#french coffee fish

[onarangel]

Cassis: a French Seaside Dream. Photo by Courtney Jill Bishop

#coffee #Cassis #France #French fishing port #seaside #Europe #enjoy

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 3) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 21.3𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩-𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘵𝘳����𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨

note: this chapter is literally insane but 😗 nothing like a bit of forced proximity 🤭

when you emerged from your room, it was already mid-morning. you had pulled your hair back and up from your face, ringlets of loose curls framing your head like a halo. you dressed in the best attire you could fish out of the armoire—a petal pink skirt with furls of embellishments like honey, and a pale beige blouse with tendrils of pastel blue carnations stitched into its chest and up the high collar, gathering tight at your shoulders and pooling into a loose sleeve then the tight cuff of your wrist.

the garments were delicate—as delicate as you felt you were, broken in and soft. from the makeup tray on a shelf in the armoire, you very lightly pressed just a tinge of french rogue powder to your lips and cheeks to smother the swollen puffiness of your face. taking a bit of dark eyeshadow on your pinkie, you smudged it meticulously across your eyelid, hoping you looked positively radiant on this awful, gloomy day, despite the strong sun shining through the windows of your room.

when you passed the porter, marching into the compartment littered with los vaqueros, one-four-one, and much to your chagrin, Ghost, you barely spared the porter a glance. he looked so much smaller, meager, in the sunlight, a chubby pudge to his face and teeth that slightly protruded over his bottom lip. 

still, you bowed your head with a graciousness as he just rudely stared into your face, his hands clenched into clammy fists by his sides.

when you stepped into the compartment, there was a diminishing of noise that coalesced into a steady silence. you ignored them all, sliding onto an abandoned couch where breakfast tea and coffee was laid out. you served yourself a cup, politely curling your legs to the side as you looked out the window.

it was the same scenery as the night before—a stretching half-desert with sparse vegetation and weedy trees, cast in a yellow glare from the sunlight.

Kate slid into the plush chair adjacent to you, the sight of another woman at her shoulder making you jump. she had a mahogany rich tone to her skin, intricate black coils braided tight to her head and trailing down the back of her neck. the almond curve of her eyes and full lips gleamed. 

your mouth parted quite rudely. she was absolutely radiant.

laxing back in her chair, she sat across from you with an easy-going look. she wore loose buckskin trousers with a fringe and a jacket of cowhide, a bandolier slung across her chest. she tipped her hat to you and you sorely missed your stetson at that moment.

“mornin’,” Kate said with a light slap on your knee, which you deemed mildly inappropriate, but at this point, you couldn’t bother to comment.

as if on queue, you eyed Ghost pad over to sit by the woman. he was rock still, face imperceptible and stoic behind the mask, though you noted the twitch of his hand on his holster. another one if his telling habits.

you sipped at your cup. “good morning, Kate.” 

pointedly ignoring Ghost, you gave a polite smile to the woman across from you, offering a hand. “pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“please. call me Maria.” she had the same soothing rhythmical accent as Alejandro and Rudolfo, her voice a smooth, grating honey.

your brows rose. before you could stop yourself, you remarked—

“i had no idea there were women in los vaqueros.”

Kate snorted, and you immediately felt your face flush. if Kate was in one-four-one, or led it alongside John, practically, it shouldn’t have been shocking that there were female gunslingers in los vaqueros.

stupid, you chided to yourself, not missing the way Ghost cocked his head at you curiously.

but Maria just smiled, reaching out to brush her knuckles over Kate’s shoulder, and Kate's fingers inched over to touch her knee in reply. “she’s funny,” she said, tone denoting something of approval.

Ghost cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“we need to talk.”

not to you, you hoped with a bitterness, and found relief when he leaned instead towards the other two women.

Kate’s eyes narrowed.

“you didn’t tell her?” her tone was lashing and it startled you.

suspicious, you turned your gaze to take in Ghost fully. he was staring dead at Kate, unmoving and wordless, till he shifted, knees spreading wider as he settled back. she sighed, long and tired.

“when we get back to san francisco,” she said with a cocked brow, “you’ll be goin’ back to your folks.”

your blood slowed to a thick, icy stop. “what?”

she just shook her head. “we weren’t plannin’ on it but it’s best for you, missy. we won’t be able to protect you much once we’re in the city. there’ll be a full-blown out war. Turner isn’t hellbent on finding you.”

she clasped your knee. “he’s hellbent on killing us.”

you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder. looking back, Soap was leaning over you, arm no longer in a sling and clasping at your shoulder with a solemn look.

“sorry, bonnie lass,” he said bitterly. “we should’ve never taken ye in the first place.” then his face brightened. “but yer gonna see yer family soon, even if we’ll miss ya.”

behind him, Gaz stood with crossed arms, face pinched with an ever stoic look. you expected that he would be happy about this as the most diametrically opposed to your presence out of all the members of one-four-one, but the despaired scrunch of his brow betrayed him.

your voice cracked. “who decided this?”

the whole room shifted with discomfort, and Kate’s eyes slid to Ghost. you bit back a scream, refusing to even look in his direction. 

his voice was a deep timbre in your head—those were the terms of our agreement.

i own you. body and soul.

if you did go back to your daddy and mama—when you did, Turner would be there, old and wrinkled up like a prune, his stale breath a sigh against your face during long, long nights.

Ghost knew that if he gave you back to your mama and daddy, you would be handed over to Turner instantaneously. and still, he’d rather win the battle over your body against Turner. for revenge.

it seemed that he had no use for you now that his revenge ploy was over with.

John was standing at Maria’s shoulder now, leaning his body weight against the back of Kate’s chair. he looked at you somberly, mouth an etched line beneath the scruff of his beard.

“you saved my life with that bloody good sharpshootin’, sweetheart.” his eyes twinkled. “how can i ever repay you?”

you’d hardly thought John guiding you through your first murder was considered saving his life but you’d take all that you could get.

your mind turning back to Turner, the rushing torrent of blinding rage that consumed you was scary. you hated him with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone in the room for doing this to you—their vengeful kidnapping ploy had turned you into a sinful outlaw just like them. but you just couldn’t.

“do me a favor.” you looked from each member of one-four-one, eyes passing over Ghost with a blind haze. “make sure you kill that Turner fucker slow and painful.”

that way you may never have to be owned by him.

Maria laughed aloud. “i like the way you talk, chica,” she said with a malicious glint to her grin, as one-four-one nodded in agreement with your words.

the rest of the morning was a slow haze. los vaqueros conjoined with one-four-one in the lounge compartment just before a brunch. you stuck with Kate and Maria the entire time, sorely avoiding Ghost and the other members of one-four-one, taking slow bites you could barely hold down.

an all-consuming grief pinched at your stomach. you would’ve gladly avoided the rest of them for the next day of travel on the train if Gaz didn’t barricade your way out the dining car. most of the men had filtered out, only a few stray los vaqueros lingering out of ear-shot.

Gaz crossed his arms in the doorway, looking down at you with a hooded face.

you cocked your brow. “yes?”

Gaz’s dislike for you had been obvious since day one. since the first moment you heard him speak, he had protested your stay at their base, which didn’t surprise you, but still left you feeling irked in an immature way.

he jerked his head to the hallway. “would you walk with me, ma’am?”

it didn’t sound like a question. turning on his heel sharply, you trailed after him bitterly. even with the pinched displeasure in his tone, he was still as polite as ever. biting down back your tongue, you wondered if the rest of one-four-one thought the same of your mama’s polite manner ingrained in you.

you followed him through several train compartments, a thick uneasiness settling on you from his silent and broad form in front of you, blocking half your sight, but relieved that porter was nowhere to be found. 

as you passed through another lounging car, the sparse spread of people across the plush interior eyed you curiously. one man peered above his newspaper at you, monocles glinting, and mouth skewing into a hard line, eyes shadowed.

you stepped to Gaz a bit closer.

when you reached the end of the first class compartments, he slid open the door that breached between the travel trains and a rusty red boxcar. the steel railway grinding against steel wheels was a louder rhythmic clatter than before.

for a brief moment, you were staggering through the rush of air on the gangway between compartments before Gaz offered you a forearm politely without even a glance. grasping it tightly, his strength was stabilizing, and he pulled you over the gangway and into the safety of the boxcar, your hair whipping in the wind.

several crates littered the space. you had a sneaking suspicion that the both of you weren’t supposed to be there.

Gaz drew the larger door of the boxcar open with a screeching, rumbling tug and dragged a crate an arms length from the edge. he took a seat on the floor, boot dangling just over the gravel tracks that passed below.

“ma’am?” he offered the place on the crate beside you with a gesture and you complied, taking a seat without much question, because there really was nothing else to do on this train.

this train ride bringing you right to your doom, you thought with a grimace.

in the long silence, you overlooked the landscape—there was a sharp dip from the railway into green plains, dotted with purplish vegetation that the sun spilled over with yellow delight

leaning forward to peer at the side of his face, you watched his dark eyes dart over the curve of the passing scenery.

“how did you know about this place?”

the swell of his throat bobbed. his voice sounded tight and airy. nervous. “i wander when i can’t sleep at night.”

you were no stranger to that. you thought back to your first night in the leather crafts shop, the itching anxiety to get out driving you to rummage through the kitchen where Ghost found you. 

pushing the memory from your mind, you tried not to let the apprehension drip into your voice.

“what’s this about, Gaz?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to enjoy the scenery of the land, ma’am.”

your brown quirked. “right. what is this really about?”

he sighed, shifting, his mouth in a sheepish, muddled twist.

“i’m not really sure how I’m supposed to say this ma’am—” your brown quirked again.

you put a hand to his shoulder lightly. “Gaz, for the love of everything good, please stop calling me ma’am.” he glanced at you from his peripheral. “you’re older than me.”

he leaned out of your touch. “right. sorry, miss.”

you bit back your tongue. even though you had just chided at him about his overly zealous formalities, you funnily felt as though you were talking to a nervous little boy with the way he fumbled with the seam of his jeans.

“Gaz, what is this about?” your voice was softened now, trying to coax him out of whatever hole he was digging himself into.

his voice was barely above a grumbling whisper. “Ghost came to me last night.”

you paused, jaw going numb.

sighing, you rubbed a hand over your forehead, smoothing back your hair with unease. “Gaz whatever he told you—”

his voice was soft with awe. “he asked me to marry you.”

the breath stopped dead in your throat, the world spinning at an angle. “what?”

he just nodded slowly, looking as shocked as you felt, his eyes glazed over and wide.

“i know this ain’t the proper way to propose, and when we’re off this train and over with this war, i’ll do it properly i swear, but—”

you held your temple, clutching at the wall of the boxcar. shakily, you pulled yourself to your feet. “stop Gaz. just stop.”

you backed away from the edge and he scrambled up to follow you.

“no, please, just listen—”

“no, you listen.” 

you knew it wasn’t fair to be angry at him. you knew it wasn’t fair, especially with the way he looked so crestfallen, brows pinched and shoulders slumped. 

“if i’m going to be married,” you said with a huff, indignant, “it’ll be on my terms and my terms only.”

he reached a tentative hand out to you, and you let him pick up your palm and press it to his chest.

“i was thirteen when i enlisted for the war.” 

you weren’t looking at him before but you were looking at him now.

he spoke fast and low. “i was an orphan. i didn’t look my age. no one wanted me in london, and the older boys in my orphanage were volunteering for the war. when i signed up, they snuck me in, pulled some strings with the army doctors.” his voice fell to a dead whisper. “i didn’t know what i was getting into.”

you felt stupid when tears welled up in your eyes. he looked so young, so broken in that moment. you wiped at your eyes quickly.

“oh Gaz—”

he let you pull him into a quick, indulgent hug. it was inappropriate and the way his arms hung loosely at his sides felt awkward, but you were grateful he let you do it anyway.

“i owe Ghost my life. i owe him everything. he took care of Soap and i when we were kids. John and Kate too, but they were preoccupied most of the time. Ghost—” he choked with emotion, “Simon was always there.”

it felt almost impossible to imagine a Ghost ten years younger in the militia, around the age you were now, keeping two gangly teens tucked closely to his side on a battlefield, maskless and freer without the malevolent reputation he bore. he wasn’t yet the gunslinging devilish outlaw you knew now. but the image only curled at the edges and soured in your mouth.

you didn’t want to hear this about Ghost.

“you don’t even like me,” you said, blunt, tilting your head up into Gaz’s face. he just looked down at you with an imperceptible face that you couldn’t even begin to pick apart.

then, he sighed, dropping your hand and stepping away.

“maybe not,” he said, voice soft, “but i’d like to try.”

you tried to digest that. “for yourself or for Ghost?”

the empty look he gave you was everything you needed to know. a dead silence followed before it was interrupted.

the boxcar’s far door—from where you had entered—was yanked open, and a member of los vaqueros stepped through.

the front of his jacket was tipped in an oozing red, and he clutched at the spot, shouting out something that you couldn’t understand before the unmistakable vibration of a gun was exploding forth in the air, echoing in the boxcar.

you screamed when his eyes went dark, a thick stream of blood flooding his mustache as he crashed to the floor with a deadly stiffness.

behind him, in the entrance of the doorway, was a man, his revolver raised high. he wore monocles and a twisted expression. you recognized him—the man reading the paper. and his revolver was aimed directly at you. 

Gaz moved fast. much faster than you, as he drew your body behind him, drawing his revolver. before he could even flick his thumb over the safety, a body clad in black whipped forward and reached around the monocled-man’s neck to grip at the collar of an expensive dress shirt. something glinted in the air and it drew over the man’s throat in a quick motion, a red mask gleaming by his cheek.

the monocled-man dropped by the fallen vaqueros.

Ghost straightened to his full height. you watched his eyes dart over Gaz quick—checking for injuries with pinched eyes. you had never noticed him do it before, and you jolted when his hardened gaze snapped to yours.

“we’ve been double-crossed—”

there was a loud, shattering racket from behind him and you saw glimpses of several bodies spill out into the gangway in a tangled fervor. you saw glimpses of Kate’s blonde hair struggling against a man with a disheveled cap and a fashionable black jacket. for a moment you caught his dark eyes, all-encompassing and evil.

the pullman porter.

Gaz rushed forward, revolver raised high, but Ghost only pushed back, driving you through the boxcar and yanking the door open to the next one, revealing another gangway with air spilling over it in dangerous whooshes.

you didn’t have time to think or to feel an ounce of fear, Gaz’s boots hot on your heels and Ghost behind him as they pushed you forward through to the next compartment.

you heard Ghost’s voice in a grit, tight with frustration. “i’m out of ammo,” he explained and Gaz didn’t slow for a second, spurring you further and further forward.

there was a ruminating clamor from behind you. something primal in you roared to life, fear coiling tight and real in your stomach. someone was chasing Ghost, Gaz and you. something primal in you told you it was the pullman porter hunting for you.

heaving the next boxcar’s door with a grit of your teeth, sweat pooled at your back. when you swung out onto the little platform, gripping the railing for purchase, panic rose in you at the sight of railway stretching on and fishing between rolling, green land.

you had reached the end of the train.

that didn’t stop Ghost. he pulled Gaz towards the ladder on the sheer outer wall of the last boxcar.

“up.” you had never seen him so panicked. “go up!”

Gaz immediately complied, spidering up the ladder and out of sight onto the roof of the moving train. when Ghost turned to you, you thought you may puke.

he must’ve seen the blaring alarm in your face because he hoisted you by the waist, yanking you towards the ladder easily. he steadied the trembles of your body with two gloved hands on your waist.

“one step at a time, princess.” there was a ferocity in his eyes. “i’ll catch you if you fall.”

a rush of something gold poured through you, and you steeled yourself, clambering up the rusty ladder rungs one at a time. the wind lashed at your clothes, threatening to steal you out into the open air, but Ghost’s hand was pushing you flush to the ladder against your back. when your boot slipped at the top rung, Ghost hissed, lurching forward, an iron grip at your waist.

at the top of the train, the world felt like it was moving too fast to comprehend. up ahead, a mountain loomed, casting a dark shadow over the train as the sun dipped behind its peak.

“don’t stop,” he commanded, and you scrambled forward, low to the train.

looking over your shoulder, you saw the porter’s head slide over the edge of the boxcar, pulling himself up onto the roof with an eerie ease. he was moving fast, almost full speed.

a revolver glinted in his hand.

Ghost shouted in frustration, hoisting you up by your arm and propelling you into a dead sprint over the train.

one slip, you realized, glancing over the edge of the roof, would send you toppling into the chasmic valley below.

the mountain ahead was approaching rapidly.

Gaz was a few bounds ahead of you, and he turned sharply to shoot at the porter just over your shoulder.

with a yelp, Ghost tugged you down and you flattened against the train. your eyes strained against the noon light and the mountain ahead split into a cave—not a cave, a tunnel.

“Gaz!” you choked out.

he dropped to the train roof with a clumsiness that sent his revolver skidding across the roof and off the edge. the train speared forward into the tunnel, shrouded your vision in a darkness that felt deafening.

Ghost’s hand was inching up your back.

“crawl forward,” he demanded, and you complied, creeping over the cold steel of the roof.

a blinding light ahead advanced, the end of the tunnel in sight.

there was a loud, ricocheting gunshot against the walls of the tunnel, a hot spark of friction against steel flickering in the darkness.

you screamed, Ghost’s hand on the collar of your blouse, as a glaring light enveloped you.

blinking rapidly against the sunlight, eyes burning, you scrambled to your feet with the help of Ghost’s strength.

when your eyes cleared, snapping into a focus, a panic flurried in you at the sight of the end of the train nearing.

you wanted to slow but Ghost kept pushing you forward wordlessly to the end of the train cars.

“where will we go?” you shouted against the violent wind.

a sob almost escaped you when he didn’t respond. Gaz stopped short at the edge of the last compartment, just before the train engine, jacket ruffling wildly in the wind. the look he gave you over his shoulder was one of pure dread.

you jolted when he straightened, barreling past you and Ghost right at the porter hot on your heels.

“Gaz!” Ghost shouted, his low baritone pitched and strained, hand lashing out to pull him back by his jacket but narrowly missing. you turned on your heel in horror.

the porter reeled back in surprise as Gaz tackled him full force to the floor of the train roof. they almost skittered off the edge if it wasn’t for Ghost lunging forward and gripping Gaz by the back of his jacket collar and hoisting him from the edge.

it may have been the weight of their two bodies combined, the rush of the wind, or the clumsiness in Ghost’s blundering, adrenaline drive that caught him off guard for just a moment that the porter took advantage of. he slammed the butt of his revolver into the side of Gaz’s face, and the boy’s entire body fell limp over the porter. 

he scrambled out from under Gaz’s body in a flash, and the scream that tore through your throat was carnal when he seized Ghost’s collar and sprung forward, pushing him right over the edge of the train roof.

Ghost fell with a sickening whoosh, and the speed of the train was already zipping away from his body crumpled against the ground, splayed unnaturally near the train tracks.

you scrambled back on hands and knees, not even sure when you collapsed, Ghost’s body already just a black dot in the distance.

the porter turned to you, the revolver still tight between his knuckles. his eyes were wild.

“who are you?” you screamed over the wind. his face was an ashy dark tone, looking extremely sickly and pale.

“i’m sorry,” he wailed, and you jolted further backwards when tears spilled from his eyes. your palm edged along the brim of the train roof, yelping when your hand almost slipped.

“he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.” more tears spilled down his face. “i don’t want to kill anyone.”

his face was twisted up, whole body shaking as he raised the revolver. “but i can’t let my daughter die.”

there was a pop of a safety, and the darkness of his eyes swirling. an imperceptible feeling came crashing down on you—one you couldn’t even begin to describe, an endless downward whirl of dread, acceptance, dread, acceptance.

you thought of Ghost’s body sprawled out by the train tracks in the distance and closed your eyes.

acceptance.

the sound of a strangled cry startled you awake, and the sight of Kate’s arm clasped tight around his neck in his bind sent a whirling electricity down your spine. her blonde hair was wild, eyes even wilder, and she bared her teeth at you in a menacing look.

“for god’s sake, get your useless behind off the ground and help me!”

those familiar words screamed in the back room of the leather crafts shop had you scrambling to life, getting on your hands and knees and launching forward to wrestle the porter for his revolver.

he twisted back, and for a sick moment, you worried Kate would go reeling off the edge too as she dangerously neared it, but she released the porter, using his moment of unbalance as an advantage.

she slammed her hands into his chest and he slid, crashing to the train roof floor, gun clattering to the floor as she fell on top of him. 

you dove for the gun, hand just almost closing around the handle of the thing before the porter twisted over with a surprising strength, dislodging Kate from his body, and pulled it from your grasp.

he gripped it tight, leveling it right to your face, finger on the trigger.

the noise that tore through Kate’s throat was guttural. “no!”

she launched towards you, two strong hands on your arms and pushed you hard. harder than you thought she could, and you tumbled backwards, spirling without direction into free air, and thudding to the forest floor.

something cracked and a numbing pain spread like wildfire from somewhere—your shoulder, body, mind. you couldn’t discern the source of pain, the metrical chug of the train roaring in your ear as it continued on without you.

you woke with a start, breath hitched up in your throat. tears stained your cheeks.

you didn’t remember crying. your whole face felt numb. in fact, your whole body felt numb, save for the throbbing, searing ache in your shoulder. along the joint, there was a numbness at your fingertips and an unpleasant tingling that ran up and down your arm.

groaning, you strained, trying and failing with great effort to move. you tried again and felt a lace of panic when your stiff body wouldn’t move.

is this what it feels like to die?

desperately trying to move when your body wouldn’t budge?

that sent a burst of sparkling energy through you, and you managed to twist your good shoulder, fingertips digging into the ground to push yourself up. your muscles strained with effort, shaking, but they failed with a spasm, and your head fell back into the dirt.

your temples throbbed.

looking up, you noted the darkening dusk of the day. it had been just noon when you were on the train—how long had you been laying there?

there was a cool blue tinge to the air, the moon cresting over a cloudless sky. an unmistakable shiver went through you. the temperature was dropping by the second.

you had felt the same at home. the desert air lacked a single drop of humidity to maintain the sweltering heat of the day at night, and it was the same here in this california forest, though less pronounced. the result was a plummeting temperature.

the thought of home gave you comfort as you lay there in the dirt.

then, you heard a crunching nearby. of feet. boots, perhaps, and you craned your neck back.

a large, black form loomed in the distance. you wanted to be scared, wanted to be panicking in the moment, but a muffled layer of silence was laid over you like a blanket, a ringing in your ears.

at that moment, you just wanted to sleep.

eyes half-lidded, a masked face slid into your blurry vision overhead. his arms coiled around you, very, very gently lifting you from the ground.

“Ghost,” you gasped, a sharp stabbing in your shoulder that contended with the darkness that threatened to pull you into a slumber.

he just shushed you, the sway of his body rocking with each of his steps along the railroad track.

you didn’t have enough energy to say a thing, forehead throbbing, feeling like there was an invisible band contracting around your head with every movement.

“you’re freezin’,” he said in your ear, but it resonated somewhere very distant.

he curled you closer into his chest and that made you jolt back to life from the sharp sensation racing across your shoulder, biting down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. 

your vision went hazy for a long moment, ears ringing with a muffled dizziness. the pressure in your head warped when you were being lowered down, to what you assumed, might’ve been the forest floor, leaning you back against something solid and hard and cold.

you gasped when you felt his bare fingertips skimming across the skin of your shoulder beneath your blouse.

he just tutted, muttering something in your ear. you tried to hone on it, but it was so distant and muffled and hazy.

then, he was turning your head from side to side and pressing a cool hand to your forehead. you winced when his hands came back to your shoulder, rubbing over it, one hand to the front and the other cradling your shoulder blade.

he twisted your shoulder with a sickening pop, and you were violently dragged back to your senses.

you bit back a loud scream, keeling over at the waist, everything pouring into your mind at once. the rushing and chitters of the forest, the prickly, dry pine needles beneath your legs, the icy rock at your back, and the acute shadows the moon was casting through the holes of the canopy.

it was too overwhelming. groaning, you screwed your eyes shut and slid down the rock to press your ear to it, your good arm to the other ear.

Ghost’s voice was still too loud through the makeshift covers. “dislocated shoulder,” was all he said, hand tapping against your knee lightly.

his hand stopped tapping. “you hit your head hard as well.”

he reached behind your head and pressed his fingers across your scalp. when he found a sensitive, swollen spot, you squirmed away.

“s’just bruised. no blood.”

you felt like there was blood pouring from your ears.

he pulled you toward him and carefully drew your hand from your ear, replacing it with his gloved ones.

“better?”

there was a pleasant, cool muffle over your ears—pleasant enough to open your eyes.

two earthy brown eyes stared back overshadowed by a strong blonde brow and pale skin—

you yelped, scrambling back onto the rock.

Ghost’s outer masked layer of red was vacant from his face, leaving behind the black fabric beneath it. torn rough, he pulled up the remains of it to reveal the skin of his neck, jaw, and lips.

it left little to imagine. the fabric sat on a high, curved bridge of his nose, and the deep-set of his dark eyes made them appear larger than you believed with the red shell of his mask—owlish almost. and then there were the handsome, strong brows furrowing at you.

he just blinked before inching forward in a crouch, covering your ears with his hands again.

your voice was swollen raw, sounding entirely unlike your own. “your mask…”

he was half-maskless.

