#writing while working again and shriveling but its so damn worth it

[dailykugisaki]

Day 114 | id in alt

Kugisaki is horrid at English and honestly? Don't blame her. It's not too worth it.

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 3

Summary: It’s go time

Word count: 2,188

Pairing: cop?!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: Crack

Warnings: shooting

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

A/n: For @girl-next-door-writes​ make me feel bingo. This only has a little bit of crack, but it was sure fun to write! One more part after this!

“Hey Angel.”

“Hey Hot Shot,” I smiled as I held my phone to my ear, the nicknames had settled in for us over the past couple of weeks, and I couldn’t deny that I liked using them. “The next monthly meeting is tonight, you ready to put on a show?”

He laughed, “Like it’s ever an act with you sweetheart.”

I snorted, “Yeah, sure.” I sighed, “Alright, for real though, be a loving boyfriend, but don’t be stupid.”

“Roger roger.”

“I guess I’ll meet you there.”

“Yup.” He hung up the phone promptly, leaving me in silence.

I rubbed my hands all over my face, “He’s a professional who’s only acting this way to make it natural and so he can get some sort of promotion. Don’t look too far into it. You’re probably going to go to prison anyway once this is all over with.” Despite telling myself this over and over, it really didn’t make a difference. I groaned and tried to force my face to relax from the smile I was wearing.

I banged my head once against a nearby wall, “Okay, time to get ready to get this over with.”

Before I knew it I was watching Dean pull up and park near my apartment as I walked to the meeting building.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your car?”

“Only every time you see her,” Dean fell into stride beside me.

“I thought we were gonna meet there.”

Dean grabbed my hand, “And how would that look, the boyfriend not escorting his very important girlfriend into an extremely dangerous crowd?”

“Fair point,” I squeezed his hand, smiling softly to myself.

The door squeaked as we opened it, giggling at nothing.

“Glad you love birds could join us.” Chuck sat at the front of the room, looking rather impatient.

I took my place, Dean beside me, and nodded soberly.

“Let’s begin.”

Naomi stepped forward, “Of course, sir. I have some things that need to be looked-”

“I don’t care about that,” Chuck waved his hand as he cut her off.

It took everything in me not to laugh.

“Some of my… sources, have told me that Doctor Hess wants to make a deal with me.”

There was a couple beats of silence before Meg got brave, “Uh, and who is that?”

“The leader of the Lettermen, obviously.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Letterboys? Really?”

“Yes,” Chuck snapped at us, trying to shut us up, “and Y/n is going to set it all up.”

That sobered me up quickly, “Pardon?”

“You are going to set up the deal. You’re gonna be our middle man.”

I felt my insides shrivel. What he means is that I’ll be the scapegoat.

“Sir, I’d like to accompany her on this assignment if you don’t mind,” Dean said as he took a half step forward.

“I do mind. Starling will be working this alone, directly with me.”

“But sir-”

I placed a hand on his arm, “Dean.” I shook my head, telling him it wasn’t worth it.

He set his jaw and didn’t press any further.

“So, It’s settled then,” Chuck clapped his hands together once, “that’ll be all, you’re dismissed.”

I glanced at Naomi who looked annoyed at not getting her business done, but she wasn’t brave enough to get snapped at again.

It wasn’t much time later when me and Dean were walking back, alone again.

“Why did you do that?”

“Dean-”

“Why did you stop me from pairing up with you?”

“Because, you were doing a great job at being a loving boyfriend, but I also told you not to be stupid. What you were about to do was incredibly stupid.”

“So you’re gonna do it alone?!” Dean sounded angry, I wasn’t exactly sure why.

I turned to face him, “Yeah, I am! I’ve done stuff like this before, and I’ll have to do it again! But do you understand what this means for us??”

“No, I don’t.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders, “We can do something with this… Maybe I can…”

“We can do some sort of sting operation,” Dean quieted down like he was understanding.

“Exactly! I’ll set something up, I’ll feed you all the information...” I nodded my head, “we can do this.”

“Fine,” he turned and started walking again, “you’re still going to be doing most of this alone though.”

“Don’t worry Dean, I won’t mess it up.”

I thought I heard Dean mumble something, but I didn’t ask what it was. The rest of the walk was quiet until we reached where his car was parked.

I ran my hand along her, looking for scratches that didn’t exist.

“Stay safe, alright? I can’t be losing you now, Angel.”

“I will, don’t you worry Hot Shot.” I smiled at waved as he started her up and drove away.

Let’s cut to me probably doing something stupid, but it is the fastest way to get stuff done in these situations.

“I think you’re on the wrong side of town, ma’am.” A group of boys approached me as I walked a quiet street, deep in Lettermen territory.

I sighed, “You’re probably right, but I also heard through the grapevine that a Doctor Hess wants to make a deal. That ring any bells?”

They all glanced at each other before one addressed me, “Stay here.”

I leaned against a nearby building, choosing not to answer him vocally.

After a while, a man closer to my own age approached me.

“Doctor Hess?”

He laughed, “No, my name is Mick Davies. I’m more of a spokesperson. And I’m assuming you’re not Chuck.”

I smiled back at him, both of us keeping our distance, “Yeah, you wish. It’s Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

His smile dropped into a more serious expression, “You are correct when you mentioned a deal. Details are still in need of some finalizing, of course, but the basics are, if you share with us some of your… resources that we hear you have, helping us get on our feet, we’ll give you a part of the profits and keep our boys on our side of the line.”

“Intriguing...” This could be big. If I played my cards right, I could maybe bring down the mobs on both sides of the city. Now to play some cards… “If we come to an agreement of terms, Chuck wants a face to face settlement to seal the deal.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” He pulled out a card from his pocket, “My contact information, so we can work out the details before the deal.”

I stepped forward and took it, “Well, it’s been a pleasure, hope I see the least amount possible.”

“Likewise.”

And like that we both turned and went out opposite directions.

That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe this will be easy.

But now to convince Chuck.

“They want the sealing of the deal face to face or it won’t happen.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe this will be easy.

Now to tell Dean the good news!

“Dean, call me back.”

“Dean, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Hot Shot, if you don’t answer this damn phone I swear I’m not going put this meeting up.”

Why was this not easy.

The meeting was set. It was to happen in an isolated location just outside of town, two weeks away. Chuck was going to bring the goods, loads of weapons and drugs. I had to be there to back Chuck up, as I’m sure Mick would be there to do the same for this Doctor Hess.

“Dean, I sent the information to your phone, please be there with as many men as possible. From your old job, just to be safe.”

I wanted to actually talk to him. I shouldn’t want that. I’ve gotten too close. It doesn’t matter anymore though. He’s stopped talking to me mid job. The worst case scenario is that I somehow get found out and killed. The absolute best case scenario is that everyone goes to jail except me. The one I was fearing most though was the one where I never see Dean again. Unfortunately there were a bunch of options where that happens.

I kept telling myself that it was just a job to him. That this would benefit him. That he would never want to associate with someone from the mafia in normal circumstances.

Maybe going to jail would be good for me.

My phone rang with an unknown number popping up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey Angel, sorry, I broke my phone.”

“God dammit!” All that worrying for nothing. All the stress that he was somehow dead or leaving me to deal with Chuck by myself. Wasted.

“What?”

“I have been trying to reach you all day. I got the meeting set up, its in two weeks. I’ll send you the place. Both Chuck and Doctor Hess are going to be there with a metric ton of damning evidence in the form of illegal weapons and drugs.”

“That… is awesome!”

“I know right?? I’m gonna need you to bring in all your people.” I soaked it in for a couple of breathes, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he’s arrested.”

“You’re not going to be there.” His voice was firm, it was commanding like there was no room for argument.

“Dean...” I spoke regretfully, oh how I wish I could listen to him, “if I’m not there, this all falls apart. This isn’t a personal choice, I have to be there.”

“You could get hurt.”

“Same with every day of my life.”

He sighed, “Fine, but you’re gonna wear a wire so we can communicate.”

“Dean, Chuck may be stupid enough to let you in as a cop, and he may be stupid enough to do this meeting face to face, but he’s not stupid enough-” I paused, “I take that back, he may be that stupid.”

“So it’s settled, you’re going to wear a wire, and I’m gonna bring in all the law enforcement fire power you could ever dream of.”

I laughed, “Deal.”

The meeting came all too quickly. I was wearing a wire, like Dean asked me, but I did not enjoy it, it seemed to be all that was on my mind. Everyone arrived separately. It was decided that I would arrive first and scout out the area, kicking out any lurkers. Then Mick was to show, then the bosses.

Dean was talking in my ear, telling me that they were ready, that anytime now Chuck and Doctor Hess was going to be arrested.

“The profits of the supplies will be split 70/30 right?” Chuck was chatting with Doctor Hess, me and Mick farther out.

Hess huffed, “That’s hardly enough to cover our other expenses, 50/50 split.”

“Come on Doc, there has to be something in it for me, 60/40.”

Her stare was withering, but Chuck was always an idiot, “Fine.”

They shook on it and Chuck directed her to the product a little ways away.

“Chopper is coming in to get eyes, then we’ll fall in,” Dean said.

I hummed discretely to tell him I heard and started to glance around the dark sky, supposedly looking for stars.

Eventually the helicopter flew in with a spotlight shining down on us.

“Finally,” I spoke out loud, glad this was going to be over.

But I might have spoken a bit too loudly since Chuck pulled out a gun, “You bitch!”

I faced him, my arms crossed against my chest, “Been called a lot worse you motherfucker.”

“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Dean was at the front of the group in an FBI vest, aiming his gun at Chuck. The rest of the agents surrounded the area and quickly started arresting Hess and Mick.

Chuck hesitated, but in the end he shot at me. I tried to move quickly but he still grazed my shoulder. Chuck looked like he wanted to shoot me again, but Dean took two shots before he could, one to the hand holding the gun and another to his leg, effectively making him drop the gun and fall to the ground. Dean directed a couple of agents to Chuck while he ran over to me.

“Man, you really are a hot shot Hot Shot.” I laughed as I pressed a hand against my shoulder.

“I can’t believe you just stood there as Chuck aimed a gun at you. That is so dangerous,” he made sure I was comfortable before he called for a medic.

“Chuck isn’t that great with precision weapons, look, he just grazed me!” I laid my clean hand on his arm, “Thank you. This means so much to me, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

The medics came and started to push Dean back so she could get to me.

“You helped get Sam out, how ‘bout we stay in touch and we’ll call it even?”

I nodded, “You got it Hot Shot.”

“They’ll take good care of you, Angel.”

Best Buds: @kitkatd7​ @snarky--starky​ @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog ​ @kaogasm​

Dean: @akshi8278​ @msmarvelouswinchester

TMAS: @flamencodiva

[redbirdbella]

@clintasha-week  Advent calendar Day 9 - Emotions 

Very angsty. CW - guns, illusions to suicide, Avengers Assemble canon character death, drug use, talk of mind control. (If there's any more please tell me but those are the ones i can see.)

It takes Natasha 45 minutes to decide Clint's been alone long enough.

It takes two weeks for her to find him.

Phil's funeral had been tough on everyone, her archer especially. He'd been a broken man, tears staining his cheeks as he carried the casket. Natasha to his left, holding his hand as she helps bear the weight.

Barton, Romanoff, Rogers, Hill, Fury and May carrying the weight of a brother, a comrade and a true patriot July 1964 til May 2012 (or at least that's what the grave will say).

She gives him space, room to grieve, to bury his head into his hands and weep until shes worried he'll shrivel up. Like he'll faint from dehydration like when he was hungover that one time in Vegas. Happier times. Hill supplies the tissues and Steve the rousing speech. It's tasteful, Phil would appreciate it. But there's no flowers to hide the casket, just his stupid Captain America trading cards on, the ones that make Natasha's heartbreak.

Clint asks for space. After it's all over, once the coffins gone behind the red velvet curtains and the music plays. She agrees, resigned to him running. She can play the game. Follow where he leads.

Two weeks. Two damn weeks it takes. Europe, the Americas, Africa. She even checks in with Barney. The infamous Hawkeye is gone with the wind.

She goes on a whim. On a shadow of a memory of Tokyo. Of him stitching her up. Of safety and warm alcohol. A disconnected safehouse. Off the grid. Shelter, nothing more.

It's not there, replaced by a luxury high-rise. Last few units remaining the realtor declares. Great, he'll be near the top then.

She hacks the database. It's easy enough. Flat 804.

It's quiet. Eerily so, and she prays to whatever deity will listen to not have another funeral so soon.

She knocks hard, demanding a reply, but she's no surprised when no one answers.

Simple locks make simple work, the door creaking open in spite of her pleas for quiet.

He's up and in the doorway. He's armed, fingers gripping to his old Glock. Simple, effective but not if he looks so indecisive. Like its somehow difficult choosing between the intruder and himself.

"Clint" She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth letting his stubble scratch against her, "It's ok. Just me."

"Tasha" he breathes, taking her head into his hands. She holds them, noticing the way they shake, the way it makes it easy to dispossess him. Too easy. She notices the razor burn on his cheeks like he'd tried, tried to find himself amongst the rubble, "He's- I'm- I've fought so hard Tasha"

"I know, you've been so brave, but you don't have to be. I'm here, together yeah?"

He nods, letting her push her way into the apartment. The way she moves past the bottle piles and cracked walls with an effortless grace ignoring the smell of BO and alcohol. The lingering stench of rock bottom.

"Let's get you clean huh?"

He nods leading her to the bathroom. The flat has a bath graciously untouched and running hot water that leaves Natasha whispering a silent thank you to the powers that be.

