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lacrymatoryao3 · 5 months

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 6: Christmas Eve and Day, 1899

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To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,301 Words (AO3 Link)

A/N: This took me a while because I am painfully Jewish

Arthur wasn’t prepared for how strict Ana’s timetable was for Christmas Eve. She was serious about everything and everyone being ready to meet the guests in the evening. Most of it involved all hands in the kitchen to cook their share of the dinner menu. Ana prepared the main dish the day before and let it marinate in the ice box so it would taste the best. All that was needed was to let it reheat slowly on the stove throughout the day so it was hot. It was a stew, named Pozole Rojo. It was made with pork and hominy, corn kernels soaked in a bath of alkaline water that was also used to make tortilla dough, with onions and garlic. A red sauce was mixed into the broth, made from the usual dried chilies and some more onion and garlic and herbs added.

The undertaking they handled together was making Tamales, made by steaming corn husks filled with dough, peppers, fresh white cheese, and the surplus red sauce that wasn’t used in the stew. Arthur was given the simplest task, mixing together the filling while Ana made the dough. Arthur Francisco combined them into the corn husks, folding them into a rectangular shape and trying them with thinner husks. While they steamed they focused on the dessert, Sopaipillas, fried flour based fritters that would eventually be covered in powdered sugar and ground cinnamon then drizzled with honey.

Arthur Francisco was more adept at his roles than Arthur. It seemed from the moment he could follow directions Ana had him learning them. To him, there was no ‘women’s’ or ‘men’s’ work, simply just work. Arthur had an awkward experience curve to vault over. He knew how to grill meat and heat up whatever he looted that came in cans, he could make coffee, he had a vague idea how Pearson made stews, but anything elaborate escaped him.

God damn, no wonder Pearson was always drinkin’…

By the time everything was finished and being kept warm, Ana was ushering them out to the inn. Everyone had to take a thorough bath and there was no debate on it, though Arthur Francisco tried. Arthur couldn’t stifle the chuckle walking into his assigned room hearing the young boy whine as his mother stood there in the hall sternly looking at him and pointing at one of the other doors.

He let out a pleased gasp as his nude body sank into the hot water. He laid back and closed his eyes for a while. His muscles relaxed, soaking before he washed. Such a simple pleasure he couldn’t get over. A weekly ritual, expected and adhered to. Of course, he used to bath whenever he had the chance but jumping from one camp to another didn’t assure it regularly. He savored it, especially the fact he didn’t need to pay for it. Though he half wished there was a bath girl like there was in other, less reputable places. A woman’s gentle and careful touch while he took a pause from his worries. He so rarely indulged in it, to a point where he was frequently starving for it. Yet of all days and times he longed for it greatly. The thought quickly made him ashamed, not knowing exactly why.

The house smelled lovely with the spices, mixed with the incense of the decorations, floating through the air at their return. It was close to a strong and snug embrace. It was a strange feeling to Arthur, familiar and foreign at the same time, filling him with a nostalgia for something he never had.

Ana led her increasingly crotchety son up the stairs so they could get dressed. Arthur went to his room to do the same. On his bed Ana had laid out a suit he had never seen, a meticulously coordinated ensemble.

It was grander than his tastes, a style similar to the fashions that Trelawny would wear and force him in during his elaborate heists. The white shirt had a high, banded collar held irritatingly tight at the neck by the silver with royal blue striped puff tie. The vest was a matching royal blue with a silver damask pattern. The frock coat was navy blue and had a subtle brocade on the lapels, its matching trousers was also lightly striped. The shoes were overly shined black wingtips.

Arthur grumbled to himself adjusting everything. He couldn’t guess how exactly this little get-together was going to go, all he knew was he wasn’t expected to play a role like such garments used to signify. He had to be himself. A big, halfwitted oaf in a fancy uncomfortable suit.

He joined them waiting in the living room. The expression on his face akin to that of the young boy’s, equally as unhappy wearing his own getup. His mother clearly combed and pomaded his hair against his will, until it stuck unmoving to his head in a side part. He was constantly fidgeting with his stiff wingtip shirt collar or running his fingers against the black velvet fabric of his double breasted jacket. Ana was the only one who looked fitting in her red gown, a green turtleneck blouse underneath the blazer. Ribbons matching the colors had been woven into the braid in her bun. Her eyes lit up seeing Arthur enter the room. It was the first time she really looked at him in over a week.

She made a thrilled sound and rushed to him, “Oh, that looks so wonderful on you!”

When she touched the lapels her demeanor changed. Her behavior shifted, her natural confidence dissipating rapidly. Her eyes darted away like they had been, only to quickly glance up to him to give a shy and awkward smile. She straightened the lapels and let go, bringing distance between them once again.

At the hour the guests were expected there was a loud knock on the front door. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothing, holding their contributions to the Christmas feast. The Johnsons had a brown sugar glazed ham, candied yams, and a carrot pie. The O’Hogans, with heavily pregnant Rosaline covering her stomach by plaid shawls, brought a roasted duck, boiled potatoes heavily buttered and salted, an a spiced fruit cake that marinated in whiskey for at least a year.

The Liangs were the most interesting. Christmas didn’t exist to them, the closest thing they had was a winter solstice festival that they adapted for the event. Mrs. Liang was dressed in the most elaborate garments of her former social class. Her hair was done up in what looked like a bow on the top of her head, with silver accessories resembling winter plants and flowers from her country. Her dress was high collared violet and pink robe-like shirt with wide sleeves that ended at her knees so the matching skirt hiding her feet underneath was visible. Mr. Liang matched somewhat, his tunic was shorter and a simple gray and loose fitting black pants gathered at the ankles. They prepared their traditional festival foods to sample, all with hard to pronounce names for the rest of them. There was ‘Lap Yuk’, cured and dried out pork belly. ‘Tang Yuan’, rice dumplings filled with black sesame paste and mushrooms in a clear broth. ‘Nian Gao’, a sweet dessert cake also make from rice.

The crowd went into the dining room. The children were made their plates and were banished to the kitchen. There were… So many. Even with the kitchen table expanded extra seats were created at the counters for all of them.

The main topics of conversation were rather dull. If Arthur could have thought of a reason to go hang around the kids, he would have excused himself. What they talked about seemed more interesting and fun. Instead he sat next to Ana, pretending he knew how to be a proper gentleman and copying what utensil he was supposed to use when eating the diverse dishes offered. He couldn’t say he disliked any of them. Then again, he was willing to eat most anything. If someone handed him pig slop he probably would try it if it had salt. What the Johnsons and O’Hogans brought was similar enough to what he would get in saloons in whatever town they camped near. He had grown used to what they made, though he noticed the spice was scaled back from normal for the sake of everyone else. Ana had whispered to him that the corn husks of the Tamales weren’t eaten, just a way to hold the filling. The Liangs’ was unique, but not in the way he heard from people. In Saint Denis he heard a bartender complain about the smell that came from restaurants in the Chinese quarter. What it actually tasted like wasn’t bad at all.

“Mr. Callahan, I never got the chance to ask.” Mr. Johnson addressed Arthur in his deep, booming voice that could even strike fear into him if used correctly, “What’d you do before you ended up here?”

“A lot.” Arthur replied, coming up with ways to make his past more palatable to his audience, “Never really looked to settle, so I just wandered around doin’ what was available. I’ve always worked with horses, broke a few, raced now and again, cared for them more than I did myself a few times. Shootin’, always did that, for huntin’ or a couple of times contests. Ended up with a lot of security work. Did stagecoaches, trains, some banks. Herded cattle. Bounty huntin’ if the price was good.”

“Man’s smarter than he gives himself credit fer!” Mr. O’Hogan added, “If ya want ta to get back into bounty work, I’m sure Sheriff Strange has somethin’ fer ya! His list is longer than he is tall!”

“Some of them aren’t actual bounties, however.” Ana warned, “Some are just people he’s willing to pay to get out of the town and not come back.”

The table laughed. Even harder when Mrs. Liang mused that “With big man, we finally deal with Millers.”

“What’s the whole deal with them anyhow?” Arthur asked.

Mrs. Johnson groaned, “Racist bastards. They came up here from Leymone and brought all that with them.”

Mrs. O’Hogan nodded, “They don’t like much o’ anybody. Irish, Black, Chinese, Italian, Mexican, probably don’t like Jews or Indians if we had ‘em here.”

“Bastards are probably fuckin’ inbred.” Mr. O’Hogan commented.

Mrs. O’Hogan slapped her husband on the shoulder, “Owen!”

“What?! It’s bloody true! Just take a look at ‘em! One o’ these days our kids are gonna get tired o’ ta calumny in ta school yard and snap those boys’ necks!”

“All right, all right,” Ana said soothingly, “Let’s not worry about them. It’s a holy night.”

The desserts with the flow of alcohol was a bit too much, though very good. Arthur’s stomach actually hurt some when dinner ended and everyone moved to the living room to drink more, except Mrs. O’Hogan of course, and be entertained with little games or shows put on by the children. Ana rewarded them with little wrapped bundles of sweets for the next day, then told the Nativity story with them and finally added the statue of Baby Jesus lying in his manger bed to the scene on the fireplace mantel. She taught them the best she could a few songs about the season in Spanish, with Arthur Francisco’s help.

Arthur found it… Ironic, so to speak. Looking around the room, Ana had ended up forming her own gang after all. They just didn’t break any laws. It was the arrangement Dutch had constantly promised they’d have if they got enough money, and she did it completely by circumstance. They answered to her, they respected her, she respected them, and they all worked together and actually liked each other.

It made his heart ache slightly. What if she told him? She was right, at that point he wouldn’t have left. What if he could have convince her to stay with him? Egotistic, but he wondered how she would have gotten along with those who came after her. She knew John long enough, Sean showed up shortly before she disappeared. She would have hated how John reacted to Abigail having Jack, but they could have raised their sons together. Jack would have had playmate and not be so alone. She would have gotten along with the other girls. She was much more sturdy than they were, she could have protected them from some of Susan’s brutal wrath. She might even have been able to befriend Molly, convince her their life wasn’t one she was suited for before it drove her to the brink. She would have liked Javier, Lenny, Charles, tenuous with Mac and Davey. She certainly would have punched Bill when he had one of his drunken antics, and with her temperament Micah would have died the moment he said or did anything out of turn to her.

Another time you could have had something, Morgan…

He played his deprecating thoughts off for the rest of the night. Enjoying it as much as he could. By the time everyone left it was an hour shy of midnight. Ana hastily sent the boy to bed, who was more exhausted than he said he was in his whining about it. She and Arthur took the chore of cleaning up and making the house presentable again.

“If this is what Christmas is like,” Arthur remarked, “I’m scared to know what New Year’s brings!”

“New Year’s is a dance at the Grange Hall! I only do this once a year! I don’t need to entertain all the time.” Ana sighed, “You want to go with me? You’ll meet new people. Plenty of of girls.”

“You know I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Ana took a sip from another glass of wine she poured, “Most people here aren’t besides the Contra. Honestly, they’re not even good at that. It’s just a way for the community to have a party without messing up their own houses again.”

Arthur chuckled, “You just want me in this damn suit again.”

“That suit looks good! You’ll get someone’s attention! I already crossed off marriage in my life’s checklist, it’s your turn!”

He shook his head. It was odd how determined she was about that when she rarely spoke about her own.

“Speakin’ of that,” Arthur said leaning against the sink, “You never told me much about your husband.”

The night of drink loosened Ana’s demure, speaking about him in her disturbingly detached manner, “When I came here I was working as a laundress. It didn’t pay enough, and Jacob put out an advertisement for a maid. When we met he saw my condition. Jacob was a homosexual, but he knew he needed a wife for appearances sake. I needed a husband so the baby and I wouldn’t be looked down upon and we’d be taken care of. It was just convenient. I had no issue with it, he and I got alone fine, he was good with the boy. He’d go off every so often, play it like business when he was somewhere with whatever male lover he had. I focused on being a mother and running things while he was gone. The problem was when he got sick. Tertiary syphilis. He probably had it for years. He went downhill quickly, lost his mind, lost most motor function, it was a mercy he died. Terrible disease.”

Arthur blinked, taking it in, “Wait. So this man was galivantin’ about with other men, and you didn’t do nothin’ yourself?”

“What choice did I have?” Ana laughed, “I was a beard, but I was still expected to be the proper wife. You know the rules are different for men.”

It was late when everything was in order. The conversation fizzled out and both of them excused themselves to bed soon after. Running from lawmen was less exhausting.

Initially his dream started with the old times. Of the family he had before. Those last good and hopeful moment they had, gathered together at Horseshoe Overlook. He was standing at the cliff, the sun breaking over distant mountains that bathed the sky orange and turned the Dakota river red. The rays gleamed through the tall, dense trees. Everyone was coming to life. Pearson whistling while preparing the day’s meal. Susan shouting orders to the other women. Some of the men’s distant voices at the fire with their cups of coffee. The phonograph in Dutch’s tent reverberating one of the many opera songs he had heard over and over to the point of near insanity. The securing noises, the feeling of being surrounded by familiar people. Most of them now dead.

He saw a tan shape below him. A cougar unusually out in the open. It loped slowly, its head down like it was sick or injured in some way. Even from above he could hear the low, pitiful sound it was making. He pulled out his gun and made his way to it as quietly as he could. He hid in the brush, ready to aim to put it out of its misery. The creature was looking around, still making its agonized cry. He caught sight of something else before he could fire. The buck wandered near the river’s edge, unbothered, unconcerned, unusual for such an animal with a predator nearby. There was no fear of the cougar in its black eyes. Not even when the cougar noticed and started running towards it. It simply walked away into the trees. The cougar tried to follow it, not in a manner with the intent to kill, still making that sad noise. He started to recognize it. Like a woman crying, whimpering in heartfelt unhappiness. As it gained no ground to close the distance between them, it gave up. It laid in the grass with a defeated sigh. He almost felt sorry for the thing, sensing illogically the… love it had for something meant to be its prey.

He raised his revolver again at the cougar, the sound of hammer clicking alerted the buck. Lowering its head to brandish the strong antlers, it ran directly at him. He had no time to pull the trigger when it struck him in the chest, sending him several feet backwards against the rocky terrain with the firearm flying off in the air. He laid in the dirt, huffing to catch the breath that was thoroughly knocked out of him. When he could finally stand up again the buck was still there, grunting defiantly between him and the cougar. All he could do was lift his hands to show it he was disarmed. The buck turned away. It studied the cougar, moving towards it. It started licking the cat, that perked up and rubbed its face against the buck as it laid down beside it. It rested its head on the strong cougar’s body. As close as cuddling as two animals could get. He was unable to wrap his head around what he was witnessing, yet the peace he felt when he was on the day he was supposed to die came back to him.

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No one felt like getting fully dressed in the morning. Whether it was from the hangover in the adults from the night before, Arthur Francisco’s excitement to open gifts, or the fact he woke them up earlier than they would have liked. Arthur couldn’t be angry with it, in a way he was touched that the boy included him in throwing up the door and jumping onto the foot of the bed like he did with his mother. Both Arthur and the boy stayed in their flannel union suits but with a pair of pants over them to be decent. Ana covered her nightclothes with a wool dressing gown dyed a rich dark green, embroidered down the chest and skirt with vibrant flowers like the blouses she used to wear when she was younger.

They sat in front of the tree on cushions Ana had laid out in front of their respective gift piles, 5 for each of them. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole event, other than that the things he had tried to wrap himself didn’t look nearly as nice as what Ana had and an underlying concern whether or not they would like any of the things he had given them.

Despite Arthur Francisco’s eagerness for his own turn, he and his mother agreed that since Arthur was the newest one he should be the person to go first. Somehow, that was even worse pressure. He took one of the small, square boxes from Arthur Francisco. He was careful with the paper and string. Inside was a silver cased watch. Embossed on the lid was, ironically, a buck deer standing in a field below a mountain range. The other thing from the boy was a plainer cased matching compass. They both had short chains to either attach to a vest button or suspend on his gun belt.

Ana’s gifts to him continued with the concept of functionality. One of them was lacquered brass binoculars with leather around their grip point. They had a high zoom range which was useful for long distances, a good replacement for the set he lost. She also gave him a new pair of boots, simple but thick leather that had heavy roped stitches and a smooth lining inside. It was certainly welcome, he was still wearing the ones he pretty much always had his adult life. They were on their last legs for a while, and she knew him enough to know he would keep using them until they fell apart.

The last thing, tagged as from both Arthur Francisco and Ana was a nicely made fishing rod. It was most likely a hint from the boy more than his mother. Arthur doubted the man he was raised to think was his father did much of those things with him. He just didn’t seem type, and while Ana tried when still with the gang once or twice she never got the hang of it nor did she have the patience.

Arthur thanked the both of them, not sure what else to really say. Ana patted him on the shoulder and Arthur Francisco smiled pleased he did a good job of it.

Then, it was Ana’s turn. Her son had given her a one pound box of some fancy French cream candies, with a nice box that had a pretty woman lounging on a fainting sofa enjoying the product. He also gave her a bottle of lilac perfume in a heavy, etched glass bottle with a cork stopper. What was from him and the boy together was a gold, twisted chain necklace with a crucifix-like cross.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably when she moved to his sole offerings. He didn’t know why it made him so nervous. She was taken aback, but not negatively, which gave him some relief. He had bought her a nice summer dress like the ladies in bigger places wore. The shirtwaist had nice loose sleeves gathered at wide cuffs at the wrist. The entire thing had delicate lace sewn onto it. The other thing was a small straw had that had a silk ribbon to match.

Ana looked at him, a faint blush breaking onto her face. There was a lot she wanted to say. None of it was anything she would around her son. She patted Arthur’s shoulder tenderly and thanked him. The look in her eyes was brighter than they had been. The image of the cougar from his dream when the deer stopped running from it flashed into his mind, making him even further question its meaning.

Arthur Francisco was the required distraction from the sudden, confusing tension. Ana cleared her throat and let him open the gifts from her. They were a set of watercolor paints and brushes, as well as the large and thick paper to use them on. Arthur didn’t know he liked to paint. The boy pointed out a frame on the wall, a drawing of Enrique looking over the outside paddock fence. It was simple, though well executed for a child. He was struck with the realization he had so much more he needed to get to know about the boy.

Arthur Francisco was also very happy with what he got from Arthur. There was a half-pound box of milk chocolates, something anyone would safely appreciate. The other was a three book box set respectively about hunting, fishing, and foraging edible plants.

The finale was what Ana had put to be from both of them: the Carcano. Arthur Francisco let out the most delighted sound, nearly jumped to his feet from joy. Ana did her best to explain to him the rules about it, no pointing it at anything except animals, keeping it unloaded in the house, keeping it up and not taking it unless she knew. They weren’t sure if he actually heard any of it, but he nodded like he did. He begged his mother when she was finished if he could go outside and shoot at some of the empty bottles he used to practice with the pellet gun he had before, then asked Arthur if wanted to help.

“Gonna have to get dressed first.” Arthur replied, “Think you can leave it for a few minutes so we can get ready?”

He propped the gun against the wall, rushing up the stairs to his bedroom. Arthur and Ana laughed as they stood.

She rested her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, which left an unfamiliar sensation on his skin, “While you two are doing that, I will finally get breakfast around. It’s much too cold for me.”

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 posting #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 community #red dead 2 #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr2

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bpdjennamaroney · 2 years

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my flowers in the attic musical with lyrics by stephen sondheim and music by leonard bernstein and choreography by jerome robbins. i time travel to get the cast i need. betsy wolfe as corrine, william katt as chris, the twins are either real children or avant-garde puppets. unfortunately christine ebersole is 5'10, so she originates the role of the grandmother. i'd get a ballerina as cathy because she primarily expresses herself through dance. you'd think it has a minimal cast because it's four kids trapped in an attic but fuck no there's a full ensemble for when the kids watch the christmas party, and also the house is full of servants and the servants have little gossipy numbers throughout. and of course chris sr.'s party will need to have loads of guests just to make his death scene agonizingly awkward, the way god intended.

first song is about what a "perfect family" they are, as they are setting up for chris sr.'s birthday party, and then the police officers come in and the scene in the book where he describes the car crash is a monologue, untouched, in its entirety, and played completely straight because THAT IS CAMP

they go to foxworth hall. corrine puts them in the attic, telling them it will be "just another week." "just another week" is interspersed with the grandmother's dirge called "the rules," and the kids trying to find ways to pass the time ("i spy",) until about six weeks go by, and cathy explodes at corrine. corrine confesses that they must stay in the attic until their grandfather dies, and then they will have "a life beyond dreams."

cathy lashes out at corrine, who cries that she's doing her best and runs out, and chris lectures cathy in a song called "motherhood." he explains that they must trust their mother, but in the meantime, they will act as parents to the twins. cathy agrees to listen to him, and sings a counterpoint, "fatherhood."

at some point chris and the grandmother have a song where they argue with each other with bible verses.

the first act ends with chris and cathy spying on the christmas party and fantasizing about "a life outside."

second act opens with a dream ballet, where cathy is at the christmas party, dancing with different men, and they all wind up to be chris.

when she wakes up, cathy is too weak to dance, and the twins' growth is stunted. they sing a sad reprise of "i spy," and then chris sings a sultry reprise of "i spy" about a half-dressed cathy. at that moment, the grandmother barges in, sings a song called "devil's spawn," and then starves them for two weeks, during which time chris cuts open his arm to feed the twins ("blood of my blood.")

i forgot when, chronologically, the grandmother tars cathy's hair, but that happens, too. i guess the song will be called "shorn."

eventually, they get food again (song: "cory's favorite!"), but they are still sick, and they haven't seen their mother in months. then corrine comes back, announcing she has been on a honeymoon, and wishes her kids would be happy for her since there is "so much suffering in the world."

cathy and chris realize that they will never be saved, so they start sneaking around the main house to collect money for their escape. when cathy sneaks into her mother's room, she spots corrine's husband sleeping and kisses him, which chris sees, and when they return to the attic, they have a fight, releasing their frustration with each other, and then have sex which in this version will be consensual, to make it less problematic <3.

in the morning, cathy panics that they are, in fact, "devil's spawn (reprise)" but chris says they are a "perfect family (reprise)" and when they escape, they will give the twins the life they should have had.

they discover that cory has gotten sicker, and beg corrine and their grandmother for help. corrine takes cory for help, but when she returns, she announces he has died.

chris and cathy vow to escape that night, after doing one last sweep of the house for the rest of the money, but when they do, they conveniently overhear the servants talking about their grandfather died a year ago, how corrine's inheritance is dependent on her never having children, and how the grandmother has been instructing them to poison the "mice in the attic."

shaken, they return to get carrie and leave, but they don't know what awaits them ("a life outside (reprise)").

#flowers in the attic #incest //

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mrows-fan-works · 2 years

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Chapter 39

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1369

Tags: none, just tryna talk to folks

Chapter 38 and Chapter 40

A03 Link:

Wind caught up to Elenor quickly, only tripping when she stopped suddenly to look around.

“Do you see a merchant around? I’m sure I can whip something up well if we can just get something fresh.” Wind looked round at the bustling crowd working tirelessly around the inn. He couldn’t see any salesman, besides Marcus, who was back to smiling behind the counter. He looked like he was in pain.

Wind looked away before Marcus noticed his staring and tried to find someone to approach to get food. Who looked like they weren’t too busy but also nice? Elenor stood next to him, still looking around when WInd caught sight of a young woman. She was helping move empty barrels to the back. Her dress was tied so he could walk easier. A white bandana covered her head. She was laughing with her co-workers while taking a break. She was older than he, but she had a comforting air about her that made it easier to approach.

WInd dodge busy patrons, attempting to approach the young woman. She didn’t notice him until he was standing in front of her, slightly surprised at his sudden appearance. Wind gulped, “Uh, do you know where a, um, food merchant may be? My aunt and I are staying the night and we were hoping to make something fresh…”

“Oh yeah!” The lady jumped up, looking at her friends, “Daffy is cooking today right? He’d have extra ingredients or even let you take some soup if you wanted. He’s out back.”

Wind smiled lightly, “Thank you. I’ll go find him right now.” WInd quickly scampered back to Elenor, who had just noticed his brief absence. “Where did you go?” she asked as Wind returned to her side.

“I was asking someone where some food was. She said Daffy cooks behind the stables and that he has extra food if we want some, but we’d have to ask.”

Elenor blinked, “Oh, well, guess we should make our way back there then huh?”

Wind grabbed her hand and started to lead her past everything going on. “Don’t worry! I can get us there!” He couldn’t but really, how hard was someone named “Daffy” going to be to find? Elenor didn’t seem to mind as he dragged her around the building, through the crowds and past the slowly growing pile of empty barrels in their trek to Daffy. The back was nearly as crowded as the front. The only thing breaking up the crowds were gaggles of farm animals and fences separating them into designated spaces. Wind breathed in deeply. It was slightly less crowded back here. He felt a ribbon of anxiety loosen slightly as he made his way to the biggest campfire he could find that was surrounded by boxes and different foods in barrels. A portly middle-aged gentleman had his back towards them. Sweat mingled in the air, wrinkling Wind’s nose as he slowed his approach.

Elenor stepped forward taking control, “Hello sir, are you Daffy?”

The man turned suddenly, caught by surprise, “Aye,” his voice crackled like the fire behind him, “What can I do for ye.”

“My son and I are staying the night and were hoping to buy some fresh food for dinner if there is anything to spare. We can make it ourselves-”

“BAH!!” Daffy bellowed, interrupting Elenor, “Guests paying for a fresh meal? NOT ON MY WATCH. Sit your asses down, I’ll make you something that’ll blow y’er Hylia-forsaken minds. Only the best for guests of the Woodland stables, ain’t nothing less.” Elenor and Wind stood dumbstruck for a moment until Daffy looked at them appraisingly, fiercely gesturing to two empty barrels a distance away from the flames. Both found themselves scrambling to the barrels to patiently wait for Daffy to finish their meal.

The air was charged with embers and awkward energy. There were several minutes of silence before Daffy’s voice boomed, “So what brings ya this way? Not many stop by here due to that infernal camp of good-fer-nothing thieves nearby.”

Wind quickly looked at Elenor, who looked the same way he felt. Wind watched as she looked into his eyes and steeled herself, “We’re on our way to Hateno Village to visit some family and reconnect after a long winter in the mountains.”

Daffy continued deftly chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot, “That's quite the ways away from here! It ain’t easy travelin’ this way either. Though I suppose it’s better than gettin’ your arse burned off by them guardians in Castle Town, eh?”

Elenor laughed lightly, “Yes it is.”

“Ah! A family reunion! Don’t hear many good stories like those now-a-days. Why the last one I heard was quite sad actually. A young’n came through lookin’ fer his brothers who’d been lost. When I told ‘im a magical-lookin’ stranger had been through here he’d bolted off as if possessed! Didn’t even get to tell ‘im that the poor feller was probably long gone or caught by those thieves. Fancy sword like ‘is would make them stand out like a sore thumb ‘ere. A’int seen ‘em since though.”

Wind swallowed, “Have you heard any other stories recently? Or seen anyone else?” He paused and quickly added, “Some of our other family members were traveling to Hateno as well and may have come this way, is all.”

Daffy stopped, grabbing a spice and humming thoughtfully, “No, I ain’t seen no one else like that but I did hear from other travelers about another fancy gent in golden armor to the south. They said ‘e was a strange folk, fairy flying around ‘im and such.”

Ah, so Time was further south. Or he was. If Wind knew him well, he was probably making headway straight to Hateno to assess the situation. Time was strong. Wind had no doubt that he could make it to safety, even with his eye-catching armor. A light touch jolted him from his thoughts as he caught Elenors concerned look. He waved her off silently, giving her a small smile to ease her worry. Elenor squeezed his arm lightly before speaking yet again, “Do you have any advice for the road ahead?”

Daffy sat back once again, this time leisurely stirring before setting the ladle aside to turn and face them. “Now that is a good question m’lady.” Daffy pulled up a box to sit on in order to watch the food without standing, “O’ course the monsters have been gettin’ stronger, and stranger as since the damned Calamity started, but I ‘ear its not so bad down south near Hateno. The real threat now is some new cult. Call ‘em the Yiga. Anyone who doesn’t agree wit ‘em are gettin’ killed on the spot, even unarmed and sick folks. I wouldn’t trust many travelers outside the stables. And thieves o’ course, but I hear plenty of those cowards are joining the Yiga for the promise of riches. Stick to the roads and follow yer instincts and ya’ll should be fine. Ya made it this far anywho, yer not invalid when it comes to travel.” Daffy gave the food one final appraisal before snatching two bowls from thin air and filling them with piping hot food, “Now shut yer traps and eat your dinner, the two o’ you could fit in a skinny barrel and have extra room to spare. Go on, get some fat on yer bones with Daffy’s homemade pilaf.”

Wind took his bowl and almost cried tears of joy. The warmth radiated into his hands and straight to his gut. Savory smells wafted from the rice, veggies, and chicken inside. He lingered on each bite, taking twice as long as he usually did to eat. Memories flashed to evenings spent around the campfire with his brothers, belly full of warm food, and laughter in the air. Elenor sat next to him, chatting with Daffy about inconsequential things while workers began piling around to get their serving of pilaf. The same laughter echoed through the night as everyone enjoyed the company of each other. Camaraderie filled the air like a warm blanket as nostalgia pierced its way home in Wind’s heart. Home was so close, yet so very far away.

#lu wind #linked universe #linkeduniverse #true courage #linked universe fanfic #haha hi guys

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scriptaed · 3 years

Text

bygones of the sun. 08 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 4.6k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Regardless of the endless praying in the waking hours of midnight and desperate texts to Hani and Junghwa for help, the sun rises nevertheless; rather than replacing, the radiant glow of the sun blinds the darkness of the cold night into nearly nonexistence and the morning comes along with it in an inevitable solar system bound to revolve around its center.

After hours of rolling around in bed—too hot, kick one leg out over your blankets, too cold, bury yourself under the heat you had insulated from tossing and turning—you manage to barely get in a few hours of sleep before waking up only to look into the mirror in dismay over the dark circles drooping under your eyes.

Well, at least that might turn Hoseok off from doing whatever the needy, mischievous, and maybe even horny bad boy deprived of action side of him did to you last night.

