immediately moved to Atsushi’s side, carefully removing him from his restraints with some quickly applied bolt cutters and lock picks.

After that, it doesn’t take long at all for her to begin examining one of her newest coworkers- Senior only to Kyōka, really. With as much care as can be afforded, she begins checking the wounds around every intrusion to his body before removing them and allowing the tiger to do its work.

Better safe than sorry, she thinks. Super healing or no, if infection had set in-

She pushes the thought aside, only really intervening in the healing itself to remove any cauterized areas- The fucker had used heated pokers at some point, then.

How lovely.

(And maybe she would typically be more sadistic, but even she has her limits- And she won’t make things worse for Atsushi after he’d just spent four days being tortured.)

Luckily, it takes only five minutes for her to remove all of the nails and stakes and pokers that had been shoved in the silver-haired male’s body, and soon enough, she’s able to help him to his feet, though he’s a bit unsteady, and far, far too light.

(He probably hadn’t been fed at all, and she sees Dazai stomp a foot down on one of Hanmura’s now-broken kneecaps.

Good.)

Once he’s up, she steps aside and let’s Dazai hold Atsushi, instead- The man has been worried out of his mind, after all, and she can’t say she blames him.

True to expectations, Dazai immediately wraps an arm around Atsushi’s back to steady him again before pressing his face into his neck in a sort of half-hug, and after some rather impressive, nonverbal back-and-forth, he convinces him to at least get on his back so that he doesn’t have to walk too much.

(Healed or no, the man had still be starved. So what if he wanted to take care of him a little bit?)

A mutual look between all three rescuers tells them that they’ll talk about this later- About why Atsushi seemed so unaffected, and about how the hell to make sure that Hanmura stays down- But for now, they have more important things to focus on.

It was time to go home.

xxx—xxx—xxx

Author’s Note: Yes! It is I, Nyanon!!! Anyways, you mentioned wanting a fic of the “Atsushi being tortured” idea I sent you on anon- Hopefully this is good enough!

Also, if you’re wondering why Atsushi didn’t just turn into a tiger and eat Hanmura- It was sort of meant to be a “he’s been in this situation before, and just pliantly doing what they wanted was how he survived” sort of thing? Because Trauma. Hopefully that makes sense!

[imaginesfora3]

No More Tears

A/N: A sequel to this Homare story that apparently stomped on a lot of people’s hearts

Homare hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep that night.

Even with the likes of Azuma and Tsumugi trying to soothe his frayed nerves he was far too anxious to slumber, staring at his phone, pacing in his room, wondering when he’d hear from you again. He’d gone over his insensitive words repeatedly, recognizing where he might have went wrong, where the negative interpretation had come in through no fault of your own. His ability to put his foot in his mouth seemed to increase with age and he found himself considering just sewing his mouth shut so his words may never hurt you again.

Fear had struck him so deeply that he knew it would not be easy to be rid of it.

And yet the sight of your face the next morning, as somber as it was, makes his heart leap in his chest. He wanted to greet you as he normally did with an enthusiastic kiss to the lips and then a few more to your cheeks for good measure but he felt he didn’t have the right any longer. You seemed a bit disappointed but didn’t say anything, simply greeting him with a nod as he allowed you to step into his room. You sat on his bed and clearly expected him to follow you, his anxiety quickly returning as he felt like he was being rapidly pulled back in time yet again. Was the look on your face really that similar to his exes before she’d left him or was he just imagining things? How deeply had his words wounded you? Was he overreacting or just bracing himself for the inevitable yet again?

“Homare, I can already tell you’re thinking too much.”

“My name doesn’t deserve to be on your lips,” He gathered the courage to grab your hands, pulling them to his chest, “I want nothing more than to apologize to you, for the rest of my days if you request it. My words were that of a fool who hadn’t realized all he had to lose.”

You don’t pull away from his touch which is comforting, squeezing his soft and slightly sweaty hands. You can see the bags under his eyes and how his hair had been hastily combed down to look approachable after you’d knocked, wondering if he got any sleep at all. As hurt as you were yesterday you had sent him away to sort out your own feelings, no wanting Homare to suffer with you while you tried to work through your conflicted emotions. Looking at him now perhaps he’d gotten the wrong idea, not understanding that you just needed some time alone which was perfectly normal after arguing with a significant other.

“Do you, uh, do you understand what made me so upset yesterday? Like, you do understand why saying something like that made me cry?”

“I’ve thought about it all night, it was the only thing my mind could focus on. It is precisely why I can apologize without hesitation! But if you still wish to… If you wish to…” He couldn’t get the words out, he couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t by his side and he truly didn’t want to. But your happiness came before anything, and if it’d make you happiest to no longer have to see his wretched face or listen to a single line of his poetry again, than he’d sacrifice his happiness for yours.

“I know you’re an actor and all, but don’t get dramatic,” There’s a hint of a smile on your face even if there’s still some tension in the room, hands still clasped together, “I love you, Homare. I love you and I’m not giving up on us even if we hit a few bumps in the road… I just thought it was important you knew that.”

“…So you don’t wish to end our relationship?”

“Of course not. It was just one little mistake, and luckily for you, I know exactly how you are when you go on your tangents. You could use a little humbling.” Your teasing tone is the most relieving sound he’d ever heard and his shoulders slumped, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes as he realized it was in his head. He would have to work carefully to regain your trust, to understand the implications of his words before they left his mouth, but he knew it was something he could work on.

“Thank you for this second chance, my dearest,” He brought your hands to his face, his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses across the knuckles of both of your hands. “I won’t be letting you down again!”

“I look forward to my apology poem,” You leaned over to kiss his cheek, “In fact, I think I should have an entire book of poems just about me. What do you think?”

His nerves have calmed. His heart has returned to his chest from his throat. You’re full-on smiling now, filling him with endless inspiration that he’d start using to write the minute you parted.  

“That’s the easiest thing you could ask of me, my rose, for poetry comes all too easy for a man as deeply in love as I.”

[punksarahreese]

Birth | Bloodletting

Nosdecember day 21 | @neworleansspecial

Occult!AU; a look into Ava’s rebirth into vampirism

CW: Pet/master dynamics, abuse mention, murder, blood/scars, gore

***

“Will you ever stop fussing over them?” Ava’s voice held no annoyance, instead she was just watching Sarah with soft eyes. The human had been tracing the scars on her shoulders for minutes, something she had developed a habit of since getting closer with the vampire. It had been six months since they met, long since Sarah became a frequent, almost daily visitor of the big house in the forest. Estia was attached to her, excited to learn about life growing up as a human, and Ava herself had become quite fond of the woman too.

She wasn’t sure how she grew to trust the human so quickly. Maybe it was because Estia had no qualms about her, Ava trusting her daughter’s insight more than anyone’s; she had been with her for almost 40 years by then of course. Maybe it was because April and the wolves loved her, the promise that she had made respectable friends within the forest so she couldn’t be a threat. Ava supposed it could have been Sarah herself. Her behaviour, the way she instantly wanted to nurture and help anyone who needed it. A doctor through and through, Ava could tell, she just wanted to make people feel better. She had told Ava about her past, as if she thought opening up about her own trauma would make the vampire trust her more. Maybe it did, but she was still worried about Sarah learning her truth.

“They’re like little stories,” the human answered like she always did, “They tell me what you can’t, like how this one was inflicted by a dull blade; probably an old knife.”

