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emmylarsen · 3 years

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Land on Your Feet: a K Howard deathday fic

Katherine Howard was too afraid to cry.

There had been tears—so many of them—over the past forty-eight hours, since she was manhandled out of her apartments at Syon and wrestled, screaming, into the river barge. Her face had been constantly red and puffy, if not outright dripping, for weeks.

But now the tears were gone, maybe forever, because the fear coiling in her gut was too overwhelming. It had always been there, a frozen stone dropped through her stomach; but now the stone was dissolving, worming its way into every crevice of her body, flitting in between her organs and into every crack in her skin, and it had begun to constrict, to squeeze like a python, forcing the breath from her and making every vein in her body so, so tight. She could feel the tension squeezing her toes all the way up to her face, where her muscles were clenched so tightly that her tear ducts were blocked and she could not cry for the fear.

The block wasn’t helping. She had asked for it, to be sure—asked for an executioner’s block to be brought to her chambers so that she could practice, so that she would know just how to fold herself over it when the time came, so that there would be no chance of adding insult to injury or of making an irrevocable mistake that would increase the humiliation of her last public performance. She had knelt over it for hours, now, practicing how to walk over to it, how to kneel (right knee, left knee, flex your feet, tuck your dress under your shoes), how to lay her head precisely in the divet in the block, how to wrap her arms around and cradle in her palms the rough wood of the closest thing she would ever have to a coffin.

Some time ago, she had suddenly lost the energy to stand back up; the constriction of the fear had gotten too overwhelmingly painful, the exhaustion from the constant crying had sapped all the energy from her bones, the knowledge that it would all ultimately be meaningless twelve hours from now had infused her with insurmountable apathy. And so now she was just crouched on the floor, still folded over the block in the position she lacked the energy to move from, eyes closed, struggling to breathe. God, all her muscles were ablaze with the fear, tensed so tight it stung; how was she going to get through twelve more hours of this?

It was quiet in her chambers, with everyone gone, with her ladies-in-waiting dismissed (except for Jane, in the room next door, awaiting a similar fate), with her husband God-knows-where—so very quiet that when the voice spoke, she yelped in startled fear, even though it was barely above a whisper.

“Katherine, darling. You have to stop that.”

She tried to jerk back, but—kneeling as she was—her feet caught on the long hem of her dress, and she tumbled backwards onto the ground. Her face burned with the humiliation, and her eyes burned especially, and the tears threatened to return, because she had nothing left, no scrap of pride, the fear was worthless because she had nothing left to lose, she was helpless and sprawled on the floor, the hollow shell of a forgotten queen—

“Oh, Katherine,” came the voice again, this time layered with even more sorrow. “Don’t cry, love. Everything is okay.”

Katherine tried to look around, but the room was dark; the moonbeams slipping silently through the windows illuminated uneven scraps of the floor. But there, the candles on the far wall were illuminating a slender figure, perched on the edge of Katherine’s bed, cloaked in shadow and all the scarier for it.

Katherine barely had the air to speak. “Who are you?” She had to give herself the credit for getting it all out without her voice catching, stumbling, sprawling into cracks.

“You know, I think,” the voice said softly, and the figure stood—melted, it looked like—and slipped off the bed to rise to its full height. In the silhouette, Katherine could see a middle-aged woman, slender but poised; and then the figure moved into one of the puddles of moonshine and Katherine caught a glimpse of her face and realized that she did know.

“Queen Anne.”

The woman dipped her head in assent. “Queen Katherine.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, painfully aware now that she was still sprawled on her back on a dirty stone floor in the Tower of London. “I am not so much a queen anymore.”

Anne shrugged, ever so slightly, as if indifferent. “No less than I.”

Katherine lowered her gaze to the ground, where she could see hazy scraps of floor through Anne’s shoes. “How are you here?”

Was that a tiny smile flitting across Anne’s face? It was gone too quickly for Katherine to be sure. “The supernatural—has its ways. It is not often safe, nor prudent, for us to visit the world of the living; but some days warrant an exception. Some people warrant an exception.”

“Then—why me? Why today?”

When Anne spoke, it was gentler, soothing. “I thought you might like some—company, tonight. I thought you might not want to be alone. I know I didn’t.”

Katherine wanted to speak, wanted to thank her, wanted to say anything, but her throat was sticky and it caught her words before they could reach her mouth. She felt the shame collapse back over her—what kind of a queen couldn’t even respond when spoken to?—but Anne seemed to understand. “It’s okay, Katherine. Don’t speak. Get up from the floor, now, and come sit with me. Over here, my lovely.”

Anne stayed there in the moonbeam, waiting with divine patience as Katherine took in a shuddering breath, got to her feet, and made her way over to join Anne. Up close, Katherine could see even more clearly that Anne was ghostly, that she was not solid; half of the bedroom cell was visible through her chest. And yet somehow Anne’s arm, when she wrapped it over Katherine’s shoulder, was warm, not misty at all.

Anne guided her gently over to the bed, settling her down on the mattress with her back against the headboard and her legs stretched out on the bed, and then sat down next to her. “Katherine, it really is wonderful to see you all grown up, though I hoped I wouldn’t have to see you again for awhile.”

Beneath the numbness of the morbid horror, confusion sparked dully in Katherine’s brain. “Again? Have we met?”

And Anne giggled lightly. “A few years after I came to England—1526, I want to say—I paid a visit to your father, who had been—shall we say, aggressive in his correspondence with me. I got to meet you just after I arrived. You probably don’t remember; you were perhaps three years old at the time? But you were ever so proper, even then; you gave me a curtsey and complimented my hood.”

Katherine almost—almost—smiled. “I’ve always adored French hoods.”

“And they look so very lovely on you.”

“What high praise, from the woman who brought them to England.”

Anne chuckled weakly. “Mary—Henry’s sister—is the one responsible for that, I’m afraid.”

“Really? Everybody at court says it was your doing.”

“Well. We both know, I think, that what ‘everybody at court’ is saying cannot always be trusted.”

And just like that the grief—which Anne had so momentarily banished—was back on her, as she thought of court and remembered her household collapsing around her, remembered each of her ladies-in-waiting methodically condemning her (except Jane Boleyn, who had said she would follow Katherine anywhere and would tomorrow follow her to the executioner’s block). She was overcome again with a flash of vertigo, which had never really gone away; they called it a fall from grace for a reason, she supposed, but her stomach had not stopped feeling hollow and swooping since they mentioned Mannox’s name. She was falling through the bottomless infinity of space, unable to stop, and now she was beginning to see the ground beneath her, but that was not better because it would crash into her and drive the life from her body with a single smack. Katherine squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing her breathing to calm, to little avail.

“Katherine.” Anne’s voice was a little hollow, and Katherine was afraid to look up at her, expecting a scolding or worse—Anne was such a towering, legendary figure, and Katherine could do nothing in front of her but cry—but Anne began stroking her back lightly. “Oh, Katherine, I am so, so sorry.”

***

It had been hours, and they had barely moved; Anne didn’t feel there was any need to make the child get up, and, besides, there was nowhere to go. Some time ago she had checked with Katherine, just to be sure that Anne’s suspicions were right and that Katherine had no plans to sleep tonight; Katherine had confirmed this with a weary nod and slipped into silence.

Anne had begun, some time ago, to braid Katherine’s hair, twisting it into complicated patterns and then undoing it to weave it into something else. It had begun as a ruse to get Katherine’s French hood off of her head so she wouldn’t have to do it in public—Anne remembered that humiliating moment of having to take off the ermine-lined hood at her own execution and replace it with that horrid white cap, and Katherine was certainly not in a state of mind to think of proactively taking off her hood herself—but the braiding had become soothing. It was something rhythmic, routine, engaging but not hard for Anne to do with her hands; and Katherine was leaning into the touch with an ease and an eagerness that made Anne wonder when she had last felt unthreatening hands on her.

The moonbeams were receding across the floor, snaking back out the windows; the moon was setting. The sky outside was gray now where before it had been black, and it wasn’t morning yet but it would be soon. Katherine would undoubtedly be escorted outside as soon as the sun was bright enough for everybody to trust that the axeman could see his mark clearly enough.

Still, though, it was not yet light enough—not quite—and so when the knock came on the door, Anne was shaken to the point of fear. Who was at the door? It shouldn’t be the executioner, not yet; it was not morning yet, and so who—?

The same fear had obviously electrified Katherine; her hand flashed out and grabbed Anne’s, squeezing in a vice grip, and a whimper escaped her lips. She was looking up at Anne with undisguised terror, and seeing her fear somehow tamped down Anne’s: she had much less to be afraid of than Katherine, and so she had to—would—be the strong one, the brave one, the one to answer the door. And so she rose to her feet.

But Katherine was shaking her head, fully panicked now. “You have to hide!” she cried breathlessly, her voice so tight. “You can’t let them see you!”

Anne felt a gentle smile rise to her lips. “No matter,” she told the child. “I have the power to decide who gets to see me; they will look straight through me if I want them to. I am invisible to them.”

Anne watched Katherine’s face relax, but only very slightly, and she would have swooped over to soothe but there was no time. She could already hear the deadbolts on the other side of the door being undone, letting in whoever wanted to come torment Katherine.

And then the door swung open to reveal three heavily-muscled, heavily-armed Tower guards. They were sneering. The man in the middle stepped forward to speak.

“Lady Howard,” he drawled, and bile rose in Anne’s throat, nearly choking her, at the sickening contempt in the guard’s voice. “His Majesty King Henry here to see you.”

And Anne was nearly bowled over by the shock; and then a sick adrenaline began churning in her stomach. She turned back to the girl huddled on the bed, pleading with dreadful desire. “Let me let him see me,” she breathed. “Katherine, please. Tell me I can show myself to Henry.”

Katherine’s face was twisted, crumbled, overtaken by terror and anger and total bewilderment and Anne couldn’t begin to identify what else. She stared openmouthed at Anne, seemingly entirely confused, and then she nodded. Anne felt her face curl into an almost cruel smile, relishing in the sheer power she felt coursing through her veins: she was going to get up in Henry’s face, to scream at her for what she’d done to the bouncy three-year-old she’d met when she first arrived to England who was now a sobbing teenager in her last hours of life—and he wasn’t going to be able to touch her.

She hid herself from him when he first walked through the door, going fully invisible, so that his face, when he entered, locked straight on Katherine and Katherine only, who was curled in on herself. He was so much fatter than he had been when Anne knew him, and his skin was beginning to sag, and his ulcer-ridden leg smelled disgusting; but the gleam in his eyes was one Anne knew only too well. It was the look that contorted his face when he played his sickening mind games, when he slowly and methodically twisted the perception of the person in front of him until they collapsed in on themselves, and it made Anne sick. It made her want to vomit. Especially because it was directed now at the girl on the bed, at Anne’s baby cousin.

She stepped right in front of Henry and she let her figure materialize; she let him see her face appear in thin air less than a foot away from his. She smiled; and when Henry yelped, screeched so loudly that the sound bounced off the walls and echoed crazily throughout the room, Anne let herself laugh.

She had wanted to let Henry speak first, but the way he was gaping, openmouthed and horrified, at her made it clear that he would not initiate conversation, not for a while. And so Anne let herself chuckle and ask, “I take it you didn’t expect to see me here?”

He gaped, stared, spluttered—and then he watched his eyes shutter and his face go hard and blank, blocking out all emotion. It was a look Anne knew well; it was, in fact, the last look she had ever seen on Henry’s face, on the scaffold barely five years ago.

Henry’s voice, when he spoke, was as emotionless as his face, hard and firm. “Move.”

Anne raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I will, no.”

“I’m not here to see you.” He shot out an arm, aiming to shove Anne out of the way; but she let her ghostly body go misty and his hand passed right through her. He stumbled, off-balance, and his face went beet-red.

“I know you’re not here to see me,” said Anne, “but I am here to prevent you from seeing her. I am here to prevent you from ever looking her in the eyes, ever again.”

“That is not”—and Henry grunted again, trying unsuccessfully to shove a ghost—“your decision. This is not your place! Move!”

Anne smirked; a bitter giggle escaped her lips. “No.”

“How dare—”

And hearing his bitterness, his anger, cut through Anne’s restraints and opened the floodgates to her own bitter outrage. “How dare I? How dare you, Henry? How could you? She is younger still than your own daughter. You marry this child and you condemn her to death for being still a girl, and then you come here tonight to laugh at her, to rub it in, to frighten her more just so you can see her cry again? How dare you?”

Henry had apparently not learned that he could not touch Anne—had not learned that she could make herself misty, let his hands pass through her—and so when he brought his open palm down in a vicious slap and he made contact with nothing, he was pulled off his feet. He stumbled sideways twice, and then he landed heavily on his left leg, oozing pus and unusable from the ulcer; he gasped at the sudden weight and then, unable to support himself on the rotted leg, toppled to the floor with a cry.

Anne smiled, at Henry’s predicament and at the awed gasp from the bed behind her; her grin only widened when Henry finally, with lots of stumbling and cursing, got himself back to his feet. His face was bloodshot at the humiliation; he opened his mouth, gulping like a fish a few times, before abruptly turning on his heel and stalking out without another word.

Anne watched his retreating form with a smirk; and when she turned back to look at Katherine, still huddled on the bed, the child was shaking with silent laughter.

***

Anne’s diversion had been pleasantly distracting, and Katherine was grateful for not having had to speak to Henry—god, even imagining such a confrontation left nausea snaking through her stomach—but it had of course Anne’s control had been temporary. And if Henry was awake, it meant it was nearly morning, and that meant it was nearly—time.

And so she was quiet, again; she did not have the strength or the bravery to summon words. Anne didn’t seem to mind; she seemed to understand. Katherine was tucked under Anne’s gentle arms, cuddled up in a side hug against Anne’s warm body.

After perhaps too long, she wondered how Anne could hold her so tightly, so safely, when Henry’s hand had passed through her so cleanly. She licked her lips a few times, looked up at Anne, and garnered up the courage to ask.

Anne smiled gently, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Katherine’s ears; Katherine shivered at the contact, touch-starved. “This—substance—is the form I take when I choose to visit your world. I can control it fully: who can see me, who can touch me. I didn’t let him feel me; but you I want to hold. No matter. I use this—body—rarely; I am nearly always… elsewhere.”

“Heaven.” It was not a question.

“No.”

“No?” It was what had sustained her, just barely, through the panic, knowing that there was a safe place waiting for her once she got through the terror. If not—if Heaven was not there—she felt her breath quicken, and suddenly the tightness in her heart was no longer bearable—

“Katherine, Katherine.” She heard Anne’s voice just faintly. “Focus on me, love, you’re okay. It isn’t the Heaven you’re picturing, but there is somewhere safe waiting for you. I promise, sweetheart, you will be warm and safe afterward. You will be with me.”