She's well packed, well versed in Clint and all his emergencies. Magnesium enriched Epsom salts with lavender and chamomile, to soothe his sores and the anxious energy in his muscles. Clint recognises the box and nods reluctantly.

"Want to put some in?"

He doesn't, but he doesn't stop her adding a healthy amount. He strips down without her request, he isn't scared of being naked. Not with her. She's seen worse. She's seen the bodies on the floor, even helped organise the men that had taken Phil away, leaving the red smudge that seemed to imprint into his mind.

"Hey" She whispers kindly as if the past didn't hang so heavy between them "the water should be warm enough now. Go on, it won't bite"

He nods and steps in, if only to see her smile his last connection to humanity reflected back to him.

"Should we lay down?" She asks but she's already slowly lowering herself letting her arm dangle into the water.

He follows her. A little less steady but it's a start. She kisses his head, "Whatever you're on its strong"

Clint shrugs. Not strong enough.

"How long?"

"How long?" Natasha echos "long enough that I've missed you"

"No, how long in here?"

"Until I say so"

There's no quip just a nod and Natasha's heart breaks just a little more. She clings to the outside of the bath under his watchful gaze, humming songs she remembers from better times. Before gods and monsters and mayhem.

It takes a while for the salts to work their magic, making his limbs grow heavier, back to his control. The bath should be cool, if Natasha hadn't constantly refilled bringing it back to a good temperature. The one that melts the trickster god's ice.

"There, I've got something to get you dry" She whispers when he stands, requesting to be let out. She'd got it at the airport, so it's still fluffy with its new novel smell. He wraps it around his waist and she throws his clothes into the water left in the tub. Cleaning the air of the smell and giving him no choice but to choose the fresh clothes she's brought. He agrees to the pants, black with a purple stripe out the outside leg, the pair he always wore for long nights in.

"That's better" Natasha praises, directing him to the toilet, seat down, "you tried to shave-"

"I look like him" oh the original him. Barton Snr. The only man she hated more than Loki.

"I only see my partner" she whispers pressing another kiss to his cheek, "let me show you-"

She brings out a kit. A long-forgotten kit, one that only comes out for him. Her Barbers kit from her time attending to the soldiers. It's not the same, her tools had been blunted through use but the idea is still there. Buried deep through countless repetition.

Clints not like the soldiers. Even now he fidgets putting himself at her mercy. It's a long process, a Turkish shave, but each time it's worth it for the way he smiles, blushing under her tender touches. It's different this time, there's no more smiles but he shuts his eyes letting himself be pampered.

"There." She whispers placing a mirror into his hands once the act is done "There you are. Back again"

He nods, avoiding the man that glances back at him and she places her hands against the back of his neck.

"You cant ever ask for space again"

He nods.

"Not until I say so"

He nods. He's taken something, something strong. Detoxing will be a bitch but that was tomorrows battle.

"Bed?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't object either just leads her there as if she just wanted to see it. To check for proof of its existence.

There's no more fresh sheets, but the spare bedrooms untouched. Natasha's doubt's he'd left the living room much, not in this state.

He lays on the bed and waits for her to follow. Then he surrounds her, hands desperate to touch, to reassure his trembling grip on reality.

"I'm here. I'm here" she soothes

"You've been here before" he counters.

"Not like tonight"

He's quiet until he can't contain anymore "They took my mind"

"And I took it back"

"I killed him.

"Loki killed him. You were with me"

He nods, "You would have saved him."

"I made my choice"

"It wasn't your choice to make!"

They settle into the silence that follows. She doesn't expect an apology, she doesn't need one. She knew what it was like for someone to take your brain and play.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know you? That I wouldn't come looking" She whispers "I fought a god for you."

"And do you like your prize?"

"Now you sound like him"

"Cause he's still in there! I'd blow a hole in my head to let him out! to make it stop!"

"Don't- I need you" She's not beyond pleading, not for Clint.

He's quiet, until the tears come. They burn his freshly shaved skin so she stems them, blotting them out with her fingers.

"I'm here, it's ok" she's writing cheques she can't cash, making promises she can't keep "It can stop now, let me take it from here"

She offers out her arms as he'd done all those years before. His arms were bigger. It wasn't such a tight fit but her skills lay elsewhere. She lets her hands creep down his bareback. Recalling every last detail she can remember about her massage class back in Russia, when they'd promised her only gentle hands could wiggle out secrets. Before they corrected the lie.

He startles as she begins, if the sobs that shudder against her shoulder are any indication.

She shhs him, cradling him like a child

"It's just me"

She draws circles against his back, letting him strain away when she touches somewhere tender.

"Please, please don't fight me like you do him"

She lets her own tears slip away as he surrenders to her touch, feeling each muscle relax against her.

Until he surrenders to the deep sleep that pulls him under.

There's no more need to fight, for she grants him rest.

[swyllh]

cause darling, i get scared for you

title: cause darling, i get scared for you

premise: royalty/bodyguard au; less action, more emphatic talking and some tensions with class - in a world where names are only exchanged by people of the same status, wonwoo’s is the only one worth knowing.

pairing: wonwoo x reader

notes: for @dinoshaur because i suddenly catapulted a bunch of incoherent ramblings to her. my first time writing in a long while, please be gentle. i listened to a lot of “anyway” by noah kahan while writing this - that’s where the title came from.

word count: 1186

-

"i'm leaving." 

the banquet spares you nothing. in the centre, an overflowing wreathe of porcelain dishes; beneath, the pearlescent table cloth froths in gaudy display; beside them all, envoys from the neighbouring kingdom – garnished with rubies to the neck, what a sight. like an inferno, follows your eyes in relentless waves. you drown at the thought of sitting beside the second prince.

wonwoo wants to stop you. you can tell, by the way he takes a second too long to accommodate your gait. and, perhaps more damning, the hand he places on the small of your back. hot. you should have known something was up the moment instructor madame bundled you up in a pair of stays instead of leaving you to your silks. you should have known when the invitations sent for you and not your family.

“my lady!” the second prince pipes up, accent too harsh for dothrami sounds. “oh, do join us for dinner, dothram cuisine is exquisite-” and then, to the head of the table, “-you’ve outdone yourself.”

when you look up at wonwoo, his gaze softens.

“dothrami cuisine,” you correct behind your fan.

“my lady!” the second prince exclaims, too soon, again.

“lest madame upends the temple springs on his head,” you whisper to wonwoo, reluctantly taking your place beside the belligerent fool. to the silk-swathed compartment at the head of the table, you greet: “glory to the water-wealth.”

wonwoo hides a smile – you know, because the slope of his shoulders often gives him away. perhaps this will be fun, an inside joke you make of that bumbling fool; the second prince does not disappoint you – his crude honesty and arrogant cheer would have been cause for death. every blunder he makes sends the banquet into a flurry: little fires everywhere, you muse.

he really is something, for the palace courtiers to only heave a sigh of relief when he tries to ask for your name.

“ah, your knight, he eats not?” the second prince says, out of turn too many a time.

“knight?” you ask, eyes falling on wonwoo’s distorted face in the chalice – not dothrami.

the second prince chuckles, and you would rebuke him for even the length of his laboured huffs. “knight, ah, you call it in dothram, what, sworn sword? your sword?”

ridiculous. sword – wonwoo? you seethe. wonwoo is no mere knight. nor sword, nor sworn, nor anyone’s to speak of–

(you should have known, five years after the only princess of the kingdom passed on.)

before you know it, you’ve excused yourself from the banquet. the halls are longer than you remember. wonwoo keeps up easily, hardly making a sound despite his armour.

as you turn a corner, you find your escape blocked by a terrified thing.

"your- your highness!" the soldier squeaks. "and- oh, glory to the water-wealth!"

rolling your eyes, you keep your fan fluttering obnoxiously before your face. however, right as you take a step forward towards the exit, the soldier's stretched his staff out, blocking your way. wonwoo's testy - you can hear the whirl of his instincts, hesitating before unsheathing his sword. 

no need for that. with a blink, you turn into a creature of arrogance. 

you look the soldier right in the eyes, gaze steady with the concerted effort of multiple etiquette classes. he flinches, and behind you, wonwoo's armor is bristling against his shirt. 

"guardsman," you say, drawing him up a little straighter. "what is my name?"

the poor thing stammers, "w-what?"

you don't let down. the guardsman shrivels, trying on a different tack- "your highness, i've been given orders-"

"i don't like repeating myself," you say, deliberately shifting your gaze to the insignia on his left shoulder. "my name, guardsman."

the guardsman swallows uneasily, knuckles turning white against his staff. "your highness, i can't..."

nodding callously, you shut your fan against your palm. "a relief; i'd almost thought the royal forces had to pick vagrants off the streets. and what is yours?"

"your highness!" 

you arch a delicately plucked brow – instructor madame would be proud - let him struggle for a moment too long, before shrugging your shoulders back. he exhales noisily, but the respite is brief. 

"i am the heir of the dothram family, glory to the water-wealth," you state. "you of vacant name, rank and eyes, do not presume my intent when my wrath and mercies stand before you."

the soldier buckles, falls low into a bow. you sweep past him without another glance. wonwoo's steps behind you turn heavy. strange. everything’s been stirred out of place tonight.

finally, in the peace of your chambers, wonwoo speaks. “the second prince is not wrong to call me a sword.”

irritation pools at the base of your neck. “you’re not a sword! he has- he’s insulted you by even suggesting so!”

the word’s wrong. everything’s wrong.

“a prince cannot insult a sword,” wonwoo says, soothing. resigned.

"you're different," you say, tugging your hair out of its vice-like braid. "you're one of mine. do my hair?”

for a moment you can pretend that maybe wonwoo will comb through your hair meticulously, fingers working comfort into your scalp. and then the night will sink to the bottom of the ocean bed, buried like some long-lost past. and then the courting gifts will forget themselves.

he does your hair. but there is little comfort: “his dothrami is not terrible.”

“he speaks like a child,” you hiss, “he thinks like a fool.”

“it is not easy to learn dothrami,” wonwoo says, patient. wonwoo is always patient – you cannot loathe him for it.

“then do not learn it!” you stress.

“he must have spent years refining the-” he hits an evitable tangle. you yelp.

wonwoo’s pulling your head into his gentle gaze, guilty eyes parsing through flushed cheeks; before he realises you’re too close. stretching up, your hand finds itself a role in cradling the unbearable grief of his face. tender, even around the edges.

grief?

the loss is too sudden, too great. you’re cold, and wonwoo’s clambered to his feet.

"wait," you can't bring yourself to call his name. "it's late. out."

don't go.

"goodnight, my lady," wonwoo says, reaching out to shut the door. 

you shake your head, fingers digging into your arm. "wonwoo!"

that gets him. he halts, a lonely shadow in the deep dusk. something chilling like hope glows in your chest - maybe you should ask him to sit, here, or next to the dresser, the chair -

"when you say that, when you call my name, i-" his face, unadorned and chilling, glances down into yours. "i almost begin to want."

like a fire, worn and biting. sizzles into impulse on the tip of your tongue. "wonwoo, you know i feel the same way."

wonwoo flinches, lanky frame hollowing. does he feel the same - he must, if it's what's holding him in place, tethered to the weight of your stare. never far away, at calling distance. he knows it too, hears it in the quiet wanting of your voice; desire ripples, tentative and wide-reaching. 

"his name is wen junhui," wonwoo says, a parting shot. "the soldier."

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x FemOC} Chapter 10

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: None

.....

The next morning was blissfully quiet, everyone going about their business and doing camp chores as per usual. Sitting with Mary-Beth, hand deep in laundry buckets overflowing with soapy water I couldn't help but wonder why there wasn't a sense of urgency after the meeting with those Pinkertons yesterday. With how worried Arthur seemed I was under the impression it was a serious matter that would need to be dealt with in some way. Maybe they were used to this happening, maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as I perceived it to be.

“Do you read, Miss Bella?” Mary-Beth asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

“Sure. Used to always read as a kid.”

“Any of those being romance and love stories? Those are my favourite to read.”

“A few. Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Madame Bovary, although that one is tragic in the end.” I wring out a shirt covered in dirt and even blood from a recent stagecoach job a few of the men went on. I didn't even want to ask whose blood it was. Scrunching my nose in slight disgust and plunging the shirt back into the water to work at it some more.

“I’ve written a few little stories of my own, hoping to write a novel someday.” She smiled sheepishly to me then looking back down to the bucket. Violently scrubbing at something that must also look in the same state as the shirt currently in my hands.

“Haven’t you ever thought of leaving and making a true love story of your own?” I shift my legs from below me to sit more comfortably. The knife I hadn’t yet given back to Arthur after being at the lake slightly stabbing into my ankle from its position in my boot.

“I have once or twice. It’s too dangerous for us ladies being out in the world alone. I don’t know where I would be if Dutch and Hosea didn’t find me a few years ago.”

“What happened?” I look at her now. I had a genuine curiosity when it came to knowing these peoples stories and how they all came together. They all had lives I would only ever hear about in story books or newspapers so being a part of their lives and this merry band of fools was still rather surreal to me. Like one of those dreams that feel so real until you woke up, only I hoped I wouldn’t wake from this due to the fear of waking up back in that house, Frank at my side

“I was getting chased by a few men I had stolen from. I’m a damn good pickpocket but I must have got a bit too confident. Dutch and Hosea saw and helped me get away with them.”

I shot her a smile, both of us continuing with our tasks before Miss Grimshaw made her rounds and scolds us for slacking.

By mid-afternoon when some sense of quiet had fallen within the camp, I made my way to the edge of the camp, sitting upon a rock and looking out over the overlook, coffee in hand. My fingers still shriveled up, resembling raisins from the seeminly never-ending laundry this morning.