“Smart girl,” Ava hummed, leaning into her touch as her fingers danced across her collarbone. She hadn’t felt this warm in almost a century, the heat of her body long since sapped by immortality. She hadn’t had much physical contact since becoming a vampire, definitely not by anyone as alive as Sarah. She had been surprised that the scent of her blood wasn’t always at the forefront of her mind, like so many elders had told her it would be when around a human. Instead, Ava was distracted by the gentleness of her touch, the warmth transferring to her own icy skin, and the care she took to be as delicate as possible. No one had been this attentive or caring in decades; Ava wasn’t sure how to react.

They were in Ava’s study, which was more of a library than anything. The walls were bookcases upon bookcases, covered in novels and nonfiction in every language imaginable. Sarah had been so excited when she realized Ava had a whole section dedicated to medical books, which she had told Sarah she could read at any time. She had been reading that day, curled up on the couch near the fireplace with Ava by her side. She only ever lit the hearth when Sarah was there, since neither her nor Estia needed the heat in their cold home. She didn’t mind it though, especially since it meant Sarah would stay for a large chunk of the day if the study was warm. It was a quiet, comforting escape from her cottage with Natalie and Autumn always there and April or the wolves asking to stop by. She loved her friends, she did, but sometimes she needed quiet time and Ava understood that the most.

Like so many times before, Sarah had gotten distracted when Ava passed her another book, catching her scarred hand before she could pull away. She was so fascinated by the vampire’s history, though she still seemed apprehensive to speak about it, and she wanted to know everything. She had been a psychiatry resident before she had to quit her job after her mother’s murder, so Sarah knew that Ava was hiding something and it was eating her away inside. She wanted to help, wanted the other woman to feel safe enough to trust someone; to trust her.

Ava didn’t protest when Sarah focused on her scars, she knew she meant no harm. Sarah was curious, that’s all, and Ava’s scars were a part of her eternal body. She had long since made peace with most of them and she certainly wouldn't complain about the attention. She trusted the human, she really did, but she wasn’t too sure if she trusted herself.

“Ava?”

Another hum was her only reply, though she did smile at Sarah when she went to brush a loose curl off her shoulder. She didn’t miss the way the vampire immediately stiffened when her fingers brushed her carotid however, and she couldn’t hide her own flinch at that. Still, when Ava didn’t make a move to pull away, Sarah let her hand gently rest against the left side of her neck, warm palm resting against the biggest scar there.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?”

“I feel like that’s a question I should be asking you,” Ava mumbled and the other woman knew she was deflecting. Sarah had long since inferred that this wound was how she died, since the vampire seemed void of any actual turning mark, but she never was able to get the answers from her. She didn’t want to push Ava if she wasn’t comfortable but she knew keeping it hidden for a hundred years wasn’t helping anyone.

“Why do you wish to know so badly?” Ava’s own hand came up to rest affectionately on the human’s cheek, “You’re a bit of a pain, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me,” Sarah smiled at her, knowing she was trying to distract her with the touch, “You would feel better if you talked about it.”

“I don’t… you shouldn’t have to hear the horrors of it all, Sarah. It’s something no one should ever have to endure, I wish to protect you from even the thought of it.”

“Ava… Please?”

“I-” the blonde sighed, “I’ve never talked about it, not out loud.”

“Not even with Estia?”

“Gods no, she may be older than you mentally but to me she is still a baby, my baby. She had her own traumatic turning, the last thing she needs is to know how much I endured before even having the relief of finally meeting death.”

“Ava, I’m sorry… You don’t-”

She shook her head, thinking for a moment before answering, “You asked and I do suppose it’s time I answer your questions. You deserve to know, though I will warn you it’s quite gruesome. I did not… have a pleasant end.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Sarah said apologetically, “Only if you trust me and feel comfortable, I would like to know.”

“Sarah, darling, I trust you more than anyone.”

***

Ava had been a nurse in a hospital in the poorest area of her hometown. She hadn’t wanted to become a nurse, rather she wanted to be a doctor, but female doctors just weren’t commonplace in the 1920’s. She spent the majority of her twenties working with women and children in poorhouses, coming to the aid of those who were harmed in war or domestic disputes. She was apart of a underground feminist movement in Cape Town as well, something her parents had long since stopped arguing with Ava about but hated all the same. She was reckless, they said, this would only hurt her reputation. How was she going to meet a respectable man to marry if she wouldn’t stop the suffragette nonsense? Little did they know, Ava had no interest in getting married, especially not to a man.

She was walking back from dropping her little sister off at some birthday party, Anikka had been so excited to give her friend a new teddy bear that Ava had helped her sew some little clothes for. The party would run for a few hours, so the woman figured she could kill some time by shopping for groceries and perhaps pick up a couple books to help Anikka learn to read.

It wasn’t even dark out, certainly not the time for a middle class, white woman to be too worried about walking around main street, though Ava realized she probably should have been more attentive. She was just passing between two stores, taking a familiar shortcut through an alleyway to avoid a group of soldiers doing a photo-op near a statue of the King. She didn't even have time to react when a rough hand grabbed her by the wrist, couldn’t bring herself to scream before another ice cold palm clapped over her mouth. The one thing she remembered before she blacked out was feeling the seam of her new coat ripping and the sharp pain of something jabbing into her shoulder.

When Ava woke up she was more than disoriented. The nurse in her said she must have hit her head at some point, as her eyes couldn’t comfortably adjust to the dim lighting and her mind was struggling to catch up. The room she was in was cold, empty except for a small cot pushed up against the wall and a bucket across the room that she didn't want to know the intended purpose of. She tried to get out, scrabbling at the rusty door hinges and tugging on the locked handle until her fingers bled. She cried, even though she hated herself for it, all she could do was cry and beg hoping her captors would hear her and have mercy.

Ava didn’t know how long she had been in that cold, damp room before someone showed up. She had cried herself to sleep at one point, curled up beside the door because the cot seemed too far away. She woke up when the door opened, hitting her in the back harshly. A voice chastised her for being in the way, demanding she stand and follow him. Ava tried to resist but was yanked to her feet, stumbling because she was beyond dehydrated and her head was spinning. She asked this man who he was, where he was taking her, and what day it was. She only got silence in reply, a harsh tug of her wrist almost landing her face first on the cold marble floor. That was when Ava realized she was barefoot, her coat and shoes were gone and her stockings had been ripped from the knees down. She was freezing, hands still bleeding from trying to escape, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted this to end before it got worse, she wasn’t sure what would happen to her but Ava assumed it wouldn’t be good.

Before long she was shoved into another room, the door slamming shut behind her. Ava assumed she was alone again, deciding to explore her new location since it was very different from her previous one. The room was decorated lavishly, way more modern than her current apartment that her father had bought her since she still refused to marry. A large piano was situated in the one corner of the room, overlooking a large curtained window that appeared to lead to a balcony. She ran an injured hand over the expensive leather of a comfortable looking couch, wondering who with all this money wanted anything to do with her. Sure Ava’s parents had money but she hardly believed they would pay any large sum for her ransom. Besides, these people appeared to have more money than her family ever would, so they probably didn’t need any ransom from her.

“Oh, you’ve finally calmed down; how lovely.”

