#but I saw a squirrel in the yard a month ago and that was very good

[icouldntcareless22]

I will remember you.

Extraordinary you!Au x Zombie Apocalypse!Au

Summary: The world was damned. A deadly virus going around turning everyone in zombies? Yeah, the world was definitely damned. But that was the least of his problems right now. Time was slipping by him..he had been hearing weird sounds. He decided that he was going crazy. Until a certain someone appeared and told him not to worry because apparently this all a fiction, more specifically a comic?

AN: Hi! This is the very first piece I am writing! I am sure that it is not quite as good as the rest of the amazing works that exist here but I wanted to get the idea out of me and entertain whoever wants to read it! I will be making a part 2 for sure!

Words: 5k

Part 2

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~   

The morning was quiet, if you don't count the inhuman grunts and moans that were surrounding them.

    Felix was perched in the highest point he could reach and was just crouched there, watching the school below him. Approximately 6 months ago everything he knew changed. A virus, that was supposed to never see the light of day, was leaked and the world went to shit after that. People screaming on the streets as their flesh was being ripped from their bodies, the population filling the streets desperate to escape, concerned family members trying to find each other, destruction of human kind as we knew it..You know the usual drill..

   He shook himself out of whatever daydream he had fallen into.. Now it was not the time to daydream... He scolded himself as he adjusted his position. He looked over the school that had became both their salvation and prison. It was for sure big and by now, so unkept that it truly looked haunted. Being on top of the second floor helped him have that eagle vision he needed to examinate their safe keep. He scanned over the fake little garden that was was once filled with flowers and trees were they lounged upon back in the good days, over the old road that was once filled with kids and laughter as it leaded to the main gate, over-.

    A gasp left him. There was movement. In the corner of the football court, that was in the far right side, there was movement.

   Swoosh!

  What was that?

   "Did you see something Felix?" Asked over his shoulder the dark haired boy on the other side of the roof. Usually the look out consisted of two people that made their way from the bottom of the school to the top. The small bit they managed to secure at least. The whole thing was too damn big to manage it all, they had succeed in securing quite a few rooms, that were in the left side of the building.Such as mediocre classrooms, a janitors closet that was the source of weaponry for them and the teacher's office. The rest was up for the taking for the leaches.

    "I think I saw something moving by the court" he answered as he scanned again the yard for signs of life. Could I really be that wrong?

   Changbin left a grunt as moved near his side of the roof. He perched on the edge as carefully scanned the court. He shook his head, messy unkept locks following the movement. Changbin looked rugged, he realized, they all did, with a T shirt a few sizes too big and green cargo pants rolled up so they can fit his height. They raided a couple of lockers and found clothes that remained there. The clothes a painful reminder that their owners would not come to pick them up.

    "Are you sure? Maybe you saw a squirrel or something.. If they are still alive, I mean «he reasoned as he wiped his forehead.

    "Maybe I am tired" Felix agreed, shaking his head as well. Yeah, he could be tired. The sun was glaring down at them and he was taking on more and more shifts recently. This could be a sign that he needs the rest. Maybe he could speak with Chan so he can rearrange them.

    "Or maybe you are on edge." Changbin said as he hoped back on the safer ground of the roof." I mean a new face, in this environment, is not always welcomed. You can be cautious"

     "I am not. I believe she deserves the benefit of the doubt. She survived a God knows what, all alone, out there. I mean if you were on her position wouldn't you want shelter and food?" He answered as be scanned the yard for the last time.

     "Yeah...you could be right" Changbin mumbled.

Swoosh!

     "You heard that?" Felix asked, looking around.

   Changbin stilled as he listened. After a moment or two he opened his eyes and looked at Felix "No..Nothing" 

   He stilled as well and then let out a big breath".. let's just go mate" he mumbled and started to make his way down the stairs.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~

  Swoosh!

"I am saying that she shouldn't have been here in the first place"

 Felix blinked as he refocused on the conversation that was taking place in front of him. Seungmin and some other kids were taking a stand against the new girl that arrived on the campus. They were totally tearing the poor girl down, he thought. Useless, in a prime condition and had never gotten her hands dirty were some of the comments that were thrown in her face. 

    He approached slowly, arms raised, as if to show that he meant no harm " Guys, let's not says things we don't mean" he tried to reason with them. He knew that all was in vain as Seungmin and the girls were all furious. The girls could understand why, they never really resolved anything, always picked fights and recklessly dived into difficult situations that they couldn't get out. Seungmin, on the other hand, was a tactician. He knew that one more person , meant more hands, meant more eyes to keep them safe , so he couldn't understand what the boy had against her that he would go to such extreme lengths.

     "We mean everything! She is longing around! Asking stupid questions! Not helping at all!" Squealed one of the girls, all red in the face and hands moving rapidly around her.

     Seungmin, still sitting on the chair not far from him, said " Felix we can't welcome anyone and not ask questions. Besides even though the screaming doesn't help" he said throwing a dirty look to the girls" they got a point. This is kill or be killed now, I am just saying in case you forgot "

     He allowed himself to fall back against the window. He put his hands deep down the pockets of the oversize pants he found. He couldn't deny what Seungmin said. He scanned the rest of the room. Changbin was sprawled in one of the comfiest teacher's chair he could find , not a care in the world could be found on his face. On the top of the desk in front of Changbin, sat Jisung. He stared at the fight that was taking without a word. He didn't really get involved in fights as he once did. The whole situation was proven too much for him, slowly his jokes and bright energy gave to a solemn face and keen eyes that saw it all. Seungmin and Minho, as well as a few other kids from the classes that managed to stay alive, were in the middle of the room. Seungmin and Minho made quite a duo. Clever and sharp-tongued they may be, but they kept them alive. Along with Chan they were the brain of the operation, as he liked to joke.

      Not everyone from their classroom managed to stay alive. That resulted in fights and distress in the beginning but as the months went by we all came into an understanding, we have to work together to make this whole damn thing work. He knew some of the faces and names but not all. Faces came and went by, some familiar, some completely unrecognizable. He didn't understand what the fuss was about, it would simply be another face in the crowd.

      "So what? We should close the gates and shun outsiders? We won't be better than monsters!!!" Hyunjin protested. But in return he earned only scoffs but the other boys. He grided his teeth, annoyance clear on his handsome face. With long strides he came to the side of the girl, which he strongly protected. " Besides you don't run the place. I say we vote. Let the crowd decide" he concluded, smirking arrogantly. With his long black hair framing his face, his tall frame stood over the girl protectively. Felix wanted to scoff to himself. Why don't you shoot hearts from your eyes too? He though. He didn't really know Hyunjin that well, even back to the old days they didn't really talk. But he found his whole demeanor ridiculous, especially when it was about a girl he barely knew.

       "Okay, let's do that. To be fair to everyone involved" said Chan standing up. He clapped to get everyone's attention. "Tomorrow we will vote. Make up your mind until then." He turned to Seungmin and Hyunjin "Happy now?" They both nodded.

      Hyunjin turned to the girl who watched the whole scene stunned and murmured something Felix didn't quite catch. 

      Swoosh!

     He immediately looked around him, alarmed. What was that damned sound? He didn't quite have the time to figure out as he ran up to Chan. 

     "Hey mate!" He called you the older boy.

     "Hi Felix!" Chan greeted with a big smile. Felix immediately smiled back. He quite liked Chan. He was an easy going guy, fair to all, never had he seen him pint point and be cruel to others. A perfect leader and friend. They were lucky to end up here with him." How was the watch?"

     "Actually that was what I wanted to talk you about. Is there a way to get me out of watch the next 2 days or so? I have been keeping watch for 5 days now and I am begging to tire" he explained, tone annoyed and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

    Chan looked him concerned, he closed in on him and put his hand on his shoulder massaging him gently "Felix.. your last watch was 2 days ago."

     What?

    "What? No no! I was on watch this morning.." he shuttered. He was, wasn't he? He remembers it as it was this morning.

   Chan didn't speak as he looked him. "Maybe you should rest either way" he concluded. "If you don't feel well or something, you can always -"

   "No no.. I.. I am fine. Just tired I guess, I can do my shift if you have no one" 

    Jisung, much to his surprise, stepped up. Felix knew he didn't really like keeping watch as he felt paranoid so near the zombies. " I can do it, man. Go rest, you look like you need it" he lightly joked, showing his bunny teeth at him. Felix just looked at him. He looked tired as well, he looked tiny as well, outfit to big on him, a black hoodie jacket that he had thrown over his shoulders made him appear even smaller. He looked at him knowingly though, his eyes telling him that he was underestimating him and that he could see everything coming. As he looked at them, he found himself nodding. " Thanks, Sung" he said in the end.

    The brunette smiled and made his way to Changbin to tell hima about the changes.

    "Well I am going to sleep" Felix said as a goodbye to Chan that was still examinating him.

    "Sweet Dreams Lix"

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~

  Swoosh! 

  Swoosh!

  Swoosh!

 That fucking sound was making his head hurt. He tried to find where it came from, tried to ask the others if they heard it but nothing. And he wished that was where his worries ended. He was losing parts of his day. He remembered being with Jisung, Changbin and a few other survivors on the teach's office and the next thing he remembered was standing watch with Seungmin. He was worried something was wrong with him. Maybe he hit his head somewhere and he had amnesia. Surely he was way too young for Alzheimer? He shook his head as he willed himself to focus. He was keeping watch ..again.. with a random girl. He didn't know her name, he recognized just the short hair and the constant frown on her face. He turned to say to her that the shift was all good and over, when the door to the roof busted open. A panting mess of hair busted through the door and took deep breaths. 

   "Did you came all the way here to die? Speak girl!" demanded his partener, already annoyed with the girl that appeared.

  Swoosh!

   "Z-Zombies! They are trying to break t-through the main hall to our side!" She panted. They all looked each other for a beat and they all took off. Down the stairs they went, as they were running the screaming and shouting could be clearly heard. Felix reached first the scene. The doorway that connected their side of the school was being ripped apart by the constant banging of the zombies. Rotten flesh of grabbing hands and pale hazy eyes were seen through the crack. Several bodies were thrown against the door trying to hold it closed, but more and more grunts started to boom from the other side.

   "It won't hold!" Minho shouted, his usual aloof attitude long gone by now. Sweat dripping down his face, eyes hoping from Chan back to the door.

   " I have an idea! First of all quiet!!!! Second, can we find a broken desk? Any big flat surface will do! And nails!! Tape! Anything that can hold it up against the wall!" A determinated voice was heard across the hall.

   Felix didn't immediately recognized the voice, but he rushed to find what was asked of them. The janitors closet. The first thought that came to mind. Wi th the longest stride he could master he flew up the stairs. He burst into the room and went straight to the drawer to the far right side. He placed them there himself, he quickly grabbed them, dropping a few in his haste and ran downstairs. When he touched the first floor, he saw several people dragging a broken desk to place it against the wall, some were carrying hammers, others duck tapes. He hurried through them to give Chan the screws he got. 

   "Chan! Here!" He panted. Chan blindly thrashed his hand out to him as he continued to shoulder the desk against the door. Felix grunted as he thrown himself into the work. With all his strength he brought the hammer down. He was too fucking weak, he thought. Now was not the time to think about working out. He grinded his teeth and he kept pounding down on the rusty nail After managing to nail the lower part of the desk he turned to see the rest of the project. With relief he saw the rest of the team slowly managed to kept it intact on the wooden door, the duck taping team took over once the grunts were no longer that instinct. 

   He blew out a big breath and slid down the wall. That was a crack away from certain death.

   Swoosh! 

    He clicked his tongue, adjusted to the dreadful sound by now. " Fuck that" he murmured. Changbin and Jisung that had found their way to him agreed silently as they plummeted to the floor. A few girls were heaving next to them. Normally he would try and comfort them, but he found himself not carrying, even scoffing at them. He exchanged a look with Jisung and Changbin. They looked fine. We were all okay. He scanned the rest, except some crying, they were fine too. Another fucking day complete.

   " Oi Felix! Changbin! Jisung! " The familiar voice of their leader called out to them.

   "I guess the crisis is over and the chores must go on" joked the brunette boy. 

   "Can't we take a break first? I am hungry" he complained the bulky mess that was Changbin.

    "Right? We can't catch a damn break around here" he joked, throwing his head back. 

     "Let's just get over it" Jisung signed, standing up. 

     "Yeah let's -Fuck! " He half shouted. A red long angry scratch was on his palm. The nails, he thought. He should dress that, the last thing he needed was an infection.

     "Shit! You alright?" Changbin asked as he checked out his hand. He turned it over to check the angry mark that married his skin. 

     "Yeah some water and dressing and I will be as good as new" he concluded and made his way over to the mass of bodies that were carrying desks to further barricade themselves.

    ~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~

   Swoosh! 

  He was standing in the teach's office once again as the voting took place. After the whole incident it was revealed that the savior, that shouted the directions and gave the ultimate solution,had been the new girl. Hyunjin's crush or whatever. He had seen them several times in the dark hallways exchanging sweet nothings and catch them staring at each other lovingly. Guess she will be staying after all. 

  A pencil was going around and small pieces of paper was handed out to all the participants. He was patiently waiting for his turn even though he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn't really care for her. He just wanted to go to the room he shared with Changbin and Jisung and God knows who else and lay down. He was tired as if he was always standing up and moving around. He let out a long breath. Finally the damn pencil had reached him.Sobhe grabbed it and he wrote a yes, stay and handed the pencil to the next person. Now time to wait for the box to it reach him. Just his luck. As he waited he was played with the paper on his hands, he stilled.

  A sudden though cane to mind.

 He looked down .His palm. He remembered it stinging painfully just yesterday afternoon. Now his hand was callused,maybe a little dirty but unwouned.

  Something was wrong...

  Swoosh! 

  He blinked.

  He is not on the teacher's office.

  He was on the roof, perched in his usual spot.

  He almost fell over.

 No. No no no no. That was not happening. He was crazy. He finally lost it. A sob was trying to tear itself out of his throat. Tears sprung to his eyes.

 "Hey guys! There was a change! we will take over your shift! You will take over the night one instead! Get some rest, we got it from here" a smiling Hyunjin announced. A small girl trailing behind him, greeting them shyly.

 But Felix couldn't focus on them. He couldn't focus on his breathing as well. He was slipping. Almost like on autopilot he jumped from his high spot he clapped Hyunjin on the shoulder and said with a cheery voice he didn't recognized as his own at this point. "All yours mate!" And he went towards the stairs.He didn't understand ,his body was moving against his will, against all reason . His watch out mate followed him outside and closed the door behind them

  Swoosh!

 As soon as the door closed that damned sound followed and suddenly he was on the floor heaving. He couldn't breathe enough, the air felt suffocating. His eyes filled with tears and everything turned hazy.

   "Felix!" A feminine voice shouted and suddenly arms supported him. She cradled him in her arms, shooting him the best she could. " Felix breath. Breath with me" she instructed. He couldn't,he just couldn't follow. The air was still not enough. The panick was filling his senses like a raging river.

   Hands pushed back his black hair from his face gently and two cool palms were against his cheeks, the sensation grounding. He felt a little more there in the moment with her. Her voice reached him now more clearly.

   "Look at me Felix.Please." He did what was asked of him. A pair of dark orbs was before him transfixed on his own lighter ones. " Are you with me? Blink for yes"

   He looked at her for a moment before blinking slowly. " Good "she affirmed. "Breath for me"She caressed him gently. He breathed slowly, he holded and released.

   "What's wrong Lix?"

  He didn't answered immediately. Tears came once again in his eyes. 

   "I am going crazy" 

  She looked at him for a moment before asking" Why do you think you are going crazy?"

   "I have been hearing things, I am missing days. I can't even control what I do anymore." He heaved.

   "Shh shhhh. You are okay. You are okay Lix. Everything is going to be okay. The next scene is coming you are going to be alright then." She repeated 

  He sniffled slowly and relaxed against her. Her caressing and kind words mixed with his panic attack made him sleepy. He closed his eyes as she continued to soothe him.

  "You are gonna be alright. It's just the shadow. You will forget. You are going to be alright."

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~

Swoosh!

Scenes were flashing before him.

Him, Chan and Minho running to get supplies from the near by stores , avoiding all the walkers.

Swoosh!

More swifts with Changbin and familiar but unfamiliar faces.

Swoosh!

Jisung and him laying on the classroom talking late into the night.

Swoosh! 

Lunch at the teacher's office.

Swoosh!

Here he was again. On the roof along with Chan keeping watch. He felt weird. He keeps hearing weird sounds. One minute he stands in one place and the other he finds himself in the complete opposite direction. He keeps getting confused and losing the time. He found himself crying often , worried sick Did he really had amnesia? But that didn't explained the teleporting. In the midst of crying he always remembered cool hands and soft words being whispered against his hair, but he couldn't connect them to a face and he didn't remember what was the sweet words that brought comfort to him in his panic.

 " Felix you alright?" Chan asked him bringing him out of the daydream that consumed him.

 " Yeah.. just thinking" he answered as he faced the yard. The moon was making it seem way more creepy. It gave it that airy abounded feeling that didn't sit quite right with him.

    "The watch is over,mate. Time to go" whispered the older male ,still looking at him with worry in his eyes. " Come on let's get some sleep"

    "Go ahead without me Chan. I will sit here for a little longer " he said making himself more comfortable, even swinging his leg over the edge.

      "..okay. If that's what you want. Good night Felix"he said making his way to the door. He stood there for half a moment and then closed the door behind him.

  Felix stayed there and tried to make it make sense. Of course he couldn't, he tried for days now but nothing was logical at this point.

  He signed as he stood up. Time for sleep. 

He would make it make sense tomorrow. Or never. He made his way to the second floor slowly when he heard someone... singing?

"I got this feeling on the summer day when you were gone!" Loudly enough to alert him..and a handful of zombies that were surrounding them! What the fuck!! 

He hurried after the sounds, jumping the steps two at the time to reach the ground floor

"I crashed my car into the bridge, I watched, I let it burn!!"

He fled down another pair of stairs when he finally reached his destination. The ground floor. He didn't need to scan the spacious room to spot it. A figure climbing out of the ground floor window all the while still singing.

"I don't care, I love it!

I don't care!"

He stood there astonished. What drugs were they on? But he didn't have the time to marvel, the figure was running away! 

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing! Stop!" He shouted-whispered, hurrying after them. By the time he climbed out of the window the figure was walking to the nearest.. window! 

"I don't care!"

He ran without catching his breath. He had to catch them before they made their way through the other window. "Wait!" He shouted as neared them. 

      "Got you!" He said as he managed to catch them. He turned them over and wide dark orbs was the first thing he noticed. 

 The figure, he suddenly noticed, was shorter than him. Long brunette tresses were flowing down her back, barely concealing the large headphones that were blasting a iconic pop song. Her eyes were dark, smart and once the shock faded, the had a playful glint in them. The bright red hoodie she wore swallowed her whole and made her stand out against the night. While he looked at her, she broke out in a big bright smile as if she had not a care in the world. And suddenly he remembered his owns.

 He ripped the headphones from her head and was ready to curse her out to hell and back.

      "Are you crazy? What the fuck are you doing!  Trying to kill yourself and the whole fucking school in the process?!" He growled unable to calm his nerves and speak in a decent manner. 

 She just looked at him , smiling making his eyes twitch and a angry flush to appear in his freckled face. If he could he would be literally fuming in anger.

      "I didn't expect someone following me" she shrugged.

      "D-didn't" he was lost for words. He narrowed his eyes at her ,the cheery smile never leaving her. And then he grabbed her and started pulling her towards the window they just climbed out of.         "Come on! Let's get the fuck out here!" He snapped.

        "Oh come on Felix! It's not like anything is gonna happen!" 

        "You are delusional!"

        "Felix we are in the shadow! Nothing is gonna happen! Come on let me go I have to check out something before the next scene" She giggled as she refused to be dragged to safety.

Shadow..? Scene..?

Why that rung a bell?

He stopped dragging her away and turned to her. "Shadow?" He asked

 She titled her head, still smiling sweetly up at him."It's okay. Even if I tell you, you won't remember by the next scene"

     "What do you mean?" 

     "Never mind, Felix. Never mind" 

     "No. You said something, you will explain" 

     "..Do you hear things Felix? Weird sounds? Do you lose your time sometimes? Do you not know faces, even though you should know them by heart? Teleporting?" She inquired , stepping closer to him.

  Eyes blown wide, mouth half open , he just stared at her. 

      "When you remember this conversation after a scene, Lixie. Come and find me, I will explain everything then" she said giggling

   "Until then" she said her tone light " show time, Lixie"

Swoosh!

    "I really like her guys.. I just don't know if I should tell them. I mean.. it's all too much for her right now. It's a new environment, new rules I don't think I should burden her like that" he exhaled, hiding his face in his hands. All the other guys listened to him and laughed silently. The saw how they looked each other, how they lingered. 

     "Don't worry Jinnie" Chan assured him."You won't be pressuring no one. She looks at you with stars in her eyes, mate" he laughed.

     "You really think so?" Hyunjin asked hopefully. 

     " Yeah! Go and get her!" The leader grinned.

They all followed his example, cheering him on. And poking fun at his embarrassed state.

Swoosh!

The smile fell from his face. He jumped down from the desk he was sitting on and made his way to the door. 

     "Hey!Lixie!!" A voice rung behind him. He turned and saw Changbin jogging to catch up with him. He nugged him lightly with his shoulder. " What's up man? You look like .. you have been thinking a lot" he traded carefully

     "Yeah you could say that.." Except his situation remaining the same for weeks and weeks now, he was sure he had something to do. Something that he must remember. "Don't fret mate. I will come around when it's all cleared up"

       "You seemed a little cold towards the guys earlier"he implied

       "I am not that close with all of them. Just you and Jisung" he replied evenly.

       "While I am extremely flattered and I know I am irresistible" he poked fun while shutting his lashes at him "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get a certain something off your chest"

        "A certain something?" 

        "You know.. if you are a little... jealous because things are going well with Hyunjin and his girl.. it's okay" he ranted, fumbling to form a sentence.

        "Jealous? Me?" He quoted, pointing to himself. He cocked his head to the side and wondered when he had gotten lost.

       "Yeah, I saw Y/N looking at you lately"

       "..Y/N?"

       " You know, about this tall" he explained bringing his hand to the top of his head with a grimace,that had Felix suppressing a smile "brunette, dark eyes, permanent frown? She has been watching at you for days now." 

       "I don't know." 

 Changbin stared at him weirdly. "Okay. If you want something, I am here" 

       "Thanks Bin" Felix signed, half hugging his and going on his merry way. 

 The only thing he won't be getting into is girl trouble. He would be leaving all that to Hyunjin, be though as he recalled his embarrassing state in the classroom. He strolled through the halls aimlessly. The sun was going down at this point, everything was showered in a golden hue that was creating a melancholic vibe. He enjoyed walking around, as if he was taking a stroll before leaving the school like any normal student would do. He was looking through the large windows and letting his mind wander, when a figure caught his attention. There, by the small garden outside, was a lone figure lazing around in the sun , flipping a book. Dark hair spread around her , body totally relaxed like her life was not in danger.

 What the fuck she was doing? Was she trying to kill herself and everything in this fucking school? She-

 He paused, a strong feeling of deja Vu coming to him. He recalled moonlight, a girl with a red hoodie and big headphones.. Shadows and scenes, along with vivids memories of him breaking apart in this girls hands.. cool hands caressing him , warm words comforting him...and he suddenly he took off.

 He was running against all reason, heading outside to the unfamiliar girl that he knew.

Heading towards to the answers he craved, towards the proof that he was not crazy after all..