“it broke,” he offered with a shrug and a very blank look.

Ghost was half-maskless.

his leather palm sneaked around your ankle.

“how’s your ankle?”

“fine.” you were lying. you couldn’t feel anything save for the painful pulse in your shoulder that throbbed in time with your head.

he nodded but the twitch of his lips made it look as though he wasn’t convinced. peeling back his trench coat, you watched as he easily tore through the sleeve of his dress shirt from his arm.

your breath hitched as he slid forward to wrap it around your shoulder.

“what are you doing?”

“returnin’ the favor.” 

you thought back to two nights ago, when you had clutched at the bullet wound in his stomach, ripping off your own sleeve to desperately stave off the red deluge rushing from it.

he had wanted you to leave him for dead that night.

you stared up into his profile, captivated by the plains and curves of it, a slithering heat running circles in your chest.

when he was finished with the bind, wrapping it around your bicep, up over your shoulder, and tugging it tight with a loop around your breast, he had sat back on his haunches, watching you with quiet eyes.

you watched the pink of his lips twitch, his hands curled into fists at his knees. there was a menacing cold circulating through you, and the softness of his eyes, his face, his lips radiated a warmth—

there were a thousand things running through your mind—

instead, you croaked, “what happened on the train?”

he sighed, turning his gaze from you to the dark forest. “we convened with los vaqueros in yuma before boardin’ the train Kate arranged. the owner of the railway company owed us a debt and we—” he cringed, “—we thought we could trust ‘em. turns out, Turner’s men were on the train with us the whole bloody damn time.”

you swallowed hard, feeling even colder. shivering, you drew your good arm around your body. “the porter?”

he nodded. “a fight broke out after brunch. thought it was just some stupid squabble but they drew guns and hell broke loose.”

he pitched forward, hand coming down to loosely clutch at your knee. “i couldn’t find you.”

you pulled back from his touch and his brows pinched together before falling impossibly blank.

“what were you doing with Gaz?”

you gave him a sidelong glance, fighting back the pout that spilled onto your face. “he proposed to me.”

Ghost stiffened, falling back to his haunches. you cocked your head, watching the stoney look on his face.

“and what did you say?”

you scoffed. “none of your business.”

that’s what you wanted to believe, but it seemed that Ghost had one foot in your business at all times, and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

the absolute image of indifference in his face had a low, simmering anger crawl up your back.

“he doesn’t even like me,” you hissed, remembering the way Gaz would lean away from your touch in the boxcar, stepping back when he felt too close.

you lamented deeply, wondering, why would he want you to marry Gaz?

Ghost’s voice was even. too even. “he’ll marry you if i ask. he feels like he owes a large debt to me.”

your breath hitched, a hot, tight feeling choking your throat. “do you always exert yourself over others like that?”

his voice turned icy, eyes narrowed. “like what?”

you almost snarled. “you’re using Gaz to your advantage—”

“you don’t know Gaz,” he snapped, before adding in a low timbre, “or me.”

his words shouldn’t have hurt you as much as they did because you knew that he was right. you almost knew nothing about the man in front of you. he was an imperceptible enigma you’d only met five days ago, and yet you felt as though you knew him better than anyone in the world, all his tell-tale habits, the facade of his stoicism, the warmth beneath…

it was nothing like the cold, sour feeling curling in the air between you and Ghost right now.

with a humph, you clambered to your feet, an angry immaturity brewing above the grief that pinched at your nerves. he didn’t move from his position on the floor, eyes hard and staring.

you hiked up your skirt ungraciously and began to move in a random direction in the forest.

“what are you doing?” he called from behind you. there was a satisfaction hearing the annoyance lashing in his tone.

“i’m sorry, sir, but i don’t know you,” you gritted back loudly, not even looking over your shoulder. “i don’t talk to strangers.”

the forest was tipped deep into the night now, a murky dark surrounding you. it was hard to make out the stretching, slithering forms of the underbrush that swayed in the breeze. but you were too angry to feel scared.

after a long bout of silence, and several more bounds of your indignant act, your anger waned into worry.

what if Ghost did leave you in this forest? he was giving you up to Turner as soon as you reached san francisco—because you were useless to him now. so what was stopping him from just leaving you to the darkness of the woods?

to the coyotes?

you shivered, and allowed yourself a glance over your shoulder. you shrieked with a jolt at the sight of him looming just a couple steps behind you, looking impossibly large in the stretched shadows of the forest, and moving with an eerie silence.

he huffed. “what? did i scare you, princess?”

you whipped your head back in front of you, hiking up your skirt higher to step over a log. “sorry. i don’t know you.”

“so stubborn,” he mumbled, and you shrieked again when he wrapped an arm around your waist to hoist you over the log with ease. you swatted him away.

“i can do it myself,” you griped, turning sharp on your heel in another direction. he just sighed, trailing after you, steps noisy against the twigs and pine needles underfoot. 

when he knocked his boot against a tree, you could tell the noise was purposeful—making sure not to scare you. it didn’t quell your anger any less.

“do you even know where you’re going?”

that was a stupid question. no, you didn’t.

“yes,” you said instead.

he made a noise between a grumble and groan. “i didn't mean for Gaz to propose so soon.”

that made you stop dead in your tracks.

“i wanted…” he trailed off. you didn’t want to look at him for fear that he may see the tears welling in your eyes. there was nothing but the rustling woosh of leaves streaming through the canopy.

you jolted when you felt the tip of his nose press into the back of your head, voice impossibly deep. “he’s younger. he’s polite. he doesn’t care about purity.”

you heard him swallow. “he’s a good man to marry.”

you screwed your eyes shut, feeling a bothersome wetness come down your cheeks. “that’s not your decision to make.”

his voice was gruff, raw. “i know.”

sighing out, you turned to him slowly, finding a morose and withdrawn scowl twisting his face. he swiped a thumb over your tears.

“how would i have even married him anyway?” you asked in a low tone, surprised by the ice of it. “you would’ve handed me over to Turner the second we landed in san francisco.”

speaking it aloud yourself made the reality of it so much more crushing than hearing Kate say it that morning.

“to keep you safe,” Ghost hissed, eyes flashing with a clenched jaw. after your train escapade, you recognized the expression as something bordering on panic.

“safe?” you scoffed, “with Turner?”

he just shook his head. “Turner’s men outnumber us. with your parents, you’d at least be protected—”

you lurched forward, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, shoulder aching in protest.

“with Turner!” you articulated, voice rung through with frustration. “i would be his mistress. he could… we would…”

the suggested words went unsaid and Ghost’s flashed—this time with something dark and imperceptible.

“i would kill him before it even got to that,” he said, mouth drawn into a hard life, deadly serious as he grasped your hands on his collar.

“and then what? after the war is over, i leave my parents again and Gaz sweeps me off my feet?” you pressed, trying and failing over and over to pick apart the expression on Ghost’s face.

your anger deflated, words falling flat and soft. “where would you go? back to southern california?”

he just stared at you, and you felt your heart drop. “Ghost? where would you go?”

he looked away from you, fixing on a distant point, and pried your hands from his collar. “i don’t plan on making it that far.”

oh. you gazed at the vacancy of his eyes, the clench of his jaw. he wasn’t planning on making it out the war alive.

your skin felt hot all over, and you lurched forward to jab a finger in his chest and make him look at you. 

“to hell with that.”

but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “it doesn’t matter now. you won’t be going anywhere near Turner.”

now, he pinned you down with a hard look, and you reeled back a bit. “what?”

“the porter,” he chewed out, brow furrowing, “he was trying to kill you.”

your mind whirled. that’s right—you remembered what he said, tears in his eyes when he cornered you at the end of the train.

he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.

he had obviously been Turner. you swallowed, remembering the next slew of his words.

but i can’t let my daughter die.

he, a pullman porter with an inadequate paycheck, had risked everything, including his life, for his daughter. you couldn’t say the same for your own father.

you held your forehead, feeling the throbbing pulse of it through your fingertips. “why would Turner want to kill me?”

desperately, you trained every fiber of your mind to run through the notion, coming up with absolutely nothing in the end. you balked. that almost never happened.

Ghost’s thoughtful silence seemed to mirror yours.

but he just huffed, brushing a knuckle to your cheek briefly. “you’re a smart girl. i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away, a tugging ire in your stomach. “so what now?”

he turned on his heel, giving you a lax look over his shoulder. “we walk to san francisco.”

it turned out that Ghost was a lot more hurt than he made you believe. you had walked a mile through the dark, led by his broad shadowed form and, with the practiced strike of a match, a torch he coaxed to life until you returned to the divide in the forest where the railway drove a split through the plains.

its pathway was ignited with moonlight, and you walked in silence, nothing but crunching gravel underfoot, till you reached a freshwater lake embedded in a softly swaying field that lingered a couple hundred feet from the railway.

Ghost had stripped the bushes of gooseberries and currants along the way, giving you a brief grumbling explanation—we used to eat ‘em during the spanish-american war.

you could imagine Soap and Gaz popping them in their mouths as gawky teenage boys, laughing along the way and a quiet, stoic Simon in their tow. 

you ate them slowly, watching Ghost set up a fire with an ease to the task but with strange shuffling movements whenever he turned. you cocked your head. he wouldn’t twist his body.

“Ghost,” you called, and he didn’t even look at you. “why are you moving like that?”

in your stupor through the forest, or maybe the low lighting of the night, you hadn’t noticed it before. using another one of the matches stowed in the breast pocket of his trench coat, he bent down and blew on the small flame, blooming it to life over a nest of tinder. when it crackled and popped, and he added bigger branches to the fire, you moved closer, shivering in the dark, and spread the collected berries over an unsoiled rock.

your jaw clenched. “Ghost.”

he ignored you again, instead stepping back from the fire and turning so all you saw was the shadow of his back as he discarded his trench coat. then unbuttoning his vest and shirt, he shucked them off, tossing them to the ground by his other clothes. you gasped at the mottled, purple swell of his bare back.

from the bottom of his shoulder blades to his lower back, he was covered in bruises.

“is it bad?”  he looked over his shoulder at you. you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

your mouth fell open and then closed. “yes. very.”

then he turned, and the fire illuminated yellow and green bruises littered across his ribs and the angry red, puckered stiches across his lower abdomen. your stomach dropped. they looked worse than the last you had seen them—on the bed in the train.

he brushed a knuckle over his ribs and winced. “i think they’re broken.”

you looked up at him with a pinched expression and he raised his brows, mouth twitching with a huff. you hated that he looked amused.

“worried about me?”

you turned to the fire again. “no.”

there was more rustling from behind you and an unmistakable clink of a belt. you screwed your eyes shut and willed yourself not to look back. there was a thud against the grass by your hand, and you looked down to see his boots discarded by the fire. you saw his foot just behind it and a bare calf that turned and padded down the slope to the small lake.

you wanted to scream. “what are you doing?”

he called out, “care for a swim, princess?”

you narrowed your eyes. no, you didn’t.

“it’s improper for men and women to bathe together.”

you just barely looked over your shoulder, watching him in your peripheral. his naked back shone in the moonlight, a white glow cast over the bruises and scars of his back before it slowly descended into the water. he reclined against some rocks, arms spread wide and head lolled back.

“lots of things between men and women are improper to you, princess.”

a strangled noise of frustration left your throat. “what if your stitches get infected?”

he shrugged. at this point, a sliver of the darkness in you hoped they did get infected for not heeding your warning.

standing to your full height, you turned to him, looking over the expanse of the lake, and then the darkness of his lazy eyes trained on you.

you watched him swallow, blonde lashes illuminated by the firelight, he spoke considerably softer, “you looked lovely this morning.”

that morning, when you had dolled yourself up, a pretty, airy skirt and flowery blouse and makeup and all, telling yourself that you wanted to look like the sun after such an awful night. maybe it was for yourself, or maybe it was for Ghost. the latter you would never admit.

but now, you realized, more than anything, the act was for your own bout of revenge. to watch Ghost’s face twist at the sight of you—someone he couldn’t have.

you, who would never let him have you again.

at that thought, you gave him a pretty smile like you were bashful, and the way his eyes widened in surprise was a crush of satisfaction.

but you kept up the act, intent on playing with him. if Ghost had taken so much from you for revenge, you didn’t see why you couldn’t do the same. the idea had a twinge of displeasure curling under your skin. but thinking back to last night had you angry all over again.

“i’m still angry at you,” you said instead, crossing your arms and turning like you were mad. in all technicality you were. 

very.

his voice was low. “you’ve got something on your face.”

what?

“what?” you voiced, head whipping to him.

he cocked his head. “your hair too…” he squinted like he was trying to see you better. “it’s a mess.”

you scoffed. this was not going according to your plans.

“well i’m sorry i don’t look my best after falling off a train—”

“and your clothes too.” his dark eyes raked over your body. “all ruined.”

you looked down at the state of your clothes, torn in places and stained in others. the hem of your skirt was a very discolored smear of brown.

“looks like you’ll have to take them off,” he said with a casual shrug.

your jaw dropped open. “you…”

you searched for the words you couldn’t find. “you’re awful.”

with a nod he said, “just as bad as the devil.”

narrowing your eyes, you gave him a sidelong look. was this another one of his revenge ploys? another way to get you undressed and take another sliver of your innocence?

he shifted on the rocks, arms spread along the wide berth of the bank, and beneath the water you saw his knees tip wide. he cocked his head at you.

an invitation.

of which you could easily say no to, if you liked, but just as much as he tried to trick you, the devil wasn't foolproof. you could weasel your way into one of those cracks and trick him instead if you wanted to. and in that moment, you decided you did.

with the calmest look you could muster, you took off the makeshift sling of your shoulder, and unclipped the back of your blouse, sliding it from your torso with ease and letting it fall to the ground. between the laxness of your face, you glanced at Ghost who, you noticed with disappointment, looked absolutely undisturbed until your gaze trailed down his exposed arm and to the clutch of his hand in a tight fist.

suppressing a smirk, you dropped your holster, then the delicate pink skirt and moved to unlace the back of your corset. you undid it as fast as your aching shoulder could let you, watching the way the warm glow of the fire danced in his black eyes.

the corset fell to the ground, and his head was perked up now, eyes going impossibly dark, as you pulled down the last of your undergarments—completely bare in the moonlight.

but his eyes never left yours, didn’t even look down to your body, as you stepped carefully forward over the pebbled lake bank, heart thundering in your throat. you kept your hands in fists to keep yourself from covering your body, shivering when a gust danced over the field.

as you sank into the water, you were surprised to find it not so unbearably cold, avoiding Ghost’s gaze entirely as you neared him, close enough so that you could feel his foot brush against your calf under the water.

he looked up with hooded eyes, chin close to his chest, breath shallow and wanting—

but you waded right past him to a spot on the rocks a good distance away. you were close enough to see his eyes narrow in your peripheral. 

“what are you planning, princess?”

you shot him a glare. “i’m still mad at you.”

he cocked his head. “are you trying to tease me?”

you sucked in a breath entirely by accident, and you knew it was the most telling answer in the way he shifted over the rocks with an infuriating smirk.

feeling bitter, you asked with a sourness, “are you still trying to bed me for revenge?”

he went completely still at that and you turned your head away from him, looking over the field into the forest. in the distance, those mountains loomed on the horizon, looking like a large void that spearheaded the sky. you tipped your head back, clutching onto yourself, and looked up to the stars that splattered like bright, white paint over the sky.

like the white paint you had splattered over the pale blue wallpaper of your room when you were child, and your mama had lost half of her mind at the sight.

that thought only soured your mood more. there were tears in your eyes now.

biting back a string of unholy curses, you tucked your head away, really hoping Ghost wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was when there was a moving rush of water as he stood

you could hear him near you, till he was standing over your crumpled form, his hand brushing along your neck.

“can i?”

you should’ve said no. absolutely not.

your plans to fool the devil had gone absolutely wrong. you glanced up at him, the softness of his face, his big hand moving to brush over your injured shoulder. 

you should say no.

with your curt nod, he sank down into the water beside you, and pulled you flush against the warmth of his body, and you just melted into him, your arms curled against his chest, shoulder aching in reply.

you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, embarrassed when wet, warm tears slid from your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and jaw to his skin.

“your ribs…” you sniffled, trying not to lean so hard against his torso when he was practically crushing you to him. but he only wound around you tighter, pressing some of your hair to his face.

your heart ached at the familiar gesture.

“so you are worried about me then?” his eyes glinted but the sullen look on his face quelled any humor in them.

you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. “i’m always worried about you.”

when there was a long silence, you felt him tap your nose lightly.

“what are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

your mind flashed with more images of your mama. “my mama.”

he hummed, digging his nose in your hair. “tell me.”

you sucked in your lower lip between your teeth, draping yourself over him with an ease. “my mama used to get so mad at me all the time.”

you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “i used to paint on the walls in my bedroom when my nanny wasn’t there and my mama was busy. it drove her crazy.”

“yeah?” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding yourself cradled in his arms and the tip of his nose inches from yours, dark gaze lapping over you in warm waves.

you wanted to drown in them.

“you have pretty eyes,” you told him, feeling your eyelids droop. “kind of angelic.”

he huffed a laugh. “i thought i was the devil?”

“you only want me to think that,” you said dreamily, losing a whole reign of control over your tongue, “satan was an angel once too.”

he pressed his lips to your ear.

“so what’ll it be? devil or angel?”

“s’up to you,” you whispered, clutching at the wet planes of his muscled chest, “are you going to use me for revenge?”

“no,” he said immediately, though his voice was calm. “not again.”

you weren’t exactly sure if that made it any better. 

you could hear his bated breath—the way it was shallow, and sharp. he turned his head away from yours. you caught a glimpse of his blonde lashes curling from the shadow of his black mask.

“what are you hiding from me?”

it was a question you knew he wouldn’t answer as he helped you up from the cold water, wrapping an arm around your bare waist and leading you back to the fire. he just stretched out, completely bare, over a big flat rock embedded in the bank, and orange glow over his skin, and pulled you down to nestle into his side, letting the waves of heat emanating from the fire settle over the both of you like a heavy blanket.

his hand came down in featherlight touches over the curves of your body, trailing up the back of your thighs, to your back, to your neck where he pressed his lips. then his fingertips spidered across your wounded shoulder.

his voice sounded fragile. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

even you? you wanted to ask, tracing the pleasing curves of his face with your gaze.

you brushed your knuckle along the strength of his jaw, the curve of his nose, his lips…

he just peered at you with dark eyes, blinking gently, pressing the most gentle kiss to the corner of your lips that had you falling into another slumber.

Ghost watched your eyes flutter close, waiting till your breath went deep and even, before he even tried to pry himself away from you.

it was hard to not stay. the inviting warmth of your body warmed his cold heart.

he watched the swell of your chest rise and fall, brushing a hand over the softness of your abdomen. the fire light danced across your peaceful face, the plushness of your parted lips, your hair…

god he loved your hair.

but he pulled away, carefully shifting you in a comfortable position over the rock, where you curled up in his absence. he sat up, wincing from the slide and crunch of his ribs beneath his skin, the sore thrum of the bruises up his back, and listened to make sure the lull of your breath was still even and calm.

then, he tore off his mask and balled it up in his fist.

what the hell was he doing?

he inched further away from you, putting a marginal difference between your bare body and his. but you shivered and something inside him jolted with a stupid, muddled flurry.

quickly, he reached for his trench coat near the fire and laid it over you, feeling a full, fuzzy feeling when you stopped shaking. it was strange. he couldn’t put a single word to the feeling but he knew it was something foreign, something dangerous…

something he couldn’t afford.

but your soft voice was always running circles in his head, and it echoed back out to him.

are you going to use me for revenge?

he sighed out long and hard, tapping his balled up first to his forehead. more of your voices clambered into his weak mind.

do you always exert yourself over others like that?

liar.

i hate you.

liar, liar, liar.

liar, liar, liar, liar—

and you were right. you were almost always right with that brilliant mind of yours, he thought with a twinge of wonder.

Ghost was a liar. he was lying to you, and he was lying to himself most of all. and he knew it too.

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

why had he lied like that?

he watched the side of your peaceful, youthful profile. he allowed himself to reach over and wrap his trench coat around you snugger, content when you exhaled deep, and stroked slowly at your hair. you looked so young. too young.

why had he lied like that?

he knew why. but he didn’t want to admit to that either.

instead, he picked himself up, muffling a groan as his stiff body worked itself to move, and kicked his clothes into a pile over the dirt. then, he reached for your own and folded them neatly into a pile by the fire to warm them by the time you woke.

maybe, he thought to himself, trying to be a sliver of an honest man, if he told you that you were right and that he was a liar, you would forgive him. 

or maybe he would have to beg on his knees for your sweet forgiveness until the day he died.

he wouldn’t mind.

he jolted at his own thoughts, beating them down till they were a silent pulp in his mind.

he knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this war. that knowledge only soured the feeling unfurling in his chest, every thump of his dead heart aching with effort. 

Turner was gunning for him and only him at this point—he was the brand mark of one-four-one. the mask was a tell-tale sign of who he was. even if, in the beginning, it had only been to preserve his anonymity, it ended up becoming an infamous emblem that became an endlessly useful tool of intimidation wherever he went—for business or more violent affairs.

he took a knife sheathed in the outer pocket of his trench coat, making sure not to wake you, and pressed his mask to the rock, cutting out the lower torn portion of it so that it was only half the piece of fabric it was previously.

maybe when he had lied to you about his true intentions one night ago, even if he wasn’t thinking, he knew it’d be easier to break your heart if you hated him. 

because he knew if you didn’t hate him, you’d never leave his side, and he wouldn’t be able to protect you like he wanted to when Turner killed him, and you’d be left…where?

hopefully as Gaz’s bride, he thought morosely.

he couldn’t forget what you said last night—i would’ve been married.

even if he knew that was your own lie, if that was what you wanted, he would give that to you as best as a dead man could.

because the truth was—

you were precious. like porcelain glass. all those nights ago, when you first laid together, he was never planning on touching you. even when he first took you, he was never planning on touching you. least of all for revenge.

not even when he first saw your pretty eyes go wide at the sight of him walking into your daddy’s saloon, in that beautiful blue skirt of yours and the loose clutch of your blouse exposing an indecent amount of your dewy skin when you leaned down. not even when your hands trembled, body just shivering in his proximity. you told him you weren’t scared. he didn’t believe you until you gave him everything that first time.

now, he chided himself for taking anything at all. hated himself for it even. he wanted to be…

dead.

he ruffled at his matted hair, screwing his eyes shut before pulling back on the mask. everything in him quieted—the confusion, the thoughts, the circling endless regret having him bite at his own tail.

it wasn’t one-four-one’s plan to get you personally involved in their lives. when you showed up at the base, it was like you had single-handedly wedged the knife of your innocence into the bottled up lot of them, and pried the can wide open. John, Kate, and Soap adored you. and Ghost had seen the way Gaz looks at you.

or at least he thought that he had. maybe it was his own jealousy contorting his thoughts.

jealousy, he cringed, flipping the knife in his hands, why would he be jealous?

the rustling in the woods answered him, and he twisted around on his haunches, ignoring the stabbing pain blooming into his lungs, and watched something prowl out onto the far clearing of the field. a long snout furrowed deeply at him, and the coyote drew back its upper lip, fangs glinting in the moonlight with a growl.

Ghost only stared back, gripping at the knife tightly, leaning forward onto his fingertips to cover your sleeping form with his body, muscles bunched to spring forward at any moment.

the coyote only crept forward a bit more, lapping at the very edge of the water at the lake, before retreating backwards, ears flattened to its head as it disappeared into the shrouded darkness of the treeline. its tail was tucked in between its legs.

maybe even coyotes were afraid of the devil.

the next morning you woke, Ghost was up, dressed, and fiddling with a knife in his hands. he was perched on the rock beside you, staring off into the horizon and looking pensive which was… uncharacteristic of him.

the fire was put out, embers still burning as a trail of smoke wafted up into the thin morning light.

your stomach growled.

Ghost’s head turned down to look at you and he pushed back the hair from your face with just his glove fingertips. “hungry?”

you nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and shifted to sit up beneath his trench coat with a shiver. the rock beneath you still felt a tad warm from the fire last night, but it had cooled, leaving your bare backside feeling numb.

“here,” Ghost offered, shifting in that awkward movement of his to keep the pressure of his wounds, you noticed with a twinge in your heart. he gestured to an array of things spread out over the far rock by the far littered with the berries he collected last night, now coupled with pale looking tubers.

you rubbed at your eyes with a yawn. “you cooked last night?”

he nodded. “wild parsnips.”

they were peeled and cut carefully off the top. he gave you an expectant look, and you supposed he thought you would take them, but instead you shifted over the rock again, shivering with the breeze at your back.

“can i change?” you asked meekly, and he blinked.

“‘course.” he handed you the pile of your clothes folded neatly by the fire, and with a blush, you noticed they were warm.

had he done that on purpose?

