#plus her carrying the weight of the deaths of not one but two men she's loved would've made for an interesting parallel

[theladyeowyn]

It’s signed “Enzo.” There’s only two people who knew about our date at Enzo’s, and that’s me and Hop. So, whoever wrote this, Hop trusted enough to make him sign it “Enzo.” He’s sending me a message.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡His Weakness｡⋆.

Kylo Ren x plus size reader

His Choice Masterlist

She was gone, taken and he would rip the universe apart just to get her back

Chapter Warnings: smut, size kink, d/s dynamics, blood, anger, angst, fear, softness, bath sex, oral (f receiving), guilt, death, Kylo is not a good dude my guys but he's doing his best, reader gets a spine in this chapter, m masturbation, these two are toxic

WC: 5.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Part 1

It all felt like a strange dream. She floated in space, weightlessness cocooned her in a comforting embrace. And yet fear simmered beneath the surface of her skin, poking and prodding at her, refusing to let her drift into the calmness of her unconscious mind.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears and her back, her body thumping in time like a great drum being beaten upon in her chest. She wiggled her toes but there was no sensation of anything against her feet, no wind or silk sheets, just warmth. There was something around her face, forcing cold, sterile air into her lungs. It was hard, a sharp corner bit into her cheek, causing a sharp pinch when she moved her head. She tried to open her eyes but her body refused to comply.

Muffled voices carried through the space around her, the words garbled and distorted, further pulling her from the peaceful feeling of sleep. There was a thud that shook her whole body and suddenly the warmth disappeared as gravity began to tug her down once more. Two thick straps of fabric, one under each armpit, kept her suspended.

The sensations hit her all at once, making her suck in a breath but the mask on her face didn’t allow this so she began to choke. The voices began to panic and the mask was ripped off. Y/N coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to breathe. Hands gripped at her naked legs, pulling her down to the grated floor below her.

Her knees collided painfully with the ground as her breath and her vision gradually returned to her. Bright white lights blinded her for a moment before everything became clear. Two men and a woman stood over her with the emotions on their face ranging from pity to disgust.

“What are you all doing? Get her up.” The voice came from behind them, immediately spurring the younger man into action. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he lifted her to her feet, supporting her weight with an arm around her torso. 

An older woman stood away from the small group- she was shorter than the others but the sheer power her body held made her look like a giant. If she didn’t have a blaster strapped to her hip, she could have very easily appeared matriarchal and kind. Yet her eyes were what caught Y/N’s attention, they were so familiar it made her chest ache.

“I am sorry that we could not fully heal your injuries but you must understand that we have to preserve our bacta for our own people.” Y/N was guided to the lone bed in the room and forced to sit on its edge, the man stepping away once more. His eyes were strangely filled with empathy. “The cuts will scar but you aren’t at risk of infection anymore.” 

“We should’ve just left her rotting in a cell.” The older man grumbled, rolling his eyes causing the other woman to scoff.

“She’s just as much of a victim of him as you are.” A chill blew into the room but the tension was quickly shattered as the one beside Y/N spoke up.

“Maybe we should wait outside while the General talks to her.” He grabbed the other man by the arm and practically dragged him out, the young woman following close behind, their gazes still locked together. The door slid silently closed behind them, leaving only Y/N and the ‘General’.

She sighed and turned towards a cabinet, pulling out some folded fabric. “Put this on.” Only now, Y/N noticed her state of undress- wearing only a breast band and some shorts that did nothing to hide the curve of her body. She took the offered clothes and quickly dressed in the thin gown, thankful for some decency.

“Where am I?” Her voice was squeaky, a result of the dry air she had been breathing for stars knew how long. 

“I can’t tell you exactly, I’m sure you’d understand but you are safe, that is what I can tell you.” 

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I assume you’re using me to get some advantage over the First Order.” Her grip tightened on the cane in her hand, her knuckles going pale. “Or is it that you want to hurt him?” The left side of her mouth twitched.

“You are a victim of the First Order’s cruelty, I am giving you an opportunity to prevent others from suffering the same fate.” Y/N remained silent, the woman sighed heavily. “Any information you can give us would be valuable. You will be rewarded.”

“With what? My death warrant?” She hissed. “The rebels cannot protect me from them, from him. You are already half-dead, barely protecting your own pathetic outposts. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me somewhere he can find me easily, then maybe he won’t rip you all to pieces.”

The General scowled and a realisation dawned on the young woman. “I know that look. You know, he looks exactly the same when someone pisses him off. You must be his mo-“

“That’s enough!” The room lit up, rippling with power. It was far less than what Kylo was capable of, but she knew the Force when she felt it. “I can see now that you need to be alone, to rethink your priorities. Someone will come speak to you in a few days.” 

The lock clicked into place behind her, leaving Y/N alone once more but she had a smile on her face. Even if there was a high possibility that her master would not come for her, she had found the weakness in their ranks.

——————

Y/N figured that she was most likely on a larger transport ship. It would have to be small enough not to be spotted by the Order but large enough that it would allow her to be housed in an infirmary bay by herself. The room was almost entirely barren of supplies, and in some places, the metal siding of the walls had been stripped away, she presumed for extra parts for repairs. 

They had not gone into hyperdrive while she had been awake so they could not have been far from the Star Destroyer she had been calling home. And considering that the cuts on her back were only just at the stage of scarring, her time in the bacta tank had to have been less than an hour. 

A few rebels had come and gone, each trying their hand at prying information from her, but she had remained silent. They were quickly becoming desperate for anything. One even asked her what material the First Order used for the clothes she had been given. 

There were moments where she had been tempted to divulge what she knew- when she remembered his cruelty and the way he hurt her but just as quickly, she’d recall his soft touch, his praise, his generosity. In those moments, she found that her fingers would curl into the collar that still hung around her neck. 

She wished that he would come for her, she wished he would leave her alone. She wanted to be in his arms, she wanted to be so far away from him that he would never find her, no matter how hard he looked. 

When she awoke from a very light sleep on her third day of captivity, she had made up her mind. 

The panel by the door was bent just enough that Y/N could slip her index and middle finger inside it even while she held a long screw she found under the bed. The metal shook as she struggled to hold onto it with her fingertips. She cringed each time it hit the panel, producing a soft clink each time. “Come one.” She murmured under her breath as she attempted to stabilise the screw.

A hopeful smile began to grow on her lips as she felt it bump against something semi-soft. If she were to guess, it would have to be one of the cables connecting to the door, or she could be completely wrong and it was just her mind playing tricks on her but she had to take a chance.

Wedging her hand into the gap as far as she could, she readjusted her hold on the screw so the end tipped down over the cable. Quickly, her middle finger curled around the end while her index finger kept a hold of the top.  Once she was sure that she had a good grip, she yanked her hand back out, yanking the wire out of place. 

There was a spark and the lights above her flickered for a moment before the shut off completely. She held her breath as she stood and approached the door. Placing her palms flat against either side of the crack in the door, she pushed them apart. 

The metal groaned in protest as she added more of her weight behind them until they finally gave way, opening just wide enough for her to force her way through.

Unable to help herself, she gave a soft shout of victory before whipping her head around. The hall was empty, suspiciously so. She looked left, then right, taking a chance, she headed down the hall to her left, hoping it would get her to the escape pods. Her bare feet slapped against the floor almost silently as she walked. 

From behind her, she could vaguely hear what sounded like shouting and a distant buzz which was interrupted by a dangerous crackle every few seconds. Y/N hurried along her path, blocking out the noise. Her only concern was getting as far away from this ship as possible.

She took a sharp left into a larger hallway, picking up her pace as screams soon began to echo through the ship. A bright light guided her way, urging her to go faster and faster, the crackling getting louder with each step.

Her lungs burned and her legs ached but she was getting closer to the end, the light getting brighter until it all went dark. She froze at the end of the hall. There was a huge window in front of her that had been the source of the illumination. It overlooked a massive cargo hold that was now totally empty. The hanger doors were gone, quite obviously having been blasted through by a much larger ship. 

The light that she had been seeing was a series of flares that were now mostly burnt out, leaving one or two left that floated around aimlessly. 

It was a dead end.

Quickly, she began to back peddle, her new path drawing her closer to the screams. In her mind, people would be running away, towards the escape pods so if she encountered them at just the right time, she might be able to blend into the panicked throng and get away cleanly. She refused to think about who caused the destruction in the hanger and the fear that permeated the filtered air. 

Step, step, pause. Breathe, listen. Step, step, pause.

Y/N kept the stuttering pace even as the screams died down. “Where is she!” A voice thundered so powerfully, the modulator layered over it cracked. She flinched and shoved herself against the wall beside her.

“Please no!” Another voice begged but was quickly cut off by that same crackling she heard earlier. The voice went silent. A thought burrowed its way into her mind- the voice could be him, he could’ve come for her. But she shook it off. He wouldn’t come for her, not after what he did.

Her eyes flicked down to the ground right before she was about to take another step, and that’s when she noticed the blood. It pooled on the reflective surface, dulling the reflections of the overhead lights. She gasped behind her hand as she finally spotted the first body.

He had been torn to shreds, his flesh almost completely seared off. His eyes bulged out of his skull in a cartoonish manner. Y/N quickly looked away, choking down the bile that had risen to the back of her throat.

She stepped around the blood as best she could while eyeing the hall just across from her that seemed to lead to yet another hanger and it was thankfully in the opposite direction from the angry voice. She glanced quickly towards the other direction and then made a run for it.

“Y/N!” Automatically, she froze. Her name sounded so foreign in his voice but at the same time, it settled onto her chest, warming that place which had been frozen since she had been stolen from her home so long ago. 

Her mind battled itself, both wishing that it was just an auditory hallucination from trauma and so desperately wishing that he was actually there. “Pet-“ He stopped himself. “Y/N please, I’ve been looking for you for so long. Please come back.”

He was begging her, his voice now soft and almost loving. She could feel him getting closer, the shadow of his huge physique looming over her. “Did you kill everyone on board?” 

“Yes.” He answered bluntly.

“Why?” She finally turned to look at him. Kylo’s shoulders were simultaneously slumped and tense with rage. He held tightly to the hilt of his lightsaber though it was no longer lit. She expected him to be wearing his mask but the red streaks through the black material were new. 

He took a chance and stepped closer. “I would kill worlds to get you back.” Much to her shame, Y/N swooned internally. 

“But your moth-“ She began but stopped when his free hand clenched into a fist.

“General Organa nor her little followers were here, just some insignificant worms who knew nothing.” She expected him to lash out but instead, his fingers unfurled from the palm of his hand and he offered it to her. “None of that matters now, just come home.”

She did not hesitate to take his hand.

——————

Part 2

The tension aboard the Star Destroyer was almost unbearable. Not only was the Star Killer completely destroyed and new pressure added to Kylo to hunt down Skywalker and Rey, but there was also the issue of Y/N. 

They danced around each other with far less grace than either hoped. Frequently, Kylo found himself reaching out to touch her in her most intimate of places, wishing to feel her warmth around him once more but would pull away just as quickly when he recalled the terrified screams that still haunted his thoughts. And when Y/N would change or slip into the shower, she would always look back, expecting a large hand to cup her naked hip as his lips descended upon her throat.

He never slept in the bed with her, she never asked about his day. They were suspended in time, waiting for one of them to break, to finally shatter the delusion they were existing in.

With her return to the Destroyer, Kylo had granted Y/N a small extra freedom- once a day, she could go for a small walk through the ship. Granted, she would be accompanied by two of his most trusted stormtroopers and at most, the walk would be 15 minutes long, but she was excited about it anyway.

When she left for her walk on this particular day, Kylo had already been gone- summoned for a council with his master. She had noticed the slight tremor in his hands as he took his helmet from its place beside the door, but made no comment on it, simply acknowledging his quick ‘be good’ with a soft nod of her head. 

Her guards arrived a few minutes after his departure (she assumed they were waiting around the corner so they didn’t have to encounter the sith) and she soon followed behind him. 

The ship was far more busy than usual, yet no eyes followed her as she walked. Apparently in the couple days she had been gone, all of the First Order seemingly had been conditioned to treat her with the same respect given to the high command. 

Her walk was pleasant, she even got one of her guards to speak to her this time, but all-too-soon she was returned to their chambers and met with an unexpected sight.

Kylo sat on their bed, his back against the headboard. He was shirtless, his black hair loose and falling over his face, moving with the force of his breaths. The dark trousers he always wore were open and pulled part way down his muscular thighs, revealing the way one of his huge hands was wrapped around his hard cock.

His brows were pinched and his lips downturned like he was angry, this was only compounded by the growls he released when his fist met the thatch of hair at the base of his pelvis. “Fuck.” He half-moaned, head falling back with a painful sounding thud.

Y/N swallowed thickly as the doors slid closed behind her. Ever since that night, he had not touched her, he hadn’t even given a hint that he was interested in sex until this very moment. And even as the scars on her back throbbed, reminding her of exactly why she should turn away and leave, she found herself rooted to the spot, watching with rapt attention as he furiously fisted his cock.

“Y/N.” She jolted with his whine of her name, heat pooling between her legs.

“Master.” She responded, practically cooing at him. Kylo’s eyes flew open and she didn’t miss the way his cock throbbed as he spotted her. He held her gaze as she slowly approached the bed, barely breathing until she placed a hand gently upon his thigh. 

His wide chest puffed up as he sucked in a breath, her hand moving closer to his cock. She began to lean in, her eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up to his dark eyes. 

The tension that had been steadily growing since he brought her home was almost stifling now, so thick that she felt she could choke on it. They were still waiting for that moment where it would explode and as Y/N’s breath fanned across his lips, Kylo’s resolve broke into a million tiny pieces.

His arms darted out and she quickly found herself in his lap, dress hitched over the top of her thighs so that his cock could rest upon the soft mound of her cunt. Their lips met in a messy but passionate kiss, tongues tangled as their teeth clacked together. The hand that previously gripped himself now held onto her naked thigh, the tips of his fingers digging into the plush flesh as his other hand slid to her ass.

She moaned into his mouth, pushing her hips forward into his own. Heat grew wildly between them as he began to guide her grinding but not directly taking the lead. She felt his lips quirk with a smile when she gasped. 

Slowly his hand trailed from her ass to up beneath her dress, tracing the curve of her spine. Her arms wrapped around his neck, encouraging his touch until he stopped moving. His fingers brushed against the raised lines of her scars, his face becoming confused just for a moment before he violently pulled away.

“Stop.” There was an almost imperceptible treble to his voice as he spoke, turning his head away from her. She slid from his lap and onto the bed, confused. “I have to go.” He shoved himself back into his trousers and retrieved his shirt from the floor.

As he redressed, Y/N was suddenly back in that moment, the pain and the fear flashing behind her eyes. “Don’t go please.” She begged, trying to follow him. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

He looked back at her with an expression of pure devastation which quickly morphed into a fragile mask of anger. “You’re my pet, not my wife. I can do whatever I want with you, including leaving you here.” And he left.

But this time, Y/N didn’t stay.

She sprang from the bed and raced after the sith, determined to break through his facade. “Kylo!” She angrily called as she ran. “Fucking stop!” The eyes of dozens of First Orders soldiers followed her, watching in morbid fashion as she challenged one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy but they did not dare to stop her.

She was finally able to catch up to him when he turned to his private sparring room. “What is wrong with you?” She hissed, coming to a stop a metre away from him.

He didn’t respond. “First you buy me to be your slave but then you pleasure me too. You reward me and then you literally rip me apart. And then you kill a whole fucking ship of rebels because it meant getting me back but you’re leaving me again. You’re so fucking confusing and I honestly don’t understand you, so just tell me why!”

“Because I hurt you!” He screamed, the walls he had so carefully built falling to dust at her feet. “Because I was fucking selfish and forced you to become mine like some twisted old man. But I couldn’t stop. You are so good and soft and so fucking kind when you shouldn’t be! You should be plotting to kill me in my sleep and fighting me every chance you get but you don’t. You cared for me and listened to me.” Y/N’s eyes burned with tears that built along her waterline. Kylo stepped closer, his head bowed like a naughty child that had just gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“And then you ran from me. You joined the rebels. But when I came for you, you let me take you home. You let me touch you even after what I did. So leave. Please. I don’t want to hurt you again.” He turned away from her, desperate to hide how his own tears spilled over his pale cheeks.

“Kylo.” She murmured, chancing a step closer. His body went stiff as her fingers grazed his back but he did not move away. “Kylo.” She repeated, her voice a little firmer this time. Her touch moved to the back of his neck, cupping the warm flesh just hard enough to guide his attention back to her.

“Go, just go. I cannot hold myself back any longer.” But his tone was defeated, carrying no real conviction or malice. He lets her move his head so now their faces are only inches apart. With a touch so gentle, he barely feels it, she holds his strong jaw, her thumbs finding their place just beneath his cheekbones.

“I’m not letting you leave again.” He doesn’t resist as she kisses him though she can tell he’s fighting it. His eyes are screwed shut, his hands balled into fists by his side but as she relaxes into the kiss, her tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, he concedes. She smiled against his lips as his arms wound around her thick waist, pulling her impossibly close to his body like she was the only thing keeping him tied to the ground.

“You bought me, now you have to keep me forever.” She teased, making him growl into her mouth. One of his hands pulled away from her torso and made a grab for her neck, expertly diving under her collar. There was a click and then the metal fell away, colliding onto the floor with a deafening clang.

“I do not want to own you, not anymore. You should be free to decide what you wish.” He said it like he was expecting her to run the moment that his ownership over her was stripped away, but instead she pushed her hips up and into him, her soft stomach now firmly pressed against his hard cock.

“Then I wish to stay… with you.” She yelped as he suddenly gathered her up into his arms and kissed every inch of her face that he could reach. Her giggles carried through the room, lighting up the dark space with a happiness never seen there before. 

As her laughter died down, her eyes grew dark with lust once more. “I want you.” His own gaze darts over her face, watching for any sign of a lie and when he found none, he kissed her once more.

Slowly, he lowered them both to the floor. His massive body providing a comforting weight on top of her, slotting himself between her plush thighs. She mewled as his lips travelled to the soft slope of her jaw, nipping and sucking at her skin, searing his marks into her.

“Kylo.” His kisses reached the spot upon her neck where her mind went fuzzy and her hands flew to his hair, burying themselves in the raven locks. He hummed against her skin as he licked at the spot again and again until her body went to liquid below him.

Then he moved on. He lathered the skin of her chest in kisses, moving her light green dress out of the way in order to get access to the fat of her tits. She squirmed against him, trying to roll her hips down into the thick muscle of his thighs. “Please I need more.” She begged.

Immediately, he complied. The skirt of her dress was thrown over her stomach and his shoulders wedged firmly beneath her thighs, letting her ankles cross behind his head. She thought she heard him whisper ‘anything for you’ but all thoughts flew from her mind as his kisses resumed again.

Her back bowed with pleasure. The tip of Kylo’s nose fit perfectly against her swollen clit as his tongue clumsily propped at her entrance. Planting his huge palms on the softness of her lower stomach, he pushed her back down, slipping his tongue into her at the same time. She moaned loudly with each curl of the muscle. 

Her thighs locked around his head as the tip of his tongue hit that soft spot inside her that made her see stars. He groaned into her cunt, forcing his nose even tighter against her clit. “‘M gonna cum!” She cried before her orgasm washed over her, her vision whiting out with pleasure.

She clutched at his hands, whining his name over and over as he continued to torment her until she went boneless in his arms with a sigh. He licked up her release and pecked her inner thigh before finally pulling away, smirking proudly.

Silently, he pulled her dress back down over her body as she attempted to catch her breath. She reached for him which he eagerly indulged, dragging her limp body into his lap wrapping her up in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, placing a sweet kiss upon his covered collarbone.

It was quickly followed by another, and then another until soon enough, her lips were attached to his neck in the same way he had been on her a mere few minutes ago. His cock twitched with excitement at her attention. “Pet, it’s ok. We do not need to go further if you are not comfortable.” 

She pulled back only a few inches, just far enough to meet his eyes (which she noted were far more brown than the yellow she had been used to). “I want to, just maybe, we go slow?” She asked shyly. Kylo dipped down and kissed her gently.

“Whatever you want. Can you stand?” She gave him a withering look causing him to chuckle lowly. Readjusting her in his arms, he stood and made his way to the shower room attached to the gym. He ignored her questioning glance, placing her on the edge of the massive tub in the centre of the room.

Steam soon filled the small chamber as the tub began to fill. Kylo kissed along her arms and neck as he unbuttoned the front of her dress, letting it fall to the floor along with his own clothes. By the time they were both naked, the bath was filled enough for both of them.

With one last kiss, he slipped into the water, sighing as the heat washed over him, relaxing his tense muscles. He offered Y/N a hand, helping her into the tub in front of him. Her soft body fit beautifully between his legs, the curve of her back pressing against his solid torso. But that wasn’t enough for either of them.

On shaking legs, Y/N turned around on his lap and straddled his slim hips. Her lips caught his in a soft kiss as she rocked onto her knees, taking his cock into her hand. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, not seeing the way she positioned his tip at her entrance until he was already partially inside of her. Kylo’s hands flew to her hips as she slowly sunk down onto him.

“Stars.” He moaned, his head rolling back between his shoulders. “So fucking tight.” She stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the sheer size of him.

“You’re just so big.” She mewled and Kylo groaned in response, his cock throbbing within her. “Can feel you in my stomach.” She emphasised by holding her plush tummy, pushing down on where his length pressed against her walls.

His hips bucked unconsciously and she moaned. Taking that as her cue to move lest her former owner take back control, she began to slowly bounce on her knees. Pleasure rolled through them both with each pass of her hips. Each time she took him to the hilt, the coarse hair along his pelvis brushed against her overstimulated clit, causing her to clench down onto him.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his but it was less of a kiss than the others they shared, and simply a distraction from the ever-growing climaxes they would soon experience. Her thighs burned as she rode him, struggling to accommodate the sheer mass of him but she kept going, wishing this moment could last forever.

Kylo moaned into her mouth, his hands clamping down onto her soft flesh. “Please please.” His abs tensed against her stomach as he began to meet her at the high of her thrusts. Her head fell to the crook of his neck as he took more control, now violently punching into her cunt, sending them both up higher and higher.

“Cum for me.” She whined. “I need it so bad.” She exploded around him just as he seized beneath her, filling her with his release. He thrust a few more times, milking both of their ends before he slumped back into the water, cradling her in his arms.

“Fuck.” He groaned and she giggled tiredly, kissing his neck. 

“I agree.” He rubbed up and down her back as a comfortable silence settled over the pair. Until Y/N spoke again. 

“About what you said earlier, I did not run away from you- the rebels took me. I was trying to find my way back to you but you found me first.” He froze beneath her.

Kylo sat up, his expression suddenly angry. “I was told that you had left willingly after-“ He swallowed thickly. “-After what I did.” Y/N looked up at him.

She shook her head. “The rebellion wouldn’t have been a safe place for me, I would’ve been better off leaving with a bounty hunter.” He hummed, slumping back into the bath yet the anger remained. “Who told you that I ran away?”

“It’s nothing you have to worry about, I will handle it.” He pecked her hair. “You never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again.”

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Dixons Next Door - Chapter 4

Introduction: Anna was a small town girl from Atlanta when she became the guardian of her two younger siblings. She was determined to keep them from the same abuse that she endured from her family, so she moved into a small beaten up house just outside the city in 2009. The new neighbors  next door - the Dixon brothers - were definitely trouble. She wanted to escape her past, not repeat her parents history with these redneck brothers. Matters only escalate when the news is talking about the possibility of some virus getting out and infecting people… Are Merle and Daryl just as bad as her past? How is she going to keep her brother and sister safe from this virus getting out? What did Anna get herself into?

Setting: Pre-apocalypse

Word Count: 6896

Series Warnings: Offensive language, mentions/suggestion of physical abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sexual themes, violence & death

Chapter Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drug use, offensive language, assault, violence, sensitive themes - potential trigger warning

A/N: I got a little carried away and made this an extra long chapter, but it’s a good one! There are some sensitive topics in it so this is a trigger warning - it’s nothing too bad but some people may not want to read it. 18+ You’ve been warned.

Previous Chapter

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I had been cleaning out the pool for the kids while they ate lunch the next time that I was interrupted by Merle. He came over with a beer and hand and stood nearby me, watching silently. I gave him a look but he made no comment, he just sipped on his beer. I sighed and continued skimming the bugs and leaves out of the pool. “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” I ask without looking back at him. He chuckles.

“Why ya cleanin it? Just gonna get dirty again?” He asks, ignoring your question. You roll your eyes and smack the skimmer on the ground to get the debris off of it.

“Why shower - just gonna get dirty again.” I remark sarcastically.

“Exactly.” Merle agrees, and I look up in momentary shock before catching the sarcastic smirk on his face. “Ew,” I mutter, tossing the skimmer to the side and throwing the chlorine in the pool.

“So what bar ya work at?” He asks, glancing into the pool for a moment before looking back at you. You want to lie, but there’s literally only two bars in this small town, so it’s not like it matters much.

“Happy Hour Tavern.” I respond, wiping my hands off on my shorts and crossing my arms. “Surprised I haven’t seen ya there yet.” Referring to the beer in his hand at two in the afternoon.

He smirks. “Ya wanna see me there?” He suggests, and I roll my eyes.

“Didn’t say that.”

“Don’t ya worry, sugar. I’ll stop by.” He assures me, and I know he probably will.

“Great,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

“Where ya kids at?” He asks.

“Inside eating.”

“Wanna make me somethin to eat, sugarlips?” He asks flirtatiously. I roll my eyes again and huff.

“My name is Anna, and no, I don’t really have the money to be feeding the neighborhood.” I respond.

“Ain’t the neighborhood, doll. Just a friend.” He winks.

“Oh, so we’re friends?” I ask, shifting my weight.

“Yeah sure. Ya seem to be cozying up to my brother and all, ‘course we’re friends.” He responds sarcastically. The grin is gone from his face and he seems more serious now.

“What?” I ask, baffled by what he means by ‘cozying up to his brother.’

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I saw ya the other day. Got him doing shit for ya, too. Impressive.” He rolls his eyes and takes a large gulp of his beer. Suddenly, the mood shifts, and I feel uncomfortable. Is he angry at me for asking Daryl for help? He is so hard to read, everything was just fine - what happened?

“I needed help lifting a heavy ass box. He was there. Doesn’t mean I’m ‘cozying up to anyone.’” I respond sternly. I don’t like being accused of using people. Merle chuckles.

“Relax, darlin, I ain’t jealous.” He taunts, lifting a hand to shield his eyes and looking up at the sky. “Issa good huntin day, bet he’s goin out there soon. I’ll see ya around, sugarlips.” Merle says as he begins walking away from me, leaving me confused and startled. What the hell just happened?

I began getting texts from my father that same day. I wasn’t entirely surprised, but I knew he wouldn’t go to the cops.

1:04 - Bring back my fuckin kids

1:15 - U ungrateful bitch after all i done 4 u

2:06 - Ima have every1 lookin 4 u

2:10 - U best not let me find u

3:34 - Ima tell the pigs u kidnapped em

4:08 - Just wait til i find u

My brother even texted me a few times, too.

12:30 - Pa’s lookin 4 u. He’s mad

1:10 - U took them? Ur not they momma, u kidnapped em

2:30 - U best bring em back or u’ll regret it Anna

The texts continued on and off throughout the day but I ignored them. My prejudice, abusive family would not get the best of me. He was probably drunk and went to find us to pick a fight and finally noticed we were gone. I couldn’t help but worry about if he ever did manage to find us. We were only a half hour away, it wouldn’t be too hard. It was only a matter of how much he was determined to do so. He’s not a smart man, I doubt he could track us down very easily. Plus, everyone who knew him, hated him. No one who knew us would help him - they would know the kids were safer with me. I’d rather be poor than abused.

Eventually I left my phone on silent and tried to keep my thoughts occupied. I didn’t tell the kids, of course. The kids had been playing in their room for most of the day, having fun with the large box that my bed frame had come in, using it as some sort of rocket or something. So I let them be inside and sat on the front steps to think in peace. I looked up at the sky and willed myself not to cry. They did not deserve my tears. They didn’t even deserve a moment’s thought. I forced myself not to think about all that they had put me through in my childhood. The nights I spent crying myself to sleep on my mattress on the floor. The bruises and scars I hid at school. The lies I told to keep myself from being taken away - only so I could protect my siblings.

My eyes burned as I fought back the tears and I hid my face in my hands on my lap.

“C’mon, Anna. It’s over now.” I mutter to myself, trying to believe my own words. Anger boiled over inside of me at the thought of what my father might do if he found us and took the kids back. I would not let him. Even if it killed me - he would not ruin their lives like he did mine.

A crash of thunder made me jump, bringing me back to the present. I looked up just in time to see Merle approaching from the woods, resheathing a knife on his hip. I figured he was hunting, and that gave me an idea.

“Hey, Merle!” I call out, quickly wiping my face and jumping up to head over to him. He looks pleasantly surprised and stopped in his tracks, smirking as I approached him. “I have a question.”

“Whatcha want, sugar?” He drawls, wiping his hand on a rag from his pocket. I notice a bit of blood and then the bag over his shoulder, making me wince. I didn’t wanna know.

“I wanna get a gun. But I don’t know the first thing about them, and I kinda hoped you did?” I inform him, glancing behind me to make sure the kids hadn’t come out. He chuckles quietly and looks me up and down.

“Whatcha want with a gun?” He asks. I resist getting defensive, sure that he thinks a woman can’t handle one.

“To protect myself. Family problems, let’s leave it at that.” I inform him with a look. “Do you think you could help me?” I plead. I didn’t wanna go into town and get scammed into buying a crappy, overpriced gun. Merle looks at me for a long moment, looking up at the darkening sky before shrugging.

“Come with me.” He responds, nodding toward his house. I look at it then back to him, giving him a sharp look. “I’m serious, ya want me help or not?” He demands. I look back toward my house for a moment before sighing.

“I can’t be long.” I tell him, and he smirks, heading toward his porch. I hesitantly follow behind him, dreading entering his place. Considering the trash and overgrown grass outside, I had a feeling the inside was much worse. I stepped inside the house cautiously, keeping my eye on Merle as I did so. He seemed to be the only one here, which relieved me. If any of those men from the other night were, I would have left. Merle tosses the bag from his shoulder onto an old wooden table and heads down the hall toward a bedroom, leaving me alone. The floor is dirty, there’s an old, stained armed chair in front of a box TV, and there’s stuff scattered everywhere. The place smells a little weird too, but I resist complaining. Merle returns a moment later with a case in hand. “Here,” Merle opens the case and reveals a gun, holding it out to me. It’s a handgun, I know that much. I look up at him and he gives me an impatient look, so I hesitantly grab the gun. It’s heavier than it looks, and I make sure to keep my finger off the trigger. “Ya ever shot one?” He asks, smirking at me.

“Once or twice.” I mumble, having flashbacks to the one time my father tried teaching me how to shoot bottles in the backyard. It wasn’t a fond memory at all…

“Ya can have it, but it’ll cost ya.” He winks.

“How much?” I ask, and he chuckles.

“Ion want ya money,” He drawls, and I immediately frown, thinking I know what he is implying.

“I’m not doing that either,” I scowl, going to hand the gun back to him. He doesn’t take it, chuckling some more.

“Whatcha want a gun for anyway?” He asks. I didn’t want to get into it, but maybe this would be a way around having to do something for him for it. I let out a sigh and looked at the weapon in my hand for a long moment.

“My father,” I start, not meeting his eye. “He’s uh, well he’s a piece of shit basically. I took the kids from him in the middle of the night and got this place, never told anyone where we were going. If he comes around… Well, I’m gonna need this.” I finally look up and meet his eye, exhaling deeply. He looks at me for a long moment, his face expressionless. It’s quiet and I am surprised he doesn’t make any rude or sarcastic comments. He shrugs, placing the case down on the old table.

“Keep it.” He tells me, and I raise my brows at him.

“Really?” I clarify, confused why he changed his mind.

“Ya need it more than I do. Got plenty round here.” He mutters, waving his arm up in no general direction. “I know all about piece of shit fathers.” He continues, giving me a solemn look. “My pops was. You was right, yer gonna need that. So take it, before I change my mind.” He drawls, heading over to their fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer, kicking it shut behind him. I don’t argue, despite being shocked and confused.

“Thank you, Merle.” I give him a sincere smile for the first time, and turn the gun over in my hands to ensure the safety is on.

“Takes 9MM. It’s loaded.” He informs me, plopping into the beaten up chair by the TV and opening his beer, taking a large gulp. I nod slowly and shift my weight, feeling awkward holding the gun but trying not to let him know.

“Okay,” I respond, turning to head out the door as he turns the TV on. “Thanks again.” I holler before I head out the door into the humid air. The sky has gotten very dark with storm clouds and the wind picked up, so I jog across the lawn back to my house and tuck the gun into the back of my shorts, hiding it under my shirt before I walk inside. I don’t need the kids seeing this.

“Anna! Look what we did!” Colton calls out from the hallway with a big grin on his face. I smile back at him and walk down the hall to their room, letting out a dramatic gasp when I see the box colored on with a bunch of random colors. “It’s our rocket!” He exclaims excitedly, rejoining his sister inside the big box.

“Wow! It looks so good guys!” I exclaim, grinning as they go back to their playing. I watch them for a moment before remembering the gun and walking into my own room, placing the gun on the top shelf in the closet. This will have to do until I have more furniture and somewhere safe to keep it.

The texts kept coming throughout the rest of the night.

6:05 - ware tf r my kids

6:43 - dont make me hunt u down girl

7:16 - uv always been a cunt this is just like u

8:11 - wat r u gonna do when u get nocked up by some prick u dont have money 4 all dem kids

The string of insults and threats lasted most of the night, the only reason I kept looking at them was to make sure that they hadn’t found us somehow, or had any ideas. I would need a head start if they did. I’m not sure if I would be able to shoot my brother, but I know I could shoot my dad. He deserved it. After all he did to me, all he put us through. Even my dead beat mother didn’t deserve him. He was half the reason she’s as bad as she is. Apparently, my mother hadn’t started using drugs until after I was born. My father had escalated when he had his first daughter, and his true colors began to shine through. My mom used in order to live with herself, the guilt, his abuse. She even made sure to get clean each time she learned she was pregnant, but she always relapsed. She was a strong woman - I had to give her that. If nothing else, she was strong. But still a horrible mother. She should have taken us with her when she left.