 He finally reached her form that laid to the grass. Arms spread and eyes closed ,she looks the epitome of calmness. With her eyes closed ,she smiled and breathed out "Hey Lixie" 

     "You own me an explaination" he pointed out , towering over her.

Her playful, onyx eyes opened and peeped up at him. "So ...you remember now?" She wondered as she stretched. 

       "Some.Some I don't" He confessed.

 She patted the space next to her. He lowered himself next to her, not taking his eyes off of her. " Explain now"

       " Wow! You are so aggressive in the shadow!"she cheered

       He didn't answered. 

 She mumbled something under her breath.

       "Lee Felix.. you are a character in a comic book. Congrats" she stated inanimate ,but the cheery grin was still on her face... as if she didn't turn his whole world up on his head.

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[acquariusgb]

Buddy 16th December 1997

TALKING IT OVER BY HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON It was love at first sight. Buddy, as most of America knows, is our new 3 112-month-old chocolate Labrador. Already, Bill and Buddy are inseparable. Having lived with us less than a week, Buddy seems to have adjusted quite nicely to life in the White House. He gets up early with Bill for a morning run and stays up with him late into the night. During the day, he seems happiest lying at Bill's feet in the Oval Office. We've been thinking about getting a dog for a year or so. But it wasn't until Chelsea left for college that we decided to take the plunge. We'd heard that Labradors were particularly playful and fun, and when Buddy came for a visit a few weeks ago, we knew that he was the one. Our first challenge was picking the perfect name. We've had no shortage of suggestions from the American people. Some of my favorites were Barkansas, Arkanpaws and Clin Tin Tin. One little girl came up to me and offered "Top Secret." We had to laugh when we imagined the President running around the South Lawn calling "Top Secret, Top Secret." Finally, we narrowed a list of hundreds of names down to seven. But we wanted Chelsea to have a say, so we waited for her to come home from college and meet the puppy before making a final decision. After hours of deliberation, we settled on Buddy. Buddy was the nickname of my husband's favorite Uncle Oren Grisham, who died last spring. He raised and trained dogs for over 50 years. One of Bill's favorite childhood memories is going to Uncle Buddy's house to play with his dogs. It just felt right to name our new pet after him. Buddy has a hard act to follow.  Our first dog was a brave and noble cocker spaniel named Zeke that I gave to my husband in 1979. Zeke had a mind of his own and a will to wander. No fence, no gate, no leash could keep him penned in. He'd bite or dig his way through or around any barrier. Sadly, his wandering caught up with him one day in 1990 when he dashed into the street and was hit by a car. We buried him on the grounds of the Governor's Mansion in Little Rock. We were reluctant to get another dog because we didn't think anyone could replace Zeke. One day, though, I took Chelsea to her piano lesson. There in the teacher's front yard were two little black and white kittens. When Chelsea reached out to them, the black one with white paws jumped right into her arms. We found out he was a stray and decided to give him a home. That’s how Socks came to live with us. Socks is an outdoor cat, but because of our fears that he would slip through the fence into the traffic and crowds outside the White House, he is kept on a long leash on the grounds near the Oval Office. Despite that, he still manages to carry on regally, chasing birds and squirrels out of his territory. Now, he --and we --have been joined by Buddy. So far, Buddy is thrilled with Socks, but the feeling is not yet mutual. My husband. however, is determined to negotiate a rapprochement, a reconciliation. perhaps even a historic shaking of the paws. Although we love Buddy and have from the moment we first saw him, we didn't make this decision or take on this responsibility lightly. Dogs, and especially puppies. need more than love. They need time, care and a suitable environment to grow and thrive. That’s why everyone needs to think very carefully before adopting what really is a new member of the family. We were luckier than most people to get a dog who was well on his way to being trained. He's got the run of the South Lawn and plenty of people to play with. He already knows some basic commands. Above all, he's got the most adoring pal you could ever imagine. I wish everyone could see my husband's eyes light up when his Buddy bounds down the hall to greet him.

#the clintons #hillary clinton #bill clinton #bill and hillary #buddy #White house #White House Pets

[sigridstumb]

A coyote chased a herd of deer down my street.

I opened my front curtain this morning and saw a herd of deer run past my window. And then I saw the coyote chasing them.

I live in a city. Like, I live in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the state capital. With Minneapolis we are the Twin Cities, a conjoined urban area with a population of three and a half million. Not including the suburbs. I live between a university campus and a highway.

And, yet, we have herds of deer.

I love the wilding of my neighborhood. Every house’s yard has multiple trees, various shrubs. Over the twenty years we have lived here more and more people are removing their lawns, a slow increase in native plants, shrubs, gardens, and alternative ground covers. Folks put in water features, tiny ponds and fountains. People leave logs and stumps, mulch with dead leaves. Most property owners try to avoid putting salt on the sidewalks in winter. Many people have bird feeders, especially during the spring and fall migrations.

And from this care of the flora comes fauna.

Stumps and rotting logs bring insects. Fallen leaves provide habitat for hosts of overwintering insects, their larvae, their eggs. The plant-eaters compost and process vegetable matter, breaking it down. As they thrive, the carnivores have someplace to live. In my yard in the summer we have wasps and dragonflies, but also bats and swifts. Shrews live in the yard year-round. 

As fewer people use chemicals on their yards and more properties have water features, the frogs and toads have moved back in. We also have birds. In winter the juncos stay here before moving back north in the spring. But we also have year-round cardinals and black-capped chickadees, crows and bluejays, and so many house sparrows. In the summer the goldfinches and robins come north to stay with us. 

Voles and shrews and small birds are compliments to the squirrels, both grey and red, the chimpunks, and the rabbits. They all thrive in the warm months and make it through the winter by seeking out the buried plant matter and insect life that can all be found in a yard that isn’t lawn-focused. And where there are prey animals, eventually we get opportunists and predators.

Foxes, raccoons, hawks, eagles, opossums -- we have them all. They might make a kill, sure, but there are plenty of eggs, young animals, and the trash of humans to get by. Human modification of the land in this city neighborhood has also created habitat for larger herbiviores and omnivores such as the local wild turkey flock, and, of course, the deer.

Both the turkeys and the deer love the wooded strips of land around parks and other mixed-use land. There are the university agriculture fields, where classes of students study crops every year, and there is also the university demonstration garden of flowers, herbs, and native plants. The old trolley line is now a tree-covered corridor between the ag fields and a very small wooded area located on the campus of a seminary. The sloped areas along the highway are full of sumac and other shrubs, tall grasses and small wetlands. Between and among all of these are people’s homes, many of which has gardens. The deer love the gardens. So do the turkeys.

A few years ago people started reporting having seen coyotes.

We now have an established neighborhood coyote pack. We think that three different individuals have been spotted. They roam the streets and yards, mostly at dawn and dusk but they can be up and about at any time. Some folks think they nest on the golf course property, not the main course but a very wooded section of property near the trolley line corridor, but that’s not confirmed. 

And this morning I opened my window and saw a coyote chasing a herd of deer down my street.

I love my neighborhood. I love that individual humans acting in concert -- not acting as a group or under direction, but just all choosing for their own reasons to do similar things -- have made this a place where the natural world is well enough established to give habitat to larger predators. We do have to be cautious of them, gods, yes. My yard? We have a seven-foot fence with coyote rollers on the top. (Google it, it’s hilarious.) And we walk the dogs during daylight hours when the coyotes are more likely to be asleep. But overall I am so very pleased to see the deer, the turkeys, the coyotes.

Even running down my street just after dawn. I am glad to see them.

#urban wildlife #city wildlife #rewilding

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

#dragon bros #HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! #THE BEST DAY OF THE YEAR! HOW ARE YOU #it's been a really strange year and I've missed you!! #I hope we can all still feel a little spooky this year #I also hope no children come to my house tonight I have no candy #all I have are unseasoned walnuts and loose sprinkles #technically there are also apples but I feel like getting something healthy is worse than getting nothing #one time I got a toothbrush on the christmas-halloween thing our village did #it was pink and disappointing #I have been staying inside a lot and I feel like I'm getting into a bit of a slump #but I saw a squirrel in the yard a month ago and that was very good #I hope you are all doing as good as you can <3 #ooh and I've got some new sticky notes for college! #this is probably my last semester!! #that is if I ever be brave enough to go back to the internship i started... 14 months ago #first I couldn't go because of exams and then there was summer break and then I just didnt go :( #my hope is that the Professor just forgot I existed and I can just start a new internship #maybe under a new name #a new personality #I think technically apple cider and apple juice are different things

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 1

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new boarder isn’t who he seems to be.

Note: So I wanted to do a lumberjack!Andy and got a bit carried away but let me tell you, somehow Andy always turns into an ultimate creep with me.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

It wasn’t often you found a stranger in Heron Creek. 

The small town was barely more than a single street; most residents lived further out. It was more a marketplace than anything. Townsfolk came to shop and socialise amid the limited stretch of businesses and not much else. The lumberyard fueled much of the economy and was closer than any home.

After weeks of arguing with your mother, you’d finally resigned. You needed a boarder to see you through the winter. Money was tight since your mother’s diagnosis; pills, therapy, reduced income. Your own job was just enough to see to the bills but not for the groceries or any incidentals. Even if you did some odd jobs around town, you wouldn’t be able to scrape enough to get by.

You’d never seen the man before. The message had been expected and a last hope. You agreed to meet at the town’s only cafe and were surprised and slightly disappointed. 

He greeted you by name as you looked around. You expected a woman; the advert had requested only females but, you supposed, that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Andy,” He introduced himself as he offered you his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” You lied as you sat.

“You want a coffee? I’m headed up for a refill,” He grabbed his empty mug.

“Sure,” You reached for your wallet. You could tell by his accent he was from the city; if you were to guess, one far from Heron Creek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can get it.” He waved you off as you fumbled with your purse. “I’ll be back.”

He returned with two cups and slid one over to you. You added cream from the table.

“I know you advertised for women only but… I’m kinda running out of options and judging by how long your ad’s been in the paper, I think you might be too.” He began.

“Uh huh,” You sipped from your coffee. “You’re new around here.”

“I am.” He confirmed. “But you’re not so you should know there’s not a lot to choose from.”

“Why would you move all the way up here?”

“Tired of the city.” He said evenly. 

“You have a job?” You asked.

“At the lumberyard.” He replied. “Been there two months now, living down at Harry Brennan’s but he’s ready to have me out.”

“Hmm, yeah, he can be a bit prickly,” You remarked. “My mother, too. She’s sick. Moody. You sure you wanna trade in one for the other?”

He looked at you. He sat with his shoulders back, his head held up proudly. His gaze was discerning, as if he was measuring your every word and move.

“I can pay more than you’re asking and I’ll help out around the house.” He said. “Well, I won’t decide until I see the place, of course, but I’m optimistic.”

You tasted the bitter coffee. You preferred your own brew. You nodded as you set down your mug.

“They don’t have many lumberyards in the city. What’d you do before?”

“I was a lawyer.” He said. “And what do you do?”

“A lawyer? You’d give up that to live in the middle of nowhere and chop wood?”

“It’s quiet up here. Peaceful.” He tapped his fingers on the table beside his gloves. “A few more months and I should be able to afford my own place. At least a plot to start building.”

You considered him and held your palm to the warm porcelain. Your mother was wary of men. You couldn’t make the decision without her.

“You didn’t tell me what you do.” He said.

“I’m a writer. Mostly pieces on the local species and whatnot. There’s not many jobs to be had around here but on the internet…”

“So?” He asked as he shifted in his chair.

“I’ll have to talk to my mother.” You answered. “Then maybe you can come check out the room. It’s a big enough place for three. Probably too big but there’s a lot of work to be done in the winter.”

“Right,” He said. “As I said, I’ll help out with anything I can.”

You squinted and gulped the coffee even though it burned your throat. You stood and gathered up your purse.

“I don’t mean to run out but I have to hit Marla’s.” You hooked the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll let you know before the end of the week, but… well, my mom isn’t an easy person to deal with. Not unless you’re related.”

“Got it,” He watched you placidly as he rose. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

🍂

You heard voices from the front porch. You blinked and set down the basket of warm laundry on the kitchen table as you sighed at your mother’s mug. There was still tea in it which meant she had taken her first chance to chase her innate stubborn streak.

You’d argued for much of the morning as she accused you of inviting a strange man into her home and you countered that you’d merely agreed to a look at the house. No decision had yet been made, though the only reason your mother entertained the notion was the desperately needed money. And that had been your only winning point of contention.

You didn’t want the strange man living in your space anymore than she did but you also realised that you couldn’t possibly go on as you were. You went to the door, the thicker one open as the screen door was the only shield from the bitter late autumn air. You heard the creak of your mother’s rocking chair and the deep voice of a man. You recognized it even after a single meeting.

“...hauling wood, ma’am.” Was all you caught as you peered through the mesh.

“So you work at the lumberyard? My husband worked there before he tucked tail,” Your mother ranted. “That was almost twenty years ago.”

“Just like every other man in the county,” You opened the door. “Ma, I’d be down there too if I hadn’t lucked out.”

“I’m sorry about your husband, ma’am.” Andy slipped in as he stood on the bottom step. 

“Don’t call me, ma’am,” Your mother rebuked. “I’m not that old just yet.”

Andy glanced at you and you touched the back of your mother’s chair and stilled it.

“It’s a nice looking house,” Andy broke the silence. “Big property.”

“All that bastard left me,” Your mother swore and leaned on the arm of her chair. “Well, aren’t you going to show the man around.” She pushed back so you were forced to let go of the chair or else sprain your wrist. “Take your shoes off, sir.”

You nodded and waved him up the steps with a wry smirk at your mother. You held open the door as he passed and your mother looked pleased with herself as she rocked again. You let the door clatter behind you as Andy bent to loosen his work boots. He stood as he kicked off his boots and you rubbed your forehead.

“I’m sorry about my mom.” You said. “She’s… stubborn.”

“Don’t you apologize for me, girl.” Your mom called through the screen door and you quickly closed the thicker one.

“Well, nothing too fancy,” You stepped past him into the front room. “Living room, dining room,” You waved your hand back. “Kitchen in the back, bathroom as you walk through and the laundry room just on the other side.” You lowered your arm and neared the stairs. “Your room would be up here.”

You turned and he followed you up the noisy old stairs. The carpet at the top was faded and tattered and did little to cushion the hard wooden floor as you walked along the hallway.

“My mother’s is at the end. Mine is to the left and yours is right here,” You opened the door next to yours. “Looks out onto the yard, so not the worst.”

“Mmm, okay,” He paced around the bed and went to the window. He felt the lace curtains as he gazed out through the glass.

“I’ll empty out the closet. Probably why it smells like mothballs.” You explained. “Pretty simple, we share the common spaces and clean up after ourselves.” You shrugged. “My mom will leave you alone as long as you don’t get in her way. She usually stays in her room if she’s not out front.”

“That’s fine. I won’t be here much.” He said. “Just really need a place to sleep.”

“There is one other thing. My mother...she has some issues. She gets manic and sometimes… well, I can take care of her but I don’t want you to be blind-sided. She’s on medicine but she’s still adjusting and--” You gulped. “It took me a lot of convincing but if you want the space, it’s yours, at least until spring.”

“I don’t have a lot of choices but I’d be happy to.” He said. “And don’t worry so much about your mother. I was a lawyer, I saw a lot worse in the courtroom.”

“Mmm,” You tucked your hands in your pocket. “Well, anytime after Sunday the room will be ready for you.”

“Sunday,” He repeated. “Okay, that works for me. Should I call ahead?”

“Uh, yeah, you have my number,” You replied and paused as you heard your mother hollering. You huffed and rolled your eyes.

“I really hope it’s a squirrel and not a bear again,” You swept out of the room and stomped down the stairs. You went outside as your mother was tossing a stone and shouting at it, the wind chime tinkling and swaying from the porch. “Ma, it’s just a bird.”

“It damn nearly tore the chime off,” She sneered. “Your grandmother made me that.”

“I know, I know, just sit down.” You nudged her back to her chair. “You forgot your tea inside, do you want it?”

“My tea?” She blinked. “Oh, I forgot. Again.”

“It’s okay,” You patted her shoulder as you went back inside. Andy knelt as he pulled his boots back on.

“Everything okay?” He asked as he looked up at you.

“It’s fine,” You assured him. “Sometimes her meds make her a little jumpy. And forgetful.”

“Anything I can do?” He asked as he stood.

“Keep clear of her if you can,” You advised. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. She’s a lot to handle and she’s not very keen on men.”

“The latter I guessed,” He chuckled. “I’ll get out of your hair and see you next week.”

“Next week,” You confirmed as he pushed open the door. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” He called over his shoulder as he stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll be seeing you.” He said to your mother as he passed. “When I come back,” He stopped on the second step and you got closer to listen. “I can fix that feeder.” He pointed at the broken bird feeder under the tree. “If you like?”

“Oh,” Your mother grumbled. “Well, I think that… might be nice. As long as it keeps ‘em away from my chimes.”

“I think it will,” He smiled. “My-- I used to have a feeder just like that.”

Your mother was quiet as she stopped rocking. Finally she cleared her throat. “You have a nice day, sir.”

“You too,” He nodded and continued down the steps. 

You watched him go to his pick-up before you spun back and went to fetch your mother’s cup. You returned to the porch as he was backing out and you gave the lukewarm tea to your mother.

“Friendly,” She commented and took a sip. “The ones from the city usually don’t have such good manners.”

“Mhmm,” You grumbled. “Do you need me to warm that up?”

“Go on, girl,” She brushed you away. “I can stomach cold tea.”

🍂

Andy showed up on Monday. He called you the night before to let you know he’d be there and so you planned a trip into town with your mother to let him get settled. You waited until his truck pulled up, his tires crushing the pine cones and twigs as it neared. He got out and you handed him the spare key you had made. Your mother wore a parka and shivered in the car.

“We’ll be gone for a few hours,” You crossed your arms as you resisted the chill that nestled over the top of your scarf. “So you should be able to get settled in.”

“Thanks,” He turned the key over in his hand. “I’ll be discreet.”

“She’s in a good mood today. Well, until she starts complaining I left her in the car so long,” You rubbed your gloved hands together. “I’ll go. There’s logs by the fireplace in the living room. Heating downstairs isn’t so good but it makes a difference.”

“I’ll figure it out,” He assured. “You ladies have fun.”

“Ladies?” You arched a brow but he was hardly bothered. You nodded and left him.

You got in the jeep as your mother played with the radio and bemoaned the downfall of modern music. You shifted out of park and backed up as you tuned out her and Patsy Cline fizzling from the local station.

You went to Gerry’s, the only proper restaurant in town. Breakfast was often better than the evening’s affair and you showed up just in time for the lunch menu. Your mother gabbed with the waitress a little too long and you resisted apologizing on her behalf, knowing it would only sour her already brittle mood.

You ate and grabbed a pie from the display at your mother’s behest. She stopped by Geraldine’s thrift shop and bought another figurine for her collection; the porcelain wolves decorated her room and even some of the front room. You grabbed a few books you hadn’t read before and checked the time. You were certain you’d wasted enough time for Andy to get figured out.

As you drove back, the pale sky made the trees seem bleak in comparison. The first snow was imminent.

“You should make a nice dinner tonight.” Your mother said.

“Oh, I should?” You asked.

“I’m pooped. I gotta lay down.” She huffed. “But you always made a good chili. You can send that man off with a good lunch tomorrow if you make a big pot.”

“Mom,” You looked at her briefly. “You know his name.”

“I do. And that’s it.” She crossed her arms. “He seems nice enough but you never know. He’s not from around here.”

“No he’s not. But no one around here would pay what you want for that room.” You argued. “You’re lucky he’s from the city, they’re used to paying a fortune for shit.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“You said it was alright, ma. You agreed to it. It’s too late to send him off now.” You muttered.

“I like him,” She sneered. “I don’t like the way you look at him.”

“What?” You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“If I was younger, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at him. He’s handsome but I do wonder how he ended up here. You said he was a lawyer.”

“All sorts end up here, ma,” You countered. “Kenneth used to be an ad exec and now look at him; he sells sod and salt.”

“Still,” She rubbed her chin. “You’re young. When I was your age, well, if I had been alone all the time like you are, I’d be rearing to go.”

“Ma,” You were almost laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“That’s what the pills are for,” She retorted. “But I’m not blind.”

“Okay,” You said dryly as you rolled your eyes. “I think maybe I should be keeping my eye on you.”

“Ha, maybe I should give you a few pills,” She chuckled. “I’m not that mad.”

“Alright,” You gripped the steering wheel. “I’ll make chili but don’t go on about this in front of him. It’s gonna be weird enough.”

“Sure,” She harrumphed. “I’ll be good.”

🍂

As you took the lid off the deep pot, a billow of steam went up and the front door opened and closed. Your mother sat at the table after her nap and sipped on a hot tea. You listened to the floor groan as Andy stopped by the door and proceeded with lighter footfalls into the kitchen.

“I fixed the bird feeder,” He clapped his hands together. “Your chimes should be safe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Your mother beamed. “So sweet of you, Andy.”

“Not at all,” He said. “Simple work. Didn’t realise how much easier life is when you don’t have to think so much.”

He neared the table and grabbed the back of an empty chair. “You mind if I sit?”

“Go on,” Your mother was unusually chipper. “So how’d you fair? Got all your stuff unpacked?”

“Yep,” He answered, “Mmm, whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

“Chili,” You answered as you replaced the lid. “Twenty more minutes at most.”

“Chili. I remember--” He stopped and cleared his throat. You turned and watched him as he smoothed the front of his shirt, his fingers grabbing at the tie that wasn’t there. “I knew someone who used to make chili but it wasn’t chili chili. White beans and turkey… good but, I don’t think I’ve had real chili in forever.”

“You go down to Gerry’s on a Thursday and you’ll get some,” Your mother intoned.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Andy gave a small smile. “How was your day in town?”

You didn’t answer and looked to your mom. She frowned at you but quickly wiped it away.

“It was nice. You know, me and my daughter live together but we really don’t spend too much time together.”

“That’s great,” He said but barely seemed to see your mother as he watched you lean against the stove. “Well, hopefully I can help out some more and you can find more time for each other.”

“Uh huh,” You muttered. “Hopefully.”

🍂

That night, your mother went to bed and you retired soon after her. Andy had been quick to hide after dinner and you were thankful for that. You told him you’d set aside a container for his lunch and he was almost sheepish at the gesture.

You climbed up the stairs and slipped inside your room. The night was quiet and no moon floated above to shine in the windows. It was almost eerie. You changed into your pajamas and climbed into bed with your laptop. You turned off the lamp, content to type in the dark and eke out a few more paragraphs for your latest commission.

As the night wore on, only the tapping of keys filled your ears and you found yourself slumping lower against the headboard. You flipped onto your stomach and hugged the pillow as you tried to keep going, yawns blurring your vision as your body resisted your determination. 

You didn’t recall falling asleep but it was a haze of visions. Your head swirled with your mother’s voice and Andy’s deep blue eyes. A blizzard turned the landscapes white and a wolf’s howl made you shiver. 

You woke, still on your stomach, an arm beneath your pillow, and your laptop dead. You groaned as you rolled over. The grey light of dawn filled your room and the frigid air raised bumps on your skin as your blanket was twisted around you. 

A floorboard creaked along the hallway and you sat up. You blinked at the shadow that flitted away through the crack between your bedroom door and the frame. You had closed your door; you were sure of it. Entirely certain as your door always stuck terribly and was quite a pain in the ass.

You drew a blanket around your shoulders as you stood and went to the door. You blinked and peeked out into the hall. There was nothing, no one. You sighed as your eyes froze on the closed bathroom door. You heard the sudden whine of the shower and the rattling of the pipes. Andy must have woken up to get ready for work.