“thank you,” you said, looking up at him with a smile, but he just looked away with an indifferent huff, poking at the parsnips with his knife.

he turned his back as you redressed in your ruined clothes, rebounded your shoulder in the sleeve of his dress shirt to the best of your ability, and joined him for breakfast. you split the berries and parsnips into groups—trying and failing to give him a larger portion to compensate for his muscled stature and severe wounds, but he pointedly refused without so much as a bat of his eye and a deep scowl, and when you pressed, he ignored you entirely.

when you both finished a portion of the food, he kicked over the fire and made sure the embers were doused, before you set off across the plains back in the direction of the railway. Ghost told you, from the last time he checked with the conductor, that the train was fifteen miles from san francisco.

you’d be walking the whole day, sure, but it was better than you could’ve hoped for. testing your shoulder with a swing, there was still a sharp ache to it, and you winced, ignoring the side glance Ghost gave you.

you were worried more for his wounds anyway.

about two hours into the trek, you could hear the rasp of his breath and the shallow nature of it. his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.

“Ghost,” you called, “i think you should take a rest.”

you weren’t even surprised when he chose to ignore you. 

“Ghost,” you repeated, rephrasing your words in a careful deadpan, “i’m tired. i want to rest.”

at that, he stopped with a curt nod, and you both moved to sit in the grassy bank by the railway. he sat with a stiffness and slowly stretched back out over the incline of the slope, hands behind his head and eyes closed. you sat with your chin tucked between your knees beside him. you knew him too well to see that he was playing pretend.

“Simon.” he jolted at the word. “let me see your ribs.”

he opened his eyes and looked at you, lips in a stale line. “they’re fine, princess.”

you rolled your eyes, moving to do it yourself. he hissed with protest when you began to unbutton his vest and you shushed him with a harshness that had him falling silent. you undid his dress shirt next and pushed the fabric aside, gasping at the sight of them.

it was worse. much worse. the strange patches of yellow and green bruises stretched over his rubs had become darker, more pronounced, and a swollen, madly red purple. looking down to his bullet wound, you almost wanted to faint.

it was bright red—angry and puffy with a crust of yellow goop around it. you gasped again.

“Simon this looks—”

infected.

he just stared up at you. the absolute indifference on his face had you balling up your hand in a fist and smacking him lightly over the head with it.

he flinched, reeling away from you with a scowl. “what was that for?”

“your lack of desire for self-preservation irks me,” you shot back, and settled over his hips with your thighs in a bind around him. you could feel him stiffen beneath you.

“i told you it’d get infected if you swam in that lake water.”

very gently, you traced your hands up his torso, and with a twisting impulsiveness, you leaned down to kiss the swell of chest, pressing down into its brawn. then you kissed up his neck, his jaw, his cheek.

maybe each kiss would make him better like in those books you used to read as a child.

he huffed out, and you looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, swirling and dark and tinged with a lazy hunger. “are you teasing me again?”

you blinked up at him, and he reached down to press a thumb to your lower lip.

“i’m distracting you. is it working?”

he smirked. “too well, ” he hummed, before sighing out, “you’re too good to me, lovely.”

you nodded. “i know.”

pitching forward, you gently pecked that silvery scar on his upper lip and he jolted, breath going more shallow than before. when you leaned back, watching his expression with a fit of anxiety rolling around in your stomach, you watched him lick over his upper lip like he was tasting you.

the jittery feeling in your stomach turned into something else entirely.

“quit bloody teasin’,” he chided, pulling you back down to him and pressing his nose to your ear, face smushed against your hair.

you bit back a snicker and rubbed at the back of his neck. typical Simon.

so easy to please, so easy to make him surrender. 

usually, an ill-tempered voice in you said, flashes of the coldness of his tone, face, body on your bed in the train seeping into your mind. 

remembering yourself, you pulled away and stood again. he watched you with an owlish blink—a look of confusion and question that you chose to ignore as he pushed off the ground to trail after you and back down the railway.

for the next couple of hours of aimless walking, nothing eventful happened, save for Ghost randomly brushing along the edge of the forest, poking around amongst the foliage. you shared few glances and even fewer words, but that didn’t make it uncomfortable. 

in fact, as you eyed the side of his handsome profile, black trench coat fluttering softly in the wind, you wanted this to last forever.

right now, you were just two people in the woods. no war. no gangs. no guns. no violence.

even if he had hurt you.

you stepped closer to him, catching the fabric on the back of his elbow, but he barely even glanced at you when your hand slid down his forearm and pushed shyly into his hand. he easily swallowed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.

later, he pulled out a couple of leaves from the inner pocket of his trench coat and offered them to you. mint, he had explained, chewing on the herbage, it staves off hunger.

you would need it by the time noon came and your stomach was growling again. you both stopped by the tracks to finish the last of the berries and cooked parsnips, chewing more mint Ghost picked from the underbrush of the forest.

the glare of the sun had waned by the time you reached the afternoon, and the railway seemed to stretch on forever, sloping over hills, cutting through landscape, till the trek flattened and the woods drew even tighter to the railway, trees towering overhead.

finally, you reached a crossroads in the railway, where a paved road cleaved through the woods, and on the horizon, revealed a sprawling skyline of buildings—smoke billowing above it, and a strange sort of humming raucous drifting across the terrain.

the sound of it made you apprehensive, and you eyed the hazy gray film in the air. you had never seen such a large town—city, would be better perhaps. you stopped in the road.

Ghost’s shoulder brushed your own. “what’s wrong?”

you squirmed with discomfort in your spot. “what is that?”

he squinted at the horizon. “s’a city.”

just as you suspected. but it didn’t make you any less reproachful. “i’ve only seen them in picture books,” admitted, sniffing the air. “it stinks.”

he gave you a twisted smile. “you should see manchester. my father used to work in the factories.”

your eyes widened, and he just kept walking, leaving you scrambling to catch up. “your father?”

he nodded. “my father.”

“and where is manchester?” you pressed, prying for more out of him, as you peered at the side of his face which was trained on the road ahead.

“england. s’where i grew up.”

you snuck your hand into his again. “did you have siblings?”

his grip stiffened around your hand. “an older brother. Tommy.”

your mouth opened and closed, watching the way his shoulders were tightened now. he obviously didn’t want to talk about either of them, you thought weakly, mourning, and instead changed the subject.

“what was it like in manchester?”

he glanced at you. “dreadful. i never want to go back again.”

“besides…” his thumb brushed against your palm. “i have everything i need in america.”

you nodded slowly, trying to chew that information, and desperately wanting more.

from behind, a growing assortment of noises approached you quickly, the clopping of hooves at your back, and Ghost drew an arm around you as he pulled you off the road. a horse and buggy bumbled down the road with a friendly looking coachman in the driver’s seat. 

he had a scraggly white beard and a fray of white hair strewn over his balding head, a big toothy grin, and a beet, splotchy redness to his entire face.

“hullo there!” he called, slowing his horses as he neared. Ghost’s arm went tighter around you.

“hello sir,” he said with a politeness you didn’t know he could have.

“s’a beamin’ day, is it not?” the man’s eyes mosied up and down your body but not in a rude way. you suddenly felt embarrassed by the state of your clothes and crossed your arms over your torso.

Ghost shook his head. “it’s been awful.”

“oh?” the man leaned in, apparently unperturbed by the mask covering half of Ghost’s face. “pray tell, what happened to you folk?”

“we were comin’ down the same path as you last night,” Ghost said, tipping his hat to the place down the road. “and a couple of coyotes came out of the woods.”

you stared at him. coyotes?

where did that come from?

“scared our horses half to death and they went ballistic. tipped over our buggy and everything and galloped off into the woods.”

the man gasped, spluttering. “heavens! how can i help you kind folk?”

Ghost paused like he was apprehensive. you cocked a brow at how easily the act came to him. “well, we were just trying to make our way to san francisco.”

“well i can do that, no problem!” the man said, scooting over his buggy to make more room. “i’m headin’ there right now to visit the ol’ missus.”

“Ghost,” you whispered, feeling a panic when he pushed you forward gently. “can we trust him?”

“unless you wanna walk another two miles, lovely,” he shot back, though not unkindly, as he dipped his head politely to the man in the buggy.

hesitating, you stepped forward towards the thing.

“this yer lovely missus?” he said with a friendly smile, and Ghost nodded.

“my lady.”

you wanted to smack him.

“howdy, ma’am,” the man said to you, offering a polite hand to shake. you stretched up to the buggy and took it with a tight-lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, sir,” you said, voice coming out weaker than you intended and he only grinned wider.

“well climb on in!”

you hesitated. it was only a two-person carriage, and Ghost might barely be able to squeeze into the space left that the other man left. looking back at Ghost over your shoulder, he just squeezed your waist softly, and slid around you to step up into the buggy himself.

rude, you thought with a huff, but only realized his intent once he was settled in the thing. he spread his arms as an invitation, one hand held out for you to climb into his lap.

his raised his brows at you. you looked from him to the beaming man beside him, something twinkling like knowing in his beady eyes, and you bit back a sigh, taking Ghost’s big hand and letting him pull you onto his lap.

you sat on one of his broad thighs, his chest flush to your back. he snaked an arm around your middle and kissed your cheek softly, hand still intertwined with yours.

you dug your nails into the glove of his palm in warning, withering in his arms, and wholly enjoyed it when he winced. 

the man beside you sighed out but it sounded happy. 

“oh, i remember the days when i just married my missus!” he said dreamily, hitching the horses with a snap of the reins.

Ghost chuckled in your ear, and you sent him a scowl over your shoulder when the other man wasn’t looking, but he only smiled wider, pulling the hair from your shoulder to kiss the back of your neck.

you stood on the edge of the street, bidding the kind stranger goodbye as he drew away from the sidewalk, hitching his horses down the wide san francisco avenue.

entering the city had been an enigma for you. it was even stranger now.

people littered the street. too many people. your mama had let you go to a bigger town now and then near your home with the girls from church, but never too far. she had said it was the role of your future husband to expose you to such harrowing conditions.

standing in the midst of one of the largest cities on the western coast, you could better understand what she meant. women and men sauntered down the road in tight-knight groups, business men in three-piece suits and bowler caps shot past you, and a slew of buggies blundered down the streets that Ghost guided you through.

some peered weirdly at the mask but most didn’t even care to notice at all—didn’t even look up from the point they were trained on getting to. 

in all honesty, you found their behavior quite rude as they passed you.

watching a woman in a pastel, flowing dress with pearls adorning her ears and neck, and silk gloves drawn to her elbows, she had her arm linked with a man with a well-trimmed mustache and pristine suit.

feeling strangely exposed, you inched closer to Ghost and linked your arm with his as well. you looked up at him with wide eyes, a whine building in your throat.

you were uncomfortable. very. very uncomfortable.

he huffed, taking your arm in his. “city life overwhelming you, princess?”

you nodded blearily, wincing when a man almost brushed against you through a tight pass on the sidewalk. you had never been flanked by so many people.

“what about Turner’s men? what if they recognize you?” you whispered out, curling closer to him, and he just shook his head. 

“they won’t without the mask.”

right. you had become so accustomed to the revealing nature of his black mask that you had completely forgotten about the broken, bloody skull layer of it.

you passed through more blocks, buildings scraping the sky so high that you felt dizzy and small. 

you craved to be out in the wide array of the demanding western landscape again. you wished you were still walking along that railroad, chewing mint leaves, and your hand in Ghost’s.

eventually, the skyscrapers dwindled into crumpled, shorter, dingy buildings and the avenues tightened into busy marketplaces. but it was different than you had ever seen before.

men wore linen suits—in grays and blacks with small hooped knots down the front—and bowlers caps. some women wore dark blouses with loose sleeves and low collars that gleamed in the evening’s light, curling with patterns of clouds and the fine leaves of bamboo, and flowing bright skirts over heeled shoes that looked binding.

Ghost watched your face closely, and you slowly turned in the spot. you had never seen a culture that wasn’t of your small western hometown before. “where are we?” you asked him, voice tinged in awe, and he put a hand to your lower back and led you down the busy market street.

“this is chinatown,” he said, and you just nodded slowly, trying and failing to digest it all.

“why are we here?” you pressed, and Ghost pushed you further towards a big brick building at the end of the road that dwarfed the dingy places beside it, a throng of people swarming in front of it.

“Turner’s men won’t come here,” he explained, seeming utterly casual. “they think the bubonic plague’s still lingering.”

you stiffened. “plague?”

he nodded. “it came through san francisco in 1900. it’s been gone for years but Turner doesn’t think so.”

“why not?”

he gave you a sidelong look but his voice was soft. “why do you think, lovely?”

feeling saddened, you gave him a meek look and he just smiled, brushing your cheek with his knuckles briefly. “smart girl.”

when you entered the building, there was a reception at the front and a large folding divider with intricate ink brushes over its surface shrouding the rest of the narrow establishment from view. the interior was extravagant—tipped in gold, marble, and lush patterns and a stark disparity to the image outside of it.

there was a tinge of something sweet in the air, a hazy smoke drifting through the place. you wrinkled your nose.

a man came from behind the folding divider in one of those linen, knot-button suits, hair shaved close to his head, with a big smile and a gold tooth. at the sight of it you went cold.

he spoke in a language you couldn’t understand—taking in its foreign inflections with a feeling of awe, and hearing the word Ghost between the slew of his words.

it startled you when Ghost spoke back in the same swinging rhythm. staring at the side of his blank face, he just ignored your burning gaze.

suddenly, the man turned to you with a slick smile, eyes crawling down for a long moment before crawling back up. the hair on the back of your neck bristled. 

“good evening, ma’am,” he greeted in a gentle accent, “how can i help you?”

Ghost braced against the desk, speaking low and fast in that language. the man’s eyes went dark, but that slick smile never left his lips. then, he grinned, gold tooth flashing, before he gestured with his arm to the intricate divider.

“please follow me.”

Ghost’s grip on your waist was tight as you followed the man behind the divide, walking down a dim, but equally decadent hallway. you jolted away from one of the doors—there was an intermittent bang and shout from inside of the room.

a splinter of fear cleaved your heart, and you shot a look at Ghost before he just urged you forward without so much as a glance. 

“here is your room,” the man offered generously, waving his arm to a wooden door with an intricate carving over the front.

you muffled a gasp at the sight of the girl standing beside it. she must’ve been only a few years older than you, with milky skin and long black hair that came down her slim frame like the brush of swirling ink. the crimson dress she wore wasn’t constricting at all, and exposed so much skin.

from the elbows to her wrists, her ankles, calves, and knees, you could see her bare skin. you averted your eyes immediately, fumbling with your hands, but her gaze was solely trained on Ghost.

he wholly ignored her as the man shooed her away with a rude gesture and fast words. her dark eyes flashed, sending Ghost a nasty look, and then you, before turning on her heel and marching down the hallway.

the man handed Ghost a key and you followed the broad, masked man into the room, quickly shutting the door behind you. the strange, elongated noises from the hallway was diminished now. sighing out with relief, your breath hitched when you noticed the intricacy of the room.

there was a low-lying bed strewn with pillows and rich draperies. the room was littered with different wooden furniture pieces with ornate carvings like geometric mazes in the chairs, wardrobe, canopy bed frame, and sunken table in the far corner of the room. you observed the rolls of paper hanging from the walls, the vases covered in gleaming blue brush strokes, and the dim lamp overhead with red tassels hanging down from its silver sheath.

Ghost sat at the edge of the bed with a crumbling sigh, kicking off his boots. your heart sunk, cringing at more of the gentler noises wafting through the door.

“where are we, Ghost?”

you had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t like it.

he cleared his throat, sending you the most apologetic you had ever seen on him. “a brothel.”

you spluttered. “a brothel?”

he had brought you, a good, christian woman, to a brothel?

you did a quick prayer, closing your eyes and clasping your hands together, murmuring under your breath. you could hear Ghost move from the bed and pad closer to you, impossibly silent. 

you ignored him, continuing to pray, as he wrapped his arms around you, impossibly warm and comforting, and tucked his chin into your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

you jolted. opening one eye to look at him, two of his own peered back at you.

you shut your eye, ignoring him and continued to pray in low murmurs. he pressed a kiss to your neck, another i’m sorry falling from his lips. and then another and another wherever he kissed across your neck, jaw, cheek.

you could get used to him saying that. 

it was his warm breath across your lips that startled you back to the present.

when you opened your eyes again, hands still clasped in a bind at your chest, he leaned forward, clothed forehead pressing against your own. 

“i’m sorry.”

a trickle of something muddled dripped down your spine. a new suspicion pricked up in you.

“about what?” you asked, working your jaw slowly.

he buried his forehead into your neck, speaking softly. “about lying to you.” 

your brow quirked.

“about the brothel?” you asked, feeling confused, and he stiffened against you before nodding slowly.

“mhmm.”

that muddled feeling was back again. was he lying about what he was lying about?

you snorted at the thought. that muddled feeling told you he was probably apologizing about a lot of things at the moment—what, exactly, you couldn’t discern. there was a lot to choose from.

“i’m still mad at you,” you said with a tenderness, brushing across the back of his neck with your fingertips.

he just nodded again with a hum.

a much darker furl of despair in your stomach said that this may be the last time he would say sorry to you.

you didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or tonight even, as the hazy dusk settled outside the carved windows. when would the war break out? where was one-four-one and los vaqueros? why had he brought you to chinatown? why a brothel?

when would he be leaving you again?

would he be dead in the next couple of days like he kept promising?

your silence must’ve been telling because he sighed out across your skin and untangled himself from your body and led you to the edge of the bed where you both sat.

your brows rose expectantly as he shifted over the bed and took off his hat, putting it down. you took it into your hands to have something to fumble with as his hand came to the length of your hair, playing with it in between his fingers.

when his silence was too long, you cocked your head. “tell me, Simon.”

it was more of a command than anything.

he rubbed a hand over his jaw with a curt nod, but he wouldn’t look at you. “i know the owner of this establishment. he owns a brothel chain in san francisco. for the night, we’ll be safest here.”

your hands paused, glancing up at him. “you do business in prostitution?”

the relief that bloomed when he shook his head came as a surprise. you released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“an enemy of Turner is a friend of mine,” he said decidedly. “so i learned mandarin.”

you changed the subject. “so what about one-four-one and los vaqueros? where are they?”

“we’ve got a base but it’s across the city,” he said, scratching at his neck, not revealing anything further. you didn’t really expect him to.

“when will you see them?” you asked, sullen.

what you really wanted to ask was: will he take you with him?

“tonight.” his hand dropped from your hair. “only rich politicians come through here. you’ll be safe. i promise.”

you closed your eyes. that was that.

you didn’t really know if you wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“then, you and i will reconvene with them tomorrow. together,” he said, the pad of his thumb brushing over your closed eyelids.

you took a breath of relief. you could work with that.

“and the war?”

his eyes were dark, swirling. “i don’t know. i’d rather stop it before then.”

and still get the revenge one-four-one promised?

you cocked your head. “how?”

the corners of his lips twitched and your brows rose. “it’s a surprise, princess.”

you groaned, exasperated. “no more surprises, Simon.”

“will you allow an awful man to fix a date with you, lovely?”

you gave him a bitter look and his smile only grew. “what makes you think i want you to court me?”

he slowly slid off the bed and you watched in amazement as he kneeled in front of you, hands on your thighs.

“what do i need to do?” he asked softly, eyes wide and beseeching. 

you were in awe at the sight of him—on his knees in front of you, broad body bowed down. you looked over the plains of his masked face, and all that was revealed beneath it. his pale skin, littered with scars, and the silvery one on his upper lip, that blonde brow and tall nose, his telling dark eyes.

you blushed. “more than that.”

“how about this?” he offered, stretching up to kiss the tip of your nose.

“more than that.”

“this?” he kissed over your jaw, down your neck, lips warm and soft and wet when his tongue slid out, sucking at the flesh of it.

“more,” you whined, feeling hot all over when his hands expertly came to unclasp the back of your blouse.

it was perplexing in the way he could strip away your facade in mere seconds, melt the stubbornness from your shoulders, and evaporate any reign of control over your intent to be furious with him.

he had you completely bare in seconds and all your ruined clothes in a pile on the floor, pushing you back onto the soft bed, and then it was his turn. he stood up and undressed in front of you, and you watched with a greediness, that familiar dark, needy pulse between your thighs.

you pawed at that ache, feeling relentless, and his pupils blew wide, hands flying to get out of his clothes.

swallowing, you tried to not let the shame consume you when you dipped your hand beneath your thighs, and touched that spot for the first time. his hands fumbling with his belt stuttered to a stop.

experimentally, you dragged your fingertips against its wet softness, gasping when it came in contact with your clit. it was a little nub that swelled against your fingers, fluttering in time with the pulse of your heart in your throat.

you kept your eyes on Ghost, fighting the droop of them, when you started to circle around it like he had. a pleasure bloomed through you, and you gasped again. curious, you jerked your hand faster, and the intensity of it only spread, through your core, dipping into your stomach, and you thought you saw gold.

with a loud moan, you realized you never knew that you could make yourself feel so good.

you jolted when Ghost let out a guttural, low sound, and pitched forward, pressing his knuckles into the space beside your head, towering over you on the bed.

“you touchin’ yourself, pretty thing?”

you whined with a nod, his words only spurring you on.

when he reached down to grip your hand rubbing against your cunt, you hissed. “no.”

“no?” his brows shot up, eyes searching yours.

“no touching. just watch,” you commanded, deadly serious, arching into your own magical touch.

the sound that left his throat was in between a groan and a whimper, and it made your hips buck up, a whine tearing through you in response.

he sat back, hands twitching against his thighs, and a painful looking swell in his pants, you noticed, but you were perfectly content with the way you were touching yourself.

rolls of aching sweetness unfurled through you.

“are you teasing me, princess?” he asked, head tilted and voice incredibly deep, the swell of his chest fast and breathy.

“mhmm,” you whimpered, slowing your hand painfully so, then quickening again, gasping when a thick wave of pleasure poured over you and swept you into a distant haze. 

“s’your punishment—” you went even faster, “—for bein’ an asshole.”

he groaned at that, leaning down to kiss your bare ankle, and you hissed, pushing him back with your foot to his shoulder. the look he gave you was steeped in such an obvious display of desperation that you almost wanted to give in.

“let me do it,” he rasped, leaning forward to tower over you again, hands by your head, but still not touching.

“no.”

he leaned down to your ear. “please?”

you whined, bucking into your hand, feeling the edges of your vision fade and flutter. you were getting closer to that telltale, delicious, precipice—but frustratingly, it still felt so far away.

“no,” you whimpered, and you chased that edge desperately.

he licked over his lips. “struggling, pretty girl?”

you shook your head, whole body jolting when a new flare of intensity coursed through you. it was almost too much, and suddenly, you wanted to take your hand away.

you looked up to the man perched between your legs, his bare muscled torso gleaming in the dim light, and the sharpness of his jaw spurring you on.

he cooed, “you sure you don’t need my help, pretty thing?”

sniffling, you mewled, feeling defeated when you pulled your hand back, your sensitive clit twitching in response to the cold air that filled the absence where your hand had just been.

Ghost hummed, looking positively pleased at your surrender, and he tentatively brushed his fingertips over the softness of your inner thigh.

“may i?” his eyes were dark and malicious, and a shudder of something bordering on fear slithered down your spine as you squirmed against the blankets.

“please.”

he lurched forward, and you squeaked in surprise when one of his arms slid beneath your back, the other beneath your thigh, as he threw you further up the bed.

“shoulder?” he asked softly, though his hands were rough as he positioned you the way he liked, pressing the back of your thighs up so that almost touched your chest, legs lolling over his shoulders.

you could barely feel anything in your shoulder—all the blood had pooled to your cunt, pulsing with a wild, aching need.

“please, Simon,” you said instead, grabbing his shoulders and pushing them down to where you needed him.

but he was too strong. much stronger thank you, as he pinned your wrists to the bed. 

“answer me,” he said, voice thick and dark, and you whimpered.

“s’fine.”

“you sure?” he breathed over your cunt and you whimpered.

“y-yeah.”

he hummed. “we’re going to do something different today.”

that piqued your interest, pulling you from the muddled haze of your mind. he splayed a big hand over your stomach, pressing against it, the rough pad of his thumb reaching down to rub lazy circles over your clit. 

you melted back into the bed, a deluge of relief coursing through your veins. you think you could come just like this—Ghost leaning over you, sucking the skin of your neck, whispering low murmurs into your ear, and a circling pressure growing against your clit. you think you could mostly because it was Simon.

“Simon,” you whined, and his eyes snapped to yours, turning warm and buttery when he kissed your eyelids.

then, you felt something circling the entrance of your core.

a confused hum left your lips, and you looked down to see his other hand spreading his fingers down the slick of your entrance.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, sliding a hand over his.

“do you trust me?”

your breath hitched, looking up into his hooded eyes. you didn’t take a second to even think—

god, yes, you trusted him. you needed him.