But now it was my responsibility. I had to do what she couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think about my parents, my horrible family - as I stood in the doorway, watching them sleep. I may not be able to change what happened to me, but I would do anything it took to prevent it from happening to Bailey and Colton. If it comes down to it, I will kill my own father to ensure he never lays another hand on them.

Watching them sleep peacefully, side by side in their own brand new bed with clean sheets and a safe roof over their head - that made it all worth it.

Jessie and Beau came over at nine with beers and I set up a fire in the front yard. I had found this old firepit someone was throwing away on the side of the road the other night and I took it of course. I was excited for some relaxing adult time before my shift tonight. I hated my job, but I made good money there so far.

“What time you work tonight?” Jessie asks as she pops open a bottle of beer and hands it to me with a grin on her face.

“Eleven to three. At least it’ll go by fast.” I respond, taking a gulp. The alcohol burns as it goes down my throat and I let out a sigh, leaning back into the stairs. I hadn’t gotten around to getting chairs for the yard yet - an unnecessary expense I couldn’t afford just yet. Jessie sat beside me, a lemonade in hand instead of beer, given that she was pregnant, and Beau sat on the hood of his truck, rolling a joint. I always enjoyed nights like this - quiet, relaxing, worry free. Jessie had been the best friend I’d ever had, I’m glad we’re still so close.

“That man ever come back?” She asks, referring to a customer from a few nights ago. He had gotten too drunk and handsy, trying to get me to give him my number. He even waited until the bar closed for me and the manager had to call the cops to get him to leave so I could go home. That was the latest reason I hated my job that I’d only had for a few weeks.

“No. Hopefully he never comes back, I don’t wanna have to use what Merle gave me earlier on him.” I mutter, glancing behind me to make sure the kids hadn’t woken up.

“The neighbor?” Beau asks. I nod.

“What did he give you? Are yous like, talking now?” Jessie asks, leaning on her knees and giving me a worried look.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I wanted to look into getting… a gun, for protection. From Dad.” I explain in a quieter tone. “I figured someone like him would know a place, and he actually ended up giving me a handgun.” I continue, watching Jessie’s disapproving look and wide eyes. “I’ll be safe. I really need it. If Dad finds out where we are…” I trail off, taking a large sip of my beer and letting a huff out.

“Why’d he just give you a gun for free?” Beau asks, looking up from where he was rolling the joint on the hood.

“I dunno. At first he said it was gonna cost me, but then when I mentioned it was because of Dad, he let me just have it. Said he knew all about asshole fathers.” I shrugged. “Either way, works for me.”

“Just don’t let him use that against you. Who knows what he might try to pull, he reminds me of Mack.” Jessie rolls her eyes when she mentions my older brother, grimacing. She hates me as much as I do. He had tried to get with her a million times and it made him resentful, yelling and cursing at her. Which then resulted in Beau beating the shit out of him - which was a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah, he’s a bit better than him though. From what I’ve seen, at least.” I shrug, taking another swig of my beer. “Dad’s been texting me most of the day, he texted me earlier too. The bullshit you’d expect - pretending to care I took the kids, threatening me.” I explain, handing my phone to Jessie to see the string of unanswered texts.

“I hate them,” She grumbles as she scrolls through the texts. “They won’t find you, don’t worry. They’re too stupid to figure it out.” I chuckle at her comment.

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” I giggle. Beau stands up and offers me the blunt, which I accept and take a long hit from. As I am doing so, I hear a man start laughing and sure enough, Merle and Daryl are standing at the bottom of their porch. I exhale the large puff of smoke and hand the blunt back to Beau, leaning on my knees and resisting the urge to cough.

“Damn girl, who knew ya could have a little fun!” Merle exclaims, walking across the lawn toward us. Daryl and I make eye contact for a short moment before he rolls his eyes and leans against the beat up railing, placing his crossbow on the porch stairs, seemingly waiting for his brother. I roll my eyes with a smirk at Merle’s comment. Ever since earlier, I’ve decided to cut him a little slack. If I was interpreting right, we had more in common than I thought - at least, regarding families.

“Yeah, sometimes.” I respond, offering my beer bottle to him, earning a surprised look from Jessie. I was trying to be nice to Merle to repay him for the gun, so he wouldn’t come collecting in another way. It was the least I could do for a free handgun and clip. Merle looks shocked for a short moment but smirks and takes the bottle from my hand, taking a large swig.

“Yous her family?” Merle asks, looking at Jessie. She hesitates for a moment before shaking her head.

“Friends.” She responds, readjusting her feet uncomfortably. I stand up and suddenly I’m aware of just how close Merle was to me. I am almost touching him as he leans against my railing, my bottle in his large hands, a smirk plastered across his face. He looks fairly attractive in the fire light and his seemingly clean-ish clothes. He’s wearing black cargo pants and a white T-shirt under a jacket, and I take notice of the knife holstered on his hip. “Going hunting?” I ask, taking a step away from him toward the fire and tossing another log in.

“Mhm,” He responds, taking another sip of my beer. “Wanna come with, sweetheart? Can show ya the ways.” He suggests flirtatiously.

“I actually know how to,” I smirk, stepping closer to him and grabbing the beer from his hand, taking a large sip while looking into his eyes. The alcohol and hit were starting to get to me - I was a bit of a lightweight nowadays, since I’ve lost weight and had less time to do this kind of stuff. Merle bites his bottom lip and holds the intense eye contact with me, taking the beer back when I hand it to him and I can feel his eyes on me as I retake my seat beside Jessie.

“Yer loss.” He shrugs, pretending to be indifferent.

“C’mon man!” Daryl shouts from their side of the lawn impatiently. I wish that he would come join us too - I wanna get to know him better.

“Ugh I’m comin! Get yer panties outta a bunch!” He shouts over his shoulder. Merle hands the beer back to me after one last gulp and heads off to rejoin Daryl, walking away into the dark woods.

“What was that all about?” Jessie demands when they are out of earsight. I shrug and set the beer down, not wanting to get anymore intoxicated, given that I still have work later.

“I dunno, gotta be nice. I kinda owe him.” I mumble, kicking at dirt. Truth be told, I found those brothers interesting. Mysterious and dangerous, but alluring. Yes, they were trouble, but I always ended up attracting trouble anyway.

“You better be careful.” Jessie warns me, and I nod.

The night went on peacefully and we all enjoyed talking over the fire and relaxing with the kids asleep. I left for work and Jessie stayed at my place while Beau went out with his friends after dropping me off. He was gonna pick me up after work too, since he was gonna be in the same general area.

My shift was going fine until about one, when I recognized a familiar face and my whole night went sour. The creepy man from the other night was back, and he had his eyes on me. He was with another man at a table instead of the bar, but he was very obviously watching me. I informed the manager on duty but it wasn’t the same man from the other night, so he didn’t know the extent of how creepy the man was. He only came up to the bar once, having his buddy order drinks while he watched me. I remained calm and didn’t even glance at him, handing the drinks to his friend and accepting the two dollar tip without a word.

It took about a half an hour to finish cleaning up after everyone was out of the bar and I was dreading heading outside. I had a feeling that the man would be waiting for me again, but the manager didn’t want me wasting hours and had to stay behind to finish up, so I had to go out alone. I hung up my apron at the door and sighed as I locked up behind myself, leaving the manager alone in the building to finish recounting the drawers. I had already stuffed my tip money into my purse and had my keys tucked between my fingers as I looked around cautiously for a sign of anyone. There were still people out, despite being a bit past three in the morning. Beau hadn’t answered my texts in the last half hour and Jessie was asleep, so I had to wait. Great. Across the street, I spotted a nice looking motorcycle across the street, but that was the only vehicle besides far down the road.

I started walking toward the street light by the corner to wait for Beau when I heard a male voice call out. “Hey! Bitch!” I grasped my keys tighter in my hand and turned my head, spotting the man and his buddy down the alleyway. They stood up from leaning on the wall and started heading my way, so I started walking faster, but then they started running.

“Help!” I hollered and started running across the street. The adrenaline kicked in in my body as fear took over and I ran as fast as I could down the opposite side of the street. They were close behind me and I tried to hop over a fence, but they caught up and threw me onto the ground before I could get all the way over. “Help! Please!” I screamed as loud as I could, trying to kick the men away from me. The main guy sat on top of my hip and shoved a hand over my mouth, smirking evilly down at me as his buddy started trying to lift me. I kicked and flailed as hard as I could but I couldn’t get away as they drug me across the ground into a back alley.

“Hey!” I heard a different male voice holler and then there was the sound of glass breaking. The main man let go of his hand over my mouth to look behind him and I took that opportunity to scream as loud as my lungs would let me, before the second guy punched me in the face. I swore I saw stars as my face throbbed, the two still pinning me, my head propped against the second guy’s chest where he held a knife to my throat.

“Get off her. Now.” A deep male voice demands. I can’t see with the main guy on top of me but I am grateful for whoever it is coming to my rescue. The men only chuckle evilly but then something happens and the second guy jumps away from me quickly, making me slam my head down on the concrete. I groan and my vision goes blurry with tears as the stinging in my head intensifies. “Help…” I mutter as I fight to stay conscious, my head throbbing. The cold, rocky concrete is painful against my cheek, but not as bad as the weight of the man or the stinging in my head.

I can finally see around the main guy and spot a man a few yards away, aiming something in our direction. It’s hard to see with my blurred vision and the darkness, but it looks like a weird sideways weapon. “Ay, man. Chill out. We was just having some fun, that’s all.” The second guy insists, holding his hands up a little. I try to wiggle away but the man on top of me grabs onto my throat and holds a knife toward me.

“Think I won’t? Get the hell outta here or I’ll kill her right here, right now.” The man growls. I stare at the sharp tip of the knife in my face, fearing this is where my life will end. What will happen to Bailey and Colton without me?

The next moment is a huge blur. One second, there is a knife in my face, and the next, the man falls off of me, screaming in pain on the ground beside me. I jump up off the ground as fast as I can and stumble away from them, running blindly in the direction of where I had seen the shadowy figure of the other man. I stumble and trip in the combination of darkness and the pain throughout my body, reaching out to the brick wall to catch myself from falling but someone else catches me and I start flailing and trying to get away, until I look up.

It’s Merle. He hoists me up from where I was half fallen on the ground onto my feet and puts a hand around my waist to keep me up against him. His face is serious and it’s the first time he hasn’t cracked any jokes to me. I’ve never been more relieved to see someone in my life. I reach up and hold onto his neck, trying to keep my balance. The man continues screaming and cursing and I look back, spotting Daryl holding up a crossbow. “Oh shit! Fuck!” The second man screams, running away and leaving his friend behind with an arrow in his ass. Daryl walks over to him and takes his knife, pressing a foot on the man’s back and yanking the arrow out from his asscheek. I turn and hide my face in Merle’s shirt, disgusted and terrified. The screaming continues and then I hear a second scream and a trash can get knocked over. When I look back again, the other man is laying on the ground toward the back of the alley, an arrow in his leg.

Daryl stalks over to him and rips the arrow from his leg as well, kicking the man in the face before heading back toward the first man. “Ya ever, ever - come back here again… I’ll kill ya.” Daryl growls at the main guy who had been stalking me. Daryl rejoins us and puts a hand on my back hesitantly, looking down at me. I’d never been this close to either of the brothers and yet, somehow, I felt safer now.

“T-thank you.” I mumble into Merle’s chest, holding onto him tight, too afraid to let go. Tears stained into his shirt but I couldn’t bring myself to care - I was shaking and biting back crying.

“C’mon,” Merle mumbles, grasping onto my tight and trying to turn me around. I held onto him tight and let them lead me away, not paying attention. I saw Daryl grab my purse and keys in the corner of my eye and noticed Merle was leading me to a motorcycle. “You take her back, little brother. I’ll meet ya there after I finish up here.” Merle lets go of me and I feel like I’m going to fall over from the pounding in my head, but Daryl grabs onto me before I can fall completely over.

“Damn,” Daryl mutters, grabbing me tight and I notice that we are face to face. He’s got me by my waist and my hands grasp onto his shirt collar. “Sorry…” I mumble, blinking away fresh tears. He doesn’t respond but he helps me onto the back of the motorcycle. “Hold onto this.” He takes my hand and places it on these handlebar things, and I do. I do my best to stay up straight while he attaches my purse and his crossbow onto the back of the motorcycle and then sits in front of me. I whip my head toward the alley when I hear more screaming, but Daryl starts the engine and revs the bike. “Hold onto me. Tight.” Daryl hollers over his shoulder, and I do so without hesitation. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and lean my head against his shoulder, terrified to fall off. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before - if I had been in a normal state of mind, I would have objected. But at this point, I wanted to get home as fast as possible.

The motorcycle is fast and the wind blows past us. I keep my eyes closed and focus on holding onto Daryl, feeling lightheaded and scared of falling off. It’s a short ride and he has to help me off of the bike. Holding onto his rough hand made me feel anxious and insecure but I had to in order to keep upright. He led me inside his house, and I did not object, as I did not want the kids to see me or for me to wake them up. He leads me over to a beaten up couch and I hesitantly sit down, looking around cautiously. I didn’t know if anyone else was here, but it seemed we were alone. I held onto my own arms tightly and tried to focus on my breathing. “I should uh, check ya out.” Daryl mumbles, crouching down in front of me. He waits for me to respond in some way, so I nod and uncross my arms. He runs a hand up my bare leg and I force myself not to flinch. I’m not afraid of Daryl, but tonight’s events have me shaken up. “Stand up,” He says, offering me his hand to help me get up. He lifts up my shirt a little and I flinch when he touches my back. “Yer pretty scratched up.” He comments, removing his hand from my back. “Should put somethin on that, so it don’t get infected.” He stands up when I sit back down and walks away, presumably to grab something. I hold onto my head and wince in pain where there is a large bump already forming.

Daryl returns with a few items in hand. He gives me a package of peas and shrugs, not meeting my eye. “Don’t have ice packs.” He mumbles, kneeling in front of me. “Turn around.” He tells me, and I move so that he can get to my back, placing the ice on my head. He starts applying something cold to my back and I sit as still as I can, wincing at the pain from where I was drug across the concrete. “Yer shirt’s all torn.” He notes when he pulls it back down. “Lemme see yer head.” I remove the ice and he gently runs his fingers through my hair, eventually finding the lump and I jump in pain, tearing up. “Sorry,” He mutters. “How do you feel? Ya might have a concussion.” He says, and I groan.

“I can’t afford to have a concussion.” I mumble and lean back into the sofa, holding the ice against my head once more. Daryl places a gentle hand on my cheek, below my eye, where I was punched. I look into his eyes as he gently rubs his rough thumb over what is surely a black eye. “M’sorry this happened to ya.” He mutters, looking away.

“Thank you for saving me.” I respond quietly.

“Wish I’d been there sooner.” He grumbles, standing up and removing his vest, tossing it onto the seat. He is wearing a black button down shirt and black jeans, his hair is matted against his forehead - but he looks very attractive. I look down at my bare knees that are now scratched up and feel my eyes burning again.

“What were you doing there, anyway?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Merle wanted a drink. Said ya worked there, wanted to bother ya I’m sure.” I let out a small chuckle and he continues. “We were leavin to head back, but we heard ya yellin.” I nod and look down again, trying not to think about it. I should be used to this sort of thing by now, given what I went through as a child.

Before either of us can say anything more, the door opens and Merle steps in, wiping his hands off on a rag. I notice the faint red marks on his knuckles and wonder what he had been doing, but try not to think of that either. Whatever he did, I didn’t care. Those men deserved it.

“She good?” Merle asks his brother, looking over at me huddled on their sofa. Daryl nods and explains my injuries briefly to Merle, who huffs. “Lucky we were there, sugar.” He comments. I don’t respond, hugging myself and shivering a little. Daryl notices but Merle heads to the bathroom, probably to clean up. Daryl walks away but returns shortly with a shirt and sweatpants. “Here. Ya can change in my room.” He mutters, handing the clothes to me. I am shocked but I accept and stand up slowly, following him back to his room. He shuts the door behind himself and I stand there for a moment, surprised to be in his room. He’s a lot sweeter than he likes to come off, it seems. It’s a very standard room. Pretty messy, no decorations, basic sheets on the bed, old paint. He clearly doesn’t care much for the room, it seems like he probably only uses it to sleep. It’s not “homey.” I remove my now ruined shirt and skirt and throw the large T-shirt on and tie the sweatpants on tight so they will fit me. The shirt is baggy and I notice it smells like Daryl. I hadn’t known what he smelled like before today but now I recognize it. It kinda smells like the outdoors, like firewood or something. It’s a nice scent, though, and I find it comforting.

I open the door with my old clothes in hand and spot Daryl waiting down the hall, leant up against the wall. Merle comes out of the bathroom at the same time and we make awkward eye contact. “Look like a Darylina.” He comments with a chuckle, walking past me toward the kitchen. Daryl looks at me for a long moment, until I meet his eye, and then he drops his gaze to the floor. I slowly approach him and give him a forced, appreciative smile. “Thank you.” I tell him gratefully. He has been so kind to me tonight. Before today, I hadn’t barely spoken to him before and he was always standoffish and seemed to avoid talking to me. It was a weird change, but welcomed. If only the circumstances it occurred under were different…

“Want me to throw em away?” He asks, referring to my clothes in hand. I shrug and hand them to him. He tosses them into a trash can and Merle walks over to the chair by the TV, popping open and beer and kicking his feet up. He seemed so nonchalant about the whole situation, it was weird. “Oh shit,” I mutter, realizing Beau is probably worried, waiting for me. “Do you have my phone?” I ask Daryl.

“That’s what yer worried bout?” Merle speaks up.

“No, I had been waiting for my ride. He’s probably worried.” I explain, looking to Daryl, hoping he had grabbed it. Silently, he pulls my phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “Thank you.” I unlock it and find a million missed calls from both Beau and Jessie. He must have woken her up when I never showed up. “Shit.” I grumble. I hated worrying them, after all they do for me.

“Yer boyfriend?” Merle asks, gulping down some of his beer.

“No, my friend’s boyfriend.” I respond as I text both of them in a group message that I was okay and that I would explain.

“Why would yer friend’s man be pickin ya up at three in the mornin?” Merle asks with a wink.

“Ew, no. I’m not like that. He’s a good friend, she’s watching the kids for me at my house right now. I gotta go let them know I’m okay…” I trail off, then remember I’m in Daryl’s clothes. “Uh, I can go change and bring these back-” I start, but he shakes his head.

“Keep em.” He insists, and I feel bad, but don’t fight back. “Ya might have a concussion, so ya should have someone check up on ya when ya sleep tonight, and get it checked.” He explains.

“Doctor Daryl.” Merle jokes sarcastically, and his brother shoots him an evil eye.

“Thank you guys for helping me. I don’t know how I can repay you…” I trail off, refusing to think about the course of the night again.

“Don’t worry bout it, darlin.” Merle smirks.

“Couldn’t just leave ya there.” Daryl mutters awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

“Well, still. Thank you.” I repeat before heading toward the door. Daryl follows behind me, handing me my purse and keys, and I wave before walking out and heading back to my house slowly, careful not to trip. I look back and notice he is watching me and I feel my cheeks heat up, fumbling to get my key out and open my door. I notice Beau’s truck is here and when I open the door, the two of them are sitting on the sofa, waiting for me.

Jessie and Beau were furious when I told them what happened and I ended up crying on her shoulder, letting the emotions from the night settle in. Beau threatened to go back out looking for them but I told him what I suspected Merle did and he didn’t. Jessie helped me get cleaned up and settled into bed. She slept next to me in my bed that night and woke me up every two hours, in case I had a concussion. Beau slept on the couch and I had never felt more appreciative for anyone more than I did for them and Daryl in that very moment...

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[razrbladekiss]

TYRANTS | Chapter Eight - Angels Or Devils

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, tig, usual SOA shit

MASTERLIST

Irked, Chibs stuffed his cellphone into the pocket of his cut with a prolonged fuck to accompany the squelch of glass against leather.

He couldn’t get a firm grip on anything this morning.

Jax was at large, Isla and Tig had rolled onto the lot together looking much, much too comfortable, and Gemma was chewing every goddamn soul’s ear off about her son.

To say that he wanted the day to be over—before it had even commenced—was the understatement of the fucking year.

“Where the hell is he?” Clay barked from the front of the garage, turning to eye Isla directly. “You sure you haven’t seen him?”

“If I knew where he was, I would’ve told you by now.” Her retort was just as curt, prompting Tig to tense in his spot beside her.

He twined his hand around her bicep in order to calm her, but it was no use.

“Well somebody must know where he is—“

“You tried callin’ Tara?” Chibs cut the president off, hoping he’d be able to take some of the heat off of his daughter—the one that seemed to get all of Clay’s Jax-fueled frustrations launched atop her these days.

He just glared at the Scot.

“I can swing by his place? Make sure he ain’t there?” Tig offered.

“He isn’t. Wendy would’ve said.”

“Alright,” the sergeant smacked his lips together. “We’re gonna have to go without him, then.”

Isla hummed, agreeing with Tig.

That forced a vexed snarl from Clay, and she wanted to throttle him for being so fucking haughty today.

“What? He has a point. If we wait around for him, then we’re gonna be late and the other Sons will get to the cemetery before us. Jax knows where we’re going, and what time this fucking funeral starts, so just trust that he’ll be there!”

Her outburst was completely uncharacteristic. It was brash and loud, and Clay realized that her emotions were running a hell of a lot higher today than what they usually would have, so he allowed it to pass.

He cut her some slack because that was what she needed. Isla needed to blow off some steam, to raise her voice and yell out her frustrations because she would’ve let them bubble over, otherwise.

Plus, unbeknownst to him, she had started to take the Mirtazapine that had been prescribed to her, and she still didn’t know how to feel about it.

It was odd. Everything about today, was just fucking odd.

“Kids right.” The rasped acknowledgment came from Happy this time, nodding in her direction with that signature stoic expression he was known to host. “Jax wouldn’t miss this.”

“Alright.” Clay waved a hand tersely before gesturing to the sea of Harley-Davidsons parked side-by-side. “You heard ‘em. Let’s go.”

Tig grabbed at her hand as she went to slip away—exactly like she did to him last night—and pulled her toward him.

The moment didn’t go unnoticed by Clay and her father as they mounted their bikes, sharing the same look that’d been meshed with confusion and concern.

“You good now?”

She nodded, using her pointer finger to twist the crucifix that was sat against her neck, feeling a foreign heat prickle against her cheeks because all eyes were on them.

After turning up together today, people had their suspicions, too.

And those suspicions were mostly held by Chibs and the pres, but it was partly unrest because they both knew what Tig had done—though, Chibs wasn’t officially privy to Clay pulling the strings.

He would be, though. In time, he would find out for himself.

“Gemma and Wendy are heading out in the SUV. Are you going too?” He squinted underneath the sun, pulling his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt.

“I am.” Isla smiled, squeezing Tig’s hand. “Ride safe.”

She stood straight—not having to shift onto her toes because her heels provided some more height—and pressed a dulcet kiss to his cheek.

“Please don’t get into another fight today.” She expressed sadly, lightly ghosting her fingertips over the bruise sitting uncomfortably against his cheekbone. “I don’t think I have it in me to take care of you again.”

“I can’t make any promises.” Her lips curled upward, expressing some sort of smile—though, what with the forthcoming event, she didn’t feel too good about it.

But she remained silent, after that.

Isla got into the car without saying a single word.

The lull was of course grim, but stillness was what the three women needed. It was good for them to sit in complete silence—the only sound coming from the din of the car engine and outside of the vehicle—because it allowed them space to think.

She needed to collect her thoughts this morning, especially after what she had learned last night. Isla didn’t want to think that Jax would have flipped on Tig like that, but it was Jax.

He was unpredictable.

Never once had she felt a sense of outrage that she wasn’t sure how to quell whenever thinking of her best friend, but she was beginning to understand just why Clay was so pissed at his rashness lately.

Even if he was acting on instinct—using his conscience to rule his decisions—Jax was still acting recklessly. His desire to do the morally sound thing outweighed the need that his club had for him to carry out the act that would result in the greater good.

And he was right to stop Tig from pulling the trigger on that girl, but Isla was wary of how he had decided to handle it.

“You didn’t call me last night.” Gemma whispered as the car pulled up to the cemetery gates. “You said that you’d call me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Genuinely, she told her. “When I got in I just went straight to bed, but then Tig turned up at my place and he needed my help, and then—“

“You let him stay.” She finished Isla’s sentence with a hum, providing her with an unusually somber glance. “If there’s anything going on between the two of you, then it’s okay—“

“There isn’t.” Isla shot her down, impatiently waiting for the all-clear to leave the vehicle. “He got hurt last night, needed patching up and didn’t wanna go to the clubhouse in case he saw Jax again, and so he came to me. And, because I’m nice, I let him stay the night.”

“Why wouldn’t he wanna see Jax?”

Wendy’s qualm came unexpectedly. She hadn’t thought that the blonde was listening to the little back and forth.

“Because he was the reason that Tig needed his face fixed.” She spat bitterly when Wendy just blinked at her, hoping to God that they’d be able to get outside soon.

Her irritation with the VP was palpable, and Gemma couldn’t help wondering whether Jax’s stunt had a part to play in why she was so galled when his name was brought up before they left the garage.

Regardless, Isla was getting along with it today. For the sake of Opie and his kids, she was putting her hostility aside and paying her respects to Donna the way that she had always been taught to.

“Woah, what a turn out.” Her admiration for the Sons grew with every single member—every Nomad—that she saw riding along the winding road.

Isla moved between Chibs and Tig, holding tightly onto her father’s hand as they walked toward Donna’s casket.

“Still no Jax.” Almost relieved, Tig noted. “Wonder if he’s gonna ride over with Tacoma.”

“Doubt it.” The Scot added. “He woulda followed us. Dunno where the fuck he’s gotten to.”

“He’ll be here.” She promised hopefully, breaking away from the two men—shaking Chibs off when he held on a little bit tighter, not wanting to let her go.

The black dress she’d thrown on was hardly funeral attire, but the tights hugging her legs underneath the cotton made it a bit better.

Tig watched her pad across the grass and toward Opie, trying to sniff back his own tears at the sight of her taking a long-stemmed blue flower, kissing the petals, and placing it atop the coffin.

It was horrible.

“I’m sorry, Ope.” Isla pressed a kiss to her fingers and ghosted it over the wood, feeling her eyes dampen. “Anything you need—anything at all that you can think of for yourself or your mom or the kids—I’m here. Always.”

He couldn’t quite find the words to thank her, but she knew that he was grateful. Opie didn’t have to say anything for Isla to recognize his appreciation for her, for his family, and for everybody that turned out today.

Jax wasn’t there, though. Not yet.

And, perhaps, Isla being at his side during a time of such harrowing distress was her way of trying to comfort him because his best friend was nowhere to be seen. But she would’ve done it for anybody.

She just wished that it wasn’t Opie.

“I love you…So much.” She whispered through a smile when more people began to filter in, backing away to sit beside Gemma and in front of Tig.

The cool metal of his rings were against her shoulder in an instant, anchoring her back to earth after floating much, much too high above the ground.

She was in a distorted haze, so to speak. Isla’s head wasn’t particularly in the right place today, and it could’ve been down to a multitude of things—but she wanted to simply pin it on her grief.

Chibs saw the way she gnawed into her bottom lip, the way she continually pulled Diane’s crucifix across the golden chain as means of comfort—or, maybe, it was just out of remorse.

He noticed that his daughter—his little girl—peered at Opie’s children sitting beside their grandmother as they said goodbye to the woman that brought them into the world.

He wondered if they understood the weight of it all. They were so young, so impressionable, so innocent, and he saw a lot of Isla in those two kids.

The dull throb of Isla’s heart almost slowed to a halt when the funeral commenced, and Jax was still completely out of sight. Juice held his cut while he stood beside Tara, feeling his chest tighten.

It was difficult to understand just why Jackson Teller didn’t show for such an important moment in Opie’s life.

“I can’t believe him.” Tig hissed out in a whisper, completely ruffled. Isla looked up at the man behind her, holding a dainty hand on top of his. “I can’t fucking believe him.”

He didn’t know what to say. Clay didn’t, either. As he stood beside his Sgt. At Arms and peered down at the disheveled blonde, Clay Morrow struggled to find the words to elucidate his disdain for the lack of action from his step-son.

Donna was family. Opie was family. Family was meant to be there for one another, not purposely ignoring such a pivotal event.

“He’ll be here.” Isla repeated her promise, melting into her space as Tig leant over to kiss the top of her head.

Her eyes glazed over instantaneously, coercing her to turn away before she broke down.

But she leaned backward into his embrace, and watched the ceremony commence.

And it only took a handful of moments for her mood to perk up—as much as it could have under the circumstances—but she was conceivably happier at the sight before her.

“I told you.” She mumbled. She refused to let up her grip on Tig, though, holding onto him firmer now.

It was comfortable. He was comfortable.

“What the fuck…”

Jax looked like hell. Still wearing last night’s clothes—still bloodied and bruised from his scuffle—he sauntered over the grass and made a beeline for Tara.

Isla’s throat hitched.

“Did you do that to him?” She mumbled in reference to the slit in his lip, craning her neck to eye the blue-eyed man.

“Yeah, probably.”

She just shook her head with a tiny smirk, shifting her focus back to the asshole that was taking his sweet fucking time.

It didn’t upset her as much as she thought that it would’ve, watching him go back to her like that. If anything, she was glad that they had managed to reconcile because she made him happy.

But, for a reason unbeknownst to herself, she felt bad for Wendy.

To watch the father of her newborn take his cut from a woman that’d only been back in his life for five minutes, to hold and kiss her in front of everyone, was something she shouldn’t have had to witness today.

They weren’t together, but she knew how that was bound to hurt—to sting and incapacitate her because it was all still so fucking raw.

Poor Wendy.

He took one of the flowers away from the sparse pile, holding it to his lips, and placed it atop Donna’s casket.

Jax glared over his shoulder, shooting the two guilt-ridden men a look that read fury. He made sure that Isla wasn’t looking at him when he did that, though.

He refused to look at her.

And he didn’t stay, either. He paid his respects for all of thirty seconds before stalking away, and leaving the most egregious of tastes on the tip of each tongue.

The funeral flew by, after that.

Before Isla knew it, she was dismounting Tig’s bike outside of T M—again—and stumbling over her heels when she couldn’t quite find her footing. She’d been in a world of her own for the last fifteen minutes.

“You want me to get you a beer?” She asked, handing him her helmet. “Or did you want some of that wine you like?”

He snorted at her taunt, taking it from her. “Beer—but none of that shit Bobby drinks.”

Isla chuckled, backing away from the bike and Tig.

“You want a drink, too?” She asked Clay when he strode over, hands in his pockets.

He nodded, waiting for her to slip out of sight before turning his attention to his Sergeant.

“What’s going on with you two?” Clay asked him accusingly, snatching Tig’s attention from the blonde who was ambling into the clubhouse.

He waved the pres off, lighting a cigarette. “Nothing, man. She’s just been helpin’ me out—“

“That’s what you’re calling it now, huh?”

“That’s what it is.” Tig shrugged, exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. “Y’know what she’s like. She sees someone that needs patchin’ up, and she does it. That’s all.”

Unconvinced, Clay leaned closer to him—striving for the little moment to go unnoticed by those that shrouded the lot. Jax and Tara, for one.

“That’s Chibs’s kid. You be careful.”

“Ain’t nothing to be careful about, brother.” Tig ground his lips together, squinting upward as he rested against his bike. “We’re just friends.”

“You stayed the night with her.”

“Yeah—“

“Twice.”

“Clay—“

“In the same fucking bed!” He snapped, running a hand over his face.

His desire to protect the women in his life—to assert the dominance he had, or his authority—was remarkably overbearing at the best of times.

Isla and Gemma didn’t particularly need to be coddled the way that they’d always been at the hands of Clay Morrow and his club, but they were.

And the thought of his sleaziest, loathsome, savage brother getting closer and closer to that woman churned his stomach. Because he knew what Tig was capable of—what he did—and would be damned if anything were to happen to her at the hands of Tig fucking Trager.

Chibs would kill him, too.

“Nothing happened, nothing’s currently happening, and nothing will happen.” He guaranteed. “Clay, I swear.”

“Alright.” Dubious, the older man responded. “But, if there is, then you be careful. Jax is onto us, and it’s only a matter of time before Isla puts two and two together—‘cuz she ain’t stupid.”

Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.

How about you shut the fuck up?

“I know she isn’t.” Almost irked that Clay would assume he thought that, he retorted. “But she’s got shit going on too, man, I don’t think she’s gonna be focusing on this right now so you don’t gotta worry.”

“Alright.” Clay repeated himself.

He didn’t think that his right-hand was telling him the truth, but he couldn’t exactly do anything about that until an issue arose.

What he did know, though, was that Tig Trager would’ve had some serious hell to pay if he had ignited something with Isla right now.

Or ever, really.

“Keep Jax away from her.” He told Clay, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “She’s pissed at him for what he did to me last night.”

“What’d he do?”

Tig pointed at the cuts on his cheek, grimacing. “She’s fucked off, and if they talk she’s probably gonna throw something at him.”

“Eh. Let her.” Clay waved him off, hastily shutting himself up when he heeded her heels clicking across the gravel toward them. “He needs to be humbled sometimes.”

The rivalry between the two had only intensified since Abel was born and Jax’s priorities shifted from the club.

His family came first. His biological family came first.

And maybe Clay didn’t understand the implications and responsibilities that came along with fatherhood because he’d never had that bestowed upon him, but Jax did.

He knew that he had to provide for his kid, for the one being that was solely dependent on him, and he would never compromise or jeopardize that.