You always wondered how the lumberjacks could handle the early mornings, especially in the winter. You turned back and closed your door. Your feet were cold on the floorboards and the rug was just as unwelcoming as you crossed to the window. Snowflakes blurred the horizon and shrouded the dawn.

Winter had come and you sensed a storm brewing.

#andy barber #dark!andy barber x reader #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #defending jacob #fic #short series #series #dark #dark!fic #dark fic #lumberjack au #au

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant.  Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him. 

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them. 

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead. 

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much. 

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through. 

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel. 

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent. 

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream. 

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!" 

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted," 

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window. 

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant. 

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed  "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

tags;

@nin3s

#hunger games x reader #hunger games #hunger games x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #x male reader #peetamellark #gale #male x male reader #male reader series #gay #mlm #mlm fanfic

[imnotwolverine]

LOVE IS LIKE - Books and Babes

PART 1 Books and Babes | PART 2 >

Summary: As he travels home to London with his assistant Leah, Henry recalls some moments from his past, including breakups, ladies and that one book that keeps getting into trouble. 

Word count: 2.566

The song: Sweet - Love Is Like Oxygen 

Disclaimer: mentions of one-night-stands, breakups, bullying, hopeless love and weed smoking. Other than that it’s pretty much just comedic fluff 

--

LOVE IS LIKE... books and babes

--

‘Love is like oxy-gen,

You get too much,

you get too high..’

Henry mimed along with the music in his earpods, shuffling forward as the line of businessmen moved to the gate that would transport him to the plane taking him back to London Heathrow.

‘Not enough and you're gonna die--’

A short jab in his ribs made him look down at the glowing pink cheeks of his PA. She’d had to make a run for it.

‘Love gets you high-.’

With a quick fumble Henry killed the music, as he was greeted by one heavily panting Leah who pushed his lost book back in his large hands.

‘Found it.’ She smiled with another few long puffs, sweet sweat beading down her brow.

‘Leahhh.’ Henry sighed and shook his head with a laugh. ‘You know you didn’t have to do THAT.’

She chuckled. ‘And have you bother me all flight? Ohhh no, none of that.’

‘Like I’m such a pain.’ Henry winked, shuffling forward now the line before him was slowly funnelling down the long white tunnel into the plane.

‘Sometimes..’ Leah gave him a playfully chastising look before starting to quickly dig down her bag to find her ticket and passport.

‘Piers?’

Henry wanted to knock on his brother’s bedroom door, but halted, hearing something peculiar arising from the small confinement his oldest brother was hiding out in. Was that a..girl he heard giggling? Putting his ear flat against the rough oak wood, he listened more closely.

‘Do you like that?’ He heard his brother ask. The girl giggled again.

‘Stop it! Hahaha. Piers! Stop it!’

Henry felt his muscles tighten and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was that Ellie? The blond girl that lived a street away? And was Piers...hurting her? His older brother truly was strange now he had full on hit puberty. Frowning, Henry looked down the hallway, his ears now picking up the sound of feet climbing up the stairs.

‘Did you call him for dinner yet?’ Marianne puffed out as she dragged a full basket of dirty laundry up the narrow steps, her face not managing to poke out over the large pile. Henry quickly straightened up and swallowed.

‘Eh..’ With a sharp knock he finally rapped on his brother’s door. ‘Piers! Dinner!’

Inside he could hear the panicked kerfuffle of what may have very well been clothing zipped up, but again Henry couldn’t be sure as he looked back at his mother who now lowered the basket in her arms. One conspicuously raised eyebrow from her was all it took to burn his cheeks a bright pink.

‘I wasn’t listening!’ He squeaked, though Marianne knew better.

‘Sure you did sweetie.’ She winked at him then tilted her head in the direction of Piers’ room. ‘Piers honey, don’t forget about what me and dad told you!’

With a swift swing the door was pulled open and one both terribly embarrassed and terribly annoyed Piers appeared in the door opening. ‘FUCK mom! Did you really have to --’

‘Language young man! ..Especially in front of ladies.’ Marianne looked over the shoulder of her lanky teen son to find the shy expression of one equally embarrassed Ellie.

‘Hello Mrs. Cavill...’ She squeaked before noticing the fiercely blushing young boy next to Marianne. ‘..Henry.’  

Henry felt his chubby cheeks burn even more. Oh why was he like this with girls?

‘This is not working out...It’s not you, it’s me...’ Her words swam in the back of his head, tumbling around like his brain had turned on the dirty laundry setting of his conscience. Henry felt nauseated, tired and utterly empty as he lay here on the couch of his friend, his hands folded over the phone on his chest. He had thought she was the one. Starry eyed and hair black as night. That smile throwing him off whenever he saw it. She was still the one, right? Why oh why did she not want to work through this? Why did this have to be the end? Why did she have to decide for him how to feel about all this? Why not put in the darn fucking work?!  

Looking to his right he heard the soft snoring of the puppy they had adopted only months ago. His body was all disproportionate with his floppy ears and oversized lanky paws. Henry sighed. At least he still had Kal.

‘Welcome Mr. Cavill and thank you for travelling with us.’ The pretty asian lady handed him back his boarding pass with a smile that was near inappropriately close to a flirt. Henry didn’t mind though. Mind a kind smile his large paw retrieved the most used book in his life: his passport, and stepped to the side as they checked Leah’s boarding pass as well. Leah did not receive that same flirtatious look, the asian lady barely offering Leah a glance as her eyes already roved on to the next business man who stepped in line.

Leah raised an eyebrow at him and Henry couldn’t help but offer his dear PA an even wider smile to compensate. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’ She asked, chuckling as her legs moved past him to start their way down the white tunnel of led lights and muffled blue carpet.

‘Absolutely nothing dear Leah.’ Henry smiled. Most women came and went in his life, but at least Leah was here to stay. Like Kal she was one of the few who were true friends to him.

In for it through thick and thin.

‘So what do you think of King Pellenore?’ Young Henry shuffled a little closer to the girl who was sitting on the other edge of the school yard bench. Rosy cheeked and hunched over in his hand-me-down blazer he eyed the sweet red haired girl that seemed to share his fascination with reading. They had worked together on a group project a week ago and he couldn’t help but be interested in her.

Finally she looked up, Anne, her brown eyes skittishly skimming over him before both their ears picked up the sound of a bunch of classmates laughing. Laughing at them. Him. With a small “o” on her mouth the girl quickly grabbed her belongings and rushed inside, leaving Henry alone on the bench, his hands nervously picking at his backpack as the other kids threw him some mean comments.

Fat Cavill. Nerd. Sissy. Fool!

Was he really such a failure with girls?

‘Kal! OH NO...KAL! Give that back!....naughtyyyy.’ Bent through his cracking knees Henry tried to reach for the book that his dog had snatched from the coffee table. But the pup was quick. With a cheeky side eye he glanced at Henry before sprinting down to the hallway, nails tapping on the slippery tile floor. He was near full grown now, but had antics in abundance - and sharp teeth to grab anything and everything he could drag around. Shoes, socks and his new favourite: books.

Chasing after the Akita, Henry followed him down to the kitchen; the home thankfully anything but large and with a few large steps he had managed to chase the dog into a corner, hands grabbing him by the collar before he pried the slimy book from his maw. ‘Oh well would you look at that..’ Henry sighed and tried to swipe some of the doggy drool off the leather bound cover. He had started to read King Arthur again, but his dog was clearly just as little a fan as his old classmates had been. Though of course the dog was not really being mean: he just thought it was time to go out, play, run, chase squirrels!

‘You are one cheeky bugger, you know that?’ Henry looked down at the Akita who sat down, looking up at him with big puppy eyes. It was hard to stay mad at him for long.

‘You sure you’re okay with this?’ Charlie settled down in the comfy hotel deck chair, the Californian sun burning down on their heads.

‘Why of course! I mean, I’ll still tease you like any good older brother. But you LOVE her you big Sissywat. Of course you’re going to marry her.’

‘Haa…’ Charlie sighed and looked at the pool where some women were lounging on sunbeds. ‘..well I guess here’s to the last days as a truly single man?’

Henry raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. ‘I really don’t get how people think you’re still single before the ring’s on the finger.’ He sniffled as Charlie shrugged.

‘It’s just a saying, Hen.’

‘Well single or not, you better take good care of her, will you?’

‘Of course! Each and every day, with every make-up stain on my blouse and every cold foot giving me first degree freeze burns beneath the bed sheets.’ Charlie clinked his beer with Henry’s.

‘For better or worse!’ The brothers laughed.

‘Don’t want to stay for breakfast?’ Henry sat up to see his late-night ladylove squeeze herself back into her skinny jeans. Her round butt cheeks didn’t seem to cooperate and he had to resist from pulling her back into the bed so he could convince her to stay. 

‘No, thanks.’ She inhaled deeply so she could zip up the tight jean fabric. 

‘Will I see you again?’ Henry internally scolded himself for sounding so insecure. 

The woman shot him a confused look. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in London any day soon. It was fun though. Hey,’ She crawled up onto the bed and Henry rolled onto his back in hope she’d at least give him a kiss, her body folding over him. ‘ah there it is.’ With a swift hand movement she retrieved her bra from behind his pillow. ‘Gotta go, my cab is here.’ She pushed herself back off the bed and grabbed her bag. With one last glance and smile she was out the door. ‘Bye Superman!’ 

Henry felt his heart sink. Oh Henry you fool!

‘OH CRAP!’  The woman in the business class chair next to Henry shot up from her seat, hands pulling a book away from what appeared to be a fallen over drink. ‘Shitshitshit.’ She quickly bit her lip and anxiously started to look around for something to wipe down the mess. Henry killed the music in his ear.

‘Love is like.. --’

‘Oh dammit.’ She scrunched up her nose as she realised how much of the juice had fallen over her book; it was just about ruined, pages soaking up the berry purple colour.

‘Here.!’ Henry sat up and quickly grabbed some tissues from his travel bag; having a slightly messy dog taught you to always be prepared.

‘Thanks.’ The woman breathed, some staff now also joining in to help clean the mess and put the book on a tray before it’d contaminate anything else. It took a good minute before it was all cleaned and gone, the brown haired banana-sock-wearing business woman settling down in her chair with a sigh.

‘You alright?’ Henry asked. It was the first words they shared after a whole hour of flight, her attention first having been preoccupied with her laptop or..reading, which now seemed out of the question.

‘Yea..yea..’ She shook her head and looked at Henry. Mediterranean turquoise eyes hidden behind thick glasses, her low brown-haired ponytail slightly disheveled after being smushed into the seat.

‘Was it a good book?’

‘Yea..just some..old timer. Good ol’ ..King Arthur.’ She hushed the last words as if she felt awkward about admitting she was reading a children’s book.

Henry blinked for a moment as he looked at her, his brain short circuiting before he turned to rummage through his bags again.

‘Oh am I..Is there something on my face?’ She grabbed for her glasses and took them off to look at them with squinting eyes.

‘No no, please. Eh..’ Henry raised the chewed and mauled, but ever loved copy he had bought himself all those years ago. ‘..just..coincidence I guess.’ He reached out his rendition of King Arthur and His Knights to her.

‘Well have you there. Leather bound too!’

‘And absolutely destroyed, also. I think these books just ..beg..to be harmed haha.’

‘You have a dog? Or..’ She pushed her glasses back on her nose and let her finger trace over the large indents.. ‘..bear..perhaps?’

Henry laughed. ‘No no. Just a dog. A large one. But, deep inside still very much a sweet pup.’

‘Apologies.’ A flight attendant halted as the glassed woman turned to look up. ‘We are seeing to the drying of your book. Though I’m afraid we do not have anything to get the stain out.. -’

‘Oh, that’s quite alright. Please.’

‘Could we perhaps offer you a new refreshment?’

‘Some wine would be great. WHITE wine..’ The woman grinned. ‘..less chance of stains.’

The flight attendant nodded, before Henry quickly interjected. ‘I’ll have one as well.’

‘Chardonnay, Sauvignon?’

The woman turned to Henry and with a dapper smile he picked their choosing.

‘You just gotta be yourself man.’ Henry’s skinny, beanie-hatted friend spoke, inhaling the saturating smoke of his Red Dragon joint. The whole room was some kind of blue, bean bags scattered around the Californian apartment, people lounging and chilling in their daze.

Henry inhaled deeply and felt the wooze of a broken heart and drugs fight an odd battle inside his heavy chest. He felt both extremely relaxed and extremely wrong for being here; shouldn’t he be trying his best to get her back?

‘What if I never find anyone to be with me?’ The chubby boy inside him spoke, unsure blue eyes peering out at the ceiling that seemed to move and dance before him. The whole world had slowed down, but his mind tried its best to keep going.

‘Hey,’ His friend struggled up from his beanbag, making Henry fall to his side. ‘you’re a good guy mate. You hear me? You’re a GOOD guy. And if you’d be gay I’d totally..totally do you.’ His friend burst into a fit of giggles before he cleared his throat and shook his head to clear his mind. ‘No, but really. Don’t change for the girl, ever. Yea? You’re such a good guy.’

Henry wondered if this is what Kal felt like. 

Good boy! Good boy! 

‘Where’s your book?’ Leah had to speed up to keep up with the light long steps of Henry as they moved through the long airport hall for their connecting flight. Henry smiled and looked over his shoulder.

‘Who said it again? If you love something, let it go?’

Leah frowned and with a few more fast steps got in line with him. ‘You are a handful! You know that Cavill? I ran my lungs out to--’

‘Leah. It’s fine. I gave it to someone who I’m sure will love it even more than I could ever.’

Leah puffed and, from the way her cheeks already burned, Henry decided to slow his pace.

‘And if she doesn’t appreciate it, I can always buy a new one.’

‘She? Did I miss something?’ Leah hoisted up the bag on her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You and your romantic antics.’

‘Incorrigible Cavill.’ Henry mimicked her voice, before smiling down at her. Leah rolled her eyes.

‘You said it first!’

‘One very high man once told me I just have to be myself. So that’s what I’ll do. And who knows..’ he hinted at a Valentine’s day poster they passed by. ‘..Love is like oxygen!’

--

Go to PART 2 > 

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #valentine #love is like #love is in the air #tinge of angst and sadness #the sweet #kal #aunt leah

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 7

Hi friends! Sorry for the delay here. I’ve been on vacation, so my priorities have been boozin’ and cruisin’. Thanks for your continued support of this story—I love hearing your feedback. This one’s a whopper of a chapter!

______

We often lose track of time in this great, big world of ours, in much the same way we lose a pair of keys, a couple of pens. “I swear I saw them two seconds ago!” we groan, groping to purse-bottoms, finding only lint and chump-change. So many things—these small facets of our lives—sucked into the void of bygones, taken before we can ever think to tie them down.

“I swear I was twenty-two just yesterday.”

This is how it is for Jamie and Claire, their years like old playbills confiscated by the wind and an invisible clock. Certain acts reappear from time to time, when the arm of a broom sweeps them into the light, when the frosting of dust disturbs, then floats. And for a brief moment, as the particles of time and forget resettle themselves, Jamie and Claire can hear their lives’ most glorious crescendos. The lowest notes tip-toe from the long-kept silence, rising and sinking slowly, steadily. All plucked strings, still vibrating, until the echoes die, cradling the past.

You can write an entire story with these bits and pieces of their lives, cut the acts together to form one winding opera. It plays and stops until, eventually, the grand finale. The overlap: a perfect harmony which carries them from their separate wings, to center stage and to each other.

And it is there, finally, that they meet again, lips and lives melding. They stand together in the orb of the spotlight. A single sun, glowing.

THE SPIRIT IN THE HORSE, 2000

Starring James Fraser, Jenny Fraser, Brian Fraser, The Doctor, Ellen Fraser, Fitzy (and a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else)

Though a bestselling author, JAMES FRASER did not grow up with dreams of books, but of horses.

He was born on an unusually hot day, spring 1968. Everything melting at its very seams, the birthing room’s thermometer feverish with mercury blood. His father and sister had fashioned fans from intake forms, moving heat-murk and birth-stink with the accordioned papers. They looked on with damp foreheads, lips white and tight, so that Ellen could have the breaths they saved.

At half-past noon, the doctor had caught Jamie’s auburn crown, dripping more heavily than his own laboring mother. All of this—the heat, the sweat, the waving forms—was taken as the stamp of Jamie’s fate. Surely, they had all agreed, he would set the world on fire, would be a brand forever puckering its skin.

The hibernators had emerged early that year, scurrying from their earthen wombs just as Jamie had slipped from his mother’s. Heat-drunk and dizzied, they had eaten everything in sight. Corn stalks, cabbage leaves, whole fields of barley—gone. Even Ellen’s strawberries, barely ripened—devoured by mid-April. The red fruits had shrunk to halves, then thirds, as the creatures munched and munched. Fleshy hearts eaten to bleeding, the pulp left to the sleepy stragglers.

And so on the day Jamie entered the world, the Frasers had returned to a dark and stifling house. Rot wafted from the windows, and the electrical wires were chewed cleanly through. One rabbit, the chosen martyr, had laid cooked in the grass, fur spiked.

Brian had thrust Jamie into his daughter’s arms, ran inside to rescue what unspoiled food he could (three eggs, a loaf of bread). Waiting in the yard, Jenny had imagined the wilting lettuce inside the fridge and Ellen, equally wilted under the blue hospital sheet. She had watched a squirrel leap across the berry guts, a rope of black wire between his paws.

How—if at all, she had wondered—would they survive without her mother?

Too exhausted for a trip to the store, Brian had fried the eggs on the driveway. The yolk was thick in his mouth and the sorrow thicker in his chest, before he realized Jamie’s cries had quieted. He started when he heard the horse’s whinny, the snorty exhale through its nostrils. Beside him, Jenny had scuttled away, feet scraping at the egg crusts.

Incensed by the heat and the crowd, Fitzy the horse had stormed her stable doors to freedom. She had brayed, desolate to find her owner gone, until she spotted the flame in Brian’s arms. Copper, auburn, cinnabar—all Ellen’s colors—poking from a swaddle of blue. And so Fitzy had bowed her head, brought Jamie into her awed silence. One shining moment, the first since Ellen’s passing—calm and peaceful.

Even now, 32 years later, Jamie loves to tell this story. How Brian had pressed his baby fist to the mane, his mother still a stickiness on his baby thumb. And how, as a young boy, Jamie had thought Ellen lived somewhere inside auld Fitzy. Something in the black bead of the mare’s eye: a flash, a peculiar spark. It was an acknowledgement that, until one night in 1989, Jamie had never felt before.

After his book tour in ’99, Jamie Fraser decided to take the leap—carpe diem—and purchase his own horse and his own land (fields way out in the Highlands; a farmhouse converted to splendor by his millions). The horse, like Fitzy, wears a chestnut coat. She is stubborn but loving, recognizes Jamie’s voice when he calls and his face when it floats above her stable door. He sees a flash of Fitzy—and of his mother, he thinks—when she surrenders her anger to Jamie’s flags of truce: a fresh Granny Smith, a carrot stick plucked from the ground. He sees a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else when she nudges his shoulder, apologetic. The only source of happiness, this beautiful beast, outside of his writing.

“Ye see?” Jamie had said after their first standoff, “Ye canna stay mad at me forever.” And when the horse had chomped the apple from his hand, he’d sworn that she was smiling.

“Mo nighean donn,” he’d whispered, and decided, then and there, to name her Sorcha.

______

CARROLL’S THEORY OF TRUTH, 2003

Starring Claire Randall, Frank Randall, Joe Abernathy, duncandonuts, wetwillie, mark_me_1745, parsleymarsley, l.mackenzie (and The Author)

When CLAIRE RANDALL is not working at the hospital, her nose is pressed to a blue-white screen.

For years, she had resisted those monstrous, blocky machines—Macintosh, Dell, Gateway—all brand names accompanied by her husband’s greedy and jabbing elbows.

But there was value in tradition, Claire had argued. A kind of sanctity in the ping of an Underwood or the swish of pen; privacy and authentic connection. Frank had merely rolled his eyes, always lusting after the new and shiny—whether it was a computer or a student’s gloss-plumped lips—knowing it was not “tradition” itself that his wife was holding onto.

“So like you, Claire,” he’d said bitterly one day, “wanting to stay stuck in the past.” And, of course, he’d been right. Just to spite him, she’d finally surrendered and gave him one for Christmas.

Gradually, Claire came to love the whirring engine, the wail of the dial-up, the period of isolation where she was unreachable by phone. Like time travel, almost, the way it took her places past and present, opening every door like some futuristic gentleman.

But mostly, Claire loved the computer for the freedom it gave her. Boot up the system, click the mouse, log on, be someone else. Online, Claire could play a different role than the surgeon or the amateur gardener, pretend she was not the wife who turned her cheek as often as she made her husband’s dinner. On the Internet, her identity was a thirty-word bio, her face a grey silhouette displayed comfortably—anonymously—inside a neat, square frame. A million different bodies growing inside her, once her fingers flew across keyboard:

Claire Randall, the British spy.

Claire Randall, the avid hiker, climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Claire Randall, the mother, who loved the melt of ice cream down her daughter’s chin. Her tiny mouth, sweet and sugared, when it met hers for a kiss.

One website, her favorite, was this: a forum, populated by other faceless humans who, like Claire, could recite page 451 (or any others) of A Blade of Grass. In this corner of the online universe, they had spoken of The Author on a first-name basis, trading facts like prized baseball cards. But it was only Claire who could share the most private knowledge, attribute it all to her keen nose and thus earn the respect of 16 anonymous users.

Even so, Claire had been surprised by what they knew solely through their reading. The Author’s childhood, his relationships, his favorite color. She was able to ask her own prodding questions and receive correct answers, such as:

whiteraven: A long shot, but does anyone know how to contact him by telephone?

And five of the grey-faced few had responded.

duncandonuts: easier to send him send him a letter (might get lost among the rest of his fan mail though).

wetwillie: have you tried his agent, john grey, in london?

mark_me_1745: if u meet him, tell him 2 come 2 brasil!!!!!!! we <3 him!!!!!!!

parsleymarsali: Publishers Weekly mentioned he’s now with Geordie Gibbons at the Claude F. Agency, not Grey, @wetwillie. Think it had something to do with creative differences and missed deadlines.

l.mackenzie: pass that info onto _me_ if you find it, girl! <g>

By a stroke of luck, someone had known someone who’d known someone who’d known someone. And just like that, she was given a phone number the following Wednesday. A day like any other, if it weren’t for a single string of digits sitting in her inbox, a silent but ticking grenade.

She spent three months with the numbers inside her head, stored in a folder marked with The Author’s name. She did manage to call though—once—when her hand finally lowered from its hover. She’d waited out the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the robotic chime, “You have reached the voice mailbox of..." She had listened to the beep that followed and then the silence, stretching, until she remembered her mouth. It opened, exhaled, then shut abruptly with the click of her teeth. There was the clatter of keys and the thwop of a briefcase—Frank home from work.

She had almost whispered, but did not.

It was too much to have both men in the same room: one gently pecking her lips, the other pressing an electric current into her cheek, crackling. Too much, too much. Claire had slammed the phone down and cursed, “Bloody teleprompter. Always calling before dinner,” which had made her husband laugh. She’d made him spaghetti that night, the spices forming twelve digits in the saucepan no matter how many times she swirled the spoon.

It’s been four months since that first and only call, though Claire still remembers The Author’s number. She thinks of if—when—she will have the courage to call again, to finally speak and fill the space of eleven empty years. While Frank snores beside her, she plays the scene from start to finish, like a draft of the real, inevitable thing.