Anne’s voice was getting clearer; Katherine finally felt herself suck in a whole breath. “You promise?”

The arms around her tightened. “I promise.”

Katherine nodded, and slipped into silence. Anne had shattered her entire understanding of the world—how could there not be a Heaven?—but she was still here, holding her with warm arms, and if Katherine would soon be where Anne lived most of the time, then that was okay with her.

She lapsed into silence again, leaning into Anne; Anne cradled her and began to stroke softly across her hair. Katherine just buried her face in Anne’s shoulder and tried to breathe, tried to keep the oxygen flowing uninterrupted. Time passed; she could not guess how much, but it was warm and safe in Anne’s arms, and that was enough.

And then—and then. Heavy footsteps, faraway, growing closer.

Katherine bolted upright; leaving Anne’s side, the cold shot through her. “They’re coming.”

And she watched Anne close her eyes and nod. “They are.”

The lack of any denial sent the panic, which had been coiling in her gut, spiking up through her chest to stab her heart. “They’re coming to—to—to take me—and—”

Anne took her hands, which she had not noticed quaking, and held them tight, quelling the spasms. Anne’s ghostly hands were somehow miraculously warm, and the skin-on-skin soothed Katherine as much as anything could have. “I know. I—I know, Katherine. Just keep breathing for me.”

A sharp retort shot through Katherine’s brain—something about breathing and not being able to now and soon not being able to ever again—but she tamped it down. Anne was trying to help. And she was trying to comfort her, she was holding Katherine and stroking her back, she was here—and that in itself was soothing. Suddenly Katherine couldn’t imagine what she would do when Anne left.

And so Katherine just swallowed, and when her voice came, it was a whisper. “Will you—I mean, can you stay with me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“Until the very end, Katherine.”

“You promise?”

“To the scaffold and to the block, Katherine; and I will see you immediately after. I promise.”

Katherine’s heart lurched, seized: it was suddenly twisted so tight. And it was painful with panic, but it was also painful with the intensity of the love for Anne that was overwhelming her. The love and the panic were inextricable—she didn’t think she could feel such a deep immediate love if it wasn’t triggered by the gratitude she felt for Anne comforting her, bringing her back from the edge of sheer hysteria—and all of it together made a sour cocktail in her heart. Her chest was painful, bitter; but it was bearable, because it was capped with adoration for Anne, and Anne was still here.

But the footsteps were getting louder, and she could hear voices now, and she couldn’t breathe; she could feel her entire body trembling from the oxygen deprivation. And then Anne grabbed her, seized her by the shoulders so their faces were an inch apart, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Katherine. Be brave. You have to be brave. I know how scary it is, I know how afraid you are, and I know there is nothing that will make it even the slightest bit less frightening. But you need to tamp down that fear for half an hour—half an hour, Katherine—and then it will be over and you will be safe and you can cry and I will hold you and you will be with me forever. Shut off the emotion for now. Separate your mind from your body; keep yourself calm. Go through the motions. I will stay by your side, but you have to be brave from within your own self. I know you can. I know you are strong. Show me, Katherine. Show me your courage.”

And then, with hellish timing, the door opened. Anne didn’t let her go, just kept staring at her. Katherine nodded. There were things more important than fear right now—things like honor and dignity—and she could already feel the terror draining from her, replaced with a sense of inevitability. There was no other ending now; she might as well submit with grace.

And so when the door opened, when the guards who stood there just looked at her and beckoned, she got to her feet by herself. Anne slipped off the bed beside her, still clutching Katherine’s hand; the guards looked right through her. Instead they slipped into a circle behind Katherine, not touching; they would grab if she fought, but she wouldn’t, not now. There was no point in fighting; there was no other ending. Better to leave this world with dignity, and enter Anne’s composed.

Anne squeezed her hand slightly as Katherine made her way, surrounded by guards, down the back steps of the Tower, into the courtyard. Katherine swallowed and cast her a glance, and then felt her lips turn slightly upward when she saw how widely Anne was beaming. “You’re doing so well, Katherine,” she whispered. “So well.” And Katherine nodded. The fear was gone; her chest was cold; she felt brave.

And then she saw the scaffold.

It was just there, rickety yet imposing; her ladies were there, and Jane, and—god—the executioner all in black with his axe, and the scaffold’s floor was covered in hay to soak up the blood that would spurt everywhere when it happened—to soak up her blood because there would be so much of it—god, her blood spilling everywhere, her blood, her blood, her—her—her—

“Ten minutes, Katherine,” came the whisper in her ear. “Be brave, my darling. I’m right here.”

Her entire body felt numb; she couldn’t feel her legs. But when Anne guided her to the scaffold and stepped up onto the first step, Katherine felt herself following, chilled to the bone. “Look at my eyes,” Anne whispered, and Katherine did, barely aware of her own body following Anne, step by step, up to the scaffold, until the steps ended on the flat platform.

The man waiting there nodded, then turned to address the crowd. “The Lady Katherine Howard,” he announced dryly, “to be executed for treason, in accordance with the laws of the kingdom of England and by the consent of the Royal Parliament and of His Majesty King Henry VIII.”

She knew what she had to do, and yet her mind had gone strangely blank—empty—paralyzed; and so she just stood there staring numbly until Anne nudged her and whispered, “Your speech, Katherine.”

She gasped; she nodded; she shook herself. She spoke. She was a wretched sinner, she had undermined Henry, a beheading was too merciful for her. Her throat caught on the very last word of her well-rehearsed speech—“death”—and she realized with a morbid chill that it would be her very last word ever.

Anne must have felt her shaking, because she snaked an arm over her shoulder. “Pay the executioner.”

This, too, she had forgotten; it came back in a rush, that she must pull out her own coin purse and make her very last purchase, compensating the axeman for his services. Her fingers were shaking so badly that coins spilled everywhere. Nobody moved to pick them up.

Finally she had pressed the sum into the executioner’s palm—so warm, so sweaty—and Anne squeezed Katherine to her side. “Now, Katherine.”

Anne drew back slightly to let Katherine to kneel in front of the block, and a chill shot through her as her cousin’s form—invisible to everybody else, yet so clear to her, so warm—left her. She had practiced this; she would get it right. Her heart was hammering so loudly, thunderously drowning out everything else, but she did not need anything else. She did not need to think. Her muscles knew what to do; they would never need to know how to do anything else.

Right knee, left knee, flex your feet, tuck your dress under your shoes.

Tilt your head to the side—cheek against the wood—so your neck is exposed.

Anne reappeared in her field of vision, kneeling on the side of the block; she reached out to adjust Katherine’s chin, so very slightly, so that their eyes were locked. “You’re doing so well, Katherine. So very well. Keep looking at my eyes.”

She nodded faintly; nothing in the world could compel her to look anywhere but Anne’s soft eyes, she told herself. Nothing could make her want to look away.

But it was never as easy as what she wanted, and when the executioner’s form, shadowy in her peripheral vision, shifted violently and raised the axe, she could not help but jerk her eyes over to watch him. For the briefest of moments her eyes caught his face, cruel and stoic; and then her gaze was drawn to the axe, the blade, glittering so brightly as it reflected the early morning sun, and that blade would soon be slick and red with her blood and oh god—

“Ah-ah-ah,” Anne chided gently, and her chilled fingers brushed against Katherine’s chin, readjusting her gaze so she had no choice but to stare straight into Anne’s face. “Eyes on me, Katherine. Nowhere else. Look at me. Keep looking.” And she kept her hand there, against Katherine’s face, so that when shadows danced in Katherine’s peripheral vision and figures loomed over her, just out of sight, she had no choice but to fight the urge to care about them and stare instead into Anne’s steady eyes.

And even though her heartbeat was drowning out all other sound, and even though she was choking on terror, her gaze stayed locked on Anne, staring unmoving into her cousin’s face as the world moved around her—until her neck erupted in pain, her vision lurched sickeningly, and the world went black.

***

She was disoriented before she even opened her eyes, like the way she felt whenever the court moved to a new palace—like the way she’d felt the first time she woke up in Henry’s bed. Her whole body was achy, especially around her neck, and her head was tight and throbbing; but more than the pain was a disoriented confusion, one that was made worse by the blackness. And so she forced herself to open her eyes.

And there, right where they’d been when her vision cut out, were two familiar green eyes, just like they’d promised. Katherine hadn’t felt how tense she was until she deflated, relaxed. “Anne.”

“Oh my darling.” Those gorgeous green eyes were wet. “Oh, Katherine, you’ve done so wonderfully well. You’ve been so brave.”

“Anne.” She couldn’t say anything else.

“It’s okay, my lovely, it’s okay. Take your time. You have nothing but time.”

Katherine nodded. Still not trusting herself to speak, she instead let herself look around. The room was shadowy; she was lying on a couch in a warm puddle of candlelight. And just on the edge of the light were other figures, other women.

Some were unfamiliar, but one—she had seen her face in portrait after portrait, still dotting palace corridors, and she was breathless, almost starstruck. “Queen Jane?”

Her thin lips widened and the woman dipped her head. “Queen Katherine.”

She flinched; she wanted to ask for them to please not say that, but she didn’t know how. She was so tired of it, of the title, of being reminded over and over again that she used to be Queen but she was no longer, she was disgraced now, and lost—

Jane must have seen something in her face. “Would you not like to use that name?”

Katherine bit her lip, because how did you explain you didn’t want the title of utmost respect? “I—”

“If it is the word Queen you dislike,” put in another woman—a figure Katherine had only barely noticed, her face half-shadowed—“that is understandable. Anne dislikes it as well.” Her voice was powerful, regal, but heavily accented; Katherine knew at once this woman was Spanish and knew just as immediately who she was.

“I think,” she got out slowly, shaking with the tension of trying to avoid any further humiliation in front of her predecessor, “that would be preferable.”

The woman nodded. “Of course. What would you like to be called, then? Just Katherine? Or you may choose something new entirely—I am a Katherine too, after all—whatever you would like.”

“I—” She stuttered, stumbled, felt her face burn.

“Take your time,” Jane soothed. “No need to answer us right away.”

Katherine nodded. She was comfortable here, safe, but—something was missing, something was odd. She was lying down with the others clustered around her, and she suddenly felt very cold, and very apart, and very alone, and—

“Anne?” It was barely a whisper, and it was almost embarrassing—she would have been embarrassed about such vulnerability in her past life, but she was so far past the point of humiliation now—“Anne, will you sit with me?”

“Of course, darling.” Katherine tucked up her feet to let Anne join her on the couch, then twisted around so she could put her head against Anne’s shoulder; Anne just wrapped her up in a hug.

Anne’s hand strayed to Katherine’s hair and began to stroke; barely a second later she drew back with a surprised laugh. “Your hair is so soft,” she giggled; “I couldn’t feel it quite the same before!”

Abruptly there was another hand on her hair and another soft laugh, and she looked up to see Jane Seymour stroking her hair next to Anne. “So soft,” Jane agreed in a low murmur, and then: “Comme caresser un chaton!”

Anne giggled, and Katherine caught her look straight at Jane, as if sharing an inside joke. Katherine felt her nose wrinkle: did they think she didn’t know what they were saying? “Je peux te comprendre, tu sais,” she told them: I can understand you, you know. I speak French; I understand when you say my hair is so soft that it’s like petting a kitten.

“Ah, un chaton intelligent!” It was playful and it was lighthearted—“ah, a smart little kitten!”—but the ease with which it slipped from Anne’s lips made Katherine wonder if, perhaps, this playfulness was the more real side of Anne, when she did not have to be the comforter to a teenager about to die.

“Un chaton du monde,” Jane added, and it made Katherine tear up, because she had never thought of herself as worldly, as well-traveled; she had never been outside of England, and her French had always felt stilted for it.

“Je me sens plus comme un chaton—piégé,” she told them, and there was an instant outpouring of soft, sympathetic denials from Anne and Jane—no, don’t say that, it’s not true anymore, you’re safe now—and she almost sobbed at the gentleness of their words and the strength of Anne’s squeeze.

And then the other Catherine spoke. “Forgive the intrusion, but would somebody mind informing the non-Francophone what on God’s green earth you all are saying?”

Katherine felt a surprised laugh jolt from her without her permission; she clapped a hand over her mouth (laughing at Catherine of Aragon? How dare she? How could she?) but Catherine just looked amused. Exasperated, yes, undeniably—but lightheartedly so.

And Anne and Jane were grinning too, not remotely frightened, and Anne said, “I was just mentioning how soft her hair is, and Jane said it’s like petting a cat, and—well, then it went a bit odd—but the point is, she said she felt trapped, and—”

“Pardon. Who said this?” Catherine interrupted, eyes bright with what Katherine could only identify as concern. “Who felt trapped?”

“Kitty,” Anne said simply, unthinkingly, and then she recoiled and shook herself. “I mean—Katherine—I—”

But now all of them were laughing, except Catherine, who was staring at them with a look of bewilderment. “‘Kitty’? Where did that come from?”

“I—it just did—but I—I’m sorry, Katherine, I don’t know why that came out. I’m sorry.”

But Kitty was smiling, and her face was softer and more relaxed than it had felt in awhile, and her whole body felt light in a way that it hadn’t since November—maybe since her wedding. “No—no, it’s okay, Anne. I’d like to try—Kitty, maybe? Just for a little, just to see?”

“Of course.” Anne’s arms were warm around her, and Jane Seymour settled on the couch on the other side of her, and Catherine of Aragon came to sit at Kitty’s feet (the rightful Queen of England, sitting on the floor!—it took Kitty’s breath away for just a moment, and she pulled back instinctively, so as not to touch Catherine with her shoes; but Catherine just gently brought Kitty’s feet to rest in her lap, and it was somehow soothing). “Of course, mon chaton, my darling. Oh, lovely, you’ve been so brave today, so very brave. I’m so proud of you.”

And she had heard that before, she had heard people say they were proud of her—Francis Dereham, when she stole Henry Manox’s letter; and her grandmother, when she was sent away to court; and her uncle, when she married the King—but she had always felt bitter when she heard it before, undeserving or uncaring or unwilling to take the praise. Now, for the first time, she relished it, leaned into Anne’s touch; and maybe Anne realized it was a sentiment that had been lacking, because she just burrowed her hands into Kitty’s cat-soft hair and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“You have done so wonderfully well, darling. I am so proud of you—so proud, my Kitty.”

***

Also posted on AO3 here; please comment if you enjoyed. Happiest of deathdays to Lady Howard.