A few splashes of fresh, cold water in the sink of your motel room and a messy albeit best bun you could every tie up are all that you figure you would need before marching off into the dining hall just three flights of stairs down; after all, who are you trying to impress? Certainly not Hoseok…

...or at least that’s what you tell yourself; because nevertheless, even after chanting to yourself under your breath that you would do everything and anything to avoid garnering his attention today, and perhaps the rest of eternity, you still take a quick glance in the mirror to assure yourself that your casual black tank top and gray sweatpants are of at least a presentable state. Maybe it’s the lack of sleeping getting to you or maybe it’s the adrenaline mixed with shock from last night’s incident with the boy you’ve been dreaming of since last year that endorses your self confidence that you smile at yourself after a quick scan in the floor length mirror and proceed to skip your way down into the first floor of the niche motel where Jimin had informed you last night that he and the rest of the boys would be getting breakfast.

As you jog down the stairs like a child on the eve of Christmas, you find yourself subconsciously humming to an oh-so-familiar tune; although you can’t quite put a finger on the exact title of the track, the image, the senses, the serenity that comes along with the nostalgic tune floods you into a timeless reverie. An earphone plugged in your right ear while the laughs of others and the tires rolling against the gravel rushes into your left, you can practically feel the cotton of a sweater wrapping you in warmth along with a crisp, spicy masculine scent as you lay your head against the comfortable crook of someone’s shoulder. The squeaking of broken in sneakers against the hardwood floor and the beats of the track echoing in a vast, empty room. You can imagine it all, evidently too real to be conjured up in your head.

“Y/N! Over here!” Taehyung’s voice snaps you out of your daze. Stepping a foot into the relatively small, cozy dining room, the enticing aroma of warm soup mixed with traditional spices and herbs fill your nose and state of mind as it pulls your growling stomach closer than ever. You find Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin already decked out in workout attire as they seated themselves with three other less familiar faces before you quickly skid your way to their table. Taehyung flashes you his signature warm, boxy smile, “morning!”

“Good morning,” you press a smile at the five other greetings which follow shortly after.

“Oh?” Jungkook quirks a brow and you reciprocate his gestures. “You’re pretty dressed up today, Y/N.”

“Dressed up?” you nearly choke, eyes popping at your supposedly exact opposite intentions. “Uh no, no, I just threw on whatever I found first in my luggage. Dressing up is the last thing I wanted.”

“Uhuh,” Taehyung drawls, winking at his partner in crime Jungkook. “So, who’s the lucky boy? Is it someone you met at camp yesterday?”

You sigh, “I don’t have my eye on anyone—”

“—oh my God,” both Taehyung and Jungkook gasps, gaping and turning their head in sync, “is it Hoseok?”

“What?” you nearly yell and it feels like your heart is about to fail you. “No!”

“I know we were the ones who asked you to talk to him and convince him to return to the club, but that’s only because we heard you two were a thing… or that you two went out on some dates. But you said you guys didn’t, so…” Jungkook’s voice trails off as he ponders over the rather imaginative albeit somewhat accurate thoughts of his, whereas Taehyung picks up where he left off, “did you catch feelings? Or did you already have feelings for him? You know, how did you convince him to attend camp anyways?”

You gulp. There’s no way you’re telling them the absurd offer Hoseok had proposed, a kiss in exchange for his presence, not to mention the fact that you actually gave him what he wanted and more. The recalling of the tender scene in the kitchen flushes your cheeks to rosy hues as you mumble, “I just begged him until he was too annoyed to decline.”

The boys glance at each other in wariness before Jimin chuckles to break the silence, “where is Hoseok anyways? I told him to meet us here last night, but he left me on read. Do you know what happened to him, Y/N?”

“Huh? Me? Hoseok?” you say louder than intended.

The grim look on his face after he had unexpectedly pulled you in for a session you could only imagine in your dreams just a year ago, when he answered your last question, when you turned your back and left him in the jacuzzi out of shock flashes before your eyes; regardless of having witnessed the sudden change in Hoseok’s demeanor, even you can’t quite explain the reasoning behind it. You thought you were done worrying for him throughout the entirety of last night, however, now that everything around you seems to always come back to Hoseok, you can’t help but wonder what you can do to help him… despite how much he has changed.

“Oh, there he is,” Jimin calls out and your entire body freezes in place, too scared to turn around and face him after last night. “Hoseok—”

“—Y/N,” you can hear the familiar voice of his as his low uttering resonates in your ear and rumbles throughout your chest.

You take a deep breath and gulp, pretending as if you had heard a apparition and turning to grab a plate and utensil to fetch some steamed vegetables in the hotpot placed in the middle of the wooden table.

“Y/N,” Hoseok mutters sternly. You can see his maroon tee and grey sweatpants in the corner of your eyes while Jimin glances between you and Hoseok as the latter takes a step closer to you. “Y/N, we need to talk. I’m sorry about last night. Please, at least listen to what I have to say—”

“—I see we have hot pot for breakfast today,” you interject, turning to Jimin and stuffing your mouth with boiled food which burns your mouth, but not before blurting, “kind of unusual, but I’m not complaining. Thanks for the meal.”

Hoseok sighs, looking the other way in lack of amusement for a split second before placing his hand on your shoulder, “Y/N—”

“—actually, Y/N, guys,” Jimin cuts in and gently extracts Hoseok’s hand from your shoulder. “Hoseok and I have to discuss our plans for today and the rest of the camp. You guys eat first and we’ll join you afterwards in the practice room.”

With that, Jimin ushers Hoseok out of the dining hall, dragging him forward as your eyes briefly lock with Hoseok’s as he reluctantly looks over his shoulder to glimpse at you for a few times. A part of you pangs with guilt for blatantly ignoring him like that, especially since you could sense the sincerity in his apology, but it was just too soon, too awkward for you; and while you know Hoseok as a person completely unaffected by the public’s eye, you’re less than willing to review last night’s moment of intimacy in front of the other boys.

One of the boys clears his throat to break the silence, and everyone turns to stare at him wide-eyed. Chestnut hair and tan skin, you manage to recall him as one of the main albeit in need of Hoseok’s guidance members, Namjoon. He reaches his hand out to firmly shake yours before gesturing for you to take a seat next to him on the wooden bench, “I don't think I've ever introduced myself yet. I'm Namjoon. I've heard a lot about you… Y/N?”

“Yeah, Y/N. That's the name,” you grin and seat yourself next to Namjoon. “It's nice I'm finally meeting the oh-so-popular dance group of our school.”

The boys chuckle at your remark when the rather fair skinned, blond and petite albeit carrying a mien years more mature than boys his age leans forward next to Namjoon to give you a pressed smile and a small wave, “the name's Yoongi.”

“And I'm Jin,” the boy across from you and next to Taehyung and Jungkook waves both jointy hands at you before digging his chopsticks into the shared pot and chiming, “now let's eat already. I'm starving here!”

The rest of breakfast passes by smoothly as you and the boys laugh over small talk and gather your things to head over to the first practice session of the day. While Taehyung and Jungkook went to find Jimin, you stayed behind with Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi. Although they’re not as energetic and bubbly as the other three, you soon find your new friends to be just as dorky as they goof off and even tease Hoseok as he leads the practice through stretches and choreograph; but even through all the teasing and giggling, Hoseok never seems to lose his cool over something which happened all too much back in his days as the captain, for he simply rolls his eyes and directs his attention elsewhere.

Everything passes by smoothly, or at least you think, because shortly after laughing at Jin’s less than sufficient, duck-with-a-broken-leg looking spin, you become determined to show him how it’s properly done before placing one leg over the other and somehow managing to trip over your own feet in midspin. It all happens too fast for you to register, but what you do recall is your right foot twisting at the weirdest of angles, sending a crack echoing in your vicinity and a spike of pain traveling from your feet up as your body tumbles to the floor. You’re grasping at your ankle and hissing at the wincing pain still numbed by adrenalin when you look up from the ground to suddenly find Hoseok right next to you after having dropped all things and rushed to your side, scanning you up and down in worry while the rest of the boys peer over at you from behind Hoseok in sympathy.

And the next thing you know, you find yourself hoisted into the air as Hoseok carries you in his firm arms out of the dance room. The spur of the moment prohibits you from protesting, for all you can do is lie there and peer up at Hoseok in complete awe. You don’t know if it’s the return of the glimmer in his eyes when times of crisis lures out the former captain in him, but the stern, serious and worried expression of his furrowed brows and pressed lips enables you to put your full trust in him. The Hoseok you’re looking at now is more capable than you’ve ever seen him before; war scars, adversities, sympathy and empathy, he’s gone through it all.

The fact that he doesn’t even notice you ogling your eyes at him, or at least the fact that he chooses not to comment on it, only further supports your observation as he carefully lays you on the floor of the empty hall right outside the practice room where a vending machine remains buzzing throughout the silence.

“So,” Hoseok finally says, your eyes widening and darting up to stare at him as his own line of sight remains on the first aid kit and your swelling ankle. “Mind explaining to me how this happened?”

“I… um…” you mumble; something about his new mien akin to a stern captain tells you to be cautious of how you answer. “I accidentally tripped—”

“—tell me the truth,” Hoseok deadpans, glimpsing up from your injury to lock eyes with you and you swear your heart had never panicked more.

Clearing your throat, you bashfully look down at the ground in shame, “okay, fine. I was playing around with Jin and lost my focus, which caused me to trip midspin.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and it feels like an hour of intense pondering over endless penalties or scolding are running through his unamused eyes before he finally sighs and his body language along with his aura softens, “really? You tripped because of that? How clumsy can you be? I used to encourage everyone to dance if they wanted to, but maybe it’s safer if I don’t do the same with you. You really aren’t cut out to be a dancer.”

“...well, sorry I’m not as good as you,” you mumble and pout when you recall the contradiction between what he’s saying to you now and what he had to said to you a year ago.

Another moment of silence passes, and whether it’s from exhaustion having practiced for an hour and a half or from this entire stressful situation playing out right before you, you can feel beads of sweat trickling down your temple.

“No,” Hoseok finally utters as he wraps a roll of cloth tape bandage over your throbbing ankle. He follows his statement without looking up at you, “I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry about last night. Whether you liked it or not, I shouldn’t have forced myself on you. I don’t really have the explanation you deserve, so an apology is all I can give right now.”

His words freeze you in place. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him as genuine and serious as he is now, at least not since the tense moment you two had shared in his car after your first date with him. You don’t what to say, because it’s not like you’re mad at him. You’re completely worried over his mental well-being, and the grim look on his face only worries you more.

“It’s okay. I understand and I forgive you,” you meekly say, and you can hear a soft sigh of relief escape his slightly curved lips.

He continues wrapping your leg until your ankle is fixed into the right position and the bandage prohibits you from moving it for as long as it’s on while you intently gaze at him out of your subconscious. Sweat thinning his bangs and dripping from its ends, his chest rises steadily with each intake of breath as his eyes and focus completely fixates on your injury. It takes you a while to notice and admit, but your foot isn’t the only thing swelling, for your heart swelters and grows tender at the sight of him.

Unlike the bad boy demeanor of Hoseok you had come to know, there’s something so attractive about a boy who’s ambitious enough to reach for the skies, tough on the outside but soft to the weak, and stubborn but willing to own up to his mistakes. This isn’t the dance captain you had fallen for in the dance studio last year. This is a mix of all the unknowns and wonders of the universe, the sun and the moon collided into one.

Why does he have such an effect on you?

Why are you so weak to someone as confusing as him?

Why can’t you convince yourself that the only persona of his you’ll ever like is the one you had fallen for back then?

It’s as if the mystical moment when the sun reached its zenith high in the sky and its rays showered upon you and him in the midst of the night fallen dance room refuses to leave the back of your mind?

“You know,” Hoseok lowly states, finally trailing his eyes up to find your own wide ones before cracking a smug grin, “I can take you out to dinner as an apology, if you’d like.”

You scoff, jaw slacking wide open, “uh, no thanks. I wouldn’t have been so careless and gotten myself injured if I knew this was the comforting I was going to receive.”

“The ‘if you’d like’ part isn’t a question. It’s mandatory,” Hoseok chuckles before the stern look on his face returns along with the lopsided, pressed smile. “But as much as it pains me to hear that, I’m glad to hear you won’t be so reckless anymore.”

The deafening silence filled with the buzz of the vending machine behind him pushes you to finally address the thought that had kept you up late into the night. “Hoseok,” you utter, and maybe it’s the tone of pity or concern he spots in your voice, but his head and his eyes remain lowered to the ground. “Is something bothering you? Are you okay? Yesterday… you didn’t seem… right.”

Hoseok then settles into stillness, even his fingers stop in the midst of tying a knot in the bandages; but after a couple of more dreadful seconds, he resumes the work at hand without looking up at you. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters before tying the knot and lightly patting your foot to signal the completion of your treatment. He glances up at you and gives you a small smile, “Be more careful next time, okay? For the sake of my poor heart, please stop being so clumsy.”

You snort and lean back with hands planted flat on the ground behind you, “I only sprained my ankle. You’re acting like I broke my leg or something.”

“You might’ve just sprained your ankle this time, but that’s because you lucked out,” he shakes his head. Then, his eyes flicker to gaze straight into yours, as if speaking from the heart, “injuries can be detrimental to dancers, and I know I said you’re not cut out to be a dancer, but if you really want to dance or even remain in this world with me, then please be more careful. Alright?”

“...okay, but be in the same ‘world with you?’ Please, don’t flatter yourself,” you refute, and he chuckles. “Plus, I’m not a dancer.”

Hoseko sits back with his hands spread out on either side of him, planted on the hardwood floor. He cocks his head to the side along with a brow, “who says?”

“You.”

“I was just messing around with you as always. You know that I don’t mean it.”

“But I bet you really meant it. Most of the newcomers aren’t even half as good as you,” you remark. Seeing how swell the mood had become, you decide to test the waters. “In fact, you’re probably thinking I’m just another one of those silly girls who always watched you in dance practice and is hoping for you to make a return.”

Hoseok raises a brow and chuckles with minimum effort, “I never said that.”

“But dancers are…” you struggle to find the right phrase, “dancers are like… you.”

Silence ensues as he watches you with a void hole in his eyes and an amused smile dancing in the corner of his lips.

“Hm…” he hums and lolls his head back and around the other side of his neck. “How so?”

His question catches you off guard, because while the Hoseok you had gotten to know would have gotten irritated and brushed off your question, this Hoseok seems intrigued by your constant pestering.

What should you do? Should you really tell him how you felt? About how you were one of those silly girls who watched him during dance practice? About how you had fallen head over heels in love with the old him?

This is all or nothing; and while something in your gut tells you not to, the irrational part of you follows the spur of the moment and decides to embark on a final mission to retrieve the sun that had long fallen and given rise to the dark night.

“I don’t know… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s… it’s something about the way you dance. When you dance,” your brows knit as you struggle with your words, but Hoseok remains still as he patiently waits for you to finish your thought, “it’s like the entire room lights up in your presence. Even at night with the shades closed, you manage to somehow brighten the room, as if… as if you’re the embodiment of the sun itself.”

Hoseok maintains his silence, so you continue to fill up the awkward aftermath of your confession.

“You probably don’t get what I’m saying, but it just amazes me what you can do with your dance,” the more you speak, the more you can envision the enlightening moment you had first taken a peek through the cracks of the dance room’s door, “when people watch you dance it’s like the sun revolves around you and time slows, manipulated even, because you’ve suddenly become the center of the universe.”

Getting ahead of yourself, you decide to shut your mouth where you had stopped and fold your hands uncomfortably in your lap as you sheepishly stare the ground; you can feel the piercing gaze of his boring a hole into the top of your head.

“You’re right, you’re not a dancer; you’re a God damn poet,” Hoseok snorts, averting his eyes as he chortles at your splurge of awe-inspiring words before returning to lock his eyes with yours, a mix of amusement and lack of amusement, maybe even irritation, filling the dark orbs of his irises. “You know, you sound awfully like one of those girls who’d always watch me at practice back in the days… sometimes makes me wonder who you really are what your purpose is. Tell me, why are you trying to get me to dance again?”

With the tick of the clock’s hand, the entire world turns upside down. The soft, empathetic Hoseok had dissipated and the curious yet mysterious bad boy had returned. Even with warm, yellow lights illuminating the hallways, all you can see is pitch black and all you can feel is the wrath of the cold at being caught red handed.

Does he know? Or is he merely speculating? You had completely forgotten his previous more than suspicious speculations regarding your identity, but now all of it has resurfaced once again.

“...what?” you barely manage to utter.

And out of the blue, your world reverts to its normal state like the flick of a lightbulb. The warmth of his pressed smile and the shake of his head brings you back into relief, but your panicking heart never fails to initiate the flight-or-fight response in your veins.

“Nothing,” Hoseok laughs and pats your ankle once again before standing up. “There, all wrapped up and good to go. I’ve got errands to run. I’ll see you later, then.”

The extended conversation proves to be rather taxing when you stumble over your own foot the second you get up. Figuring your wrapped ankle and lightheaded state would only hinder you further, you decide to skip the rest of practice and retreat back to your room.

Complete darkness envelops you into a dazed state of mind as you awaken from what you discover to be a lengthy nap. Your entire room is pitch black, your head throbs along with your ankle, and you can barely weave your way through your room without stubbing a toe on a furniture hidden in the dark. Your eyes peep open, dry and heavy as if weights were suspended on the edges of your lids, and you clear your throat in a futile attempt to rid the sore scratches of its walls. Unfortunately for you, water isn’t one of the many things you had packed on this trip, so you grab your wallet and keys and stumble your way down to the vending machine.

With each step deeper into the dark halls illuminated by the moonlight pouring into the windows which lines the wooden walls, your consciousness becomes clearer and clearer and your senses begin to pick up things that had only been registered as blurs; the patters of your footsteps, the chirps of the crickets high in the mountains, the buzz of the vending machine, and the distant groans echoing from down the hall…

...the groans and hisses of pain which shouldn’t have even resonated in the halls hours past midnight.

Whether it be a member of the club breaking the rules, an employee of the motel, or maybe even an outsider intruding upon private property, your pulse races at the thought of someone within the vicinity of you. Crouching low, you cautiously and ever-so-slowly tiptoe as much as your injured foot could muster towards the dance room where the noises are coming from.

A few squeaks of sneakers inciting friction between itself and the polished, wooden floor are followed by ample panting and heaving before one last loud squeak and a pitiful yelp which tugs at your heartstrings—collapse.

The sympathetic side of you kicks you into action, and just as you’re about to go running into the room at full speed to aid the person in need, the sight which lies ahead keeps you locked behind the doorway—eerily similar to the past you, peering into the dance room and fearing confrontation…

...except this time, there’s nothing so enchanting about what lies before you.

Something in your stomach falls, pain gnawing away at your gut as if to tell you you should have known. Fallen, head low, chest heaving and lips grunting. Pitiful, vulnerable, helpless, turned against the wrath of the entire world. No one can understand him. No one can feel the mental and physical pain he’s experiencing right now.

The moonlight floods through the windows and showers the sun rays which contaminate him of the looming past until all that remains are the shadows of the facade of the old him he had tried to put up for the sake of you throughout camp. Alas, the full moon reaches its zenith tonight and there’s something about its blinding presence which tells you it’ll be a while before you see the sun.

Teeth gritted and jaws clenched, he crawls his body back against the mirror walls and curls into a state of vulnerability you had never seen before in the tough Hoseok you knew and had reluctantly fallen for; but the thing is, this isn’t that Hoseok. The boy brings one of his legs into his chest and his hands grab helplessly at his lower swelling leg, groaning in pain.

The only reason he isn’t dancing anymore is simpler than you would’ve ever thought. It can’t be the complete story, for the only thing you could see outside of his flooded, frantic mind is the sudden revelation that the only reason he isn’t dancing anymore is because he can’t; however, what lies underneath is of utmost complexity akin to the origin of the sun, the moon, and the universe itself.

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Sea of Fragments III

Part I here, Part II here

Word Count: 3,519

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: This was originally going to be about twice the length, but then I checked the time and the word count and decided to split it in half. Sorry about the cliffhanger, but hope you enjoy!

The sound of a siren, or perhaps a very badly played instrument, shoved you out of your dreams, groggy and disconnected from the world around you. At first you moved to open a window and tell whoever was playing to fuck off, but the moment your eyes truly opened you were hit with the unfamiliarity of your situation. The tent was still alien, made almost uncanny by the familiar furniture, crammed this way and that, pulling into the sides of the tent, and you felt unease wash over you.

Groaning slightly you stumbled towards the tent opening. Peering out through a crack in the fabric you were met with the sight of what seemed almost like a stampede. Men and women alike, dressed in the same identical light blue shirt and black trousers, jogging this way and that, running into each other haphazardly while cursing those who ran into them in turn. It was a fascinating sort of spectacle, and for a moment you stood there hypnotized.

A woman seemed to notice this trance of yours. Smirking, barely pausing in her mad dash to wherever the hell she was going, she tilted her head slightly. “If you don’t get moving soon you’ll be late for breakfast.” Then she went dashing off, leaving you to try and put together the pieces in your mind.

Turning back around you pulled your clothes out haphazardly. Though you remembered what Scaramouche said about eating with everyone else, you hadn’t really thought the matter through, too distracted by his proximity then. Now your stomach twisted in knots, and you wondered if it would be too much work to sneak out during the day to eat. Immediately you threw away the thought. Even if you could find the time in between, well, whatever you were going to be doing, the idea of fighting with Scaramouche again was exhausting. Even a tenuous truce was better than all out war. With that in mind you drew yourself up to your full height, glancing back at your belongings once before running to join the crush.

The cafeteria was less of a cafeteria and more a complex of various tents, haphazardly pinned together. The noise was almost unbearable after the silence of living on your own, a contrast as well to the low murmurs of the inn. There was no attempt to keep voices low now, and the air was filled with shouts and curses and the sound of too many people shoved into too small a place. You hadn’t noticed how big the camp was before, too wrapped up in the melodrama between you and Scaramouche, too wrapped up in the odd emotions that still swirled around in your mind when you thought of him. Now you wondered how you could’ve possibly ignored something so large and so noisy.

Your hopes that you might be able to sit next to Scaramouche – as awkward as that sounded – were quickly dashed to pieces. Despite the disorder there was still somehow a sense of hierarchy preserved. The Fatui higher ups were seated in a tent at the back, almost completely obscured by the long rows of tables and underlings that sat between them and the place where the food was dished out for the majority of the troops. Though the light was still somewhat dusky, you could still tell that their tent had been cleaned better, as the off-white was still brighter than the rest of the tents, which could generously be described as the color of old egg yolks. Scaramouche sat at the center of the table, already surrounded by officers and other such people; though from his scowl he seemed hardly happier than he had when he was with you. Still the message was as clear as any, and you grimaced at the prospect of trying to find a place to sit now.

When your plate had been filled with food that seemed at least adjacent to edible you wandered aimless for a moment, overwhelmed by the number of the seats and the unseen order of it. Spying a table full of people in ordinary clothes you made your way over to the table slowly, dreading the odd looks and the stilted small talk that would inevitably accompany your arrival. As if on cue the chatter quieted down, as eight pairs of eyes fixated on you. Flashing an awkward smile to no one in particular you sat down, trying to minimize the noise of your chewing. Slowly the conversation trickled back to life, but still your arrival hung in the air. Though you tried to make yourself as small as possible you could still feeling eyes on you every once in a while. The gesture was oppressive, and while you knew that this was par for the course of being new, it didn’t stop the pit in your stomach from hardening, as the act of swallowing became steadily more and more difficult. How you wished you were still at home, at least then you could do something, get up and walk around, instead of being fixed to your spot on the bench.

Setting down your food you looked around you, studying the layout of the tents. Surely there was some way to sneak out, an opening that didn’t fit correctly, an out of the way gap in the fabric. Anything was better than staying here, even going the rest of the day with an empty stomach.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by the call of your name. Looking up you saw an unfamiliar man, one who seemed somehow just as uncomfortable as you were at the moment.

“Yes?” You managed to let out, ignoring the embarrassment that burned your face.

“I’ve been sent with a message.”

“Yes?”

“The Harbinger Scaramouche would like to see you in his tent after breakfast.”

“Is that it?” You asked, feeling like you’d just been told nothing at all. Where else would you go? You hadn’t been around the Fatui for more than an hour and already the impulse to bolt was growing harder and harder to ignore. At least Scaramouche’s berating was familiar, even if it remained unpleasant.

“Yes.” The man nodded awkwardly. Sparing a glance at the table where his message came from he bowed almost imperceptibly, before running off to wherever he’d come from.

The stares had returned, with sounds to accompany them. An “ooh” was audible from the very last person on the bench across from you, as if you were ten years old and had just been called for by your mother. A “good luck” was also heard, though you couldn’t quite tell if it was sincere or not. The rest melded into the rest of the crowd, though you didn’t truly mind that. Sighing you stood up, disposing of your plate and walking out of the tent. If you were going to make your way back to Scaramouche’s tent, then you might as well make a head start.

The camp was more of a maze than you’d initially thought, and by the time you’d managed to spy the familiar dark blue sticking out amid the whites Scaramouche and the rest of his lackeys had already gathered. Murmuring an apology that was ignored you slunk to the back of the room. Though you could see a variety of documents spread across a table in the center of the room, you didn’t really care what was said on them. Why would Scaramouche even call you here when he was dealing with other people? Surely you could have nothing to do with the topic at the moment.

Scaramouche stood with his back facing to you. Though he must’ve heard your entrance, he made no attempt at recognition. Though you were unsurprised by this, you also felt somewhat deflated. If this was how it was going to be then you’d rather just go back to sleep.

“Now that we’ve all arrived, I will explain what the next step is going to be.”

It was odd to hear Scaramouche’s voice so flat, as you normally thought of it as the most emotional part about him. Now however it was completely devoid of emotion, instead set at a monotone, though a hint of disdain still clung to the end of his words.

“As you all know there are two villages in proximity to our camp. The closer one, a trading post for the neighboring village and houses, has recently been discovered to contain no little amount of elemental particles, as well as a distinct elemental footprint. It’s strong enough to imply that there is something of no little magical value hidden away somewhere. Something that will surely be of value to the Tsaritsa and her work. It is our duty, as her trusted army, to aid her in this quest. Thus we will be launching a raid upon the village three weeks from now. It will be a night raid, as to give us the edge, and, if possible, we ought to apprehend this item without the villagers become aware. If we succeed I will send a group to Snezhnaya while the rest of the army remains here as to not arouse suspicion. If you all do as you are told then we will succeed.”

Scaramouche stood back for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. You noticed he hadn’t asked for any questions. Perhaps if he had someone would’ve protested, though you sincerely doubted it. Glancing around at the men and women around you there were a variety of expressions; eagerness, confidence, determination. None of it betrayed the mission they’d been given, to rob a village of something precious, and to care not for the wellbeing of those who resided within those wooden houses. And acidic taste filled the back of your throat, disgust rising. So many men and women, yet not one with any scrap of empathy for those who were not them.

“Scaramouche, Sir.” A voice rose up from amongst the crowd. For a moment your heart lifted, surely there was someone willing to pose any sort of question on the validity of this scheme, even if not outright.

“What.”

“This is a worthy mission, yet I have one question.”

“And what is that?” There was dissatisfaction in Scaramouche’s eyes, and his voice reached a familiar cadence, that of irritation.

“Is there any knowledge as to where this item might be hidden away? Surely it would be easier to deal with discreetly if we were given information on what this item was, or where it’s been hidden.”

“Of course.” There was a sneer on Scaramouche’s face, as if he couldn’t believe the stupidity of those around him. “It would be helpful to know of the item in question. Fortunately for us I have already planned for this.

Turning around Scaramouche’s eyes pierced through the crowd, staring right at your corner in the back. They were brighter than usual, gleaming like a cat. You felt a chill down your spine, up until now you hadn’t truly realized how disarming, how uncomfortable his gaze could be. As if on cue the others turned around to stare.

“This is my plan,” continued Scaramouche, not even bothering to refer to you by name, “they can see the future, or so they say. Using them we will certainly be able to locate such an item, for even if they were of no use in the current view of the future, we would still sniff the item out. This method, however, will require less effort.”

It was as if the air had been stolen from your lungs. Lied, you’d been lied too. He wasn’t disconnecting you from his Fatui work, he was sticking you right in the middle of it! To be a source of intrigue for a Harbinger was embarrassing enough; to be stared at by a whole tent worth of Fatui, each seeing you as no more than a tool, it was mortifying. More than that though was what you knew stood behind their eyes, behind Scaramouche’s words. They genuinely expected you to go along with this plan, to contribute to the suffering of others for no other purpose but greed.

It was all too much. Stumbling sideways, praying that no one was in front of the opening, you let a “no” escape your constricted throat, before whirling around and plunging out of the tent.

Stopping a few steps away from the opening you listened to the chaos behind you. There was a general rustling of voices, a few indignant cries rising over the rest. You listened for the familiar sound of Scaramouche’s voice, but was unable to hear it. Instead you felt an arm on your shoulder. Turning around you were met with the Harbinger, lips pressed together in a line, eyes smoldering beneath his hat. He said nothing, simply disconnecting his hand from your shoulder to meet your wrist. While doing so he dragged you towards the edge of the camp, silence an omen for the fight to come.

-----

“What were you thinking back there!” Scaramouche’s voice had returned to its usual jumping about. “If you’re going to continue your incessant arguing, then at least don’t do it when we are surrounded by others.”

“How could I otherwise!” You let out, voice just as emotional. “You were asking me to do the unspeakable, to participate in the destruction of a village!”

“Are you deaf, or were you just not listening? I made it quite clear what the plan was. A midnight raid for a precious item. You’re acting as if I ordered them to burn the village to the ground.”

“You cannot guarantee that will not happen. If things go wrong, do you really expect me to believe the Fatui will just go running with their tail between their legs? Give me more credit than that Harbinger.”

“And why should we not do everything in our power to retrieve the item? After all it belongs to the Tsaritsa.”

“In what universe does the heirloom of a village belong to a god who can have no use of it other than to grow her own power?”

“It belongs to the Tsaritsa just as your vision does, or my position. The Tsaritsa has aided the creation of this world, the growth of Teyvat. Why should she not demand payment in return?”

“Her payment is her worship. She was given no rights over the belongings of others, others who she does not even know about. What does your precious Tsaritsa know about the every day lives of villagers? She knows as much about that as I do about the movements of the gods.”

“The Tsaritsa has aided in the creation of their villages. Of course she should know more about them than you do of her. She is an archon, you are nothing but a human with a little bit of magic thrown in.”

The words stung, and for a moment you stumbled back, unable to speak. Wrenching your eyes shut you took in a few deep breaths. You’d never given him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. After a moment you glared once more at the Harbinger, whose expression was the same as ever.

“You promised me, you made a deal. You said I wasn’t working for the Fatui, but for you.”