Again: the sonorous ring, the tinny greeting, the beep, and the silence that waits for her. But this time: her mouth opens—one, two three times—and five words repeated, again and again.

In some versions, she says them aloud. In others, merely pushes them, soundless, into the air. Still, they are there, held aloft by satellite arms high up in the sky. Somewhere between her and The Author, existing: I was born for you, I was born for you, I was born for you.

And what is said three times—even unfinished, even without words—is always, always true.

______

THREE TIMES THE WORLD ENDED , 2004

Starring Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, and Laoghaire Mackenzie (and The Girl)

JAMES FRASER, age 34, can pinpoint three moments where his world fell apart.

He was eighteen during the first, a brazen thing, but still as green as the pot freshly stinking his Levi’s. After reading the call notice pasted to his door, he’d floated to the common room on a cloud of White Widow weed. He dialed, laughing, until Jenny’s voice had sobbed down the line, breaking the peace of his druggy fug.

Their father, she’d cried, had died the previous evening.

With the news, the had drugs turned. Floors slanted, limbs jellied. Jamie watched as a hole ripped open the wall behind him, its enormous black void revealing the space Brian Fraser had left behind. It had swallowed Jamie up, refused to spit him back again until The Girl reached inside and found his heart two years later. Returned it to him, like a love note, passed on the inside of her smile.

Jamie describes the second collapse in his two famous novels, A Blade of Grass and Two Centuries in Purgatory. This time, the world had split completely, Jamie and The Girl like two tectonic plates shifting in the night. It was his writing that had bound Jamie’s world together again, though the spine remained cracked, a few of the pages missing.

The third time occurred just last week though Jamie was not entirely surprised. It’s what happens, he supposes, when you build something on uneven ground. Physical presence—someone’s here-ness—does not equate to love.

Nine years after the second earthquake, a new person had come into Jamie’s life. She would stand in the doorway at 6:30PM, jump to her tip-toes to welcome him home. There would be steam from the stove, and utensils would gleam in perfect, shining order. Napkins would wait with their patient folds, each prepared to catch the food that she, his ever-present Laoghaire, had prepared during the day. And for those three years, Laoghaire’s toothbrush had sat next to Jamie’s, her silks hanging beside his cottons. Evidence, he had thought, that he maybe-almost loved her.

But then Laoghaire had grown curious—“Why’ve no made progress on yer novel? What are ye writing all day if it isna yer third book?”—and stuck her piglet nose into places it did not belong. She, in a rare moment of ingenuity, had unlocked the safe and found his letters.

And so this time, Jamie’s world had not ripped or split—but exploded with a thousand sticks of paper dynamite. Laoghaire had burned through the house, burned through the letters. She’d called the magazines and the bloggers, vowing to tarnish his reputation with lies: cheater, drunk, lunatic, fraud. Finally, she’d left, taking the napkins, the cutlery, and the toothbrush—but leaving the embers in her wake, smoldering. A few scraps had avoided the fire, and Jamie read them as the night rose.

My da once told me I’d know straight away, that I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many different men.

The love of you was my soul.

and

Yours, Jamie

Forever, Jamie

Come home, my heart. I am not as brave as I was before, Jamie

On and on and on they went. Singed pieces of his letters. Every one meant for The Girl who’d confronted his darkness, had rescued his heart at a Christmas Eve party.

4,380. One letter for every day he had missed her.

______

THE KILLING GIRL, 2006

Starring Claire Randall*, Henry Beauchamp, Julia Beauchamp, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, Frank Randall (and The One Person)

CLAIRE RANDALL* , resident at Boston GH, was five years old when she thought she was murderer. For years, she could hardly sleep, fearing not the monster beneath her bed, but the one beneath her covers.

Instead of counting sheep, she’d recounted facts as they’d been reported in the paper: Henry and Julia Beauchamp, parents of one Claire Beauchamp. Their mangled car, and a rocky deathbed set one hundred feet below. Both husband and wife, father and mother—dead upon impact.

Rarely, did this guide Claire towards sleep, and so she began to picture the accident as she’d recorded it in her diary. The same story, but more accurate—one that played behind her eyelids as if she had watched it all, a spectator on the road’s shoulder.

There was her parents’ blue Ford ribboning the cliffside. The low hum of conversation and the static of the radio. There was Claire’s goodbye before they left—“You always go without me! IhateyouIhateyou!”— which followed her parents and pushed them off the edge. She was sure it was her words that had broken her mother’s neck, had snapped it like a flower’s stem. One Claire Beauchamp, the little killing girl.

Five years passed before Lamb had found her in the courtyard, weeping her guilt into a mat of grey feathers. She had confessed to her five-year old anger then; how she’d pried open the rocky mouth and dropped her parents in.

“Death doesn’t move according to reason, my dear,” Lamb had said, “but only chance. And by no fault of yours.” He had patted her on the head like a priest grants forgiveness, and they buried the bird in the Nyungwe Forest. Wings and Claire’s blame laid to rest beneath the trees.

Still, Claire likes how accountability sets her world—so wracked by coincidence—back on its axis. Responsibility, however false, is easier to accept than the fickleness of husbands, of dead parents, of love and life. She assumes the role of the guilty to feel a sense of control, like she herself is in charge of the scale’s tip. And so:

It was Claire’s fault that the frost returned in May, all her marigold suns snuffed out.

It was Claire’s fault that the infection took the wound, gnawed the patient’s flesh so that a saw had to chop the bone.

It was Claire’s fault that midnight voices chirped down the receiver. The girls’ lovesick pleas—I need you. I love you. Leave her.—placed in Frank’s pockets by Claire’s own hands.

And of course, it was Claire’s fault that things had ended as they did. The final fight, every bit of hate, hers to claim:

“I am not an idiot, Frank! And I’m tired of being made into one.”

“Darling, you aren’t an idiot. I never said you were an idiot.”

“Don’t bloody ‘darling’ me, you bloody cad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How novel.”

“Truly, I am.”

“So that’s it, then? Just ‘I’m sorry.’ No excuses? No begging-on-bended-knee?” (Claire had scoffed. Her laughter, like the paring knife that guts the beast.) “No, of course not. Begging would be too embarrassing for you. Too much effort. All your energy is spent chasing skirts and quick fucks. You selfish, disgusting man.”

“So I’m the only selfish one here, is that it? Just me?”

“You’re saying that I’m selfish?”

“I am.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you, Claire! You, who is always working and never here. You, who sleeps with his books under our mattress, still wears the man’s goddamn ring on a chain. Like a fucking noose around our marriage, from the start.” (Claire had winced; Frank’s knuckles had cracked the wall.) “No, I’m not selfish, Claire. I’ve shared you with another man for thirteen years.”

“So I see you’ve lost all sense, but still have some fucking nerve."

“Cursing doesn’t improve your argument.”

“Wanker.”

“Now Claire…”

“Just go.”

“Claire, please—”

“Go.”

And thus, it was Claire’s fault that Frank had whispered, “You’ve never looked at me. Not once, not really.” And it was her fault that he had grabbed his keys, slipped into the blizzard and into his car.

And it was Claire—Claire, Claire, Claire—who became the ice that hissed against tires. Who launched Frank’s body through the glass, turned his skin purple-blue and the snow dark red. Her fault that the last thing she’d said was “go”, and Frank had taken her at her very word.

All of this, she has put upon her shoulders, for its burden is lesser than the truth: that she has no control, never did and never would. Claire is forever held at the mercy of a capricious gravity—she and everyone else, a little bit helpless. Always.

But there was One Person, she often remembers, who had given her a kind of foothold. On their wedding night, she had whispered about her mother’s flower neck, about the grey bird whose wings she’d given to the Nyungwe. And he had understood, promised forgiveness for whatever wrongs she had and would commit. “Real or imagined, Sassenach” he’d said into hair, “Already forgiven.” They had spiraled through life, the pair of them, both a little bit helpless—but everything shared.

But of all of her false faults, this is one Claire fears is true: that she is the reason The One Person is not here, but some 3,000 miles away. She was, after all, the one who had packed the suitcase and caused the gavel to fall, Divorce.

All her fault: Claire Randall. The guilty one, the killing girl, the widow. Spinning and spinning into empty space, grasping at stars, alone.

*[Note from director: Ms. Claire Randall has requested we change her name to Claire Beauchamp. Please reprint with this correction ASAP. Thank you.]

______

POINT OF CONVERGENCE, 2007

Starring Jamie Fraser (The Author, The One Person), Claire Beauchamp (A More-Than-Flash Of Someone-Else, The Girl), Geordie Gibbons

JAMES FRASER does not like to disappoint. It is his greatest fear, seeing someone’s face pull, twist, and finally droop into an expression of discontent. Even worse: when the expression is given a name, “I’m so disappointed in you, Jamie.” And worst of all: when the name is given by his agent, Geordie Gibbons.

One of the most important days of Jamie’s life began in anticipation of such disappointment. He had twiddled his thumbs beneath a table, dreading the moment Geordie’s fedora ducked beneath the restaurant’s eaves. The wait staff had milled around him: A waiter dashed towards snapping fingers, the hostess offered towels for rain-soaked heads. He’d felt jealous, watching them, of their readiness—how they could be so effortlessly on time. Jamie couldn’t even manage to meet his deadlines, the desk calendar at home flipped far beyond the designated X.

Jamie and Geordie were to have “lunch” and “catch up”. This would, inadvertently, devolve into an interrogation about Jamie’s third novel, which was nothing more than a series of working titles. It was a pattern, this lateness and lunching, never changing despite the demands and promises made by both parties. Geordie would remove his hat, exposing the frown previously shadowed beneath its brim. Their food would be served—Jamie, something yeasty; Geordie, a taxidermist’s culinary experiment—and Jamie would choke down a side of his agent’s disappointment. Eventually, they would part ways, and Jamie would return home, knock out a few pages. Turn in a shitty draft the next morning for the sake of postponing a second “lunch.”

But on this day, the universe had shifted; the pattern broke. Jamie had continued to sit there, all sweat and nerves, but Geordie’s fedora, the interrogation, and the food never came.

Because while Jamie had waited in the restaurant, CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP was arguing in her bedroom mirror: Claire vs. Claire, Head vs. Heart. She was thousands of miles away in a Boston apartment, but still—the tremor traveled, pushing a storm across the Atlantic, down the Royal Mile, to Jamie. The trajectory of his day and his life had changed as Claire gesticulated wildly at her own reflection.

So at 12:14, Jamie had been alone, Geordie unusually late for a man so fond of punctuality. He read the menu three times, settled on a whisky. Thought better of it; ordered two.

At 12:30, Claire’s battle had still raged, no victor in sight. The thunder had shaken the house, shaken the mirror on the wall.

At 12:46, Jamie had condemned Geordie, then deadlines. Art, he’d fumed, was beyond time, existed outside of it. He had ordered a third whisky when a wine spill was wiped up, gone before it had the chance to leave its mark.

At 12:48, Claire had moved to the kitchen. Both armies were advancing quickly, charging into the living room, to the yard, back to the living room, over and over. She and herself, it seemed, had reached a stalemate. Head and Heart had squatted, dripping rain, and awaited the other's surrender.

At 12:50, Claire had paused and looked through the window. She caught a glimpse of her garden, reborn and thriving despite the storm, and the sight of the marigold blooms did not reveal an emptiness inside her. She felt, for once, happy. Her Heart had stormed her Head’s walls, then, the gates of decision giving way.

At 12:51, Claire had opened her scrapbook, a secret once kept from Frank. It was filled with bits and bobs: a piece of bubble wrap, a bell from her holiday sweater. Both of them glued beside old polaroids. Again, she did not feel her Heart stutter, but expand; lift straight out of her chest. A full siege after that. Her Head’s weakest men fell beneath the lash of artery whips.

At 12:52, the end was near, and Claire’s Heart marched to her computer, hunted through years of mail. Its trophy had laid buried in a folder—one message with twelve digits—and the battle, at last, was won.

At 12:53, both Jamie and his phone had buzzed. The door opened, letting in the air. It had smelled of wet soil, earthy and ripe. Familiar, like a ghost’s kiss on the back of his neck. He put the phone to his ear, and…

At 12:53:05, he said, “Jesus, man! Where are ye? I’ve been waiting nigh on 50 minutes!” There was no response.

At 12:53:08: “Did ye get caught in the storm? Are ye calling from a pay phone?” More silence.

At 12:53:13: “Hello? Anyone there?”

At 12:53:20: “Geordie, man, is that you?”

At 12:53:25: A deep, shaking breath. An audible gulp. Claire’s Heart whispering its victory song.

12:53:26: “It’s isn’t Geordie.”

12:53:27: “It’s me.”

And at 12:53:28, everywhere, suddenly—the brightest sun.

Phew! This chapter is one of the longest, but it’s also one of my favorites. The structure is lifted straight from Fates and Furies—there’s a chapter that is just a series of the protagonist’s plays—and I was looking to try something new (it also weirdly fits in with the tone of the chapter introductions). In my opinion, the best thing about writing fanfiction is that you have so much room to experiment.

This structure also allowed me to do what I’d been wanting to do from the beginning: move away from the One Day conceit and explore Jamie and Claire’s pasts. It was very easy to just run with any image or idea that came to mind—we know so little about their childhoods; there are so many possibilities!

And speaking of why fanfiction is so awesome—and I mentioned this in another post—but it’s a blast figuring out how to incorporate canon into an AU setting. Using canon dialogue can boost the emotional punch of a line in a way that is just *chef’s kiss*. “I was born for you.” “I am not as brave as I was before.” Ugh, kill me.

I have to whistle past some of the melodrama and Frank’s computer craze (wouldn’t he also be a typewriter sort of person???). And modern!Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Brazil comment still tickles me. This is not meant as an offense to Brazilians—y’all are just always on *clap* it *clap*, and I love your enthusiasm.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)

#myfic #outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #reunited and it feels so gooooood

[stone-man-warrior]

May 26, 2020: 5:15 pm:

Neighborhood assessment: It’s too dangerous to take a walk. I have chosen to stay inside. The changes at the Monroe terror cell are of great concern, and my prove later to be less of a concern then is warranted by staying inside, but, I am not a fool, and don’t want to fall victim to their deceptive dog & pony show murder scenario song & dance routines. Maybe the new terror element there will get bored, and go away.

Better yet, maybe the terrorist bastards will come over here, and attack up front. That way, I can defend. Notable conditions are sketchy, I have not been outside to make assessment much, but this much is clear: The difference in noise, and activities happening around here within earshot, is far different now, and over three days, than it was, say, about two or three weeks ago. Last month, the activity was all over the place, terror crews with scenarios that are based on yard maintenance, shed building projects, chain saw work, tractor brush clearing, and those ever present child terror soldiers on the small wheeled motorcycles, and other drive by type scenario’s that include strange vehicles in the neighborhood, all designed as a backdrop for killing, has all but stopped all together around here. I don’t here many of the small aircraft used by the terror army, but they have been flying low overhead as I post revealing information here. The more depth of knowledge I present, as it gets into the realm of things like hospital take over, and the Denver Airport and the way the whole place is a killing machine by design, has been generating the fly overs, at the time the information was presented, and while writing. So, noisy and consistent attacks, have slowed to quiet, and somewhat peaceful conditions, for three days. There have been intruders, but they are somehow not as violent as the ones last month, and going back in time for many years. My eyes hurt real bad. There is an irritation gas that is being used to make the eyes hurt, and also causes limited vision, blurry, and a feeling of wanting to rub my eyes all day.

The Russell Road terror train of death, has not been going by! For four nights in a row, either I missed hearing the train, or it’s absent. I really don’t think they snuck it by me, I am listening for it. The local deer population is behaving strangely. Nothing that I can explain here with ease, just behaving differently then they usually, mostly increase in night time moving around in darkness, no moon. That is not usual. There are still no sightings of skunks, possums, raccoons, or other small four legged critters at all. The exception is the grey squirrels are still around in number. Small birds are still not as numerous or diverse as they should be if conditions did not include so much airborne gasses.

There are no insects either. No crickets, no bugs. Very few small living things remain. Absence of frogs was noted the other night, I had almost forgotten about them. I am seeing that the lichen moss verities are not prevalent. The lichen is falling from the trees. I will pay closer attention to the lichen in next few days, and say what I see later. Lichen, I am told, is like a forest meter of air quality, and does not tolerate adverse air quality. That said, without some kind of history of normal conditions of the amount of local lichen, there is not much to say, but I do have good recollection of vast amounts of lichen on the trees here many years ago, it seemed to be choking the fruit trees at times, there was so much of it. There are many different kinds, so reporting about might not be conclusive. End terror report: 5:48 pm.

[orionwhispers]

Beware Of The Dogs - Part II

(A/N - here is part 2!!! almost 12,000 words lol. i hate myself. so much alfie fluff and also a little smut(?) dare i say, not really but i tried. i hope you enjoy it, there will be more parts!!)

PART I

PART III

The first taste of freedom was intoxicating.

Your flat was small, with smudged paint and charcoal coloured fingerprints along every wall and a pipe that dribbled stagnant water onto the carpet, but you adored it, because it was yours. You consumed the city like it was medicinal, desperate to see everything and anything. Your insatiable thirst reminded you of bittersweet memories from your childhood, like greedily drinking from the tap with John on a summers morning after spending every moment from sunrise running around the fields. You felt younger and lighter, a sensation so unfamiliar that you mistook it for a sickness at first, before you realised that you were finally free, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Your whole body felt electric, the spark that had dwindled inside of you suddenly reignited, you awoke every morning with a sense of purpose, slipping into your work heels and skirt like they were a new skin.

You always were careful though. You introduced yourself as “Rosie Smith” to anyone who asked, the alibi becoming second nature and slipping off of your tongue like sweet wine whenever you needed it. You felt like you could be a whole new person, you weren’t even sure what was real and what was fantasy, the big city engulfing you and dragging you under. You had heard people say that London was too overwhelming, that they couldn’t make themselves heard, but you loved that. You loved that no one knew your real name or who your family were, you loved that people skipped over your face in the street and let you drown in the crowd. You hung around backstreets and ran through alleys, never staying in one place for too long, you were always cautious, because you knew that all it would take was one sighting from a stray Blinder and your game would be up.

You didn’t plan to stay in London. You knew eventually that the Blinders would expand their company to the capital and it would only be a matter of time before you would be sniffed out by the hounds and dragged back to Birmingham by the scruff of your neck. Edmund had an opening lined up for you down South, and you were planning on saving your pay checks for a cottage to call your own, but before you knew it you found a reason to stay.

Two months after you arrived, Edmund sent you on an errand. It was November, the sky was a vibrant blue, the ground icy and the harsh wind was licking at any exposed flesh. Weeds grew from cracks in the pavement, leaves dripping with dew and the trees were almost entirely bare, naked branches swaying above you. You pulled your coat closer to your skin, blowing hot air onto your hands as you made your way down the street. You were in Camden, a part of the city that you had left unexplored, and you repeated Edmunds hazy directions in your mind like a mantra.

You had visited a quaint bookshop, with plants lining the windowsill and novels stacked crookedly on top of one another, the smell of dust and paper filling the room. Edmund had been on the phone with the owner for weeks, bargaining a price for some first edition Jane Austen’s that had arrived, but by the time you had got there, the woman informed you that they had already been sold.

You scuffed your heel onto the solid ground, frost sticking to your shoe. It was the first task your boss had sent you and you would be returning empty handed, it might not have been your fault but you still felt defeated. You made your way back the way you came, through the park with big looming trees. You were amazed by the vast sapphire sky above you, and the flame coloured leaves that fell on the ground. You were certain you had never seen colour like it before, Birmingham seemed like an eternal grey, and you were engrossed by the spectrum around you. You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the dog bounding towards you until it was too late, and his massive mud covered paws slammed onto your dress.

“Cyril! Cyril! Down boy! Bloody dog.”

You heard him before you saw him, his voice raspy and gruff. You were entranced by the dog, he was huge, with fur the colour of amber and big hazel eyes that followed your every move. You knelt down to his level, not that you had to go far, and rubbed the fluff on the back of his neck, watching his tongue loll happily. Your knees prickled at the sensation of the cold ground and you felt dampness soak the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care.

“Oi! Cyril, off mate. Get up you big lump.”

The dog relented, leaning into your touch and sighing, his back leg twitching with glee. A large hand wrapped under his thick leather collar, pulling him back gently but firmly and the big dog fell onto his haunches, paws skidding across the frost tipped grass. You glanced up at the figure that now stood before you; tall and solid like the oak trees planted in the dirt all around you. Surprise made you gasp, bitterly crisp air shocking the back of your throat, so cold it almost tasted metallic in your mouth. Before you could say anything, he offered you a large hand, olive coloured and calloused, and you took it without hesitation. He hoisted you to your feet with little effort, the dog sniffing at your heels, his tail wagging with such force that you wondered if he might take off. You looked up at the man, trying to keep your gaze steady and cool, but his presence was unsettling. He was very handsome. Not in the traditional way perhaps, not like the clean cut boys from back home with sharp haircuts and shaven faces, he looked strong, powerful, as if he could command attention with just a look. He’d certainly captured yours. Your stomach was tight, blush rising to your cheeks as you glanced at him, an unwelcome fever brewing inside of you, you felt ridiculous, small and meek beside such an alluring man. You couldn’t help it, he was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, with his wiry beard and strong nose and rose coloured lips; even the tall hat on his head and the tattoos that marked his fingers, they were all intriguing to you.

You smiled up at him and shrugged softly, toying with the hem. “Its OK. If anything I think he improved the design.”

He was silent. He watched you, his eyes unwavering as he studied your face with such intensity that it made you shiver more than the cold chill of the breeze.You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but he remained impassive, his sea glass coloured eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite comprehend. It seemed as though he was inwardly debating something, his eyebrows furrowing.

You were about to make a hasty excuse and leave, the prickling thought that you were behaving like a child stinging your skin like nettles. You wondered if you looked impossibly young and immature compared to the rest of the women in the city that this handsome stranger probably surrounded himself with, but before you could conjure up words, he opened his mouth, seemingly overcoming the battle he was having in his mind.

“Where are you headed?”

His name was Alfie. You introduced yourself as Rosie and told him that you were heading back to work in Highgate. His accent was thick and unusual to you, but somehow it made you feel at ease, somehow familiar. You wondered if your accent was strong to him, wondered if he could detect the “brum” inside of you, and you hoped he didn’t ask about your past, for some reason you didn’t want this stranger to know anything bad about you.

The two of you walked side by side along the cobbled path that ran through the park, it was quiet, almost empty except for the odd dog walker or couple. A low fog had formed around your ankles like the tide, and you watched Cyril chase some squirrels into the bushes, a rumbling growl emitting from his throat. You were mostly silent, your hands shoved into the pockets of your coat for warmth, clenching and unclenching your fingers from nervousness. Alfie seemed to be mulling something over in his head, his lips moving ever so slightly. Only after you had walked about fifty yards did you notice the cane in his hand, his fingers wrapped around a brass lions head adorning the top and the ever so slight limp in his gait.

“So, what do you do?” You asked eventually, your frozen breath lingering in the air for a moment.

“I own a bakery.”

You stalled for a moment, looking him up and down, pupils flittering on his fine jewellery and expensive three piece suit. He mirrored your gaze, mimicking your movements, his cane thumping suddenly on the solid ground. You smiled suspiciously and raised your eyebrows, not even giving yourself a moment to think before you asked incredulously, “How much bloody bread do you sell if you can afford a Patek Philippe pocket watch?”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth you regretted them, but you didn’t miss the spark of curiosity that flickered across Alfie’s eyes and the twitch in his upper lip. Damn Tommy and his affinity for designer brands.