Things weren’t going to be made easy for the man, however.

“Budweiser for you.” Isla smiled, handing a bottle to Tig. She passed one to Clay, holding onto it a little firmer as she offered it to him. “And one for you—but you need to take this, and go see your wife.”

“Why?” Hesitantly, he accepted the alcohol.

Isla shrugged. “She just wants to see you. Seems important.”

“Shit.” Clay hissed, taking a long swig before striding away.

She watched him stamp toward the clubhouse, heeding the change in his mood, and wondered why Gemma was so determined to talk to him at that specific moment.

It could’ve been anything with that woman, really. It could’ve been something so minor, completely insignificant, that Gemma had to get off her chest.

Or it could’ve been something along the lines of elucidating the bone-crushing lament that she held for both her husband and Tig.

Whatever it was, however, Clay wasn’t excited to face her.

“What’d he chew your ear off about?” Isla asked, struggling to open her beer. She sighed, suddenly remembering why she loved her screw-top bottles of wine so much.

“Pass it to me.” Tig took it from her, using his own bottle cap to pop hers off. He chuckled at her grimace, handing it back.

“Thanks.” She groaned, lifting it upward. “So…What did Clay want?”

Budweiser blanketed Tig’s tongue and lips as he pulled the drink away from his mouth, using the back of his hand to rub at the excess.

Quickly, he wondered whether lying to Isla—fabricating the truth and downplaying his superior’s concern—was in his best interest.

But she was perceptive. There was no doubt that she’d realize he was lying to her.

“He thinks that something is going on between us.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a pull.

“What?” A little nervous—on edge, perhaps—Tig asked her. “Did you already know that he felt that way?”

“No.” Instantly, she retorted. “I didn’t know about Clay, but Gemma feels the same. D’ya think they’ve talked?”

“Oh, definitely.” With a small glower, he told her.

They absolutely talked about the two, and that was what worried Tig.

There was nothing wrong with them colluding against the pair, as a rule. He wasn’t offended at the thought, he felt quite honored actually.

But it was the connotation that came alongside those conspiracies. The idea that Tig was only so friendly—so supportive and loving—toward Isla because he wanted one thing from her.

And, really, Tig hadn’t pondered that thought before. Well, not before last night, anyway.

For the first time—possibly ever—sex wasn’t on Tig’s agenda with Isla. Enticing her, breaking her heart, and sending her on her way was not something he wanted.

But Tig was renowned for that, wasn’t he? He was known for being a hapless bachelor. A man whose priorities were neither here nor there.

Everyone just expected that. They saw him with her, and came to that one conclusion.

Maybe Isla expected it a little bit, too. Because she’d known him long enough to understand the kind of man that he was—or had the propensity to be—and she could hardly lie and say that this version of Tig didn’t confuse her.

He’d always been the same with her, though. Perhaps that’d been the difference between every woman that entered and left his life, and Isla Telford.

He wasn’t interested in her. Like that.

“Does that bother you?” With an almost undetectable twinge of hurt, Isla asked.

As if it was a basic instinct, Tig shook his head. “Nah. They talk shit all the time. Stuff like that don’t bother me.”

She nodded, refusing to add anything else. Isla sipped her beer, hoping that the ground would open up and swallow her fucking whole.

There wasn’t a single word in the English language that’d ascribe her feeling at that precise time, but ashamed was possibly the closest she could’ve gotten.

And, still, that was a little bit further off the mark than what she would’ve liked. Because she wasn’t entirely ashamed for reacting the way that she had, more so the way that she fucking felt.

Isla’s heart took a blow when Tig told her that.

For why, though? She wasn’t sure.

It might’ve been the nonchalant expression. The complete colorless response that stirred a foreign emotion within her—striking hard against her chest.

Or, it might’ve been what he had said. It was such a casual proclamation. Something that didn’t mean anything, but everything simultaneously.

She didn’t feel anything for Tig. She didn’t particularly want to feel anything for him, either, but that hurt. A lot.

“Same, to be honest.” She lied, forcing her lips upward in a smile. “Gemma is always on my case about this sorta thing. But I just let it go over my head.”

“Always?”

“Yup. Always.” Isla mentioned around the protruding lump in her throat. “If she’s not talking about me and you—like there is a me and you—she’s talking about me and Jax. And if it isn’t that, she’s bitching about Wendy, or Tara, or just anything she can think of.”

Like there is a me and you.

Tig sniffed a little, nodding. He didn’t want Isla to think that bothered him, but it did. A bit, anyway.

“She’s so overbearing, sometimes.” Genuinely slumped, she stated. Isla leaned against the railing beside Tig’s bike, finally looking at him. “Don’t tell her I said that?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled, taking another swig. “I’d never purposely get you into shit with your mother—“

“She’s not my mother.” Her eyes rolled. “She acts like it, and I love her like one, but she is not my mother.”

Tig knew. He knew all too well just how Isla felt about that, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he said that to her, today.

Gemma was the best woman she knew and the one that, strangely, brought her all of the comfort and prosperity that she’d craved.

But she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t close to being Diane, and maybe the comparison between the pair hurt a little. Because Gemma Teller-Morrow was nothing like Diane Telford—and the sooner everybody knew that, the sooner Isla could rest.

“I feel bad talking shit about her. All she’s done is help me.”

“And parent you.” He reminded her, tipping his bottle upward. “She parents all of us, but what I mean is she treats you like a kid sometimes. Jax, too.”

“Yeah. I know.” Peeved, she conceded. “But, what can I do? if I wanna keep her around—keep having her so close to me—then, I guess I’ve gotta make a few sacrifices. And, I mean, it’s not all bad.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. I’m glad that she’s the woman that took a shine to me. If Luann ended up being the one…”

Tig smirked, sizing her up. “You’d probably be doing porn right now.”

“Exactly.” Without shame—not even feeling slightly bashful at the glance she was receiving—she said. “I don’t think I’d hate doing porn, but I don’t think SAMCRO would be thrilled.”

“Absolutely not. Chibs would kill you, for one.”

“And Gemma.”

“Clay, too.” Tig added, withering at the thought.

“What about you?” A little too bold, she asked.

Though their relationship was of the lighthearted nature, Isla wasn’t certain that the habitual riposte was a thing as of late. His response would probably jar her, she thought.

“I wouldn’t hate it.”

She halted, blushing at his words. Her ears prickled with heat, too.

“It’d be hot.” He shrugged, putting his empty bottle against the ground. “I’m sure Juice would love it, too—“

“Oh, get fucked.” She snorted a laugh, throwing the red cap at his chest as he got to his feet. It bounced off the fabric of his shirt, coercing a chuckle from Tig.

“It was only one time.” He taunted, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “That’s still one more time than most chicks ‘round here.”

“He wasn’t awful.” Isla shrugged. “He knew what he was doing, and I had fun. But, like, he hasn’t got any hair…”

“Hair?” Tig began to gesture downward, chuckling when she grabbed his hands to stop him.

“I don’t mean that. I mean hair on his head, Tig.” She calmed her laughter, letting go of him. “I like to tug on it, I guess.”

It felt somewhat illegal, obtaining this information from her.

He already knew that she was a sex fiend, that she liked it rough, and now that she had some kind of hair-pulling kink.

Tig’s chest tightened. So did his pants.

“Duly noted.” Like usual, he quipped. Tig motioned for Isla to head inside with him when he heeded things heating up between Jax and Tara.

She, as always, made a mental note to grill her friend later. Or, maybe, her friends. Because she and Tara were on that level, now, and she felt that things could’ve sailed smoothly between herself and the doctor.

Isla just hoped that she’d open up to her.

“Are you gonna talk to him?” He asked, reading her fucking mind. “I know that you two talk a lot.”

“Probably.” Her shrug was insouciant. “But I’ll leave it a while, I think. Leave the dust to settle over before I approach either one of them.”

Tig’s heart began to thrash. It battered viciously within the constraints of his chest, thumping at an unsteady rhythm the more Isla babbled on as they neared the clubhouse.

It was maiming him, having to keep this to himself.

He knew that concealing it—the weight of it all—was for the best. It’d guarantee peace and conformity within the club and Isla’s life, but it was also a crippling guilt that not even Tig was sure he’d be able to hold forever.

Clay was heartless, though. The nefarious leader hadn’t a single problem with lying through his fucking teeth, and Tig was more than aware that Clay would continue the charade if and when he decided that he could no longer.

He supposed he could thank him for that.

But, then again, he was also the reason that Tig Trager had found himself tangled within yet another web of lethal falsehoods. Thanking Clay was the very last thing that he wanted to do.

“Oh, shit.” Isla stated through partially gritted teeth. She gestured to her father and Happy’s scorned glares. “Why do I keep getting this fucking look from everyone?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” He snorted another laugh, taking her hand and walking her further into the room after she stopped completely dead.

Really, Donna’s wake was as vibrant as it could’ve been and nobody—aside from Isla’s old man and the Tacoma Nomad—had their sights set on the Sergeant and Chibs’s daughter.

The atmosphere was strangely spirited, hearty and animated as everybody came together to celebrate the life of Opie’s wife…The way that they always had.

But Isla was still on tenterhooks. She loathed the thought of her dad disapproving of her, today, but she didn’t desire the castigation that would’ve come hand in hand with her need to talk to him.

“Tequila?”

“I’ll get back to you on that one.” She smiled at Tig, making a beeline for the bar when she saw Kip. He followed her.

“You’re turning down free alcohol?”

Isla scoffed. “It might be free, but the effects of it would cost me my fucking reputation here.”

Tig’s eyebrows raised. “How so? You don’t not drink, Isla.”

“I know.” Her lips pursed, watching Kip pop the caps off of six beers. “But I never drink tequila. It makes me…uh…it makes me feel a little hot—“

“Tequila turns you on, is what you’re saying.”

“Well, yeah.” A crimson blush bled over her cheeks, her nose, and even across her forehead as her entire face burned red. “It’s no big deal. Just something I discovered after getting black-out drunk when I’d barely turned twenty-one.”

If Tig wasn’t feeling aroused before, then he definitely was at her admission. He had to think of anything to throw his brain off of that mental image.

“I don’t tend to drink the strong stuff.”

“Unless it’s whiskey.”

She pointed with a smile, nodding her head. “That’s right—“

“Hey, what did you want?” Kip interrupted sheepishly, gesturing to the half-empty bottle she had between her fingertips. “Another Bud?”

“Yes, please.” Again, she smiled.

“Same for you?”

Tig nodded.

“Kip,” she began, “and you take something, too. You’ve dealt with these assholes for long enough, now. Take a break. I’ll man the bar if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that—Gemma’ll kill me—“

“With all due respect, fuck Gemma.” She heard Tig chuckle beside her, shrugging when the prospect glanced at the pair nervously. “She won’t say anything if I tell her that I’m the one that told you to take ten minutes away from the bar.”

“Yeah.” He backed her up, grinning. “She never gets mad at Isla.”

It was completely uncharacteristic of him. But she brought something out from the very chasms of Tig Trager’s cold, black heart, and he lauded that.

Not many people had managed to scrape beneath the surface that way, not even Colleen.

God.

Tig shook himself out of the daze he’d slipped into, watching Isla and Kip trade places as she stepped behind the bar, and he made a beeline for a stool.

He’d been standing for a while, now.

“Are you gonna join me behind here?” She asked, drawing Tig’s attention back to her. Isla held up another bottle for him, twinkling underneath the yellowed light above the liquor shelves.

She looked, almost, angelic.

“Sack—“ Tig grabbed at his arm when he tried to leave his seat, feeling the prospect go rigid under his grip.

Isla’s eyebrows bunched together.

“Take two beers for Hap and Chibs.” He released the grey shirt, grinning as he saw the man sweat—clearly anticipating something more than just doing a simple favor.

“Oh, sure.” Kip breathed a sigh of relief, taking the two bottles that Isla had slid toward him. “That all?”

“Yep.” She added, gesturing for him to get on his way and enjoy the break that he’d been appointed.

He headed toward the two men beside the pool table, handing them their beers and pointing toward Tig. He waved with a small smile—hoping to come off as genuine, rather than scheming.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Giving the two men a couple of beers to throw them off the scent—or, at least, to distract them from making a fuss—was just a ploy to defer attention from the two nestled amongst the alcohol.

And it seemed to work, too.

As Tig walked around the bar to join her on the other side, Isla popped a few bottle caps, mixed a few drinks, and talked to every person that stopped off in front of the oak, without being so much as glanced at by her father.

Gemma hadn’t noticed the change, either.

“You want anything?” She asked Tig, mindlessly pouring a glass of whiskey for one of the Tacoma guys. “Some tequila?”

Indifferently, he shrugged.

“Okay, well that was helpful.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, grabbing two shot glasses, “I’ll take one, if you do, too.”

“Tig.”

“Isla.” His tone was deriding, though she couldn’t help but smile.

She pushed the whiskey toward the unfamiliar Son, thanking him for showing his face today, and turned her attention back to Tig.

In the thirty seconds in which her focus had been diverted, he’d poured two shots, grabbed some salt, and two lime wedges from underneath the counter.

She swallowed thickly, hoping to god she’d be able to play off the effects of that liquor.

Because it was only the one, wasn’t it? She was only going to have one single shot of tequila and, surely, that wasn’t enough to intoxicate her…

Right?

“Aw, fuck.” She slurred, pushing the empty bottle aside. “I really—“ she hiccuped. “I really need to stop drinking.”

“Why?” Just as garbled, he responded.

“‘Cuz I feel like I’m gonna puke.” She snorted a laugh, pushing all of the limes strewn across the redwood into the bin. “And my breath stinks of tequila.”

He waved her off, looking at his chest as he wiped the alcohol from his leathers. “Tequila don’t smell that bad.”

Isla blushed, though she fished around her purse for some gum, regardless.

And her heart fucking plummeted to the pit of her stomach when she noticed the bottle of antidepressants in the smaller compartment, suddenly realizing that her excessive alcohol consumption tonight was for sure going to mess with her.

Shit.

“Water?” He asked, holding two empty glasses. He heeded the dread in her expression, how she looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost.

“Please.”

Tig handed her one of the glasses, slinging his free arm over her shoulder—mainly in an attempt to stabilize her—and padded over to the kitchen.

The clubhouse was a little more sparse, now. Jax and Tara sat alongside Juice, Chibs, and Happy, meanwhile Gemma and Clay were meters apart from one another.

But nobody seemed to notice the lack of manpower behind that bar, which was a wonderful thing. Because Isla feared that she might’ve collapsed had she not hydrated herself.

She feared that she might’ve said, or done, something that she might’ve regretted, too.

Tequila did make her feel “hot”, after all.

“God, I need this so bad.” She practically moaned, twisting the cold water tap, haphazardly holding her glass underneath it.

Isla didn’t even shut the water off, she just chugged that slightly lukewarm—strangely beautiful—liquid like her life depended on it.

“Fuck.” She gasped for air, putting her glass atop the draining board. “Oh my god, that was so fucking good.”

Tig watched in awe.

As droplets of water trickled from her lips, and chin, to her chest, Tig subtly groaned to himself. He stifled a reaction, however.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” She nodded.

Tig held her glass underneath the tap again, filling it half way. “You want some more?”

Isla took it from him, cocking her head a little when he didn’t let go of the glass. “What?”

“How’d that tequila make you feel?”

“What?” She repeated herself, forgetting about what she told him earlier. “Oh…”

“How’d it make you feel?” He pressed, releasing his grip though lifting his hand to brush his thumb underneath her glossy lips.

“Good.” Isla stumbled over her words, watching his eyes flick over her features. She gulped, though she put the glass straight back down. “Really, really good.”

Tig jolted, though relaxed when she let her hands rest against his shoulders. He hadn’t expected this today. Or ever, really.

“How good is really really good?” He asked, twisting a couple of ringed fingers through long, loose curls.

Her heart was no longer sinking to the pit of her stomach, but fluttering wildly within her palpitating chest.

“Pretty good.”

“Right.” He caught her bluff, nodding. “I could think of something that’d make you feel really, really, really good, y’know?”

“You think?” Isla leaned into him when a hand pressed into the small of her back, and the other holding onto the nape of her neck. She shivered. “Because I think you could.”

Confidently, he bobbed his head. “Oh, I could.”

She was a bundle of nerves, frankly. Tig was so nonchalant, so breezy, and she was just so fucking fraught.

But he didn’t seem to notice—or care—while he surveyed her face, grinding his lips together in anticipation. He lowered his head a little to meet her height, though she still stood on her toes.

“Make me feel really good, Tig.” She whispered, the citrusy scent of tequila permeating his senses, quickening the rate of his pulse.

Isla’s sweet, soft lips ghosted over his own as she exuded a satisfied sigh, loosening up at the feeling of their noses brushing over one another.

It was so gentle. She hasn’t expected a man of such stature, such hunger and animosity, to be capable of something so soothing.

An unmistakable burst of desire started to seep through her, humming against his lips as she opted to wrap both arms around his neck while he backed her up against the sink.

With the support against her lower back, Isla wound a leg around his waist as the kiss amplified and Tig began to grind his hips into her whilst simultaneously moaning.

She didn’t know how badly she needed this tonight.

Pink nails wound into his unruly curls, mindlessly nudging through the hair—pushing him to hasten. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, then. Lauding the flavor of tequila and cigarettes.

But Isla promptly froze at the sound of footsteps—heels, precisely—clicking across the tile.

“Tig, wait.” She jerked her head a little, urging him to stop. “I can hear Gemma—“

“You can see her, too.” The matriarch stated, rounding the corner and immediately coming into Isla’s line of sight.

Both Tig and the blonde shifted to look at her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

[obiwanobi]

Ok ok but Clem, hear me, I need to share my personal Obi-Wan gets out release some steam in the lower levels of Coruscant but instead of stripping or raving at club, he gets into clandestine fistfights. He just goes all fight club on who wants to get punched in the face. Once, Anakin follows him in secret and find him his nose bloody, bare torso glistening with oil like a gladiator and dozens of fans screaming his (fake) name. He whites out instantely.

THIS IS WHY I’M HERE FOR I wanted to write like 2 paragraphs but then I got really into it, so here’s Anakin going from “time to laugh at my boring old master who I’m definitely not obsessed with” to “ANYWAY denial time’s over, I need him to pin me to the ground in front of everyone immediately”:

It takes fifteen minutes after landing on Coruscant for Anakin to decide that it’s time to bother Obi-Wan. For once, it’s not a decision on a whim, despite the carefree way he announces it to Rex before leaving his troops and ship in the hangar. The Force guides him through the halls and corridors toward the warm and familiar presence of his former master, but Anakin isn’t surprised to feel him preoccupied. 

Obi-Wan has been stuck in the Temple for the past four months.

Because of some careless planning, he was unlucky enough to be on Coruscant when Yoda realised that he was the only council member not currently swamped in various missions off-world. Since it was an unspoken rule that at least a few Council members should always be at the Temple, Obi-Wan has been asked to put his missions in the field on hold, and dedicate his time to represent the Council, until more of its members come back.  

Since then, Anakin has only seen him through holotransmitters for official briefings and reports. The artificial blue lights haven’t hidden the creases between his eyebrows and the twitch of his hands when Anakin raised the topic of his time away from the front, telling him all he needed to know about how Obi-Wan felt about being stranded on Coruscant to do paperwork all day or act as the face of the Jedi Order in the Senate.

Now that he can finally see him in the flesh, it feels natural to seek out Obi-Wan, poke at his poor master and laugh at his concealed misery. There was no doubt that Obi-Wan always brilliantly plays the role of a calm and serene Jedi Master, but Anakin hasn’t spent more than ten years around him without catching on the fact that at heart, he’s still a man of actions who needs some excitement and tangible problems to solve before he grows bored.

Anakin isn’t surprised to find him in the middle of various maps, datapad in hand and pointing something on a holotable at another Jedi. What does surprise him, after a few minutes of waiting for them to be done and the Jedi to go away, is that Obi-Wan is not putting any weight on his left leg. It’s the most subtle of change, probably undetectable to anyone else but someone who has spent so much time watching the way Obi-Wan walks and moves and carries himself. But it’s there. 

“Oh, that?” Obi-Wan says almost like he hasn’t noticed, after Anakin didn’t even bother with a ‘hello’. “A knight asked me for some hand-to-hand training sessions. Since I’m to stay at the Temple for an indefinite period of time, I can at least be useful to others. He didn’t go easy on your old master, that’s for sure,” he quietly laughs, and Anakin will be annoyed at himself later for not noticing the clear bait.

But for now, it’s the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, saying that old men like him should pay more attention to their health, and “be careful Obi-Wan, you’re already part of the Council and drink your tisane before going to bed at 2200, you can’t be going around holding your back and complaining about young people or I’ll start mistaking you with Master Yoda!”

A datapad comes flying at his head and it only makes him laugh harder.

Anakin starts to become suspicious two weeks later.

He arrives in the middle of the night from an exhausting mission in the inmost depths of the mid-rim, and his feet take him directly to Obi-Wan’s quarters. it’s closer than his anyway, and he knows Obi-Wan keeps his old room just the way he left it. If he’s being honest, he should also admit that he spends half of his time there instead of his own quarters. It’s just a question of being used to it, he thinks as he lets himself fall on his old bed. And here at least, he knows he will find the bed made and a cup fo caf waiting for him in the morning. Plus, there is nothing more comforting than the feeling of slipping between fresh sheets and the smell of the familiar citrus detergent, unchanged since his childhood. He should really ask Obi-Wan which one he uses. 

When he opens the fresher’s door the next morning to brush his teeth, he barely notices that Obi-Wan is already taking a shower, complaining about sacred personal space and unruly boys who never learnt common courtesy like not leaving their muddy boots in the living room or barging in occupied freshers behind the curtain. Nothing out of the ordinary, until Obi-Wan comes out with a towel high on his hips, but not high enough to hide the large bacta patch on his back and shoulder. 

“Wha-” Anakin tries to ask between toothbrush and toothpaste, but Obi-Wan is already out of the room, and even outside their quarters with a hurried goodbye when Anakin finishes brushing his teeth. 

Anakin starts to get annoyed when he comes back from Corellia a week later and Madame Nu catches him near the entrance of the library. 

“Please come get your master,” she sighs with a hand grabbing his arm, already dragging him in with unexpected strength. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but this is getting ridiculous.”

The ‘not my master anymore’ is still on his tongue when she makes an exasperated sign to a corner of the library where he finds Obi-Wan seated at a table, chin on his hand and head bowed toward a screen.

Snoring. 

Anakin barely contains his giggle long enough to take a holo and send it to Ahsoka. He takes another one then, closer, focusing on the way the late afternoon sun catches his hair, his beard and his lashes, enfolding Obi-Wan in its warm golden light. Focusing on his peaceful expression. 

 He saves this one for himself. 

Reluctant to disturb him, he allows himself a few more minutes of fondness and gentle affection in front of the scene before putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and shaking it gently. The wince and sudden jerk he gets as a result surprise him, before he remembers the flash of a bacta patch in the fresher a week ago. 

“'N’kin? You’re already back?” Obi-wan mumbles, straightening himself with difficulty on his chair. 

“Yes, just arrived a few minutes ago.”

 “What are you doing in the library?” He asks in a light tone. Something cracks, and his hand makes an aborted move toward his shoulder before thinking better of it. “I thought you would only come back this far in the economy section under death threats.”

This time, Anakin doesn’t take the bait. 

“You’re still hurt. Are you going to tell me which knight beat you up and apparently kept you up all night?”

The words have barely left his mouth when he realises the double meaning of his question and there are suddenly a dozen images in his mind and- No no no, it can’t be- Obi-Wan would never... Well, he would. But not this way, not the- Hand-to-hand training? With another knight? Every time Anakin leaves for a certain period of time, when no one will notice if Anakin’s not here? Being so tired that he’s sleeping in the middle of the library? The bacta patch? To get this, that would have- Oh, that would be a sight to- NO, no, this is definitely not it, Anakin has to believe it, or he will lose his mind right there. 

“A knight?” Obi-Wan asks, apparently still too drowsy to sense Anakin’s inner meltdown. He stretches his arms, and Anakin grows even more confused when he realises that his knuckles are scraped. “What are you talking about?” 

 “The- The one you’re training?”

Something passes in Obi-Wan’s eyes and he puts his hands in his sleeves just a little too quickly to look natural. 

“Ah, yes, the knight. Yes, he- we, we’re still having sessions now and then. Good to stay in shape, you know. Now, since you’re back, what do you say about dinner? I’m paying for Dex’s takeout if you go get it.” 

Anakin doesn’t feel focused enough to harass him about his flimsy explanation or tease him about taking a nap in the library. There are way too many incriminating images in his mind he needs to get rid of first. 

The next time he comes back to the Temple after a few days trapped in negotiations with neutral planets, he doesn’t comm anyone and is careful not to let Obi-Wan knows he’s here. He sends R2 and one of his droid pal to stand close to Obi-Wan’s door, and then, he waits. No one pays attention to droids, and most people forget that they have cameras that can be turned on at any point in time, if you ask nicely. It doesn’t take long. At 2240, R2 sends an alert to his comm. He gets his robe, shields himself heavily in the Force, and starts following Obi-Wan.

Anakin really, really doesn’t expect his former master, his “remember that wherever you go, you represent the whole Jedi Order, Anakin, so act accordingly” master, to make his way to the bars and clubs district of the lower levels through hidden shortcuts, bypass cameras and security officers like he’s done it all his life, and knocks at a durasteel door full of graffitis in a language Anakin can’t read.

Definitely not meeting a Jedi knight for regular hand-to-hand training. 

Under his hood, Obi-Wan nods at the Twi’lek who opens the door for him. Anakin lets a few minutes pass before making his way to it. It takes him a heavy mind suggestion to get her to let him in, and when he walks through the door, his heart suddenly starts beating faster in anticipation of what shameful secret he’s going to find.

The thought of seeing Obi-Wan sprawled on a couch of a hidden club with a harem of girls around him crosses his mind, and it twists something he usually tries to ignore in his stomach. It’s not Obi-Wan’s style, it’s so far from everything he knows about his master, but his mind won’t stop entertaining the most insane possibilities of what he does when he’s stuck without Anakin at the Temple and bored by meaningless paperwork. He wouldn’t have imagined Obi-Wan doing anything else but meditate to release tension, but here he is, in the worst part of the whole planet. So what’s next to come?

His throat is already dry, but it’s even harder to swallow when he imagines Obi-Wan letting himself be lead to a private alcove by one of these imaginary girls.

Or boys.

Anakin suddenly thinks that there is no way he’s going to handle this whole thing well.  Whatever he will find will make the effect of betrayal, and he’s not certain why. But Anakin is also convinced that he will be restless and unable to sleep for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get answers. He needs to see, to understand, to know everything about Obi-Wan, even the things he apparently doesn’t want to share. It’s selfish and unkind to his master who has always made a point of respecting his privacy and was probably way too lenient with him during his apprenticeship. He knows that. Now that Anakin has a padawan of his own, he’s fully conscious about all the things Obi-Wan let him get away with for years. He knows. 

But there is something about him that Anakin can’t let go, will probably never be able to let go, that makes Anakin greedy. Demanding. Needy. A poor example of a Jedi that his master would be ashamed of, especially for being the source of it. 

 Anakin refuses to think about it for too long. 

The arena is a distracting surprise.

All of a sudden, he’s pushed in the middle of a crowd, unbalanced by the music, the loud cheers, the flashing lights, the Togruta yelling into a mic, the bell ringing and the thunderous applause all around. No one pays attention to him, way too engrossed in what’s happening in the centre of all this agitation, a few meters down from Anakin’s position.

Nothing could have prepared him for watching the two fighters in the centre of the arena. 

One of the men, the largest one, is face down on the red sand, clearly defeated for the night. Anakin barely notices him, because above him, rubbing his knuckles against his bloody nose before raising it in a universal sign of victory, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Polite, well-mannered Obi-Wan, who once lectured Anakin for ten minutes because he walked on a nice carpet with his boots on, is now bare-chested in front of a rowdy crowd roaring at him- no, for him. He’s sweating, cheeks, knees and hands covered in sand and exhibiting massive bruises on his ribs and his shoulder. The wide smile on his face says enough about what he thinks about it. 

When Anakin thinks that he will never truly recover all parts of his brain from seeing Obi-Wan’s muscles gleaming with oil and sweat under the artificial lights, he realises that people are chanting his name. Well, nickname. Even with the deafening sound of his blood pumping in his ears like he’s the one fighting in the middle of the arena, Anakin can’t stop himself from scoffing. How can Obi-Wan get into illegal street fighting in the lowest levels of Coruscant and choose to call himself Ben? At least some of his boring master’s choices don’t surprise him. 

It's not the first time he's watching Obi-Wan fighting with nothing else than his fists. It was even quite common when his master was teaching him how to defend himself, when Anakin was still a young padawan. But Obi-Wan was always so proper about it. Focused on the fastest and most efficient way to get the upper hand without maiming his opponent. The picture of calm and serenity, even while throwing his padawan down on the mat to teach him an important lesson about self-defence. Rarely a strand of hair out of place.

But here? Here it's nothing like the impassive and soft-spoken Jedi Master who doesn’t even seem to sweat in the training room of the Temple. Here, it's a fascinating grin on his face, bloody knuckles in the air, adrenaline and flashing lights painting his red hair a shade too wild. It's a violent and brutal show for glory and entertainment, and it suits Obi-Wan like nothing else before.

Anakin has never wanted to be slammed down in the sand so badly in his life. 

The crowd around him suddenly goes quiet, and it takes Anakin a second to realise it’s because Obi-Wan asked for it with a simple hand raised. There is something fascinating in watching all these strangers obeying him so promptly, eagerly waiting for a word from him, when Anakin can still remember all the times he cut Obi-Wan off in one of his tedious lectures. 

The whole arena holds its breath, and Obi-Wan takes a few seconds to enjoy it. 

“Next!” He finally yells, and the crowd yells back in delight. 

Anakin needs to gather his thoughts. Or what's left of them anyway. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan dodging the punches of his new opponent with a flourish, parrying and making an acrobatic show of throwing him over his shoulders on the ground just for the crowd’s enjoyment is more than distracting. Despite the blood on his face, the bruises, the dishevelled hair and the sand sticking to his torso because of the sweat, Obi-Wan hasn’t looked this carefree since the beginning of the war, and Anakin can’t look away. 

 He can’t decide if he’s content to simply be mesmerized by the whole thing, thrilled to be able to admire Obi-Wan being this bold, almost smug, from far away, where his clear feeling of want doesn’t have to be ignored right away, or angry at him for putting himself in danger for no reason when he’s taking enough risks as it is fighting a war. For once, Anakin is tempted to be the voice of reason for the two of them.

It doesn’t last long.

A minute after the commentator enthusiastically yells into her mic Ben’s victory, a bell still ringing in celebration, Anakin has already made his way to a little booth away from the show, where a bored Kiffar asks him what he wants. Anakin licks his lips, and can’t help feeling like he’s a young padawan again, giddy with excitement and vibrating with anticipation. 

“How much to join?” he asks, but doesn’t let him time to answer before adding, pointing to the arena, “How much to fight him?” 

[unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin]

5 Nights Of Christmas

Summary- Drew doesn’t like Christmas, and he gives you 5 nights to convince him how great it is.

Prompt- What do you mean you don’t like Christmas?!

AN- For @writtingrose

"Guess who!" I heard as two hands covered my eyes. I simply rolled my eyes, shaking my head a bit.

"Really Alexa?"

"Wait! How did you know it was me?" She asked walking around to be in front of me, her arms crossed over her body.

"Your the only girl on the brand who actually likes me." I said shrugging. I had gotten the job as a makeup and hair artist for wwe, and didn't really talk to the wrestlers all that much. All though a few had been kind, Alexa had even tried to take me out to hang out with some of the other girls as well, but it never worked out.

"I can't be the only one Y/n."

"You know your are Lexie. Besides, I don't really need to get to know anyone anyways." I said once again shrugging. "All though while your here you want me to get started on your make up?" I asked motioning to the seat for superstars when I'm working.

"I suppose," she said jumping up into the seat with the smallest bit of trouble due to her height. As I got started we talked quietly.

"Hey lassies." I heard a deep voice say from behind me. I turned a smile coming to my face when I saw one of my best friends Drew McIntyre. I actually had met drew before I came to wwe, and had only gotten closer since then.

"Hey Drew." We both said as I turned back to keep working.

"What are you two doing?" He asked leaning on the vanity, reaching down to grab a bottle of concealer.

"Just chatting while I get her ready for tv tonight." I explained.

"Are you guys going to the Christmas party this year?" Alexa asked.

"No, Christmas has never been my thing." I stoped what I was doing and turned slowly towards Drew, my eyebrows frowned.

"Did you just say you don't like Christmas?" I asked surprised as he nodded.

"Who would like a holiday about materialistic things. Plus I don't really get to go home for Christmas, especially this year." That last part was true. We had Smackdown the day after Christmas, so most people ether were celebrating with there family on a different day, of flying out for one night.

"Ya but, Christmas is like the greatest holiday ever! There are so many amazing things to do around that time of year!" I said still surprised.

"Think what you want lassie, but I'm going to be spending Christmas in my hotel room with some beer."

"We have Smackdown tonight, and then nothing until next week right?" I said making drew nod. "Well, what if I show you how great Christmas can be? If you still don't like it, I'll never mention Christmas again." I offered. Drew chuckled but nodded.

"Fine, you have 5 days to convince me Christmas is the great thing it is. And hey, if you do I'll even go to the party." He said sticking his hand out for me to shake.

———————————

Day 1

"Where are we going?" Drew asked, a blind fold on as he sat in the passenger lap seat of my rental car.

"I told you you would see." I said as I drove.

"I hope you know that if your waking me up everyday like this I will not be liking Christmas." He mumbled.

"If we get there early no one else will be there."

"Ya, because they are all still asleep!" He said throwing his arms up making me laugh.

"Ok! No more early mornings, however, I can't promise no late nights."

"How late is late?"

"We're here!"