#katherine howard six #six fanfiction #anne boleyn six #katherine howard beheading #@sixfanficarchives #six #six the musical #six fanarts

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billythecryptid · 3 years

Text

Lemuel Fike/F!Reader

Lem comes up with a plan that involves you and a tree, everything is great until it's time to... get down from the tree. But don't worry our loveable little nerd baby is there to help.

I just love Lem so goddamn much

I've replayed the moonshine missions so many times.

I whipped this together in about an hour so judge lightly.

Also... please just accept that Pishawing is a verb and also don't start with me about how you can't use the word card when you are describing someone running their fingers through someones hair.

Just enjoy the Lem content

There was something enduring about Lemuel that despite the many tight situations he’s gotten not only himself, but you in as well made you readily agree to just about anything he suggests.

So now here you are perched up in a goddamn pine tree, Lem himself boosting you up to the first branch which was above your head, you shakily climbing the rest until you could see across the valley.

“Now just tie yourself up there, make sure yer secure.” He calls up.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” You laugh nervously and suddenly Lem is doubting his plan. He’s never seen you as anything less than sure, confident, and uncomfortably calm in sticky situations. Compared to all that you sound terrified.

“Maybe we should-”

“Lemuel Fike!” You snap. “My ass is already up here, now go get into position.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he flushes. “I will come back for you I promise.”

“I know you will,” you reply softer. “See you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.” He repeats.

You slip your prized rifle off your back, and set it up so it rests on another branch. Peering through the sight, he was right, there was another moonshine camp not too far from your shack and a road block not too much further. Then you see Lem, tearing through the camp on his horse faster than you’ve ever seen, in fact you don’t think you even thought he had it in him. But there he goes, you watch his back like a hawk, taking out anyone who even reaches for their gun. You aim mostly at their hands and they become frantic trying to figure out where the shots come from. Lem makes it through and you feel yourself relax a little, and force yourself to wait, knowing they have to chase him as part of the plan. You gotta say it’s pretty clever, as goofy as Lem is he comes up with some interesting ideas. They follow him right through to the road block where the revenu men let him right through, opening fire on the Moonshiners, who start shooting back. It’s a bloodbath, but Lem is clear. You pick off a few of each, making sure everyone is down.

“Hey,” Lem calls up. “How’s it going?”

“Yer a goddamn genius Lem,” you laugh, relieved to hear his voice again.

“I would not go as far as to say something like that…” he blushes, thankful you can’t see him before he moves to the base of the tree. You look down and immediately regret it. Your body freezing in fear as the ground looms far below you. “You can come… are you… are you okay?” he squints up at you, and even from far down below can tell you’ve gone pale.

“I... “ you swallow your pride, one hand clutching your rifle, the other clutching the closest branch to you. “I c’ain’t move Lem… I’m… I…”

“It’s alright, I am coming up,” and sure enough with agility you didn’t know he had in his gangly limbs he had scaled up the tree until he was on the branch below you. “Here, hand me your rifle, I will be careful with it I promise.”

Had you not been terrified of dying from your body hitting the ground you would have been touched by the careful way he took your most prized possession from you. “Alright, now I want you to turn onto your belly and put your legs down towards me. Can you do that?”

“No,” you whimper, closing your eyes tight, your newly freed hand gripping another branch.

“Hey listen,” he speaks gently. “The rope is tied to you and the tree, I won’t cut it until I got a hold on you, okay, you hear me?” You nod, eyes tightly closed. He places his hand on your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here alright?” His hands find your hips and you reach one hand out to touch his hand taking a deep breath. You slowly turn and he guides your leg down. You are now between him and the tree trunk and you feel him shift. “I’m going to cut the rope now okay?”

You feel sick with relief as you get to the last limb, Lem jumping down then turning and holding his arms up to you. You lean forward and let yourself fall, he catches you in his arms and the two of you are chest to chest. His hands on your waist from where he caught you and yours resting on his shoulders.

“There, safe and sound,” he hums, looking pleased with himself for getting you down in one piece.

“Thank you Lem, I don’t know what got into me.” You blush and he gently lets go of your waist. Your hands slip off his shoulders and down his arms where you can feel the muscles flexing beneath his soft flannel shirt.

“Everyone has got something they’re afraid of, “ he shrugs, then without thinking , brushes some pine needles free, tucking your hair back behind your ear. You're still gripping one of his upper arms. Both of you look down to your feet blushing, but instead of pulling away you squeeze his bicep, nervously looking up, breath hitching as you take in the way he’s looking at you. You swallow then lick your lips.

“I would very much like to kiss you right now,” he says.

“I would very much be okay with that,” you reply before he bends down as you lean up, your lips meeting in a shy, careful kiss, which you follow with another then a more firm, sure kiss, hands fisting in each other's shirts as it deepens. He cups the back of your head gently, as you tilt your head and open your mouth, inviting his tongue in. He moans into the kiss and you hook your fingers in his belt loops pulling his hips flush with yours as he backs you into the tree.

Your hands roam over his back, sides and chest as the kiss continues until you’re breathless and the world has grown almost too dark around you and the bugs start biting.

“We should be heading back, Maggie gets worried when I keep you out too late,” you tease lightly and he laughs leaning down and kissing you once more. You card your hand through his hair before resting your palm on his cheek.

“Thank you for saving me,” you sigh one last time.

“Please,” he pushaw’s “after all the times you’ve saved my sorry hide, it’s the least I can do.”

The two of you head back to Maggie’s hand and hand, making it back just as the sun sets. She’s waiting on the porch and you pull your hands apart, faces heating, but she only scoffs at the two of you, getting to her feet.

“Was wonderin’ when you two would quit with the longing looks and just get it together already,” she grumbles, heading inside. “Whatever you get up to, keep it in your tent out back…” She’s muttering to herself as the door shuts behind her, leaving you two severely red faced.

“I-uh…Aunt Mags...” Lemuel coughs through his embarrassment, “She’s always been rather presumptuous.”

“It don’ bother me none, I’ve always been an Impetuous sorta person,” you turn, looking up at him demurely, before hooking your fingers back into his belt loops, tugging him forward in a suggestive motion. He responds with another heated kiss, only stopping when Maggie comes back out to extinguish the lantern hanging by the door.

“I said keep it in your tent!”

#lemuel fike #lemuel fike/reader #RDRO fanfic #red dead redemption online #red dead redemption 2

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elegant-etienne · 4 years

Note

❛ You’re good at fixing things. I keep hearing this about you, is that right? ❜

The Haunting of Hill House Prompts!

((Thank you for the ask, @astrolevitation!

So, in March of this year I will have been playing this character 4 years! With them having undergone some major life changes this year and last year, I’ve been reflecting a lot on their journey. A lot of the characters mentioned here are [REDACTED] because they are other people’s characters, they no longer exist anymore, or I’m not sure if that character is keeping those aspects of their shared history!))

WARNINGS: References to binge drinking and its consequences, suicidality, suicide attempts, drug abuse, partner abuse, transphobia, oblique references to other bad things, parent death, and a dick joke.

@thanidiel and @atomicdeke for references!))

“Fixing? I don’t know about that.” Etienne chuckles lightly.

Alone in their bed at night, Etienne has been filling nights with mental lists of all of their unfixable mistakes, working backward, the list keeps getting longer:

Laughed and joked with that silly man who clearly just wanted an introduction to their handsome male friends. Let him make comments about their tits like they’re friends like that when they’re not.

Flirted, but wasn’t explicitly joking about it it.

Wanted. Not really sex, although that is amply available from silly men and probably others. Wanted – wanted someone like one wants a fresh pastry, wanted to pull people apart with their fingers, peel off each fragile layer and eat it separately – wanted the satisfaction of that upper hand, wanted to be the one who wasn’t vulnerable, wasn’t hurting, was the one with the knife, not the knife with the butter but the knife making the cuts, just openly wanted, let other people see them wanting

Talked too much, was too honest. Gave some speech about how they were terrified of how they’d organized their life into increasingly smaller boxes and then realized they didn’t fit into those boxes. Something like that.

Cried

Didn’t die of alcohol poisoning somehow when really, there wouldn’t have been any surprise if they had, after that fucking display.

Threw up in the canal

Decided the best way to break two years of sobriety was to drink some moonshine from Halone-fucking-knows-where

Wanted to find out more, and backed themselves into a losing game

Letting Vander and Xiaohu see them sweat.

Bought several unneeded decorative items for the apartment when, let’s be honest, they’re only using it to sit in the dark and cry and feel very sorry for themselves

Etienne explains, “I don’t really think folk need to be fixed. I think sometimes folk can get mixed up. They’re hurting, they’re confused. They aren’t sorted out about things. I’ve helped folk with that. I can help in sorting out beneficial changes, but it’s not like mending a torn dress, you understand?”

Didn’t pick a fight in the cafe when they really, really wanted to.

To be fair, some of the things that don’t feel like mistakes during the last two turns probably were. And some of the things that feel like mistakes right now are probably alright.

But they shouldn’t have let things move so fast. They got swept up. They know better than that. They knew the whole time. They just wanted so badly to be normal, to feel normal things, to have a normal life.

Somewhat started to date the first person to sincerely show interested after finding [REDACTED] had been clueless, and it hurt, and they wanted someone to notice them, damn it.

Never told [REDACTED] how they felt before he started seeing someone else. Now he’s gone.

Didn’t call Adi out immediately.

Never found out if xaela have different dicks. Wait, that one could still be fixed.

Went on a sennight-long bender in Othard and was never sure if they hit on their rival or yelled at him. Relapsed in the face of the potential of this beautiful, normal, happy fairytale romance that was just what they thought they always wanted, and thought, well, that was a hiccup and refused to examine it.

Let [REDACTED] get away with confessing to being in love with them for years and just fucking off about it.

Didn’t sleep with that lovely samurai lady they met at the party after the divorce.

“If you’re feeling something is out of sorts in your life, I can work with you on it if you feel we’re a good fit. I’ve aided several patients on their transition journey, and I also offer therapy on addiction recovery, handling anxiety and trauma.”

Didn’t just fucking kill [REDACTED], or kick him out after the affair-that-wasn’t-an-affair-they-both-swore came out. Let him be the one to leave, the one to make that choice, because they were too weak.

Believed [REDACTED]’s promise he would find a way for them to have children together, as if that would fix everything, and then being shocked he left instead.

Didn’t stay with Rosa when she gave that option.

Didn’t leave when [REDACTED] drugged them into unconsciousness rather than have fights or face consequences. Didn’t report this behavior to Rosa, or anyone with authority.

Didn’t go all-in on the attempted suicide.

Didn’t jump.

Didn’t leave [REDACTED] when he sealed them into the apartment to stop them drinking.

Let [REDACTED] decided that he’d attempt to follow Halone. Let [REDACTED] turn the incident with Henri into his personal pity party. Promised to tell [REDACTED] the truth of everything that Henri did and then never did, to spare his precious feelings.

Stayed when [REDACTED] said he’d never love them if they had breasts, if they’d been born a woman, that he finds breasts disgusting.

Tried to go after Henri alone and let him get the upper hand.

Married [REDACTED].

Asked [REDACTED] to marry them on a whim because they were upset, they were worried, they wanted to prove to everyone that this was real, this was permanent.

Didn’t jump.

Didn’t snitch when they found [REDACTED] had been misusing clinic painkillers.

Thought [REDACTED] could be cured. Did desperate things to try and cure him.

Stayed after [REDACTED] threatened to kill them, because he was an important in the FC, and the FC was the only family they had, and they were afraid of being alone after, they didn’t want to lose that family.

“I think it is easy to look at folk as either broken or functional, and in my experience, no one is broken. Someone’s life might not be working for them as it currently is, and it might be greatly improved by changing something. But the journey is not to make that person fixed, because we are not machines that are either off or on, working or not. There is a journey to making our lives more of what we want them to be. And I think most folk are working on that!”

Gave up too quickly on Arcanism when it got difficult.

Never sincerely tried to find out about any blood relatives after leaving Ishgard.

Didn’t fuck that priest who clearly wanted to.

Was mean and petty and resentful to Mother as she was dying.

Didn’t leave the lifestyle. Drank themselves deeper into debt instead of trying to get away.

Henri.

Didn’t avoid dangerous situations.

Didn’t even try to stop drinking.

Didn’t leave for Coerthas with Mama Amelie.

Didn’t slit their wrists the right way.

Didn’t jump.

Stopped smiling.

No, that wasn’t their fault.

Neither was that one.

Being born, maybe? If they hadn’t been born, then maybe their birth mother–

No, how could they have prevented that one?

“What I’m trying to say, of course, is that I cannot say I fix things. And honestly… the work, the real hard work, the bravery and the grit and difficult questions – that’s going to come from you. Are you alright with that?”

#writing #asks #astrolevitation

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norafike · 3 years

Text

It's Christmas Time

>Nora, Lem and the Gang Celebrate Christmas

Words: 2411

~Not canon to my fanfic "Despite all this, I still love you~

"And you got Dutch of all people to agree to this?"

Hosea gave her a simple nod as he hid the remainder of small gifts in the back of Arthur's wagon, hidden amongst the ammunition he had set up. For most walking by it appeared as if they were simply restocking supplies instead of hiding gifts to exchange in the coming days and it was exactly what Hosea needed them to think. "He's allowing us to throw a small get-together."

"And who's dressing up as Saint Nick? Heard you had arranged that too."

"Bill originally but he refused, so I'm either thinking Uncle or Swanson."

Nora frowned at the remaining suggestions. "Are those really the last two options?" She hoped he'd say no, that those two weren't the only choices left but he could only reply to her with an apology. "Arthur could do it but he's been doin' it for the past three years."

"So we don't wanna bother him with this again."

"Exactly, Miss Morgan." He replied.

She looked over at the scout fire where Kieran sat, telling a story to Jack who listened intently at the tale. She couldn't hide the smile on her lips as she watched from afar and Hosea needed to bite back on his teasing.

"We could ask Kieran to do it.. boy hasn't dressed up as St. Nick yet." Hosea suggested while he joined in on watching the exaggeration in his movements as he began to act out the story to Jack. "Seems like he'd enjoy it."

"He's enjoying whatever he's telling Jack right now."

Hosea let out a light chuckle. "He is, yes."

"You could go ask him. I gotta grab some presents for Mary-Beth and Tilly."

"Yes the necklaces, you've not got any yet?"

She shook her head. "But Saint Denis surely has some."

He furrowed his eyebrows as she mentioned the city, thinking she would most likely be getting herself involved in some sort of trouble so close to the holiday. But when she noticed his concern she raised her hands dismissively. "Don't worry... I ain't gonna do somethin' illegal so to speak. I know a guy an' that's it."

"Just be careful, Nora."

She gave him a gentle smile before walking over to the hitching posts where the horses were, digging through the snow for grass and finding only mud. She had hay ready in her hand for Casper, who looked tired when she called for him.