“need you,” you whimpered, truthfully, and his eyes went even darker as he bent down to kiss your clit softly.

then, you watched him push a finger into you, swallowed up by your cunt inch-by-greedy-inch.

you gasped, arching at the new feeling of a stretch that felt… good.

“Simon?” you squeaked, and he just shushed you gently, kneading at your breast as he sucked on your clit, pinning you down as you squirmed.

then, he began working the finger inside you, rubbing against your gooey inner walls, and then he was pressing in a second finger, and that delicious stretch swept you away into a haze.

breathy moans were torn from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them when he curled his fingers, pressing even deeper and against something that had the sweetest feeling unfurl deep, deep, deep inside you.

“Simon!” you mewled, feeling your climax approaching quicker than ever as he fucked you open with his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit, a sinful squelch harmonizing with the breathy tones of your voice.

your whole core convulsed, clenching, then—

he stopped.

your chest fell in rose in heavy pants, that delicious edge receding slowly. picking up your head up to look at him, your brow furrowed when you found him just staring back at you.

whining, you picked up your hips to press your swollen clit to his plush lips, but he just shifted back a bit so the tip of your nub barely brushed his lower lip.

he cocked his head with a malicious smirk.

“you’ve been teasin’ me for days, minx,” he said, eyes so empty and cold that you shivered. he slid a hand over the goosebumps of your thigh.

“at the lake. today by the railroad.”

he began pumping his fingers again, slowly, and you whined, trying your best to grind down on it so the tips of them would find that swollen place in you that felt heavenly, but he just pulled his hand back every time you pressed down.

his eyes darkened. “touchin’ yourself in front of me like i’m not allowed to do anything about it.”

“please,” you whimpered, and the smirk dropped from his face.

“you’re not allowed to come until i say so, pretty thing.”

a shockwave went straight through your tummy at the words, eyes blown wide with shock. you didn’t know why those words made your heart drum harder, the slickness between your thighs feeling unbearable with the way he just slowly fucked you with his fingers.

you wanted more. you wanted him deeper. something bigger.

his fingers brushed over your clit, and you jolted. “ready f’more?”

“mhmm. please, Simon.” your voice was a keen, and you whined louder when he completely pulled his hand away from you, feeling desperately empty, but he just grabbed your hips and flipped you with ease onto your stomach.

he pulled your hips up, one hand smoothing down your back so you were arched, arms braced against the soft pillows. it was a strange position, left you feeling awkward and exposed, but he pressed a soft kiss to your injured shoulder and you ignored the throb from the weight it bore.

then, he slid off the bed and you heard the clink of his belt, something dropping on the floor, before the bed dipped again, and then silence.

looking back at him, you blushed at the sight of him just shamelessly staring at you in the position.

“Simon!” you chided, curling out of the position before he gripped at your hip tightly with a sly smirk, pushing you back down into the arch with a low rumble of protest.

he crowded over the back of you, settling down over your body, and pressed you further into the bed, his warm chest flush to your back and knuckles pressed to the space next to your ears. you gasped when something warm, sticky, and hard brushed along your inner thigh.

he stroked a hand along your neck, words a throaty whisper in your ear. “comfortable, lovely?”

you felt him press himself against your soft slit, the thick head of it pressing against your clit. 

it felt hot, big, throbbing, and—

you gasped, a cracking dawn of realization washing over you.

“it goes…?” inside.

your whole body shook in anticipation, a strange muddle of fear and desperate want making your hips press further back into him.

he hummed, kissing your neck. 

“figure it out, pretty?”

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, wiggling yourself against him in impatience, and he just gripped your hips tightly.

“inside,” you retaliated, and he huffed in your ear, the curve of his smile pressed to your hair.

“needy girl. you don’t even know anything about this,” he chided, a hand coming down to rub at your clit, and you squirmed with relief.

“what do i need to know?” you squeaked, grinding against his fingers.

“it hurts.” your movements slowed, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“it hurts?” you looked back at him from over your shoulder, his eyes only inches from your own where his lips were against your shoulder.

his stopped moving. “mhmm.”

you reached down between your legs and gripped at his wrist, willing him to move again.

“i don’t care. i can take it.”

he smiled against your shoulder.

“im sure you can, but save it for your marriage.” his words were hushed, and you just frowned, a ball of frustration building in you, arching back into his touch.

“i don't want anybody but you.”

he went stock still, and you swallowed hard, feeling an edge of unease bubble up between your desire. you wished you could see his face but you didn’t dare look behind you.

his hand slid away from your core again, leaving you wanting and cold. but you took a breath of relief when he didn’t move away, only pressed his body down into you harder, the heady weight of him a pleasant pressure.

“i guess you’ll just have to wait till we’re married then.”

the breath was stolen from you, and you fought to whimper out, “no. now.”

“that’s improper, lovely,” he whispered, dark and throaty, hot tongue licking over your ear.

he slid his hips forward between your thighs, and you felt his hard length glide smoothly over your cunt, catching against your puffy clit, ripping a gasp out of your throat.

your eyes drooped shut. “don’t care.”

“so bratty. can’t you let me court you first?”

you grit your teeth, fighting back the breathy noises from the back of your throat, as he thrust forward between the hot clutch of your plush thighs.

“no,” you moaned out, letting his hands guide your hips in a slow roll over him, your cunt clenching with every movement.

“even when i’m being so nice to you right now?”

“you’re being mean,” you whined, pushing back against him, meeting the snap of his hips with a string of breathy gasps as your head fell forward.

he snaked a hand into your hair and pulled, tugging you back over his sticky length with every thrust. you felt the telltale beginnings of a rolling, sweet burn stemming from your clit to the rest of your body that you needed to satiate.

“please,” you begged, and he hummed, curling an arm beneath you to play with the sensitive swell of your nipples, holding you close to him as you jolted with each brush of your clit.

“wanna come?” he asked softly, and you nodded eagerly, feeling the first waves of your orgasm pulling you under—

then he pulled his hips back, pushing you back down to the bed, and you almost sobbed at the loss of friction against your core.

he leaned down to coo in your ear softly, “what’s wrong, princess?”

that desperate, squirming ache in your stomach melded into something angry.

“stop teasing me!” you snapped, sending him a teary-eyed look from over your shoulder, jolting when his eyes snapped up to yours.

his face was hooded—lustful, pupils blown wide, and dark with something sinister you’d never seen before.

“stop teasing?” he growled, pushing his hips forward between your thighs again, your clit twitching against the tip of him. “like how you were teasing me earlier?”

you whined as he began rolling his hips, the combined slick coming down your legs in a sticky, mixed muddle, and gasping when he hooked his arm beneath you and pulled you up so you were leaned back against his chest—his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder.

you grabbed at the back of his neck, a pleasurable pain gliding across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. a dark, slithering heat tightened that inevitable knot in your tummy when he slid a big hand up and wrapped it around your throat.

“bratty girls get punished. didn’t church teach you that?”

the moan you let out was downright sinful, breathy, and left your throat raw and aching, as you clawed at his hand around your throat, trying and failing to anchor yourself to anything.

he pitched forward, grabbing at your hand and pinned it down to the bed beneath his, intertwining your fingers tightly, and you watched his length between your thighs leak white pearls that glided down your skin with every heavenly thrust.

“are you gonna be good?” he whispered out, and you nodded eagerly, a slew of little whimpers and begs falling from your lips like a breathy flood.

he purred a sound of approval. “i know you will. bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck your thighs like this.”

“yes, Simon, i’ll be good, i’ll be good—”

god you were so close—

“pretty girl. my sweet girl. you’re mine.”

his growled words guided you right through those convulsing shudders and a hot, searing haze welled up in your throat—tears pricking in your eyes from the intensity of it.

you only realized that Ghost came too when you felt ropes of something warm and thick splashed against your cunt and inner thighs, his groans a pretty song right by your ear. 

he practically crushed you to the bed, his warm, sweaty body pleasant against your skin. you stayed like that for a long time, listening to his deep breaths, a tickling drip down your spine—the after-effect of your shared pleasure.

you never wanted the sensation to leave you.

you searched for Ghost behind you and came into contact with his shoulder, then grabbed at his neck, and he hummed contentedly, sliding his arms beneath your stomach, pressing fleeting kisses to your shoulder and neck.

you squirmed, giggling at the ticklish sensation, but you were trapped there, and he only kissed you more with a soft smile against your skin, up to your ear, your cheek, before he leaned back to turn you over.

you looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and lips twisted in a wry smile, and curled your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down. he settled between your thighs, cheek pressed to your breast, and you scratched at the back of his head lightly like your mama used to do to make you fall asleep after a bad nightmare.

he practically purred, sinking further into the big bed, his arms winding back around your middle.

his voice was a raw rasp. “does this mean you’ll accept my request?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on your face. “where are we going for a date?”

he inched up your body so he braced his forearms beside your head, the tip of his nose brushing yours. he blinked at you, face blank.

“don’t get mad at me, alright?”

you quirked your brow, sliding your hands up his shoulders, filling the dips and grooves of the bunched up muscle.

“what’re you hiding, Simon?”

he cocked his head. “it’s a social event.”

your brows rose. a social event?

you thought back to your daddy’s letter, such a strange and hazy memory now—i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

was that the same social?

you turned your cheek, giving Ghost a sidelong look. “the same one my daddy was talking about?”

you saw something flash in his eyes before his face became impossibly imperceptible again.

“how did you know about that?”

you snorted. “i snooped through your basement, remember?”

his brows rose, a very slow smile creeping up on his lips. 

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shook his head, grinning, “nothing.”

you dug your nails a bit into his shoulders. “tell me.”

“it’s just—”

he wouldn’t look into your eyes. he leaned down closer to you, lips against your cheek, voice a seductive, low sound. “your mind. i lust for it.”

your breath hitched. “lust for it?”

he nodded. “you’re brilliant. it’s sexy.”

you scoffed, swatting at his shoulder lightly, and a laugh rumbled through his chest into yours.

you wondered what he would think about your brilliant mind if he knew that you were periodically going through… mental struggles. you thought about something else instead.

“tell me what this social’s about.”

you watched him close his eyes, fingers fumbling with your hair. “Turner’s having a masquerade ball. somethin’ ‘bout going back to historical roots.”

your brows shot up. “and you want to go with me?”

his smirk was devilish. “who else? i was invited.”

now, your brow was furrowed. “why would Turner invite you?”

he shook his head. “he didn’t. it’s his way of having a little victory party over this war before it’s even really begun. s’basically an invitation.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth.

“i thought you said i wasn’t going anywhere near Turner?”

he shifted above you, eyes open now, and hand still tangled in your hair.

“changed my mind.”

you scoffed. for Ghost, changing his mind wasn’t surprising. in the matter of Turner and you however…

“why’d you change your mind?” you pressed softly, meeting his buttery warm eyes.

he smiled, whole body going lax and soft against you. “last night.”

that didn’t clarify anything at all. when your jaw dropped open to reply, he filled the words in for you.

“s’just a stupid omen. there was a coyote. it was scared just at the sight of me, but i was more scared than anything.”

you stroked along the soft, warm skin of his back. “why?”

“because i wanted to protect you.” 

his eyes were wide and open, and you bit your lip, a new burning ache pushing up between your lungs.

“i promised i’d never let anyone hurt you again,” he said with a hush, pressing his forehead to yours. “i want you to be with me when you’re in danger.”

then, he slid down pressing his ear to the steady thrum of your heart. “just be with me all the time.”

a rush of sweetness poured through you. just be with me all the time.

you felt giddy, your grin big and making your cheeks ache.

“is that what you were getting all thoughtful about this morning?”

you remembered him sitting on the rock beside you, fumbling with his knife, face shadowed and faint with a furrowed brow.

he craned his neck to look up at you.

“you noticed, smart girl?”

you wanted to scoff. “i notice a lot of things.”

you drew lazy circles into his skin. “i noticed how you always like to fold my clothes. i noticed how like to put your face here—”

you pointed to the area where your hair pooled around your neck, and with that, he pulled forward to press his face to that spot with a contented hum.

you held the back of his head, feeling like you were in a hazy, surreal dreamscape.

had you really wanted revenge on him only a night ago? a few mere hours ago? did it really matter what his original intentions were with you when he displayed his feelings so clearly like this?

yes, a voice hissed out, leaving you feeling uneasy, but you beat it down so it wouldn’t cloud the blissful moment.

soon, he pulled away, shifting off of you, and slid off the bed to kneel on the hardwood floor again. the absence of him felt wrong—cold and too light. like you needed his heavy warmth to pin you back down again.

he gripped at your splayed hand from the edge of the bed. “will you go on a date with me, lovely?”

his question was completely simple and pure, but you found yourself wanting to tease him, lips twisting into a sly smile, enjoying the way he blinked in response, a bit perturbed.

“and what will we do on this date, Simon?”

you flipped over onto your stomach, propping up your head up over your elbows with your knuckles, in love with the way his blonde lashes fluttered against your cheek when your noses brushed. his lips were a mere breath away from yours.

“dine. dance…” he whispered, dark eyes flickering from your own to your lips.

his lips parted, head tilting. “maybe i can hold Turner down, and you can torture him to death.”

at that you laughed, pulling back away from him and curling onto your side into the sheets. he remained at the edge of the bed, grin wide and wolfish. once your fit of laughter stopped, you peered back over your shoulder with a hum.

“i’ll tell you what i decide in the morning,” you sang, sitting up, watching with delight as a curiosity burned in his gaze.

“did i not teach you well enough what happens when you tease me?” he asked, voice throaty, and you shivered, suddenly very aware of the exposed nature of your bare skin.

you shrugged. “guess you’ll have to remind me.”

his eyes darkened and you squirmed away from him with a giggle across the big bed so he couldn’t reach you so easily. his brows rose carefully.

“think i can’t catch you if you run away like that, bunny?”

a low, kicking thrum came back to life between your thighs.

“what are you?” you asked with a laugh, gripping at the sheets, “a wolf?”

he cocked his head in a predatory manner, words low and deep. “when i want to be.”

you shuddered and he just shook his head with an amused look, padding away from the bed to a door across the room. behind it was a bathroom, and he disappeared inside, the sound of running water accompanying you as you laid back down on the bed, reclining back into the soft blankets and even softer pillows.

the more you laid there, the more you could feel a growing, painful ache returning to your shoulder. it was stiff, hot and swollen to the touch, and you chided yourself for going so… rough in your intimate moment with Ghost.

but when he sauntered back out of the bathroom, footsteps eerily quiet, a damp washcloth in hand, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

he helped clean you up, swiping away your shared fluids from your skin as his kissed the crown of your head with a tenderness. you reached for the cloth, grabbing his bare hip, and were about to return the favor when you were reacquainted with the battered state of his body.

the bruises had reduced but there were still a blotchy, purple mess, and his stitches were just as bad as before—that same dried crust around it. now, you really chided yourself, angry that you hadn’t taken a moment to take care of him before…

you wiped away any residue from his nether regions, before thumbing gently over that strong, muscled v-line of his hip.

“what is it?” he asked, touching a knuckle to the bottom of your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

you blinked. “it’s really bad.”

his expression was blank. “honestly, lovely, i’ve had worse.”

“like what?” you pressed, and when his face contorted, you waved a hand.

“nevermind. don’t tell me.” you might be sick if he did.

“just please let me take care of you,” you practically begged, sliding a hand down his bare thigh as his eyes narrowed.

your frown deepened, trying to give him your best doe-eyed pout, and he heaved a sigh with a nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you walked to the bathroom, casting a look over your shoulder to make sure Ghost was still sitting obediently at the bed, and when he cocked an impatient brow at you, you bit back a smirk as you entered the bathroom.

there was a big tub pressed to the corner of the room, and a wash bin where you rinsed off the wash cloth and grabbed an extra cup from the sink, filling it with water. you fished around the ornate cabinets, smiling in victory when you found a jar of vaseline pushed to the very back of a cabinet filled with sparse miscellaneous items. your mama had spread it over any injury of yours like an invisible gauze.

taking a moment to inspect your appearance in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, you splashed your face with a bit of water and calmed your hair with your hands.

on the back of the bathroom door, you took the simple silk robe in a pale yellow pattern and tied it around yourself, walking back out to Ghost who was lounged back against the bed and still stark naked.

“has my pretty nurse come to my aid?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

you just nodded with a sheepish smile, crawling over to him and dipping the washcloth in the water before dabbing at the stitches. you watched his whole body tense with a hiss, and then relax again, his eyes screwed shut.

“sorry,” you squeaked with wince, wiping away the yellow ooze around it. you bit your lip, brows furrowed as you looked down at the fleshy wound—red and swollen with a loose thread pulled through it. you pressed your fingertips to it and he jolted, jaw clenched. it was hot to the touch.

“it didn’t reopen, did it?” you asked sullenly, and his eyes barely fluttered open.

“i’d be bleeding if it did.”

with that, you spread the cool vaseline over it, and he sighed, sinking back into the bed. then, he wrapped an arm around your waist, and you muffled a squeak as he tugged you towards him into pillows.

his lips were against your hair. “shoulder?”

you pushed away from him with a hand to his chest, and he grumbled in protest as you moved to put your gathered medical supplies onto the nightstand.

“s’okay. kind of swollen but nothing like yesterday.”

the sound that left his throat was full of disapproval.

instead you changed the subject, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“are you gonna change?”

his brows raised slightly, knees tipping wider as he picked up his head to look at you with a smirk. with a blush, you refused to look down at his bare, muscled body.

“nope.”

rolling your eyes, you clambered back into the bed and he tugged the silky robe loose from your body, and you just let him do as he liked as he positioned the both of you beneath the thick blankets. 

he pulled you into his pleasant warmth and you hummed, your cheek nestled to his chest and his lips against your hair.

the room was dim, a lulling quiet darkness over the room now, pitching deep into the night. you drew circles over his forearm cast over your waist.

“when will you leave?” you whispered, sullen, because you knew these tranquil, soft moments were dwindling with uncertainty.

he smoothed a hand over your back. “in a little bit.”

you bit your lip. “why can’t i come with you?”

he shook his head, and you closed your eyes, a pinched feeling in your chest.

“i have to do this on my own. you won’t be in danger here.” 

you thought back to what he said a mere moments ago.

“what happened to just be with me all the time?”

his words were soft. “you are with me all the time.”

you craned your neck to look up at him and he inclined his head against the pillows, tapping with a finger to his chest lightly.

oh.

“i think i’ve read about that in a children’s fantasy novel, Ghost,” you said with a cocked brow and he gave you a wry smile, then shifted to tuck his chin over your head.

“what happened to Simon?”

you closed your eyes. “Simon privileges revoked.”

he scoffed. “bratty.”

you smacked at his arm and he didn’t even move—like a big rock you could anchor yourself to. 

a big rock you wanted to anchor yourself to, except that he was always leaving it seemed. 

and when he left, would he actually come back as promised? or would he leave you to the streets of san francisco as you feared—without a use for you?

unless your use was turning up to Turner’s masquerade as Ghost’s lady for the evening in another display of their battle for… ownership.

at that you stiffened and Ghost roused against you, his even breaths hitching.

the question you posed was careful and calculating. “if i wanted to run away and never look back, would you let me?”

he went impossibly still at that. then, he pulled back far enough so you could see the grim lines of his face, even through the darkness and the shroud of his mask.

“yes.” the word was so strained it almost didn’t sound like his own voice. “i think it’d kill me though.”

you cocked your head.

“when are you gonna take that mask off?”

his eyes flashed. “full of questions are you?”

you nodded. “always.”

he looked away from you. “i can’t answer all of them yet.”

always hiding something from you.

“why not?” you pressed, and he frowned, taking up your hand to press to his chest.

“in time,” he whispered, kissing the back of it, before sliding out from under the blankets.

you gripped his wrist to keep him tethered to you, voice cracking wide open.

“did you mean what you said?” 

he cocked his head, eyes a placid coolness.

you swallowed hard “about courting me? about me being yours?”

your breath was shallow when you added, “do you really think you’ll die tomorrow?”

he stared at you for a long moment before sighing out, climbing back onto the bed and over you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly. you jolted with a gasp, straining up to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip carefully. he was stock still, eyes following your movement with a familiar stoicism. 

“i will be back tomorrow morning,” he promised and you grimaced.

“will you?”

he nodded strongly. “before dawn.”

you curled an arm around his neck. “promise me?”

“honest to god.”

you winced, remembering your words from two nights ago.

how can you be honest to god?

as he redressed to go out into the night, you watched him to try and find any tightness in his movements. the stiff motion of his body looked pure and simple—easing off the pressure of his injuries.

there wasn’t a trace of apprehension as he slung his gun back into his holster, sheathed knives back into the layer of his trench coat, and put on his stetson, that silver skull pendant on its brim glimmering in the dull light.

but you had seen how easily he lied to the kind man earlier. 

how easily he could lie to you.

before he left, he pressed his forehead to yours, cool leather palm against your chest, and then to that spot where your hair and neck met, and then he stepped out into the hallway and the door shut behind him.

you twisted in the sheets, searching for a sliver of warmth that he had left behind. 

there was an emptiness in your heart when you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t sleep almost the entire night—desperately waiting for when the sun would breach the horizon, and Ghost would crawl back into that space in your heart you left vacant for him.

the night steeped into an black sky, clouds drifting across the moon in splotchy patches. you fell into a half-slumber, perched between the soft pillows of the bed when there was a quiet thud from a distance. 

you startled, picking up your head and searching in the darkness in a sleepy haze.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, only a silence answering you, as a form materialized, prowling forward from the entrance of the room.

it was the girl with milky skin and an inky black hair, in that same revealing dress as before, skin reflective in the moonlight, and a revolver in her hand.

important note: if anyone wants to learn more about san francisco’s chinatown in circa. 1900, here’s are two articles i found interesting: time magazine (bubonic plague) and history.net (prostitution & Donaldina Cameron)

that being said, i want to clarify that much of san francisco’s chinatown culture became characterized solely about prostitution, opium, and gambling in the media (movies, tv shows, etc.) because of racial prejudices in the 1900s. while i talk about those themes in this story, they don’t make up even half of the rich culture in san francisco's chinatown and i do not want to create that impression!!

ugh anyways i didn’t mean to make this chapter so angsty 🙁 it will get better i promise i promise i promise but thank you for all your guys’s amazing support <33 i hope you enjoyed this chapterrr <33 next up... character development 🌚

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya

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#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

[nanowrimo]

How to Use Meal Scenes to Develop Characters, Relationships, and Your World

Worldbuilding can sound complicated, but why not make it a little more simple by focusing on food? It may be the domestic touch you need! NaNo Participant Lacey Pfalz talks about using meal scenes to develop your world and your characters.

There’s one thing that remains a universal human truth: we love food! While our perspectives on food might differ, people all across the globe gather together during mealtimes — and thus, mealtimes are made memorable.

Meal scenes can also help your story in a few key ways, especially if it’s fantasy, science fiction or historical fiction.

Meal Scenes for Worldbuilding

If we’re using food for worldbuilding purposes, does that mean we can say we’re worldcooking?

Just kidding! Worldbuilding, especially in historical fiction, science fiction, and fantasy, is an integral part of what you must do as a writer (In truth, it’s also important for writers from other genres, but we’re specializing in these three today).

Meal scenes can be an important part of the worldbuilding process. Food is intrinsically tied to a culture or a country, or even a small region. That’s why it’s important, when building your own world, to take time to figure out the bare minimum of what your characters will be eating.

Let’s do an example. Your world is fantasy, your kingdom set beside a wide river. Perhaps your capital city, where much of the action is located, is surrounded by wetland.

If this is the case, what types of food would likely grow there? Seafood, fished from the large river, might be your characters’ staple proteins, while rice might grow better than another grain because of your kingdom’s wetlands. Fruit, perhaps even coconuts, might be the sweet stuff your main character loves to devour.

Remember that your world directly affects what types of food your characters will be having: is there coffee in space? What about in Byzantine Turkey or your new riverside kingdom?

Shannon Chakraborty does a phenomenal job with this in her fantasy series The Daevabad Trilogy, which is set in the eighteenth century across the Middle East. Her first book, The City of Brass, is especially good at showcasing the often-fragrant dishes of the various cultures across this region of the world (some copies of the book even have a short list of recipes from the book that foodies can try whipping up for themselves).

While her book is set within the fantastical world of the Djinn, her food is based upon recipes that have been preserved for centuries.

There’s one small reminder with all of this: it’s important not to get too caught up in describing each dish so much that you end up taking the focus away from the characters in a meal scene. Meal scenes can be breaks from fast action, but they should also continue the plot.

Meal Scenes for Developing Characters & Relationships

Character development can be hard, especially if you have a handful of characters that you love! But in order to make your readers love them too, you have to show them interacting with the world around them.

That guy we love to hate? Maybe he’s a loner who has grown up eating by himself. Having him forced to sit and eat with a group of people who have known each other for years might be an awkward moment for him, but it helps readers to learn more about his own worldview — and it might just help get him out of his shell, or at least off the love-to-hate list.

Besides helping you develop a single character, writing meal scenes with some of your characters can also help readers learn more about the relationship between your characters.