“Not thinking of jumping again are you?” Arthur pulls me from my thoughts as he approaches. 

“Not funny. Besides, why would I jump when I have a gun in my possession now?”

He huffs at that, coming over to stand beside me and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his satchel. Lighting one with a match strike to the rock I was sat on. “You okay after yesterday?”

“Yeah, just,” I bite my lip, thinking of the right words to say “Is nothing going to be done about it? Seems like a serious issue.”

“Dutch says he’s dealing with it.”

I hum at this, trusting his word on the matter.

“Busy today?” I ask, taking a brief sip of my coffee, feeling it flow down my throat and burn slightly.

“Well, had to collect some debt not far from here on behalf of Strauss. Fella was dead already.”

“Have you told Strauss that you didn’t get the money?”

“Nah not yet. Should have forced it from the widow but I couldn’t. Might be legal work but it don’t sit right with me,”

“How so?” 

“Robbing banks and stealing from rich folk is one thing, they have all the money they need while others starve. Strauss picks out those that are starving, those with nothing.”

“Don’t do it then.” I shrug, seemingly pointing out the obvious.

“We need the money.” He shrugs too, taking a drag and blowing out the plume of smoke.

“So do they. Help people as need helping. That’s what you said to me.”

“Ain’t that simple.” he huffs again, this time in frustration.

“I’m still not accustomed to your way of life yet. But, I do have a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Five thousand dollars. How on earth did you get a bounty that high?”

“Numerous things. Robberies, killings, hostages.”

“Oh, I’m familiar with that one.” I nod before turning to face him. Arthur swaying slightly with a hand resting on his gun belt before continuing.

“Being Dutchs’ main gun, so they call me, is probably a reason too. I wasn’t involved with the job in Blackwater but my name was mentioned regardless.” He takes another drag before flicking the stub out over the edge.

“What happened in Blackwater?” I ask, my coffee now cooling and long-forgotten, still in the clutches on my hands and perched on my lap. 

And so he told me of what happened. That he had a job with Hosea that seemed like it would work out fine without needing to rob a ferry full of bank money. That the robbery turned into a massacre, swarmed by Pinkertons with no way but to shoot their way out and everyone fleeing for the hills. The hushed words of Dutch killing an innocent woman. Having to escape from Blackwater and the Great Plains and up into the deadly icy mountains, losing most of their possessions, all their money and a few members along the way. Then they ended up here, trying to lay low until they had enough money to leave again. That’s why they planned to rob Frank. Strike up a false business deal and then take what he had at the party all those weeks ago. It was risky but with being so far from Saint Denis they thought it would be worth a shot. They are desperate. “I know plenty of rotten rich folk. If any opportunity comes up for you to rob them. I’m more than happy to give over whatever information I have.”

“Really? You would help us to rob your fancy friends?”

“They ain’t my friends. Like I said, some of them are rotten and deserve it.”

“Sure.”

There were a few moments of silence as he shifted on his feet again. I turned back to the view ahead and then down to the cold cup in my hands, huffing as I flung the liquid out onto the grass at my feet. Might as well get another cup.

“I best go see what John wants in town.”

I nodded with a smile and with that he left and made his way to the horses. Giving his horse a few gentle pats on the neck before mounting up and leaving camp towards Valentine.  

Sitting with Abigail and Tilly at the fire a few hours later, laughing amongst ourselves and sharing a bottle of whiskey, enjoying the easy day it had been. That was until rumbling hoof beats came thundering down the eastern path. Dutch, John and an injured Strauss shouting for everyone to get started on packing up the camp now. Dutch made his way to his tent, Hosea following in quickly behind him. 

With the sudden sense of urgency, everyone stood and started gathering whatever they could around the camp, preparing wagons and disassembling tents. I didn’t really know what to do, so I sought out Grimshaw for orders as she was swiftly moving about the camp, making sure everyone was doing something. She soon presented me with one, helping Pearson pack up the food wagon and to make sure nothing is left behind. I turned on my heels and made a beeline towards the wagon in question wondering what the hell had happened for us to be moving so quickly. Questions for later I told myself as I helped Pearson empty water barrels and pack up all food wares.

It wasn’t long until everything was packed up, evidence that this had been done probably a few times in the past. Dutch had us all follow him in the front wagon, telling us all of a place that has been cleared out for us thanks to Charles and Arthur. I mounted Orion instead of sitting in a wagon with the other girls, staying close behind everyone as we made our way. The new camp sat right by Flat Iron Lake and it didn’t take long to reassemble everything again. Everything back up and running by nightfall.

The next morning everyone seemed to be woken by the brightness dawn brought upon us but the heat that Lemoyne was known for. Everyone was already sweating and agitated, although that agitation could also be down to having to run once again. Getting themselves into more trouble and some worried that it was going to be simply impossible to get themselves out of this hole they are digging for themselves. They believed Dutch would get them all to brighter pastures. A blind loyalty that hasn't failed them before. We were all filled in on the goings-on the day before by word of mouth. A shootout with Cornwalls men, John and Strauss lucky to get out with their lives if it wasn't for Dutchs’ way with words and Arthurs’ way with guns.

A few others planned on heading into the town nearby, Rhodes. To get a feel of the place and scope out any potential jobs or leads. Karen and I sat in the wagon, Arthur and Charles upfront as we made our way to the new town with new possibilities. I had mentioned a previous visit to Rhodes to sell a few horses to the Braithwait family that live nearby. Once at the dusty town of Rhodes, a thankful change from a soiled and shit foul town of Valentine, we all decided to split. Arthur and Charles made their way to the station, Karen towards the parlour house and I made my way to the general store. We were under strict orders not to ask too many questions to prevent bringing any unwanted attention to ourselves. Strangers turning up to this small town asking strange questions would spread quickly here. Three men sat on the stairs of the store, making my way past them without a second thought and entering the small store. A chime above the door alerting the owner as I made my way inside. The place didn't have much but it had the basic necessities. Sauntering around I took in what they had. Coffee, salted meat, tinned fruit, fresh produce, a few tonics and...chocolate bars. The corners of my mouth lifted in a bright smile at the sight of something sweet, oh it had been a good while since I had chocolate and I'm sure $2 for one bar would be worth it. 

I picked up a bar and a box of oatcakes for Orion, swiftly making my way to the counter to ring up my purchases. 

I exchanged pleasantries with the owner, a thin man with sparse hair on his head but an impressively large moustache. He asked if I was staying in town long when the door charm rang out behind me. I paid no mind to the various footsteps I could hear instead y attention was caught when one cleared their throat, prompting me to turn to face them. It was the three men previously sat outside, their attention solely on me.

“You look awfully familiar, Miss” One man said with a slight Irish accent from what I could tell.

“I’m new to town. Just passing through.” I smile slightly 

“A lady shouldn’t be passing through town on her own.” Another man said, stood by the door.

“Oh, I’m not…”

“Why don't you come with us?” The first man drawled, taking slow but confident steps towards me. Instinctively I moved back each time he made a step forwards, quickly being stopped by the serving counter digging into my back. “I...I assure you gentlemen I am... not alone” I stuttered, my eyes swiftly looking towards the windows in the hopes someone, anyone, would make their way over.

“I don't see anyone else here. You're coming with us, missy.” With that, he lurched forward to grab my arms. His grip digging into my flesh as I tried helplessly to push him off. Mentally scolding myself for not bringing my gun with me.

“Get off me!” I squealed, my thrashing no use as one of the other men appeared beside me, tying a cloth around my head and pushing the fabric into my mouth to quell my protests. A black sack following soon after to cover my full head. 

I trashed as hard as I could, kicking the man still gripping my arms so hard I'll for sure be left with bruises. 

“You're making this worse for yourself, missy. And you... say a word of this to anyone and this place will be burned to the ground with you in it!” With that, they began to drag me away through what must have been through the back door, away from the main street. 

My hand got tied together swiftly, the rope burning into my flesh and tears burning down my face. Trying to pull back was useless, digging my heels into the dry dirt a weak attempt to escape their relentless grasps. Hauling me up and onto the back of a horse, the three men laughed as they mounted. Taking me away to god knows where to do god knows what to me.

“Any funny business and I’ll punch seven shades of shit outta you. Give you something to cry about.” The man whose horse I was upon shouted back towards me, thundering hoofbeats ringing out in my ears.

@kashasenpai​

[themuffinbee]

Lore Olympus Novelized, Chapter 2

First Chapter

I decided to combine chapters 2 and 3 since they basically flow into each other anyway. Plus, we get to the action faster :)

For the most part, I will be sticking pretty heavily to the source material in this little writing exercise. However, I may change a few minor things to better suit a prose retelling of the story, like maybe adding small actions/gestures or tweaking a bit of dialogue here and there. Hope you enjoy!

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

“I don’t think I should have come to this party…” Persephone said through the stall door, tugging down the hem of the dress yet again. No matter how she adjusted her clothing, she couldn't find a way to make the darn thing stop riding up her butt.

Loaning Persephone an outfit had been a great idea on Artemis’ part since the two of them were pretty close to the same size. Well, close to the same size, with one important exception: Artemis was curvy, to be sure, but Persephone was curvy. She could breathe all right, that part was fine. However, it was obvious that the dress didn't fit the way it should. It was just one more thing to add to the teetering stack of worries she had built up on the drive over to the Panathenaea, her earlier optimism now shriveled up and gone.

She was going to make an embarrassment of herself, she just knew it. 

“Come ooon." Artemis' voice echoed off of the sleek bathroom walls. "You look fantastic!”

Persephone attempted to smooth out the bunched-up fabric at her hips, wincing at the contrast of her calloused hands against the shimmering material. Even her fingernails looked unsophisticated, cut short and stubby so it would be easier to clean the dirt out from under them after working in the fields.

With a sigh, Persephone leaned forward and peered through the gap under the hinge. "I feel out of my depth...everyone’s going to think I’m some stupid village girl.”

“Nobody’s going to think that," Artemis said, unconcerned as she reached down to adjust the strap on her heels. "Come on, I don't want to talk to a bathroom stall all night." 

Persephone cracked the door open and peeked at her cousin around the edge. "Artemis, I'm really nervous…" 

"Awww, Persephone. You'll do fine. We'll stay under the radar." Her cousin sounded sincere enough, and Artemis didn't tend to attract too much attention to herself anyway. 

Persephone poked her head out a little farther. "One drink and then we can go, right?" 

"Promise." Artemis nodded.

One drink. That shouldn't take too long, she could handle that.

With a final steadying breath, Persephone smoothed out her borrowed dress, attempted something close to a smile, and ever so confidently said, "...Okay."

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

"One drink and then I can go, right?" Hades cast a sidelong glance at his youngest brother.

Zeus looked at him as if he had sprouted three other heads. “What? No, no, no, no! The festivities have just begun!”

The festivities had been underway for a good hour and a half, but Hades knew there would be no point in arguing with Zeus. He’d spared no expense this time around and was obviously proud of his work. The floor under their glassed-in suite was awash in all matter of nymphs, gods, and demi-gods, a sea of celebration roiling in time to swelling music. Aerialists drenched in technicolored light swung on swathes of silk above, while a vast variety of libations flowed without end among the cheering crowd below. Hell, it looked like people were even starting to crowd surf over in the far corner. It was, by all accounts, a damn good party.

Too bad Hades couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy it.

“What’s the problem?” Poseidon asked, handing Hades a glass of scotch. “Normally you would be drinking us under the table.”

“Oh, he’s got blue balls because some nymph dumped his sorry ass,” Zeus answered.

You little shit.

Hades rolled his eyes and set his drink on a side table without tasting its contents. “Can you please not talk about my balls? Or my ass, for that matter?”

“‘Can you please not talk about my balls? Or my ass for that matter?’” Zeus mimicked in his most morose tone, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. Then he shot Hades a shit-eating grin and pointed at him. “That’s what you sound like.”

Before Hades could decide if he wanted to bestow a response to his brother’s terrible impersonation, Poseidon twitched and stiffened as he looked down into the crowd.

“Zeus…” the Sea God said through gritted teeth, the faint outline of shimmering scales beginning to show through his skin, “...did you invite Odysseus?!”

“Of course!" The shit-eating grin on Zeus’ face took on a fiendish glint. "You know, Poseidon, you’re just too entertaining when you get mad.”

Not for the first time that night, Hades found himself wondering why they put up with His Royal Pain in the Ass. As the father of the blinded Polyphemus, Poseidon was still more than a little sore about Odysseus stabbing out the Cyclops’ only eye. Granted, the Cyclops had been trying to eat the King of Ithaca at the time, so Hades sided more with his great-great-grandnephew’s point of view over that of his nephew’s...point of view.

Poseidon probably wouldn’t have appreciated that pun. Perhaps it was a good thing Hades wasn’t in the mood to annoy his brothers with bad wordplay tonight.

The Sea King thumped a fist against the glass and pointed at the wide-eyed sailor. “Yeah, Odysseus! MOVE ALONG!”

And move he did, with a start and a jolt, right into…

It took a moment for Hades to comprehend what, or rather who, had just encompassed the entirety of his vision. At first, his brain could only process parts of what he had seen before assembling them into a whole. Pink hair and skin as bright and rosy as the sky just before the break of dawn. A falling drink dissolving into a spray of petals in midair. Next, a pale gold dress that, wow, left nothing to the imagination, and—

It was then, as she sank to her knees among the tumult of revelry, picking up the scattered petals, that he saw her eyes. Sadness, one reaching far beyond that of a simple spilled drink, resided there. Judging by the look of inexplicable hopelessness on her face, it had probably been there for some time.

