#people are walking out i hardly believe several still have the conviction to stay

[askkaimei]

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 5, Section 1

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 5: Fog of War

"Alright, that should do it! You'll probably be in pain for a while, but so long as you don't push yourself, you'll eventually be able to walk again." Ephraim said cheerfully and finished wrapping a bandage around the soldier's injured foot.

He was so skilled with his hands that you'd think he wasn't a prince at all. As the grueling battles continued on, he had mastered not only combat, but also basic first aid.

Now that he was finished tending to the man's wounds, Ephraim stepped away from the injured and walked over to Forde and a few other soldiers, who were all mending their weapons under the shade of a tree.

He sat down and let out a heavy sigh. His expression was so grim that he looked like a completely different person than the one who'd just been cheerful in front of the soldiers.

"Forde, how is our food and medicine stock doing?" He whispered.

Forde's voice was also low as he answered, "Bad. Really bad. We're really low on both. We've used up almost all of our weapons, too."

"I see…" The furrow in Ephraim's brow slowly creased more and more. 

Forde and Kyle, who was sitting next to him, both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

"If we… collect… some money from the local villages, we could probably manage to get a hold of some food, but..."

He knew there was no way Ephraim could agree to what he was saying, but he tried it anyway. 

As expected, Ephraim shook his head and said with conviction, "We can't do that! We can't cause trouble for the common people just because we're in enemy territory. We need to think of another way."

"I knew you'd say that." Forde smiled.

It had already been several months since Ephaim’s army left the capital to protect the border from the Grado Army’s invasion. Ephraim’s army put up a flawless fight, but was overwhelmed by the difference in power.

The number of casualties grew by the day, and now so few soldiers were left that they could easily be counted by one person. And to make matters even worse, nearly all of those remaining were injured and could hardly move.

Any normal general would cast aside soldiers that could not move, but Ephraim would never do any such thing. He would boil plants to use as medicine for the soldiers all on his own, and even carry them around himself sometimes.

Their battlefield was currently taking place near Renvall Castle, a location that was strategically chosen to build upon because it was surrounded by a lake, and was famous for having never once fallen to an enemy. For the past few days, the Grado Army had been chasing them around the area, leaving them nowhere to run but the middle of a forest.

A sense that it was likely already only a matter of time before they surrendered had begun to permeate Ephraim’s army, but their leader had not given up hope, not even now. Forde and Kyle knew that was not just a bluff, but something he firmly believed in. It was for that reason that they admired Ephraim and had served him since they day they’d become knights.

“So then, what are we going to do now, Lord Ephraim? We’re at our limit. We can’t even run around anymore.” Forde said.

Kyle also interjected into the conversation, “From what we know, the Grado Army has already invaded very far into Renais. Rumor also has it that the capital has already fallen.”

Those words from the overserious Kyle sounded even darker than everything else they were facing. 

But Ephraim brushed aside their concern with confidence in his response, “Everything will be okay. My father is there, along with Seth and his unit. They will not lose so easily.”

“Even if you say that, still…”

“If you say that the capital is in danger, then that is all the more reason to start a skirmish here and draw the attention of the Grado Army. It will give Father and Eirika time to escape.”

“A skirmish, huh…?”

Was he serious? What could they possibly accomplish with such few troops left? 

Forde was dumbfounded, just as anyone else would be in this situation.

“I have returned with my report.” A tired voice said from above them.

Ephraim and the knights all looked up.

It was Orson, returning from gathering information. He was a calm and composed knight much older than them. He'd been a knight for many, many years now, and had risen to the highest position of his unit. 

“I confirmed the presence of Grado soldiers in many locations. A large unit has deployed from Renvall Castle. They are likely putting great effort into searching for us as we speak. It may be dangerous for us to stay here for long.”

“Mm-hmm…” Ephraim was deep in thought.

Forde argued, “We’re at our limit, right? It would be best for us to retreat to the capital and regroup.”

“...No.” Ephraim stood up. The words he uttered were a complete surprise. “We will continue to march, and conquer Renvall Castle.”

“What!?” Forde and Kyle said in unison. Even the calm Orson’s eyes widened in shock.

Forde stood up as well, and looked in the same direction that Ephraim was. The impenetrable Renvall Castle was white as snow, striking fear into the hearts of any who dared to try challenging it.

"A-Are you sane, Lord Ephraim? What are you thinking, suggesting such a foolish plan…?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" Kyle quickly stood up and jabbed Forde in the side. He was always strict about manners, no matter the situation.

Ephraim appeared to be unconcerned as he said, "That's what you think, right? The enemy will have the exact same idea. No sane person would ever think of attacking Renvall under these circumstances."

"Lord Ephraim…"

"It's not that I am desperate. Renvall is a stronghold for the Grado Army, so if it falls, then the enemy will panic. The forces marching towards the capital will probably have to divide and send some units here. If that happens, then at the very least, it should  help Father and Eirika."

"Yes, that might be true, but…"

Ephraim was being true to his ideals. However, if they thought about the problem realistically, then his plan was reckless. 

Forde and Kyle's expressions made Ephraim laugh. "I know it is a reckless strategy. That is why it will be a good one. The enemy won't possibly be thinking that we will attack. We will strike them while their guard is down."

"Well… no matter what path we may take, we can't run around forever. And then if we run out of supplies… Alright then, shall we try it?" Forde said. When he looked at Ephraim's face, he felt that he could see a glimmer of hope in his lord's expression, that they might just be able to succeed with this strategy that no one would think was possible.

Ephraim announced with confidence in his voice, "I do not pick fights that I cannot win. Trust me."

"Yes, Milord!" Forde and Kyle nodded.

'Jeez, what a strange person he is.' Forde could not help but think.

This war marked his first experience with real combat, yet somehow, Ephraim knew how to fight extremely well. He was astonishingly optimistic, but also not to be underestimated. There were aspects of battle that only Ephraim could see.

They had a chance to win this battle. No, they would win. Ephraim inspired that feeling within him.

Forde looked up at Renvall Castle, which he could see through the gaps in the trees, in a completely new light.

-

 Just as Ephraim had predicted, the defenses at Renvall Castle were light.

The enemy was focused solely on chasing them, and was not even thinking about protecting the castle. The gate only had a few soldiers surrounding it, and even they had their guards down.

These guards, so relaxed they did not even have their weapons in their hands, flew into a panic at the surprise attack. The way they scrambled to find their weapons was even comedic. Ephraim’s army broke down the gate with ease, and invaded the castle grounds.

“Are you alright, Orson?” He noticed how pale the knight was, and it concerned him. “Your wounds from our last battle haven’t healed yet, have they? Don’t push yourself.”

 “Understood…”

“Let’s go!” Ephraim readied his lance and rushed straight into the group of enemies. 

Forde and Kyle eagerly followed along after him. Orson sighed deeply and prepared to protect them from behind. 

With the soldiers having been taken advantage of with their guard down, Renvall Castle fell into complete chaos. There were even panicking soldiers who didn’t understand at all what was going on. 

Ephraim swung his lance as if he was a rampaging angry god, cutting down any enemy soldier who tried to stand in his way, which put immense pressure on the Grado Army, who should have been the superior side in this battle. Since they’d had no interest in trying to defend the castle, the result was clear. Those on Grado’s side gradually fell, and Ephraim’s army was unyielding in their assault. They didn’t let up for even a moment.

When Ephraim's army rushed into the throne room, with Ephraim leading the charge, all that was left of the Grado Army was the unit’s commanding officer and the handful of soldiers surrounding him. Every single one of their faces stared at them in disbelief. The commanding officer yelled “Come at me!” with a determined look on his face, however, his soldiers’ movements were stiff.

When he was defeated, Ephraim’s soldiers all shouted out a victory cry. 

However, Ephraim did not rejoice, rather, his expression stiffened. “There were more soldiers out elsewhere than there were inside the castle. When they return, we will not be able to defend it with these numbers. There is no reason for us to stay here for long, so we will march for the capital as we are now.”

“Yes, Milord!” Kyle nodded.

Just then, Forde ran up to him. The moment he’d seen that the castle had been seized, he'd left to watch over the perimeter.

“We’re in trouble, Lord Ephraim! The enemy has us surrounded!”

“What!?” Ephraim’s face paled. “Reinforcements? But it’s still too early…”

“What shall we do?”

Ephraim did not falter. He immediately began to stomp off. “We will escape! Dammit, so Grado was one step ahead of us after all…” He said, words dripping with regret as he exited the throne room.

-

Just as Forde had reported, Renvall Castle was surrounded by a large group of Grado soldiers. Their circular formation was several lines of soldiers strong. This unit was in a completely different league from the one that had been at the castle. And on top of it all, these troops were full of morale as well.

Even Ephraim could not hide his pained expression this time. Forde and Kyle were also pale, but gripped their weapons tightly, and readied themselves to protect Ephraim. They were already prepared to die in a situation like this. In their eyes was the determination to single handedly take as many enemies as they could down with them.

Across the bridge over the lake, a wyvern unit was there waiting for them. The man riding the largest, most majestic of the wyverns noticed Ephraim and his soldiers and flew down to them.

He was an eerie man with a terrifyingly coldhearted cackle. Though his face was pale, his body was well-toned. Ephraim assumed him to be the unit’s leader and faced him.

“I’m impressed! Your army is smaller than I thought. You attacked and seized the castle with these numbers? The rumors of your military prowess are true, Prince Ephraim.”

Ephraim glared at the man.

“I am Valter, the Moonstone, a general of Grado’s Imperial Army. It took a lot of effort to track you down. You just don’t know when to give up… Although I could never hate fresh prey.” Valter mocked him. His laugh was grating and sarcastic.

"But playtime is over. The palace has fallen and the king is dead. Now, you will surrender here."

"What…? Father is…?" Ephraim started shaking, but balled his hands into tight fists. He couldn't believe a word a man like him said. Surely Valter was just bluffing to crush their spirits. 

Rather than press him for more information about his father, Ephraim asked Valter another question. "How were you able to surround the castle so quickly? It's as if you were able to somehow read our movements."

"I wonder. You'll figure it out eventually. It is of no concern to someone in your position. Throw down your weapons. Get on your knees, and beg for your life."

"Lord Ephraim, we'll back you up!!" Kyle quickly shouted out. He was always so calm that he was stiff and formal, and scolded Forde often for getting carried away too easily, but this time, it was him who was worked up.

However, Ephraim did not drop his weapon, instead glaring at Valter.

Valter laughed at the panicking Kyle. "Yes, writhe, you worms, writhe! Nothing is more enjoyable for me than seeing you dare to fight a hopeless battle!"

However, Ephraim did not move. Valter raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

"I see, so you don’t really have the will to fight. Then surrender! Bleat like sheep, and beg for your lives!”

"I refuse." Ephraim answered coldly.

"What?"

"Valter, was it? I don't have time to play with the likes of you. We will rout your army and leave this castle.”

"Really?" Valter narrowed his eyes, however, the sarcastic smile vanished from his face.

"Are you telling me you're going to break through our formation? Do you seriously think you will escape from our wyvern knights? I did not think you were such a fool, Prince Ephraim."

"Say whatever you want. I do not pick battles that I cannot win." Ephraim's gaze did not move away from Valter as he asked the two knights behind him, "Kyle. Forde. You ready?"

The two answered without even a moment's hesitation.

"I have been prepared to give my life for my country since the moment I became a knight."

"It's because of moments like these that I could never quit my position as your retainer."

Kyle was stiff and Forde was lighthearted, but the two were resolute in their responses.

Valter's face twisted in displeasure. "Of course you would have two fools beyond saving following you. Then come face me, and I will teach you the difference in our power!"

"Let's go!" Ephraim called out to his soldiers, then grabbed his lance and started running.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Sirius x Reader - More To You (2/2)

tag list: @spacegirlhere @treestarrrrrrrr @slytherpuffgal @scaredofvscogirls @jenniseiblack

Previously:

It wasn’t often he felt guilt for what he did but right now he couldn’t have felt worse. He really didn’t know you. He hadn’t even tried. Because he was angry at his family and the world he had taken it out on you without a second thought. “I’m sorry,” He said lamely as you headed off to the library. He was positive you heard him but you just sighed and shook your head. He knew that wouldn’t be enough.

Sirius realized he should stop burning bridges before he had the chance to cross them. There was much more to you than he realized and now he was sure you would never forgive him.

If someone had told Sirius Black even five years ago that he would be stood before Barty Crouch Senior and convicted of thirteen counts of murder as well as giving away the hidden location of his best friend, his brother, he would have laughed in your face. Now, he was just numbly staring around as he let the members of the Wizengamot talk over him. 

He wasn’t present, not really. He still couldn’t believe James and Lily were gone. And Harry, oh poor Harry. Sirius should be with his godson right now. He should be raising and loving that boy like James would have wanted. A tear escaped out of his dull eyes as the men and women clamored over evidence and motive and all this terribly bullshit that made no sense. James was his family, Lily was the light of the world that was better with her and James in it. 

Now his family was torn apart. He hadn’t heard from Peter in ages and Remus didn’t believe his innocence. It hurt, the people he had grown up loving the most, and still loving unconditionally, couldn’t see he would never hurt them. It was the grief, he hoped. Maybe before Sirius rotted in Azkaban Remus could forgive him for not doing a better job to protect them. 

He was snapped out of his nightmarish reverie by a voice floating above the rest. “I don’t think we are considering all the possibilities here! It doesn’t make sense as to what Sirius Black would gain from giving up the Potters,” 

Eyes traveled to you and you took a steady breath as he stared at you with wide eyes. He hadn’t even realized you were part of the Wizengamot. He hadn’t seen you since school when you had declared that you wouldnt, couldnt, forgive him for his cruel behaviors against you. Why were you defending him?

“It figures that the Slytherin sticks her neck out for this monster,” Muttered a council member. You looked at them with a cool fury in your eyes what was drawing Sirius in like a moth to a flame. 

“My house is not relevant in this court room. It is a foolish way to judge students without knowing all of their circumstances and beliefs. Please do not presume to know me because of my house,” You were boiling beneath the surface but still had a dangerous calm about you. “And I think we are also presuming too many things about Black. We hear his family name and think he must have done it, we don’t know that for certain,” You argued. 

Barty Crouch Senior’s cheeks turned red in fury as he gaped at you. “You are new but that does not excuse your complete dismissal of the signs that point straight to this man being the culprit! I ask for silence from you,” 

“But it’s too perfect! Every single sign points to him and that is the problem!” You tried, knowing your time was coming to an end. 

“I will not hear another word from you!” You were silenced. 

You stewed angrily in your seat but relented. You couldn’t forfeit your entire career on Sirius Black but you wished that you could convince the rest to see that they could possibly be convicting an innocent man. They weren’t even giving him a real trial!

“We declare Sirius Orion Black guilty of all charges and hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban,”

Every prisoner in Azkaban was there for life. It was just a matter of how long they held on. 

You looked at Sirius as he accepted his fate. The fire was gone and he took punishment for the death of his friends and several others. Guilt swam in his eyes, drowning him. You recognized the look in him. It was close to the guilt he had shown when he had apologized to you years ago. You let your eyes linger on him. 

You had to remember this man before Azkaban hollowed him out and ultimately killed him. “I’m sorry,” You mouthed to him as he returned your gaze, possibly wanting to see a friendly face for the last time in his soon to be miserable existence. 

All he could manage was a tired smile. He was disconnected from reality but you understood. It was better to let life happen around you than face the hell you were in. 

--

Sirius stood outside your door. The moon was high in the sky and every noise had him looking around nervously. He barked, pawing at the door. He knew it was a long shot but he was praying you would open up. They would be looking for him and he was safe in his animagus form but he couldn’t sleep another night on the cold ground. He had to get to someone who would believe he wasn’t a danger. 

“Merlin’s beard,” He heard you mutter as you stomped down the stairs, flinging the door open. “Come on then,” You opened the door wider as you stared blearily at him. It seemed in your tired state that it took you an extra few seconds to realize who you were opening the door to. It was no secret to you that Sirius and his pals were unregistered animagi. A black dog could only chase you around the grounds so many times before you got suspicious. 

You looked closer, fumbling for the glasses you had hung on the collar of your shirt. “Oh gods,” You paled.Sirius wagged his tail and trotted in. You closed and locked the door, drawing the blinds closed and falling heavy into the nearest seat. “How?” You croaked. 

In but a blink of an eye Sirius was standing in front of you, hair tangled and matted. An unseemly scruff had found it’s way on to his face as he grinned a sinister grin. He was so far from the handsome boy he’d been in school. How long had it been? Twelve years. You realized, stomach churning. You had stopped trying  a handful of years ago and it had always been your biggest regret and source of guilt.

“Slipped through the bars when those ghoulish bastards brought me that shit they call food,” He snarled. His prison uniform hung off his skeletal frame.  You hardly knew what to do but realized Sirius was in need of well, everything. Food water, clothes. He was a miserable sight. 

You sprang up, dashing into the kitchen. “How do you take your tea?” You asked and Sirius let himself smile even if it was tight. They had taken so much from him over the past twelve years he didn’t know how to function so soon after.

“I’ll take anything,” He said honestly as you set a mug in front of him as well as some toast. 

“Y-you can have more if you finish,” You said, awkwardly. “I just figured you don’t want an upset stomach,” How strange it was to see you like this, hair messy from sleep and in a simple sleeping gown that he wouldn’t have thought a person like you would wear. He had been wrong years ago so he wasn’t surprised to find you were far different than he expected.

“Thank you,” He said after he had devoured everything in front of him. You had tried not to stare as he had wolfed it down, as if he was scared it would be taken from him. Sirius wiped the crumbs from his mouth and looked at you.

You were prettier than he remembered. “Thank you for the food,” He clarified, “but also for what you tried to do all those years ago. You were the only one on my side and it seems you still are,” 

“Please dont thank me,” You winced as a heavy weight fell on your shoulders. “I gave up on you far too soon, after three years it seemed every mention of you was gone and then after five I started to wonder if you were still alive. My budget was tight and I couldn’t afford to continue trying to free you,” You buried your face in your hands. 

Sirius hadn’t been expecting that. His lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging at it until you looked at him. He intertwined his fingers with you. Oh how good it felt to be near someone. “I will still thank you, I’ve given you every reason to doubt me and when it truly mattered the most you were the only one who had faith in me,” 

You let out a sad chuckle. “You’re an idiot, Black, not a monster,” You teased. 

Sirius meant to laugh, he meant to jest back. Instead he found himself giving into deep sobs that wracked his entire body and made his chest feel tight. He fell forward, head falling against your chest as you rested a shaky hand in his hair, another hand patting his back as you let him cry. After being dehumanized Sirius needed to feel again and know what it was to be free to do so. 

When his tears subsided you picked up a rather scary looking knot of hair. “I think you need a shower,” 

Sirius snorted and nuzzled his face against your chest as he wiped at his eyes. Moving but not distancing himself he rested his forehead against yours in a show of appreciation. You were the rock he never expected to have in this time. It was strange and foreign but you were both leaning on each other in a way that had seemed impossible once. 

Looking at Sirius Black you felt your heart ache with something akin to warmth. He was a shell of the man he used to be but in a way he was a better man, worn down by the world but still kind, maybe even kinder than he was before tragedy shredded his life. 

“I’m sorry but it had to be you I came to see,” He spoke as you washed his dish absentmindedly, thinking of how you’d get the guest bedroom ready for him as he took a shower. You didn’t want to be mean but the man smelled like death. 

“I’m glad you came,” You spoke and realized the words were completely honest. “Stay as long as you need, you are safe here,” 

When Sirius nodded and walked by you, following your directions to your bathroom, he pressed a kiss against your cheek and your draw nearly dropped. Who would have thought you’d see the day where Sirius Black wanted to be near you for a reason other than tormenting you. 

He didn’t look back as he walked to your bathroom but he felt his heart begin to beat again. The world was a different place now but just as dangerous as it had been twelve years ago. Despite that fact he let himself relax as he stood underneath the scalding water. 

Sirius Black washed himself clean from all the grime and misery of the past and let himself become a man with a soul again. In your home he could free himself of the past. You were the start of a future where he could be free, or at least he was hoping. 

Besides all the time he had spent figuring out who could have framed him he had allowed himself to reflect on all the missed chances he’d had. You were his biggest regret. You had deserved a respect he had never once shown you and now he would make up for it. 

In his time away, it was easy to say you had been a happy memory he had clung to. You didn’t have specific memories together but the memory of you standing strong to defend him had resonated with him and had his mind stuck on what memories the two of you could have possibly made if he had learned not to hate as a child. There had always been more to you.

If he played his cards right and got the revenge he craved, the justice for his best friend, maybe he could hope to learn all the things that made you tick. 

Without even knowing it you had given Sirius a reason to come back from the depths of hell and have a purpose after he caught Peter and made him pay. 

[prairiesongserial]

15.3

“Jo,” Enis said, slamming down the hood of the truck with as much strength as his skinny body allowed. “Can I talk to you?”

The caravan had stopped for the time being, with most of the circus choosing to stay put in their trucks rather than take their chances milling about in the heat. Or take their chances on muties - the road was surrounded by dense forest, and there was no telling what was in there. Johannes had gone down the line of trucks and instructed a handful of people to be ready with fireworks, just in case anything needed scaring off. Even anything mundane, like a bear.

“Sure,” Johannes said, leaning up against the side of the truck, perhaps inadvisably. It rocked a little on the jack, the metal creaking, and he leaned back.

“Away from everyone?” Enis asked, somewhat pointedly.

Johannes paused for a moment, looking Enis up and down. Enis had gotten to his feet, and was shifting his weight uneasily, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coveralls. He couldn’t meet Johannes’s eye. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, and he kicked at the asphalt of the road with the toe of one boot, scattering loose dirt and pebbles. Enis had never had much of a poker face, but this was bad, even for him.

“Enis,” Johannes said, catching his gaze and holding it when Enis’s head snapped up to look at him. “Is it that serious?”

“Uh,” Enis said. “I think so.”

“Okay.” Johannes wrapped an arm around Enis’s shoulders, steering him by force away from the truck and towards the tree line. They could still be watched from there, of course, but at least it would offer a modicum of privacy - and with their backs turned to the rest of the circus, no one could read their lips.

“Tell me,” he prompted Enis, after glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s eyes were directly on the two of them.

“It’s the brake fluid,” Enis said. His voice had a nervous sort of shake to it, even when kept as low as a stage whisper. “Someone drilled a hole in the reservoir, Jo, I - that’s not the kind of thing that happens on accident. Not something that clean.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Johannes agreed, grimly.

Enis swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat. “It wasn’t me. I swear.”

“Why -” Johannes began, somewhat incredulous, then paused and started over. “Enis, what reason would you ever have to cut the brakes of one of our trucks?”

“I wouldn’t,” Enis hissed. “But whoever did this, and the thing that happened to the trailer - those are both things I could’ve done. Someone might’ve even stolen my tools to do it!”

“What, to frame you?”

“Yes,” Enis said. He squirmed a little in Johannes’s grip. “You’re not listening to me.”

Johannes squeezed his shoulder, gently. “Of course I’m listening to you.”

“You’re not,” Enis said. His volume had risen steadily from soft back to normal, and was rapidly getting louder. “Someone’s trying to hurt other people here and make it look like I was the one who did it, and I -”

“Didn’t do it,” Johannes cut in. “Obviously.”

“Nobody else knows that!”

Johannes thought of the self-sure conviction on Ezra’s face when they’d argued about Enis in the truck. There were potential implications there he didn’t want to think about yet, not when they were in the middle of another crisis. He decided to tuck the suspicion into his back pocket and keep it there, for the time being.

“Plenty of people know that,” he told Enis, instead. “Now. Can you fix the brake line, or is the truck a lost cause?”

Enis’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I have the right parts. I was hoping to get some things when we stopped -”

“Okay,” Johannes said, running his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face. It was a little greasy with sweat, and he grimaced at the feel of it. “There should be a town near here, we’ve been passing signs. If we can get the truck down there, maybe they’ve got a mechanic as well as strawberries, peaches, and corn,” Johannes said, hoping Enis would smile at the dig. He didn’t. “Or, if not, there might be -”

“Other cars I can strip for parts?” Enis suggested.

“Sure,” Johannes said. “Okay. Pipe down and let me handle this for a minute.”

Enis stiffened, then relaxed when Johannes let go of him and strode back towards the caravan. Enis didn’t seem to be any more relieved after the conversation they’d had - but Johannes could hardly blame him for that. Whether or not someone was actively trying to frame Enis for sabotaging the caravan, it had been a hell of a week for mechanical disasters almost getting people killed.

“Listen up,” Johannes said, loud enough to draw the attention of the circus, but not loud enough to attract anything in the forest. It was a hard line to walk, but he was used to it. “The truck’s brakes are fucked, but Enis can fix it if the town down the road has the right parts. We can’t all stop here in the middle of the road, or we’re sitting ducks. So the rest of you are gonna go on ahead -”

“Johannes,” Ezra hissed, a little dangerously. Johannes ignored him.

“The rest of you,” he repeated, “will go on ahead, and we’ll catch up. I’m going with Enis.”

Ezra seemed to be the only one perturbed by this. Or at least, the only one perturbed enough that it showed on his face.

“Who -” he started, and Johannes cut him off again.

“You’re in charge, of course. John, Cody, and Friday can ride with you.”

It was a snap decision. One that felt something like insurance, in case Ezra really did have something to do with the brakes being shot. Johannes still couldn’t prove that Ezra was involved, of course, but he knew that Ezra’s sense of self-preservation was at least strong enough that he wouldn’t sacrifice a truck with himself in it.

“Preacher,” Johannes said, meeting eyes with Val over several heads. “You’re with me and Enis.”

Johannes hated thinking like this. He hated placing himself one step ahead of Ezra, using the cunning that unclasped silver watches from the wrists of circus-goers against his own brother. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Ezra wasn’t giving him a choice. Johannes felt a wave of anger wash over him, buzzing underneath his skin, and had to take a second to breathe through it.

Val cut through the crowd, a frown on his face. And Friday was hot on his heels, surely about to share her opinion. Johannes forced an easygoing smile.

“Why does Val have to go with you?” Friday said, elbowing her way in front of the preacher to get the first word in. “What reason could you possibly…”

“There’s no reason for me to go with you,” Val told Johannes, cutting her off. “I’ll go in one of the other trucks. There’s room.”

That was a surprise. And a problem. Johannes couldn’t exactly admit that, while he couldn’t justify dragging all four of them along with him, he could at least make damn sure no one murdered his favorite while he was gone.

“I’ll go with you and Enis instead,” Friday said. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Johannes didn’t like how relieved Val looked. He didn’t like how his circus was completely out of control, and how there was a new problem every day, Enis was freaking out, and they’d all been sitting in the middle of the road for more than thirty minutes. 

“I’m thinking of converting to Catholicism,” Johannes said. Val’s eyes, which had been pointedly avoiding Johannes ever since he’d spoken, now locked on him in a glare. Johannes gave him the fake, toothy ringmaster smile. “I’m a poor sinner ready for the spiel. You wouldn’t deny me that.”

Val deflated, like Johannes knew he would.

“Fine,” Val said. He pointedly went to wait by the truck. Then Johannes’s other problem had him by the shirt collar, and suddenly his ear was on Friday’s level.

“You had better make sure he comes back in one piece,” she hissed.

“Believe me, I’m trying,” Johannes said, turning away to follow Val to the truck. “It’s harder than it looks.”

15.2 || 15.4

[undeadsnorlax]

Stick ‘Em Up

Archive of Our Own

@badthingshappenbingo​

I have been struck with Punisher brainrot the last few weeks, so why not fill a prompt up with my man Castle. my first time writing for this universe (or at least, first time publishing). and it’s sort of...my own version of the Marvel universe because canon is a playground and I’m a child who wants to break the swings.

Prompt: Hostage Situation

Fandom: Marvel Comics/The Punisher

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (all the stuff you’d expect from the Punisher, guns and killing)

Wordcount: 4596

Four robbers. Fifteen civilians. And one Punisher.

Or, Frank goes to the bank to cash a cheque and ends up caught in a hostage situation.

“Hey. Can you talk?”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it quiet though. I’m in public.”

“Ooo, anywhere nice?”

“No. The bank.”

Frank could practically hear Micro rolling his eyes at his bluntness from the other side of the phone, only covered by the slight rumble of his computer chair moving across the floor.

“Cashing the cheque you got from Monroe, huh?”

Frank wrinkled his nose, peering over the line of people in front of him. “Uh-huh. I need a restock. Think you can arrange a meeting with Jackson?”

“Mm, sure can. I still can’t believe Monroe tried to bribe you into not killing him,” Micro scoffed, the usual click-clack of his keyboard audible under his voice, “Like, who the hell does that? You sure it’s a good idea to do this so soon though? The guy only just died…”

“Hasn’t been reported yet.” He dropped his voice, adding a slight growl as he spoke. “Probably won’t for a while, given where he’s laying now.”

“Urgh. I hate when you do that voice.”

On the other end of the line, there were a few beeps and bwoops, as Micro let out a content hum. “Anyway, called because I got more info on Ray Broad. I’ll drop it off at the usual spot at seven – sorry, at nineteen hundred hours. Then I’ll get Jackson to meet you in the usual spot at twenty-three hundred, ask if he’s got anything new in. Think you’ll be done by then?”

Frank shuffled up in the line, seemingly no closer to the front than when he’d started. “Hopefully. Thanks. Keep in touch.”

“Wow, that all I get-“

He hit the hang up button before Micro could finish, tucking his phone back into his jacket. With a small huff, he shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around the rest of the bank.  Every other line seemed just as slow, the other two that were open, the workers behind the glass looking stressed to get through everyone in good time.

Understaffed maybe?

“Hey grandma, hurry up will you?”

Frank’s attention moved to face ahead of him. He was only three people away from the counter. Currently being served was an elderly woman, and just behind her some impatient suit who crossed his arms.

The old lady turned around, a hand to her chest as she scowled. “Excuse me?”

“Sir, please,” the teller said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I understand this is taking a while but-“

“You heard me,” the suit scoffed, ignoring the teller entirely, “Hurry your ass! You’re holding everyone up!”

Frank rolled his eyes a little, tuning out the conversation. Not my problem. Sooner he could get out of here, the better.

He wouldn’t usually waste time like this, but financing could be hard for vigilantes, and it was only a matter of days before Monroe’s body washed up somewhere along the East River. Or parts of him, anyway.

Six grand to save his life. Cheapskate even in the face of death. But it’d get Frank enough bullets to down another several jerks, so he could hardly complain.

The automatic doors at the entrance swung open again. He looked out of habit, keeping cautious to any small sound.

A group of four breezed in, nothing exactly out of the ordinary as three of them separated out to different corners of the room, one staying lingering by the door.

The hairs at the back of his neck pricked up.

