★Saph & Smoe★

★[Saph-21-she/her-virgo-control][Smoe-21-she/her-libra-chaos]★ requests ★ navigation ★ donations

[thewordswewrite]

 ‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾ 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

✰ 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒖𝒔 - who we write for, what we do

✰ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 (post) (page) - the words we write

✰ 𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒉'𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 - saph’s personal fics

✰ 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒆𝒔'𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 - smoe’s personal fics

✰ 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒔 - updates monthly

✰ 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 - a place to donate money and support us<3

[thewordswewrite]

Oops a break….

We’re taking a small break this week, Saph is in a directing position and it’s been all hands on deck this past week since the show is this weekend! Smoe has also been applying to grad school for social work so all in all it’s been hectic!

thank you guys so much for your understanding!! -saph&smoe <333

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 4 - The Bread

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | They were starving.

Chapter Warnings | death, grief

W/C | 2.4k

A/N | Hope you guys enjoy -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist| |AO3|

Last night, Peeta asked me to bring the memory book back to their place in the morning, so here I am braving the early morning frost of February, lugging over the book. It was the baby boy’s second birthday and Peeta insisted on making a cake whose recipe only existed in the pieced-together book.

I stand at the door breath, visible in the air, and prepare to knock, shifting the large, bulky book in my arms but before I can even raise a hand the door is wrenched open.

“Haymitch!” Peeta is all smiles and far too loud for my liking at the early hour.

“Peeta, so much enthusiasm for so early in the morning!”

“Well, it is someone’s birthday today,” He says cheerily, grabbing the curly haired toddler and presenting him proudly. The child squeals in delight at the attention and my cold heart thaws just a little but not enough to stop my commenting.

“I don’t think he knows the difference between today, tomorrow, and yesterday,” I say, lightly poking the boy’s cheek.

“Well he’ll learn the difference when he can have as much cake as he wants today,” Peeta replies, aiming his overexaggerated tone and words at the boy.

“Cake for me, Dada?” The little girl asks, appearing without a sound from somewhere else in the house. 

“The cake is for your little brother. Its his birthday today.” The girl, still not even five herself, begins to cry at the idea of missing out. I smirk, amused at Peeta’s panic and attempt to backtrack. “But you still get to have cake!”

“Nice going, Peeta.”

I enter the house and quickly scoop up the crying girl while also depositing the memory book on the kitchen counter, bouncing the child in my arms to get her to calm down. 

“I think it's time to take a breather, little goose,” I tell her, patting her on the back. She lays her head on my shoulder and sticks out her bottom lip, milking the attention that I can’t help myself but to give her. “Why don't you go work up an appetite for all the cake you’re going to eat later, huh?”

Satisfied that if her father won’t be baited, I will, she runs off as soon as her little feet touch the ground, her brother following after her as well as he can. I see the children playing together, despite their age difference and it reminds me of Sid and I when we were little. Though, nothing looms over the heads of these children, the children of Panem who do not dread the sunrise.

“What’s so special about this cake anyway?” I turn from watching the children to see where Peeta flipped the book open to and has already begun taking ingredients out.

Honey Plum Cake

By: Pippa Mellark

Plum Topping:

One jar preserved plums

2 tbs soft brown sugar 

Cake:

3tbs water 

100g butter 

1tbs light brown sugar 

250ml honey 

1tsp vanilla

3 eggs 

280g plain flour

2tsp baking powder 

1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda

220ml milk

1tbs vegetable oil

“My mother made it for special occasions, usually important birthdays or for the new year,” Peeta tells me. I can see he’s avoiding my eye but I can’t think of any reason for it. “I don't know. I suppose I missed having it and we have stored honey and plums preserved from when Katniss found them last fall so I figured since we have everything there’d be no harm.”

“Two isn’t that important a birthday though, is it?” 

“No I suppose not.” Peeta’s fingers brush over the page, his mother’s handwriting and I begin to understand. I don’t know why a man would wish for someone who never treated him like they should, but I know complicated, and I sure as hell know longing. New family, better family even, doesn’t replace the old.

“Well, who cares I think two is plenty important,” I say, clapping him on the back and picking up the recipe to review.  “Let’s have cake!”

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

Rain blurs my vision as I walk through the mud streets of the Seam, away from the Hob and back toward Victor’s Village. I didn’t think it was going to rain from the looks of the sky that morning, but now, mud coating my boots, I wish I’d just stayed in bed.

My stomach aches as I walk, and I can’t remember the last time I ate. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air as muddy paths turn to cobbled streets, and the Merchant Market comes into view. My mouth waters at the thought of sweet rolls, and my feet lead me to the bakery.

There isn’t a long line at the bakery, not that there ever is, but the rain has kept even the few better-off folks from making the trip. Still, the matron of the place is running about as if she has endless orders to fulfill, ordering her boys around with fervor. I almost rethink my decision, the shrill sound of her voice is enough to make me take a couple of stumbling steps back, but Otho, whose face I vaguely recall, is already asking what I’m in for. 

“Uh, just a couple of sweet rolls.” My words sound slurred even to me. “Or whatever you’ve already got in. S’fine.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Abernathy,” Otho says with a smile brighter than the situation calls for. “I’ll throw in an extra cookie for the patronage on such a foul day.”

“Awful nice of you.” And it is awful nice even though I know the only reason people around here treat me well is that I have more than enough to tip them. Capitol fascination with victors ends at the district lines.

As Otho turns to pack up my order, I see his youngest son in the back, standing idly at the oven and staring at a figure through the window. His eyes dart to the baking bread every few seconds, clearly close to being done, before focusing his attention back outside. From where I’m standing behind the counter, I can’t make out the figure in the rain, but my curiosity is piqued when the blond boy pushes the nearly done bread further into the oven. I feel my eyebrows furrow at the action, but Otho is back, and I’m digging in my coat for money.

“Uh, how much?”

“20 is fair, especially since you’ve been in the rain,” Otho says meekly, though the wringing of his hands tell a different story.

I nod and hand over 50, for their generosity and the hard winter that was coming to an end. Just as I hand over the money and get my food, the smell of burning fills my nose, and I see one of the boys quickly taking the burnt loaves of bread from the stove. Like a hound that caught a scent, Otho’s wife storms into the kitchen, eyes honed in on the resigned-looking boy.

A sharp whack of the back of a hand meeting skin sinks the room into an uneasy silence before the outburst.

“Peeta Mellark, I told you to pay attention to the bread that’s 80 dollars gone!”

I cringe at the crack of his mother’s hand across his face and hurriedly pluck two more 50s from my pocket and leave them on the counter before leaving. My own mother never laid a hand on me, but I knew more than one kid from the Seam that got the same treatment from their parents. I guess it's no different in town. 

As I amble out the door, I hear the slam of the side door against the wall almost simultaneously. I duck out of the way, or at least I try to, but my drunken step makes me slide a little further with the mud until I’ve found myself on the opposite side of the bakery, watching the scene like a creep. 

The pigs on the boy's side, Peeta’s side, waddle up to him with as much enthusiasm as a hog could have and await the burnt loaves, quality no matter to them. I have a half-baked thought of a painted poster Lenore Dove would conjure up, something about the Capitol being the boy and us district the pigs, when I’m startled out of it by the boy's exclamation as he chucks the loaf far off and in the opposite direction of the swine. I follow the arc of the loaf to the same figure the boy was watching out the window, but now, even in the rain, I can see her; Katniss. 

After a beat, the boy goes back inside, back to his work, but I’m frozen in place. I’m not one for keeping track of time these days, but I know it has to be less than a handful of months since I’d last seen her, and here she was, skin sticking to bones like my clothes sticking to my body in this rain. Her usually olive skin, the gift of her father, sallow and her braid limp and lifeless against her shoulder. I want to call out to her, but I am overwhelmed with shame. I only watch as she picks up the bread and walks back toward the Seam.

~ ປ ~

It’s been a week since I saw Katniss outside the bakery, and my mind refuses to rest, replaying the scene of an emaciated little girl saved by the baker’s boy. The images concocted late at night of a frail Asterid holding a crying Primrose, with Katniss as their only provider has left me catatonic. I’ve been holed up in my house, too paranoid I’d see any of them and my guilt would overcome my good sense to stay away. I imagine them dying, exposed ribs, confined to their beds as fatigue takes over, and I drag myself to the Seam with food, money, anything that could save them. 

But at the end of every spiral, I remind myself what my help would look like: the Everdeen family dead at the hands of Snow, be it torture, poison, or a burned-down home, they will die if I’m involved. At least they have a chance that someone else could take pity on them, like the boy from the bakery.

My curtains are drawn, darkness consuming every room in my home save the few beams of light that sneak through the cracks. I’m lying on the floor of my sitting room, rug stained to hell, when a knock echoes through the empty home. I blink at the noise, believing it must be a trick of my mind rather than someone at my door, but when it happens again, I sit up. The last time someone showed up at my door, it was Peacekeepers forcing me to stay alive, and I fear I’ve been out of the public eye too long, invoking the ire of Snow. 

The knocking continues until I reach the door and open it with shaking hands. Spring has thoroughly thawed out 12, and rain has drowned the Seam, leaving nothing but mud in its wake. This is all I can think of when I see Asterid standing in front of me, covered in muck.

“Haymitch.”

“Asterid?” I ask, genuinely unsure if I’m really seeing her. I hadn’t even laid eyes on her since the funeral, and I was under the impression that she wasn’t planning to speak to me or anyone else for quite a long time. 

“You let me in,’ She says, not quite a question nor a demand but the unsteady tremor of an unused voice. I step aside, though, as if it is the latter. She strolls in, glaring at the walls, the furniture as if they did something to her. Then, she finds herself a seat and sinks into it without another word.

“Asterid?” I repeat, now standing in front of where she sits. “Ast–”

“Katniss. It’s Katniss.” 

She says the girl’s name so gravely a pit in my stomach tries to tell me that the girl is gone. It’s only when Asterid explains the situation that I understand she is gone.

“She told Prim. She’s gonna take out tesserae,” Asterid says, “She’s twelve now and with three of us…Oh, Haymitch.”

I look at the woman before me, a far cry from the shell of a human being I saw only months ago begging him to save her daughter from the games, the same games I lost everything but my life in. Asterid is weeping into her hands, choked sobs that steal her breath, and I realize, in losing Burdock, she lost herself, but losing Katniss would kill her. Katniss, who is Burdock in every way that mattered, condemning herself for the sake of her family.

“I can’t help you, not directly.” My voice has sobered up along with my racing mind, trying to come up with a way to give them what they need.

“Please, anything, I can’t let her do this.”

I agree. If Katniss started taking out tesserae for the family now, her odds would be less than favorable, deadly. I know I don’t technically owe them anything–don’t owe anyone anything at this point–but Burdock was like my second brother and if he was kin, they are two. But I can’t be too obvious or let my guilt get anyone killed. I’d need a cover. I look behind me at the house, too large for one person, but large enough for one person to do plenty of damage and I make up my mind.

“You could clean for me, cook meals too. Bring the girls while you’re here, and I can feed all of you. Pay you too, not too much to raise suspicion, but enough to get you through while I’m away mentoring for the games.” I have to think about the future, and I have to think of a way to make this convincing enough for Snow.

“Thank you, thank you.” Asterid’s hands are shaking as she grasps my own, and I’m startled at the contact.