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at forming a sentence with his stuttering tongue, he managed to ask, “W-who...who is she? She’s...”

The word merely echoed around in his head as his vocal cords failed him.

...Beautiful.

His pulse began to pound through his veins with a beat loud enough to rival the music blaring through the speakers over the dance floor. His fingers seemed to move on their own accord and pressed into his chest, as if they could somehow reach through his rib cage to calm his racing heart and ease the sudden ache constricting his lungs.

“Who, Pinky?” Poseidon asked.

Hades’ vision expanded to once again include the rest of the party around the mystery girl, now accepting a helping hand from Artemis as Odysseus turned back around to offer his apologies.

"P-Pinky?" He glanced back towards his brother, translating his words from sound to meaning at a snail's pace. 

“Persephone, she’s Demeter's daughter,” Poseidon continued. “She’s the Goddess of Spring."

Hades rested his forehead against the window, the coolness of glass grounding him to reality as he began to collect his scattered thoughts. This reaction wasn't…normal. No, not normal at all. He squinted out into the crowd, now doubting what his own eyes had seen. Surely this Persephone couldn't be so beautiful to warrant his earlier moon-eyed staring. It had to be a trick of the light, paired with some kind of romantic desperation after the disaster with Minthe.

Only one way to know for sure.

Reaching into his jacket, Hades pulled out his glasses, cleaned the lenses with his gloved fingers for good measure, then practically shoved the spectacles onto his face. All too aware of his brothers’ sudden silence and intense stares, he grabbed his scotch off of the table, attempting to recover at least the appearance of composure. Taking a nonchalant sip, he searched the lower level for a splash of bright pink.

She wasn't hard to find. Even in the multicolored mob, she stood out like a rose in a snarling mess of brambles. His improved clarity of vision only confirmed his first assessment: she was still gorgeous, perhaps even more so than before. It had been foolish to think that his mild nearsightedness could be to blame for what he had seen. He could feel himself getting sucked in again, unable to look away as she waved a stilted yet gracious goodbye to the unnerved Odysseus. 

“Demeter’s daughter, you say?” he asked, absently spilling some of his drink out of his forgotten glass. Any pretense at composure had flown out the window as soon as his eyes found her again. “I didn’t even know she had a daughter.”

Hearing his own voice made at least part of Hades’ brain wake from its stupor, though he still stared after her. None of this made sense. “Hold on. How come I’ve never seen her before?”

“It’s...complicated.” Zeus took a swig of his fizzing wine and thought for a moment. “But, basically, Demeter doesn’t like the way I run things. So, she opted to do her duties in the Mortal Realm. Apparently, I’m 'morally corrupt.' Whatever that means.”

Hades nearly rolled his eyes at the air quotes discernible in his brother’s voice, but that would mean losing sight of the Goddess of Spring for half of a second. It wasn't worth it. 

“So, for the most part,” Zeus continued, “she raised Persephone in the Mortal Realm. I’m surprised Demeter let her move to the city, to be honest. She’s always been super protective of Persephone.”

I can’t imagine why.

Expressive features…sleek, short-cropped hair…big doe eyes…curves for days wrapped up in that incredible dress…there shouldn’t be a way for someone to be such a mix of beautiful, sexy, and adorable. Looking around, he was surprised she didn’t have a string of would-be suitors following her around. Did no one else have eyes?

“Honestly,” Hades said as he folded his glasses to stuff them back in his jacket, “I think she puts Aphrodite to shame.”

His brothers grinned, elbowing one another in the side at this unexpected development, and for the first time that night, Hades smiled.

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

“Honestly, I think she puts Aphrodite to shame.”

… Honestly, I think she puts Aphrodite to shame… 

… Honestly, I think she puts APHRODITE to shame… 

The words went round and round in Aphrodite's head, seething just fifteen feet behind the oblivious jerk that spoke them into existence. 

Why? Why did they always do this? Some lovelorn dope sees a pretty girl, and obviously she must be compared to the Goddess of Beauty herself. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

And this time it wasn’t even some stupid mortal who had never seen her in her full glory. It was Hades of all people! One of the three Kings!

Ugh! The nerve.

This could not stand. Aphrodite needed to make an example out of him. Now. No, better yet, a certain someone needed to make an example out of him. Finish what he had never started months ago.

Yes. Perfect.

Aphrodite’s fingers flew across her cell phone’s screen, dropping her favorite disgruntled cat gif into the chat. She was going to give him five seconds before she called.

Five...Four...Three...Two—

‘What’s wrong, Mommy-kins?’ came Eros’ response. ‘Party no fun?’

What a good boy. 

Aphrodite tapped out her reply, ‘Get over here.’

‘No can do, this orgy isn’t going to coordinate itself.’ Followed by a string of sunglasses smiley emojis. ‘I wore a really cute polo shirt…’

‘The salmon pink one?’ She bet it was. That one went so well with his complexion.

‘YUUUUUS! I’M THE CUTEST!’

‘I love that one!’ Aphrodite added a heart-eyes emoji at the end, to show she was supportive. ‘Polo shirts aside, I still need you to get your butt here.’ Snorty face emoji, to show she was serious.

Then she closed the app and sighed. She loved her son, more than almost anything in any of the realms, but he needed to learn a few things about priorities. And a lesson. He needed to learn a lesson too.

As did Hades.

Next Chapter

[imalwaysaslutfordrag]

Please do 2 with Vixie (Violet x Trixie) please and thank you

I’ve never done this pairing before, so I hope I did it justice, anon. Thank you for the prompt. I had a lot of fun writing this one, even though it is angsty as hell.

“Baby, you’re not a bother.” - “I’m too needy, you don’t deserve it.”

Violet groaned as her phone continued ringing. She had hoped whoever it was would get the damn idea after she ignored the first two calls. 

Evidently not.

She sat up in her bath and rolled her eyes at the inconvenience as she hit accept.

“You fucking bitch, I know you were ignoring my calls,” Trixie scolded. But there was no malice in her words. In fact, quite the opposite. She sounded like she had been crying. She sounded like she had been trying to make a joke but it got caught half-way out of her mouth and she choked on it.

“Will you come over?” Trixie said.

“Why, you get your head stuck up Katya’s ass again?”

“V,” Trixie said. Except she didn’t say it. She pleaded and cried and sobbed all at once. 

“I’ll be over soon.”

Violet tried to be mad. Tried to be angry that her weekly relaxation routine was being interrupted by Trixie’s... whatever it was. 

But her mind kept echoing the older queen’s voice, broken and weak.

Violet made it to Trixie’s in record time. She lingered outside the door for a few minutes more, waiting out for the clock to hit 8:30. In the back of her mind, Violet knew why she did it. 

Can’t show that you care that much. A voice rang out in her head.

God forbid you have feelings. God forbid someone sees.

Violet rang the doorbell once and kept her hands to her sides. A solid position. Steady. Firm. Unwavering.

She had to be ready. Always had to be ready with Trixie. 

It didn’t come easily, loving Violet. Much less caring about her too. Trixie had been one of the only girls from their season to make the effort, and then keep making the effort. 

Somewhere along the way, Violet found herself in the midst of a friendship. Or near enough to one. Trixie would call her with problems and Violet would lie about her own. And they would smile at each other in person. And read the hell out of each other every chance they got. 

But along that same way, Violet had also found herself in love with Trixie. Not that she really knew what that meant or how that was supposed to work. 

She just woke up one day and realized that the shriveled up hole inside her chest was occupied. And the tenant had made the place over with pink and sparkles and everything Violet swore she loathed. 

Trixie threw open the door and in a flash, Violet was inside. Trixie was desperately clutching a barbie pink blanket around herself and sobbing uncontrollably.

Violet had to stop her, hold out a box of tissues, and stop her once more before she got the whole story.

They had a fight. Katya and Trixie had a fight. And now Trixie was convinced that she’d ruined the whole friendship and that nothing would ever be the same again and Katya didn’t love her anymore.

In any other situation, Violet would have made a joke. Would have picked and teased and prodded at Trixie’s open wound until they both laughed it off. 

But this time, she sensed it was different. The way Trixie was holding herself... she seemed... shaken. Violet’s brain started working overtime. 

Her first instinct was to cry. To cry Trixie’s loss with her until they were both red in the face and loopy.

Her second instinct was that the first instinct was stupid and emotional and mushy-

Her third instinct was to console Trixie.

But her fourth instinct made it so said consoling wasn’t too much. Wasn’t too emotional. She had to make sure she didn't let Trixie know that she would move heaven and earth if she only asked. 

“Baby, you’re not a bother,” Violet said plainly. Almost blasé. No emotion behind the words, just... words. They didn’t reveal anything.

Trixie continued her lamenting, “I’m too needy, you don’t deserve it. No one does.”

Something inside Violet snapped suddenly. Maybe it was the tone in Trixie’s voice or their proximity on the couch, but something long since buried reared its ugly head and Violet started speaking before she could think. Before she could keep herself together, “Then stop. Man up and stop relying on other people to provide your happiness.”

“V-”

Violet cut her off, her own words coming out harsh and clipped and she couldn’t stop them no matter how hard she tried, “No, I get that you don’t want to hear it right now, but you’re going to. If you think you’re too needy and emotional, change that. Stop finding your worth in men that only give you the time of day because you’re famous. Stop finding your purpose in fans that will disappear the moment you say something wrong. Stop relying on finite things for infinite happiness.”

Trixie just looked at her, wide-eyed and searching. 

It took a while before Violet realized she was crying.  

[mattzerella-sticks]

Self Insert, s15 coda, M, 3.8k

(TW: overdosing - no deaths, but a lot of pills are taken at once)

Ever since finding out that Chuck has been writing their lives, the Winchesters are going off script more than usual. And each act of free will spits on all of Chuck's work and muddles his sharp, writer's mind. It's bad enough he has to babysit a powerful demon he brought back from the Empty, but now he can't write the ending the Winchesters deserve. How can he create an epic, gut-wrenching ending when he's being given domesticity, wallowing, and a badass Castiel to work with. All of it useless to him.

There's nothing anchoring his work. No puppeteer to pull the strings. But somehow Lilith proves her worth and finds the silver lining in the stormy skies.

Chuck raids Becky’s bathroom cabinet, mirrored door swinging wildly on its hinges while he searches for aspirin. Another migraine rips across his temple, flaring as powerful as a dying star. He curses, tossing lotions and bottles randomly until he finds the economy sized tub. “Thank me,” he sighs, grabbing it and twisting the cap off. One pill wouldn’t cut it, so Chuck poured the bottle down his throat until his cheeks puffed. Then he races to the kitchen for a pitcher of water to wash it down with.

Lilith watches on, unamused by the laughable scene of God overpowered by a simple headache. “Really?” she starts, waiting until Chuck leans against the counter with an empty pitcher in hand, “You couldn’t snap your fingers and make it go away?”

He shoots her a glare but she doesn’t wilt. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But swallowing enough pills that could take down all of Jonestown helps?”

“Maybe?” Chuck shrugs, “Power of suggestion?” As he says that, another beat of pain flares up. Dropping the pitcher, he rubs at his forehead. It shatters against the tiles. Chuck walks away, muttering, “Clean that up.”

“Oh, that’s all I am now?” Lilith snarls, defiant, “Your maid ? Not even good enough to be a plot device anymore?”

Another headache wiggles at the base of his skull, where a set of fiery white eyes burn into him. “You weren’t even that good of one to begin with.”

“Excuse me!”

Chuck scrubs his hands over his face, frozen, waiting for the avalanche he knocked over to bury him. Lilith stomps towards him, each blow to the floor adding to his already drumming head. She claws at his arm and forces him to look at her. “ What ?”

“You know what,” she says, squinting up at him, “You wake me up, bring me here, give me one night of freedom and then…? Nothing ! There’s only so much you can do in a damn house. Especially one that doesn’t have any cable !”

Chuck copies her disdainful expression. “There’s wi-fi.”

“That doesn’t help me when you have the only laptop!” Lilith yells at him, “Give me something to do, dammit. Otherwise just send me back to the Empty!”

“I gave you something to do,” he lobs back at her, “And you did it poorly .”

“I got you the Equalizer!”

“You got rid of the Equalizer!”

“Which I still haven’t been thanked for,” she says, hands flying above her, “I know you’re the Almighty Father but would it kill you to express the smallest amount of gratitude? I mean, no wonder Lucifer fell like he did…”

Chuck feels anger bubbling up inside him. Instead of wrecking his current base of operations he directs the maelstrom towards a distant galaxy light years away. Decimates three planets and freezes the core of their sun so the rest of that solar system dies slowly. “I wanted it.”

“For what reason?” she asks,”What reason would possibly warrant you keeping a weapon that can kill you around? It makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense!” Chuck tells her, voice loud and enriched with power, “Out of the two of us here there’s only one God and it’s me… I don’t have to tell you anything . I don’t have to keep you here .”

“But you do,” Lilith says, “Not out torturing the Winchesters or their friends. Not back in the Empty sleeping for the rest of eternity. No, I’m here because you need me. Need me to sit around and read through every different ending you’ve written, being slowly driven mad because I’m the one forced to entertain your mediocre bullshit - nggh!”

Lilith hovers inches off the ground. She claws at her neck, where an invisible force applies excess amounts of pressure. Breathing doesn’t matter, but with her windpipe crushed she can’t speak. The pain comes when Chuck’s eyes glow a blinding blue and parts of her essence shrivel from the exposure.