"One last errand for a while boy, don't you worry." She spoke softly to the horse while she fed him and Micah snorted at the easy tone she would speak to the lesser creature in. She ignored the man, which provoked him to tease further.

"Say.. while you're out Nora why don't you try and find less of an attitude to come back with."

"Sure an' I'll find you a whole new personality too, Mr. Bell." Her witty responses weren't so well planned when she was cold and frustrated, so her attempt to annoy him wasn't as well illustrated but enough to get him off of her back for a while.

She tightened the girth of Casper's saddle before mounting up and riding out towards Saint Denis.

...

The door pulled open and in a rush a man walked out, colliding with Nora on the path as he tried to walk out of the Saint Denis markets. She fell backwards, landing on the stone pathway which prompted a small yelp as a reaction.

"Shit.. sorry." He apologised and immediately she recognised the voice. She looked forward and when their eyes met he quickly hid his hand behind his back to stop her from seeing what he had on him.

"What are you doin' here, N-Nora?"

"Should ask you the same." She replied, grabbing onto a flower pot to pull herself to her feet. She rubbed her lower back with her left hand, using her right to help Lem stand.

"Quite comical that we both fell." She mentioned and he hummed in response. "So what are you doing at the fence anyway, Lemuel?"

"Buyin' something. You?"

"The same really.. picking up necklaces for Mary-Beth and Tilly, as a gift you see."

"That's sweet."

She nodded gently, finding conversation awkward after not seeing him for many weeks. He too felt the same way, awkwardly whistling to divert them from silence. "Are y-you busy after?" He asked.

"Not really."

"Perhaps you'd like to go for a drink? Maybe Rhodes since I ain't so keen on Saint Denis." He offered and she gave him a light chuckle at the suggestion. "I would like that very much."

"Good."

He waved goodbye as he departed from their conversation, making haste and leaving Saint Denis as soon as possible. Nora would linger on the step outside of the fence, watching the general direction in which he walked to hold onto what ghost was left before finally prying herself out of thoughts and letting herself into the shop.

...

"You changed your clothes." She stated as she sat opposite, taking note of the white shirt and black pants as opposed to his usual blue shirt and red vest get up. The man frowned and folded his arms as he leaned back against his chair. "No, 'how are you?' what a conversation starter."

"Sorry.. guess I got so familiar with seein' you wear that one thing."

"Oh no, no." He smiled. "I was jus' messing with you."

"Where have you been these past few weeks?"

Lemuel looked ashamed after her question and avoiding her eyes from there. "I used to love the s-snow growin' up." He changed the subject.

"Me too." She sighed. "It's real pretty."

"Yeah." He brought a glass of whiskey to his lips, taking a long drink of it. "What are you plannin' for Christmas?"

"Hosea been plannin' a party. Havin' someone dress up as Saint Nick for young Jack an' we're gonna exchange some small gifts."

"That sounds real lovely."

"You got somethin' planned that day?" With her question he looked more glum than ever. He hesitantly turned to face her, giving a gentle smile. "Not really."

"You gotta come celebrate with us then."

"I don't want to intrude."

Nora leaned towards him, grasping both of his hands with her own. He almost flinched at the contact, not expecting it but eventually warmed into the touch "Nonsense." was all she needed to say and had been enough to convince to spend Christmas with her and that strange lot back at Clemens Point.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" He asked. Nora had thought about it before nodding. Following from this, Lem grabbed his jacket from his chair and threw it on, ready for the snow outside and freezing temperatures.

...

"How did your date go, Mon Ami?"

"It wasn't a date or whatever, Marcel." Lem replied, this annoyance in his tone of voice. The Frenchman had to stifle a laugh as he resumed making his moonshine, watching as Lem searched throughout the small basement.

"What are you lookin' for?"

"That bracelet I gave you, for Nora, where is it?" Marcel didn't answer and so Lem tried again, asking for the gift he trusted his friend to look after while he was away.

"I don't have it." Marcel finally replied, turning away so he wouldn't have to personally face the younger man.

Lem gasped, this anger building up inside of him as he wasn't able to replace the gift as he had spent the last of his money to purchase it. Marcel could feel the shift in mood and frowned, a string of curses being repeated in his mind that had been directed towards him. "Where is it M-Marcel?"

"I don't know." The man answered, he was honest and it crushed him to have lost something so important to Lem. "I put it on the shelf an' when I came back, it was gone."

"I don't have nothin' else to give her."

"I am sure that you will find something." It was Marcel's best attempt at comfort but it didn't do anything to help cheer Lem up. "We got two days until Christmas a-and I haven't enough money to b-buy a replacement."

"I am sorry, Lem." Was the last he could offer. Fike couldn't say anything else and left the basement in haste, slamming doors behind him as he marched outside.

Maggie curiously walked down to talk with Marcel, a scowl present at her nephew's behaviour. "What was that about?"

"I, er, I lost a bracelet he bought for Madame Morgan."

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"I.. I don't quite know."

Maggie shook her head, placing her palm against her forehead. "Well, I s'pose we should find a replacement then."

...

Kieran scratched at the fake beard of straw he was forced to wear, finding it rather uncomfortable against the skin. He wasn't sure why Hosea made him shave but he was certain that after this he would most likely never shave again, no matter the consequences.

He wore an old coat of Bill's, red and much too big for him. The way his belt hung loosely around his waist had elicited a chuckle from Nora when she first saw the costume and Kieran almost called it quits if it meant that the other's was going to laugh at him.

"Thank you for doin' this, Kieran." She said in a low whisper, fixing the white scarf draped around his neck for additional warmth. "It weren't nothin'."

She gave him a low smile before walking away to join the other's around the fire, whispering to Hosea that he was ready to be brought in. The older male clapped his hands together to grab their attention, when each member had looked at him he began making up a short story on how he was to be leaving now for the rest of their celebration, much to the gang members dismay.

"Stay old friend." Dutch tried to convince, but Hosea wouldn't listen.

As he left camp following the path, Lem Fike had entered and on the way he apologised to Hosea for the late arrival and that Nora invited him to join. "Trust me, you're right on time." Hosea spoke in vague terms, waving him goodbye as he went to fetch their St. Nick.

"You made it." Nora cheered, running from the campfire and wrapping her arms around the man in an embrace. He was taking back but slowly reciprocated, allowing her to take his hand and drag him back over to join the others.

"Of course I made it." He whispered but averted his attention over towards Hosea who let out a rather loud cheer. "Look who I found while out there." The second leader announced as he brought Kieran into the camp once more.

Most the men had trouble disguising their laughter at how ridiculous they found the get-up, but the women and Jack looked on with awe at 'Saint Nicholas'.

Kieran didn't know what to say, only standing there with an awkward look in his eye and so Hosea took lead and called over Jack with the wave of his hand. "Told Santa would be back again."

"Yeah." The boy spoke so softly, a little shy at seeing this mysterious being. When Kieran saw the bright smile on Jack's face he softened up and became far more confident as he took on the role of Saint Nick himself, instead of being regular Kieran Duffy.

"I have a gift for you, Jack and a gift for everyone else. Would you like to help me give them out?" Kieran asked and Jack nodded enthusiastically.

Hosea called everyone over and slowly they all began to line up in the snow, waiting for their gifts to be exchanged. "This first gift is for.. Abigail." Kieran read the scribbled name our loud and the boy approached his mother with the item in hand. She took it with thanks and tore into the paper, smiling as she pulled out a box with a very pretty ring inside.

"For Miss Gaskill." And Jack took it over, giving the gift to the person intended.

Time went quickly as they exchanged gifts and Lem felt guilty for not having anything to give so he could participate with their celebration. Soon the bag was empty and Kieran or "Santa" could be escorted out of camp by Hosea, waving his farewells to everyone.

"Come with me." Nora whispered, taking Lem by the hand and walking with him over to the beach so they were alone for five minutes. Mary-Beth watched with a small smile as they felt, elbowing Karen to grab her attention. "Look at them, ain't they cute?"

...

"Sorry I didn't take part.. felt a r-real fool out there."

"You were invited last minute, ain't your fault." She dug into her satchel before pulling out a small item wrapped in cloth.

"For you." He took the object from her hands and gently unwrapped the cloth. When he took the gift from it's wrapping a bright smile appeared on his face for she had brought him a small wood carving of a moonshine bottle. "Did you make this?"

"Kinda.. Cripps did most the work. Apparently, he knows wood carvin' an I wasn't gettin' the hang of it."

"It's lovely. Thank you." He gently placed the gift in his pocket but his moment of joy was short-lived when he remembered his lack of a present for Nora. "Unfortunately, I don't have nothin' for you."

"You don't have to buy me gifts, mind."

"I-I know.. I bought a bracelet from Saint Denis a while back for you, but trusted the wrong person with it."

"What happened?"

"Marcel lost it."

She let out a small giggle and nodded, holding onto her friend's hands with a small smile. "Can I tell you somethin'?"

"Sure."

"My best gift this year is spendin' it with you, Lemuel. Nothing could be that."

"Can I kiss you?"

She was taken back by his request but couldn't deny that she had thought about doing the same thing for a long time and so slowly, with a genuinely happy smile, she nodded.

His head tilted to the side as he leant forward and gently her lips were captured in a kiss, her heart beginning to race faster with the gesture. Time around them seemed to slow down and while she stood there, with her arms wrapped around his neck she thought that this, this was her best Christmas yet.

0 notes

thelouisianauproar · 6 years

Text

Louisiana Uproar - Chapter 16

Summary: Dottie and Nicki form a partnership; The team prepares to expand the business.

It’s Monday morning and I’m on my way to meet with Travis. No fancy dress, no bubbly demeanor. I can just be myself.

“How are you feeling?” I ask when I’m let into his office. I’m sure I’m the last person that he wants to see.

“I’m...fine. Thank you.”

I help myself to his bar and pour a drink for us.

“I’m not here to hurt you again, or take something from you.” I hand him a drink. “No one is in danger.”

He takes the drink from me and downs it. “Would you believe it if I said I spent the weekend thinking of you?”

“Thinking of what an easy score I am?” “Change your mindset, Trav. You’ve got to.” He says nothing. “Your feel like you’ve lost control and you haven’t. You’ve gained an investor and a business partner. Your profits will double.” “At what risk?” He starts. “Look around. I built this. Now, I lose creative control because a mob boss decides he wants it?” I am not a mob boss, thanks though.

“He will give you money to assist with the merge and a kick start on your first project. In return, you will pay him twenty percent of what you make.” I lean down to look him in the eyes. “In addition to what you already do. Mr. Cavar will construct buildings. People will want to buy and you will assist them.” I’ve got his attention. “Cavar will get a cut, Danna will get a cut and there will be more business that you will have to hire more and fill this pretty building...and you’ll be able to afford it.”

“Okay.” He sucks in a breath. I roll my eyes and pour him another drink. “People of color will be allowed.” That’s comforting that he stated that.

“Thank you.”

“So, what’s next?” “You meet with me and my guy.” Mortimer. “You start easing your team into the partnership. You’ll meet Danna.”

“Sounds like quite the schedule.” “Your life just got more interesting.” We clink glasses.

“Now get to work, it’s noon.” I joke and he chuckles. I don’t expect him to not be disheartened. “I’ll be in touch.”

That went well. I hope that eases his mind about working with me. I have Camille summon Cavar to my office after the meeting.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” I walk behind my desk.

“Cavar should be here soon.” She says, “Ray called and he’d like to see you and Morty at three today.”

“It never slows down, does it?” “No.” She chuckles. I light a cigarette at my desk.

“Did you get approved opening that business in my name?” “Yes, I got the letter on yesterday.” Camille is on a roll. I start looking through my papers. We hear the door open. Camille takes a look. “Mortimer.” “Hello Camille.” He says, “Dot.” “Where ya at, Morty?” “Right here.” Ah, he doesn’t get the slang yet. “Any idea on what Ray wants?”

“I don’t.” I put my feet up. “It shouldn’t be about the merge.” I offer him a cigarette and he takes it. “I just got the full sign on this morning.” “Really? That’s great.” “Well, I got it from Frazier. I’m not worried about Cavar.”

“I see.” He says. “Are you worried about this meeting?” “No. I was in the neighborhood.I wanted to know if you want to drive over together.” “Sure.” I check my watch. We hear the door open. Perfect timing. Cavar is standing in the doorway.

“Hey boss.” “Cavar. Right on time.” Morty recognizes the name and turns his attention to him. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes.” I stand. “This is Morty. You’ll be working with him, as well, in the next coming weeks.” They shake hands.

“Nice to meet ya.”

“Yeah, so you just got a job for me?” Cavar asks. Morty and I look at each other.

“You will be working with Frazier and associates on some property projects. We’ll give you jobs.” “Uhhh...That’s in a nutshell. There’s more to it while we’ll have details on sooner than later.” I follow up on Morty’s statement.

“That’s big fucking news.” He shakes Morty and my hand.

“I’ll be in touch.” I say. “I’m ready to make some money!” “We all will. Congratulations again.” We watch him leave. “Would you like me to drive?” “Perhaps I should. Still finding my way around this place.” “Feel free.”

When we get to the Yacht club, we wait for Ray to get off his phone call.

“Dot and Mort. My two favorite people.” We stand when he joins us. He shakes Mort’s hand and kisses my cheek.

“Boss.” We take our seats. “I just got done with the big guy.” He pauses. “Drink?” Of course we are about to have a drink. The two men look at me and I look at Mort. “Fine.” I stand and prepare three drinks at the bar. “Thanks, Dot.” Ray says as I take a seat. My boss nods to me before taking a drink. “Business is going very well. We came into a great situation thanks to Dot. You see that, don’t ya, Mort?” What’s going on? “Dottie is a fine woman.” Mort starts a cigarette. “You both have the best idea on how the organization works. That’s why I want you to be the first to know the direction that Danna sees; because you will be instrumental.” Looks like Ray is selling us on an idea, again. Empire Bay fast talker. “This shit with Red River has us thinking. Thinking we could get competitive. See, Marcano took for granted that this is New Bordeaux so people will naturally come to us.” True. “We will bring New Bordeaux to new levels. We want to run in different territories, we want to take territories.” He says. They want to expand? Didn’t we all just fully merge here? Didn’t I just get yelled at by the Don? I need to hear him say it: “You----okay, you want to expand?”

“In due time.” Ray starts. “Right now, Red River is weak. Got a couple of Nicki’s guys out there keeping tabs. I want to find their contacts and offer them better. Whatever that is.” I don’t know what to say.