Let’s say you have your main character, MC. MC leans over and steals a French fry from her best friend. There’s no issue, right? That’s because they like each other, and the best friend has likely eaten with MC before, and knows she enjoys stealing food from other people’s plates.

But when MC tries it again, this time with the guy sitting next to her, he whacks her hand to stop her from stealing. This sparks an argument that seems, at least to everyone else watching it, pointless, but readers will know from the rest of the story that they’re the enemies-to-lovers trope. This argument is just one of many before they finally acknowledge their feelings towards one another.

See how that worked? A meal scene wasn’t useless; it pulled the story along by giving readers another taste of the enemies-to-lovers trope that so many enjoy reading.

If you need a more visible example of how this can play out, try watching a movie like Pride & Prejudice, (the book is amazing, but I’m suggesting the movie as a visual aid). The movie does a great job showcasing just how different the members of the Bennet family are individually, how they act around each other, and how they act around company.

There’s often little action in meal scenes, so they’re not meant to be overused. The plot should also still be there — take the cringey proposal scene between Mr. Collins and Elizabeth in Pride & Prejudice, for example, which follows directly after a meal when the rest of her family abandons her. In this case, the plot (and Mr. Collins’ advances) ruin her meal.

Perhaps your meal scene is the much-needed respite in between battling fierce aliens for planet Earth, or the first time your main character’s enemy-to-lover has entered her home. Either way, meal scenes are an important way to immerse your readers in what kind of world they’re imagining as well as showcasing how your characters act and — more importantly — how they act around each other.

Lacey Pfalz is a travel journalist by day, hopeful author by night. She belongs to the class of graduates she dubs the Class of COVID-19, having graduated with a double major in history and writing at Wisconsin Lutheran College in 2020. Her writing passions include fantasy, science fiction and historical fiction (with a little bit of romance, of course!). As someone with a physical disability, it’s her dream to write a fantasy series featuring a main character like her. Header Image by Jack Sparrow

#nanowrimo #writing #writing tips #worldbuilding #characters #character relationships #by nano guest #lacey pfalz

[riaki]

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#HAPPY BIRTHFDA MY POOKIE BEAR PRETTY PRINCESS LOVELY PEACHY PIE SUGAR PLUM POOKUMS SWEETIE POO PRETTY DRAG QUEEN BABY SILLY LITTLE QUEER GOO #spending quality time w my gumi plush today #we're going skiing together #left aki behind oops #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #fushiguro #fushiguro megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #riko’s christmas event #billet-doux #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #fushiguro megumi x y/n #GHERES SO MANY #i hate tagging it’s my least favorite part #sigh

[simdertalia]

🍟 ACNH Big Food Set 🍕

20 items | Sims 4, Base game compatible

Set contains: -French Fries | 1 swatch | 1202 poly -Fish and Chips | 1 swatch | 1182 poly -Chimaki | 1 swatch | 1202 poly -Japanese Tea | 28 swatches each | 436 poly -Bread Baskets (4 items) | 1 swatch each | 1167 & 1184 poly -Apple Gelatin | 2 swatches | 896 poly -Cherry Gelatin | 2 swatches | 909 poly -Coconut Gelatin | 2 swatches | 916 poly -Orange Gelatin | 2 swatches | 884 poly -Peach Gelatin | 2 swatches | 912 poly -Pear Gelatin | 2 swatches | 912 poly -Pizzas (4 items) | 1 swatch each | 1040, 856, 1150 & 1102 poly -Stuffed Tomato | 2 swatches | 954 poly -Stuffed Turnip | 2 swatches | 1069 poly

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): <HERE> https://simfileshare.net/folder/192324/

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): <HERE> https://mega.nz/folder/U5omVaqD#yHSPkZlMyz5fkr4gsQx2Jg

📁 DL on Patreon

Will be public on June 28th, 2023

Happy Simming!

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram  📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️❤️❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15

#ts4cc #s4cc #sims 4 food #sims 4 dining #sims 4 object #sims 4 dessert #sims 4 jelly #sims 4 gelatin #sims 4 pizza #sims 4 fries #sims 4 chips #sims 4 fish #sims 4 chimaki #sims 4 tea #sims 4 bread #sims 4 animal crossing #simdertalia

[gojoroui]

what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

#letters ꕤ ˚₊⊹

[vidavalor]

Banana. Fruit. Plant. Food. Sustains life for animals and humans alike. "And what are they putting in bananas these days?!" First of Aziraphale's magic words. Symbolic of plant life on Earth.

Fish. The ocean. Oysters. Sushi. "Why do you eat *that*?"/"It's what humans do." "Bouilla...bouilla...bouilla... baby... fish stew. Anyway!" Symbolic of marine life on Earth. Love. Sex. He probably wins prizes for his tropical fish.

Gorilla. Also: Go-RILL-a, if you're Mr. Harmony. Animals. Ancient ancestors of humanity. Big fans of bananas; do not typically eat fish. (Rill. A small stream. Carries fish. Represents water, necessary to all life on Earth.) Gorillas represent the animal kingdom, the connection between animals and humans, and the interdependency of Earth's ecosystem. Earth is a balance of banana (plant life), fish (marine life), gorilla (animal life) and...

Shoelace. Humanity. First word in the sequence of Aziraphale's magic words that isn't a type of living thing but is, instead, an invention of the living thing it represents. Humanity is defined in Aziraphale's magic words by its bipedalism and its innovation-- by its ability to create, develop and use tools to improve its existence... but then also by their ability to keep refining, to keep trying, to keep progressing. Humans walk on two legs and created tools and created shoes to support that endeavor and then the shoelace to make the shoes better. Have you found the missing antichrist's name, age and shoe size yet? Humans walk-- they go ever forward, even if they sometimes go backwards. They are defined by their creativity and imagination and the determination to keep progressing. They create art and so they get a word full of symbolism because of their ability to make art and seek meaning and ask questions. Aziraphale loves them so.

(with a) Dash of Nutmeg. Civilization and evolution. Nutmeg comes from the nutmeg tree, in a full circle back to plant life. Dash of nutmeg is then the world created by these creative shoelaces. An ever-growing and changing world, full of refinement of and appreciation for life on Earth. A dash of nutmeg is learning and experimentation. Figuring out the right amount. Just a dash of nutmeg can change the whole taste of a dish and bring it to the next level. No nutmeg in a dish that needs it-- or too much? Not the same. No almond syrup where it's needed-- or too much? Not the same, maybe even a bit dangerous. To know that is to learn it... and to learn it is to either experiment yourself and/or to learn from the experience of humans. Aziraphale's love of being a student of humanity through the ages. Reading their books, absorbing their music and theatre. Letting them teach him French and magic and about food and love. A dash of nutmeg is literally the spice of life. To eat the right dish with just a dash of nutmeg is to experience the joy of life on Earth-- to experience pleasure from consuming the fruits of the Earth. It's living. It's to eat life alive.

A hefty jigger. Doesn't exist. A jigger is precise, is quantifiable; a dash is a flick of the wrist and is less precise, more improvisational, just enough. You cannot have a hefty jigger. You can, though, always have a dash. See: nutmeg. See: almond syrup, as Nina pours into Aziraphale's coffee usual coffee order, as ordered by The Metatron. If you say 'dash' when you order in the shop but 'hefty jigger' when you deliver to your mark, you're wanting to look like a savvy, old man to the barista to get the order right... but you're intentionally attempting to look clueless to Aziraphale, to make him think he'll be needed to help you navigate humanity. It means you do know how to order coffee but you are pretending you do not to the person you are trying to manipulate. It means you're a liar.

A jigger is measured by shots. By the shot is one way you can order coffee. Coffee is freedom. Give me coffee or give me death. Give me liberty or give me death. Does anybody ever ask for death? Some wise-cracking asshole has to ask Nina for it at least once a week but she says no when The Metatron asks because no one ever *really* asks for death. Not seriously. Not as anything but a joke. They all ask for their beverage of choice. They all ask for freedom or comfort or pleasure or all of the above. Wanting to live is predictable to our villain but it's understandable to the rest of us. Living on this magical Earth can be a lot at times but it also is the most amazing thing imaginable.

No one knows that better than Crowley, who spans the gamut of coffee orders (among other beverages). Dessert coffee-- espresso, cream, maybe some alcohol-- in a small, Irish-coffee-style mug in 1.01 during a lazy afternoon lunch but also, on a stressful morning, this...

Mr. Six Shots of Espresso in a Big Cup. Crowley. But only sometimes. And not really. Not when we know him better than Nina does. Not when we've seen him twice order his symbolic liberty at a slower pace and cut it with some sweetness along the way. Not when The Bentley in S2 showed us that he drives fast, he pounds espresso, and it's all anxiety. Mr. Six Shots of Espresso in a Big Cup really wants to drive 52 miles an hour, per The Bentley, and slowly sip half a fluffy dessert coffee at lunch at The Ritz with Aziraphale. Crowley wants everyone to see him as Mr. Six Shots of Espresso in a Big Cup but he's not. He's...

Crowley. Bildad the Shuite.

Bildad. Means, quite literally, "old friend," as Sitis' mind translated upon his request. Aziraphale's oldest friend. Humanity's oldest friend. Also means "loved by the Lord." He's And the Voice of Frances McDormand's favorite, if only They'd put him out of his misery and share that. the Shuite. Means, as Michael points out, "from the land of Shua" but Michael doesn't really fully get it. It is not where you are from; it is not what kind of species you are. It is not what you "are", whatever that even is. Heaven, Hell, angels, demons, it's all... pointless, as Crowley tells Shax in 2.01. Bildad does not define Shuite as a place-related name; he does not define humanity as tied to beings of a specific region or to a species, even, really. Humanity is not the exclusive domain of people of any one race or ethnicity or religion or species. Being a Shuite isn't where you're from or if you are human only or if you have a human corporation but others call you an angel or a demon... Bildad defines Shuite as what you do or what you are learning how to do. He defines being a Shuite as how you're interacting with the world on Earth and how you are spending your days. Being a Shuite is something you *do* and freedom is the choice of what that is, which some unfortunately have more than others. What does Bildad *do* then, as *the* Shuite?

Bildad the Shuite. Professional midwife/cobbler. The demon who delivered humanity from The Garden of Eden, and who now lives among them, working hard as a professional shoemaker, helping them forward and letting them teach him just as much.

A shoelace. A human.

And like the rest of us, he's making this shit up as he goes. Nothing more human than that, really.

Banana, fish, gorilla, shoelace, with a dash of nutmeg. Aziraphale's magic words. His mantra. The only full prayer we've ever really heard him say. His history of Earth as he's observed and lived it with Bildad the Shuite for thousands of years. The words mostly work when he needs them to but sometimes they fail and that's okay. As a certain angel excited to be on Earth once said while pretending to be a human in the bookshop, the error they made just then proved they were human. It did, indeed, even if Muriel doesn't quite yet understand just how human they are.

Nazis. Fascist motherfuckers who seek to suppress free thought and oppress others through dehumanizing violence. Can be expert lip readers. Can be multilingual. Can understand language on a technical, surface level that makes their inability to understand context very darkly funny. I am played for a sucker. You are played for a sucker. He, she, it are played for suckers... Dangerous as all hell in their willful ignorance, their lack of critical thinking and their complete lack of empathy.

Zombies. Those who are asleep to their surroundings. Those who do not seek to understand context and dive for deeper meaning. Those who do not engage with art (and, if they're Nazis, those who seek to suppress it.) Those who are full of apathy. Those who do not question. Those who think like how others tell them to think. Those who are content with surface understanding, not deeper meaning.

Flesheaters. Zombies-- in the horror movie sense. Those with a bloodlust for brains. Those who murder with impunity to satisfy a violent, dark hunger. Those with dark impulses that harm others; the polar opposites of hungering for pleasure from food, art, sex, love, companionship. The thematic opposites of Crowley and Aziraphale.

Nazi Zombie Flesheaters. Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt, Mr. Harmony and Mr. Glozier. Multilingual members of the Nazi Party, one of whom is an expert lip reader. They are zombies, as shown by how they lack the imagination, intellectual curiosity, critical thinking skills, and creativity to be able to decode the deeper meaning of the surface words they read and recite correctly but do not actually comprehend. They do not seek to understand how a creative magic trick is being performed before their eyes because they fail to even notice that one is, even when presented with an abundance of contextual clues. They're also, in their cases, flesheaters. They roam around London eating innocent, free-thinking brains-- quite literally suppressing thought. In The Blitz, Part 1, they were already Nazi Zombies. In The Blitz, Part 2, they become the Nazi Zombie Flesheaters.

Jiggery-pokery. Cutesy-sounding British phrase with a darker origin. Means 'trickery'. Means 'deceit'. Not in an innocent way, like the sleight of hand deception of a magic show... or the sleight-of-hand tricks played by writers and performers on a television show with recurring motifs around spies and magic and wordplay and hidden romance and a whole secret language imbedded in its dialogue. Origin of jiggery-pokery: British Army, mid-1800s. Used to refer to homosexual sex acts, then illegal, amongst soldiers in its ranks when targeting them. Evolved a bit in modern times to a lighter-sounding term meaning cute trickery but still equally refers in definition to gay sex, conducted in secret, and by those who are then threatened with exposure by other soldiers who feel homosexuality goes against the morals of the unit. Used onstage by The Marvelous Mr. Fell to describe his complicated relationship with human magic, which metaphorical for his own humanity, in contrast with his role as one of God's soldiers, a moment before his partner gets on stage to perform some of that humanity with him. It is not performative, though, because humanity is not exclusive to humans; humanity is to be a Shuite and love is love. In the audience: a soldier from Bildad's unit and the Nazi Zombie Flesheaters, working in tandem to out Crowley and Aziraphale for what is, to Furfur and the Nazis, supernatural and actual jiggery-pokery.

Three cowry shells and a lone caraway seed. A sleight of hand magic trick, used by writers to point out multiple layers of meaning and a request of the audience to engage with the story and find the seed beneath the layers. A sleight hand of magic trick, used by The Marvelous Mr. Fell thousands of years prior in his exploration of human magic. He fooled ancient Egyptian Queen Nefertiti with the trick. He masks the lone caraway seed successfully beneath a different cowry shell than the one the humans watching him think it is hidden beneath. He hides one meaning beneath another. He hides his self-deemed jiggery-pokery humanity beneath what Heaven suspects of him as an angel.

My Nefertiti-fooling fellow. What The Marvelous Mr. Fell's love, Bildad the Shuite, calls him to he remind him that his humanity is not jiggery-pokery. His magical man, who is also kind of terrible at the actual human magic part, but is so very good at the human magic part, and what could be more human than that?

Dummkopf. What Greta calls Harmony, after he successfully reads Aziraphale's magic words but she interprets them as nonsense words... despite them all seeing through the windows Aziraphale moving in such a way as to suggest he is performing a magic trick, suggesting a potential context for the words. None of these three have what the creative minds involved in Good Omens know their audience does have, which is the curiosity and love of story enough to look for context and meaning. 'Dummkopf': German for 'dumbass'.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow

[floralembarrassment]

Music & Fish (1/1) (jegulus)

"Petit poisson, petit poisson,

Nager, nager, nager

Petit poisson, petit poisson

GLOOP GLOOP GLOOP!

Oh non! Il est mangé par un..."

Regulus was singing to Harry. He was sitting crisscross on the floor, their little toddler in his lap, and Regulus was holding Harry's hands to tip him from side to side and to the clearly choreographed hand movements. There was a book of fish on the table that Harry just loved and well, he wouldn't really let Regulus stop singing the song.

From context clues, James understood the song was about a little fish getting eaten by bigger fish. It wasn't a very happy song despite the cheery tune, but it made his son giggle and smile so what did James know.

After hearing the 3rd round of the song, James came into the living room with a second round of morning coffee. Regulus smiled brightly at him, but as he stopped singing, Harry turned to look at his father's face, tipping his head side to side and humming the tune. "More Papa, encore!" The little boy said.

So Regulus sang again.

"Is that song French baby shark?" James mused after the song was done again.

"Well this song has been around since I was a child, so if anything that song is stolen from this," Regulus said raising his nose in the air. Ever the proper child of his parents.

James just raised an eyebrow at him.

Regulus sighed, "yes, it is French baby shark."

James laughed, then he held his arms out. "Here, time to switch out," James said and Regulus passed Harry to James.

With big green eyes, Harry looked at James, "petit poisson," Harry said and then laughed. He always laughed if he spoke French to James, almost as if he thought it was funny that he knew James didn't understand.

James looked at his son and shook his head no. Before Harry could jump out of his arms back to Regulus, James asked playfully, "baby shark?" And Harry clapped his hands in response.

Regulus laughed as his son quickly switched the similar English version, grateful for his family, and happy the next 19 rounds of a ocean related songs would be in James.

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #it's fluff sue me #marauders #fanfic #lgbtq+ #james x regulus #regulus black #harry potter #james potter #marauders era #james fleamont potter #regulus arcturus black #french regulus black #jegulus raising harry #every Reg is trans Reg because I say so #marauders fandom

[nicknelsonblog]

intro post :

hi, i’m sam, minor, queer, enby (any pronouns), infp-t, capricorn, 9w1, ravenclaw, cabin 6

diagonises :

adhd, ocd, social anxiety, depression, ed

likes :

cats, frogs, hamsters, fishes, flower language, french, drawing, reading books, comics, music, k/j dramas, typing in lowercase, sky, plants, flowers, rainbows, plushies, coffee, chocolates, cakes, spicy food, dumplings

dislikes :

crowd, kids, jkr, loud noise, social interaction

fav artists :

taylor swift, ella hunt, jeff satur, conan gray, olivia rodrigo, gracie abrams, girl in red, charlie bennett

fandoms :

heartstopper

yellowjackets

mike flanagan shows

the owl house

marvel/dc

dash and lily

dead poets society

before trilogy

> will keep updating :D

my accounts :

my medium acc (for poetry) :

my wattpad : (currently writing this story called past lives)

@augustchildd (for poetry that i write smtimes)

@samsinsane (sideblog to post my favs)

@samsocs (for my original characters)

@lottiescutecultt (yellowjackets brainrot acc)

fav people <3

@panic-like-the-disaster-you-are @svnflowermoon @imactuallyagiraffe @theoculus124 :D

last edit on : 7/02/2024

#yes another intro post #made some changes #heartstopper #spotify #osemanverse #yellowjackets brainrot #yellowjackets #taylor swift #<3 #idk #mindless ramblings

[frogsandspiders]

WILL GRAHAM GREW UP IN POOR LOUISIANA!!!! He has a thick accent, listens to country music and new Orleans jazz, speaks French creole and gives Hannibal an aneurysm when he lets his accent out more(when hes relaxed(hes only relaxed around Hannibal)or when he's surprised) from how turned on he is. He hums Reba McEntire while fishing and making coffee in the mornings. Hannibal starts to listen to dolly parton TO HEAR HIS VOICE IN HERS!

#will graham #hannigram #fannibals #hugh dancy #nbc hannigram #headcannons #country #louisiana #new orleans #country music #country men #hannibal the cannibal

[yanderepuck]

Welcome to my blog~

I only write for Ikemen Vampire, but I'd like to let you know that this isn't a fandom blog, it is a personal blog, its just that Ikemen Vampire has been my hyperfixation for the last four years so that's really all that is on here.

I really appreciate it if you could comment and reblog the work of mine that you like so that I can keep writing for you guys.

Enjoy!

Commission info

Napoleon Mozart Leonardo Vincent Theo Arthur Isaac Jean Dazai Shakespeare Comte Sebastian Vlad Faust Charles Drake Galileo

Headcanons for All Things that might as well be canon The Pets

Trying sushi When mom and dad aren't home Charles x Vincent Platonic: Part 1 - Part 2 Vincent x Dazai Platonic: Part 1 - Part 2 Will x Vincent genderbend Evil Trio group chat Everyone is babies Hunter AU Sword lessons The guys in Twisted Wonderland dorms Me snapping their suspenders Mc with mental illness Secret Santa

Spicy things Masterlist Just Writer Trio Things Masterlist Pirate AU Masterlist Kiss Event Lines Masterlist Sleepwalking Isaac Masterlist Depressed Vincent Masterlist Charles Route Release Campaign Ikevamp OC Masterlist OC Masterpost Catboy Cafe AU: Part 1 - Part 2 - Mini Story - Cafe Layout

How old the guys were when they died How their ages work Vincent's Romantic Life: Part 1 - Part 2 Drake's route chapter 1&2 / Drake's Route chapter 23&24 Why doesn't Leonardo like Will?

No one believes each other They actually have vampire abilities No one understands French - Bonus I - Bonus II They have a social media following Mc is a pureblood - Bonus I Mc has an underfunded American public education