He toyed with the golden chain tucked into his waistcoat, stroking his thumb across the expensive hardware and pinching the dial.

“You’ve got a fine eye.”

“My dad was a collector.” You lied. The only things Arthur Shelby Sr collected were empty bottles and spots on his liver, anything he owned that was worth something was quickly pawned for cigarettes and alcohol.

Alfie looked you up and down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and you hated how your stomach flipped. “Right, right.” He smiled. Your comment had obviously knocked him off guard, and you could almost see his mind whirring, trying to figure you out. “So, what are you then, some kind of jeweller?”

“No. I’m a secretary, I work for a publisher. I only started a few months ago.” You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, since arriving in London privacy was the one thing essential to you and your camouflage, but something about this mysterious stranger had you spilling your secrets. He had an aura about him that intrigued you, attracted you like a bee to sticky, warm honey.

He swung the cane from the ground, tilting the end towards the street that curved in front of you, using it like he would a pointed finger. “That new one up by the butchers? My mate was in there last week.”

You smiled, “Yes, that would be the one.”

He whistled suddenly, and Cyril’s large caramel head lifted from where he had stuck it down a rabbit hole, the big dog lolloping back to you both immediately. You stroked his velvet ears gently, as his body rammed into your knees and Alfie watched you, his eyes trailing you up and down once more. “So what brings you out to Camden? A woman like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

You stopped, “A woman like me?” You didn’t try to sugar coat your tone,

He held up his hands and you noticed the rings adorning his fingers, so close that you could cut your teeth on them. “I mean no offence, right,” He leant in slightly as if he was telling a secret, the heat of his body hitting yours. “But Camden is a bad place filled with very bad men.”

“It seemed perfectly safe to me.” You quipped. “Besides, I’ve dealt with my fair share of bad men.” You faltered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, you only recovered when Cyril nudged your palm and licked the tips of your fingers, begging for crumbs. “I wasn’t there for very long,” you added quickly, wanting to change the subject from the truth you had let slip. “My boss sent me out looking for first editions, but they were all sold when I got there.”

He nodded, sucking his tongue, the ghost of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “You’re not from around here are you?” He asked finally, and you were close enough you could see the outline of his lips as he enunciated his words, and you traced them, familiarising yourself with every dip and divot.

“You can tell?” You pulled away, not allowing yourself any more time to drown in him, you felt small and young and stupid beside him, watching him like you were a child, but what you hated more was the ache in your chest when you pulled your gaze away.

“I would have remembered a face like yours.”

You felt heat rise to the tops of your ears, and could only imagine the colour of your cheeks. You kept your eyes trained anywhere but him, following a magpie dart into the bare branches of a tree, ebony coloured feathers glistening under the milky blue sky. You had reached the end of the path now, stood beside the iron gate that led back into the street. You listened to the roar of the cars and the people around you, but neither were a match for the thumping of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

You could feel him watching you as you stepped onto the pavement, stood at the top of the road that would separate the both of you. You spun on your heel so you were facing him. You dared to look up and meet his gaze, noticing the scarring and texture on his cheeks that you hadn’t spotted before, his features flourishing in the sun, no longer able to hide under the shadows of the trees.

“I should head back to work.” You said, first to break the silence that had formed between you like a sheet of ice. There was no awkwardness, but rather unease, neither of you knowing quite what to say to the other. You had never been in a situation like it, never felt so nervous in front of someone who wasn’t blood, and little did you know that Alfie was feeling the same, observing you under the pale light and wondering how you left him so winded.

“Let me walk you to the office.” He insisted, voice thick and raspy.

You appreciated his offer, and truly wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with him, but the voice inside your head reminded you that he was a distraction you couldn’t afford to have, not right now anyway. “No, thank you, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

He shook his head, starting to protest but you held up your hands, silencing him with your movements and the soft look in your eyes, he rolled his own in defeat, pursing his lips. You moved closer to him, filling in the gap that separated you, the icy breeze and the recklessness of your actions making goosebumps rise along your spine.

He smelt like leather and cedar, warm but musky, and you thought if you closed your eyes you’d be stood beside the wood burner in the house you grew up in, watching the firewood crumble into ash. You had never been this close to a man who wasn’t related to you, the only time you could recall was when you were fourteen and Harry Miller from your arithmetic class asked you to the pictures. You lied to your family for the first time that night, telling them you staying at Isabella's for dinner after school. You can remember the smell of buttery popcorn and half chewed toffees as you sat sucking on a liquorice whip, your shoulders brushing ever so slightly against Harry’s cotton shirt. Your hands were slick with anticipation and nerves from your rebellion, but the film hadn’t been on for more than five minutes before the doors swung open and you heard John and Arthur hollering your name under the flickering lights.

But you were alone now.

You could sense his eyes roaming across you, so delicate and intimate it was almost as if he was running his fingertips across your skin. You felt so alive and it terrified you, how could somebody you had spent less than an hour with make your whole body feel like it was catching alight? Before you could think you stretched out your hand, Alfie hesitated, a smirk on his lips as he covered your palm with his own, the warmth and the spark that ran through your blood almost making your knees buckle but you ignored it as you looked up at him.

“Goodbye, Alfie.”

“Goodbye, Rosie.”

That night he infiltrated your dreams. You woke at midnight after hours of tossing and turning and sat on the windowsill, watching the stars. The air was icy and you pressed your back against the old radiator, the dull warmth soothing you as you tried to get the constant thoughts of him out of your mind. For the first time in a long time you were focusing on someone who wasn’t a sibling, for the first time you had a tight coil your stomach, knotted like a rope and you felt strangely hopeful. But as soon as the thoughts came you pushed them away, you weren’t in the right place to let anybody in, everything you had worked so hard for could come crumbling down around you if you weren’t careful, you couldn’t afford to risk it all. So with a heavy feeling in your chest, you pulled your blanket over your eyes, settling into the cheap mattress and willing yourself to sleep, ignoring the tall, handsome man who tried to climb inside your mind. You couldn’t be distracted.

The next morning you woke up late, your head throbbing from exhaustion and your eyes blurry and sore. You let the cold air wash over you like a wave as you ran down the street, boot laces untied and top messily tucked into your skirt. You were panting by the time you reached the office, swearing as you rattled the doorknob and it whined in protest, you finally got it open, tumbling across the doormat and smiling hastily as your colleague Elizabeth’s head snapped up.

You didn’t notice the package until after you had made a steaming mug of coffee, inhaling the nutty aroma and letting the heat hit the back of your throat. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string, nestled on top of the paperwork you had been meaning to sort out. You frowned in confusion, looking up at Elizabeth with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention it, sorry. A boy dropped it off for you this morning.”

Your mind immediately filled with storm clouds, rampant thoughts running through your brain like wild horses and you briskly ran into an empty office, shutting the door behind you so you could tear open the surprise in peace. Bile rose in your throat, there was no note written on the top or return address, and all that did was enforce the sickening feeling that somebody had found you, somebody bad.

Your fingers were shaking as you manipulated the wrapping, tearing off the ribbon and smoothing down the sides, your heart pounding and your mind immediately thinking the worst. You were expecting a threat, your over active imagination wondering if you had been sent a severed body part as a warning, but as you unwrapped the present, your heart stopped for an entirely different reason.

There were books. Six of them exactly, in pristine condition, the covers vivid and exciting, begging you to open and devour them. You hesitated, not daring to run your finger along the spines despite them pulling you like a magnet. It took you a second but realisation struck you like a stream train. They were first editions. Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, authors you adored and admired. You felt your adrenaline spike, like when you ate too many sweets as a child, that nauseating kind of elation that spread throughout your entire body. Edmund was going to be thrilled, you tentatively opened the cover of “Oliver Twist” a story that had always reminded you of your own family, and watched as piece of paper fluttered onto your shoe.

“I hope you can find some use out of these - Alfie.”

The next time you saw him was on a Friday, after work. The sun had set, the streetlights burning yellow, and the night air so cold it cut like a knife. You had stayed late and twisted your key in the lock, your fingers growing numb, trying to move as quickly as you could before you froze on the spot. You were dreaming of getting home, slipping out of your shoes and crawling into a hot bath, you could practically hear the tub calling your name. You turned around, rubbing your hands together, preparing yourself for the bitter walk home, but you jumped in shock as you saw a silhouette watching you under the pale light.

“Alfie!” You muttered, recognising his features and trying to keep your voice steady despite the surprise bubbling inside of your throat. In any other circumstance you would have been scared, terrified of being alone in the dark with a man you barely knew, but looking at him, you felt nothing but a calm wash of ease flow over you. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped closer, the familiarity of his features striking you in the gut, rendering you speechless just like the first time you met. Luckily for you, he filled in the silence that surrounded you both.

“I was waiting for the shop to close.” He said, his eyes darting across your face and towards the locked office behind you, if you knew him better you would dare to say he seemed apprehensive. “I wanted to walk you home.”

You swallowed quickly, your back growing warm and your toes curling together, suddenly feeling lightheaded and dizzy. “You wanted to walk me home?” There’s a hint of bewilderment in your voice, the only men who have walked you home - beside from your brothers- had been Blinders ordered to keep you safe, stealing any independence you had from a young age. You had always loathed those escorts back home, the men eyeing you as if you were a criminal, ready to run as soon as they looked the other way. You hated losing control and being forced to put it into the hands of whoever Tommy deemed suitable, and as much as you hated to admit it, you felt a gentle twist in your stomach at Alfie’s gesture. It seemed genuine and kind, something you weren’t used to.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” The words left him as quickly as running water, and it took you a minute to digest them, fiddling with the keys in your hands like they were a puzzle waiting to be solved. There was no malice or condescension in what he says, and you could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips, and as you looked at the innocence on his face, you could feel a hammer being slammed against the walls you have built around you.

“Are you flirting with me?” You asked finally, quirking a brow and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“You finally noticed?”

You laughed, soft like snow hitting the pavement and Alfie felt his heart stop. The sky was jet black and these cold months seem to make everything darker, ebony surrounding you like the ocean but as your eyes met, a spark ignited between your bodies. He felt himself unconsciously drawing closer to you, the unfamiliarity of what he was about to do no match for the attraction that connects the two of you.

He brought his thumb to his mouth, scratching the chestnut coloured hairs that decorated his upper lip, flitting his eyes to the ground and tightening his grip on his cane with his other hand, using it to level himself. “Look, the other day in the park, right? I don’t usually do things like that. Well actually, I never fucking do it.”

You frowned, “You mean, you’ve never asked anybody to walk with you?”

“No.” He interjected, the truth of what he’s saying evident on his face. “Look.” He continued, eyes looking everywhere but your own. “It’s just not me, and I honestly had no bloody idea why I did it.”

You sucked on your tongue, taking in everything he said, not knowing what you should respond. Wondering if you’re imagining the magnetism that flows between you, wondering if you’re about to be made a fool and leave with your head hung and your tail between your legs. But whilst your mind fills with dark clouds, Alfie continued.

“But, truth be fucking told right, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your eyes snapped up and connected with his, and the urgency makes the both of you smile, connected by your mutual unease at the situation you have found yourself in. He has never opened up to anyone, let alone a girl he’s known for less than a day, and you’ve never been as close to someone as you are now. A moment passes, and given that you haven’t run for the hills, Alfie took it as a good sign and turned back to face the street, gesturing with his arms.

“So, where are we headed?”

Your first date was at a bar in Camden. Alfie picked you up in his car at eight, swallowing thickly when you opened the door and came out in your finest dress, his pupils blown out like he had done a line of snow. You talked all night and into the morning, drinking glasses of rum and champagne in a gold and blood coloured booth at the back, away from any prying eyes. He listened to everything you said, hung on to every word, and any break in the conversation was filled with soft looks and timid smiles. He was so burly and big and unlike anyone you had ever encountered, hard around the edges but melting in the middle when he looked at you, whilst you were so beautiful and sweet and gentle and unlike any woman he had ever encountered in the smoke of London. When the sun finally rose again and the fatigue was setting in he drove you home, promising to take you out again and you climbed up the stairs like you were in a daydream, squealing with happiness after you watched his car turn a corner and vanish down the road.

You always met up at twilight, somewhere dark and secluded where you could both be alone. It was perfect for you, you needed the privacy, you couldn’t imagine what would happen if your family found out you had begun seeing someone, let alone a man like Alfie. As you got closer, the guilt in your stomach constricted your insides like a python, you despised the lies that came out of your mouth whenever he asked about your family or your past, you hated the way that you erased your family as if you were ashamed of them. You reminded yourself though, as Alfie smiled at you, with wide teeth and shining eyes, that you were doing it for his sake, his protection, but a month or so after you had first gone out, you realised just how little he needed your help.

Maybe you had been naive, maybe you had been so wrapped up in your infatuation that the warning signs had turned into butterflies but you ignored the omens from the start. You were a smart woman, and you had grown up with enough cloak and dagger that you should have seen the signs as they unravelled around you, but you were too swept up in emotion to care.

The first time you noticed something wasn’t right was at work. Edmund had thanked you profusely for the books, running his hands across them as if he was in a trance, fingertips gently tracing the spines. He asked you where you had found them, and you told him that you had been sent them as a gift.

“Well, that’s brilliant.” He said, “You must tell me who, I need to write a thank you letter.”

You nodded, smiling to yourself, “I’ve already got it covered, I don’t have an address though, would you be able to help?”

“Certainly. I’ve lived here my whole life. I might know him.”

“His names Alfie, he owns a bakery and - ”

You watched Edmund pale like he was draining a pint of bitter, his obvious discontent evident on his face, and he held the books limply in his palm as if they had transformed from something magical to evil in mere seconds.

“Edmund are you alright?”

He ignored you, walking around you and shutting the door to his office, peering into the hallway to check you were alone. You were about to question him once again but he opened his mouth first, silencing you with a look that could cut through leather.

“How do you know Mr Solomons?”

You frowned, “We met that day you sent me into Camden, he walked me back to the office.” You spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world but the way that your boss regarded you made your body twist together, worry constricting your airways.

“I know it’s not my place.” Edmund started, his voice barely above a whisper but his words held as much conviction as a punch in the gut. “But you must be careful - ”

“He was perfectly nice, I mean...” You didn’t dare tell him that you had been seeing Alfie for weeks now, the information you had already wanted to keep private suddenly seeming forbidden.

“Rosie. Promise me you will be careful? You can’t trust men like him. He’s dangerous.”

You wanted to ask Edmund who the hell he thought he was policing you as if he was your father, but the way the older gentleman ran a hand through his greying hair and chewed on his lip you stopped yourself from protesting. “I knew I never should have sent you out that day.” He mumbled, and you tried to pry more out of him, but the conversation was over as quickly as it started and he held up his hands and left, leaving you confused and alone.

You made your way to the bakery on a Saturday, Alfie had changed the time of your date from the afternoon to the evening claiming that he was busy with work, but your insatiable need for the truth overpowered the rational part of your brain. It wasn’t hard to find. You retraced your way back to where you had first met, through the park and along the canal, arriving at a bustling market. From there you simply asked for directions from a very hesitant vendor, only promoted with a twenty you shoved into his palm. You would be lying if you said that the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up as you made your way deeper into an alleyway, surrounded completely by men who watched you with greedy eyes.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you noticed the similarities between the bakery and the business back home, the same boat yard with its stagnant smell and looming crates, the workers whose hands were dirty and eyes were distant and the darkness that surrounded you like a robe. You thought about turning around and running back, the knowledge that the perfect bubble you have created would shatter like glass if you continued, wanting nothing more than to stay in your candy coated daydream you had made, but you knew that you had to do this.

You were ignored for the most part as you made your way inside what you assumed was the warehouse, the smell of baked goods and dough hitting you like a steam train. It was a good cover, the first floor completely filled with men rolling and kneading batter between their palms, cases of rolls and loaves packed and ready for shipping, but you knew that it was all false. The men here were heavy set and covered with tattoos, as unconvincing in their aprons as they were likely to break out into song in front of you.

A man spotted you, his head snapping up and voice tight and prickly. “You can’t be back here! Oi!What are you doing?”

You opened your mouth to apologise and ask after Alfie, but before you could a distinctive stentorian voice echoed through the room like a rumbling carriage and you followed it, chasing it down a hidden set of stairs. Your curiosity was piqued, you were nervous but filled with determination to find the man whose voice surrounded you like the ocean, and you smiled as you saw the tops of his curls jutting out from above rows of barrels and kegs. You almost called out his name, but a sharp strike of something metal made you stop in your tracks, the sound so carnal and sickening that you stay rooted on the spot, concealed in the shadows.

“What the fuck are you lot playing at? I’m paying you all good fucking money right, and all I ask for is a bit of fucking respect!”

You lifted your head, trying to angle your vision and get a better view. There were about a dozen men, dressed like militant workers but with their heads bowed in shame. They were lined in a crescent, all cowering from a figure in front of them, strong men shaking like lambs being brought to slaughter.

“That fucking shipment right,” He continued, “It was very valuable and all you fucking pricks had to do was make sure it got there on time, now you’ve made me look like a mug. Am I a fucking mug to you?”

“Boss... I...”

“Shut up.” The voice was so familiar but something inside of you prayed for it to be a case of mistaken identity, especially when another blood curdling thwack echoed around you, and the slump of a body hitting the floor made you gasp. The movement of your inhale made a stray bottle fall from next to you, green glass sparkling as it cracked and shattered onto the floor, the noise making every head snap towards your hiding spot.

You swore you could feel a million eyes on you but any attempt to flee would be futile, having captured the attention of almost every man in the room.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?”

He stepped out from the murk, blood splattered on his white cotton shirt like some kind of abstract painting you could never understand. His hair was loose, tousled from his hands, chains and rings adorning his fingers, catching the light ever so slightly. He looked raw, not hiding behind an expensive suit or lavish grandeur, you would have thought he would have looked softer like this, almost exposed in front of you, but if anything it made him look more powerful, almost... frightening.

It took him barely three strides before he saw you, he was still mumbling under his breath, wiping his hands on a handkerchief in his pocket, the fabric slowly turning red. He lifted his head up, spotting you instantly and faltering, stopping dead in his tracks, his face pale, his eyes glassy. He blinked, softening ever so slightly, he opened his mouth and almost choked on the air, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Ollie.” He said after a minute, and you watched a boy of about Finns age stand by his side immediately, “Take her into the office, alright lad? Let me finish up here.” His words seemed controlled, but you could hear the tremor of anger in his voice and you feel your knees buckle, reminding you of waiting outside the headmasters office when you were a child, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

Ollie approached you, much kinder looking than the rest of the men you had seen working here, and he gently beckoned for you to walk down the final few steps. He guided you into the vast warehouse, his hand hovering behind your back, but never quite touching it. Everyone’s eyes were still on you, questioning and domineering, but you kept your head held high as you passed them. Alfie’s body was blocking most of your view, but you couldn’t help the bubble of surprise that rose in your throat, some kind of strangled squeal escaping when your gaze dropped to the floor, and Alfie spun around immediately.

The man was lying on the ground, probably only a handful of years older than yourself, a pool of crimson laying around his crown like some kind of fucked up halo. Alfie’s eyes never left yours, he swallowed thickly, running a hand over his face as if he could restart his vision and you would no longer be in front of him, safely tucked away at home, away what you had seen. Ollie didn’t hesitate, finally grabbing the small of your back and pushing you forward, down a long corridor and into an office, slamming the door behind the both of you.

Back in the warehouse the tension was thick like a cloak, Alfie’s breathing short and tight, rage coursing through his veins, adrenaline bubbling inside of him. The men kept their eyes trained on the floor, sensing the anger inside of their boss, all of them terrified of being the one who bore the brunt of it.

He cleared his throat, the sound low like a rumbling wave. “If I catch any one of you fuckers looking at the girl - even fucking thinking about her, I will cut your cock off and feed it to my dog. You see her you keep your head down and keep fucking working. Is that clear?”

A chorus of agreements circled around, Alfie was less than satisfied, wanting to drill his message in everyone’s fucking skull, but the thought of you waiting for him, perhaps scared of him, was enough for him to leave his subordinates and find you.

It was silent for a few minutes, you attempted to control your breathing and the unsteady pace of your heart whilst Ollie awkwardly scratched his curls, shifting his weight every couple of seconds and you watched his sock falling down his leg with his movements, a welcome distraction.

“So you’re the girl?” He asked, his voice raising an octave, plucking up the courage to try and out a face to the stories that had been clouding his mind for the past few weeks.

“The girl?” You enquired, tilting your head.

“Yeah. The girl.” He repeated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “The one that Alfie can’t stop...”

Before he could finish the sentence you were dying to hear, the door rattled and swung open, the sound of Alfie’s boots filling the room before he did.

“Fuck off, Ollie.”

You wanted to scold him for his language towards the boy, but that thought quickly dwindled as you felt his presence behind you. Ollie didn’t scurry away like you imagined he might, obviously used to his boss’s harsh tone he instead bid you farewell, smiling kindly as he left the room. Alfie was behind you, not knowing how to approach, not wanting to startle you yet afraid of the silence that surrounded you. You kept your gaze on the mess of papers and files and folders all across the desk, so different to the calm and cleanliness of Tommy’s office, the contrast overwhelming.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He tried to keep as many expletives out of his mouth around you, but his resolve was wearing thin. He walked around the desk, chewing on his upper lip, avoiding eye contact with you and trying to keep his cool, despite the millions of questions he wanted to ask.“You shouldn’t be here, right, how did you even find it? I mean...”

“It’s a distillery!” You interrupted, much more enthusiastically than you had planned, the pieces finally slotting together. His love of rum, the barrels and kegs, the shipyard and the fake bakery, suddenly everything made sense. It was a brilliant cover, and his cunning scheme gave you a newfound respect, and you looked up at him admirably whilst he stared back at you, dumbfounded.

Alfie exhaled loudly like he was deflating, his whole body slumping until he practically fell into his chair, exhausted like he had done laps around the park. He had to admit that he was impressed, and his attraction to you had grown stronger knowing that you had sought him out, and had sussed out his business significantly faster than any of the coppers had, but now this meant that you were tangled up in his web of danger, after he had tried so hard to not let you get involved.

Twisting his neck slightly, he could feel the droplets of stray blood staining his skin, their message loud and as repetitive as an alarm, warning signs telling him to let you go. He had been foolish, he had let you get close, since the very first time you laid eyes on another he knew he was in trouble, and yet the usually artful man had allowed himself to act like a commoner.

“You should go home.” He said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he mulled over his words. “I can have one of my lads drive you.”

“What?”

“You should go ‘ome.” He repeated, “Forget everything you’ve seen today,” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’ll give you something, for the trouble yeah?”

He rummaged around the top drawer of his desk and you gawked at him incredulously, “You’re trying to pay me off?” You asked, your tone false and high pitched.

“How much are we talking?” He continued, ignoring you entirely and sorting through notes in his hand.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

He rifled through the money, fingers moving at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes following the movement, knowing that if he looked at you he was at risk of crumbling. You moved around the wooden desk so you were on the same side as him, slamming your hand onto the edge of the oak, letting the noise speak for you.

He sighed, placing the bribe on the table, halfway between both of you.

“I’m not taking that.” You said, turning your nose up at his ridiculous offer.

“You should.”