"Y/f/n! Answer me!" I shut the car off and quickly got out running to drew side to help him out since he still had the blindfold on. "Tada!" I said pulling it off. In front of us was a large skating rink in the middle of the small town that was outside where the show was. There were little shops all around us, and Christmas music playing.

"You woke me up early and drive for an hour just to take me skating?" He asked an eyebrow raised.

"This is an essential part of Christmas!" I said grabbing his hand to drag him over to where we could rent skates. I quickly got mine on and was out on the ice before Drew.

I pushed myself forward slowly, but gaining speed as I went. I stoped to look over at drew who was on the side with a death grip on the wall.

"Need some help?!" I called out as I skated over. He looked at me his eyes wide, as he tried to pull himself into a standing position.

"How do yo do that!"

"It's all about balance. Give me your hand." I said putting mine out. He looked suspicious but reached out and took it, keeping the other tightly on the wall. "Ok, now push yourself forward a bit using your feet." I explained. He moved slowly, with my supporting some of his weight, but soon he got the hang of it.

"See, isn't this fun?" I asked as we skated hand in hand around the rink.

"It's ok, but I'm still not convinced.

————————————————

Day 2

"Really! Shopping?" Drew asked as we walked through the mall.

"Come on! Getting gifts for everyone is a main part of Christmas. Plus you never hear Christmas music played like this any other time of the year."

"I'm pretty sure that's why it's called Christmas music love." He said chuckling causing me to slap him lightly. "Besides the shopping thing goes back to the whole materialistic part of it."

I rolled my eyes at him before turning a corner. "Fine, I really just have some things to do and I hate shopping alone." I asked. "Now come on, I need to check on a gift I'm getting for my Lexie." I said.

We ended up in a jewelry store waiting for the person working the desk to get my order. I wandered over and saw Drew looking at pocket watches. "I didn't know you liked that kinda thing."

"Oh! Um, ya. When a nice one catches my eye I do." He said smiling a bit.

"Witch one were you looking at?"

"This one right here." He said pointing to a silver one.

"It's nice." I said nodding.

"Y/n?" I turned to see the lady back and ran back over. She showed me the bracelet o had made for Lexie and paid for it.

"Ready?" Drew asked as we walked away.

"I need to get a dress for the party this week." I said pointing to a small dress store. He nodded and followed me in looking at that outfits as I grabbed a few dresses I liked.

"I'm going to try these on." I said not waiting for an answer before walking away. I tried on a few before I found on I liked. It was a teal blue, and was floor length. It was sleeveless and had a white fuzz on the collar and on the bottom.

"Hey drew! Can I get your opinion on this dress?"

"Sure. Come on out."

I walked out, holding up a bit of the dress and stoped for him to see. His mouth was open a bit as he looked the dress up and down. "H-how do you feel about it?" He asked bitting his lip a bit.

"I really like it, but I don't always have the best taste. Plus I wanted to know how someone else thought it looked." I explained.

"If you like it go for it lassie, but it looks amazing." He confirmed making me smile.

"Thanks!"

"So.... did you have fun?" I asked as we walked out of the mall, my arms full of bags, and drew even carrying a few.

"Did I enjoy being dragged around a mall for hours? Let's just say that's a point lost."

——————————————————

Day 3

I stood up from where I was sitting when I heard a knock at the hotel door. "Coming!" I called. I rushed over and opened it to see Drew standing there.

"So what are we doing tonight since it's almost 9 and you asked what kind of wine I like?" He asked smirking a bit.

"Come see for yourself." I said stepping out of his way so he could come in. I shut the door and before I could even turn around I heard him again.

"Really?"

"Really what?" I asked skipping into the room all the way. He was standing looking at the Christmas tree I had gotten, along with ornaments and and a bottle of wine.

"You bought a Christmas Tree?"

"An essential part of Christmas." I said nodding as seriously as I could. "Plus I figured you wouldn't leave if you had alcohol." Is said motioning to the bottle. He chuckled shaking his head, and for a moment I thought he was going to leave, but instead asked over and picked the bottle up.

"Let's get started." I smiled smiling over and handing him to glasses before I opened one of the packs of ornaments. "One question, what do you plan to do with this tree when we leave?" Drew asked handing me one of the glasses.

"I'll take it to goodwill or something." I said shrugging. "I thought it would be fun to do."

A few hours, a couple of boxes of ornaments, and almost a full bottle of wine later the tree was decorated. "Ok, and last we need to put the star on. You'll have to, I'm to short." I explained holding the star out to him. He looked at me, not taking the star, but he did pull me to him, causing me to cry out in surprise.

"Calm down." He whispered, his accent a bit stronger now that he was intoxicated. He spun me around and put his hands on my hips gripping lightly. He then raised me off the ground so I could reach the top of the tree. I smiled as I got the star firmly on the tree looking down at Drew.

"Done!" He brought me back down, and when I turned he was a lot closer then I thought he would be.

"You know what y/n? I'll give you this, this is a point to you."

———————————————

Day 4

"Really, all we're doing is eating Christmas cookies?" Drew asked as we walked into a small bakery.

"Yes really. First off, cookies are always necessary. Secondly, Christmas cookies are the single greatest kind of cookie you can get." I stated. We walked up to the corner where you could see all the different cookies. There were gingerbread cookies of all sizes, and lots of sugar cookies with different designs.

"How can I help you today?" The lady working at the counter asked us smiling.

"Well, we need two hot chocolates and I will take a Santa sugar cookie." I then looked at drew letting him know he could order his cookie.

"Um.... just, a gingerbread cookie." He said pointing to one of the gingerbread men. She nodded and began to start the hot chocolate and grave the cookies. While she did that I reached for my wallet but drew stoped me. "Let me pay lassie. You've paid for everything else this week." He said grabbing his own wallet.

"Oh, thanks." I said smiling a bit as the women walked back over, setting the two cups down as well as a bag that had the cookies in it.

"That will be $27.46." She said to drew who handed over his card to pay. Once he had his card back I took the cookies and my cup, while he grabbed his and we left.

"Lest go to the park." I suggest, looking over at him.

"Your the boss." He said a smile on his face making me smile too. We found a bench and sat down. I set my drink on the ground and pulled out the cookies handing him his. We sat eating a for a few before he turned to me.

"Ok fine, this is amazing." He said making me laugh.

"Told you."

"Shut up.

———————————————

Day 5 Final day.

"Ready?" I asked looking over at Drew as who was putting a hat on. We both were bundled up tightly, ready for a cold night.

"I guess. What are we doin love?" I smiled a bit at the nickname. He had only started calling me that this week.

"You'll see, but you will be glade you bundled up." I confirmed. We walked to the elevator, and when we got downstairs my eyes settled on a group of people waiting outside. "That is where we are going." I said pointing.

Drew eyed me, but said nothing as we walked over. Just as we got there a large trailer pulled up. It was set up so you could sit in the back, completely open so you could see all around you.

"It's a tour of the town's Christmas lights." I said looking at Drew. "Apparently there really into Christmas lights here, so I figured it would be fun."

"Well, I hope your right love." He said as we walked up to where we get on. I pulled out the two tickets I had gotten earlier in the day and handed them over.

"You too have a marry Christmas." The person said as we got on.

"Lest sit in the back" drew said pointing to the vary back right corner.

"Ok." I said both of us walking back.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we ask that you stay seated the entire time. Be considerate of other riders, and please no pictures." The person who took our tickets said into a microphone.

"Why can't we take pictures?" One women yelled out.

"Just for the privacy of the family's who live in the homes." They said.

As the drove, they person talked a bit more, but I was basically ignoring them the entire time. Me and Drew were pointing out different designs we liked. At some point I ended up on the window seat, leaning back against Drew who had his arms wrapped around me.

"Aww! Look at that one." I said pointing to one that had Santa on the roof. Drew shifted a bit, his hands moving, and they brushed against my coat pocket.

"What's that?" He asked feeling the box that was in there. I blushed slightly sitting up.

"Oh! I almost forgot about that! I got you a gift." I said pulling it out and holding it out for him.

"Y/n, you really didn't have to-"

"I know. But I wanted to." I said pushing it into his hands. He lifted the lid off and gasped a bit at what he saw.

"The pocket watch from the mall?" He asked sounding surprised.

"You were eyeing it the entire time, so I went and got it for you." I said smiling.

"Well, I guess I might as well say that I have a gift for you as well." He did a smirk on his face.

"Really? Wha-"

But I was cut off as he pulled me into a kiss. His lips were chapped from the cold, and his hand was freezing on my check, but he tasted like whiskey. He pulled away looking down at me, a slight blush on his face. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

"R-really?"

"Ya, why else would I spend a week doing activities for a Holliday I don't like?" He joked but my face fell.

"You still don't like Christmas?"

His smile dropped when he saw my disappointment. "I’ll like it if I can spend it with you.” “Deal”

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

How Do You Feel

PART 5 (heads up, this part is pretty angsty compared to the other parts)

Julia never knew the pain of time before that week. The boys had left for Upottery Airfield at the end of the month, leaving her behind with a scattering of staff - mostly females - in Aldbourne. In one fell swoop, Julia had been separated from her boss, best friend, and their family of Easy Company men. She felt purposeless. Each minute of the day was spent either trying to gather any tidbit of information she could or trying to get the time to pass faster.

There was work to be done but there was no urgency to it as all of Aldbourne held their breath waiting for the paratroopers to make their first jump into Europe. Finally, on June 6th, the news of the invasion arrived. The news must have reached them after the men had already landed, Julia thought. All of Julia willed George to be among the paratroopers who made it to the ground. They were separated by roughly 376 miles but it might as well have been another universe. The things he would face were beyond her imagination, but the notion that he hadn’t even made it to the fight was even more unthinkable. Across the channel George’s training was kicking in. As a radioman, he carried more weight than the average rifleman. This responsibility had once been a joke; of course, George Luz was a radioman, he had the largest mouthpiece in the company. In training, it had been a piece of cake. George picked up the shorthand and coded language like it was nothing. But no one had prepared him for what it meant to be the vessel of all communication - or lack there off. No one had prepared him for how helpless it felt listening to officers with thinly veiled panic in their voices shouting for support. No one had prepared him for the desperate feeling of being the one on the radio hoping and praying that the person on the other end understood your request, and would show up for you. Only in the quiet moments at night when it was dark would George allow himself to think of Julia. He didn’t want to associate her face with a bloodied corpse he would inevitably pass. He couldn’t bear to imagine her laugh among the gunfire. In the states, in England, they had shared a paradise and now he was in hell; there was no reconciling the two worlds. The near month in France took everything out of George. It was one thing to be physically exhausted, but his soul was worn down. He was more than aware of how he was seen in the company. He couldn’t let his guard down for the Germans or for his comrades. If the clown stopped smiling how would anyone else know when to smile? Julia anxiously received the few letters George managed to write. By the time they reached her, they were worn from water and the exchange of hands but she was grateful to have them anyways. Each letter she received meant he was still alive. All around her, the staff and ladies of Aldbourne received letters, each one affirmed George’s survival. His death would have been mentioned by someone because everyone knew George Luz, Julia’s George. Leading up to D-Day, George and Julia’s antics had grown beyond subtle. Their intimacy had become an unspoken, accepted fact of life in Aldbourne. Julia’s romance with Chuck was an often forgotten memory. But no one knew what the true nature of their relationship was, including George and Julia. While the troops were in France, Julia’s colleagues awkwardly stumbled across polite inquiries regarding George’s wellbeing. Was he a friend or a romantic partner? Perhaps something more considering their intimate relations. Julia didn’t know, nor really cared how they defined it because in her mind she was simply waiting for her best friend. Her patience was rewarded at the end of the month when a bedraggled Easy Company made their way back to Aldbourne. George trundled along the rain-worn roads of the English countryside in a lorry, Frank Perconte to his left and Buck Compton to his right. He was cracking jokes; though the men were exhausted the adrenaline of relief coursed through them. They had survived D-Day plus some and were back in England to tell their tales. Men chattered excitedly about hot meals, pretty women, and where they would take their leave. It sounded like a coalition was forming in favor of London. That sounded pretty good to George. All he wanted was to get blindingly drunk and cause a lot of mischief with his best friends - excluding Julia. The places and things the soldiers had in mind for London were not appropriate for a lady, even George’s easy-going, tough-as-nails Julia. George spotted Julia immediately as his lorry rolled onto the base. She was dressed in civilian clothes, a bright yellow dress that had to be new. He had never seen her in it before and he would have remembered if he had because she shone like a ray of sunshine. George swung his body out of the truck, throwing his rucksack on his back. Julia stood at the center of a group of women, half in uniforms, half in civilian clothes. She searched the crowd of incoming soldiers for George. As soon as she spotted him she rushed towards him, flinging her body into his arms when they met. “You’re back,” Julia sighed a deep sigh of relief. George gripped her tightly, “thanks for waiting.” Julia stepped back from him with a wide smile, the beginning of tears formed in her eyes. 

“Hey, hey,” George said lightly, “none of that. Don’t go soft on me now!” Julia laughed, a sound that caused George’s heart to soar. She wiped the tears away with a smile, “I’m just so glad you’re back! Now I’ll save some money on postage.” “Pretty sure you get the same military allowance I do,” George said, “by the way, I love the dress!” “Yeah?” Julia twirled on the spot, “your favorite color.” George tried to keep his smile cool. Yeah, she was his best friend, of course, she knew his favorite color. But something warmed his heart to think she took his preference into consideration when she purchased it. “Great for summer,” he said. The first days of his return were spent in bliss. George thanked all of his lucky stars each day for returning him to his paradise. Winters wasn’t about to let the men slip; he had training exercises and calisthenics planned for each day. But George found himself with more free time than before D-Day and he easily slipped back into his routine of visiting Julia both during the day and at night. The men were granted one week off and the majority of Easy Company decided to go to London. Winters warned them that they were still paratroopers, they needed to maintain the dignity of their uniforms. His words were of no consequence because a new energy had grown in each surviving man. There was a new wildness about them, a vivaciousness that could only be satisfied by debauchery. It was only in George’s nature to lead the charge, along with Bill Guarnere, John Martin, Floyd Talbert, Don Malarkey, Joe Toye, and the other gambling-fan, oversexed paratroopers. To say the least, the week in London was wild. Gambling and drinking ran rampant as relieved soldiers from across England filtered into the city. Money, alcohol, and women kept the men busy and got them into trouble. Headlines in the paper joked that the American’s had done more damage to the city than the blitz. One evening when George was particularly drunk he followed Bill and Joe into a particularly seedy bar near Piccadilly Circus. Bill introduced him and Joe to a few women he had met the previous night. George felt reckless with the alcohol coursing through his veins so when the thought of Julia crept into his mind he had no regard to how their relationship had evolved over the last few months. More importantly, he disregarded rule number five. George didn’t wear a condom that night, a realization he had when he woke up in a panic at 7 am the next day in a stranger's bed. George didn’t say anything about the week to Julia when he returned. He brushed off her questions with short answers about how it was fun and a great time with the guys. Rumors swirled around Aldbourne about how raucous of a time the men had had. The non-specific gossip only made Julia smile and shake her head. The boys deserved a fun time, she thought. It was perfectly understandable that they had wanted to blow off some steam. But the energy changed between her and George when he returned from London. The honeymoon period that had experienced upon his arrival was over and George suddenly felt like a foreigner to her. He was himself, but different. There was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. It was faint, just a whisper in his eyes when he told a joke, but Julia could sense it. He was still quick to laugh but there was an occasional bitterness to it. As a couple, they grew more reckless. Not in their playful disregard for subtly but in their intimacy. They had been diligently safe before D-Day but since George’s return, there were more and more instances of not using protection. Whenever paranoia crept into George’s mind the reckless monster that had latched onto him since coming back reared its ugly head. Fuck it. He thought. He didn’t care. In turn, Julia found herself lacking the energy to remind him. In the moments they shared she was so desperate to connect with him that she ached for the closeness of his raw body. “George?” Julia whispered. There was no answer. Maybe he was asleep, she thought. They had only finished having sex a few moments ago but when Julia returned from cleaning up George was turned away from her. She gently placed a palm on his back. The smallest connection. On the other side of the bed, George was awake, starring into the darkness. He wanted nothing more than to roll over into her arms but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Any clear thought refused to form in his brain. He barely noticed the heavy wetness forming in his eyes as he searched the wall for the strength to return to his former self. In France, the nights had offered the greatest respite. But in Aldbourne, it was the days that George preferred. The days meant comfortable routine, people to laugh and joke with, and sunshine without shrapnel raining down. At night George couldn’t see anything except for scenes of destruction painted on the back of his eyelids. “How did you feel about your competition?” Floyd Talbert teased Julia one day at lunch. “What?” Julia asked innocently biting into an apple. George squirmed down on the bench beside her. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked.



“Apparently I’ve got some competition,” Julia smiled playfully at George but there was a hesitance in her eyes. George’s stomach clenched. It wasn’t as if he was forbidden to be with other women. For all intents and purposes, nothing had changed regarding their agreement and Julia understood that. George’s guilt came from the uncertainty of whether or not he had contracted anything from his lustful night in London. It was a thought he had had a few times since reuniting with Julia but his reckless monster always tamped down the guilt. “Is that so?” George deflected as he pushed the food around on his tray. “Don’t worry Jules,” Floyd reassured her, “you’ve got his heart. He had to pay for it!” “Actually, we covered it,” Joe Toye grumbled from down the table. “Ol' George couldn’t locate his wallet,” Bill chortled from beside Joe, “it’s alright, we told him he gets to cover us next time we go.” Julia chuckled along with the men’s laughs but George didn’t miss the flint-like look in her eyes. “Paid for it, George?” Julia didn’t wait long to ask. She cornered him soon as they exited the mess hall. “Look, it was just a bit of fun,” George said calmly. “George, sleeping with women in town is one thing but a prostitute,” Julia hissed. “I didn’t know they were prostitutes!” George held his hands up in defense. Julia narrowed her eyes at him, “I have a hard time believing that.” “It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s my business. That was our agreement.” Julia’s mouth tightened into a thin line, “did you at least use protection?”



“What kind of question is that?”



“I have to ask, I’m sorry. I know it’s your business but with how irresponsible we’ve been lately I want to make sure - with a prostitute… they’re at much higher risk for disease.” “That’s not only my fault we haven’t been using protection, you could also remind-,” “George, you’re not answering my question.” Julia had her arms crossed across her chest, a desperate look was growing in her eyes. “I don’t have anything. No lumps, no bumps, nothing,” George said. “So you didn’t use a condom?” Julia raised her eyebrows. “No. I-I don’t know!” George said quickly. Julia’s face filled with thunder, “how do you not remember?” “I was drunk.” “I’ve seen you drunk. Even when you’re drunk off your ass you're coherent enough to remember if you used a condom or not!” “Jules-,”



“Answer the question, George!” Julia was nearly shouting now. “No.” Julia wanted to cry, from anger or from the hurt she didn’t know. George hung his head in shame. “Okay,” Julia did her best to keep her voice level, “thank you for being honest. But this,” she gestured between them, “is done.” Julia walked down the road towards her office. “Julia!” George stumbled after her, “Julia, no, I didn’t do anything wrong!” “George you broke rule number five! No bringing anything back!” “I didn’t bring anything back! I told you I don’t have-,”


Julia whirled on him, “even if there are no lumps, bumps, or whatever who knows what you could be carrying! And that doesn’t even matter because we were together as soon as you got back from London before you would have known if your dick was all bumpy!” she gestured angrily at him. “You betrayed my trust, George! This makes me feel unsafe.”


A knot formed in George’s throat at her words. “Jules, I-,” “Just,” Julia sighed and held her hands up in exasperation, “leave me alone. Give me some space.” George watched helplessly as Julia walked back to headquarters. He wanted to be angry with her, she was over-reacting, he thought. Just wait until he told Perco about how irrational she was being, Frank would take his side. But really, George felt terrible. His rational brain realized how much he had messed up. By the grace of God, he had been returned to his paradise only to burn it down with his own stupidity.

[lesbianlotties]

would you have it any other way? | Andy x Quynh

The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020 | @theoldguardevents |  Art created by @elenorasweet​ can be found here

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache the Scythian/Quynh | Noriko Words:  6773 Summary: If you put together the age of all the other immortals, it still wouldn't match the number of years that Andy and Quynh have loved each other. Their love, the oldest, the strongest, and the truest thing they both have ever known in their endless lives, might be about to go through the most challenging test yet. The entire team, the entire family, is going through one of its most difficult times so far, including the appearance of a new immortal. Meanwhile, Andy and Quynh have a secret within themselves that they also have to deal with, but, at least, they're happy to be dealing with all of it together, as they were always supposed to do.

aka basically just the exact same plot of the movie, but Quynh is there the entire time because canon is too cruel and i said no thank you

Golden light filled the streets of Morocco and two women walked there as confident as if they could command the very sunlight to their will.

Andy wore black from head to toe and nobody dared stare at her long enough to notice the details. The gun on the waist of her pants, the knife on the heel of her boots, the thin thread from which an ancient pendant hung from, the backpack filled with gifts for her family, and the dark dragon printed on her t-shirt. She looked ready to kill, but so heavily charged with emotional specifics that nothing she did could possibly be taken as meaningless. In conclusion, she looked like she had plenty of reasons, several people in fact, that she was more than ready to kill for. One of them, and pretty obviously judging by the way her otherwise stone-cold face lighted up with a smile every time their hands so much as brushed, was the woman right beside her.

The lightness of Quynh’s outfit, much more fashionable than Andy’s, didn’t exactly make her look any more approachable. She wore a fresh white shirt and stylish, cream-colored pants, but she knew how to hide a dagger in any kind of attire, and if her purse carried nothing but a gun, that was still a deliberate fashion choice. Both women wore dark sunglasses but, where Andy’s frown warned people she wouldn’t hesitate to begin or end any kind of trouble by whatever means necessary, Quynh’s little smile was more of a promise there would be trouble following her.

Still, when the annoying sounds of a bike got impossibly close and a man finally caught up with the women, stopping his bike right ahead of them, Andy and Quynh grinned with genuine affection.

“Booker,” they greeted him in unison.

“Ladies,” the frenchman playfully bowed his head, parked his bike, and then with easy familiarity wrapped his arms around both women, “You guys good? Did you travel?”

Andy fondly patted him in the back and when they all pulled back from the hug she answered, “We did. And I brought you something.” 

While Booker admired his first edition copy of “A Hundred Years of Solitude,” Quynh chuckled and led them forward.

“Don’t be fooled, Sebastien, I got the gift for you, Andromache only carried it on her cute little bag,” Quynh looked back once, smirking at Andy, and reached out to brush her fingers to the other woman’s wrist, teasing.

--

When the doors of the hotel room opened, for an instant, time stopped. Time crashed, time got all tangled up on itself, turned over on its own head. Time was meaningless. Because, how many times had this exact scene played itself in the past thousand years? Andy embraced Nicky with all solemnity and all-encompassing care they felt for one another and the people around them. Quynh pretty much jumped into Joe’s arms, almost, but never completely, catching him off guard. He spun her around once and when he put her down she kissed his cheek with all the unmeasurable love that to this day still made him happily blush. The hugs continued, of course. Joe lifted Andy up in a bear hug that got a laugh from her unlike any other in the world. Then Quynh hugged Nicky, allowing herself a second of safety and warmth surrounded by his arms before playfully doing her best to lift him up. He laughed like only the people in that room had ever heard him.

Greetings, jokes, and gifts exchanged, Quynh let herself fall on one of the couches beside Andy. She had a feeling this moment of bliss wouldn’t last too long and that was the only reason she didn’t allow herself to truly get comfortable at least resting her legs on top of Andy’s. But, she was content for the time being, watching the love of her life get absolutely, almost inappropriately lost in a sweet piece of baklava.

It’s been centuries and this never gets old, Quynh thought, shaking her head fondly as she broke her own gifted baklava in imperfect halves. As always, she ate the smaller half. As always, she saved the rest of Andy.

All too soon the conversation shifted to the reason behind their reunion. It’s a job, we can do some good, this is what we do, we’re not helping, they said. Andy sighed and stood up, walked to the window, and addressed Quynh. “What do you think?” Andy asked her, even though she probably knew, even though it was always the same.

Quynh, who, at that point had twisted herself on the couch into a more comfortable, most probably improper position, thought about it for a second. All around her, her family had felt compelled at one point or another to aid humanity for all possible reasons. Duty, sheer goodness of the heart, guilt, nothing better to do. Personally, she was a restless person. She couldn’t stand being still in a place for long, let alone be useless for longer than to catch her breath and have some fun, her mind wouldn’t let her, her heart wouldn’t allow it. But she didn’t let the struggles of the world plague her every thought, not like Andy did.

“Let’s hear him out,” she said finally, unsurprisingly. If they had had to vote at the moment she wouldn’t have said yes. She would have agreed with Andy, it was too risky, and probably useless. But, every time, as soon as she heard the details of whatever horror humanity was currently inflicting on itself, she’d be the first one out of her seat, ready to right all the wrongs of the world.

Carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for thousands of years, Andy got used to the feeling. But that didn’t mean it ever stopped being so fucking heavy. It got heavier each passing day and, just lately, Quynh was finding it increasingly difficult to soothe that burden on her lover’s back, to get her to share a little of the strain. She could see, like she didn’t ever remember seeing, Andy truly struggling with the weight of it all or, more specifically, with the conviction it was any worth it to keep holding on. Handling her part of the weight, plus her determination to help the love of her life, it was its own kind of burden on Quynh’s shoulders, but she wasn’t focusing on her own pain, physical, psychological, or of any kind, she didn’t want to.

Almost without Andy noticing, Quynh walked up behind her. The shorter woman wrapped her arms around Andy and kissed her shoulder. They stared out the window for a moment longer before Quynh stated, “This one’s special,” she murmured, fearless as always to put into words what the other woman felt to her core, “I am going with you.”

Usually, Andy would meet with their contacts alone or with Booker, they made a good team. And it was always useful to have a plan B, to make it seem like they had a trick under their sleeves, like they were more in numbers than anyone would ever know, to hold back laughter when poor devils that thought they could play smart with them had to face a meeting with Quynh and Nicky. So, that day, Andy, Quynh, and Booker, met with James Copley.

They accepted the job.

--

Even if Andy didn’t secretly hold the belief that her own heart continued to beat after countless deaths partially out of sheer desire to beat along with Quynh’s heart. Even if she wasn’t forever, eternally in love with the other woman. Even still, Andy would have been thankful to have her on her team, to travel with her, to fight alongside Quynh.

Nobody would question Quynh’s professionalism. She hadn’t selfishly or accidentally endangered her team or their missions too many times more than any of the others had throughout the centuries. She just had the strange little talent of knowing exactly when and where and how much she could push the boundaries of their professionalism in order to make the most out of their time on Earth.

In helicopters, she playfully disregarded security measures. In deserts, she walked with a spring on her step. Wearing a picture-perfect ponytail, dark sunglasses, and all-black clothes that somehow she had forced to fit into a greater fashion sense than any mercenary had ever been known for, she did every little thing only she could get away with. Starting with genuinely trying to distract Nicky when he was about to shoot two guards at once, as she had dared him to do, but just because she trusted him, because she’d taught him that move herself. Then, being the only one quick enough to shoot just once before the five of them died on that kill floor. Lastly, winking at Andy as they came back to life, with holes on their clothes and wounds still healing and just seconds away from tearing down a small army of men.

Quynh was a synonym for life, Andy thought, she is life, I am alive because she is life, and I will live as long as she is with me. Quynh lived her endless life in bold, bright strokes of a brush. And things, the best and worst of them would have probably been so much easier, simpler, if Quynh had been just that, excitement, energy, a mischievous smile. But of course, she was so much more

Quynh was gentleness in places that knew only hostility. She was capable of conjuring patience and calm in the blink of an eye. She was endless conversations and fantastic stories. She carried little kids when they saved them, she found ways to make women feel safe and men believe in peace. She washed Andy’s hair with all the care in the world, and she made sure none of the boys had any blood left in their beards after a battle. She held Andy’s hands because she could tell Andy needed her, but she held so tightly because she needed Andy. At times she was quiet. She was thoughtful. With really big events she took her time to process them instead of any relatively usual impulsiveness. A trait of hers that pained Andy because she knew, the longer Quynh thought about something, the longer she was hurting.

Quynh believed in revenge. She always had. Her heart could fit millions of good, selfless, benevolent feelings, but she still believed in revenge. If the stars aligned for her, she’d kill James Copley herself. But it was never so easy, was it? They had made mistakes too, that day. Could she get revenge on herself? Self-recrimination was one excruciating characteristic she shared with the love of her life. There was no use in pondering about it, if it was a coincidence or if they had picked it up after the other one. At least, one thing more powerful than that was the fierceness with which they’d protect the ones they loved, resulting in them perfectly protecting each other, even from themselves.

--

They were on a train somewhere away from their latest mistake. Booker had started to snore and Joe and Nicky had been perfectly still in each other’s arms for a while now. Andy’s thoughts were too loud to let her sleep, and Quynh’s thoughts too dangerous to keep herself awake for them. She was laying down, with her head comfortably resting on Andy’s lap, even if the rest of her body was unusually uncomfortable in the rough surface where they lay.

“Sleep,” Andy would tell her every few minutes, mindlessly slipping into the old habit of a dead language that only they could remember.

“I can’t, not without you. Sleep with me, my heart. Sleep,” Quynh replied, again and again, the ancient words coming out almost easier than modern English ever did.

“Sleep,” Andy insisted, soothingly running her fingers through her lover’s hair, even after Quynh fell asleep, just until she slept too.

It didn’t last long though… there was Nile.

“She’s beautiful,” Quynh said, somewhat sadly, a minute later as they all discussed what they saw of the new immortal in their dreams, “and smarter and braver than she knows what to do with.” 

She exchanged a look with Andy, silent understanding of what it all meant. It wasn’t the most convenient of moments, but it had never been convenient at all, right? Together they had welcomed four other immortals, and it never got easier. Not when Lykon died. Not when having to explain to Joe and Nicky why they’d never win the war one of them had started. Not when watching Booker lose himself when he lost his family. And it certainly wouldn’t be easy to explain to the new kid how an endless life would mean the ending of the life she already had.

But Nile Freeman was beautiful, smart, and brave. Quynh could tell. Just as she once said Lykon was a hero unlike anybody else, and Joe and Nicky were naturally kind, and Booker was, well, he had been mostly just tired. Her favorite judgment, however, remained that one of a day thousands of years ago when she woke up from a dream, firmly convinced that she had just dreamt of the love of her life.

--

“Good. You’re awake,” Quynh smiled down at Nile.

While Andy was driving the car, Quynh had insisted on sitting in the back to keep company to the new kid. Nevermind the young woman was unconscious after Quynh had allowed Andy to go pick her up by herself.

“Who- What’s going on?” Nile mumbled. Her head hurt and she could barely make sense of the scene around her beyond being in a strange vehicle with an unknown woman gently smiling at her.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions- Ugh, fuck!” Quynh’s explanation was cut short when Nile’s knife pierced through her chest.

An instant later, the young woman had kicked open the trunk of the car and fallen off it.

“What the fuck?! Quynh are you okay?” Andy slammed the brakes of the car and quickly got out. She had been trying to be nonchalant about this whole thing, but a line had been crossed. “Did you just stab my wife?!” she yelled at the retreating figure of Nile, and pulled out her gun.

“Andromache, don’t!” Quynh reached her just in time to make it so that Andy shot only at the ground near Nile. The surprise made her stumble and fall, but it could’ve been worse.

“She stabbed you!” Andy protested, frowning and the blood that was tragically staining Quynh’s otherwise perfectly white t-shirt.

“And we kidnapped her,” Quynh gave her wife a pointed look and with a hand on her arm prompted her to walk forward to properly introduce themselves to the newcomer.

“Who are you?” Nile asked when they were close enough to talk. She was still on the ground, breathing heavily and trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. In front of her were standing two women, one with short brown hair, a black tank top, and a look in her eyes incredibly threatening. Beside her was another woman of long black hair, wearing a now blood-stained white t-shirt with rolled sleeves and looking a little too put together for the desert they were in, she was smiling, but she somehow didn’t seem much more friendly than the other one.

Before replying, Andy shared a look with Quynh, as if finding all necessary answers there. “Don’t worry,” she said at last, “You’re safe, you’re not in any danger. We are… we are people like you. I know you just figured out you can’t die, we can’t either. I know it might not look like it at the moment, but we are saving you from much worse situations. We don’t have all the answers, kid. But you don’t have to figure it out alone, okay?” There was a pause then where Andy and Quynh exchanged another look. It might have been reassuring or encouraging, teasing, or amused. It could have been an entire silent conversation in the span of a second. But the point was that Andy looked at Nile once more and with more relaxed features added, “Now, could you please get back in the car?”

Andy offered Nile her hand, and helped the young woman stand back up. When Andy started walking away, Quynh turned to look at Nile. “Her name is Andromache, you should probably call her Andy. And my name’s Quynh,” She offered her hand to Nile, smiled when she heard her name, and then immediately tightened her hold until it almost hurt. “If you stab me again, you’re going to regret it,” she winked, and she was smiling, and Nile was fascinated by the perfect balance of menacing and welcoming in that gesture. “Welcome to the team!” Quynh added in a sing-song, turning around and following Andy back to the car.

--

Throughout history, Quynh had to sleep in the strangest of places. It was just a part of their lives, warriors couldn’t be picky about a place to rest their heads for a few hours. Besides, with one of Andy’s arms draped over her waist, Quynh felt safe enough to fall asleep even in the sketchy plane of an even sketchier… businessman, of sorts. However, her sleep was interrupted after a while when, in a matter of seconds, she made a move to turn around, found herself restrained, her struggle woke up Andy, they realized they had their wrists chained to the seats of the plane, and the new kid was pointing a gun at the pilot of the plane.

“Oh, this will be fun,” Quynh mumbled through a yawn, getting comfortable in her place.