“And I am a Harbinger. What did you expect? You really have no understanding of the world.” Scaramouche’s sneer was all it took to drain the little energy you had remaining.

“You’re heartless. Absolutely heartless. No wonder you love it here. Here no one will notice that you don’t care about anybody, because no one here cares for anything except themselves! And… and to think that I thought there might’ve been some kindness in you.”

Saying nothing more to keep your voice from breaking you turned around. Walking back towards the cluster of tents you ignored the faint, still melodious, call of your name. Everything felt wrong, all wrong.

------

Scaramouche watched you go, anger rising in him as each call of your name dissipated in the air. For a moment he stood there, wanting to storm off, but quickly he realized he really had nowhere to go. His tent was currently infested with lackeys – lackeys who would certainly be wondering what had happened if her returned alone, even if they didn’t dare to say it. Nor could he simply stomp off to the woods, for there was still work to be done, and a useless soldier was a worthless one. Nor could he go wandering around the camp, for it he ran into you there’d certainly be more fighting, and the last thing Scaramouche wanted to do right now was keep fighting.

Still this couldn’t go on. This endless fighting, it was beginning to drive Scaramouche to insanity. Why, why could you not take one simple order? Why was it always fighting with you, always contradictions and refusals and in the end bargains, always bargains, with Scaramouche on the losing end. He wanted to scream, wanted to go up to you and make you understand who he was, that his word was as good as law in this camp, and that you couldn’t be an exception simply because you saw into multiple futures. Hadn’t he made that clear enough already in his actions, in his words? Why then did you continue to talk back to him?

The Harbinger stood there, pondering this question of why. It had occurred to him that you weren’t going to be as easy to pull around as a member of the Fatui, that you had not been trained to simply follow orders. To you a job wasn’t something given on the pain of death, wasn’t something that had a country leaning on it. It was done simply in the hope of getting paid. Yet were you always so surly with your other employers?

Heartless. You had called him heartless. Somehow that grated on him the most. Even if you had yelled, had continued on your insolent way, it would’ve been somehow easier to deal with than your stony accusation. Not that Scaramouche thought much of his abilities to empathize with people; but it wasn’t in his contract to do so. Why did it matter so much to you that he should be heartless? Why should you spit out the accusation as if saying he’d committed the greatest wrong? And why did it sit so low with him, the fact that you had vocalized something he’d already been well aware of?

It gave him a headache to think of all these questions, but then again when was he not in some state of agitation when it came to you. Ever since he’d met you he’d found himself in some sort of state. Even now, when he finally thought you might actually buckle down and start working, even now you resisted. Him breaking your bargain? No, it was you who were unwilling to see this through to the end. All because you could not see what was in front of you, could not see that there were things more important than you. If Scaramouche was heartless, than you were the most self-centered person he’d ever met.

Taking a few breaths Scaramouche reconsidered his last statement. No, no perhaps that wasn’t correct. It wasn’t a consideration for others you lacked, it was rather than you had too much of it. Perhaps that was why you called him heartless, because you cared too much about the hearts of others. It was sound enough, the logic. Yet discontent still floated in the air, and no matter how much Scaramouche told himself that you were the one to blame and that you were behaving illogically something about your words still ate at him. Heartless. Was it so bad then, to be without a heart? Scaramouche felt raw all of a sudden, almost as if you’d somehow reached deep into him and prodded at something, some soft thing he’d not managed to coat over. Heartless. The word echoed in his mind, rattling along with the sudden array of feelings you’d coaxed out.

Why did he care so much anyways what you thought? He’d never cared before. The only opinion that mattered was the Tsaritsa, and you were as different from her as one could possibly be, both in station and in opinion. So why then, why did he care? Scaramouche shook his head, knowing that he must look like a fool, standing there, expression surely revealing the turmoil he was feeling. And yet even as he continued to berate himself the feeling continued.

Looking around Scaramouche sighed, before making his way back into the camp. Somehow he knew that he was looking for you, even if the idea was unwise. But chasing after you had become a bit of a theme, and at this point he didn’t even attempt to hide the fact from himself. Besides, he needed to speak to you. Somehow he knew; if he spoke to you then he might find a way to once more tamper down on the emotions clouding his mind.

Even if he didn’t understand why.

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #series #my writing

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

Tricksters

Summary: On a hot day, you decide to take a dip at a local secluded lake. When Arthur comes to join you, the two of you begin to have an interesting conversation before an untimely interruption.

Warnings: Swearing. nudity, and smut. Ya know, the norm.

Word Count: 7411

A/N: This is the first place prize from my 2k followers giveway! As requested by @lindleyjo, she wanted a creative way of how reader interacts with a younger Arthur.

Support your local content creators and reblog!

Heat.

A sweltering, heavy blanket of humidity settled upon the land after a powerful thunderstorm raged through the previous night. Everyone within camp had slept uncomfortably, tossing and turning in a desperate attempt to shake the crushing atmosphere. If you weren’t out in the open, you yourself would have stripped naked just to have a few hours of peaceful slumber.

With the morning sun peeking over the horizon, the camp’s sleepy members arose and began with the morning chores and duties. After getting dressed you wandered out into the open, observing your surroundings. Some of the women were already working on chores, scrubbing shirts or washing dishes from the night before with Susan Grimshaw at the helm. You paused once you saw her, knowing full well she’d put you to work the moment she realized you had nothing better to do.

You turned heel in the wet grass, hurrying toward the opposite side of camp in hopes to look busy. Toward the edge of camp were a few bags of feed strewn about, and a perfect way to keep yourself from Susan’s radar. You bent over to pick one up, nearly buckling as its awkward weight shifted upon you. Still, you’d managed to place it over your shoulder.

Just as you began to step forward, you heard someone call your name.

The feed sack blocked your view, though you recognized that voice instantly. Arthur Morgan. A young and otherwise cocky gang member and a favorite among Dutch and Hosea. Shuffling your feet to face him, he appeared in your view quicker than you’d expected.

“You, uh, need help with that?” he asked with a somewhat sheepish tone.

You smiled at him. He was always offering to help you with heftier tasks, even though you’ve told him multiple times you could handle it quite well. As boisterous as he was, he was always polite with you and the other women of the camp. Sometimes it seemed as if he gave you a little more attention, unless it was just your imagination. “I’ve got it, Arthur,” you assured him, shifting yet again as the feed inside began to weigh down uncomfortably. “Thank you.”

“Thought you’d say that,” he responded with a soft chuckle, bending down to grab another. “Thought I’d offer anyway.”

“I know,” you giggled, walking around the edge of camp to where the horses rested. “Truth is, I’m just avoiding being a wash maid today. Too hot for that.”

“So you opted for heavy liftin’,” Arthur remarked, stepping by you to place his bag upon a hay bale. The horses nickered excitedly at their arrival. “Don’t seem like it’d be any cooler.”

“As long as I look busy, then Susan won’t put me to work.” You pointed out, dumping your feed bag alongside his.

Arthur dusted his hands and snickered. “’S'pose that’s fair.”

You straightened up, catching his eye briefly. The summer sun reflected in his bright blue eyes, layering a golden hue amongst the oceanic orbs. He averted his gaze once it lasted a second too long. “Er, need anything else?”

You opened your mouth, only to be interrupted by someone calling Arthur’s name. It was Dutch Van der Linde himself. The two of you turned toward his gruff voice, noting the gang leader standing by his tent, standing casually with a lit cigar resting between his lips. Hosea stood next to him, looking on expectantly.

Arthur turned to look at you again. “Never mind, duty calls. See you later?”

Giving him a short nod, you bid him goodbye while he stalked off to join the two men. They were too far away for you to listen to their conversation properly, yet you caught wind Dutch had some grand scheme planned that required Arthur’s hand. A bank or stage coach robbery perhaps. You considered volunteering yourself to come along, the thought of big money was enough of an incentive to take your mind off the heat.

“Hey! Can I come along?” a new voice tore through your thoughts. High-pitched and gritty with the transition to manhood. You watched as John Marston came galloping up to the three men.

Dutch gave a hearty chuckle and reached out to ruffle John’s mop of hair. “Sorry son, just us three.”

“You’ll come along for the next one,” Hosea promised as John opened his mouth to protest. “It’s a small job, we don’t need an extra bodyguard.”

Arthur’s lips moved, most likely mumbling to himself. Whatever he said however, John’s face turned indignant. His body tensed like a predator about to spring on its prey. Hosea stepped in between the two immediately.

“Easy now,” he said with amusement, although gave Arthur a stern glare. “Don’t tease him, Arthur.”

Arthur only rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Since John had been brought in by Dutch and Hosea a few years ago, he and Arthur have almost always been at odds. Both headstrong in their own ways, they acted more like brothers; even when Arthur adamantly denied it. John was still young and immature, thus he’d stay in camp more often than not. He huffed and stormed off, grumbling to himself while Arthur just watched with a smirk on his face.

The three of them took their leave shortly after, saddling and mounting their horses before galloping away. You watched as they disappeared from view, sighing and turning to face camp once again. It was tempting to jump onto your own horse and follow; a wishful thought.

“Y/N!” Susan’s sharp voice pierced the air. “Get your butt over here and pick up a dish rag!”

You stifled a groan, knowing you were standing idle for just a little too long from your own volition. Before Susan could come over and ream your ass, you headed over and picked up an unused rag to help the others.

After a good hour of washing dishes and mending holes in jeans, you were free. You straightened up, stretching out your aching back and cracking your stiffened hands. Sweat pooled in uncomfortable places, soaking through awkward parts of your garments. Wiping a layer of sweat from your brow, you needed relief.

Stepping into the shade of the tree line, you breathed out a sigh. Though still humid, being away from direct sunlight certainly helped. Getting away also prevented Grimshaw from finding even more work for you to do. You leaned against a trunk and fanned yourself, wishing nothing more than to dip yourself in some cold water right now.

You paused, remembering there was a lake not too far away. You’d ridden by it a handful of times, saw a fisherman once or twice. Perhaps the heat was enough to drive away any unwanted eyes. With a plan in mind, you headed back to get your horse.

The woods provided some relief to your otherwise overheated state. Thick leaves and multiple branches allowed some cover from the sun. As you trotted along a small path, a slight breeze carried through, rustling the dense green shrubbery and provided a cooling sensation to your exposed skin. The lake wasn’t too far now, and you urged your horse into a lope in impatience. Up ahead, the canopy broke away to reveal a sheet of water gently disturbed by another breeze. Glimmering beautifully under the bright sun, the surface appeared inviting. The hard packed soil and bushes soon turned into a sandy beach. Gently pulling your mare to a halt, you dismounted and stepped onto the softly shifting terrain. Your gaze scanned the circumference of the lake, only stopping to find you were alone.

Perfect.

You tied your steed to a nearby tree before eagerly shedding your clothes. You made a home for them on the rocks to dry out the sweat before you padded toward the shore. Gentle waves lapped up toward you, kissing your toes with a near frosty sensation. One foot in front of another with a slow step, you were soon embraced from the waist up. The dramatic temperature difference was almost shocking at first, fine hairs raising along your skin. It only took a moment for your body to adjust, and you sunk in further. Wrapped in the soothing cold, you reached your arms out and began to swim.

A few minutes passed by of you lazily floating through the calm waters, relaxed and uncaring of the rest of the world. You were perfectly content in that moment, free of gritty chores and the judgmental or curious eyes of others. You could spend the entire day out here, as long as no one else would ruin your peace.

Time soon became lost to you amongst the calm surface, though you couldn’t care less. Being out here was much better than drowning in your own sweat back at camp.

A thought crossed your mind. You wondered if Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea returned from their heist, and if it went successfully. Your curiosity almost had you swimming to shore to find out.

Yet with the sun still high and the sky and the air still stifling, you didn’t want to move. You’d find out later anyway.

Amongst the distant sounds of nature, you caught the shrill whinny of your mare. You immediately turned your attention to her, the horse’s head high and ears pricked forward, facing the forest. She nickered into the trees. Something had caught her attention.

Seconds later, you could hear a responding whinny, further away and still out of sight. Your heart lurched and you ducked low, keeping your eyes an inch above the water to watch. With your gun and knife still on shore, you had no way to defend yourself.

Movement in the trees formed itself into a horse and its rider, stepping from the shady canopy into the open. It were as if the Gods heard your thoughts. The beautiful coat shimmering in the sunlight belonged to Boadicea, and Arthur’s prominent face hidden under the brim of his hat. The two mares nickered to each other in greeting.

Relief flooded through you as you watched Arthur look at your horse, then glance left and right in confusion. You had to make yourself known now, lest he thought you were in trouble or worse. He hadn’t spotted your clothes yet. Despite your nudity, it didn’t bother you to be this way in his presence. With how long you’ve been a part of the gang, you’ve been around him in your undergarments multiple times. You were comfortable enough around him to know he wouldn’t attempt anything crass.

Pulling yourself up to just above chest level, you called out, “Arthur!”

His head shot up to the sound of your voice. “Y/N? Whatchoo doin’ out here?”

“Cooling off,” you responded, swimming closer to him. “What about you?”

The closer you got, you began to realize he was splattered in blood. Though the majority of it painted his vest and pants, you noticed patterns streaking across his exposed forearms, neck, and face. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see, knowing how dangerous this lifestyle was.

This tugged at your mind. Had he gotten injured in any way? “Are you hurt?” you ask.

“Er,” his gaze swept across the shore, and finally landed on the rock which your clothes lay upon. Eyes growing wide, you could see the rosy tint in his cheeks as he looked away. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Blood ain’t mine. Actually, I was gonna come wash up out here, since I can’t exactly go back to town n’ do it… Guess this lake’s already occupied.” He tucked his head down sheepishly.

His answer allowed you to smile in relief. Though you understood his reasoning to come out here, he was one of the few you wouldn’t mind sharing this space with. No reason to force him to go elsewhere. “No it ain’t,” you responded. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

“N-no, you ain’t even decent,” he stammered, biting his lip from underneath the brim of his hat. “I’ll just go –”

“Arthur,” you interjected. “It’s fine, I promise. It’s a big lake, not like we’ll be on top of one another. I don’t care.”

He refused to look at you directly, instead cast his attention across the lake in deep thought. A full moment passed before he sighed and dismounted Boadicea. “Guess I can’t really argue that…” he murmured. “Can you jus’…turn ‘round please?”

You nodded, smiling a little at his modesty. Turning yourself around and swimming further out, you waited until you heard him stepping into the water before facing him again.

He stood in waist deep water, arms held to the front of his body. The somewhat clear water was dark enough for you not to see below his navel. You’d only seen Arthur shirtless a handful of times, and each moment of stolen subtle glances you appreciated more than the last. He was certainly built nicely, his frame decorated with just the right amount of muscle.

“Don’t stare please,” he mumbled.

You abided to his wish, instead swimming a little further out with only your head above the surface. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him beginning to bathe himself, albeit awkwardly. You had to wonder how often he would have a bath girl do the work for him. Or perhaps it was your presence skewing him? Arthur was usually arrogant and carried himself with confidence, without a care in the world of who thought what of him. It was only in the presence of those close to him did he show a different side, and you were no exception.

After a few moments of silence, the questions from earlier arose in your mind. Maybe it would be less awkward for him if you were to initiate some casual conversation. Shifting to cast a glance his way, you called out. “So how’d the job go?”

He avoided your eyes, keeping his fixated on his forearms, running his hands along to remove the stains. The water soon tinged crimson with blood pooling around him. He hesitated for a moment. “Pretty good, actually. We made out with two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand? That certainly was much more than you were expecting to hear. Out of every heist you’ve done, you’d never made it out with more than a couple hundred. “You must be pretty happy with yourself then.”

His eyes flickered to you for a brief second. “Yeah,” he agreed with a slight chuckle. “Was much more too, only had a short time to gather what we could ‘fore the law came down on us.”

“That’s a shame,” you commented. “Sounds like you needed an extra hand after all.” You remembered that little conversation John had with them.

He turned his full attention to you now, however still avoided looking at your face. “John’s too young n’ headstrong for bigger jobs right now.” He said pointedly.

“I meant me. I was gonna volunteer myself until I saw Dutch deny John.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “Oh, uh…why didn’t ya anyway?”

You shrugged, leaning back a little to stare at the sky. “I figured he’d say no anyway. And I know you three are perfectly capable without an extra hand.”

He hummed softly in response. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “I don’t think he’d say no. I woulda vouched for ya anyway.”

You smiled at his comment, lifting your head to look at him again. “Thanks, but I’m sure John would have been pissed if he heard that.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, he’s still a kid. He’d get over it.”

“True,” you agreed with a giggle of your own. “Think we would have gotten away with more if I’d come along?”

Arthur gave you a crooked smile. “I think we’d get away with everything they had if you’d come along.”

You couldn’t deny that. Almost every job you’d attended ended in a successful plunder, thus earning praise from everyone in camp. You took pride in your skill even though you didn’t boast it. Dutch and Hosea saw you as one of the most productive members of the gang, of course they would have been happy for you to come along. You reminded yourself to volunteer next time despite what little Johnny Marston thought. “Guess I’ll volunteer next time, since you boys obviously need my help.” You smirked.

Arthur scoffed in response. “Hey now, that was uncalled for.” He laughed, sinking further to almost shoulder height.

You smiled at him, daring to swim a little closer. “It’s true, ya know. Pretty sure any of those other heists wouldn’t have gone as smooth if I hadn’t been there.” You commented jokingly.

“You sayin’ we ain’t as good?” Arthur asked with a quirked eyebrow, although he couldn’t hide the amusement plain on his face.

“I’m saying that some things need a woman’s touch, even robbing.” You teased, grinning widely at him.

He rolled his eyes, stretching his arms out to propel himself slowly through the water. “Think I changed my mind, with talk like that.”

It was your turn to scoff. You knew he was only fooling with you, though while he was distracted, you took a chance to raise your arm up and splash a bit of water in his direction. Splattering across his face and head, he yelped in surprise and flinched away, raising his arms in defense.

“Damnit, Y/N!” he huffed, wiping his face of the droplets. “The hell was that for?”

You chortled in response, swinging your arms behind you to swim further away. “Don’t be angry, you’re already wet!”

Despite a prick of annoyance shadowing his features, the way his lips curled into a smile told you he certainly wasn’t completely irritated. The furrow in his brow relaxed before he spoke, “You better be careful, next time I won’t be so forgivin’.”

You paused to look at him. “Oh, that’s some big talk, Arthur Morgan!” you exclaimed, changing your direction to swim toward him once again. You stopped just a few feet away, the closest you’ve gotten so far. Shooting him a smirk, you continued, “What would the scary outlaw do to me?”

“Somethin’ not nice,” he answered, the smile never leaving his face. “Don’t think you wanna find out.”

Those words posed a challenge. As childish as this was, you weren’t going to deny yourself a little bit of fun for the time being. The two of you were still shoulder height above the water. With his wide frame and thick torso, he could have easily outmatched you on solid ground.

You launched yourself forward, throwing your hands out to slap them onto his shoulders. With a swift kick to propel your body further, it provided you with enough strength to shove him completely beneath the surface. His eyes widened in surprise and terror before his face was engulfed by the somewhat turbid lake. Immediately you yanked your hands away, spinning around as fast as the weight of the water would allow. Paddling quickly away from him, the sound of splashing and spluttering filling your ears. It would only be a matter of time before he caught up to you.

Hurrying toward the shore, his nearly beastly roar soon carried across the lake. He called out your name, and you didn’t dare to look back. He was growing closer, faster than you could reach the shallows. In a few short seconds, he was on you. Thick arms wrapping around your torso and stopping you in your tracks. You squealed out in surprise, automatically wanting to break free of his embrace. Though your struggle proved useless as he was far too strong.

“Arthur!” you cried out, voice shuddering with laughter. “C’mon, lemme go!”

“Ya pushed me, woman,” he growled in your ear. “Think I’d let ya get away with that?”

You still tried to wriggle from his grasp, only further proving it as a fruitless effort. “Was worth a shot!” you said proudly, smiling widely.

Expecting him to serve the same fate, you shut your eyes and waited for the inevitable cold grip of the water to engulf you completely. His hands grazed across your abdomen, halting at the curves of your waistline. He paused there, prompting your curiosity.

“Arthur?”

A mere second passed and the warmth of him disappeared. Waves shifted around you in the absence of him, and you turned in confusion. He had his back facing you.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?” You inquired.

“Weren’t right for me to do that,” he answered quietly. “‘M sorry.”

You frowned in confusion. Just moments ago the two of you were playing like two kids uncaring of the world. “You didn’t scare me if that’s what you meant.”

“No,” he said flatly. “The way I grabbed ya. You’re naked, weren’t proper. Stupid o’ me…”

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. The awareness had flung out the instant you began your tomfoolery, and even now you didn’t even care. “So what?” You scoff. “Nothing happened.”

“Still ain’t right,” he grumbled, moving closer to the shore. “I shouldn’ta –“

“Arthur,” your tone sharp. “We were playing around. I don’t care if I’m clothed or not, it didn’t bother me.”

He mumbled something you couldn’t hear. There was something else on his mind. In shallower waters, more of his torso was visible, streams of water cascading down his strong back, shining beautifully in the sunlight. Your breath nearly caught at the sight, but the minor distraction hadn’t removed your original intention.

“Arthur!” You called out. “Don’t leave yet!”

He froze in place.

“Talk to me, please. What’s really wrong?”

He hadn’t uttered a single word for a full minute. He breathed in again. “Don’t matter, Y/N. Sorry for bein’ handsy with you, I shoulda known better.”

He was lying. You knew him well enough by now. You sighed heavily and stood up completely, allowing your upper torso exposed to the air. Moving a little closer, you said softly, “look at me.”

You half expected him to be stubborn and walk away. Instead, he slowly turned, his eyes fixed away from your figure. Your heart began to hammer wildly in your chest. It hadn’t been too long since your state had been graced by a man’s presence. You were confident enough to not feel shy about yourself.

Especially not around Arthur.

His eyes slowly raked up your body, finally meeting your patient gaze.

Taking another deep breath, you murmured to him, “Talk to me.”

He swallowed audibly. “It ain’t important –”

“Don’t give me that. Tell me what’s wrong please,” you interjected. “Whatever it is, I won’t be mad.”

He appeared conflicted, chewing on his bottom lip in hesitation and tearing his eyes away. “It’s, uh…” he gritted his teeth and swore to himself. “Damn it, Morgan!” He ran his hand through his damp hair in what seemed to be frustration. “It’s you.” He finally uttered.

“Me?” You repeated in confusion. “What’s wrong with me?”

“No, nothin’ ain’t wrong with you, it’s…” he trailed off, becoming more flustered with each passing second. “I…I like you, Y/N.”

Out of everything in the world, it was a confession you hadn’t expected to hear. Blood roared in your ears as your heart did somersaults beneath your ribs. Arthur Morgan, liking you? Words couldn’t formulate in your mind as everything you wanted to say disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. You wanted to say something, anything, a simple response to accommodate for your lack of reaction.

He must’ve taken your silence negatively. A deep frown appeared on his face and his head hung in defeat. As he began to turn away, your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He stopped at an instant, slowly lifting his head to stare into your eyes once again.

His eyes. A beautiful blue-green hue twinkling brilliantly from the sunny reflection of the lake. You observed every feature of his face, from his thick sandy colored hair, down to his chiseled, stubbled jaw. Truly such a stubborn, ruthless beast who would land a bullet between a man’s eyes only to turn around and offer you help, and dance with you on cheerful occasions. Too many days you spent admiring him from afar. Too many nights spent in crowded saloons, picking up some random cowboy to swoon and come back not completely satisfied and wishing someone else would share that hotel bed with you. Too much time wasted attempting to deny your ever growing feelings for this man.

You would never admit it out loud that Arthur Morgan had your heart, long before he even knew it.

Your lips curved into a soft smile. Sliding your hand to capture his, you sensed his hesitation when you entwined his fingers with yours. “I don’t see that as a problem.” You whispered to him.

A slew of emotion flitted through his eyes in a long-lasting moment. His lips parted in attempts to speak, only to hear him release a disjointed breath. “It is,” he said sadly.

“Why?” you pressed.

“Mary.”

Mary. That one name that plagued your dreams for far too long. Arthur had been head over heels for this high society woman who frowned upon his lifestyle. She was polite every time you’d come across her, yet you saw clearly through her façade. How difficult it was to keep your mouth shut every time she peered at you with thinly veiled judgment. “Fuck Mary,” You spat it as if reciting the vilest of curses. He stared at you in surprise. “How long has it been, Arthur? Since she left you?”

“Uh, a few months…” he mumbled.

“A few months,” you repeated. “You hold no obligation over her anymore, Arthur. She’s gone. And I’m here now.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed heavily, dipping his head yet again. “It’s stupid o’ me to even keep thinkin’ ‘bout her. Every time I’ve tried tellin’ ya, I get stuck on her. It’s jus’ hard… I don’t wanna have her on my mind no more.”

The conflict hung heavy in his voice. You couldn’t be angry with him over this; he loved Mary for reasons you could never fathom. She left him to be wed and bound to live the life she dreamed, a decision that wounded Arthur deeper than any gunshot or stab of a knife.

With your free hand, you reached up to caress his jaw, prompting him to look at you. “Then let me help you forget,” you uttered.

He blinked in silence, his eyes never leaving yours. Seconds ticked by as you watched every inner thought of his displayed plain on his face. You were worried he’d refuse, until he gave a small, simple nod.

That was all you needed. Trapping his face gently between your palms, you tilted your head up, pulling yourself closer to lay a tender kiss upon his lips. A brief moment of tension felt soon released when he melted to you, kissing you with equally returned tenderness.

He relaxed completely to your touch. Large hands made their presence upon your hips, so loosely held against your bare skin. You encouraged him by taking one step closer. The heat radiating from his body negated the cool waters surrounding you. He moved to rest his palms upon your lower back, ever so hesitant to further progress. Releasing his face to favor his neck, your arms latched to him to pull your body flush with his.

Arthur’s breath hitched, his grip tightening in reaction. He parted his lips from yours, peering into your eyes. A sweet softness reflected in his, though below the seafoam surface lurked a deeper musing.

“Been wantin’ to do that,” he murmured to you. “Guess I’m too foolish to make myself wait for so long. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “I don’t think you’re foolish, you’re just too stubborn to realize your own feelings.”

He gave a singular laugh, a short and deep chortle that pulsed against your chest. “I s’pose you’re right, guess I got some catchin’ up to do.”

With a hum of response, you carded your fingers through his hair. “You’ve got all the time in the world with me, Arthur Morgan. And we’re here now, just the two of us.”

A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. One hand released your waistline to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lips. Wordlessly he drew you in for a second kiss. Moving his hand to the back of your head, his fingers tangled within your locks.

Despite his large frame, he held a certain tenderness unlike any other man you’d been with. A lack of urgency and force to indulge in a lustful night. Every blissful moment here you wanted to last forever, remaining in this lake and far from any civilization.

The kiss soon deepened, easing your tongue to invade him. He allowed you to, following your lead without a moment of hesitation. His arm encircled your waist completely, pinning you to him without excessive strength. Every subtle movement allowed you to appreciate him more and more, handling you like precious cargo rather than a sack of feed.

Fingertips thickened with callouses traced patterns along your back, a touch so feather soft your skin tingled in his wake. Trailing toward your butt beneath the surface, ghosting ever so slightly across the crest. You hadn’t been surprised by this at all. Sensing a small tinge of hesitation, you offered subtle encouragement with your own touch. Smoothing your palm along his muscular shoulder, trailing your fingers down his arm, pausing to gently grip his wrist.

He pulled his head back to look at you, a look of shame crossing his face and his mouth agape in the beginnings of what you assumed was an apology.

You however just smiled, moving his hand to rest against the curve of your butt. You watched as his eyes widened in surprise, sputtering out incomprehensible noise while his face began to show a hue of fuchsia.

Hushing him gently with a finger to his lips, you rubbed his arm soothingly. He was after all still a man, and why deny those thoughts lurking below his otherwise respectful nature? “Touch where you’d like.” You whispered to him.

An audible gulp emanated from his throat, his gaze sweeping over your face as if searching for any notion of disapproval or repulsion. When finding none, he uttered, “You sure?”

Giving a small nod, your other hand rested against his chest, running a single digit across the ridge of his collarbone. “I trust you.”

Reluctance still hinted in his face as he considered your words. His lips twitched as if to say something, though not a single sound came out. You waited quietly to see what his next move would be.

And then you felt it. The beginnings of a light caress as his palm rubbed your smooth skin. Nails scraped along the surface in a small, experimental squeeze. You giggled softly and smiled even wider, running your own hand down the midline of his chest. Admiring him from afar paled in comparison to right now, appreciating every hardened muscle you once only dreamed of holding.

The soft grip on your head disappeared entirely as the rough skin of his other hand moved slowly down your back and rested at the dip of your waist. His eyes flickered downward for a fraction of a second, taking in the plain sight of your naked breasts before looking back to you. Giving him a small nod, he moved from your waist, trailing his fingertips along the front of your torso. Carefully, he fondled one, his eyes never leaving your face. With slow progression his confidence began to grow, and you moaned encouragingly for him to continue. A delicate massage accompanied by his thumb teasing your nipple, he smiled.

“You feel so soft…” he murmured to you.

You hummed in response, thoroughly enjoying this moment. You weren’t sure how far this would go, though his touch was prompting you to explore further. From his chest down to his abdomen, enjoying every swell and plane decorating his frame, you dipped your hand beneath the surface. He tensed once you reached below his navel, although did not offer any notion of backing away. Your eyes met his, unblinking and waiting.

And so you continued further. The heat of his arousal was a stark contrast to the cool liquid surrounding him. Your fingers traced along the soft skin, observing every inch with growing interest. From the tip to the root, your hand turned to rest your palm on his hardened length. Wrapping your entire hand around it you found him to be blessed with girth.

One pump, and another, as smooth as the water would allow. Arthur’s hold on you loosened as a low moan slid from his lips. A simple sign for you to continue, thus you did. Watching his eyelids flutter and his head tilt back, a small smirk tweaked the corner of your mouth. He was soon malleable in your capable hands, his entire figure relaxing for you.

Leaning in to him, you cupped his neck and pressed your lips to his damp skin, leaving light kisses along the junction of his shoulder. His breathing heightened accompanied by a disjointed sound of surprise and pleasure. He spoke your name in a soft, low groan.

“Yes?” you answered him.

“I –” he paused, his hands returning to your body, running his fingers tantalizingly along your curves. “I wanna have you.”