You moved closer, and you noticed every time you inched towards him he shifted backwards. You looked at the splatters on his shirt, ruby red like the jewels that adorned his rings, something oddly beautiful despite the brutality. He could feel your eyes on him, knew you were looking at the grim reminder of just what kind of man he was, the kind of man that didn’t deserve something as heavenly and innocent as yourself. Unbeknownst to him you were thinking the opposite, if anything you felt like your connection was strengthened, joined by the sinful things that seemed to follow you like a menacing shadow. Perhaps you were being stupid, you had left Birmingham to get away from the melodrama of your family and here you were wanting to get tangled up with someone potentially just as chaotic, but watching him under the pale yellow lights in his office, you wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

He was trying to push you away, but he had already anchored himself to you. There was something familiar about his actions, the attempts to pay you off and wallow in self pity. You hadn’t come to London looking for anything, but you had found each other, and after years of letting others make your decisions you dug in your heels, you would no longer let your choices be moulded for you, it was your turn to get what you wanted.

“I’m not scared of you.” You said finally, the heat of your gaze and the warmth of your words making him look up, his tongue in his cheek.

“I’ve done bad things.” He argued, and you moved closer, your belly filled with butterflies. You were acting impulsively, edging towards him like the low tide, as if invisible magnets were pulling you towards him. He was following you closely, he prided himself on his ability to be one step ahead of his enemies, but with you he was at a loss, his head swimming when he looked at you for too long, drowning in your aura.

“You were in the war, you couldn’t help it.” You replied.You were almost touching him now, and he pushed back in his chair slightly, allowing you to slip in between his legs, resting on the edge of his desk. The feeling of the wood in your spine the only thing stopping your whole body from going numb from adrenaline.

“The wars ended.” He countered. He wanted to touch you. You were radiating white hot, and he wanted to let his fingertips ignite as he felt your flesh. This wasn’t like at the clubs, there was no noise, no distraction, you weren’t dressed to the nines but you looked just as beautiful, and he wanted to feel the pulse of your heart as he pressed his lips to your throat. You were intoxicating his thoughts, so small and meek and gentle and yet you had him trailing after you like a puppy.

“Not for everybody.” You said, opening your legs a little, letting your knees touch his, an action so delicate yet the effects hitting you both like you had been doused in ice cold water.You were fully clothed and hardly touching and yet you had never been this intimate with someone before, heat contracting from both of your bodies, your words soft like smoke.

“You should leave, it’ll be safer that way.”

You leaned in and you felt him open his mouth to speak, to tell you to stop, but the smell of you and the closeness of your skin made any rational thoughts dissolve inside of him. You had kissed a few boys before, all young and immature and all just a way to anger your brothers, and you were worried you were going to feel inexperienced as you pressed yourself against him, but you didn’t want to keep thinking, you wanted to feel him.Your nose brushed against his, the curls in his beard coarse against your soft skin, his breath on your neck. Your eyes met, his pupils dark and frantic, and you smiled softly and he swore his heart burst, so you pushed yourself onto him, your mouths meeting, and he felt like you were resurrecting him. You slipped on to his lap, and he ran his hands through your hair, any protests or logical arguments for why you should both stop vanishing, melting into one another, warm and soft but also desperate and greedy, like addicts desperate for another hit. You pulled away far too soon for his liking, resting your forehead against his, breath levelling, the rise and fall of your body against his electrifying.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alfie.”

—-——————————————————-

You had always been a fan of summer, loving the heat and the late nights and the wildflowers that bloomed all around you, but you would have happily traded in all those summer evenings for the first winter you shared with Alfie.

It was cold, blisteringly so, leaving you with numb fingers and frost bitten toes but your insides were gooey and warm like melted chocolate, your body ethereal and light. There was no label on your relationship and that suited both of you, but after that magical kiss you shared in the silence of his office it was obvious that the two of you were bound together. Alfie wanted to keep you safe, he was essentially putting a target on your back every time he looked at you, every time he felt himself being drawn to you, but he couldn’t be the bigger man and let you go. He had hazy memories of love, being a teenager and kissing a school friend in a back alley, but those memories were shattered on the front line. As he grew older he preferred visiting a brothel and taking out his frustrations there, he didn’t have time for a relationship, couldn’t allow himself a weakness, but something about you had expelled the lock from around his heart, one he didn’t even know was clasped shut.

You kept your relationship a secret. Alfie knew Camden like the scars that littered his palm, and you’d meet at dusk, roaming through his kingdom without any qualms. To you he was a beautiful enigma, handsome and unpredictable and quick witted, and you longed to uncover all of his secrets. He could be guarded, to his workers he was thunderous, his voice echoing around the walls long after he had finished his rants, but to you he was quiet, wanting to drink in all the words that left your mouth, rather than speak himself.

You’d meet in the morning, walking Cyril through fields when the grass was so icy it hardly moved beneath your boots, Alfie pulling him away from chasing the ducks into the freezing water. His coat would rest on your shoulders when he walked you home from work, leaving the bakery long before he was due to just so he could guide you through the streets, your hands brushing together under the light of the moon.

After hours he led you around the distillery, voice filled with pride as he showed you his magnum opus. He would offer you his rum, feeling like his mouth might tear in half as he laughed when you choked on the flame coloured drink, pulling you into him and tasting his work on your lips, your innocence mixed with his sin. You’d sit in the back room of the warehouse, knees pressed together, him looming over you, his broad shoulders touching the smallness of your own, listening as you talked, his heart racing like he had downed dozens of pints.

Maybe a month or so later, those bitter mornings grew colder, and soon the sky was filled with clouds, thick snowflakes falling onto the streets and covering the pavement with a blanket of ivory. You had been with Alfie, Cyril at your heels, watching the deer run through the park, watching them leap and canter across the heath. It had been snowing lightly, but it wasn’t long before the sky darkened and the gentle dusting turned into a flurry, the wind whipping around you, melted snow covering your clothes. You squealed lightly, Alfie wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, his large body shielding you as Cyril mimicked the deer and attempted to eat the falling droplets. You felt like your whole body was alight, could feel the strong muscles of his stomach as he cradled you, a sense of of comfort and security that you had never experienced before.

“C’mon,Pet,” he muttered into your cheek, hot air against your skin. If he wasn’t holding you so tight you swore your knees would buckle and you’d drop to the floor. “Let’s get you home, you’ll bloody freeze to death out here.”

You both turned on your heels and started the walk back, Alfie slowly intertwining his large fingers with yours. It was a foreign feeling for both of you, Alfie not remembering the last time he had locked hands with someone, but your delicate palm against felt so right it was as if you were meant to be moulded together, like the ivory sculptures he had seen at an art gallery years back. The thought made him falter momentarily, gripping his other hand tighter around his cane, the only affection he had had for years.

You had barely reached halfway, your feet sinking into the snow and the cold attacking any bare flesh you had exposed, before the path in front of you was nothing but a blur of white. You had never seen anything like it, it was beautiful and pure but also unnerving, the streets you had familiarised now unrecognisable, Alfie’s hands in yours the only thing keeping you steady from getting lost yourself.

Alfie stood next to you, running his tongue along his cheek and across the ridges of his teeth. Inside his head was a whirlpool of thoughts, all so strange and unfamiliar he was certain that if he said them aloud they would burn his tongue, but something about the way you felt beside him made him want to fight his usual instincts.

“We can’t go any further, right, we’ll turn into snowmen. Carrot nose and all.” He tried to keep his voice steady, his finger gently touching the redness of your frost bitten nose, feeling himself tighten when you smiled shyly up at him. “Come back to mine.”

————————————————————————

Alfie’s house was nothing like you imagined.

London was so different from Birmingham, it was more advanced in so many ways, the architecture was beautiful and revolutionary, and everywhere you looked was filled with tall buildings and towering structures. You knew he made a lot of money, you could see he ran his business with a firm hand and was obviously reaping the rewards, but you weren’t attracted to his wealth. You liked his artfulness, his dedication, you liked that he never apologised for the man he was, and most of all his underlying kindness that only appeared around you.

Nevertheless you were expecting a flat, probably on the highest floor, overlooking the city below. Perhaps filled with expensive furniture and modern art that decorated the walls, a doorman that required identification before you could leave the reception, but the reality was so much better. He lived in a cottage, just outside of the city, a small walk from the bakery but just far away enough that the noise and bustle stilled for a moment.

Everything was covered in white, but you could see the faint outline of a pebbled path leading to the front door. There was a line of flowerbeds either side of you, filled with overgrown green plants, their leaves drooping from the weight of the snow. The roof was thatched, something you hadn’t seen often and the brickwork was intricate and delicate, and ivy grew along the walls, climbing towards a window.

“It’s beautiful.” You said.

Alfie turned to look at you, finding himself smiling at your childlike wonder. He was rummaging in his pocket for his keys, Cyril impatiently scratching the front door, the big dog grumbling quietly. Alfie stilled. He liked watching you, your face red from the cold, eyes wide, taking in your surroundings. He looked at his house, he had bought it years ago and only used it as a place to eat and sleep, but even then he spent most nights at work, hunched over his desk. It wasn’t a symbol of his accomplishments, he wasn’t a man who dreamt of a manor or mansion, to him he preferred his wealth in other ways, power and order, but seeing you gazing up at it, he took a moment to take it in, appreciating his home in a way he hadn’t before.

He found his key, twisting it in the lock and pushing the door open. He held it for you, letting you walk in first, Cyril at your heels, the warm air cradling your body. You stood on the doormat, wiping your winter boots and trying to dislodge the mound of snow that had settled on your heels as Alfie brushed past you quickly, pulling off his shoes and rubbing his hands together.

“Right, I’m gonna go and put the fire on, alright Dove?”

You tried to not let the effect of his pet name show on your face but your whole body felt as if it was grinning, the term of endearment warming you up quickly. You nodded, tentatively undoing the buttons of your coat, trying your hardest to stop water from dripping onto the floor.

Alfie obviously noticed your struggle, pointing to a door at the far end of the hallway. “The loo is just down there, so you can freshen up and whatnot.” He cleared his throat, “And there’s a drying closet for your wet things and such in there too, you can’t miss it.”

With that he disappeared into a door on his right, and you noticed droplets falling from his jacket to the floor, leaving splotches along the wood. You flexed your fingers unconsciously, feeling goosebumps at the base of your spine, and you rapidly followed his directions, locking yourself in the bathroom he had mentioned.

You sat on the edge of the claw foot tub unlacing your boots, sighing once you pulled them off of your feet and realised your stockings were soaked through. You shrugged off your coat, your scarf and your winter hat, bundling them in your arms as you tiptoed across the oak, making your way over to the drying closet. You hung everything up, placing your shoes upside down the way Polly had taught you when you were a child, pushing the memory away as soon as it came.

You took a moment to catch your breath, looking into the mirror hanging above the sink. You wiped away a few stray flakes of mascara from under your eyes, and patted the apples of your cheeks, hoping for a natural flush of colour to replace the ashen tone the cold had given you. You realised as you caught your reflection in the glass that this was the first time you had been alone in a mans house, but more importantly than that, you didn’t feel scared or uneasy at all. If anything, you felt comfortable and the longer you spent apart the more you craved to be in Alfie’s presence. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, wanting to constantly be around someone, and you wondered if Alfie felt the same.

You slipped out of the bathroom and walked back the way you came, noticing Cyril through a gap in one of the doors, curled up fast asleep on a velvet dog bed. You pushed open the door to the living room, smelling fresh wood and smoke, Alfie’s broad back blocking the view of the fire you could hear roaring behind him.

Alfie felt your presence and turned around, a crooked grin on his face.“There you are! Was worried you had fallen down the bloody plug ‘ole.”

You laughed, rubbing your hands together, the warmth of the fire suddenly noticeable, the heat hitting your body. The room fell into a comfortable silence, Alfie moving to sit on the sofa, gesturing for you to join him. You fell onto him, resting your head on his shoulder and curling your legs underneath yourself. His hand moved to your hair, eyes watching the flames dance as he combed through your locks with his fingers, feeling the softness against him. There were a million things Alfie wanted to say to you as the quiet consumed you both, but the words were stuck in his throat like cotton wool. He wasn’t sure how to articulate himself properly, how to tell you that the last few months had felt as if the soot had left his lungs and that he could feel the rhythm of his heart once again, something that he had thought he had lost a long time ago. He was used to ruling with an iron fist, he knew how to chew someone out, make them submit to him, but handling you, something so delicate, was new territory for him.

He wasn’t great with words, so he didn’t use them. He lifted your head to meet his, cradling you in his large hands, so soft and pure and angelic under the roughness of his calloused palms. His lips met yours, kissing you in a way you hadn’t experienced before, desperate for the feeling of you. He tried to be gentle, he wanted to show his affection in the kiss, wanted to silence any doubts you might have, wanted to show you a different side of him, but you were deadly, the feeling of your lips and your hands and your hair as electrifying as the rum he would drink to numb his thoughts, his very own personal nirvana.

He stopped too soon for your liking, and you felt yourself pout, dragging your swollen lips against his, pleading for more, but one look at the want in your big eyes and he pulled back, shifting so the two of you were apart. You frowned at him, curious for the lack of attention, his eyes flitting around the room and far away from your own.

You moved closer, your hand shifting to his thigh, but pulling back when he jumped, hissing slightly at the feel of your palm against him.

“Alfie?” You asked, leaning up, brushing your lips against his once more. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t, opening his mouth and devouring you, your sweetness tainting his bloodstream. Your foreheads pressed together, and before you knew what you were doing you were in his lap, pressing yourself against him, unsure and inexperienced but full of desire, your hands moving to his hair.

You shifted slightly and Alfie groaned into your mouth, and the sound rang out like a gospel to you but an alarm to him, and he pulled back again once more.

“Pet… Pet, we should stop.”

You were breathless, your voice hoarse. “Why?”

His fingers tentatively grazed the edge of your face, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Because right, this is all moving too fucking fast and I don’t wanna do something you’ll regret later.”

“I’m not going to regret anything.” You said honestly. “I… I want this.” The desperation in your tone was embarrassing and you inwardly cringed, but you were being truthful, you wanted him.

Alfie sighed, running his hand over his eyes. “Look, I know that you’ve never done anything like this before, OK… and I don’t think it would be right if we carried on.”

His words stung and you pulled back, feeling young and foolish and naive. You knew you were inexperienced, but the fact that Alfie could tell you were a virgin made heat prickle along your body.

“You don’t want me?” You asked quietly, so soft like silk but soon turning to flames and scorching Alfie’s skin, turning him frantic.

“No I really, really fucking want you, right, and that’s the problem.” His voice was low, thick with lust that made him feel guilty yet urging him to continue. He felt starved of you, he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything, but the risk was too great. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You glanced up at him, shaking your head. “You won’t.”

“I’m not good, dove, not good for you. You should be with a good man, a kind man.”

“Alfie.” You sighed, ignoring the protests in your head and instead crawling closer, settling between his open legs, watching as he took a sharp breath. “You are a good man.” You pressed your lips to his neck, around his throat and at the bottom of his jaw, your face brushing against his course hair. He had never been touched so delicately, you felt angelic under him, like some kind of messenger from God designed to make him weak, make him crumble.

He was done being patient.

His hands wove around your waist, careful but longing, running his fingers over you like you were sacred. “When I look at you I can’t think straight, and that’s bad news for a dangerous man like me.” He whispered into your hair, his words made you melt onto him, making him stiffen and cradle you, the feeling so euphoric.

Your eyes met and you smiled at him and he knew he was done for.

“Alfie, take me to bed.”

—————————————————————

The sun was setting, you could see the colours through Alfie’s window. Pink and purple coloured the sky like streaks of paint, the world going dark. Alfie was next to you, your head on his chest, and you felt warm and comfortable, your body alight. He ran his finger along your spine, liking the feeling of your skin reacting to his touch, goosebumps rising as he circled and traced patterns along your flesh.

He had never felt like this before, it wasn’t a simple fuck or a drunken mistake, and as he looked down at you, watching the slow movements of your breath, he realised that he had never let a woman sleep in his bed. He was fucked. He wanted you, needed you, he didn’t know why, but something had brought you together that day, he was sure of it. He never allowed himself to have a weakness, something that his enemies could manipulate and destroy, but you were like a drug to him, and he was a hopeless addict.

He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to say that you drove him mad and made him weak, but he couldn’t muster up the words, they felt ridiculous on his tongue and he felt like a child. So instead, he used the tactic that worked best, control. He knew he would never own you, you were not his possession or his property but he wanted you to understand that now you were bound to him, that he didn’t want you to leave, that he wanted you by his side.

“דו ביסט מייַן” He said, words running over you like warm honey.

You tilted your head, “What does that mean?”

“You’re mine.”

You blinked up at him, drowsy and content and happy. “And you’re all mine?”

He scoffed, his boyish tone returning, booming and full of life. “Course I am Pet, been yours since the very first time you fuckin’ looked at me.”

You both laid in silence, mulling over the sentences separately, bare skin against one another, an owl hooting in the distance. You relaxed, closing your eyes, your body aching and sore but in such a delicious way that you wanted to savour forever. You felt the bed dip, Alfie reaching over and slapping your thigh playfully and greedily, completely enamoured by you.

“Right, shall I put a cup of tea on, Rosie?”

Rosie. The name hit you like a slap in the face, making you feel pale and sick and faint. All of the lies you had told swam in your head, great white sharks of guilt gnawing at your skull. You had given yourself to this man, felt him above you, kissed his skin, giggled into his shoulder, moaned into his mouth. He trusted you, and yet he barely knew who you were. You looked at him, completely bare in the dim light of the room, so big and burly but kind and silly. You didn’t want to lose him, you didn’t want to be without him, you didn’t want your family destroying the one thing that finally made you feel something.

“Yeah, a cup of tea sounds lovely, Alf.”

#alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #alfie solomons oneshot

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose, Part Four

Nasicus’s home wasn’t hard to find. She haunted the south end of the yard, and the pasture and hayfield beyond. The ground was marshy in spring but otherwise firm, the soil sandy. The entrance to her den, the ruins of a ground squirrel burrow, was partly covered with leaves, but there was no mistaking the snake trail in and out. Nor the smell. Havel, though hardly six hundred, had insisted on coming, arguing Nasicus would be less likely to fight a larger group.

Ella stamped the ground. There was no answer. “Either she is out hunting,” she said, “or she is wary.” She tapped the silver disc on her helm, and it glowed to life. Meline spoke a word, and the emerald tip of her staff shone with a rich green light. Havel did the same with the quartz crystal on his own helm.

“We should stay together,” Ella said. She drew her silver shortsword, and shifted the crystal shield from her back. Havel echoed her.

“Agreed,” Meline said. “And we should watch every passage.”

Ella glanced over at her. “You’re certain you don’t want even a chain corselet?”

Meline swished her mantle, and vanished from sight. “I have my own defences.” She kissed Ella’s cheek. “But thank you for worrying. Shall we continue?”

“Yes. I’ll lead.”

It had been sizable ground squirrels who excavated this burrow. Meline could walk normally. The odd root where the panelling had fallen in brushed Ella’s helm, but only Havel had to bend forward.

The burrow branched off many times, winding about rocks and tree roots. The whole place reeked of snake, but aside from the remains of a few meals, there was no hint of the serpent herself.

Normally, Meline had no problem underground, even in the tightest spaces; she was an earth fairy, after all. But that fearful part of her mind, vividly remembering her encounter with Thamnophis a decade ago, had her stepping lighter than a gnat. The slight jingle of Ella and Havel’s hauberks might conceal the whisper of scale on earth.

“I’ve been in the burrows of several ground squirrels,” Meline said, to steady her nerves, “and this might be the most extensive I’ve ever seen. I mean,” she raised an invisible hand, “we’ve been traipsing about down here for over an hour.”

“This burrow has been here for some time,” Ella said, her head doing a slow back-and-forth across the tunnel as she spoke. “I remember when Oswald Oldrey lived here, generations ago by the measure of his kind. Many creatures have lived here since the last of his descendants left. Nasicus is only the latest occupant.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Meline.”

“For?”

There was a fork in the burrow. Ella stopped at it. “For waiting so long before doing this. I should have forbidden all the dangerous creatures in my lands from harming the fey long, long ago.” Her shoulders sagged. “If even a single child had been hurt by my thoughtlessness…”

Meline sighed. “The important thing,” she reached forward and squeezed Ella’s sword-hand, “is that you’re doing it now. You’re trying to be better. And no one’s gotten hurt yet.”

“Yes,” Ella said, “I suppose you’re right.” She turned to the left. “Come, let’s press on.”

It happened with blinding speed. Ella’s shield shifted away from Meline as she turned. The beam of Havel’s gem had already turned down the left passage. In the diffuse light of her gem Meline saw the briefest flash of movement, and agony ripped through her as six dozen knife-sharp teeth buried themselves in her right arm, shoulder, and side.

She dropped her staff. In that berserk pain, an old, old part of her knew she couldn’t properly strike with it, not in this tunnel. A single word blazed in her pounding heart, and she willed her bones not to break.

She twisted, wrenching the holes in her flesh, and drove her left fist into the serpent’s skull. A ripple of pain shot up her left arm, too, but Nasicus let go, crumpling in a scaly heap.

“Are you alright?” Ella was in front of her, pulling back the now-punctured mantle. Meline reached up—gritted her teeth against the fire—and undid the mantle. Blood was starting to stream from the holes.

She felt a rough sting from the wounds in her back. She tried to turn her head, failed, and merely turned her eyes. Havel’s substantial hand pressed the dirt of the passage into each puncture. The wounds he’d already treated were quieting.

“It’s a good thing,” she said, turning back to Ella, “that all any fairy needs to heal a wound is her own element.”

“Venoms and curses are another story,” Ella said, wiping at her eyes with one hand as she scraped up a handful of sandy soil in the other. “Just be glad hognoses have neither.”

Once they’d packed all the wounds, Ella and Havel helped Meline to her feet. “I’m sorry to say,” Ella said, holding up the mantle, “but I think this is finished. Shall we make a sling from it?”

“By all means,” Meline said, cradling her arm, “But maybe leave that to Havel.” She gestured to Nasicus with her foot.

Ella nodded. There was a carefulness to her movements as she picked up her sword that made Meline think she was reining in a ferocious violence. She turned to the crumpled pile of Nasicus, coils of whom stretched back around the twist in the right-hand passage.

“Up!” she barked. “I know you play dead when a stronger creature happens along! Rise, taste my anger on your forked tongue, and pray to Oberon I find a scrap of mercy in my heart!”

Nasicus stirred with suspicious speed. Havel wordlessly pressed Meline’s staff into her left hand; she touched his arm in thanks. The she-snake’s mouth was wider than Ella’s shoulders, but she coiled herself up as small as she could.

“You were moving down my egg-passage,” Nasicus said. “I acted unwisely.”

“I am your lord, and you know it!” Ella’s voice was cold. “And you tried to kill my tenant, one as much under my protection as you are. Before my very eyes.” Her sword bounced in her hand. “What possessed you to strike with such gall?”

Nasicus pressed herself against the ground. “Spare my eggs, please, my lord. And spare me.”

Ella took a deep breath, so deep and slow Meline wondered if it would ever stop. “I will not kill you today, Nasicus,” she stepped forward, “if you agree to bind yourself to me. You may eat the creatures of Gaea, as you and your kind must, in order to live. But try to eat any member of the fey again,” she knelt, her sword prickling Nasicus’s throat, “and as your lord, I will carve your head from your trunk, and spread your blood about the borders of my lands, so all serpents know what happens to fey-eaters. Am I clear?”

Nasicus wilted. “Yes.”

Ella stood. “Do you accept your binding?”

“I accept.”

“Hold out your tail,” Ella said. Her words were iron bars. Nasicus seemed to ripple, and her tail wound its way up the passage toward them. Ella took it in one hand, and pricked it. Nasicus looked as though she didn’t dare twitch.

A drop of blood fell on the blade. Ella began to speak, words which only she and Nasicus could hear. The blood glowed every colour, then floated away from the blade, and re-entered the wound, which closed as if the scales had never been pierced.