She smiled when the pilot played dead as instructed by Andy. “Yeah, I do not recommend it,” she said when Nile swore she wouldn’t jump off a plane. “Not me?” she playfully pouted when Nile freed Any first. And she grinned expectantly as she watched the two other women engage in a fight that she knew was necessary and more meaningful than any outsider would have guessed. She teased Andy, cheered Nile on, and threw her head back laughing when the young woman got two hits at Andy’s face.

After the fight was over, Andy took the keys from Nile and got Quynh out of her restraints. The newest immortal was still standing, looking a little lost and teary-eyed in the middle of the plane, when Quynh stood up and faced her. “My turn?” she playfully asked, and felt her heart swell with affection at the sight of the confusion and hint of irritation in the young woman’s face. “I’m kidding,” Quynh said softly and smiled genuinely this time. Then she opened her arms, a silent offer that she wouldn’t push and wouldn’t be offended if rejected but-

Nile stepped forward and lightly wrapped her arms around Quynh’s shoulders, accepting the hug. It was strange, it was completely unfamiliar, but so much had happened in the past day or so. She had died, for fucks sake, she deserved a hug. “I’m sorry for stabbing you,” Nile grumbled.

In response, Quynh chuckled, “It probably won’t be the last time. And you can thank me for the clothes, Andromache alone would have kept you in your bloody uniform.”

--

“You two are the oldest,” Nile stared seriously at the two women at the other side of the table.

Andy and Quynh exchanged a look. “Andromache is a little bit older,” Quynh said with a smile.

“How old?” Nile asked.

“It’s not our first millennium I can tell you that,” Quynh took a sip of wine and leaned back on her chair.

“How old?” Nile insisted.

“Too old,” Andy said with finality.

--

The night wasn’t quiet, it never was in that place though. They were all accustomed to the sounds of the planes, and Nile had been exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the noise. Still, Quynh was so in tune with her lover’s mind, that she felt Andy’s thoughts to be even louder than the planes above their heads. When everyone else had gone to sleep, she had stayed in one of the armchairs, talking with Andy about everything, and nothing, and their upcoming mission. At least, they had been talking about that, until Andy’s worries got the best of her and she was rendered silent, staring at her own hand as if it was the first time she saw it.

From her place curled up in the other chair, Quynh stared at her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had figured it out before Andy herself. She could say with certainty she knew Andy’s body better than she knew her own. Their way of living had made it so that at times they went years without facing an actual mirror. In all her years Quynh had stared at Andy way more than at herself. Had loved her intensely, tenderly, carefully, hurriedly, in every way they had possibly thought of. She had held her in her arms as she died and came back to life more times than she could count. There was no language, in all languages humanity had ever come up with, for Quynh describe the intimate connection she shared with Andy. It would have been a deadly offense to her for anyone to think that she hadn’t noticed a change, in Andy’s eyes, in her hands, in her skin, in the very way she was breathing.

Andy had been lost in her thoughts until she noticed Quynh perching herself on the arm of the chair she was in.

“I’m sorry, my love, what were you saying?” Andy looked up at her, just realizing she had stopped listening and talking a while ago.

Quynh sighed and met Andy’s eyes, kicking through any and all walls the other woman could attempt to put up to hide her real thoughts. Andy’s eyes widened a little when she realized Quynh was already caught up with her train of thought, but she didn’t have anything to say, not yet.

“I was saying…” Quynh started to say, picking up Andy’s hand to kiss her knuckles and then hold on tightly, “That you look beautiful tonight, my heart,” She felt a knot on her throat and it only worsened when Andy smiled at her. It was a unique smile, amused, genuine, she was thankful, she wasn’t afraid, but there was an apology in there somewhere. “As beautiful as the first day I saw you,” Quynh added with all the conviction she could muster without breaking down.

Both women were still silent, staring at their intertwined hands when Nile woke up from a nightmare, gasping for air.

--

“His name was Lykon,” Andy said, trying to explain to Nile why she’d just had a nightmare of a warrior dying from a wound on his stomach. “He was the third immortal. Only Quynh and I got to know him. He died before the rest of you were born, way before.”

“He was dying,” Nile whispered, “He was… he was bleeding so much, and there was no way to stop it. He was calm, he felt… ready but, it hurt. It hurt too much, and I don’t think he wanted to die.”

Andy didn’t need to turn around to know that, behind her, Quynh was standing by the dining table, holding to its edge until her knuckles were white, and her eyes were burning a hole on the ground. Lykon’s death would never stop hurting them, not really. He was Quynh’s best friend in a way that nobody could ever match again. He was far from the first soldier Andy lost, but definitely the one loss that hurt her the most. Plus, only with his death, and after thousands of years of life, the two women had to face the reality that they weren’t completely immortal, and losing each other would forever be a possibility.

“He was the best warrior, and man, I’ve ever met,” Andy stated, her voice steady, unwavering, honoring him, even thousands of years later, “He was all full of courage, light, skill and… smiles.” She made a quick pause, allowing herself to remember one of the most painful days of her entire existence on this Earth. “We were fighting a small battle, nothing we hadn’t done a hundred times before. Everything was going according to plan, seamlessly. We got hurt, we stood back up. Until… he didn’t. He got hurt, and his wounds didn’t heal. Just like that. His time had come. Nothing we can do about it.”

Nile closed her eyes for a second. She still had an arm holding on to her own abdomen. “Why am I dreaming of him?” she asked, opening her eyes to glare at Andy.

“The dreams stop when we meet. Then they restart, when one of us dies. Those dreams, memories of them, they aren’t constant, but they don’t stop,” Andy explained, taking a quick look at the rest of her team, the three men that had dreamed of Lykon their entire lives without ever meeting him. “They won’t always be of his death, I promise,” Andy tried to explain, but a second later Nile was standing up and hurrying out the door.

After another meaningful look to the other half of her family, Andy grabbed a gun out of habit, and followed the young woman outside.

“I’m going with you,” Quynh said, as Andy passed beside her, “I need some air.” And the group was split in half, for longer than any of them could have expected. 

--

“Wait for my signal,” Andy said to Nile before turning around, accepting the sword Quynh was holding out for her. Then the two of them confidently moved toward the abandoned church, to wait for a group of soldiers that during their last seconds of life would deeply regret ever taking that job.

“I could have done this by myself, you know?” Andy smiled at Quynh from their hiding place among the shadows.

“You could, doesn’t mean you have to,” Quynh replied, making an effort to not even hint at the fact that for the first time ever Andy’s mortality wasn’t as certain as it had always been. Instead, Quynh put on the playful smile that she knew Andy needed to see in her. “My heart, it’s been an eternity already, please accept that for as long as I’m here, you’ll never have to do anything alone.”

Quynh kissed Andy’s cheek and a second later she urged her lover to get out and dive, almost literally, into the fight waiting for them. Quynh let her go first, Andy always went first, and usually, Quynh didn’t complain. She loved looking at her wife conquer a battle fearlessly, almost effortlessly, it was a sight worth all the treasures in the world. But then, of course, as soon as one of the men showed even the remote intention of pulling a knife from behind Andy, Quynh was already there, making sure he didn’t live enough to even picture Andy hurt because of him. 

It went on and on, almost too easily. Andy and Quynh fighting side by side, picking up guns and swinging their swords and not letting their enemies even a chance to think about the goddesses of war that had stepped in their paths. It was over as quickly as it started. The whole place catching fire, Joe and Nicky already too far away, Nile and Booker in the backseat of the car.

Quynh had been there to guard Andy’s back, and keep her from any serious injury, and maybe she was the only one looking for confirmation of her greatest fears, but the fact remained that she could hardly tear her eyes away from Andy’s bruised knuckles holding the steering wheel. Insignificant little bruises, but they were there, not healing as they should. 

--

Quynh had to take a step back when Nile explained to Andy why she couldn’t go along with them. That experience was hurting Quynh more than anyone realized. She felt physical pain in a way she couldn’t explain. She had accepted Nile as a member of their family, she already felt protective, and charmed by the young woman. It hurt to watch her go, it hurt to watch her pick a different side when they needed her.

Andy seemed to understand though, of course she did. Andy had been a leader for pretty much as long as she had been alive, which was… a lot. Andy could make sense of why everybody did what they did, in and out of battle it seemed, and she always explained it to Quynh in a way that was too forgiving of the others. It hurt Quynh to watch Andy understand what was the right thing to do, it hurt because there was no one and there would never be anyone like Andy. It hurt Quynh because she could never do what Andy does, be like Andy, and she didn’t ever want to take over that role, didn’t even want to picture it, and now she might have to.

So, it was only Andy, Quynh, and Booker stepping into Copley’s office. It felt wrong, Quynh couldn’t explain why but it did. What kind of man is so calm when three immortal warriors are pointing at him with guns?

Well, the explanation lies with the third immortal, Booker, who wasn’t aiming at Copley at all. He was shaking, making the most difficult decision of his life, even if it was just a small part of the worst decision that he had already taken a while ago. He was thinking about how long they take to heal. He was thinking about who would react the quickest, and who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head for shooting her wife. So, he shot Quynh in the heart, killing her instantly, and buying himself enough time to shoot Andy near the stomach. Andy had enough time to shoot him in the leg, but her gun fell off her grip, and she fell to her knees.

By the time Quynh came back to her senses, there were tears streaming down Andy’s face, and there was a wound on her stomach that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Quynh gritted her teeth and accepted the pain, forced herself to accept Andy’s mortality, Booker’s betrayal, her own rage, and her even greater heartache. She wanted to reach out to Andy, she wanted to kill Booker a thousand times over this, she wanted to just lie there and hope for it all to be a nightmare. She didn’t have a chance to do any of that before she was restrained by a group of strange men taking her and her broken family away.

--

“Fuck! Let me go,” Quynh groaned as she was being securely tied down to one of the beds in Merrick’s lab. She was the only one fighting it. “Let me kill him just once and I’ll gladly settle down after. Fucking-”

Andy was staring at her while the doctor sedated Quynh for the third time already. If she had had the strength, maybe Andy would have smiled. It was the natural reaction, to smile when she watched Quynh fight, smile when Quynh was bold, when she was playful, when she loved Andy in every way possible, and beyond. It didn’t feel right then, to look at the love of her life and feel only the need to start crying. From her point of view, this was the end for Andy. The weight of the world had finally become too much for her to bear. The world had finally crumbled down around her, taking her family down with it, turning Booker against her, rendering Joe and Nicky helpless, and Quynh… Quynh would lose her any moment now. Was this where all their promises would break?

--

Their time in Merrick’s lab was anything but boring. Quynh had been angry enough, had been quick enough, to knock out one of the doctors and free one of her hands on one occasion. That was as far as she got. She was sedated two times more. Each time she woke up was more frightening for her than the last. Andy’s name was the first thing coming out of her lips, and the first thing she heard was her lover’s reassuring “I’m here. Still here, Quynh, still here.” But it could only be so reassuring when “here” was one of the worst places they had ever been.

Two memories had made its way to the forefront of Quynh’s mind. One, the first time Andy and her died after Lykon’s definitive death. She had never felt as scared as she was during the seconds it took Andy to come back, and she had never been as desperate to come back to life, back to Andy, as she did that time. The second memory, the witches’ trials, the iron coffin, the feeling of being trapped, entirely hopeless. Andy had escaped just in time to follow in a different ship, but she couldn’t stop them from throwing Quynh to the ocean. She jumped right after her, but it still took hours to free Quynh from her prison. Some nights she still had nightmares where they didn’t manage it at all. This couldn’t be it. Not again. Quynh knew she had to fight with everything she had but, what if it wasn’t enough?

Andy wasn’t putting up a fight. Her hopelessness pained Quynh more than she could put into words, but it also inspired her to fight harder, to get all of them out of there. But it was difficult. It couldn’t be impossible, but it was difficult. She couldn’t even hear herself think. There was Joe fighting Booker, and Quynh related to that anger, but she had new priorities. There was Nicky trying to calm Joe down, and Quynh understood his silent rage, but she didn’t have time to listen to all their words. Least of all, she couldn’t stand the noise of Booker trying to defend himself. Loudest of all, however, was Andy’s silence, and Quynh’s own heart, breaking in her chest.

--

Nile’s arrival had been the closest thing to a miracle the four immortals had seen in their long, long lives. Quynh grinned as soon as she saw her, because it wasn’t a miracle, it was the most, if not only reasonable thing she’d seen in days. She had known, maybe since the moment that Nile had stabbed her, that the young woman had the potential to be everything the world needed, and more. At least, at the moment, she was everything the group needed, and that much was clear. Nile was hope, and just the sight of her was enough to send the five warriors up to their feet and ready to fight. 

Andy convinced Booker to stand up, and convinced Joe to postpone the arguing. However, nobody, except for Booker, flinched at all at the moment Quynh confidently and calmly walked up to him just to punch him in the face strong enough for him to require a few seconds to recover. It was enough, for the moment. They had bigger problems waiting for them on the other side of the doors.

The fight was equal parts exciting and terrifying. It wasn’t the most difficult thing they’d done, but it was the first time they did it while one of them was mortal. It wasn’t easy, trusting their backs to Booker during the fight, but it came naturally enough. It was their priority, but it was undeniably difficult, to think of protecting Andy. Andy, who always moved first, Andy who regularly died for them, Andy who barely adjusted her fighting to be a little more defensive than usual, but not enough. Quynh and Nile found a common ground there, fighting anything and everyone, including Andy herself, to make sure the newly-mortal woman remained safe enough. If Andy slipped away from them at one moment, well, that much was inevitable.

--

There was one moment, right before the worst of the fight.

“Are you going to let her do this?!” Nile asked Quynh, talking about Andy refusing to wear any protection and insisting on entering the fight first.

Quynh was resting her back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing heavily. She had never felt this exhausted for as long as she could remember. Her body was screaming, her mind was beyond overwhelmed, and her heart couldn’t exactly handle the emotional stakes of the situation. There would be pain in seeing Andy risk her life, the only life she had. There would be pain in seeing Andy be careful, in seeing the love of her life, who Quynh had associated with invincibility for all of her life, act anything but unbreakable. Quynh could ask, she could very seriously ask and she could probably get Andy to take a step back for once in her life.

“I can’t stop her,” Quynh replied finally. But not in the way Nile thought right then. She couldn’t stop her, because Quynh knew and understood her wife and so she knew that to ask this of Andy at that moment, it would be an offense she wouldn’t be able to take back. Andy needed this moment, even if it was the last one, especially if it was the last one. They would walk into this battle as they always had and if it was up to them, they would also walk away from it as they always had.

--

Finally, it was all over. The boys were chasing the elevator down to catch Merrick, Andy and Nile were standing by the window, talking. Quynh was just rounding a corner, walking toward them with a smile, when something hit her in the head hard enough to knock her down to the ground. 

Quynh fought with everything she had to stay conscious. She opened her eyes, and Merrick was pointing his gun at Andy. She closed her eyes and heard gunshots. She opened her eyes, and only Andy was standing there, looking proud as ever.

“Is it over?” Quynh asked Andy with a smile while the taller woman offered her a hand to get her up to her feet.

“Which part?” Andy laughed.

They were both a little unsteady on their feet but, holding on to each other, they walked over to the elevator and started their descent. It was the first quiet moment they had to themselves in days. They could finally breathe, they could finally take a good look at each other and let the reality of their situation settle in around them.

“How do you feel?” Quynh asked.

“How do you feel?” Andy turned the question around on her. She smiled when she noticed the confusion on Quynh’s face. “You’re bleeding, my love,” she explained, her voice breaking just slightly. Andy moved a hand to Quynh’s face and one of her fingers just lightly grazed the small wound where Merrick had hit her with the handle of Andy’s labrys. Quynh hissed in pain. She had felt it for a short while already, and the confirmation wasn’t as startling as it should have been. She wasn’t healing either. “But you were out there, risking yourself for me,” it was just a statement on Andy’s part, not really a question, but not completely a reprimand either.

“Well, obviously,” Quynh replied, smiling as genuinely as ever, smiling in that particular way that Andy loved more than ever, brighter than any star, more meaningful than any combination of words could dream of being.

“We will figure this out together,” Andy said, taking Quynh’s bruised hand and interlocking their blood-stained fingers with all the tenderness they had accumulated through three thousand years of love for each other and the world around them. “Just you and me,” she promised.

Quynh looked at her, her best friend, the love of her life, the person she admired the most, the person she’d die a thousand times and come back for, her favorite endless source of happiness and passion, purpose and strength. They had first made this promise back when they didn’t know an “end” was even possible for them. This time would be the most difficult occasion when Quynh would have to say the words, but also the most important. “Until the end,” she swore, meaning the words more than ever before.

The doors of the elevator opened, and Andy and Quynh walked out, hand in hand, facing the beginning of their end bravely, happily, ready, as long as they were together.

[jencsi]

In that same thread: The Gig Harbor Killer story line is quite impressive when you look back on it. You’ve got your typical serial killer vibe in Jared Briscoe, targets young women, has a torture vibe in his work, but he’s far from typical in the way he processes the scene and leaves more clues faster than the CSI team can decipher them. You have strings made of human tissue, you have blood spatter in the pattern of the Gemini constellation, recordings of the victims screams.

You’ve got a back story for Russell and Finn and all that brought them to be. You have the scene on the pier in Seattle in 2009 where one showdown occurred and Finn has his back in regards to the almost shooting death of Briscoe, the shots that wounded him and placed him in jail. You’ve got not only the threat towards his biological adult daughter Maya back in 2009 and again in 2015, but you also have the threat towards Finn, the bomb in her car, and her obvious attack, coma and subsequent death. So why target her?

The backbone of the Russell/Finn dynamic established back in 2012 was that she is his muse, his guide, some sort of song that plays in every part of his being. (And as a long time fan, this dynamic flows more naturally to me than the infamous GSR which my thirteen year old self fell head over heels in love with only to realize as an adult, eh it’s not that great) Sure biological kids and possibly his wife being targeted is the usual cliche these police procedurals run with but here we have something different, someone more than a colleague and friend but not quite a lover. In my mind since the beginning, the undefinable role of Finn in Russell’s life is one of the best character dynamics I’ve ever watched unfold on TV in just three short seasons. She has no label, no name, nothing but a presence in his world. But it’s strong.

Along comes this twin dynamic of Jared Briscoe and Paul Winthrop, an element of control both men have over Finn and Russell. The violence that comes from Winthrop towards Finn in “The End Game” just shows how determined he was to hurt them both. Briscoe and Shaw had their chance with Maya and they didn’t kill her, because they and Winthrop knew the only way to really get to Russell was through Finn.

You can see it and hear it in the scene where Russell enters Finns condo and sees the blood and string set up. The guttural sounds and threats he makes towards Winthrop, the demanding, heart pounding way he begs and pleads with him to tell “Where is she?” has always resonated deep with me since the show ended (props to Ted Danson for the absolute visceral way he played this)

It seems clear that Winthrop was the real killer, losing behind the guise of cool collected lawyer while painting his long lost twin Briscoe as the unhinged one. The path of these two men altered so young in life via the convent and adoptions, plus having their father be Mr Pimp Daniel Larson, hiding in plain sight since season 13. (Even John Merchiston wanted to follow Russell along because of his work with the GHK in Seattle) so this story was set in motion years prior. Bravo. All of these elements coming to play in a stage of bold story telling, giving us glimpses into the agony of each character and the weight they carry. The final and perhaps most torturous element being the lack of closure for this case, aside from Finns passing, do they ever locate the nun that birthed the twins? Russell knew of her existence and bribed Winthrop with a chance at knowing her in exchange for Finns whereabouts. Yet we will never know what was planned for this story after that. I’ll always wonder about these closing elements, even if I drew my own conclusions from it in the form of a fix it fic. And with CSI, there really is no wrong guess as to where they would have taken this story given the opportunity.

[buckaroosboogara]

911 week - Day 5:

“Can I tell you a secret?” + comfort

(1800~ words, Albert and Chimney, tw alcohol and mentions of addiction/addiction.)

@911week

"Albert, I don't know how or why, but if you don't want to be a firefighter anymore, just tell me." Chimney huffed.

"Well," Albert got up and stumbled with his feet. He gained composure and walked to the door. "I don't wanna be a firefighter. Father was right, I am useless. And just like him, an alcoholic. Now go away." 

Chimney flinched, "This is not you Albert, please..." 

"Well, what do you know about me, huh? We were apart for more than 20 years." Albert barked as he opened the door. 

"I'll come back." Chim said, walking outside. 

"Yeah, yeah."

Albert wanted to cry. 

He felt like the world was turning him into a living joke, only alive to make people laugh, and he hated it. 

He was a step closer to be out of the fire academy, and his instructor had warned him that if he made one mistake more, he would be out. 

First, his written test had an 80/100, he would have like to blame it on Jee and her strong lungs that woke him up four hours before his exam at 8, but he couldn't do that. It was also his fault for constantly delaying the time to study for it, until dinner of the very last night before the exam. 

Then, he decided to move in with Buck again, or better said, move to Buck's place since the other man was mostly at Eddie's place than his own flat, giving Maddie and Chimney the privacy they needed. They happened to go partying to celebrate Albert's birthday the night before a big Chief went unpromptedly to the academy, and Albert arrived late for the first time, just that day. 

And now... he definitely deserved to get kicked out. 

He filled his teammate's oxygen tank with the gases, mostly nitrogen and carbon monoxide, that the O2 truck's engine liberated. 

He almost killed the girl during their training. 

And he didn't have a father in an important charge or a politician mother to get him out of that trouble, like the story of a training firefighter in Chicago. 

His only consolation was that his teammate, Jennifer, the only woman in his class, was already at her home, and had texted him to say it was okay, she knew he didn't mean to hurt her. That he was a harmless cinnamon bun, whatever that meant. 

He went home after the furious instructor had made him leave the academy, having done enough harm for the day. 

He messaged Buck, briefly telling him he was home early, and threw himself on the couch, the weight of guilt crushing him down. 

Albert really wished Jennifer - or JJ, how she like her friends to call her, but Albert didn't consider himself one - would be okay and become a firefighter in the next two weeks, when their final physical exam would happen. 

He also didn't want to alarm Buck or Chimney, both were stressed enough, having to juggle between being at the station and covering shifts for the two people down and having to take care of Maddie, Eddie, and Bobby, with the last two assuring they didn't need their help. 

Between these thoughts he fell asleep, waking up some hours after, dreams of death and disappointment hunting him. 

He put his jacket on and looked for a bar near, doing the only thing he ever learned from his father. 

Drown his guilts in alcohol. 

... 

Chimney could feel something was wrong with his brother. 

No, he knew. 

The clues were right there. 

He wasn't calling as much as he used to do, and whenever Buck called and was at their loft, Albert was not there. 

That, plus Buck's comments about him arriving home very late and leaving very early, with dark eye bags and smelling of alcohol. Those comments didn't ease the feeling on Chimney's gut. 

He first tried to call him, day, noon, even at 3 am when he couldn't sleep during a shift. Nothing. 

Or, short messages telling him he would call later, but he never did. 

Chimney knew how close Albert was to be a firefighter, and he knew that last week was the worst one. He feared what it would do to his brother. 

So one day, the stars aligned and Buck saw Albert during the noon in their loft. He did what he could to keep him there and called Chimney to get there, he knew that Albert needed his brother rather than anyone else at that moment. 

As soon as Chimney arrived, Buck left the building and both men could speak for the first time in a week and a half. 

"Okay, I'm gonna go straight to the point." Chimney huffed as he closed the door behind Buck. "What the hell is going on with you?" 

"Nothing." Albert lied, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand. 

"Don't you dare lie to me. I know you and this is not you, Al. Talk to me." Chimney walked to the couch and stood in front of his brother. 

Albert avoided his look and kept quiet. 

Chimney huffed. "Look, the EMT in charge of the basic health support and procedures class, Eli, called me yesterday. He was glad another Han would become a firefighter, but then he told me you weren't there." 

He crouched in front of his brother. "Albert, I don't know how or why, but if you don't want to be a firefighter anymore, just tell me. You don't need to avoid me, or Buck, for the record. Talk to me." 

"Well," Albert got up and stumbled with his feet. He gained composure and walked to the door. "I don't wanna be a firefighter. Now go away." 

Chimney flinched, "This is not you Albert, please..." 

"Well, what do you know about me, huh? We were apart for more than 20 years." Albert barked as he opened the door. 

"I'll come back." Chim said, walking outside. 

"Yeah, yeah." 

The door shut.

Chimney wanted to cry.

... 

"Chimney! Nice to see you around for once, but why are you here?" Eli happily exclaimed when he saw Chim walking through the academy's halls the next morning. 

"Hey Eli, it's nice to see you too brother." Chimney rolled his eyes fondly and hugged the man. 

After making the appropriate small talk Chimney spoke, "I actually came here to ask about my brother..." 

"Albert Han?" Eli asked and checked the clipboard he carried with him. "Uh, he hasn't come to my class in a week. Since the oxygen tank accident, actually." 

Chim's mind stopped racing after the last sentence. "Oxygen tank accident?" 

The EMS gave him an odd look. "Yeah... everyone here knows about it. He accidentally filled his partner's tank with monoxide and other gases from the O2 truck's engine." 

Chimney took his hands to his eyes, too much information entering his brain, Eli continued. "She passed away during training and hit her head, but apart from that and the toxic inhalation she was perfect." 

"Shit. Okay, I would remember if he told me that." Chim shook his head. "And he hasn't come in a week?" 

"Not to my classes." Eli said. "I thought that maybe you'd teach him for the exam, therefore he wouldn't come but... I know you, there's something more." 

"Yeah. Just- I need to talk to him. Could you make sure they don't... you know... kick him out?" 

"I'll do what I can." Eli answered sincerely. "Hey, it seems like almost getting kicked out is a Han thing now." 

Chim winced. He had been very close... which actually gave him an idea. 

"I gotta go, Eli, thanks for the... uh.. for everything!" Chim said, slowly tracking back. "Bye!" 

... 

Albert heard a knock on the door and groaned. 

He waited for whoever was there to give up and walk away, but the person kept insisting. 

"Open up Albert, I know you are there!" Chimney's voice sounded from the hall. 

"Ugh, go away!" Albert huffed as he took a bottle of beer from the fridge. 

"I'm not going away Albert. I'm going to stay here until Buck arrives or you open the door." 

"So stubborn." 

"Just like you." 

Albert thought of his options. He could either wait or let his brother in and drive him away in minutes and he would be alone again. 

He sighed as he opened the door. "Happy now?" 

"No. I need you to talk to me, Albert." Chimney got inside. "I know about the accident. It's not your fault, look-" 

"If you know, then you know it is my fault. She could have died. I could have killed her. It's not that I don't want to be a firefighter. I can't be one." Albert blurted out, his cheeks red from embarrassment. 

"Albert..." 

"And it's not just that- it's that every one of my written tests is marked only with an 80%, I can't seem to be there in time and then I almost killed one of my classmates, my friend. And- And I just- I feel like giving up." He took a swing of his beer. "And I did. Father was right, I am useless. And just like him, an alcoholic." 

He made a sad smile and continued drinking. 

"No, you are much more than that Albert." Chimney said, taking the bottle from his hand. "And you would make an amazing firefighter, don't ever doubt that." 

Albert rolled his eyes and huffed, making his way to the couch. Chim followed and sat on the coffee table in front of his brother. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" Chim asked after some seconds of silence. 

"Go ahead." 

"I almost got kicked out too." 

Albert scanned his expression. "You're lying." 

"The hell I'm not." Chim huffed. "Being a firefighter was the thing that kept me going for many years. Until I met Maddie. But, believe it or not, I almost got kicked out for not asking for help and being a jerk." 

"I was struggling in the written exams too. Almost failing, while Kevin got all 95s and 100s. I got jealous and was too proud to ask him for help. Then I started having problems with the higher levels. But one day..." Chimney smiled. "One day Chief Aadav Panikkar, yeah, Ravi's father, called me to his office. And he helped me." 

A tear slipped down Chimney's cheek. Albert ducked his head. 

"I wanna help you, Albert." 

"And, yeah, I'm gonna be realistic. You have little chance to graduate next week, but if we work hard and have a little luck, you will be able to." Chimney said, "And if you don't. Then you are going to kick ass with my help the next time you can apply to the academy. And we are going to AA. Okay? But we are going to do it together." 

Albert's lips contracted in a fine line. 

"Okay." When he looked up again, Chimney could see his eyes glowing with tears. "Thanks, Howie. I love you." 

Albert got up and waited for Chim to do the same and hugged him. 

"I love you too little brother," Chimney said, hugging his brother tightly. 

They had a long way ahead of them, but together they were strong enough to get through it. 

... 

Despite all their efforts, Albert couldn't complete the training the first time, and it hurt, not just to the Han brothers, but to the whole 118. 

Two weeks later they met with Bobby for a reunion with ex-alcoholics. 

Six months later, Albert finished his last physical test, and the 118 was on top of the exam building, waiting for him. 

He not only was in his official probationary year, but he learned that he had a family now. 

A family that was with him throughout all those hellish months. 

That was what the 118 was. Family.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s note: I kind of regret the song choice due to its association with a certain movie but... it fits the chapter's themes. -shrug-

Edit: Changed the song I associated with this chapter because I think it suits Aguni and Yamaneko's pseudo-paternal relationship, which was highlighted more than the murder mystery on the Beach

go ahead and cry, little boy | you know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through | you gotta let it out soon, just let it out

X

As if a spotlight had been shone on her, Yamaneko’s body tenses at everyone’s scrutiny.

“Why does this concern me?” she starts, looking at the faces around her, all of them with varying degrees of wariness, save for her fellow militants. Her eyes flick to her father’s, and resentment blooms in her chest, spreading through her veins like bitter poison.

“She’s your stepmother,” Ann responds, examining the victim’s corpse with the purpose of scrutinizing every detail. Then, her eyes flick to Mr. Yamane, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Though, she looks more like an older sister.”

“We weren’t close. I haven’t spoken a word to her before we arrived on the Beach.”

Ann tilts the victim’s head with a gloved hand, exposing the wound to view. “I’ve yet to examine the wound, but it’s clear that whoever killed her used a sharp object. You’re one of the few militants who exclusively carry a bladed weapon, along with Last Boss.”

Folding her arms Yamaneko was about to go off on the taller woman, but she mentions something else. ”He’s under suspicion, too,” she mentions as she motioned to Mr. Yamane. “Her body was dumped from their shared room.”

“Me? That’s preposterous! Are you suggesting that I have something to do with my own wife’s death? I’m not even allowed to hold a weapon! It’s those militants you should be looking at.”

“You know what?” Yamaneko interrupts, bringing all the attention back to her when her head whips towards his direction, and her voice drips with venom at every syllable she utters. “If you can beat your first wife and your daughters for years, and lie through your teeth every time the authorities get involved, I believe you have the capacity to be violent with anyone and lie to our faces.”

“You dare accuse me when you’re the one who carries a weapon and holds a criminal record,” Mr. Yamane spits back, pointing at his estranged daughter with a wrinkled finger, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve raised you myself. You’re an uncontrollable child. Disobedient. Delinquent! You dirtied the family’s name when your name showed up on the tabloids twice. It’s no wonder even your sister gave up on you.”

It took every fiber of Yamaneko’s self control to stop her from lunging at her father’s provocation. Instead, she hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t bring Mai into this. You are the reason why I had to resort to stealing! You kicked me out. I couldn’t even find an apartment without a guarantor because I was a minor. Do you think I would resort to that if I wasn’t so desperate without a family’s support? That criminal record means nothing here anyway!”

“My, my, this is a conversation you shouldn’t be having in front of strangers. Are scandals really commonplace in your family?” Niragi interrupts, and aims his rifle at Mr. Yamane’s chest. “Why don’t we just kill the old man?”

“See?! Even the company you keep reflects who you really are,” Mr. Yamane blurts, face red from rage. “No amount of discipline I tried to instill in Minami worked to keep her in check. She's a criminal. It’s why I disowned her.”

Aguni remains stoic throughout the entire ordeal, but the last thing the Yamacorp CEO said stirred something hateful inside him. He towered over Mr. Yamane in a show of intimidation. “I thought I heard you call my underling ‘daughter’ in that confrontation I broke up. So which is it?”

And just like that, Mr. Yamane’s domineering facade crumbles, stammering to answer the militants’ chief.

Hatter holds out an open palm, motioning everyone to quiet down. “These accusations won’t get us anywhere. Regardless of who killed Mrs. Yamane, peace on the Beach has been disturbed,” he mutters, expression grim, and jovial demeanor absent.

“The number of violent cases has been rising, but we have handled them quietly. This one is a public spectacle that might send ripples of fear through the entire Beach. Aguni, tell your men to go harder on their patrols and to keep themselves restrained.”

“You’re not even going to interrogate her?” Mr. Yamane exclaims, pointing at his daughter.

This time, Aguni is openly sneering at him. “Why are you so eager to accuse my underling of a murder, old man?”

The former CEO shrinks before Aguni, and any bravado he had dissipated. Yamaneko couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk.

“Ah, Mr. Yamane, you were some corporate bigwig before coming to this country, am I right?” Hatter asks him. “As number one,” he nearly growls, voice dropping an octave. “I call the shots here. Your daughter brought back high-value cards from the games. Any member of the Beach like that is a fine asset. Unless she’s proven to be a traitor, murderer or not, no action will be taken against her without the executive board’s say.”

“Then you’re complicit in my wife’s murder. I won’t forget this,” Mr. Yamane spits, turning around to barge out the door.

Niragi scoffs at his dramatic exit. “I really want to put a bullet between his eyes. What a bastard, shitting on the military sect like that.”

“As much as I hate that asshole’s guts, you killing him right after his wife just died would just draw more suspicion to me, and the other militants,” Yamaneko replies, folding her arms and eyebrows creased.

From the corner of her eyes, Mira glances at her with a newfound curiosity.

“I think I should also mention that he begged me for help to get out of this place. The executive board should watch out. He’s known for stabbing business associates in the back to climb the ranks. My father is highly manipulative, and doesn’t stop until he gets the result that he wants,” Yamaneko adds.

“Hmm. He sounds like a potential Heart specialist too. Perhaps it runs in the family?” Mira croons thoughtfully, looking at her with the eyes of a child examining a shiny new bug she had found in the garden. “Ah, but you’re willing to impart information about your own father for the sake of the Beach and the executive board?” she asks.