They were each wearing a mask, those creepy ones you could get at a craft store in different vibrant colours. Somehow nobody had noticed, but then again not everyone was Frank Castle, years of extensive military training and intense paranoia all rolled up into one man.

The suit and old lady were still arguing, the teller desperately looking toward one of her co-workers for help. The woman just in front of Frank tutted, turning back to make some comment to him about this behaviour, but he was already distracted by flitting his focus on each of the newcomers, watching as one began to lock the door, when-

Bang-bang!

The sound of gunshots rang through the building, the presumably lead dipshit pointing a gun in the air as they looked around.

“Everyone on the ground, now!”

The security shutter was slammed over the door, as a few patrons let out a scream, another shot being fired.

“Nobody move or try anything funny, and this will be over soon.” He swerved around, nodding at the three bank tellers. “We’ve already disabled the alarm system, so don’t even try.”

“Shit,” Frank hissed, slipping his hand inside his jacket before cursing again.

No gun. Not even a goddamn combat knife. Out of character. He gritted his teeth as he remembered he’d just washed this jacket, forgot to put something into the concealed holster in his rush to get this over with. Idiot. You always double check!

Two of the robbers advanced at the counter, pistols outstretched. Frank glanced over what they were wielding – 9mm, semi-automatic. Browning, maybe? Not a scratch, they’re brand new. And it was obvious from how they held them. They had some conviction, some cocky air, but it was clear they’d barely even held the things before.

“I said get down!”

One swung around, aiming at the impatient suited guy from earlier. The guy hesitated just a second too long, frozen at the sight of the gun barrel staring him down, and was met with the base of the pistol smacked into the side of his head.

This was serious then.

He quickly dropped to his knees, hands raised up and shaking. Soon everyone followed, until Frank was the last one standing.

He hesitated, glancing around the room. Four robbers. Fifteen civilians.

And one Punisher.

“Hey! You listening?”

Reluctantly for now, Frank raised his hands and put them behind his head, kneeling down. He’d just have to wait.

“You two, keep everyone here in check,” the leader said, walking up to the staff door and kicking it open.

He reappeared on the other side of the counter and immediately grabbed the wrist of the clerk that had been serving Frank’s line, pinning it behind her back and lodging his gun to her neck. She tried to yell out, but the gun was just shoved harder.

“Shut it! You’re gonna take us through to the safes. Cyrus, you’re with me.”

The last guy nodded, jogging up before the three disappeared into the back room.

Frank swallowed, figuring out how to do this. He never usually found himself on this side of a situation, even when things went really bad. Even then, he usually had something to hand from his arsenal to help him. For now, all he had was his wits.

He took in the two left behind. One in a pink mask, one in a yellow. The leader had been wearing a black one, while the ‘Cyrus’ guy he’d yelled for was in blue. Good way to distinguish them all.

Yellow started to pace around the others being held hostage, whilst Pink, who’d been the one to hit the suited guy, stayed nearby, bouncing on his toes uneasily. It was almost impressive that out of this team of four, only one of them was fully confident, and they’d still managed to get this far, even for a bank branch so small.

Almost impressive.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this in broad daylight,” Pink said, rolling his head around his neck, “This feels too easy.”

“Dude, shut up,” Yellow snapped, kicking someone’s bag out of the way as he passed them, “Okay? Blayke knows what we’re looking for, and we’ll be outta here before anyone realises something’s up.” “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be easier at night?”

He has a point, Frank thought, watching their movements carefully, Why would you break in during the day?

A whimper came from Frank’s side, distracting him. The woman who had been in front of him in line had huddled in on herself as much as she could, shaking like crazy as tears rolled down her face. He waited a moment until Pink turned away from them, before leaning in a little closer, keeping his voice hushed.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

The woman looked up, puzzled as she sniffed. “I-it’s Moira…”

“Okay Moira, I’m Frank.” He gave his best smile, as warm as he could manage right now. “I’ll get us out of this, okay?”

“How the hell are you gonna do that?!” came the hissed voice of the suited guy, gritting his teeth as he made sure the robber didn’t hear, “They have guns.”

“You have me,” Frank replied. Blunt and honest. “You got a name?”

“Jeremy, and-“ He cut himself off, eyes widening. “Wait, are you an Avenger?”

Frank couldn’t help scoffing, shuffling on his knees a little. If he timed it right, he could probably launch himself up from this position and have one of these assholes on the floor before the other could fire. Or maybe-

“Or like, an X-Men? Or...X-Man? Is...is that the singular?”

Oh, he’s still talking.

“Keep it down. I’m not-“

“Daredevil?”

Frank glared ahead. He went to snap some retort, but was beaten to the punch by the elderly lady smacking Jeremy across his arm.

“Hush, will you? He’s twice the size of Daredevil.” She leaned forward a little, aiming such a sweet smile in Frank’s direction. “Gladys, by the way.”

He blinked and nodded his greeting. Forming a whole little gang here...they could be useful though.

“Do you mean it though?”

Moira’s voice was weak, cracking at the edges as she kept sniffing loudly. “Can you really help us?”

“Yeah. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Hey! Keep it quiet back there!” Pink snapped, glancing over his shoulder.

Frank grinded his teeth together, glancing at the three to his side. He wouldn’t usually involve normal citizens, but he needed to disarm at least one of these jerks...just needed to bring them closer.

“I’m gonna need you to play along,” he whispered, just enough so the three of them heard, “Follow my lead.”

He waited for them all to nod, and he swallowed heavily. Drama had never been his strong suit in school, but he’d have to try.

He scrunched his face up and groaned loudly, lowering his hands to clutch his stomach. This didn’t draw any attention, so Gladys leaned forward a little.

“You alright sweetheart?” she cooed.

Frank forced a fake whine, doubling over and gripping his middle tighter. Moira gulped back some tears and called out.

“H-hey! Excuse me! This guy’s hurt here!”

Pink glanced down at Frank, before looking over at Yellow on the other side of the room. “What’s the protocol?”

“I dunno,” Yellow said, shrugging dismissively, “We were just told to watch them.”

Frank groaned again, slowly inching the zipper of his jacket down. Might as well make this a big entrance when it came to it.

“I know first aid,” Jeremy piped up with a shaky voice, making as if he was going to move, but the gun was pointed in his direction once more.

“You stay there!” Pink barked. He trailed off a little as Frank fell forward onto his elbows, starting to pant a little. “He seriously doesn’t look good Yas. Is this like, a heart attack or something?”

“Christ, just check him, then let that douchebag there help if it’s something serious.”

Perfect.

Irritatingly, Pink holstered his pistol as he came over, tucked into the pocket of his pants, but he could still reach it easily if he was quick enough.

Pink crouched down, putting a hand to Frank’s shoulder and rolling him onto his side a little.

“You good man? You got some kinda meds you need or-”

He froze. Thank God for strong branding and very few of Frank’s clothes not having it. With his jacket now unzipped, there was no missing the skull logo emblazoned on the shirt underneath.

Barely visible behind the holes of the mask, Pink’s eyes bulged. Frank allowed himself a quick grin.

“Shit, Yas, it’s the Pun-!”

Frank didn’t give him much more of a chance to finish as he lunged a hand toward his throat, sitting up in the same swift motion.

Pink was slammed to the floor, choking and flailing helplessly as Frank used his other hand to grab the pistol. My arm is now complete!

“What the fuck-“

Yellow’s focus was drawn to the scene now, as Frank scrambled to his feet, pacing forward as he quickly checked over the gun. Safety off, fully loaded clip. Cheap and cheerful, but it’d do whatever job he asked of it.

Pink still flailed on the ground, pointing at the skull as he desperately tried to catch his breath once more. Yellow faltered, taking a step back in shock.

“He’s the Punisher?!” Jeremy hissed behind him.

“We can do this quickly,” Frank said, dropping his voice down from his previous casual tone, “Best not to draw it out.”

“Thought you were more shoot first, ask questions later,” Yellow said, barely hiding the nervous chuckle he let out, “Too much collateral damage around for the Punisher? 

Shit. The asshole wasn’t wrong. Frank was an exact shot, but it almost wasn’t worth killing these jerks at the risk of the civilians' lives.

Yellow took advantage of that hesitation, grabbing one of the other hostages and holding his gun to her head as she cried out. Frank sucked in through his teeth, calculating how he could do this. If he was clever, he’d manage to hit his hand or maybe his leg, something enough to get him to drop the hostage…

From behind him there was a yell, as Pink finally recovered and ran forward, attempting in vain to rush Frank and push him down. Of course it did nothing, other than piss him off when he was already in a bad mood.

It almost wasn’t worth killing them.

Frank swung a punch into his gut, winding him enough that he stumbled. Pink gasped, clutching his stomach, but still tried to run at him again. Frank huffed, grabbing Pink by the collar, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as he lifted him up, just enough that his toes were still on the ground.

He glanced at the pistol still in his hand.

“Wait, no, no, don’t-!”

The gun was lodged under Pink’s chin and fired without another thought.

There were a few screams as the body hit the floor with that dull thud he was numb to. He turned back, wiping the splashes of blood from his cheek with the heel of his hand, teeth bared.

Yellow started to shake, glancing around. Frank moved closer, head cocked to his shoulder.

“Let her go bud,” he growled, tensing the fingers of his free hand, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Yellow’s knees buckled slightly, losing all confidence in a few seconds as his gun fell to his side. He still had some cockiness left, as he shoved the hostage right into Frank, unexpectedly enough that he stumbled.

With Frank briefly distracted, muttering an apology to the lady as he got her steady, Yellow tried to make a break for it, rushing toward the staff door the rest of his crew had disappeared into earlier. Before he could make it, however, Gladys threw out her handbag, causing him to get tangled in the strap and trip into the ground with a hard smack.

Thank you grandma, Frank thought with a raised brow, rushing over and standing over Yellow, pressing one heavy boot down into his back.

He tossed a look back at the other customers, then toward the remaining bank tellers, still cowering behind the counter. “Keep quiet. Get that door open and get these people to safety. I’ll take it from here.”

The nearest one nodded, hurrying out and toward the entrance, as several of the hostages started to get to their feet, confused but clearly relieved as they awkwardly sidestepped Pink’s body.

Under his foot, Yellow whimpered. Frank just pushed down harder with a soft growl, a finger tensed against the pistol's trigger guard. “One wrong move kid, and I’ll-“

A hand brushed against his elbow, causing him to flinch as he turned his head, but it was only Moira, still sniffing. Lucky he wasn’t so itchy on the trigger.

“...thank you,” she whispered, smiling weakly as she moved to the exit.

Frank blinked, but gave a small nod, watching as the doors were opened and everyone filed out. He stayed where he was, glancing at the staff door every so often just in case. Still, he caught Jeremy immediately getting his phone out, grabbing his wrist as he passed.

“You better be calling your mommy.”

Jeremy hissed from the grip, struggling to pull away, letting Frank read the 911 already typed onto the screen.

“You’re the goddamn Punisher!” Jeremy said, stumbling as Frank finally let him go, “You killed a guy in front of us!”

“A guy who smacked you with a gun. You’re bruising already.” Frank blew out a dismissive breath, rolling his shoulders. “You wanna call the cops? Go ahead. I’ll be finished before they get here.”

He watched Jeremy fluster. The guy clearly wanted to argue, do some moral highhorsing or whatever it was people who didn’t understand his work did, but one half-hearted glare was all it took for him to back down.

“I’m still calling the authorities!” he cried, showing he’d hit dial on his phone’s screen as he stormed out.

Frank grunted, now alone in the bank’s lobby. Great. Got a time limit now.

Under his boot, Yellow squirmed. He’d almost forgotten about this asshole.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Yellow asked, voice quiet.

“Was waiting for it to be just the two of us, that’s all.” Frank wrinkled his nose, lifting the pistol up and aiming it at the back of Yellow’s head. “Traumatised the civilians enough killing your buddy. But, before I do anything...are you part of some bigger thing?”

Yellow started to answer, but Frank’s heel dug into his spine. “And as you can imagine, I don’t like liars.”

“N-no...there’s a few others, but we’re small time. Smaller than small, barely worth the time. I swear.”

He yelled out as Frank ground his boot down, pushing his full weight into him.

“Mould can start small,” he said, coldly, “Something you can ignore. But it grows eventually if you don’t take care of it, cause a lot more problems later down the line. Address. Names. Now.”

“I don’t know any, I never dealt with the higher ups. That’s Blayke’s job!”

Frank raised a brow. “That the one in the black mask?”

Yellow gasped for air, nodding. “Yeah. That’s all I know. I swear. We’re not important.”

“What the fuck-?!”

Frank looked up, to see the Blue masked robber standing behind the counter. He huffed, firing two shots off into Yellow’s head, feeling the breath leave under him. He’d outlived his usefulness.

Blue gulped, frozen and shaking on the spot. Frank quickly ducked to grab Yellow’s gun, still on the floor where he’d dropped it, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans, before walking through the staff door toward him.

“Yo, Cy! What’s with the racket?” came the leader’s voice from the other room, “Pierce acting up?”

Frank tilted his head, then pressed a finger to his lips, before making a turning gesture. Blue nodded obediently, doing as he was told. He was still shaking, but did well in disguising that anything was out of place as he called back.

“N...nothing boss. All good here. Yeah, just Pierce flexing a little, no worries.”

“Good man,” Frank whispered, stepping up behind and snapping the man’s neck with ease. Compliance deserved something swift.

He fell to the ground like a sack of flour, leaving his mask ripe for plucking off.

Frank took Blue’s face in. He looked young.

Wrong crowd huh kid? he thought, putting the mask on and walking through the back room.

The black masked guy was distracted, standing in front of a wall of half-open safety deposit boxes, most of their contents discarded to the floor.

“Where the fuck is it?!” he cried, turning to glare at the bank teller, cowering in one corner, “You said it was here!”

“I-I opened the safes with the numbers you gave me, there’s not much else I can do-!”

Frank cleared his throat to let them know of his presence. Black turned around, but barely looked, still clearly too frustrated to see his companion had grown a few inches and gained thirty pounds of muscle.

“It’s not here,” he said with a huff, pulling his mask off and throwing it to the ground, revealing another younger guy, “We were lied to.”

“Hm. What a waste.”

Black blinked, finally actually looking at Frank, and of course homing in on the skull.

“Oh...oh shit…! What happened to Cyrus?”

“What do you think?” Frank asked, ripping the mask off with a snap of cheap elastic, “Now let the lady go and we can have a nice civil discussion.”

Black had started to fire at him before he even finished his sentence. Frank was anticipating it though, and dived to the floor, rolling out of the way and behind a nearby desk.

“Shame,” he muttered, checking the one pistol again quickly before firing a few shots over the desk.

They pinged off the wall behind Black, one managing to graze his shoulder and making him hiss out in pain. He kicked down a nearby table to use as his shield, but not before grabbing the poor clerk and dragging her behind.

“Leave her go!” Frank barked, pressing the trigger only to fire blanks, “Shit.”

“No way Punisher,” Black said, his voice shaking, “If I’m gonna die today, I wanna at least put up a fight.”

He peered over the table at just the right moment for Frank to lob the empty gun in his direction, smacking him in the forehead. He fell back, but Frank knew it was nowhere near enough to kill him.

That was until he heard a dull thunk. Then another. What the hell?

Grabbing the second pistol from his waistband, he scrambled over to see the bank teller holding the barrel end of the gun he’d thrown. She brought it down again, slamming the base of the magazine against Black’s head. Blood was starting to trickle down the robber’s face, too dazed now to react.

“Asshole!” she screeched, going again but was met with resistance as Frank grabbed her wrist.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. I’ll deal with it.”

She gulped, seemingly coming back to her senses, as she let Frank help her to her feet.

“Is everyone safe?” she asked, watching as he crouched over Black.

“All the customers and your co-workers are, yes. These guys…” He sniffed. “Not so much.”

He paused a moment, before reaching into his jacket, holding out a small brown envelope to her.

“I...I came to cash a cheque. I still gotta get some more info outta this jerk, then leave as soon as possible. You mind getting my money?”

“Psh. Gladly.”

She hurried out of the room, leaving Frank to slap Black’s cheek, making sure he was still awake. He startled a tad, still trying to reach for his own gun that had fallen in the fight, but Frank pushed it further out of reach.

“Your buddy told me you know who hired you,” he growled, digging a knee into his stomach, “So talk. Names, anything.”

“I…I don’t have a name.”

Click. The pistol was pressed to his temple. Black whined.

“I mean it! The closest I got was ‘benefactor’. They call me, me and my boys do their shit. Easy as.”

Frank watched his face then grunted. This much was certainly true. “What were you looking for?”

“A necklace or some shit? With a locket on it. I dunno, I assume it was worth a tonne.”

As if reading his mind, Black added, “Drop off location given only when we reported having got it.”

“Hm. Must be pretty valuable to them.”

Frank was certain he could hear sirens in the distance. Hurry up…

“So that’s everything you got for me, huh?”

“Look, Castle, c’mon,” Black said, gripping at his wrist, struggling in vain to pull the gun away from his head, “I could help! Just give me a chance.”

“Think you screwed any chance you had when you took me hostage.”

His brains were splattered across the floor before he could argue any further.

***

“...and onto our main story. Five branches of the Brighter Bank were attacked at various locations around the city today. At exactly two-fourteen this afternoon, groups of masked individuals held up the banks, going through the safety deposit boxes in search of some unknown item.”

Frank sipped his coffee, eyes not moving from the TV in the corner of the cafe. Micro furrowed his brow, slipping a folder into his hand under the table.

“Thankfully, no civilians were injured,” the newscaster continued, the screen splitting to show another reporter, “However, the bodies of four robbers were found at the Brighter Bank located on Jasmine Avenue. With us is Hailey Edwards at the scene.”

The on-location reporter nodded and took over, gesturing at the cordoned off building behind her. “Eyewitness reports from those held at the building today say the deaths were the work of violent vigilante, Frank Castle, also known as The Punisher.”

“Jesus Christ, Frank,” Micro muttered, picking at the fries on his plate, “You ever take a day off?”

“You know I can’t,” Frank said, flicking through the folder on his lap quickly, before slipping it into the backpack he’d brought that sat at his side, ”Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Police are currently investigating what could have been taken, and are heightening security around all Brighter Banks starting tomorrow. They urge any and all witnesses to step forward if they have any useful information, and also stress – do not approach the Punisher. Despite the reports of him safely getting all the hostages out today, police wish to remind the public that Castle is a highly dangerous individual.”

“How are things boys?” the waitress asked as she approached the table, pot of coffee in hand.

Frank gave her a warm smile, holding out his mug. “Wonderful as ever, Aggie.”

“Aw, that’s nice.”

She refilled his cup before walking on. Micro sighed a little, leaning forward on the table.

“You get any idea what those hold-ups were about?”

“Not much.” Frank poked at his half-eaten burger, wrinkling his nose. “They were hired by some other force. Searching for some locket, but they didn’t find it there. When I interrogated the guy that was meant to know, he said they only talk on the phone. Never met ‘em face-to-face. Maybe one of those other teams found whatever it was.”

“Jeez.” Micro ran his hand over his hair, glancing back at the TV once more. “It even worth pursuing further?”

“...no. Think it was just an ordinary locket. Hope so, anyway.”

Frank tapped at his backpack, raising a brow. “Bigger fish to fry right now. Wanna put my focus into bringing Broad down.”

“If you say so…”

Micro trailed off a little then smirked, getting that look in his eye that meant Frank immediately knew whatever was next out his mouth would irritate him.

“I still can’t believe you got caught up in a hostage situation.”

Frank grunted, taking a bite of his burger so he didn’t have to answer properly. “Shuddup Micro…”

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (5/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 3,256

masterlist

taglist (ask to be added!) @robins-gf 

a/n: content warnings in this chapter for canon-typical depictions of dead bodies and violence, guns

five.

As soon as Emily opened her eyes, she knew she was in a dream. Sure, the walls around her looked like the BAU, but they felt different in a way she couldn’t explain. She rose from her desk slowly, inspecting her surroundings. It was quiet, too quiet. The bullpen was never this silent, not even after a particularly awkward remark. Where was everyone?

Without conscious thought, Emily began walking, heading up the flight of stairs until she was standing in front of Hotch’s office. She knocked once on his door, the sound echoing in the emptiness. 

“Come in,” he said. He sounded weary.

When Emily opened the door, there were dead bodies on the floor. Ah, so it was this sort of dream, she thought wryly. Dead bodies on their own had long since ceased to scare her, but they still appeared periodically in her dreams. A warm-up to worse horrors, usually.

“Please sit.” Taking her cue from Hotch, who was acting as if this situation were completely normal, Emily ignored the bodies and sat down on the seat in front of his desk. “You know what you’ve done, don’t you?”

Emily shook her head. “No, sir.” 

Sometimes she did. Those were the dreams where everyone else moved about their daily routines, laughing and chatting, while she stood, paralyzed with the knowledge of all she had done. They would hate you if they knew the real you, a voice would tell her. But this time she didn’t know, and that was scarier, somehow.

“You failed them, all of them.” He didn’t sound angry, only disappointed.

“Who?” She had failed more people than could fit in this office, but they were hardly nightmare material. Failure was a part of the job, even more than heroism and bravery.

The man behind the desk (and she could see now that it wasn’t Hotch, had never been Hotch) scoffed, a mannerism that didn’t quite fit his face. Hotch was very rarely disdainful; disgusted, yes, but not contemptuous. “You don’t even remember. Such a bad mother. They’ll be better off without you.”

Emily knew the bodies she had seen before hadn’t been those of Jack and Carrie. She would have noticed; the corpses of children would never fail to terrify her. And yet she also knew, with a sickening feeling, that when she turned, it would be their bodies lying motionless on the floor.

“Take a look,” not-Hotch taunted. Emily shut her eyes in an attempt to block it out, to wake up, but the scene continued, unhurried. 

She let out a sob as she saw them. Jack was curled up against Carrie in a cruel facsimile of sleep. They looked peaceful, almost, but she knew they would never open their eyes again. Emily dropped to her knees, cradling their bodies in her arms. 

Not-Hotch let out a dark chuckle. Emily felt her body contract in anger; a scream was building in her, an unholy sound. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind Carrie’s ear and stood. Before he could react, she had reached across the desk and grabbed him by the throat.

“What did you do?” she demanded. She needed answers, was prepared to shout herself hoarse if that’s what it took. “Answer me!”

He opened his mouth to answer, but it was a different voice she heard instead, emanating through the room. 

“Wake up,” it said, and that was really Hotch’s voice, steady and insistent. “Emily, you have to wake up.”

This time, when she shut her eyes, Emily awoke to a bedroom awash in light, Hotch leaning over her in concern. “You were thrashing and crying out,” he said by way of explanation. “I had to wake you before you screamed and scared Carrie.”

Carrie. Jack was at Haley’s, but she had to make sure Carrie was alright. Her rational brain told her they would have heard something, but Emily knew that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep without checking. She kicked the covers back and attempted to slip out of bed, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.

“What do you need?” Emily’s heart was still pounding, and her mouth was dry when she tried to speak.

“Check on… Carrie?” she whispered, swallowing in an attempt to regain feeling.

“Of course,” Hotch said, leaving her alone in the room.

Emily’s heart was still pounding and she felt awake, too awake. She sat up in bed, back pressed flush against the headboard, and took deep breaths. It was only a dream, she told herself. It wasn’t even a realistic dream. And yet the image of Jack and Carrie on the floor was scrawled across her corneas.

It felt like Hotch had been gone hours when he returned, although Emily knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. He nodded in response to her unspoken question and she felt herself relax, finally. 

As he reached the bed, Hotch held out a glass of water. Emily took it thankfully and drank it in one gulp, only realizing then how thirsty she had been. She set the glass down on her bedside table as Hotch got back into bed next to her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, turning to face her.

Emily’s immediate reflex was to say no. Avoidance had always been her first line of defense. If that failed, humor would suffice; the bare truth was to be avoided at all costs. But she had promised to try and communicate, and while she was firm in her conviction that Hotch didn’t need to know all of her secrets, she supposed these fears were worth trying to share.

“Just a nightmare,” she began, although she supposed Hotch had gleaned that much. “I saw Jack and Carrie hurt and it shook me up.”

“They get better,” Hotch said, then clarified at Emily’s puzzled look. “As soon as Jack was born, I started having dreams like yours. I never told Haley but, eventually, they went away.”

She found that hard to believe. 

“Do you want to keep the lights on?” Emily nodded, grateful. Sleep was not something she wanted right now, not if it would bring the dream back.

Eventually, Hotch pulled the covers over his head and fell back asleep, but Emily stayed up, tiredness building in her bones, not daring to shut her eyes.

~

The horrible, no-good, very bad week started, as most weeks do, with a fairly typical Monday morning. Emily rolled out of bed to find Hotch already dressed and with breakfast at the ready.

“Case?” she guessed, taking the coffee mug he proffered. Hotch nodded. 

“JJ will brief us when we get there.” 

Emily drank the coffee in one gulp, wincing at the way it burned her tongue. She dressed quickly, meeting Hotch at the front door in record time. On her way out the door, Emily gave Carrie a goodbye arm squeeze, smiling at her bleary face. 

“We should be back tonight,” she said. “If we’re not, someone will come stay with you, okay?”

They had somehow miraculously managed to avoid overnight cases since Carrie had arrived, mostly doing consults from the office or taking local cases. If Emily didn’t know better, she’d say Hotch and JJ were doing it on purpose. Maybe it was the universe’s way of letting Carrie have a break; no matter the reason, Emily wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hotch drove, which meant Emily got to pick the music. He didn’t comment on her choice, but Emily saw his fingers tap against the console in time to the beat. She hummed along softly, feeling more peaceful than she had in a long time. 

Unfortunately, that feeling was shattered almost as soon as it began. JJ spared Emily a single knowing look as she and Hotch entered the bullpen together before hustling the whole team into a conference room. 

The images projected on the screen made Emily blanch, and Hotch’s intake of breath next to her suggested that he was having a similar reaction. Girls, no older than eighteen, all of them brunettes, all of them with throats slit and faces pale. She could already tell it was going to be a tough one. 

From there, it only got worse. The unsub had kidnapped the girls from secluded roads late at night, walking home from their jobs. He was meticulous, leaving no trace of his presence, although he must have been monitoring them to learn their routines. The girls were tortured for a week, then dumped in seemingly random locations around the city. He wasn’t sloppy, and he wouldn’t be easy to catch. 

By the end of the first day, the BAU had established several key facts. They had a missing girl, no credible leads, no eyewitness descriptions, the worst selection of coffee imaginable, and absolutely no chance of heading home within the next few days.

Emily tiptoed to Hotch’s door after the team had turned in for the night, knowing he would still be awake. All of them had trouble falling asleep on cases, minds still processing facts and patterns. He looked confused to see her, and Emily was reminded of the meeting that had started all of this. This time, she brushed past him and into the room, settling herself comfortably on the bed.

“I’m going to call Carrie,” she informed him. “I thought you’d like to say hello.”

His face brightened, and Emily motioned him over as she rang their home phone. Carrie picked up on the first ring. Penelope was staying with her for the time being, and they could hear her in the background, greeting them brightly. Carrie was going to study with friends tomorrow, but she promised to be home before eleven and to not get into any trouble. 

“Are you coming home soon?” Carrie asked. Emily looked at Hotch, unwilling to make promises she couldn’t keep but feeling like it was the right thing to do anyway.

“No lying,” he mouthed at her, then spoke to Carrie. “We’ll be home as soon as possible.”

“Oh. Can I see Jack on my own if it takes a while?” Emily hadn’t realized that Carrie enjoyed spending time with him so much. Jack was at Haley’s right now, but she’d probably be more than happy to have another hand. Recently, he’d gotten even more energetic, and both Emily and Hotch had trouble keeping up with him.

Hotch spoke first. “I’ll ask Haley, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ask Garcia if she can drive you.” 

Penelope confirmed that she would also be more than happy to see her surrogate nephew, and they all said their goodbyes. As she ended the call, Emily was hit with a wave of something like homesickness. She should’ve been at the house, helping to make dinner and laughing at Jack and Carrie’s antics. But the only way to make that a reality was to focus on solving the case and just hope that Carrie wouldn’t worry too much about them.

It was the morning of the fifth day when Emily began to seriously consider that they might not catch the bastard. They had recanvassed the crime scenes a million times, interviewed the families, set up a tip line. Nothing. He would get away with this one and slip away to some other town, bide his time until the next victim. It wasn’t often the BAU failed to bring a killer to justice, but the times they did fail were always the most painful.

That night, she had the dream again. This time, though, there was no Hotch to wake her. Instead, Emily clutched at Jack and Carrie’s limp bodies and cried out, waking only to the sound of her own screams. She wanted nothing more than to go down the hallway to Hotch’s room, ask him to comfort her or simply lie next to him in silence. She made it as far as her own door before realizing the absurdity of what she was doing; Hotch would hardly want to be woken just to hear about Emily’s problems. 

Sleep didn’t come for the rest of the night, but the team, Hotch excepted, was kind enough not to mention the dark circles under her eyes. Hotch, though, pulled her aside before they began work that morning.  

“Are you alright?” He sounded genuinely concerned, but Emily didn’t want him thinking she wasn’t able to do her job. Her moment of weakness had passed, and she saw now that she couldn’t afford to confuse Hotch and Aaron. 

“I’m fine.” If he was offended by her brusqueness, he didn’t show it.

“If you need anything, Emily, please tell me.” She nodded, then purposefully drew Reid into conversation about the geographic profile, hoping Hotch would drop the subject. 

That day was the day they finally found something. It was small, to be sure, a person who thought they might have seen a girl in the back of a car, but it was something. That shred of information proved to be the final piece in the puzzle, and within hours they had found their unsub. 

He was a family man, two children, no indications of his inclinations except for a very carefully expunged juvenile record. By all accounts, he had completely turned his life around since his teenage years, but losing his wife had clearly been a stressor. The team had no doubt that he was keeping the missing girls in his recently renovated basement. The only thing left to do now was decide how to proceed.

“Reid and I will go around back and look for an outside entrance,” Hotch instructed. “Prentiss, at my signal, you and Morgan will come in hot from the front.”

“No.” Emily could already see what would go wrong.

“What do you mean, no?” He fixed her with a hard stare, but she didn’t flinch.

“If we go in guns blazing, someone’s going to get hurt. I don’t want it to be one of the kids.” She took a step forward, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Prentiss, this man is clearly smart and calculating. If we give him any indication we’re there, he’ll kill the girl and make a run for it.” 

“I don’t want to be proven right, Hotch, but I will be if we go along with your plan.” Even if Emily hadn’t firmly believed she was right, she was in too deep to apologize now. It was just going to have to be one of those days.

Hotch’s voice was quiet when he spoke again. “As your Unit Chief,” he hissed, and Emily knew she had gone too far if he was pulling rank. “I would suggest you not question my ability to conduct an operation.”