“There is another side to this,” Ella said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “If you are in need, and still name my land your home, you may call upon my help when in dire need, if you or yours are threatened.

“I have spared your life. Don’t waste it.” She took back her shield, and gestured for Havel to take the lead back up the length of the burrow. It was a walk in utter silence, but for the softest tramping of their feet.

“Shall we head home?” Ella said once they had emerged into the warm summer night. She laughed when Meline and Havel nodded. “You can speak. The danger has passed!” As they started back to Oakhill she took Meline’s hand. “How are your wounds?”

Meline caught herself before she shrugged. “They’ll probably be better in a few months.” She met Ella’s gaze. “You were perilous down there.”

“I was perilous?” Ella laughed again. “Who struck Nasicus such a blow the ground shook?”

“What? No!” Meline said, taking Ella’s hand with her own and giving a squeeze. Ella feigned as if her hand broke, and Meline smacked her with her good hand. “I just wanted her to let me go.”

“The earth did tremble, though,” Havel said. “I barely saw it, Miss Meline, but if you’d hit the tunnel wall, you would’ve buried us.”

“Then it’s a good thing I can aim,” Meline said with a smile.

Ella stood stunned, then barked with laughter. “One day,” she kissed Meline on the cheek, “you’ll have to tell me your whole story.”

“And one day,” Meline said as she leaned against Ella—she had sustained a serious bite, after all, “you’ll be ready to hear it.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #the wild rose #part 4 #chapter 18 #all ages #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #fairy tales #family #healing #iyashikei #lgbtq+ #magic #romance #strong female protagonists #women

[twdeadfanfic]

Silent, fast, and lethal Pt.7

Daryl Dixon x Reader

*Summary:  The reader is very good at sneaking, moving fast and silent, lethal with her knives. She lost her camp and is wanfering the woods when she finds Maggie and Glenn being attacked by some men and she helps them, sneaking not only on the men but also on Daryl, leaving everyone impressed with her skills, and she’s taken in into the prison. Badass but rather insecure reader and shy, confused Daryl.

Slow-burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smoking, language and violence twd style. (Request turned mini-series of eight chapters)

3887 words

Chapters: 7/8

Link to masterlist with more  stories in the info of this blog.

This story ends next chapter!!

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

Things with Daryl were slow.

At first, it felt like nothing had changed between you two, you’d wake up and go out hunting or training with him, or on a run, and then you’d be back and maybe get the kills ready together or each of you would go on their way to do chores. He’d sat down next to you during dinner, and after that then most nights you both would watch the stars sat down on a table.

But there were some little differences here and there, more and more each passing day, like when you caught him staring at you sometimes and then he’d smile and look down, blushing, making butterflies flutter in your belly as you smiled bashfully. His eyes looking for you when he walked in somewhere he thought you might be, nodding to you and smiling when he found you.

There were some little touches too, that grew more and more each day. Your hand on his as you walked out of the prison and towards the woods until you began tracking or training. His hand on your thigh sometimes during dinner as you sat next to each other, when he hadn’t seen you in a while that day or when he seemed to think you were too thoughtful. When you sat together on the table at the yard at night, his arm found his way around you and you’d snuggle to his chest, or maybe he’d rest his head on your shoulder when he was tired or worried, smiling when you kissed the top of his head and hugged him.

Slowly, you felt more confident about kissing him, placing little kisses on his forehead or cheeks sometimes, just because, which more often than not seemed to confuse him but he always smiled shyly when you did it. He’d began doing it too, as if picking it up from you, casual kisses on your forehead or cheeks that made your heart flutter. Whenever he kissed your lips you always melted, and as days passed, his kisses were less and less spare as if he got used to this new thing between you two.

So things with Daryl moved slow, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love every second of it, as you let him set the pace he felt like, not rushing any of you into anything.

It took you some weeks to gather the courage to ask him to stay the night with you in your cell, since he always walked you to your cell at night and kissed you goodbye, but never hinted at wanting to go inside. But after you did and he joined you in bed that first night, he didn’t miss a night of sleeping next to you. You found that he loved cuddling, as he would snuggle to you each night, loving your arms around him, and whenever he fell asleep on you, you felt as if your heart would burst of love.

There was still that fear at the back of your mind of him deciding one day that he didn’t want you to be together anymore, that he actually did only want you as a friend, that you weren’t enough, or weren’t what he wanted. That maybe he didn’t love you the way you loved him. But when Daryl snuggled to you, or kissed you, or looked at you on a certain way, it helped you feel less insecure.

Around four months had passed since that first time Daryl kissed you and you were yet another morning with him on the woods. You were sat down on the ground with him lying down with his head on your lap, his eyes closed as you played with his hair. You knew he was tired, although he hadn’t said anything.

He hadn’t joined you in bed until late last night, when you were already asleep, as he’d been with Glenn planning a big run to which you both would go in about a couple of days, along with a big group. You all had found the place during another run, a big supermarket that was a jackpot, but it could be dangerous and it needed a lot of planning, so that was what him and Glenn, probably Maggie too, had been doing during most part of the night. His mind had still seemed on it when he joined you in bed, tossing and turning, waking you up, but you had held him to you, stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

You thought Daryl might be now falling asleep but he opened his eyes to smile at you and then turned his head to nuzzle into your belly. You smiled softly until his nuzzling turned into tickling and you squirmed.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned him and he chuckled.

Tickling you seemed to be one of Daryl’s favorite pastimes. You kept training to sneak on him when you were out in the woods, and when you did, you’d hug him, but whenever he managed to notice you and grab you, he’d tickle you until you laughed enough to cry. Once, you had gotten so loud that walkers had actually stumbled to you, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, both of you putting down the walkers swiftly.

Whenever Daryl managed to make you laugh like that, he’d end up kissing you deeply, leaving you breathless again. You felt those were the times when he allowed himself to be freer around you, whenever it was just you two out there alone and away from everything, and you had to admit there was something special about knowing you were alone and out of the fences of the prison, only the two of you surrounded by nature, when there weren’t walkers around to mess everything.

“I want to hunt a buck,” Daryl said out of the blue. “It’s being a while since the last time we got venison and it’d feed us for some days.”

“There aren’t many deer around, are they?” You had but seen two in all your months going out with Daryl.

“Not close to the prison, they’re scared of the walkers and of us, but I think I could find some further away.” Daryl closed his eyes again and he nuzzled into your hand so you began playing with his hair again. “I’m going to try tomorrow, want to come with me?”

“You know I do.”

“We could stay the night out here, go further than we usually do,” Daryl said, eyes closed as he enjoyed your fingers on his hair.

On one side, the idea of being a night alone with him, far from everyone, sounded perfect, but on the other, it might not be as lovely as you daydreamed it if you had to be alert all night so walkers wouldn’t get you. Anyway, you felt safe when you were with Daryl, and both of you had dealt with groups of walkers before together, so you should be good, and if that meant spending more time alone with Daryl, you’d do it, walkers were damned.

“Okay, but we have to take turns to take watch, I’m not letting you stay all night awake, you hear me?” Daryl opened his eyes, looking at you with a smirk, and you were sure that was something you were going to argue about.

“I was thinking…I found this cabin a long while ago, it’s kind of old and there aren’t supplies or anything in it anymore. But it should be safe enough to stay the night, walkers can’t get in. We could stay there.”

Spending a night alone in a cabin with Daryl? Yes, it sounded like heaven.

“Sounds like holidays.”

Daryl chuckled. “Not holidays, we have to come back with a deer.”

“Still, sounds perfect, I’d love it…when did you say are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow?” Daryl grinned at your eagerness, and you nodded, excited.

“Tomorrow is it.”

As Daryl had said, the cabin was old, abandoned long ago, and there was barely any furniture left. It was rather tiny too, a single room that served both as living room and kitchen, and at some point it might have been a bedroom too. But it’d be safe enough for the night.

Daryl had hunted some squirrels on your way there and he planned to spend next day tracking deer around the cabin, until it was time to go back home. You spent the hours left before the sundown training with Daryl and listening to him as he told you things about tracking deer, following him around as he thought for the best spots to follow next day in the morning.

When the sun went down, you both walked back to the cabin. The windows were safely closed, someone had nailed them and couldn’t be opened. There was no way to lock the door, though, but Daryl and you pushed a heavy bookshelf, empty of books or anything now, against the door, keeping it close. Once the cabin was secured, you spread on the floor the sleeping bag and blanket you had taken with you while Daryl heated a can of soup. You talked for a bit after dinner, in the darkness of the cabin, until Daryl lied down on the sleeping back, pulling you down to lie next to him.

You left him pull you close and then shifted until you straddled him, leaning over him to kiss him. It was the first night you both had out of the prison and in a safe enough place, without everyone else around, and you planned to make the most of it.

Next morning, you woke up when Daryl pulled himself away from you. You opened your eyes and saw him sitting down on the sleeping bag, reaching out to grab his boots. You ran your hand down his bare back, stroking his skin and the scars there, you could barely make them in the dimly illuminated room, but you could feel them. Daryl looked at you over his shoulder, smiling and shifting to lean over you and kiss your lips.

“You can sleep longer if you want,” he told you, pulling away from you again. “I’ll go hunting alone, I’ll come back once I got a deer.”

“No.”You began to sit up, reaching out for your clothes. You didn’t like him going alone, no matter you knew he had done it a hundred times before, and you had wanted to spend more time with him. “No, I’ll with you.”

“Alright.” Daryl nodded, giving you another soft smile. “Come on, then.”

In the end, Daryl got what he wanted, hunting a big buck that you got back to the prison that day, struggling under its weight. It’d feed you for days, but that same night you all dined on roasted venison, a change from your usual stews, and you couldn’t help your smile as everyone congratulated and thanked Daryl on his hunt, no matter it made him all flustered and embarrassed. If something, he was as adorable as humble. You had gotten pretty lucky, you knew.

Life was good, it’s was pretty good.

*

As the car sped up towards the prison, you couldn’t believe that just a couple days ago you’d been following Daryl as he tracked deer until he managed to hunt and bring back to the prison a big buck, staying in that cabin with him, the two of you alone, having the best days you remembered in a long, long while…

So many things had gone wrong since then in such a little time. First the run gone wrong in which you lost Zach, then some of the fences of the prison falling down pushed by walkers, and then almost at the same time, the murder of Karen and David, and the deadly fly that had spread through the prison, leaving most of the people bedridden and creating chaos as the ones that died came back as walkers.

And so you were now with Daryl and some of the others in a car after having managed to get some medicine that might help, driving back to the prison as fast as possible, pushing against time, hoping it wasn’t too late. Once in there, you all rushed to get Hershel the medicine, helping around as so everyone who was ill could have their share. It was a frantic couple of hours, but after it, Hershel was positive the people would recover.

You had been checking on Glenn, who had fallen seriously ill too but who, according to Hershel, would recover, and you went looking for Daryl, who had been helping around too. You found him at the corridor, lying over the railing of the stairs, head rested on his arms.

“Hey,” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him, snuggling yourself against his back. “We made it.” Daryl turned around to wrapped his arms around you to hold you. He was serious, despite the fact that you had just managed to help everyone, and you frowned, worried. “There’s something wrong?”

Daryl nodded, but for a few seconds he didn’t say anything. “It’s Carol. It was she who killed Karen and David."

“What?” You didn’t know her as deeply as Daryl, but still you couldn’t imagine something like that.

“Thought she’d stop the illness that way, or that’s what Rick says. He found out so he drove her away, left her somewhere alone with supplies…” Daryl seemed thoughtful and worried. You knew how much his best friend meant to him, how deep and important his relationship with Carol was, how she had always been there for him…you could only guess how much this could be affecting him, but you didn’t know what to say, you still found it hard to believe. “But she can’t be out there alone, ain’t easy to survive alone anymore and Rick just left her…”

“We can take the bike, drive to where he left her, we can try and find her. We can bring her back. We can talk to the council…” You listed everything you could think about, even though you weren’t very sure it’d work.

If Rick didn’t tell you where he’d left Carol, you weren’t sure Daryl and you could find her on your own, or Carol might have left the place already. And if you managed to bring her back, you were afraid the council might send her away anyway…she had killed two of your own after all. You yourself didn’t know what to think about that. If it was true, then it was horrible and something had to be done…but you couldn’t stand the worry and sadness in Daryl’s eyes.

“We’ll fix this,” you whispered, reaching out to brush his hair away from his face and run your knuckles across his cheekbone.

Daryl didn’t say anything, just pulled you closer to him, hiding his face in the crook of your shoulder. You kissed his temple but before you could say anything, the building shook with an explosion. You pulled back, startled and scared, looking wildly around as everyone ran out of their cells. Daryl kept you firmly at his side as he tried to find what was going on, but nobody seemed to know anything, and so you both made your way to the yard.

There was a big group of people outside the fence, a man, who as you heard was the so-called Governor, was standing in front of them with Michonne and Hershel on their knees, and they all had shotguns and even a tank. Rick went to talk with him while Daryl passed around shotguns and rifles in case things turned wrong.

They turned wrong. They turned beyond wrong.

It had to be a nightmare.

You had seen the Governor behead Hershel in front of your eyes. Bullets had flown everywhere, both from the Governor’s men and your people, but the tank had relentlessly pushed forward, shooting at your walls and bringing down the fences, letting in both the men and the walkers that always were there, while the sound attracted more.

Everyone was running around and you had lost sight of Daryl as you first shoot at the men that approached you and then at the walkers that tried to get to the people who were running to the bus to evacuate. You were strangely calm, considering everything that was going on around you, but you had your mind focused on just one thing, keep everyone safe, and you were focused only on that. Once the people got into the bus you went looking for Daryl, shooting at the men and walkers that you found on your way until you ran out of bullets and switched to your knives.

You didn’t allow any doubt to creep into your mind as you knew you needed to stay focused on your task. The words of the friend who had trained you, so long ago, back to your mind now. Focus, don’t get distracted, focus on your feet, your knives. You had to be silent, quick, lethal. You had to think only on your task, your goal, on how to get to it. You had repeated those words again and again as you trained back then, and now they were bound to become your mantra again.

You couldn’t let yourself think about your people being massacred. You couldn’t let yourself think on Daryl dying. Focus. Keep going.

“Hey! Y/N!” You turned around, taken away from your thoughts, when heard your name and you saw Mark with another couple of people. “Come on, walkers are everywhere, we have to leave, the bus left already.”

“No, no I’m not leaving without Daryl!” You shook your head, looking around for him.

“Guessed so.” Mark gave you a weak smile although his eyes looked wild and scared. “I saw him and Beth running away from a group of walkers, that direction.” He pointed. “We’re gonna try and follow the bus, hope walkers will stay here. Once you find Daryl, follow that road, we’ll try to have the bus wait for everyone in a safe place.”

“Okay!”

Walkers had closed on you on the short time you’d been talking and you helped them put them down before they ran to the road and you towards the direction Mark had pointed you. You saw some walkers dead on the ground and you could only hope Daryl and Beth had put them down. You kept running and running, beyond the prison fences, following the dead walkers you saw here and there, putting down those who got to close as you kept going relentlessly, getting into the woods.

You ran until your lungs felt like burning and your legs couldn’t hold you anymore, trying to put as much distance as possible between you and the sea of walkers that were invading the prison. You fell down onto your knees, panting as you looked around. There weren’t bodies of walkers around anymore. No sight of Daryl and Beth. You didn’t know what to do.

You wish you knew how to track like Daryl, so you could find their trail. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but you didn’t know where to go or what to do. The only thing that you knew was that you couldn’t let yourself doubt. You had a task to do and you needed to stay focused on that.

Daryl was alive. He had to. He was there, somewhere. You had to find him. Or you’d die trying.

You allowed yourself a few minutes to rest, and you tried to stop your mind from wandering but you couldn’t. Your home was gone again. Men had destroyed and now walkers had infested it, as they did to your old camp, killing your friends. How many of your new people had died today? You had seen their bodies.

You were alone again.

A whimper escaped lips but you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, you couldn’t allow yourself to cry. But you felt too lost, too scared, too devastated not too. Since stepping into that prison, it’d seemed like the safest place left, a place that would never crumble down, and somehow that was now gone. You had made friends there, and now you didn’t know where they were, if they were safe or not.

Daryl… you knew you loved him, but you didn’t think it had ever felt as raw as it did now, tearing your heart as you didn’t know where he was, if he had made it or not, if you would ever see him again. The pain was overwhelming and you shook as you tried not to sob.

No. No.

Daryl had made it. He was somewhere, keeping Beth safe. You’ll find him. You had to. Focus, don’t think about anything else. Focus only on keep going.

That thought was what kept you going for the next days, as you tried to keep your mind blank of anything that wasn’t to keep moving. You found a car, but obviously someone had been there before and you couldn’t find anything useful, though you managed to get some cord that allowed you to set a not-that-safe camp at night in the woods, similar to what you had done long ago, after running away from your old camp.

One night, you managed to catch a rabbit with a rudimentary trap, that fed you, and when you were so thirsty you thought you couldn’t keep going, you stumbled onto a stream and drank so much that your belly hurt. You were surviving, but for what.

You still couldn’t find any sign of Daryl, no trail, not him, nothing, and neither anyone else that might have run away from the prison. A voice in your head, louder each day, kept telling you that you would never find him, but you shut it down. You wouldn’t stop. You’d die there in those woods, alone, but you wouldn’t stop looking.

The only clue as to where someone else might be was when you saw a column of smoke raising from somewhere and you followed it until the walkers that were drawn to it were too many to put them down yourself and you were forced to run away. You lost track of time, but you knew several days had passed, and each one was harder to ignore that stubborn voice in your head, until you couldn’t do it anymore.

You broke down in the middle of nowhere one morning, after a night of nightmares, and you fell onto your knees as you lose your fight against tears. You couldn’t find anyone, your friends were gone, either dead or lost to you forever as each of you had run to different places. Daryl was gone. Hadn’t he looked for you? Hadn’t he tried to track you, find you, as you had done? Maybe he hadn’t cared, maybe he had run without looking back, without giving you a thought.

Either way, you wouldn’t see him or any of the others again. Either way, you were alone again. Nobody would find you this time. You would die there in the woods alone. You didn’t know if you ever cared about that.

You were so lost in your grieve, sobbing and crying, your guard down and your instinct low, that you didn’t notice someone approaching you quietly until a hand grabbed your wrist painfully.

“Claimed.”

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon/reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fix #daryl dixon & reader #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fic #twd imagine #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #daryl imagine #daryl #darylxreader #daryl x reader #daryl&reader #daryl & reader #daryl/reader #daryldixonxreader #daryldixon/reader #daryldixon&reader

[anonsally]

Day 67 of COVID-19 shelter-in-place

More Adulting and birdwatching today!

Today was the first time this week I didn’t have to get up at any particular time, but I didn’t sleep absurdly late. 

I had intended to go get a couple of vaccines this morning. My doctor’s office has the phlebotomist administer shots, without an appointment, but sometimes there’s a long wait. So I phoned to see if it was a good time but was told that those specific vaccines were not sufficiently urgent to justify my going in, and that I should wait for the shelter-in-place order to be lifted. Which ... is definitely in direct contradiction with the county’s shelter-in-place order FAQ: “Under the Order, all medical services, including routine and preventive care, are considered essential. This includes, but is not limited to, mental health services, immunizations, well-woman exams, allergy shots, eye exams, physical therapy, and surgeries. Preventive and non-urgent care should generally not be deferred.” The guy also seemed to think the shelter-in-place order was only through the end of this month, but it has been extended indefinitely according to the county’s website. So I guess I’ll try again in another week or two and see if they’ll let me do it.

In any case, I did run a different medical errand (picking up the results from a diagnostic test I had done a few months ago to send to a specialist), so the morning wasn’t a total wash. 

I got some good work done in the afternoon, and I had a nice virtual coffee break with @llamapunk. 

After work I went for a walk, including a brief section of naturey area between some houses and a highway. For the first half of my walk, I hardly saw any birds at all. I was a little disappointed, as I’d brought my binoculars, but I was also trying to get a bit more exercise on this walk than one gets while looking at birds, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Still, I was sorry not to see a single Steller’s jay, even though I’d seen several yesterday. 

On my way home, though, I stopped at a house that has 3 bird feeders in its front yard, only partially obscured by hedges; the birds flit in and out of the street trees to the feeders. I had a pretty good view of some lesser goldfinches, chestnut-backed chickadees, oak titmice (so cute!), and probably a few other small birds too. 

I also spotted an enormous raccoon trundling across the street. The sun wasn’t even down yet!

Then, as I was passing the priory, I spotted the woodpeckers making their way up the trunk of one of the trees! I got a good look through my binoculars and was able to confirm that they were definitely Nuttall’s woodpeckers. That was very satisfying, especially since I have no record having seen those before. 

When I got back from my walk, Poppet and Widget greeted me enthusiastically out front, but a squirrel on the street tree scolded me. 

For dinner, I reheated the last of the ratatouille I’d frozen from last fall. I figured the ingredients will be in season again soon so I should eat this one before it’s possible to make a new one!

I have also done more Adulting: I filed a whole pile of papers that had been accumulating since before the shelter-in-place began, and in the process found some papers I was looking for.

#personal #epidemiology #birdwatching #food #even though there is no picture of food here #tagging food posts because ramadan #wildlife #grown-up

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 3

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary:  Ienzo has an unexpectedly insightful interaction with Demyx, only to fall ill.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

After another fifteen hour day of getting nothing accomplished, of feeling Even and Ansem silently seething at one another… Ienzo walked. He needed some peace, some time to decompress. Perhaps he should take up meditating. He did so miss Zexion’s ability to simply push away negative thoughts.

Negative emotion is natural. Then why can’t you deal with it, Even?

It might have been years since he lived at this castle, but the muscle memory was intense; he took himself to one of his favorite childhood haunts without quite realizing. The crystal greenhouse had been abandoned and emptied even when he was a boy, forgotten in staff changeovers by the groundskeepers. When he needed to escape the others’ wittering over him, easier to come here than to hide in the library, because there they knew to find him. At one point he’d had it rather nicely tricked out, squirreling away blankets and pillows, favorite storybooks, the odd toy he’d found or been given. Just to sit in silence for a time might be enough.

But when he got there, to his surprise and indignation, someone was already there. A faint flush of rage brought the blood to his face. An enormous castle and my one space is desecrated. I suppose this is karma, isn’t it? Out of curiosity, or, he figured, apprehension, he took a few more steps towards the shed, trying to keep his tread light. (Ienzo was also much clumsier than Zexion. This made absolutely no sense to him--perhaps a defect in the inner ear post recompletion?)

It clicked, and he wasn’t sure if his irritation worsened or lessened. He could hear the soft, light, unique sound of Demyx’s sitar.

Some force seemed determined to shunt them into the same room. Why? And was it worth investigating?

He knocked on the closed crystal door. It needed a good cleaning, like everything else here. He couldn’t see clearly, just Demyx’s shape, the way he started a little at the unexpected intrusion. “It’s Ienzo,” he said. Always weird to hear that name, to say it. “Sorry to frighten you.”

Demyx stood and opened the door. He seemed loath to meet Ienzo’s eyes, his energy immediately and noticeably lower than it usually was. “How’d you find me?”

“Believe it or not--this used to be my childhood hideout.”

He considered this. “All that stuff was yours, then,” he said. He laughed a little. “Figured it was some gardener’s kid.”

“Out of curiosity--what did you do with it?”