Yamaneko cringes at the comparison between her and her father. “My loyalty is to the Beach, and to my chief. My chief is part of the executive board, isn’t he?”

Mira regards the CEO’s estranged daughter for a moment, and grins.

“That’s enough. Hopefully this incident is just an isolated case. Ann, if any similar cases show up, you know what to do,” Hatter said, almost with an air of boredom. And with that, Hatter leaves, adjourning the meeting.

“I do think an interrogation is in order, though. If you would allow me to borrow her for a moment, Aguni?” Ann asks, tilting her head towards Yamaneko.

Aguni’s stony expression turns sour, but he nods. The younger militant steps right ahead. “If it helps me prove that I have nothing to do with this, sure.”

The chief backs off, and he turns to the rest of the militants present. “I want to have a word with the two of you. Now.”

As the chief goes off on Niragi and Last Boss, Yamaneko follows Ann to a storage closet for cleaning supplies, and clears her throat.

“Well? We’re clearly not here to play seven minutes in heaven, so if you have a question, shoot.”

Ann rolls her eyes, expression otherwise stoic. “Right. How do you usually execute traitors?”

Yamaneko gulps, looking at her hands. “I usually aim for the carotid, or any other large artery I can target.”

“And why do you choose that method? Are there any advantages to it?” Ann asks, taking out a notepad and starting to jot down on it.

“It puts them out of their misery fast. Plus, the blood spurts in one steady stream without much spraying. It makes cleanup easier.”

Ann nods, and flips a page on the notepad. “What were you doing at around ten thirty in the morning?”

“Grabbing lunch at the lobby,” Yamaneko responds, folding her arms.

“Who were you with? Who did you speak to?”

“Last Boss. Though, I saw my father in the lobby too.”

Nodding and writing, Ann continues. “And what were you doing around two hours before the incident?”

Yamaneko hesitated for a moment, and Ann watched her like a hawk, noting the shift in her body language. Clearing her throat, the militant stammers. “I… I was having sex.”

“With whom?” Ann asks with a completely straight face, pausing from writing on the notepad.

“Is this even necessary to ask? God… I was doing it with Last Boss, obviously. I’m pretty sure some of the people in the rooms nearby heard us too,” Yamaneko says through her teeth, shifting her weight on one foot. “Can I go now?” she asks, face red.

Ann nods, and tucks away her notepad and pen. “You’re free to go.”

The militant leaves. She meets up with the others, who were receiving a tongue-lashing from the chief, and she joins their misery. Afterwards, Aguni motions at his underlings, and they follow. As they walked through the halls of the hotel, Yamaneko felt strength in their numbers.

Then, Aguni halts. “Yamane.” Her head perks up. “How many visa days do you have left?”

She pauses for a moment to think. “More than a week.”

“You’re on patrol duty with me for a few nights.”

“Right. Understood, chief.”

“Meet me tonight at the gate. You’re all free to leave.”

Niragi went ahead and trudged off, mood sour from Aguni’s reminders on the use of violence on the Beach. After checking if no one else is around, Last Boss puts an arm around Yamaneko’s waist, eyes searching hers.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him, before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

“You haven’t been on a patrol yet, haven’t you?” Takatora asked her.

“Mhmm.”

“Stay alert,” he says, voice hinting at some softness.

“Of course.”

Takatora would be lying if he said that he’s nervous about his lover’s first patrol, but as he watches Yamaneko meet up with their leader from a window, he felt some relief knowing that she’s made it far enough to rise to number sixteen and gain some semblance of trust from their chief.

Feeling a little cold from the absence of her jacket, Yamaneko walks towards Aguni, doing the best she can to look focused. She wouldn’t want to disappoint him on her first patrol.

“Yamane, eyes peeled,” Aguni said as he drew his pistol and motioned the younger militant to follow.

“Yes, chief.”

Halfway through their patrol, Yamaneko speaks up. “By the way chief, could you refer to me with my nickname instead?”

This gains her a stern, questioning look. “I don’t want to be associated with my father’s family name anymore.”

The look on Aguni’s face softens ever so slightly, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

“You don’t have to call me chief all the time,” Aguni says to her after some time as he scanned the perimeter for any suspicious activity. His underling looks up to him, a curious look on her face. She hasn’t heard the chief say much outside of games.

“But I find it respectful,” Yamaneko replies, hands hovering near her thighs, where her knives are holstered. Aguni blinks a few times before moving again.

“With proper training, you’d fit in with the SDF. There are more female recruits now, I heard.”

“Nah. I’m too much of a non-conformist for that.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Yamaneko motions to her face with one hand. “Good luck trying to scrub all this makeup off my face, chief.”

The snort he gives her sounds almost amused, but Aguni’s expression remains stern. “That attitude of yours, did it get you in trouble with your father?”

Yamaneko is taken aback from the personal question, but nonetheless, she responds to her leader. “Well, yes. I tried to suppress it and be a good daughter, I promise. Regardless, it’s just an excuse to beat me. Everything I did got me in trouble with him,” Yamaneko says almost too casually, as if her experiences weren’t the damaging, traumatic ones that lingered for years.

Old, painful memories started to stir within Aguni’s psyche upon hearing Yamaneko open up about her own upbringing. In the young woman before him, he saw shards of his past self, the angry young man who wanted to get back at his own father, but was robbed of the opportunity due to his death. His knuckles turn white from the rage simmering in his heart.

They continued walking, looking over the fences for any possible intruders. Every now and then, Aguni would tell the young militant what to watch out for, and what to do in certain scenarios. The patrol ended peacefully, much to Yamaneko’s relief. She leaned against a fence when they got back to the gate. Aguni folds his arms and observes her.

“Is there anything else you need, chief?” Yamaneko asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Yamaneko, day or night?”

“Uh, night.”

“From now on, you’re training with me every five in the afternoon, sharp.”

Eyebrows rising up her forehead, Yamaneko has a dumbfounded look on her face. “Training? For what?”

“Do you want to gain an edge over your bastard father, or not?”

One look in the chief’s eyes, and she knew he had similar experiences in the past; of feeling small and powerless against someone who should have been one’s shelter from the world. “Yes.”

“Then don’t be late.”

Aguni leaves, while a dumbfounded Yamaneko stays in her spot, still processing the events of the day. Cold fingers trail on her good shoulder and she turns to see her lover’s face. A smile blooms on her painted lips.

“Takatora. You didn’t attend a game?”

“I was patrolling on the upper floors. I can’t leave you here on the Beach alone either.”

“Ah,” she replies, holding his hand as they walk back to their room. “I guess we deserve a little break from all the madness of the games.”

After some time, as they lay on their shared bed, Yamaneko asks her lover a question. “Are you worried about my father being here?”

He nods, and squeezes her small hand.

“Don’t worry too much. Besides, the chief said he’ll be training me every five in the afternoon. I’ll kick the bastard’s ass if he tries anything.”

Takatora tilts his head. “The chief?” he asks almost disbelievingly.

“Yeah. It’s kind of strange.”

“You didn’t do anything to earn his ire, didn’t you?”

Yamaneko raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“Good luck. He’s... strict.”

“I know, I know.”

The first day she trained with Aguni, she expected it to be difficult, but not this severe. The wildcat pants as she ran her second lap around the Beach, sweat dripping from her skin and stinging the healing burns on her left arm. Onlookers were staring, and some militants were chuckling among themselves. Niragi sees her, and yells after her.

“Yamaneko, what the hell are you doing?”

“Chief wanted me to run laps!” she shouts, voice hoarse.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?” Yamaneko asks, irritation growing. “No time to talk, gotta run!”

Hanako, the militant who once accompanied her in the dressing room, watches as Yamaneko jogs past her, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. When the chief asks us to do something like that, it’s usually because we pissed him off,” she mutters.

“She must’ve pissed him off bad, then,” Saiko butts in, passing the other girl a cigarette.

As fast as her legs can take her, Yamaneko sprints at the last few meters when Aguni comes into view. As she runs past him, she collapses and lies on the ground. Her feet ache, and it doesn’t help that her sandals aren’t made for running.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to cool down. Walk!” he barks, and Yamaneko suppresses a pathetic sigh as she forces herself up. She paces around in circles, occasionally stretching her arms and legs. Satisfied, Aguni lets her sit, and he tosses her a bottle of water. She gulps it down.

“I’m gonna hit the showers now, chief,” she pants, and Aguni tilts his head.

“You think you’re done for the day?” he asks.

Yamaneko couldn’t answer, looking at him in disbelief.

“Not yet, you’re not. You still have some grapples and knife techniques to study. Stand up!”

She swore she wanted to cry, but Yamaneko kept her mouth in a tight line, swallowed hard, and got on her feet.

“This is nothing compared to the shit I endured in the past,” she thinks to herself, and carries on.

Two. Three. Five. Ten times, she ended up on her ass, disarmed and beaten by the chief every single time. As she was starting to reconsider what she thought earlier, the chief holds a meaty hand out, and she grabs it. Aguni helps her to her feet, and pats her back, almost making her lurch forward.

Yamaneko freezes at the friendly touch. All the touches she got from authority figures, her father especially, was nothing like this.

“Focus on your footwork.”

Then, he leaves without saying anything else. Tired, bruised, but fulfilled, Yamaneko shouts a spirited “Yes, chief!” as he walks away.

Taking a deep breath, the younger militant finishes what’s left of her water, and heads back to her shared room. Takatora is waiting inside, fresh from a patrol, and upon seeing her sweaty and disheveled form, he lets go of whatever he was reading to check on her.

Yamaneko holds two thumbs up and beams at him, voice failing her.

“Did the chief go too hard on you?”

“No. Well, yes. But, it’s fine. I learned a lot,” she says as she sits next to him. “You know, he’s more of a parental figure to me than my own father.”

Takatora snorts at the idea of Aguni being a father, but the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her. He’ll never say it out loud, though.

On the tenth day of Yamaneko’s training, in the middle of sparring with the chief, one of Hatter’s men approached them.

“Aguni. Please come with us. Take her with you too,” he says in an urgent manner, brows furrowed in concern.

“You better have a good reason for this interruption,” he growls, picking up a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“There’s been another killing. Please take care of it discreetly. Hatter doesn’t like it when things like this goes public.”

A lump forms in Yamaneko’s throat as she follows Aguni to the hotel room holding the victim. When they arrived, Ann was there, assessing the situation, and the victim sprawled on the floor, a diagonal cut on his neck. A few men were setting up a stretcher nearby, and they halted when they saw the leader of the militants enter the room.

“It’s similar to the previous case,” Ann starts, taking off her shades. “The wounds are consistent with the type I found on Mrs. Yamane. A laceration to the neck with a sharp object,” she continues, holding a clean handkerchief and tilting the victim’s head. “And this time, the glass fragments stuck on his skin are more obvious. Whoever committed these murders used a shard of glass as an improvised weapon.”

The taller woman turns to Yamaneko. “I’ve corroborated your statement with the other residents on your floor. They indeed heard you that morning, so you couldn’t have been with your stepmother. Your method of exsanguinating traitors before disposal doesn’t align with the ones used in these murders, either. The odds of you being the killer are low, from this information.”

“Any clue on the killer's identity?” Aguni asks, watching the corpse. The victim died with his eyes wide open, the look of terror etched on his face.

“We have a lead,” says Ann, full of cold confidence. “For now, bring her to the makeshift lab discreetly. I need to do a full autopsy.”

Boots thudding against the floor, Aguni walks towards the corpse, and hooks his arms under his armpits. Instinctively, Yamaneko grabs his feet. As they lay him down on the stretcher, the victim’s mangled arm, riddled with stab wounds due to his attempt of protecting himself from his assailant, slips and dangles off the edge. Looking around, Yamaneko grabs the end of a curtain, and puts it back in place. The victim’s Beach tag, number 28, reflects the moonlight streaming from the window, and Yamaneko’s eyes trail to the glittering mess of broken glass on the floor, which contrasts with the dark blood splatters on the wood.

“Hey, Ann,” she calls her attention. “I think I found the murder weapon.”

The taller woman hands her the handkerchief, and she picks up a large shard of glass, its pointed end jagged and stained with blood. Ann holds it out in the light, making out some fingerprints.

“Good,” she said, then she prompts them to follow.

“That face is going to haunt me,” one of Hatter’s men comments, and Yamaneko gulps.

“Me too,” she adds.

Hatter’s devotee looks at the militant, a question hanging from his open mouth, but he chooses to keep it shut. Sensing his hesitation, Yamaneko rolls her eyes and quietly gets to work.

Glancing at the dead’s face, whose eyes were frozen in an expression of distress, Yamaneko grimaces and closes his eyes with her fingers. She pulls the curtains off the rods, and covers his bloody body. The crimson quickly soaks through the fabric.

That night, the wildcat sat in the bath longer than usual.

Wading over to his lover’s side, Takatora helps Yamaneko settle into his chest as he wraps both arms around her. In silence, she mulls about her day, brows furrowed.

“You’re bothered by something,” Takatora speaks up.

“I had to carry a corpse with the chief earlier. And my father is still living on the Beach. Ugh. Takatora, I just want to get away from all this. I mean, I’m not going to leave and turn traitor. I crave some change of scenery, maybe explore some places outside the Beach.”

Playing with Yamaneko’s hair, Takatora presses his mouth behind her head. “Supply runners leave for food and gasoline at eight in the morning. I help put away the gas when they return in the afternoon.”

Yamaneko looks up to give him a mischievous grin. “Do you think we can scare them into driving for us?”

He nods, and she laughs with a childish giddiness.

“Great! There’s this place I’ve been wanting to visit again.”

[aerialsquid]

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn't exclude someone from being completely dangerous--if anything, that heightened the risk. "What can I do for you?"

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. "Would you tend to his corpse too?"

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target--a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery," he bemoaned. "The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course."

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the--”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Twenty six minutes later, going by his watch, Jacob showed up at the Jewish cemetery that back-ended the only synagogue in town. It was guarded by high brick walls that made it impossible to see inside, but when Jacob went to put his key into the wrought iron gates he found them already unlocked.

Only a few other people had the key, and he briefly prayed that it was one of them who’d opened it. Then he prayed again, a more general ‘please keep me from being murdered in my own cemetery’ plea as he passed through the gates. One hand patted his pocket, feeling the edges of the folded knife he’d brought along just in case matters went nasty.

In the very corner of the cemetery a lantern burned beside an open grave, a long wooden box, and three figures with two shovels. As he approached he recognized Maud, the gravedigger’s wife and her two eldest children.

The city’s Jews and Christians kept separate cemeteries but shovels didn’t need any particular religious affiliation and neither did the hands who were paid to hold them. Maud’s husband served the dead of all faiths as long as they needed a few feet of dirt to rest their heads in.

“You’re out late,” Jacob said, casual, like they'd met at the grocer's instead of the graveyard.

Maud shrugged. She was thin with unkempt, slightly greasy hair that fell around her face in soft waves and a dress that had no functions besides the practical. Jacob knew her to be much like her husband – not bereft of compassion, but very straightforward when it came to the rites of death. It happened. The mourners mourned, but someone had to dig the holes and move the coffins, and tears only hindered the process. “And what are you, out for an evening constitutional among the headstones?”

“Let me guess, a man in grey showed up on your doorstep and asked you to come out here in the middle of the night with minimal justification but great urgency."

Maud laughed bitterly. “The same.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Visiting family. Had to bring them instead.” She gestured to the two young people with her, one a stringy and acne-ridden lad of thirteen and one a sixteen year old young woman who was growing into having her father’s thick arms. Both looked profoundly uncomfortable with the situation.

“And he’d put up a storming fuss if a mysterious stranger asked him to dig a grave at half past nonsense at night. Me, I know better.” Maud put a finger next to her nose and tapped it. “There’s something strange going on about this. Otherworldly. Not to be trifled with.”

“Do you have any idea who this man is?”

“Not a clue. Wouldn’t give me a name, even.”

Jacob gestured to the open grave. “Who are we burying here, Cain? A murder victim?”

Maud shrugged, followed by shrugs from her two children. “Whatever he is and whoever wants him in the ground, I’m of no mind to tell him no. He’s too determined for someone who’d take it for a good answer.”

They waited in the stillness, listening to crickets softly chirp in the bushes lining the graveyard. Suddenly Jacob could see movement in the fog, then the billowing of a grey cloak, and then the shape of a man dragging something behind him on a pull cart.

Sticking out over the rim of the cart was a large, curved piece of  rock that Jacob recognized as the rough draft of a gravestone. There was a crack down one side of the stone, indicating it had likely been tossed aside as defective before it could be engraved. Beside it was a long bundle wrapped in a dirty sheet.

The four at the grave steeled their nerves in the way that best suited their spiritual preferences as the man in grey approached.

“That’s our man, is it?” Jacob asked, pointing at the bundle. The man in grey nodded.

“Do what you need to tend to him, rabbi. But do it quickly.”

Jacob uncovered the man and winced at the smell. The man had obviously been dead for at least a day, and hadn’t died in any particular state of valor. There were ligature marks around his neck, which tilted at an uncomfortable angle. That plus the bulging of his eyes and the shape of his face meant he’d died of strangulation—a slow death on the gallows, with no kind executioner ensuring that he fell fast and far enough to snap his neck at the bottom. He’d also been stripped down to his underclothes by whoever’d taken him down off the rope, and those garments that remained were…messy.

“Lay him out flat,” Jacob said. “We’ll need to get his clothes off first.”

The man winced. “Must you? He’s endured enough humiliation.”

“Do you want him purified or not? He’s covered in his own…ugh. Covered in a number of things.”

Maud took out a long pocket knife and began cutting the undergarments off the corpse, nose wrinkling. “Hate hanged corpses,” she muttered. “Wish they’d just behead them, it’d look neater and go faster.”

“But then you’ve got the body in two pieces,” said the son.

His sister rebutted, “You could tie it back on afterwards under the shirt.” The pair descended into a discussion of ideal execution methods that Jacob tried to block out with sheer willpower.

As a distraction, he studied the dead man's face. Besides the strangulation the man wasn’t unhandsome. Jacob would put him at an elegantly-aging 45 at the oldest, with stylishly cut ruddy hair and a strong jaw. It wasn't the kind of man you'd expect to find on the gallows.

“I’m going to need a name,” Jacob said, looking to the man in grey.

The man in grey hesitated, staring down at the corpse.

“James,” he said finally.

“That’s the truth, right?" Jacob pressed, in the tone he used on children who were too young to lie effectively.  “It’s actually James?”

“Yes, actually James,” the man snapped.

“James…son of…?”

“Haven’t a clue.” The sharp eyes stared daggers into Jacob’s face. Jacob sighed and went with the one sure bet he had for ancestry.

“…James ben Adam, I ask forgiveness for you, for your family and friends, and for

all of Israel, and I ask forgiveness from you for any mistakes or indiscretions I may unintentionally commit during this service.”

“He’s dead,” the man in grey interjected. “Don’t waste time asking him how he feels, just prepare him.”

“It’s part of the ritual. Besides, I hardly want him coming back tomorrow to complain.”

Jacob ran quickly through the rest of the prayers in Hebrew– the prayer for forgiveness from the corpse, the prayer for those preparing it, the prayer for compassion for the dead. The man in grey was silent. Maud and her children answered with a hasty ‘amen’ after each paragraph, even though they had no real idea what he was saying. Their religious policy seemed to be ‘whatever gets the job done’.

Jacob sighed. “All right, let’s get to the business.”

Maud and her children huddled by the corpse as Jacob poured water over it and recited the familiar words. He is pure, he is pure, he is pure. Amen, amen.

Between pourings the four rubbed the filth from the man’s skin. There were bruises on the man’s body, and scars ranging from years old to less than a month. As he cleaned under the fingernails Jacob noticed how soft his hands were, as if he’d lived in wealth and luxury until recently.

Tahara was usually the domain of the synagogue’s chevra kadisha, the funeral society, not something one rabbi did on his own. Jacob hoped that whoever was supervising the legalities of the affair would accept one rabbi and four multi-gender gentiles as a valid substitute for meeting adult male Jewish quorum.

Jacob looked up at the grey-clothed man, who’d taken a seat on a nearby headstone, cane resting beneath his folded hands. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help?”

The man shook his head. “Willing, yes. Able, no.”

“Why?”

The man angled his head to the side, voice going soft and hoarse. “There are a lot of things I cannot say. If I did, it would not…be what was necessary.”

“And what is necessary?”

“That he be buried tonight before the cock crowed, with full funeral and rites, by a man of faith, without promise of wealth or other reward for the deed,” the man rattled off as if by rote.

“You say that like it’s in a contract of some kind.”

“It is legally binding, in its own way. Now please, enough questions, we’ve not much time.” The man looked up nervously to the moon.

“Fine. Can you at least go fetch us more water?” Jacob asked the man in grey. Once he’d left with the jug, Maud huddled down next to him.

“Think I know who this dead man is,” Maud whispered.  “Heard about him over the local gossip from my cousin. He was a criminal. Nasty one, a thief and a murderer. Mutilated bodies. They say he even made a deal with Lucifer himself. Must be why this one sought you out.”

“You know we don’t believe in your Devil, right?” Jacob muttered, almost by reflex. “Let alone have any positive relationship with him.”

“The people what hanged him this week in the next town over believed in the Devil. What else would be so bad the church wants nothing to do with him And why else would he need consecrating so badly and so quickly, if he’s not got something he needs absolving form?”

Jacob watched the fog for the return of the man in grey. “And this gentleman who’s such an advocate for him, you think he’s…”

Maud followed his gaze. “If I believed in such things, I’d think it,” she whispered.

“But you don’t?”

Maud gave him a sharp look. “You think a gravedigger’s wife can afford to believe in ghosts? It’s bad for business, Rabbi.”

“Might not be, if you convince them a ghost prefers an expensive grave. Ah, hush, he’s coming back.”

Rather than put it into Jacob’s hands, the man in grey set the jug on the ground and stepped back from it. Jacob continued to pray as they wiped the corpse down and combed through his ruddy hair, reciting so quickly that Jacob ran out of prayer before he was done and ventured off into additional prayers that couldn’t hurt to add on top of the pile.

Jacob reached for the bag next to him and pulled out piles of white linen. “Now we dress him.”

“You just finished undressing him! He’s a corpse and he’s going to rot, does it matter?”

Jacob gritted his teeth, half-rising to his feet. “It. Is. The. Tradition,” he hissed.

The man in grey put his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Do what you will. Just do it quickly.”

Jacob wrapped the corpse gently in the burial clothes – pants, shirt, belt. As he laid the white cloth in place over the face he felt the tension growing in the air, an odd pressure he’d previously chalked to humidity.

You can’t buy and sell a soul, he told himself. All souls belong to God. That’s how it works.

On the other hand, God might rent them out on commission. If he made it out of this intact he really needed to see what the Talmud said on the subject.

The man in grey was fidgeting. He kept looking to the moon, then to the watch in his hand, and then worrying the cane between his legs until it dug a long furrow in the dirt in front of him.

“Get his feet, I’ll take his shoulders.”

“Yes, mum.”

Maud and her daughter dropped the corpse into its plain pine box.

“Nails,” Maud said over her shoulder.

“Here, mum.”

The gravedigger’s son brought the hammer down hard. The resounding noise of the pine box being nailed shut jangled Jacob’s nerves after all the hushed prayers. The youth gave the nails a few extra swings each, just to make sure that nothing inside the box decided to come back out again.

The four of them lifted the coffin and crab-walked with it until it was vaguely over the grave, then dropped it in.  The man in grey leapt to his feet. “Now. Funeral. Perform it, and quickly,” he insisted.

Jacob steadied himself at the edge of the grave. Maud and the children took up the politely sympathetic stances identical to the one the gravedigger did when waiting for the funeral to finally end so he could get to his business.

Jacob was used to these. He was just used to them during the daytime, with a row of mourners lined up neatly with their ritually torn ribbons pinned to their chests as a substitute for rending their actual clothing. Even the most loathsome of people had someone to show up in order to keep up social status. A funeral for a man with no mourners to comfort was novel.

He looked at the man in grey, who was standing well back with his arms folded. “I will say, I’ve never done a eulogy for someone I don’t know the identity of, so I can’t promise anything quality.”

“I don’t care. Do it.”

Jacob took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. He thought back to other eulogies, pulling together scraps of them and tying it nicely with a scriptural bow.

“We are all cracked vessels,” he pronounced in his Official Rabbi Voice. “But we are all vessels made in the image of God, and even in death that vessel is subject to respect. As the Torah says, even if a man commits a sin so severe that he is sentenced to death, his body shall not be left out overnight, but buried that same day, for a hanging corpse is a blasphemy to God and a defilement of the land.”

The man in grey made a small noise, like a half-stifled bitter laugh. Jacob forced his voice to be steady.

“And from this we see that there is no crime that separates man from God. He is not spared from judgment, but he is still in God’s image, and to disrespect his right to burial is to disrespect God himself. May those that James ben Adam has harmed in life forgive him and gain healing, and those whose lives he has enriched remember him. Amen.”

And may this not come back to bite me in the arse, whatever strange theological zone I may be playing in.

“Amen,” echoed Maud and her children. Maud’s daughter shivered, a strange act when the night’s heat seemed to be growing ever more oppressive on Jacob’s shoulders.

The words of Kel Maleh Rachamim felt heavy on Jacob’s tongue. Towards the end he felt himself slurring vowels and having to stop and go back to repeat them properly. His throat burned, and he took a swig from the dirty water jug just to soothe it, but found it brought no relief.

“Please,” whispered the man in grey.  “Now! Bury him now!”

Jacob could feel dawn coming somehow, though he hadn’t checked his watch since they began. He could feel it in his bones as the heat surged through him. Maud and her children went for the shovels.

Jacob kept the prayer flowing, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mey rabah!” he muttered as dirt flew into the grave. The words of the Mourner’s Kaddish were some of the most familiar he knew. They were said every Shabbat morning, and the same words were repeated for their own reasons several other times during the service. In the dense air they seemed to be the only thing keeping his throat clear, when he would otherwise suffocate.

The two children shoveled as fast as they could but they were slumping under some unseen pressure. The girl winced, gritting her teeth, and tears were gathering at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

The man in grey jumped to stand beside them, waving his hands. “Faster!” he shouted.

“You heard him, faster!” shouted Maud.

“Mum, my arms hurt, let me rest!”

“Keep going!” the man in grey snarled. “We haven’t much time!”

When the shovel fell from the young man’s limp hands Jacob grabbed it and began piling in the dirt furiously. He felt claws dig into his arms draining the strength from his muscles. The man in grey urged them onward, with pleas and with threats, and Jacob tried to ignore both. There were whispers invading his mind and he drove them out by chanting at double speed. Beside him Maud was saying the prayers of her own people and her daughter was fumbling along behind her in repeating them. It made a rhythm to shovel to, up and down and deep into the dirt again, until the coffin was covered completely. Maud’s son heaved the crudely-carved rock from the cart and nearly dropped it on his own foot as he planted it at the head of the grave.

“Amen!” the young man shouted.

“Amen, amen, for god’s sake, are we done?” asked the daughter, thick arms limp at her sides.

“We’re done!” said Jacob, barely getting the words out.

“You’re not!” shouted the man in grey. He had his arms around himself, head bowed as if under unseen blows. “It’s not finished!”

Jacob ground his teeth, his muscles screaming in pain. “There’s nothing left!” The gravedigger’s son was on his knees trembling.

“You must have forgotten something!” yelled the man in gray in a shaking voice, huddled inside his cloak.

“I didn’t—"

Oh.

Of course.

Jacob pulled the knife from his pocket. The act of opening it felt like moving a boulder. He took his shirt cuff and with great effort jabbed the knife into it, dragging it down until he reached the hem.. The sound of the cloth tearing reverberated through the graveyard and magnified a hundred times, until it was shaking Jacob down to his bones.

Like rain breaking on a broiling July day, the tension snapped and vanished. The pained sniffles of the gravedigger’s son faded into silence. Across the graveyard, the crickets started up their song once more.

The man in grey uncurled slowly. “What did you…do?” he asked, looking to Jacob in awe.

“Mourners,” Jacob gasped, the knife falling from his hands. “There were no mourners. Had to—you tear your clothing, when you’re mourning. Funeral’s not just for the dead. It’s for the living. It needed mourners.”

A feeling of cool mist enveloped Jacob as the man in grey launched at him for a deep embrace. It was the first time the man had touched any of them since the night began. “Thank you,” the man said, voice nearly a sob.

Jacob patted his back. The man felt like a damp blanket cloying to his skin. “Shalom Aleichem, James.”

“Whatever that means, the same to you, Rabbi.” The weight of the man vanished from his arms, followed by the man himself. The first rays of morning light shone down upon wet grass dented by absent boots.

Maud’s daughter slumped against her mother. Maud’s arm reached around her and gave her a hard squeeze, a weak smile coming to her face.

“Do we get to believe in ghosts now, Mum?”

“No, dear. It’s bad for business.”

[sweet-barnes]

Snake Eyes - part twelve

Pairing: mob!Bucky x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: death and injuries

Summary: ‘Snake eyes’ meaning the worst possible result;  a complete lack of success. Getting caught up between two of the biggest mobs in the city was not how you expected your night to go, and falling for a mob boss can only end in disaster.

A/N: it’s finally happening!! (you’ll know what i mean when you get to the end ;) ) i’m so excited!

Snake Eyes Masterlist

Part 11

You hadn’t left your apartment since you were dropped off by Natasha a week away. All your newly bought possessions from Bucky’s were still in cardboard boxes in the hallway. You didn’t even want to look inside them, nevermind tidy the contents of them away. 

Natasha had visited a couple of times, staying in the evenings for a movie and a takeaway, never once commenting on the boxes littering the hallway but you noticed her eyeing them a few times. She never mentioned Bucky and you didn’t want to bring him up either, but you wished she would say something. At least let you know how he is.

You hadn’t heard from him either. It wasn’t like you expected him to come running straight back to you. You didn’t know what you expected from him, if you were completely honest.

The look of hurt lingering behind his eyes when he told you to leave kept flashing in your mind whenever you closed your eyes. You couldn’t shake it, and to know that you caused it made your heart ache even more.

Since returning home, no calls had been made to your friends or family, not any form of contact. Every time the thought came into your mind, it was battered away by the fact that you were on the wrong side of two mob bosses. You didn’t think either of them would hesitate to use your loved ones against you as payback. You had wronged both of them enough to deserve it.

A sharp knock at the door brought you out of your daze and your feet padded softly on the wooden flooring as you walked over to greet whoever was there. Without looking to see who was on the other side, you swung the door open and was surprised to see a group of familiar faces.

Nat, Steve, Sam and Tony all stood in front of your door, a goofy grin plastered on all of their face’s apart from Tony’s. It was nice to see nothing had changed with them.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he stated before making his own way into the apartment, walking straight passed you and to the alcohol cupboard in your kitchen. How did he know where the hell to go? Everyone else wandered in as you were still staring in Tony’s direction. 

“Come on, Y/N, we need to talk,” Natasha called from her newly settled place on the sofa. You quickly made your way over to her, everyone making themselves comfy in your living room. It seemed a lot smaller with all these large men taking up the space, it just seemed cozy when it was only you and Nat.

“Why are you all here?” You questioned quietly, feeling uneasy at their sudden presence. You’d happily welcome Natasha but no one else had come to visit you since you left. 

“Have you heard the news?” The question came from Sam and you simply shook your head. “Rumlow’s body was found in the river outside of the city, he was a few days gone by the time they fished him out.” An unknown feeling hit you in a wave. Something that felt like relief but not entirely that.

“His gunshot wounds had been stitched up, but they found fresh stab wounds all over, and it looked like he had been beat up as well,” Sam carried on and as the new information filtered into your head, you suddenly felt sick. 

“Just a minute,” you managed to mumble out before rushing into the bathroom and slamming the door, leaving the Commandos on their own.

“I know you said she looked bad, but I didn’t think she’d be like this,” Steve mumbled, glancing in the direction you had ran off. There were muffled sounds of you throwing up from behind the door. “I told you she’s not coping well, I have no idea what to do and it’s not like Bucky’s been around to help.” 

When they’d walked in, they found you still in the same clothes that you were in when Natasha had come to visit 3 days earlier. Your hair didn’t look brushed as it was thrown in a bun on your head.

Tony stood up and wandered over to the window, “are we telling her he’s gone missing? Wouldn’t that just make her worse?” A gasp sounded from behind him and he twisted to see a fake shocked look plastered all over Sam’s face. “Was that some compassion? Empathy? Any kind of feelings at all coming from Tony Stark?” 

“Hey, I have plenty of empathy thank you, just not for idiots like you,” they started bickering between themselves, Steve rolling his eyes and falling deeper into the sofa. You walked out of the bathroom, drained after emptying the dinner you had had earlier, to the commotion of noise. 

You caught Natasha’s eye and she just smirked as you came to settle in the middle of the room. “Okay boys, calm yourselves, no fighting in my house” they instantly stopped at your presence and you made your way back to your place next to Natasha, who had started giggling at the scene. 

“Thank you for coming to tell me guys, you didn’t have to and I know Bucky probably isn’t happy with you guys for even talking to me, so it means a lot,” you didn’t notice the shared glances around the room at the mention of Bucky.

Truth be told, Bucky had disappeared without a trace the night he had told you to leave. He didn’t even say a word to Steve, who he usually confided in with everything that went on in his life. The worry between the Commandos had built up but there was no way for them to track him down. He’d left his phone in his office draw.

When the news broke that Rumlow had been found floating in the river, the mob’s suspicions rose that it was Bucky’s doing but when he still hadn’t returned home a few nights later, confusion set in. That’s when they decided to come and see you. To break the news and see if you knew anything they didn’t.

They didn’t want to just come right out and ask if Bucky had been visiting, but they knew you would have mentioned it to at least Natasha in the time they were there. You were just as clueless as they were. 