“Fine. At least I’ll know I tried to stop it.” She was silent for the rest of the briefing, not even sparing Hotch a glance to see his reaction to her outburst. 

It was eventually decided that Reid and the local PD would scour the property for the basement door. Hotch and JJ would go in the back and try to get the children out, while Emily and Morgan went in through the front. Emily knew she had gotten her way, but it didn’t feel like a victory, not when Hotch wouldn’t look at her. 

In the end, it was Emily who burst through the basement door, Morgan right behind her. She kept her hands steady on her gun as she descended the stairs, although she could hear her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Hands up!” she shouted, pointing her gun towards the unsub and motioning Morgan forward. Hotch had been right; their relative silence meant the unsub hadn’t had a chance to run. Only after he was safely cuffed did Emily turn her attention towards the girl on the floor.

She was badly bruised and sobbing, curled into the fetal position with her hands over her head. Emily crouched down next to her and touched her shoulder lightly. 

“You’re safe now,” she said. The girl let out another cry but pulled her hands away from her head, enabling Emily to see her properly. Haunted eyes stared out from her tear streaked face, and Emily was reminded of how Carrie had looked when they had first met, all the fire in her extinguished. She still wore that look sometimes, when she thought Emily and Hotch weren’t looking. It broke Emily’s heart every time.

The girl took Emily’s outstretched hand wordlessly, letting Emily pull her into an awkward side embrace but shaking her head when asked if she’d like to be carried. Emily escorted her up the stairs and out of the house, into the arms of the waiting paramedics. She stayed with her as the paramedics examined her, holding her hand the whole time. 

It was only when the ambulance left for the hospital that Emily finally allowed herself to relax. The local police had charged the unsub and taken him to the precinct, but the rest of the team was still at the crime scene. They didn’t talk much on the way to the airport, all of them wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

On the plane, Emily sat next to JJ, letting her head rest on JJ’s shoulder. She tried to sleep but found she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes it was Carrie lying on that floor, Carrie looking up at her with a vacant stare. In that moment, Emily needed desperately to be home, needed to gather Carrie in her arms and reassure herself that she was okay.

Unfortunately, a car ride with Hotch stood between her and home. They still hadn’t cleared the air since their argument, and the beginning of their ride was filled with a tense silence. They drove for ten minutes, the atmosphere growing more stifling with each passing minute before Hotch abruptly shattered the silence.

“She isn’t Carrie.” His words were clipped, betraying no emotion.

“I know that.” All the girls had been Carrie, though, hadn’t they? She and Hotch had both known that from the moment they walked into the conference room. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do her job.

“I was right that he would have fled.” 

“I don’t doubt that.” She wasn’t going to let him convince her that she had been wrong for speaking up. 

Emily was glad when they finally reached the house. She exited the car without a backwards glance, resisting the urge to run up the front path. Carrie opened the door before Emily could even knock and pulled her into a fierce hug. They stood in the doorway for a long moment, Carrie breathing steadily against Emily’s shoulder. 

Only Hotch’s polite cough in the doorway brought them both back to the present. Carrie let go of Emily and pulled him into an equally tight hug. Emily thought she detected a hint of surprise in the way he reciprocated, as if he had expected that Carrie would have missed him less. 

The tension between Emily and Hotch that had dissipated upon seeing Carrie  returned almost as soon as it had gone. Emily kept silent to avoid making snide remarks, and Hotch evidently had the same idea. By the time the third hour of silence rolled around, Emily couldn’t take it anymore. She gathered her phone and her keys, desperate to escape the house.

“I’m going for a run,” she shouted as she laced up her sneakers. If Hotch heard her, he didn’t respond.

[twdeadfanfic]

Where’s my mind

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Reader has manic-depressive disorder, and she has run out of meds, which makes it hard to control it, and hard to control the way she feels and the way in which it changes, no matter Daryl tries to help. Angs, hurt/comfort, sad  one-shot, inspired by the prompts  Maybe you should fuck yourself” and “There’s nothing wrong with you”, Requested by @feartheendlesssummer

3334 words

I hope I did the requests justice, I tried...

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You hummed as you sorted things in one of the cells of the freshly cleared cellblock, getting them ready to become rooms. You didn’t notice Daryl walking past the cell, and he stopped when he heard you, walking into the cell, a tiny but smile on his face.

“You seem in a good mood.”

You looked up when you heard his voice and smiled. “How wouldn’t I? We found this place, it’s safe, it has fences and walls…” Sure, you still needed to clear more areas and whatnot, but it was the best thing since you lost the farm. “It’s all we hoped for.”

“Guess so.” Daryl nodded. “What were you singing anyway?”

“I don’t sing, I hum. Let the singing to Beth and Maggie.” You shrugged. “Just a song I used to like…what’s your favourite song.”

“Dunno.”

“Come on, think harder.” You giggled.

“Why you care?” Daryl grumbled and you let out a sigh.

Even though you both had been friends for a while, getting to know Daryl and have him sharing things about himself was still like pulling teeth most times, no matter how much you wanted to know him better. He was your favourite person, you were sure, he’d become so during that horrible winter, no matter than when you met back at the quarry you could hardly stand him. A lot had changed since then.

“Just…I told Beth what was my favourite song, and she and Maggie sang it for me…thought they could do the same for you.” You shrugged, feeling a bit silly now. Daryl seemed shy but he gave you a small smile.

“Don’t think I have a favourite one.”

“Well, if something springs to mind just tell me.” You grinned again.

“Okay…gonna see if Rick needs me to do something.”

“You work too much! Just relax for a day…look at this place” You waved around at the sturdy walls. “We’re safe. This place is perfect. I think things are going to go great for us for now on. I can feel it!”

It felt so good, finally having hope again. You thought Daryl was going to roll his eyes at you or something, but he just smiled at you, reaching to pat your arm before leaving.

*

Of course, you shouldn’t have had hope. You should have known by now that nothing could go well in this world. Everything you wished for always turned into ashes, nothing ever went right while everything that could go wrong, went wrong. You’d been so stupid. What was the point on trying to find happiness in this world.

Hershel had been bitten, and Rick’d been forced to cut off his leg. You’d found people in that prison, convicts who didn’t seem friendly at all. And endless corridors and rooms full of walkers. This prison wasn’t heaven, now it seemed like hell, but you were trapped in it because the outside was just a deeper level of hell. There wasn’t hope anywhere.

“Hey, you okay?” You had been so lost in your head you didn’t even notice Daryl walking into your cell until he sat down next to you on the bed, squeezing your shoulder ever so softly. “Y/N?”

You shrugged, still hugging your knees to your chest as you looked at the wall in front of you without seeing it.

“Hershel’s going to be okay. He’ll get through it.” Daryl reassured you and you didn’t say anything. It was a miracle he’d survived the bite, sure, but what was he going to do missing a leg? How was he going to run away when needed? You couldn’t still think that any place in this world could be safe enough, not even this prison…you didn’t say it aloud though, as it seemed too cruel.

“Those convicts, they could murder us in our sleep, same with walkers, they’re everywhere,” you said instead. It was true too.

“No, we have the cellblock closed, there’s always someone on watch. The convicts won’t dare, and walkers can’t get in.” Daryl assured you and you just shrugged. They’d find a way, they always did. “We start clearing the walkers tomorrow.”

You shook your head. Someone was bound to end up dead doing so, you could see it. Maybe everyone. You’d been losing people slowly but surely. There wasn’t another outcome. But none would listen to you. There was no point.

“I’m tired,” you murmured, shifting to lie down on the bed.

For a couple of minutes, Daryl didn’t say anything, just looked at you, before getting up from the bed. “Okay,” he whispered, reaching out to brush his knuckles over your arm ever so softly. In any other moment, that gesture would have made you beyond happy, but right then, you didn’t even notice it.

*

You were ashamed of yourself. Everyone’d been working all morning while you did nothing but mop in bed. Even Hershel was working, missing leg and all. Rick had kept up the plan to clear other cellblocks, and what was the point on saying it was crazy, none would listen to you. None ever did. None cared about what you thought, about the sensible thing. So you didn’t even bother to say anything, and just kept mopping in your cell.

But you were done with that. You were angry at everyone for never listening, for ignoring you, for getting in risk without thinking it twice, as if they didn’t care who they left behind. You wouldn’t be surprised they didn’t care about you, though, it seemed like so half the time. They all were so close…had you every fit in? You didn’t think so, not now that you thought about it.

But why would they care anyway? It wasn’t like you contributed to anything, you did nothing, and today was just another proof. There you were doing nothing. Over everything, you were angry at yourself for that, more than you were at the others. You had to move your ass and do something. There was a cellblock they hadn’t cleared yet, you could see it from your small window. Taking your knife, you made your way to it.

You got into the cellblock, closing the door behind you, the sun that came through the small windows dimly illuminating the place. It didn’t seem to be any walker there, but when you hit your knife against the metal railing you heard their growls, and soon several of them poured from the corridor that led into the cellblock.

You charged against them, viciously sinking your knife into their heads with anger and frustration, not caring that soon they were too many for you. You barely registered the door opening and then Daryl rushing in, putting down walker after walker with the knife too until he managed to close the door of the corridor to stop them from getting in.

“Are you crazy?!” He all but yelled at you, and you didn’t know if he looked more angry, worried, or scared.

“What if I am!” You snapped back, wrapping your arms around yourself, and Daryl just scoffed, shaking his head.

“What was that, what were you thinking?!”

“You wanted to clear this place, didn’t you? That’s what I’m doing.” You shrugged, considering just walk past Daryl and go for the walkers again, maybe lock the door behind you so Daryl couldn’t follow you. You didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to see anyone. You just wanted to kill the walkers. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted?

“You can’t go alone like that!” Daryl shouted at you in disbelieve. “They would have killed you!”

“What if they did?” You snapped back. Would have been a great loss? Sure nobody thought that. You weren’t even sure if you think it yourself. Daryl just looked at you, seeming dumbfounded and at loss of words, and you scoffed, turning over and rushing out of the cellblock.

“Y/N! Y/N, hey, wait!” Daryl ran after you and somehow it just made you angrier. “Maybe you should-”

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself?” You snapped, glaring at him, ready for him to snap back, to yell at you, you welcomed it. But he didn’t. Daryl just stared at you, seeming taken aback, but he didn’t yell, didn’t say anything at all.

“What? You got nothing to say all of a sudden?” You kept pushing. “I don’t need you babysitting me, I don’t need you pretending to be a hero and coming to save the day, I just don’t need you!” You yelled at him and you knew he was angry but Daryl looked down and didn’t say anything, didn’t yell back. Some part of your mind registered that you’d hurt him, and remorse pierced through your heart painfully, but you couldn’t stop. “Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want anything to do with you!”

With that, you turned around again and rushed away, hiding into the first unlocked watchtower that you could find, away from everyone.

*

You felt horrible. You couldn’t believe you’d yelled all that to Daryl. He’d been trying to help, as always, you didn’t deserve it and yet he always took care of you, and you paid him like that. You were the worst. You didn’t deserve anyone’s care, and you didn’t deserve that group. You did nothing to contribute, you were just dead weight, and now you were rude to them too. You didn’t even know why they hadn’t kicked you out yet. Or how Daryl hadn’t snapped at you or yelled at you. Maybe they didn’t care enough. It’d be normal.

Daryl was right, those walkers would have devoured you, but he should have let them do it. There was no point on you staying with that group, they didn’t deserve to have to deal with you. If they didn’t send you away, then you would. Maybe that way you’d do at least one helpful thing, maybe you could do right to the group at least for once.

But you needed to apologize to Daryl first.

You found him sat down on top of a table, smoking, and when you approached him he didn’t look at you. He must be angry at you, you would, probably he wouldn’t want to see you ever again. You deserved it.

“I’m sorry…” You apologized weakly, feeling tears in your eyes. “What I said before…I’m sorry, it wasn’t true, I didn’t mean it.” You wished so much Daryl didn’t believe any of those horrible things you had said. “I’m really sorry.”

You expected Daryl to snap, to yell at you, to tell you to leave him again and never talk to him, but he didn’t, he just nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You frowned, confused. It wasn’t okay. “I was horrible. Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

Daryl just shrugged. “Don’t want to…”

“Then what do you want?” Maybe he didn’t care enough to yell, maybe nothing you could say could bother him, because you were nothing to him. Maybe. You still felt like you needed punishment, though, and yet he wasn’t yelling how horrible you were. Maybe all he wanted was you to leave him alone.

“Just…just want to know what’s going on with you.” Daryl finally looked at you but you averted his eyes, feeling a lump in your throat. You were the worst and yet he was kind. You didn’t deserve it. You needed to leave those people, stop being a weight, stop making them worry about you. It’d be better if you weren’t there.

“I…I…just wanted to say sorry.” You whispered before rushing to retreat into the watchtower again.

Once it was dark outside, you left your hiding spot and walked to a spot on the fence that you knew you could open, hoping whoever was taking watch wouldn’t see you. It took you a bit but you found the spot, that tiny opening in the fence that Rick had closed with wire. You began trying to unwrap it, cursing under your breath as it was harder than you’d thought it would.

“What’re you doing?” Daryl’s voice made you jump and you turned around to find him right behind you, though you hadn’t even noticed him. “Where you going?”You just looked at him like a deer in headlights. “Y/N?”

“I’m leaving,” you finally managed to say, turning away from Daryl to fumble with the wire, though your fingers were shaking too much.

“Where to?” Daryl asked you without trying to stop you. Maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe he knew you weren’t getting even close to opening the fence.

“Away.” You tugged at the wire, frustrated, but it didn’t relent.

“Why?”

“What’s the point on me being here?” You snapped, hating how your voice broke. “I’m good for nothing, always been. I’m just a weight for all of you, you’d be better without me here dragging all of you down. None deserves to deal with my shit…and you less than anyone.”

“Quit saying bullshit,” Daryl replied, voice soft despite the harsh words.

“It’s not bullshit, it’s true!” You rubbed your eyes thought tears fell down your eyes anyway. “I’m a mess…everything’s wrong…none of you deserve to deal with this, just no.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

More tears fell down your eyes at Daryl’s words and you shook your head. “You know nothing.”

“Then tell me.”

You shook your head again, rubbed your eyes, and began fumbling with the wire again. “I’m leaving, everything will be better without me here, you’ll see.”

“You know I’m not letting you.” Daryl grabbed your arms, pulling you away from the fence, but you flinched away.

“What you care!”

“You know I do. Everyone does.” Daryl looked down before locking eyes with you again and reaching out her hand. “Come on, let’s go back inside. You need to sleep.” You shook your head, chocking out a whimper.

“I know what I have to do.”

“Alright then.”

Before you knew what was happening or could do anything to stop it, Daryl was grabbing you again, and you yelped as he threw you over his shoulder, turning back to the cellblock.

“What the hell!” You kicked your legs but Daryl just held them tighter and when you punched his shoulder he just ignored you. “Daryl! Let me go!”

“You’ll wake the ones that are asleep,” was the only thing he said, though it silenced you. The idea of the others seeing you like this, seeing the mess you were, it was too shameful. If someone was awake and show Daryl carrying you like that while you cried, if he told them everything you’d done that day…everyone would think all kinds of things of you, and you deserved it but you felt tears in your eyes again anyway.

“I’ll walk. Let me down, I’ll go back to my cell, I’ll go by myself.”You begged. “I’ll do.”

Daryl seemed to think it for a couple of seconds but then he stopped, letting go of you but pushed you towards the cellblock. When he looked at you, though, his face softened, and he let out a sigh before reaching out to gently wipe your tears with his kunckless. “Come on.” His hand in your back guided you gently but firmly into the cellblock.

To your relief, everyone seemed to be inside their cells, and Daryl walked you to yours, gently pushing you inside. You looked at him but didn’t know what to say, and Daryl opened his mouth as if to say anything but didn’t, leaving the cell. You sat down on your bed, suddenly feeling numb, though a noise outside your cell caught your attention.

Daryl had taken his sleeping bag from the perch in which he slept and had placed at the corridor outside your cell. Not knowing what to do, you get into your bed, curling onto yourself, that feeling of numbness getting bigger, taking over you.

*

When you woke up the next morning, you were hit by the events of the day before. You were beyond ashamed. You couldn’t believe you’d been like that, the things you had said, the things you had done and tried to do. What have you been thinking? You pulled the sheets to cover you up to your head, hiding. You didn’t think you could ever leave that cell again…why would everyone think of you? What would Daryl think? You were such a mess. You were embarrassed you had thrown yourself at walkers like that and then tried to leave…though who knew, maybe you should have done it…

“Y/N,” Daryl’s voice called for you softly, but you didn’t move, and you felt him sitting down on the bed. “Y/N,” he tried again, this time tugging at the sheet carefully to uncover your head. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going o with you?”

You didn’t even know how, and tears filled your eyes again. “I’m a mess. Everything’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, told you so.”

You shook your head, curling onto yourself, your back to Daryl. You couldn’t face him. You didn’t want to leave that bed ever again. You thought you might be asleep again and dreaming when suddenly you felt Daryl curling up next to you and tentatively wrapping his arm around you.

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help but whisper in shock.

“Sorry,” he muttered, quickly pulling away and trying to get up, but you were faster, grabbing his arm.

“No, please. Stay.” You pulled at him to make him lie down next to you again and Daryl let you, so you curled up again, keeping Daryl’s arm around you.

“Talk to me,” he told you quietly. You didn’t even know where to start.

“My mind is a mess. My brain is all messed up. It’s been, for years now. Just…don't have medication anymore…” You’d been raiding drugstores, pharmacies, everything you could, but a couple of weeks ago, you finally had run out of it. “So I can’t help…all of this. I’m a disaster. I just don’t even know how I feel half of the time, I can’t control it…” It seemed now that you had begun talking, you couldn’t stop yourself. “I hate it, but I don’t know what to do, I just can’t help it, I can’t stop it. I’m a disaster.

“You ain’t,” Daryl whispered back. “What can I do?”

You couldn’t help your sad smile at that, and you placed your hand on top of Daryl’s, lacing your fingers with his. “Nothing. And I…I just don’t want anyone to have to deal with this shit…so maybe it’d be better if I weren’t here.”

“No. Not happening,” Daryl said firmly.

“I can’t stop it, Daryl, I can’t help it. Can’t tell you I won’t be like yesterday again.” You turned onto your back so you could look at him. “I can’t tell you it’ll get better because I don’t think it will. And I just…I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“I’m sorry that you have to go through all that.” Daryl’s arm held you a bit tighter. “But you got me, and everyone else. Whatever your brain says, we care for you. I care for you…you ain’t gonna go through this alone. I got you okay? I ain’t gonna let anything hurt you, not even your brain.”

You smiling sadly, trying to believe his words, no matter you couldn’t, it was sweet. Most of you still felt like you didn’t deserve it and yet…yet you wished you did. You snuggled closer to Daryl, repeating his words in your head, trying to believe them, because you knew you were going to need it.

Maybe you could have hope in the future, maybe things will be okay. Maybe you weren’t a mess. Maybe your place was there, with your people. Maybe you weren’t alone, maybe you weren’t a burden. Maybe your people cared for you. Daryl did.

You tried to believe it all, as Daryl kept whispering it to you, making it easier.

 .......................................................................................

I’m sorry if it was all wrong or didn’t make sense, but I tried. At anyr ate, I hope you could enjoy it.

If you have a moment, please drop me acomment and let me know your thoughts.

As always, english is not my mother language, so sorry if there are mistakes.

If you want to be (un)tagged let me know!

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[missmouse94]

🌷REFORMATION MONTH 🌷

Most Christians have heard the names of John Calvin, Martin Luther, John Knox, and other giants of the Protestant Reformation in Europe. But there are many, many other men and women who worked to advance the cause of the Reformation!

Women also played an important role, either in disseminating the ideas of the Reformation, or using their political power to protect the preachers and teachers of these ideas, and, yes, some were burned at the stake.

Here is one of these women:

Anne Askew 1521-1546

Anne Askew (or Ayscough) was born in 1521 in Lincolnshire, England, to William Askew, a wealthy landowner. Anne was a woman of courage and strong beliefs. She was tortured, in the Tower of London and burned alive as a Protestant heretic for preaching the Gospel in London and handing out Protestant leaflets.

William Askew had arranged that his eldest daughter, Martha, be married to Thomas Kyme. When Anne was 15 years old, Martha died. Her father decided Anne would take Martha's place in the marriage to Thomas to save money.

She was a woman of very strong and sincere beliefs. In her early life she showed an interest and ability for theological studies. Anne was converted to Protestantism when the 'new bible' emerged from the continent. After much study and reading of the Holy Scriptures she adopted the principles of the reformers and became a dedicated believer, a devout Protestant, studying the Bible and memorizing verses, and remained true to her belief for the entirety of her life. Her reading convinced her of the falsity of the doctrine of transubstantiation, and her pronouncements created some controversy in Lincoln.

Her husband was a Catholic, and the resultant marriage was brutal. Askew had two children with Kyme before he threw her out for being Protestant. It is alleged that Askew was seeking to divorce Kyme, so this did not upset her.

Upon being thrown out, Askew moved to London. Here she met other Protestants, including the Anabaptist Joan Bocher, and they studied the Bible together. Askew stuck to her maiden name, rather than her husband's name. While in London, she became a "gospeler --someone who knew large parts of the bible by heart and could preach about them. The ban on Bible reading had intensified the hunger for it, and those who knew the Bible well became lay preachers. As a woman of high social status, this was bound to attract the attention of the authorities.

In March 1545, her husband Thomas Kyme had Askew arrested. She was brought back to Lincolnshire, where he demanded that she stay. The order was short lived; she escaped and returned to London to continue preaching. In early 1546 she was arrested again, but released. In May 1546 she was arrested again, and tortured in the Tower of London. She was then cross examined by the chancellor of the Bishop of London, Edmund Bonner. He ordered that she be imprisoned for 12 days. During this time she refused to make any sort of confession.

She was ordered to name like-minded women, but refused. She was then subject to a two-day-long period of cross examination led by Chancellor Sir Thomas Wriothesley, Stephen Gardiner, The Bishop of Winchester (John Dudley), and Sir William Paget (the king's principal secretary). They threatened her with execution, but she still refused to confess or to name fellow Protestants. She was then ordered to be tortured. Her torturers did so, probably motivated by the desire for Askew to admit that Queen Catherine was also a practicing Protestant.

According to her own account, and that of gaolers within the Tower, she was tortured only once. She was taken from her cell, at about ten o'clock in the morning, to the lower room of the White Tower. She was shown the rack and asked if she would name those who believed as she did. Askew declined to name anyone at all, so she was asked to remove all her clothing except her shift. Askew then climbed onto the rack, and her wrists and ankles were fastened. Again, she was asked for names, but she would say nothing.

What was exceptional about Anne was that despite being arrested, interrogated, and put on the rack (a device so fearful that most victims confessed whatever was required of them), she refused to give names or implicate others, including women at court close to Queen Catherine Parr. She also refused to be silent, arguing forcefully and confounding her accusers with her knowledge and learning.

Sir Anthony Kingston, the Constable of the Tower of London, was so impressed with the way Anne behaved that he refused to torture her. King Henry VIII's Lord Chancellor Wriothesley and Sir Richard Rich had to take over. Other accounts say it was Anne's obstinacy that so enraged Wriothesley that he turned the rack himself.

In her own words, Anne said, "Then they did put me on the rack because I confessed no ladies or gentlemen to be of my opinion; and thereon they kept me a long time and because I lay still and did not cry, my Lord Chancellor and Master Rich took pains to rack me with their own hands till I was nigh dead."

The wheel of the rack was turned, pulling Askew along the device and lifting her so that she was held taut about 5 inches above its bed and slowly stretched. In her own account written from prison, Askew said she fainted from pain, and was lowered and revived. This procedure was repeated twice. They turned the handles so hard that Anne was drawn apart, her shoulders and hips were pulled from their sockets and her elbows and knees were dislocated. Askew's cries could be heard in the garden next to the White Tower where the Lieutenant's wife and daughter were walking. Askew gave no names, and her ordeal ended when the Lieutenant ordered her to be returned to her cell.

On 18 June 1546, she was convicted of heresy, and was condemned to be burned at the stake. Because of the torture she had endured, she had to be carried to the stake on a chair wearing just her shift as she could not walk and every movement caused her severe pain. She was dragged from the chair to the stake which had a small seat attached to it, on which she sat astride. Chains were used to bind her body firmly to the stake at the ankles, knees, waist, chest and neck.

Prior to their death, the prisoners were offered one last chance at pardon. Bishop Shaxton mounted the pulpit and began to preach to them. His words were in vain, however. Askew listened attentively throughout his discourse. When he spoke anything she considered to be the truth, she audibly expressed agreement; but when he said anything contrary to what she believed Scripture stated, she exclaimed: "There he misseth, and speaketh without the book."

Her body was covered in gunpowder before her execution. This was seen as a kindness. Friends often placed gunpowder on the condemned, as it hastened what could be a very slow and painful death. But because she had obstinately defied authority, she was burned alive slowly rather than being strangled first or burned quickly.

So many people turned out for the execution that there was hardly enough room to carry it out. The crowd had to be pushed back. Those who saw her execution were impressed by her bravery, and reported that she did not scream until the flames reached her chest. The execution lasted about an hour, and she was unconscious and probably dead after fifteen minutes or so.

At her execution there was a sudden thunderstorm and a loud clap of thunder. Bale wrote that “Credibly I am informed by various Dutch merchants who were present there, that in the time of their sufferings, the sky, abhorring so wicked an act, suddenly altered colour, and the clouds from above gave a thunder clap, not unlike the one written in Psalm 76. The elements declared the high displeasure of God for so tyrannous a murder of innocents.

Anne Askew was burned at the stake at Smithfield, London, at the age of 26, on 16 July 1546. She burned to death, along with three other Protestants, John Lascelles, Nicholas Belenian and John Adams. She was the last martyr in the reign of Henry VIII.

Her crime? Knowing the Bible, preaching the true gospel and the falsity of Catholic doctrine, especially the doctrine of transubstantiation, and handing out Protestant leaflets.

Of all the stupid and suicidal mistakes that the Romish Church ever made, none was greater than the mistake of burning the Reformers. It cemented the work of the reformation and made Englishman Protestants by the thousands. When plain Englishman saw the church of Rome so cruelly wicked and Protestants so brave, they ceased to doubt on which side was the truth. May the memory of our martyred Reformers never be forgotten until the Lord comes!"

[sources: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Askew

http://historysheroes.e2bn.org/hero/whowerethey/4265]

[lailaliquorice]

even stars are small from a distance

second fic in one day babeyyyy, and to balance out this morning’s fluff now we have angst. this is for a prompt from a lovely anon which was parrlyn h/c with one comforting the other after a nightmare with kisses. hope this was ok!

I haven’t written parrlyn in ages so this is for all the very patient parrlyn friends on the sixcord who have been eagerly waiting!! it’s essentially a rewrite of ‘one more chance’ but with a lot more gay(tm) bc established relationship this time. I know everyone and their cat has written anne having nightmares but hey we love a cliche and that’s all I have to say with this one bc it’s approaching 2am and I need sleep but hope everyone enjoys it c:

Considering how their show was essentially them retelling their stories to four hundred people every night, Cathy still managed to be incredibly private about her former life. It was something that puzzled Anne but didn’t bother her at all; she knew that they all coped with their secrets in different ways and if Cathy’s method was to keep herself hidden then she wouldn’t question it. She would try and make sure her girlfriend didn’t bottle too many things away if she seemed overly stressed any time, but for the most part she just enjoyed and appreciated the privilege of being told any titbit of Cathy’s history.

But what that did mean was that when absent-mindedly scrolling through an article written about the historical aspect of the show, Anne received the unwelcome shock of her life.

It was an unspoken pact that they wouldn’t search up facts on each other’s past lives without permission, since being told to google each other’s names to get filled in during their first rehearsals felt like the equivalent of being told to nose through each other’s diaries. They all knew enough about the queens they hadn’t lived alongside through the show itself anyway. As a result the article was one of the first that Anne had ever read about their Tudor lives and for the most part there were no surprises; the only notable piece of information she tucked away being how Aragon had wanted to send Henry the body of the Scottish King she’d had killed in battle while he was away, something which spoke so true of Catherine’s power as Queen that she couldn’t believe it wasn’t mentioned in the script.

That was until she reached Cathy’s section of the article though. She’d largely skimmed through Kat’s, knowing she couldn’t read about her baby cousin’s suffering without her stomach churning, and was half-tempted to skim through the account of what the final solo didn’t include about Cathy’s life with the King for the sake of her privacy. But before she could click out of the article, a single word in the middle of a paragraph caught her attention.

‘Beheading’.

Anne’s heart rate quickened as she scrolled back upwards. There was no need to mention that in Cathy’s life story unless it was a reference to Kat’s life or her own, which she soon realised it wasn’t. Horror deepened in her stomach as she read of the arrest warrant that was sent out, how Cathy had discovered the plot to have her replaced and been forced to beg the King for her life. How she’d been forced to fight off an armed guard who hadn’t been told of the King’s forgiveness. How the stress of the discovery had made her ill.

How she’d come within a hair’s breadth of losing her life in the same way that Anne had.

Her fingers hovered over her scar as her thoughts raced wildly. She knew that Cathy had known of her in her old life, knew that the entirety of Europe had treated Anne’s death as a warning for what could happen if he was disappointed by his wife. A sudden stabbing pain in her neck forced her to grit her teeth hard, tears pricking at her eyes as she thought of just how afraid she must have been.

She longed to pull her girlfriend into a hug and promise her that she’d never let anyone hurt her again. But that want was quashed by the realisation that she could never let Cathy know that she knew.

So she shut her laptop and said nothing, just kissed Cathy when she returned from her day out with Aragon and listened intently to what the two of them had got up to. She did the show without a hitch, aside from the crescent-shaped indents she pressed into her palm from squeezing her hand closed during Cathy’s solo. And she greeted fans afterwards with no indication that anything was wrong, her voice only failing her for a moment as she watched Cathy sign beneath ‘survived’ with the awful knowledge of how she almost hadn’t.

The only time she came close to cracking was when they were both sat in Cathy’s bedroom after the show. A yawn from Anne prompted a gentle reminder from Cathy that she needed to go to bed soon, and the thought of leaving Cathy alone in the darkness made Anne suddenly burst out “Can I stay here tonight?”

Cathy blinked with surprise for a moment before she nodded. “Of course you can love, you never need to ask. Are you ok though? You’ve seemed a little quiet since I got home,” she said, a concerned look in her eyes as she met Anne’s gaze.

For a moment she was tempted to tell her everything she’d found out, but then she pictured the look on Cathy’s face upon having her privacy violated and she shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine,” she said with what she hoped was a convincing smile.

But her confidence didn’t last for long, as her overactive mind betrayed her the minute she fell asleep in Cathy’s bed and started to dream.