I usher her back out of the house, fast enough that I don’t take it back and don’t have to think too much about how either of us got here in the first place. There’s always been a part of me that wants to help, but the other, louder, part says that everything I touch is ruined. I can only hope the former wins out.

|Masterlist| |Last Chapter| |Next Chapter|

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy | Masterlist

Pairing | General, Mentioned Haymitch Abernathy x Lenore Dove Baird, Minor Katniss Everdeen x Peeta Mellark, Minor Burdock Everdeen x Asterid Everdeen

Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay (minor canon divergence where Haymitch is more present in the Everdeen's lives after Burdock's death)

Warnings | canon typical violence, explicit language, suicidal ideation

Schedule | New chapters every Monday 5 PST/8 EST

!IMPORTANT! | Consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

COMMENT BELOW TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

Donations | Link  <–CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

~ ປ ~ Main Story ~ ປ ~

Chapter One | The Snake

Chapter Two | The Song

Chapter Three | The Funeral

Chapter Four | The Bread: 2/16

Chapter Five | The Fence: 2/23

More chapters to come...

Taglist |

[thewordswewrite]

Chapter 3 is out!

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 3 - The Funeral

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | There's an explosion.

Chapter Warnings | death, grief

W/C | 1.6k

A/N | So so sorry for this... -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist| |AO3|

I look at myself in the mirror and there’s not much there to see but an effort made. It isn’t like going over to Katniss’s for dinner is a new occurrence but Peeta was insistent on tonight being ‘special.’ I tried to tell him that his definition of special was far different from Katniss’s but he wouldn’t hear it and I certainly wouldn’t mind tonight being entertaining.

My hair is more grey than anything as I try to brush through it, pretending I care where the strands fall. When I look in the mirror now, all I think of is my Lenore Dove, if those curls would’ve gone grey by now–if somewhere they are. My thoughts hold me down like a weight and I know that if I don’t go downstairs and out the front door now, I never will.

I carry with me my small basket of goose eggs the short distance over to Katniss and Peeta’s, feeling more like a little old lady than a house guest. As I approach the door I can hear the muffled pleading of Peeta and the stern no-nonsense tone of Katniss’s voice. I roll my eyes and knock on the door, having wished Peeta had listened to me.

“Sweetheart, would you give the boy a break?” I hand off the basket to her as soon as she opens the door. Instead of welcoming me in as I just know she would’ve done otherwise, Katniss storms past me after dropping the basket at the door.

“I told you not to do this.” This time I direct my disappointment at Peeta as I catch the eye of a little girl and a grin breaks out on my face. 

Peeta strokes the girl’s dark hair and presses a kiss to her head. “I was trying to do something nice. It's been 25 years.”

“Well, some people aren’t very good with anniversaries,” I say, keeping a happy smile painted on for the kids, “your wife being one of them.” I can’t deny that the situation amuses me. They’re like players in a Capital stage show, doing exactly what the script says.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Haymitch is going to go get mommy,” Peeta directs towards his little one, a pawn for making promises one has to keep.

“Oh am I now?” I cross my arms over my chest. I know I am but like Katniss, I can’t help but watch him squirm. 

“Haymitch please.” The boy’s hazel eyes bore down on me and I know I’m a goner. I always thought it’d be her and Gale, especially after they started going to the woods together but looking at the pleading man in front of me I know how he makes her soft. 

I huff and shoot the little girl an exasperated face before turning around, knowing just where Katniss will be. The walk is a short 25 yards around the fountain and across the road to the house the Capitol ‘gifted’ Katniss and her family all those years ago. The place is dusty, frozen in time the way any relic of war is after the fallout. The stairs creak as I make my way up, closer and closer to soft sobs until I push through Prim’s bedroom door.

“C’mon, sweetheart, Peeta made your favorite.” Katniss wipes the tears away angrily but they don’t stop coming. I perch on a stool near the bed, speaking as tenderly as a man like me could. “You know he means well.”

Katniss is under the covers of the only clean room in the house. Prim’s things were all left exactly how she kept them since the day 12 was evacuated. 

“He made a page in the book. For him.” Katniss’s voice is hoarse, which makes my heart ache, but from all the times and reasons I’ve heard it like that before, this isn’t so bad. 

“I think it’s only right,” I say, not only for her father but for my best friend, old Burdie.

“He used the medal to make a rubbing,” She says with venom in her voice. I agree; a medal is a poor substitute for a life. “I don’t know why I still have it. Capitol trash.”

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

There is no body to bury. The blast vaporized Burdock and another man who stayed back with him. Survivors said they got everyone out and up the elevator as fast as possible when one of the Powdermen noticed the charge malfunction. They said there wasn’t enough space. Burdock got off when the elevator wouldn’t rise, then another man, a Mr. Hawthorne, they said. The elevator rose, and they stayed behind.

“You're headed for heaven

The sweet old hereafter

And I've got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I've loose ends to tie up

Right here, in the old therebefore”

For some reason, there are more people here than I expected. Just a miner from the Seam and half the town is standing in their Sunday best listening to an 11-year-old girl sing a song for her father. I expected the others from the mine, even those Burdie sold to at the Hob, but the mayor is here with his daughter. Katniss’s friend, I figured, by the way she’d been holding her hand since she arrived. Even old Cray came out of uniform to pay his respects to the man he turned a blind eye to whenever he brought around a fresh kill.

Before the funeral, Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne’s boy were made to stand at the Justice Building with their families to receive medals for “their father’s acts of bravery in service of the Capitol.” Her face was stone as the mayor handed Katniss the box with the medal, her expression contrasting the blaze in her eyes. Asterid’s face was blank, nothing shining through as she looked on; she seemed empty as she held a crying Primrose’s hand.

My eyes water at the lyrics, unable to keep my composure. The last time I heard this song was when Burdock himself sang it for Sid and Ma’s funeral. The funeral of my sister, my sweetheart, and the son of an oddsmaker whose own luck ran out the day of the reaping. You could hear a pin drop in the silence between the lines, shaky little breaths barely holding on before the melody leaves her lips.

“When I'm pure like a dove

When I've learned how to love

Right here, in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore”

When Katniss opens her eyes, a beat of silence holds still in the air before she walks over to Asterid and her sister. Primrose looks sad but clearly confused as she looks up at her blank-faced mother, and I can’t help but go over there. My feet are moving faster than my brain, and suddenly I’m standing before the trio.

“Asterid, I–” I start and I’ve never been good with words, but suddenly I realize I’ve never been worse. Instead, I’m honest. “I don’t know what to say.”

Asterid doesn’t look at me and I don’t blame her. I was supposed to be Burdock's best friend, I was Burdock’s best friend and maybe if I hadn’t pushed him away, I could’ve made a difference. I could’ve found a way for him not to have to work down in the mines in the first place. Katniss looks angry rather than hurt, and I wonder how much her parents have told her about me, if anything. But I don’t give up, I can’t; not like I have in the past.

“If there's any way I can help, I’d like to,” I say, tail between my legs. “You know I can’t give you much, but I can give you enough to make sure your girls don’t starve.”

“She won’t talk back,” Katniss says plainly, the dark look in her eyes a ghost of her father.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

“She hasn’t talked since the explosion.” When she speaks, her eyes aren’t on me but on Primrose, who tugs at her mom's sleeve futilely. 

“She hasn’t–?”

“I don’t know if I know you. I can’t–I can’t think,” Katniss says. There’s a maturity there I shouldn’t have to see, the maturity of someone who had to grow up too fast. I think again about a past where she might have known me well, had I been someone worth knowing.

“We’ve met before. At the Hob, at your house, but you were only a babe then.”

“Did you know him?”

“Bur–Your dad?” I nod. I had known him like a brother once. “I do, I did.”

“Were you friends?” She asks skeptically. 

“The best,” I say and I stupidly hope my tone conveys even an inkling of what I felt for her father.

“How do I know if you’re telling the truth?” Her eyes narrow and I wish she had the privilege of being the kind of kid who could put her trust in her elders.

I look between Asterid, who looks off into the distance, practically unblinking and Primrose, who has never known her mother as someone other than her very foundation to life. Then I look back at Katniss, who has inexplicably become the head of the family before reaching her teen years. All I can think is that they need someone and I’m not who they need, but all they’ve got.

“Just ask me, I’ll never lie to you. Cross my heart,” I promise, those words not having crossed my lips since the last time I had a little brother who I could hold in my arms. 

“Cross your heart.”

|Masterlist| |Last Chapter| |Next Chapter|

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy | Masterlist

Pairing | General, Mentioned Haymitch Abernathy x Lenore Dove Baird, Minor Katniss Everdeen x Peeta Mellark, Minor Burdock Everdeen x Asterid Everdeen

Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay (minor canon divergence where Haymitch is more present in the Everdeen's lives after Burdock's death)

Warnings | canon typical violence, explicit language, suicidal ideation

Schedule | New chapters every Monday 5 PST/8 EST

!IMPORTANT! | Consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

COMMENT BELOW TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

Donations | Link  <–CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

~ ປ ~ Main Story ~ ປ ~

Chapter One | The Snake

Chapter Two | The Song

Chapter Three | The Funeral: 2/9

Chapter Four | The Bread: 2/16

Chapter Five | The Fence: 2/23

More chapters to come...

Taglist |

[thewordswewrite]

Second chapter out now!!

Click -> Here!

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 2 - The Song

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | It's the first day of school.

Chapter Warnings | grief, alcohol

W/C | 2.4k

A/N | Please enjoy!! -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist| |AO3|

Katniss and Peeta hadn’t been around in about two days; it’s cold season, and the children picked up something from school. I hate to admit it, but the noise and company were something I’d gotten too used to. My bones ache as I swing my legs out of bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast. Leftover lamb and plum stew, Katniss’ favorite that she insisted Peeta make at least once a week, more often than not ended up in my icebox.

I have little to do but tend my geese, my flock I bring to roam in her meadow, grazing on clover and little yellow flowers that dot the grassy expanse. The trek out gets harder and harder, but I’d go until I couldn’t get out of bed. When I get back, I tend to let the birds wander about Victor’s Village, ignoring Katniss’ complaints of goose shit.

After I check on the flock, pretending I know one bird from another like Lenore Dove did, I walk back to my place, not in any particular hurry. It’s the same house it’s always been, but somehow it feels more lonely than it ever did when he was actually alone. I used to think the loneliness of having no one was the most painful, but the emptiness of missing someone still around was almost heavier.

I step through the doorway, and already I don’t know what to do with myself. I think to make myself useful, maybe making something to bring over for the little family, knowing they’d have their hands full with the kids, but Peeta was always the cook. Instead, I just sit at the table, nursing a drink. That’s what I do now. I sip and I nurse. 

I’m hesitant to put my glass down near Katniss and Peeta’s memorial book, left here to keep safe from prying little hands until they’re old enough to understand it. I place my glass on the kitchen counter instead and grab the book, though I tell myself it’s just something to do. 

They’d begun to collect things from the rubble a week after getting back from 13, pictures and trinkets that managed to survive the bombs in steel keepsake boxes and such. All these years, and I still have bins of things Asterid gave me over the years of the kids for safekeeping. I didn’t show Katniss until well into the creation of their book, but when I pulled out the first photo, then the next, she wouldn’t let me stop.

The newest page had a pasted-on photo of her first day of school, two braids, and a stoic face too grim for a 5-year-old. On the other side of the group stood a bright-faced, smiling Peeta, the two oblivious to each other.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

My eyes are dry and crusted in the corners, straining against the light coming through the wispy curtains. The ones in my room are blackout, never opened, or giving any hint to the time of day, and it's this fact that tells me I fell asleep downstairs again. Cracked lips and a cough get me up, looking for something to drink, as bottle after bottle scattered around me are empty. My winnings feed families for weeks on nepenthe sales alone, and I already feel my hands shake with need.