Ava jumped at the deep tone, accented in a way that told her the man wasn’t from South Africa. English, she first assumed, and she turned to come face to face with a tall man who looked her father’s age. He was sitting in a chair near a fireplace, though it was not lit, and he had turned to look at Ava with amusement. What concerned her the most was his eyes, that tracked her anxious movements in a cat-like way. They were red, deeper in colour than the wounds of any injured person she had even seen. She wanted to scream, to run, but she feared for her life if she did.

“Now now, do not look so frightened, pet.” He stood, walking over to Ava even as she flinched away. A rough hand caught her face, squishing her cheeks as he gave her a once over with an unreadable expression. Ava had begun to cry silently, tears tracking down her already makeup-stained face and he wiped them away in distaste.

“So dramatic,” he crooned, “I hope you will learn to behave and keep yourself presentable in the future. Crying is unbecoming of a woman, especially one as pretty as you.”

“W-what… what do y-you want from me?”

“Oh, she speaks!” he laughed to himself, “What are you on about, pet?”

“I’m not you pet,” Ava spat in a sudden flare of rage, appalled at his behaviour towards her, “Is it money? Do you not have enough as it is? My family will not pay ransom for me, I hope you know.”

“Oh no, dear, you’ve got it all wrong,” Ava tried to fight off the hand that still had a hold of her but he only moved his hand down to wrap around her throat. He ignored the way her hands scrambled to tear his hand away, her nails not even making dents in his skin. The man grinned at her and if she had been able to Ava thought she would have screamed, where his incisors should have been were long, sharp teeth that could only be described as fangs.

“You, my pet, are mine. For eternity.”

***

“Is that when he…” Sarah was close to tears, holding tightly onto Ava’s hand. She saw the way her friend was shaking, whether it be out of fear of reliving her memories or anger at what had happened decades before. This was hard for her, Sarah felt horrible for even asking Ava to tell her what occurred.

“Gods no. Sarah, he kept me for over a year before his fangs ever broke skin.”

“What?”

“I was a walking blood bank for them…” she gestured to her countless scars inflicted by sharp objects, “They never bit me deep enough, not for the longest time. He said he would be the one to do it when the time came. They would cut me and collect my blood, sometimes he would… let them lick it off me instead.”

Anger flared in Sarah’s stomach at that, seeing how uncomfortable the memory made her. All she could do was stare at Ava, unsure of what to say. She just wanted to hug her in that moment, to hold her and promise no one would ever touch her again, but she didn’t want to overstep.

“It wasn’t all bad… they kept me well fed at least. I had to be of course, a malnourished person doesn’t produce good blood. My master,” she spat the title out like it burned, “He gave me everything a girl would have wanted back then. I had all the clothes and makeup and books I could want.”

“But you weren’t happy.”

“Of course not, I hated it there. I would pray for the day they would accidentally cut too deep or one of the fledglings would lose control and rip my throat out before he could stop them.”

“I’m sorry, Ava…” Sarah blinked away tears at the thought of everything she had had to endure, “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“I got my wish, though,” Ava laughed bitterly as she traced the largest scar, “That day… I thought it was the end.”

“What… happened?”

A fledgling had a knife, she was supposed to be collecting from me that day,” she answered, letting Sarah tug her own hand away from her neck. She gave the human a sad smile when she held her hand tightly, grateful for her comfort.

“She hit your carotid?”

Ava nodded, hiding a flinch at the memory, “I barely recall what happened except for the searing pain. There was so much blood, she was having trouble holding back and I could tell. I blacked out in seconds but the last thing I remember was collapsing into her arms and… I wish it had been the end. The next couple weeks were Hell compared to what had happened before.”

Sarah couldn’t help but ask, “Why did they wait until the last moment to turn you?”

“I was their toy… their pet, Sarah. They had me exactly where they wanted me for a year. They gave me just enough of their venom to keep me loyal and tied down, I couldn’t fight because my body wouldn’t let me. If they turned me I would have been more powerful and they couldn’t keep me a useful prisoner anymore.”

“Then why bother turning you? If you were already bleeding out and wouldn’t be what they wanted after?”

“He… said he couldn’t live without me. He wanted me to be his wife, I refused countless times. He was my master so I couldn’t leave but I refused to ever be his submissive in my afterlife. He tried, for decades this man tried to win my favour and still treated me like I was his. I would never accept his advances though, which angered him. He may have taken my life and my blood but there was no way in Hell that man was taking my body too.”

This was taking a big toll on Ava, though she couldn’t physically cry Sarah could see in her eyes that she wanted to. The human apologized softly, opening her arms without saying anything else. Ava hesitated but allowed herself to melt into the comfort, feeling safer than she ever thought she would again. She wasn’t sure why Sarah made her feel so safe, especially since Ava herself was naturally supposed to be a threat to her. Still, the way the woman held her close and brushed her hair gently behind her ear made Ava feel seen and cared for for the first time since 1920.

“He’ll never hurt you again, Ava.”

Ava couldn’t help the tiny smile that fought its way onto her face, “He can’t. I killed that bastard the second I got the chance.”

[basilone]

We travel from one sandbox to another and meet, well, somewhere in the middle? The very lovely @mercurygray has been kind enough to let me spend a little time with her creations, and I dearly hope I haven’t fucked things up now. ;) The following was born of my response to her question about which members of her Girl Gang would be god-chosen in my universe, as the thought of a scene between Billie and Ron Speirs would not exactly leave my head afterward. This is self-indulgent to a fault, but we did agree these two would be great in a fight.. 

the divine knife’s edge

The worst part of war is waiting. Waiting for orders, waiting for permission, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for command to start making sense, waiting for the day officers stop panicking and start fighting, waiting for anything and everything. It’s enough to make anyone wonder if death, once invited to roam among them, would make them wait too.

Billie Mitchell huffs out an impatient breath. Stomps her boots on the ground once, twice, in a rather vain attempt to sort out that feeling of her socks not sitting quite right on her feet. England’s early morning air kisses her cheeks with a bite of ice still lodged in its touch. She smiles a moment. Calls up the feeling of the Philly air in early spring, just as frosty as this.

Walking around camp at this hour is often a treat. There’s no need to swerve around, jump over, or otherwise expertly avoid items and people. They’re on a week’s mission in the countryside, somehow, with boredom and the need for purpose both vying for the Army’s attention. It’s been an utter drag so far, and for once she cannot place the whole of the blame on captain Sobel. Mornings like these are the lone moment when the world still feels right.

Or, well, they used to be.

She stops dead in her tracks as she rounds the corner of one of the larger tents and comes face to face with a dance like nothing she’s ever been taught.

It’s the lieutenant from Dog Company. Speirs, her brain supplies helpfully. His name’s Speirs. She shakes her head as she remembers the straight-backed, coiled-too-tight lieutenant who beat Sobel in the Olympics games without ever breaking a sweat. There’d been something of a fever in his eyes then, though, one that had made Joan frown and Marjorie worry, and watching him now makes her insides lurch.

He’s not alone.

Weaving, darting, bending around him are shadows. Shadows that meet the flash of blades in his hands, moving so quickly that the glint of steel becomes flashes of lightning against the overwhelming dark. Shadows that cling to another person, who might very well not be called a person at all. Shadows that strike him, fling him aside carelessly, wait for him to get back to his feet only to punch him straight onto his back again.

She watches, mesmerized, as the lieutenant locks his blades with the woman’s arms and draws blood that is gone as quickly as it came. Watches, with the heat of terror stuck between her shoulders, as the sharp edges keep finding the woman’s body to draw death and destruction upon it. Speirs draws a map of hurt onto immortal skin and is met with languid, encouraging laughter.