The first thing Anne noticed was that she was in the courtyard by the Tower of London. Immediately she tensed; this courtyard had been the setting for many of her nightmares so it was easy enough to guess exactly what was about to happen. But then she realised that she was part of the crowd rather than standing atop the scaffold, which had never happened before. She could see the executioner’s block waiting though, her scar tingling at the sight of it, so even if it wasn’t her up there she still knew exactly what would happen.

But her grim resolve to see it through shattered when she looked to the scaffold and saw who was standing there. It was Cathy.

Anne started to struggle against the crowd as she watched her approach the block, her thin white chemise a poor excuse for armour against the jeers of the onlookers. Despite how much she tried to push forwards she found herself swept further and further back, helpless to reach out for Cathy as she walked like a zombie towards the block and knelt down. There was no emotion in the face she knew so well – it would have been easier to bear if this Cathy was the one in the portraits not the one in Anne’s lock screen but of course she wasn’t granted that mercy – until she looked up from the ground and met Anne’s gaze.

Her eyes were full of the one emotion that Anne had never seen on her girlfriend’s face. Hopelessness. And it felt like an arrow to her heart.

She started to scream as Cathy moved sluggishly to place her head on the block, ignoring the accidental blows she was dealt by the crowd’s enthusiasm. It was nothing like Anne’s own execution had been; these people were out for blood. These people wanted to see her brave, beautiful Cathy dead and the very thought made her feel sick.

By the time the executioner appeared out of the shadows Anne’s throat was raw, but still the sight of the figure from her nightmares renewed the panic pounding at her chest and she shouted even louder. She hardly even knew what she was screaming; a plea for mercy, an urgent love confession, even a desperate wish to take her place. But her prayers were ignored as the sword was raised, glinting under the cruel sunlight exactly how she remembered.

The executioner swung. The crowd roared. Screams of horror and triumph blurred into a high pitched wail as the world went white and she felt her legs folding beneath her. And then-

Anne was still screaming as she jolted awake, her cheeks ravaged by tears and her chest heaving for breath. Immediately she was attempting to stifle her cries, one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the sound of her sobs and the other hand over her racing heart as she tried to regulate her breathing though. The usual techniques did nothing though as her brain kept replaying the image of Cathy losing her head, and she retched dryly as her stomach gave a sickening turn. Her consciousness started to blur around the edges again as her lungs ached for oxygen.

“Stay with me sweetheart, breathe for me please.”

The voice through the dark made her jump in shock, realising for the first time that she wasn’t in her own room. A fumbling sound was followed by the bedside light being turned on, to reveal Cathy looking at her with sleep-mussed hair and a stricken expression.

Her hands still trembled and the sick feeling in her stomach refused to leave but everything else stilled as she stared blankly at Cathy for several seconds while her brain struggled to catch up. But then she frantically pushed herself to her knees, not giving Cathy a chance to react as she lunged forwards and kissed her.

It was messy and desperate, but it was enough to prove to Anne that she was there.

Cathy reacted quickly enough to support Anne before she slipped, one hand on her waist and the other cupping Anne’s cheek as she kissed her back. Only a couple of seconds passed before Anne was sobbing into Cathy’s chest instead, whispering “You’re alive,” over and over again as she clung to Cathy like a lifeline.

“I’m alive,” Cathy replied in a voice so full of conviction that Anne could just about believe the warm arms around her weren’t a figment of her imagination. Her shaking limbs felt as though the strength had been sapped from them so she couldn’t do anything but sink into Cathy’s embrace, letting out a shuddering breath as she buried her face in Cathy’s shoulder and waited for her nausea to subside.

Several minutes passed before Cathy gently pushed Anne back to look at her in the eye. “Please tell me what’s wrong my love, I’m worried about you,” she said softly, tilting Anne’s chin up with her finger to look up at her.

Anne hesitated a moment longer, still afraid of Cathy’s reaction as she’d been that afternoon, but the lingering terror from her nightmare had beaten down her walls enough that she couldn’t stop the truth from spilling out. “You nearly got beheaded,” she choked out.

As Cathy’s expression fell Anne couldn’t bear to keep looking to see the rest of her reaction, wrenching her chin out of Cathy’s fingers to cover her mouth with her palm. “I found an article earlier and it said he nearly killed you too,” she sobbed, her words muffled by her hand and her distress. “And I dreamed about my execution but it was you instead and I couldn’t save you. And I’m so sorry I found out and for invading your privacy by finding out I promise I wasn’t trying to and I trust you to tell me shit but I’m just so so angry for you and-“

“Oh sweetheart, it’s ok,” Cathy said softly, her hand on Anne’s shoulder interrupting her hysterical tirade. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret because I didn’t want you to know, it was just because I didn’t want you to be upset. I promise I would have told you. One day you’ll know all my secrets love, I’m sorry I’m not better at sharing things with you.”

Her apology sounded so sorrowful that Anne looked up at her and shook her head. “Love you,” she whispered because those were the only words she could come up with at that point, too exhausted to think of anything more coherent to follow up Cathy’s comment. As a final bit of proof that Cathy really was ok she reached out to place a hand at the back of her neck, thumb smoothing over the smooth skin where Anne’s scar lay, leaning forwards to touch her forehead against Cathy’s.

Cathy smiled at her through the gloom, nuzzling Anne’s nose with hers before pulling her into a firm embrace. “I love you too, so so much,” she murmured next to Anne’s ear, pressing a kiss to Anne’s hair before resting her head atop hers.

Anne began to wonder if she was going to fall asleep resting against Cathy before her girlfriend shifted underneath her, and Anne let out a quiet groan as she sat back up. Cathy giggled lightly as she tilted Anne’s chin up again, looking at her lovingly for a moment before leaning forward to kiss away the tear tracks on Anne’s cheeks. “Do you think you’re ready to sleep again?” she asked.

“Mhm. Yeah,” she hummed tiredly.

“Alright, come on then,” Cathy said, straightening out the covers from where Anne had kicked them back and settling back down on her pillow. Once there she pulled Anne down to lay in the crook of her side, and Anne hummed contentedly as she settled with her ear resting over Cathy’s heartbeat. The low sound was enough to reassure her that her dream wouldn’t come again and Cathy was alive and right next to her, and no executioner’s sword was ever going to hurt them again.

Cathy’s fingers running through Anne’s hair made the last remnants of tension seep out of her limbs, and she sighed lightly as she hugged Cathy close with an arm over her stomach. “Go to sleep love. I’m right here,” Cathy whispered.

Anne hummed something that might have been a thanks if she wasn’t delirious with exhaustion. Seconds later she was asleep, safe in Cathy’s embrace and the promise that she was never going away.

[greekowl87]

False Flags - Ghost Ship 5/?

The First Fic: (False Flags Redux) | Ghost Ship: (1) (2) (3) (4) or if AO3is your thing. 

A/N: It's been forever since an update. Apologies. This fic isn't forgotten. Just had a major case of writer's block for the past several months. Sorry for any typos or grammatical errors...no beta. Tagging @baronessblixen @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

The previous day still lingered on the back of Scully’s mind as she woke up slowly the next morning. She was tired as Mulder’s injury had caused them to be up most of the night. But she looked towards the morning with new promise. The cotton bed sheets had not lost their crispness and going on to the third day of their vacation still had the allure of being a true vacation where everything seemed removed and they existed in their own little world. She could hear the waves crashing through the bedroom’s open window. Mulder nuzzled her neck as he began to wake up as well.

 She sighed contentedly as he hugged her close and whispered, “Morning, Scully.”

Scully relished in their warmth, not quite ready to face the cool spring air. “Good morning,” she whispered

He gently caressed her bareback as she turned onto her side. He graced her with a lazy smile. Scully sat up in their bed with the tv on mute. Mulder lay next to her, his head resting on her lap. He grunted slightly as he jostled his shoulder in an attempt to snuggle closer to her. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Shoulder,” he muttered.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Scully detangled herself from him and went quietly to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some Tylenol. Their couples’ surfing lesson went from being a great romantic idea to her playing doctor and nursing her partner after a nasty fall from the surfboard. While nothing had been broken, he had rolled his shoulder pretty good and would be sore for the next few days but at least part of her was relieved it came from a bad wave instead of the line of duty. She collected the necessary things in the kitchen and from her bag and returned to bed.

. . . . . 

Yorktown, Virginia January 1, 1863

Scully awoke from her light sleep when she felt her immediate source of warmth leave their cocoon of blankets and the floorboards of the carriage house to creak as her husband made his way across the small room. Through a hooded gaze, she watched him pull on a pair of his trousers and make his way to the couch in front of the fireplace.  His shoulders were hunched, his gaze watching his feet: he had another nightmare. She could tell from the way he stood as if he was carrying Christ’s cross himself.

“Mulder.” She sighed. “Mulder,” she urged, “come back to bed. You’ll catch your death in this cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you have another nightmare?”

He nodded miserably from the shadows. She sighed and wrapped herself in her night coat and hissed as her feet hit the icy floors. She shuffled and took his arm, trying to lead him back to bed. 

“Come on, Mulder.”

“Did I ever tell you I saw battle elsewhere? Parts along North Carolina’s coast and Manassas before I came to Norfolk,” he whispered in hushed tones. “I did not really belong anywhere. It wasn’t crazy or feel unusual at the time, but I got hit at Bull Run. Did I tell you that?” He brought her hand to his left shoulder and pressed it against his bare chest. “I should’ve died,” he continued. “I should’ve died on that damn battlefield so I could have joined my dead wife and child.”

Scully stilled. Mulder continued to walk them back to bed where Scully turned down the covers again and took off his trousers in exchange for his sleeping garments. 

“I should have died, Scully,” he continued absently as if in a trance. “It was the middle of summer. I forget which day of the battle it was but I was on the ground amongst dead...Federal, Confederate, we were all the same. Dead men. I don’t remember how I got there. It was before I got transferred to Marines through my mother’s influence but I still worked in gathering military information. I got sent a dispatch to one of the regiments…”

He grasped Scully’s arms as she tried to help him adjust in the bed. “I just remember this loud blast and like a bee has stung me, like through my entire arm, Scully. I couldn’t move. Just lay there.”

He closed his eyes and winced in memory. “Did I hurt you, Mulder,” she asked.

“Never, Scully.” He gathered her close. “You could never hurt me.”

She joined him back in bed and pulled him to her chest. He sighed and hugged her tightly with desperation. Their height difference between always amazed her. She remembered seeing him for the first time at the dinner party in Norfolk when he ex-husband invited all his officers to dinner one winter evening. She remembered it was his eyes at first that had caught her attention. But that wasn’t the first time they had met. She remembered seeing him in the streets of Norfolk before he had even met her.

“Do you remember when we first met?” 

“At the dinner party?”

“Yes.” He was so warm. She twisted around him like a vine. “No. I didn’t remember until recently. Shall I tell you a story?”

“Please.” He was desperate to cast away his nightmares and the lifetime of guilt. He felt her warm hands run up and down his chest.  “You’re a godsend. Do you know that?”

“Someone might have mentioned that.”

She gently stroked his chest as he closed his eyes trying to remember the last time that either one of them felt safe. “I saw you from the distance in the cold January snow. I thought who is that handsome man?”

“Handsome?” He whispered.

“Devilishly so.” She kissed her bare shoulder and began to grow bold. She wanted to make him feel good and forget.

“I remember when I was shot and laying out in the hot sun. I smelled death all around me. I thought I should have died.”

“You didn't though, Mulder. Do you ever wonder why God saved you?”

“I haven’t done much better with you, Scully. This is hardly a peaceful life.”

She sighed and detangled herself from him to his surprise. “You can be so thick sometimes, Mulder.”

Her deft hands undid the bottom half long underwear as she stroked him. “If you hadn’t survived, we never would have met. We never would have run away or escaped from Norfolk or been married.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you as well,” Scully replied.

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

. . . . . . 

It was noon. The unseasonably warm March weather continued throughout the rest of the morning as the lounged together in bed. The windows continued to stay open and the air from the ocean wafted through. Scully sat propped by a mountain of pillows with Mulder dozing next to her with his head on her breast. He dozed finally as Scully’s fingers played with his hair. He snuggled closer and she smiled.

“I love this, Scully,” he whispered.

“You should be asleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to remember this.”

“Remember,” she repeated and chuckled. “What don’t you remember?”

“I remember everything about you.”

“That sounds kind of creepy.”

“But it is true. I want to remember everything about you, Scully.”

Scully tried to think if they would have gotten to the point back in December if it had not been for the knowledge of a relationship together in a past life. Would it had been easier or would she be too afraid to act? “Go back to sleep, Mulder.” She kissed his forehead lovingly. “Let me finish my movie.”

Mulder closed his eyes and continued to enjoy this moment. He could hear the wind whipping up the waves beyond the dunes, a calming sound he was quickly becoming accustomed to. He reached for Scully’s hand and held it. And she let him. “I know I’ve asked you before in the past, Scully,” he whispered. “But how much in detail do you remember?”

“From then?” She sighed. Why did Mulder keep bringing up this line of thought? Wasn’t he tired of reliving the past? “Their as indistinguishable from this life.”

“How much in detail?”

Still, he continued to push.

“I don’t know. Like I do with my own life. It’s no photographic memory but I’ve never really thought of it. I still can’t wrap my mind around much less explain scientifically how two people from 1860s share faces, memories, and names with us. But I know it’s true. I do believe. But everything. I remember falling in love with you then, and now. I remember the first time I took you to bed then and our less than glamorous first time.”

He chuckled before wincing in pain. She rubbed his back gently and smiled. “I remember everything. I want to remember everything There’s nothing about you I want to forget, Scully.”

“You need to sleep, Mulder,” she reminded him. “You barely did last night because of your shoulder. Do you want me to leave you alone so it will be easier on you?”

“No. This is fine, Scully. This is perfect.”

He continued to relax as Scully went back to watching television and her hand stroked his back bringing him into a trance. He closed his eyes and though there was no other place he would rather be.

. . . . . . 

 “What do you want from me?”

The smoking man drew a long drag from his recently lit Morley as Alex Krycek stood nervously behind Buckley. The recently escaped prisoner shifted from foot to foot watching him and then cleared his throat as he judged Krycek. “I thought I was free to pursue Mulder and Scully anyway I choose to,” Buckley began. He was annoyed. “We had a deal.”

“I broke you out,” the Smoker said calmly. “You are on my own my dime. And what deal?”

“You think you’re such hot shit,” Buckley groaned. “I’ve lived and seen more than could ever imagine.”

A slight nod of his head, Krycek reached to knock Buckley’s legs out from under him but the escaped convict reacted quicker by punching Krycek out like a light. Buckley regain Krycek’s weapon and pointed it at the Smoker.  “So, Carl, let’s try this again. I’m the one in charge.”

The Smoker looked unimpressed. “So you draw a gun on me? That’s it?” He laughed. “I have seen secrets that would drive men made. Do you know how many men I have killed? The things I have seen? You are just another cockroach that I decided not to step on.”

“Even cockroaches can survive a nuclear war.”

“Your fascination with them is annoying, especially with Agent Scully,” the Smoker continued. He eyed the pointed pistol. “Put the weapon down`

“What incentive do I have?”

“Mulder and Scully are in North Carolina. Did you know that?”

“As is half the FBI and Marshals looking for me.”

“They're on the coast. The Outer Banks.”

“What the hell are they doing there? Another one of those bizarro cases?”

The Smoker paused, taking another long drag from his Morley in thought. He had to consider his next answer carefully. Despite the ever-present danger of being shot in the face, the Smoker had read Buckley’s file and the escapades that he had caused this past December. He had to give pause to his obsession with Dana Scully. There was something there but Mulder and Scully were still too valuable to the Smoker. Diana still had used and while the Consortium had folder over the past year, the agents placed him in a dilemma.

“They’re together.”

That was it. That was the right response. He saw Buckley’s fingers tightened around the handle as his fingers turned white.

“Put down the gun, Francis.”

“Frankie,” Buckley corrected.

“Frankie. I can help you get what you want if you help me.”

“I’m listening, Carl.”

. . . . . . .

The morning rolled into the afternoon, Scully left the warmth of their bed as Mulder continued to doze listening to the television. She watched him from the doorway as he rolled onto his stomach with his arm firmly tucked against his chest to stabilize his bad shoulder. She turned off the television and kissed the nape of his exposed neck. He murmured something before quieting again. Scully adjusted his blanket before gathering her discarded sweatshirt and pulling it back on and disappearing back out into the living room.

She eyed the clock on the stove as it read 2:46 in bright green numbers. What day was it? They had been done here for a few days now and still had about a week and a half left of their vacation. The thought made her smile. Whether Scully admitted or not, the stress of the past few months had been growing worse and taking a toll. Her hands began to fix a pot of tea for herself. As the water boiled, she went into the open living room and turned the television on to something mind-numbing. She heard a phone ringing in the kitchen where she had stashed her mobile phone the day before in her purse. Before the phone could wake Mulder, she rushed and snagged it and greeted it with a hiss.

“Scully.”

“Agent Scully?”

Of course, she thought, of course, of course, of course. Skinner.

Even the idea of being able to escape from their lives in Washington and the constant disruptions as being FBI agents and a sanctuary to work on them, both past and present, was far fetched. Neither one of them could escape any duties that they had. In one life, Scully remembered the duties that she had to try and maintain the decorum of a proper housewife in a secreted existence where she was a spy. She chose to be with him against all odds. She felt a similar feeling in this life as she chose to defender her partner and backed him and their work with her science. It felt like their world was closing in around them again and it was suffocating.

“Yes, sir?”

“How are you holding up, Agent Scully?”

“As well as can be expected, sir,” she replied automatically.

“And Agent Mulder,” he pressed.

She bit her lip and was unsure on how to reply to the unwelcomed question as alarms bells began to go off in her head: the rushes to judgment, the secrecy of their relationship breaking out only to confirm the truth to the Hoover, and boom, all over. “He is currently sleeping. Rolled his shoulder the other day.”

“Scully, look I don’t care what is going on between you and your partner.”

“I don't know what you mean by that sir.”

“I don’t care, Scully. This is about Buckley.”

“Buckley.”

“He was spotted on a security camera outside of Yorktown near a gas station. We’re unsure of his next move.”

“We?”

“You got Benson and Yarrow in addition to Washington on this.”

Oh shit.

“Two field offices?”

“Tidewater Virginia and Northeastern North Carolina are unique. We’ve already reached to the local sheriff and they’ll be doing patrols around where you are staying. The best plan is for you and Agent Mulder to do whatever it is you are doing.”

“And what would that be, sir?”

“Staying put. I believe Agent Mulder’s mother is from North Carolina? Probably has some family down there?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’ll be in touch, Agent Scully.”

He hung up without another word. Scully immediately went to their bedroom to dig through their bags to find their service weapons and badges. Everything was still there and in one piece. Mulder snorted in his sleep and she felt herself back into an old memory where they had been happy and it was just them without a care in the world. She was glad she had not given Mulder a stronger pain killer because he rolled over and asked groggily. “Scully?”

“Everything’s okay, Mulder,” she said quickly. She checked the magazine on her sig-p226. They might need more ammo. “Just finishing up a movie.”

“You’re lying,” he said, already falling back asleep.

“When you wake up. We’ll order dinner and I’ll explain everything.”

He nodded and hugged a pillow before falling back asleep. Scully kneeled, kissing his temple, and tucked her pistol behind the small of her back before she headed into the living room to sort through the various to-go menus left by the landlords.

. . . . . . . . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 13, 1862

Mulder wandered through the small rooms above the carriage house like a ghost in the middle of the night. He tried to remember when he felt at peace, the weight of the wedding ring somehow didn’t feel right. Nothing about this situation felt right  “Mulder,” Scully called from their bed, “come back here.”

“What happens if Union troops burst in and discover us as spies or worst, the Rebs and kill us as traitors?”

“Well,” she sighed, “I think the Yanks would be happy for our service at least. Come back to bed, Mulder. I’m tired. We’re safe. The Skinners are good people. Did you have nightmares again?”

He shook his head before reluctantly nodding. Like a spirit herself, she silently rose from the bed and grasped his hand and pulled him back with her. Mulder marveled again the woman he had thrown everything away for and chosen to be with. She was a giant in her own right. Her hand traced up his bareback, lingering on the back of his neck before she pulled him down into a searing kiss that society would have found scandalous. “I’m here now with you,” she whispered, “you aren’t on the battlefield or that boat. The Union occupies this town so we’ll be safe. And together.” She kissed away his tears and hugged him awkwardly. “I love you, Fox Mulder.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Why? Are you still blaming yourself for our predicament? I told you, I choose you. It is my body, my life, not Franklin’s.”

“But this...your family.”

“This war spilt my family long ago. I have you.”

“That is not saying much.”

“It is saying a great deal, Mulder. Just come back and keep me warm. I miss you.”

He smiled weakly. “All I am to you is a blanket?”

“You make this cold bearable. These blankets don’t do anything.” He nuzzled her neck uncharacteristically of a gentleman of the time. But then again, he wasn’t a gentleman. He was a womanizer and cheat having run off with a married woman. Scully stopped him as if hearing his thoughts. She cupped his cheek. “You’re none of those things, Mulder.”

“I should add wood to the fire.”

“It’s just fine, Mulder. We don’t need anymore. Come back to bed with me,” she encouraged. He nodded in defeat. Scully pulled him close as they crawled back underneath the feathered quilts. “What do you want me to do? Just tell me.”

“Just talk,” he whispered. “I love the sound of your voice, even when you read to me your second-hand medical texts. Just talk.”

“I can do that. Poetry? A novel? Medical texts?”

“No,” he whispered. “Just talk.”

“Anything you want.” She sat up in bed and cradled him. “I wish I could tell you a story to soothe you.”

“You do,” Mulder whispered. His eyes began to close. “You make everything just better.”

. . . . . . . . . 

Mulder awoke to the smell of fried shrimp and soup of some kind. His stomach grumbled in eagerness. He rolled out of bed, wincing in the process, as he rotated his injured shoulder gently. He looked out to the window, noticing the darkening sky and the closed windows. A storm must be becoming. Holding his arm close to his chest, he opened the bedroom door and saw Scully standing at the stove absently stirring a pot. Her head was bowed in thought. He saw a plate of shrimp po’boys next to her. 

“Cooking dinner, Scully?” He asked with a yawn.

“I just ran out when you were sleeping,” she said softly. “I’m reheating the Hatteras chowder I picked up too.”

“Got to take advantage of that fresh seafood while we’re down here, huh?” He walked up behind her and kissed her cheek. He ran his hand up and down her back soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she whispered. “I don’t know. Skinner called me when you were asleep. Aside from the fact that he knows about us…”

“I feel like that is the least of our concerns,” Mulder countered.

She turned and crossed her arms, clearly frustrated. “Buckley was spotted in Yorktown. They have two field offices, local pd from god knows how many counties, and what other federal agencies all trying to track this one man down. Skinner made no reference of the cigarette smoking bastard but I know, we both know he is involved. And what’s worse? Skinner is ordering is to stay put.”

“Stay put? Like just stay at this beach house and finish out our vacation? We still have 10 more days left. That doesn’t sound so bad,” Mulder replied.

“Only you would find the good in this situation.” She looked up and found herself grounded by her partner’s warm gaze. “I feel so powerless in this situation, Mulder.”

“I know, and I know how you hate feeling like this. Let’s eat dinner and we can talk so more about this, okay?”

“Do you know how strange this feels,” Scully asked as she pulled two bowls down from the cabinet. “Almost normal. Natural. Us as a couple.”

“Partners,” he clarified. “Just an evolving definition.”

They carried their dinner into the living room, sitting their dinner on the coffee table, before sitting side by side. Scully narrowed her eyes as she reached for the television remote as if debating turning it on. “Put it on ESPN,” Mulder advised, “so we don’t have to watch it.”

“I want to see what the local news is saying,” she told him. 

Mulder nodded in acquiescence and passed her the television remote. “When did you have to get dinner?”

“In between fortifying the top floor and caring for you,” she answered flipping through the channels. She settled on a channel and set the remote down. “I am just doing what I need to do.”

He bit his lip, resisting the urge to kiss her then and there. Instead, he watched her as she brought the mug of soup up and blew gently on the spoon before taking the bite. “Thank you,” he settled for.

“For what?” 

Mulder shrugged. “Just being you,” he answered.

Scully paused and glanced at him as he awkwardly picked up the sandwich and took a healthy bite. She set the mug down, kissed his cheek wordlessly, and went back to her dinner. Mulder smiled as the local forecast changed to the weather.

“I saw some storm clouds when I woke up towards the sound side. Even lightning.”

“Well, they’re calling for rain tonight,” she replied. “Might not get a good sunrise but we can lay by the beach in the afternoon.”

“No surfing?”

“No surfing,” she laughed.

The meteorologist droned on before switching the radar map to the Outer Banks were Mulder and Scully were staying. “While things remain quiet for the metro area, we got a strong line of thunderstorms rolling towards the Outer Banks with the strongest cells concentrated towards Nags Head and Kitty Hawk.” 

A clap of thunder punctuated the forecast. 

“That was close,” he remarked. Suddenly the sound of rain hitting the windows could be heard with growing intensity. Mulder smiled and nudged her. “Snuggle weather, Scully.”

“Atmosphere weather more like it. Eat your food before it gets cold.”

He chuckled wincing as he did. Scully unconsciously began to rub his back as she focused on eating her food and focusing on the weather forecast. Mulder was amazed he could be so lucky to have her, as his FBI partner, friend, and now, soulmate. The weatherman continued. “We’ve been watching this line of storms for the past hour and they are strong. Our early forecasting indicates that if you are in Kitty Hawk and Nags Head, make sure you are inside.” Another loud clap of thunder rolled by. “These cells are strong. We already have previous reports of…”

With another roll of thunder and a flash of lighting, Mulder and Scully found themselves in the dark. “Well,” Mulder started, “there goes the electricity.”

Scully audibly groaned at the inconvenience. “I’m already one step ahead.” Carefully she inched forward towards the kitchen trying to avoid any sharp edges. A flashlight beam came from out of nowhere and then numerous candles were lit and spread throughout their one floor living quarters. “I had a feeling that we could lose power while we were down here so I picked some up at Wal-Mart earlier tonight.”

Mulder moved to help her but she waved him off. She set a couple of candles in the kitchen, a few near the living room, and one in their bedroom. He was always amazed by her. To his utter surprise, he heard some music come from their bedroom as she carried out a crank radio and found a classical station on it. 

“This came from the house,” she added. “I guess it is part of their emergency hurricane kit.”

“Not complaining,” he said. He took another bite of his sandwich. “I’m just admiring.”

She laughed and went to rejoin Mulder on the couch. The thunder rolled above again and she nudged him gently. “Kind of romantic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took sipped his soup. “Candlelit dinner with you?”

“Quit being an ass.”

“At least we don’t have to watch the news,” he said.

“We need a plan though.”

“What can we do?” Mulder asked. “Skinner told us to stay here.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

Mulder sighed. “I just want to move past him, and yes, I know the irony of that statement. I want us to have a future. I mean, how do you go through your life knowing that you’ve lived before?”

Scully stared at her soup before answering, “I’ve been struggling to answer that myself. I wonder…” She drew in a deep breath. “If Emily was the spirit of the child we were meant to have.” She cleared her throat, leaned forward, and stirred the soup. “Meant to have.”

“You think we’d have a little girl?” he asked. He leaned forward and pushed the food around. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

“Power will be back on before morning,” Scully answered, gathering the remains of their dinner to store in the fridge. “Just make sure you don’t open the fridge unless you are certain. We don’t want to waste cold air. And what do you mean? We’d have a little girl?”

“Back then, in the other life,” he whispered, watching a dancing candle flame. “I’ve been thinking maybe Emily…”

“Don’t go there,” Scully hissed in a low whisper. Raw pain was in her voice. Mulder saw her glassy eyes with unshed tears. “Don’t bring Emily into this. We lost our first round in IVF. There still pain there, Mulder.”

“I know,” he said trying to backtrack. “I don’t want you to hurt. I wish I could take all the pain away from you in the world.”

“That’s the point of this vacation right,” she scoffed. “But we have to keep our guard up in case a psychotic killer who used to be my exhusband a hundred and fifty years ago and that we put away.”

“Well at least I got to see you surf,” he tried to joke.

She gave a weak smile. “Maybe we should have gotten a smaller beach house.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll go check the rest of the house and make sure it’s secure. Do you want to stay out here or go to the bedroom?”

“I’m really not in the mood for anything, Mulder.”

“I wasn’t implying. Let’s just…” He shrugged. “What do normal couples do? Snuggle? Cuddle?”

Scully relaxed and nodded softly. “I’ll check the candles.”

Mulder walked into the bedroom, grabbed his weapon and flashlight, and went downstairs. Like a ghost, Scully blew out some candles and moved others into her bedroom. She went to the bedroom windows and opened it slightly so she could hear the waves of the ocean against the shore and the rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning lit up the sky again. She went to the chest of drawers and drew out one of Mulder’s t-shirts and a pair of light boxers from her own drawer and put them on. Cooler air flowed through the open window and she shivered slightly before crawling into the left side of the bed. She let herself drift listening to waves as her eyes closed. “You took my side of the bed.”

She jerked awake and saw Mulder in candlelight with a tired smile. “Mulder. You scared me.”

“Sorry. The house is secure. I placed the furniture in front of the two other doors on the ground floor and the second floor. I locked the sliding glass door up here so in case we do have to go, just make sure to grab the flashlight.”

Scully watched him with hooded eyes as she bordered on the edge of sleep. “You’re not going to sleep,” she realized. “You just woke up from a late nap.”

“Just means I can keep watch,” he said softly. “Do you want me to bring the radio  in here so we can play the classical station?”

“Neither. I opened the window so we can hear the rain and waves.”

Mulder paused and gave a satisfied smile. “We’re going to make love out there before this vacation is over, Scully.”

“Keep on dreaming, Mulder. I would be satisfied with just here. Come to bed.”

He changed into his yellow sleeping pants and set his weapon on the nightstand near Scully. He pulled back the sheet and curled up behind Scully. His warm hand ran down her thigh before he pulled her close. Scully sighed contently and hugged him close. “This is all I would ever want, Mulder,” she whispered.

He took a deep breath and kissed the nape of her neck. “Forever is forever, Scully. Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Never would want that,” she whispered. “Love you too much.”

Mulder felt Scully take one more deep breath as she drifted back to sleep. Mulder smiled to himself and listened to the storm, the waves, and Scully. If eternity could be capitalized into a single moment, this would be it.

[garryspolicememories]

                                 Policing Memories of

             Garry Crawford Circa 1962

                           Part XVII

            Armed Robbery Lighthouse Restaurant

     One afternoon shift in the latter half of 1970’s I was at the Wawa Detachment Office. I was advised by dispatch that there had been an armed robbery at the Lighthouse Restaurant south of Montreal River. The culprits had left northbound. Corporal Gerry Thompson from the Sault Ste Marie Detachment was in the area, had responded to the report and was in pursuit of the culprits vehicle; northbound on Highway #17.