In a blink the light show ends and she falls. Chuck steps to her, glaring at her crumpled form. “You want to know the real reason why you’re not back in the game?” he scoffs, “The Equalizer was only number one on the list of things you seriously screwed up. Because of you, the Winchesters know I’m working behind the scenes! You took my hand and laid every card I had on the table. Your whole chapter went nothing like I wrote !”

“That wasn’t my fault,” she coughs, wiping at her mouth, “You stuck me with lumps and expected statues . Of course nothing was going to plan.”

“Maybe if you tried harder the Winchesters would have responded better -”

“Winchesters?” Lilith laughs, a rough, hollow melody that grates on his nerves. “Kind of a roundabout way of saying Dean , don’t you think?”

Like being shot by Sam again, Chuck recoils from the strike. He considers flexing his power, destroying her and bringing her back again, only to settle after deeming it a waste. “No, it’s not… you failed with both of them -”

“So I was supposed to seduce both of them?” Lilith says, “Because I read your flimsy excuse of a first draft and that part with Sam wasn’t included. In fact, Sam was hardly mentioned in it at all. You still nursing a… wound ?”

Chuck brushes the joke off, shoulder tensing under his jacket. Tendrils of pain squeezing the muscles where the bullet rests. “Sam wasn’t that important then… it was you and Dean  -”

“And the knock-off erotica you wrote in which I, trapped playing a barely legal philosophy major, seduce Big Brother Winchester and we have crazy sex where I’m moaning and screaming ‘That’s it! Slam into my tight, little, virginal ass, Dean’!” She writhes on the floor, giving a Meg Ryan-worthy performance. Lilith stops with one hand tangled in her hair while the other supports her arched back. Bedroom eyes replaced with a harsh gaze. “Sorry I didn’t become the little porn star you wanted daddy. ”

He grabs her arm and drags Lilith to her feet. “I didn’t realize you treated that scene like a joke.”

“I could have,” she tells him, “Really play up the innocent school girl routine, but whatever I would’ve sold Dean wouldn’t have bought.”

“Of course he would have,” Chuck says, defensive, “This is Dean we’re talking about. He should’ve been all over you in that motel room.”

“Well he wasn’t.”

“Because you weren’t playing up your character’s sexuality enough,” he argues, “I made it really easy for you, too, what with all the aphrodisiacs I wrote in. Do you know how hard it is to insert ideas into someone’s head that they should change the layout of their motel rooms so they had mood lighting and antlers everywhere? In such a short time? No!” His finger jabs at her, close enough he nearly pokes her eye. “Since I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-nine infallible than the problem was definitely you .”

Lilith scowls at him, sharp teeth poking between her lips. “Like I keep telling you, it wasn’t me - and it also wasn’t you. It was Dean, he wasn’t interested .”

“Because you weren’t -”

“No!” she shouts over him, “Because he’s not the Dean you knew! Because he realized how creepy it is hooking up with a girl who’s almost half his age ! Who only seconds before was crying about how awful her life was because she felt like she had no purpose. I bet that at no moment of knowing ‘Ashley’ did he think her purpose was to happily take his wrinkled dick and fondle some saggy balls for fifteen seconds until he came and fell asleep without even attempting to return the favor! I’m tired of saying this but he is not the man you know anymore!” Lilith’s chest heaves with the force of her words, a few of the figurines in the room tipping over from how wild her power shot during her tirade. Like whips of electric energy she tore through the room, shattering picture frames and upending Becky’s model Roadhouse.

Chuck watches her through slitted eyes. He snaps his fingers and the room repairs itself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chuck says, “Of course I know him - I know all of them. They’re my creations. Nothing’s changed about them, not at all.”

“So you’re completely ignoring what showed up today?”

A shadow passes over his face at the question. Another tidal wave of pain roars through his mind, every nerve in his body swept in its destructive path. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Lilith says, backing away, “That’s why you spent all that time ripping it to shreds only for it to reappear on your desk like it never happened -”

“Lilith.”

“I took a peak, of course,” she admits, “I found it… I didn’t immediately hand it over. Like I said, I’m bored . It was interesting… very different than a lot of other things I’d been forced to read.”

“Stop it, I mean it -”

“Dean Winchester, our charming man of action, holed up in his room eating his feelings and nursing some heartbreak,” Lilith mocks, tone heavy with cruel delight. “Sam, the boy afraid of his own powers, taking ownership of his affluence and ability with magic. And Castiel the - actually, I don’t really know how to describe him. The angel never really comes up in your writings. I don’t know why seeing how hot that action scene was. If you wanted me to seduce him, I wouldn’t really mind… if Meg could do it then so can I -”

“ Enough .” Chuck snarls, windows shattering all around the house. Pain from the migraine becomes too much to deal with so he sinks to his knees, unable to use his powers and fix the broken glass. All he can do is focus all his energy on his breathing while he fights the chaos of free will tearing up his future.

When he feels more in control again Chuck opens his eyes and chances a look at Lilith. The angry expression on her face melted into a more unusual one. Curiosity easily shines in her eyes at his pathetic display, outlined with an odd hue of fear. Returning to full height, both school their expressions into masked indifference.

“Those pages were garbage ,” he tells Lilith, “they were… fanfiction . It’s not how it’s supposed to go. Sam’s happiness… Castiel’s confidence and Dean…” Chuck can’t bear to utter the next few words. “Whoever wrote those doesn’t know all the work I put into creating these characters. All the specifics of their characteristics that makes them who they are. That makes them butt heads and become their own worst enemies! I’m the author! Whatever I write is canon! And I do not like being mocked .”

“But you were, Chuck,” Lilith says, a softer approach, “Today you wrote the fanfiction… the story where Dean leaves Sam behind to drown in booze and women didn’t happen. Sam choosing to sacrifice the body of the woman he loves to destroy Rowena’s magic didn’t happen. Castiel being too late to save that mother and kid because he was paralyzed by his depression… that didn’t happen . None of what you’re writing will happen if you sit behind a desk and pray for it to work. Sometimes you need to put the effort in and bend the rules to fit your game.”

Chuck arches a brow in her direction. “Deus ex machina?” he frowns, “I kinda prefer keeping my arrival until the very end… I am God after all. If I show up too early then where’s the plot gonna go?”

“And yet the story of the Winchesters keeps going even though you're a recurring character,” she shakes her head. Lilith inches closer to him, smirking. “This isn’t the time to be holding back. Grand finales mean bringing in your heavy hitters, like yours truly . Who cares if you show up early? Every moment from beginning to end should be filled with adrenaline and action and not this… domestic crap.”

It’s a convincing argument, Lilith presenting her case with honeyed words fashioned to sweeten his ears. Except he doesn’t trust her enough to suspect that her goals are far less charitable than helping him with his runaway characters. In a room full of quickly-closing corners, however, he will take the first exit presented.

“That’s not a terrible idea,” he says, walking towards the study. Lilith follows. “Since Belphegor’s arc wrapped up way too early for him to be the Big Bad… there has been something missing in my work. No wonder Dean and Sam have been circling the drain!”

“It helps they’re already gunning for you,” Lilith adds, sitting in a nearby chair, “Good luck taking you off the board though seeing you’re God .”

Chuck relaxes behind his desk, staring at an open Word document. “But they’re putting up a united front. Kind of makes it hard to have one kill the other when there’s nothing driving them apart.”

“You could have Sam find out what Dean said to -”

“There’s nothing driving them apart.”

“Then be what drives them apart.”

“ How ?”

“I thought you were the writer here?” she scoffs, swinging her legs up over the armrest.

He rolls his eyes. “You said you wanted something to do, right? Help me come up with a wedge.”

“Kind of a waste of my skills…”

“You’d rather I send you into some other girl,” Chuck asks, “have you try and seduce Dean all over again?”

Lilith scowls. “Why don’t you try and seduce him.”

“What?”

“You seduce Dean,” she repeats, “You’re so obsessed with who he sleeps with, clearly you’re sporting a chub for the guy. Every scene you write with him in it makes it obvious, even the ones where he dies at Sam’s hands. No one needs to know how handsome a guy is moments away from death.”

Chuck shrugs, nervously fiddling with his glasses. “Debatable…”

“So why don’t you hop on his dick and get off mine.” She reaches behind her for one of the figures on display, snatching a Dean with opposable joints. Swinging his arm, Lilith takes the knife in its hand and has the miniature Winchester stab himself over and over again.

He pays her no mind, mulling over Lilith’s sarcastic suggestion. “Y’know…” Chuck mumbles, putting on his glasses, “that could work…” Chuck’s fingers begin typing. The story unfolds easily now that the missing element - himself - was added to the page. A wicked smile unfurls the more he types.

Hours pass, and Chuck has a working idea of how the Winchesters’ world will end.

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

Sam carries a few books through the Bunker’s main room when he hears the door open from above. Glancing up he finds Dean casually strolling down the steps. A swagger in his posture that hadn’t been present in a long while. So taken aback he nearly let his brother walk away without the stern interrogation he planned.

“Dean,” he starts, “where were you?”

Dean pauses under the archway, facing away from Sam. His hand pressed against the wall. “Out.”

“Out?” Sam scoffs, “That’s it?”

“Yeah. I was out.”

“Without leaving a note or answering mine or Cas’s calls and texts?” Sam stomps over, scowling, “You complain all this time about him ignoring us. And the moment he gets here you turn tail and leave? What’s the matter with you?”

Dean shrugs, showing a sliver of his handsome profile to Sam. “Had better things to do then waste hours running in circles with you and a fallen angel.”

Sam’s expression hardens. “Out, huh?” he asks, “Did you go to the jerk store?”

“No,” Dean says, “now are we done? Can you go back to your bitch party?”

“Dammit, Dean!” He grabs his brother’s shoulder and spins him around, stomach clenching at the disinterested stare that greets him. “I thought we were done with this, man! If we’re gonna have any chance to take down Chuck than I need you here, with us. Knowing he’s still playing with our lives it’s… I know it’s hard. But none of us will make it out alive if we’re keeping each other at a distance.”

Dean pouts throughout Sam’s speech, but a spark flickers in his eyes. His tight shoulders droop under an invisible weight, and the indifferent mask breaks. “Sorry,” he says, “I… I know. I get it. But I didn’t want to sit and read and… I found this case in Texas. Thought Chuck was tied to it. Figured you and Cas were okay to sit tight and handle the research while I hit the field.”

Sam sighs, the knot in his chest unwinding. “That’s… okay. Wish you still told us but… did it pan out?”

“What do you think?” Dean shrugs. He scrubs a tired hand over his perfect jaw, plush lips stretching under his touch. “It… it didn’t turn out so well. Wasn’t so much Chuck as it was a djinn. Handled it anyway.”

“That’s… that’s good,” Sam says, attempting a smile, “You feel any better killing it?”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly what I wanted to kill at the time.”

Seeing his brother crack open his hard shell eases some of the tension between them. Sam inches closer, bringing his brother into a hug. Going slow to give Dean enough time to escape. When he doesn’t, Sam wraps his arms around his brother. “We’ll find a way to get Chuck,” Sam tells him, “and the second we get him you’ll have first dibs.”

Dean shifts in his hold. “Funny thing, Sam,” Dean mumbles, “I’m not in the mood to kill Chuck, either.”

“What -”?

Snkkt

A burning pain rips through his chest from where the blade sunk in. Blood rushes up his throat and bubbles in his mouth, Sam spluttering while it leaks from his parted lips. The books in his hand crash to the floor and he stumbles backwards in shock.

Dean watches him with a soft glee highlighting the crinkles near his gorgeous eyes. Sam darts his gaze from his brother’s face to the red-stained knife in his hands. His hands rush to cover the wound, but the blood continues gushing. “W-what…?”

“Enchanted,” Dean tells him, wiggling the weapon like a toy, “got it from a special friend.”

“You…” Sam’s legs give out and he crumbles to the floor, “How…”

A slow clap echoes in the room, drawing Sam’s attention. He uses all the strength left in him to crane his neck to where the sound originates.

Chuck, in a burgundy blazer and pressed black slacks, stands over them. Sam’s eyes widen as he descends the stairs. “Y-you,” Sam mutters, on his hands at this point, “How… why…”

“It’s easy,” Chuck says, passing him on his way to Dean. His brother welcomes him gladly, adoration shining. Darkness edges his vision, but Sam can still see how Dean nuzzles Chuck’s hand when it rubs his cheek. Accepts a kiss as he bleeds out in front of him. “Dean finally understands his place in the story…”

“Your word is law, baby,” Dean says, “Whatever you want, I’ll do.”

“You know what I’d really love…?”

In his final moments Sam becomes a third party to the scene about to play out. Chuck whispers to him, mouth hidden. Dean nods and drops to his knees. His last breath intermingles with the jingle of Dean removing Chuck’s belt. Chuck’s zipper being undone one of the last thing he hears. Sam’s life eeks out of him, and he dies knowing his brother has and will continue to service the very being that controlled their lives from the beginning.

“If only you knew, Sam,” Chuck says, “the glory that comes from giving your life to God…”

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

Chuck waits for Lilith to finish, leaning on his desk while she reads the printed pages. It’s been very silent, a worrisome song for writers when faced with readers. But given the variety of faces she shuffled through Chuck feels his nerves untangling.

“I have to say,” she says, “I’ve said this before and I didn’t really mean it all those other times. But when I say this is great… I actually mean it.”

“Really?”

“Well?” Lilith shrugs her shoulders, “it’s better than anything else you’ve done. It’s fresh, you’re not rehashing any of the old plot points that’ve come and gone. There’s a strong point of view here… Really appreciated you using Sam’s blood as lube -”

“I knew you would.”