“Again, honey,” she hears, sing-song keyed into that strange woman’s voice, “but lower and sharper. The blade must twist on entry.”

A gasp escapes her as Speirs’s blade swivels, turns, twists its way into the woman’s belly.

Speirs, all glittering eyes and with a snarl twisting his features, turns to look at her. The woman, flashing a smile his way for reasons Billie cannot possibly fathom, turns her head moments after.

“Well, shit,” she groans. Sighs when the lieutenant withdraws his blade and doesn’t look like he’s going to stop focusing on her. “Fuck.”

Billie recoils involuntarily as she locks eyes with the woman. Too-dark eyes look her up and down a moment, weighing something Billie doesn’t want to dare identify, before another smile quirks upward on that pale face. Something akin to recognition flashes across beautiful, too-perfect features. The smile turns sharp, pointed, amused in a way that makes Billie’s belly hurt.

The smile is all teeth and hunger.

“I’m sorry,” says Billie, mentally cataloging all the different paths with which she can wriggle her way out of danger, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” When in doubt, stay unflinchingly polite. She’s learned that lesson at her mother’s knee, even when the rest of those lessons are lost to stubbornness and resentment. But Billie is still Billie, and desire pours forth from her mouth before she has a chance to bite it back. “It’s just.. It looked so good. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Took Ron years to learn,” says the woman, and it’s only the slight nod she directs at lieutenant Speirs that lets Billie know Speirs and ‘Ron’ are one and the same. Her voice is more melodic than Billie expected. Dark, low tones mingle with a lilt that almost sounds like song. “Blades are easier than guns, sometimes. Good to carry.”

“They don’t teach us how to use them much, here. It’s mostly guns.”

The woman hums. Her eyes are sharp, like the blades her chosen carries. “Would you like to learn, sweetheart?”

“I’m not fighting you.” Billie shuts that down right quick, or so she thinks. She might be brave and a little careless, quick to fight and quick to rebel, but she’s not stupid. “You’re a god. I’m not even chosen. That’s not happening.”

“Not chosen?” Lieutenant Speirs’s eyebrow raises just like his god’s does. “Could’ve sworn.. No matter. It’s Mitchell, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Billie,” she supplies helpfully, knowing full well the man’s not likely to use that. “Non-chosen, unless there’s something a god’s not telling me.”

“There’s a great many things they don’t tell.”

“Hey,” says the woman, nudging his side, “I tell you plenty.”

Billie blinks as Speirs actually rolls his eyes skyward. There’s something entirely irreverent about the way they interact, all familiarity in their glances and touches, that she hasn’t even seen between Nixon and his god. Even Molly’s god, though tightly woven around her speech, doesn’t seem as indulgent toward their charge as the god that stands before her now. There is a bit of a wordless debate at play before her that’s even more impressive than her mother’s judgmental looks.

“Would you like to learn, Mitchell?” asks Speirs, then, as the argument silently resolves. “From me, not her.”

“What, that?” She very nearly smiles. Very nearly becomes all teeth and hunt just like the god Speirs so clearly adores, as if she cannot wait to plunge into the depth of such mayhem herself. “What’s the use, sir?”

“Come here. You know how to work with needles, yes?”

“Sewing or stitching someone up? Never cared for the former,” she says, a little too breezily as she remembers too many stone-faced silences thrown her way, “but I can do the latter.”

“The blade’s a lot like that.” Speirs’s voice is calm as he holds out one of his own knives. “A needle’s always attached to a string. With knives like these, the string is your body.” His hand locks around hers. Presses the hilt into her palm, adjusts her fingers, keeps speaking in that matter-of-fact voice she’s never heard from anyone in her own company bar Chuck Grant. “Your body, in battle, is never a statue. Always moving. The blade moves with you. If you let it loose, you must catch it.”

“And if I don’t catch it?”

“Then you’re thinking too much, feeling too little.” Speirs’s god leans against the stacked crates and shrugs. “Battle’s about the feeling.”

“That’s not what captain Sobel tells us,” mutters Billie, loud enough for both to hear.

“Trust the tactics. Trust your instincts more. Move when you need to. Use your head, but don’t get stuck in it.”

“I’m never stuck in my head,” says Billie, using the blade to weave a pattern against the rising sun’s rays. She shrugs as she meets the lieutenant’s eyes. “I’m never stuck, period. Always moving.”

Away from home. Away from duty that isn’t mine. Away from expectations.

“Then you’ll learn,” he says, and slashes his own blade upward against hers.

He’s slowed down on purpose. Allows her to find her feet as she stumbles and then recovers with her borrowed blade jabbing out sharply. Indulges her as she eyes him, picking out any chinks in his carefully drawn-up armor. He favors his right ever so slightly, so she lunges toward the left. Isn’t surprised to hear the laughter of his god as he narrowly side-steps her.

“Putain,” she winces, English momentarily forgotten, when he retaliates in arches and jabs that see her driven backward.

“Language, Mitchell,” smirks Speirs.

She grits her teeth. Oh, she’s going to knock him on his ass or die trying all right. She weighs the knife experimentally. Tosses it into her left hand, lashes out at him with her right fist, lunges for him with an outstretched foot and a snarl. Left, right, left, easy as breathing, easy as running Currahee, easy as those damn waltzing lessons she tries to forget every day of her life.

Billie winds up on the floor half a dozen times before she manages to land a smack of the knife’s hilt against his chest and twists the blade toward him before he can pull away. She finds herself picking up the pace, picking up on the spaces he leaves for her in this fight, picking her moments even as he teaches by delivering bruises to her arms and legs. He narrowly avoids having his lip split by one of her crazier ideas, while she is left bemoaning her life choices as the air is knocked from her lungs again.

She knows he indulges her. Knows that this fight would be over in less than a minute if he was really trying to hurt her. Knows she’d be dead if she was an enemy, but somehow Speirs has decided to side with her in this war. She’s glad for it, now, even when he teaches in half-sentences and invites his god to comment with observations that don’t mean anything to Billie yet. She’s glad to know there’s someone whose fight makes sense to her body, whose movements are logic and feeling wrapped up as one, who doesn’t see her as anything other than a potential weapon to win a fight with.

When she laughs, finally, now that the sun dances through his god’s midnight-toned hair and the camp begins to awaken around them, he withdraws the blade and the battle as quickly as it came. He nods at her as they stand and breathe in the English cold.

“Same time tomorrow, Mitchell.”

“Is that an order, sir?” she asks reflexively, too trained and too polite by far. She bites her tongue. Deliberates. Shifts back and forth on her feet when his unblinking eyes remain unreadable to her. “I mean, you must have better things to do.”

“Better than teaching you to dance, Mitchell?” The tone is light. Too light. Too careful, too, and she recognizes the firm hand of his god in what he says and omits. “I can think of nothing better with which to spend this waiting game. Don’t be late.”

Billie, much later in the war, will swear up and down that Speirs is at his most dangerous when he smiles. Today, she merely stares after his retreating form. His god follows in his wake. All the shadows in the land move with them.

She shivers.

[callboxkat]

A Little Nightmare (part 9)

Author’s note: Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with this story! I hope you enjoy its conclusion! 