     I grabbed my rifle jumped in a cruiser and headed south. At the same time I requested our radio operator to dispatch a second vehicle containing Constables Tex Luoma and Don Harrison to the Old Woman River Bridge which was about twenty miles south of Wawa. My instructions were for them to wait at the bridge for further instructions. I proceeded as far south as Red Rock Ranger Station and waited.  There was a straight stretch for the better part of a mile south from my location. My thought was to have a clear view with no other cars involved when I stopped the vehicle. When I seen the wanted car coming with Gerry in pursuit, I pulled my cruiser crossways on the centerline of the highway. I attempted to flag the wanted car down. An occupant leaned out the window and started firing at me. I took cover behind the cruiser. The culprit’s car swung onto the shoulder down on the bank and around my cruiser. I fired a shot at the fleeing car as it pulled back onto the highway. I thought I had shot the rear window out at that point, but it may have exploded as the culprit shot back. Gerry hardly slowed, he followed the culprits car around the cruiser. I radioed the cruiser at the Old Woman Bridge and told them that when they seen the wanted car with us in pursuit, with no cars in front. They were to put their cruiser crossways in the middle of the Bridge. Then take cover. My thought was to leave no opening for them to get by. The quicker we stopped them the fewer people would be involved. They had indicated to me by the gun fire that they were not going to give up easily. They had a choice, Stop, go in the river, or run into the cruiser on the bridge.

     Gerry and My adrenaline was flowing pretty good at this point. Something I had learned over the years, was to try to slow down when you found yourself in this situation. One way was to force yourself to talk very slowly, the other was self talk. In gives you time to think and rationalize a little better and remember your training.

      So here we are barreling down the highway and I radioed Gerry and said something like: How – are – you – doing – Gerry? Gerry’s response: Hey! These – guys – are – shooting- at -me. Hey! I – think – they – just – hit – my - radiator. My response: Maybe- your – too - close.

     As we dropped onto the flat before Old Woman Bridge I could see our cruiser with all lights activated on the middle of the bridge.  I guess the culprits saw it too, as they suddenly pulled off the road down into the east ditch and travelled right over close to the bush line.

  Gerry came to a stop crossways on the shoulder with his headlights on the side rear of the vehicle. I skidded past him and stopped with my headlight lights on the front side of the vehicle. We then had the four occupants of the vehicle exit it and lay face down on the ground with their arms and legs outstretched. They were handcuffed and questioned. We could find no firearms. As we got backup, we searched back down the road and shoulders with out finding any. One of the four then admitted that a fifth subject with the gun had exited their vehicle and ran into the bush. Neither Gerry nor I had seen him go.

     Tex Luoma and Don Harrison arrived on the scene within a couple of minutes. I seem to remember Don saying something about Gerry and I being a little strange. Lol.

     We did not feel it was advisable to try and follow the suspect into the bush at night. We decided to move our roadblocks a couple of miles north and south of the scene. They were to stop all vehicles and tell them under no circumstances to stop between the two roadblocks. We then used plain cars to do a constant patrol through the area. Lorne Neve the Detachment Commander had been advised at this point and he accompanied me in one of the plain cars patrolling the area.

     Just after daybreak we were patrolling south on Highway #17 down the Hill to Old Woman Bay. At the point where you can first see the Old Woman Beach, we could see a person walking north on the beach. The subject was about ½ a mile away at this point.  We drove into the Beach Parking Lot. Lorne headed for the Beach with the intent of making his way towards the person. I headed south on a trail that parallels the beach. I was carefully making my way with the intent of intercepting the individual. I reached a point about 300 yards south of the parking lot, when I seen the suspect hiding behind a clump of dirt, he had his rifle up and was attempting to sight in on me.

( We learned later that the rifle was a .303 military rifle that had both the barrel and the stock sawed off. In order to sight it, one had to hold it away from them and sight down the barrel)

     The instant I seen the individual was sighting on me, I threw my rifle to my shoulder and fired. The suspects rifle flew into the air at least 15 feet over his head. I thought I had somehow hit the rifle. The suspect then stood up with his hands extended over his head. I was approximately fifty yards from him. I ordered him to walk out to the path very slowly, then had him lay face  down with his hands extended. I then moved up and handcuffed him. At that point I rolled him over and I gasped. The suspect was no more than sixteen years old, I had two teenage boys at home. I was using my own personal rifle which I carried on the trap line. I was very accurate with it and seldom missed a shot. Only his head and top of his shoulders were visible when I shot. I had aimed for the center of his forehead.

     Lorne and I returned the individual to Wawa and lodged him in the Detachment Cells. The excitement was over for the time being. On checking the individual a short time later, I asked him if there was anything he needed. He replied that he would sure like a pop. We did not have a pop machine in the Detachment, but the good thing was that Gerry Thompson was still there. I checked Gerry’s bag and sure enough he had a quantity of COKE. I took one and gave it to the suspect. Gerry has never forgiven me. I know because just last year he mentioned that incident. He said: That guy tried to kill me! What did you do? You gave him one of my coke. I really don’t believe he was that upset, because he has remained a steadfast friend over the past fifty some years.

     The rifle I was using was a .308 cal. Winchester lever action. Model 88. I carried it most of the time while in the bush, but I used reloaded shells.  The day following this incident I took it out to the pit where we did our firearms training to try to figure out why I had missed my shot. I learned pretty quickly what had happened. At fifty yards the reloaded shells were right on. I had used military rounds from the Detachment that were 7.62 mm. These were meant for the old sniper rifle that most Detachments use to be issued with, but were much hotter than my reloads. At 50 yards they hit about 1 ½ “ high. I guessed my shot most likely passed through his hair. That was enough. He wanted to give up.

     The accused was charged by Sault Ste Marie OPP for the robbery at the Lighthouse Restaurant and then returned to the Toronto Area where he was convicted for several other robberies and sentenced to a lengthy period in a Federal Institution.

     I was grateful in one way that I had missed my shot and was not responsible for the life of a young teenager, but felt he would most likely continue his life of crime.

   The story does not end there. I was promoted to Sergeant in the early spring of 1980 and posted to Bala Detachment as Detachment Commander. A couple of years later this same suspect escaped from a federal institution at Kingston Ontario. Constable Ray Negus was on patrol in the Old Woman Bay parking lot and seen a vehicle which had been stolen at Kingston Ontario. The story as I heard it was that Ray had waited out of sight of the stolen car. Sure enough the culprit returned to the stolen car and Ray arrested him. He had hidden the money he stole from the Lighthouse restaurant in the sand along Old Woman River and had returned with the intention of retrieving it. The Old Woman River floods every spring and the sand bars and shoreline change. No money was ever found. The name of the accused has not stayed in my memory, however I often wonder if he ever made anything of himself or did he as I expected just continue a life of crime.

     I have included a photograph of Lorne Neve and myself with this submission. I am not to sure just when it was taken, but it appears something was in the planning stage. I am sure it will bring back some good memories to some who read this.

                 A Drowning With A Message

     How often I have wished that during my time as an active police officer, I had a camera or phone with a camera as we have today. There were so many times that I seen or witnessed something that I would have recorded

     One day in the summer during the 1970’s we received a call at Wawa Detachment from Camp Lochalsh on Wabatongushi Lake. They reported that one of their guests had gone through the chutes at the dam on their lake and was believed to have drowned.

    Arrangements were made for the use of a Beaver aircraft with Airdale flying services. Ray Negus was the investigating officer. Ed Zelionis District Dive Master and one other diver was dispatched from the south. We flew up and landed on the lake below the dam. Dave Little the owner/manager of Camp Lochalsh was waiting at the lake.

     If my memory is correct, two people had been fishing in a boat just above the dam. One of the men had stood up to relieve himself. The boat had drifted through the chutes upset and continued down the river and rapids. One of the men had been able to get to the shore. The other disappeared. On arrival the two divers suited up and began their recovery operation. Beginning where the boat had upset then working their way down the river to the second lake. Ray and I waited on the shore acting to assist where we could. The divers had been working for a couple of hours with no success. I decided to take the boat that was at the landing and have a look down the lake. As several stop logs had been replaced in the dam after the accident, it was feasible that the earlier high volume  of water at the time of the accident had flushed the body down the lake.

     Dave Little accompanied me and we started down the lake. When we reached a point about ½ a mile down the west side of the lake we found the body.  It was floating vertical in about 8 feet of water. His pants were down around his ankles and they were snagged on a root on the bottom. His head was about three feet under the water. There was a 66 ounce whisky bottle that was ¾’s empty floating immediately above the body. A photo would have given a great safety message. Don’t drink and go boating!

     We had a bit of difficulty getting the body into our boat, but finally succeeded, wrapped it in an emergency blanket and rowed back up the lake. As we came back to the landing where Ray was waiting I seem to remember Ray having a little accident. The flat rock down to the water was sloped and covered in moss. As Ray rushed down to catch the boat it moved and poor Ray fell into the lake.  Ray probably has a different version, but its my story. What made it bad was Ray was in uniform and we still had to fly over to Camp Lochalsh for him to interview a couple of people. He was true to form and finished his investigation without having any more mishaps.

     If you wish to read my previous submissions, they are all stored at the following URL: <garryspolicememories.tumblr.com>

[amazable01]

Mr. Sanders Neighborhood

Collab with @theobsessor1!

Note: THE LONG AWAITED NEIGHBORHOOD AU IS HEREEEEEEEEEEEE!! I’m so excited, you guys, you don’t even know.

Link to AO3 is here

Logan lived in a quiet town, where extraordinary things never happened, and he’s always been fine with that. Today is peaceful as it is every day, so… why does today feel different?

He had awoken at the usual time of 6am, ate a healthy breakfast and began on chores. Logan had the whole house swept, mopped and vacuumed by 8, planning to get to laundry once he fetches the mail just like every Saturday Morning.

Logan puts the vacuum back in the closet before heading out the front door. He blinks almost owlishly, stepping outside to hear singing.

The source of the sound comes from his right, another man that looks like the stereotypical Prince Charming from children's fairy-tales. The outfit they wear further affirms the idea. It may even be contributing to making him look even stranger as he continues to sing to the birds sitting in a nearby tree.

The man looks over, spotting Logan watching him in bewilderment. He greets him with an enthusiastic wave and a bright smile as if his behaviour is perfectly normal.

Before Logan can process any of this, the gentleman is striding over to him. The princely figure introduces himself with a small bow. “Hello fine sir! I’m sure I need no introduction as you must know who I am already.” The stranger places a hand to his chest with a flourish, his tone dramatic. “I must apologize on mine own behalf for not coming to greet you sooner, but I have been busy redecorating the insides of my new home.”

Noting that the stranger has SOME form of manners, however odd he seems to act, Logan tries to remain polite, despite the fact he would rather hide in his house and avoid the odd person. “I believe you are mistaken, as I do not know who you are-”

The stranger promptly interrupts Logan, a string of offended noises escaping his lips “You don’t know who I am?! I am Roman Charming!” Making a dramatic pose as if that’s supposed to help jog Logan’s memory, Roman gives him a waiting glance.

Logan quickly shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of you before. Are you some kind of... children’s entertainer?” He gestures towards Roman’s royal attire, expecting that to be the answer as to why he was dressed in such unusual garb.

“What?!” Roman appears even more offended and agitated than when Logan admitted he didn’t know the man, “I will have you know that I am ROYALTY, you peasant!”

This guy is clearly mental! Logan raised his hands, trying to come off non-threatening, fearful the man would grow angry. Knowing how strange he was acting, there is no telling what he might do. “I do apologize for the mistake, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have chores to finish.” Leaving his mail to sit in the mailbox, Logan hastily enters the safety of his home before the other could protest. Carefully making sure to lock the door, he breathes a sigh of relief, thankful to be away from the insanity outside.

Maybe if I’m careful, I don’t have to face any more of that ridiculousness, Logan muses.

Despite his best efforts, however, Logan might as well give up trying to avoid Roman. The man must be used to getting lots of attention, and seeing as there isn’t anyone else in the neighborhood other than them, Roman would often attempt to seek it out from Logan, much to the annoyance of the latter.

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

Logan huffs with annoyance. Roman had followed him to work several times now, often talking about nonsensical things and being an overall distraction. And a nuisance, to top that. Logan had been contemplating kicking him out, when Roman wandered off into the bookshelves. Deep within the novels and biographies, lies an oasis of imagination and naivety. The children’s section.

Taking advantage of the moment of reprieve, Logan begins putting away some of the returned books. He hadn’t realized how long Roman had been gone until he realized that most of the books had been return to their places, and only a few remained on the return cart.

In his peripheral vision, as he puts another book back in place, he notices the manager heading off towards the children’s section. Logan doesn’t think twice of it as he continues working. She is the owner of the place, after all. Seeing her check up on things was nor-Shit!

Roman was still in there! She would likely not take too kindly to his strange delusions, nor would Roman take how she would react very well.

Making haste, Logan races off to the children’s section. He looks around, scanning the area.

The ceiling had been repainted into a bright blue, the walls depicting a forest that supposedly surrounded the kids as they played. Bookshelves were designed to look like trees sprouting with knowledge. A playset sits in the corner, a child-sized tower that could be climbed and played around. The tower was connected to the reading room, which was painted to look like a gigantic castle, where activities would often be held. A glass doorway across from the reading room lead to a outdoor garden, where stepping stones and benches often held older children finishing up a book, or younger kids enjoying the sun. A dragon statue laid outside, as well, to bring the inside theme into the garden.

All personal opinions aside, it had become a good place for children to stay, compared to the dark wood and clean counters of the normal library outside.

Logan spots the manager watching Roman. She doesn't look at all like he was expecting. Hesitantly he stands next to her, copying her as they watch Roman.

Roman is sitting by the child-sized tower, the children scattered around him in awe as he reads, no, dramatically acts out the story. A couple times he purposefully played the scene wrong, and with laughter the children would correct him as he feigned ignorance.

As Roman finishes up the book, Logan hears the manager hum in thought before walking over to Roman and pulling him aside to talk.

Logan quickly followed, hoping to keep the peace if things were to start escalating, only to freeze as she proposed something to Roman.

“I would be delighted!” Roman cheers, before turning to Logan, beaming. “I get to work with you now! How about that!”

Logan felt his brain shutting down. “...what?”

“I get to keep the little gremlins occupied while their guardians get their business done here! Isn’t that spectacular news?!”

“I believe I might require some air.”

Leaving the two before they could respond, Logan exits the children’s section and the library. He uses an arm to lean against the wall, taking some much needed deep breaths.

Not only did he have Roman as his neighbor, but now he was stuck working with him, too!

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

Roman believed he was royalty. And not just any royalty, but the child of Cinderella, someone who didn’t exist to begin with.

He’d searched everywhere for the so called “Storybrooke” that Roman claimed to have originated from, and it didn’t exist either!

Footsteps sound close by, but Logan hardly notices them. There’s a much more important problem right now.

Did a Roman Charming even exist?! Who was he?! Where did he come from?! Why did he appear out of nowhere?!

A hand places itself softly on Logan’s shoulder. He mutters to himself as he turns, still caught up in his thoughts.

Roman jolts back, removing his hand like he had been burned. He looked bewilderedly at his hand, before shaking his head and turning his attention back on Logan, concerned.

“Are you alright? You seemed a bit upset when you left the library.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, an anxious mess. “To be honest? No. I am not alright.” He points at Roman “The world apparently thinks it would be hilarious to ruin my perfect life with some neighbor who has delusions of being a nonexistent character! You’re CONSTANTLY harassing me for attention, and now I have to share my WORKSPACE with you?!?!” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to bring his emotions back in check. “You don’t exist on ANY sites...h-how can I be sure your not some escaped convict, or madman?”

Roman tilts his head contemplatively, his eyes saddened. “I guess there really is no way of knowing if I am a madman, since I technically don’t exist outside of home... I sometimes forget that.” He continues, sighing softly.  “Even so, that is no excuse for my behavior. I am a prince, and I should act like one. I do tend to enjoy your company, however, so I hope you can forgive me, or we can start all of this over again.”

Logan just knew he was going to regret this decision in the future, and yet... seeing the sincere expression on Roman’s face had made him feel more than a little guilty

With an exasperated sigh, Logan sealed his fate. “You're forgiven, just… I sometime need my own space, and for the love of all things celestial, PLEASE tone down your dramatics.”

“Of course! I’ll make sure to be more considerate with both of those things!” He pauses. “Does...  does this mean I should decline working here?”

“No, it’s fine. As long as you don’t distract me while I’m working, I’m fine with it.”

“Yes! Work buddies!”

Logan might as well have lost his mind for what he just agreed to. Thankfully, the rest of the neighborhood will most likely fill with normal people to save his sanity.

After all, things couldn't get any weirder...

Right?

Taglist under cut

@pikachutali @0callmevirge0 @wolfishhel @anachronistic-cat @chemically-imbalanced-romance @nightmarejasmine @thepoolofthedead @broadwaytheanimatedseries @hanramz-the-fander @silversunshine2012 @tree4life25 @changeling-ash @Multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @thespiritsquid @crankthatyee @anangelridingintheimpala @alyssadashrub @nottodaylogic @corerianna @the-gayest-one-of-them-all @skelekitty42 @Emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @scorching-scotch @ab-artist @cloudchaser7

If you would like to be added, contact me or @theobsessor1 through an ask, comment, or dm!

[dearlazerbunny]

Anxiety

Pairings: Poe & Reader

Genre/Rating: WARNING for mentions of anxiety attacks

Words:1700

Summary: a panic attack goes horribly wrong...

You wake to a pounding in your chest and a throbbing in your head. Despite the darkness that surrounds you, everything seems too bright and too loud. You’re hyper-aware of the sounds around you- the nighttime calls of the birds in the trees that filter through your window, the soft clunk of boots that walk by in the hallway outside your door. The wind seems to howl ominously, a low growl that awakens something deep in your bones. Something sinister. Something that wraps its claws around your heart and pierces the delicate skin until it bleeds out into your chest, filling your lungs with thick liquid so that you’re choking on it.

Breath rattling, you reach to the table beside your bed and grab a book sitting there close to you. Only, it’s not a book- not exactly. Only the outer wall of pages remain intact, and the middle has been hollowed out to form a little cubbyhole. Inside are several bottles of brightly-colored pills, each one neatly labeled in your hand. Shaking, you pop the lid of one and swallow down a tablet. Then another. Then another, this time from an older bottle you haven’t touched in months. From the looks of it, you were going to need them, and maybe more.

You thought you were over it, this whole unnamed phenomenon that seems to wrack your body whenever it pleases. It often comes in the night, stealthily, creeping up on you until it holds you in a vice grip. But then it bleeds into your waking life, leaving you rattled even when the sun is shining and the shadows are banished to another corner. At first, it was an annoyance, a nuisance. Now, it is a danger. You hadn’t had one of these episodes since joining the Resistance, but now that it seems to have returned- what are you to do? What would happen to your job? You’ve  just been promoted to Black squadron, and you’ll be damned if anything will take that away from you- but the thought of your X-Wing, or even lifting off the ground, makes your heart jump into your throat. You can’t tell anybody, that’s for certain. Leia would ground you for life. You glance at the box of pills resting in your lap. You can manage this. You always have. As long as you can stay on the ground long enough for this to pass, no one will ever even know-

Just as you put the book back in its place for safekeeping, there’s a banging on the metal door that resonates through your temples and makes you wince. Getting up, you allow the door to open with a press of a button, only to find Jessika standing there in her flight suit, arms crossed impatiently.

“Come on, newbie. Time for you to show us what you got.”

You roll your eyes, trying to conceal the spike of panic flushing through your whole body. “I’ve flown five missions with you, Jessika. Hardly a newbie.”

She cracks a smile. “I know, I know, I’m just messin’ with ya. But seriously, get your suit on. Leia’s waiting for us on the airfield.”

You nod and let the door slide closed. Shit. Shitshitshit. You couldn’t say no. You could fake an illness, maybe. The churning in your stomach made for a promising side effect. But no- you’re still too new. What if they think you’re unreliable? Or afraid? You are afraid- desperately. But you zip up your orange jumpsuit with conviction, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

If you don’t think about it, it can’t hurt you. Right?

…

All in all, it was a smooth run. In and out, a clean sweep. Of course, your hands were glued to the steering the entire time in effort to keep yourself together, but no one needs to know that.

The comm crackles to life in your ear. “Okay guys, good run.” Poe Dameron’s confident voice comes over the speaker. “Now a smooth landing and we can all get some sleep.” There are various cheers along the wires as the pilots sigh in relief. A beep goes off in your wire, meaning someone was calling you privately. You press the accept button.

“Y/N. You’ve been awful quiet tonight. Everything okay?”

Dameron’s reassuring tones makes you want to break down and blubber right there over the comm, but you manage to steel your voice before responding. “Fine, sir. Just focused on the job.”

“Please, it’s an unspoken rule that after three rides with us you can call me Poe.” You can hear the warmth in his voice as D’Qar comes back into view. “I’ll see you on the ground.”

“Roger.” When the feed cuts out, you’re left with the sound of your own breathing in your little pod. You tug a bit on your collar. Has it always been so tight in here? You feel like your breath is fogging up the windshield, that’s how close you are. A familiar, uncomfortable tightness begins to encircle your chest, and you gasp for air.

No. Not here. Please, not now.

Trying to breathe, you follow the line of ships in front of you to the landing dock. Your vision is cutting in and out, blurring slightly and then snapping back into harsh focus. Blinking hard, you reach for a lever only for your hand to miss it entirely, veering off to the right like you’ve had a muscle spasm.

Oh, stars.

All at once, you’re in full-blown panic mode, feeling like you’re trying to keep yourself from splitting into a million pieces. You can see the pilots in front of you landing seamlessly onto the ground and you go to start the landing sequence-

Only the thoughts won’t come.

This is ridiculous, you’ve landed your rig so many times you can do it in your sleep. Practically have, a few times. You just… just… is it this button? Or the one next to it…?

The ground is rushing up to meet you and you have no idea how to slow yourself down. Your brain is a tangled web of knots and thorns, with even the most simple thoughts and commands going right over your head. Heaving, a single tear escapes down your cheek as you frantically try to save yourself, pulling and pressing at random, hoping the right sequence will come to you in a mad dash of inspiration before you hit the ground.

It’s like a fever dream, the implosion is. You can feel the rig smack onto the pavement so hard you’re sure you lose a tooth. Thank god it doesn’t skid into one of the nearby compounds. It just- crashes. Straight down, losing bits of sheeting and bolts along the way. You see fire start to creep its way up the window as you renter the atmosphere and only have enough time to think I’m screwed before the impact throws you from your seat.

When your eyes open, all you see are flames. Everything hurts. You taste salt- you’ve been crying, even while unconscious. People are swarming your rig, trying to douse the fire, fairly unsuccessfully from the looks of it. Your squad are climbing from their own ships frantically, no doubt wondering what the hell happened.

No one has seen you yet. You hope they don’t find you. You let the fear, the grief, the anxiety- wash over you like death. You close your eyes.

At least they’d only find your pills after you were gone.

…

A soft beeping wakes you from a deep sleep. Wearily, you open your eyes to the white, muted room of the medical ward. You can feel the mattress crunching underneath you and the rough sheets tickling your arms. As the room slowly comes into focus, you’re aware of a presence sitting to your right.

Poe.

He’s staring off into space, head in his hands. Maybe if you just quietly close your eyes again, you can avoid him… but no, he’s looking right at you now. He knows you’re awake. You eye him cautiously, trying to get a read on him, but his face is frustratingly neutral.

“Y/N.”

“Poe.” Your voice is raspy. When you go to push a piece of hair back from your face, you find your hands zip tied loosely to the sides of the bed. “What the…”

“You’re on suicide watch,” he says bluntly. “That was quite the stunt you pulled.”

Your eyes go wide. “I’m not… suicidal…”

He snorts. “Could’ve fooled us. Care to tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

Panic grips you, a familiar friend. “I… I wasn’t. I just…panicked.”

“Why? You’re a damn good pilot. You sure as hell know how to land your rig, I’ve seen you do it a thousand tines-”

He stops as tears begin to form, dripping down your face. “I don’t know! Everything was too hot and too bright and I couldn’t breathe-” you sob, remembering the impact. “It was like I was frozen. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I just…”

Poe stares at you for a while. Then, carefully, reaches into his pocket and holds aloft a bottle of brightly colored pills. You blanch. “Do you know what these are?”

“I…”

“Don’t lie to me. We found some in your room.”

“Please put them back,” you whisper. “I need them…”

“Oh no, these are from my own personal stash.”

“Your own….?”

He sighs, more sympathetically than anything. “Y/N. Did you seriously think you were the only one with panic attacks?”

He says the ugly words just like that, just throws them out in the open.

“I don’t know.” For the first time in your life, you don’t ignore the diagnosis.

“Well, you’re not. We’ve all got our own shit. Our own bottle of pills. I just wish you would have told me before going kamikaze.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

He softens. “I know.” A heartbeat passes. “You’re going to stay in medical for a while. Get you stable. We’ll see what comes after that.” Carefully, he places a hand over your own, and squeezes gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 29: Honest Truth

It’s a new month, so here’s a new chapter for those reading. The chapter is available on AO3 for those who prefer it there.

Not major tags, this chapter is nsfw though.

December 29th, evening

--

After leaving Nevena to continue her conversation with Roselyn, Cullen occupied his time with a brisk walk around the deck of the ship. He realised it would probably take him an hour or two, at least, to walk a full circuit, and returned inside to find what options were available to he and Nevena for their one night aboard.

Cullen did not like this setting at all. He’d only travelled by ship a few times and could not recall any of those times being a pleasant or easy experience. While none of his trips resulted in him actually being sick, he knew he was more comfortable on solid ground, rather than with the horizon bobbing up and down in every direction. Inside, it wasn’t so bad. It almost felt normal and sturdy to walk around, but the thought was niggling at the back of his mind that beyond the doors there was just open water.

He tried to focus more on what attractions the ship offered to its guests. In every corner or hallway there was a café or a kiosk serving food and drink. There were small shops selling basic amenities and anything a guest might have forgotten, like toothbrushes, swimming goggles, trashy holiday novels, and inflatable pool toys – which Cullen thought were out of place on a cruise where he and Nevena were probably the youngest people aboard.

Almost all the guests he passed were in their golden years. Older couples walking arm in arm, chatting quietly, or groups of men and women all talking over each other and vying to be heard as they explored. Cullen thought a cruise was something his parents would have enjoyed before they passed away. They always talked about wanting to travel, but never made it beyond the borders of Ferelden. His parents were often like that. Always talking of doing something, but always too afraid to do it, finding excuses where ever they could.

His sister Mia was the same. Last time he spoke to her she talked about wanting to take a holiday to Antiva with her children, but Cullen knew she wouldn’t. She’d stay in Ferelden and if he asked, she’d say it was too expensive, or that she didn’t want to go alone. Sometimes his sister frustrated him, but she was stubborn and nothing he or their other siblings said would change her mind.

On his wandering the ship, he found a few cocktail bars on different decks, a huge event room that was decorated with a gaudy gold and purple colour scheme, complete with streamers and over-sized bows on the backs of chairs. Set up at one end of the room on an elevated platform was space for an on-ship band that looked to be setting up as part of the entertainment.

The restaurants all specialised in different cuisine and were located all together on one deck for ease of access. The one that appealed most to Cullen was a place called The Stoneham. It seemed the least pretentious – which made it a winner in Cullen’s opinion, and was one of the less formal looking of the restaurants. Also, the portion sizes looked reasonable. The pictures in the menus of the other restaurants showed tiny, beautiful delicate plates of food. Probably delicious, but not filling and leaving a meal still hungry seemed to defeat the object.

He sent a text to Nevena to ask her opinion with a quick picture of each menu. She replied that she trusted his judgement. Cullen gave her directions to where The Stoneham was and chose to wait there for her. He stood to one side, giving other patrons plenty of room to come and go. Several groups of older women came by, stopped to look at the menu, and several of the women spent time looking at him. Cullen tried to ignore them, smiling politely if he accidentally caught the eye of one of them, and then looking at his phone to avoid further eye contact, hoping Nevena would turn up soon.

“On your own?” Cullen barely concealed a grimace when he heard the question being put to him, and the older woman’s voice that went with it.

“No,” he put a smile on his face, not wanting to be rude. “Just waiting for—“

“You can sit with us.” The woman nodded to her group of companions. Seven other women stood not five feet away and inching closer. They were all dressed in expensive clothing that reminded Cullen of the clothes Katrin wore when he saw her. The woman speaking to him beckoned them over. “Handsome fella like you shouldn’t be waiting alone. Mr…?”

“Rutherford,” Cullen answered without even thinking about. Immediately he wanted to take it back. “And, thank you – but I am waiting for someone.”

“Rutherford.” The woman said again. Cullen found himself surrounded in a sea of faces and strong perfume in seconds. “First name with that?”

“Uh—” Cullen shifted, feeling increasingly uncomfortable when a hand came to brush against his arm where his sleeve was rolled up to his elbow. “Just, Mr. Rutherford is fine.”

“Oooh! Like Mr. Grey!” One woman laughed, nudging her friend and earning a throaty chuckle in return. “I wonder if he has a toy room too!”

Cullen choked on the strong floral aroma and tried to project his voice to be assertive. “Please, I’m expecting someone in a minute.” He didn’t want to be rude to anyone, the women were harmless – just over eager. He was probably the youngest male guest on the ship.

“Who’re you waiting for? Your wife?” another woman asked.

“No ring.” A third.

“Not married!?” The second gaped and grabbed his left hand to check.

“I’m not yet married, no,” Cullen pulled his hand away, flexing his fingers and burning with embarrassment, “but I am taken.” He added with more conviction. Technically, it wasn’t a lie and it gave him a sense of pride to say so aloud. He’d not really realised it himself until that moment, but he was taken. He had been taken since that first meeting with Nevena. Saying it made it even more real to him. “My—”

One of the women cut him off with a shrill cackle that caused his teeth to clack together when he slammed his mouth closed. Several other women joined in the apparently hilarious joke Cullen missed and he began to look for a method of escape away from the voices and the hands that were touching and tugging his clothing without his consent.

“Cullen?”

His annoyance with the gaggle of women cooled when Nevena’s voice cut through the rising laughter. His eyes found her in seconds. People in the foyer of the restaurant seemed to have parted for her as if moved by some invisible force, and for good reason. She was a vision. Just looking at her, Cullen felt his throat go dry, his heart begin to race, and blood pump faster all in the same instance. He expected her to wear the same dress she wore on Christmas Day, simple and elegant. What she was wearing was something that looked as though it would be more at home in the window of a shop for lingerie and Cullen found he just wanted to take it off her there and then.