Those words, the sincerity laced within them threw your heart into an erratic rhythm. Surely this was your imagination, your mind baked from being in the heat and sun for far too long. “Really? Here?” you asked quietly.

He nodded. “Like you said, we’re here now,” He replied with what you’d said to him earlier. “Might as well make the most of it, ‘less you don’t want to.”

The mere thought stoked the already smoldering embers within you, curling into a small fire. You bit your lip, weighing your considerations. Your body yearned for him; the pressure deep in your belly too incessant to ignore. Would it be worth it to wait until the two of you found a hotel to stay in, or an abandoned cabin to avoid any unwanted eyes?

However, the lakeside had been quiet for as long as you both had been out here. As unorthodox as it was, the thought of giving to your primal desires within the arms of nature’s embrace seemed invigorating. Staring deep into his awaiting eyes, you finally murmured, “Yes.”

As soon as the word passed your lips, he drew you in for another kiss. Deep and urgent, his tongue hadn’t hesitated to dance with yours. His touch grew fervent, sweeping across every curve and swell your body had to offer. One hand gravitated to your breasts, toying with each and drawing out a few muffled moans from you, while the other snaked further down. Like your own endeavor, he didn’t have trouble finding his target. Warm pads searched your folds briefly until resting upon that little bundle of nerves, creating small circles amongst your sensitive flesh. In turn, the grip you had on his cock hastened. Short and heavy breaths pierced the air as he pulled back, muttering out a swear.

Arthur’s movements soon became erratic, his fingers dancing feverishly against your nub. It didn’t take long for the fire to erupt into a blazing inferno, coiling stronger and tighter with each passing second. You panted out his name, gripping his shoulder for support as pleasure rolled through your body. Eagerly he moved to your entrance, testing it briefly before sinking two digits in. You weren’t sure if you were truly that wet or if the water aided his entry, but the thought quickly swept from your mind the moment he pumped his fingers in and out. You could have melted then and there if he wasn’t supporting you.

Closing your eyes, your mind soon became too addled to focus. The pressure within your core bubbled and threatened to burst. Your head tilted back and moaned your pleasure to the heavens, the fleeting arrival of your climax exploding through every inch of your body. Nails melded into flesh as he coaxed the final waves from you, your lips gasping out his name.

“Arthur…” you groaned, your heart racing. “My God, you know your way with a woman.”

“That surprise you?” he asked with a proud smirk.

Your prickling curiosity as to how far he went with Mary was not something you wanted to delve further into, yet Arthur was a young and handsome man. You’d witnessed him catch the eye of willful saloon women more than once. His handle on you lacked the clumsy and blunt nature of a virgin. “How about you show me further?” you prompted, your hand still resting against his length. Trailing your fingernails along the underside, you watched as his entire body shuddered.

“Mm, gladly…” he growled to you, moving his hands to grip your thighs. Without hesitation you wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms following suit to his neck. He seemingly had no issue supporting your weight, wading through the water until your back rested against a warm, gritty surface. He’d placed you on a rock, and soon released you to straighten up, peering at you with a gleam in his eye. “Turn ‘round.”

You listened without hesitation, immediately understanding what he wanted. Sinking partly back into the water, you turned away from him and bent over, swaying your hips at him. A growl of satisfaction rumbled from him, his rough hands taking place on your hips. The heat of his arousal pressed against the divide of your ass, rubbing it along your soft skin.

Soon he honed in for your lower lips, prodding your entrance once before pushing his way in. You gasped; the pressure surprising at first. His girth stood true, expanding your inner walls further than you anticipated. Hips flush with your butt, he pulled back and drove into you, erasing any prior thoughts from your mind. The pressure was soon replaced with pleasure provided by his unrelenting thrusts.

Swearing out loud, your fingers scrambled on the rock to ground yourself. He was not offering any leeway, using you to his advantage. His grip was tight, deep enough to definitely leave bruises. He groaned and growled, whispering how well you were taking him.

Such talk wasn’t foreign to you, yet hearing it from Arthur created a new thrill. You arched your back for him, allowing nature to hear your song. The subtle change of angle brought a greater difference, allowing the tip of his cock to drag along that spot.

You gasped out his name, your eyes rolling as another coil of fire burned with fury within you. It wouldn’t be much longer until he ripped a second climax from you. Still you clung to that rock as if for dear life while he took every inch. His speed and precision were pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

“Shit,” he grunted, voice wavering from his movement. His fingers made their presence known between your legs, rubbing you with vigor. “C’mon, girl,” he coaxed in that lovely baritone voice. “Give it to me.”

Oh Lord, how could you not give to him? That last command was all you needed to bend to his whim. Much more explosive than the first, your legs trembled and your back arched even more as it overtook every part of your body. Every being within the immediate area knew his name, you calling it out like a prayer.

With a noise of satisfaction he gripped your hips again, driving himself even faster, milking your orgasm of every last drop. A string of expletives fell from your mouth. “Arthur – fuck!” you huffed, attempting to halt the trembling overtaking your muscles. You stiffened against the rock, your skin catching somewhat uncomfortably though you didn’t care at that moment. Your eyes rolled from the sky to the trees to the shore, though focusing on nothing.

Until something caught your eye. Something along the sandy terrain that wasn’t there before. You blinked, ripping yourself back to clarity. Searching for it again, your gaze landed on it directly. A person standing just yards away, fixated on the two of you. It only took half a second to realize it was John Marston.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Where the hell did he come from? “Arthur –” you grunted, mustering up as much breath as you could despite him pounding into you. “Arthur, stop!”

He halted immediately. “Wh-what’s wrong?” he breathlessly asked.

“Someone’s watching.” You hissed, your head twitching toward the shore.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his face twist in confusion. He followed your line of sight and the bewilderment was quickly swept away with surprise. “Marston?” he pulled out of you immediately. “What the hell –”

You hid yourself better behind the rock. Turning your head, you looked just in time to see a conniving grin spread across John’s face. He turned and grabbed a pile of clothes – Arthur’s – off the ground. “Payback, Morgan!”

As the teen darted towards the trees, Arthur’s growl of anger sounded over you, followed by the splashing of water. You watched as Arthur stormed toward the shore, attempting to go as fast as he could. “Get back here, damnit!” he roared, finally reaching solid ground. Butt naked and his wet skin shining in the sun, he briefly stopped to yank his boots on before sprinting after John, who had disappeared amongst the shrubs already.

Arthur soon also disappeared into the woods, his shouts soon becoming muffled by the thick canopy above. John’s laughter grew further away. You waited, listening to their voices growing more distant. You pondered whether or not to try and help, but two naked people running through the woods certainly wouldn’t remedy the situation, and getting dressed would just waste time.

John hadn’t touched your clothes, only Arthur’s. Perhaps the young teenager was putting revenge over whatever Arthur said to him earlier. Typical sibling behavior as it were, you thought with a small smirk to yourself.

A few more minutes ticked by while you were wrapped in silence. You hadn’t heard either of them, and wondered how far John got, or if Arthur managed to catch up to him. Your unasked question was answered when the rustling of leaves and branches caught your attention. The sharp crunch of boots snapping twigs soon revealed Arthur, disgruntled and still very nude, though his body was peppered with forest debris.

You had to admit, as good as he looked, the sight of his defeated face and in nothing but his boots was quite amusing.

“What’re you smilin’ at?” He grumbled as he made his way to the water, kicking his boots off with unneeded force.

You started to giggle, standing straight to gesture to him as a whole. “Never thought I’d see Arthur Morgan running after a kid, stark naked!”

The scowl he gave you was heated, though didn’t faze your ever growing laughter. “Yeah well, don’t get used to it.” He huffed, breaking the surface to slide back in.

“Couldn’t catch him huh?” You chuckled.

He sighed heavily. “Lil’ shit got to the road. I had to stop chasin’ him or else give an unwanted show to some passin’ stagecoaches.”

That only prompted a harder laugh. “What, I’m sure someone aboard them would’ve appreciated it!”

With a scoff, Arthur sank further into the water, attempting to wash the debris from his body. “Now I’m stuck here without clothes. How am I gonna get back to camp without people seein’ me like this?”

The mere thought of it brought even more amusement to you. Arthur trying to sneak into camp, probably holding his hat over himself in attempts to cling to a shred of his dignity. No one in camp would let him live that down.

“Well, John didn’t steal my clothes,” you pointed out, gesturing toward the rock where your garments still lay out. “I can run back and grab yours, if you want.”

“Like I got a choice,” he mumbled dejectedly. “Jus’ hurry, will ya?”

“Sure,” you say, making your way to land and stepping out into the hot air once again. “Can’t let anyone see big bad Arthur Morgan stuck out here in his natural state!” you cackled.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #young Arthur Morgan #trying something new to add flair to my posts

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 57

Masterlist

A/N: I've decided to use a more omniscient narrator for this chapter to allow me to jump between povs/places. I hope this isn't confusing, I usually don't write omniscient povs.

----

On the first day, the sun rises to a land drenched in blood. Maybe some of the citizens mistake it for the trick of the light at first, the red morning sun reflecting on the water, but soon enough, they realize that this is no illusion.

The news spread through the land like a great weave, bringing panic in its wake. The river running through the Black Land is essential, its water sustaining the life in the region. There are secondary rivers and wells, of course, but those are turned to blood as well. But Fae cannot drink blood, and neither can their cattle. They cannot use blood to water their crops, either.

The humans are not panicking, although the Fae do not notice this (humans are below their notice, and this goes double when they are currently so occupied with themselves). They are giddy with excitement, even though they are trying to hide it. Having been sent to fetch water for their masters, they were the first to notice something was wrong, and in the beginning, they were worried, but it wasn’t long before the first of them found out that the blood turns back to water in their hands.

In the Seraphim army camp, the soldiers are above all confused. It falls to Drakon to explain the situation to them, as Miryam is still resting in their tent, sleeping so deeply she might as well be unconscious. He keeps his explanations short since he does not want to give any spies who might be listening any important information, but he takes care to make it clear that the curse is set to only affect those who have harmed the human residents of the Black Land, so they should remain unharmed.

Later, in a tent with his army commanders, he goes more into detail. The curse is tied, he explains, to the suffering of the humans here, past and present, and it will continue to punish those who caused that suffering until the humans are freed. As long as they aren’t, things will continue to get worse.

After he has finished, his commanders are silent for a moment. Then, Sinna nods slowly. “If anyone disagrees with this approach,” she says, “you are free to return to Erithia. This decision will have no consequences for you, and no one will think you lesser for it.”

Looks are exchanged, some of them wary, others unsure. No one leaves, though.

On the other end of the country, the Alliance council receives the news of what is happening in the Black Land. Andromache smiles darkly, whispering good riddance to Nakia. Most of the Fae frown, muttering amongst themselves. In the end, a missive is sent out to Miryam, asking her to appear before the council and explain herself. It goes ignored.

In her lavish suite of rooms in her palace, Ravenia receives the news that her rivers are now running with blood together with a letter. It is sealed in the Erithian seal and when she opens it, there is only one word written on the paper: Surrender.

----

On the morning of the second day, Ravenia has the two witchers remaining in her service after Artax’s death herd three-hundred-forty-one humans into a witch circle, making it seven times seven times seven people in the circle in total, and orders them to break the curse. The witchers die. The humans die. And in answer, the earth under them rumbles. Cracks form in the land, running through the ground like spiderwebs.

Out of the cracks crawl insects. Lice and fleas and mosquitos. Within an hour, every Fae throughout the land is covered in itching bites. Some try to flee into the water, but the rivers are still running blood and anyone who does dare to go into that doesn’t last long inside.

Before midday, even the last of the Fae have noticed that the humans are miraculously unaffected by the insects.

Drakon spends the day sending out messengers to all the corners of the country. The message they bear is simple: Free your slaves and this will all end. Refuse, harm them, and it will grow worse until your country is reduced to ashes. He prays they will be reasonable.

A few hours later, Ravenia sends out messengers of her own: Every person who chooses to free their slaves and send them to the Erithian army is guilty of treason and will be executed accordingly.

----

On the third day, the livestock begins to grow sick. No one quite knows where it’s coming from. It’s like the grass has suddenly turned poisonous, even if this poison affects only domesticated animals. By now, people are truly beginning to panic. The water being turned to blood is already bad, but most of them still hope it will be turned back to water soon enough. Dead livestock remains dead, though, and it might cause problems for years to come.

Miryam is still in pain from the spell by then, but it is manageable enough that she feels she can probably get up without falling over immediately. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself into a sitting position on her bed and begins to fumble for some proper clothes. Getting dressed takes thrice as long as usual, but she does manage to stand without falling over, which she counts as a victory. (Less fortunate is the fact that her power is still drained.)

Slowly, Miryam pushes the tent’s entrance open. As soon as she steps outside, the entire camp seems to freeze. The soldiers, who went about their activities until a moment ago, stop mid-motion to stare at her. After a heartbeat, they seem to realize what they are doing and quickly look away, most of them returning to their activities with a stiffness that wasn’t there before.

Miryam desperately wants to tell them that they needn’t be nervous about her, but she forces herself to ignore the awkwardness. If they are scared of her, she will not make it better by calling them out on it. At least the humans don’t seem to be wary of her when she visits their camp – they are more excited than anything – and as the day progresses, the Seraphim relax as well.

In Lako, Ravenia’s situation is growing worse by the hour. Not only is her entire body itching dur to these cursed fleas, she is also under more and more pressure from her nobles. They want to see her acting, and ideally not in a way that sets of a plague of insects all over their country. The last thing Ravenia wants is to show any weakness to Miryam, but right now, another meeting seems inevitable, if only to convince her people that she isn’t just sitting around doing nothing. If it was up to her, she would simply attack the army camped before her city, but her own army is still several days away, and besides, her people don’t seem all too eager to provoke the person who is currently holding their water reserves hostage. So Ravenia grinds her teeth and sends a letter to Miryam, asking for a meeting.

When Miryam receives the letter half an hour later, she frowns and shakes her head. “I’m not going,” she says. “Negotiations? None of my demands are up to negotiations, and anyways, she isn’t in a position to negotiate.”

Of course, if Miryam doesn’t go, Ravenia might use it to pretend that there is no peace because Miryam refuses negotiations. On the other hand, if she does go, Ravenia will just as easily be able to pretend that it was Miryam who caused negotiations to fail, since they would be meeting in private this time, away from the palace and any spying eyes. Either way is a mess, and so Miryam will pick the more pleasant option, which is not going.

“I’ll go,” Drakon says, and when Miryam turns around to frown at him, he shrugs. “I know she likely doesn’t mean this offer, but if there’s any way to resolve this without bloodshed, I think we should take it.”

Miryam nods. She doesn’t exactly agree – mainly because she really does not think Ravenia will listen to reason before she is on the brink of dying of thirst – but she can understand why Drakon feels the need to try. She feels bad enough about the idea of him facing Ravenia alone that she almost offers to come along, though. But Drakon didn’t ask her to, and since she doesn’t want to look like she doesn’t trust him to handle Ravenia on his own, she stays silent.

Two hours later, Drakon sets out for the meeting with Ravenia. He is nervous, but not as nervous as he was during earlier meetings. He doesn’t think the meeting is a trap, and apart from that, there’s little Ravenia can do to him anymore.

They meet by the side of the Klei river. It is a strange meeting place, lacking all the splendour and grandeur of the palaces that hosted all their previous meetings. To Drakon, Ravenia looks entirely out of place here. He can only imagine her in palaces, surrounded by servants, guards and courtiers. Not standing alone in the blood-stained earth, no companions to be seen.

“I was expecting your wife,” Ravenia says by way of greeting.

She is wearing a long, loose silk dress and her usual golden jewellery, but even her expensive clothes cannot hide the stings covering her entire body. Somehow, she also seems smaller than usual, far less imposing.

In her palace, she always manages to make herself seem more-than-Fae, invincible and untouchable. Out here, with the red river only feet away, though, it is obvious that she is just a person who happened to be born into power.

“Miryam is otherwise occupied,” Drakon says. His voice is even, and he is surprised to find that he isn’t terrified. For once, Ravenia’s mere presence isn’t enough to make him want to cower.

“And what would I have to discuss with you?” Ravenia asks.

“You called this meeting,” Drakon says. “I’d assume you would know why you did it.”

Ravenia lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I called the meeting to convince my country’s nobility that I am doing something to solve this unpleasant curse business. If you had any understanding at all of how politics work, you would know that.”

The jab fails to hit its mark. Not long ago, it would have stung, but right now, Drakon doesn’t even understand why he ever let her words hurt him. She is a tyrant, a monster and slave owner. Cauldron, why does he care what she thinks of his competence as a ruler? If anything, he should take it as a complement if she thinks him a bad ruler.

“You ought to surrender,” he says. “No one died yet, but if you continue to refuse, people will die. Your people. End this now, before any lasting damage is done.”

He doesn’t even understand how there can be any debate for Ravenia, how she can so casually risk her peoples’ lives over an already-lost battle.

“I have no intention of surrendering to you,” Ravenia replies evenly.

“What other choice do you have?” He shakes his head. “You’ve lost. Do you truly want to wait until hundreds, thousands of your people have died before you will finally admit it? Would that satisfy your pride?”

“If you’re so concerned about my peoples’ lives, you should not have set off that curse. Make no mistake, Your Highness – any deaths that will happen in this will be on you and your wife.” She laughs. “Or maybe only your wife, since I doubt she even discussed it with you first. It must be such a relief for you to finally have handed over your country to someone else.”

Drakon stares at her, lightly shaking his head. How did he ever allow himself to be this terrified of her? She is just a person. Someone with power, yes, but a large part of her power also comes from other people allowing her to have power over them. And right now, in their current situation, she has no power at all if Drakon doesn’t play along with her games.

“I don’t need to listen to this,” he says, nearly smiles at the surprise on her face. “I’m just here because I wanted to see if there was a way to avoid unnecessary deaths. It seems there isn’t, so I’m leaving. If you change your mind, send a letter.”

He winnows away without giving her the chance to reply. The meeting might not have led anywhere, he might not have managed to convince Ravenia of a peaceful solution, but still, this feels like a victory, if a smaller and more personal one.

----

On the fourth day, people begin to grow sick. It’s like the sand has turned to acid – wherever it touches them, it leaves boils and burns. None of it is life-threatening, but it is certainly painful.

The council sends another missive to Miryam, demands that she is to explain herself growing more urgent. She writes back this time, a short, polite refusal. The last thing she needs right now is the council meddling in her decisions.

According to her estimations, the surrender should arrive within the day. Fae can go five days without water. They are on the fourth day and by now, even Ravenia should have realized that there will be no breaking this curse. Theoretically, she has until tomorrow, but it would be smarter to surrender now, when her people aren’t yet on the brink of dying from thirst and she still stands a chance of making her position seem less desperate.

No royal messenger arrives, though. Miryam spends most of the day walking around the camp, trying to hold casual conversations with people. The Seraphims’ nervousness around her has eased somewhat, as they seem to have realized that Miryam cursing a country does not mean that she will be acting any differently towards them.

A delegation from Lako arrives at dusk. Miryam’s heart leaps, but then, she sees that these people don’t come bearing Ravenia’s coat of arms. Their expensive clothes mark them as nobles, and indeed Miryam recognizes a few of them, but they were not sent by Ravenia.

The leader is a woman dressed in a long, purple gown. It is cut longer than is fashion, with a high neckline and long sleeves, but even those don’t entirely manage to conceal the boils and stings all over her body. After a moment’s hesitation, Miryam recognizes her as Lady Seliah, one of the higher-ranking nobles in the city. She bows before Miryam, which comes as a surprise.

“Your Highness,” she says, then bows before Drakon who appeared next to Miryam. “Your Highness.”

“Lady Seliah,” Miryam replies, watching surprise flicker over the other woman’s face. Of course, she wouldn’t remember that they have met before. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“We have come to ask, no, to beg you to end this curse.” Seliah keeps her eyes lowered as she speaks. “We will gladly meet your demands – “

“Will you?” Miryam cuts her off, although she keeps her tone pleasant. “Because I think I made my demands quite clear, and still, I have not yet received news of you freeing your slaves.”

Seliah squirms. “Queen Ravenia has forbidden us from releasing them. We would gladly meet your terms, but there is no way for us to do so without risking our lives.”

“Given how easily you accepted my peoples’ suffering – and, in fact, accept the risk to their lives right now – you’ll understand if I find myself struggling to sympathize,” Miryam replies. What is it with these Fae always thinking that no matter what atrocities they commit, they will come out unharmed? Do they expect Miryam to be moved by them suddenly feeling threatened by the very ruler they supported all these years?

“I’m not asking in my name, but in the name of the innocent people who are suffering,” Seliah says.

A noble dressed in fine silks as a champion for the common people. Well, that is certainly something new. If this was the route they wanted to go, you’d think they would have been smart enough to at least send someone who isn’t noble.”

“And it’s the innocents in this country I am thinking of when I refuse,” Miryam replies, deliberately twisting her words. After all, which Fae here is truly innocent? She shakes her head. “If Ravenia is your problem, I suggest you deal with it. And quickly, since I believe you might be running out of water soon.”

If Seliah is angry, she hides it well. She merely bows her head, thanks Miryam for her time and returns to the city.

By sunset, her and the other nobles who accompanied her are dead, their bodies hanging from the walls of Lako, a message to anyone else in the city who might consider going behind Ravenia’s back to negotiate with the enemy.

----

By the fifth day, the earth has taken to trembling slightly every couple of minutes. That’s not the worst of it, though. When the sun rises, it is quickly obscured by a buzzing cloud of insects. Locusts, who descend upon the fields, bushes and trees with a vengeance. Within hours, they have devoured any leaves they managed to get a hold on, destroying this year’s harvest within hours. People are panicking.

And still, there is no word from Ravenia.

This is not what Miryam planned. Ravenia ought to have surrendered by now. She needs to surrender – without any water supply, she has no other choice. Yet five days are almost over. By now, people must be dying of thirst, and still, Ravenia hasn’t sent word.

Miryam wanders through the camp, restless. Something is going wrong, but she doesn’t know what. She supposes it’s possible that Ravenia has people winnowing water in, but they could never bring enough for the entire population. And surely Ravenia wouldn’t sacrifice thousands of her people, right? (Killing thousands of people was never part of Miryam’s plan. She knew there might be casualties, yes, and she willingly accepted it. She did not anticipate that everyone might die, though.)

She figures out what went wrong a few hours before sunset, when a stack of barrels in the centre of the camp she passes for the fifth time that evening catches her attention. She stops one of the soldiers rushing past.

Nodding towards the barrels, she asks, “What’s in those?”

“It’s mostly water, Your Highness,” he replies. “It is customary to keep some storages in case the river gets poisoned.”

Miryam nods slowly, horror dawning on her at the realization and growing worse as she looks into one of the barrels. The water in those barrels is still water. Every river, every will and spring in the entire Black Land is running blood, but a curse on the land apparently does not affect water that is being stored in canisters and barrels. Most of the Black Land relies on water from the river, yes, but the cities would still have some storages, or at least some other beverages like wine, to last them for a few days.

This is all wrong.

Some part of Miryam is glad that at least she didn’t just cause hundreds of thousands of people to die from thirst, but at the same time… It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

It’s the same thing she tells Drakon, ten minutes later in their tent, after having explained to him and Sinna what happened.

“This isn’t how it was meant to happen,” she whispers, more to herself than to anyone else. “They should have been surrendering by now. Fae can’t go for more than five days without water – they would have had to surrender.”

This was the plan. Take away their water and make them uncomfortable. Scare them, force them into a surrender. This was the plan. No one would even have needed to die if only they had been reasonable.

Drakon’s face is dark. “Will Ravenia distribute her water supplies?” He asks.

Miryam flinches. She hadn’t even considered that angle yet. “I don’t know,” she says.

Ravenia will want to keep enough water for herself and her nobles, that much is certain. But at the same time, she will need to appease her subject somehow if she doesn’t want to risk riots.

“To the nobles for sure,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “Probably also some citizens. But the poorer ones, those who aren’t living in the city…” She shrugs and shakes her head at the same time.

This isn’t how she meant it to happen. The people who will die will still be slave owners, still criminals, but… It wasn’t the lower classes she meant to hit with this. And she knew people would likely die, both from her curse and the consequences that might follow, but she had thought the deaths would be few and far between.

Now, they likely won’t be.

“Alright, then,” Sinna says, crossing her arms. “What will that curse of yours do next?”

“I don’t know,” Miryam says, voice small. She didn’t plan this far, didn’t think it would get this far. (Didn’t really care, if she is being entirely honest.) “This is complicated magic, and I only really planned it out for five days.” Because after five days, every Fae here was supposed to be on the brink of dying from thirst. “The curse is set in a way that will make it get worse, but how…” She shrugs. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell.”

Sinna is silent for a moment. Then, she says slowly, “So you set a curse on an entire country without knowing what it will do should it go on for longer than you planned.” She shakes her head and cuts a glare at Drakon. “Both of you. And you didn’t think that might turn into a problem?” When neither of them reply, she sighs. “Wonderful.”

Miryam stares down at her feet and doesn’t say that she would do it all again for a chance to save her people.

----

On the sixth day, the sun doesn’t rise. Or maybe it does, but its light certainly doesn’t reach the Black Land. Throughout the country, torches are being lit, but even their light barely manages to pierce the darkness that has fallen. It is a darkness that can be felt, thick and heavy like ink.

Once again, the humans get away easily. To them, the darkness feels soothing and while they can’t see anywhere near as good as in light, they can still easily make out shapes.

Many of them decide to use the opportunity while it is there. Their masters cannot see in the darkness – they can. In thousands, humans flee from the cities, vanish from houses and fields and make for the centre of the country where they have heard they will find safety.

In one of the cities to the west, the Fae leadership decides enough is enough. They will not be humiliated by a mortal like this, and they will not allow their slaves to get away unscathed, to laugh at their misery and celebrate their own victory. They will show to that mortal girl who thinks she can force their hand and attack their country, show to every mortal worm what happens when they try to cross the Fae.

They give out the order to have every human in the city brought to the marketplace and killed.

The news spread through the city like wildfire. The humans clutter together, hold on tight to each other and prepare for the end. Most of the Fae stand tightly together as well – but where the humans are silent, they are whispering, arguing. By that time, it is common knowledge that this curse is punishment for slavery, for harming humans. It is also common knowledge that Miryam’s policy for people who murder humans is simple: Execution. In other words, killing a whole group of humans does not seem to be the smartest course of action in this situation.

The large majority of the Fae in the Black Land, the Fae in this city, doesn’t care at all about human lives. They do, however, care a whole lot about their own lives. And right now, they are quickly discovering that they aren’t ready to die so that their leaders can get a brief moment of empty defiance against the people invading their country – especially when those invaders have already promised to be lenient if their demands are met.

Within a few hours, leadership over the city has quietly changed hands. The city council has been, for the time being, locked into the dungeons. After quite some arguments and even more grumbling, the humans are allowed to leave the slave quarters and instead given proper rooms in the Fae’s houses. No one is quite fond of that arrangement, but well, the curse is said to be tied to human suffering, and since no one is quite sure what counts as suffering, being extra careful seems only sensible.

Of course, the story of what happened there does not stay confined to one city. Within hours, all of the neighbouring towns have heard and many of them quietly decide to follow their example. That there is no immediate reaction from Ravenia only makes people grow bolder.

A meeting is called and held that night, with a good half of the Black Land’s city leadership in attendance. After a few hours of arguing, they come to the conclusion that there is only one sensible course of action right now: To fulfil Miryam’s demands even if Ravenia refuses to, and hope that will be enough to keep them safe. They are all aware that Ravenia would have their heads for this decision, but they have long reached the point where a soon-to-be-dead queen is far, far less daunting than what might happen if they refuse Miryam’s demands for any longer.

Throughout the country, Fae are beginning to die of thirst by now. Some are lucky enough to have found water, and the children, as it turns out, can still drink from the rivers and wells, but the death toll still climbs quickly, reaching and surpassing one thousand before midday. Everyone who survives is hungry and miserable and, by now, ready to do just about anything to end this curse. Still, though, Ravenia does not surrender.

----

On the seventh day, a thunderstorm breaks out. Lighting flashes through the sky, piercing the darkness that is still reining in the country for seconds at a time. Thunder roars, and hail falls to the ground in giant chunks, destroying fields and injuring or killing anyone who is stupid enough to be outside. (Notably, it doesn’t hit a single human although some of them have been sent outside to bring in any surviving livestock.)

Throughout the country, cities and villages are beginning to free their slaves and send them on their way towards the capital. Groups of thousands form, slowly marching through the storm.

On the other side of the Continent, the council is horrified. At least that’s what the Fae members keep repeating, even though most of them are honestly more horrified by the idea of what Miryam being able to completely wreck a country within a few days might mean for them than by the moral issue of sending giant chunks of ice raining down on a country. Meanwhile, Andromache is just about ready to punch the next person to talk about how horrifying Miryam’s actions are, especially when these are the people who, through years and centuries past, were never once been horrified by the crimes committed against humans.

She does not see the undercurrent moving through the Alliance, just below the surface of civility and righteous outrage. She does not notice the looks that are being exchanged while the human councilmembers are no looking, the meetings that are held, in secret and behind closed doors. Zeku notices, though, and he watches the events unfold in silence. He could stop it still, he supposes, or at least try to alert someone to it. But he has his own people to think of, and he cannot throw their lives away over a lost cause. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t try to warn Miryam, time and again. No one can blame him that she never listened.

The seventh day is also the day when Mor finally loses her patience. She has been watching in silence so far, horror growing with each day, unable to comprehend what she is seeing. In the beginning, she tried to tell herself that Miryam wasn’t harming anyone, that she was just trying to pressure the Fae into doing her bidding, but now, people are dying and Miryam still shows no sign of stopping.

She doesn’t understand. Cannot wrap her mind around how Miryam – Miryam who values kindness and hates unnecessary cruelty – can do this.

Mor has come to the decision that she will make her see reason. This needs to end, now, and somehow, Mor will convince Miryam. She steps out of her tent where she was hiding from the thunderstorm outside and begins to search the camp for Miryam.

The Fae camp is emptier than usual. It seems that even with the storm not affecting them, most of the soldiers prefer to hide in their tents. The humans are out and about, though, sitting about campfires and talking. Some of them must have dragged some of the smaller balls of hail over, and now, children are gathered around as some of the adult divide up the ice between them. They seem to be enjoying themselves. And well, why shouldn’t they? After all, none of the curses ever affect them.

It is that precision, more than anything else, that scares more. Because a spell this precise is no accident, no result of a moment’s desperation. It is calculated, and that makes it worse.