Who is eating the peas with their fish and chips Coffee or Tea?

~~~

Free to use character sheet

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp jean #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp comte #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles #ikevamp oc #masterlist

[littlefaefeather]

Black Butler manga foods/drinks

I'm sure I missed some things, but it was all things that weren't really named or specified, or I couldn't tell with certainty what they were. @sebastian-ciel-mutual-bullying this is for you! feel free to take and use as you need o7 Book 1 breakfast: poached salmon and mint salad with toast, scones, and pain de campagne on the sides, ceylon tea horribly salty lemonade dinner: Japanese green tea, gyuutatakidon, Italian red wine, apricot and green tea mille-feuille dessert: orchard fruit cake with pears, plums, and blackberries dessert: deep-dish apple raisin pie milk

Book 2 assam tea afternoon tea: keemun and summer pudding of currants and other berries lunch: stuffed cabbage and minted potato salad chocolate earl grey afternoon tea: cornmeal cake of pears and blackberries salty rosehip herbal tea

Book 3 hot milk with honey or brandy peeled apple assam tea with milk oranges with shalimar tea steak and kidney pie and salmon sandwiches messy birthday cake and donburi strawberry-decorated birthday cake

Book 4 fish chai with ginger breakfast: shrimp curry and French toast with ginger mackerel with gooseberry sauce and cottage pie

Book 5 British-style Bengali chicken curry chicken curry afternoon snack: gateau au chocolat beef curry blue lobster with seven curries curry bun assam tea white darjeeling tea champagne sushi

Book 6 Christmas pudding cookies shaped like bones fish and chips, meat pies, bread

Book 7 rice porridge dinner: milk risotto with a three-mushroom medley, a pot-au-feu of pork and wine, and a warm apple compote with yogurt sauce

Book 8 oranges afternoon tea: chocolate macarons with fruits and three-berry shortcake

Book 9 custard cream puffs red wine white wine brunch: herring pie and spinach quiche dinner: curry, and chopped vegetables for an appetizer

Book 10 dinner: soybean hamburg steaks

Book 11 elevenses: darjeeling tea and petits fours tonkatsu, shougayaki, tonjiru, tonshabu, yakiton

Book 12 cake with strawberries on top

Book 13 spiny lobster saute, roast turkey, sticky toffee pudding, fairy cakes (cupcakes) warm milk with honey

Book 14 watered-down darjeeling tea darjeeling tea dinner: roast duck and gateau chocolat

Book 15 golden syrup sponge pudding tea cakes lemon myrtle souffle glace with milk tea

Book 16 lunch: beef mince pie

Book 17 dessert: strawberries, cream, and meringue (Eton mess) with a side of iced summer pudding

Book 18 chicken pie coffee and walnut cake

Book 19 ravioli (maultaschen) and wurst soup, stewed pork with herbs and spices (eisbein), and rote grutze (sour berries boiled and chilled to jelly, served with cream) evening snack: caramel macarons, coffee cream eclairs, dark chocolate florentines. black tea ceylon tea

Book 22 earl grey tea with orange almond cake and berry tarts

Book 23 smoked salmon sandesh (milk sweets)

Book 24 soft licorice candy apples

Book 25 berry-filled pudding fish and chips and steak and ale pie gulab jamun (fried balls of dough drenched in syrup)

Book 29 kidney pie, fish and chips, and ale wild-hare pie tapioca steak

Book 30 nilgiri tea breakfast: pea soup, meatballs, croissants, boiled egg, orange jelly chicken and steamed vegetable salad, oxtail stew, pain de campagne with butter oolong tea

Book 31 candy cigarettes

#speaking #black butler #kuroshitsuji #food

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Ghostfacers

Masterlist

(A/N: So the way this episode is gonna be written is gonna be different. I forgot about this episode and when I watched it the other night I was like 'well, crap! How am I gonna do this?' So it's gonna be a mix of how my book is normally written but when the characters are 'speaking to the camera' it's gonna be written like how a play is written. But when Harry and Ed speak to the camera or voice over, Ed is in italics and Harry's in bold. Hopefully that makes sense.)

Hello. I am Harry Spangler

And I am Ed Zeddmore. Now if you have received this tape, you must be some sort of bigwig network executive. Well, today is your lucky day, mister.

Because the unsolicited pilot you are about to watch is the bold new future of "reality TV."

Mmmm. We know you've had it hard during the crippling writer's strike.

Lazy fat cats.

Who needs writers when you've got guys like us? Our team faced horrible horrors to bring you the footage that will change your world forever. So strap in for the scariest hour in the history of television.

In the history of your life...

Strap in for...

Ghostfacers! 

Harry and Ed exit an AMC Gremlin with Wisconsin license plate, each carrying a metal briefcase with a "Ghostfacers" sticker.

You know, it can get kind of hard balancing our daytime careers with our nighttime missions.

Yeah, but Ed and I pretty much call the shots at the Kinko's where we work, so we can usually pretty much get off by six every night?

Yeah, six o'clock. It used to be just, you know, you and I taking on the cases -- just Harry and me.

Two lone wolves.

And two lone wolves need, uh...other wolves.

PHASE 1: THE HOMEWORK

"Morning, 'facers." Ed greets the gang as he and Harry enter the Ghostfacers office. "Good morning, Ghostfacers." Harry greets. "It's seven p.m., dude." Spruce, one of their teammates, informs. "It's morning to a Ghostfacer. Corbett, what do we got, buddy?" Harry asked the younger man.

"Oh, I'm just putting up some of the --" Corbett stammers before Ed speaks up. "Yeah, this has got to go up here. That's got to go here...got to see the whole field. Markers, eraser -- good job." He said as he looks over the board.

Corbett: I first saw Ed putting up flyers down at the -- the outlet mall in Scogan, so I-I read one, and I thought to myself, "huh. Where do ghosts come from?" And now here I am.

"Ed, your sister's abusing staff." Harry groaned as Maggie rolls her eyes at him while she sat in front of the computer. "That's adopted sister, thank you very much." Ed corrected him.

Maggie: Ed has been obsessed with the supernatural since we were kids, you know, and then he meets Harry at computer camp...and love at first geek.

Spruce: Spruce here. What up, playaaa? I am 15/16 Jew, 1/16 Cherokee. My grandfather is a mohel, my great-grandfather was a tallis maker, and my great-great-grandfather was a degenerate gambler and had a peyote addiction.

"Okay, people. Let's cut the chatter and get on a mission. Okay? Morton house...one of our big fish. All right, we all know the legend. Every four years, supposedly, this becomes the most haunted place in America." Ed explained to the team. "The leap year ghost, some call it. The ghost returns at midnight just as February 29th begins." Harry adds.

"And no one has ever stayed the night, right?" Maggie asked. "Yeah, well, every testimony that we dug up, every eyewitness has cut and run well before midnight." Harry tells her. "Well, that's all about to change, baby." Ed said, cockily. "Absolutely true, Ed. Absolutely true." Harry said as Ed drinks his cup of coffee then hums approvingly.

"Mmm. That's good." he compliments as he looks over F Corbett. "It's French vanilla, 'cause the other day, you said how much you liked it, so..." Corbett said, bashful, and Ed nods. "Thank you." He said. "You are welcome." Corbett said, awkwardly.

I like Corbett. I do. Shows up early, does his job, lot of good hustle out -- I think he's got the hots for Ed, and that could spell trouble for the whole team.

Corbett: Ed's kind of the more rugged, with that really golden...beautiful sort of beard. Definitely nice. Uh, and Harry's nice.

"29th is this Friday, facers. We want this mission, we got to move on it now, or guess what -- He's gone for another four years." Ed tells the team when there was a sudden loud noise. Ed's whiteboard crashes to the ground, caused by the garage door it was attached to opening up.

"Oh, watch out!"

"Who is that?"

"Dad! Come on!" Ed yells as his dad tries to pull in the garage and looks around in confusion. "Just cut the cameras. We don't need that. We don't need this part. We don't --" Harry tells Spruce before he turns the camera off.

PHASE II: INFILTRATION

"Stay low. Follow formation." Ed tells the team as they walk up to the chain linked fence at the Morton house. "Okay, as suspected. A lot of people have tried to break into the Morton house. The local authorities have just gotten fed up." Ed explained to them. "Looks like the cops have got this place pretty well fenced off." Harry said as he begins to pull out the wire cutters.

"Wait. Didn't you guys get, like, a permit or something?" Maggie asked them, making Ed and Harry look at her. "A permit?" Harry said, confused, then he and Ed share a look. "That's a good idea for next time." said Harry and Ed nods. "Yeah." He said and they start to cut the chain when Spruce shouts. "Car!"

"Car. shh, shh! Flashlights off." Harry tells the others and the team turns their flashlights off. "Keep totally still." Maggie whispers as the loud rumble of a car engine approaching, along with a radio playing "We're an American Band."

The car pulls up and they could see three people inside of it. The passenger and backseat driver stick their head out and pull out their flashlights. They shined them towards the Morton House for a few moments before they drive away.

"It's okay. Not cops -- just hicks." Spruce informed him friend as Ed opens the gate with the wire cutters. "Ed's got it." Harry said and everyone gets up. "Guys, let's go! Let's go! Let's go! Go! go!" Harry said and they start to make their way to the house.

"Hear that, people? Let's keep it quiet." Ed tells the team as they make their way deeper into house after they make it inside of the buildings. "There's the kitchen sink." Harry tells Ed. "Copy that. Copy that." Ed said as they make it to the living room area. "All right, everybody. Ghostfacers, let's line up. Everybody. We'll set up camp right here. This is command center one." Ed said and everyone sets down the equipment on the floor. "We're gonna call this the Eagle's Nest." Harry said and everyone starts setting up equipment.  

"Hallway cam one up and running." Corbett said after he sets up the camera in one of the hallways. "Looking good, Corbett." Ed compliments from the main base, through the walkie. "Copy that, Ed." Corbett said, smiling, while Ed seemed baffled. "Uh...uh, you're welcome." He stammers.

'All right, Spruce, how are we doing there, buddy?" Ed asked Spruce through his walkie. "Checking basement camera two, mein fuhrer." Spruce replied. "Maggie, I got no visual on you, Maggie." Ed said. "This is Maggie. Do you copy?" Maggie's voice asked through the walkie. "There you are. Hello. Harry, are you alive?" Ed said. "Upstairs, Ed. Camera one." Harry replied.

"Looking good. I can smell syndication. All right, fellas. Let's regroup at the Eagle's Nest." Ed said to the others.

Morton House

10:40PM

Base Camp

"All right, Spangler. Battery check, battery check. Check. Okay." Harry said as they check their equipment. "Check. Check. Yo, Corbett, dude." Spruce said as he looks through the camera and at Corbett, who has a flashlight strapped to his head. "Lookin' good, Corbett." Harry said.

"You're Robocop." Spruce said to Corbett. "R-robocop? You think I -- you think I look like Robocop?" Corbett asked but before Spruce could reply, Ed speaks up. "Everybody, bring it in. Bring it in." Ed said and everyone gather up in a circle..

"We've all been here before. Standard walk-through. Team one, west. Team two, east. Spin the tires, light the fires. Ghostfacers on three. 1, 2, 3..." Ed said then all of them shout. "Ghostfacers!"

PHASE III: FACE TIME

Morton House

10:51 PM

1st Floor

"Hello! I'm speaking to the restless spirits of the Morton house!" Ed calls out as he and Corbett walk around the first floor. "Okay." Corbett mutters as they continue on. "Hello! My name's Ed." Ed shouts then he turns to Corbett. "Careful. Watch my back." He said to him. "Okay. Okay." Corbett said.

"What's your name?" Ed calls out as he looks at his EMF meter. ".3, .29." he reads out. "Is there an entity or entities here with us now? Can you give us a sign of your presence?" Corbett asked, quickly, without taking a breath. "You got to breathe, buddy." Ed tries to calm him.

"I can't breathe." Corbett said, slightly panicked. "Corbett, night vision." Ed tells him and Corbett nods. "Okay. Okay. Yeah." He whispers as he flips the night vision on the camera. "Calm down, buddy. Breathe, all right? Calm the whirlwinds of your mind." Ed tells him, calmly.

2nd Floor

"We're doing a basic EMF, EVP, temp-flux sweep. Looks like we've got all of our ducks in a row here." Harry said as he, Spruce and Maggie walk down the hall. But then there was camera interference on Spruce's camera just as the EMF makes a noise.

"What?" Harry said, shocked. "I don't know. It's weird." Spruce said but then it quit. "It's gone." He said then they come up to a door. 'All right. Get this. Get this." Harry said and he tries unsuccessfully to kick in the door.

"Turn the knob." Spruce tells him. "All right...that's a good idea." Harry said and he opens door then jumps back and runs away. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" He exclaims, fearfully. "It's just a rat, dude." Spruce said, unfazed.

I don't really like rats. They're gross. Rats are like the... rats of the world.

"What -- was that an apparition? Was that a spectral -- was that a .4? What do we got, 'cause the EMP was just off the --" Harry asked as he comes back but then Spruce throws a dead rat at him. "Oh, God! Oh, that is so not funny, Spruce!" Harry screams as Spruce chuckles.

1st Floor 

"Oh, God. Okay, it was just...I think it was just this branch...Okay...in the window." Corbett said, shakily.. "This is spooky, man. This place..." Ed started to say when they were confronted by three figures, approaching them with flashlights. "Freeze! police officers! don't move!" A male voice shouts. "Oh no!" Corbett exclaims. "All right. All right. All right. Take it easy, take it easy." A different male voice assures them as Ed and Corbett start to freak out.

"Let's see some identification. Come on. Let's see some i.d." a female voice demanded as Corbet hands in his ID. "What -- are we under -- under arrest?" He asked, fearfully, as Ed said. "We are unarmed."

"Want to explain that weirdo outfit, Mr., uh, Corbett?" the man asked as he looks at the ID but Ed stops and realized that these three people looked familiar. "I know you." Ed said and the first man, Dean, looks up at him. "Yeah, sure you do. Give me some identification." Dean demands but Ed shakes his head. "Yeah, ho-- whoa, hold on a second." He said as he looks between the three people, shining his flashlight at them.

"I know all three of you. Yeah." said Ed as he looks between Dean, Sam and (y/n). "What?" Corbett said, confused, as Ed nodded while (y/n)'s eyes widen in recognition. "Holy sh--!" She said and Dean looks over at her. "What?" Dean asked as Sam's eyes widen in recognition too. "Sh--!" Sam mutters as (y/n) turns to Dean.

"Uh, West Texas...the...the tulpa we had to take out. Those two goofballs that almost got us killed...The hellhounds or something?" She said and Dean looks over at Ed. "F--- me." Dean grumbles. "Yeah, we're not hellhounds anymore, okay? It didn't test that well." Ed snapped at them.

"Ed, what's going on?" Corbett asked Ed. "They're not cops, buddy -- no, not at all." Ed tells him. "Ed, you had a partner, too, didn't you -- A different guy?" Dean asked him. "Oh, yeah, yeah." Ed replied. "Is he around here somewhere?" Dean asked him. "He's running around, chasing ghosts." Ed replied. "Okay, well, listen, you and Rambo need to get your girlfriends and get out of here." Dean tells them and Ed gets annoyed.

"All right. Listen here, chisel chest, okay? We were here first. We've already set up base camp. We beat you." he said then Dean turns to Sam and (y/n). "They were here first." He said to them as Ed nods. But then Dean grabs Ed and pushes him up against the wall. "Oh, God." Ed exclaimed.

"Ed..." Dean said in a low voice. "Yeah?" Ed said, unsure. "...where's your partner?" Dean asked again.

​​​2nd Floor

"10.6. 10.7, guys. The EMF is really spiking here." Harry said as he and his team walk down the hall. "Temperature's down, like, 11 degrees." Maggie informs as she holds the thermometer. "All right, all right, keep your eyes peeled. This could be it." Harry said then he turns to Maggie. "Maggie, can I get a reading in here, please?" He asked when Spruce noticed the camera interference. "Something keeps messing with the chip. I don't know what's going on here." Spruce said as there was more interference, then suddenly a man in 50s-style suit and hat appears.

"Guys. Guys. Guys." he shouts and Maggie and Harry turn and see an apparition of the man. "Look buddy, I'm sorry. That's it. I'm telling you, that's all the money I --" the apparition said until gunshots ring out and the apparition of the man falls and disappears, making the three Ghostfacers jump.

​​​1st Floor

"What are you doing in the Morton House, Ed - on leap year -- what are you thinking?" Dean asked Ed, angrily. "We're here to spend the night, okay? It's for our TV show." Ed replied. "What? Great. Perfect." Sam grumbles. "Yeah, nobody's ever spent the night before." Corbett said and the three hunters turn to them. "Uh, actually, yeah, they have." (Y/n) said. "Uh, we've never heard of them." Ed said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah, you know why? 'Cause the ones that have haven't lived to talk about it!" (y/n) said to them, loudly. "Oh, come on, I don't believe you." Ed said, exasperated. "Look -- missing-persons reports going back almost a half century. John Graham stayed on a dare -- gone. Julie Wilkerson -- gone. There are tons more. All of them came to just stay the night through, always on a leap year. The only body they ever found was the last owner, Freeman Daggett." Sam explained to them as he shows the reports to Ed and Corbett.

"These look legit." Ed said, shocked. "They are legit." (y/n) said, annoyed. "Look, Ed, we ain't got much time here, buddy. Starting at midnight, your friends are going to die." Sam said when Harry, Maggie, and Spruce run down the stairs and into the living room.

"Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Guys! Guys! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! We got one! Corbett! Corbett, we saw one! We saw one!" Harry shouts to Ed and Corbett, frantically. "Get outta here!" Ed said, amazed. "It was a full apparition! It was like a class four. It was a spectral illumination! It..." Harry said before Maggie speaks up. "It was amazing!" she said then Harry noticed Dean, Sam and (y/n).

"Hey, aren't those the a------s from Texas?" Harry asked. "Yes." replied Ed. "All right, let's have this reunion across the street, guys." Dean tells them.

"Crap. What are you guys doing here?" Harry asked as Sam, Dean and (y/n) try to usher them out of the building. "Come on, come on. We'll get you ice cream -- our treat. What do you say? Let's go." (Y/n) said but Harry stands his ground. "Yeah, I say no." He said and Maggie goes over to Ed.

'Look at this. Look, look. Ed, Ed. No. No. Look at this. Okay, honest-to-god proof, all right?" Maggie said as she shows the group their footage on the laptop. "Are you kidding me?" Ed said, shocked. "Yeah. No, not kidding." Harry said, smiling.

"What kind of reading did we get?" Spruce asked. "Uh, it was a 10.9." Harry replied. "10.9?" Ed said, shocked. "Yeah, it was 10.9. It was almost 11. I came out, and I was like, 'what's going on?' And I was like -- wait, watch this. Oh! He got blasted. It was crazy." Harry exclaimed while Sam, Dean and (y/n) walk away from the group and talk amongst themselves.

Spruce follows them, still recording them on his camera.

"Think we were off on this? I mean, that was just a death echo." Sam said. "Yeah, but what's it doing here? Did anybody get shot here?" Dean asked his brother and girlfriend. "No, not that Sam and I could find." she replied as Sam shakes his head.

"What's a death echo?" Spruce asked and the trio look over at him. "Look, we got a problem here. That ghost ain't it." Sam said. "Yeah, that's real. Like, that happened." Harry said, pointing at the laptop. "What's a death echo?" Spruce asked again. "Echoes are trapped in a loop, okay? They keep replaying how they died over and over and over again, usually in the place where they were ganked. It's about as dangerous as a scary movie." Dean replied.

"So maybe the echo's not dangerous, but maybe something else is." (y/n) said and Dean turns back to her and Sam. "You're right." he mutters then he turns to the Ghostfacers. 

"All right, we need to get out of here, guys. Come on. Let's go. Let's go. Let's go. Pack it up." Dean shouts. "Guys, time is running out!" Sam said as the trio go to try and move them out. "We're moving!" (Y/n) shouts.

"What about all of our equipment? What are we gonna..." Maggie asked but the trio usher them out of the room. "Lots of fun. Let's go." Dean orders while Harry talks over him. "We got more material. We got all kinds of stuff. We'll make you guys recurring guest stars." He said but Ed looks around and shouts. "Wait! Wait! Where's Corbett?"

2nd Floor

"I wish to communicate with the restless spirits here." Corbett said as he stands in a room by himself. Then there was camera interference. "Uh, lights out? Oh, I think I got night vision here." Corbett mutters and he switches to night vision. "That's better." He said as he points the camera to himself, not realizing a tall figure standing behind him.

Living Room

"No man left behind." Ed said when they hear an anguished scream in the distance. "That was Corbett." Harry and Ed said then they run up the stairs while Dean, Sam and (y/n) protest. "We'll get him! Go back!" Dean shouts. "Guys!" Sam shouts. "Damn it!" (Y/n) growls in anger.

2nd Floor

"No! where are you, dude? Tell us where you are! Corbett!" Ed shouts as they run. "Let me go! Guys!" Corbett shouts but they couldn't find him at all, just hear him. "Corbett, you need to come back, Corbett." Ed shouts then they hear Corbett screaming. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Come on." Dean said to Ed, stopping him from going anywhere as they hear Corbett's screams continue, fading away.

"Corbett's...He's not here. Let's go. Let's go." Sam encourages the Ghostfacers but Harry shakes his head. "No. No. No. No, that was Corbett. Didn't you hear that?" Harry asked while Dean, Sam and (y/n) usher the others back to the living room. But the clock had already midnight.

"Oh, god, what's happened? Oh, god. He's gone. He just disappeared." Ed mutters, devastated. "Okay, let's just go through all the angles. Let's go through all the cameras we have." Harry said while Sam, Dean and (y/n) walk off to the side.

"Well, it's 12:04, boys." (Y/n) said and Sam sighs then turns to Dean. "You good? You happy?" he asked him. "Yeah, I am happy." Dean said, sarcastically. "Let's go hunt the Morton house, you said, it's our Grand Canyon." Sam mocks. "Sam, I don't want to hear this." Dean growls.

"You got two months left, Dean. Instead, we're gonna die tonight." (Y/n) said, annoyed, as Sam picks up a chair and smashes it against the sealed front door. "Whoa! what the hell is going on, guys?" Spruce asked and the trio turn to him. 

"I'll tell you what's going on. Every door, every window, I'm guessing every exit out of this house -- they're all sealed." Sam replied. "But w-why are they sealed?" Maggie asked, scared. "It's a supernatural lockdown, okay? Whatever took Corbett doesn't want us to leave, and it's no death echo. This is a bad mother, and it wants us scared." (Y/n) explained. "Or it just wants us." Maggie said when the sound of the EMF detector goes off.

"Uh, guys, the camera's fritzing again." Spruce said as there was interference on his camera. "Whoa. Whoa. Guys, the EMF's starting to spike. This is a big one!" Ed said as Harry and Maggie walked to the middle of the room, both of them secretly holding hands

"Everybody, stay close. There's something coming." Sam said when another apparition appears. "Woah!" the Ghostfacers shout. "Is this the same echo you guys saw earlier?" Dean asked Harry. "No, it's a different guy." Harry replied and Dean looks over at Sam and (y/n).

"Multiple echoes? What the hell's going on?" he asked them. 'Beats me." Sam said as (y/n) shrugs. "Okay. All right. All right. All right." Dean said then he goes up to the apparition and starts to yell at it. "Uh, hey, buddy! Hey. Hey. Wake up. You're dead! Hello!"

"What's he doing? What's he doing?" Harry asked Sam and (y/n) as Dean continues to shout at the apparition. "It's rare, but sometimes you can shock an echo out of its loop if you can talk to the part of the ghost that's still human, but usually you have to have some kind of connection to the deceased." (Y/n) explains while Dean shouts.  Come on! Wake up! Be dead!"

The apparition flickers and turns around as everyone hears a noise. 'You guys hear that?" Harry asked. "What's that sound?" Ed asked as Dean shouts.  Snap out of it, buddy, huh? Come on, what are you waiting for? You're gonzo! You're dead!" 

A bright light shines on the apparition and the sound of a car horn approaching. The apparition flies backwards, as if hit by an invisible vehicle. "Where the hell did it go?" Harry asked as everyone looks around, confused.

The group follow Sam, Dean and (y/n) down the hallway of the 2nd floor. "Dude, there's no records of any of this here. No one got shot here. Obviously, no one got run over by a freaking train." Dean grumbles to Sam and (y/n). "Stay close." Sam said to the others as they walk on.

"Did the echoes take Corbett?" Maggie asked them. "Yes. No. I don't know. We don't know what's doing what here; that's what we're trying to figure out, okay?" Dean said, annoyed. "All right, stay close." (Y/n) tells them before Sam turns to the others.

"Okay, look, um, death echoes are ghosts, okay? Now, ghosts -- they usually haunt places where they lived or where they died." he explains. 'Except these mooks didn't live or die here." Dean added. "Right." (y/n) agreed.

"So, what are they doing here?" Maggie asked. "Hey, give the lady a cigar." Dean exclaims and (y/n) turns to her and see Maggie still holding a camera. 'All right, seriously, does looking at this nightmare through that camera make you feel better or something? I mean..." she said and Maggie stammers. "Um...I, uh... Well, yeah. Uh, yeah. I think so." She said and (y/n) huffs at this as they continue to walk through house. 

They enter a room full of stuffed animal heads on the walls, as well as file cabinets. Sam goes over and holds up a broken framed certificate. "Freeman Daggett, house's last owner, officially commended for 20 years of fine service at the Gamble General Hospital." he said. "He was a Doctor?" Dean asked. "Janitor." Sam corrected as (y/n) looks around the room.

"This looks like his den. When'd you say he died -- '64?" she asked him. "Yeah, heart attack." Sam replied. "What are these, c-rations?" Maggie asked as she points out something that looked like food trays. "Yeah, army-issued, three squares -- like a lifetime supply." Dean said.

"God, is that all he ate?" Maggie asked. "One-stop shopping." (Y/n) said as they continued to look around the room.

"Oh, come on, guys. This is ridiculous. I mean, how the hell is this supposed to find Corbett, huh? We should be digging up the friggin' floorboards right now." Ed said as Sam holds up a dusty pamphlet. "Huh. Survival Under Atomic Attack. An optimist." He said then there's a loud BANG as Dean pries the safe open then he and (y/n) leaf through the file box.

"Crap. Crap. Taxidermy. Okay. You said Daggett was a hospital janitor?" Dean asked Sam. "Yeah." Sam Reid when (y/n) found something. "Ewww. Got three toe tags here -- one, death by gunshots, train accident, and suicide." she said and Sam and Dean's face scrunch up in disgust. "Ewwwwww!" they said, disgusted. 

"What?" Harry asked. "Well, that explains why all the death echoes are here. They're here because their bodies are here...somewhere in the house." Sam said. "Daggett brought the remains home from the morgue. To play." Dean simplified then Harry and Ed made the same face. 

"Ewwwww! Ugh!" they exclaimed, disgusted. "That's nasty, dude." Spruce said. "Right." Sam said and Dean looks around. "Wait a minute." He said, realizing Maggie was missing. 

"Corbett." Maggie said as she walks around another room. Then she startles herself by coming across her own reflection in a mirror. "Okay, Maggie." She mutters and she swings the camera around, frightened, to reveal Dean. "Closer to the herd, okay?" Dean said as Harry runs in. "Maggie? Maggie?" He calls out. "She's fine." Dean assures him.

"Harry. Harry, I got an 8.6 and climbing fast. Something huge is coming. Look. Something big is coming." Ed exclaims. "It's past 11, you guys." Harry said as Spruce's camera got interference. 'What? Nobody move! Hold on. Hold on. Stay quiet." Dean said, quickly, as there was more camera interference.

Then suddenly (y/n), standing between Sam and Dean, disappears into thin air. "It's really cold in here." Ed said. "Harry?" Maggie said, worried, while Dean and Sam look between them to see (y/n) was gone.

"(Y/n)?" Sam said, confused, while Dean was taken aback by this. "Some kind of surge." Ed said. "(Y/n)?" Dean calls out but no answer. "Where'd she go?" Spruce asked. "Oh, no." Maggie whispers as Dean finds (y/n)'s dropped flashlight and picks it up.