“Do you guys want to stay for a movie?” You offered, feeling confident in their presence. It felt like you had got a little bit of your family back, you felt safer with just their existence in your life. Plus, you needed something to take your mind off the news you had just received. As much as it lifted a weight from your heart, you needed to distract yourself from that mental image. You knew it would haunt you in your sleep tonight.

Thankfully, the group agreed, having nothing important that evening to see to. They were happy to have you back in some way or another, Steve and Sam hadn’t realised how much they had missed you until they had seen your face again. 

They had been burying themselves in work, trying to find Bucky, and then trying to find a way to convince him to let you come back to safety once they had finally found him. When Rumlow was still alive, they knew you were never truly safe, and they were just glad Natasha had been keeping an eye on you whenever Bucky didn’t have an assignment for her, but they never thought that was enough.

Some of that unease had been lifted with the news but they still wanted you back. The place hadn’t felt the same without your warm presence there. So the evening was spent watching a Disney film that everyone chose, and Tony complaining the whole way through that he was ‘too old for this shit’ but was often found singing along under his breath which he was constantly teased for.

You finally felt at peace, and when everyone had left, you didn’t get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach at the thought of being alone. 

It was just passed 10 when you had shut the door, saying your goodbyes and you were definitely ready to get into bed. After only seeing a Natasha a couple of times throughout the week and no one else, having a group of rowdy mobsters in your small apartment really wore you out.

You found comfort in the soft sheets, snuggling into them like you would in Bucky’s mansion, somehow forgetting you were in your own bedroom. Your eyes were just shutting and you could feel yourself falling into sleep when stumbling footsteps from down the hall caused your eyes to snap open once again. 

You waited a second, holding your breath to hear for the sound again and when you heard a hiss and a thud, your heart rate shot up. You felt your hands shaking as you pulled back the covers and tip toed out of bed and towards the door.

You twisted the handle and slowly pulled the door open, cursing silently when it creaked loudly. You had told your mother you would get it fixed the last time she had come round and now you really wished you had gone through with it. The sounds from down the hall stopped and it felt like you were having a stand off with a ghost.

You didn’t know what move to make but your feet made that decision for you. You always thought in a fight or flight situation you would definitely run, but the last month has taught you a lot about yourself, and being stronger than you thought you were was definitely one of those things. 

You were suddenly at the end of the hall, staring at the dark lumbering figure that was in your kitchen, right by the knife set that was placed on top of the counter. Of course the intruder had to be there, just typical.

You watched some more as they turned in your direction to face you and took a few steps closer. You felt yourself retreating slightly but not enough to block your view of the shadow. The streetlight filtering in through your open blinds caught the side of their face and there was a glint of blue you recognised instantly. 

“Bucky?” Your voice was barely above a whisper but the figure heard it. His body tensed and straightened. You stepped out from behind the corner and flicked on the light switch, coming face to face with a disheveled looking Bucky.

Bruises and cuts littered his face. He had a black eye that was shining with how fresh it was and you saw the drop of blood sliding down his chin from slit on his lip. You took in a small gasp. The only time you had seen Bucky in anything but a suit was when he was in his pyjama bottoms, and you didn’t even recall that very well after the trauma.

He had a heavy looking, worn leather jacket on him, his muscles filling it out perfectly. A black zip up hoodie underneath and a t-shirt with a band you had never heard of under all that. His dark wash jeans had rips along them, and you couldn’t tell whether they were made like that or from the fight he had clearly been in. 

His heavy breathing was prominent in the silent room and as you walked closer to him, he seemed to back away. “Bucky, what are you doing here?” Worry was written all over your face as you tried to reach out to him. 

“Y/N, I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry,” his words were breathy and you could tell instantly that he had taken quite a beating. “No Bucky, are you okay?” 

You were now standing in front of him and the smell of alcohol emanating from him was so strong you felt your nose scrunch up slightly at it. “You don’t deserve this, Y/N.” The broken way in which he said your name caused an ache in your heart and all you wanted to do was wrap him up in your arms and never let go.

It didn’t matter that he wanted you gone just a week before, your heart would always care for him and you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t look after him in every opportunity you got. It was the least he deserved in the harsh world he was wrapped up in. 

You softly grabbed his hand in yours, this time he didn’t back away from you and he allowed you to lead him to the living room and into the cushion filled armchair. His large figure took up the whole seat, making it look smaller than it actually was and you couldn’t help but think how cute he would look sat there on a cold Sunday afternoon, a blanket over his lap, reading his favourite book.

Your thoughts arrived back in the present quickly and you silently made your way to the bathroom to get your first aid kit and a clean cloth to clean up Bucky’s face. You had no idea what you were doing, but you could at least try if he was willing to let you.

You settled yourself down in front of him on your knees, bringing the damp cloth up to the now drying blood on his face and lightly dabbed it away. The whole process was silent. Every time you looked into his eyes, they were clouded over and it was like he was refusing to look at you. 

You left him to his own thoughts. He came to you for a reason and he would share that whenever he was ready, all you needed to do was look after him the way he looked after you. 

You were wiping the antiseptic wipe over the cut on his lip when he hissed at the stinging. You muttered an apology under your breath and was about to go back to cleaning around it when a sturdy hand grabbed your wrist and pushed it away. You were met with piercing blue eyes as you looked up. 

“They know it was me.” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you tried to search Bucky’s eyes for an explanation of what he had said but there was none. You shifted your hands so you were holding his gently in yours, your thumb instinctively sweeping over his bruised knuckles. 

“What do you mean, Buck? What have you done?” Your voice was a whisper. Bucky shook his head, “Rumlow, that was me,” at the mention of his name everything settled into place. It made sense but you didn’t want to believe it. “Who knows, Buck?” You were trying to be as gentle as you can, “HYDRA?” 

Bucky’s eyes closed at the mention of them but you saw the small nod he gave. “How do you know?” Despite your mind being so fuzzy with the news, you were trying to keep as calm as possible for Bucky, he didn’t need you panicking right now.

“I don’t know, they just know,” his voice was rough as it came out. “I’d say they’d tell the police but they’ve got too much shit of their own to worry about, it would just be easier to kill me.” The thought he put into your head didn’t sit well and you gripped his hand harder than you meant to. 

“No Bucky, we’ll help you, your family will help you and protect you, no one is going to get to you,” you said sternly, trying to meet his eyes as he gazed down at your joined hands. He let out a deep breath, “I got into a fight today, I got drunk and provoked a fight because I just wanted to feel something, I’ve been numb since I dealt with Rumlow.”

You body yearned to comfort him but you knew you couldn’t do anything. “Shall I call the guys? They can come and get you and take you back home, you’ll be safe there.” As much as you wanted him to stay with you so you could look after him, you knew he needed to be around his men.

“No Y/N, I’m sorry, I want to see you before I go,” Bucky met your eyes then and you couldn’t look away. “Go where?” You asked. “I’m leaving, I know you think I’m a good man but when my father was alive, I was anything but that.”

You weren’t too sure of what was happening now. You had only heard snippets of his childhood, but nothing to do with his parents. He carried on anyway. “He made me do things to turn me into a man, it only broke me, and I’ve been trying to repay my sins ever since the Commandos became mine, I can’t do it anymore so I need to leave.”

You wanted to argue with him but you knew it wasn’t the right time, so you let the quiet of the room take over. “Do you want food?” You didn’t know what else to say and even though you had just eaten during the movie, you weren’t going to deny Bucky that need.

“Can we have that takeaway again?” You giggled at his sheepish look and simply nodded, standing up to grab the house phone to order. Just as you stepped away from Bucky you felt the air shift as he stood up quickly behind you, gently taking your arm and turning you around.

You looked up to ask what was wrong and his face was suddenly in front of yours and you didn’t have time to process what was happening before his soft lips were against your own. Your eyes fell shut instinctively and you felt like you had sunk into the floor at the warm feeling that was bubbling inside of you.

You tried to be as gentle as you could, not wanting to irritate his cut anymore but Bucky seemed needy as his hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer. His lips moved against yours in the most natural way and it wasn’t long before you felt his hot tongue slide across your lips. 

At that moment, Bucky seemed to remember himself and pulled away, his eyes frantically searching yours but you smiled softly, causing his racing heart to slow down once again. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore?” You tried to chuckle afterwards but it just made you seem even more sad and Bucky hated that he made you think that was the case.

“I made a mistake, and I’ve regretted it since the moment you left, could you ever forgive me?” his voice was soft as he spoke but you could sense the sadness that fell in his words, that didn’t stop you from trying to lift his spirits however. “I guess I’ll have to think about it, James.” With that you giggled and wandered off into the kitchen, leaving Bucky staring at your retreating figure.

Part 13

[ererokii]

Red Festival || Eijirou Kirishima

Eijirou Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, cursing

Word Count: 3027

Synopsis: The bittersweet Strawberry Festival approaches again, leaving Kirishima to be locked up in his own thoughts.

Taglist (message to be added): @shoutodoki​ @shoutosteakettle​ @saltie​ @fryingpanitachi​ @sugacookiies​ @kingtamakimurder​ @pixxiesdust​

➺ Note: This is for the @bnhabookclub’s bingo event! The prompt is Strawberry Festival.

Bingo Masterlist

The annual Strawberry Festival was held in the season of spring. After months of rain, many farms in Japan donated to the annual Strawberry Festival. In exchange, the funding from the festival went back to the farmers for more supplies they would need. A plot of land was rented for an entire month.

The festival was amazing. The grown Sakura Trees finally bloomed, the pink petals adding a delicate feeling to the area. The fresh spring air filled up those who attended with joy. Many men, women, and children made the abandoned area into a lively, boisterous place.

Eijirou Kirishima and his friends always went, even during their previous high school years. It was a tradition, Mina would say, as she persuaded them to attend once again with her. They always would fall for her persistent ways— Bakugou finally going with them after she teased him about having no friends. Each year seemed to be more fun and better than the last.

Each time they went, they always seemed to get closer. Kaminari noted that Mina was always the only girl and wondered if she had any other friends outside of their group. Mina, who got offended, started her cycle of whining, claiming she did have other friends besides them. At last year’s festival, she told them she had a friend who would join them but unfortunately couldn’t due to late hero work.

Of course, the pink-haired girl understood, being a pro hero herself. This year, her friend was able to join, asking her agency specifically for the day off.

Kirishima wondered about Mina’s friend. Was she kind? Was she the angry type to lose her cool so often like Bakugo? Was she goofy?

Was she pretty?

The three males waited for their pink friend to show up, who was running fashionably late as always. Bakugou, who was already losing his patience, threatened to leave if she didn’t arrive in the next five minutes, but them knowing him for so long called his bluff.

“Relax dude,” Kirishima sighed, leaning against one of the metal poles that held up the sign for the festival. “Maybe her friend was just running late or something.”

“Yeah, plus you know how long Ashido takes to get ready. One time she wanted to go to the market and made me wait a whole thirty minutes just for her to find the perfect outfit. For the store! Can you believe that?!” Kaminari exclaimed, shoving his arms out in front of him to emphasize what he said.

“She made you wait for thirty?” Sero scoffed, looking up at the clear blue sky. “Try an hour cause she forgot you were coming over and she just woke up.” “Can the both of you just shut up?!” Bakugou yelled, causing nearby people to jump in shock at the sudden burst and stare at him. “Complaining about her isn’t going to make her any faster! In fact, I’m just going to leave right now! Tell her to kiss my ass!” Bakugou turned on his heel, taking a step forward as Kirishima’s arm shot out, his hand wrapping around Bakugou’s bicep.

“She’s coming and we just need to wait! Wouldn’t it suck if we all just left?!”

“Oh no no there’s no we! I’m leaving by myself!!”

“Hey!!”

A sigh of relief left Kirishima’s lips, his hand releasing its grip on the blond’s arm. “See? She’s here!” He laughed and turned around, a bright smile on his face. “Hey, Mina!”

“Sorry, I’m late! We couldn’t find a parking spot!”

At the sound of we, his ears perked up as his eyebrows furrowed, not noticing another body behind her. “Uh, that’s funny. Where is your friend?”

Her eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder. “Y/N! Over here!” she yelled, jumping up as she waved you over with both of her hands.

You felt embarrassed as you jogged over to her, holding your ticket in a deep grip of your hand. “S-sorry! They cut me off right when they admitted you!”

A disapproving shake of her head and her hand wrapped itself around your wrist, dragging you in front of her. “Guys this is Y/LN Y/N! Y/N that’s,” a finger pointed at Sero. “That’s Sero! The angry-looking one is Bakugou! The black stripe is Kaminari and the redhead is Kirishima! Don’t make it awkward okay guys?!”

Kirishima stared at you. His eyes raked over your appearance, glancing from the tips of your shoes to the hair on top of your head. He zeroed in on the lipstick you wore. Red, just like the strawberries he would be seeing soon. The sheer black shirt opened in the middle, revealing the white tank top you wore under to cover yourself. Your jeans hugged your curves in just the right ways he thought it would. He noticed the small dimple of the right side of your cheek when you smiled. Your hair was beautiful. The way the loose strands would fall effortlessly, giving off a tired yet effective look that could have had any boy or girl swooning over you.

“Well hi!” You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling in the slightest. “It’s nice to meet all of you! Sorry if we caused any trouble!”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Kirishima blurted out, his eyes widening at his statement as he coughed into his arm, regaining his composure. Ignoring the snickers of his friends, he looked into your eyes. Oh god, your eyes. He felt as if he jumped off a diving board and jumped into an endless pool of wonder. He wanted to drown himself in it. He needed to.

“I uh..” he trailed off and shook his head, slapping his hands against his face. “It’s no trouble at all! We didn’t mind waiting!”

“Hah?! What’s with the ‘we’ bullshit?! I’m not a part of that!” Bakugou yelled, pointing a finger in your direction. “You made me wait for so fucking long! I’ll remember that!”

“Can it Bakugou! Yelling at someone you just met is unmanly!”

“Oooh, he has it already!” Kaminari cooed, placing the back of his hand on his forehead, in a fake act of swooning. “Sero catch me!” He let his knees buckle, his body falling backward. Sero’s arms wrapped around Kaminari’s midsection, bringing him closer to his own body. “I would never let you fall!” Sero’s voice dropped an octave. “I’ll always protect you!”

You let out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are they always like this?”

A displeased sigh left the pink girl’s lips as she nodded. “Unfortunately they are. Just ignore them and you’ll be fine! Might as well go now, shouldn’t we?!

“About fucking time, I can’t handle those two idiots anymore”

“Hey!” an offended Kaminari and Sero yelled, a matching pout on their faces. “I’ll have you know that we are a joy to have!” Kaminari looked in your direction, moving Sero’s arms off his body once he straightened himself up. “Don’t listen to him, you’ll have fun with us! I promise!”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Kaminari kept his promise. The group was a joy to be around, just like he said. The festival had multiple small attractions. Small rides meant for younger ages, but of course who could say no to that? Six adults screamed as a strawberry spun them around.

There was the slide. You had to climb what seemed like endless amounts of stairs, carrying a mat to protect yourself from getting a friction burn.

A small huff of air left your lips as you bent forward a little, hands resting on your knees.

“Tired already huh? We haven’t even gone down yet!”

You averted your gaze up, your eyes meeting playful red ones. “And what if I am tired? You gonna carry me down?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he got in the space beside you, his arm brushing against yours sent goosebumps up your arm. “Maybe. Is that something you would let me do?”

Your lower lip tucked between your teeth, the corner of your lip curving in a grin. “I could, but I would rather you cry after your defeat.”

“Oh, my defeat, huh? And what makes you think you’ll win?” He bent over slightly, his body towering over your own.

“My gut instinct, Kirishima! Don’t worry, I’ll treat you to some food to help you with your tears.”

A boisterous laugh emitted from his lips, his shoulders shaking with the rest of his body. “Okay! I’ll accept this challenge. It’s not manly to back down from one.”

“Next group!” the worker yelled, showing you guys to your respected place.

You guys followed his directions, placing your mats down before sitting down. “This is so fucking stupid,” Bakugou grumbled, his hands gripping the front of his mat where his feet were stuffed in.

“Bakugou!” Sero yelled from the left of him. “Kids are here!”

“AND?!”

“Keep it down, man! That’s why you aren’t in a relationship!”

“What did you say, Dunce Face?!”

Mina let out a sigh, her heads hanging forward. “Those three never stop.” She glanced over at you. “Are you liking it so far?”

You nodded quickly. “I love it! I can’t believe I missed out on this last year!”

“Oh, so you were the one who was supposed to come last year huh?” Kirishima asked, leaning closer to you slightly.

Your cheeks heated up at the close proximity and nodded, looking down at your lap. “Y-yeah that was me.” You lifted your head, a small smile forming on your lips. “But I’m here now! So that’s all that matters, right?”

He gaped at you, taking in your appearance for the second time that day. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face. “R-right! H-hey this might be bad timing but um... Do you think I-”

“Go!” The worker yelled, motioning for you guys to go down now.

“Last one is buying dinner!” Mina laughed and let her weight pull her forward, going down the slide fast, each of you guys following her.

“I’m already buying Kirishima’s once I beat him!” you yelled out, your hair flowing behind you from the passing wind. You could feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins as your heart was beating out of your chest, the gust of wind filling your lungs.

Kirishima looked over your way, his heart leaping out and running to you with open arms, his body unable to contain it. ‘She’s so pretty there,’ he thought, his grip on the mat slowly letting go as he lost himself in his daze.

There was a sudden dip towards the end. His hands were nowhere near his mat, instead they reached forward as his body was launched in the air.

“Kirishima!” you yelled out in worry, the voices of Kaminari, Sero, Mina, and even Bakugou laughing out loud from behind you.

“What an idiot!” Sero pointed, throwing his head back in laughter. Kirishima’s body tumbled down the colorful slide. He let out a rather loud groan as his body collided with the grass, his face buried in the depths of the earth.

“Kiri, are you okay?!”

Oh god, you called him Kiri? And you saw him fall on his face? Could this day get any worse?

Your hand touched his shoulder, gently poking him with your index finger. “Are you alive?”

“Yeah...I’m alive”

You let out a sigh of relief, sitting back on your knees as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Good. I would hate to see you dead on the same day that I met you. I would like to get to know you better before that,” you joked.

He quickly turned his head, patches of leftover dirt lingered on his face, pieces of grass stuck in his hair. “R-really?”

You meekly nodded, standing up from the ground as you dusted the dirt off the knees of your pants. You ignored the fit of giggles and the stares from the people around you. “Yeah really. You seem really cute and a joy to be around.”

He placed his hands on the ground and lifted himself, a goofy smile displayed on his face. “I don’t mind that!” he choked out, hand reaching into his pocket for his phone.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Somehow you and Kirishima ended up alone and away from the group. The others said that they would find a place for food while you and Kirishima went strawberry picking. You swung the wooden basket in your hand, humming a small song as you had a small bounce in your step.

The tune of your humming caused Kirishima to stay silent, basking in the moment that he felt he wouldn’t get again.

“So Mina brought up that you guys have been coming here for the past 4 years in a row?”

He nodded, looking forward as you continued down the fields. “Yup. Since our second year of high school. Mina brought it up first and we all teased her saying it was stupid. Turns out it’s fun to come hang out here.”

A whine left your lips as you rubbed the back of your neck, a pout on your lips. “I’m still sad I couldn’t come last year! I tried begging my agency but to no avail, they wouldn’t let me and couldn’t get someone else!”

He let out a hum, reaching down to pick a strawberry away from the stem, admiring the shiny coat of red protecting its core of flavor. He reached over to you and dropped it in the pile of other strawberries in the basket. “Well, since you came with us this time, you can come again next year!”

You felt your heart swell up with joy. You only knew them for less than nine hours and already he thought of you as a part of their group? Your cheeks grew darker than their normal pigment. “Y-yeah!” you stuttered, then laughed. “Sorry if I’m so nervous..you’re just really cute”

He let out a noise of shock. “R-really?! Well, I think you’re cute too!”

“Oh, I know. I caught you many times staring at me today.”

Many? Was he really that obvious?

“I uh-” he stammered and looked away, something else catching his interest.

“I’m just messing with you! Don’t get your head caught up in a twist,” you grinned, bending over to grab a strawberry. “Hey, this one looks like a heart!”

“Really?” he leaned closer to you, his heat radiating off his body and washing over you. The smell of his cologne filling your every sense, nearly driving you mad.

You nodded and lifted it to eye level, your eyes following the shape. “Yeah! I almost don’t wait to eat it.”

“Well, why don’t we eat it together?”

Your eyes met his, your faces centimeters apart. “Yeah..that sounds good,” you whispered.

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

The promise between the both of you was kept. Many hangouts turned into dates. After the one year you went, it was tradition now for you that you went every year with them. The group adored you after the first meet up. The boys’ group chat blew up, most messages from Kirishima as he spammed it, saying that you guys were going to hang out sometime soon.

Of course, they cheered him on. Except for Bakugou, who said that it was a waste to tell them, but on the inside, he was happy for Kirishima.

Kirishima was happy with you. He really was. You made him feel things he didn’t know he could. He felt loved. He felt like he was on cloud nine the whole time he was dating you. He loved the times where he would wake up from his sleep, turn over on his side and come face to face with your face that was at peace. No matter how many times that happened, his heart always fluttered like it was the first time it happened. Eijioru Kirishima was in love with you.

Was.

The annual Strawberry Festival was approaching yet again. After a season of agony, the sorrow that was built inside threatened to burst out.

Kirishima refused to go. Instead, he was standing in front of a gravestone, a dark look settled over his face. His red hair was down, the bangs covering his eyes. His throat was tight as his eyes spewed of tears of hatred and pain. His sharp teeth dug into his bottom lip, bringing a fist to his mouth, his lips kissing the object in his hand.

Along with Kirishima, the rest of them stayed with him, refusing to leave their friend when he needed them most.

Your death happened out of nowhere. A villain attack. You weren’t on patrol. You were just a mere civilian for the day. A young boy’s life was at stake. Your selflessness kept the child alive. Yet your selflessness made you risk your life.

That was one of the things Kirishima loved and hated about you. You always made sure to keep others' needs above yours. If only others didn’t arrive too late, you would have been going down the slide yet again with him, laughing your head off.

He let out a prolonged sigh, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. This was something he had to come to terms with. One last kiss to the object, he placed down the delicate ring on top of your gravestone, hearing the small clink of the metal hit the concrete.

A strawberry red band with a diamond on top, the sun rays shining down on it. He would have proposed on what would have been your third year anniversary, but of course, the universe had different plans for you.

The red festival, as Kirishima liked to call it, will always give him a subtle reminder. A small subtle reminder that gave him nostalgia. The place where he met the love of his life, bringing memories, and many more. The place that gave him a grim reminder that you were no longer alive, and weren’t coming back home any time soon. The place that you wouldn’t be going too anymore.

[therainbowwillow]

When Hell Freezes Over AU: Epilogue

“I’m not ready for this,” Orpheus whispers. 

Eurydice rocks him back and forth. “You’ll be okay.”

He shakes his head. “This is my punishment, isn’t it?”

“Hush. No, it’s a practicality.”

“I’ll see them again. All the people I...” His voice breaks off with a sob. 

“I’ll be right there. Plus, it’ll be good to get some fresh air,” she changes the topic, “Does it wear on you? The underworld air? I worry sometimes, Orpheus...”

“I wear a mask,” he protests, wiping his eyes. “It filters out the smog.”

She sighs. “Your voice shouldn’t have to take so much strain.”

“Shouldn’t you wear one too?” he inquires. “You aren’t really dead.”

“I’m not really alive either. You are.”

He laughs, more of an quick exhale. “I came close to changing that.”

“You pulled through,” she reminds him. 

It had been torturous, watching him struggle to survive. But she hadn’t dared to let him die. He would have been alone, on the other side of the Styx. Sure, it would’ve been just minutes before he was ferried across. She had never let the coin Hades had given her leave his person, so he would have payed his fare with ease. Still, she hated to think of his terror when he found himself all alone, a shade on the banks of the dismal river.

“Only just,” he says, “And mostly thanks to you and Hermes.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I was asleep! I didn’t help much,” he jokes. After a moment’s pause, Orpheus sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather file death certificates than visit the surface.”

“By file death certificates, do you mean doodle in the margins?” she teases, attempting to lighten the mood. Orpheus had never been very efficient at filing paperwork. Still, they’d needed the money and though he wouldn’t admit it, he wasn’t strong enough to work in the factories. Even now, she doesn’t think he’d last very long. He tires easily even on their short walks through the streets of Hadestown. Filing paperwork for Hades had certainly been easier on him. Still, Orpheus wasn’t particularly cut out for office jobs.

“Oh, hush,” he laughs. “I wasn’t doodling. I was writing music!”

Eurydice smiles. “In the margins of important paperwork.”

He opens his mouth to reply. Then he closes it. “Fair.”

Eurydice drapes her arms over his shoulders. “You’re gonna be alright, lover. I’ll be there, Persephone will be there. Hermes too.” Without thinking, she says the final name with a slightly harsher tone than the first two. 

Orpheus picks up on it. “Eurydice, he saved my life.”

She narrows her eyes. “By nearly ending it?”

He sighs. “Can we not do this right now? Please?” His eyes are still puffy from crying. 

Eurydice nods and presses her head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she says. “I’m sorry, Orpheus. It’s just... hard to forget.”

“I’m not asking you to forget. But I forgave him and I’m the one who would’ve been on the receiving end of that knife.” 

She winces, hating to hear him speak of his near-death so casually. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about his betrayal like someone stole your pocket change.”

“I’m not! If someone stole my pocket change I-” She glares at him. “Alright.” 

They sit in silence, leaned against each other for a moment before Eurydice speaks up. “We should be going.”

Orpheus nods. “How long’s the walk?”

“To the station, not too far,” she says. “I can help if you need,” she adds, realizing he’s afraid he won’t make the journey.

“Yeah,” he responds. His gaze is fixed over her shoulder.

“Hey, look at me.” He glances at her face and then back out the window beyond her. “Orpheus, it’s okay.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,” she promises.

He makes no reply, instead opting to push himself to his feet. He lifts his single bag of belongings over his shoulder and steps towards the door. Eurydice slings his guitar over her shoulder and takes his hand. Together, they begin to navigate the winding hallways and staircases of the residence that only fractionally belongs to them. 

They had chosen Hades’s great tower for a home mostly out of necessity. At first, Eurydice had picked it because Orpheus was too sick to be moved. When he was strong enough to sit on his own, she posed the option of moving away. It was Hades who had refused her offer. The remaining shades who had arrived in the underworld thanks to Orpheus’s song weren’t keen on seeing the poet in the streets. So they had only switched floors. The fifteenth story had been their home for the first year or so in the name of protecting Orpheus.

Once Hermes had returned the last few out-of-place shades to the surface, Hades himself had asked if they wished to find a place of their own. Orpheus had refused this time. He had taken up a job filing paperwork on the forty-fifth floor. He was too weak to walk much farther than the short distance between his bedroom and the elevator. Taking note of his troubles, Hades had allowed them to move to the floor where Orpheus worked, converting half of the storage corridors into a cramped but cozy home.

Orpheus had been more comfortable here, quite clearly. His walk to work had been shrunk to only a few steps, which prevented reoccurring incidences of Orpheus passing out on his way to the elevator, an event that had happened a few more times than Eurydice cared to admit. 

With his increased sense of security, Eurydice sometimes returned home to discover Orpheus strumming his guitar. He had been afraid to spare it so much as a glance when he had first come to his senses in Hadestown. Still, he hadn’t dared to sing. Just plucked out a few notes on his out-of-tune instrument. He had jumped back, almost dropped his guitar into the fireplace when he had first noticed her listening. 

“When does the train leave?” he mumbles, as they reach the end of the hallway.

“Whenever we get to the station. We have as much time as we need.”

Eurydice guides him down the hallway. They step inside the elevator. “How are you holding up?” she gently checks on him.

Orpheus shrugs. He leans against the wall.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Why do you care?” he snaps. “Can’t we just go?”

She hides her concern at his sudden outburst and adjusts the bandanna over his face. “Because I love you.”

Orpheus takes her hands. “Do we have to do this?”

“It was part of the deal,” she reminds him.

“It was supposed to be ten years,” he retorts.

...

Eurydice leads him through the smoggy streets, a map in hand. She doesn’t trust herself to find her way to the station by memory, even without the Lethe in the way of her thoughts.

The longer they walk, the farther behind Orpheus falls. He’s been quiet the whole way, so she’s allowed him space to sulk. But now he’s almost a block behind her slowest pace, so she doubles back. He takes a step, as if to prove he’s well enough to walk and leans against the nearest wall.

“Orpheus?”

“I’m right behind you,” he mutters.

“Do you-”

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m fine.”

“I hate to say I don’t believe you,” she says. “Your leg?” He nods in defeat. “Okay. Sit down. Please, Orpheus, tell me when you’re hurting.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Eurydice feels his tears soaking her shirt. The workers in the street glance at her. “Hey. Hey, it’s alright, Orpheus.” She strokes his hair as he sobs against her. “I’m right here. I always will be,” she promises. 

After a moment, Orpheus looks up, his eyes reddened with tears. “Eurydice...” She wipes his cheeks with her sleeve. “We should keep going.” His voice is small and strained. She hears the desperate fear in his tone and wonders if he’s right, if they ought to turn back. But this was the agreement and she fears betraying Hades’s contract more than anything else. 

“Let’s go,” she says, after allowing him a few minutes’ rest. “Can you stand?” He glances away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She reads him easily; the answer is clearly ‘no’. Eurydice lifts his arm over her shoulder and pulls him to his feet. “Try to step when I step,” she instructs him. 

He does try. Eurydice sees his effort in his every movement, but it is slow progress. His face is pale under the too-bright lights. He looks fragile down here, he always has. A single mortal in a kingdom built for dead men and gods. He is out of place, more so than even Lady Persephone. For the first time, Eurydice wonders if it would’ve been easier to just let him die. Is all of this worth avoiding those few seconds of hurt? A shade among the thousands...

Orpheus coughs and sinks more of his weight against her. He looks as frail and helpless, his arm draped over her shoulder for support. Finally, she spots the train station. Eurydice can make out the form of Persephone rapping her fingers against a bench, waiting impatiently. “Persephone!” she calls out. 

The Queen looks up, for a moment searching for the source of her name. She’s at their side an instant later. “Orpheus. Look at me, honey.” Persephone places a cool palm against his forehead. “I can carry him,” she says. Eurydice hands Orpheus to the goddess, who scoops him into her arms as if he weighs nothing. 

Eurydice follows her to the train, where Persephone helps Orpheus into a booth. Eurydice takes a seat beside him. He rests his head against her shoulder. “Get some rest,” she says. 

“Eurydice, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... any of it.”

She presses a finger to his lips. “Shh. I know that, Orpheus. I’m right here.”

He’s half asleep when he speaks up again. “I wish we could go home,” he says

Eurydice is taken aback by his statement. She had never stopped considering the surface her home. When had he? “We...” Are. She wants to say it, but the words don’t come out. She pulls him tight into her arms.

...

The train pulls to a halt. Eurydice wakes Orpheus with a gentle shake. He blinks, tensing at the realization of his location. Eurydice forces a smile. “We’re... here,” she says, faking enthusiasm. 

The doors roll open, revealing Hermes, a light snow coating the train station behind him. Orpheus recoils at the cool breeze. Eurydice squeezes his hand, concerned. His eyes seem to beg her not to let go. She helps him to his feet, her fingers entwined around his and not relenting for a second. They step onto the platform, where Hermes pulls Orpheus into a tight embrace. He looks shocked for a moment, before he sinks into the god’s arms. Hermes whispers words of comfort to the young man. “I missed you,” he says.

“Ho- the bar?” Orpheus quickly corrects himself. Home is Hadestown. Home is his little nook behind the bookshelves where he tapes up music that he knows he’ll never sing. Home is not the bar he had run from. It has been six- nearing on seven- years now since he’d seen the establishment. 

Hermes nods. “If you’d like, we can go,” he says, finally releasing Orpheus from his embrace.

Eurydice takes Orpheus’s hand. As they walk, she can’t help but notice how much more alive he looks up here. The bags under his eyes haven’t gone away, nor has his heavy limp, but his eyes are brighter in the light of the sun. And the way he looks at her, as they stand before the bar. He’s smiling slightly. Nervous, but smiling. 

She remembers all at once that he belongs on the surface, where the light bathes his cheeks and his eyes sparkle with warmth. Eurydice realizes, too, that she isn’t holding his guitar. Instead, Orpheus clutches it tightly in his shaking hands. He catches her staring at him. He half-smiles, half appears to be on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admits, as Hermes opens the door to his small bar. 

“Please don’t stop thinking it,” Eurydice whispers.

The crowded bar erupts into cheers when Persephone steps inside. “Look who’s late!” someone teases.

“I ain’t late!” Persephone retorts. “What is it? March...”

“Twenty-first,” Hermes informs her, tapping his watch. “A minute past midnight.”

“Oh, for the sake of the gods. Sixty seconds late and this is my greeting?” she jokes. “Next time, I’ll be sure to forget the wine.”

The crowd boos. Persephone flicks the cork out of a bottle with a wink. “Kidding.” She pours the first glass and swallows it with a single sip. 

As she passes around wine glasses, the bar patrons seem to notice Orpheus’s presence. Uneasy murmurs fill the room. Eurydice hurriedly guides her lover through the crowd to a relatively secluded table where she takes a seat across from him. She knows this place all too well. How many times had she sat at this very table, drinking glass after glass of unaffordable wine, praying that the alcohol would numb her to the cold? Today, she doesn’t accept even a single sip. Orpheus needs her.

“I missed this,” Orpheus tells her, after minutes of silence. “I know it isn’t the same, but it... it isn’t all that different either.”

Eurydice moves her chair to his side of the table. “We can pretend it hasn’t changed,” she says, softly.

He nods. They sit still for a while, watching the increasingly drunken celebrations. Persephone laughs and dances with mortals, many of whom are new faces. Eurydice remembers she and Orpheus had danced like that once. She turns to watch Orpheus instead. His jealousy is plainly written across his face as he gazes at the dancers. He glances at his leg. It had never fully healed, having become infected in the woods.