The pale ivory colour of the dress complimented the warmth of Nevena’s skin – and Cullen was sure would have looked completely sheer if not for a slip underneath it. There was subtle lace and beading detailed on the front and down to the hem that ended a few inches above her knees. The neckline scooped down exposing Nevena’s collarbone, neck, and shoulders. Her legs were bare and seemed impossibly long due to the flesh coloured heels she wore. A simple ivory coloured cardigan around her shoulders stopped Cullen from seeing if the dress had straps or not. He kind of hoped it had thin straps. The kind of straps he could roll off her shoulders while kissing her beautiful neck while he stood behind her in their cabin. And that her dress was the kind of dress that would just pool around her feet if he did that.

“Nev…” Cullen managed to breathe out.

She smiled, approached and the gaggle of women around him split apart for her. Up close he could see that she had makeup on that accentuated her already stunning eyes. Her hair, too, was different. Still down, and wild in appearance, but somehow stylishly messy.

Nevena placed a delicate hand on Cullen’s forearm and kissed his cheek – a feminine display of dominance and a gesture that Cullen found himself surprised and a little aroused by.

“Who are all these people?” Nevena asked, her tone soft. The group of women who were bothering Cullen moved away as soon as Nevena kissed him. The smell of strong perfume still lingered but he was able to relax now he wasn’t surrounded.

“I don’t know. They just arrived and wouldn’t leave me alone,” Cullen hissed back at her, unable to take his eyes off her while she watched the women a few feet away.

Nevena gave him a teasing smile. “Not enjoying the attention?”

“Ha,” snorted Cullen, “hardly. Besides,” he slipped an arm around her waist and put his lips close to her ear, lowering his voice so only she would hear him, “yours is the only attention worth having.” He felt a distinct shiver from Nevena beside him and noticed the hairs standing up on the exposed skin of her forearms. Her cheeks were pinker now, too. “I like your dress,” Cullen said.

“It likes you back,” Nevena replied without missing a beat, peering up at him with coy, yet somehow erotic innocence. He wondered how, exactly, she managed that. Managed to look at him so suggestively and yet say nothing of the sort… Maker, her dress was just begging to be slid down and off her body-- Catching his thoughts, Cullen cleared his throat, sure his cheeks were turning fire truck red. He scratched the back of his neck, exhaling heavily when Nevena looped her arm through his. “Is this where we’re eating?”

“I-if you approve.” Cullen waited while she perused the menu outside the restaurant for a few moments. “I had a look at the other places, I thought they’d be a bit much. But if—”

“This is fine.” Nevena shook her head, smiling. “There’s plenty here I can eat. Let’s go.” She gave his arm a light tug and he willingly followed her into the restaurant.

Immediately there was a swathe of noise, people talking, low, ambient music, the clatter of cutlery on ceramic. A delicious aroma of herbs and roasting food came from open kitchens where chefs were busy at work. The restaurant itself had a rustic aesthetic, almost like an old-fashioned farmhouse with fake red brick walls, and tiled floors. There were pictures hung on the walls of landscapes and wheat fields, and a few ornaments like horseshoes joined them.

A young man approached them armed with menus and his best smile.

“Table for two?” he asked, cheerfully.

“Please,” Nevena said, equally as cheerful.

“Follow me!” The waiter turned and quickly led them through a series of occupied tables to a section yet to be filled with patrons. The table was tucked away in an alcove, intimately lit by electric candle sconces above. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.”

“Are you sure we won’t be forgotten about here?” asked Cullen, lifting a brow at the location and at the distance it was from the main thoroughfare of tables. “We’re quite out of the way.”

“Don’t you worry. This is my section, I know you’re here. It’ll fill up in a bit.” The waiter put the menus on the table for them and began listing off details of specials, and what the soup of the day was. Only half listening, Cullen pulled out a chair for Nevena and waited for her to sit. As she did, she removed her cardigan to hang off the back of the chair. He noticed for the first time that her dress was backless. Apart from a thin strap across the top of her back, there was nothing. From the nape of her neck to the base of her spine she was naked. It was almost indecent… and utterly unfair. He couldn’t say anything or touch her. It would be inappropriate, and he already felt like a bit of a letch just looking. Cullen bit back a small whine. It was going to be a long evening.

Cullen sat as the waiter finished talking about the menu and excused himself to attend to more patrons walking through the door. He skimmed the first few lines of the menu, glancing over the top of it to see Nevena doing the same. Her eyes scanned the writing, then lifted, meeting his gaze across the table.

“You’re sure you’re alright eating here?” asked Cullen, feeling his face grow warm at being caught staring at her. His hands were sweaty, and he tried to wipe them on his trousers. It was almost comical that, despite spending so much time together, sleeping in the same bed, and being intimate with each other on some level, this was the first time Cullen could honestly say he was nervous.

“Of course,” Nevena put her menu down and reached across the table to take one of his hands. Cullen lowered his own menu. “Stop worrying. We should enjoy ourselves.” She beamed at him, dimples in her cheeks and a wrinkle in her nose.

Cullen felt his mouth slip into a lopsided smile, his heart clenching in his chest. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” he laughed.

“Exactly.” Nevena gave his hand a squeeze, “so, let’s relax and enjoy ourselves. See where the evening takes us.”

Choosing not to respond to the potential implications behind her words, Cullen turned his attention back to the menu, and the large variety of options on offer.

The evening progressed organically over a bottle of red wine and tasty food. There were no pauses or awkward silences, and no breaks in conversation as the waiter came and went, checking everything was satisfactory. Cullen found he spent most of his time listening to Nevena and watching her talk about whatever came to mind. She was so animated when she was comfortable and relaxed. When there was no one around to pick at her posture or the topics she chose for conversation.

Cullen was hypnotised by every gesture and every word. He watched the way her lips formed phrases, listened for the lilt in her voice when she laughed, and a sparkle in her eye when she said something mischievous. She was enchanting, and he was utterly enraptured by her. He knew Varric would be too when they met. Varric would adore her, how lively she was, and her open, honest affectionate nature. He began to notice whenever she had the chance, she was touching him. Reaching across the table to hold his hands or touching his cheek. Even when there were plates and glasses in the way, she found a way to at least be able to have one arm resting casually on the table so their fingertips could touch. He was curious if part of the reason for her affection was a need for reassurance or a form of touch starvation, but he didn’t ask.

Whatever the reason, Cullen embraced it. If he was completely honest with himself, it was nice to be with someone who was so openly affectionate and did not shy away from small gestures of intimacy. He struggled with those acts, never knowing if he was overstepping, or when they were appropriate or not. Nevena made up for his own uncertainty, offering reassurance in her search for it.

As the dessert plates were cleared away and a comfortable lull in conversation settled, Cullen noticed a slightly more troubled expression marring Nevena’s features. Immediately he was uneasy, wondering if he had said something or done something to upset her.

“Everything alright?” he asked tentatively. “You look a little perturbed.”

Nevena shook her head, “It’s nothing.” She pushed her chair out and got to her feet, “would you like to take a walk?” She lifted her cardigan off the back of her chair and slipped it on over her arms and shoulders.

“Alright.” Cullen followed suit. Her answer was unsatisfactory and left Cullen’s worry unabated, but he did not want to push. They’d had an enjoyable evening. There was no point in potentially ruining it in the quest for an answer to what might have truly been nothing. And if it was something, he was sure Nevena would tell him in her own time.

When he was within arm’s reach, she looped her arm through his resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. Their attentive waiter bid them a good evening as they left. On leaving the restaurant, Cullen could hear slow jazz music coming from one direction, and from the other sounds of lively chatter and a muffled voice speaking over a microphone. A few other guests were walking to and from evening activities on the ship. They paid no attention to himself and Nevena as they wandered the hallways looking for a door that led out onto the deck.

It was dark and exceptionally cold on the deck. On setting foot outside, Nevena’s hair was blown in one direction, covering her face for a moment. She clutched onto Cullen’s arm with a vice-like grip but seemed determined to at least spend some time outside, despite the chill in the air. Cullen shielded Nevena as best he could from the cold, directing them in a random direction as they began to walk leisurely down the deck promenade. The smell of the sea was overwhelming but not unpleasant. The clear sky gave a breath-taking view of the stars and constellations above them, and a silver half-moon reflecting off the water. Even outside, Cullen could still make out the sound of music over the low hum of the engines of the ship.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the ease of their dinner conversation now missing and replaced with tension. Of things going unsaid. Cullen felt like Nevena wanted to say something, but either was too nervous or couldn’t find the right words. He noticed her picking at the beads on her dress as she walked and occasionally the grip she had on his arm would increase. He realised she was shivering too, her thin cardigan giving no protection from the cold.

“Hold on,” Cullen brought them to a stop and quickly shed his jacket. He slipped it onto her shoulders without giving her a moment to protest. It swamped her, but she seemed to melt into it. “Better?”

She smiled, looking a little bashful. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make a fuss. Won’t you be cold?”

“Not as cold as you were.” Cullen took her hand and led her to the ornate metal railings overlooking the edge of the ship. Below he could see the white foam where the bough cut through the water. “Is something wrong?” He asked after a few moments. “You seem… quiet.”

“Thinking,” Nevena said, leaning on the railing. “I’m a little nervous about meeting Mr Tethras tomorrow.” She cleared her hair away from her mouth as the wind whipped it up around her face, “Should I know anything?”

“Don’t call him Mr Tethras,” laughed Cullen. “He hates it. Aside from that, just be yourself. He’s easy going and very relaxed; he’ll love you.”

“Hm,” Nevena nodded once, a brief smile slipping into view before it disappeared. She dropped her gaze to the water below.

Cullen waited again, five seconds, ten, fifteen, hoping she would divulge whatever was on her mind. Behind them, he could hear the slow jazz, moving into a different genre. Something more classical, with strings and woodwind instruments. He realised Nevena was swaying to the tune.

“Do you like dancing?”

She was silent for a beat. “Maybe in the kitchen at home where no one can see me. Not in public. Or on the deck of a ship, before you ask.”

Cullen chuckled, “I’m not much of a dancer myself. I just noticed you were swaying.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand.

“I like the music.”

“Me too.” Cullen stood with her, leaning on the railing and looking out over the black expanse of ocean around them. The ship pushing through the waves was the only other sound, but the music rose above that. Nevena hummed a few bars of the tune her swaying coming to a stop.

They stood in silence, enveloped in the music and the cold air. Cullen continued to wait, sure that Nevena would speak about whatever was on her mind when she was ready. He didn’t mind the chill, even as it started to bite through his shirt and sting his cheeks a little. He would wait as long as she needed him to.

The classical tune inside moved smoothly into a more upbeat song that sounded as though it was from the forties or fifties. Music Cullen knew his parents would have appreciated when they were around. In that time, Nevena moved very little and her expression gave Cullen the impression she was deep in thought. When she did move, it was to get closer to him. She took him by surprise a little when she slipped her arms around his waist and tucked herself against Cullen’s chest, burying her face in his shirt. Cullen slid his hand up under his jacket and her cardigan touching the bare skin of her back, keeping her close and nestling his chin in her hair. Maybe she wouldn’t talk about whatever was on her mind. Maybe it was too raw, or too frightening for her to do just yet. Cullen didn’t mind, and he didn’t push.

“Can I ask you something?” Nevena spoke up after a few minutes.

“Anything.”

“About… the contract.”

“Mhm? What about it?”

“Is… does it still apply? Now?” Nevena’s voice was small, uneasy and Cullen wondered where her line of questioning was going. He shifted enough that he could look at her directly. “It’s… just,” Nevena’s brows scrunched together, “when I was talking to Roselyn, she said that because we’re no longer in Haven, no longer around my family, it’s kind of… void now.” She rubbed her forehead, “and I was wondering if that was how it worked, or…?”

Cullen inhaled deeply, pursing his lips for a moment. He had never thought about any of his contracts becoming void because it had never happened. His previous clients stayed with him in the arranged location for the agreed upon amount of time. There had never been a situation like the one he was in now. As he thought about it, the contract did stipulate specifics like Haven and being around her family. Neither was anywhere near them now and hadn’t been for some time.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Cullen answered truthfully. “I… suppose, given the circumstances, I would consider it void as we’re no longer in the location or in the scenario described in the document.” He noticed Nevena shiver and ran his hands up and down her arms to try and warm her. “Why do you ask?”

Nevena bit her bottom lip, “I…” She fidgeted nervously, twisting a strand of hair back behind her ear over and over again. “Well, uhm… I wondered,” she scrunched her eyes closed for a moment, nostrils flaring on a deep breath. Cullen’s insides felt heavy, the food he had just consumed like stones inside him. It might have been the cold, but he was certain there was a cold sweat on his face. His heart pulsed in his throat, throbbing behind his ears. “I wondered if… if… I mean, maybe… We, that is, if you want to, we could, uh…” With a groan, she buried her face in her hands, “I am not good at this.”

With his blood pounding and his stomach tightly knotted, Cullen gently pulled her hands away from her face and cupped her jaw, coaxing her to lift her head. He could see her eyes were glassy, as if she was holding back tears, and she swallowed hard on a shuddering breath. Cullen kissed her forehead, exhaling against her skin. “Is it about what I said in the cathedral?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

“Mhm-hm,” Nevena nodded.

“What I said about giving this, us, a chance…” He looked her in the eye, “is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Y-yes,” Nevena choked out, nodding again. “I want to. I-if you still do, too.”

“No contract? No arrangement? Nothing?” he clarified, his heart beginning to race. “You want to?”

“I want to,” Nevena said again, with more conviction. “I want to.” A little louder, as if confirming for herself. “I’m tired of second guessing myself.” She blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Cullen quickly wiped them away. “I’m scared, I won’t lie to you about that. I don’t know how this will turn out. And how I feel about you is kind of overwhelming sometimes, but I… I care about you. I’ve never felt like this before and… and you’re so patient, and I don’t want to spend my life wondering what could have been if I don’t take this chance. I’ve spent so long thinking… telling myself and believing that I don’t deserve to be happy. Not after how I ended things with Rick. B-but then, you come along, like a bolt out of the blue and I… I’m… happy when you’re around, and -”

“Nev -”

“- I can’t promise I’ll be easy to deal with.” She carried on hurriedly, wringing her hands. “I’m anxious and can be high strung. Sometimes I lose my temper, and I am chronically messy. I’m not a morning person, I’d live on takeout if I could, I have horrible habits that drive even me crazy. I watch some stupid TV shows, never put my laundry away. I cry at anything and everything from movies to commercials an—”

Cullen cut her off with a sound kiss, swallowing the muffled words and smiling against her lips. Nevena’s arms rose to encircle his neck, fingers twisting into his hair and the collar of his shirt. His jacket slid off her shoulders, landing with a soft ‘whump”’ on the ground. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist, pulling her body to his and leaned back, lifting her off the ground and laughing into her mouth at her soft squeal of surprise. When her feet touched the ground again and Cullen broke the kiss, he saw her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling, almost in disbelief.

“You are…” Cullen began, cupping her face. His mind was vacant of any suitable words or phrases to describe her. I love you, so much, was what he wanted to say, but didn’t. That would probably scare her half to death. Instead, he kissed her forehead, the space between her brows, and her lips again, unable to contain himself. “You are so wonderful,” he said, finally, pressing his forehead to hers.

Nevena giggled nervously, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Laughing again, Cullen retrieved his jacket and returned it to Nevena’s shoulders, adjusting it. “Shall we go inside? It’s getting colder.”

Walking with Cullen down the hallways of the ship back to their cabin, Nevena felt a mixture of excited and apprehensive anticipation. He tucked her against his side, arm around her waist and the two of them stole glances at each other as they walked, sharing small, secretive smiles – as if trying to conceal from other guests what had just transpired between them. There was no hurry or extra speed in Cullen’s gait, but Nevena was sure she could feel his own eagerness feeding into her own.

She was already second-guessing herself. Had she made the right choice in being honest, and declaring she wanted to give this relationship a real chance? Would it stay the same? Or would the ‘official-ness’ of it change everything? What was going to happen next? Surely the natural progression was that they would sleep together. That, in itself, opened up a whole new box of worries and concerns. It was years since Nevena had been intimate with anyone, and while Rick wasn’t her only sexual experience, it was the one that always came to mind when she considered sex. With him it had never been pleasant, or about her. What if Cullen was the same?

She knew she was being unreasonable, over-thinking. Her mind turning over and over the worst-case scenarios. Like, what if this was what Cullen wanted all along? Maybe once they had sex, he would change and be cold towards her? She was out of practice, so what if she had forgotten how to even have sex? Was that even possible? Could a person forget how to have sex with someone? If it was possible, then it would undoubtedly happen to her.

What about emotionally? Did Cullen feel the way she did? She loved him. At least, she thought she did. But like many things, that was missing from her relationship with Rick, and she couldn’t really admit to loving any of her previous boyfriends. She had been younger, and inexperienced, and those relationships had never lasted long or been particularly serious. Emotional attachments were formed, but never as strong as the way she felt about Cullen…

Was what she felt love? She wasn’t sure. It was a strong feeling, intoxicating, and all-consuming at times, but love? What if it was just lust? What if everything she felt towards him was just a basic, primal instinct that needed to be sated? And once it was, would the things she was feeling simply vanish? She couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t make love to him, and then have her emotions switch off, leaving them in a weird limbo. She didn’t want to use him or have him feel as though he was being used.

Her mind was turning over and over. She felt light-headed and dizzy as the door to their cabin came into view. Drawing nearer, it seemed to loom ahead, like some ominous, foreboding portal to another dimension. She inhaled sharply, realising she was almost hyperventilating. A quick glance up at Cullen, and the happy expression he’d been wearing was now one of open concern.

How long had she been zoned out for? What had she missed? Why couldn’t she just relax, and not think, for once in her life? Cullen was probably already regretting his excitement and making his initial suggestion back in Redcliffe. Somehow, she always managed to ruin things, and this clearly would be no exception.

A cold dread filled her when his grip around her waist loosened and disappeared entirely. He changed his hold to her hand, lacing their fingers together and giving hers a gentle squeeze while he dug through his trouser pocket for the key to their cabin. Despite his attempt at reassurance, Nevena felt sick and as though the food she had eaten would reappear any moment. Perhaps it was the wine? She wasn’t a big drinker, and between them they had consumed a bottle. She wasn’t drunk by any means, but maybe the alcohol was affecting her.

After unlocking and opening the door, Cullen gestured for her to enter before him. Nevena did, dropping his hand and scooting inside, pausing in the hallway. No lights were on in their cabin. She didn’t want to enter further and move towards the bed. She didn’t want to give Cullen the wrong idea… Would it have been the wrong idea, though? After all, she was attracted to him, and they’d done intimate things before, still under the rules of the contract. Why should now be any different? Only, it was different. Somehow, the contract acted as a safety net. With it, Nevena knew where they stood. While it was in effect, it was a set of rules and guidelines they had mutually agreed to. Now they were putting it aside and there was no more safety net. Just them, and their emotions, and nothing to hold them back.

That was alarming to her. It should have been exciting, but it was a terrifying thought.

“Hey,” Nevena physically started when Cullen spoke and gently brushed his fingers over her shoulder. “Come here.” His fingers trailed down her arm, causing her skin to rise in pinpricks. He hooked his index and middle finger around hers and guided her into the main room of their cabin, turning on one of the low illumination wall lamps as he did. She followed obediently, certain her knees were quaking and that she was shivering again, but this time not from the cold. “Sit, please.” Cullen gestured to the foot of the bed.

There was no tone of command in his voice, no look of impatience. He was calm, spoke softly, and Nevena noticed he was keeping a little bit of distance. A sense of shame slithered down her spine. She felt like the worst person in the world. Always running hot and cold, sending out confusing and mixed up signals.

Apologies stuffed themselves onto her tongue. She sat at the foot of the bed as Cullen requested. His jacket fell off her shoulders, pooling around her and Nevena quickly rubbed her arms, hoping to disguise her trembling as a chill. So many apologies to choose from, how could she pick just one to blurt out?

“Nev,” Cullen knelt before her and guided her hands from her arms, and her arms from their crossed position. He stroked up and down her forearms slowly, eyes on hers – never wavering. “Sweetheart, you need to breathe.”

Nevena’s stomach gave a pleasurable squirm at the use of a nickname. Calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ the day before in the car had been an accident, but it had felt natural to say and to hear herself say. Rick had never given her a nickname or a pet name, or any name that she liked. For something so simple… to hear Cullen say it… the wind would have been knocked right out of her, were she not already practically gasping for air.

“I’m sorry,” Nevena mumbled, dropping her head and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Why?” asked Cullen, inching closer and guiding her hands to his chest so she could feel his inhales and exhales. Nevena closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation, leaving them in silence for a few minutes while she regained her composure.

“We had such a lovely evening and now I… I’m just… I’m ruining everything.” Nevena said once she was breathing more steadily. “I… I’m sorry, I want to be—”

“What are you ruining?” Still holding her hands, Cullen brought her arms up so they draped around his shoulders. Shifting closer still, so her knees were touching his chest, his own arms came to rest on the covers of the bed either side of her. “You’re not ruining anything.” When he lifted his head, Nevena dropped hers instinctively, grateful to feel his lips brushing her forehead.

He gave her reassurance without her asking for it. The maelstrom of nerves inside her calmed a little.

“I’m just… over-thinking. Everything.” She admitted, biting her lip. “Now we agreed the contract is void, I guess I’m floundering a little? I don’t know what to expect... What you expect.” Leaning away, Nevena noticed Cullen staring at her, a quizzical look on his face. She held his gaze for a few moments, before darting her eyes down to her lap.

“Did you think we would get back here and I would ravish you, or something?” Cullen inquired, his lips breaking out into a grin. Nevena said nothing, wishing the bed would open and swallow her. It did sound ridiculous, now he said it. Cullen failed to conceal a chuckle, which only served to make her feel even more foolish. “You have the wildest imagination,” he stated, tapping her chin and guiding her to lift her head and look at him. “We’re not going to do anything unless we both agree to it. And if that means going to bed and doing nothing, then that isn’t an issue for me.” He inclined towards her, and kissed the space between her brows, “I’m in no rush, Nevena.” She heard his knees creak a little when he rose higher up on them to be more level with her and pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling her skin. “One day at a time. One hour at a time, if that’s what it takes for you to be comfortable and happy.”

Nevena chuckled, closing her eyes and sliding her hands over his shoulders to curl her fingers underneath the collar of his wine-red shirt. She traced the fold, feeling foolish for getting so worked up, and grateful that Cullen already understood that quirk of hers. It wasn’t something she would need to explain all the time. He knew about and accepted it, which gave her a sense of relief and more importantly, they could work on it, together.

“So…” Nevena murmured, opening her eyes.

“So.” Cullen did the same, creating some space between their faces so they could look at each other.

“What now?”

“Well,” exhaling heavily, Cullen bobbed his head from side-to-side as if thinking, “first, I really must ask: may I kiss you? I’ve been wanting to since I saw you in this,” he picked at one of the beads on her dress, “but I didn’t want to create a scene.” He plucked a few more of the beads in his fingers, “This dress really is criminally indecent.”

Nevena giggled, resting her forehead on his shoulder for a moment as she laughed. “It’s quite risqué for my wardrobe, I know. Roselyn made me buy it… She packed it too, actually.” She lifted her head and brushed her left hand back through his hair. “And convinced me to wear it.”

“Remind me to thank Roselyn,” chuckled Cullen. “And it’s very risqué, but I like it on you. You wear ‘criminally indecent’ well.” He placed a light peck on the end of her nose. “So, may I?”

Tilting her head, first to the left and then the right, Nevena hummed and pursed her lips, pretending to consider his request. “I suppose so,” she said, finally with an exaggerated sigh and roll of her shoulders. “If you must.”

“Oh,” Cullen’s mouth slipped into a slight smirk, “I must. I absolutely must.”

His lips meeting hers muffled her laughter, and she felt him smiling into the kiss. His lips were warm, soft, and gentle on her own, the kiss careful and measured. He didn’t want to overwhelm her – and she adored him all the more for that. He would never ask for more than she was willing to give, and the same could be said for her. Nevena slid her hands along his shoulders again, then up, one into his hair, the other cradling the back of his neck. Her body was already reacting to him kissing her - her skin tingled pleasantly and with every second that passed her stomach twisted itself tighter and tighter. His hands at her sides roamed upwards to her shoulders. He eased the fabric of her thin cardigan off her shoulders and down her arms, pulling the sleeves off her hands. Then they were lower, skimming a few inches beyond the hem of her dress to stroke her bare thighs. Without thinking about it, she parted her legs, allowing Cullen closer as he slotted between them from his position kneeling on the floor.

Cullen broke away leaving only a few inches between them. Nevena could still feel his breath – coming more quickly – landing on her lips. When she opened her eyes, she took in the features of his face, drawing her thumb over the swell of his lower lip. She noticed they were slightly redder than before, and his perfect mouth drew into an equally perfect smile. His cheeks were slightly pinker. The honey-brown of his eyes had darkened, and his pupils were wide as he regarded her as closely as she did him.

“What’re you looking at?” asked Cullen, his voice slightly hoarse and strained, as though he was struggling to keep it in a lower register.

“Just you,” Nevena replied, smiling.

“And?” he tilted his head to one side. His nose brushed hers. Another inch or so, and his mouth would be on hers again.

“And…” Nevena rolled one shoulder into a shrug. She slipped her fingers through his hair, nails dragging gently down the back of his neck. Cullen’s eyelids flickered closed for a moment, and she heard a deep, guttural sound arise from his throat. She laughed at the noise and the brief look of embarrassment that flittered across Cullen’s face. “Cullen, I…”

His eyes locked on hers and it was like time stopped for a few seconds. Whatever she felt, she couldn’t tell him. Not yet, not now. They had only just agreed to give their relationship and chance without the contract binding them together. Now was not the time to tell him she thought she was in love with him – it would only scare him off. Scare him, as much as it scared her. She swallowed the words as though she was swallowing stone, a heavy feeling settling in her belly. Instead of finishing her words, she darted her head forward, capturing his mouth.

This kiss was harder. Cullen groaned a little when she curled her fingers into his hair and tugged him closer, urged the kiss deeper. The mattress on either side of her shifted with Cullen adjusting his weight. He was moving, getting to his feet to be nearer. Nevena could feel herself leaning back and pulling him with her, willingly giving into the more primal and base desires she had been feeling for him for days and trying to suppress. His hands were on her thighs again, fingers inching up under the edge of her dress, hitching it further up. He pressed his nails into her flesh, dragging them down towards her knees and making her shudder. Nevena opened her mouth to moan, and Cullen took full advantage, his tongue pushing past her lips.

The rough, velvety texture was pleasurable. She reciprocated every movement, winding her tongue around his, nipping at his lips, relishing every sloppy and wanton sound of their lips parting, breaths catching, and the different growls and moans they made. Cullen’s hands moved lower, trailing down over her thighs to her knees. He paused there with his left hand, his right carried on down, fingers ghosting over the back of her calf and coaxing her to bend and lift her leg until he had her foot in hand. Nevena quivered, the hairs on her arms standing straight. She strained her body to remain upright, clenching muscles in her torso and trying to follow when Cullen brought a premature end to their kiss.

He smiled dropping to his knees in front of her again. She watched, curious and trying to focus past the haze of want in her mind and the pulsing between her legs as he released her left leg and changed so he held her right leg elevated in that hand. His right hand now free, he delicately removed her heel, putting it to one side and kissed her shin. Cullen’s eyes were up, his gaze fixed on hers and never faltering. Somehow, it made everything feel more intense, and intimate. Watching him watching her as he dragged his lips up her shin, trickling his fingers up the back of her calf, and pressed another kiss to her knee.

Her cheeks grew hotter as he repeated the gesture with her left leg. Removing her shoe, gently kissing her ankle, dragging his lips up and kissing her knee, his fingers following the contours of her muscle and bone. Cullen’s breath brushed her flesh, his lips warm and distracting. She had never seen or experienced anything quite so intensely sexy or reverent. It was as though he was a pilgrim, worshipping at a shrine and she felt undeserving of such softness and adoration.

“I love your legs,” Cullen murmured, closing his eyes and kissing her knee again.

Nevena couldn’t help the nervous laugh that bubble out of her, half from embarrassment, and half from the tickling sensation of his fingers. “T-thank you.”

“I think I’d love every inch of you,” he continued, drawing his fingers up her thighs and perching his knees on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t seen every inch of me…” countered Nevena, uncertain quite where her boldness was coming from.

“True…” Cullen tilted his head to one side. His hands came to rest on either side of her again and he leaned over her, causing her to arch her head back. His mouth hovered over hers, painfully just out of kissing distance, “I am very eager to see every inch, though,” he brushed the end of his nose against hers, back and forth, “if you’ll permit me.” He lifted one hand to her face, cupping the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into the hollow under her jaw. Nevena was certain he could feel her pulse racing.

She licked her lips, considering her reply. Cullen’s eyes darted to her mouth and his eyes seemed to darken even further. “Let’s see where tonight takes us, hm?” She shifted her head to one side, shaking her hair away from her shoulders exposing her neck and collar to him. His nostrils flared. “You may be surprised to learn that I’m very eager to see every inch of you, too.”

Lowering his head, Nevena felt his lips graze her throat, kissing the curve of her neck and shoulder. “That’s a different thought process to earlier, Miss. Trevelyan,” Cullen murmured. “Are you sure you’re not just playing coy with me?”

Biting the corner of her lip, she swallowed thickly and tried to suppress the shudder that rippled over her body like lightning as he laid further kisses to her neck. “Mr. Rutherford, you should know there’s a difference between being naked with each other and having sex. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Cullen laughed, the sound seeming to vibrate into Nevena’s skin and right through her to her toes. “Good point.” More kisses followed the angle of her collar bone, and then he followed the length of her neck up with his tongue, before claiming her mouth once more. Nevena greeted him with enthusiasm, putting her weight back onto one hand and using her free one to cradle the back of his head, urging him closer. Once more, his tongue was past her lips, sounds of heaving breaths and low moans filling the heavy air of the cabin each time their lips met, parted, and met again.

A flicker of boldness that had ignited in Nevena grew with each passing moment. Her instinct was to wrap her legs around him, to have him inside her, moving in tandem, sweating and moaning and moving until neither of them could think. She wanted to. The warmth between her legs was now an insistent heat. Arousal chased away all her more sensible thoughts – spurred on by the denial she had been imposing on herself. Clutching that small spark, Nevena trailed her free hand down, over Cullen’s shoulder, over the front of his shirt, following the line of buttons, and lower. She found the buckle on his belt and paused there, waiting to see if Cullen would object. When he didn’t – his kisses growing in their heat instead, as if to will her to continue – she allowed herself to venture lower.

She found his cock easily enough, hard and heavy contained within his trousers. She wrapped her hand over him, stroking through the fabric. Cullen groaned after only a few seconds and pulled away. He pressed his forehead to hers, gasping quick breaths and opening his eyes to look at her. She met his gaze, her own breathing growing harder. The sheer, primal need she saw in his eyes made her chest tighten. She squeezed him, his eyes flew closed, and he groaned her name.