He shrugged. “A lot of the books were waterlogged, the blankets and stuff moldy or eaten by bugs and stuff. I had to toss it. I’d say come in--but this is more your space than mine, right?” He turned away from Ienzo, settling back down onto a tasseled cushion. Arpeggio sat idly, nakedly, between them. He rested his hands on his knees.

Ienzo took it all in slowly. Demyx had left some things here too; a succulent, a lantern, a few books of staff paper, some more cushions, a threadbare rug covering the cold stone floor. He realized that he must have been coming here for some time.

“Sit down, if you want,” he said, in that same tired voice. “Might as well, if you came all the way over.”

Ienzo did so. The cushion was lumpy, but his feet were glad for the relief. “Why here?” he asked. “Out of all the places you could go? I’m… curious.” Ienzo noticed his eyes for the first time; namely, that they were red, damp, a bit swollen.

“Well… mostly, to find somewhere I could practice in peace,” he said. “Dilan told me off. Said he could hear me through the walls--the guy must have the best hearing alive. The stone is so thick. Anyway, I… started looking. Not much of anything better to do, and… exploring this place gave me something to look forward to. I saw this place, the stuff. So I sat down. Turns out crystal has pretty good acoustics. Listen.” He reached over and plucked one open string; Ienzo heard the sound ring cleanly in the small space. “And that was that. You could… have it back.”

He shook his head. “That’s not necessary. Why am I entitled to things after a long absence?”

Demyx shrugged.

He was almost loath to ask it, but then he thought of what Kairi said over their tea. “Are you… alright? You don’t seem yourself.”

“Kinda too tired to put on the happy-go-lucky act. Sorry.”

This only confirmed Ienzo’s suspicions. “So it’s an act. All of it?”

Demyx looked vaguely caught. “I guess… some of it must be me, for it to have been here so long. But lately things have gotten… harder. For no reason.” He wrinkled his nose. “Finding that energy to be who I was is… a lot. Especially after a long day of work.”

“Who are you now?”

A smirk. “I could say the same. If this happened this months ago, me in your space, you would have dropped some very choice dry insults and tattled on me to Saïx or Xemnas. Now you’re just sitting here talking to me.”

Ienzo felt something unraveling. Demyx knew all too well his identity crisis. Unlike Even, or Dilan, or Aeleus, they didn’t have the benefit of being alive until adulthood prior to becoming Nobodies. Demyx’s tenure might have been less than half of his, his misdeeds not nearly as egregious, but he could still relate. “Being Ienzo… is…” He didn’t want to get personal, but the words threatened like vomit.

“Being a person is a fucking nightmare,” Demyx said simply.

He actually laughed--not a chuckle, but a hard laugh. “Right you are.”

He smiled a little, the dullness retreating just a touch. “My feelings seem too big for my body,” he admitted. “At least I still have Arpeggio, so I can try and play them. But I’m not used to being a wreck.”

“What is it you feel?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I really want to know. I wonder if our experiences might be… similar.”

He let out a long breath. “Honestly? I’m mad. I’m so angry.”

The last thing Ienzo expected. “At whom?”

He spread his hands. “Myself, mostly.”

Despite himself, he was fascinated. This was the first time he’d had any insight into Demyx’s mind--and it was a vastly different place than he’d expected. “Why?”

“Why--” He took a deep breath. “Any--any number of reasons, okay? Like. First of all, why did I just--do what I was told, in the Organization?”

“When you weren’t slacking off, you mean,” Ienzo said.

“You know what I mean,” he continued. “Why did I let him convince me to do all those awful things? Why didn’t I care? I could’ve just run away, and I… didn’t. That guy. All the shit he did, and he just gets to up and die without paying for any of it.” His voice rose and fell as he spoke.

“I’m mad at myself too,” Ienzo said softly.

“Looks like we actually have something in common,” Demyx said dryly.

“I… suppose we do.” He shifted his weight a little.

“And it’s just like… now what? I’m here. I’m alive. Does that mean anything? Is this just the fucking chaos of the universe?”

“I know I seek to… pay for what I did, as you so put it.” How odd he felt, confessing this. “I need to help people, however I can.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Another question that threatened to gut him. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

He cocked his head. “Why not?”

“Well, frankly, after all the people I indirectly killed, seeking pleasure or fulfillment is completely mastubatory.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So being miserable all your life is going to make up for that? Thought you were smarter, Zo.”

Ienzo scowled. “As if you would understand the depravity.”

He flushed. “Why wouldn’t I? I made worlds fall too, you know. They don’t all become Heartless. And the ones that came back, were reborn, are going to be dealing with PTSD out the ass forever. Being miserable is like pissing on their graves.”

“So what, we live for them?”

“Sure as hell don’t make it all be in vain.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? I’m still trying to figure out how not to cry at complete random.”

There was a tension in here too, elastic. Ienzo felt oddly exposed; vulnerable, he realized. They were both breathing hard, but he suspected they weren’t angry at each other.

“I can’t--understand all these highfalutin ideas you all spit out. I only know that for whatever reason I’m alive, so I’m going to live as hard as I can.” He dropped his eyes. “And if I can do good stuff, then all the better.”

“...I see your vocabulary has improved since you’ve been here.”

Demyx shrugged. “Got to. For survival.”

“If it… helps,” he said, “I know the restoration committee is always looking for extra pairs of hands. You’re already familiar in the town, given your work. That’s as good an inroads to helping people as any. Should my trials with Sora ever end… I may decide to follow suit. I’m educated. The least I could do is put that to use.” Should he survive the process.

They were both deflated now, exhausted. Demyx nodded once. Then, after a long moment, “Do you ever think about what we missed?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Our lives. What they might have been like without the Organization.”

“A masochistic thought experiment.”

“Maybe, but…” He bit his lip. “It’s also part of why I’m so mad. We could’ve just been guys. Had friends, gone to school, the whole nine yards. Hell, maybe we could’ve really been friends.”

Ienzo raised an eyebrow. “I… am not sure if I can withstand thinking about it.” It was a naked admission, one that made him feel that way.

Demyx canted his head again. “Oh? Why not?”

“It would mean writing off the majority of my life.”

He considered this. “How long were you a Nobody?”

He chuckled a little, darkly. “Twelve years.”

Demyx was quiet for a beat. Then, “Holy shit. Wait, wait, wait.” He spread his hands. “That means you were--when you became--you were eight ?”

“...Congratulations. You can do basic math.”

“How? I mean--well I guess I know how, but--” He seemed genuinely shocked. “Who would do that to a fucking kid? And--what happened to make you so strong willed?”

Ienzo bristled. He’d clearly said too much. Yet at the same time, this validation was… sweet? So why was he feeling moisture in his eyes?

“Didn’t the apprentices… willingly cast off hearts, or whatever?”

“I didn’t.”

He pursed his lips. “Oh,” he said, very softly. “Oh, Ienzo. I’m so…”

The lump in his throat tightened. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you. I’m angry at how royally fucked over you were. First Ansem… now this…”

He tried to blink it back. The last thing he expected was a conversation with Demyx to unravel him so. Didn’t expect him to listen , much less care. It was something he’d put off dealing with for too long--and now it was coming at him, ready or not.

This was going to hurt.

Ienzo felt oddly paralyzed, fixed to the spot. He should have gotten up, hid himself away, before this breakdown began in earnest. It was like all his energy was devoted to trying to hold it back, especially after such a long, long, frustrating day. He wanted to ask Demyx to leave him, let him make a disgrace of himself in peace. But the only noise that left him was a sob.

“Ienzo…”

Humiliation and pain washed through in in equal portions. He pressed his face against his hands. The tears seemed almost involuntary.

“It hurts more if you fight it,” Demyx said softly. “Believe me. Been there, done that.”

This, if anything, only broke him further. Such a bizarre thing, to fall apart so heavily and completely, shards of himself twisting painfully within. Guilt, anger, self-loathing, and sadness; emotions long staved off. He could no longer tread the tide and was pulled rather abruptly under.

Ienzo felt a hand on his back, the touch unexpected but not unwelcome. It felt so odd to cry, more than his panic-induced tears. Like he was not quite in his body but all too embodied. He found himself relying on the presence of Demyx’s hand, clinging to that tenuous connection. The boy rubbed smooth circles in an attempt to soothe him.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for it to stop. All he knew was that he had a rather awful sinus headache, and he was empty, weirdly numb, but the numbness was not as desirable as he’d thought. “I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded terrible, and the humiliation invaded. It would’ve felt bad enough to have this happen on his own, much less in front of anyone else, much less Demyx. “This is mortifying.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “All things considered I think you earned a good cry.” He handed him a handkerchief. “Here.”

At least it was clean, Ienzo noted. He patted at his raw eyes. He was feeling dizzy again. “Please do not mention this again.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Shakily, Ienzo locked eyes with him. “I suppose now you know truly how much of a disaster I am.”

He pursed his lips. “What do you think I was doing before you came here? We’re all a goddamn mess, Zo.”

“I guess that is true.”

Demyx stood and offered Ienzo his hands. They were rough to the touch, callused and work-hardened. Against his own soft skin, it was somewhat disquieting to hold, though why? He certainly hadn’t felt that way when Riku touched him. Perhaps he was just feeling unacceptably raw. Demyx helped him to his feet, made Arpeggio vanish. “Let’s get some sleep,” he said.

And Ienzo did sleep that night, though not so well, jerked awake by odd memories of the time before--walking towards Ansem’s quarters, a large tome in his arms, Xehanort holding one of his hands. The discordance between the taste of ice cream and darkness in the basement lab.  People screaming, begging for help, or mercy. Part of him had shut down, true, but part of him felt pleasure at making them this way-- “transforming” them for the sake of “the greater good.” Was it the positive attention he’d received, seeking the replace the love he’d lost from his parents, from the disappearance of Ansem? Was he simply evil to the core?

Ienzo sat up, nausea curdling his stomach. Very slowly, he went over to the bathroom, knelt over the toilet, and pulled back his hair. By the time he’d finished getting sick he feared he was dissociating, the world seeming a bit vague, a bit mottled, as though he were looking through a veil. He bumped into things, dropped his papers everywhere.

You don’t deserve to fall apart. Get it together. Kairi needs your help.

“...Ienzo?”

His head snapped up. Aeleus was in his guard uniform, ready to begin an endless round. “Aeleus,” he said in what he hoped was a neutral voice. “Good day.”

“You’re off to work, then?”

“Yes. As are you.” He stood, flinching at a crick in his back. Ienzo was fairly sure he felt less bitter towards Aeleus than the rest--even in the Organization days, the man had tried to protect him. Ienzo had no idea how involved Aeleus was in the plot to dispose of Ansem. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. “I hope you are well?”

“Enough, I suppose. Physically healthy. That’s all I can ask for.” The man’s face was so stoic. Did he feel as Ienzo did, all of these overwhelming emotions? He almost wanted to ask. At least, until Aeleus added, “You, on the other hand, look positively green. Are you ill?”

“Perhaps it is this poor lighting?” Ienzo suggested.

Something flickered in his blue eyes. “You mustn’t work if you’re unwell,” he said. “Always a bad habit of yours.”

Ienzo did not feel a swell of indignation, as he thought, but rather something like teariness. This man betrayed you , he made himself think. “Is it not curious how much poorer the human body is?” he said instead. “Some longed for humanity… to me it feels something like a great weakness. I wonder if you agree.”

Aeleus considered this. “It’s as though… I’ve lost parts of myself, but yet also gained parts of myself, if that makes sense.”

He sighed. “Well, on a literal level, you have.”

“I’m aware of the… uniqueness of your situation.”

He chuckled. “Interesting word choice.”

Aeleus cracked the slightest, smallest smile. Ienzo found himself missing their easy rapport, the way Aeleus never drove him into crazy spirals of thought as the others often did. He listened, he considered, he said what he meant. “You will come back from this, and be better than ever,” Aeleus said. “Unlike the rest of us… you have your entire life.”

“You’re merely middle aged--not old.”

“I find it… difficult, to grow.”

He was startled into honesty. “I… do as well.”

“This is our burden to bear… so to speak. At least we are all here, doing good things, and we have time.”

Did they? The longer Ienzo spent faffing about, the farther Sora could be slipping away… into darkness, perhaps, a darkness partially of his own creation--

(Basement screams, bodies dissolving--)

Ienzo heaved, and while he was not ill, the reaction was indeed very visible.

Aeleus took him by the elbow. "You need to get back to bed."

"I'll be fine--"

"Perhaps you can convince Even and Ansem with such faffery, but I won't stand for it. Come." He was significantly stronger than Ienzo; he could not fight the grip.

Ienzo knew he himself was not a small man, but compared to Aeleus he felt again a child. He shuddered, blinking back the sting of humiliation. "What do you propose I say, then?"

"That you are sick and cannot work."

Ienzo shook his head wearily. Which was worse; riding this out, or telling Aeleus he was not--physically, at least--ill? Each seemed equally emasculating.

Aeleus brought him back to his bedroom. "Change into something comfortable and lay down. I'll bring you something to settle your stomach."

Why did he listen? What would Aeleus do if Ienzo disobeyed him? The man had never raised a finger towards him, nor his voice; if Ienzo didn't do as he said, he'd likely only be disappointed.

How odd, to wear pajamas so late into the morning. He perched on the lip of his bed and rested his cheek on his knee. Before long, the door opened, and he was handed a mug which smelled of ginger. "I've made you late," Ienzo said.

"Dilan can handle it, I think."

He was shaking. Why? Was he truly ill, or was this yet more bizarre emotion?

Aeleus took off his glove and rested a large palm against Ienzo's forehead. "You are quite warm," he said, with a shake of the head. "Please tell me you won't run off the moment I turn my back."

He'd been planning on it, but instead he said, "Perhaps I will… work from here?"

He sighed heavily. "A compromise is better than nothing, I guess."

Ienzo sipped the tea. It warmed him, soothed the anxious ache in his breast. "You needn't stop for me," he said. "Thank you."

The barest flicker of a smile. "You may be grown now… but everyone needs to be cared for sometime. It is human."

"Is it?" He said, to himself.

A nod. "Quite. Get some rest. I'll check on you."

Ienzo drank down the rest of the tea. How odd, to be cared for. He bit his lip. He took out his tablet, with the intent to provide remote support… but found himself drifting.

---

The hand on his forehead was cold this time, not warm, and he started. "Sorry, child."

Ienzo blinked disjointedly, his vision blurry. "Even? What are you doing here?"

He cocked his head. "You're sick and I'm a doctor. I thought you'd understand as much."

He ignored the barb. "Kairi--"

"Is well and asleep. Ansem is working with her now. The fool is coding something again." A sigh. "Your temperature is back to normal. Must've been one of those short-term bugs."

Or intense anxiety, Ienzo thought, well aware that the symptoms were the same. "I see… I must apologize."

"Had you come down you could've given it to all of us-- including the girl. How do you feel now?"

He tried to curl his lips around the expected "fine" but instead said, "a little woozy."

"Could be dehydration. Or low blood sugar. Is your stomach settled enough to eat?" His tone lacked the stubbornness, the roughness Ienzo was used to from Vexen. Like that flicker of compassion he'd seen before. "Maybe some rice?"

"...Maybe…"

Even squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's alright, Ienzo. To be human… is to sometimes be ill." He sighed, then wrinkled his nose. "I've no doubt Demyx carried it in with him, and this place is a veritable vacuum."

"In an odd way… this is nostalgic."

He cocked his head. "You were of quite a delicate countenance, I admit. Though we never did teach you to take adequate care of yourself. Our bodies are not mere vessels--having been one, I can say it's a highly unpleasant experience." He sneered.

Ienzo instead looked at the buttons of Even's jacket when he said, "do you ever miss it?"

"What? That nightmare we got out of?"

He nodded.

"I'd like to be actualized enough to say… of course not." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yet… the challenges of this new life… are not to be underestimated. Are we not fools, if we do not rise up?" A tired sigh. "I do believe Ansem's waffling is getting to me. This is science--not philosophy."

"Perhaps a heart is one and the same," Ienzo mumbled. “It is more nebulous than we can ever hope to understand with logic.” Perhaps, then, with the intangible, with magic.

He chuckled; an odd, staccato sound, rarely heard. “Yes, but should I give up now, I’d be turning my back on close to thirty years of my career--and I’m loath to do so.”

Ienzo smiled. This was the first easy (in a manner of speaking) interaction he’d had with Even in weeks.

“What of you?”

He frowned. “You mean do I miss it?”

“Too sensitive a question?”

Ienzo rolled onto his back to look at the ceiling. “I miss the feeling of… stability, of concrete drive,” he said slowly. “Mostly the stability. I’m not sure if… well, I’m not sure if it were merely me, but… you know… All of that anxiety I had as a child… the trauma that came from my parents’ passing… it was gone. I could merely… be .”

Even put a hand to his chin. “That is very interesting… perhaps Nobodies’ minds not only reject the idea of a conscience, but also mental illness.” A pause, then. “Do you feel anxious now?”

Ienzo wanted to raise his hackles and snap or deflect. But he’d already opened himself this much. “Almost pathologically so,” he admitted. “I find it difficult to sleep as well.”

Something in Even shifted, away from the personal and more towards the clinical. “How often have you been feeling this way? Does it ever escalate into attacks?”

He exhaled. This was why he hadn’t said anything earlier; he didn’t want to get into it. “It is quite constant,” he said in a low voice. “Though I only ever panic when I wake from a nightmare.”

“Unfortunately nightmares are to be expected, all we’ve gone through.” A heavy sigh. “I’m hoping that… perhaps once you are used to humanity again, the anxiety will lessen. But you did have it quite intensely as a child. It may be… something to brace yourself for.”

Ienzo’s stomach was feeling sour again.

“I could give you medication,” he said. “Something to help metabolize all that excess stress. Is that something you want?”

He was plunged again into his ever-present well of shame. “A sign I simply can’t take the strain? The… weight of my own humanity?”

Even scowled. “Don’t be dramatic, boy,” he said. From “Ienzo, child” to  “boy,” he thought. “You were a Nobody twelve years--you can’t simply switch back and expect there to be no repercussions. Why be needlessly in pain?”

Ienzo bit his lip.

“A stupid way to repent, if I do say so myself. Suffering… ” He scoffed. “Suffering now will not negate what happened, Ienzo.”

Demyx had said much the same thing. And these two were such opposite personalities. Perhaps that meant they were right?

Even squeezed his hand. The touch was unexpected. “I won’t make the decision for you, Ienzo, but please consider it. A lack of anxiety may give you a clearer head. May make it easier for you to… not only work, but live. It’s purely medical. ”

As if Even had ever been the expert in psychology. “...Quite.”

He shook his head; he knew the conversation was over. “I’ll bring you some rice.”

#retribution #ienzo #demyx #aeleus #even (kingdom hearts) #zemyx

[officialtrashbin]

please tell us the wind chime story

f u c k okay, so for some backstory, I’ve got a Boxer dog named Bailey who’s a good girl and this happened like, four years ago. I live in a valley town so all the houses are mostly secluded in the woods and it gets really quiet at night aside from insects. There aren’t any streetlights. My house has an open front porch, and if you’re standing on it, there’s a bunch of bushes and trees leading to the back yard to the right, and the driveway to the left, and the road is dead straight ahead. Across the street is a neighbor’s house. On the right, right before the trees, is a big fence we put up, and then more shrubs, and then another house.

For additional content, Bailey doesn’t bark, whine, or growl, for any reason ever. @a-q-u-a-s can vouch for me, this dog is quiet aside from her bell and panting. 

So it was 2-3am, and I woke up to Bailey whining by my bed side. Sleepy as shit, I got up and took her to the front yard and stood on the porch while she peed. I’m standing there, front porch light on (it’s only strong enough to illuminate the front yard, not the side, keep this in mind), and then I hear it.

Wind chimes, coming from the darkness to the right.

immediately I notice three things:

1) it’s spring time (about May), but there’s no insects or birds, it’s dead silent.

2) there’s no wind. So how the hell are the wind chimes going off?

3) Bailey is ramrod straight, staring into the trees to the right, into the darkness. 

Bailey, as stated above, is a quiet, gentle dog, so I knew something was wrong when her shackles went up and she started snarling. I mean, dead ass, threatening posture, about to fight something she sees that I can’t. I have NEVER seen her act like this, not even when she saw a coyote under my car once, and it scared the shit out of me.

Then I realized it sounded like the wind chimes were getting closer. Like someone was carrying those things towards me. Bailey is fixated on the darkness, I can’t see shit and was too afraid to move (flashlight was inside on the table by the front door), and whatever the fuck is in the dark scaring the shit out of my dog is coming towards us.

I said, “Bailey, come inside.”

She moved her ears but kept growling.

I said again, “Bailey, NOW.” By this point I’m looking out into the dark and the wind chimes sound like they’re coming from around the back yard, and I’m in full panic mode, full flight mode because fuck all of that. I ain’t about to get snatched at 3AM from my own front porch.

Third time, “Bailey, get inside!” and my dog takes one look at me, looks back at the dark, and then runs inside the door as I open it. I bolt the fuck in right behind her, slam the door shut and lock both locks. I can hear right outside my fucking door those fucking wind chimes, and I’m freaking out, too scared to look. I immediately go get my mom, waking her from her sleep, and as she’s waking up, I hear Bailey snarling at the door.

My mom sits bolt upright because she knows something has to be wrong if our dog is growling, and she and I go back to the front door. I’ve never seen my dog look so unsettled before. However, we didn’t hear anything, and about half an hour later mom went back to sleep (neither of us were going outside fuck that) and I followed because Bailey by this point had stopped growling. She remained sitting there though, almost all night, watching the door, and woke me up at about 5AM when she came into my room to lie down next to me in my bed.

So the next morning my ass is outside, looking around. I don’t see any animal tracks, I don’t see anything that could have indicated someone tried to break in from the front or back door. I went across the street and then next door, and neither of my neighbors have wind chimes. I start to feel better, thinking whatever it was moved on, until midnight that very night.

And the night after that. And the night after that for nearly a week. Without fail, sometime between 12-3am, Bailey gets up, goes to the front door, sits down, and snarls. She gets absolutely ready to tear something to shreds, and I can’t get her to move. I sit with her, I pet her, I try to give her treats to leave the door, but she’s fixated on whatever it is that’s making her uneasy and literally acts like I’m not there.

Then, a week later, she stops going to the door. Eventually I forget the event ever happened, EXCEPT THAT, YOU GUESSED IT, the next spring rolls around. Around the same time time of the spring month (very early May) Bailey goes to the front door, 12-3am, every night for about a week, and sits at the door and becomes transfixed and snarls like something is trying to get in and hurt us. 

Fast forward another year: we adopt a bull terrier named Jaxon, who barks aLL THE TIME. He doesn’t shut up. Sees a squirrel? Barks. Hears a car honk? Barks. It’s his first year with us, and May rolls around, and I know for sure at this point that Bailey is going to sit by the door for a week and snarl. So imagine my surprise when I wake up, 1am, hearing Bailey snarling? I go to the front door, and there’s BOTH my dogs, shackles up, sitting, transfixed. Bailey is snarling terribly. Jaxon though? Dead silent. His fur is bristled and he keeps moving his ears, listening to something, and Bailey is next to him ready to pounce through the door.

So this past May, they did the same thing again. I don’t know what the fuck keeps coming to my house that makes wind chime noises but if my dogs don’t fucking like it, I sure as hell don’t want to find out what it is.

#shit sorry this is a long one #fuck my whole town though this shit is cursed #google say it was either a ghost or a witch and either way i'm probably marked and something is out to get my ass #story time

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing. 

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up. 

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult. 

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes. 

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop. 

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias. 

“Hey again.” 

 He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer. 

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked. 

 I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer. 

 I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

 I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought. 

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much. 

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him? 

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

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