She finds Miryam on the second round through the camp, as she is just about to enter her tent. Drakon and Sinna are with her. Mor hurries over to join them.

“You need to end this,” she says by way of greeting. This was not how she meant to approach the topic, but damnit, there are chunks of ice that are bigger than her raining from the sky.

Sinna arches an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too, Mor,” she says. “Pleasure meeting you.”

Mor ignores her and instead turns to Miryam. “You need to end this,” she repeats. “Before any more people die. Miryam, please, so many people are already dead, it can’t go on like this.”

Miryam sighs. “And what other choice do I have?” She sounds so tired. Looks tired, too. Mor didn’t notice the last few days, but she looks like she hasn’t slept at all since she cast the spell. “If I were to end this now – which I can’t, by the way – what do you think would happen? This is the only protection my people have, Mor.”

On another day, Miryam’s words might have gotten through to Mor. Today, though, she doesn’t even notice the implications of Miryam saying that she can’t undo the curse, she is far too caught up in her horror and confusion about how Miryam can stand there and defend what is happening.

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “This goes too far, Miryam.” Miryam doesn’t reply and Mor gestures wildly to the sky. “Have you looked outside lately? There are human-sized chunks of ice falling from the sky. You can’t just destroy an entire country for revenge!”

Miryam’s face hardens. “You think I’m doing this for revenge?” She asks.

Yes, Mor does think that. At least partially. If it wasn’t out of revenge, no one would ever do this. Certainly not Miryam, who hates hurting people.

“Does it matter?” She shoots back, voice rising. Heads are beginning to turn in their direction. “There is no reason good enough to justify this! You are killing thousands of innocents!”

“Funny, because I thought I was saving the innocents, and the people who are dying were all slave owners,” Miryam snaps, although she keeps her voice hushed. Then, she shakes her head and her posture relaxes slightly. “Besides, there’s no point in having this argument. I cannot stop this curse – it’s set to continue until the Black Land frees its slaves.”

Mor shakes her head, a chill running down her spine. Miryam couldn’t have… She wouldn’t have… She would never have set a spell to destroy a country without leaving a backdoor to stop it.

“And what if Ravenia doesn’t surrender?” She asks. She wants to take Miryam by the shoulders and shake her until she understands, but from the way Sinna is currently looking at her, she probably wouldn’t get away with that. “What then, Miryam?”

Now, finally, Miryam lowers her eyes. So she does feel bad after all. But it is clear that she still doesn’t regret what she did. To her, this seems more like this is an unfortunate side effect, something she doesn’t like to consider but still willingly accepted to get what she wants.

“Then I imagine the next Loyalist country will think twice before refusing to surrender,” Sinna answers for Miryam. “And now lower your voice. You’re making a scene.”

Mor stares at her like she’s seeing her for the first time. Then, she turns around to Drakon, who has been watching in silence until now. He has to agree with her. Surely he cannot like this any more than she does.

“Drakon,” she says, almost pleading, “you cannot agree with this. Tell me you don’t think this is right.”

But Drakon, Cauldron damn him, merely shakes his head. “Five hundred thousand people, Mor,” he says softly. “We are talking about five hundred thousand people who will all be murdered if Ravenia gets her way.”

Mor gapes at him, unable to believe that he is taking Miryam’s side on this. If there is one person who she was sure would disagree with this, it was Drakon. But well, Miryam is his mate. Maybe she should have expected that he would back her up in anything, no matter what.

She turns back to Miryam. “There are lines!” She snaps. By now, people are beginning to stop and stare, but Mor doesn’t care. “Lines you can’t cross, no matter what! And murdering thousands of civilians is one of those lines!”

“And what would you have me do instead?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Somehow, that makes it worse. If she was angry, Mor could at least tell herself that this was a spontaneous decision made out of anger or fear, not a calculated plan. “Do nothing and allow them all to be murdered rather than jeopardize my moral integrity? Would that make me a good person in your eyes?”

Mor opens her mouth – and closes it again when she realizes she doesn’t have a reply. The way Miryam puts it, there is no possible reply she can give. She doesn’t know how to explain that this simply isn’t right, and she’s too angry, too desperate to be particularly eloquent anymore. How did she come to be standing here, arguing with Miryam about whether it is okay for her to take an entire country hostage or not?

Miryam sighs and takes a step towards Mor. “You think I like this any more than you do?” She asks. “Believe me, if there was any other way, I would have gladly taken it.”

Mor takes a step backwards. “Yeah, well, I’m sure Ravenia thought she was justified in destroying Erithia as well,” she snaps.

The tension that takes over the room is almost physical. It’s like everyone tenses at once, like the temperature drops by a few degrees. Sinna takes half a step towards Mor, hand clenched to a fist. Drakon grabs her by the arm and stops her before she can get any further.

“That was a sorry comparison, Mor,” he says softly.

“Oh, yes, my comparison is a problem but Miryam casually killing thousands of people is perfectly fine,” Mor snaps.

She is vaguely aware that she should probably take her comment back, apologize. But she is far too angry and she still doesn’t understand.

“I apologize,” Miryam finally says. Her voice is icy, her face carefully blank. “I assumed I made it clear enough what the goal of this campaign would be, and what I was ready to do to achieve it. I wouldn’t want to make you participate in anything you are uncomfortable with, so if you truly feel this way, you are, of course, free to leave.”

“I certainly don’t need your permission for this,” Mor replies, voice equally sharp. “You go commit all the crimes you feel like, but I want no part in that.”

With that, she spins around and pushes through the newly-assembled crowd of onlookers towards the edge of the camp. She winnows away as soon as she reaches the edge of the wards.

Miryam remains standing in front of her tent, staring at the spot where Mor was standing until a moment ago. Then, she slowly looks up at the soldiers who are standing around, staring. She hopes they didn’t hear everything that happened.

“We should probably go inside,” she mutters, pain twisting in her chest. She tries very, very hard not to think about what Mor said, or about the fact that this might just have been the end of their friendship. (Not necessarily, she tries to tell herself. People argue all the time and usually, they find a way to fix their relationships afterwards.)

As soon as they are inside, she slumps down on one of the cushions lying on the ground. She pulls her knees up to her chin and stares down at the ground. Drakon sits down next to her. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand for her, letting it hover inches away from her arm, until Miryam leans against him.

“Well, that was nasty,” Sinna says.

Drakon nods, face tight.

“I don’t want all these people to die,” Miryam says. “Of course I don’t, I just…” She shakes her head, fumbling for words.

She understands Mor’s anger, doesn’t blame her for it, and yet… She never made a secret of it, did she? Time and time again, she said that she would do whatever it takes to free her people. She always, always made it known that she would do anything, cross every line if it meant her people could walk free. So why is Mor surprised now?

The problem, she thinks, is that people use the words “whatever it takes” too casually. It’s just like with the word “hate” – people use it so often, so easily, that it loses its original meaning. When people promise “I will do whatever it takes”, they usually mean “I will try really hard”. There’s always some kind of line, though, something they won’t be able to do. They mean “I will go until a certain point, and if I haven’t reached my goal by then, well, no one can really blame me, right?”

And Miryam doesn’t have a problem with that mindset. People should have lines. It is deeply concerning when they don’t. She doesn’t blame Mor for disagreeing with her methods or not going any further, either. But it’s not like Miryam wasn’t honest.

Besides, lines or no lines, surely what Miryam is doing isn’t that horrible? It is terrible, sure, but Mor seems to be forgetting that the only people who are affected, the only people who die, are slave owners who, through seven years of war, refused to stop owning people as property. It’s not that Miryam wants every slave owner to die, she doesn’t even want these people to die, but they are hardly innocents. Each and every one of them has the choice to free their slaves and convince others to do the same. If they don’t, why would Miryam coddle them, these Fae who committed so many crimes against her people? Why is it that they get to commit atrocity after atrocity and still be considered innocent bystanders in this conflict?

“I don’t know what she expects of me,” she says out loud, jumping to her feet. She promised herself that she wouldn’t be angry with anyone for being horrified at what she is doing, but right now, she just can’t help it. “That I act perfect about everything? How am I supposed to free a single human if Ravenia can have each and every one of them murdered at will, but I am apparently a monster if I so much as kill a few slave owners?”

Drakon rises as well and puts a hand on her arm. “Mor was just upset,” he says. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Miryam is far less sure of that. For whatever reason, Mor cannot accept what she is doing and she highly doubts that will change.

“It’s a matter of visibility, I think,” Sinna says. “Wars usually kill far more civilians than this, but what you are doing is very flashy. Besides, those deaths are usually presented as accidents – even if they aren’t – while you appear to be attacking civilians on purpose.”

“Well, those civilians are slave owners and I’m trying to get them free the slaves,” Miryam says drily.

“I’m not saying you are wrong. I’m saying people will be more easily horrified by this because it is so visible.” Sinna shrugs. “It doesn’t make sense. I mean, this entire war killed far more civilians than what you are doing now, yet no one ever blamed you for starting it.”

Miryam freezes, staring over at Sinna. Some part of her realizes that she meant well, but… it’s bad enough to think about the thousand-or-so people who died in the last few days. She really did not need to be reminded that technically, every person who died in the entire war is her fault.

This is all too much. Why must everything always be her responsibility? All these hundreds of thousands of lives… no single person should be responsible for so much. It’s always her needing to make these choices, and while she thinks she is right, she really doesn’t have a way of knowing and this is just too much to handle.

She needs to get away.

“You’ll excuse me,” Miryam says, jumping to her feet. She pushes the tent’s entrance aside and rushes out of the tent.

The moment she steps outside, she realizes that this was a mistake. Soldiers pause to stare at her, their gazes almost a physical weight. Momentum carrying her forward, Miryam keeps walking.

Before she has made it more than two steps, Drakon catches up with her. He must have moved inhumanely fast, because he manages to be by her side quickly enough to make it seem like he was walking out with her all along.

“Sorry,” Drakon says as their guards fall into place behind them. “Sinna was trying to be comforting.”

Miryam nods. “I’m not angry,” she says, and she really isn’t. There’s just a wave crashing down around her and she can feel herself drowning and she needs to get out. “I just need a moment alone.”

She can feel Drakon’s hesitation, and his worry. But she isn’t trying to shut him out, really. She just… well. Sometimes, for some things, she needs time alone. And right now, she desperately needs to be alone, and out of this camp, away from watching eyes.

“Can we talk later?” She asks.

Drakon nods. “Sure. I have a meeting, anyways. I should probably go.” He squeezes her hand. “See you later.”

Miryam nods, manages a smile and hurries off. As soon as she leaves the tent, though, she realizes that being alone is an illusion. A group of five guards is trailing her. In the camp, that might have been easy to ignore, but as soon as she leaves it, it becomes painfully obvious that she is being followed.

Still, she does her best to ignore it, but it is simply impossible. For all that these guards are trying to be inconspicuous, Miryam knows they are there. And as long as they are there, she needs to keep up appearances when all she really needs is some time alone with her feelings to sort through them without constantly being under inspection from others. And she trusts her guards, she does, but there is always the chance that someone might be a spy. Or even without ill intent, they might just end up talking in the camp about how their Princess is losing control, and that would be bad enough.

Her hands begin to shake and she can feel a sob building somewhere in her chest. Somewhere close by, a chunk of ice hits the ground, sand spraying to all sides. Miryam abruptly stops walking and turns around to her guards.

“I would like to be alone for a bit,” she says. “Would you please wait here?”

Her guards exchange looks. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but we can’t… I mean…” He hesitates, looking down at his toes.

“A few minutes alone can’t be too much to ask, can they?” Miryam snaps.

Her guards flinch, and Miryam immediately feels bad. Now she is being an ass to the people whose job it is to protect her. Of course they can’t let her out of sight in the middle of a war, in enemy territory. But she really, really needs to be alone right now, preferably before her control fractures entirely.

Miryam takes a deep breath, trying to fight her rising panic, and looks around. There is a ruin peeking out of the sand in the distance. Not much of it is visible, but it might provide some cover.

“I’ll go over there,” she says and points. “And you stay here. That way, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me and I get some time alone.”

Still, Kalirin, the head of her guards, doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Your Highness…”

Miryam sighs. “If anything happens, I’ll scream. Until then, you stay here.”

With that, she turns around and walks towards the ruin. The sand crunches under her feet and gets stuck between her toes. The camp itself is closer to the river, where the sand gives way to fertile earth and soft grass, but here, she is standing in an ocean of sand. The ruin pokes out of it like a shipwreck, half-buried and destroyed.

The sandstone the building was made of is withered by the centuries, but Miryam finds an entrance. She has to shove a bit of sand aside, but then, there is enough space for her to squeeze through.

As soon as she is safely hidden from sight, her composure cracks. A sob breaks out of her, an ugly, harsh sound, and then she is on her knees, sobbing. She curls up in the tiny space she made for herself and lets the tears flow.

Eventually, the tears stop. Miryam pushes herself up on her elbows and immediately bangs her head on the ceiling. “Ow,” she mutters and leans her back against the wall. She is trembling slightly and her face is probably swollen from all the crying.

She doesn’t want to go back. If she just stays here, she will never have to face the consequences of what she did. (It isn’t realistic, of course, but just for the moment, it’s nice to imagine.) She tilts her head backwards and stares up at the ceiling.

There are figures carved into it. That in itself isn’t unusual – murals and carvings are popular here – and Miryam is about to turn away when she hesitates. Having lived in the palace in Lako for years, she is familiar with the art the Black Land Fae favour as well as the major historic styles. This style is unfamiliar to her, though.

On any other day, Miryam would have dismissed it, but right now, she jumps at the chance to distract herself. (If she is thinking about these carvings, she isn’t thinking about her argument with Mor, after all.) It is too dark in here for her to make out much of the details, so she begins to shove more sand away from the entrance.

It takes a while, but eventually, Miryam has shoved away enough sand that it’s no darker inside the building than outside. (Which means pitch-black in both cases, but this darkness, Miryam can see through with little difficulty.) Now, with more light, it becomes increasingly clear that these carvings are old, far older than Miryam first thought. She twists around a bit to get a better look, brushes some dust away until she can make out one of the carvings, depicting a woman with a spear raised over her head. Her hair is tied back into hundreds of tiny braids, revealing rounded ears.

The woman in the carving is human.

Miryam’s heart leaps. She stares at the carving for a moment, then begins to hectically push away the sand from the rest of them. A group of people sitting around a table. A woman bathing in a river. People celebrating on a barge, a sunset in the background. There are more carvings in the back, but here, the passage gets too narrow for Miryam to squeeze through and there is too little light to make out the carvings.

Every single person in the carvings she found is human, though. And the Fae of the Black Land never depict humans in any way, deeming them too unimportant to commit and effort into creating drawings or carvings of them. Which means…

It means that these carvings were made by humans. Sometime, likely millennia ago, humans built this building and carved scenes from their lives into the walls.

It means that Ghost was right. Long ago, so long it has been forgotten by the world, there were free humans in this land. Maybe one of the women in the carvings is even the queen he talked about, Rashida. This land belonged to them, they spent their lives here in freedom, and they left traces of it in the walls.

Oh, how she wishes Jurian was here to see this.

Miryam runs her hands over the carvings like that will bring the scenes to life, summon some faint echo of the people who once carved these scenes. She so desperately wishes she could imagine what it was like, but she can’t even truly imagine the Black Land under human rule.

In another world, one where the Fae never took this country away from her ancestors, she might have been born free. She might have lived a happy life, never needing to know war and suffering. She might have loved this country as fiercely as she now hates it, loved it as the humans who made these carvings surely did.

In this world, though, Miryam cannot bring herself to feel any sense of positive connection to this land, no matter its history. This will never be here home. But if she succeeds, then perhaps in a few years, other humans will feel differently. If part of the Black Land goes to the humans, there will be human children born in this country who must never know slavery, who will love this land as a home. They will have everything Miryam didn’t, everything humans in the past had.

And if she needs to burn this country to the ground to get there, then so be it.

----

On the eighth day, the sky starts raining fire. It falls from the sky in huge balls, trailing tails of light behind themselves like comets. Maybe the first Fae to see them in the dark mistook them for shooting stars, or marvelled at their beauty. Maybe some even thought the sudden light in the sky might signal an end to this horrible curse.

They soon learn better.

Where the ice was devastating, the fire is worse. It slams through houses, through wood and stone as if it where paper and sets everything in its wake on fire. Soon enough, the darkness that is still reining throughout the country is replaced by the flickering, orange glow of flames devouring anything in their paths. Throughout the villages and cities, Fae are rushing around, trying desperately to put out the fires, forced to resort to blood from the river instead of water. It isn’t enough, though. Even the fire magic so many of the High Fae here have doesn’t manage to keep the flames at bay.

Miryam watches the flames from afar. The human and Seraphim camp is still dark around her, untouched by the flames, but she can make out Lako in the distance, a glowing orb orange light. She wonders if Ravenia is there, wonders how she feels to see her city go up in flames around her. For a brief moment, she wishes she could see the look on her face.

The triumph that flickers through her at the thought is short-lived. For the most part, she feels terrible. If she is being entirely honest, though, terrible is all she allows herself to feel. If she only feels bad enough about herself, maybe the guilt and horror will be able to drown out the part of her that rejoices at the sight of the city she hated so much in flames, these people who caused her and her people so much pain finally paying for it, Ravenia’s kingdom that was built on human blood crumbling around her.

Miryam could have lived, she thinks, without knowing that she is capable of watching a country burn, knowing that this will cost thousands of lives, and feeling triumphant.

Only a few miles away in Lako, Ravenia stands on one of the many balconies in her palace and stares out at her burning city. All day long, people have been rushing around, trying to put out the flames, but what good does it do when new fire keeps falling from the sky without pause? Even now, comets of fire are shooting down towards her city, tearing through buildings and people. Destroying millennia old buildings, killing and burning.

Ravenia tears her eyes away from the flames and looks out into the darkness where she knows the mortal worm who caused all this has set her camp. Oh, what she would give to see her head spiked to the castle walls. She would set fire to her capital herself, burn down each and every house by hand, if it means that she could get her hands on Miryam in exchange.

She knows, though, that Miryam is beyond her reach. With her army refusing orders, she has no way to get to the girl and she knows that by tomorrow, it will all be over anyways.

If it was up to her, she would take this to the bitter end. Let Miryam burn down the entire country, but Ravenia would see to it that she doesn’t get a single human out alive. She would kill them all and leave Miryam alone in the ashes, choking on her empty victory.

But Ravenia’s people are cowards. Weak-willed, traitorous cowards. Even now, she can see them gathering in the streets, whispering, cursing her name. They have been at it for some time now. Yesterday, when the hail started, Ravenia’s spies first reported that they were talking of an uprising, but now that it’s fire raining from the sky instead of ice, they are actually ready to go through with it.

Ravenia does not wish to surrender. Everything in her rebels against the idea of admitting defeat against a mortal worm, one of her former slaves no less. Yet she doesn’t doubt that if she doesn’t, her own people will drag her out of her palace and tear her apart with their bare hands. Maybe they will send her head to Miryam along with the surrender whoever they chose as their leader will sign, and while the idea of having to surrender and be exiled or executed stings, being usurped and killed by her own people is even more unbearable. If this is the end, then at least she will face it proudly.

Ravenia does not wish to surrender. But in the end, surrender she does.

----

On the ninth day, the sun rises to a destroyed country. The rivers may be running water again, but the end of the curse did not erase its effects. The fields are still destroyed, most of the land burned to ashes, the buildings in ruins. Thousands of people dead.

The palace is deserted. Putting Ravenia and her highest-ranking government officials in chains and sending them to Telique was the first thing Miryam and Drakon did upon taking control of the city. The nobles who were not imprisoned fled to their estates in the countryside, apparently fearing that the invaders might change their minds, and any humans who used to work here have no desire to return.

Miryam had no desire to return, either, and yet she did. Drakon merely shook his head when she asked him if he wanted to return to the palace one last time, but she felt she had to go and so she went.

Slowly, she walks through the deserted halls. There are a million memories connected to this place, and not a single one of them good. She isn’t entirely sure what she is looking for. Some sort of closure, perhaps. Not healing – that will take years and years still – but something to help her make her peace. She knows Drakon found it during his meeting with Ravenia, but when Miryam saw the queen being marched off in chains earlier, she only felt a bitter satisfaction. It doesn’t make the memories of what happened sting less, though.

She reaches the throne room. No guards to be seen, she pushes the doors open herself and steps inside. The hall is entirely empty. A polished floor, artfully decorated walls, an empty throne Ravenia will never sit on again. It looks strangely peaceful, deceptively unthreatening.

This is where Miryam watched her mother and so many other humans, more than she can count, die. This is where she stood, day after day for three years, cowering behind Ravenia’s throne. Where she broke into a million pieces.

She doesn’t know what she is looking for. There is no closure here, not for her. For all that she might want to lock her memories of this place away, it is not possible.

But maybe that’s alright. She has won the war, freed her people. Fulfilled her promise. She isn’t fool enough to think that things will be easy from here on, but she has decades to find a way to make it work. Learn to live with the nightmares instead of run from them. Deal with what was done to her, and what she did. Make a world where no one will ever have to go through the same things as her.

She has her entire life left, and she won’t waste another moment of it in this nightmare.

Miryam turns her back on this horrible, cruel place, this lavish palace now turned crumbling ruin. She does not plan on ever returning – not to this place, and not to this country. Slowly, she walks out of the palace gates one last time.

Outside of the city, she finds her people. They are camped below the city walls, thousands and thousands of them. All of them amazingly, miraculously alive. From where she is standing, she can see children running around between the tents, chasing each other. One of them lets out a breathless laugh.

And doesn’t that alone make every bit of blood and pain, every horrible loss and difficult decision that led her here worth it?

Miryam closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sun shining above. I came back for you, she thinks. Nine years and a war and countless deaths between then and now, but I made it. You are free. We are all free.

----

On the other end of the Continent, Ravenia, formerly Queen of the Black Land, is given a truly unpleasant cell. It comes as a shock, at least to her. She is a queen, after all. Surely they are not going to lock her up in a dreary hole like this, even if she is slated for execution? She always knew the Alliance has little manners, but this is even worse than what she expected. (Unbeknownst to her, some of the Fae on the council were in favour of giving her a pleasant suite of rooms, but they quickly got shouted down by their human colleagues.)

While in the Black Land, humans are travelling towards the capital where so many of their peers are already waiting, Ravenia sits in her cell and stares at the wall. While, eventually, Miryam, Drakon, their army and the hundreds of thousands of humans they are escorting make for the Erythrian Sea where they have arranged for a fleet of ships to escort them across the narrow channel into a more friendly kingdom, Ravenia grumbles about her food and the lack of proper entertainment and pretends, for whoever is watching (which, really, are only a few guards), that this cell is her palace and she still queen.

Her solitude is interrupted just over a week after she was thrown into the cell. Emperor Shey steps into the room. He is dressed in a pristine chemise, deep blue coat slung over his shoulders and his light hair shimmering in the candlelight. Ravenia rises, pretending she is as well-dressed as he is, even though her looks have suffered significantly in the last week.

“Your Excellency,” she says. She does not incline her head (after all, she is Ravenia of the Black Land and she bows to no one, even if she is a prisoner). “I would offer you a seat, but I seem to lack a chair to offer.”

Shey nods. “I’m afraid my mortal allies have little sense for hospitality.” He makes to lean against the wall, seems to notice that it is covered in dirt, and wrinkles his nose. “I come with a suggestion,” he says and holds out a hand. A small bronze key lies in his palm, glowing with some enchantment. Ravenia’s eyes dash from the key to the shackles tying her to the walls, then back again to the key.

“It is charmed to allow you to winnow out of the castle in spite of the wards,” Shey says casually.

Ravenia keeps her gaze fixed on the key but doesn’t reach out to touch it. “Betraying your own allies on your day of victory?” She laughs. “Seems unwise.”

“Not much of a betrayal, is it?” Shey shrugs. “You’ve lost the war, and nothing you can do will change that. But if I’m not mistaken, you still have an army under your command – and the person who is responsible for you losing everything would be within your reach, should you get out of this cell.”

Ravenia’s eyes spark. “So it isn’t your precious Alliance you are betraying. Just its leader.” She laughs again.

“I’m getting rid of a problem,” Shey replies coolly. “And you get the chance to get revenge before your death, so I don’t think you get to complain.” He brushes an invisible fleck of dust off his jacket. “Miryam and her husband are marching for the Erythrian Sea, the humans they freed in tow. They have only a small legion with them, less than the soldiers under your command, but they have ships arranged to transport them across the sea.” He shrugs. “Ships are terribly flammable, though, and these might just burn down before they reach them.”

“And I assume you’ve already arranged for someone to set the fire?”

“Me?” Shey laughs. “My people have no fire powers – unlike yours. The idea that I might be behind this seems outlandish, doesn’t it?”

A smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he bites it down. Now is not the time to gloat, although he is rather proud of his plan. Initially, he had considered sending an assassin after Miryam, but that approach seemed far too risky. With assassins, there are always questions, and knowing these obnoxious mortals, one of them might just lay the blame at his feet. But if Queen Ravenia breaks out of her prison and ends up killing Miryam… well, who would ever think him involved in that? After all, she already has a motive, and no one will have reason to suspect anyone helped her flee her prison.

Shey tosses the key into the air once, then catches it. “A bargain,” he says, offering it to Ravenia again. “You get your revenge. All I’m asking in return is that you never let anyone know I helped you.

Something akin to disgust flickers over Ravenia’s face, there and gone in a moment. She hesitates briefly, fighting the pride that forbids her from doing Shey’s dirty work for him. Her thirst for revenge wins, though. “It’s a bargain,” she says, reaching for the key. Only when she has it safely enclosed in her fist does she look back at Shey. “You have even less honour than I thought,” she says.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

#more war crimes!#i really hope the way I handled Everything in thsi chapter was okay #i was kind of nervous about it #especially bc this is basically the climax and I really wanted to get it right #before the wall #cinaja talks about before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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slyttherins · 3 years

Text

Quidditch camp (part 2) | Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You and Fred attend quidditch camp like every summer, but, this year, there’s been a mistake in the cabin and rooming situations. In other words, they’re short of bed and you and Fred will have to share.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1800

You hadn't talked to - or even looked at - Fred since the kiss.

Once you pulled away from the kiss, you had made a beeline for the bathroom, no longer caring that there was no hot water. A cold shower would do you good - and it was apparently very beneficial for the skin.

Anything to not be in the same room as him.

At supper, you sat with Angelina and Katie. You talked about the afternoon training session, which will cause your legs to ache in the morning and the latest gossip going around in the girls' cabin. Apparently, a girl had snuck into Cedric Diggory's cabin last night - according to Angelina the suspect was Cho Chang - and Madam Hooch was furious.

Most importantly, you didn't tell them what happened at the cabin.

Unconsciously, as Katie was telling you about a new broomstick trick she learned this afternoon, your eyes drifted to the redhead Beater - and the kiss you had shared. The same kiss that had left you wanting more.

Although Fred was three tables away from you, you could still feel his hands on you, strong and firm but not too rough, smell his woody soap and hear the soft sounds of appreciation leaving both your mouths as his warm tongue slipped past your lips and easily found yours. You couldn't believe you had let it escalate to that. At least no clothes had been removed - Fred was just in his shorts, but it still counted.

After supper, you left and went to your cabin, faking a headache. You'd usually follow the girls to their cabin and hang out until curfew, but not tonight. You needed time to think and, most importantly, get your mind off of Fred Weasley. Perhaps reading a book would help?

That didn't work for long because the twins walked in the cabin less than twenty minutes later, laughing about some prank they had pulled on one of the younger campers.

''It was brilliant, Freddie! Who knew Chambers could scream that high pitched,'' George said, talking about the prank.

''That image is forever engraved in my mind. Spiders! Spiders! They're gonna get in my pants!'' Fred mocked, imitating Chambers. ''It was hilarious.''

''How did you find so many spiders?''

''There's a whole colony behind Ron's cabin. I lured them into a cup and-'' Fred stopped himself when seeing you on the bed, his mood dropping and changing.

''Hey, Y/N,'' George greeted with a smile, going to his side of the cabin. ''You're here early.''

''I wasn't feeling good. I think it's the heat,'' you explained. If you were consistent with your lie and told everyone the same thing, no one would suspect it was a lie.

''Well, get some rest. Tomorrow's game day. We play against the Phoenixes.'' George fished for his toiletries and slung his towel on his shoulder. ''I'm gonna shower.'' He looked between you and Fred. ''Try to not kill each other while I'm in there, alright?''

Fred sat on his brother's bed and waited until the shower was running to speak. ''So...are we going to talk about it?''

''Talk about what?'' you asked, faking ignorance.

Fred gave you a stern look. ''Don't play that game, Y/L/N.''

You sighed. Forgetting it happened would've been so much simpler.

It's not like the kiss meant anything. It was just that, a kiss. There was no need to make a fuss about it.

''There's nothing to talk about.'' You closed your book and stood, slipping on your shoes and headed outside for a walk.

''Where are you going? I thought you had a headache.''

''I do, but hearing your voice makes it worse.''

The match against the Phoenixes was not going well.

McLaggen was sick, therefore he was sitting out this one, which left his keeper position to one of the younger - and less skilled, campers. Much to their bad luck, the young boy had let in five goals in a row. Five! He was probably nervous for his first time on the field, but five goals was a lot of points.

You were scheming the field, trying to spot the snitch, but, much to your luck, the only thing in your vision field was Fred's abs - which was distracting. To your defense, it was Fred's fault for bringing the bottom of his quidditch jersey up to his face to wipe away sweat. The little fucker also purposely flexed his abs a little every time he did it. You tried to look away, but those abs were difficult to look away from. Damn you, Fred Weasley!

Fred's exibitionist manners caused you to miss the snitch and, by the time you had snapped out of your staring, Cho had caught the snitch.

''Maybe McLaggen is right. Maybe we should fuck,'' Fred declared after the match, removing his protective gear.

You almost sputtered your water all over yourself. ''Excuse me?'' you asked, hoping you had heard wrong.

''You and me. We should fuck.''

A laugh left your lips. ''Did a bludger hit your head?''

''You were looking at me, weren't you? That's why you didn't see the snitch.'' A smug smile curled on his face. ''Do you have a crush on me, Y/L/N?''

''Wow, that bludger must've hit your head really hard, uh?''

''I'm not going to tell the team...if you accept to have sex with me.''

What?! You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

''Are you blackmailing me into having sex with you? You know that's sextortion, right?''