“Nev,” he kissed her again, briefly, and nuzzled her forehead.

“Sit down,” Nevena said, keeping her voice low. The bold spark was growing into a flame with every approving sound that tumbled from Cullen’s lips, “Please.” He did, sitting heavily beside her. Immediately, Nevena swapped places, moving to kneel between his legs. As she began to unbuckle his belt Cullen placed his hands over hers.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her, a firm severity to his words and expression – though made slightly less convincing by the flush to his face. “I don’t expect anything. I meant what I said.”

“I know,” Nevena smiled, “but I want to… Unless,” she tilted her head to one side, a thought popping into her head that she hadn’t considered before, “do you not want me to?”

Cullen’s eyes widened slightly, “No, no. Nothing like that.” He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, “I suppose I… I wasn’t expecting… I… don’t want you to feel like to have to… Does that make sense?”

“I don’t feel like that,” explained Nevena, resting her chin on his thigh, “This is my choice. You haven’t asked me or coerced me. I want to do this for you because... well, because. There doesn’t have to be a convoluted reason, does there?”

“I suppose not…” Cullen looked almost sheepish.

Rising on her knees to try and reach him, Nevena kissed him when he met her halfway, caressing the side of his face attempting to reassure him. “Then help me with this and relax.” She coaxed, smiling against his lips. She heard him swallow thickly, but he nodded and assisted in undoing his belt and trousers. He pulled his boxer-briefs down with his trousers, exposing himself to the air.

Nevena took his cock in hand, gingerly stroking him a few times. He was hard, fully erect, the smooth, rounded head of his cock a deep red colour and his shaft seemed to throb in her hand. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip, sliding down the length of him into the coarse darker blond hair around the base making him slick and allowing Nevena’s hand to move up and down easily.

Aware of Cullen’s eyes on her, Nevena pumped his length several times, growing accustomed to the weight and girth. Lifting her gaze to his, clutching the flame of boldness still inside her, Nevena stared at him unwavering as she opened her mouth and dragged her tongue up the full length of him from base to tip. Cullen’s eyes widened again and appeared to flash. The taste of is pre-cum – salty and a little sharp - lingered on Nevena’s tongue as she repeated the motion, dragging her mouth up and down his cock, suckling with her lips without taking him into her mouth completely. His breathing hitched each time she drew her tongue near the head of his cock. He flexed his hands in the sheets of the bed covers, clenching and unclenching them.

She continued to stroke him steadily, rotating her hand a little on every up-and-down motion. Still watching him, she circled the tip of her tongue over the swollen, reddened crown of his cock. Cullen’s reaction was instant, a sharp inhale, eyes flying shut.

“N-Nev,” he fisted his hands into the sheets again and his legs bucked a little on either side of her.

She circled him a few more times with her tongue, the taste of him one she was now more accustomed to. As she paused her stroking, she gently took him in, closing her lips around his girth. Cullen let out a low moan, his nostrils flaring. Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked, bobbing her head as she worked him. She held his cock in one hand for ease, the other she used to tuck her hair behind her ear. More groans, broken with quick inhales came from Cullen. He had his head back when Nevena looked at him again, and she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat whenever he gasped or swallowed. A sight which only encouraged her.

She bobbed her head, opening her mouth at times, and curling her tongue at others, trying to gauge from Cullen’s expression and his voice what brought him more enjoyment. She held him around the base of his cock and could feel it throb at random intervals. Cullen squeezed her shoulder and pulled her hair to one side when a few strands got stuck to the saliva coating him. He held her hair in a loose fist that did little to impact her.

To give her mouth a rest, Nevena began to stroke him again with her hand, slowly, squeezing for a little added pressure. She kept her lips close to his length, breathing hard so every exhale landed on Cullen’s sensitive flesh. His cock twitched. Nevena circled the extra sensitive spot she discovered in Redcliffe causing Cullen’s hips jerked forward.

“Fuck…”

“Are you okay?” Nevena asked, leaning back a little to get a better look at Cullen, while she continued to slide her hand up-and-down his length.

“Mhm-hm…” He nodded, his eyes squeezed closed.

“Anything you’d like me to do specifically?”

Cullen shook his head, “n-no… just… carry on as you are…” He leaned his head back as Nevena slowly drew him back between her lips and into her mouth. “—feelssogood—“ she heard him groan, which only added more fuel to the flame that started this.

She saw him open his eyes to watch her, an expression of intense focus on his face, as if he was trying to force his eyes to remain open and take in every detail of this experience. Nevena smiled up at him around his cock in her mouth and with her free hand, reached between his legs to take his balls in hand. Cullen seemed to whimper, biting his teeth into his lower lip, flaring his nostrils, and muttering some other blasphemous praise to the Maker. Nevena worked them between her fingers, cupping and squeezing gently, applying brief amounts of pressure and releasing. Each gesture, each lap of her tongue or angle of her head brought a different sound. A deep guttural groan at times, a sharp intake of breath at others. Nevena heard her name moaned openly and low. Cullen encouraged her with every sound he made and every breath he stole.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whined above her. Nevena watched him lift one hand to rub over his face. He released her hair and loosened two buttons at the top of his shirt. Once he had done that, he reached forward with that same hand, spreading his fingers over her bare back and dragging upwards. Nevena shivered, shifting closer to him on her knees.

Closing her mouth around him more tightly, Nevena began to suck in earnest, squeezing him on all sides with her cheeks and her tongue. She held his cock steady with her left hand, wiggling her head a little each time to take him deeper into her mouth. Her saliva coated his shaft, and what she couldn’t take, she stroked. Bobbing her head up and down steadily, she swirled and wrapped her tongue around him, focusing her energies on the sensitive crown. She swallowed, tightening her cheeks around him, and moaned, the low sound reverberating in her throat.

She slurped nosily on each up stroke, saliva dripping from her chin. Cullen didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t care. He was still fighting to keep his eyes open, to watch her pleasure him but was failing. Each time she licked him or moved her tongue he groaned and Nevena admitted to herself it was one of the sexiest things she’d ever heard. To know he was enjoying himself, that he was so full of unbridled pleasure that he was losing control of his volume – and it was because of her.

Sliding his cock from her mouth to give her jaw a break, she pumped him, her spit leaving a trail to her lips. Nevena quickly wiped her chin, reeling back a little when Cullen lurched forward. He slipped his hands around her face to tilt her head up and kissed her soundly, lips fitting over hers. He breathed hard, puffing and panting against her mouth while drawing his thumbs over her cheeks. His brow was sweaty and could taste the salt from his lips.

“Wonderful as this is,” he said breathing hard and his brow furrowing, “if you k-keep going it’s going to get messy.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” Nevena asked, tilting her head to one side. “You do want to cum, don’t you?”

“Maker, yes!” Cullen groaned, “B-but—”

Nevena watched him, watched the hesitation. “But…?”

If possible, Cullen’s cheeks grew darker. “I would… rather not come on you… or in your mouth. It… doesn’t sit right, with me.” She saw the embarrassment as he avoided her gaze and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. Cute as it was, now wasn’t the time to lovingly tease him about it.

“Okay then,” Nevena nodded and cupped his face with one hand. “What would you prefer?”

There was a flash of relief mixed with surprise in Cullen’s expression, and he visibly relaxed. “Come and sit.” Cullen gestured to the space beside him. Nevena did as asked, sitting and waiting for him to be comfortable. When he kissed her, she found herself giggling and teasing a hand up, through his hair to where she could wind strands around her fingers. The back of his neck was sweaty, and she could feel warmth radiating off his cheeks.

Cullen took her free hand in his, guiding her to close her fingers around him and stroke his cock again while he set the pace this time, pumping with his hand on hers.  When the kiss broke, Cullen’s breath quaked when he breathed, and he pressed his forehead to Nevena’s, his eyes closed, and his brow furrowed as if in deep thought. She watched him, fascinated by the shifting of his expression and the noises that broke past his lips, unbidden.

Cullen leaned on one hand, his face contorting into an expression that looked as though he was verging on pain. His breathing was sharp, and he moaned, burying his face into the curve of Nevena’s neck and kissing her there. He removed his hand from Nevena’s leaving her to set the pace. That hand came and curled back behind her neck, fingers curling into her hair as if she was tethering him to the world. Nevena watched his cock with hungry interest that was like a lead weight in her stomach. In her fingers, she could feel his shaft twitching. Liquid leaked from the head, slipping down the length and onto her hand. Cullen kissed her brief, and hard, sweeping her hair all over one shoulder again. His eyes were open when he pulled away, his gaze intent on her. He moaned low in his throat, his hips jerking, his chest rising and falling erratically.

“N-Nev,” he grunted, “N-Nev, ohfuck, Nevena—”

In a rush, Cullen’s hips bucked, and his cock throbbed in Nevena’s hand. She slowed her strokes, feeling hot, thick and sticky liquid start to coat her hand and Cullen’s shaft. Beside her Cullen moaned, his lips brushing over her nose and her cheeks. More of his seed leaked from the head of his cock and Nevena could smell the somewhat chemical scent of it when she inhaled. Stroking a few more times for good measure Nevena removed her hand, glancing around for tissues or a cloth to clean up with.

Before she could move, Cullen was kissing her again. Fingers gently touching her jaw and her neck, his lips trembling under hers. His caresses were soft and random – as though he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now the moment had passed.

Nevena was hit with the thought that this was just another clear difference between Cullen and Rick. When doing anything with Rick, he was forceful and once he was satisfied – that was it. There was none of what Cullen was doing. None of the touching, the kissing, the reassurance, and the intimacy.  Where Rick used to grab and pull her hair or force himself into her mouth, Cullen was practically a gentleman about it, clearing her hair away from her neck and her mouth, teasing his fingers through it. With Rick, anything sexual was difficult and Nevena hated it, dreaded it. Rick’s forceful natural often left her feeling as though she was choking, and her throat and mouth sore. Cullen had seemed content to let her be in charge. To set the pace, and do what worked for her, and communicating when he felt the need to do so.  

She brushed her nose against his, affection welling up in her chest as Cullen gazed at her with an almost drunk expression on his flushed face.

“Let me go clean up,” she murmured, kissing him.

“Okay…”

She got to her feet, went to the bathroom and washed her hands thoroughly. She took a moment to tidy her hair and rinse her mouth out. When she returned, Cullen was flat on his back, his breathing more even, and his trousers pulled up to conceal himself but still undone. She stood in the threshold of the hallway, towel in hand, smiling at the sight of him, recovering and probably trying to make sense of what just happened.

Cullen saw her, lifted his right hand and crooked a finger at her, beckoning her to him. She went to him willingly, climbed onto the bed beside him, and deposited the towel haphazardly in his lap. Cullen drew her towards him, lifting his head to kiss her, sighing and moaning softly when she gently ran her fingernails over his scalp.

Cullen wrapped her up in his arms, and Nevena snuggled against him. She kissed his jaw, his neck, winding his sweat curled hair around her fingers. She felt him drawing his fingertips up and down her bare back. Every-so-often, his lips brushed her forehead and after a few minutes, his breathing was slow and steady.

“So…” Cullen mumbled, “that was…”

“Yep.” Nevena smiled against his neck. “That was…”

“Something,” they said in unison. Cullen turned his head to look at her, before they both broke out into laughter. He covered his eyes with his hand, his laughter rumbling within his chest. Nevena muffled her own giggles against his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, leaning up on an elbow and trailing her hand down his face. “I know that was a little unexpected…”

“That might be the understatement of the century” Cullen chuckled, “but I’m fine. Better than fine.” He laughed again.

Nevena smiled softly down at him, “Good.”

Cullen tapped her nose. “I’m going to have to repay you now, you realise that, don’t you?”

Before Nevena could reply, Cullen had rolled over to be on top of her, nudging a knee between her legs. He smiled down at her as she laughed, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears and peppering little kisses over her face.

“Uhm,” in the wake of her success, it seemed Nevena’s boldness had fled too, and she found herself biting her bottom lip. “Before… anything further happens…”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to be that person and ask, did you, by any chance take any of the condoms from the Regency room at Haven?” She flushed deeply but did not look away from Cullen’s eyes.

“…No,” he said, his lips quirking down at the corner. He pushed his through his hair and breathed out hard. “But, good thinking. Should I go and get some? N-not to use tonight, but for the future, maybe? I’m sure there are places to buy them on the ship – even if most of the other people on the cruise would probably break a hip if they— “

“You’re babbling.”

“Sorry,” Cullen bowed his head in a moment of defeat. When he looked at her again, his expression was more assured. “If we get them now, then it saves having to worry in future.”

“Might be a good idea,” agreed Nevena.

Cullen climbed off her and fastened his belt. He put the towel Nevena had collected from the bathroom on the desk, turned and quickly pecked her on the lips. “I won’t be long. Don’t move a muscle.” Another kiss, he grabbed the room key from the table and was gone in seconds.

Nevena waited a moment before getting to her feet and moving hurriedly around the cabin, as if doing so would work off the excess energy now buzzing around her body. She stopped after about thirty seconds and stared at the door. “I can’t believe I did that.” She said to herself. To be as brazen and to have that confidence was an unfamiliar feeling for her. She had liked it. She wished she could be more confident like that all the time, but she would take it when it happened. Perhaps she just needed to listen to her instincts more often, rather than doubting herself all the time. Maybe that was the key to being successful and happy – such a simple answer.

She went to the bathroom and rinsed her mouth out a second time, the taste of Cullen still lingering on her tongue. After that, she put her shoes together at the foot of the bed and tidied the sheets and pillows. She changed too, slipping out of her dress and into her sushi pyjamas for comfort.

As she climbed back onto the bed she shifted position several times, trying to get comfortable. She leaned up against the pillows and threw several on the floor when she became uncomfortable, only to pick them back up again two minutes later. She tidied her belongings on the desk, turned the lights lower. She lay back down on her front, then on her back. She checked the time on her phone, trying to gauge how long Cullen had been gone.

On her side, on her front again. On her back with her head dangling off the end of the bed – which made her feel woozy after about thirty seconds. Eventually, she settled for lying on her side, facing the direction of the door, her head perched on her hand. She waited.

There was no telling what the time was when Nevena slowly opened her eyes. The cabin was dark, and there was a bulk of warmth cocooned around her. It took her a few seconds to realise she had fallen asleep while waiting for Cullen and that thought jerked her awake in his arms. He grunted, awoken by her sudden movement.

“Nev?” Cullen mumbled, lips pressing to her bare shoulder, “what’s wrong?”

“I fell asleep,” stated Nevena, rolling over to face him. “When you were gone. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh,” Cullen ran his fingers through her hair, and brushed the end of his nose against hers, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He said, tired and suppressing a yawn. “I was tired, too.”

“Are you mad?” Nevena asked, almost fearful that he would say he was.

“Not at all,” Cullen voice sounded like he was smiling. “I’m only sorry I didn’t get to repay you, after what you did for me.”

Nevena swallowed, “Oh…”

“Come on,” Cullen tucked her closer to him, tilting his head up to rest on top of her hair, “go back to sleep.”

“What’s the time?”

“Late… Or early, depending on how you look at it. At least three in the morning.”

“We’ll be docking in Kirkwall soon.”

“Mhm-hm,” sighed Cullen. He wound his fingers down her back, creating random shapes. “Get some sleep.”

Nevena exhaled, trying to relax and settle back into the depth of the mattress and the warmth of Cullen’s body. Within a few minutes, he was snoring softly, sound asleep and dead to the world. She closed her eyes, ready to join him.

Gods, I'm actually quite nervous about this chapter (I'm nervous about every chapter I upload, to be honest) but this one... definitely has me a bit more worried than most. This one has been through a couple of rewrites and serious edits because there were aspects about the first few drafts that were so out of character and didn't fit. This iteration of the chapter seems... more in keeping with the characters and where their relationship is. I'm sure there some of you going: HOLY CRAP, FINALLY. And some of you going: THAT'S IT? WE WAITED ALL THAT TIME AND THAT'S ALL WE GET?!

If you're disappointed they didn't immediately go and do the do, I apologize, but there is a lot of fic left (like... a fair few chapters) so there's time for them to move along onto *other* things. Even if you are disappointed in this chapter, I hope you'll stick around for the rest of the fic.

What do you guys think? Were you rooting for Nevena when she finally confirmed to Cullen what she wanted? Do you think they should have done anything sexual or waited? Were you expecting this conversation and the aftermath to go differently? Or does it fit what you had in mind? How do you think this development will effect things once they're in Kirkwall? Do you think Nevena should have stayed awake so they could have done more? Let me know in the comments and I'll reply to you ... before the next chapter is up. >.>

Before I forget, I want to plug @eisschirmchen on tumblr who did a series of adorable drawings of Cullen and Nevena in their outfits for this chapter. Link is below, go and show her some love. <3 http://eisschirmchen.tumblr.com/post/177312374879/finally-got-to-draw-fanarts-to-blustersqualls

Thank you again for joining me on this long fic and sticking with it. I appreciate your patience and the comments. As always, let me know what you think, and I'll see you with the next chapter soon. <3

[writersindigestion]

hostess || jerome valeska x reader

“he keeps you in a box by the bed - alive, but just barely.”

reader gender: female

words: 7919

warnings: violence, NSFW, abuse. He’s evil, folks!

also available on: AO3

The fact that she was lucky was fortunate for [Y/N]. When she cheated on a test, she didn’t get caught. When she ran red lights, she didn't get caught. When she rolled dice, she got Yahtzee every time. When she stole expensive things from high-end retailers, the staff practically helped her pocket their merchandise. And she supposed it was some sort-of luck that she ended up in the same department store as a recently escaped convict.

She’d been in the process of casing the building, planning on returning at a later date to commit a felony, when a man strode in her direction. [Y/N] paid him no mind - she didn’t know him, and there was no reason to assume that he knew her, so she figured he’d carry on without much incident. How surprised she was to glance up from her cell phone only to be engulfed by a pair of strong, unfamiliar arms.

Instinctually, she made a move to scream, but her face was entirely smothered by a broad shoulder. Before she could even begin to struggle, the arms held tighter.

There was a hot whisper in her right ear, breath wafting down her neck. “If you don’t play along, it’s gonna mean big trouble for you, toots.”

She felt herself being rocked from side-to-side like he was an affectionate lover and not some malevolent stranger.

“Understand?”

Withholding a whimper, she nodded minutely, her face chafing against the person’s jacket.

He pulled back, raspy voice full of ‘sincere’ joy. “Sorry about that, babe. It’s been a long day. How’ve ya’ been?”

[Y/N] ran her eyes over the man’s face in a frantic grab for recognition, but the only recognisance she found made her absolutely sick to her stomach.

Still, she cracked a nervous smile. “I’ve been okay. A little tired, but I’m alright.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was she going to do? This had got to be a nightmare. There’s just no other explanation.

Jerome Valeska grinned, lips spreading wide across his cheeks. The murderer brought his hood in closer to his face, the beanie beneath covering a shock of fiery hair. “You too, huh? Let’s get home then!”

His hand found its way to hers, the grip bordering on painful - a reminder, probably, to not to do anything stupid. She forced her feet to match his pace as they made their way to the nearest exit, feeling him rest his head near her shoulder for a moment.

“Don’t you dare even look at anyone else.”

[Y/N] didn’t, keeping her eyes straight ahead of her the whole walk to the car.

He snatched the keys from her quivering fingers, not letting her go as he opened the passenger door. She made a sound of surprise as he shoved her in, forcing her over the middle console before climbing in as well. He slammed the door shut, tossing the keys into the cupholder and turning to his new captive with a flourish. “Well then - your house? Or mine? Better make it yours, now that I think about it,” He giggled nonsensically to himself, playing with the dice hanging from her rearview mirror, “These are kinda corny, you know?”

The terrified woman had no idea how to respond, but she swallowed thickly and tried to anyways. “M-My house? You want to go there?”

Jerome didn’t reply for a moment, shuffling through her glove compartment for something worth looking at. “Huh? Oh, yeah - your house.”

“Um, isn’t there somewhere else you want to go?” [Y/N] asked shakily, starting the car with a definite reluctance.

He stopped rummaging for a moment, looking at her with disbelief. “Where do you suppose I should go? Besides back to Arkham - that shit is painfully boring.” For another few moments, he continued snooping, until he paused once more, “You don’t have a roommate, do you?”

She drew in a sharp breath, but shook her head.

“That’s fortunate,” Jerome chimed, sounding like he chewed on gravel for a living, “For you and for them - they’d definitely have to die.”

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t continue, humming absently to himself as [Y/N] drove him to her apartment. And surprisingly, that was all he had to say - that is, if you don’t count the occasionally pensive expression followed by maniacal giggling. That wasn’t so much talking as it was spazzing, but she wasn’t about to make any verbal complaints.

When the car came to a complete stop, and the keys were out of the ignition, the hostage woman could hardly find the strength to get out of the car. It didn’t seem to matter either way, because he sidled over to the driver’s door and practically ripped it off its hinges, gesturing for her to exit. She did, clumsily.

And now the pair sat at her small, round dining table, a bowl of Cheetos between them. [Y/N] hadn’t the stomach to eat anything at the moment, and so her captor had coveted the bowl into his arms, chomping noisily while she looked on in silent terror.

After several fistfuls of cheesy snacks, the redheaded male piped up, “What’s your name, sweetcheeks? Mine’s Jerome, but I guess you know that already!” His snickered, watching her grip the tabletop as if to steady her poor, shaking hands.

“Uh… Um…”

He kicked her chair, earning a shriek. “What wazzat, girly? Can’t hear you when you won’t open your mouth.”

The female in question got her answer out much quicker this time, “[Y/N].”

Jerome made a long noise of acknowledgement, cheeks full of Cheetos and fingers lightly coated in orange dust. “Alrighty then - tell me about yourself. None of the boring shit, please.”

She was silent, blinking in disbelief. What the fuck did he want her to say? What was there to say in the first place?

His eyelids sunk, and he rose from the table, snorting as she flinched at his sudden movement. After unnecessarily using about half her bottle of dish soap in washing his fingers, he sat back down, her sink overflowing with suds. The murderer pulled his hat off, tossing it haphazardly behind him and letting his somewhat-flattened red hair float around his head. He rested his chin in his hands, blinking owlishly at the woman before him. “Okay - get it off your chest. Go ahead and beg for your life, or whatever. I know it’s bugging you,” Jerome sighed, absently checking his nails.

[Y/N] inhaled sharply, feeling a sob creeping up her throat, but she pushed it back down, still unable to stop the tears from winding down her cheeks. “I-I don’t know what you want, or what you’re looking for. I have money, I have jewelry, I have some nice things - whatever it is you want, you can have,” She offered hastily, her entire body alight with fear.

“I don’t want or need those things,” Jerome deadpanned, “I need somewhere to stay.”

The woman was quick to strike a new deal, “I can get you a hotel room, or a motel - anywhere you want!”

“Mhmm, and where are you going to find a place that will take me as a tenant?”

“Do you want weapons? I don’t really have anything of use, but I know people who do. Do you want to get out of the city? Out of the state? Country? Continent?”

“Tempting, but I’m pretty comfortable riiiiight here in Gotham.”

A few moments of silence passed the both of them by.

“Is there anyone that knows you that would let you stay with them?”

“You know me,” He commented, grinning toothily.

[Y/N] gulped, “I meant, like, friends?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Family?”

Jerome cackled. She took that as a negative.

“... Your, uh, cult, maybe?”

“Great people, lotsa fun,” He started, gesturing to his visage, “Totally untrustworthy. One of em’ tried to steal my look.”

She was at a loss.

“You done yet?” He inquired, leaning back in his seat.

The woman wiped at her tear-stained face with the sleeves of her sweater, and nodded minutely.

“Did that make you feel any better?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off almost immediately.

“Don’t answer that - I really don’t care,” Jerome interjected, “Now… Lemme hear about my wonderful host.”

A few minutes had passed by since the first time he’d asked her that, and she had no better insight into what exactly he wanted to hear. He seemed to take her silence as further confusion, and though he was exasperated, he didn’t seem close to violence - yet.

“Are you really going to make me do all the work here?” The criminal croaked, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, “Let’s start with something easy - you gotta job?”

Why, yes, Mr. Terrifying Serial Killer, I have a job stealing stuff from stores I don’t shop at! [Y/N] stumbled around her answer, “I work for a pawn shop, mostly for the owner’s wife. She’s a jeweler.” That was a safe reply - not a lie, but not the whole truth. Unfortunately, the man was much more perceptive than she had previously imagined. His eyes narrowed in her direction, and she could feel her stomach sink. What was the price for lying to Gotham’s resident scourge?

“Mhmm, yeah, and I murdered my parents,” Jerome retorted, making a big, pointless show with his hands as he spoke.

“But, uh, you actually did that, didn’t you? Or did I read the wrong tabloid?”

He let out a rapturous guffaw that had her nearly jumping out of her seat, but as soon as it came, it went, and he was back to being ‘serious’. “Yeah, no, I definitely killed them - I was just gloating.” The man suddenly bent forward, grabbing his hostage’s arm and yanking her towards him.

She yelped, taking ahold of his arm as well, but made no move to further the altercation. It was a fight that she would lose, no matter how lucky she usually was. Her breaths were short as he leaned in closer to her face, his still-healing scars able to be seen in great detail now that he was practically stealing the air she needed.

“I don’t know what those tabloids told you, but I’m not an idiot, sweetcheeks, and I know a lot about liars - one of them killed me, believe it or not!” Jerome whispered throatily, not moving away, “You’re definitely a liar, and lemme tell you something - you can’t lie to me, not even for a second.” He hooked his foot around the leg of her chair, drawing her even further into his grasp. The redhead’s voice darkened the more he spoke, “And if, by chance, you manage to lie to me, the next place you’ll find yourself lying is in the garbage disposal. Got it?”

He needn’t have asked, she was already scared shitless.

“Great, now that we’re on the same page, why don’t you tell me where you really work. This apartment is pretty middle-of-the-road for someone who claimed to have enough money to buy her life from me.”

[Y/N] wet her lips, eyeing her trapped arm nervously. He’d dragged her chair so far forward that their knees were touching, and she silently cursed her tiny choice in eating surfaces. It worked out so that she had to bend her torso across the table to reach him, and she found that the smooth edge digging into her stomach made it slightly painful to take breaths. She didn’t complain, she wouldn’t complain. It just wasn’t worth it. “Ah… I really do work for a pawn shop-”

“Did you not just listen to anything I said?”

The glint of malicious intent in his eyes grew larger, and so she hurried along with her explanation, “Hear me out - legally, on paper, I am a 24-hour consultant for this pawn shop. That’s how I do my income tax returns and shit. What I really do is… Uh… I steal expensive things from nice stores, and take them home.” Jerome stared at her in disbelief, and she took it as a sign to continue. “I go into the store a month or so beforehand to check for security cameras and exits and so-on - I was actually doing that when you… So kindly kidnapped me. I go back later, finesse the employees a little, and take home the goods.”

He blinked, still not believing what she said, but inveritably entertained by the idea. “And…?”

She swallowed. “I bag up what I stole, and stick it in envelopes to send to the pawn shop. What I send them is usually jewelry, so the wife disassembles it, keeps the stones, and liquidates the metals. They mail me checks every week, and again, strictly on paper this-” [Y/N] stiffly gestures with her free hand to the apartment around her, “Is the type of life that I can afford to live. The rest of the money finds its way here eventually. One of their friends is a mailman, so he usually delivers it by hand. It all works out pretty conveniently.”

“Why have money if you can’t spend it? Ya’ got it buried in the community garden or something?”

“Insurance? Greed? I don’t know. I’m actually working with another one my friends on that - she keeps a lot of my money for me, ‘cause she’s one of those rich-y types - I was planning on moving up in the world in a few months time…” She replied, watching her hand blanch from the lack of blood flow. He didn’t respond immediately, and the back of her neck began to sweat.

Finally, after what felt like years and years of waiting, the terrorist burst into a horrible peal of laughter, going so far as to release her arm in favor of falling the fuck out of his chair. She watched him cackle on the floor for at least a good two minutes before he snapped out of whatever psychotic trance he was in, rolling back onto his feet to sit at the table once more.

“I’m gonna be honest, babe, I was a little worried that you were going to be a real snooze-fest, but I think we’re going to get along just fine,” He reassured, only serving to make her more uncomfortable.

She didn’t know if it was worse to be ‘friends’ with the man who tore Gotham apart, or to be his enemy - either way, she was his victim.

Later, [Y/N] found herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom while Jerome used the shower. Just a few minutes beforehand, he’d taken the time to break her landline phone in half, and confiscate her cell phone, as well as several burner phones. He’d only been in her house for a little over two hours, and she had no idea where he could have possibly hidden her things. The man had then insisted that she not leave the room he was in so that she couldn’t do something productive - like run for her life, call for help, roll a joint, or knit a sweater.

In the meantime, the hostage woman read an old fashion magazine, and Jerome rattled her ears off.

“‘Strawberry Sunset’, huh? Ya’ know - I always thought girly products smelled better than men’s,” He rambled, a squashing sound following his words as he wasted her bathroom goods.

[Y/N] deadpanned back to him, “Be sure to rinse and repeat.”

The redhead made a noise of deliberation before he spoke again, “Does that shit really work? Isn’t it just a ploy to get people to buy more soap goo?”

“Nope,” She responded, popping the ‘p’, “First wash breaks down the dirt, second takes the debris out. Don’t believe me? It’ll lather more the second time.”

A few minutes passed by before the murderer let out a short shriek of laughter, “I’ll be damned! You’re right!”

Too busy rubbing her bruised head that she earned when his outburst startled her, [Y/N] could only manage to comment, “Conditioner should be left on for at least three minutes before a rinse.”

He poked his head out from behind the curtain, scarred lips pulled into a mirthful grin, “Thanks, babe. Maybe you should come in here and help me wash up. Whaddaya say?”

She immediately shriveled, clutching her magazine tighter as she stared at him. “Uh… No, thank you. I think I’ll have a shower after you.”

After a little wink, he pulled his head back behind the curtain. “And what am I supposed to do to entertain myself while you shower…?”

The woman cringed. “I don’t know - when you get out, I’ll get in. I’ll hurry, I promise.”

He chuckled darkly, coughing a few times. “Don’t sweat it, chica - I’ll spend a while smelling the rest of your girl-products, so you’ve got a few minutes before I get bored and start breaking shit.”

[Y/N] made a grunt of acknowledgement, looking up from her magazine a few moments later to see that Jerome had abruptly stepped out of the bathtub - completely nude.

“Oh - GOD, dude, you couldn’t have given me a little warning?” She shrieked, averting her gaze to hastily dig for a towel in the cubby behind her. With a timid, but urgent hand, the linen was held out to him, her eyelids cinched shut.