My boot laces are loose, easy to slip on and off between trips to the Hob to get my fix. I was never a liquor man before, but now it's how I pass the days with nothing to do and no one to see. An empty house full of empty bottles.

It's early September, the air has cooled off, yet days are still long, mockingjays and other birds still sing, making my headache as I leave Victor’s Village pound all that harder. The paved path beneath me turns to gravel, then dirt as I walk through town towards the Hob. I look on at the small wooden shacks, sometimes housing up to six people, and think of my own home, room after room of plush carpets and painted walls. I look down at my feet and try to focus on the birdsong flitting around me, but only hear a faint and familiar tune coming from a few buildings down; a song coming from the schoolhouse.

The children are back in school, done helping their families around the house or in the market, in favor of an education on coal mining. I didn’t much care for school, but it was better than manual labor, at least until the days that it kept me from Lenore Dove, whose education was more organic. I was never as much musically inclined as her either, but when I hear that reedy, distant tune, I choose a path that will ensure I pass the schoolhouse if only to listen and forget for a moment.

But I can’t forget. When I near the ramshackle school building, a cold flush goes through me as I listen to those words. 

“Go write a letter, send it by mail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.

Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.”

The words take me back, images of the warm, dim light, the smell of old wood, and what I didn’t know then but know well now–the smell of alcohol. Arm in arm with Lenore Dove, we dance around to the rhythm of the fiddle, knowing the words but not quite understanding. I remember my forehead pressed to hers, the warmth of her breath against my skin as we laughed, too out of breath to do much more.

“Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you,

Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

I look out at a crowd of bored little kids, not an ounce of recognition in their eyes at the little girl’s sung words, but stop at the sight of a boy with love in his eyes. The scene is all too familiar: a blond boy in love with the song of a Covey girl, and history repeats itself before me.

I want to make it stop, though I know I have no right. They would surely lock me up if my washed-up ass started heckling the poor schoolchildren. Still, I can’t help myself. I peek in through the open window, trying to catch sight of the child who still knew those Covey words. When I see the dark hair plaited in two, and the familiar slope of her nose, my breath catches. Only once the girl finishes the final verse and her teacher pats her on the back do the birds begin to sing again.

“Now, since only Katniss knew the lyrics to the song, I think we ought to talk about why it is outlawed. Do any of you know about the rebellion of District 13 or The Dark Days?”

I watch in horror as Burdock’s girl is the only one to raise her hand. Wrenching myself away from the window, I know I need to speak to Burdock or, at least, Asterid to have her knock some sense into her husband. I know too intimately what they do to those who know too much.

I shuffle off to the Hob with more clarity now, a clearer purpose than the nepenthe, though I will be restocking all the same. Maybe he’d buy whatever game Burdock had brought in when he wasn’t at the mines to butter him up. 

I loiter around the Hob, deciding not to pick up any bottle until after I talk to Burdock. For once, my words will actually have a purpose and I want to think about them clearly. But it’s morning when I get there and the mines don’t let out for a long while. I would like to think I have restraint, but the pounding of my head is ceaseless and I know I need to at least have a glass. I buy someone’s homemade scarf to conceal the bottle I intend to drink. She thanks me greatly for the purchase and even more when I hand over well more than necessary. I don't need the money, and I’m not allowed to give it out. I tried that and learned the hard way, anyone who got more from me than the Capitol deemed appropriate would reap the consequences.

My typical seller already had my usual order ready for me by the time I got there. He knew to set aside at least three bottles every couple of days for when I showed up in the morning.

“Mornin', Mr. Abernathy got your usual right here.” I hated the title more when I was 16, fresh out of the games, than now at 29. The life of a Victor.

I only nod and hand over a small stack of money and tuck two of the bottles into my pockets; the third I open and wrap in the scarf. I find a seat nestled in the corner of the Hob and take a small sip of liquor, just enough to ease the headache, I tell myself. Another sip to stop the shaking of my hands, I reason again. Another to quench the rasp in my voice, I know would be there if I spoke.

~ ປ ~

Hours go by, more than I thought it would take for Burdock to show up; they must’ve hit a vein because it’s long since been dark, and he comes straight from the mines. I know this because he’s covered head to toe in black smears of coal, and his body sags as he orders food. I watch as he sits among the other workers, but shakes his head as two men try to sit at the empty seats next to him. I figure he’s waiting for someone, so I decide to make my move before they show up.

“Burdock,” I say, but he must not hear me because he doesn’t look up. “Burdock!”

Finally, my best friend catches my eye, and I see steely recognition settle on his face. “Haymitch.”

“I’ve gotta talk–” A hiccup catches me off guard. “Talk to you about that girl.” Burdock looks me up and down: my stringy, overgrown hair, my oversized, wrinkled clothing, my pale skin. I try to stand taller, firmer–anything that would make him take me seriously, but it’s as if I can see myself through his eyes, and I wouldn’t take me seriously.

“Haymitch, I think it’d be best if you went on home,” Burdock warns in a kinder voice than I deserve. But the hours here, drinking and ruminating, have soured me.

“Now I’ve been here waiting all day for you,” I say, my voice cracking like I’m not pushing 30. “It’s not safe what you’re doin’.”

“And what am I doin’?” He says, raising a dark eyebrow. 

“Teaching your girl allat…Covey stuff.” I whisper at the end, not knowing what sorts of listening devices Snow’s got around. Burdock looks away from me and huffs, like he’s looking for someone to come save him.

“You’re drunk.”

“It’s not safe, Burdock!” I huff, sounding more petulant than foreboding.

“There’s no one around to even recognize what ‘Covey stuff’ is anymore.” Burdock sighs and looks down at his food. “Haymitch, I know you’re still torn up about Lenore Dove, but no one knows one thing about the Covey anymore.”

“Don’t.” I point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t say her name.”

“Haymitch–”

“Snow.”

“What?”

“Snow knows about the Covey. He hates them,” I say, finally feeling like I’ve struck something to salvage this conversation. Burdock stiffens and looks around again. I raise my eyebrows, or at least try to with my face feeling a little numb, to show him I think I’ve got him.

“And how do you figure that?”

“Back from when I won. I saw something in the Capitol, a girl in a rainbow dress singin’” I tell him, recalling the tape I had seen, the one I hadn’t seen as a warning. “Singin' like your girl did today. Stoppin’ the birds.”

My old friend looks fond for a moment, probably from the thought of his little girl’s voice, but then his expression darkens. I may have fumbled my way there, but I could see in his eyes that we were finally on the same page. He had to at least know I meant well. 

Burdock looks past me suddenly, and I turn around, the sudden movement making my head spin. My eyes land on Asterid and then the baby in her arms and then the little girl with two brown braids starin’ at me, clinging to her mother’s skirt. Asterid eyes me but sits down anyway, and I get a look at the newest Everdeen.

“At least this one looks nothin’ like you.” The baby has a tuft of blonde hair in a perfect curl at its forehead and big blue eyes staring up at me.

“Her name is Primrose,” Asterid says softly, clearly trying to break the tension between her husband and me. 

“What?” That same cold flush from earlier goes through me.

“Primrose, like the flower,” the little girl, Katniss, if I recall, says to me with narrowed eyes and more than a hint of venom. Primrose, like the flower. One word, not two. For a moment, I had searched my mind for poems that I knew in another lifetime, one that could have produced the name Prim. But still, Burdock wasn’t that bold.

“Katniss, don’t be rude,” Burdock reprimands his daughter. 

I look down at Katniss, in this old place full of ghosts, and all of a sudden, it’s too much. Her hair and matter-of-fact attitude too akin to my sweetheart, my Louella. My stomach heaves, but I hold it down and move from the table, needing to leave. The family is a sight that makes me panic, too fragile and new to risk on me. Burdock needed to protect them and I would have to stay as far away as possible.

“Remember what I said,” I call back to Burdock as I stumble away from the memories, my voice trembling and chest tight. 

I’m barely out of the building when I open another bottle. The nepenthe burns as it slides down my throat, but it fights against the cool air of the night. I don’t remember how I got home, just that when I hit my bed, I think of songbirds stopping to listen.

|Masterlist| |Last Chapter| |Next Chapter|

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 1 - The Snake

Story Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay

Chapter Summary | Haymitch gets bit.

Chapter Warnings | snakebite, suicidal ideation, grief, alcohol

W/C | 1.9k

A/N | Hey guys back at it again with another Hunger Games fic cause you know we're so diverse anyway hope you love it and you remember who we are! -Saph&Smoe <333

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist| |AO3|

I’m sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, the one that used to be gas but can’t quite shape up after the wreckage, when I feel an unannounced presence next to me. Though Katniss’s presence is always unannounced, even now. 

“Don’t you have little mutts to attend to?” I ask her, the word feeling unsavory in my mouth even now.

“Peeta’s turn,” Katniss says simply, opening up the memory book. “Besides, even little mutts don’t get up before me.” 

“When are you gonna learn how to sleep in?” I ask wryly, groaning as I sit up to get a better look at her. Lines have worn in around her face, a privilege for a victor, even more for a girl from the Seam. I look at her and see Burdock through and through, though older than I’d ever seen him. Prim always had the closer likeness to Asterid, pale eyes and hair, a stark contrast between the sisters. She sits at the dining table, cleared of bottles and food, a space for her and Peeta to work.

“Maybe when you learn to sleep without a bottle. I thought we talked about this,” She replies, wetting her brush with her homemade paste.

“You know it’s not the same as it was. Swear it.” 

I stand and move to the seat next to her. I want to see the new page she’s working on, even if I’m still not too keen on the idea of the book. Besides, I can’t help but want to make sure nothing hurts her, even if it's just a memory. She pastes a photo down onto the page, and I feel a cold flush, guilt still my first instinct when seeing their faces and the bundle they were holding.

“I remember when they were that young. When I was too,” I say, not one to reminisce but knowing she liked to fill in the blanks. “You’d just been born.”

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

My eyes wander the sky, tracing constellations I’d once pointed out to Sid, my hand guiding his as I told him the stories Tam Amber had told Lenore Dove and she had told me. The warmth of the alcohol in my gut is no longer fighting against the cooler September nights, and I shiver at the breeze gliding through the meadow and wish I’d brought a coat.

The grass beneath me is starting to turn to straw, no longer the lush green of spring and summer, but dead, dying. Dying like I felt every day without my Lenore Dove, dead like she is in the ground beneath me. They say time is supposed to heal all wounds, but mine just keeps getting bigger. It’s like whatever they did in the Capitol to put me back together was just a pretty veneer for everyone else; I know they put it back all wrong.

The games being long over, and the victory tour still a ways off, gave me a sense of uneasy peace, a purgatory between the hell of the bloodbath and Capitol frivolities. I’d lost them again this year. The boy was small and the girl smaller, both from the Seam and both starving. They were reaped through tesserae entries, no doubt after the year we’d had. I huffed and threw an arm over my eyes to block out the sky and the sick realization that I hadn’t bothered to feel hopeful for my tributes this year. It made it easier at the time; it made it easier now. It’d been years since I’ve heard from Plutarch, or Beetee, poor man. I always thought losing sight of the rebellion would push me over the edge, break my spirit and the promise I made to Lenore Dove, but somehow it was easier.

I feel it before I understand what's happening. There’s a sharp sting in the arm I don’t have strewn over my face, and I taste coins on my tongue. I fling the foreign body off on instinct, and my eye catches the glint of rainbow on black scales as it disappears into the brush. Snake bite. 