“I imagine that could mean new employees to pay.” Mort adds. “That is exactly where you come in.” Ray says, “But Dot is our start. Dot and I are going to work together to find what we can and make the partnerships. Mort will work with the bosses needs.”

There is a silence with all of us. “What do we plan to achieve here, Ray.” “I’m glad you ask.”

“Red River isn’t far. It’d be a good place to store a lot of our items--- Alma’s got a warehouse, Nicki’s moonshine operation.”

“ Small town---hidden too.” Mort agrees. So do I.

“Things in the plan may change as Dot and I dig deeper.” Ray puts out a cigarette. “How’s the investing business?” Mort looks to me. I clear my throat. “Both companies are on board, as of today.” I jokingly check my watch. “Great news.” We toast. “So what’s next?” I’m...not really sure. “We’ll get them and their people in the same room. Handle the logistics/ How much is needed to be invested.” Mort chimes in. He did me a solid.

“Awesome. I met with Marcano’s old lawyer. Get him in there.” “Will do.” I nod. “Let me know what you need from me.” He stands. A signal that the meeting is concluded. “Keep me updated.” We shake hands before seeing our way out.

“Hmmm.” Morty starts when we get in the elevator. “I was wondering what kind of work Ray does when we’re not around.” “Hungry?” “Sure.”

We went to a diner to discuss our meeting with Ray.

“Don’t you think it’s soon to expand?” “I’ve been here long enough to know it doesn’t matter what we want.” He starts, “Dot, we’re the right hand men...well women.” He shakes his head. “Look, it doesn’t get any better at this point.” He says. “What do you wanna be in the organization, Morty?” “Rich, powerful, and alive.” “You sound like Vito.” “Who?” “My old boss.” Back when I couldn’t feel my enemies blood dripping from my hands. “Back in the day, he was the old one here from Empire Bay.” “Ah.” He says, “It’s a common mindset. Very few actually get to be Don in a generation. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel that.” I go to speak and then I pause.

“I uhhh guess...there’s a want for power, as well, yes.’

“Then you’re in the right place.” He says. “Sounds like you’re for the expansion.” “I’d better be.” I wipe my mouth and leave money on the table. “Wise.” He stands. “Where to?” “Nicki’s office.” I check my watch. “I should find out what she knows.”

I found her at her place in Pointe Verdun. It must be her off day. She plays a little music and turns the television to a low volume.

“I met with Ray, today.” “Oh?” “He said your guys are looking at Red River?” She lights a joint and gives it to me. “Dot. Did you come here to discuss work?” I take a puff and give it back.

“It was apart of it.” Nicki looks at me and lightly shakes her head. “What?” “Look at you. A beautiful young woman.” That southern accent is strong. “My heart was beating in double time when I heard you were coming by---and not for the same reason as everyone else.” That makes me chuckle. “Let it wait til morning.” Nicki always does this to me. Her hands are playing with the button of my pants. She pulls me closer and we share a kiss.

----

I have to give Nicki credit. I don’t think about anything when I’m with her, sometimes. When I wake, I don’t feel a problem It wasn’t until she draped her arm across my waist that I remembered. She snuggles me closer.

Am I ready for expansion? I never thought of it. What happened to building New Bordeaux? Partnerships? That leaves more possibility for me to get exposed to the cops.

I manage to get some rest that night. Obviously not enough because I wake up before Nicki. I get out of bed and begin going through her closet until I find her green button up shirt. “Mmm.” She stirs in her sleep. “It’s not like you to sneak out.” “I’m not.” I turn to face her. “I was thinking you could go in later and we could have breakfast.” “I would like that.” She smiles. I figured she would.

We meet in her kitchen shortly after. I feel her kiss me on the back of my head. “I wondered what it would look like to get you all domesticated.”

“It’s here.” I chuckle. “Coffee?” “Yes, please.” I pour both of us a cup. We click glasses and sit at her table.

“So.” Nicki starts. “You want to know about Red River?” “I do.” I put the cup down. “Only if you wanna talk about it.” “I imagine that why we’re here.” This business makes people paranoid. I understand that Nicki is looking for manipulation mainly because she can’t identify it. Her father wasn’t manipulative, he was just a drunk asshole.

“Nicki, if you think that’s the case, you clearly don’t understand how I feel about us.” “How do you feel about us?” “You make my heart beat, too.” I look in her eyes. “I look forward to seeing you.” “Me too.” She tries to hide her smile. “It looks like we hit Red River right in their location of operation. They��ve been trying to recover since.”

“How big are they?” “Nowhere near as big as us.” She says. “They mainly run guns, smack, and car fencing.” “Well, we have that.” “Right, we would be a bigger gain for them, then them for us.” Nicki pauses. “What they have is storage---as place away from this tourist trap.” “Ray and the Don want them.” “I do too.” “Why?” “Dot. I’m a businesswoman. So are you.” I know that. I don’t want to hurt my career by associating with more criminals. “Let’s make more money! You seem to be the gateway for that, so help me.” Her hand finds mine on the table. Her thumb rubs my hand. Who is manipulating who here? I feel like an idiot changing my mind in a matter of moments.

“You really want this?” “Yes!” She’s adorable. “When Ray told me that you’re coming in on this…” “Stop.” I jokingly roll my eyes.

“So let’s take this territory.” She gets out of her seat and plants a few kisses to my lips.

----

It’s getting closer to mid 1970. Time has really passed. It has only been three weeks since the decision to move on Red River. The days are long; By day, I’m working with Mort on the legit company, logistics, and anything Ray needs. By night, I’m working on Red River with Nicki.

My job is to act in the interests of the Don’s business and make sure that both companies are negotiating fairly. Morty and I have been facilitating Cavar and Cole’s projects and investment talks.

I enjoy my meetings with Nick. I always have. She’s so competent and deserves more credit than her father gave her. We would discuss Red River---not just logistics, but the future: Nicki wants to be in charge of claiming territory.

“Have a good day?” Nicki asks when I come to her office. “Productive.” She’s standing in front of the board we created to detail Red River. I stand next to her and we share a quick kiss. “You?”

“I got some information on Red River.” “What?”

“I mapped it, but take a look.” She gives me the folder and I take a seat on the stool. One of our sources says that their leader has called a meeting over there about a business plan to make their money back. “Wanna hit the meeting?” I ask jokingly, but she’s silent. My jaw slightly drops. “Nick, tuesday is a little soon.” “I think we could do it.” She says with a half smile.

“Why?” I choke out. “Because we can.” She starts. “You and I have been dealing with this for three weeks. That’s enough for a territory of that size.” Nicki walks closer to me. “What do we tell Ray and Danna?” “That the plans have changed. Men like that respect brute force like we can plan.” She says.

“This is the opposite of Lincoln.”

“Because we can do that. Kill the leaders.” She sits next to me. She points to their pictures using her finger to act as if she is shooting them. “There is a new sheriff in town.” She seems to excited. “You think the locals will take to that?” “They won’t have a choice.” She sees my apprehension. Her shoulders drop. “We agreed that you would let me take control here.” She makes me look at her. “Let me call Mort, first. We’ll want to meet with Ray, as soon as possible.” I pause. “We have to have our shit together.”

We invited Morty over. We had to plan for a take over like this: the money, logistics, men needed after our attack. I’m nervous. We never really looked into the law enforcement in Red River.

“Greetings Dottie.” Ray answers the phone. “How did you know it was me?” “Hunch.” “I know it’s late.”

“What’s going on?” He asks,

“It’s about Red River.” I start. “We have a plan and a date on when to move.”

“I see.” “Can you talk in the morning?” “That urgent, huh?” He pauses. “Meet me here in a few hours, 8 am?” I give Nicki and Mort the thumbs up. “Sure thing. Night.” I hang up. “8 am.” “Well, you two should get some sleep.” Mort pulls a cigarette.

“Are you going?” “I’m gonna sleep.” He stands, “But you have my blessing.” He gestures the cross to both of us before leaving.

We didn’t go to sleep, that night, how could we? We went from her office to the Yacht club.

“Look who it is!” Rya looks pleased when we meet him. We both stand. “Morning Ray.” Nicki says when he kisses her cheek.

“So, you’ve got some urgent business for me?” He takes a seat. “Let’s get into it.”

Nicki looks at me and I wink. I gesture for her to take the floor. I proudly nod my head and act as a supplement to Nicki’s presentation. I try to glance at Raymond frequently, I wonder what he is thinking. After we finish, we look to Ray. He looks overwhelmed.

“Tuesday, huh?” He puts out his cigarette. “Tuesday.”

“Alright. You two better not be shitting me.” He stands, “Let me see where the Don is.” Nicki and look at each other as he leaves the room.

The day threw off my plans to get work done. We had to wait for Danna to arrive. To his credit, the Don had an outstanding line of questions for us. To our credit, we were ready.

“How are you feeling, here?” Danna asks Ray. “Hostile takeover. I like it.”

“Definitely sends a message to the commission.” He starts, “that we mean business.”

“About expanding and being different from Marcano.” Ray looks at Nicki. “Let’s make this interesting. Your men will handle the operation. Anything goes wrong---it takes from your resources.” Oh no you don’t, Ray. “So she puts her money on the line. Then we split the districts?” I start. “What do the Irish get out of this risk? There territory is a 2.5 million operation---even if we succeed, there is risk. $62,500 on success.” Nicki’s head snaps to me.

“Sixty two grand. Walking around money.” Danna checks his watch. “You’ve got quite a bit of work ahead of you. It’s Friday. Keep me posted, ladies.” “Guess it’s time to get out of here.” Ray stands. “Dot, a word?”

“Sure.” The Don stands. Nicki collects her items and leaves with the Don. I’m expecting Ray to hand me my ass for speaking out of turn. “Kid, this is important. The Don wants this.” He says, “If you see anything in the next few days----you tell me.”

“Will do.” “I will be getting very acquainted with Nicki on this.”

“Understood.”

Nicki waited for me in the parking lot. When I find her, she’s loading the car. “Nicki!” I call out and she turns to face me. She opens her arms and hold each other in a tight embrace. “You did a great job.” “We did.” She pulls away, slightly. There is a pause. She adjusts my clothes and starts to observe me. I don’t want her to kiss me here. It’s too public. I take the first two steps back. “We should get some rest before we get back to work.”

“You’re right.”

----

“Howdy stranger.” Betty greets me as I walk into my office. She’s chatting with Camille. “Hi there.” I say, “I’m really just here to pick up a few things. I’m going to be out of sight until Tuesday night.” “Anything special?” “You’re gonna hear rumors about it.” I pause, “It’s Red River.” Camille returns with a cup of coffee. “My god, thank you.” I look at Betty. “Again.” “We’re moving on the territory.” I look around the room. “That stays here.” I say. “Certainly.” “I will definitely like to have you both on standby.” I start. “Camille, I’m going to be at the moonshine factory in Pointe Verdun. Could you have Alma and Emmanuel meet us? At any point.” “Certainly.”

When I arrive at the factory. Ray is working side by side with Nicki. It doesn’t look normal. His tie is off, sleeves rolled, collar undone.

“It’s a party now.” I comment. “Hello. And you brought company?” Ray gestures behind me. I turn and Emmanuel is there.

“I hear we’re setting up something big.” Emmanuel starts as Alma comes out of the bathroom. “We are. I guess we’re good to start.” I clap my hands. “As you know, we weakened them by hitting their rackets. Now, it’s time to end their suffering---on Tuesday.” “Tuesday. What do you need from us?” “To start thinking about who you would send out there.” Ray adds and crosses his arms. He nods to me.

“Right.” I say, “We’re calling it a hostile takeover because the plan is to kill the leader, and ransack the rackets.” Alma nods at the plan. “We would love your input tonight as we continue to establish a plan.”

“Sounds like a late night, Fre.” Emmanuel takes a seat. Alma lights a cigarette. “I hope we’re getting the districts we claim.”

“Absolutely.”

“Hmm. New territory.”

“Also means we have to travel for work.” He walks up to the bulletin board.

“It’s not a bad destination.” Nicki stands next to him. She takes a drink of her liquor. “It’s scenic.”

It’s a long night. It seems that all of our nights are long, these days. All of us parted ways at the same time. Nicki and I went back to her place. “We should get on the road early.” I tell Nicki. She’s looking at her notes on the operation. I take a seat at her kitchen table. “Everything that was planned is planned now.” “I’m just…”

“You’re prepared.” I pat her knee. She puts the notes down.

“Fuck it. Nothing to it but to do it.”

“Right.” I agree. My smile disappears when Nicki stares at me. “You’re so strong and so smart through all this.” She tells me. “I forget this isn’t our first rodeo.” “No, it isn’t.” I hold her hands. “We’ll pull this off...then things will change” Come to think of it. Things will change, either way.

“Prepare me for it.” “I don’t think we should look that far ahead.” “Dot. we are gonna go in there and kill..everyone.” Yes, that was her idea. I guess it’s only real to her now. “I’ve only done it to defend myself.” “Oh.” I nod. “The French Ward. The ship that crashed that night Uncle Lou died.” I light a cigarette. “I was there that night.” “Why? You were his numbers guy.” “I wanted to hear it. I knew it was going to happen.” I nod. “There is nothing like hearing people die. The fear.” How am I reliving the sound? I can hear it again. “Your enemies, for the most part, you justify them. They had it coming.” I shake my head. “I can relate.” I really odn’t want to scare her in the home stretch.

“We know tomorrow will be hard. Hard as hell.” I sigh. “I’ve accepted it. Have you?” “....Yes.” She pushes out as I share my cigarette.

“You know what?” “What?” “After we win this.” I start. “Come home with me. You ever been to Washington D.C?” “I haven’t.” “Let’s go.” I lean forward. “You can meet my family, I’ll take you around, a break from all this.” A smile forms on her face. “Meet your family?” “Yes.” I put our cigarette out, before stealing a kiss from her.

---

#Lousiana uproar #blaxploitationwriting #strong female lead #strong female character #strong female #feministfiction #feministmafia

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dontdietwd · 4 years

Text

Don’t Die, day 61, part 1

The next day found me up and about even before daylight. I felt fine, not perfect, but better than the night before. I’d had a bad dream about drinking uncountable amounts of wine and throwing up as Daryl held my hair up, the desperate cries of a baby in the background, my mind too foggy and drunk to make me go and tent to it. I’d woken up, mouth dry, drowned in an entire plastic bottle of water and gone back to sleep, this time thankfully with no dreams. Now, as I gathered my own backpack among the others’, I saw Darryl approach quietly. With a look, I knew he had something to say. The way he kept his head down but his eyes glued on mine, teeth nibbling on his lower lip, also told me that he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of the others.

I nodded at him once, sharply, and turned around to walk away, knowing he'd follow. I marched over to stand among the empty tents and turned around, arms crossed, to see Darryl join me. Now that we were alone, he let show what he was thinking. His pace was annoyed and agitated.