Eurydice grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. Gods, she will not watch him endlessly pine after a dance. “I can’t,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you can!” she encourages, “We’ll go slow and we can stop if it hurts. Let’s try, at least.”

Reluctantly, he accepts her offer. She places her hands on his hips and sways back and forth. “You okay?” she asks, after a moment.

He nods, humming along with a few notes of Persephone’s song out of habit, before he catches himself and falls silent.

Persephone’s singing louder now, with a drunken lisp to her voice. She’s standing on a table, stomping out the beat, while Hermes looks on, pitying his furniture. She leaps off of her vantage point and into the crowd. The surrounding party goers catch her.

Orpheus laughs, to Eurydice’s surprise. Laughter had been a rarity between them for far too long. His eyes sparkle with genuine happiness. She can tell there’s no sadness in the way he smiles.

He dances with more vigor now, too, suddenly twirling her under his arms. She laughs, as he invites her to return the motion. His spin is awkward and clumsy, but perfect all the same. He bobs back and forth to the music, grinning all the while.

A woman appears at his side. Eurydice starts at the sight of her, but still she holds tight to Orpheus, praying he doesn’t notice his lover’s recognition of the girl he had encased in ice six years prior. Somehow, the woman smiles. She smiles at the man who once ended her life. “You know what I could do with right now? Some real music.” She gestures to Orpheus’s guitar.

He blinks in surprise. Before he can turn her down, the rest of the bar patrons are cheering their agreement. He sighs. “I’m out of practice,” he informs the woman. To Eurydice’s relief, he doesn’t seem to recognize her.

“Nonsense! Give us a song!”

“I...” He glances at Eurydice. She nods her hopeful encouragement. What she wouldn’t give to hear him sing again. How many times had she tried to convince him to do so down below?

“Please?” the woman begs.

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

A grin spreads across the girl’s face. She grabs his wrist and pulls him over to the bar counter, pushing past the chewing crowd. Eurydice hurries after him. “Up here!” she calls, leaping onto the countertop. Hermes cringes at the dirty boots on his hard-bought furniture.

Eurydice helps Orpheus up, watching him carefully all the while. He’s clearly anxious, but there’s a tiny glint of excitement in his eyes. She lifts him to his feet, standing beside him above the crowd.

Orpheus takes a deep breath. Last time he’d sung, he had delivered a ceaseless wintertime to the surface and underworld alike. He had frozen a year’s harvest and starved countless people. How many of his accidental victims are staring up at him now? Eurydice wonders.

Eurydice brushes her fingertips against his hand. “It’ll be alright,” she whispers.

Orpheus strums a chord on his guitar. The crowd cheers. Spurred on by their enthusiasm, he continues. The notes are simple, nothing like the complex harmonies he’d written up back home. Still, the onlookers clap and whistle their approval. It’s Eurydice he watches, though. She gazes at him, beaming with such pride that he can’t help but to go on.

He finds himself pleasantly absorbed in his own melody. The song seems to morph and change as he sings, from a simple celebration of spring to a story of his love. Soon, he finds himself singing the very same notes he had vowed never to hear again on the day he had fled. The song that had lost him his lover. Yet it feels so easy to sing... so natural that he can’t stop himself. The world seems to warm with each note.

Eurydice sways to the music, caught up in memories of their first meeting. Orpheus’s stupid grin. His paper flowers. That song. It had surprised her in its beauty when she had first heard it, but it shocks her more now. He’s singing! She had begun to lose hope that she’d ever hear him produce a note again.

The clock says he has been performing for almost ten minutes, though it feels over too quickly to Eurydice. With the last notes, he hands her a bouquet of carnations and the crowd erupts into applause. Orpheus is grinning, slightly out of breath when the song ends. Hermes helps him down from the counter. 

He offers Eurydice a hand as well. Hesitantly, she takes it. Six years and she’d never gotten a chance to ask him why. For all of his warnings, Hermes had fallen himself victim to one of Hades’s impossible contracts. Success or Orpheus’s death, and he’d signed his name. She clutches his hand tighter than she needs to. “Why?” she hisses, too quiet for Orpheus to hear as the crowd chants his name.

She doesn’t need to elaborate. His expression darkens. “I believed in you,” he tells her. 

“And if you were wrong to trust me?”

“Then you would have taken up permanent residence in Hadestown. Orpheus would not have been apart from you,” he explains. “That was the agreement.”

Eurydice exhales sharply. “Yes, he would have. The deal was that I wouldn’t be given a choice but to kill him, my hands willed to harm the love of my life. You,” she spits the word like a curse, raising her voice, “agreed to take everything away from me. He would never have chosen to live with the woman who murdered him.” The crowd is watching them now, a few dozen sets of eyes on Eurydice.

Orpheus takes her hand, in a weary attempt to pull her away. Without words, his expression alone pleads her to stop. “Let him answer,” she snaps. He tenses at the harshness in her voice and backs down. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s pathetic, Eurydice thinks, a god, whispering his apologies. 

“That’s it? ‘I’m sorry?’ And what would you say if I had killed him, at Hades’s will? ‘Deepest condolences?’”

Orpheus takes a step towards Hermes. “I forgive you,” he says, genuinely. “Besides...” He sighs, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. His expression changes to one of sadness once more. “If there’s anyone who owes an apology,” he addresses the crowd, “It’s me.”

Eurydice falls silent, taking a step back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but hadn’t she known that he would jump to his adoptive father’s defense, whether or not the god needed it? She feels guilt crash over her as he fiddles with the base of his guitar, his anxiety quite apparent. She wants to speak up, to tell him that he had caused none of this, but she cannot find the words. 

“I am sorry for the grief I caused you,” he continues, speaking with rehearsed eloquence. Still, she hears the trembling of his voice over his feigned confidence. “The sorrows I brought you are unforgivable and my wrongs cannot be righted. But I can at least provide you this.” He hands Hermes a bag of coins. “Drinks are on me this week.” 

The drunken crowd explodes into shouts and cheers of joy, as if they had forgotten Orpheus had ever wronged them. Hermes closes his hands around the bag. “This is too much coin. Enough for a month of wine for everyone in this bar, if not more,” he says.

Orpheus half-smiles. “You always complained this place was drafty.”

Hermes sighs. “I can’t accept this.”

“I’m not asking.” The poet tucks his hands behind his back so Hermes cannot return the gift.

“Where did you get this?”

Orpheus shrugs. “I’ve been filing paperwork for Hades. It’s a bit dull, but I don’t mind. It... it’s a good distraction.”

Hermes stares at him, dumbfounded. “Paperwork?”

Orpheus’s cheeks go pink. “Is it really that unbelievable?” he asks.

Eurydice answers. “Yes. I was under the impression that you were only touching up your skills at drawing portraits and writing music.” His face turns a deeper shade of red. 

“I was... distracted.” 

Eurydice realizes the implication and struggles to stifle a laugh. “By me?”

He bites his lip. “I...”

“There wasn’t much else to look at, I suppose,” she says, laughing, surprised by how easily his humored embarrassment cheers her up.

Orpheus takes her hands in his, his expression turning solemn once more. “Eurydice... I’ve found forgiveness,” he begins. “And I’ve forgiven.” For a moment, she almost grumbles her distaste, before she notices how clearly rehearsed he sounds. How many times has he repeated these lines to himself in preparation? Gods, had he been that afraid to approach her? 

Orpheus draws a shuddering breath. He fixes his eyes over her shoulder. “But I...” She can tell he breaks from whatever script he had planned to follow by the way his words quicken. “I can’t bear to see you two argue! I love you, Eurydice, but Hermes raised me. Why do you blame me for having allegiance to the man I call my father?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but once again finds herself unable to produce words. “Orpheus...” she finally manages. “I’m sorry.”

He gives his head a slight shake. “No, it’s alright. I would’ve said something sooner but wasn’t sure where to start.”

Where to start? How about the hundred times she had brought the topic up? All of which she feels desperately guilty for now. Before his fateful trip to Hadestown, he had never been shy to voice his discomfort when something unpleasant was brought up in conversation. During his years underground though, he’d become quieter. Eurydice had always known the guilt had worn on him, but she hadn’t fully realized how much her words had exacerbated his pain, partially because he was almost never willing to mention it.

She finds her eyes drawn to Hermes. She has avoided looking at him for years, always sharply reminded of her trials in the forest when she had accidentally spared him a glance. For the sake of Orpheus, she looks at him now. His eyes are duller than she remembers. He looks older, fatigued, even. She is sure that Orpheus had noticed all of this long ago and scolds herself for not doing the same. 

Eurydice had felt the effects of Orpheus’s lament, but not as Hermes had, she now realizes. She had been practically a shade when she had approached her lover, wailing his sorrows to the winds. But Hermes was alive. Immortal, maybe, but the power of the song had the most severe effect on the living, made clear by the fact that Eurydice, half dead, hadn’t been frozen solid in her approach. Hermes had suffered worse than she had, and she knows it. It’s visible in the lines on his face and the way his hair is parted to hide the scar he’d received when the winds had flung him backwards and slammed him into the ground with force enough to concuss a god. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. “I am so sorry.” Eurydice isn’t sure if she apologizes to Orpheus or Hermes. Maybe both. 

“I don’t know that I deserve your apologies,” Hermes says. 

“You risked everything for us.”

“And I’d risk it all again.” It is a completely truthful statement, Eurydice knows.

“Thank you,” she says. And she means it. 

...

For six years Orpheus had hoped she would see that Hermes had never intended to hurt them and finally, she had. He feels unburdened for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’s crying, he realizes. Eurydice notices too. She breaks free from Hermes’s embrace and pulls Orpheus into her arms, swaying back and forth. “I love you,” he whispers. 

“I should’ve seen this sooner,” she says, ashamed.

In part, he wishes she had. All the while, he understands why she had avoided the possibility for so long. Hermes’s agreement had seemed ill-conceived, even to Orpheus, who had experienced the consequences of his stormy weather first hand. But the deal had been signed for a reason, a cause which lay more with Hades’s wants than any other consideration. Control was all the god cared for and no amount of quick words from Hermes could have talked him down. Orpheus’s father had accepted the least detrimental terms he had been offered.

“You saw it. That’s all that matters,” Orpheus tells his lover.

Hermes excuses himself to allow them to talk.

Instead, Orpheus finds himself following Eurydice as she guides him up the stairs. She pushes open the door at the top after a brief pause, revealing a room far more comfortable than the one he had left behind. The bed linens had been replaced. The nightstand, where he had found his guitar is barren, save for a vase, containing a single dried carnation. 

Eurydice pulls open the curtains, allowing moonlight to spill into the small bedroom. She takes a seat on the bed and beckons Orpheus to follow. He does, habitually drawing his guitar into his hands. Eurydice leans back in bed, propping her head against the pillows with a sigh. “I could... sing something,” Orpheus says. “If you’d like.”

She grins, throwing her arms around him and pulling him down with her until his head rests against her chest. “How could I refuse?” 

Orpheus listens to the faint but still steady beat of her heart. He plucks out a few notes on his guitar, drawing each one out, as if to imitate the murmuring from the bar below them. “La... la la la..” he half-hums, half-sings.

Eurydice sighs with relaxation. “La... la... la-la...” It’s the same tune he had sung in the bar. The carnation in the vase darkens in color, the brown tips of its petals change to a deep red, unfurling into a full blossom. 

Eurydice plucks the flower from its vase. “It seems you haven’t lost your touch,” she says, smiling. 

“Hm?” He takes the flower and twirls it between his fingers. “I’m out of practice.”

“It’s hardly noticeable.”

He continues to sing, the melody becoming more complex as he continues. He had memorized the way the notes had looked when he had written them out in Hadestown. For the most part, Orpheus had known how they would sound, though he had never planned to test them out loud. As he sings, he edits details, tests new lines. It’s easier with audible reference. What might have taken him days previously only takes minutes when he can hear what his notes sound like instead of only imagining them. 

He sings long into the night, watching as Eurydice’s eyelids grow heavier as his song lulls her to sleep. He listens to her soft breaths, feels the rise and fall of her chest beside him. The vase of flowers blooms fuller with each new line. His notes coax more buds to form. Deep red poppies and pearl white lilies. Carnations, both pale and rosy. 

The moonlight beams through the window, nearly sinking below the horizon by the time he finally closes his eyes. He sets his guitar beside the bed and hums the last few notes of his song. He feels warm air across his cheeks, creeping in through the rickety walls. Orpheus drifts off to sleep, in his own bed, in his own home, Eurydice resting at his side. Only now does he realize how much he has missed this.

[thegreatestofheck]

Do Not Stand { Outer Banks }

word count - 4.8k warnings - death (cancer related), characters dealing with the aftermaths of death, swearing synopsis - One of the Pogues passes away and leaves a message for her friends. Each of them take it a different way.  a/n - Here’s another story I have that is similar to one I’ve read. The work Bury A Friend by pogue-writings is amazing and you should check it out! This one was actually inspired by my favorite poem “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye. I may or may not have cried a few times while writing this. Stay safe, healthy, and groovy, but don’t forget to give the people you love a tight hug. Love you guys. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep 

Kenna knew she was dying. She had known she was dying for a long time. Diagnosed with cancer in her freshman year of high school, she knew that she was living on borrowed time. And there was no way she was going to waste a single second of it. 

Partying, fishing, boating, and hanging out with her best friends, Kenna never let a day pass that she wasn’t bound to remember. John B, Pope, JJ, Sarah, and Kie lived it up right along with her, never questioning, never slowing her down. 

So, when they saw her lifeless body in the hospital room, it felt so wrong. She was always dancing, always smiling, always cracking jokes, even when she was hooked up to a machine. They had seen her in the hospital bed before, but not like this, never like this. 

Kie was already gasping through sobs, tears running down her cheeks. Pope was going to throw up, his face paling and stomach twisting. Sarah clung to the wall for support, her legs unable to keep her standing. John B couldn’t even step inside the room. He had lost too many people to lose her too. JJ, for once in his life, was dead silent. He didn’t know what words to say to make anything better. 

Kenna’s parents held tight to her younger sister, trying to stifle tears as their only remaining daughter sobbed uncontrollably. 

I am not there, I do not sleep

Kie remembered the last time she saw her friend before the cancer took a turn for the worse. Kenna had been so alive, so fierce, dancing on the HMS Pogue without a single care in the world. Knowing that her best friend was dying was different than living in a world without her in it. 

Seeing her body, pale, blue, cold, made Kie shiver. The coffin wasn’t black like one you would expect to see. It was hand carved out of red wood. Kie’s mom and dad helped pay for it. The inside was lined with a jade green, Kenna’s favorite color. She wore her favorite white dress, her nails painted a pretty pink. Hair curled perfectly, cheeks a rosy red, she looked nothing like the girl that Kie knew. 

Pope was the first to lay down a flower. He had picked them out. Holding the light purple daisy in his hand, he couldn’t help his trembling body. The preacher had gone silent, the congregation no longer singing. Setting the flower inside his friend’s casket, Pope fought back tears as he remembered the day she made him a daisy chain flower crown, claiming it made him look majestic. 

He brushed his hand over hers one last time as he stepped away, shocked by how cold she felt. 

JJ walked up with Kie, a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. They had tried to make Kenna smile, but it looked so fake, so forced. He had seen a thousand fake smiles on her face before as she smiled through the pain, but she somehow always managed to make them look real. He remembered how she used to give him a soft, kind smile whenever he went over to her house after a fight with his dad. How, even though her body was actively trying to kill her, she worked her hardest to make everyone else around her happy. 

A tear rolled off of his eyelashes, landing on her cheek. 

Sarah hadn’t known Kenna as long as the others and she would regret those lost years for the rest of her life. She hadn’t stopped crying since stepping out of the car that morning. The girl in the coffin had this ability to make Sarah laugh even when she felt like dying on the inside. Sarah wondered if she was ever going to be able to smile again.

Without Kenna, the world was so much darker. 

John B was the last to walk away. His flower was crumbling in his tight fist as he watched friend after friend place a purple daisy in the coffin. But John B couldn’t do it. He had lost his mom and then he lost his dad, he couldn’t handle losing his best friend too. He couldn’t walk up and look at her, couldn’t see the lifelessness in her eyes. He just couldn’t do it. 

A pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders. He jumped, startled to find JJ’s arms around him. Pope was next, and then Sarah, and then Kie, until they were all standing there, staring at the still open coffin. Everyone else had gone, even her parents and sister. Not a single eye was dry. 

When John B finally lay his flower in Kenna’s coffin, she was nearly covered in her favorite flower. The smile on her face looked suddenly real. 

I am a thousand winds that blow 

“This is for you,” Kenna’s mother said, offering the Pogues a letter as they sat in a small circle back at her house. Tears ran down the woman’s face, dragging her make up along with it. Kie lifted a trembling hand to take the letter. She opened it slowly, all eyes now on her. She coughed, trying to clear the thickness out of her throat. 

“My friends,” she read and then coughed again. Sarah put a hand on Kie’s knee, trying to pass on what little strength she had. “My friends, we knew this time was coming. We knew our time was short. Thank you for every memory, every joyous moment. The last few years have been hard, but they would have been impossible without you. Promise me two things; first, look out for each other. Don’t neglect each other. Stick by one another as you have always done. Second, don’t cry for me. My time here was short, but it was sweet and epic and so full of love like a never ending song. Find me in the things you love and I will never leave you. Find me in the simple, mundane things and my memory will live on. I love each one of you. Kiara, Sarah, Pope, JJ, John. I carry your names with me where I’m going, so please, carry mine.” 

She didn’t sign her name. 

Kie let the paper fall from her hands, dropping to the coffee table like the last leaf fall of autumn. None of them said a single thing, silent tears running from their eyes. 

This time, it was Sarah who stood first. She couldn’t take it any more, the heavy weight that pressed against her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. She wanted to scream, to pound her fists into the dirt, to march back to Kenna’s coffin and demand that she wake up. 

Stepping out into the cool summer air, Sarah felt a breeze brush against her skin. At first, she wrapped her arms around her stomach to protect herself from the cold. But then the wind blew again, rustling her hair, pulling at the edge of her dress. A quiet wind chime sung from the neighboring house. It sounded like Kenna’s laugh. 

The first time Sarah had met Kenna, there was a tropical storm coming on fast. Sarah and her dad were running around trying to board things up so no windows would break when she spotted Kenna riding her bike out in the wind. 

“Hey!” She called, running over. Kenna stopped the bike and turned to face Sarah. 

“Hi!” 

“What are you doing? A storm’s coming in!” Even standing a few feet away from her, Sarah had to shout for her voice to be heard of the gusts. 

“Just wanted to go on a bike ride,” Kenna said, a smile on her face. 

“Come inside! You’ll get stuck out here.” Sarah gestured for the girl to follow her. 

“You sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Seriously! I doubt you’ll make it anywhere with how fast this wind is coming in.” 

“Well, alrighty then.” Kenna rolled her bike after Sarah. By the time they made it back to the house, the rain had started to pour and they were both soaked to the bone. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kenna said as Sarah led her toward the fireplace. 

“I couldn’t leave you out there in that storm.” Sarah picked a blanket off the couch and draped it over Kenna’s shoulders. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

“Oh, you know, we only get so many of these kinds of storms in our life,” Kenna told her with a smile. “Don’t want to miss a single one.” 

Astounded, Sarah excused herself to go get a fresh set of clothes for the both of them, plus a few blankets off her bed. They spent the rest of the storm in front of the fire, talking, getting to know one another, drinking hot cocoa. By the time the rain stopped and the wind died down, both girls knew they had just found a new friend. 

Now, the wind grazed against Sarah skin and it no longer felt like a cold chill, but a gentle hug from her friend. Wrapping her arms even tighter around herself, Sarah closed her eyes, trying to stifle her sobs. Between the wind rustling the leaves and making the wind chimes sing, Sarah could almost hear Kenna’s voice once again. 

I am the diamond glints on snow 

Kie had gone to the Mainland only a few times in her life aside from day trips to Chapel Hill. Her parents took her to Minnesota once in the winter for her grandpa’s funeral. Kie didn’t want to go alone, so she took Kenna with her. 

It was the only time Kenna ever went to the Mainland. It was the only time Kenna had ever seen the snow. 

Kie and Kenna ran throughout the backyard, laughing in their layers and layers of clothes as they threw clumps of wet snow at each other. They made drooping snow men and snow angels. They slid down snow covered hills on pieces of cardboard and went ice skating on the frozen over pond without skates. In a span of only a few days, they must have taken at least a thousand pictures. 

Sitting on her bed late that night, Kie was scrolling through those same pictures on her phone, tears rolling down her cheeks. Stuffing her blanket into her mouth was the only way to keep her sobs from carrying. 

She tried to remember what Kenna said. Don’t cry for me. That was impossible. She must have known that while writing her letter. How was Kie not supposed to cry for her best friend, her ride or die? How was she supposed to not cry when the ache her chest was burning her alive? 

Swiping through the pictures, Kie tried to recall what it was like to see Kenna smile. The smile was there on her phone, but it wasn’t anything like the real thing. 

The snow glistened beneath Kenna in one picture as the girl rolled over from laughing so hard. Kie promised this picture of Kenna that she would never take advantage of the snow again. Every new experience that Kie had, she would live for Kenna. No more lounging around doing nothing. Kie was going to take every risk and she was going to take it with a smile on her face. She was going to fight for what she believed in, fight for what she wanted, harder than she ever had before. 

And no one was going to stop her. 

But despite her new determination, her sobs would not stop. There was a quiet knock at her door and she didn’t have the strength to pretend that she was okay. Her mom peeked the door open. As soon as Mrs. Carrera saw the distress her daughter was in, she walked inside the room and sat beside Kie, pulling her into a hug. 

Kie held her phone limply in her hand, the picture of Kenna still smiling up at her as she fell into her mom’s arms. At the sound of her cries, her dad came running in, pulling both Kie and her mom into a solid hug, hoping that he could squeeze the pain right out of his daughter’s heart. 

I am the sun on ripened grain 

They were supposed to be working, but the music was playing over the speaker and they couldn’t control themselves as they danced to the beat. 

JJ had Kenna by her hands, the two of them hopping back and forth, spinning, waving their arms around, whatever they felt the music pulling them to do. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Kenna and JJ to find themselves doing odd jobs together. It was kind of their thing. Kenna was usually able to keep JJ on task, but on a warm, sunny day like this, with the fresh, green, Kook grass beneath her feet, even Kenna couldn’t resist taking a break to dance along to the party music. 

It was some Kook kid’s 7th birthday. They were all out in the pool, their music blasting for what seemed like miles around. Because the parents were busy doing party things, they left JJ and Kenna to tend to the outside garden. 

The sun was beaming down on them from above, the wind just strong enough to keep them cool. Flowers bloomed brighter in the light of the sun, making the garden look more like an oasis. 

Once Kenna finally convinced JJ to get back to work, he picked up a hose claiming to go water a tree. Little did she know, as she picked up her watering can, that his intended target wasn’t the tree, but her. 

The water was cool against her skin. Welcome, but surprising. With a gasp and a smile, she called out for JJ and their play began again. She chased him around the garden, threatening to shove the hose down his throat or up his ass. He simply laughed as he ran away from her. 

By the time their work was finally done, all the flowers were in full bloom. The sunlight glistened off the water droplets, making the entire garden look like a light show. Dropping into the grass, Kenna let her laughter roll through her until it died down. JJ plopped himself onto the ground beside her, laying back to soak up the sun. 

JJ couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing at a mile a minute, wondering how he could have let this happen. There must have been something that he could have done to stop this, something that would have saved her life. If he could, he would have taken her place. She didn’t deserve to die, not when so many people cared about her so much. 

But he still heard her words in his head like his own thoughts. 

“You matter, JJ,” she whispered to him as he paced through the darkness outside. “And you have people who care about you, too. Don’t undermine yourself. Don’t regret something you couldn’t fix.” 

JJ slammed a closed fist into a tree before he could stop himself. Once the dam was broken, the flood came rushing out. Again and again he pounded his fists into the same tree, blood running down from his knuckles. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” JJ cried into the night. Pain splintered through his hands, but that didn’t stop him. It wasn’t until his cries of rage dissolved into desperate gasps for air the he actually dropped his hands back to his side. He still didn’t feel the pain. 

Dropping to the ground, he brought his knees up to his chest, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Ken, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” If she was there, that’s what she would have told him. “I’m right here.” 

I am the gentle autumn rain

Pope swept the floor of his dad’s shop, his eyes blurry with tears. He could barely see what he was doing, but doing something was better than doing nothing. He gave up on sweeping and started to pack the deliveries he would have to run tomorrow. 

The island didn’t care if his best friend had died. People still needed their damn groceries. 

Kenna danced through his mind; her smile, her laugh, her silly faces, the way she pouted her lips when she fished. 

He swallowed a strangled cry as he remembered the day they went on a hike through the woods last fall. The skies were clear when they had started their journey, packs filled with sandwiches and chips and water bottles. They were half way through their hike when the first cloud rolled over them. 

“Think we should head back?” Pope asked, watching the cloud above him warily. Kenna laughed, glancing back at him. 

“Absolutely not,” she said. 

“What if it rains?”

“I didn’t realize you were the Wicked Witch of the East, Heyward,” Kenna said in her teasing tone. Pope rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. “A little water never hurt anyone.” 

It started to rain not a few minutes later. It wasn’t heavy, large drops like the rains they got in the winter and spring. It was soft, like a thousand petals falling all at once. Kenna didn’t even flinch. She lifted her face to the sky, smile growing wider as the tiny droplets landed against her cheeks. Pope simply watched her. 

She started to turn, raising her hands ever so slightly. Pope’s cynical side couldn’t help but think about whether or not this was the last time she would feel rain against her skin and that’s why she relished in it so much. As if sensing his bad vibes, Kenna turned to look at him. 

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “We’ve got a hike to finish.” 

They never had a chance to go on another hike. Her health declined steadily after that day in the autumn rain. Pope couldn’t bring himself to wonder now if that really had been the last time she felt the rain. Thinking about it was too much to bear. 

“Son, what are you doing?” 

Pope looked up, the sudden sound of his dad’s voice startling him out of his memory. Heyward stood with his keys in his hands. Behind him, the barest hint of dawn peaked over the horizon. Pope had been here all night. 

“Just wanted to get ahead on deliveries,” Pope said, conscious of the fact that his voice was breaking. He could feel the tickle of a tear on his cheek, but he fought to keep the others swarming in his eyes at bay. 

Heyward let out a heavy sigh and set down his things, walking toward his son. With every step, Pope felt his walls start to crumble a little bit more. Until his dad reached him and enveloped him into a strong hug. Only then did Pope broke completely. 

“She’s gone.” His cries were muffled as he buried his face in his dad’s shirt. “She’s actually gone.” 

“I know, son,” Heyward said, looking up at the ceiling to keep his own tears in his eyes. “I know.” 

When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight

John B didn’t even try to sleep. He sat on the dock the entire night, doing nothing other than watch the horizon and drink a beer. At least, he held the open bottle in his hand and pretended like he was drinking it. 

He couldn’t bare to go inside his house, not when she was everywhere he looked. The kitchen still smelled like her turkey sandwiches. The bathroom was still stained from her hair dye that she used to dye her eyebrows. 

“I don’t have any hair left, so my eyebrows can be any color I want, right?” she said with a laugh. John B watched her from the bathtub, an amused smile on his face. 

The pictures of her still hung on his wall. She was in every crack, every crevice, every squeaky floorboard, every rusted nail. 

Kenna had stayed over when Big John went missing. She sat up with John B until he fell asleep, which usually wasn’t until early in the morning. She made him breakfast, no matter how many times he told her he was perfectly capable. She helped him look for his dad, hand made flyers, talked to the police when John B couldn’t stomach it. She was there by his side through it all. 

And the morning that Ms. Lana came by the house to tell him what had really happened, Kenna was there too. She stayed up with him, holding him as he cried and emptied his guts. He had always held out hope that Big John was alive. Without him, John B wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do. But every anxiety, every fear, every worry, Kenna quelled just by being there. 

When the sun rose in the morning, the rooster crowing and the birds flying between the trees, Kenna was still there, asleep by his side. 

John B couldn’t go back inside and sleep because when he woke up, he would expect to see her there and he knew she wouldn’t be. He remembered that morning feeling all too well when he could almost forget that his dad was gone for good. He couldn’t go through that again, not without Kenna there to help him. 

So, instead, he stared at the horizon, watching the sun rise higher and higher, flooding the marsh and the Chateau with light. The rooster crowed. The birds flew back and forth between the branches. But Kenna wasn’t there to enjoy it with him. 

The dock creaked as someone walked toward him. For half a moment, John B let himself hope that it was her. 

But it wasn’t. 

JJ sat beside him with a sigh. John B looked down and saw the bruises and cut skin of his knuckles. He didn’t need to ask what happened. He knew well enough. Finally taking a drink of the beer, he looked back out to the marsh. 

“I had an idea,” JJ said, his voice gravelly. 

“Yeah?”

“We should give her a proper Pogue send off,” JJ said, slipping the beer bottle out of John B’s hand to take a drink from it himself. “Go out on our boards, lay her to rest in the ocean.” 

John B’s eyes had been dry the entire night, refusing to accept that she was gone. But hearing JJ’s words made it seem so real. The tears came fast and they came hard. He nearly doubled over as sobs shook his body, pressing the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his mouth. 

“Come on,” JJ whispered, putting his arm around his friend and pulling him closer. John B put his arms around his friend. Both of them were grateful for the comfort of another. 

The birds started to sing. 

I am the soft stars that shine at night 

They all met at the beach that night. There was a bonfire, s’mores, music. Kie brought her ukulele. Sarah sang a song, the others mumbling along with her. 

“Did you bring it?” JJ asked Kie when the singing died down. She nodded and reached for her backpack. With shaking hands, she pulled out a small, metal box.

“It’s safe for the ocean environments,” she murmured, her lower lip trembling as she looked at it. 

“It’s perfect,” Sarah said, reaching out and putting an arm around Kie. 

“Everyone bring their thing?” John B asked, poking at the fire with a stick. Each of his friends answered in turn, reaching for pockets and bags to pull out what they had brought for Kenna. 

JJ pulled one of his woven bracelets off of his wrist, rolling it between his fingers like a blunt. For half a second, it looked like he was going to toss it into the fire. Instead, he looked up at Kie. 

“She made this for me when we were kids,” he said, his voice thick with feeling. “Never took it off.” 

“Shouldn’t you keep it? To remember her by?” Kie asked. JJ looked at the bracelet and shook his head with a heavy sigh. 

“No. I think she needs it more than I do now.” Without another word, he leaned forward and placed the blue and black bracelet into the metal box. 

Sarah held a little ceramic bird in her hand. 

“We went thrifting this one time,” she said and gave a small shake of her head. “Kenna and I got these matching birds, but mine broke so she gave me hers.”

Placing the small bird into the metal box, Sarah blinked back a heavy downpour of tears. Kie plucked a guitar pick out of her pocket. She looked at it with a small smile on her face.

“We were gonna make a double album together,” Kie said, her voice breaking as she fought off tears. “We got some stuff recorded but, I guess the rest will just have to come with her spirit.” 

She dropped the pick into the metal box and it hit the bottom with clunk. 

Pope stood, clearing his throat. He walked over to Kie, who held the box in her hands. He fiddled with something, looking down at it as if he wasn’t ready to part with it quiet yet. 

“Ken...she used to held me study. She and I had a bet that I wouldn’t be able to one single pencil until I couldn’t sharpen it anymore and, well-” Pope lifted up the small pencil, barely more than a nub. He looked up the stars above. “Guess I won.” 

He put the pencil nub into the box and returned to his seat. John B was next, he knew as much. Kie and Pope watched him carefully, expectant. But JJ and Sarah looked away. 

“Kenna told me once that she wanted to be an astronaut,” John B said after a long silence. JJ looked over at him. “She wanted to fly among the stars.”

John B felt tears start to gather in his eyes and so he looked up, met with the beautiful expanse of the universe above. Kie leaned over and put a hand on his knee as it bounced up and down. John B let out a teary gasp as he dropped his head back down, eyes closing. 

“We found this once when we were out here,” he said after a while, holding up a small, shiny rock. “She said it looked like a fallen star. Said there was a wish locked inside of it. When my dad went missing, she gave it to me and told me to use it whenever I hit my lowest. So, Kenna?”

He looked up again, closing the rock into his fist. 

“I want to wish for you to come back. I want to wish for you to beside us again, beside me again. But I won’t.” He brought the rock to his lips. “I wish that you’re at peace. I wish that you know how much you meant to us. I wish that you know we’re going to be okay. Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.” 

John B dropped the rock into the box and Kie closed it shut. JJ stood, plucking his surfboard out of the sand. One by one, the others did the same. Kie held the box close to her chest as they rode out to the water beyond the swells. It was a calm night, the moon watching over them as they floating in the water. 

No one said anything as they sat. Kie planted a kiss onto the top of the box and then handed it to Pope, who did the same. Around the circle it went, receiving a small kiss from each of Kenna’s friends. Once it was back in Kie’s hands, she held it over the water, hands still shaking. She was supposed to drop it, to let it sink beneath the water and into the depths below, but she couldn’t do it. Not alone. 

John B reached out and took some of the weight. JJ was next, then Sarah, and then Pope, until all of them held onto their last bit of Kenna. They gave no signal, but when Kie let out one, steady breath, they all let go together. 

Kenna’s box sunk, disappearing into the dark in moments. Sarah tried to choke back a sob. 

Now, every time they surfed these waves, a piece of Kenna would still be there, watching over them. 

Do not stay at my grave and cry 

They made it back to shore, tears drying on their faces. And they spent the rest of the night reminiscing, laughing, drinking Kenna’s favorite lemonade, eating s’mores in the way she liked best. 

Not a single tear more was shed. 

The stars twinkled above them, the night owls calling in the distance. Wind blew gentle through the trees, the sand below their feet glinting in the moonlight like snow. Sounds of rain pattered somewhere in the distance, the plants around them rustling. 

I am not there; I did not die