I can hear my blood rushing in my ears as I try to sit up, my stomach protesting. Bile rises in my throat as my arm starts to ache like there’s no end in sight. My eyelids are heavy, and it would be so easy just to lie here, for it to all end while I’m next to my Lenore Dove. I turn my head to her gravestone, and the etchings carve into my chest as I read them:

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

I lift my arm to my face, the appendage screaming in protest. The swelling is intense, but I can still see those two little marks. I almost laugh, and then I do. I once had the strength, the will to hold my own guts to my body, and two little puncture holes seemed pathetic. I remember my promise, my duty, thinking about how my dove would’ve laughed too. How she wouldn’t have hesitated to suck the venom out and laugh at me for being such a baby.

But what to do? 

The victor’s village was too far, and damn them all if he would have to have a peacekeeper patch him up. There might be someone at the Hob if he could make it there, but who would know how to treat a snake bite? 

Asterid. Between her and Burdock, they’d know what to do. No, no, he couldn’t go there, the last time I’d seen them, he scarred Asterid’s pretty face, and Burdock had never forgiven him. The last kindness my best friend ever showed was the location of this exact spot. I wrack my brain for another solution, but the ache is only getting worse, and I fear that if I don’t get up now, I never will.

I use my good arm to hoist myself up with a low-hanging branch. When I make it to my feet, I nearly fall right back down, my legs feeling like lead. I don’t know how I carry one foot in front of the other, but I do. It’s the loose spot in the fence that nearly does me in, my weight pitching forward as I bend down to get under it. I nearly catch myself with my good arm, but not before it slips out from under me, and I come face to face with a fresh patch of mud. 

I can only imagine how wild I look, stumbling through the Seam towards Burdock’s place with my swollen arm held close to my chest. Dark eyes peer at me through curtains and windows, but none stop to help, and I don’t blame them; that’s not the way around here.

By the time I reach what acts as their door, I can only manage an incoherent yell before I fall inside. I hit the ground with a thud, and high-pitched wails erupt, causing my already aching head to pound. With that sound, I remember the baby, Burdock’s little girl. The way he showed her off at the Hob like a prized hunt.

Blonde hair, blue eyes and a slack jaw blur together as I look up.

“Haymitch?” I hear.

“I never…said…congratulations.”

~ ປ ~

My ears seem to wake up before the rest of me, tiny coos and gurgles fill the space as my eyes struggle to refocus. My mind immediately goes to my arm, and I look to see it bandaged and realize the majority of the pain is gone. My eyes slide around the room until they reach Asterid, sitting in a wooden rocking chair with a baby in her arms, eyes firmly on me.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel–” I nearly hack up a lung before I can say ‘bad.’

“Drink that,” She nods to the bottles beside me, her hands full of squirming child. I grab the only one that looks like something I’d want to drink, and Asterid stands suddenly.

“Not the antiseptic! The water!” She puts the baby down in a nearby bassinet and strides over quickly.

I bark out a laugh and put the bottle down, trading it for the other. “Antiseptic is just as good.”

“Burdock is out hunting. You should leave before he gets back.”

She’s right, I should go, but I still feel that dull ache, and I can’t help but want to rest my sore eyes on an old friend a little longer. Chances are I’ll never see her again, at least not from this close. I keep an eye on things around the district; there’s not much else to do. My sight sets on the baby, her dark hair and olive skin clear as day, even with how small she is.

“What’s her name?” I ask cautiously. It’s not quite curiosity that makes me ask, but rather a masochistic tendency. Was Burdock bold enough?

“Katniss”

“Like the swamp potato?” I tease, but part of me feels relief. Katniss, just Katniss.

“It was Burdock’s idea, and I liked it,” Asterid replies. She says it with a quality in her voice that those from town get.

“And what do your folks think of it?”

“They think of it the same as they thought of me being with Burdock,” She says, narrowing her eyes at him, “Or at least I assume, I haven’t spoken to them since the wedding.”

Wedding is a loose term in the Seam. In town, they can afford to go to the courthouse, maybe wear a dress of a different color. I wasn’t invited to their wedding, but I know it didn’t look anything as official as that. I look down at the baby. 

“She looks nothing like you, you know,” I say it fondly. Asterid’s always been pretty, but Burdock’s like kin. 

“She’s all Burdock, stubborn like him, too,” Asterid says fondly too. She knows his ways. “Never cries”

“Except because of me.”

“Except because of you,” Asterid echoes with a knowing smirk. The rhythm we’re in, it reminds me of old times. I was distrustful of her, being from town and all, but I knew she was good people by the way I could tease her. Maysilee was the same.

“I’m sorry about the rock and how I treated you both,” I say, looking down. I’ve never been good at apologies. 

“Everything around me seems to die,” I add with a laugh before sobering up, “Couldn’t risk it.”

“Don’t think I didn’t know that was why,” She says, picking up the baby. Asterid holds the bundle close like someone might take the child away. “Your poor Lenore Dove… appendicitis. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I say, a little too sharply. I look at the baby in her arms, and I know she sees me do it. “It’s best I get going, can’t risk being seen here by any Peacekeepers.”

“That’s all you had to say, you know? Back then. We would’ve understood,” 

“Burdock wouldn’t have,” I call back to her from the doorway. “You know that.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Haymitch,” She says, even though we both know I will.

“Goodbye, Asterid. I’m sorry again.”

|Masterlist| |Next Chapter|

[thewordswewrite]

It's our 4 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

wow fanfic for 4 years…

[thewordswewrite]

Memory Book by Haymitch Abernathy | Masterlist

Pairing | General, Mentioned Haymitch Abernathy x Lenore Dove Baird, Minor Katniss Everdeen x Peeta Mellark, Minor Burdock Everdeen x Asterid Everdeen

Summary | “I didn’t want to have anything to do with their memorial book after the war…Before I knew it, they all came tumbling out: family, tributes, friends, comrades in arms, everybody, even my love. I finally told our story.”

Haymitch finally tells his story.

OR: A collection of vignettes of Haymitch’s life from after Sunrise on the Reaping through Mockingjay (minor canon divergence where Haymitch is more present in the Everdeen's lives after Burdock's death)

Warnings | canon typical violence, explicit language, suicidal ideation

Schedule | New chapters every Monday 5 PST/8 EST

!IMPORTANT! | Consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

COMMENT BELOW TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

Donations | Link  <–CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

~ ປ ~ Main Story ~ ປ ~

Chapter One | The Snake

Chapter Two | The Song

Chapter Three | The Funeral

Chapter Four | The Bread

Chapter Five | The Fence: 2/23

More chapters to come...

Taglist |

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean Universe - Masterlist

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, 18+ smut, explicit language, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations

!IMPORTANT! | Now through the donations link below you can access exclusive content for this fic!! Also consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

Donations | Link  <–CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

Ψ・Main Story・Ψ

Chapter One | Annual Victor

Chapter Two | As Tribute

Chapter Three | Play Your Role

Chapter Four | Trained To Kill

Chapter Five | To Come Home

Chapter Six | Cannons To Say Farewell

Chapter Seven | Eager To Please

Chapter Eight | Ladies And Gentlemen

Chapter Nine | The Pearl Of The Capitol

Chapter Ten | A Hand Delt

Chapter Eleven | Rings Like Gold

Chapter Twelve | Home Sweet Home

Chapter Thirteen | Debts Paid

Chapter Fourteen | One Destiny

Chapter Fifteen | His Future

Chapter Sixteen | Epilogue

Ψ・Oneshots・Ψ

Our Condolences | Three months after they realize they’re expecting, things take a turn for the worse for Finnick and his girl.

Wave Break | Unexpectedly drawn into the third Quarter Quell, Finnick and his wife struggle to navigate the dangers of the arena while keeping both Katniss and Peeta alive.

Taglist |  @lem0ns77  @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​  @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​  @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​  @aquawhore420  @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​  @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15  @pavard-leto-girl @redsakura101​  @whillywisp  @valeridarkness

[thewordswewrite]

in honor of release day <3

[thewordswewrite]

Be My Guest

Pairing | Kate Carter x Tyler Owens

Summary | One time Tyler stays in Kate’s guest room and one time she stays in his

Warnings | discussions of trauma/injury associated with storm chasing, SMUT 18+

W/C | 6.6k

A/N | We wanted to hop into the Twisters fandom before it took ao3 by storm and this is *so far* what we've come up with. So...if you feel it... -smoe <33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link 

Hers

She came home for safety, familiarity, to find her way forward but instead, she found herself more lost than when she’d arrived. 

It was only supposed to be a week. Sure, Kate thought it would be difficult to be back in the field but she hadn’t anticipated this. She hadn’t anticipated him. It shouldn’t matter. She had a job in New York, a life, a stable, safe job, her own apartment–everything she needed. But was it everything she wanted? 

What Tyler had said crossed a line but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth. It was just something she probably already knew, deep down, and hadn’t wanted to accept. She was running away from the storm but she should know better than most that it would always catch up.

With an aggravated sweep of her arm, all of her past research was on the floor, pages floating around her before finding a place to land. She almost immediately regretted the mess but it had felt good. For the last five years, she’s avoided risk but now it almost feels hypocritical to say that she misses it.

Kate bent to gather the papers but only grabbed a few before stopping at her Cloud Physics notebook which had fallen open to a familiar page. She sat down in front of it and traced the impressions of her writing on the pages. It was too much to retrace her steps, to consider what had gone wrong. She needed to get out of her head and she couldn’t do that without getting out of this damn barn.

She knocked lightly on the kitchen door so as not to startle her mom. Being an adult, Kate felt an aversion to putting these things on her mom. Her mother had always been supportive, even when knowing her daughter’s passion was actively putting her in danger. Maybe she just didn’t want her mom to repeat the same sentiments as Tyler but she also knew she wasn’t about to come to any decision without some guidance. Just like seeing her middle school science project again, she felt like a child standing in the kitchen.

“Kate?”

“Yeah, it’s just me.” She sighed and pulled out the chair at the dining table that had always belonged to her. The smell of whatever her mother was stirring made her stomach grumble. “Where’s Tyler?”

“Oh, he drove pretty far so he’s getting cleaned up.” Kate could tell her mom was trying to sound uninterested, maybe for her sake but still she asked, “What’s his story anyway?”

“He’s just some internet star from Arkansas,” She explained, picking at a stain on the table. For a moment she thought about leaving it at that but the fire he had lit in the barn was still burning inside her. Sardonically, she added, “He’s made a living as a so-called ‘Tornado Wrangler’ but so far he’s only shot some fireworks into a cyclone and nearly killed the reporter signed on to cover him and his team.”

Her mom chuckled and replied, “Sounds like a man looking for a thrill to me.”

Again, she felt like a child relaying the latest gossip from the schoolyard but she couldn’t help but continue.

“And his whole team is this ragtag group of people who’ve never been to school for this either!”

“I see.”

“I mean sure he’s studied meteorology but they could get seriously hurt.” Kate had busied herself by fiddling with a napkin she’d pulled from the homemade holder. The shreds of it were getting smaller and smaller.  “They’re no professionals.”

Her mom hummed, acknowledging her annoyance but countered with, “Well he doesn’t seem too bad to me, he did drive all the way here.” Although her mother graciously spared her the ‘for you’ that they both knew completed that thought, she felt its weight. It was easier to make him seem unlikeable than tell her mom that it was her that was in the wrong.