Warnings: Illness and injury, fear, arguing, fear of being kept against your will, dog mention, food mention, near-drowning mention

Word count: 6416

A Little Nightmare Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

It turned out that sleeping was a lot easier when Remy wasn’t afraid of a gigantic bloodthirsty beast barging in and devouring her alive. Joan’s goofy looking corgi, Marco, didn’t exactly inspire the same paranoid insomnia. He was still a dog, but he was nowhere near what she had been imagining.

Maybe it was actually too easy to sleep, if the fact that she didn’t wake up until well past noon was anything to go by. She didn’t have a clock at her disposal in the room; but she could tell she had slept late as soon as she woke up. The placement of the shadows in the room only confirmed this feeling.

On the one hand, Remy was both a bit embarrassed and annoyed to have slept for so long. On the other, there were only a few hours left in the deal she had made with Joan, where she had agreed to stay with them for two days to recover in exchange for being brought back to the place where this had all begun. The place where Joan obviously believed she had family waiting for her; but which in fact only gave her an opportunity to retrieve her lost supplies and continue on her dangerous mission to find a home. The place where she had very nearly died, in the very undignified manner of drowning in a bucket.

She’d be lying if she tried to say that returning to that lifestyle, especially given her recent brush with death, didn’t fill her with a mixture of dread, anxiety, and profound exhaustion. But she knew she had to go. There were no other options. Or at least, no good ones.

Remy sighed, pushing away the blanket, sniffling. She slowly got to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and walked to the small shot glass of water that Joan had left behind for her. She picked up the aluminum cup that sat beside it, which she had refolded—Joan should really stick to things their size. This, she used to scoop up some water. She settled herself down beside the shot glass to drink it.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, which slowly opened.

“Hey, Nunya, sorry to wake you, but I need to let Marco… oh, hi.” Joan seemed surprised to see her already up.

Remy sipped her water.

“Good morning. Or, I guess it’s technically afternoon. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m taking Marco out of my room. He needs outside.” They leaned on the door frame. “Want some food when I get back?”

“Coffee?”

Joan snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get you coffee. But what about food? I’d assume you’re hungry.”

Remy wasn’t incredibly hungry, since she’d just woken up, but littles were not ones to turn down food. “I mean, like, yeah.”

“Cool. Breakfast or lunch?”

Remy furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she stared at them. “…Yeeessss?” Was there a difference? Food was food.

Joan frowned slightly at her reaction, seeming confused. “Well. Okay. I’m gonna go take Marco out now. I’m probably going to let him hang out in the kitchen while I cook, too, so you know.”

Remy appreciated that Joan had kept their word about giving her a heads up, so she just said, “Don’t forget my coffee.”

Joan saluted and ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind them. There was an odd look in their eyes as they did it, but Remy decided not to dwell on it.

…

“So… how long until 3:30?”

Joan paused, their fork hovering over their own bowl of noodles. They swallowed. “A little under three hours,” they admitted, tapping their fork on the side of their dish before scooping up another forkful of food.

Remy shifted. “You’re still taking me back, right?”

Joan quickly chewed and swallowed. “’Course. I promised, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Joan watched her for a moment, making Remy feel self-conscious. She pretended not to notice, just eating her own meal.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did, girl.”

Joan rolled their eyes, then looked at her with a more serious expression. “It’s just that you always say, “take me back”. Never “take me home”.”

Remy forced herself not to react too strongly. Instead, she folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So, I just… I don’t know. You do have a home, right?”

“Girl, like what are you even talking about? Of course I have a home! What do you think we’re doing here? Jeez.”

She wasn’t sure Joan was convinced, but they just sighed. “Sorry, I’m just… you know, I want you to be okay after you leave.”

Remy muffled a cough. “Bruh. Ma’am. Girl. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t want you to know where I live. Did you ever consider that, Joan?”

The human frowned slightly. “Maybe.”

“And like, you don’t get to decide if my home’s good enough to go back to, or whatever, so stop acting like you do. It’s not a good look.”

Joan looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay, yeah, fine. Sorry if I came off that way. I am taking you back today.”

“At 3:30?”

“At 3:30.”

“Gucci.”

Joan looked baffled. “You know what Gucci is?”

“Yeah. You know, like, good? I’m not an idiot.”

They looked no less confused, but they just said, “Right.”

Remy went back to eating. After a few seconds, so did Joan.

“So,” they asked after a while, “what do you want to do until 3:30? We’ve got some time to kill.”

Remy thoughtfully chewed on a piece of carrot, then swallowed. “Do you have a sewing kit?”

Joan nodded. “Yeah, I have a sewing kit. What for?”

“I’m going to sew a human trap.”

Joan smirked. “Ah, I see. You’re going to need a lot of thread, then.”

“Mmm, maybe.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Really though. What color thread do you need? Any fabric?”

Remy stared at them for a few seconds, vaguely suspicious, then gestured at her jacket. “This color?”

Joan leaned forward, the smallest trace of hurt flashing in their eyes as she leaned back in response. She almost felt bad about it.

“Sure, I can do that,” they said.

Silence fell after that, slightly uncomfortable as the two simply ate their meals. Finally, Remy cleared her throat—a mistake, her painful ribs immediately reminded her.

Joan glanced up.

“So… how long have you lived in this place, anyway?”

“Oh, you’re curious?”

“More like bored.” And trying not to think about how nervous she was about the end of their deal, which expired in less than three hours.

“Ah, I see.”

“So? Is this, like, an old building?” Remy asked. “Have you lived here a long time?”

Joan shrugged, considering. “Yeah, it’s pretty old. I had it remodeled a bit after I inherited it, about... I guess it was around seven years ago now. But it’s mostly the same. I’ve lived here since then.”

“Inherited?”

“You know, like when your family member dies and what was theirs becomes yours.”

Remy frowned up at Joan. “So... your parents died?” That was unfortunate. She had thought that humans usually got to be older before they lost their parents.

“No, no, my uncle.” Joan corrected. “He and my aunt didn’t have any kids, and she isn’t into this whole landlord thing. So it got left to me, and I split whatever profits I make with my aunt. Basically, people pay me to live here, and I keep everything running and fix it if it breaks, and take care of stuff like… ah, sorry, that’s boring. Anyway, I never really planned on being a landlord; but I figured it was better than selling to somebody who’s probably going to double everyone’s rent.”

“That sucks,” Remy declared. Your uncle dies, and then you have to do work? Yuck.

“It’s not so bad,” Joan shrugged. “I get to work from home, I don’t have to pay rent... could be a lot worse.”

Remy shrugged, sticking another noodle in her mouth.

“You like the pasta?” Joan asked.

Remy slurped up the noodle like she was a character in Lady and the Tramp. “Girl, you should never trust someone who doesn’t like pasta.”

Joan chuckled. “Noted.” They set down their fork and started to get up. “I’m going to go put this in the kitchen, and get that sewing kit. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched as they left the room. When the door shut, the coughing fit she’d been fighting back for the past few minutes refused to be put off any longer, and she shoved her face in the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise, her other arm wrapped around her painful ribs as the coughs wracked her frame.

…

Remy pulled the needle through the fabric, pausing to inspect her work.

Not bad, but she remembered now why she’d put off adding pockets to her jacket for so long. Stitching fabric was a pain in in the *ss. This was an opinion which was probably only strengthened by the fact that Remy was… not especially good at it. She’d never been interested in it much, even though her parents had tried to teach her. And it had never come easily to her. At least her girlfriend had been willing to help out, when they had been together.

…Nope, Remy was not thinking about her. She was still salty about how things had ended, and going down that rabbit hole wouldn’t help her.