Fred shook his head. ''No. I'm saying, it's been proven that sex raises endorphins and other hormones that boost mood. Perhaps if we release those good hormones we won't be at each other's throat and picking fights during games...or staring at the other. It would be for the team's sake.''

You scoffed. ''The team's or your dick's sake?''

''I'm being serious, Y/N. Think about it.''

The time had been set. Friday, during the campfire, while everyone's attention would be occupied, you and Fred would slip to your shared cabin and...do it.

You didn't want to let it get to your mind, but it was all you could think about throughout the day. While the plan could work and ease the tension between you two, there was a possibility that the sex would go wrong - or be bad - and make things worse inside the team. You were also worried that it would be awkward afterward or that Fred would tell everyone.

During seeker training, you weren't flying your best. Madam Hooch had noticed that your mind was elsewhere and questioned you about it. You lied about not getting enough sleep the night prior and vowed to not stress yourself over tonight.

It was only a big deal if you made it one, right? To prove yourself, you didn't dress special - other than matching your underwear to your bra. It was just Fred, you didn't need to impress him. You didn't even put on lipgloss!

You started with kisses, slowly getting comfortable with each other, but quickly wanting more. His ginger hair smelled of smoke from the campfire and his lips tasted something sweet - roasted marshmallows. You hummed, slipping your hands under his shirt, feeling the curves of his abs and back. Merlin, you loved those.

''Did you lock the door?'' you asked, not wanting to be walked in on by any of your cabin buddies.

Fred hesitated and you sighed, going to lock it yourself.

When you returned to Fred, he had discarded his shirt, leaving him shirtless and you had to hold yourself back from biting your lip. Damn, that body.

Seeing as it was unfair that he was the only one who had taken off clothes, Fred helped you take off your top. You should've felt exposed, but it wasn't the first time he saw you in a bra and it wasn't much different than bikini tops, right? But, this bra was a little sexier than the sports bra you usually wore and, by the look Fred was giving you and your body, he didn't hate it.

''Ohh, I didn't know you owned other things than sports bras, Y/L/N,'' he teased, gliding the pad of his finger on the edge of the black lace.

You swatted him and he laughed.

His lips found their way back to yours, hands exploring each other's bodies. You felt the backs of your legs hit his bed and fell back onto it due to a not-so-gentle shove from Fred. You narrowed your eyes, but Fred joined you, crawling on top of you.

Small moans left your lips as he kissed the side of your neck and your hands went to his hair, keeping him there. He was probably going to give you a bruise and it could be a bitch to cover up, but you'll worry about that later.

No. No more kisses. You were running tight on time.

You snapped out of your bubble and pulled Fred off of your neck. If you wanted to be finished before anyone realized you two had vanished from the campfire, you needed to get straight to business and not fool around too much.

Sparing you both some time, you arched your back off of the mattress and unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. You took a mental note to pick it up later to not give Oliver another reason to complain about sharing his cabin with a girl.

As you laid there, topless under Fred, the boy couldn't help but stare at your breasts, hunger in his eyes. He bit his lip and covered them both with his large hands, thumb brushing against one of your nipples, watching it harden.

''Weasley! Less ogling, more fucking. We don't have all night.''

''If you talk to anyone about this-'' you warned, pulling on your denim shorts and buttoning the button.

Fred emerged from the bathroom, having discarded the proof of your sexual intercouse at the bottom of the trash to cover your tracks. You couldn't let any of the boys see the used condom.

He scoffed. ''Don't flatter yourself, this was nice, but I'd rather no one knows.''

Was he embarrassed of having slept with you? It couldn't be. It was his idea - technically it was McLaggen's - to have sex.

''Because, you know, we'd get in trouble if Madam Hooch found out,'' he continued explaining, slipping on his shirt and running his hand through his hair to fix them.

Yeah, sure. That was the reason.

Everyone knew having sex on campsite was strictly forbidden and had great consequences - aka, sitting out matches - if Madam Hooch found out, but that didn't stop campers from sneaking around and doing it.

''I mean, it was fun, but you're not worth sitting out matches for.''

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #quidditch camp #harry potter #harry potter prompts #this one is a bit shorter but there WILL be a part 3

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tamlinsbedroom · 3 years

Text

Chapter 17: Elrin’s Demolition

When the rogue soldier was done, he slid me off of his bed and onto the hard floor. He must have gone to sleep, because he didn’t say a word and his breathing became deep and fluid.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I only had memories of my mates, flooding my brain like a river as I lay there sobbing quietly. I had to do something…anything. Bargain with him, or something to see them again. At this rate, if this is how my life would be, I would end it myself.

❥❥❥

Morning came sooner than later, and the rogue soldier threw bread down at me, while he feasted on breakfast meats, eggs, and booze. I still didn’t know his name, that was until I heard someone come in his tent.

“Elrin,” A low voice began. “I have a note from the Spring Court.” Hope filled my chest. Tamlin and Rhysand must have figured out something to threaten him with, somehow. I tried to make myself invisible, aware of my nakedness as the low voiced soldier handed the note to the rogue soldier who was apparently named Elrin. He caught me, smirking down at my nudity. I shut my eyes tightly, hugging me knees to my chest.

I heard a growl above me and she sound of paper being crumbled as Elrin got off the bed. He strode over to me, snatching me by my hair and leading me out of the tent. Males watched me walk, not trying to hide their peering glances down. I was led into a tent, a woman sitting at a vanity. She had long, brown hair, and fair, beautiful skin.

“Rhianna,” Elrin started, “I need you to pretty her up. Put her in a gown, make her look less sickly. We have a show to put on.” He chuckled, throwing me down on the ground again as her gaze met mine.

I swore I saw a look of pity in her eyes as she surveyed me, my body brutalized and feature sunken from lack of nutrients. She walked to me, reaching a hand down to help me. I took it, hesitantly, and walked with her to the wardrobe.

“Alanna, is it?” She asked, trying to strike conversation as if the situation wasn’t awkward at all. I nodded briefly.

“Well, Alanna, first you need a bath.” She led me out to another tent that connected to hers, where a metal tub stood. It was already filled with water as I got into it.

She sat next to me, taking a sponge and soap that smelled like almonds as she washed me.

“I can help you, you know. For a favor of sorts.” She whispered, as if she was afraid other soldiers would hear. I quirked my eyebrow, signaling for her to continue.

“I hate it here. I was sold to them by my father, to act as a pretty face to gather allies for the mess that Elrin started.” She started on my hair. “I had a lover back in the Autumn court that I would secretly meet. He was a nobody, which was why my father sold me. Said it would be better to gain nobility this way versus staying in his kingdom. I want out…it’s awful here. For reasons you know of, by the looks of it.” She was referring to being taken advantage of… “I will help you return to your mates if you help get me out with you.”

“How?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I’ll keep Elrin busy enough so that you can write to your mates. I’m in charge of gathering the postage, so I can get it sent easily.” She explained.

“How did you know of my mates?” I asked.

“Elrin has been bragging to all the other males about taking you away from two high lords. He’s so obnoxious about it, it’s hard not to hear.” She whispered that last sentence more than the other, understandably.

“Okay. It’s a deal.” I said. Tamlin and Rhys warned me about making deals with fae, but what other choice did I have?

Rhianna held out her hand for me to take, and without a second thought, I did. The bond traveled between us, marking me behind my ear. Smart, I thought. That way Elrin wouldn’t see it…

For the remainder of the time I spent with her, she dressed and dolled me up. I still didn’t know why I was, but I would find out soon.

❥❥❥

Once done, I was led out by Elrin himself. Rhianna winked at me, smiling softly. I returned the wink, trying not to stumble from being practically dragged by the male. He stopped me suddenly, grabbing my throat and pulling me to him.

“This is what’s about to happen.” He began. “Your two little mates are coming to see you. You’re to tell them that you’re being well taken care of, treated like a Queen, and that you do not wish to return.” He instructed. I almost laughed at how stupid he sounded.

“But I’m their mate. They wouldn’t believe that for a—“

“You will do as you’re told.” He snapped, his grip on my throat tightening. I gulped, nodding at him as he led me out of the camp, right into the wood.

We reached a clearing, and there stood my mates with at least 10 guards all around them. My throat swelled and tears threatened to fall when I locked eyes with them. First, Rhysand. Then, Tamlin. They looked shocked at me, probably not expecting to see me so well dressed. I looked at them with fear in my eyes, a silent plea. They understood.

“High lords, here is your female.” He gestured to me. “Well, now my female.” He chuckled. “As you can see, she is well taken care of. Happy, even.” He looked at me expectantly to play my part.

“It’s true.” I said. Trying to make my voice be as steady as possible. “He treats me like a queen. Far better than you two ever treated me.” It pained me to say it. They looked at me in faked shock, seeing right through it. “No need to worry about me anymore.”

Elrin pressed his lips to mine, biting my bottom one to make me kiss back. I did, and resisted the vomit that threatened to come out.

“No more threats, unless, of course you want to see her guts spilled beneath your noses.” Elrin casually said, picking at his nails as if he were bored.

Suddenly, Rhys’s darkness exploded. He shielded me as the soldiers around him turned into a bloody mist. Elrin snarled, using his own magic to knock Rhy’s and Tamlin down. When he did so, I noticed something shining on his neck. I looked closer, to see a red gem flashing with power. Before he could stop me, too focused on my mates, I snatched the gem from around his neck, the cord breaking. He looked at me with fury, pulling out his sword before Tamlin turned into his beastly form, part wolf and bear as he pounced on him, tearing his throat out. I shielded my eyes, stumbling into Rhysand’s chest.

I sobbed, the gem still in my hand as he held me.

“Shh. We’re here, Alanna. You’re safe now.” He pulled back. “Let’s go home—“

“Wait!” I shouted, remembering Rhianna. “There’s someone that needs help.”

I took off, heading toward her tent. She sat there, turning around in shock, looking at the gem in my hand.

“Did you—“

“Let’s go! Now’s you’re chance.” I said, grabbing her hand as I ran with her back to Rhys and Tamlin. She kept up with me, shaking her head in disbelief.

“How did you get that thing off his neck? Do you know how many before you have tried?” I shook my head, now seeing my mates before me.

I held Rhys’s hand as he winnowed all of us back to the Spring Court.

We arrived in the front door of the manor, Rhianna stunned.

“I really got out…” She mused, shaking her head as if she thought she were dreaming.

“You’re out. You’re free.” I said, hugging her.

“The bargain, it’s still open on my end.” I stopped her.

“Don’t worry about it. Tamlin’s emissary, Lucien, is from Autumn court. He can—“

“Did you say Lucien?” Her eyes widened, and Lucien came down the stairs, locking eyes with her. He nearly fell down the steps as that russet eye filled with tears, stumbling to get her in his arms.

“Rhianna…” He said, hugging her tightly. “I thought I’d never see you again…” Tamlin arched a brow. Lucien held her hand in his, turning to his high lord.

“This is Rhianna. I never told you about her because I thought…” He sighed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Excuse us.” He said, leading her out of the manor, arm in arm.

I sighed, unable to believe what I just had witnessed. Two lovers reuniting was almost as good as three, I thought as I looked at my high lords.

I looked at the gem in my hand, it’s power still contained. Rhys noticed, silently gesturing for me to give it to him.

“What is it?” I asked, curious.

“I’ve never seen it before. Whatever it is, it was made by dark magic. It’s how he was able to do what he did, having no actual magic of his own.” Rhys explained, taking it and vanishing it. I looked at him, shocked.

“Don’t worry. It’s in a safe place for my second, Amren, to find.” I nodded, recalling Amren from Velaris.

“Alanna darling…” Rhys picked me up, walking me upstairs, Tamlin following next to us. Silently, Tamlin undressed me, putting me in one of his shirts and a pair of Rhys’s boxers as he sighted the littering of bruises and cuts that laid beneath the dress that covered me so well.

“Rhys.” Tamlin called, his tone dark. He spun around, looking at all the marks with hate and anger in his eyes.

“We felt it…down the bond…but this, this…” He was truly at loss for words. Tears silently spilled down both sets of eyes as they kissed the marks on me, as if it healed them. Healed me.

“I am so, so sorry. This should have never even happened I am beyond—“ I pressed a finger to Rhys’s lips, shaking my head.

“I did it. It’s my fault, I left of my own free will. I thought that if I didn’t then you and all of Prythian would be in danger.” I explained, hating how stupid it sounded coming out.

Tamlin put a hand on my cheek. “It’s not your fault. You’re so selfless…so brave.” He looked at Rhysand. “Our beautiful, brave girl.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

My mates tucked me in, sliding in bed beside me. And though it had not been more than a couple days that I was without them, I missed them holding me close at night. I knew they would be there for me, stitching up the lingering scars.

I slept safely on their arms that night, wanting to forget everything that had happened until tomorrow.

#tamlin redemption #Rhys x Tamlin #tamlin x oc #rhysand x oc #acotar fanfiction

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

I Was Never Just a Rebound

Request: Lindsey helps reader get over her breakup with Christen pt.2- Sequal to I don’t want you to be a Rebound

Hey dudes, i hope you enjoy this! I know it’s kinda long, but I though a lot of the fallout stuff was necessary! To the people effected by college and the hurricane, i hope you’re doing well and that this can bring you a little bit of joy in some uncertain times. Hit me up with requests, questions or if you just wanna say Hi! I’m always open to chat.

You knew that national team camp was going to be a challenge after the breakup, but you hadn’t anticipated the shit show that had awaited you. Vlatko had defended his choice of sticking you in the same room as Tobin as “maintaining team unity” and “fixing team cohesion”, but you were convinced that he just had a sick sense of humor. At least you had Lindsey (and her Roommate Emily by default) to back you up.

The kiss hadn’t changed the dynamic between you and Lindsey all that much, to be honest. If anything, it made you closer. In the three months after the kiss you had still texted and FaceTimed several times a day, but now there was a different air of ease that surrounded each interaction. As though you were both more comfortable with where you stood with each other. You knew about her feelings for you, and she knew that you were still very not ready for a serious relationship. (Though you did find it slightly odd that all of your Tinder hookups had blond hair instead of brown.)

You stood in front of the mirror, placing the finishing touches on your outfit for tonight. Just because it was technically a Tinder one-night stand didn’t mean that the girl didn’t deserve to be wooed. You had been at camp for a total of 4 hours and you already couldn’t stand to be around them. The “happy couple” as they were called had a propensity for making out everywhere, no matter who was present.

Each touch felt like a knife in your already torn up heart, so you had resorted to the only therapist approved coping mechanisms that you could right now, rebound sex.

“Where are you getting all dressed up to go?” Tobin's voice broke you out of your thoughts as she wandered into the room that the two of you were supposed to be sharing, her eyebrows furrowing as she took in your button-down shirt, vest and slacks.

“Out.” You responded shortly, not even sparing her a glance.

“But we have practice tomorrow,” She continued. You could hear your exasperation. You had never been a goodie two shoes, but you had also never been one to blatantly break rules while at camp. You didn’t take many things seriously, but soccer was one of them.

“Your point,” You spat. She had lost the right to have an opinion on your behavior the moment she had even entertained the idea of sleeping with Christen.

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” She mumbled.

“I want to” You rolled your eyes, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt.

“I’m going to stay with Chris to make things less awkward” Tobin murmured, shifting foot to foot.

“Do whatever you want Tobin,” You said, your voice completely void of emotion, finally turning to face her.

“Just know that I didn’t ask Vlatko to put us together torture you alright,” She insisted tilting her head to the side and biting her lip. She hated how fucking awkward things had become between the two of you.

“No, you do that just fine all on your own,” You laughed humorlessly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes snapped up to meet your own, shock evident in her features. Sure she had messed up, but she would never intentionally hurt you.

“It means that I get it. It means that I should have known that the entire team would be behind you on this one because I’m just the fuck up who was never good enough for her. Trust me, do I get it, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t shove it in my face every three seconds,” You rushed out, the voices of your teammates congratulating the happy couple like freshly squeezed lemon juice to you half-healed heart. It had burned and ached and brought back every insecurity that you had worked your whole career to get over.

“We weren’t, we were just…” She stumbled over her words and you rolled your eyes.

“Doing all of the things you couldn’t do for the months you were seeing each other behind my back,” You finished for her, sending her a smile that was too mocking to be friendly.

“It wasn’t months,” She huffed, settling into the edge of the bed that was meant to be hers.

“Then how long was it Tobin?” Venom leaked into your question. A dangerous calm taking over your features. You didn’t know the whole story, but you knew enough to know that it hadn’t been the first time.

“Since the night we won the World Cup,”

You recoiled from the admission as though you had been slapped.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” You laughed mirthlessly, closing your eyes in an attempt to control your emotions.

“You’re not and I’m sorry that…” She started, attempting to fix the obvious pain that she had just inflicted.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking apologize to me when I know that you’re not sorry. Just.” Your voice was cold, colder than she had ever heard it. “Just-. Just forget it alright.” You finished, shaking your head and returning your attention to finding your shoes so you could get the fuck out of this room.

“We can’t just pretend like it never happened” she sniffled wetly.

“We’re not pretending anything. Well, that’s a lie. We” you gestured between the two of you “are going to pretend that we were never friends and you were going to leave me the fuck alone”

“You can’t just erase history Y/n. I know you know that better than anyone” She pleaded. She had been your best friend since you were in diapers. You had been through it all together, things like that couldn’t just disappear, could they?

“Don’t fucking talk to me about my past Tobin” You growled, advancing on the woman.

“I’m so…” She started, holding her hands up as if to pacify you.

“I told you to stop apologizing,” You snapped. You knew the apology was out of pity and not because they felt bad about what had happened. they just felt bad that they had been caught. You often wondered how long they would have let you believe that she was still in love with you. How would they have broken the news?

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you. I’m not going to say I regret it because that would mean that I regret finally getting the love of my life. I know that what we did was wrong but,” she started, frustration leaking into her tone. She didn’t want to hurt you, but she would never say that wished she didn’t have Christen.

“But what Tobin? You never meant to hurt me? How many times did you watch me kiss her knowing that you were the one that she wanted? How many times did you reassure me that she loved me while you knew that it was you who she was dreaming of? How many times did you look at that ring on her finger and laugh because you knew she was never even entertaining the idea of walking down that aisle to meet me.” your chest was heaving by the end of your rant, your cheeks red with exertion. Tobin’s mouth remained shut, and her eyes stayed trained on the floor. “That’s what I thought. You know my past and you knew exactly what you were going to do to me each time you hooked up with each other. So let’s just drop the fucking pretense that you actually give a fuck about anyone but yourselves.” You said lowly.

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. I don’t know how to fix it,” She exploded, her voice thick with emotion, running her hands ran through her hair, her typically chill demeanor nowhere to be found. You felt guilty at the small shiver of satisfaction that rolled through you, as she experienced a small percentage of the pain you were feeling. But this was her bed to lie in and not yours. At least she would have Christen to keep her warm.

“That’s the thing. You don’t say anything and you stop trying to fix it. You sack up and accept the guilt and leave me the fuck alone,” Your voice was soft but dangerous. Like the edge of a razor running on skin. Your tone nothing your best friend had ever heard before.

“You’re my best friend,” She pleaded, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and you resisted the urge to comfort her.

“No. I’m a fellow forward on the same team as you. That’s it. I’m your colleague who you only talk to on the pitch,” you said, your voice wavering. It was bad enough that you had lost Christen but nearly unbearable that she was the one you had lost her to.

“Y/n…” She started, only to be cut off by a soft knock at the door, and you thanked your lucky stars. You weren’t sure if you could remain strong through the rest of that. You stumbled over to the door, and flung it open, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw the woman on the other side.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lindsey asked, taking in Tobin’s red-rimmed eyes and your agitated expression. She kept her face neutral at your outfit, even though you did look incredibly stunning all dressed up, she still preferred you in your old sweats cuddled up ready to watch a movie.

“No, I was just leaving,” You hummed, your features instantly brightening at her appearance.“I’ll text you later?. I heard Emily say something about a movie night?”You smile, waiting for her to nod before kissing her forehead and heading towards the door.

“For sure babe,” she smiled back, kissing your cheek in return. You send her a wink before exiting the room, completely missing Tobin’s eyebrows shooting up into her hairline.

“She hates me,” Tobin sniffed as she watched you go, and Lindsey frowned. More so at the fact that you were clearly going for a tinder hookup instead of hanging out with her than anything else. She got that you were hurt, but watching you rebuild the wall around your heart was scary.

While the two of you were emotionally more connected than ever before, the likelihood of you stepping into a serious relationship seemed to be oceans away.

“Well, she has a pretty good reason to,” Lindsey rolled her eyes and sat down on the bed next to Tobin’s distraught form, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“We didn’t mean to hurt her,” Tobin whined. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to them when they said it. They loved you and hurting you was the last thing in their mind. They just didn’t know how to be honest with you about the situation. At least you didn’t run away to the UK this time.

“Yeah, I would start by never ever saying that again,” Lindsey said lowly. She knew how much you hated when they said that. It always felt like they were diminishing the amount of devastation you felt at their betrayal. As though there was no way to avoid their happiness coming at the cost of your own.

“What else are we supposed to say? We love each other and don’t regret that we finally got together,” Tobin grumbled exasperatedly. She didn’t know how to fix this, and you weren’t giving her any clues.

“You just regret that you lied and destroyed your best friend in the process?” Lindsey shrugged sarcastically.

“Exactly! Wait, That came out wrong,” Tobin blushed at the admission and Lindsey’s raised eyebrows.

“Just give her some time, and maybe start by keeping the PDA to yourself,” Lindsey said calmly, patting Tobin’s knee. To be honest, the preath kissing was even beginning to wear on her, so she could only imagine how you felt about it. She had asked, but you always clammed up.

“We’re not going to stop being a couple to cushion her feelings,” Tobin huffed crossings her arms like a petulant child. That wasn’t fair to them either.

“I’m not asking you to, but it might be more courteous for the two of you not have a fucking make out session while she’s sitting at the same table,” Lindsey mumbled gently. She hated how quiet you got, how much you retreated into yourself when the two women were around. She just wished that she could relieve your pain (what she didn’t know was that she already did).

“I’m going to go talk to Chris, just… let me know that she made it to movie night in one piece alright?” Tobin asked hesitantly, and Lindsey gave her a tiny nod. Protective instincts were hard to break, and Tobin had been your protector for a long time. Hell, you had moved in with her after your parents kicked you out when they caught you making out with your first girlfriend in 9th grade. Her mom was more nurturing to you than your own had ever been, and she was the older sibling that you never had.

Tobin made her way to the door, pausing as she opened it. “Hey Linds, take care of her, ok?” She asked softly, staring at the floor. You were guarded and hard to handle, but maybe Lindsey would be able to break through those walls.

“I will,” Lindsey nodded solemnly, and she would.

*****

You’d say that camp was going swimmingly. Vlatko had let you start in the friendly against England, and you scored 3 goals so you were super pumped. It also helped that the English national team was always down for some flirting. So here you were, flirting with Leah Williamson.

Emily watched you win disdain from the bench, while Lindsey simply wore an amused expression. Leah and Jordan were in a committed relationship, and it was fun to watch you lay on the moves.

“Are you seriously going to sit here and watch her hit on anything with legs?” Emily asked scrunching up her nose, as you swapped jerseys with Leah.

“We’re not dating, and it’s her apparently ‘therapist approved coping mechanism’ or whatever,” Lindsey shrugged, a bemused smile on her lips, as Leah and Jordan kissed your cheeks. You had had many conversations with the woman about your ‘coping’, and it seemed that while you didn’t want Lindsey to be your rebound, you had no problems having others fill that role. Somehow you always ended up back in her bed ready to cuddle.

“Please, you guys have basically been in a relationship since her breakup with Chris, the only difference is that she hooks up with Tinder dates instead of hooking up with you” Emily snorted, remembering the many times she had watched you leave with a tinder date you never returned with. All of the women had a very interesting resemblance to a certain midfielder you both knew rather than a green-eyed forward.

“We’re not dating,” Lindsey rolled her eyes for the millionth time. Did she like your coping mechanism? No. But she preferred it over the self-deprecating tendencies that have plagued you the first few months after the split. You were a shell of yourself, determined to wear your mental anguish as physical marks on your skin. It had torn her apart to see you like that, and she was proud that you had picked yourself up the way you did. That you allowed her to help you help yourself.

“No, you guys just call each other nonstop, go on adorable dates and sleep all cuddled up in the same bed,” Emily smirked at the woman. How could two people be so deep in denial? You of your feelings and Lindsey of the status of your relationship. You loved her, anyone with eyes could see that, and Emily often wondered if you were just flaunting your hookup as a bratty way to try and get Lindsey to finally make a claim.

“She’s not ready for a relationship, and we’re not that close,” Lindsey snapped, tired of this conversation. You weren’t ready to make that commitment and she wasn’t going to force you. You were best friends, and best friends did things like cuddle and call each other and watch movies.

“You guys have always been emotionally close,” Christen said, staring at the way you were holding Leah’s hand to your chest, smiling what her and Tobin had dubbed the fan smile because it always got people to flock towards you. Her breathing caught when you looked Lindsey’s way, waving at the woman and sending her your real smile. The smile you always saved for Christen. She sat on the bench next to the two women, finally tearing her eyes away from you.“I was always jealous of the way you two clicked from the moment you met,” She murmured, and Lindsey tensed at her presence.

“Like you clicked with Tobin? Oh, yeah that’s right, we’re not fucking behind everyone’s back,” The blond midfielder scoffed. She had seen the destruction that Christen had left behind. Had seen how much it killed you when the team accepted Preath with open arms. Someone here had to be on your side, and she would back you up all the way.

“Be nice Linds,” Tobin scolded as she sat on Christen’s other side, sending Lindsey a frown. She didn’t like the rift that had formed between all of you.

“It’s alright,” Christen murmured, placing a hand on Tobin’s knee. “I know that you’ll never believe me but my greatest regret about this whole thing is that she got hurt in the process,” She finished softly, shaking her head. She knew that you wouldn’t believe her now, but maybe she could get through to the new women who had stolen your heart. Perhaps one day you would listen to her and give her the forgiveness she was after.

“She’s right kid. Chris and her were growing apart, and she was growing closer to you,” Tobin added carefully, remembering all of the calls where Christen had called about your distraction. About how you were always talking about team blond. She knew you loved Chris, but there was always some undeniable chemistry between you and Lindsey.

“I just-, we made a mistake, but I’m glad that she’s got you to help her,” Christen finished softly, a shy smile making its way across her face when you again glanced towards the bench to see if Lindsey was watching you (and when you frowned when she wasn’t). She would always miss how much you craved the attention of the people you loved, almost like a puppy would.

“We’re not in a relationship because she doesn’t want me to be her rebound from you. I’m like 90% sure she’s not over you.” Lindsey spat.

“That’s why all her tinder hookups are all blonds and not brunettes right?” Emily smirked. It was a checkmate. The ace in the hole if you will. Lindsey could deny her feelings for you all she wanted and explain away all of the evidence, but she couldn’t explain that. She couldn’t deny that you were attracted to her when all of the girls you picked up looked like her.

“Shut up guys,” Lindsey grumbled, refusing to concede defeat. Refusing to admit the truth. Christen watched her for a moment, running a hand through her hair. You were running, too afraid to be hurt. She knew that. It’s what you did best.

“Just don’t let her push you away.” She whispered. It was the only piece of advice she could offer. She wanted you to find your happiness again, and fuckgirl Y/n wasn’t it.

“I won’t.” Lindsey nodded, grabbing Christen’s hand and squeezing it. She wouldn’t let you run forever.

*****

Little did she know just how stubborn you could be. It had been a year of almost dating. A year of dancing around the subject, only for you to run away again. Your behavior had become less erratic. You transferred from Utah to Portland, deciding that having Sonnett and Lindsey were a fair trade for having to deal with Tobin’s puppy eyes.

You hadn’t forgiven her, not yet, but you were making your way there. At least you weren’t blatantly ignoring her anymore.

In Lindsey’s mind, the greatest victory was that you spent less time getting into other people’s pants and more time hanging out with her. When you transferred to Portland, Lindsey had welcomed you with open arms, even allowing you to share an apartment with her (with the excuse of Mark being unable to find you one of your own). So here you were, in a club celebrating another NWSL championship.

“You do realize that you’re going to have to be the one to make the first move right?” Emily nudged Lindsey’s shoulder as they watched you dance with a group of girls from the bar. They giggled as you casually grabbed a hand that had tried to work its way up your shirt, placed a kiss on the knuckle, and continued dancing with the girl. They couldn’t deny that you were a smooth operator.

“What if she’s not ready?” Lindsey asked biting her lip, sighing as you grabbed another hand that was trying to get under your shirt.

“It’s been a year,” Emily rolled her eyes. God, she had never met two more oblivious people in her entire life.

“Yeah and she hasn’t hooked up with anyone for like 6 months,” Tobin added, taking a sip of her beer.

“Plus the two of you have practically been living together,” Emily finished, high fiving Tobin. What it would take to get the two of you together, she didn’t know. But pointing out the obvious couldn’t hurt.

“It’s just cause she got traded to Portland,” Lindsey shrugged off the implication.

“She turned down Marks offer to set her up in a loft,” Tobin reminded her, distinctly remembering Marks’ complaints that you had refused his offer to get you a loft in the building she was living in. Your eyes met Lindsey’s from across the room, and you sent her a blinding smile that was reserved only for her and a wink.

“I think it’s safe to say that she’s waiting for you to make the first move,” Emily laughed, patting Lindsey on the back in encouragement. The only thing missing from your relationship with her was the label. And from the way you shied away from labels, it was safe to say that you weren’t going to be the one asking Lindsey out.

Lindsey let out a growl when the girl that you were dancing with yet again tried to feel your abs. You frowned at the insistent hand. How could the girl not get the hint? She marched in your direction, tapping the girl on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in,” she spat, the girl taking a step back in shock. Lindsey took the opportunity to slip in front of you, pulling your hands to her waist.

“Linds?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing, pulling her close to you so you could talk to her over the loud music of the clip.

“I’m in love with you, but I think you know that, and I think that you’re in love with me too,” She said firmly, her blue eyes staring into your own as she connected your foreheads.

“I don’t want you to be a rebound,” you whispered, your breath fanning across her lips. Your cheeks flushed at the intimacy of the situation. You loved Lindsey, but another relationship scared you.

“You don’t spend hours on the phone with your rebound. You don’t move to a different city to be closer to them. You don’t share the connection That we do. I’m so much more than a rebound and you know it. You just have to take that leap,”

She finished breathlessly, and just like the night of your breakup you leaned up and placed a gentle kiss in her lips. And just like the first time, your lips fit together like they were made for each other, moving in harmony together.