“You’d believe me if you saw the shirts he sells, his face all sprawled across them.” Kate laughed, thinking of the cheesy slogans. It wasn’t lost on her that she had assumed the worst of him. She thought back to what Lily had said and felt ashamed. “Though,” She conceded, “the money does pay for food for the aftermath survivors. They were handing it  out at the last town we were in after the tornado hit.”

“Not all bad then?” Her mother turned fully to face her and Kate knew her teasing expression said all she needed to know.

“I guess not.”

_ _ _

Dinner had been passable, if not enjoyable. Kate had figured it would be awkward, that the dynamic between her and her mom would be offset by Tyler’s presence but it had flowed easily. The only gripe she had was that her mother had gone over her head to invite him to stay the night. In her ideal world, she would’ve ushered him out right after dinner saying a quick thanks for his concern but sending him on his way knowing that she’d never have an obligation to speak to him again. 

Tyler had, of course, helped her mom with the dishes, leaving her to watch awkwardly so as not to take up unnecessary space in the small kitchen. She’d shot him a tight smile as he’d excused himself to his room for the night. 

“Well,” Her mom said from the doorway, “I’m off to bed. Shut the lights, will you?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she made her way past the living room to her bedroom. 

Kate tapped her fingers sporadically against the table, the sound echoing in the quiet house. She hadn’t been fully present for dinner. Every time she looked at Tyler she could only think about what she was doing wrong, what she was missing. As much as she resented the fact, there was no way she could make peace with the past couple of days if she didn’t get in another word with him.

She flipped the last of the switches off and made her way up the stairs, avoiding the ones she knew were extra creaky. At the landing, Kate considered just going to her bedroom but her feet kept their integrity and trudged her towards the guest room.

Her hand was poised to knock when the door opened.

“Kate?” The sound of his voice combined with the unexpected image made her jump. Whatever she had been prepared to say had left with her surprise but Tyler was already speaking again.  “Listen, what I said in the barn was out of line I shouldn’t have–”

“No you shouldn’t have…but you weren’t wrong either.”

Stepping back, he opened the door a bit more and though it wasn’t quite an invitation. It was a line she wasn’t sure she wanted to cross with his apology and her admittance the gist of what she’d hoped for. She promised herself that if he didn’t try to say anything else, she’d just turn around and walk away. He bit his lip, seeming to wrestle with something the same way she was.

“What’s the story behind you and Javi?” The question surprised her and she felt a vague excitement about his interest or rather the fact that he was interested at all. But the story itself was not something she was sure she could share.

“We met in college, he was friends with my…my boyfriend at the time.”

Tyler’s eyebrow raised in a silent question before he said, “And your boyfriend he was…”

She couldn’t stand in the hallway any longer where she was fully open to his scrutiny whether the story inspired pity or something else. Kate stepped past him into the room and started to explain,

“He was in the accident, along with two of my best friends.” She folded her arms across her chest, in a way trying to shield herself from the memories. “We were testing the polymer on what we thought was an EF1 but–”

“It was an EF5.” She nodded and his lips shifted into a sympathetic frown. Kate sat on the edge of the bed so that she didn’t have to face him head on.

She continued with, “So, I quit school and packed up to New York. Javi went back to Miami but because of the outbreak he thought he could use a second pair of eyes and invited me on.” From her peripheral, she could see the way he nodded along as she spoke, the genuine compassion still written in his features. She shrugged, unwilling to allow herself to feel the extent of the situation and the memories in front of him, “None of it matters though, I’ll be back in the city by the end of the week anyway.”

“You mean you’re giving up?” Tyler asked like it was somehow a personal affront to him or some greater injustice. Kate wasn’t sure what he cared. They’d only just met and he didn’t know her, not really. 

“I’m not giving up. I can’t live like this again, risking my life every day.”

“Because of the accident?” The way he said it, like it was only a passing moment and not something that monumentally changed not only her life but her, made her response sharp. 

“Yes, because of the accident.” 

He was unshaken by her hostility and placed a hand lightly on top of hers where it sat between them on the bed.

“Kate, I’ve seen people get hurt too, I’ve–” She couldn’t listen to this, couldn’t have him reduce her experience by comparison. If he thought this was the way to change her mind, he was sorely mistaken.

“Yeah, Tyler, well I got hurt. I watched people die, and I’ll bear those scars for the rest of my life.” Her body filled with tension of the memory as her breath began to quicken. She let the anger take over, the simplicity of it easier than the complicated truth. “I don't know why I even–”

 “Hold on–Kate!”

Kate could feel the air his failed reach created as he tried to grab her wrist to stop her. She was fast though, spurred on by the singular goal of getting the hell away from him. When she made it to the threshold of her room, she moved to shut the door. It almost slammed fully closed but groaned as the wood crashed into the foot he’d managed to snake in.

“Go to bed,” She demanded.

“So what, you’re going to help Javi line the pockets of Riggs for the rest of the week? The real estate shark that's directly profiting off the suffering of these people?” It seemed he couldn’t help, was adept at, pushing her buttons. If she were any bolder, she’d have already struck the self-righteous expression off his face.

“I didn’t know about that, I would have never–these are my people but this isn’t the way, the polymer didn’t work and people died because of it.”

“More will too, but only if you don’t do anything.” He tried to reach for her again but she shrugged away, “It could work. Together we could do this.” Tyler’s expression was pleading, his eyes urging her to make the right decision.

“Goodnight, Tyler.”

His

The flight was thankfully uneventful and much easier than her last flight to Oklahoma when she’d been dreading the very idea of her return. There were still memories that haunted the place she called home but now she could rest assured that they weren’t losses for nothing and that she may very well be able to save someone, hopefully many someones, from the same suffering she had endured for years.

Kate dragged her suitcases through the airport and the bustle of people coming and going made her feel oddly comforted. New York was easy to get lost in and for the time, it was exactly what she needed. But it had only ever been a place she ran away to and after a while she was running too fast to ever see it for what it was. Here, in Oklahoma, she was home.

She made her way out to the pickup lanes and was met with a calm blue sky, one that she knew–or maybe even hoped–wouldn’t last. At the five-minute mark, Kate was unbothered. By ten, she considered concern. By twenty, she was on the phone. It took three calls getting sent to voicemail before her mother picked up on the fourth.

“Hey, are you alright?” She tried not to sound too concerned but it wasn’t like her mother to forget an obligation or to not pick up the phone. 

“Oh, sunshine, I’m fine. It’s my truck that’s acting up,” Her mom replied. “I was on the road already when it decided to quit on me. I’m not sure how long repairs are going to take. You want me to call someone for you?” Kate sighed, more relieved by her mother’s well-being than bothered by the situation.

“No, don’t worry about it,” She answered, “As much as you don’t like it, I am a big girl. I can take care of it.”

“I know you can, baby. Don’t worry about making it here tonight, just take care of yourself.”

They exchanged ‘I love you’s before it sunk in that actually did have to take care of it. She found herself a spot on a nearby bench and tucked her luggage in beside her. Scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovered over Javi before something urged her to keep going. Kate wasn’t sure if this was a bad idea but lately, she could handle a little risk.

“Hello?” She bit her lip, knowing this was her last chance to turn back. Still, he might not even be around or available to get her.

“Hey, Tyler?”

“Uh, yeah?” His voice was in performance mode, his uncertainty no match to his inherent charisma. Kate found herself filled with an urgent hope.

“It's Kate, Kate Carter.”

“Kate!” She could hear the smile in his voice. It was the first time she’d called him since he gave her his number and she was just beginning to regret not using it sooner. “What uh…what's going on?”

Her stomach flipped at the realization that she had to explain herself, that she wasn’t just calling him. Oh god, was this a mistake? Kate had thought there was something there when they were saying goodbye but maybe this was pushing it.  

“Are you in Oklahoma by any chance?”

“I am actually,” Tyler replied before he, with a hopeful tone, asked, “Are you here?”

“Do you think you could pick me up from the airport?” She fought the urge to cross her fingers like a little girl. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she had to call Javi but she couldn’t help but want to see where this path led.

“Of course!” Her chest tightened, a mix between excitement and worry. “Is everything alright with your mom?” Kate’s cheeks flushed, touched by his concern. 

“Yeah–truck just wasn’t starting, don’t worry,” She said, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

“Alright then, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” In the background, Kate could hear his keys jingling already and she smiled to herself.

“Thanks so much. Bye.”

_ _ _

Kate had been inside, sitting at a cafe when her phone buzzed in her pocket, Tyler letting her know that he’d made it. She tossed out her empty coffee cup before regathering her things and taking a deep breath. If she was being honest with herself, she was excited to see him but she didn’t want to endure the inevitable teasing she’d be subject to should she seem too eager to be in his presence.

The sliding doors opened and it took her a minute to spot the familiar red truck. Her eyes followed the path to where Tyler was busy basking in the attention of an adoring fan. What more could she expect?

“And did you want this signed cause I could definitely sign this for you.”

He didn’t notice as she siddled up, even with the rumble of her suitcases on the concrete. She shook her head at the display of his ‘Tornado Wrangler’ persona and thought better than to let him off the hook.

With the exaggerated voice of a dedicated fan, she implored, “Oh my goodness! Is that Tyler Owens? I am your biggest fan!”

“That’s me darlin’, what can I do for–Kate.” He cleared his throat and straightened out his posture, putting on the real Tyler at the sight of her. Kate bit her lip, sparing him the laugh that threatened to escape her.

“Tyler,” She said, “You look good.”

“Well, I feel good.” Tyler stood with his hands on his hips, the two of them alone now and it seemed neither of them knew just what to say. She laughed at his remark and began to heave her luggage into the bed. Before she could lift the larger of the two bags, Tyler was stopping her with a hand on her wrist. Kate looked up at him, confused. 

“Don’t make me make you get in the truck.” She glared at him, gauging whether or not he was serious. He only matched her expression. “Get in the truck,” Tyler repeated.

Kate rolled her eyes and climbed into the passenger seat. She couldn’t help but lean over toward the shift, running her fingers across the buttons. Her pointer finger landed on the tape labeled, ‘Kate’s Barrels’ and traced over his writing. When the driver's door opened, she jumped at the movement and tore her hand away. 

“Headed to your mom’s?” Tyler asked, fingers tapping a rhythm onto the wheel.

“Uh, no actually just any motel close would be good. Home’s a bit far and the flight was long. I just want to go to bed.” She reminded herself that that was the only reason.

“I’m close,” He told her. Since when was he close? “I mean you could stay in my guest room and I could take you back to Sapulpa in the morning?” The idea sounded as equally dangerous as it was appealing. With a motel, she was in control of the situation but his place? There was no knowing.

Clearing her throat she answered, “That…sounds fine.”

Tyler tipped his hat toward her and then he was making his way out of the parking spot. For a little while, they sat in comfortable silence, the radio filling the empty space between them. Once they were outside the city, it was comforting to watch as farmland made up her view. The word rattled in her head again. Home.

“So, how did it end up going with the investors?” He asked. “Good, I assume since you’re back in Oklahoma.” Kate couldn’t help but smile knowing well enough already how happy he’d be to hear. Not to mention how happy she was to achieve something she’d been chasing since the possibility entered her mind.

“Yeah, it went very well actually. We uh–we got a lot of people interested and the offers were so good…I quit my job and sold the apartment. I’m back, back.”

Tyler’s smile grew to a million watts as he exclaimed, “Kate! That’s amazing!”

“Thank you, we’re really excited.” She thought she saw his grin falter a bit but she couldn’t pin down why. Still, after a moment he let out a whoop, honking the horn at the expense of the car in front of them. Kate laughed, placing her hand over his to keep him from doing it again.