Too clingy. She wasn’t too clingy! She was, like, the perfect about of clingy, thank you very much.

Remy coughed, going back for another stitch. So much for not thinking about her.

She finished up sewing the first pocket, pausing to look over her handiwork. Kind of uneven, but it would serve her fine. She shoved her jacket around in her lap until she was at the opposite side, and picked up a piece of graphite Joan had brought her to mark a line where the second pocket’s opening would go. Then, she picked up the miniature pair of scissors. They were cumbersome, since they were still far too big for a little; but her handmade knife was in her backpack at the bottom of a water-filled bucket, probably rusting and rotting away. So she’d have to make do with the scissors.

She carefully lined up the fabric, then pushed down on one side of the scissors to make the cut. The fabric shifted as she did, so it ended up crooked.

“Girl, come on,” she moaned.

It was only crooked by a couple of millimeters, but she was still pissed. Sure, she could sew it up and try again, but there’d still be visible stitches, and Remy did not want to repeat this whole process when she might well get it wrong again.

So, crooked pocket it was.

She sat down, pulled over the fabric, sewing needle, and thread, and got back to work.

…

By the time the fateful hour finally came, Remy had finished her jacket modifications and put everything back in the sewing kit, although perhaps not as neatly as it had been when she got it. Now, she waited, sitting on the blanket, sipping coffee from an aluminum cup. She had a feeling it might be the last coffee she got for quite a while.

She sniffled and resisted the urge to wipe her nose with her sleeve. Stupid cold.

She held on tight to the shovel-spoon sitting across her lap, ignoring the way her stomach churned with nerves.

Everything would be fine, she told herself. Joan would take her back, she’d get her supplies, and she’d bounce. She’d find a new home. She would be okay.

Finally, there was a faint knock on the door, and it opened. Joan stood there. They looked rather dejected, but attempted a smile when they saw her. It didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Well… it’s time,” they said. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Remy ignored the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, simply saying, “Yes.” She set her jaw, waiting for their inevitable attempts to renegotiate their deal.

“Okay. That’s chill. Just let me go get my car keys.”

Remy’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re actually doing it? You’re letting me go? Just… like that?”

Joan sighed. “Look, I think we both know I’d rather you stayed longer. And that’s an open invitation. But I promised that I’d take you back, and so I will. I don’t break promises.”

Remy opened her mouth and shut it again. “Well… good,” she finally said. “Let’s go, then.”

Joan nodded. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched them go, a bit of anxiety fluttering through her sore chest. Rationally, she supposed she should have known what Joan taking her “home” would involve, but now that the moment was here, she still couldn’t help but be… well, more than a little scared, that was for sure.

Remy waited, sitting on the blanket, listening as the human walked around the apartment, pausing here and there, before disappearing, presumably outside.

They were back before she had too much time to dwell on whether this was really what she wanted. Remy finished off her coffee, stashed the aluminum cup in one of her new jacket pockets, and got to her feet, leaning on her plastic shovel-spoon like a cane.

Joan knelt down in front of her, hesitated, then held out a hand. “Ready to go?””

There was a small pause.

“Is this okay?” Joan asked, biting their lip. “I can find something else to carry you in. I know you said “no carrying”—several times, actually,--but I do need to carry you into the car. There’s not really a way around that. Sorry. We could try the sled thing, but we can’t do that outside.”

Remy knew they were right, as much as she disliked it. She could tell them to pick her up in something else, so she wasn’t in their hand, but she supposed that would just give them more time to change their mind, and her more time to chicken out. So she slowly got to her feet, and she climbed onto Joan’s hand, hoping they couldn’t feel her trembling.

It was… really f*cking weird.

The fleshy walls of their palm and fingers were all around her, radiating warmth as their fingers curled in closer. She stiffened despite herself, but they didn’t restrict her.

Joan let out a slow breath. “Okay. I’m going to pick you up now.”

Remy’s eyes darted up at them. “Get on with it, b*tch not-a-boy.”

Joan blinked, then let out a surprised laugh that turned into a cough. They took it slowly as they stood up, which Remy, on one hand, appreciated, but also couldn’t help but be annoyed by, since it meant she had to be in these hands all the longer.

Joan put the hand to their torso to hold it steady and stared walking. Remy clutched tightly to their hands, well aware of the drop below, and justifiably nervous about the whole situation.

“Ow,” Joan muttered. “You’re pinching me.”

Remy let go. Sort of.

They kept her close to their chest as they made it down the hall, through the kitchen, and to the front door of their apartment. It was weird to see it all from this high up. It made their furniture and belongings almost look normal sized, they appeared so small. Someone of her size probably looked like an ant to Joan. She shivered at the thought.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked under their breath, opening the door.

“Fine,” Remy mumbled, hunching down in the hand. As weird as it was to be in a freaking hand, she would happily press herself further into it if it meant keeping herself from being seen. Joan seemed to have a similar thought, curling their fingers more closely around her.

“Just a short walk,” Joan said in a low voice. They turned and closed the door, locking it behind them, and walked more briskly after that. Remy squeezed her eyes shut, the movements sending waves of pain through her sore body, but she didn’t dare ask them to slow down. She knew this was for the best, anyway. Less time in the open meant less time for somebody to see them. And the sooner they left, the sooner she’d be out of there for good.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled Remy’s hair, prompting her to open her eyes. Through Joan’s cupped fingers, she could see enough to tell that they were outside. The lower temperature and slight drizzle might have also given that away, though, to be perfectly fair.

Joan walked up to a blue car parked on the street and opened the passenger side door.

“Thank you for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services, today, miss. I’ll be your driver, Joan.”

Remy dared to shoot up a baffled look. Joan looked quite pleased with their joke, although Remy didn’t understand it at all.

A part of her wanted to ask them to explain, but she shook her head, admonishing her own curiosity. No. Why should she care about a human’s jokes?

Besides, jokes weren’t as funny if they had to be explained, anyway. But it was mostly the why-should-she-care thing. Obvs.

“I figured  a seat belt might not be so good for… someone your size,” Joan whispered, ”but I don’t want you just sliding around every time I have to brake. So…” They uncurled their fingers enough to let her look. Sitting in the passenger seat of the car was a smallish cardboard box with what looked like a shirt folded up inside it. Parts of the fabric were pulled up in the front and back of the box, forming soft walls there.

“It’s not glamorous,” Joan admitted.

“Please tell me that shirt’s clean,” Remy said, staring down at it mistrustfully.

Joan exhaled, amused. “It is, don’t worry. Is… is this okay?”

Remy hesitated.

As much as she wanted to believe that Joan was keeping her word, as much as evidence seemed to show that they would, she couldn’t help her fear. What if Joan wouldn’t take her back? What if they were taking her somewhere else? Somewhere she’d be killed, or tortured, or exposed to the world?

…No, she reminded herself. That didn’t make sense, did it? They would have just let her die if they wanted her dead. And they didn’t need to leave their apartment to reveal her existence. She knew about phones.

She might have worried that Joan had grown bored of her, but Remy was the life of the party.

…Okay, maybe not for the past few days. Maybe her usual spunk had gotten a bit… damp. But she was not boring.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that cardboard box, though. It was possible that Joan wanted her to get inside to be easily trapped.

But, again, what would be the point? And why would they want to? How would that fit in at all with everything else they’d done over the past two days?

She needed to just trust that they were keeping their word, and that going back was the right decision.