"(Y/n)!" Dean shouts, panicked and worried.

"(Y/n)!" Sam calls out as they walk down the hallway. "Corbett!" Ed shouts. "(Y/n)!" Dean yells, his heart beating against his throat. "Corbett! Talk to us!" Harry shouts as they look around as well. "(Y/n)!" Sam and Dean shout just as Maggie and Harry stopped in a spot in the middle of the room, Spruce turns his camera to them.

"God, I am so scared. I'm so scared." Maggie said, fearfully. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay, Maggie." Harry assures her. They share a look before Maggie and Harry start to kiss.

"Corbett!" Ed's voice called while Maggie and Harry were still making out. "Bom-chicka-bow-wow...woah." Spruce whispers behind his camera until Ed finds Maggie and Harry. "My best friend... And my best sister." Ed shouts and Harry and Maggie break their kiss and embrace.

"Ed."

"Harry."

"Ed."

"Harry."

"Ed. listen, Ed." Harry said, trying to sound calm. "Are you banging my sister?" Ed asked Harry, angrily. "No! No!" Harry said then Ed takes off his glasses and turns to Spruce. "Hold my glasses." Ed tells him. "You got it." Spruce said as he takes Ed's glasses. "Ed." Harry said but then Ed attacks Harry. "Ed! Ed! Ed! Ed! Ed!" Harry shouts. "Guys!" Spruce shouts as Maggie screams. "Get off Harry!"

Then Dean and Sam show up and break up the fight. "What the f--- are you doing?! Cut it out!" Dean yells at them. "We're down by two people." Sam tells them then he and Dean turn away. "(Y/n)!" Sam shouts as he walks out. "(Y/n)!" Dean shouts.

"Great." Maggie grumbles as Harry and Ed look at each other. "Sorry." Harry said to Ed. "I'm sorry." Ed said then he turns to Spruce. "Give me my glasses. Did he knock my -- my tooth there?" Ed asked Spruce as he hands the glasses back to Ed. "Uh, no." Spruce said.

"I won that, right?" Ed asked him. "Yep. You're good." Spruce said, which annoyed Harry. "Thanks, Spruce." Harry said, sarcastically. "Yeah, it's my fault." Spruce grumbles. "That's real great. That's nice. Thanks." Maggie said as she walks off.

Meanwhile, in the basement, the song, It's My Party was playing in the background. In the middle was a table with cake and confetti and what looked like people gathered around. Corbett, who was at one end of the table, starts to come to consciousness when he heard a voice call out to him. 

"Corbett. Corbett. Hey. Corbett, hey." the voice said and he raises his head to see (y/n) across the table, she was tied to a chair just like he is. "(Y/n)?" Corbett said, confused. "Corbett, hey, you got to keep listening to my voice, okay? I'm right here. Stay awake." (y/n) said but then another voice comes in.

"Don't listen." a deep voice said and Corbett and (y/n) look up to see Daggett as he picks up a knife. "It stops hurting, so don't worry." Daggett said as he goes around Corbett and stands behind him, which started to make (y/n) panic but she does her best to stay cool. 

"Corbett, stay with me. Stay with me, you got it? I'm right here." she said to Corbett, who looks straight at her, and she could tell that he was beyond terrified. "Hey. Stay with me. Don't. Don't." (y/n) shouts at Daggett but it was too late as Daggett stabs Corbett through the throat. "No. Corbett! No! Corbett!" (y/n) screams as blood pours out of Corbett's wound and she watches him die in front of her.

"Corbett! Where'd you guys go?" Harry calls out as Dean and Sam look around. "Where are you guys?" Maggie calls out when Harry looks over at Dean. "Dean, what are you doing?" He asked. "Okay, so Daggett was a cold war nut, okay? He was -- he was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were c-rations, so what the hell are we looking for?!" Dean growls.

"Horrible little life." Maggie suggests. "Yeah, a lonely life...A cold war life. He was scared." Sam said but then he stops as he realized something. "He was scared...he was scared." Sam said as he and his brother share a look and both of them came to the same conclusion. 

"Scared of what? What?" Harry asked but Sam and Dean run off. "Guys, where are you going?" Harry asked as he follows them. "Wait, don't leave me in here, you guys." Maggie said as she catches up to them.

"Get away from me." (Y/n) growls at the man as he walks up to her. "This won't hurt. It's okay. It's okay. Relax. Relax." Daggett assures her and he straps a party hat onto her head while Corbett slumps dead at the other end of the table.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are you going?" Maggie asked Dean and Sam as they start to walk towards the door of the basement. "Guys like Daggett back then, the ones who were really scared of the Russkies -- they built bomb shelters. We're guessing he's got one. I'll bet you it's in the basement." Dean said and Spruce follows him when the door slams behind Dean, cutting him and Spruce off from Harry, Ed, Sam and Maggie.

"Woah!" Harry shouts. "Woah! That is not funny!" Ed said, shocked, while Sam goes to the doorknob and tries to open it but it wouldn't budge.

"Um, who closed the door?" Spruce asked Dean, nervously. "It did. It wants to separate us." Dean replied and goes up to the door. "Sam!" He yells. "Dean! You okay?" Sam asked. "Yeah, listen to me! There's some salt in my duffle. Make a circle and get inside." Dean said. "Okay." Sam said and he walks away from the door while Ed, Harry and Maggie look at him, confused.

"Inside? Inside his duffle bag?" Ed asked Sam. "In the salt!" Sam shouts at him. "Oh, okay. Yeah. Yeah." Ed said and they make their way back to base. Dean continues down the basement stairs.

"Okay. Get in the circle. Get in the circle." Sam tells the others after making a salt circle. "Come on. Come on. Quick, quick." Ed said as Harry and Maggie get into the circle with Sam and Ed. "Guys, guys, I don't want to die, okay, and I don't want you to die." Harry cried. "Harry, listen -- listen to me, okay? listen. If we don't die...it's totally okay if you, uh, do my sister." Ed said and Maggie pushes Ed. 

"Hey, hey, stopped." Sam yells when Maggie realized there was another interference on her camera. "Hey guys, hey guys, it's coming again." she tells them. "Oh, god. Oh, OK. Oh god, oh god." Ed stammers when the lights continue to flicker.

Then the group sees Corbett standing in front of them, bloody and unable to speak. "Oh. Oh, C-Corbett." Ed said, sadly, as they all look at him.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Spruce asked Dean as they make their way around the basement. "What?" Dean asked. "Earlier, you, (y/n) and Sam -- she said you had two months left?" Spruce asked. "Yeah, it's complicated. A while ago, (y/n)..." Dean started to say but stops himself and shakes his head.

"No. No. No. I'm not gonna whine about my b------- problems to some b------- reality show. I'm gonna do my f------ job." he tells Spruce and he looks around some more. "Is it cancer?" Spruce asked. "Shut up." Dean growls then he stops as he hears music.

"You hear that?" he asked Spruce.

"I've been waiting for some more friends." Daggett said to (y/n) as he leans down to her. "I get lonely. But you're coming to my party, aren't you?" He asked her as she tries to pull back as much as she could in her chair.

"Is that music?" Spruce asked as Dean goes up to a cabinet. "Yeah, it's coming from behind this wall." Dean said and he singlehandedly pushes a cabinet away from the wall. "Wow, you're strong." Spruce said with sarcasm and Dean flips a middle finger to Spruce's camera.

"You'll stay a good, long time." Daggett said to (y/n) and he raises his knife until Dean breaks the door open to the bomb shelter. "(Y/n)!" Dean shouts and he shoots Daggett, who disappears, then unties (y/n). "Oh god." Spruce mutters, horrified, as he sees the whole birthday table, with the party guests of old corpses and one new corpse: Corbett. "Oh, no, Corbett." He whispers.

,

Ed, Harry, Sam and Maggie were still in the salt ring as Corbett's death echo happens again. "Oh god, what have we done? Oh god." Ed mutters. "Keep calm." Sam said to them. "Ed. Ed. Corbett's a -- he's a death echo. He's reliving his own murder." Harry tells him. "Over and over forever." Maggie said, sadly.

"What's this Daggett guy's problem anyway?" Spruce asked Dean and (y/n) as they walk out of the room.

"Loneliness." (y/n) replied.

"What, he's never heard of a Realdoll?" Dean asked. "No, no, no, Daggett was the Norman Bates, stuff-your-mother kind of lonely. I mean, that's why he lifted these bodies from the morgue, threw himself a birthday party, except they were the only ones who would come. Anyway, so, at midnight, he sealed them in the bomb shelter and went upstairs and o.d.'d on horse tranqs." (Y/n) informed and Dean looks at her, confused.

"How do you know this?" he asked her. "'Cause he told me." She replied. "Oh. yeah. Okay, so now that he's dead, what? Same song, different verse, trying to get people to come to his party?" Dean said. "Pretty much, yeah. Stay forever." (Y/n) said and Dean starts to load his gun

"Are those real bullets?" Spruce asked him. "It's rock salt." Dean replied.

Harry sings the Ghostfacers theme song that they made up as they stand there until Corbett's apparition appears again. "Guys, it's -- it's Corbett. He's -- he's -- he's trapped. He's in a lot of pain, you know? We got to try and...we got to try and pull him out of his loop. We have to." Ed said as he stands up and faces Corbett. "Ed." Sam and Harry said. "Corbett. Corbett, it's -- Oh, god." Ed said as he looks down at the salt line.

"Don't cross the line of salt." Harry said. Ed hesitates, then steps over the salt line, confronting the ghost of Corbett. "I gotta do it, Harry." Ed said. Harry looks over at Sam, who nods, and Ed turns to Corbett. "Corbett, listen to me. Okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Listen. Listen. Oh, god. Corbett. Oh." Ed said but then the ghost starts to flicker.

"Get back!" Harry shouts and Ed quickly retreats. "oh, god. Whoa. Oh, I can't, okay? He's not hearing me, okay? He won't stop dying." Ed said, fearfully.

Meanwhile, Dean is attempting to break down the basement door that's still separating Dean, (y/n) and Spruce from the others. (y/n) turns and sees that Spruce was still holding his camera and he had it aimed at her ass. "Hey!" She growls and he moves the camera back to her face. "Eyes up here, buddy. And are you seriously still shooting?" She asked. "It makes him feel better. Don't ask." Dean said when there was camera interference and flickering in Spruce's camera.

"Ah, hell, guys. Get in your ghost-role thing. Something's coming." Spruce said as he spins around and sees Daggett. Daggett then knocks Spruce and his camera to the ground, causing him to roll and scream. Spruce screamed as Daggett approaches Spruce, but is shot and dissipated by (y/n).

"I...I know how we can get through to him." Harry said. "How?" Sam asked him and Harry looks over at Ed. "Ed...He had feelings for you." He said and Ed gives him a bewildered and shocked look. "He wanted you." Harry said. "Wa-- wanted me to what?" Ed said, confused. "You know..." Harry said then he demonstrates with a slight grunt and pelvic thrust

"And you know what you've got to do. You can do it, Ed. You've always been the brave one. Yes, you can. You make us brave -- Maggie, right?" Harry said to her. "Yeah. Yeah you do. You totally do." Maggie said as Ed looks between them. "Ed...You got to go be gay for that poor, dead intern. You got to send him into the light." Harry said then Ed looks over at Sam.

"It should work." Sam said and then Ed approaches the ghost of Corbett again. "Corbett." Ed said as he steps over the salt line. "Corbett, look. Hey, it's just Ed, buddy. It's just me. Hey, hey, Corbett, listen to me. Listen to me." Ed said as he approaches Corbett..

"I -- we...Okay. You meant...Corbett, you meant a lot to the team. You meant...You meant a lot to me. You know, never back down...Never say a bad word, okay? I remember that, Corbett. I-I remember that. I remember because I love you, Corbett. I really, truly love you. Do you remember that? do you?" Ed asked, a tear running down his face, and then Corbett looks over at Ed.

"Hey. Ed?" he asked. "Yeah. Yeah, Corbett, it's...Corbett, yeah, it's me. It's me. look at me. You got to help us, man. you have to help us, Corbett. Please. please. Please help us right now." Ed begs as Corbett stares at Ed.

"Take it easy. You all right?" (y/n) asked Spruce when there was camera interference and flickering in Spruce's camera. The ghost of Daggett appears behind Dean. "Uh, guys..." Spruce said then Daggett throws Dean, then (y/n) against the wall and was about to attack Spruce.

"This is bad -- very bad." Spruce stammers, fearfully, when Corbett appears behind Daggett. "Corbett?" Spruce said, confused, then Corbett's ghost attacks Daggett and they both disappear in a blinding flash of light.

"You all right, guys?" Spruce asked as (y/n) and Dean pick themselves up off the floor. "You all right?" Spruce asked he comes up to the couple. "God." (Y/n) groans while Dean looks back at the camera, covering the lens with his hand.

Morning came as the door to the Morton House opens, and Ed, Sam, Dean, (y/n), Harry and Maggie exit. Harry and Maggie pause to hug, while Sam gives Ed his phone number on a scrap of paper and Dean checks on (y/n). Then they start to load up and leave

Leap year, February 29th, the Morton House. A tragic day. A day of souls bound in torment, of lives held in cruel balance. But the Ghostfacers, they did the best that they could.

We lost a beloved friend, but we gained new allies.

We know this much: that every day, including today, is a new beginning. We learned more than we can say in the brutal feat of the Morton House.

The Ghostfacers were forced to face something far more scary than ghosts. They were forced to face themselves.

War changes Man.

 And Maggie and (y/n).

War changes man. And two women...You know Corbett, we just...ah gosh, we just like to think that you're out there, watching over us.

As far as we're concerned, you're not an intern anymore. You have more than earned full Ghostfacer status. Plus, it would be cool to have a ghost on the team.

Yeah. Heh heh. And here we were thinking that, you know, we were teaching you and all this time you were teaching us, about heart, about dedication, and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Thank you, Alan J. Corbett.

Go well into that starry night, young Turk. Go well.

"Come on, Spruce, I gotta get all this stuff packed up!" Corbett said as he and Spruce load up the van, getting ready to head to the Morton house. "So, pack and talk!" Spruce said as he aims the camera at him. "I don't know what to say." Corbett said. "Say what comes to mind. This is one of our confessional moments, Corbett, so confess. What did you think was going to happen tonight? What do you think is going to happen on this trip?" Spruce asked him.

Corbett sighs then thinks before he speaks up. "I think tonight, I really do, I think all of our dreams are going to come true." He replies then looks over at Spruce. "Does that sound stupid?" He asked. "Kind of does, yeah." Spruce said and the two chuckle a bit.

In Memory of Alan J. Corbett,

1985-2008

King of the Impossible 

*(y/n)'s POV*

"So, guys, what do you think? Are you alright?" Ed asked us as the boys and I say there and finished watching Ed and Harry's show. "You know, I kind of think it was half-awesome." Dean replies. "Half-awesome? That - that's full-on good, right?" Maggie said, excited.

"Yeah, um, I mean it's bizarre how you all are able to honor Corbett's memory while grossly exploiting the manner of his death. Well done." Sam said as Dean secretly slips the device into a backpack under the table. "Yeah. It's a real tight rope you guys are walking there." I said. "Yeah, all right guys." Sam mutters.

"Nah, that's reality, man. Yeah, Corbett gave his life searching for the truth, and it's our job over here to share it with the world." Ed said. "Right. Well, um, our experience, you know what you get when you show the world the truth?" Sam asked him. "A straightjacket." I said. "Or a punch in the face. Sometimes both." Dean adds. "Right." Sam said.

"Oh come on, guys, don't be 'facer haters just because we happen to have gotten the footage of the century." Harry exclaims. "Oh yeah." Ed said. "You got us there." I said, shrugging. "Yeah." Sam said. "Yeah, well we'll see you guys around." Sam said as we start to head towards the door.

"Peace out." Spruce said as Sam, Dean and I leave and Ed shuts the door behind us.

"We clean?" Sam asked as we get to the Impala. Suddenly, we hear Ed shout. "No! are you kidding me?"

"Electromagnet wiped out every tape and hard drive that they have." Dean said, smiling. "The world just isn't ready for the Ghostfacers." I said as we get into the car. "It's too bad. I kinda liked the show." Dean said. "It had its moments." Sam said and I nod. "Yeah, it was pretty entertaining." I added then Dean starts the Impala and we drive off.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #supernatural dean #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #dean x reader #deanwinchtser #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x y/n #fantasy #horror #tv show fandom #tv shows #tv

[stargazer-sims]

OC Questionnaire

I was tagged by @dandylion240 - thanks!

For some reason, I thought you'd tagged me twice and had to check. It was only once, but you get two characters anyway XD

Here are Dav & Félix

Davian St-Jean

NAME: Davian Léonel St-Jean

NICKNAME: Dav (rhymes with "have"). He gets irrationally annoyed when people call him "Dave"

GENDER: cis male

STAR SIGN: Cancer (7 July)

HEIGHT: 180cm

ORIENTATION: bisexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: first-generation Canadian. His parents are Haitian

FAVOURITE FRUIT: pineapple

FAVOURITE SEASON: summer

FAVOURITE FLOWER: lilac

FAVOURITE SCENT: chocolate

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: coffee and hot chocolate. He drinks tea, but he doesn't generally reach for it first.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: between 6-7 hours daily

DOGS or CATS: He's not really a pet person and if he were to have a pet, he would prefer something clean and quiet, like fish. If you asked him the question "dog or cat?" he'd say "no".

DREAM TRIP: Tartosa. He and Félix have been there before, but it's his favourite place and he always looks forward to opportunities to go back. Of course, any place he gets to go with Félix is his dream trip. They both travel a lot for their respective jobs, and they don't always get to go together, so travelling as a family makes him happy.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Usually just one, but sometimes two in winter or if he's travelling and has to sleep alone.

RANDOM FACT: He used to deliver pizza for a living, and he first met Félix when he delivered a pizza to his flat.

__________

Félix Blanchet

NAME: Félix Jean-Alexandre Blanchet

NICKNAME: none

GENDER: cis male

STAR SIGN: Cancer (24 June)

HEIGHT: 173cm

ORIENTATION: pansexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Canadian

FAVOURITE FRUIT: raspberries

FAVOURITE SEASON: autumn

FAVOURITE FLOWER: tiger lily

FAVOURITE SCENT: vanilla

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: He enjoys all three, although he has a slightly stronger preference for coffee.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: between 7-8 hours daily

DOGS or CATS: He's not an animal person, but if he had to pick, he'd choose dogs.

DREAM TRIP: Ironically, it's Selvadorada. Despite the fact that he goes there frequently for his work (he's an archaeologist), he loves it there and always looks forward to going, especially if his family gets to come along as well.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: One in warm weather and two in colder weather.

RANDOM FACT: His first language is French. He's also fluent in English and Spanish, and he speaks passable Italian. He thinks he's inherited the language-learning gene from his mother, Josephine, who speaks four languages fluently and two others passably.

__________

Once again, I have no idea who to tag because I've already done this a lot and I forget who I've already tagged. If you're my mutual and you feel like doing this, go for it and say I tagged you! I will also tag @minty-plumbob @cawthorntales @rebouks @miss-may-i and if you've already done it or don't feel like doing it, please feel free to ignore.

#sapphire answers #oc asks #Félix Blanchet #Davian St-Jean #stargazersims

[justtwotired]

Regulus Black coffee shop AU

It was stupid, Merlin why did it all have to be this way? Maybe he shouldn't do it... no he had to, he was the only one that knew and no one would believe him... a death eater.

Walking trough the muggle village, Regulus was having a war with himself and really wondering what to do with the information he had been walking around with for about a year now, probably longer.

He finally graduated Hogwarts about two months ago and was now trying to escape his parents for a while, having grown really sick of them and their mindset.

His eyes fell on a small coffee shop on the corner of the street and after a bit of hesitation, he decided to head inside, having some Muggle money in his pockets anyway.

When he walked inside, a small bell that hung at the door made a dinging sound. There where a few customers but no one behind the counter.

Suddenly a girl stumbled out of a door which Regulus assumed let to the kitchen. "Well to bad, I'm not getting ze groceries either, I did it yesterday, zo that will be a you problem, Amber!" The girl said to someone still on the other side of the door.

Her eyes fell on Regulus who was awkwardly standing there and she smiled. "Oh, 'ello there, 'ow can I 'elp you?" She smiled, Regulus noticed she had a French accent. He blinked at her for a moment, she was absolutely beautiful, but he quickly scolded himself mentally.

"Oh, Uhm, could I have a coffee?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, of course, just a normal coffee?" She questioned. "Yes, just black, no sugar no milk." He nodded. "Alright, and your name?" She looked up at him.

"Regulus." He said and she smiled and wrote it down. "That's R-e-g-u-l-u-s? Like the star?" She spelled and he nodded. "Yeah." He said, a bit amused, yet hiding it from the girl.

"Alright, take a seat, I'll call you when it's done." She said and walked to the espresso machine. He went to sit down and just looked around, mostly at her. She also helped two girls that came in and sat down two tables away from him.

She was incredibly beautiful, it was almost unnatural, though he didn't want to stare, not wanting to look like a creep.

"Regulus!" She called his name and he stood up, walking over to get his coffee, muttering a quick thanks before walking back to his seat and sitting down.

After a while, he stood up and walked over to the counter, putting the empty cup in the trash. "Can I pay?" He asked and she smiled at him. "Yes of course, that will be 2 pounds please." She said and he fished in his pocket and handed her the money.

"All good, thank you, have a great day." She gave him a genuine smile and he nodded and left.

A few days later, Regulus found himself back again. She looked up at the sound of the bell as she had been leaning against the counter, a book in her hand.

"Goodmorning." Greeted and he gave a small nod. "One black coffee, please." He said and she nodded. "Coming right up, Regulus, was it?" She smiled his eyebrows rose slightly and she quickly cast her eyes down. "Yes." He just said and she smiled, he couldn't help but give her the smallest smile back.

He sat down at the same table he sat at the first time and listened as she made the coffee. "Regulus!" He heard his name and stood up, getting the coffee. "Thanks." He said and she gave him a small smile.

She watched as he sat back down and then went into the kitchens with a big smile. "Oh god, what happened for you to have such a big smile on your face?" Amber, her best friend, asked. "You know that one cute guy I talked about Monday?" She asked and Amber nodded.

"Yeah, you mean 'the pretty boy' as you called him?" She asked and was met with nods and smiles. "Yes! 'e is back, sitting at the same spot by the window." She said.

"Oh, please, Y/n, don't let it be like the last one, he was a complete asshole." She said as she stood up to check the boy out. "Well- zis one's cute, but 'e doesn't show much emotion." She shrugged and Amber gave her a look and they walked out together.

There, Amber looked at the boy sitting by the window, silently sipping his coffee. "Okay, maybe you are right." She said as she looked away again. Luckily just in time as Regulus looked over to see what they where up to.

Not much later, he came up to pay and Y/n helped him. He smiled at her when he left and she felt butterflies in her stomach.

Regulus found himself at the shop at least two times a week, he had eventually figured out that the girl was the owner and was running things mostly on her own but had three other employees and worked on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The first two always alone.

"Black coffee?" She smiled when he came in and he nodded, trying his best not to smile. "Yeah." He said. "And I suppose it's still Regulus?" She let out a small giggle at her own joke. He couldn't help but smile. "Yes, still Regulus."

She smiled as she wrote the name down on the cup, even though she would remember anyway. "And what about you?" He asked, surprised at his own boldness. "Hm?" She hummed and looked up. "What's your name?" He tilted his head to the side slightly.

"Oh, it's Y/n." She told him and then put the cup down. "This'll come right up." She said and he nodded and sat down at his usual seat.

It went as always, she called his name, he went to get it, drank it while reading or thinking and then came up to pay.

The next time he went, she smiled and already grabbed a cup, putting his name down. "Morning." She greeted. "Goodmorning." He said and sat at the chair at the counter and her eyebrows rose. "New place?" She asked as the coffee poured into the cup.

He smiled at her, it was the best smile she had seen so far and she felt her stomach flutter. "I'd like to get to know the person always so kind to get my coffee ready." He said and she smiled, biting her lip slightly and turned away as she grabbed to coffee and gave it to him.

"I am always in for a little chat." She said, sitting on the other side of the counter in front of him. "So, you're from France?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, what gave it away?" Questioned seeming s bit surprised.

"The accent, and I heard you mention it to your friend once." He said. "You where eavesdropping on our conversation?" Asked narrowing her eyes. "I- what, no no, uh- I uh..." he stammered.

She chuckled. "I'm joking, it is quite alright, it is 'ard to miss, but I really wanted a coffee shop like this and was a bit done with my parents zo I moved here." She shrugged.

"And you? Are you from around 'ere?" She asked and he nodded. "I live in a neighbourhood nearby, quite boring really." He shrugged. "I'd love the be as bold and run away from home." He sighed and she laughed.

"Difficult parents, also?" She asked and he nodded. "Yeah, it was a bit better when my brother was there, but he ran away years ago, I haven't spoken much to him since." He admitted. "Why don't you run away? When I did it felt amazing." She tried to encourage.

"I can't, it's just- it's difficult." He sighed. "I understand, but 'ey, you can always sit 'ere and be away from them." She smiled and he looked at her, them locking eyes. "Exactly what I've been doing, it's a really nice place you have here." He looked around and she gave him the biggest smile.

"Yes! I know right! I love it so much, I can't believe this dream finally came true!" She seemed so happy as she said it, it was almost contagious and he felt a weird feeling in his stomach, he had never felt it before.

The bell dinged and a man with a suit walked in, seemingly in a hurry.

"You, lady, I need one coffee and a latte." He pointed at her and she rose her eyebrows. "Sure, takeaway?" She asked and he rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He said and she smiled, though Regulus saw how annoyed she was.

"Alright, and on what name?" She asked politely. "None of your business, now hurry up, I need to go." He said and she sighed, just staring the coffee machine.

She was steaming the milk and put it in a large cup, then waited, staring at it. "What are you doing, hurry up! You're just standing there." He complained.

"I have to wait for the milk to be ready." She said and he slammed a fist on the counter. "I don't care, hurry up!" He said and her head snapped towards him.

"Listen 'ere, I am just doing my job, so either you stand zere and shut the fuck up or you leave my shop right now because I do not tolerate zis bad behaviour you 'ave, zo what iz it? Keep acting like a child or be an actual grown up?" She snapped at him with a strong French accent and his mouth hung opened for a moment looking like he wanted to say something, but he stepped back with his jaw clenched.

She finished the coffee and put it in front of him. "That will be 4,75." She said in a bitter voice. He gave her the money and then stomped out.

"Muggles." Regulus muttered when he had left. "What?" She seemed shocked and he quickly shook his head. "Nothing."

He continued to come and sit at the counter multiple times a week, but he just couldn't get that feeling out of him, he had no idea what it was.