“So, where you planning on living? With Javi?”

“Actually I’m not sure yet. Javi has this new girlfriend from back in Miami and they’re pretty wrapped up in each other.” His eyebrows raised and she continued, “My mom's kind of out of the way too. Plus, she’s thinking of selling since seed prices just keep going up. Says she’s sick of the weather.”

Tyler’s jaw went slack, exaggerating his shock. “Sick of the–Sick of the weather?”

“What can I say, she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of the storm.” Kate sighed theatrically. Her hand went to her forehead in a ‘woe is me’ gesture. He chuckled, punching her playfully in the arm.

“On the topic of prices though, she is right.” Tyler sighed as he turned onto a new street.  “That’s why I bought land and started from the ground up.”

“Land?” She repeated. It hadn’t been that long that she’d been gone. When and more so why had he decided to put down roots and outside of Arkansas for that matter.

“Yes, ma’am.” His mouth quirked up in a prideful smirk.

“And here I thought I’d be sharing some shitty motel room.”

They pulled into a long dirt driveway, the grass surrounding it still young. While the house was clearly new, the style had a nostalgic feel to it. It was painted a fresh shade of cream and the white wrap-around porch just screamed summer nights. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was going to visit some sweet old lady.

“Here we are, home sweet home.”

Tyler opened her door for her like a proper gentleman and she stepped out into pleasant fresh air. The whole thing was picturesque. Kate supposed she shouldn’t really be surprised considering she didn’t really know his tastes but the whole thing surprised her nonetheless. 

She followed Tyler through the front door as he carried her bags inside. The interior was just as sweet as the exterior had been but Kate could see the signs that were uniquely him. There were various piles and pieces of gear strewn about that she recognized from having filled her mother’s house with. Even with the classic style, the appliances and layout were tastefully modern. She was impressed.

Kate stepped into the kitchen which seemed to be the most lived-in room. There were pictures of the Wranglers and what she assumed was his family stuck to the fridge. Her eyes drifted to a bulletin board hung up next to it and tacked up in the center of it was a page ripped out of their article from Ben, one with a picture of her. She could feel her cheeks flush even with him still in the other room. Though she wanted to, Kate knew she wouldn’t mention it.

“You hungry?” She jumped at the sound of Tyler’s voice.

“No, I couldn’t–” The same look that urged her to ‘get in the truck’ painted his face and she reconsidered her answer. “Starved.”

Tyler seemed satisfied. He pulled out a seat at the kitchen island where she could have a clear view of him whipping something together. The whole thing felt unnervingly domestic but she enjoyed it all the same.

“This place is really nice, Tyler,” Kate said. Gesturing toward his tricked-out home office–that was maybe a little too nice for a YouTube star–she pointed out, “Got a nice setup too.”

“Yeah, the team has pretty much paired off and they live here and there but we come back for a warm meal more often than not.”

“Not you though?” It had crossed her mind that maybe the sudden home ownership had been a response to some sort of serious relationship. She tried to sound casual since it wasn’t really any of her business.

Tyler smiled and shrugged. “Nah, a fearless leader has to hold down the fort.” Kate rolled her eyes and laughed at his cockiness. It was better knowing that it didn’t run deep. She thought better than to push it but still, she wanted to know what this whole thing was for.

“No, but seriously, why a house?”

“Oklahoma is the past, present and future of tornadoes. That’s no secret,” He replied like it was some well-known slogan. Yeah, the outbreak they experienced had put Oklahoma back on the map but Tornado Alley spanned a wide area, including Arkansas. 

“How do you figure?”

“Well you’re here, aren’t you?” Her stomach sank, trying to decipher the meaning behind what he said. His focus was trained on the pot in front of him like what he’d said was no big deal. What was she supposed to say to that?

Without an answer, Tyler clarified, “You’ve got better instinct than anyone I’ve ever met, better than any Doppler too.”

He’d turned to her and winked in her continued silence. Kate nodded with a smile like it was casual to her too. She shifted under his intense gaze and thought it was an apt time to break the tension with something she’d been tossing around in her mind. He laid a plate of spaghetti in front of her before sitting down himself. She cleared her throat.

“I was going to wait to bring this up but…I was wondering if you would consider being partners.”

“Really?” The excitement on his face was genuine and Kate could see the surprise too. It made her feel secure in her decision. 

“Javi and I both have stakes in it but he’s avoiding the field as much as he can right now. He’s got the business side under control but, like I said, he’s got someone at home who’d prefer he didn’t get blown away.”

Tyler stayed practically frozen in place. Maybe she’d overstepped her bounds after all. She could tell herself all she wanted that she wouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t want to partner with her but that didn’t make it the truth. 

“What do you say, me and you?” Kate asked, bracing for his answer.

“You and me,” Tyler replied genuinely and with what she hoped was a hint of awe.

They ate silently, half from hunger and half in consideration of their future. As much as Kate didn’t want to admit it, there were other questions lingering between them. When her plate was cleared, he insisted on taking care of the simple cleanup himself leaving Kate to sit idly at the kitchen table, unable to get anywhere else without his direction anyway.

With the dishes washed, Tyler turned his attention back to her but it seemed he had just as much of an idea of how to proceed as she did.

“So, uh…” She began, uncertain where she was going.

“I bet you probably want to get cleaned up. There’s an en suite in the guest room.”

“Yeah, great.” As much as she wanted to bolt, Kate got up from the table slowly as if she were as calm as could be. Still, she didn’t wait for any instructions as to where to go. She didn’t turn back to look at him as she climbed the stairs, internally cursing herself for adding to the awkward atmosphere.

“First door on the right!” Tyler called after her because, of course, she hadn’t asked.

_ _ _

The warm water had been just what she needed, especially paired with the time away from Tyler to think. As much as there had been a sense of tension between them, her feelings had settled on contentment and maybe even excitement. They were partners now and they had plenty of time to figure everything and anything else out. They’d been through hell already and he would help her through it again.

She stepped out of the shower, her feet hitting the plush bath mat, and reached for a towel. Her hand grabbed only air. Upon further inspection, the towel rack was completely unoccupied. Shit.

“Um, Tyler?” Kate called. She waited a few minutes for his response and when it didn’t come she yelled louder. “Tyler!” She let out a breath when she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

“Yeah?” 

“There are no towels in here!”

“Shit. My bad, no one has used that bedroom yet,” Tyler explained. His feet were already causing the wood floor to creak when he assured, “I’ll grab you one, be right back.”

Kate couldn’t believe this was happening. There was a good chance that she’d expose herself in the exchange. She’d even left her clothes on the bed, choosing to strip before going to the bathroom.

A few minutes later there was a hesitant knock on the door.

“Here, I brought you a few. I don’t know what you prefer,” Tyler said.

She had to assume that he was smart enough not to look. He’d been nothing but polite after all. When she opened the door, his eyes were covered by the palm of his hand, and his other arm was extended out to her. Kate tried not to laugh at the look of him.

“Thanks.” 

Kate wrapped the largest towel around herself and used another to dry the excess moisture from her hair. She pulled the door back open, assuming he was gone but she was met with his figure, eyes still shielded. Nearly bumping right into him, she let out an involuntary sound something between a squeak and a groan. Tyler echoed the sound and quickly flipped his hand so he could see her. She had to assume that his subsequent turning around was motivated by her state of undress.

She didn’t know what else to do besides starting to dress. It seemed he wasn’t done talking to her just yet. After a moment, he spoke.

“Uh, Kate…I, uh, realized I didn’t say thank you just then for considering me.”

“Who else could I possibly consider?” She winced at her own words. By no means did Kate want to sound like she was unhappy, she just didn’t want to make it a big deal between them.

“Well, right, I guess there’s not many storm chasers to begin with and especially not ones who’ve studied meteorology.” Kate could hear the slight hurt in his voice even as he tried to tease and she couldn’t blame him. She’d said the wrong thing. She quickly finished pulling on her pajama pants so she could focus on the conversation before she said something else she regretted.

“Tyler,” She said softly. He still had his back considerately turned to her. Like a kid trying to pass notes in class, Kate tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Tyler smiled as he faced her and it gave her the boost she needed to say what she wanted.  “You’re the reason I’m doing this in the first place. You believed in me even when I didn’t. We’re going to be helping people and that’s because of you.”

He was shaking his head before she’d even finished.

“You can’t believe that, it's your polymer, your idea–”

She took a confident step forward, the action effectively shutting him up. The closer Kate got the more she angled up at him, his height towering over her. Her hand found its way to his jaw, cupping it gently, her thumb brushing over the stubble of his skin. Before she had the chance to close the distance, Tyler took his chance to capture her lips with his own.

It started slow, hesitant to the possibility of too much too fast but quickly gained momentum as they threw caution to the wind. It had been years since Kate had done this, never quite feeling able to move on from Jeb and the accident but now with a sense of closure and Tyler’s guiding hand she felt ready.

His mouth was eager as their kiss deepened, Tyler’s tongue painting the inside of her mouth, almost as if he was committing it to memory. Their heavy breaths filled the air and neither of them seemed willing to break the kiss as the minutes went on. It wasn’t until her fingers played at the hem of his shirt that he broke off, looking down at her through hooded eyes, his mouth swollen and flushed.

“Kate…”

The sight was too much and she couldn’t help but bring her lips back to his skin. They found purchase at his pulse point, kisses littering his neck as she made her intentions known to him with every touch.

Taking a step back, Tyler’s hands cradled her face and he searched her eyes, looking for what she wasn’t sure but when he seemed to find it a smile broke across his face. It was the same smile he sported every time the wind picked up and the radar lit up red: a man ready to face a challenge.

“You still wanna stay in my guest room?” He asked, though his joking town was limited by his heavy breathing. Kate knew he was teasing but he was just as eager as she was.

“If you keep up with that attitude I just might,” She replied, smiling ruefully.

“Honey,” Tyler beamed, “all I’ve got is attitude.”

A chuckle escaped her lips and his face turned from cocky to sincere before he leaned in to steal a kiss once more. His hands moved from her face to grasping her own as he led her to what she assumed was his room.

Kate struggled to keep up as he held his hands behind him for her to grasp. She held them awkwardly as the unusual position did not grant her a good grip. The playful air gave her butterflies but also made her feel a sense of safety, knowing that things didn’t have to be heavy between them.

Tyler turned, pulling their hands over his head so that Kate twirled around with him. He used the momentum to guide her backward into his room with his hands on her hips, attempting a cheesily seductive smolder. She used her heel to kick the door shut behind them.

Kate walked ahead of him to go sit on the edge of his bed. She could tell he was watching her closely to consider his next move but she enjoyed the idea of playing coy with him. Ignoring him, she took in the space which was surprisingly sparse especially compared to the ground floor.

“Wow, real homey in here,” Kate joked, feigning awe at the blank walls

“Oh, hush,” Tyler chided, “It hasn’t been that long since we finished construction.”

She put up her hands in surrender and replied, “Sure, sure.” He rolled his eyes at her and then his expression became soft again. Tyler walked forward, kneeing her legs open and standing between them. With just a tilt of her head they were kissing again and this time when she grabbed his shirt, he let her take it off of him. Kate paused a moment to take him in, the image one she intended to commit to memory before pulling her own shirt over her head.

The rest of their clothes came quickly but when it was time for her to remove her jeans she hesitated.

“We don’t have to do this.” Tyler reassured her, misreading her reluctance. Kate shook her head.