“I just want to go home,” Remy said at last.

That was not a lie. It also wasn’t quite the truth, either, since it implied she still had a home. But Joan didn’t need to know that that didn’t exist at all. She would just stick to her plan. Get her hook, go fishing for her backpack, and blow that popsicle stand. She’d find herself a new home. One with coffee and everything else she needed, and with no humans who knew about her. She’d be able to start fresh. She hoped.

Joan seemed to accept her answer. But when they moved to lower her down into the box, Remy tensed again, gripping their hand hard enough to pinch.

Joan paused, and she slowly let go.

“What now?”

Remy swallowed. “I just… I’ve never been in a car before.”

“Um. Yeah, you have.”

Remy pouted, glaring at them. “Don’t be a smart*ss. You know that doesn’t count!”

 “Okay, I guess you’re right. It’s not so bad. It’s probably going to be weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“…Fine.”

They lowered her down to the box, and she didn’t stop them this time. They let her scoot off of their hand and into the container. She sat down in the cushioning the tee shirt provided, pressed against one of the cardboard walls. Joan closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car.

Remy closed her eyes, her heart hammering. And then she sneezed, which proved to be a pretty effective distraction. For as long as it took Joan to walk around to the other side of the car and sit down in the driver’s seat, anyway.

…

Joan got settled, casting one glance at their passenger. She was watching them from where she sat, pressed up against one of the walls of the shoebox they’d buckled into the seat. Their mom would be proud of their consideration for safety.

“Bit of a noise,” they warned, before putting the key in the ignition and twisting it. The engine roared to life. “And now we’re moving.” They pulled out and they stared driving in the direction of their aunt’s house. The tiny young woman might have squeaked as the car first began to move, but she seemed determined to pretend it hadn’t happened, and Joan saw no harm in letting her.

As they drove, Joan couldn’t help the heavy feeling that rested in their chest. The fact was, they didn’t want their guest to leave. Not at all. And not only because she was still hurt, but because they… well, they liked her. They liked her sass. She was fun to talk to, when she wasn’t being combative or fearful. She’d really come around in the past couple of days, despite their screw ups.

Joan would have liked to consider her a friend. They almost believed the feeling might be mutual.

They rode in silence, and they made good time for the first part of the trip. Their passenger seemed to grow used to the sound and movement of the car, curling into a corner of the box and making herself comfortable.

Just at the halfway point of the trip, they hit a snag.

“There’s a train going through town,” Joan sighed, coming to a stop near the tracks. “We’ll have to wait for it to pass. Sometimes they take a while, especially if its switching direction. Sorry about that. We’ll get going as soon as it’s gone.”

No response came from the box, which surprised them. They’d have expected a comment about how they were probably just stalling. Some kind of sass, anyway, at least. They glanced over.

The girl was sitting in the box, leaning against the wall of it. She was slightly slumped forward, her head lolling down.

Joan paused, then lowered their voice. “Nunya?” they asked quietly.

No response. She must have somehow managed to fall asleep along the way, despite how bouncy the ride must have seemed to her, and stayed that way despite how loud the bells at the railroad crossing were. Joan looked over her tiny, sleeping form, then sighed through their nose. They were silent for a moment, watching the train cars pass by.

“I hope you really do have a family  out there,” they commented softly. “Or someone who’ll take care of you, anyway.”

Sure, the tiny woman was very much alive, but she wasn’t exactly ready to go roughing it out in the world. Not by a long shot. Not as far as Joan was concerned. The image of her when they’d found her, half dead with blue lips and water in her lungs, was still all too clear in their mind.

But they had made a promise. Maybe it was a mistake, letting her leave so soon. But Joan knew that that wasn’t their mistake to make. She was her own person, and Joan was not planning to hold her against her will. They just had to hope that she would be alright.

They watched her for a few moments where she sat, unmoving, her dark hair falling into her face and mostly hiding it from view.

The train rolled along, very slowly, making a rhythmic clacking sound that they could hear over the sound of the bells. Normally, it would drive Joan crazy how slowly the train moved through town; but today, they were almost glad for it. This was one time that Joan didn’t mind the train lengthening their trip.

They looked back to their passenger, “Nunya”.

“Are you even really asleep?” Joan mumbled aloud, keeping their voice soft to avoid waking her if that actually was the case. They wouldn’t have been surprised if she was faking it. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

She didn’t react to their question. If she was awake, she wasn’t planning on sharing that information.

Joan gripped the steering wheel, then put their hands in their lap. They watched the train again. More graffiti-decorated cars rolled past, one after another after another. It was a long train, and not in a hurry.

A car horn sounded, and Joan rolled their eyes. Someone had pulled up behind them and was apparently not pleased by the delay. Joan didn’t know what the driver expected them to do about it. They had many talents, but driving through solid steel train cars was not one of them.

The horn honked again. “Nunya” jerked slightly, making a sound. Joan glanced down at her, but she had gone still again, her head now resting against the side of the box.

The car behind them suddenly swerved away and gunned it down a road parallel to the railroad tracks. Probably hoping to find a detour. It might have been a good plan, except that as soon as they were out of sight, the last railcar rolled past.

Joan laughed silently, then released the brake, easing the car up and over the tracks. The bumps shook the car despite their low speed, bumps that Joan never would have paid much attention to normally. They cast another glance at the girl in the passenger seat, who had shifted slightly as the car was jostled, but hadn’t woken. In the absence of the train and the bells, and with the car’s slowness minimizing the sound of the engine, they just barely made out  a quiet snore when they strained their ears.

The last time she had feigned sleep, they remembered, she hadn’t snored. She wasn’t faking. She really had slept through all of that, despite being in a moving car at her size, at railroad tracks, as a train passed by.

She definitely wasn’t well enough to be alone. She was still hurt and weak from her ordeal; and they were pretty sure she was sick, too. And based on some of the things she had said, Joan was beginning to suspect that there really might not be anyone waiting for her to come home. If she even had any sort of home to return to at all.

Am I chauffeuring this girl to her death? Their throat constricted, and their clothes suddenly felt too tight. They pulled over to the side of the residential street and put the car in park, breathing as steadily as they could.

Joan tugged off their beanie and leaned forward until their forehead rested against the steering wheel, listening to the rumble of the engine. They closed their eyes, breathing heavily and attempting to stomp down their oncoming panic. They turned to the breathing pattern that they often used whenever they felt one of their annoyingly common panic attacks coming on. They breathed in. They counted. They breathed out. Again.

4… 7… 8… 4… 7… 8….

A few more times.

The familiar pattern and the distraction it provided slowly allowed them to calm down. They kept their forehead on the wheel for a moment, just breathing.

Their companion was still asleep.

Joan allowed themself about thirty more seconds to calm down before they put the car back in drive and pulled out onto the road.

They made it to their aunt’s house without any further incident, and they carefully pulled the car up to the curb. They put it in park and turned it off, and then sat there for a second or two in silence. The time had arrived.

Joan had to say goodbye.

They turned to the seat beside them and looked down at the cardboard box buckled in there. It seemed the sudden absence of the sound of the car engine had finally roused their passenger: she was shifting where she sat, blinking groggily. She straightened up and looked up at Joan, wiping at the corner of her mouth. She subconsciously smoothed down her hair, looking around.

“What…? Why’d we stop?” she asked, sounding sleepy and vaguely suspicious. “Are you like stalling for time or something?”