"Ya ain't goin'," he stated clearly.

"Yes, I am," I said just as firmly.

"Ya ain’t!" he took a large step towards me and stood close, looking down at me. “I get you wanted to go before, but after last night, with Merle out there with ya – Just tell Shane to go!”

"If he goes, not me, Merle will be out there alone with all those people," I also took a step, entering his personal space. Daryl straightened his back but didn't move away, still looking down at me. "He's going and we can't convince him not to. I don't want him out there, not the way he is since yesterday, and what he did to me, but you know we can't stop him."

"I'll go then!" Daryl threw his arms up, but still didn’t back away. "I'll go to help and contain him if that what this is about."

"You're going out to hunt, Daryl!" I gesticulated at him, getting impatient. "We're low on food, we need you to do this, we’ve talked about it already! Please, it is your job, you know that."

"My job?!" Daryl seethed. "My fuckin' job is looking after you! Go out and find food for all these people I don't even care about ain't more important than having your back!"

Holy shit. I was stuck in place, arms still crossed and looking up at his reddened blue eyes, anger evident as he breathed hard. I blinked and opened my mouth to speak but closed it again, uncertain of what to say.

His job was looking after me?

"Ya not going," he repeated in a definitive tone before turning around and walking away from me angrily, and still said over his shoulder. "Merle gonna deal with himself."

* * *

As Glenn said, the department store was still untouched, an actual supply paradise. We all looked around, delighted, and Glenn explained that he had been there already, got to know the back doors, rooftops of this and adjacent buildings, fire escapes and alleys around, all to make sure he could get in and out safely. We thanked and congratulated him, glad to imagine how long we’d be able to survive out of so many new things. Also thanking him, I was proud to see him take charge and organize the group the best he could, splitting them all up to go gather things. Yes, I was proud. Like I was watching my little brother learn how to walk.

As the others wandered away, Merle stood by me, his old, well know smirk firm on place.

“Watcha gonna get me do, sweetheart?”

“I ain’t calling the orders today, Dixon.”

He laughed. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m letting China boy tell me what to do! And the fuck is that calling me Dixon all about? Still pissed ‘bout last night?”

“Did you forget what I told you? Were you trippin’ that much?”

“Wasn’t trippin’, princess, I’m quitting it. Did have a bit o’ moonshine though.”

“Do I need to tell you what happened then?”

“I remember just fine, thank ya very much. Just didn’t think ya’d be the type to hold the grudge ‘cause of a fuckin’ joke.”

“You of all people should know ya don’t joke ‘bout this kinda thing, Dixon. I meant it, just stay away. Do your job as Glenn tells you, just like everyone else, try to be normal for once.”

I walked away from him then, unable to look at his face any longer, but still heard as he mumble, his footsteps going up the stairs, “Ain’t getting orders from China boy.” I took a deep breath, eyes closed. As angry as I was with him, as much as I wanted to cut any kind of relationship with him, I had the feeling that this had not been the right moment to do it. Something bad was going to come out of it and my right wrist was aching in warning.

A couple of hours later, the mount of supplies scavenged that we all left close to one of the doors was huge. We’d found clothes, tools, camping gear and even a few kitchen stuff. The mood around was good, I could see smiles I rarely saw on camp, but I worried. Glenn had told me Merle had been up on the rood, a rifle in hand, looking around to the other buildings, keeping guard. I would be relieved if I believed he would not do anything wrong until we left. Just as I thought about going up to call him down, since we’d be leaving in the next few minutes, all thoughts and smiles were gone. From the street, gunshots cut the eerie silence of Atlanta, followed after seconds by walkers passing in front of the store, seeable through the glass doors. The gunshots kept ringing, now strangely accompanied by horse hoofs hitting the asphalt.

“Fuck! What the fuck!” I cried as the number of walkers outside doubled every second. Without saying anything more than yelling in outrage, we all ran up the stairs that led to the roof in the hope of understanding what was going on. What we saw down there chilled my very bones. Some strange man with a hat was on a horse, shooting at the walkers that surrounded him, hitting a few but attracting even more to him, to the street, to the front of the store and around our cars. We watched as the man got hopelessly surrounded and started to fall. Andrea turned around not to see the man get eaten, Jackie cried but kept looking. The man fell from the horse, which was immediately attacked by what looked like a hundred walkers, and completely disappeared from view.

“Fuckin’ son of a bitch only lived enough to fuck us up!” Merle said from the edge of the group, from where he also observed.

“No, wait!” Glenn pointed down to the street. “There he goes!”

He was right, I could see. The man still had his hat on as he crawled under the tank – yes, incredibly an army war tank that had been abandoned in the middle of the street – and once again disappeared. We heard gunshots again and then, nothing.

“Shit!” T-Dog broke the silence. “Now he’s gone.”

“Don’t tanks have a door on the floor?” Morales asked to no one in special. “Like, a second exit, for emergencies?”

“Dude, I have no idea if tanks have emergencies exits!” Glenn told him. “But I guess we can try the radio, see if he answers. I mean, if he’s alive and I can get the tank channel…”

“Why would you want to contact him?” Andrea asked as she turned again to the group. “Look at what he did! He’s killed us!”

“Killed us?” Jackie asked her. “What do you mean?”

“Do you see any way out of here? Every single walker in this area is in front of the store, on our cars! It will take a miracle to get us out of here, and it’s that bastard’s fault!”

“I hardly think the man did that on purpose,” I told her as I got away from the edge of the building. “What would you do if you were surrounded by walkers and had a gun in hand?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Andrea continued angrily. “We’re fucked! Fucked!”

“Well, ya seem to like that word, blondie!” Merle laughed and blinked at her, his tongue coming out as he laughed. Andrea rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“Glenn, do you think you could contact him?” Morales asked him, ignoring what Andrea had said.

“I guess I can try. You guys think I should?”

“I think it’s up to you,” I gave him the choice.

He looked around at people while we all remained silent. I knew he would try to help the stranger, this was Glenn after all, nice, sweet good-hearted Glenn, he would never leave someone to die, even if it was a complete stranger who had just ruined all our means of escape.

“Ok,” Glenn said after a moment with a resolute nod. “Okay, then, I’ll need to go down through that building so I’ll get closer to the tank. I mean, If I can talk to him, but I guess I’ll get as close as possible before even trying, so we’ll make an escape fast. Ok. Right, when we come back, if it works out, we’ll need to cross that alley we used to get in, but there will be a few walkers there, so I’m gonna need help.”

“Ok, don’t worry about it,” I said as decided as him. “I got the radio, you let me know when you’re getting back to the alley, I got this.”

Glenn gestured to me with his own radio and ran away crying “ok” over his shoulder. Seeing him retreat, I also set to motion, trying to think fast.

“Morales! T-Dog! Come with me!”

I ran downstairs, knowing they’d be behind me, my mind rolling through the supplies and the rest of the store, trying to figure a safe way to clear the alley for Glenn to return to the building, the stranger with him or not. When we got to the store, my mind was set on the sports section. Understanding immediately what I meant, T-Dog and Morales got on hockey uniforms and got baseball bats ready at hand. We heard shooting on the street again at this point.

“Ok, go, go!” I rushed the two men to the side room, where a door led to the alley. My heart was racing, a chill on my stomach, thinking of how dangerous it was out there for Glenn, knowing I’d never forgive herself – or the man with the hat – if something happened to him.

We stood in silence, ready, the radio raised close to my face, listening intently. After a moment, Andrea and Jackie joined them without a word, looking just as nervous as I felt.

“I’m back! Got a guest plus four walkers in the alley!” Glenn’s voice creaked on the radio.

“Ok, you two, go now!” I ordered the man. T-Dog opened the door and ran out, followed by Morales. The three of us stood there, still, ears attentive to the noises. It was possible to hear the baseball bats crashing into walkers’ skulls, feet running. In a moment, Glenn ran in, breathing hard and red on the face, followed by the stranger. Outside, T-Dog shouted for Morales to go back and both entered the room, the door being shut after them.

“You ok?” I asked Glenn, holding him by his upper arms.

“Fine!” he told me, wide eyes and sweaty.

“Son of a bitch, we outta kill you!”

I let go of Glenn as I turned around to see Andrea cornering the man with a gun pointed right between his eyes. The man, who only now Sam saw was wearing a sheriff’s uniform, remained silent, blue eyes wide.

“Just chill out, Andrea, back off,” Morales told her as he started to take off the sports gear.

“Come on, ease out,” Jackie also tried to appease the other woman.

“Ease out?” Andrea repeated without looking away from the man. “You’re kidding me, right? We’re dead because of that stupid asshole!”

“Andrea,” I approached Andrea, her gun and the sheriff. “Back the fuck off!” I demanded but Andrea didn’t move. She still stared at him, gun hand shaking, breathing hard. “What ya gonna do, shoot the man? I said back the fuck off, Andrea. Now!”

The blonde, raging woman took a few more seconds before letting him go. She started crying immediately.

“We’re dead. All of us, because of you.”

“I don’t understand,” the man finally spoke.

“You don’t? Didn’t you see the fuckin’ ruckus you created outside?” I told him and grabbed his left arm. I walked out of the room dragging him with me into the store, everybody else following us. “Here we are, scavenging for supplies, all planned out, escape routes and all, planning really hard to just fucking survive. But see what you’ve just done!”

T-Dog, by our side, completed my thought just as we stopped in the middle of the store, looking towards the glass doors. “Every walker for miles around heard you popping off rounds.”

“You just rang the dinner bell,” Andrea completed the thought. We all stood there, looking out, an enormous herd of walkers by the door, trying to get in.

“Get the picture now?” Morales asked darkly.

The glass doors were not going to hold for too long. It cracked on the top left side just as we looked, under the pressure of the herd. It didn’t break, though, but it was a matter of time. We all backed away, startled.

“The fuck was you doin’ out there anyway?” I asked him.

“Trying to flag the helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” T-Dog asked, uncertain, and looked around to the others. “Man, that’s crap. Ain’t no damn helicopter.”

“You were chasing a hallucination,” Jackie came quickly to the conclusion. “Imagining things. It happens.”

“I saw it!” he said firmly annoyed.

I thought he sounded too certain for it to have been his imagination. What if there had really been a helicopter flying over Atlanta? It could mean rescue, but if the man had seen it, it had been about twenty minutes ago. It could be anywhere by now.

“Hey, T-Dog,” I called him. “Try the radio again, see if you can contact the others.”

He raised the radio instantly to channel it. We had tried it before, to contact the radio we had on camp, but it had been fruitless.

“Others?” the new man asked hopefully. “The refugee center?”

I laughed sadly, “Yeah, the refugee center!”

“They got biscuits waiting in the oven for us,” Jackie rolled her eyes.

“Got no signal.” T said still messing with the dial button. “Maybe the roof.”

Before anyone could agree to climb the stairs and go try it again from the top of the building, a gunshot echoed down to the store, startling even more the already scared group.

“Oh, no! Was that Dixon?” Andrea asked to no-one, looking up.

As if agreed to, we started running towards the stairs. All I could think was that I fuckin’ knew it, I knew Merle would do some shit.

“What’s that maniac doing?” Morales asked as we ran and I also heard Glenn calling the stranger to follow them upstairs. I ran in front of everyone up the stairs, my legs burning with the effort, but I only stopped when I stormed out of the door and onto the roof, only to see Merle standing on the parapet, aiming down and shooting what I thought would probably be walkers.

“Hey, Dixon, are you crazy?” Morales shouted as the others also cried out their disbelief. That was it, that’s exactly what I’d been talking about to Daryl; the moment where someone would have to control Merle had arrived.

“Hey! Ya’ll be more polite to a man with a gun! Huh?” he laughed aloud as he turned to look at the others and hopped down to the concrete. “Only common sense!”

“Man, you’re wasting bullets we ain’t even got!”, T-Dog approached him, shouting. “And you’re bringing even more of them down our ass, man! Just chill!”

“Hey, bad enough I’ve got this taco-bender on my ass all day, now I’m gonna take orders from you? I don’t think so, bro. That’ll be the day.”

They were facing each other now and I took the last few steps to stand by them.

“That’ll be the day?” T-Dog repeated, his annoyance almost palpable. “You got something you wanna tell me?”

“T, just leave it,” I told him. “It ain’t worth it. Now, Merle,” I turned to him. “Cut it out, alright? The fuck you doing?”

“Now ya talking to me? What happened to the get-away-from-me-Dixon bullshit, huh?” he looked briefly at me before facing T-Dog again. “I’ll tell ya the day, Mr. Yo. It’s the day I take orders from a nigger!”

“Son of a –”, was all T-Dog said before he jumped on Merle, trying to punch him but missing. I took a step back to get away from the line of fire, instinctively. With the butt of his riffle, Merle knocked T-Dog down. The sheriff, who had been standing quietly by, also moved in, trying to stop Merle, but got punched square in the face. With that out of his way, Merle moved back to T, and there was no stop now. He hit him repeatedly until the man fell to the ground, hitting his forehead on a large pipe. With him down, Merle still threw punches down at him, unaware of all the cries pleading him to stop. We only stopped, frozen in dread, when Merle took out a handgun and pointed at the hurt man. A terrified silence took them all, T-Dog staring up at Merle with his eyes wide.

So it seemed I was not able to control Merle as I had told Daryl, after all. I fucked up.

“Merle?” I cut the silence. I was still sure as hell gonna try, “I know what this is, alright?” I said, my voice firm but controlled. “Dude, look at me. Merle?”

He did after a moment; gun still pointed, but looked right at me.

“Ya not gonna shoot him, alright? I know, and you know why you’re doing this. Ok? You’ll regret it later. Just cut it out.”

He stared at me for a moment, then looked around at the others and down at T once again. Withdrawing his hand, the spit on the man’s chest right before standing up. By the look on his face, the glassy, vicious eyes, I knew it wasn’t over, and I knew this was not withdrawal.

“Yeah! Alright!” He shouted, his gun on display across his chest. “We gonna have ourselves a little powwow, huh? Talk about who’s in charge. I vote me!”, he spoke as Andrea and Jackie helped T-Dog to get away from him. “Anybody else? Huh? Democracy time, y’all!”

I snorted by his side. “When I said cut it out I mean that too, Merle.”

“Anybody here voted for ya to be in charge?” he looked right at me. “Huh? I’m giving ‘em the chance now! Show of hands, huh? All in favor! Come on!”

“Merle, just –”

“Nobody? Guess I win then! That’s good! Anybody else, huh? Anybody?”