“It's not that it’s–” She huffed in frustration and rather than continue to overthink, pulled her pants down in one swift motion, hoping he’d move past the interruption rather than linger on the issue.

Instead, his eyes moved immediately to her lower half and zeroed in on her leg…her scar. Kate’s stomach began to churn. She knew that he knew the story but she hated that it had to be part of this moment between them. He had been part of making it possible for her to redeem herself, to make sure the losses were not worth nothing. Still, the memories and the physical signs would never leave her. It made her insecure but if he had a problem with it, this wasn’t worth continuing.

“Is this from…”

“Yes,” Kate replied flatly. She didn’t have anything to prove and she wanted more than anything to move on from this as soon as possible. Tyler looked up from the marred skin on her leg and cupped her face with one of his hands. His eyes were filled with pure admiration.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Tyler’s lips were on hers again as he leaned her back into the bed, his body sculpting to hers. She felt a hand trail down her body, over her ass, before he hoisted her leg over his shoulder, his face turning towards her thigh and kissing over her scar as he lined himself up with her entrance. He looked at her until she realized he was waiting for her cue. She grabbed onto his upper arms and nodded, making it clear she was ready.

He was slow with her, caressing in all the right spots and making sure she was comfortable until he was finally fully inside her and they moaned in unison at the feeling. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time and when he took a moment to brush the hair from her face it made it all that much sweeter so much so that she laughed. Tyler looked at her, concerned but when she kissed him, he smiled into it catching her drift.

As he began to grind into her, he coaxed mewls from her lips, her hips meeting his instinctually at the pleasure. The way he watched her carefully for her reactions made her heart soar. He made it evident that they were in this together, that he cared about making her feel good. One of Tyler's hands still held her leg while the other found her clit, circling it while keeping pace and she couldn’t help the words spilling from her mouth.

“Tyler,” Kate pleaded, “Don’t stop.” He listened to her demand but she could see how it made him falter. His expression was that of awe as if he couldn’t believe that he was here with her, that she was enjoying what he was doing for them. She curled an arm around his neck and played with the hair there in a way that caused him to flush.

“I gotcha,” Tyler promised, somehow pressing them closer together, “I gotcha.”

She could’ve been embarrassed at how fast she came but Tyler didn’t give her a chance, instead riding her out through her climax and continuing to thrust even after. It was almost too much as tears of pleasure pricked her eyes and her moans filled the room. Her hands gripped the sheets, his arms, his hair, anything that she could reach to keep hold of her senses as they were overwhelmed. All she could think or comprehend was Tyler.

“I–I’m close,” He stammered, the tremble in his voice radiating throughout his body, “Kate, I–”

Her vision went white when she came again, though she could hear Tyler moan her name like a mantra, his head buried in her neck. One hand reached into his hair while the other traced absent circles on his back. It took him a minute but eventually, he came back to her.

“Hey,” He said, letting out a breathy laugh. 

“Hi.”

Tyler pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, clearly savoring the moment. Kate didn’t want it to end either but she was confident that it was only beginning. They both let out their own versions of a disappointed noise as he pulled out.

When he disappeared into the ensuite, she pulled his comforter up around her, the scent of him enveloping her as well. He came back with a damp towel and once helped her clean up, he flopped into bed beside her, pulling her into his side.

Kate placed a hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under her palm. Tyler pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She wanted to bask in the moment a bit longer but before she knew it she was beginning to yawn. 

The last thing she remembered before she fell into a peaceful sleep was the sweet kiss they shared and the soft rumble of his voice.

“Goodnight, Kate.”

[thewordswewrite]

In the Spirit of Helping

Pairing | Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

Summary | Lucy has been alone most of her life, having found solace in a single friend long lost she grapples with being taken care of again. She must learn how to hold on and be held.

Or five times Lockwood looks out for Lucy and one time she looks out for him.

Warnings | mentions of suicide, canon typical violence

W/C | 9.6k

A/N | I’ve loved Lockwood and Co. since middle school (I’m in college now) and I even have my first book signed by the author so this is a long time coming. The show really captured the books and I hate Netflix for canceling it so I decided to give us a little more than we have. -smoe<33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link 

One.

It’d been a tough case. Child Type-Twos were always difficult for them but Lucy tended to take it the hardest. Her listening was sensitive and her heart just a tad too big for the job.

While the team had been fighting off ghosts, Lucy’s senses had been overwhelmed by the cries of children. She almost couldn’t hear the boys calling her name over the cacophony of noise. Her own voice had soon joined the begging, hot tears streaming down her face to accompany the desperation. The memory of hands grabbing at her, holding her down; she just wanted it to stop , stop–

“Stop!” She yelled, thrashing around at imaginary hands. “Please leave us alone!”

Muffled cries of, “Lucy!” rang out from her left but she’d already dropped to the ground, holding her head in her hands.

Hands tugged at her shoulders, real ones this time, and she panicked. “Get off me!” She lashed out and the smooth metal of her ring caught Lockwood’s cheekbone, splitting it.

Lockwood took a second to compose himself before he approached her again, hands out and placating as if she were a wounded animal. 

“Lucy, it’s alright,” She noticed suddenly that she could hear the comforting lilt of his voice with no interference “George got the source. They’re gone.”

The ghosts had all been tied to the same source: a stuffed bear stored under the floorboards. Lucy threw up while Lockwood held her hair and George called DEPRAC to come to retrieve the source as well as arrest their employer. Lucy couldn’t help but stare at Lockwood as they rode home, the gash on his face tidied up by a medic but there all the same.

Her eyes bore into his–guilt and anger rotting her insides but incapable of feeling it. She couldn’t feel much of anything on the ride home, just a vague sense of what she did and what had happened. She was numb and it was only when Lockwood had finally broken their eye contact that she registered they were back at Portland Row. Languidly, she exited the vehicle, her rapier loose in her hand and a blank expression on her tear-stained face.

Lucy found herself sandwiched between two boys, George in front, keying open the door, and Lockwood behind her, his hand hovering over the small of her back. Her things fell unceremoniously to the ground the moment she stepped in the door and George jumped.

“Christ, Lucy, you could at least–”

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced and sidestepped an indignant-looking George.

“Lucy, how about we all have a cuppa and–” Lockwood didn’t bother to finish his sentence as Lucy was already up the first flight of stairs and working on the next by the time he managed the first half.

Lucy’s legs felt like iron, her body forcing its way to her room through the difficulty. She’d lost control again. She saw the way the boys looked at her: George and his sideways glances, Lockwood with a pity that gripped her heart and tugged every time she so much as frowned. How could she not though? Every day they experienced more than any person should in a lifetime and they were only children, no matter what Lockwood insisted.

More than anything Lucy was angry . Angry at her mother for pushing her into this line of work, angry at DEPRAC for letting kids do this job, and angry at Fitts and Rotwell for profiting off the backs of dead agents. Her hands clenched as she made her way to the bathroom overwhelmed with how dirty she felt. The eyes that stared back at her in the mirror were as dull as her mousy brown hair and the freckles that scattered her cheeks and nose were muddled by smears of mud from her fall. Tear streaks were running down her face as she scrubbed at them furiously, the too-cold water making her feel raw. Grey water swirled down the drain, taking the dirt and magnesium dust with it. 

Lucy noticed the hair on her arms had been singed as she removed her dirtied clothes similarly littered with burns and tears. The sensible blacks and blues of her wardrobe left much to be desired, George being the only one to stray into yellows and oranges but paying for it whenever he came out on jobs and ruined his clothes. The steam of the shower began filling up the small room, giving Lucy a reprieve from her reflection as the mirror fogged up and she stepped inside the scalding water.

As she scrubbed her body and massaged her scalp, Lucy felt the anger and sadness slip away from her, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. Tears mixed with the spray of shower as Lucy silently let out the day. She was just wrapping a towel around herself when a knock echoed from outside the door.

“Luce?” It was Lockwood. “Lucy?”

Heaving a breath, Lucy wrapped her towel tighter and exited the bathroom just as Lockwood climbed the rest of the way up the stairs. Lockwood was now staring up at her, surprise coloring his face and a blush starting to burn his cheeks. Lucy didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed around Lockwood like she always seemed to be, instead staring down at his red-tinged face.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, taking a step back down the stairs.

It took a second for her to respond, deciding whether to lie or voice a truth she hadn't dared to think on. “No.”

“Wha-” Lockwood blubbered, not expecting her answer and bounded up the last three steps to her room and walked over to where she stood. “Luce, what’s going on with you?”

“Honestly, Lockwood,” Lucy began, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m tired.”

Lockwood grinned, a look of relief flooding his face as he spoke, “Well, a good night’s sleep-”

“No, Lockwood!” She turned around exasperated. “I’m tired of being an agent, I’m tired of risking my life, I’m tired of being tired!”

When Lucy turned back to see the stunned boy behind, her she immediately wished she’d kept her mouth closed. His entire demeanor shifted, eyes not quite meeting hers and Lucy wanted to take everything back.

“Lockwood…” Her mind flashed to him telling her, “everything ends and everyone leaves.”

Lockwood gave her a rueful smile, his arms flailing helplessly at his sides, “I wish you didn't have to do this either. And you don’t but I’ll be here for you…George too–the both of us–if you decide to stay.” 

Lucy was suddenly all too aware that she was still only in a towel when she felt herself fluster at his attempted cover-up. “It was just a long night, I didn’t mean it. I’m not going anywhere”

They stood in silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other but she didn’t think Lockwood was convinced by her words. Lucy looked to the skull, its swirling green face taunting her as she wracked her mind for a way to tell Lockwood how much he meant to her when a yawn tore its way up her throat, breaking the moment. “You’re tired, I’ll let you go to bed.”

“Anthony…” She pleaded, not knowing what she would say if he stopped and he nearly did before he must have thought better of it.

“I want you to know, you mean a lot to us and we’re always going to be here for you,” He seemed put off by his own admission but added on assuredly, “I would be sorry to see you go.” 

Lucy wasn’t sure what she was feeling as she watched Lockwood walk down the stairs. She knew the boys meant something to her, they were all she had left; her mother never meant much to her, and Norrie ghost-locked back north was likely never to wake up. They were all she had and by some strange feat, that was enough.

Two.

Lucy’s eyes snapped open, her body stiff and cold as she lay staring up at the dark ceiling of her attic room. There was a quick moment where she felt the echo of being trapped in ghost-lock but when she realized she was aware of her surroundings, Lucy’s stomach dropped. For many, nightmares were the worst of it, but for her , as the dreams ended the terror of real life began. At least in her dreams, she could do more than just watch.

Her breathing began to quicken uncontrollably. Realistically, she knew none of what was happening was real but the panic clawing its way through her chest and into her lungs didn’t give much leeway toward logic. Lucy felt herself break into a cold sweat as a shadow moved at the edge of her vision. Ghosts glowed, she saw them every day; they didn’t exist as the void she was experiencing, hell even shades were different than this. Lucy felt a scream bubbling in her throat, waiting to be let out but she was locked still. Her body was not her own, a mind inside an unwilling vessel that was intent on destroying her.

Her muscles ached as she strained against them, trying to force any part of herself to move or latch onto reality, her anchor being Lockwood's necklace but to no avail. Quicker and quicker she was losing oxygen to her heaving, her hands begging to grasp at the invisible noose around her neck that was tightening by the second. She lay there, choking on the air that she was able to inhale into her burning lungs when suddenly, her finger twitched. Another and then another came to until her body shot up out of the bed and a scream found its way out of the lump in her throat.