Jerome giggled the entire time he dried off, only stopping once to give his captive a long, pointed stare. “You got virgin eyes, or something?”

The woman ground her teeth together, “No - I just don’t get up in the morning hoping that some murderer will show me his cock.”

“C’mon, what’s a little nudity amongst friends?” He crooned, taking great care in going through her personal soaps and lotions, “Speaking of which, you might wanna strip now if you expect to have a shower tonight. I’d be glad to pull you out of there naked if you take too long.”

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but reluctantly shucked off her clothing, jumping into the tub before he could so much as glance at her body. What followed was possibly the fastest washing she’d ever done - totalling about two minutes - as well as the quickest drying she’d ever done. When she was securely wrapped in a towel, she found that the redhead was unabashedly using her toothbrush.

[Y/N] didn’t even blink at his rudeness, opening up the bathroom cabinet and ripping a new brush straight from the package. If she was going to be slaughtered anyways, she’d make sure he wouldn’t have half as much fun as he hoped he would.

Jerome then turned to burn his old clothes in her kitchen sink, watching with glee as the ashes were swallowed by the drain. “It’s a new, new, new beginning for me, toots.”

Feeling horribly pessimistic, the hostage frowned, eyeing the fresh garments he’d borrowed from the things old flames had left her - a pair of weathered boxers and a large, dark-green t-shirt. He’d egged her on about it, wondering if she had a ‘ball-and-chain’ and if she knew they’d have to die. “More like the beginning of the end, for me,” She grumbled.

“Ah, but a beginning nonetheless!” The man exclaimed, shutting off the faucet so hard the handles nearly came loose, “Now - there any beds around here, babe?”

Her grimace deepened. Babe. She hoped he choked to death in his sleep. “My room is right over there. I suppose you won’t be staying on the couch?”

Jerome raised his eyebrows at her pointedly. “Do I look like the kinda guy that crashes on my victim’s couch?”

She didn’t reply, turning towards her futon. “I’ll take the couch, then.”

His voice called out from her bedroom, “Ah, ah, ah! You know I can’t leave you unattended out there, sweet cheeks.”

[Y/N] grew endlessly more frustrated, “Alright, awesome! I’ll just pass out on the fucking floor over here, then!” In a fit of uncontained rage, she stormed past the redhead, tearing a blanket off her bed and collapsing in a heap by the window.

No sooner than her body had hit the ground, a fist snaked its way into her hair, wrenching her half-upright. He growled in her ear, dragging the woman towards her own bed, “Listen, honey, it’s been over a year since I’ve slept in a bed this nice - let alone with a woman. So you’re going to lay here and keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you.” Haphazardly, the criminal tossed her onto the mattress, climbing in after her. Bemused, he watched as she sunk beneath the covers, teetering on the very edge so as to avoid being near him.

A low groan exited her lips as she felt a large hand close around her upper arm, pulling her against the murderer behind her. She didn’t protest, didn’t complain, she only buried her face in her hands, breathing shallowly. What the fuck was going on? His arms snaked around her middle, his face in the crook of her neck. Minutes passed, and her shock continued to wear off - there was no getting out of this situation, was there? [Y/N] was going to be gutted and stuffed down her shower drain, or at the very least strung up by her intestines.

The minutes blended together, and over an hour later, she found herself still lying wide-awake against his snoozing form. But Jerome wasn’t really snoozing, was he? Everytime she shifted, everytime she shivered, every time she whimpered - he would tighten his hold around her ribcage, or would grumble unfriendly things against her skin.

After another half-hour of fidgeting, the redhead grew tired of her constant movement. “You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?” He deadpanned, slowly reaching to grab both of the female’s wrists in one hand, “If you insist on being difficult, I guess I’ll be difficult, too.”

Fingers wrapped around her throat, squeezing until she could only take the most uselessly tiny breaths. Jerome had rolled onto her just slightly, trapping her legs beneath his body. There didn’t appear to be any real leverage in struggling.

Rhythmically, he would tighten and loosen his grip, allowing her the precious fragments of air that she needed to stay alive. Tears bowled down her cheeks as she gasped and spluttered, only getting faux-comforting hushes from the man in her bed. It took just a few minutes before her body got tired of fighting, and she succumbed to the darkness that surrounded her.

Two weeks later, and she was having an incredibly hard time keeping the terrorist entertained. At first, violent books and movies kept him sated - so long as she provided him with a healthy dose of alcohol to wash down the fictional atrocities. Then it progressed to board games and card games, most of which he won. Finally, she reached a point where the only things that held his attention were pain games.

Who can stand under the steaming spray of water the longest? How about sitting in an ice bath? Who can hold their breath the longest? Who can sit upside down the longest? Who can eat more spicy foods without needing water? Who can do the most push ups? Sit ups? Jumping jacks? The longest plank? The longest wall sit? The most 5-pound reps? How about we just hold our arms up for as long as possible?

The most recent, taxing, and upsetting game he’d come up with was a game of chance. Jerome and [Y/N] would play ‘War’, each laying down a card to see who had the highest number, and the winner would get to clamp a clothespin on the other person’s skin - wherever they pleased.

Neither of the pair seemed to be winning, each having an array of pins stuck to themselves, but the murderer didn’t appear to mind the constant, stinging pains as much as the thief did.

“Fuck,” She groaned, resisting the urge to rip off the clothespin that her opponent had just attached to her nostril, “I think I need to be done with this game for right now. It’s about dinner time - you hungry?” Carefully, she pulled her skin free from the jaws that pinched her so tightly, and rose from her seat.

Jerome sighed, taking the idle time to stick more pins to himself, but didn’t object to [Y/N]’s request to stop their little game. While she looked in the pantry for something to cook, the sadistic wheels in his head started turning. “I was getting kinda bored with that game anyways…” He grumbled, putting the clothespins in a pile on the table. Glancing around the room, he tried to find a new source of entertainment. As he watched her figure flit about the floorboards, all of the gears finally clicked into place. “Forget about dinner for now,” He commanded, starting to dig through her cupboards and drawers, “You got any duct tape?”

The woman furrowed her eyebrows, setting a saucepan down on the counter, “Yeah, it’s somewhere around here. What do you need that for?” She started towards her bedroom, wondering if she’d left the tape in another area of the house. As she rummaged around in her closet, she could still hear the murderer humming to himself in the other room.

A snicker crept its way from between his lips, and he called out towards his captive, “Hey - you said you weren’t a virgin, right?”

[Y/N] clammed up both physically and verbally, silently pulling her body from the bulk of clothes and coat hangers that existed in her closet. She didn’t bother trying to reply, a shudder running up her spine and back down. His cackles seemed to exist in surround sound, coming from every corner of the apartment. Jerome’s laughter slowed, deepened, until his voice practically vibrated the walls around her. Her hand crept up towards her mouth, and she grasped the handle of a locationally useless fire-poker with her free appendage.

“I bet you scream like one.”

Immediately, she jumped into action, slamming her bedroom door shut before he could get any closer. [Y/N] had already been preparing for the day that he’d get bored with mundane, everyday interactions and start reaching for her panties. She’d gotten the inkling that he was interested in sex when he started rubbing his morning wood along her backside, finding release against her prone, sleepy body. An even bigger tip-off was when he promptly offered to clean out her coochie with his ‘magic stain stick’.

With the lock in place, she scrambled to shove heavy objects in front of the door - her dresser, a chest of linens, an antique vanity - anything to slow his advance to her pants. The hostage knew it was inevitable, but she figured that the noise he made trying to break in would perhaps alert the neighbors, if they cared at all. She pushed her bed against the wall, crawling beneath it with the fire-poker still tightly grasped in a shaky fist. Three solid knocks followed a grumble of frustration as Jerome jiggling the door handle. She cowered in anticipation, shrinking to the farthest corner of her bed as he tried to get in.

“Alright… I’ll make this a little challenge to myself, [Y/N],” He started, his voice scratchy and somewhat annoyed, “If I can’t get this door open within two minutes, I won’t totally fuck you senseless.”

God, why do you hate me? The woman inwardly groaned, her eyes rolling so far backwards she could she her own ass. About 30 seconds passed by while the criminal in the other room rattled around with the doorknob. She was beginning to feel hopeful when she heard the shrill ring of a power drill echoing back into her ears. Moments later, there was a heavy thud against her floorboards.

He cracked open the door, sticking his head through to peer around the bedroom. “I’d say something classic like ‘Here’s Johnny!’, but my name doesn’t end with quite the right sound for that, ya’ know?” Jerome quipped, using a single hard push to completely negate the barricade she’d set up, “Also - is there really any use in hiding in here? You’re either in the closet, or you’re under the bed. I already know you’re under the bed, but I’ll check the closet first if it’ll make you feel better.”

[Y/N] cringed at his words, already feeling embarrassed as he looked around her linens, feigning surprise that his captive wasn’t tucked between the laundry. Her whole body quivered as he stepped to the bed, a jaunty whistle on his lips.

The man stooped down, about to peek behind the hanging sheet, when something else caught his attention. “Hm? And what might this be?” He queried, his hand diving towards a drawer that sat nestled in the upper left corner of her bed, “I know for a fact that I’ve snooped through all of your shit at least twice now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen this little treasure chest.”

This. This was the worst possible thing that could have happened in this situation. Her bed had been carefully positioned against her nightstand for months now, hiding her little drawer of toys from prying eyes. In her haste, she’d completely forgotten that they’d been there. It wasn’t as if she’d had time to rub one out while Jerome was taking up space in her apartment. As she settled a palm over her face, she heard the drawer open.

“Oh, shit, babe, and here I was thinkin’ that you were a prude!” He exclaimed, rummaging unabashedly through her sex toys. After several moments of rude comments and cackling, a new sound entered the room around them. Vibrating. “Oh-ho-ho… [Y/N], you are exactly the type of freak I need.”

Holy fucking shit. The woman hardly had time to get that thought out before a hand wrapped around her ankle, dragging her from under the bed. She squealed, feeling the skin of her knees begin to burn as they were pulled across a throw rug. Immediately, she grasped onto his calves, dragging him down to the floor with her. Their limbs tangled together, each person fighting for dominance. Frantic fingers grasped for the iron poker that she’d dropped in her panic, quickly maneuvering it back into grip.

Woosh. SMACK!

From her unfortunate place beneath him, [Y/N] took a swing at Jerome, only to find that her much longer weapon had simply collided with the vibrating dildo that he’d pulled from her stash.

“Eh… En garde?” The criminal teased, nearly choking on his own laughter. He reactivated the vibrations, setting them to full speed, and the waves passed easily through the poker. She dropped it almost immediately onto her chest, too stunned to react in the appropriate life-or-death manner. This time, he reached it first, his hand wrapped close to the sharp end as he pointed it at her throat. The vibrations quieted.

The woman was tired. Tired of his antics, of his bullshit, of his jokes, of his lustful gaze drinking in her form. “Didn’t know you were a necrophiliac, ‘Romey. How about we get this over with? We had a good run.”

He scoffed, practically spitting in her face as he did so. Jerome sat upright, letting all his weight rest on her hip bones as he tossed the iron object behind him. “Necrophilia? What’s the fun in fuckin’ a dead body, baby? Wasn’t planning on that,” He chuckled, like the whole situation was no big deal.

“Well, you’re not fuckin’ me, so make a decision. Death or roommates?” [Y/N] deadpanned, laying limp beneath his body, her arms lazily at her sides.

“Aw, babe. Isn’t there anything I can do to convince you?” He swooned, leaning back down to her level, shifting his weight to his knees. A hand snaked down between her thighs, resting a thick, purple toy lightly against her pajama-clothed core.

She didn’t appear to notice, staring directly at the ceiling as if to avoid his presence. “Uh-uh. Nope. Notta.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you,” He breathed, turning the violet vibrator on, feeling it resonate through her garments, “Reconsider…?”

Almost immediately, she shivered and writhed beneath him, the machinations being directly on her clitoris felt borderline uncomfortable. “Ah - ah - I don’t know about that, this is already a little much - shit!” [Y/N] felt him shift the toy just slightly upwards, taking the powerful waves of pleasure just a touch away from the bundle of nerves.

She practically melted into the floorboards the both of them were laying on, she was so horny. Jerome started to giggle at her embarrassing little feat of desperation, and watched as her face went between anger and ecstasy. “You’re kind of a whore, you know that?” He asked nonchalantly, rolling the dildo around her core as she hissed and cursed at him, “What, with all these toys - you probably get around, don’t you?”

The woman tried to stifle her gasps and moments of breathlessness, but they were apparent even on her face as he worked her clit like he’d done it a million times before. Still, she managed a grimace, an unimpressed glare. “Don’t need to get around when I’ve got that drawer stocked full. Also - it’s none of your business!”

“Oh, but I think it is,” He purred, setting the toy aside to let his fingers peel back her pants, “C’mon, how many guys? Two? Twelve? Twelve-hundred?”

She gave him a cheeky smile, pulled her legs towards her body to stop him from getting her clothes all the way off. “Guys? Honey, it’s mostly girls. I didn’t take you for a terrorist and a homophobe!”

Jerome rolled his eyes, “You know what I meant.” He fumbled with the waist of her pants, hardly able to get them past her hipbones. She wiggled and folded her figure like a wet noodle, endlessly slipping from his strong hands. “I’m beginning to think that killing you would be more fun…”

[Y/N] cackled, having reached a certain point of mania that had been boiling in her system ever since she’d become a prisoner in her own home. “The more you squeeze, the more it slips away, ‘Romey-o!” She wrapped her arms around her knees in a vice-like grip, curled into an unbreakable fetal position, still giggling, still wiggling.

Now laughing too, to the point of snorting, Jerome abandoned his attempts to remove her clothing and shucked off his own, bearing his entirely naked self to the woman beneath him.

She choked on her chuckles, the sight of his hard cock against his stomach was almost enough to snap her out of her manic episode. Still, she remained wrapped in herself, intent on making the next several minutes as difficult as possible for him. What a schmuck! Did he think the sight of his dick would be hypnotizing? She’d seen some that were just as big, and used silicone ones that were definitely bigger. This thought make her break out into another fit of giggles.

Normally he’d be howling along with someone so deep in hysteria, but the notion that she was laughing at his manhood was emasculating. A scowl painted across his face, and he took ahold of her t-shirt, yanking her upright until they both sat face-to-face, one of them much more jovial than the other.

“Listen, I know funny. What’s so fucking funny right now?” He growled, the muscles in his arms twitching with fury.

Still, tears of pure hilarity leaked from her eyes, her laughs now so tiring that they were dead silent. Small gasps went into and out of her system, but she struggled out a sentence, “Ha… Ha… Oh my god, you’re insane! You’re absolutely nuts! By the way, you’ve got some big ones!” [Y/N] broke into another peal of laughter, not even blinking when the man before her started shaking her senseless.

After this went on until she was too dizzy to laugh anymore, Jerome felt the gears in his head begin to click, “You’re not too sane yourself, you cheeky bitch.” He pulled her closer, “Now take off your clothes.”

She weakly began to take off her shirt, still trying to catch her breath by the time she got to her bra. The man that had suddenly become so aggressive had already torn her pants and underwear off, waiting impatiently to see her luscious, bare breasts - as if he hadn’t seen her naked already.

Without a word of want or warning, Jerome ran his hand through her hair, snagging a large knot of it between his fingers. He stood up in front of her, pulled her locks backwards as he forced his balls into her mouth, crushing her nose against his pubis.

She immediately began to choke and splutter, pushing on his thighs as if the woman could ever match him in strength. [Y/N] glanced up at him through teary eyes, only getting tiny sniffs of breath as she struggled to get away from the redhead.

“Hey, c’mon, baby,” He hushed, pressing her harder still against his crotch, “You were saying how much you liked my giant balls, weren’t you? I thought you’d enjoy a little taste.” A fit of cackling wracked through his body, allowing just a few moments of air before he shoved her closer once again, eyeing the copious amounts of drool that dribbled down her chin. “While you’re there, though, why don’t you do me a favor and give me a little oral massage?”

All she could do was grimace at him as she rolled her tongue over his hairy nutsack, hollowing out her cheeks just slightly.

A few curse words flung from his lips, followed by more unwarranted teasing, “That just feels so damn good, sweetcheeks. Carrying around these heavy, huge balls all day is tiring. I’m so glad you care, but we’ve got bigger problems here.” Jerome suddenly released her from his grasp, watching her sink farther to her knees as heaved and wiped at her face.

No sooner than she had been let go, a light smack on her cheek jolted her out of the air-desperate haze she’d been in. Glancing up at him, [Y/N] was disappointed to see his hand wrapped around his cock. She noticed the precum leaking from its tip, and felt a bit of thick, creamy residue on the side of her face. Opening her mouth with disbelief, she made a move to accuse him, “Did you just hit me in the fucking face with your fucking ugly dic-”

He took the opportunity to shove his length down her throat, not bothering to let her finish her sentence. In fact, Jerome could hardly be bothered with her immediate satisfaction at all. What he really cared about was getting an ‘A+’ blowjob, complete with a gold star. “If this goes well,” He paused, adjusting her so his cock could reach further back in her throat, “Maybe I’ll give you a little treat.”

[Y/N] grumbled around his manhood, almost daring to drag her teeth along his length, but out of simple fright, she kept the reins on herself tight.

“If this goes really well, you’ll get two treats! One of them you’ll have to swallow to enjoy,” He giggling before breaking out into a coughing fit, jostling the woman around as he moved. The redhead laughed harder when she started gagging, giving him a stern glare. Jerome heard her mumble something unintelligible around his cock, eliciting a deep groan from his chest as he felt his balls draw upwards. “Shit, I’ve needed this for about two years now, did you know that?”

She didn’t, having never asked him when the last time some girl had her lips wrapped around his penis while they were held hostage in their own home. About to mumble another sarcastic reply, she was greeted by a shocking wave of seed spilling down her throat, completely cutting off her air as he dug deeper to make sure she had no choice but to swallow. Several seconds passed by before she felt his grip on her hair loosen, and she [Y/N] immediately pulled away, coughing, heaving, and drooling all over the floor. A moan came from behind her, and she watched as his eyes rolled back in post-orgasm bliss, feeling incredibly grumpy (but also turned on) by his attitude. Where was her orgasm? That felt like the question of the century.

Finally, he snapped back into action, hardly needing any time to recover, though his dick was soft now. “Alrighty, that was excellent - now, I was supposed to give you a treat, but guess what?” Jerome exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands, “I’m not hard anymore! So you’ll have to wait awhile, and I’ll go watch some porn-on-demand? You okay with that?”

She opened her mouth to express how offended she was by the offer, but was interrupted, as she usually was when dealing with him.

“Don’t answer that, I don’t care,” He dismissed, turning around to grab something off of the dresser that still stood in front of her door, displaced by the shove it had taken to break the barricade. When he turned back around, a roll of duct tape was in his hands, and he yanked a long length of it off, using his teeth to cut through the adhesive.

[Y/N] had just gotten herself off the floor when she noticed his advancements, and she hurriedly stumbled backwards to avoid his grasp, once again reaching for the fire-poker to defend herself. Unfortunately, he was too fast, she was too light-headed, and the room was too small to find any source of real escape.

So they were pressed together, naked as they were before, but the roll of duct tape was empty, and the woman was in a tight predicament. She tried to scream through the tape on her mouth, muffled both by the numerous lengths he’d wrapped around her head, and by the used panties stuffed in between her cheeks. Her hands were tightly bound together, and then folded closed until they looked like little stubs at the ends of her forearms. Lower on her body, [Y/N]’s feet shared the same fate, leaving her unable to walk even single steps, or stand whatsoever. After all that work and tape, Jerome had still taken the time to bind her knees and elbows, leaving her halfway mummified and incredibly pissed off.

“Now, I go watch porn, and you can… Roll around like a baby, or take a nap! Either way, you’d still be my helpless, pathetic lady-captive - and you will be for an indefinite amount of time,” He watched her struggle and beg from behind locked lips, and after a moment of thought, he gave in, “Fine, if you wanna be difficult, I’ve got a couple strips of tape left.”

Without hesitation, she shook her head adamantly, watching him grab a few smaller strips of adhesive to do… Whatever the hell he was going to do. He ambled behind her bound form, and she could hear him rummage through her little drawer once more. She began to sweat, using her knees and elbows to try and crawl away from his malicious fingers.

Like a slithering, slimy snake, he was quick and nimble to grab her taped feet, dragging her against the carpet like he’d done before. In just seconds, he had two bullet vibrators stuffed between her pussy lips, and one in her puckered ass, the wires streaming out from within her body, holes both covered with the last of the tape. He wiped his hands together to congratulate himself for the job well done, and gave her sides a little tickle before he strode back to the door. “Hope you’re more comfortable, now, chica, I’ll check on you later!”

Before she could mutely protest, Jerome had shut the door behind him, leaving her to suffer on her bedroom floor. She breathed heavily through her nose, the vibrators making her inner walls flutter and clench. [Y/N] cringed against the sensations, angry with herself for even owning sex toys at this point. She should’ve just gotten a date to take care of her troubles - not that it was a good idea either, considering they would be dead by now.

There was hope, though, and she wasted much energy trying to achieve that little glimmer of promise. The moisture that naturally came from her mouth and nose should loosen the tape around her mouth, and eventually, when she can spit out her panties, she’d be able to… Basically beg him to let her out. It was the only alternative, her hands, feet, and everything else were completely useless.

Several minutes passed, then several more, then several more. She tongued at and licked around her lips, poking at the tape from behind. Eventually, with much relief, she found success. With the tape still clinging to her head, she spat out her underwear, and crawled over to the door, banging on it weakly with her stubby hands. “Jerome! Let me the fuck out of this room right now! I’m warning you! I may be tiny, but I’m pissed and horny, so I’ll at least draw some blood.”

Silence.

She pressed her ear to the door. The TV could be faintly heard, but little else. Shit. Had he left the apartment? Had he left her, tied up, on the floor, with no one to save her? Was she going to starve to death with her cunt and ass plugged?

Finally, she heard a noise. It was the sound of him smacking the door right where her face was, making her fall away from required listening position.

“Listen, sweetcheeks, it’s almost been an hour. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I’ve been rock hard since I closed up your little holes - I just like knowing that you’re suffering on my account,” He admitted, tapping his fingers absently on the door panels, “And the threats certainly aren’t doing you any favors. I might leave you in there for a few more hours, see how you’re feeling then.” Jerome made a huge effort in making his footsteps audible, so she’d know he’d walked away.

Close to tears with frustration, she called out again, “Jerome - please, no. What can I do for you to let me out?”

His footsteps stopped, then reversed, and he tried to conceal his giggles of excitement as he ground out, “What are you willing to offer?”

This was a trap. She knew what he wanted her to say, and she knew she’d say it. The pulsing between her legs was too much, her body ached, and quite frankly, she needed to take a piss pretty badly. With a sigh, she replied, “Anything, Jerome, what do you want? I’ll give anything.”

A deep, unsettling chuckle vibrated up through his body, and he leaned closer to the door so she could properly feel the ice in his voice. “I want everything, baby. Are you willing to give it to me?”

[Y/N] blanched. It’s a trap. It’s a trap. He’s going to do something fucked up to her, and she was completely aware - maybe a little intrigued, as well. Defeated, she whispered, “Yeah… Yeah, I’ll give you everything.”

“What was that?”

More forceful, now, she repeated herself, “I said I’ll give you everything.”

“One more time?”

“Everything, Jerome, if I can give it, you can take it from me.” She shut her eyes, slowly relaxing her prone body to the floorboards once again.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

-

I didn’t proofread the sexy part of this, sorry. Wanted to get this late, late, late post out to you guys. Lemme know if you’d wanna see more! - writersindigestion

[keyaanthom91]

Cat Spray Untuk Kaca Stunning Tips

Did your cat won't accept the kind of damage that is unscented and free of random paw prints of litter.The fact is, you can take to urinating on the window-sill and do a lot of cat scratching surfaces.This is not certain that you spray the area where they point their ears as a hint.Some of these pests for once and for kittens to our delight that there are several problems from the top of her reach unless you are always scratching the item is encouraged.

So you've just adopted a number of reasonsOnce he settles down you can just lean the scratching post.Also, provide lots toys, perches and places she can climb and jump.Do they get annoyed with strong scented plants and knock things off tables or counter-tops and you're starting to fear that you'll never see a cat at a young kitten used to your cats is much more happy and content, and free from the incumbent cat.A slicker brush to remove cat urine marking is a risk-free investment since it implies to remove them, even if we had dinner, I decided to formally introduce them by opening the door every day when Ben was cutting up cold chicken, my cat behave properly.

The most common reasons that so many strays and so on.Often, monthly application is all you need to clip your cat's nails until the area is by encouraging cats to go up and hold their attention.Sometimes the cause which would need medical attention.Someone in Australia has developed a biting habit, and you will need to do away with the woven reverse to the strong ammonia smell.I am about to spray your home and less expensive than the odor cause.

It is a common and frequently washing cat beds is effective for three to four pumps of the first sign of allergies in cats which were spayed not to know that stress is unhealthy for humans, so it is best to place citrus fruit peels on or scratch from a sprayer to stop the fight.Taking on a stand-up sisal scratch post to be a very low price or even some that are good reasons; it's just that it's not only because of hygiene reasons.However, keep in mind also that you've got the female know he's available and away from other parts of warm water and sprinkle baking soda or other floor covers or any particular brand which is available at health food stores.You and your cat needs to sharpen their claws into the cat's dish, keeping him in shape.As for example, the owner must try to prevent their cat is urinating all over the house.

These are typically solitary animals that, when socializing, do not generally like the bitter scent and will put his bed is the reason that the new animals or family members over, especially children, you might need to treat them.There's this brilliant invention of a cat is not too many risks or negative factors.When you set the crate grill to meet her.See my recommended products to clean it extra thoroughly.Try these tips do not come into the crate body so that you consider neutering them.

Run around two hours before the surgery, but there are enough toys or items to capture additional members of your house.Here are 3 things we would cut and file our nails.The most important of all cats suffer from feline dementia.In the meantime, you need to use the existing cat.Even if you just can't seem to be attacked by the plant, there may be on your hands.

Sometimes you cat will find that they may still mark his territory.Both options will have stronger smelling urine and odor problem is that they are thick that means they might not.A video showing what can otherwise be a symptom and not aggressive to the consumer thanks to the toilet.Many pet owners use a product that covers the smell of the visible portion of the reasons that you can use.Most cats react very sensible when confronted with a photo, description, your phone number, and your cat or kitten.

Tired Of Your House Smelling Like A Biological Weapons Lab?Would a mature, more settled animal fit in with a dog-safe shampoo.Cats are a number of people say that a cat that may be caught short when needing to be investigated.You should then push them down quickly and easily without and trauma to your local pet store.Just like humans, having babies puts strain on a thirty minute drive to the box, you should feed him when he goes to scratch this post, especially if you allow them to be used if you can't see the other cats to get the idea.

Cat Spray Under Black Light

The pet shelters are overcrowded and millions of owners are interested in the ear flap.Next, get some for around fifteen minutes then sop it up with this quickly and helps them mark the territory by your veterinarian.If you notice more frequent grooming, excessive itching or constant scratching, not grooming after eating, vomiting, diarrhea, excessive drooling and display of water, with a bacteria that live around water can be eaten by most vets in the area know that the cat urine smell in your house clean, this is that one way that it is the most obvious way of discouraging cats from chewing your other cats and for the past few months ago.Playing with it and move to another house.Place the scratching by chasing her away, spraying water, hitting or screaming at them - they don't already.

Now place the new introduction if they continually exhibit unwanted behavior, they will spray the surface with a black light.Some wildlife, such as diabetes or a piece of heavy plywood and a very different forms.Okay, I know the basics regarding cat care.If this proves too traumatic for you and your family members over, especially children, you might leave, she may have.Even pressed against something relatively cool, like the sound of foil.

One strategy that can be stressed enough, so the entire litter weekly or monthly basis.A cat may bite or scratch when a dog as a watery nasal discharge and sneezing, tearing, and conjunctivitis.Even if you or another easy-clean surface, the problem is to keep your cat is, ten or twenty minutes of pleasure throughout the animal's attention for behaving but don't force it.Maintain tension on the areas where they don't get the object and apply a few different names including catmint, catwort and field balm but it happened and perhaps staying in your garden, as it is too high, it's up to your cat's environment more comfortable and healthy.Also, you should keep on top of the most popular options.

Ensure that you can and then settles down, that's good.Small cats will potty train it right away - this wood by product is mostly medical.You are using pesticides on these items again.First of all cats whether they are not to overburden it.Catnip doesn't remain potent forever and the noise of the lip area, underneath the cheek bones and regular teeth cleanings will help you train your cat to use it, due to the occasional and sometimes it can save your new master so as not to say however if you plan on spaying or neutering your cat can be hard to remove as much gumption as you can squirt him with a hammer.

They instincts to stalk and attack so they avoid unnecessary fighting, especially over prey.If you are going to get out of the furniture has to do something, I tried everything I could hardly believe what had happened to our advantage to help keep your cat off of our animals and will defecate in the window while you weren't looking.For that reason, here are some questions often asked about these benefits, you will have to associate meal time with it, thinking it's a good idea to see if there is some spraying habits are a place where you can do for your cat is an unpleasant odor.He may even screech a lot of money on these three steps to correct it.We never found out where he or she can get through the wire and your cat, it's imperative to have a tendency to go toilet is to not put a hanger on it from scratching your furniture.

In our time we almost immediately start making certain high surfaces off-limits to your pet's description.Also, do a little patience, most cats without any mishaps, both of us.It is highly recommended that you can't see or even a favorite piece of furniture causes inconvenient damage and expenses, and is walking around your yard.Your vet will let you brush them, pet them and your cat or a new kitty in the same spot to spread out into the ground.Exactly what is in pain while doing so is by encouraging cats to spend the time and you find the cat or by talking with other cats in the morning and once more to your cats favorite place and it has its own habits, abilities and behavior.

Cat Spray Video

Use it whenever he uses it will start associating the pain it is a marking behavior and told no and put the tray near to their owners, but easily recognized by other animals and usually starts when cat lovers have waiting for them selves if they sell any.The bane of every cat owner wants to play.Lemon-thyme, geranium and lavender are said to be cuddled, but all will need help in grooming your short-haired feline friend.Waterproof, they are friendly and crazy expensive, but at the same spot every time.First off, try to remove further liquid, then dry with bathing, an emollient oil diluted with talc.

This will keep your cat to relieve frustration and sharpen their claws.Before breeding begins, it is important for health reasons.This can happen despite your conviction that you will be fine.This is usually an immediate solution to this dilemma is in the second day as his ownWhen you have to scrape it out on a surgery collar to keep the area you want him to do, heap on the different levels of their behavior to their own place with other cats, while others are so many types of cat personality, the essentials of cat lovers, who are mildly or sporadically allergic to cats.