“Yeah,” Sam turned to see the sheriff by us. I hadn’t heard him approach, his feet silent, and he shoved the butt of Merle’s own rifle to the side of his head. Merle fell instantly and the sheriff straddled him, held his arm up and handcuffed him to a pipe so fast I couldn’t even follow his movements.

“Hey!” I yelled at him just as he grabbed Merle and sat him up against the larger pipes.

“Who are you, man?” Merle asked him.

“Officer friendly,” the sheriff took Merle’s gun and checked it. “Look here, Merle. Things are different now. There are no niggers anymore, no dumb-ass shit, inbred white-trash fools either. Only dark meat and white meat. There’s us and the dead, we survive by pulling together, not apart.”

“Fuck you, man!”

“I can see you make a habit of missing the point.”

“Yeah? Fuck you twice!”

I snorted despite of the situation, “so mature, Dixon.”

Not seeming to have heard me, the sheriff pointed the gun right at Merle’s head. I took another step closer.

“Ought to be polite with a man with a gun! Only common sense.”

“Ya wouldn’t. You a cop!”

“All I am anymore is a man looking for his wife and son,” he lowered the gun. “Anybody who gets in the way of that is gonna lose. I’ll give you a moment to think about that.”

Seeing Merle going quiet tranquilized me a bit. I still remained close as the cop checked on Merle’s pockets and his hand came out with a little bag of coke. I knew he had to have used something, but now I was sure.

“Fuck, Merle…” I was disappointed.

“You got some on your nose there,” the sheriff said looking at Merle form up close.

Merle laughed, “What ya gonna do? Arrest me?”

The man got up and threw the bag out of the building. Merle shouted, cursed, like a hurt feline in a cage, but everyone else seemed to have stopped listening to him. Andrea was tending to T-Dog’s wounds, the sheriff got away from the group and everybody else seemed to calm down. Also silent, I came even closer and crouched by his side.

“Coke again, Dixon?”

“Fuck you.”

“You were doing well, you know you were,” I ignored it. “Ya see what happens the first day ya get back to it?”

“I said fuck you! Just get me the fuck outta here!”

“Well, make up your fuckin’ mind, Dixon. You want me to go fuck myself or to let you go?”

“Ya tryin’ to be funny, pussycat?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna leave ya there for a while. Calm down, let the high go, think about what you did to get yourself in this fucked up situation. We’ll talk later.”

I got up and was thankful that Merle said nothing else, neither did anybody. I walked over to where the stranger was on the parapet, looking out to the city. I could see him cradling his hand, the one he used to punch Merle.

“You’re not Atlanta PD. Where you from?” I asked him as I stood by his side.

“Up the road a ways.”

“Well, no matter, “ I said and he looked at me. “Merle is like that most of the time, he’s a drug addict, uneducated redneck. But he was cutting out on the drugs, back on camp. He was getting better, more controlled. We had a fight, things got ugly, and apparently he got right back to it.”

“You’re his wife or something?”

I laughed, “God forbid, no. I’m his friend. Sorta… Maybe not anymore. But ya see, I had it. In a fight or not, I still got a history with the man, I still know how to talk to him. You’re new here, ya don’t know us, so next time, before ya go on handcuffing people to the roof, just back off and let me sort our problems, alright?” I finished and turned to leave. “Welcome to the jungle, sheriff.”

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saibh29 · 7 years

Text

Survival 101: Mercy (Part 6)

Pairings: Bellamy / Reader

Warnings: Death, Violence, Swearing, Nightmares

AN: I love this chapter, or I love the interaction between Y/N and Bellamy. We are finally making progress in their relationship which I know has been going slowly. I just don’t feel like its realistic to make them instantly love each other. Especially as they are very different personalities.

Hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Survival 101: Part one Survival 101: Part two Survival 101: Part three Survival 101: Part four Survival 101: Part five

@no-other-names-availible-blog @angelaiswriting @selldraug @angryares @thenovarose @georgiagrl1990 @punk-rock-5-sos @mindofthescattered @dontstopxx @iamabeautifulperson18 @coffeebooksandfandom @madelinecraig03

There wasn’t a whole lot to do in a wet, dark cave that you were trapped in indefinitely meaning out of boredom you had actually somehow managed to fall asleep.

You awoke suddenly, jerking upright clutching your chest with sweat beading on your forehead and breaking out over the skin of your arms and legs. Your t-shirt was sticking to your body and your jacket which you’d been using as a sheet was tangled around you. The panic from the nightmare was clinging to your mind as without thinking you ripped the jacket from your body scrambling to the side of the cave and clutching at the wall breathing hard.

“Y/N?” Bellamy’s hand came down on your shoulder and you jerked, twisting in his grip to plaster yourself against the wall fighting down the panic from his touch.

“Don’t” you warned as he reached for you once more. “Just don’t touch me for a minute”

You were well aware of how your panic induced nightmares worked and for at least the next couple of minutes touch was only going to remind you of just why you were so worked up.

Bellamy thankfully listened to you dropping his hands to his side looking at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Do I look alright” you snapped, then regretted it. He was only trying to help he actually looked truly concerned about you. “It’s just a nightmare” you said softly. “I’ll be alright again in a moment” it was the truth, you would be alright again very soon. Would have packaged the monsters of your mind back into the cell and you would function again as a human.

You slid down the wall of the cave sitting on the floor there with your forehead resting on your knees. You heard Bellamy sit beside you, close but not close enough to touch you.

“Just tell me when it’s over alright?” He put his hand palm upwards on the floor and then sat, silently waiting.

It took less time than usual for you to hide your demons once more, to squash them into silence. You didn’t want to admit to yourself though that the cause of that might be because of the man sat next to you so instead you stayed silent.

Hesitantly you reached out and put your hand on top of his own, his fingers linked with your own. Warmth flooded your system as you stared at your hands clasped together.

“The first time I ever saw Octavia properly I’d had a nightmare one night” you offered “I must have been screaming and she forced open the panel between our rooms. She sat much like you just did with her hand out and when I’d calmed down enough she silently held my hand until the sun came up once more”

Bellamy smiled. “I used to do that with her sometimes. When she couldn’t be under the floor anymore. We’d sit and watch the sun come back into view”

You finally looked back into his face “I guess I owe you more of a thank you than I thought”

“You don’t need to thank me Y/N” he insisted “I know what it’s like to have nightmares. To have demons that you can’t escape”

From the look in his eyes he was reliving the sound of a gunshot and the death of someone on the ark. What he’d had to do to make sure his sister was safe.

“They might not be dead Bellamy”

“What?”

You offered him a small smile “I’ve seen your aim. Whoever you shot up there, they might not be dead”

Leaning over he bumped his shoulder into your own. “My aim is just fine. We can’t all be dead shots”

He was ignoring the part about whoever he shot not being dead, but that was alright. At least you’d said it out loud the thought could sit in his brain and it might bring him some comfort at least. You also weren’t going to ask him who he had shot not directly anyhow. You had some ideas about who, after all he wasn’t going to have got a seat on the drop ship by shooting another janitor. There was one thing you did have to ask though.

“I’m not asking you questions you don’t want to answer Bellamy, but I just need to know one thing”

He looked at you carefully then shook his head. “I didn’t shoot Kane”

You hadn’t even realised you’d been worried about your uncle but at the words you felt a deep breath release inside of you. Kane may not have been the best uncle in history but he was still blood.

You both sat mostly silently until finally you noticed sun beams filtering into the cave, the oppressive darkness caused by the fog was lifting and you could hear people starting to shout out your names once more.

You let go of Bellamy’s hand getting back up to your feet, you looked at him once sharing something that didn’t need words to explain it. What you’d told each other in this place would stay here. However, something else had shifted between the two of you and you didn’t think you could find it inside yourself to hate him any longer.

*************************

The scream was what made you all start running once more, female and high pitched she sounded terrified.

You beat Bellamy to Charlotte by seconds pulling up to a harsh stop and intake of breath. Atom, he was laying on the ground burnt almost unrecognisable by the fog. He must have tripped or fallen and gotten caught in the acid.

“Son of a bitch” Bellamy hissed beside you.

Charlotte was still whimpering beside you both, turning away from Atom you bent down to look her in the eye.

“Hey Charlotte, Charlotte look at me” terrified eyes flicked to your own as she struggled to process what she was seeing. “Charlotte you need to get out of here ok. Get back to camp and find Clarke. She’ll be able to help. Can you do that?”

She managed to catch a few deep breaths “Find Clarke” she repeated and you nodded.

“Yeah find Clarke and send her here alright?”

She nodded quickly and took off back towards camp as you got slowly back to your feet joining Bellamy closer to Atom, kneeling down on the ground beside him.

“Kill me. Kill me. Please…” his voice was destroyed and he was obviously in a massive amount of pain.

“Y/N?” Bellamy whispered looking at you desperately. You weren’t a healer, didn’t even know where to begin helping Atom. You weren’t even sure if Clarke would be able to do anything. If Atom had inhaled that much of the acid fog it wouldn’t be just his skin that was burnt but his organs. It was a miracle that he was even still alive.

“I can’t breathe… Y/N please”

Not knowing what other choice you had at this point you pulled the small knife out of your belt looking helplessly at Bellamy.

“What choice do we have?” you asked him. He didn’t answer just staring at Atom.

“Y/N” from the woods Clarke appeared. You’d never been so happy to see the blonde haired girl as she pushed Bellamy out of the way bending down over Atom.

“Help him Griffin” you urged as she soothed the still moaning Atom. Gently running her hands over his body before turning her face back to yours.

She shook her head, there was nothing she could do for him.

“Alright” you said leaning over Atom making him focus on you. “Atom listen to me alright. I’m going to help you just listen to my voice”

Atom blinked rapidly keeping his eyes locked on yours as you began to hum the same song your mother used to hum to you when you couldn’t sleep. One of your hands gently ran through his hair as the other with the knife pressed it quickly and cleanly into his artery.

Atom barely even blinked at the knife, unable to separate one pain from another. You kept humming smiling at him until his breathing faltered completely and his face finally relaxed the pain gone as he slipped away.

Clarke reached over and squeezed your shoulder, she was silent but there was respect in her eyes.

“Get something made to carry him” you ordered standing up and pushing the knife back into your belt. “We need to get him back to camp”

The others from your earlier hunting party went off to start making an improvised stretcher. Clarke who apparently had been with Finn and Well’s looked over at you.

“I have medicine for Jasper, we need to get it back to camp”

“Go” you waved her away “go save at least one person today”

Clarke smiled but it came out lopsided as she disappeared with Finn and Wells.

“I don’t want to talk about it Bellamy” you insisted as he came over to you. “I did what I had to and that’s the end of it”

“You did what we couldn’t” he said making you look at him. “Thank you”

You left it at that not wanting to get further into a conversation from which there was probably no end. Instead you helped get Atom’s body up onto the make shift gurney and headed back for camp.

*********************************

It had taken only seconds of your entrance back to camp for hell to break loose. Octavia had had a melt down over Atom and Bellamy had nearly strangled Murphy for calling Octavia crazy. Well’s had disappeared with Atom’s body and now you were sat on the top level of the drop ship waiting to see whether Clarke really had managed to heal Jasper. You hoped to god she had because you didn’t think you could manage with anymore death today.

“To Atom” Monty said raising up a make shift cup in which some sort of liquid he said was alcohol lay. Apparently apart from knowing a lot about electronics and computers Monty was also fairly good at brewing up illegal moonshine.

“To Atom” Finn agreed downing his own shot, he instantly pulled a face coughing and wiping at his mouth “smooth”

Octavia grabbed it next swallowing a large mouthful. “That’s disgusting. I love it” she smiled handing it over to you.

The liquid burnt going down but it felt right to do something for Atom. Even if that did mean poisoning yourself with Monty’s moonshine.

“Hey can I get a hit of that?”

“Jasper” Octavia nearly knocked the whole bottle flying as she jumped to reach Jasper who eyes were finally open.

The rest of you gathered around as well as Jasper finally woke up. He looked alert and although still sickly he finally had sense back in his eyes.

“Welcome back buddy” Finn clapped his shoulder squeezing.

“Was that a dream or did I get speared”

“You’ll have a very impressive scar to prove it” Clarke answered. “Finn and Y/N got you down from the tree”

“My saviours” Jasper smiled at you.

“Thank you for not dying today” you said to him. “I don’t think we could have handled anymore death today”

“Shall I try not to die tomorrow as well?” he asked.

That was when you all knew he was completely back to the old Jasper. Throwing jokes around and being his normal self. He might have a long way to go until was up and about again, but he was going to get there. You’d all managed to save one life today and hell that was better than nothing.

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luninosity · 7 years

Text

For @viperbranium, who was interested -

I started what I’m pretty sure is a new original short story while hanging out in office hours and waiting for students, yesterday. Want to read some?

Cadence Bell sat on uncomfortable grey rocks at the far end of the curve of the dull grey shore, and watched the waves crash over and over under the looming grey sky. He’d been sitting on stone long enough for his left leg to go numb. He ignored it.

Water flung itself into the rocks again. Ceaseless. Mindless. Unconcerned with his presence. This felt oddly reassuring: insignificant, he couldn’t harm the world.

Insignificant. He shifted a hand, discovered a pebble, tossed it. It sank beyond his sight.

Beyond sight, beyond reach: like the world he’d left behind back in the glittering multifaceted gem of Londre, capital-city spires stretching to the sky, streets bustling with broadsheet-boys and violet-sellers, parliamentarians and Queen’s men, politics and taverns and theaters. Above all: theaters, palaces of imagination and greasepaint and paste jewels and stories that could change the world.

Cade had taken a bow, laughing, dragged up onto that stage by his players. An author surrounded by love. A Queen’s commission, court masques, rubies in his hair. A prodigy, the Court had murmured. They’d lavished his work with praise.

He squinted into the wind of Gull Skerrie, which was about as far from the kaleidoscopic twirl of Londre ballrooms as he could get. The wind burned his eyes, unless that was something else. The waves murmured upward, though they did not sing of joy and farce and playful springtime dances. A year ago, when he’d written the lines for that pageant, the Queen herself had worn a flower coronet to play Spring.

A year ago he’d had no sense of the stone about to land in his life. Ripples and ripples, and he was sinking.

“Cadence Bell,” he said, to the wind and the sea, “Queen’s playwright and councilor.” The sea sighed at him with voiceless well-meant soothing rhythm; but it had no advice to give.

He squirmed around on his rock. The curlicue of neighboring Harbor Skerrie rose to the south, followed by dotted islands that question-marked into the mainland. Cade did not need question marks at the moment.

He did not look at the village as it lurked behind him. He especially did not look at his parents’ inn and boarding-house. His inn and boarding-house.