“And that part where Cas walked in on you fingering Dean,” she continues, slapping the papers, “I cackled! Forcing him to stay until you finished and then making Dean kill him was brilliant.”

Chuck blushes under the praise, waving her off. “It just grew organically from where the story was going.”

“And then some…” Lilith lies his work flat on her lap and stares at him. “Now the only question I have is… will this ending actually happen ?”

“Oh… I think we’re winding closer to the end than anyone realizes…” Chuck turns the laptop around and shows Lilith the news article he found celebrating a local celebrity named Leo Webb. “And to thank you for the inspiration… I have another job for you.”

Lilith sinks to her seat. “I’m interested.”

Chuck explains the scene he has waiting, the unfinished threads he will quilt together later on. The more he talks about it the better the finished product becomes in his mind. An excitement that hadn’t existed inside for a long time squeezes his heart. He looks forward to leaving Becky’s house and getting his hands dirty. A joy he thought only came from creating worlds resurfacing in the opening act of destroying one.

Writing about Dean and Sam for so long made him forget who the real star of their story was. And it’s high time he reminds them.

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

Sam shuffles into the kitchen, rewinding through the horrible dream he experienced. One of the worst since he shot Chuck with the Equalizer. Thinking about it sends shivers racing up and down his spine like it’s NASCAR. The cars on the makeshift track speed faster when he finds Dean stuffing cereal into his face.

“Morning Sam,” he says, waving with his spoon, “Wanna pull up a seat?”

He doesn’t answer. Sam books it towards the coffee pot and debates pouring the drink over his eyes. Instead he grabs a mug from the cabinet above and fills it. Quickly, uncaring to how a few drops splash onto the counter. The faster he makes his coffee the sooner he can hide in his room until he wipes his memory of the horrible nightmare.

Dean won’t let him. When Sam turns to leave, he’s blocking his escape with a stern frown. “Sam?”

“...Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

Sam shuffles his feet, unable to meet Dean’s questioning stare. His brother asks again. “I can’t, Dean.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because if I say it, out loud it’s…” Sam sighs, “it’s real.”

Dean nods, leaning against the island. “Another vision?”

“Yeah…”

“How bad was it?”

“So bad.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Dean asks, “Y’know… maybe if you let me know I can -”

“No.”

“No?”

Sam shakes his head. “No. Trust me Dean, this… you don’t want to know…

[itsclydebitches]

Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet

Title: A Three Flower Bouquet 

Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 4,574

Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol) 

Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa! 

A Three Flower Bouquet 

Week One

Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.

A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...

"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"

"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.

And so the day began.

***

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.

[broodmother]

fill for @kyluxcantina ; a writing warm up that got out of hand. ~4000 words, sfw, modern au, warning for mild horror. ao3 link.

Our family tree has some twisted roots. 

It was raining outside, the sort of lukewarm squall you could only get in summer storms when the air felt so thick you could almost scoop it up in your hands. The persistent thrum of fat-bellied raindrops on the open window was oddly comforting, a white noise that blanketed everything but the clinking of porcelain as Hux unwrapped coffee cups from sheets of old newspaper and put them away, and the breeze that came in with it was just cool enough to wick away the worst of the humidity.

Hux stopped, leaned against the sink with a half-wrapped cup in hand. He thumbed the chipped lip of it as he looked out of the window, watching the sea of spanish oaks that stretched out for acres in front of the house bob and sway gently. It was secluded, moreso than Hux would have liked, but it was beautiful even in the thin yellow light of the storm - he could only imagine what it would be like in the fall. He smiled to himself; he hoped this would be good for them.

“Penny for your thoughts,” came a voice in his ear and strong arms snaked around his waist. His smile widened as he leaned back against Ben’s chest.

“It’s nice here,” he said.

“Anywhere’s better than that apartment,” Ben said as he hooked his chin over his shoulder, and Hux hummed in agreement. He was silent for a moment, and they swayed together like the trees, “I’ve not been here since I was a kid. It feels weird to be back, especially since it's been lying empty for so long.”

Hux turned around in Ben’s arms, still holding the cup. He smiled up at him, “We’ll make it feel like a home soon enough.”

“Home’s wherever you’re with me,” Ben said as he leaned down to ghost his lips against Hux’s; Hux turned his head to the side with a laugh and nudged his chest.

“Calm down, Nicholas Sparks - home’s going to be wherever these boxes get unpacked. I do hope you’re not expecting me to do it all?” he said. Ben wrinkled his nose but untangled himself from Hux anyway, “That’s what I thought. The plates are still out in the hallway, go earn those kisses.”

--

It took days to unpack all the boxes, especially since having a place of their own - a real place, not some shitty studio apartment with a reeking garbage disposal unit and a leaky shower - had put Ben in some kind of mood. A good mood, mostly, a playful one, but sometimes a little more withdrawn than usual. One moment they’d bickering over which side of the room to put the sofa on, then they’d move to abandoning it right in the middle in favour of fooling around on it a little - and then just as suddenly, Ben would get up and walk out like someone had called his name. He could disappear for hours. Hux knew better than to go looking for him.

It had been his grandfather’s house, so Hux supposed moving into it after a surprise inheritance had him feeling thoughtful. Besides, he’d always been prone to his funny moods - that was just a fact of life when it came to loving Ben. He just wished he would help a little more with the unpacking. It felt like it took twice as long as it should have. He could never figure out where to put what, especially since they had so much space to fill, and Hux kept getting confused about what he’d unpacked already, no matter how methodically he did it - he’d put away the towels in the linen closet, then go back to the bedroom to find them neatly stacked on the bed right where they’d started out.

--

Ben kissed the side of his neck, following a line up to his ear; he drew the lobe into his mouth, bit gently in that way that made Hux shiver every time. He was standing like he had been on the first day, at the kitchen sink with Ben’s arms around him, cup in hand - one that he was washing, this time, not putting away.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Hux said, even as he turned his head to the side to offer more of himself to Ben. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the tree-obscured horizon.

“When it stops raining,” Ben said, the words slurred by his skin. It had been raining for days. Home-making was good for the soul but Hux wanted to get out, wanted to feel any fresh air but the breeze that crept in through the open window. He gripped the edge of the sink.

“A drive?”

“Sure,” Ben said. Hands found his hips, pulled him flush against him, “When it stops raining.”

--

It was an old house - an old, old house - though Ben couldn’t say exactly how old. He just knew it had been in his family for generations, and frankly, it showed. The hardwood flooring had warped all throughout the house, the doors and window frames too. Some were jammed open, some were jammed shut; there were whole rooms he couldn’t get into because the door wouldn’t budge no matter how hard Hux rattled the handle.

Combined with the fact that so much of the house had been extended over the years - wings added, rooms spliced into rooms, staircases built and then blocked off - it was like a damn maze. There were even occasions when Hux would open the door to a room and find himself somewhere completely unexpected, even weeks after he was certain he had memorised the floor plan. He was sure the bathroom had been second on the right. Third on the right? No, it was first on the left - but since when?

“You’re just not used to a big old place like this yet,” Ben had told him when he brought it up, bright and faux-breezy over dinner one night, “You’ll be turned around for a while, don’t worry about it.”

Hux rolled the stem of one of the few wine glasses to survive the moving process between his fingers with a mild hum. He didn’t remind him he’d grown up in a house even bigger than this one, and he’d never once lost an entire floor before.

--

The kitchen was by far Hux’s favourite room in the house. It was huge, nearly the size of the entire apartment they had shared before moving. It had old, cracked terracotta tiles and sprawling gas range with blackened cast iron pots hung all in a row above it. Hux had never been much of a cook but he was willing to learn now he had such a playground to work with.

There was also a pleasant atmosphere to the room, something warm and almost airy, which was a nice respite from the rest of the house. He had an office somewhere upstairs but he still ended up working in the kitchen more often than not.

“What’s in there?” Hux asked one afternoon. He was sitting at the kitchen table, pen in hand; Ben was getting a beer out of the fridge. He glanced over at where Hux was looking: a door on the far side of the room, set back slightly in an alcove of its own. It was neatly - but thoroughly - boarded up. It wasn’t the only room in the house like that, so he hadn’t been too curious about it at first, but he spent so much of his day sitting facing it that he was beginning to wonder.

Ben twisted the cap off his beer and looked away; he shut the fridge door hard enough to make the bottles inside clink, “Basement.”

“Why is it boarded up?” Hux pressed.

“Black mold, I think,” Ben said, and Hux turned in his seat to look at him in disgust.

“Black mold? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he said sharply, his brow dipping, “We’ll need to get someone out, we can’t have black mold right under the kitchen. I’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Ben said with a forcefulness that took Hux by surprise, “I mean-- don’t waste your time, it's not that serious. It’s been boarded up since before I was born, I think it was more of a precaution than anything else. If it was dangerous, grandpa would have sorted it out before-- well, before.”

Hux held Ben’s gaze for a second, then nodded and turned back to his work, his lips thinned in displeasure. Ben didn’t speak of his grandfather often, but he seemed to have had a great influence over his life. He knew he was practically an intruder in his house, or at least that’s what he felt like at times. He didn’t want to provoke Ben further, but he still didn’t care to be snapped at.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, giving Hux’s shoulder a squeeze, “But do me a favour - don’t go down there, okay? It’s not worth the risk.”

Hux only grunted in response, wanting the conversation to be over already. Ben squeezed harder, forcing him to look up. He had a strange expression on his face, something hard behind his eyes that made Hux want to shrivel up.

“I mean it. Promise me you won’t go down to the basement.”

“I promise,” Hux said through clenched teeth. Ben smiled and immediately let him go. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head like nothing had happened and left the room, beer in hand.

Hux stared holes through the basement door, his shoulder aching. The kitchen felt colder than it had before.

--

It was raining again. In fact, it seemed like it had not stopped in the weeks and months since they had moved there. What had been comforting white noise had became an incessant, irritating drone. He was so sure if it didn’t stop any time soon, the house would be washed right into the forest and down the valley; he wasn’t convinced that would be a bad thing.

Hux lay in bed, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling. He hadn’t slept well in days; Ben tossed fitfully beside him, but then again he had never been an easy sleeper.

“You awake?” he asked, voice thick with sleep as he reached out for Hux, “What’s wrong?”

“What did your grandfather do?” Hux asked.

Ben knuckled his eyes and blinked in the darkness, “Uh, doctor, I think. Something like that.”

What use was a doctor forty, fifty miles out in the middle of nowhere?

“What happened to him?”

The silence that followed was weighty. Hux turned his head to look at Ben, even if he couldn’t see him.

“I don’t know,” Ben said.

“What happened to your parents?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said again.

Hux looked away. Ben eventually fell back asleep, but he didn’t. He just lay there and listened to the rain.

--

Hux began opening all the doors he could in the house. Every corridor he walked down, every room he passed through. Airing it out, he told Ben when he pried. Trying to get rid of that damp smell.

He looked at Hux like he was crazy when he asked why they were always all closed again come morning. He learned to stop asking, but he never shut a door behind himself again.

--

“Where do you go?” Hux asked.

Ben didn’t respond at first, just went on unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed it at the laundry basket and missed; Hux knew he’d be the one to pick it up later, “What do you mean?”

“When you’re gone, you’re gone for hours,” Hux said. He should have been getting undressed for bed too, “Where do you go?”

“For a walk,” Ben said, not missing a beat this time, “To clear my head.”

Hux watched him as he wandered into the en suite bathroom. He left the door open as he turned on the tap and began to brush his teeth. Hux wanted to get up and slam the door, to call him a liar, to smash their alarm clock they never set against the wall. He wanted to take the car keys and leave. He wanted to swallow down the wave of nausea that rose up in his throat.

“You’re never wet,” he said. Ben looked at him with a questioning grunt, like he hadn’t heard him right, “When you come back. You’re never wet.”

Ben frowned, then laughed around his toothbrush, “It’s not always raining.”

“It is. It is always raining, it never stops fucking raining here,” Hux said through his teeth. Ben’s smile slipped.

“What is it you’re accusing me of, exactly?”

“Where do you go?”

Hands curled into fists. Ben spat into the sink and shook his head like he was going to drop it, but he couldn’t. He turned, braced himself against the doorframe and leaned into the bedroom, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you need to stop this. You need to stop doing this.”

“Why won’t you answer the question,” Hux said. There was a quiver in his voice that he hated; his breath felt so thin and insubstantial as it caught in his throat. Ben took a step towards him but he didn’t flinch, just lifted his chin, kept his gaze hard and steady even if his hands shook.

Ben’s shoulders dropped. He threw his hands up in disgust and turned away from Hux, “I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight. Sort your head out.”

--

It was warm, warmer than he thought it would be, almost like being in a shower just before the hot water ran out. Hux closed his eyes and tilted his head back, turned his palms to the sky, let the rain soak through him in seconds. The ground beneath his bare feet wasn’t sodden like it should have been, but the grass was soft and sweet-smelling.

“Hux!”

He walked towards to the treeline; the shining wet leaves nodded in the breeze, calling him closer like beckoning hands.

“Hux, get back here!”

He turned to look over his shoulder at Ben, standing in the frame of the back door, the kitchen light behind his head. He was wearing the same hard expression as before. Hux didn’t saying anything.

“It’s raining, you’re going to get sick.”

He glanced back at the trees. There was a tightness in his stomach that he couldn’t explain, a lead weight on his chest; he had the strangest urge to start running. He could make it to the treeline before Ben caught him, he knew he could, and then he’d be lost to the forest.