“No,” Joan said quickly, before she could grow alarmed and start trying to ‘escape’. “We’re here. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

She stared. “We’re here already?”

Joan shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I think you fell asleep, but it’s not a long trip anyway. I did tell you it was like ten minutes.” They decided it wasn’t important to mention that it had actually taken longer than usual that day, especially after she’d already accused them of stalling for time. They weren’t sure she’d really understand the concept of a railroad crossing.

“Well, yeah, girl, but come on. I thought you were, like, exaggerating.” She pushed herself to her feet and put her hands up on the side of the box, going up on her tiptoes to try to see better over the edge. “Can we get this over with, then? I’ve got places to be.”

Joan frowned, wondering if they’d imagined the slight tremble in her voice. Most likely, they had, they supposed. They just wanted to believe that she might want to stay with them. Or maybe she was scared they wouldn’t let her go. Which was… well, not a comforting thought.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.” They unbuckled their seat belt and went to open the passenger side door, trying to ignore how heavy their heart felt.

…

Remy stared up at the car window, the blue sky and part of a tree visible through it, expectant. Still, she couldn’t help but jump slightly when Joan’s huge form came into view, blocking most of her view.

There was a loud click, and then the door opened.

Joan smiled down at her. “Alright. Thank you again for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services for all your transportation needs. Make sure to leave 5 stars and a good review.”

Remy blinked, not understanding the joke any better the second time. “Um… sure.”

Joan’s smile faltered; and then their expression turned more serious, almost sad. They hesitated for a few seconds.

“You sure you want to go?” they asked. “I mean… it’s dangerous, isn’t it? I’d be perfectly happy to let you stay a bit longer, until you’re healed. Heck, you can stay indefinitely if that’s what you want. I’m not going to force you, I swear; but… I really don’t know if you leaving is the best idea.”

Remy picked up her shovel-spoon and took a wide stance.  “I want to go home,” she said, her voice as firm as she could make it.

Joan let out a long breath, and then nodded, apparently letting it go that easily. They reached towards her, and Remy braced herself, but all the human did was unbuckle the seatbelt that held the box still. Then, they paused. “How do you want to do this?” they asked.

“Um… I guess you could just… like, put me on the ground? I’ll be fine from there.”

 Joan glanced around, probably to make sure no one was around, and then reached for the box. They picked it up, and Remy braced herself in the corner to keep from falling.

She felt the grass brush the bottom of the box as it was set down. Joan hesitated, then silently brought their hands towards her, pausing as if to ask permission. She took a half step forward, and they gently scooped her up and set her on her feet in the grass.

Remy shivered in the chill air. Dew clung to the waist-high grass, encouraged by the faint drizzle and cloudy sky. She could already feel the dampness trying to seep through her clothes, and she had to hold her tail aloft to keep it from getting in the muck. She sniffled. You’d really think her nose would be more considerate about timing. If she wasn’t careful, Joan would think she was crying or something. And then this would get even more awkward.

“So, that’s it, then?” Joan said softly.

Remy looked up at them, and she nodded. She looked towards the house, holding back a cough. The yellowing leaves fluttered on a scraggly tree in the yard. She could see the work bench from where she stood.

“Hey, um, before you go, could I ask you something?”

Remy blinked, glancing back. “Sure?”

“You don’t have to answer, but… what’s your name? Your real name? I just… I don’t really want to remember you as “Nunya Business”, you know?”

The little chewed her lip, then nodded to herself. “Remy,” she said. “My name is Remy.”

“Remy,” Joan repeated, trying it out.

“Don’t wear it out,” She said, rubbing her arm. “And I’m really not a borrower, by the way, so don’t go writing that in your diary.”

Joan laughed in a slightly-forced way. “Well, what are you then, Miss Totally-Not-A-Borrower?”

Remy looked at them for a moment, then decided there wasn’t much harm in them knowing. “A little. I did not pick the name. But I still hope you’re not stupid enough to go telling anybody, dumb name or not.”

“A little,” Joan echoed. They seemed to mull it over for a moment. They were probably trying to decide if it was a joke, like “Nunya Business”; but they seemed to accept that she was telling the truth.

A long moment passed.

“Remy?” Joan ventured. “Something wrong?”

Remy took a few steps, then stopped. She put her arms around herself and looked down, then slowly turned towards Joan.

“I…” she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, “for helping me.”

Joan smiled, although it looked forced. They almost looked like they wanted to cry. “Anyone would have. I’m glad you’re… yeah.”

Remy nodded, glancing away again. She tapped the tip of her shovel-spoon absently on the earth.

Joan shifted, then nodded. “I’ll just… get going, then.” They got carefully back to their feet, picked up the cardboard box, and started back towards the car.

Remy watched them go, shifting where she stood.

They made it as far as the curb.

“Wait!” Remy cried.

Joan froze, brought up short.

She swallowed, then steeled herself with determination. “If… if I come back with you… I want you to do something for me first.”

…

“Here they are. One hook and rope, and one very soggy backpack.”

“Aw, thanks. How thoughtful.” Remy watched as Joan set them down in the box with her. The rope and hook looked fine, maybe a bit damp. The backpack, though… well, she’d have to see if anything could be salvaged from it.

“I didn’t even notice the hook last time I was here,” Joan said, watching as she pawed through the soggy items. “And the backpack… well, I kind of thought it was some old leaves or dirt or something.”

Remy sighed, pushing it away and wiping her hands on the tee shirt that formed the floor of the cardboard box. “Nasty,” she muttered.

“I wish you’d said something about this stuff. I’d’ve come to get them a lot sooner.”

Remy avoided their gaze. “That was kind of the point.”

Joan nodded slightly, moved to turn on the car, then paused and turned back to Remy.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Well… I never got to finish my ice cream, did I?” she pointed out mildly, crossed her legs.

Joan huffed out a laugh. “That’s true.” Their fingers tapped on the wheel. “So… is someone going to be missing you?”

She glanced away. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“What happened?”

“Who says something happened?”

“Just your tone of voice. And you don’t really strike me as a loner.”

“Girl, you’ve known me for two days!”

“I learn fast.”

Remy shook her head, looked up at them, and then sighed. “Fine. You win. I’m just a lonely b*tch whose girlfriend broke up with her for being too clingy, and whose house got… got fumigated, so I had to grab some sh*t and run so I wouldn’t die. And then I almost died anyway. Happy?”

Joan’s eyes widened. “Fumigated?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I think that’s the word. They thought they had rats or bugs or something. Guess I wasn’t a good roomie.”

Joan was silent for a long moment, and Remy realized that she hadn’t mentioned before that littles lived with humans. Whoops.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Joan said at last. “And about your girlfriend. That sucks. I’m really glad you got out okay, though.”

“Thanks,” Remy murmured.

“If you ever want to talk about it, well… we can always talk about it. Maybe have some coffee. Or a lot of coffee, assuming you didn’t sneak into the kitchen and drink it all already.”

Remy’s mouth twitched.

Joan turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Ready to go home, then, Remy?”

Home.

Remy considered the word.

She was going home, wasn’t she?

She felt nervous, but something deep within her told her that this was the right decision. Maybe her future was a little uncertain; maybe there were probably definitely some kinks that would have to be worked out along the way; and maybe she would never know for sure what had really happened to the littles who had once inhabited Joan’s walls; but this felt right. She settled in for the ride, and smiled up at Joan.

“I’m ready.”