Cade did not hate The Bell. He never had. He’d loved his childhood: laughing, crawling about under fishermen’s legs, being scooped up and told stories about the selkies and the sirens and the vast and terrible storms and the narrow escapes and the giant sharp-beaked fish. He’d loved every curl of pipe-smoke and sea-soaked wool, and had fled Gull Skerrie as soon as he could, with his parents’ blessing at his back.

He found a bit of driftwood to gaze at, brown and thin as his thoughts.

He had not been able to write since coming home. He had not been able to write through the end of his father’s long illness, and his mother’s short and sudden one. He had not had time to think, and even when he had, thoughts had flapped around like the island’s namesake gulls: clamoring, wary, restless.

His shirt was not warm enough, and his boots were growing wet from spray. They’d been bought for city streets and Court debates about patronage of the arts. Cadence Bell, at seventeen, had known his own destiny lay in those streets, that Court patronage. He’d even been right.

He could barely recall those first exhilarating beribboned nights. Chess and banter and wordplay that might alter the fate of nations. Wine and lute-playing and invitations to operettas. The operettas drowned under the changing of sheets and the sound of his father coughing and the weary gnawing knowledge that someone had to open the inn and count money in the cashbox and pay the physician and settle the will and stare at the business now in his name.

He found another pebble. Overhead a single gull called out, lonely on the breeze. The afternoon floated like the twig, adrift. He’d left Gwen and Rhys in charge; the pair of them could conjure up marvelous chowders and miraculous flaky fish, but had given him worried expressions about the cashbox. Cade probably ought to worry as well. Couldn’t find the energy. Couldn’t summon the interest.

His parents were gone. His life was gone. He was somehow still here. Tidying up loose ends, or not tidying them up, or not doing much of anything at all.

This pebble felt smooth, and chilly, and surprisingly round. He glanced at it in mild interest before throwing it.

Blue-white shimmer caught his gaze. He lifted it, turned the gleam around in fingertips. Iridescent promises caressed his skin.

A pearl, he thought. Under the dome of the sky, at the end of the world, on rocks in a fishing-village: a pearl.

Quixotically, unpredictably, it suggested another life. A dream of wealth and extravagance and recognition of talent and gifts given for those talents. Strewn at his feet.

He looked at the pearl. It developed a voice, a hum; it sang to him, a wordless peal of high exquisite music in his hand.

He dropped it, shaken. That’d been the tune he’d written for the last Midwinter masque, when they’d ended with a dance; his occasional partner-composer Felix Fellini had sent over a delicate wild fantasia of melody, and Cade had put words to it, a song of wintry folklore and elfin legend with a giddy chorus. Felix liked difficult twisty compositions; Cade liked writing tunes the Court could actually sing. Between them they’d woven a musical.

And the pearl had sung it back to him.

He stared very hard at it, as it lay on cold grey rocks. It did nothing more: it was a pearl.

“I think,” he said aloud, “I might possibly be insane.” Surely that happened. From grief. From an odd hollow lack of grief, as if he’d been emptied out. From the inability to write. Twenty-two years old, he’d be a tragic cautionary tale, a genius burnt out too soon. Trapped by an inn’s cashbox. Never living up to the glorious promise of his youth.

The pearl said nothing.

Cade extended a finger. Nudged it. Still nothing.

“Well,” he sighed, “you’re no help, are you?” A larger wave hit the rock three down from his. Icy ocean exploded over his shoulder. He started to swear at it in gutter Firezi he’d learned from Felix, felt emotion ebb and drain away, and gave up.

“I might not be,” said the rocks, holding out a thick woolen blanket, “but would this, at all?”

Cade attempted levitation, flailed, slipped on wet stone. Jeremiah’s hand caught his wrist, pulled him to safety. They stood blinking at each other for a moment under slate-slab sun; Jeremiah’s mouth quirked. “I should’ve known you hadn’t heard me. Thinking?”

“Trying not to.” He scooped up the pearl, an impulse, and tossed it into a weatherbeaten trouser-pocket. “Are you done already? It’s still early, isn’t it?”

“After three, now.” Jeremiah put the blanket around his shoulders. Jeremiah Carver thought of details like that: caring for the world. “I’ve got the afternoon to help out. Whatever you want.”

Cade, feeling prickly and spiky and black-mooded as a sea urchin, grumbled, “I want to not be snuck up on, thanks.”

“Sorry about that.” And he was. Sincerity in those soft brown eyes, in broad shoulders and strong arms. They’d fallen into bed the night after Marian Bell’s funeral, after Cade had drunk too much local moonshine and run out into pounding rain and stood with his face turned to the sky, shaking with too many emotions. Jeremiah had followed him, had touched his shoulder; Cade had turned and kissed him fiercely, angrily, smothering the storm with fire. Jeremiah had kissed him back, or had let himself be kissed, or perhaps there’d been no difference; he’d come upstairs to Cade’s room readily, and had knelt and been shoved to his back and touched Cade’s body with endearing solemn awe.

Cadence, unfair and knowing he was being unfair, muttered, “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I can make noise.” Jeremiah offered him a smile. “I’m having the advanced class read Spense’s Fairy King, like you recommended. They’re liking it. I am too.”

“Mmm,” Cade said, noncommittal; and discovered that he could not quite meet that gentle schoolteacher’s gaze. Jeremiah organized the island’s one schoolhouse and multiple levels of ability with the tender efficiency of a beloved general, and had ever since taking it over from the now-retired Miss Beatrix, who’d taught them both arithmetic and letters and book-lore.

Cade had loved every drop of story. Had pleaded for more. When that wasn’t sufficient, not enough tales of magic and fairies and faraway lands, had scribbled his own. Had left Gull Skerrie at the age of seventeen, accompanied by a band of newly arrived traveling Neraly players and his parents’ best hopes for a life beyond rocks and fish, and had not looked back.

Jeremiah Carver had been a year behind him in school, stoic and silent and seemingly etched out of rock: big and calm and deliberate. Cade hadn’t known him well then, not beyond the simple fact of another boy in the school-crowd who’d listened wide-eyed to made-up stories about pirates and sea-treasure and merfolk. Jeremiah, he’d discovered since returning, had begun helping out at the inn several years ago, when Leigh Bell’s hands had first begun to shake and his chest to ache.

“Gwen said you went for a walk,” Jeremiah ventured, hand tugging the blanket more securely around Cade’s shoulders and then resting on the closest one, not quite an embrace. “If you don’t want company I can go.”

“Where would you go?” Cade said, and waved an irritable hand from under woolen conquests. “Stop that. We’re at the most godforsaken spot in the most godforsaken end of the Northern earth; where can any of us go? Besides the fishing fleet, I suppose. If you like mackerel.”

“I don’t mind mackerel,” Jeremiah said. “It’s a fish. Your hair looks cold.”

“My hair is wet and full of salt. I know, I know, it’s my own fault, yes I’m coming back, Rhys has probably set the common room on fire by now.” He picked his way up across rocks, with Jeremiah’s help. “How’re your students? Any interesting ones?”

“I like this group,” Jeremiah said. “All of them. There’s a really bright girl in the third class, though, Rosie Conway, you might remember her mother, she’s Elsie Carrock’s daughter, well, Elsie Conway now, but you knew Elsie, she was your year, she married Peter Conway after you left?”

Cade, who remembered none of this, nodded. Easier.

“And anyway Rosie’s adorable and also some sort of mathematical magician, I think.” Jeremiah’s eyes were pleased and proud, dark and bright as a sea-bird’s, excited about a fisherman’s daughter doing math on a rock. “She’s nearly past what I can teach her, I’m having to keep up, I’m wondering whether it’s worth trying to send her off to the capital for school? Really proper school, I mean.”

“Then you should,” Cade said, half-listening. His fingers brushed the pearl in his pocket, the pearl that’d whispered his own song at him.

“You think so?” Jeremiah paused to glance at him. With longer legs, he’d been shortening his stride; Cade, though generally a fast walker, got easily annoyed at effortlessly tall persons. “It’s awfully far. And the money is, well…”

“If it’s what she needs, then they’ll make it work.”

Jeremiah started to answer, stopped, shook his head. “You’re likely right. After all, it worked for you. Did you find something? A shell, or a bottle, or something?”

#original fic #cadence and the pearl #fic in progress

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stochastinaut · 7 years

Text

Moonshiner

beepbeepbeepBEEEPBEEEP... beepbeepbeepBEEEPBEEEP... BEEEPBEEEEPbeeepbeeepbeeepbeeeeepbe eeeeeep.

Quantum entanglement. Teleportation. Where was the neighbors dog? Daydreaming. Phone call. Phillip jumped a little in his chair, the digital rendition of La Cucaracha always bothered him. Why couldn’t NASA just pay the extra cash to get the actual song instead of the chirp-like digital version. He let out a long sigh and tried to collect his thoughts before rubbing his eyes so hard he thought he popped a blood vessel. He looked around to make sure none of his supervisors saw him napping on the job and reached tired hand out to pick up the telephone.

“Hello, thanks for calling the National Aeronautics and Space Agency, this is Phillip how may I help you?”

“Huuullo?” A raspy and old sounding female voice called out from the other end of the line, “Is this a recording?”

“No ma’am, my Name is Phillip, I’m a person.”

“Weeeeell, hey there Phil, that’s a great name,” the voice spoke up after a second of silence, “had a nephew named Phil, what a little rascal.”

Phillip sighed again, the lady sounded like a Carolina river rat, an older type who he knew was going to be asking about the end of the world or something. He knew her kind, just assure her that the dark thing in the sky was not a UFO and after five minutes she’d be calm and collected enough to let him continue with his nap.

“Well...” Phillip started, “Anything I can help you with Misss...

“Brown,” the voice chirped up, “Call me Mrs. Brown, okay Phillip? Or Shelia, actually most of the youngin’s call me Mom nowadays. You can call me mom too if you’d like.”

“I’ll stick with Mrs. Brown, ma’am, is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Yeah, my husband, he’s not too bright nowadays, If I’ma bein honest, I tell ya it’s all that damn whiskey he drinks. But anyways, we was arguin and I said to him, you know what I said Phillip?”

“No, wha-

“I said to him, ‘Bill, how you think that there moon stays up there?’ cause I’s always thought you scientist o’er there at NASA done a pretty good job gettin that thing to stay up there, but you wanna know what Bill said back? Bill, now Bill’s my husband Phillip, but you wanna know what he done said after I asked him?”

“Ma’am, I don-

“Ahh I can’t hardly contain it Phil,” The voice shrilled out of the phone, cutting Phillip off mid sentence again, “bless his poor soul, thank the Lord he’s got me around to handle the inter’lectual side of things, but Bill said to me, are you ready? He said ‘I don’t think NASA’s got anything ter do with the moon bein up there, I think it just stays up there all by itself,’ can you believe it?” A cackling laughter erupted from the earpiece of the phone, Phillip pulled it away from his head and twiddled at the plastic black cord that led back to the base of the phone, why hadn’t they been upgraded to cordless, he thought?

“Ummm, Ma’am, I’m not sure if I’m the correct person to handle this, maybe I should transfer you to the educational department.”

“Nonsense, Phillip, you stop bein so silly over there. The only reason I’s even called was so that I could get one of you scientists to tell my husband, his name is Bill, that he’s not makin a lick o sense out here, I mean really, the Moon stayin up in the sky all night all by isself- who ever heard o such foolery.” “Umm... Ma’am, I’m no expert on the happenings going on here but I can assure you that NASA has nothing to do with holding the Moon up in the sky. I’m sorry Miss Brown- “Misses,” “Misses Brown, but I believe your husband, -er Bill, is right on this one. The moon kinda does stay up there by itself, well gravity.” There was a momentary silence followed by a ruffling on the other end of the line, Phillip made out the sounds of a deep and thick voice calling out from the background a very stern ‘I told you so,’ followed by another round of harsh cackling into the microphone from the other end of the line. “Hun now you tell me right now which governmental organization I’ma have to talk to, or which books I’ma gonna have to read to find out the truth about that there moon. Philip, I’ma tell you a secret real secret I was so swoon with Bill, my husband, some sixty seven odd years ago. You listenin’?”

Philip grit his teeth and before he could answer Mrs. Brown had continued: “Back in them old days, right before the war.....” there was a pause and again another ruffling from the other end of the line. Philip winced and felt the coarse sound almost as sandpaper rubbing against his ear,

“‘Scuse me Philip,” she started into the line again, “Bill says it was after the war already started. Anyways, we was on a picnic when we was probably around your age and Bill told me the story of how he used to wrangle elephants. Well, now that might be given him a lil’ too much credit, he used to be a poacher. Not the bad kind don’t worry, he ne’er killed a single animal! Ain’t that right hun!” There was some murmuring on the other end of the line. Philip yawned and wondered if this lady was tenacious enough to complain to his supervisor if he hung up. “See, the elephant herders - or shepherds, or whatever, they tie them beasts down with a lil’ piece of rope to a tree. Bill would go up and saw the tusks off ‘em, and they wouldn’t even move! They’re mammoths but these little strings keep ‘em tied in place, you wanna know why Philip?”

Philip thought about opening his mouth, but didn’t need to.

“See, Bill told me it’s ‘cause from the time the little darlin’s are young they keep ‘em tied to that rope on a tree. At first the el’phant’s not strong enough to break ‘em, and no matter how hard they tug they can’t break ‘em. So it’s such a shame, when the babies grow up they don’t even try to break the puny lil’ bonds that hold ‘em.”

“Well that certainly is interesting I suppose, ma’am.” Philip piped up desperately trying to usher this conversation to its egress, “But yeah, I uhhh... I don’t really know what to tell you besides gravity. Actually, wait, Misses Brown have you ever been to one of those museums with a Spiral Coin Wishing Well? The things where you slide a quarter into and watch as it rolls around the center before it eventually falls in? Think of the moon as that quarter, and science says eventually the Moon will crash into the Earth just like those quarters fall into the middle.”

“Aww poor hun,” Mrs. Brown piped up in that weasely sounding voice again, “That’s just ridiculous. Now I know the Earth’s Six thousand years old and if that there moon were gonna fall into us it woulda done it already, probably around Jesus’ time or something. NASA’ll just take anybody these days. I may just be an ol woman from the south but I sure as hell know a rock can’t stay floatin’ up there in the sky like that wit’out government spendin’ God knows how much to keep it there. Sorry to been wastin your time young man.”

“But ma’am.” Phillip started contesting when he heard the faint click through the earpiece of his phone. He knew she hung up her end without allowing him the chance to say how wrong she was. He folded his arms on the desk in front of him and buried his face in the makeshift pillow of his forearms and thought about how thankful he was that it was almost the end of the day.

#Spilled Ink #Prose #spilled thoughts #Writing #Writers #Fiction

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