“Hux, come back inside,” Ben urged again. There was something slanting and desperate in the fringes of his voice, “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

The feeling - the instinct, primal and sharp-toothed - stretched out, taut like a bow-string until it snapped, guttered and died. The moment to escape passed and Hux began to walk towards the house. Ben was waiting for him with dark eyes and warm, dry hands. He brushed away the water that clung to Hux’s lashes, brushed his lips across his closed mouth. He took him by the arm and led him upstairs where he pulled him out of his wet clothes and laid him on the bed, and fucked him like he loved him. Like he was worried about him.

Ben cupped Hux’s face in his hands when he kissed him again and made him promise not to leave the house again. Hux couldn’t remember what he said.

--

Hux closed the lid of Ben’s toolbox and tested the weight on the hammer in one hand. Satisfied, though he didn’t know by what parameters, he climbed up onto the edge of the kitchen table and smashed the lightbulb hanging above it with a single sure-armed swing. He didn’t flinch away from the powdery shards of glass, but he was careful to avoid the worst of it as he climbed back down, hammer still in hand.

He stared up at the empty light fixture and wondered if he should do the the rest of the lights downstairs, but he decided against it. He wasn’t sure if  he had the time; Ben had disappeared nearly an hour ago and he didn’t know when he would be back, so he turned his attention to the basement door.

The nails were surprisingly easy to pry out of the planks, like they were loose. He put each one in his pocket so he could replace them without losing any. Too many nooks and crannies in an old house for a dropped nail to roll into and get lost, and then where would Hux be if Ben noticed? He would notice, of course. He always did.

Hux pried off the last few boards with his hands and dumped them in a pile behind him. He considered doing the same with the hammer too, but didn’t. He didn’t know if he needed it but its reassuring heft made him feel better. The door didn’t creak when he pulled it open, nor did the top step when he tested his weight on it. The thin light from the kitchen barely penetrated the heavy, close darkness; beyond the first three or four steps, it was very nearly pitch black.

The air was stale and still as it rose up to meet him. There was something rank in it, something rotten that the damp and the dust couldn’t hide. Hux desperately wanted to turn heel and close the door behind him, to board it up and be done with it - but he had to know. There was something wrong with the house, and he had to know what. It had resisted his every effort to make it a home, and he had to know why.

His knees felt weak as he descended the staircase, but he steeled himself. He tightened his grip on the hammer, and held his phone as a makeshift flashlight in the other. The light swept across the packed earth floor, the featureless stone walls as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He turned, and there in the middle of the room was a table.

It was old, wooden, heavily varnished, unremarkable aside from leather straps at either end. The stench of rot was stronger as Hux approached, and he found himself rooted in place. The light wavered as his hands began to tremble. It wasn’t varnish - it was blood. Blood, blackish and flaky, caked every surface of the table. It had ran down the legs in rivulets, soaked into the dirt; it had stained the soft underside of the the leather straps, left them stiff with gore.

He pressed his mouth to his wrist in an effort to stop himself from retching as he circled the table, unable to look away until his foot hit something. He pointed the light down: it was a metal lock box, blue and rusted. Hux stared at it, willing it to disappearing, willing the soiled earth to open up and swallow it because god, he didn’t want to know what was inside it.

He crouched and picked it up, sat it on the table. It was lighter than he thought it would be; he hoped there wasn’t anything in it at all. The old padlock broke with one half-hearted knock from the hammer and Hux flipped the lid open before he could lose his nerve. Inside were photographs - dozens of them, maybe more. Some were old, black and white; others were more recent.

Most of them were of Ben. Ben as a child, grinning at the camera with a gap where his two front teeth should have been. Ben on a tire swing, bony knees smeared with dirt. Ben kneeling beside a young woman who was propped up against a tree, her hair covering her face as her head drooped to her chest. Ben - a youth now, maybe twelve or thirteen - standing at the basement door, his hands shiny and wet with something blackish as he held them out proudly. Ben, still so young, leaning against the very table Hux stood beside then, his hand resting on the bare, bruised ankle of someone not wholly in the picture. He was undoing the leather strap, or maybe tightening it.

Hux’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he fumbled his way to the most recent photo, unfaded, uncreased. Ben was a man in it: his hair was cut shorter than he liked to keep it normally. Hux remembered when he had cut it like that, just after they had moved into the apartment together. He remembered how he teased him, saying it made his ears look even bigger than usual. He had called them his love handles, and Ben has laughed even while he sulked.

He was laughing in the photograph too, the corners his dark eyes creased just the way Hux liked them. Oh god, he was still so beautiful even with a hunting rifle across his lap and a man at his feet, naked, face-down in the wet grass; he had his arm around an older man, slight and wispy haired, his face badly scarred. He was in the background of almost every photo in the box, right from the very oldest. Ben’s grandfather.

“You’re not supposed to be down here.”

Dread washed over Hux at that moment, and he turned his phone towards the stairs; he could just about make out Ben standing halfway down the stairs. He began to shake his head, unable to find the words.

“You promised me,” he said, taking another step down. His voice was choked, cracked, heavy with hurt, “You promised me you wouldn’t come down here.”

Hux had broken the light in the kitchen so he had an excuse to come to the basement, claiming to be looking for the fuse box. That wasn’t going to work, not after what he had really found.

“I didn’t see anything,” Hux said, trying to sound calm even though he was sure he would shake apart, “We can go back upstairs. We can-- we can board up the door again. I didn’t see anything.”

“He told me I was too soft on you. He told me you would let me down. This was your chance to prove him wrong, this was your test and you failed,” Ben said. The tears on his cheeks glinted dimly in the low light, and that scared Hux. He had never seen him cry before, not even in anger.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” he said. His voice was tight, trembling with the effort to keep his composure, “I’m sorry. We can pretend--”

“I loved you,” Ben said, “You were always my favourite. I loved you the most.”

Fear turned to ice in his veins; Hux tried to steel himself, tried to stuff down the bile rising in his throat.

“You don’t have to do this, Ben,” Hux tried, one last desperate appeal, “I love you too.”

Ben lurched towards him then, and Hux made a desperate grab for the hammer on the table; his fingers wrapped around the smooth hand just in time for Ben to grab his wrist and slam it against the table, causing him to drop it. In a panic, he swung his other hand at him blindly; he managed to smash him in the side of the head with the heel of his phone, but it did nothing. Less than nothing. It slipped from his fingers as Ben grappled him to the ground, the light guttering and dying. Hands curled around his neck - hands that he had held, hands that he had kissed and loved. Hands that had hurt. Hands that had killed. They began to squeeze.

[felinavondraco]

Title: Elise's Decision

Series: Cloakn’Steel (Sonic the Hedgehog AU)

Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi/Apocalypse/Retropunk

Rating: T (Language/Mental Illness)

Background: A Flow Write from Cloakn’Steel. This happens near the mid-to-end of the fourth ‘book/series’ so there is a lot of information previously explained. To point out some things briefly: The surface is an apocalyptic wasteland overrun by beings called Mutants. The incident was brought on by ‘The Vaccine’. Its side effects vary from person to person but Elise suffers from depression (which I have made to mimic my own episodes). She is actually from a much distant past, she and others preserved in a sleep of which only she survived. Sonic works as a secret agent for the government.

As this is a Flow Write, be warned that it is unedited and things may change before its official release. Enjoy~

A shock through her heart and she was fully awake. Just like every night. Why? Even after all she had been through they still wouldn’t let her be. She slowed her breathing as the burning in her chest gradually dissipated back into nothingness. Despite the downy comforter pulled up to her shoulder, the young woman still shivered and curled into herself. Something hot and velvety brushed against the small of her back and she realized, for the moment, she had forgotten where she was. Elise swallowed and forced herself to relax as his arm came up and draped her hip, paw searching for her much smaller counterpart against her stomach. Then, his moist breath brushed the fine hairs between her shoulder blades as the hedgehog nuzzled into the nape of her neck. Sonic hummed softly, the only sound puncturing the darkness. “Don’t worry. I’ll chase away your demons for you. I promise.” Though muffled and slurred with slumber, still those words boomed in her ear. So much so that she nearly cried, wanting nothing more than to shrivel out of existence. I’m not worth this. I’m not. She stirred again only once the ginger rise of his chest against her back became steady and rhythmical. He had fallen back to sleep. The window ahead shown a dusty blue sky pock-marked with stars. No moon tonight. Ever so cautiously Elise shifted around, his arm now nothing but a warm weight. As she bore into the crook of his chin there was this sense of perfection. And in that perfection a pang of sadness slithered its way into her mind. This wasn’t hers to take, to keep. This wasn’t meant to be. Briefly Elise nuzzled into his neck, savoring the comfort found there. Her lips brushed his silky fur as she mumbled a sullen thank you. There was no possible way for him to hear her mournful words, for which she was grateful. Because, if he had, she knew he would stop her. Elise forced herself up and away, replacing her weight with the blanket once wrapped snuggly around them both. Hastily, buy silently, the human woman dressed and vanished into the darkness of the hall and down into the living room. From there she crept through the kitchen illuminated in the soft florescence of a baby-blue night light plugged beside the sink. Watching its unnatural flicker for some reason brought a thought to compose a note for him. That, though, was soon cast aside. No, a note would make it worse. A note might make her stay. From the kitchen, there was his garage and where he had stored her bike. There it was, standing in the center of a cluster of model robots and dust rags. Elise apologized before picking the omniband from the seat and attaching it to her temple. Eventually, she would somehow have to locate a new helmet and suit. For now, at least Stormy’s aeroshield would keep her from sustaining any monumental injuries, should they occur. The artificial Lode Tails had created was still inserted into her steed’s torso, giving off a faint buttery glow to the otherwise onyx carapace. Placing her palm to the stone elicited a reaction. From the epicenter, a spiderweb of insignia lit and grew. From its breast the machine let out a soft hum of life. The tires held by their standing clasps were released and set into their graviton tracks. Elise had never given much though to the hue her bike had always exhibited. With the amethyst Lode from before the glow had been purple. Now, with this new one, its pores gave a shade representing its new power source. This fact now saddened her even more. She had lost one of the few things from her time that held any meaning. You are such a heartless monster. Monster. Beast. Mutant thing! The woman growled and shook the voices from her head as if that would help. It only swayed them for so long. She mounted the motorcycle, feeling it dip slightly from her weight. At least she had this piece of her soul back, all thanks to Sonic. Elise let the thought subside and guided the machine towards the garage door. The sensor on the floor triggered, raising the escape like the maw of some primordial beast. It clunked softly with a smooth groan that told her he kept it well maintained. It would be his fault then, if he didn’t hear her. Into the night she road, pass his neighborhood and into the lights of Seaborne City. Even at this hour, so early in the morning, everything shown bright with a kind of festivity akin to the joys of youth. He had been right. As she passed on her way most of the individuals she saw were nocturnals: coyotes, raccoons, owls, and cats. There were some humans, too. Even so far in the future they were adaptable like that. One thing she had never told him had been how the humans and anthropes of her time never coexisted so seamlessly. There had never been couplings, very few friendships. Humans mostly stayed within their grand cities, and the anthropes to their forests. To see those around her so content together was a small joy. It made it far too apparent that she did not belong here. From the highway she drifted off an exit that lead to Dawner Park. It was mostly vacant at this time, thankfully. It was still far too dark to watch the sunrise so any who were awake would have no real reason to be here. Even so, she still chose a spot long forgotten by passerbys. That way she could leave without anyone being the wiser. The edges of the Sky Isles were outlined in invisible fencing. They prevented anyone from falling off while still providing the breathtaking scenery of the starlit atmosphere beyond. Even so, there was a mechanism in place. If someone did scale the wall, or break through, an alarm would sound. Elise wondered off-handedly if any of her questions pertaining to the perimeter peeked Sonic’s concern. Probably. It wouldn’t take much for him to put two-and-two together. The barrier would go off. There was no way around that. She slowed to a gentle stop, admiring the seemingly infinite beyond. With little other than a thin sweater, a brief gust of night bit deeper than it should. Despite this, the stoic girl remained stiff as a statue, eyes tuned to the clouds that clustered about the island’s rim like an ocean of foam. She wondered if some ever thought of the world below, obscured from sight. Why would they when everything was so perfect above? A mortal-made heaven. Her thoughts were always muddled like this. That was just her existence. Even before she was institutionalized in White Garden, she would get lost in the realm of her own mind, a spiraling rabbit hole of loathing and doubt where reality mingled with fantasy. That was why she needed to go. Sonic and his friends couldn't be exposed to who she truly was. But, she would miss them, all of them. She would miss hanging out at Mama Moro’s Cafe with Maria. She would miss cooking with Sonia and shopping with Amy. Most of all, she would miss her nightly routines with Sonic. How had they become a thing? Why did she let it become a thing? Why did she have to fall in love with him? How did he even fall in love with her? He doesn’t love you. He pities you. How could he possibly love a freak like you? No one wants to love you. No one ever did. What about Willow? That meant nothing and you know it. She was scared. Your sick mind twisted her words. That’s why you have to leave. It’d be better for everyone. I don’t want to leave. It doesn’t matter what YOU want. What matters is what’s best for everyone. Elise gripped her ears and hissed, “shut up!” Hopefully, no one was close enough to hear. No, she was alone. Alone safe her thoughts, which had quieted for the time being. So she returned to stargazing, putting off the inevitable.  Her palms shot to Stormy’s reigns and she revved his motor. Just do it, you idiot. I don’t want to. I’m happy, sometimes… They make me happy. He makes me happy. So? That doesn’t fucking matter! There is no happiness. Not for you. It’s a damn temporary high and you know it. Sure, you’re happy for, maybe, a day. Then, what comes after? Back to your old self, being tormented by their forced smiles. How much can they possibly care for you? Do you really think any of their lives will change if you leave? No, they’d just go back to the way they were before you showed up. Yeah… Elise forced her eyes shut, hoping to prevent the inevitable. She had made sure to never let anyone see her cry. That was all she needed, to have someone openly pity her. That was what was so strange with her interactions with Sonic. He never… Somehow, he never seemed like he did. Out of all the stories he had somehow pried from her lips, he remained stoic and obliging rather than apologetic. “I hate you,” she whispered sullenly to the sky above. There was only one person that line had ever been spoken for.