Her tongue probed your bottom lip and allowed her to deepen the kiss. Her fingers tangled in the baby hairs at the lack of your neck, and your hands wrapped around her Lower back to pull her closer to you. You reluctantly pulled away when air became an issue, keeping your eyes closed as your rested your foreheads together, bumping her nose with your own.

“Go on a date with me?” She asked, and your eyes snapped open to meet hers.

“Mmm, I wouldn’t like anything more,” You smiled, pecking her lips again. You knew Lindsey would be so much more than a rebound. She would be the love of your life.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #lindsey horan imagine #lindsey horan x reader

319 notes · View notes

madamewriterofwrongs · 3 years

Note

From the fluffy/blushy prompts: "No, it’s fine. I can wait until you’re done talking to them". Thank you!

Happy NaNoWriMo (aka, working multiple projects and filling prompts <3)!

911/Buddie

Take My Heart Away With You

“Eddie Diaz, as I live and breathe.” Half a dozen heads shot up from across the intersection as the firefighters of the 118 continued to pack up their equipment. It had been a simple enough call: three-car accident in a residential area, no major injuries or immediate dangers. In fact, the entire incident was over and done with in less than an hour; they might make it back in time for Bobby to cook lunch before half of the crew were off for the day.

Although, plans were certain to change given the determined excitement from the stranger on the sidewalk.

Eddie looked up from his place beside Buck and recognized the man instantly. “Jerry? What the hell are you doing here?”

Without a second glance, he tossed his share of the equipment haphazardly into the truck for Buck to sort and jogged over to greet his friend.

“What am I doing here? Last I heard, you were living in Texas with your parents, and now I find you pulling cats out of trees in the City of Angels?”

From against the side of the truck, Chimney tilted his head to mutter “I don’t think I’ve ever rescued a cat from any form of flora.” Hen chuckled but agreed with a quip of her own, though Buck was admittedly too fixated on the other voices to pay much attention. Unfortunately, he was a little too far away to hear Eddie’s conversation with his old friend so he returned to his task, picking up the slack until his partner’s return.

“I moved out here with my son about three years ago, now.” Eddie hadn’t seemed to notice the distinct lack of chatter from his teammates as they all strained to hear his conversation. “You remember Christopher? He’s almost ten now.”

Jerry whistled in response, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “Crazy. And Shannon? How’s she doing?”

No matter the passage of time, the sudden memory of losing his wife was always a shock to his system. “She, uh, she passed just over a year ago. It’s just the two of us. Well, I’ve got my aunt and my grandmother, and Carla, and Buck, and the rest of the 118.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked down at the hand on his shoulder and his mind returned to the days when the most sympathetic greeting he could expect on a daily basis was a firm clap on the shoulder. “but it seems like you’re doing well here.”

“I am.” Eddie was finally able to admit that he was thriving in LA, and it was nothing to be ashamed of (actually, he was almost able to admit that). “But what about you? I thought you were moving to Paris to be with Katie and her family.” It had been some time but he seemed to remember long nights of listening to Jerry pine for his girlfriend who had decided to move home now that she was done with her Masters, and how much he would miss her once his tour was over.

“I did. I’m just in town for a conference.” His friend flashed a smile that reminded Eddie of Buck’s giddy grins when he was almost too excited to share his news. “We’ve been married now, two years in August.”

He had nothing but congratulations to offer Jerry, though his heart did ache to see the ring glinting in the sunlight.

“How have you been since Shannon…” there was no need to end the sentence for two men so acquainted with death. “Is Carla…?”

“No.” He gently affirmed. “Carla’s an amazing woman but she helps care for Christopher when I’m at work.” And what a god-send she was. “Buck introduced us.”

There was a familiar glint in his eyes that Eddie recognized from every time he found himself roped into pulling pranks on their last day at any camp. “And Buck is…”

“My coworker.” He emphasized with a nod in his friend’s direction, hiding the smile that came when Buck gave an awkward wave.

“He’s cute.”

Eddie barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jerry wasn’t the first (and he certainly wouldn’t be the last) of his friends to be charmed by Buck with just a single look.

“And he knows it.” He grumbled good-naturedly. “But listen, I gotta get back to work. It was nice seeing you.”

He was already jogging back when he turned at the sound of his name. “A couple of the guys are getting together on Thursday to watch the game; you wanna join us?”

Eddie paused in the middle of the street, a rejection on his lips before he paused to consider the offer in its entirety. A night with old friends who shared a very specific (and some would say ‘traumatic’) experience, most of whom he hasn’t seen since returning prematurely from his second tour. A night which didn’t predictably end at home or at Buck’s, reminiscing about the day – not that he didn’t enjoy his downtime with someone he’d easily call his best friend. A night with no responsibilities.

“Yeah.” He called as he jogged back to his old friend. “Let me give you my new number and you can send me the details.”

Across the road, Buck stood upright as he no longer subtly observed Eddie’s interaction. “Did he just give that guy his number?”

“So what if he did?” Hen slammed the back of the ambulance after returning their unused equipment. “It’s been over a year since Shannon died, I think it’s good that he’s getting back out there.”

Chimney hummed in contemplation beside her. “I’m with Buck on this. Maybe it’s a little too soon to be dating. Besides, he’s got a kid at home, doesn’t that complicate things?”

“I didn’t say it was too soon.” Buck protested too sharply. “I just think it’s in poor taste to be hitting on a guy when he’s in the middle of a call.”

“Didn’t you frequently talk to your girlfriend while actively treating a patient?”

He ignored Hen’s excellent point in favor of watching Eddie return to his post.

“Sorry about that. Old army buddy. I haven’t seen him since I got back but we’re gonna get together with some of the old squad later this week to catch up.” He looked so excited (as excited as ‘Professional-Mode’ Eddie could be) that Buck didn’t have the heart to question him further. He used the same excuse to explain why we was virtually silent on the ride back to the station. It certainly had nothing to do with the curious way his heart tightened at the thought that Eddie might be ready to date after the passing of his wife.

Eddie would never describe himself as a ‘social butterfly’, in even the broadest sense of the term, but there was something about being in a specific environment that brought out his louder personality. Sitting on the couch, drinking beer, and half-watching a game while taking turns swapping stories about the old days and where life took them after (that is to say, standing and cheering when there was noise from the television and virtually ignoring the screen otherwise).

For once, he found he had stories to tell that didn’t leave him riddled with guilt. He could talk about the people he’d saved at work, and the daring rescues Buck decided to pull off that Eddie had to save him from. A few of the guys had seen Buck on the news but had no idea Eddie was there. Thoughts of all the people they’d lost – and almost lost – in bombings had silenced the room for a minute. And then someone scored a goal and they were all on their feet, cheering and sloshing drinks like nothing had happened.

For a few hours, Eddie was given the gift of forgetting that he had anything to be ashamed about and just enjoy the life he had now. So, of course, when the boys invited him out a week later, he was quick to accept their invitation.

“Sorry, I can’t do game night on Tuesday, I’m going out for drinks with the guys.” He declined Chimney’s offer of dinner while they dressed in the locker room before their weekend shift. “Buck, you’re welcome to join us if you don’t want to be the odd man out.” As much as he loved his sister, Eddie knew that his friend was less than keen on being the only person at dinner without a date.

Not that he and Buck would go as a date, but it always seemed easier when they could pair off in whatever way that meant to them.

“I don’t want to impose.” Buck began to protest but Eddie waved him off.

“It’s not imposing if I’m inviting you.”

Still, the man shook his head.

“Nah, I actually have plans on Tuesday anyways so I won’t be going to Maddie’s anyways.”

If he were paying closer attention, he might notice the way Buck avoided his eyes as he spoke – a sure sign that he was being less than truthful.

“You were just going to not show up and leave me as the odd man out? I, at least, gave you fair warning.” He tossed his uniformed shirt at Buck’s head, which he caught only after it hit him on the side of his face. Of course, that meant Eddie had to cross the locker room in only his slacks to retrieve the clothing item, leaving him standing next to Buck, shirtless, and all too aware of their close proximity.

“Have fun without me.” He saw the twinkle behind those blue eyes of something unspoken but instead of asking, he pulled the shirt out of his hands and pulled it over his head in a smooth motion on his way out the door.

Buck watched him leave with, breathless in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. And something in his gut that squeezed hard at the thought of Eddie spending time with other people. Which was ridiculous. Eddie was allowed to have friends that he didn’t know about. Yes, they were best friends but that didn’t mean they owed each other a free pass to their entire lives. He’d just have to get over this jealousy.

“Why’d you lie to Eddie?” He flew against the lockers at the sound of Hen’s voice at his side.

“Why-why do you think I lied to Eddie?”

Her incredulous gaze was nearly as intimidating as Athena’s (had she been getting pointers?). “Because you don’t have plans on Tuesday. Why did you tell him you did?”

Was he that obvious? Could everyone see that he was jealous and he wanted to sulk at home rather than spend the evening with his sister, distracted and wondering what Eddie was up to?

“I didn’t want him to feel bad. If he’s not going to Maddie’s, then I’m not going to be the odd one out – like he said.”

Hen perched herself beside him against the lockers, her scrutiny turning soft. “He invited you to join him, you could have gone out with his army buddies. Is there a reason you didn’t want to?”

He didn’t want to be a burden, he’d have nothing in common with them, he didn’t want to feel like an obligation, Eddie deserved a night out with friends who weren’t him.

“It just didn’t seem like my thing.” Drinking at a bar didn’t seem like his thing? Hen didn’t have to voice her question but he shrugged it off regardless. “I’ll probably just hit the gym and do some laundry. I’m way behind anyways.” He pushed off the wall of lockers before she could question his lies any further.

Of course, he hated lying to his friends. It seemed better than admitting that he was feeling petty and jealous – like a child – over something so silly.

No matter how guilty he felt for the way he was acting, it still hurt to see Eddie strolling into the station on Wednesday morning with a smile on his face. He looked brighter than he had in a long time (since Shannon, probably). And was there a bounce in his step? Surely, he was imagining it; but he did seem happy. That was all that mattered, right? As long as Eddie was happy, he’d learn to get over his jealousy and find other friends to occupy his time.

Or perhaps he’d just be alone forever. That seemed like a likely alternative. He would adjust, adapt; he’d figure it out and everything would be fine.

Four months later, he wanted to smack his past self in the face for thinking that he could have a normal, well-adjusted reaction to anything. He was the guy who overreacted, who felt things so deeply and blew everything out of proportion.

Of course, he would see Eddie finding other friends as a sign that there was something wrong with him, and thus should isolate himself from everyone in his life. The problem was: Eddie hadn’t changed – not really. Sure, he went out with the guys a few nights a month and always came back with a smile on his face and a few stories to tell that Buck got to hear with the rest of the crew. But he kept up their weekly game night, and pizza night, and their trip to the baseball game that he told himself was out of pity for the expense of the tickets (but really, he was just excited to spend some time with his friend).

Eddie was his usual self, it was Buck who started declining game night or ending pizza night early, or feigning illness when Eddie told him about adult night at the observatory. He was the one who was pushing his friend away because some selfish part of him couldn’t handle not having someone’s attention 24/7. The more he told himself of all the reasons he was wrong, the more convinced he became of his need to isolate.

He should have known better.

“Eddie? It’s midnight, what are you doing here?” He groggily answered the door, stumbling when his mind finally caught up with him. “What happened to Christopher?”

“He’s fine.” The man was quick to put his hands out in a calming motion, walking straight past him and into the apartment without invitation – not that Eddie ever needed an invitation. “He’s at a sleepover. I wanted to talk to you.”

He’d figured it out. He must have. Eddie knew that Buck was acting like a dick and wanted to cut ties completely. Why did he have to do it in the middle of the night when it was already so dark and cold?

“You see me every day.” He closed the door despite his own instinct to run away.

“This isn’t really a work conversation.” There it was: the truth.

“I need a drink.” Buck was circling the bar and reaching for the fridge before Eddie could protest. He turned back with two water bottles in his hand (a force of habit, he supposed) and slid the other to the man taking his usual seat on the island.

It was such a minor thing but Buck had always found it amusing that even though he had a perfectly good table a few feet over, the two of them always gravitated towards the kitchen bar/island – he couldn’t remember which. Perhaps there was something to that, but he couldn’t figure out what.

“So what is it?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you.” Two minutes in and Eddie was already nervously picking at the label of his bottle. This was going to hurt. “You’ve been distant lately; cancelling plans, lying to avoid spending time together. I appreciate that you still make time to see Christopher but you and I haven’t hung out in months. What’s up?”

After the last time he and Eddie split up – that is to say, they were separated as teammates – he’d felt so guilty about his favourite kid getting caught in the crossfire. So, even if Eddie never wanted to see him again, he was going to do all he could to still be there for Christopher. Although, it seemed especially cruel to make Buck confess all his wrongdoings instead of just yelling at him and walking away.

“There’s nothing up, I’ve just been busy.” Why he bothered to try and lie to his best friend would forever remain a mystery.

“You’ve never been able to lie to me, Buck, I don’t know why you’re doing it now but I’m worried.”

“Worried?” This was not the response he was expecting at all. What would Eddie have to be worried about?

“I’m worried that I’m losing my best friend and I don’t know why.”

There were moments in a person’s life that struck as lightning – hard and fast and completely unexpected. And there were some that rolled like thunder – highly anticipated but when it finally arrived, nothing could prepare for the aftershock. Buck finally understood the feeling of releasing a long-held breath only to feel the sensations trickle down his body, leaving pins and needles in their wake.

“I don’t want to be your best friend anymore.”

No puzzle pieces formed together, there was no sense of relief after letting go of this realization, but the moment the words left his mouth, they rang with truth. He didn’t want to see Eddie as a best friend, vying for time and caring from the sidelines of his life. He wanted to be in Eddie’s life. He wanted something new. He wanted-

“You don’t want to be friends anymore, what?”

“No!” He stumbled over his own shoes in an attempt to recover from his own misstep. “Well, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

“What other way is there, Buck?” He followed as Eddie instinctively stepped away, confusion and hurt marring his face. That suddenly, very kissable face.

One step at a time.

“The way where we are something other than friends. Something romantic.” He ventured, drawing out each word as they formed in his mind.

“Something…” Eddie’s voice trailed off and Buck was gifted with the display of emotions that crossed his face. Confusion, searching, conclusion, understanding, realization, surprise, and finally a soft, shaking “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Buck tried to smile in a comforting manner but it has difficult to concentrate when the air had left the room. “Is that okay?”

There had always been an understanding between the two men: words were not necessary for them to know what the other needed. They didn’t need to talk to come up with a plan to rescue someone from a three-story house. They didn’t need to talk to offer comfort after a call went badly and all they wanted was not to be alone. They didn’t need to talk to know when to pounce on Chimney when he had overplayed his turn on the game console. They knew each other – complimented one another in their silence – which made them an amazing team and wonderful friends.

In the silence following Buck’s question, he didn’t dare try to read Eddie’s expression, for fear of breaking his heart too soon.

“I-yeah it’s okay but,” Buck closed his eyes against the world. “I don’t know that I feel the same.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” His mouth retreated from the conversation before his feet could make a decision. “But that’s why I’ve been…yeah.” When his feet finally caught up with his beating heart, they made their way towards the door. “So now that we’ve settled that, I’ll see you at work.”

Just get him out now. Do whatever you need to be alone. Get out. Find the silence so you can put yourself back together.

“Buck, shouldn’t we talk about th-”

“Nope.” He squeezed the handle to steady his shaking hands. “No, I think we’ve covered everything.” With a strength he didn’t possess, Buck opened the front door and stepped aside for Eddie to leave. “I’ll talk to you at work.”

He could hear the slow shuffling of Eddie’s steps as he made his way towards the door, stopping in front of Buck. They had never needed words to know what the other was saying (there had been days when they had been completely off and needed to make amends but with time, their skills had improved) and with just the steady breaths between them, Buck acknowledged Eddie’s apology and listened as he walked out the door.

It wasn’t until the engine of his truck roared out of the parking lot, that Buck allowed himself to close the door and wipe a hand over his face to clear the emotions he’d delicately kept at bay.

Eddie found himself numbly driving anywhere but home, his mind racing with the onslaught of realizations he’d been handed in such a short amount of time. How had he not seen it before? How had he not noticed the signs? How had he not understood how important that moment was? How had he not found the words to say he felt the same?

With nothing awaiting him at home, he drove for what felt like hours until he finally pulled up to his front door, feeling no less certain of what he should do next. Even so close to the safety of his bedroom, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to walk inside, choosing instead to lean against the steering wheel until the sun came up.

When he found himself burdened with so many conflicting thoughts, the only person he wanted to talk to was suddenly the only person he couldn’t share his fears with. What else was there to do but keep his emotions close to his chest until he could sort them out. Or maybe he’d make an appointment with Frank – that’s what he was for, right? – and see what an objective mind could come up with.

For now, he had to find the strength to go inside and get ready for work.

Because naturally he and Buck would be scheduled to work together the day after such an unsettling interaction. The universe would never give him an opportunity to adjust to his new mindset and perhaps come up with what he wanted to say to Buck. His friend deserved an answer – or perhaps closure – but he had nothing to give. No amount of sitting in his driveway with the engine turned off, would give him the words he needed to find before he was set to face Buck again.

Why is this a problem?

That question had drifted through his mind over again as the night slowly faded to daylight. He’d known for some time that Buck meant something significant to him. Perhaps it was in the role of best friend, or trusted partner, and occasionally he laid in bed wondering if he might mean something different – something romantic.

The thought of dating Buck hadn’t scared him the way he expected it might. In fact, he’d been circling around the daydream with startling frequency of late. So why, at the pivotal moment – the moment when he might actually get to fulfill those dreams – did he lie and say that he didn’t feel the same way? It was like he was predestined to break his own heart at every turn; first, he hurt his wife, then his son, then his best friend. But unlike with Shannon, Eddie had a chance to make up for his mistakes with the other two people who meant the world to him. He could spend the rest of his life apologizing to Christopher for leaving by showing up every single day. And he could apologize to Buck by…

By telling him the truth.

That the sudden confession had startled him and his brain hadn’t actually registered what he was saying until he was down the block. That he very much reciprocated, but he’d screwed up – like he always did (maybe he’d leave that part out).

He had to try, at least.

Besides, this was Buck. They always came back to each other; they always forgave each other.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Eddie blocked the other man’s path as they approached the station together. It hadn’t been difficult for Eddie to beat him to work and then all he had to do was wait. “Buck, I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk, Eddie.” Buck side stepped his partner but Eddie caught him again. “Not right now. We have to focus on work.”

He’d never seen the man so pale and small. He was carefully balancing his work bag on one hunched shoulder, his neck and head cast down but even then, Eddie could see how tired his eyes looked, feel how cold his skin felt from exhaustion. Had either of them slept?

“What about after work? Come over and we’ll talk.”

“Talk about what?” It wasn’t quite a shout but they were quickly drifting into the territory of ‘not work appropriate levels of conversation’. “You told me you don’t feel the same – that’s fine. I just need a little time.” When Eddie moved to block his escape again, Buck looked into Eddie’s eyes properly for the first time all day and whispered “Please.”

Eddie let him pass.

Their shift together was uncomfortable to say the least. Buck barely spoke to anyone and his avoidance of Eddie was obvious to anyone who accidentally walked through the cold air between them. Eddie didn’t try to engage with him again but too often, he caught himself staring across the table at his friend, begging for some sign that this – like every other horrible thing between them – would pass.

As they packed up at the end of the day, he watched Buck sidestep Chimney’s attempts to engage in conversation, and nearly ran into Hen when she approached him – now doubt some tag team strategy to get the story from both parties at once.

Unfortunately for the paramedics, neither of the men were up for airing their dirty laundry. No, Eddie saved that for drinks with his army buddies a few nights later.

“So when are we actually going to meet this ‘Buck’ of yours?” Ian meant well (as well as he could when teasing his friends about his obvious crush). “I thought you were going to introduce us.”

Eddie stared into the bottom of his glass of ginger ale, wondering if it held any of the answers he so desperately needed. Instead, he downed the rest of his soda in one gulp. “Buck isn’t mine.”

“Ooh.” A few voices from the table echoed Sam’s ribbing. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that.” He couldn’t exactly blame his loose tongue on the alcohol but he was sorely tempted to find a better excuse to share his feelings than simply ‘he needed someone to talk to’.

Like friends?

“Buck told me that he had feelings for me and I told him that I wasn’t sure I felt the same (even though that’s a lie). And now he’s freezing me out because I hurt him, but the only way I can make it up to him is if I talk to him. I don’t know how to make it right.”

It was an odd sensation to feel a weight lift off his chest – he was so used to carrying it all alone until he’d come to LA and even then, it was a hard habit to break – but confessing his frustrations to a room of receptive people did give him a sense of relief.

“Wait, hold on.” Ian shook his head. “You and Buck aren’t a couple? Could have fooled me, the way you go on about him.” Mostly receptive.

The trouble was: he wanted them to be a couple, and though he wasn’t sure Buck was still on board, he knew there was the potential to get everything he wanted. There was only one person who could get them there and it wasn’t any of the men sitting around the table in the dimly lit bar.

“We are not talking about my love life – or lack thereof – anymore.” He declared, rising to his feet. “The next rounds’ on me.” He was still waiting for their order when he felt a hand clap his shoulder and he jumped despite himself.

“Sorry,” Sam hissed in sympathy. “I should know better. I just wanted to say: fix it.” He grabbed half of the drinks as they were slid across the bar for Eddie to follow suit. “Do what you need to do to be happy – even if that means locking your boy in a closet until you sort it out.” Eddie held his balance as Sam lightly elbowed him with a smirk. “You talk about Buck like he’s someone special to you. Don’t lose that.”

It was Sam’s words that led Buck to open his door after midnight for the second time that week, to find an anxious Eddie eager to enter his apartment.

“What do you want, Eddie?” Without waiting for permission, the man walked through to the kitchen bar and began to lightly pace back and forth. He looked nervous, almost scared. What could he possibly have to say that was so terrifying? Was he fleeing the city because he couldn’t handle being around Buck any longer? No, that wasn’t it. Though his heart was still healing, he knew Eddie was not one to run away from his problems. Not that Buck was a problem. Was he?

“I want us to talk.” The man declared as he continued to run a hole in the hardwood floor. “And I don’t want you to kick me out again.”

Buck knew he’d been rash the other night in sending Eddie away before he could continue but the other option was listening to platitudes about their friendship (which he cherished greatly) and maintaining a professional attitude and he just couldn’t bring himself to hear it then.

The rest – the confrontation in the parking lot, the icing out – it had been to protect his heart while he readjusted the level of hope he was allowed to carry. He just needed time. Yet, here Eddie was, pushing his way through.

Just like you do.

“Fine.” He closed the door with just enough gracefulness to appease his grumpy neighbours. “Talk.”

Eddie stopped pacing when Buck approached. “No, we’re going to talk to each other.” He really didn’t want to talk about this awful situation between them. In fact, if they never spoke again, he would be perfectly content. He cursed his own traitorous heart for calling him a liar, then.

“What do you want me to say, Eddie?” He took the stool across from his friend when Eddie motioned for him to sit. Even now, it seemed important that the two of them never sat at the table.

“First, I want to ask you a question. Please be honest.” As much as his mind cried ‘no! You don’t owe him anything!’ his heart whispered ‘give him every chance’.

“Okay.”

“You said you were pulling away because you wanted to be something other than friends. Why?”

Buck couldn’t help the incredulous snort that escaped. “Why was I pulling away, or why do I want to be something other than friends? Because if I’m being honest, I’m trying to rethink that last one.” He silenced the voice shouting ‘liar’.

“No, why were you pulling away? What changed?”

His immediate response was to answer with ‘nothing’. To confess that nothing had changed except he suddenly came to his senses, even if those senses had gotten him hurt. But then, he let himself think back to the weeks and months when Eddie wasn’t around as often. When he suddenly had other people he would rather be with instead of him.

“I got jealous.” He confessed quietly. “You had your army buddies and you were spending less time with me. At first, I thought I was just jealous that you had other friends. It’s been just the two of us for some time and suddenly you weren’t always there.” He’d tried so hard to convince himself that he was just being selfish the way he always was; that he was simply meant to grow up and get over it. “Then I suddenly realized I wanted to be there with your friends – get to know them – but I didn’t want to be one of them.” Eddie’s eyes were too soft and bright to stare into any longer so he found a place on the counter between them that felt like neutral territory.

“I want you all to myself and I know that’s selfish but I want all of you.” Saying it out loud was meant to feel like relief but all Buck found was a pain in the center of his chest. “Seeing you and not knowing what to do: it was too hard. So I stepped back. And now that it’s all out there,” (And boy, was it all out there.) “I just need some time to readjust. That’s all I need.”

What he ‘needed’ was an infinite list of ever-changing desires, but several of the constants included Eddie and Christopher in his life. What he needed: was to put the genie back in the bottle and never realize his feelings in the first place. What he needed was to be happy.

“It’s not selfish.” He barely heard Eddie’s whispered words but he looked up to familiar, shining eyes. “Or if it is, then I’m selfish, too.”

It wasn’t quite like he’d heard a record scratch in his mind but the world most definitely stopped moving for a moment as his words set into place.

“You-what?”

Eddie reached out his hand but hesitated, placing it just between them. An offering instead of a command: Buck could answer if he wanted, when he was ready.

“When you told me…what you told me,” that was certainly one way of putting it. “I panicked.” Buck didn’t echo his nervous laughter but he did nothing to deter it, too lost in absorbing all of the new information.

“I thought maybe you meant it some other way, or I was dreaming, or I wasn’t good enough for you.” How could Eddie ever believe that he wasn’t good enough? Even if this was his long-winded way of letting him down gently, Buck made a promise to never let him believe that again. “So I told you that I wasn’t sure how I felt but that was a lie.”

The more Eddie spoke, the more Buck allowed his heart to take on just a little more hope. “And I wanted to tell you the truth but I could never get you alone.” Because Buck had made a point of walking in the other direction whenever Eddie entered the room, entirely born out of self-preservation that was, apparently, unfounded.

“You know my friends, they thought we were dating.”

“Wait, really?”

His laugh had elements of the joy he knew Eddie was capable of and it gave him permission to relax against the bar just a little bit. “Yup. They kept asking when they were going to meet the guy I couldn’t stop talking about. And then they told me to do what I need to do to be happy.” Eddie sighed in conclusion. “So I came here.”

Buck tried to speak a few times but no words ever came. He had let himself hope for this outcome too often, but it never felt like this. His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest and his ears were ringing like he was flying through high altitude. His eyes darting across Eddie’s face over and over, looking for a hint that he was being insincere but all he saw was the same terrified and shy desire that he assumed was in his own expression.

“So you like me?” Buck ventured.

“Yeah, Buck.” Eddie chuckled in return. “I like you.”

Good. “And I like you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“And your friends think we’re dating.”

“They may have hinted at it, yes.”

It seemed a pity that Eddie’s hand was resting between them, completely unaccompanied, so Buck linked their fingers.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

It felt right, feeling Eddie’s thumb gently swipe across his skin and squeeze their fingers with all the joy they couldn’t express for fear of breaking their quiet bubble of hope.

“Honestly, I want to kiss you right now.” The shiver of anticipation was one he’d been waiting for, for a very long time. “But I’m also very tired. I haven’t really slept since that night.”

Buck found himself simultaneously relieved and guilty to learn that he hadn’t been alone in his sleeplessness so instead, he pulled Eddie to his feet.

“Do you have anywhere to be in the morning?” When Eddie shook his head, he smiled. “My bed’s pretty big. What do you say to sleeping – just sleeping – and then see about the rest of it in the morning.”

Without hesitation, he melted into Eddie’s smile. “That sounds perfect.”

He had done much scarier things in his lifetime – hell, he’d gone to war when he had a newborn son waiting for him at home – but somehow, walking into the pub with his boyfriend by his side was what really got him sweating.

“Hey,” Buck bumped his shoulder with an encouraging smile the way he had since the day they met. “it’s gonna go great.”

It didn’t entirely ease his anxiety but he also had the distinct realization that he could handle whatever happened because he wouldn’t have to handle it alone.

“I know.”

He spotted the group easily enough, the group of boisterous men in the corner booth, exchanging loud war stories and wiping up their sloshed drinks (because they were raised to be polite young men, thank you, ma’am). The moment they caught sight of Eddie they waved him over and the two made their way to join the platoon.

“Hey guys, I see you started drinking without me.” He greeted the men with a smile.

“Well Kelley started around noon.” Ian shoved his friend’s shoulder. “So unless you wanted to skip…whatever it is you two were doing before this…”

“We were at work.” Buck replied quickly with a mischievous smirk to his cheeks. The man really was shameless, even when he was telling the truth. “Hi, I’m Buck,” he extended his hand to the closest person – Sam – who took it immediately. “it’s nice to meet you all.”

Thankful for his boyfriend’s ability to charm the pants off of anyone he met (though the pants-loosing was a super power he reserved for one person in particular), Eddie allowed himself to relax into the evening. “Buck these are some of the men I was on tour with. This is Sam, Ian, Harry, Erik, and Cole.” Buck greeted them each with a polite nod and handshake. “Guys, this is Buck.”

“Please tell me you two are finally having sex.” Ian shook Buck’s hand enthusiastically, laughing at the double take from both men. “Eddie here has been mooning over you for months.”

If it were possible for the floor to swallow him whole, he would pray for an earthquake. The knowing look on Buck’s face, paired with the snickers from around the table, told him that he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for some time.

“Mooning?” Buck teased as they took their seats next to one another. “Eddie, I had no idea you mooned.” He was well aware that they both mooned over one another (as evidenced by the amount of times Chimney had asked them to stop looking at each other while they were on duty before they were arrested for indecent exposure) but he didn’t correct his boyfriend.

“Suddenly I’m feeling very down to earth.” He rolled his eyes at Buck’s faux indignation before they turned their attention to the rest of the table. “So, what were we talking about?”

Erik waved him off without waiting for the others to respond. “Doesn’t matter. We want to talk to Buck here. I bet there’s some things he knows about Eddie that we’d like to know.”

He knew before he asked Buck to accompany him to guys’ night, that the boys would latch on to him and search for blackmail material. Fortunately, he came prepared.

“And I know there’s some things about these guys that Buck would find hilarious. Like, guess who got caught sneaking out of the captain’s quarters after someone set off the fire alarm. And they were naked. And so was the captain.”

It wasn’t difficult to discern the culprit from the blush in his cheeks, but Buck still snorted at Cole with a mixture of shock and approval.