One evening, he still saw the lights on and went inside. "Are you still open?" He asked and she looked up. "I already closed, but come in if you want." She invited and he walked in with a smile.

"Busy day?" He asked and she nodded. "Yeah, I 'ad to call in Amber at one point because it was to much for me alone." She told him. "But we 'andled it, I missed you this week, normally you are 'ere Monday." She said as she put some clean plates in a cupboard.

"Yeah, I was... busy." He said, remembering the death eater meeting he had attended, already sick at what there had been shared about some Muggle families.

"I see, you want a coffee?" She said as she already grabbed a cup. "Oh, sure." He nodded and sat down at the counter.

She made it and set it down next to her for a moment, wanting to grab a spoon but she accidentally knocked the cup over.

"Oh, Merlin!" She said and quickly put it up and grabbed a dish cloth. "Excuse me?" Regulus' eyes widened at her words. She looked over at him. "Oh, sorry, I will make you a new one." She said.

"No, not that, what did you just say?" He asked and she seemed to process and then it hit her. She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh Merlin." She said as she realised. "Wait no- shit." She murmured.

"Sorry, I don't know why I say that." She said and kept sweeping the counter.

"Tell me, Y/n, what is your partronus?" He dared to ask and her mouth fell open as she stared at him in shock. "A butterfly." She said and he let out a small laugh in surprise. "I wasn't expecting such a turn of events." He chuckled.

"BeauxBatons?" He asked and she nodded. "Hogwarts?" She asked him and he nodded. "Yeah, Slytherin, if you where wondering." He said and she chuckled. "Doesn't surprise me one bit." She said.

"When I tell you that you are no doubt a hufflepuff." He said and she giggled. "My friends at school told me the same." She admitted.

"Tell me, Y/n, do you have Veela blood?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, how'd you know?" She asked and looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "It explains why you're so incredibly beautiful." He said and she blushed as she kept wiping the already clean counter.

"Are you flustered?" He teased and the blush grew. "Shut it." She mumbled making him grin.

#regulus black #regulus #regulus black x reader #marauders era #harry potter #death eaters #coffee shop au #coffee #coffee shop #french #beauxbatons #regulusblackxfrenchreader

[pimosworld]

Moonshine

TLOU x Triple Frontier crossover AU

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!reader x Francisco morales

Summary-You we’re a bartender at Joel’s place and everyone knew you were his but when you meet Francisco Morales you wonder if there’s room in your life for one more.

Rating-18+,NSFW, MDNI

Content warnings- alcohol consumption, cursing,smut,angst,fluff,violence,unprotected piv, mentions of mm dynamics, soft dom Joel.

Wk-5k

Chapter summary-Joel gets dirty in his office and Frankie and Moonshine get to know each other a little better.

New characters- Link to characters who have been or will be introduced.

A/N- See series Masterlist for full story notes. Joel loves getting it in his office and we start things off slow with Frankie but I promise it’s coming for the three of them. Don’t be too hard on my French

Not beta read

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Chapter III Breaking the Ice

“Don’t bullshit me Fish, I saw the way you were looking at her.” Will paces the small apartment situated above the bar. 

  “I’m a man with eyes, I’m allowed to look. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna do anything.” He points to Santi leaning against the wall. 

  “Don’t bring me into this hermaño, I already paid for what I did.” Santi had a reputation for fucking people he shouldn’t and he evidently fucked the wrong firefly. Hence the reason they went on the run. 

  Frankie would be lying if he didn’t admit to having inappropriate thoughts about you and Joel but he was here to do a job and try to stay in one place. It wasn’t safe moving around as often as they did, they couldn’t afford to lose another person. 

  “Pope let’s go, I don’t want to be late for our meeting with Joel.” Santi looks at the other two men apologetically as he follows Will out the door. 

  “Don’t worry Fish, you know he’s always jumpy when we get to a new place.” Ben plops down on the couch in the middle of the room stretching his legs across Frankie’s. He’s never been keen on personal space. 

  “He’s right though Ben, I felt something last night that I haven’t felt in a long time. How am I supposed to do my job with her looking at me that way?” 

  “Don’t think I missed the way Joel was looking at you…I think you should just ignore Will, he needs to get laid.” 

  “I think we should all keep it in our pants for the time being.” Frankie’s not sure how long he’ll be able to take his own advice. 

  “All bets are off with Santi, he’s already got his eye on Charity.” At least his current love interest seemed trustworthy if Joel was willing to employ her. 

  Ben stands abruptly from the couch as he mimics a fight with the air. “I hope there’s some action tonight.” The amount of unbridled energy he had was beyond words. 

  “Well I hope tonight is uneventful. I’ve had enough action for a lifetime.” 

  “I doubt that Fish.” Ben waggles his eyebrows at the older man as he resumes his fight with a ghost. 

  “I was gonna ask if you wanted some coffee but I don’t think you need anything.” He stands slowly from the couch wondering when his knees got so creaky. 

  “I’m actually gonna head back to my apartment until it’s time for work, knock when you want to head down.” He pulls him into a tight hug, never shying away from affection. He was more open than his brother and Frankie enjoyed that despite their circumstances Benny always kept a jovial outlook on life. 

  Frankie’s left alone still having several hours until his shift starts at the bar. Plenty of time to get a grip on what he was doing. 

  ****

  Joel left earlier than you to meet Santi and Will at the bar, which left you plenty of time to get ready for the night. After your early wake up, he beckoned you back to bed to spend a few more hours between the sheets. 

  This relaxed carefree Joel was so nice to see after he’s spent so much time worrying about others. He opened up to you often about how much guilt he felt in not being able to keep his daughter safe. The guilt compounded with Tommy’s death. You know he worries about you no matter how long it’s been. 

  You checked your appearance making sure you looked appropriate for the walk to the bar, a modest pair of jeans and your signature combat boots. It wasn’t uncommon for you to pack a bag of different clothes to wear during your shift. Joel wasn’t one of those guys who wanted you to dress a certain way but you knew better than to draw unwanted attention walking around the QZ alone. 

  You felt safe enough with it still being daylight but you had your black skirt and weathered Prince shirt your sister gave to you that you cropped once the hem started to fray tucked away in your bag. The bar was the place you could be yourself, you felt so confident and Joel always made you feel like you could walk on water. 

  It’s not like you were trying to seduce Frankie or maybe you were. You had never done anything like this before, having to impress someone you were interested in. You were hoping you weren’t reading into the situation all wrong. 

  Joel swept you off your feet within days of meeting him but this felt different. You didn’t want to scare him away by saying my boyfriend (your boss) and I are interested in you. It doesn’t really roll off the tongue. But Joel had all but reassured you this morning that he meant what he said. Why don’t you get to know him? Getting to know him seemed like the best place to start. 

  ****

  You approach the brick building with a non distinct door and the only indication of a functioning business is the neon green open sign. The only difference is the usually quiet atmosphere inside is bustling with noise as you open the door. 

  Ben slightly startles you as he slides up behind you dropping his voice low. 

  “What’s your business here ma’m?” You turn to face him and he’s got the widest grin on his face you’ve ever seen. 

  “First of all it's Miss and secondly I know the owner.” He closed the small space between you while you both engage in a stare down, neither of you wanting to break. You have to crane your neck to look at him and you’re sure the sight is ridiculous. 

  He picks you up abruptly causing you to burst into laughter. 

  “Sorry Miss, I’m not one for formal introductions but seeing as I also know the owner I figured this was fine.” He sets you down and you hug him properly like someone you’ve known your entire life. He had that energy about him that would make anyone feel like family. He was after all. 

  “I have a serious question.” He smooths his hands along his shirt as he steps back. You nod in permission to continue. 

  “Does this shirt make me look intimidating?” He flexes his arms above his head. 

  “To be honest with you…the shirt is the least intimidating thing about you.” He deflates a little and gives you a confused look as you lightly pat his cheek with your hand. 

  You see Charity leaning against the bar which she usually managed just fine during the slow hours when you were home. Santi is seated in the stool on the other side twirling her hair in his fingers as she giggles at some indecent joke you’re sure. 

  She sees you approaching and pulls her attention away to blow you a kiss. She was your best friend, the person you could talk to about anything. It helped that she was a little older than you the same age your sister would’ve been. When you first arrived you thought maybe her and Joel had a past but he quickly reassured you that it had never and will never happen. He said she reminded him too much of his daughter.

   It helped having another woman around to navigate this new world. She picked up right where your sister left off and you formed a bond that would stand the rest of time. You wished Joel had someone like that for him but it was hard for him to let people in. 

  “Hey babe, Joel told me to have you come to his office when you got in.” She winks at you and bites her bottom lip and it doesn’t go unnoticed how Santi has all eyes on her. 

  You lean across the bar and plant a kiss on her cheek before nudging Santi with your shoulder. 

  “Encantada de verte luna.” He leans over and plants a kiss on your temple. 

  “Es bueno verte también Santiago.” 

  He dramatically clutches at fake pearls. “She speaks the mother tongue.”

  “Of course she does.” Charity chimes in. “I taught her everything I know…or as much as I can remember from childhood.” He knows all too well about things forgotten long ago.

  “Well Frankie is an amazing teacher so he can pick up where you left off.” You don’t miss the smirk into his glass as he takes a long sip of water. 

  Your cheeks grow hot and sweat beads at your neck at the mention of Frankie. You really needed to get a grip. You playfully swat at his arm before heading to the back office. 

  “Be careful with that one.” You call over your shoulder.

  “I’m harmless cariño.” You turn to face them before disappearing down the hallway. 

  “I wasn’t warning her Santiago.” 

  ***

  You lightly knock on the office door before entering to see Will seated standing near the desk hugging Joel. Joel didn’t hug many people so you knew this was special. Will turns to greet you with a smile on his face and you realize this is the first time you’ve seen him smile since he arrived. 

  His blue eyes resemble his brothers but his rugged features bring an edge to him that suits him so perfectly. He was handsome but even more so when he looked happy. 

  “Hi Will.”

  “Hi hon, I’m sorry about yesterday it just takes me a little to shake the edge off after we travel.” He pulls you into the tightest bear hug. You inhale his scent of freshly washed laundry and melt into the warm embrace of his large chest. There was something about these men that just made you feel like home. 

  “You don’t need to apologize to me, I’m glad you all are safe and home.” 

  “I like the sound of home.” He gives Joel one last pat on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the office. 

  Joel has a seat in the chair behind his desk, legs spread wide with a mischievous look in his eye. He beckons you over as you take a sideways seat in his lap. Mindlessly running your fingers through his hair as he hums in approval. 

  “How are you feeling?” 

  “Mmmm much better now that I know you’re safe.”  You lean in and kiss the permanent crease in his brow as he lets his eyes flutter closed. 

  His hand drifts under the hem of your shirt gripping your waist tight as he pulls you further into his chest. His lips ghost over your neck before slowly dragging his teeth along your pulse point. Your body shivers at his touch, he knew every spot that made you weak. Years of mapping out your body and taking you a part in various ways. 

  “Someone’s needy today, I thought you had enough this morning.” His other hand drifts behind your neck as he crashes his lips into yours. 

  “I always need you darlin’, it’ll never be enough.” His words are desperate, punctuated by each kiss as his hand drifts to your front, his large palm squeezing your breast drawing a high pitched whine from your throat. 

  You can feel the heavy weight of his bulge pressed against your thigh and you involuntarily grind your hips into him. He groans from deep within as he licks a stripe up your neck and bites gently on your earlobe. He has you so keyed up just from his touch, it’s all consuming and you could come just like this as he ruts his hips into you in desperation. 

  You don’t register him standing until your front is pressed against his desk as he forcibly bends you over. Your cheek is flush with the desk and your arms are splayed out in front of you. 

  “Joel…I didn’t lock the door.” You pant out as you hear the faint sound of his belt buckle. 

  He pulls your jeans and panties down in one motion as he lines himself with your entrance. He slowly drags his cock through your folds feeling how wet you are, your slick is coating your thighs as it drops down. 

  “You afraid someone might come in.” He pushes in at the last word, you inhale sharply as the stretch takes the breath from your lungs. 

  His hips are flush with yours as his hands tighten around your waist. He leans forward giving you a moment to breathe as he places a gentle kiss on your back. 

  “You might want to hold onto some thin’ Shine.” His words are low in your ear and you grip the front of the desk. His hips slam into yours as he sets a brutal pace. You stifle your moans into your arm as he punches something deep inside. 

  “Oh…fuck Joel.” You whimper softly as the sound of skin slapping and the desk creaking can be heard through the room. He grunts with every thrust as you feel every vein and ridge dragging through your walls bringing you closer to your climax. 

  “Why so quiet?” He brings his hand around your throat lightly squeezing as he lifts you flush with his chest. “Don’t you want Francisco to hear you?” You squeeze around him as a fresh wave of slick coats the base of his cock. 

  “You want him to see you takin me so well.” His words send you over the edge as you reach behind you gripping his hair, lightning flashes behind your eyes as you come with a silent o.  

  His pace falters and you can tell he’s reaching his end, his words always left you breathless but two can play that game. 

  “You want me to teach him how?” Your voice is barely above a whisper in his ear as his body tensed up, slamming his hand down on the desk groaning loudly, and shamelessly as he fills you up thrusting once and twice. His head drops to your shoulder as you both catch your breath. 

  “Shit.” He curses under his breath as he releases his grip on you. 

  “What is it?” You turn around to see him looking down at your jeans below you, small dark stains on the front pooled by your feet. 

  “Don’t worry, I brought extra clothes for my shift.” You move to step out of your jeans but he places a firm hand on your back and guides you back down to the desk. 

  “Where do you think you’re goin’?” He reaches into his drawer for a rag as he gently cleans you from behind. The gesture is always so intimate even in his demanding way. He places a soft kiss on your back before helping you stand again, turning you to face him. All the worry and stress gone from his posture as he adjusts his pants and belt buckle. 

  “I’m supposed to go to work after that?” You shuffle your way around the desk to rifle through your bag,shucking off your boots. You pull on your skirt and replace your sweaty shirt with your crop top. Giving a spin when you're done.

  “You look gorgeous as always….and yes Shine, you always go to work after that.” You do your best pouty face when there's a knock on the door. 

  “It’s Frankie, you asked to see me?” You quickly shove your clothes in your bag and nearly trip trying to get your boots back on. 

  “Come on in.” 

  He slowly opens the door as you try to look anywhere but his face, you’re awkwardly standing next to the desk as he moves to sit in the seat across from Joel. You don’t know why you’re being so weird, it’s not as if he knows what you two were just doing while talking about him. 

  “I’m gonna head out and get the bar set up.” You turn around and before you know it you’re face down on the floor, your traitorous untied boots no doubt the culprit. 

  Frankie’s up in a flash helping you to your feet. The close proximity of his hands on your waist and the concern in his eyes is enough to make you melt. You feel a heavy presence behind you as you find yourself once again between Joel and Frankie. They have to stop doing this. 

  “Are you okay?” You're dizzy and not from the fall as you slowly register Frankie speaking. 

  “Yes I’m fine…just very clumsy.” Joel turns you around tilting your chin up with his finger, moving your head side to side. 

  “As you can see…she’ll need your help walking home tonight.” He smirks at you and you bite your bottom lip to quell the rage inside at his comment. You know he was teasing but right now is not the time. But since he wants to keep playing games. 

  You kneel down slowly not missing the way Frankie clears his throat. You begin to lace your boots not breaking eye contact with Joel, yet your face is level with his ever growing problem. He bites down on his bottom lip clenching his fists at his side. 

  Frankie can feel his palms sweating, he doesn’t know if he should run or pull you up and bend you over the desk. He’s trying to look anywhere else but the way you’re looking up at Joel has him dancing on the edge of no return. 

  A knock at the door feels like an eternity in your compromising position. Your heart is hammering in your chest hoping someone doesn’t open it. 

  “Hey Shine, it’s getting busy out here.” Charity’s voice comes soft through the door.

  “Coming.” You call out and snatch your bag from the ground. You place a chaste kiss in Joel’s lips before quickly retreating from the office,not bothering to look at Frankie on your way out. 

  Joel’s not often left speechless but the red that’s creeped up Frankie’s neck is all but confirmation at what he wants. He steps away before he does something rash and sits in his chair. 

  “I have to meet with some people tonight so I’ll need you to take her home.” 

  “Of course…do you need anything else?” Yes

  “Just look after her while she works, make sure nobody’s giving her a hard time.” He adjusts in his seat trying to look him in the eyes and not where he wants to wander. 

  “No problem Mr. Miller.” 

  “Please call me Joel.”  Frankie hesitates before turning to leave the office. 

  “No problem Joel.”

  ****

  The bar is busy as you try to handle the high volume of drinks you’re making. Frankie leans against the wall at the end of the row with one leg on the sink essentially keeping anyone from walking behind. 

  It all sounded so romantic…protect the lady and walk her home but it was much more than that below the surface. You benefited heavily from being one of two of the busiest bars in the QZ, but if ration cards weren’t being exchanged none of it mattered. 

  You knew there were plenty of days where you got so busy you didn’t notice someone slip out without paying or maybe someone drank more than their rations provided. It was a luxury to drink for some and a necessity for others. 

  Yes Frankie had an important job but each man had a specific task. Frankie needed to protect you but also he needed to make sure everyone paid and if they didn’t they would have to answer to Santi. Will was tasked with rival gangs and elicit activities not taking place inside the bar. If they’ve already been told not to come back then they would need to answer to Benny at the door. 

  It was all carefully orchestrated by Joel. He’s spent years worrying about all of this and keeping you safe on top of that and now he has the reinforcement to truly run things the way he wants. 

  A short gruff man you know all too well whistles at you from the end of the bar signaling you over. “Hey Shine, I'm out of here.”

  “6 rations.” He licks his lips and slaps 4 cards on the bar top as he slides off his stool. 

  Frankie stands and pushes him against the hard wood before he can make a move for the door. 

  “You owe the lady two more unless you want me to take whatever you have left.” The man frantically looks to his side for support as Santi nods toward Benny placed at the door. 

  Will is seated in a booth scrubbing his jaw watching the scene unfold. 

  The man shakily reaches in his pocket procuring two more cards and bolting out the door. 

  The hush that had fallen over the room is replaced with the sweet melody of Charity over a string guitar. As if the slow motion spell was lifted, the bar is back to the clinking of glasses and the rousing laughter. 

  You glance over at Frankie who’s resumed his spot at the end of the bar, leg perched on the sink with a slight smile on his face. 

  The rest of the night goes without incident as the buzz of their presence has made itself known. You’re just finishing cleaning up while you and Charity have a nightcap. It sounded odd at a bar but Lavender tea was your perfect way to end the night. It also helped that it was easy to grow. 

  “I probably should’ve asked you for coffee…I’m planning on being up late.” She looks at Santi over her shoulder and you think he may have met his match. 

  “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.” She sets her mug down, almost spilling the contents. 

  “Oh I’m trouble?…What was going on in the office earlier?” Touché 

  “It was an important meeting.” You take a sip of your tea to hide your smile. 

  “Well I have a very important meeting tonight regarding my religion…he’s a priest or something.” 

  You chortle into the tea as she tries to contain her laughter. 

  “He’s a pope actually and I hope he saves you from your sins.” 

  “You say my name Luna(Moon)?” Santi slides up next to her and your heart warms at the pet name. 

  “Oh nothing I just heard you’re doing some charity work tonight.” She buries her face in her hands as his eyes go wide. 

  Frankie’s laughter at the end of the bar startles you. You had all but forgotten him as he took his job very seriously. Pope flips him off as his laughter grows louder and you could definitely get used to that sound. 

  Santi loops his arm around Charity pulling her off the stool. “Goodnight Luna, get home safe.” He winks at you as they head towards the hallway giggling like teenagers. 

  Benny and Will head over after locking the door and shutting off the sign. You make your way around the bar and give Will a hug, after he turns to Frankie whispering something just out of ear shot. 

  You feel your feet leave the ground and you’re acutely aware of the force that is Benny hoisting you in the air before gently placing you down. 

  “Does he always do this?” Frankie and Will nod simultaneously at you before Will waves you off to head upstairs. 

  You turn to face Ben and somehow he’s still full of as much energy as he started the night with. His pale blue eyes piercing through you as he bounces from toe to toe. 

  “I changed my mind about your shirt.” He looks at you inquisitively awaiting your response as you stand on your toes to whisper in his ear. 

  “It’s very intimidating.” He looks at Frankie trying to hide the glossiness in his eyes before he leans down and kisses your cheek. “Goodnight sweetheart.” 

  Frankie doesn’t know what you did or what you said but he hasn’t seen his friends that happy in a long time. 

  ****

  The walk home feels foreign. Neither of you break the silence, only the sound of the ground crunching beneath your feet and the city nightlife stirring occasionally causing you to jump. 

  You lived in a relatively nice sector, because of Joel curfew was a suggestion and not necessarily a requirement, but the sounds of the other regions echoed off the brick walls jolting you back to reality. 

  You’re not gonna get anywhere with Frankie at this rate so you decide to break the ice. 

  “So tell me about yourself.” He looks at you sideways trying to ignore the innocent smile on your face. 

  “Not much to tell.” Ok stubborn 

  “How old are you?” He lets out a frustrated sigh. 

  “Older than you.” He’s got his hands tucked in his front pockets, his whole posture is different from the previous night. 

  “Vous êtes tellement frustrant.”-you are so frustrating. His eyebrows raise at the foreign language. 

  “Say it in Spanish and maybe I’ll listen.” His lack of confidence in you makes this game even more appealing. 

  “Eres tan frustrante.” Your smirk at him only further taunts the situation. 

  “Has anyone ever told you, you’ve got a smart mouth.” All the time.

  If he wasn’t going to easily supply information you would just have to use other means of persuasion. You decide to start skipping, just fast enough that he can’t keep up at his normal pace. 

  He’s desperately trying to not get to know you. The less he knows about you and you about him the easier it will be to fight these feelings he’s having. You’re not making it very easy when he has a perfect view of your ass all night while you bartend or the way you’ve fit so perfectly into his friends lives. Now apparently you speak fucking French and Spanish. This was going to be a losing battle. 

He jogs ahead to catch up with you and he’s so not in the mood for this but you’re just as stubborn as him it seems.

  “Fine I’ll talk if you stop skipping.” He’s slightly embarrassed at how out of breath he is. 

  You stop skipping but make no move to speak, waiting for him to lead the conversation where he wants. He doesn’t even know where to begin but he doesn’t want to start running again so he has to think fast. 

  “Where did you learn those languages?” 

  “Charity taught me most of my Spanish, it’s not a lot but I enjoy learning. I learned French from a book Joel found a long time ago.” You’ve piqued his interest at your desire to learn despite this harsh new world you live in. 

  “I could teach you more if you’re interested.” You try to hide your smile and tamp down some of your giddiness at the prospect of him letting some walls down. 

  “I would love that…I could teach you French if you want.” He laughs for the first time all night as he loosens up a little more. 

  “I don’t know if I can learn new things…especially French. I’m sure I’ll butcher it.” 

  “It’s never too late to learn new things.” He looks over at you and he doesn’t remember getting so close. The sincerity in your eyes is too much and he clears his throat as he looks anywhere but your face. 

  “So how’d you meet Joel?” You let out a long sigh as you mindlessly kick a rock out of your path. 

  “It’s a long story…he helped me when I needed it most.” 

  “I’m sure there’s more to that story.” He was starting to enjoy talking to you but he can tell that’s a subject that may have the conversation ending before he’s ready too. 

  “There’s definitely more to it…maybe I’ll tell you one day.” 

  He feels you shiver slightly against his shoulder and without hesitation pulls you into him for warmth. He curses to himself at how perfectly you fit under his arm. 

  “You should’ve brought some pants for the walk, it’s cold.” I had pants.

  “Ya I wasn’t thinking, I will next time.” You might forget again just so you can feel the protective weight of his arm draped around you as you walk the rest of the way in silence. 

  He takes note of the much nicer townhouse as you climb the steps ahead of him. Thankfully your skirt was just long enough or he would’ve got a glimpse of something he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. 

  You dig into your bag for your keys, trying to shield him from the pants placed directly on top of everything. 

  “Do you want to come in for a drink? I hate that you have to walk me home and then just head back.” You open the door slightly, he gets a small peek into your open living room set up much like Joel’s office. 

  “I really shouldn’t…don’t worry about me, it's my job.” He nervously scrubs the back of his neck, he doesn’t miss the way you wince a little at the mention of being a job. 

  “Okay…bonne nuit Francisco.” You slowly close the door and lock it behind you.

  “Buenas noches mi Luna.”

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