Sonic groaned and rolled over, stretching out like a canine beneath the thin sheets sticking to his velvety fur. He paused, something wasn’t right. One paw began feeling around till it found the edge of the mattress. The hedgehog was still pretty groggy from last night so it took a moment before he realized something should be there but wasn’t. If it had been someone else he wouldn’t have paid much mind but not her. Suddenly shot awake with fear, Sonic lifted himself and grabbed a handful of sheets, revealing the entirety of his mattress in one swift motion. He wasn’t crazy. She was gone. He hopped out of bed and into a spare set of shorts on the floor. He began bounding down the stairs when a peculiar smell caught his nostrils. It was familiar but unfamiliar in this setting. He slowed his pace and in turn his frantic heart. As he drew closer and closer to the first floor the smell became more pungent. It wasn’t until he finally turned into the kitchen that he settled down. Elise shifted when she heard him clamoring to the main floor. “Morning,” she greeted with just the hit of a smile. “Morning.” He grinned wide enough for both of them. She was still here. She stayed. She hadn’t done anything he couldn’t have prevented. In that moment all his anxiety melted away. Maybe, in some ways, he had helped her. So enthralled by this musing, he had yet to comprehend exactly what she was doing. She stood over the sink with a frying pan, having just rinsed it and in the process of transferring it into the drying board. He followed his nose to the kitchen table. Upon it laid a pair of plates, one to each side. Upon them rose a tall stack of buttery-looking pancakes. Once his examination was done, heart fluttering, he took his seat while returning his eyes to the girl and intently taking in every move she made. With pan removed. She strolled over to his coffee maker set at the edge of the counter and retrieved a pair of mugs, filling them with the ebony liquid before walking back over to take her seat opposite him. She then presented one to him and kept the other for herself. Sonic couldn’t contain his heart from its uplifted rhythm. Nor could he divert his eyes from her even upon taking her offer. So intense was his gaze that Elise’s cheeks flushed furiously after a bit and turned away. “I… Molly used to make these for me in the morning when I stayed with her.” Only then did he realize what he was doing and finally readjusted his focus to the buttery decadence placed before him. “I’m surprised I had everything you needed. I’ve never been much of a cook, myself. Can’t even think of the last time I ate a homemade meal.” Her smile retained its usual shyness. “The recipe is pretty simple and it’s easy to readjust for what you have on-hand.” As Sonic began to shove spoonfuls of sugar into his brew, a soft binging caught his ears. Elise rose and he paused, unable to help keeping an eye on her. She wandered to his microwave and produced yet another mug, using a bundle of paper towels to ensure she wasn’t burned. As she grew close in returning the fragrant syrup she must have been heating assaulted his nose and made his mouth water. He was serious in saying he hadn’t had homemade anything in forever. Just the gesture in itself made his heart swell, regardless of what they would eventually taste like. Considering everything his sister had told him, he doubted they would be anything other than delicious. When she finally sat for, what would hopefully be, the last time she set the maple syrup between them. She then focused on her own coffee adding much less sugar and a bit of cream that she must have retrieved some time ago and place on the table beforehand. Sonic went for the maple syrup and drizzled a heavy stream over the stack. The amber liquid mixed with the creamy butter and cascaded down each tier like a miniature waterfall. Deciding that was enough, he held it for her to take. “Thanks, by-the-way. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” “You don’t have to thank me.” Please don’t thank me. “It wasn’t troublesome, honest. Besides, I though it… I wanted to do something for you.” Sonic chuckled gently, a sound far sweater than the decadence before them. “For what?” As she began stirring her steaming drink her gaze fell down to the swirls of off-white, distant and almost forlorn. “Nothing. I don’t know.” Unfortunately, the hedgehog knew that look well and had also began to sense the drastic, sinking shift in her aura whenever she began spiraling back into herself. He couldn’t have that anymore, wouldn’t have that anymore. “So, how’d you make these anyway?” He retrieved the fork that had been intently placed atop a folded paper towel next to his plate. Her chin lifted and the darkness surrounding her gradually dissipated into the soft morning light. That was much better. And so, the pair chatted while they ate. The concoction was as perfect as he had suspected. The flapjacks were light and only vaguely sweet. Creamy inside with a caramel crust, they gathered most of their flavor from the syrup and butter. Too bad he hadn’t picked up any fruits or berries. The added tartness would have added a nice compliment to the dish. But, the coffee did the trick, sipping a little after a few mouthfuls to help everything down. As they neared the bottom Elise quieted. Before he could revert her back on track her gaze gave him an uncommon intensity. It generated not hate or sadness or joy but purpose. “I want to tell you something.” Sonic was taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. “Of course. What is it?” Those eye, icy at times, continued their evaluation of him. “I want to tell you how I ended up at White Garden.” An alertness to his spine replaced the once lax atmosphere. “You really don’t have to, honestly. If it’s going to-” “I want to.” That stare finally softened and curled into the more commonplace melancholy. “Maybe, if I tell you it’ll help me heal.” The girl turned away again, spindly fingers clawing at her empty mug as if digging for any remaining warmth. “You’ve been really good at that, you know.” In those words their was weight, though not of ill. There was purpose in them. It would seem most anything she said and did had purpose. Sonic realized early on, when they had begun hanging out, that she was not one for small talk, preferring to keep to herself and letting others be. She was one of those individuals who was more than content to sit on the sidelines and watch the world and those in it, rather than be a part of it. The amount of effort it had taken to get her to blossom for him he would never regret. This trust the otherwise lonely girl had afforded him over time was precious. For her to openly admit this was a testament to that. So, instead of protesting, he offered her a tentative smile. Each night they walked together gave him new insights into who she was as a person. As she became accustomed to his presence those stories had deepened in both length and personal significance. Slowly but surly, Sonic began to love her and loathe the beast she viewed herself as. Now, here she was, willing to share with him her darkest secret, one of which he was curious of but contented himself in not knowing should she never confide in him the tale. Elise remained transfixed on the dregs in her cup as she began. “Most of the people in the Facilities were willing participants, high risk individuals, or those whose blood proved beneficial. I didn’t go there as one of those. I was an exception.” A pause. A breath. “I was fourteen. I had come home from school. I was happy because we were going to my aunt’s for the weekend for Gran’s birthday. Everything was fine till I got home. Mom and Dad were fighting, as usual, so I just made myself invisible and blocked them out. I…” her eyes darkened, falling deep into the memory, “didn’t know what triggered her at the time. When I got about halfway up the stairs everything got awfully quiet, like funerary quiet. It was like this weight was in the air or it was really humid without being hot. I only stopped and turned around when I heard my parents scream.” In her mind they were still screaming, though with time she had become accustomed to the sound. “My mom had Broken and she began to mutate. My father shattered a display case and got out one of his hunting rifles.” Elise briefly faded back into reality. “How did he kill her? They’re not supposed to die so easily.” Then she closed her eyes and it took her again. Behind those lids she still recalled the flashing of the barrel as each bullet bit deep into the flesh of their target. The dark blood splattered family photos as her mother’s monstrous form flailed in torment. “I was screaming too but I don’t think he heard me at first. He only noticed me once Mom stopped moving.” Those steely irises opened again and the way she bore into him actually sent a pickle down his spike like a sudden numbness. Actually, that was exactly what he saw. Comprehension finally dawned on him. That’s why her gaze sometimes scared him irrationally. Beyond there depths he could discern nothing other than numbness. “He turned on me with the same horror. He raised his gun and I closed me eyes and cried and waited for the inevitable. Instead I felt his cold grip on my arm as he dragged me upstairs and threw me into my room. I didn’t know what to do. All I wanted was to hide, become so small so no one would find me. So they wouldn’t find me.” For a moment the only sound came from her nails cautiously scraping against the well-worn ceramic. “Maybe I was in there for a couple of minutes or maybe hours. Who knows? For some reason the thought to run away never occurred. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to forget. I wanted to die.” “Elise…” With that otherwise soft-spoken word, the woman’s spirit returned to her rigid body. Their eyes connected briefly and to her surprise she couldn’t discern any pity within his. Instead, there was such a fire burning in that it made her heart skip a beat. There was also something else, something hiding within that stare she couldn't yet identify. For some reason, it didn’t scare her. It’s intensity was reminiscent of everything that had transpired between them the night before. “Th-They came.” She stuttered in continuing. “The next thing I knew there were some people in suits who came into my room and tried to coax me out. I didn’t fight them. I came quietly. In White Garden I was placed into quarantine. Something happened to me, as I was left along in that room, in the quite and the dark.” Her voice began to hush. She couldn’t take that intensity anymore. “Again, I don’t know how long they kept me there. I suspect it may have been an abnormal amount of time. Percy was the main psychologist who evaluated me. I knew she was afraid of me just by the way she looked at me whenever I responded to her questions. Even she couldn’t understand why I was so… indifferent. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to forget, to be forgotten. I wanted everyone and everything to just go away. “When I was finally released into the common lobby I had gone so far into myself that I just felt like a zombie. There was nothing left inside. I had nothing left to give, no one to give it to and no one who would take it. There was nothing inside of me, nothing of any worth. Nothing.” With her voice trailing into silence Sonic found having to restrain himself far more difficult than he would have imagined. His nails bit into the wood of the table as he spectated her inner turmoil. He wanted to leap up and tackle her, kiss her eyelids and scream at her all at once. She was not nothing, damn it! But he knew doing so would only cause her to bolt away like a skittish hare. So, he forced down a dry swallow and remained where he sat. “Maybe days or weeks went by. Time became really fuzzy for me. No one talked to me and I never made an effort to talk with anyone else. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be left alone. Willow…” a grin, so small no one would have noticed unless enthralled as he was, “she was the one. She came up to me one day in the cafeteria and started talking to me. She wouldn’t leave me alone.” The tone to her voice was beginning to pick up. “Even though I was quiet and tried to slip away, she was persistent. Somehow, she was still so happy and carefree. Pushy, she never stopped grinning, or talking.” Elise choked out a brief chuckle. Then she finally met his eyes and in hers he saw light, like a pair of blazing stars. “She reopened my heart. It wasn’t all at once but she helped me start to gradually feel again. She had a nice little group of friends already and she made me feel welcome, like I belonged. And I… never…” Just as quickly she was slipping away again. “I never…” Elise shook her head, ember locks dancing against her moist eyes. She brought up the heel of her palm and massaged one absently. “I just wish I could have told her that.” Those words came out slightly muffled by the sleeve of her ivory sweater. “I think she knew.” She stopped her fussing and turned to him quizzically. His smile was far brighter than the morning sun shining through the window at his shoulder. “Yeah, trust me. She knew.” “Thank you.” And she presented him a meek one in return. He… In some ways he was just like Willow. They were even, amusingly, the same height. That had been one of the things she had already admitted to him so many nights ago. Maybe, that was why she had become so attached to him. No, that was exactly why. That must have been what made him so confident in that statement. He pulled out his chair and stretched his arms high above his quills, joints popping into place. “Well, I don’t know about you but I feel a nice morning run is in order.” Elise squinted at him cautiously. “You don’t have work today?” “Nope.” He began rolling his shoulders one at a time. “Actually took a couple weeks off after the reckon we did in sector CC-089, where we found your bike.” “Wait,” the pieces of time he had given her wasn’t adding up. “That… You said you found my bike a week ago and Tails just finished his testing yesterday.” “Yeah?” He leaned, cross-armed and unfazed, against the back of his chair upon realizing where this particular conversation was headed. “That would mean you weren’t working and you specifically went out to see me?” “Course, why wouldn’t I?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Most nights they were out nearly till four in the morning. “Because I knew you’d get upset and you’d tell me to stop or you’d make an effort to try and hide from me. Elise, I really love those stupid walks, you know? It became sort of like our routine.” And he wanted to make sure he was near her those nights. “We could never hang out during the day so instead that was our time together.” “But, sometimes I actually did get sleep. Did you really go out looking for me?” Sonic shrugged, holding his chin in his palm as he studied her uncharacteristic bewilderment. “Yeah, well, you know. If I couldn’t find you at one of our usual spots I just headed back home, no biggie.” A sigh. “I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.” She was falling again. “Elise,” he spoke her name in a gentle yet upbeat tone. “I loved our walks. I love spending time with you. Trust me, It’s not something I feel like I have to do. I wanted to do it. I love you.” Her creamy cheeks suddenly flushed with heat. Sadly, she didn’t, as yet, believe him. But to her those words still gave her hope, albeit minuscule as it was. Again, happiness wasn’t something she was accustomed to. The majority of her still couldn’t accept his sincerity. She wasn’t worth his time or concern. But, what if this was real? What if he meant what he said and she wasn’t just a salvageable fling? Only time would tell. Was it worth the risk? “Come on. I’ll get dressed and we’ll take your bike out and have a race around the city. Whaddaya say?” If only he knew she had already been out and about with it. In the end she gave in to his charisma. So, while he ran back upstairs she set her self to cleaning up. He told her to wait a moment so he could help but she dissuaded him, stating that it would keep her busy while he freshened up.