“I was fired a few months into being a probie because I got caught stealing the firetruck to have sex. Twice.”

If there was one thing Eddie should have known, it was that Buck was as shameless as he was handsome. Of course, he would reveal stories about his life that even his partner hadn’t heard before.

“You said I couldn’t kiss you goodbye in the parking lot because we had to be professional!”

“Because I got fired for having sex in a firetruck.” Buck matched his indignant energy with a smile. “I’m not going to risk getting fired again.”

“It’s a kiss, Buck, we’re not going to get fired for a kiss (not in LA, anyways).”

“Well I know that if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. And the things I want to do to you would get us fired – even in LA.”

“You are both very horny and very sweet.” Eddie shoved his boyfriend lightly, to accompany his hidden smile of giddy joy. This thing between them was only a few weeks old and they were still learning what would change and what would stay exactly the same. So far, it had been nothing but happy adjustments and stolen kisses. Eddie knew exactly what Buck meant about never wanting to stop – and he hoped that feeling never went away.

“I feel so sorry for your coworkers.” They snapped to Sam, taking in the snickers from the other men as they came back to reality. “I don’t know how they get anything done with you two like this constantly.”

“They don’t.” The pair replied in unison, earning another round of laughter from the table.

Eddie recovered first. “Enough about us, we’re here to spend a night among friends, so whose gonna by us a drink?”

Truth be told: Eddie didn’t mind the sniggering or taunting because it all came from a place of love – a place he wasn’t sure he’d ever find like this. He had his son, his family, his friends, his partner, and even if it wasn’t perfect, there was certainly hope.

#cj writes things #911 fox #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #oneawkwardcookie #love cookie #love confession #jealousy #prompt fill #evan buckley #eddie diaz

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themountainsays · 3 years

Text

wrote something uwu. elsanna ofc.

...

Yes, of course, just a little bit closer. A little bit braver. Her sister was right there, standing just a few feet away, on the edge of the camp and looking deep into the dark dark forest, just where the light ended, just secluded enough for no one to notice her if they weren’t searching. Anna only needed to take one step forward, and then another, then another, until she could look Elsa in the eye and say what she needed to say.

Her hands gripped the wooden guksi tightly, so they wouldn’t tremble. Still, in the soft sway of her drink, Anna could see her failure at keeping it together. She knew Elsa wouldn’t be upset or disappointed if she failed to keep her feelings in check— she’d never been, not at all. She’d always been the most understanding, compassionate, gentle and loving person in Anna’s life. She could forgive the unforgivable, and she did so over and over again. So, of course, she wouldn’t be mad at Anna if someone got suspicious. That didn’t mean Anna shouldn’t try to stay quiet.

Especially then, with so many eyes on them. The palace staff that had dared to follow them into the woods, the guards and soldiers, Kristoff and Olaf, who were talking to people somewhere. Even the horses made her feel observed. Anna was bad at hiding her emotions, and that meant that, whenever they came out, she needed to get away. So she trailed through the camp and past the tents and dying campfires, waving at anyone who spotted her and quietly indicating that she had to go quickly, so that no one would strike a conversation. She needed to get this done before her courage abandoned her, before the sun came up and they continued their march east and she lost her chance once again.

The guards may not have heard her leave but her sister heard her approach. Of course she did. She turned her head before Anna could say a word and she smiled at her. It was such a kind smile, that it made Anna’s knees weaken and her throat constrict.

“Hi,” Elsa said, and she stretched a hand in Anna’s direction for her to take. She knew Anna couldn’t resist her— Anna didn’t miss her proud smirk when she accepted the invitation. Elsa intertwined her fingers with her sister’s and pulled her closer. “You can’t sleep either?”

Anna shook her head.

“Oh, you know, just... “ she gestured at her skull. “Lots of thoughts.”

Elsa hummed. She continued to gaze into the forest with curiosity, as her thumb softly caressed Anna’s knuckles.

“Are they thoughts you’d like to share?”

Anna’s throat went dry. Right. Right, right, right, right. That was exactly why she was there, and she had so many things to say, yet her tongue refused to pronounce the words.

She squeezed her big sister’s hand, and Elsa squeezed back. She offered Anna a long, adoring glance.

No matter where they were or how Anna felt, Elsa always managed to make her feel safe.

“I…” she began, and Elsa listened carefully. “I really need to tell you something.”

Elsa’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” She asked with concern laced in her words.

“It’s not a bad thing! It’s a good thing!” Anna rushed to reassure her. “I-I mean, it depends on how you look at it?”

Elsa nodded. Her eyes never left Anna’s, and the worry in them remained.

“How will I look at it?” She inquired.

How would she look at it? How would she? Indeed, Anna had agonized over that very same question for ages. She’d told herself Elsa would hate her. Then she convinced herself it would be harmless. Her brain repeated over and over to her that Elsa would forgive anything she could ever do to her, but Anna’s actions wouldn’t hurt her any less. And she’d also concluded, once, that Elsa was simply waiting, simply observing patiently and letting Anna take things on her own pace. That she didn’t want to rush her or make her feel pressured, or harm her somehow, because old habits die hard and Elsa’s magic still got out of control every now and then. If her emotions could be dangerous in one way, then they must also be dangerous in other ways. And she was Queen, she was the eldest one. She had magic. She was the one who held all the power and she’d loathe taking advantage of it— Anna knew her. She’d level out the playing field by letting Anna decide. This is what their relationship as sisters had been like ever since their reunion.

Elsa knew. She knew, she knew, her big sister knew how she felt and she’d always been so kind to her, despite how disgusted she should have felt. How repelled, how scared. For Anna to feel such a thing was… unnatural. Twisted. And yet Elsa’s primary concern had always been Anna’s wellbeing should anyone else find out. She’d always looked after her, always cared for her, always listened to her lovestruck rambling with endearment rather than horror because she saw something worth loving and cherishing in her little sister being in love, even if she could not return her feelings.

Could she not? Could it be that Anna’s guess was right? Could it be that Elsa’s closeness, her sweetness, her love and her care had a hidden meaning? Could there be a reason behind the long glances she so often directed at her and the quick gentle touches to her shoulders and her waist whenever she saw her in a new dress?

Anna clung to this idea with more resolve than ever before.

This mission was dangerous and she would never forgive herself if she’d lost her shot at her own cowardice.

How will she take it, she’d asked?

“I think— I mean, I was hoping you’d like it.”

Elsa smiled, turned to face Anna, and grasped her free hand in hers.

“Alright, then,” she said. “I’m listening.”

Anna opened her mouth, and yet again words failed her. They stopped at her throat but she couldn’t bring herself to blurt them out. “I love you,” she wanted to say. “You already know that. And I want to be with you, to not just admiring from afar. I’m sorry I can’t be content with your hugs and your gifts and your sisterly kindness, but what I feel for you is truly different, and I need to know if you feel the same way.”

But still, she could not say these words. They were too strong for her and she was too weak, too scared of ruining things and losing her sister. Hurting her. Crossing a line.

“Anna?” Elsa whispered, bringing her out of her thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Anna squeaked pathetically. “It’s just… I’m just…”

She cast her eyes down, careful not to glance at their joined hands because the contact was driving her insane.

Because, what if she did mess up? What if she caused irreparable harm to their relationship? She wouldn't be saying anything Elsa didn't already know, she'd just be… more resolute about it. She wanted to take action. Yet… it was such a great decision, one that was very easy to be ashamed of. One that may make her sister think she'd gone mad. Because this was madness, and it was dangerous, and perhaps Anna should just… keep her mouth shut. Some things were better left in silence.

With eyes downcast and a weak voice, Anna murmured:

"I-it's nothing."

She let go of Elsa's hands.

The temperature dropped a couple of degrees around her.

"Are you sure?" Her sister asked.

Anna nodded, screwing her eyes shut.

"It really is nothing," she insisted. "Just… excited about tomorrow. This sure is a trip, right?" She rubbed her arms up and down to fight the cold, and laughed. "Brrr!"

Despite her forced cackle, Elsa did not budge. Her concern and hesitation were painfully visible. She held her own hands together, and Anna avoided her gaze.

“Anna,” Elsa said, in a sweet tone, tilting her head and offering a quiet smile as she tried to see her sister better. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide your emotions from me.”

“I know that,” Anna gulped. “I know I’m safe with you. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about something else, and I don’t want to get things wrong and ruin everything and—”

A soft, cool hand caressed her cheek. She clamped her mouth shut.

“I doubt there’s anything you could ruin,” Elsa reassured her, brushing her thumb over Anna’s cheekbone. The simple act arose the butterflies in her stomach.

Anna choked out an awkward laugh.

“We could gather a list if you want,” she joked, but her sister didn’t seem to find it funny. Her hand traveled up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Anna’s ear. Her very much blushing ears. Goodness, she must be as red as a tomato. There was no way Elsa wasn’t noticing.

Her sister's eyes in her were intense and piercing. Gentle. Gentle.

She was running out of courage. Just like last time. And the previous one. And the previous one. Out of courage and out of words. She'd always been a bad liar and she was lying now when the whole purpose of staying up that night was to do the straight opposite. She'd just wanted… she'd only meant to… Do something.

Elsa stared at her, took a deep breath, and then smoothed a hand over her shoulder, leaving Anna's skin tingling in its wake despite the clothes in between. She was trying to read her. See what it was that she needed.

Her heartbeat quickened. She clenched her shaking fists.

Elsa opened her mouth to speak but Anna moved quicker, and whatever curiosity to hear her vanished under the feeling of her soft, soft lips against hers, and that of the cold shoulder Anna gripped for balance because her knees trembled so violently she worried she'd collapse. Her chest exploded with fear and nervousness and excitement and a deep electrifying realization, and the words "finally, finally, finally" coursed through her mind in an uncontrollable flow of emotions. Surprised at herself and the situation. And her sister, there, with her, standing still with a hand on Anna's own shoulder, all throughout this moment Anna had spent years waiting for.

Kissing her wasn't exactly like she'd expected. She was soft and delicate. She wasn't cold at all. Touching her felt like touching a cloud, barely there at all.

Elsa's hand slowly pushed back.

As soon as their lips parted, Anna's breath hitched.

Horror and regret came flooding in as soon as she laid her eyes on her sister's confused expression, her shut eyes and her knit-together brows. When her hand traveled up to cover her own mouth. The exhilaration of "finally" was abruptly replaced by the dread of "what have I done?".

What had she done?

Elsa took a step back, inhaled deeply, and opened her eyes. Her gaze was hard and cold.

“Anna, listen to me,” she said, in a stern, quiet voice. “You can’t do that. Not here. Not where you could get caught.”

Anna winced. She nodded without thinking.

“I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t— I’ll never do that again, I—”

"Stop."

Anna stopped. She bit down her tongue. She'd jump off a cliff if Elsa asked her to.

Elsa released a shuddering breath, and wrapped both arms around herself. Avoiding Anna's gaze, she looked around to check for onlookers. Anna's heart jumped into her throat at the thought of being seen, but judging from Elsa's expression, that didn't seem to be the case.

She wanted to apologize. She wanted to tell Elsa she'd leave and she'd never have to deal with her deviancy again. To say she'd been an idiot to let her mind twist and corrupt every innocent act of affection into something so filthy. It was an insult towards her Queen to see her under such a light. But Elsa hadn't given her permission to speak yet.

She eventually fixed her eyes on Anna again. She looked small and scared and unsure.

"It's late," she declared. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes drifted away from Anna again, to settle on the ground. "Just… go back to the tent, Anna. I'll join you later."

Her eyes stung with tears. Anna opened her mouth one last time— to get one last apology out, but Elsa interrupted:

"Please," she begged, with her trembling, raspy voice, and it cracked Anna's heart in two. She'd driven her sister to her limit, after— after so long, after everything she'd done for her, after all the unconditional love and acceptance and tolerance and fearless affection, she'd finally violated her trust. She'd taken advantage of her.

In the end, she'd let her sister's words get to her head. She'd let her convince her it was okay, but in reality, Anna had always been the pervert she'd feared she'd be.

So she closed her mouth, and, with her heart in her throat, she turned around, fisted her cloak over her chest, and retreated into camp, where no more than a couple of guards directed her a cautious look. She didn't know how much they'd seen and she prayed to God it had been nothing, but you could never be too sure, and Anna could never be intelligent enough to keep out of trouble.

Once inside the safety of her tent (the one she shared with her sister, because she trusted her and love her so much despite everything she knew about her), Anna curled into her bedroll and covered her face with her hands. Her chest convulsed but she screwed her eyes shut and held her breath in an attempt not to cry, yet the horror on Elsa's face came back to the forefront of her mind and it made her feel like a monster, and monsters didn't deserve to cry.

How ironic. These were the thoughts that always alarmed Elsa so much. She was terrified of Anna ever thinking of herself in the way she'd done during her childhood, and she'd spent so much time reassuring Anna and trying to help her unlearn these thoughts before they took root. And Elsa had been wrong. And Anna had hurt her as a result. Because the difference was that Elsa's intentions had always been pure.

The worst part was that Anna knew she'd be forgiven. She knew Elsa would sooner or later crawl back into the tent, wrap her arms around Anna from behind, call her her little sister and then apologize. She'd apologize again and again and again. She'd change the way in which she dressed, the way she spoke, how she dealt with others and how she managed her time if it meant making it easier on Anna, and it was unfair, oh, so so unfair.

Anna didn't deserve her sister.

So when she heard the tent's curtain opening, she stilled her breath. And when her sister's cold flooded their refuge, she kept her eyes closed tight. Elsa called her name, and Anna pretended to be asleep.

...

join us at the Elsanna Shenanigans server where you can yell at me for free

#elsanna #shipcest #angst #ara writes #someone challenged me on the elsanna shenanigans server

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halsteadpd · 3 years

Text

The Beginning: Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

So, so sorry this took so long to post! There's been a lot going on in my life and this chapter itself was quite wordy. I definitely wanted to get the "meet" right so hopefully I did justice. I don't have the time or energy to read through this entire chapter again so hopefully I edited correctly lol. Enjoy the penultimate chapter!

XXXX

This is like nothing she's ever done before.

She's scared but she doesn't want to admit it—her heart beats erratically and sometimes she feels as if it will jump out of her chest. Her friends and family had begged her to not go—it was too dangerous, a suicide mission her father called it. But Erin wanted to prove a point; she wanted to show everyone what the war was about.

When the crew landed on an airstrip near the base they would be stationed at, they were quickly ushered off to the side where a car waited on them. The way everyone was on high alert and held long guns around them added to the anxiety Erin was feeling.

Once on base, they're immediately guided towards a tent filled with multiple maps, radios and phones. The noise of the visitor's arrival gains the attention of the colonel and he places the pile of papers he was looking at down on the desk in front of him. He's old—his hair is salt and pepper coloured and wrinkles dig deep into his skin. It's obvious the military and war has taken its toll on him throughout his life.

When he stands and approaches the small group, he towers over all of them. He clears his throat before speaking; his voice matches his appearance. "Afternoon. I'm Colonel Williams, I oversee everything that goes on in this base." He paces back and forth in front of the group which inadvertently makes Erin stand up taller. "It's my job to ensure we get as many American soldiers back on American soil—that includes you." Colonel Williams turns his back to them and stares off in the distance at the maps on the walls. "You will listen to anything and everything my staff tell you to do. When you're out with a team, you keep ten to fifteen metres between each other. If something blows up I want minimal casualties. Meals are at 0600, 1200, and 1800 hours. Other than that, report on whatever you desire. But stay out of the way of my soldiers. They don't need any distractions right now." He turns to face the group again. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir." Erin replies, her voice strong; she didn't want to show she was intimidated by him.

"Very well then. O'Connor. Show them to their living area."

XXXXXXXXX

Erin and her crew have been on base for less than an hour and as they settle in, she can hear explosions from a distance. She's unsure if they're being purposely set off by the army or whether it's the Taliban. She wants to clarify with one of the soldiers on base but after Colonel Williams' speech, she's too scared to approach. They're not there to distract the staff.

A rather large explosion shakes the camp and she can tell it was close by—the fabric of the tent continues to flap around after the dust settles. It also caught the attention of everyone else on the base; there was a pause of all activities before resuming after confirming there was no immediate threat to them.

"That will be your lullaby for the next three months." Erin hears from behind her. When she turns she sees a dark skinned man standing behind her with his arms crossed. "We haven't gotten a break from them for a while now. Good luck sleeping tonight." He says dismissively as he returns to his task, clearly not daunted by the experience.

Later that afternoon, Erin and her crew are going over final details before they embark on their first recon mission the next day. They're all experiencing something new and had the crew not volunteered to come with her, Erin would've felt incredibly guilty bringing people into a warzone. They all knew that there was a chance of not coming home.

For the first day, they want to film what a day looks like in Afghanistan. They've been given permission to interview some soldiers, however their faces need to be blurred in order to comply with the military's rules and to keep the soldier's identities a secret.

In this distance, the sound of concrete exercise equipment being dropped can be heard.

XXXXXXXXXX

He's really been slacking on his fitness lately. As much as he tries to keep himself busy, reminders of home intrude his brain. Memories of that night still haunt him, often leaving him without an appetite. He's lost some weight and knows he needs to keep as much weight on as he can—it's the one thing that will keep him alive in a bind.

The lack of food mixed with missing workouts is hurting him today. He's taking longer rest periods to compensate for the fatigue.

In the dusty sunlight, he spots the media group sitting at a table. The base was alerted of their presence for approximately three months; they were told to not get sidetracked with the new distractions—it could get them all hurt or killed.

There's two men and a woman sitting, pouring over notes thoroughly. He can't help but notice how small and fragile the woman looks. The war is no place for her. It's people like her that get kidnapped and held for ransom. She shouldn't be here.

He's not a big fan of the media; they often vilify soldiers as the enemy. The thing is Jay never signed up for a war or invading another country; he just wanted to serve his country as a proud American. Sometimes he thinks about how he could've done that on American soil, without blood on his hands.

Feeling eyes on her, Erin looks towards the general workout area and notices a man sitting on a bench behind some dumbbells that rest at his feet. She notices him shake his head in what looked like annoyance before he returns to his bicep curls.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning, Jay is getting ready for patrol with his squad. He's slinging his vest over his shoulders when he sees three new people join in his periphery—the media group. Soon, they are joined by Colonel Williams and all the soldiers straighten up immediately.

"At ease. Today, you'll be escorting our fine visitors during your patrol. Understood?" Colonel Williams asks. "Don't forget to introduce yourselves."

"Yes sir!" One by one, the members of the army introduce themselves to Erin and her two crew members. When Jay stands in front of her, he once again notices how petite she is—he feels even more dread for her as he towers over her.

"I'm Halstead." He says, holding out his rough, calloused hand towards Erin. When she puts her hand in his, Jay can't help but notice how soft it is—how undamaged and unmarred it is.

"Erin Lindsay." She says back, smiling with her dimples in full effect as she takes in his sea green eyes that squint in the harsh sunlight. Summer is ending—thankfully—but the sun is still strong against their skin. There's a moment of anticipation between them—almost like tension before Jay lets go and rubs the back of his neck nervously. They both share a shy laugh before Jay interrupts the awkwardness.

"I'm, uh, going to go finish getting dressed." He points over his shoulder before immediately turning, not waiting for Erin to acknowledge his words. He doesn't know what has gotten into him, he's usually more in control of his emotions and feelings. Of course she's drop dead gorgeous and her smile makes his legs shake—but he had just gotten out of something apparently messy and Afghanistan is the last place he should be looking for fun. Right?

Jay straps on his knee and elbow pads before securing his helmet and sunglasses. He slips his radio into his vest before putting on his gloves. Grabbing his gun, he stands prepared with the rest of the group.

They've decided that Erin and her crew will be located in the middle of the group in case of an ambush from behind. The media is never given military weapons to defend themselves and are given the bare minimum equipment—they'll get helmets and vests.

Once they've confirmed they got everything they need, they set off west. There's not much to see on this side but the last thing the US Army needed was attention for getting journalists killed. Terrorists generally didn't care about laws to protect medical and media personnel. Regardless of the safer path, they are still scoping out any suspicious behaviour and the chance of getting blown up by a landmine is still there.

XXXXXXXXXX

He doesn't know why, but he's incredibly nervous for her. He's thankful to be a part of the back group so he can see her at all times. The vest is weighing her down—she's drowning in it and he can see her struggling under the weight. One of the squad mates showed her how to rest her hands on the front of the vest to make it more comfortable, it doesn't look like it's helping.

When the group begins to slow down and ultimately comes to a stop, he's on high alert. Jay's eyes skirt the landscape while also keeping an eye on the team. Based on the leader's body language, he knows something is up—it's not a drill.

Quietly, they're all ordered into the ditch on the side of the road and they lay on their stomachs. The media group seems to cower as they wait for their next instructions. They all wait a few minutes before sounds in the distance grow nearer. Jay's heart is beating fast and his respiration rate is up, but during his time overseas he's learned how to control it. When he peers over to his left towards Erin and her crew, he can see the fear and anxiety on their faces.

Unlike soldiers, civilians aren't trained to the extent as they are. They've gone through intense drilling and teachings to prepare for stressful situations in country.

The sounds grow closer and everyone is looking up from the ditch to see who crosses their path. Noticing it is just a couple of civilians with farming equipment, they all move out from the side of the road, some of them confronting the citizens.

Two of the group mates search their person and through the translator ask questions about local terrorists on the hit list. Jay stands back and observes their surroundings and the conversation, not wanting to be surprised by anything. Ambushes happen often and he'd prefer that it didn't happen now—not when she was here.

"This is vile." He hears Erin say to her camera man. "Innocent people being searched for what?" The man raises the camera to shoot the scene but Erin blocks it. "Let's at least give them some semblance of privacy. The rest has already been stripped away."

Jay realizes that Erin is right. Never in the U.S. would something like this happen; they had rights to privacy and unlawful search as citizens. What difference did it make here? Did it really matter whether or not civilians could be in with terrorist groups? Was he really the good guy in this situation?

A lot of the things he's forced to do aren't done by choice. He's there to follow orders. Many of the things he does or has seen being done overseas goes against his personal values; it sometimes makes him think that maybe he should've been a doctor after all.

After a few more minutes, they move forward with their patrol once declaring the two villagers clear.

Later that night at camp, Erin steps in front of the camera to record her segment for her news station. Jay's eating dinner and has a clear view of her—the light shines brightly on her face as she holds up the microphone. She looks focused and determined—Jay can tell that it's definitely her passion.

If only he could find his.

XXXXXXXXX

The next day is his off-day, and he doesn't have much to do. The pain of Ava leaving has dissipated and he no longer thinks about her as often as he used to. He continues his routine of working out and cleaning all his equipment throughout the day before scrimmaging with some of the others with a game of soccer.

The sun is setting in the distance meaning soon his day of rest and relaxation will be over. He'll be back to the war soon.

During dinner, Jay sees Erin sitting alone and after a couple of seconds deliberating, he decides to join her. She's surprised by the sudden presence next to her but she welcomes it. She's beginning to feel home sick and being here helps her empathize with what all of those on deployment feel. Jay notices a dejected look on her face and immediately knows what she is feeling—he experienced the same during his first tour.

"Everything alright?" He asks as he digs into his food, clearly ravenous from his day.

"Yeah…" She sighs. "It's just an entirely different world out here. It's not like home."

"Meaning?" Jay questions, not sure what she is referencing to. Of course it's a drastic change compared to what they are used to—he assumed she would have been ready to see that; he assumed she was the only one capable of making it out of here.

"Honestly, I don't even know how to explain it." Erin drops her fork onto the table. "I would love to go home but I need to be here—people should know what you guys go through on a daily basis. You don't have the luxury of calling it quits whenever you want."

"That's fair. But you're not here long right? Just a few months?" Jay offers, hopefully in solace.

"Yeah, I'm allowed to go home early if I want but I don't want to. Not when so many Americans are left behind." She sighs deeply and presses her fingers to her temples, wanting to relieve the built up tension.

"It's not being left behind, Erin. We signed up for this." Did we really sign up for the things asked of us though?

"Why'd you do it? Sign up?" Erin asks, wanting to know how he ended up more than halfway across the world. Surely he had a family that worried about him and his choices.

"Well, I had this whole plan set up for me in my life since I was in high school." He chews and swallows the bite of food in his mouth. "But when I started working towards those goals I realized that it wasn't for me. So I signed up for the army." He shrugs as if it wasn't a difficult choice to make.

"Do you regret it?" When she notices Jay's hesitation, she backtracks and hopefully clears up any fear for repercussions he may have. "This is all in confidence, I won't be submitting any of this. I just wanted to know."

"Sometimes." Jay nods somberly. "Those days where you lose your friends or when firefights go on without any end in sight are the worst. But then you're reminded of everyone else you have left that you need to fight for. And the ones that died for you."

"You're incredibly humble to say that." Erin smiles before reaching out to his free hand and squeezes it in comfort.

He's sure he looks like a deer caught in headlights. The soft skin of her hand rested on the rough and calloused one of his electrified every sense and nerve in his body. His mouth dries and he knows it isn't the type that will be soothed with water; this isn't something he has felt for a long time—this isn't something he expected he'd feel for a long time. I'm in trouble.

"Thank you, I really needed that." Erin says before she grabs her plate from the table and leaves him sitting there, absolutely stunned.

XXXXXXXX

Over the next few days, their dinner "dates" become a routine. They talk about their day and talk about things from back home. For Jay, it feels nice to connect with someone that isn't a soldier—it almost makes him feel like he is home. It brings a sense of security and comfort over him; in a warzone that's more than a blessing.

However, every night he sees that familiar look in her eyes—fear. He's never broached the topic, not wanting to overstep but it tugs at his heart strings a bit. He knows she's there voluntarily, but this life isn't one for a civilian. When he remembers that thought, he immediately feels for those who live in the countries that have been terrorized by soldiers flying in from every country that can afford a war. This isn't a life for anyone.

Their dinner routine slowly transitions more to an evening routine. Instead of exclusively talking at the table while they eat and going their separate ways, they'll talk late into the night—getting to know each other more and more.

Whenever they wake up the next day, the other is on their mind.

When Erin goes out with other groups, he worries. He knows it's dangerous to let his mind sway—distraction on the job could result in death or injury. It's hard to ignore the fact that everyday he falls more and more for her. It's the first time in months he's actually felt something other than anger and hurt and he welcomes it. When she eventually returns to base safe, he breathes out in relief and a metaphoric weight is lifted off his shoulders.

Others have begun to notice how much time they spend together—some tease him about it. They call her "Jay's Girl."

He tries his best to hide the crew's banter from her, not wanting to embarrass himself; he's sure she doesn't feel the same way. Just like him, she's here to do her job before flying back home. Soon they may not even see each other again—she's a New York girl and he's a Chicago native.

What Jay doesn't notice, however, is Erin's behaviour when he's not paying attention. The lingering glances; the soft smile on her lips when she sees him return from a mission; the way her anxiety skyrockets when she hears an explosion and knows he's out. He's been blind to it all.

He's kind and charming and he listens to her, hanging onto every word; she's never met someone like him. Not to mention, he's physically attractive which compliments his incredible personality. But Erin remembers the Colonel's words from her first day—the last thing she wants is to be a reason why he didn't make it home. Even if he didn't have anyone waiting on him, he still deserved to have his life back there.

XXXXXXXXXX

It's one of the last few warm nights that Jay will experience on his tour. In the mornings it's beginning to get cold, so they all bask in the warmth as much as they can in the afternoons and early evenings. There's a carefree attitude that surrounds the camp—there's a team guarding them while everyone else engages in some sort of recreational activity.

Jay's showing Erin how he cleans and maintains his gun. They're so focused on the task that they slowly melt away from their environment—all that matters to them at that moment is that they are together. Their shoulders lightly brush against each other but neither of them decide to move away to avoid the contact.

He hears it before seeing it, but the sound makes him turn around. In a split second, he's seeing a fiery explosion from the rocket launcher aimed towards their base.

"AMBUSH!" Someone yells out.

The camp is in a frenzy after that. Nobody has their equipment or guns nearby—currently their only defense are those on the border of the base. It's evident those soldiers unfortunately won't last long before succumbing to injuries from bullets and bombs.

Jay pushes Erin to the ground and orders her to hide under the bed—it likely wouldn't do much but it was her best chance at survival. He's glad he was near his gun but the fact that he doesn't have any vest or helmet is concerning.

The explosions continue and Jay moves forward—towards the combat. He can see a few of his friends lying on the ground; they had no chance during the surprise assault. As he fires at the attackers, thinking about how dumb it is to attack a military base. They're in their element—they have all the equipment and ammunition needed. Not to mention all of those deployed in the area were currently on base. They'll easily outnumber their attackers.

Explosions continue and based on how close they're getting to him, he realizes they're likely in the base now—all of the soldiers who were too close to the fire likely didn't have enough equipment or troops to defend their territory.

While Jay continues to move forward—using his gun as his only defense—he notices something dark fly over his head. When he turns his head back to see what it was, his eyes widen in horror as he sees Erin out in the open with her camera crew, filming the fight.

"ERIN! WATCH OUT!" He takes off in her direction but the second he starts running, the bomb explodes. The smoke clouds his vision but nonetheless he continues towards his target. Some of the equipment close to their sleeping quarters had been blown up; their attackers had likely scoped the place out without anyone noticing.

When the dust and dirt settles, Jay can feel himself almost pass out. Lying in a heap are Erin and her two crew men, unmoving.

"ERIN!" He yells out again, keeping an eye out for any movement from her—there isn't any.

By the time he reaches the group, he notices the camera men are okay, they're slowly making their way into seated positions, continuously coughing while trying to rid their lungs of smoke. When Jay flips Erin onto her back, he takes in the blood gushing from a wound in her shoulder and consequently, it begins to leak out of her open mouth and nose when her body is shifted.

"Erin, please say something." He checks for a carotid pulse and when he finds a weak one, he quickly picks her up bridal style and runs her to the medic's tent. Blood continues to come out of her wound at a rapid pace, pressuring Jay to run even faster.

Once he arrives, he places her down softly on the bed; it's here he finally realizes he's crying. He goes to wipe his eyes when he notices blood covering his hands—his knees begin to shake and he thinks he's going to be sick. The medic begins to rip Erin's shirt off of her and begins to place heart rate leads all over her chest. Her right hand hangs off of the bed and not wanting her to be alone through this, Jay takes a few steps towards her.

Before he gets to her, hands wrap around Jay's shoulders and begin to push him backwards, ushering him out of the tent before the flaps are closed, cutting off any sight of her.

XXXXXX

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