Once again her vision was clear and the shadow was gone but the fear that had only just consumed her still lingered in the air, electric, leaving her paranoid. Tears pricked at Lucy’s eyes, not out of fright but frustration; she hadn’t slept well in weeks and she was growing weary of the constant fatigue she lived with. Between the nighttime cases and overall lack of sleep, she was at her wit's end.

Lucy pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing the tears to stop until she could swing her legs from under her blanket and take the first tentative step out of bed. The dusty hardwood was cold on her bare feet and creaked quietly under her. She didn’t like to walk around at night, knowing that the noise could be heard throughout the house but given that she’d already been screaming, if anyone was disturbed they’d already be awake. She glanced at the dull green glow of the skull on her window ledge and grimaced.

Grabbing her sweater from where it sat in her laundry basket, Lucy pulled it over her head, not bothering to worry about the two-day-old tea stain that marred the front. It was her favorite sweater, often smelling familiarly like lavender and anyway, she had no one to impress at three in the morning. Her hand found the reassuring iron of her doorknob and cursed the house for being so cold; the older construction did not lend much insulation for the chilly weather that plagued London almost year round. For good measure, she hurriedly grabbed the knitted throw blanket George’s mom made off of her bed and wrapped that around herself as well.

She began to descend the stairs, being as quiet as possible, her hand gripped the railing and supported her as she skipped the loose stair that always creaked when anyone stepped on it. The landing was home to three doors, two inhabited and, she could only hope, undisturbed . Her eyes slid past George’s but she lingered on his despite her resolve not to. Shaking her head, Lucy continued down the second flight until she reached the ground floor.

Just as she was going to enter the kitchen, the sound of the stove lighting stopped her. Had she woken one of them? Her heart rate picked up and she couldn't decide who she’d rather have awoken. 

With a deep breath, Lucy pushed open the door and saw the clear outline of Lockwood reaching to grab a mug from the cabinet. She tip-toed in but accidentally knocked into a chair, startling the boy. 

“Oh, Lucy , it's you,” Lockwood smiled, a defensive hand still clutched to his chest.

 “What are you doing awake?” She asked but her voice was unprepared and it came out strained. She knew he needed the sleep just as much as her.

“You know, had to use the bathroom then decided on some tea.” He shrugged, gesturing to the kettle on the stove, mug in hand.

Lucy squinted her eyes in suspicion, “That’s my mug.”

Lockwood’s gaze flitted to the object he was holding and scoffed. “Well, it's hardly yours. Everyone shares these!”

Despite the feeling in her gut, he wasn’t lying; Everyone did share the mugs but that one in particular was different. That mug was the one she had bought specifically for herself after she discovered she was two gulps deep into George’s toothbrush cup. After that, she was deadly clear to never touch it, and to her knowledge they never did. Lucy felt a flare of annoyance, they knew that was her mug and here Lockwood was using it as if it was his, as if–

Her stomach dropped when she finally remembered why she was down here in the first place. That was her mug.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” Lucy sighed.

Lockwood’s head dropped, “Looks like you caught me.” He set down the mug. “What was it this time?” 

“Nothing specific, just shadows.” Lucy rubbed her arm trying to comfort herself and took a seat at the table. “Doesn't help when your brain won't listen to you. I know it’s not real but I can’t stop it.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled in remorse.

Lucy shook her head and stood, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. “Nothing to be done.” She moved around the boy, blindingly aware of their height difference when she had to strain to reach another mug. One for him this time. “What are you having?” She opened the tea drawer and pulled out an Earl Gray for herself.

“Just black is fine,” He said from where they kept the biscuits.

They met in the middle, Lucy with two cups of steaming tea and Lockwood with the chocolate-coated biscuits they saved for special occasions. Lucy raised her eyebrow in question and Lockwood shrugged.

“Don’t tell George and there won't be a problem,” Lockwood smiled and sat down across from her.

Lucy put the cups uneasily down, sloshing a bit of hers over the edge and burning herself slightly in the process. She hissed through her teeth and stuck the afflicted finger in her mouth. “You know he’ll notice,” She warned, noticing Lockwood’s eyes caught on her mouth.

“Yeah, but that’s a problem for later.” Lockwood chuckled, eyes flitting back up to hers and shooting her a grin before snatching a biscuit from the open sleeve and grabbing his tea.

They sat there for around half an hour just talking. Lucy nearly had forgotten what led them into this position at all and a warm smile donned her lips when Lockwood walked up the extra flight to her room with her to, ‘make sure you get there safely’. Her room felt warmer and she wasn't as afraid to fall back asleep with the lingering promise that he’d be there if she needed him.

Three.

Lucy felt extravagant. Because of their recent press and subsequent jobs, she could afford a new dress that hadn’t seen the bottom of the Thames. It was red and satin and showed more skin than any outfit she’d ever owned. When she had decided on it, the woman at the boutique exclaimed, ‘ If you're going to go red you must go red’ which scared her at first but when she pulled out the matching red heels and a brand new tube of red lipstick she listened to the voice in her head that was telling her to trust this woman. Lucy thanked the other side every day that she did. 

After an appointment at the salon, she snuck up to her room past a cooking George and oblivious Lockwood to finish getting ready for the party. Normally she wouldn’t get so worked up over some company fluff but this one felt different. Before, no one bothered a second glance at her, except maybe Quill, but tonight, after a freshly printed front page issue interview about her abilities, she intended to make a good impression.

Lockwood had pushed her to do the interview despite her protests, ‘ Think about the publicity, Lucy! What it could do for the company, Lucy!’ and so she agreed because Lockwood looked so hopeful, so proud . How could she say no? So now here she was, slipping on a black trench and tying a blue scarf around her freshly curled hair like a woman grown instead of one just barely leaving her childhood all the while trying to ignore the snide comments of a disembodied skull that lived in her room.

With one last look to make sure nothing would be ruined between her room and the party, she ventured downstairs. The boys were standing by the door looking impatient and she rolled her eyes.

“Let’s be off then,” She tried to sound nonchalant but she knew they would open their big stupid mouths and ruin this for her.

“Is that you, Luce?” George sputtered, sounding on the edge of hysterics. She couldn’t look at Lockwood so she walked right past them and out the door to the taxi. As she passed, she could see George shrug and take a deep breath.

Of course, the boys were both dressed in basic black suits and to them, this was nothing new but tonight was undiscovered territory for her. She still refused to look at Lockwood throughout the ride and she didn’t know if the silence was a good thing or if the ice slowly forming over her heart was a bad sign.

It wasn’t long before they reached Fitts and were exiting the taxi. Her heart thundered in her chest as they got closer to the door because that meant she couldn’t hide behind the shapelessness of her coat. Lucy had always been conscious of her body, having grown up with six sisters, it was hard not to compare. The woman at the boutique had said she looked beautiful and she trusted her before but now she was starting to think the clerk just wanted to make a sale. Her heart was in her throat when she finally took off her scarf and unbuttoned her jacket to reveal the full effect of her outfit. 

“Christ, Lucy, you look like a proper girl!” George exclaimed and Lock still hadn’t said anything .

She felt like she was on display for the world and all she wanted to do was catch the eye of the tall boy standing at her side. Lucy took a chance and looked at Lockwood. To her surprise, his gaze wasn’t on her but instead on the familiar necklace that lived around her neck. As if caught, Lockwood's ears went pink and he finally met her eyes.

“You look amazing, Lucy,” And he said it with so much sincerity both in his voice and in his eyes that she could do nothing more than believe him.

Her voice was small when she found it. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He said as if it was mad she expected any other answer.

She saw George look between them and shake his head. “I’m going to find the food.”

“I think I’m going to go to the loo,” Lucy’s smile was tight and Lockwood just nodded.

She looked around as she walked through the sea of people, noting many sets of eyes on her, and began to shrink in on herself. Quill’s eyes alone were easy enough to avoid but it seemed as if everyone was looking at her. Lucy quickened her pace, remembering the path she used last time they’d been at Fitts but an artful step right into it stopped her in her tracks.

“I believe we haven’t met. I’m Jonathan Davies, and you are Lucy Carlyle of Lockwood and Co.” The man held out his hand and in good taste, Lucy could not refuse.

“Charmed, but I apologize. I don’t believe I’ve heard of you, Mr. Davies?” Lucy asked as more of a question than anything else. It was Lockwood after all that kept up with this kind of thing.

“Please, call me John. But I don’t suppose you would have. I’m a part of the Fitts research team,” He looked it too, old and pale; probably from being cooped up in the library. Lucy made a mental note to apologize to George later for the thought. His smile was too gummy and his breath smelled of champagne. She wanted to leave . “And might I say you look gorgeous tonight, nearly a woman you are!” The comment made her smile waver.

“Not too near, though. Still a good few years away,” Lucy tried to joke but the comedy was lost in her discomfort.

“Oh, don't be like that!” The man bellowed. “I’m just trying to give you a compliment. You’re maturing and it looks good on you. What’s so wrong with pointing it out?” Mr. Davies bellowed and he was getting closer.

Lucy shivered and began looking for outs; her adrenaline strung her out like she was on a case and her mind was switching to fight-or-flight. Lucy did not tend to lean towards flight. She nearly had the thought to hit the man when an arm looped itself through hers and she jumped.

“I believe I owe Ms. Carlyle here a dance. Isn't that right, Luce?” The arm and the voice belonged to Lockwood who held the older man’s attention while she paused to collect herself.

“Yes! He promised me my first one of the night. You understand, of course?” Lucy tried to come off as apologetic but surmised she failed by the look on Mr. Davies’ face. Lockwood nodded to the man and as they walked away, arm in arm, she inclined her head to speak lowly. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Lockwood smiled and pulled her so she was in front of him. He took her hands and at her confused glance chuckled. “I believe I owe you a dance.”

“Oh, you don't have to,” She said, nervous as he wrapped her arms around his neck and fit his hands at the curve of her waist.

Now he smirked, smart-looking just like she hated. “But I promised you your first one.”

“You are being a right arse right now, Anthony Lockwood,” She warned, feeling teased. Lucy was vulnerable around him, stripped bare and out in the open. Now more than ever in that bloody red dress.

His eyes crinkled around the edges and the smirk turned into his mega-watt grin. “And you are looking absolutely breathtaking tonight, Lucy Carlyle.”

“Oh, sod off!” Lucy exclaimed, but her cheeks warmed and suddenly she was red enough to match her outfit.

They danced for a minute or two and she took the time to look past the boy’s head and calm down. She figured he could feel her pulse from where her wrists were touching his neck, by how hard her body was trying to pump the blood back to her brain so she could maybe form a coherent thought. She was suddenly pulled from her stupor when Lockwood spoke.

“I do mean it though. You look better than every other person in this room. I didn’t even know what to say when I first saw you,” His voice was low and only for her.

And here she was, Lucy Carlyle standing in a room full of people whose eyes were all on her and she didn’t notice in the slightest. The only ones that mattered to her at that moment were Lockwood’s. His eyes, and his hands, and his necklace all on her .

Four.

“And who might you be?”

The old woman before them was quite kind looking in Lucy’s opinion, though her pale skin and white hair made her look almost like a phantasm which unsettled her–not to mention the biting tone of her words. Lucy was not fond of the older generation that remembered a time before the dead came back, their holier-than-thou attitudes at the problem they thought they should be exempt from. Lockwood on the other hand was all smiles and unwavering confidence, making him ready to take the lead as always.

“I’m Anthony Lockwood and this is my associate, Lucy Carlyle. We’re Lockwood and Co.”

The woman seemed unamused with the both of them, eyes instead searching for something behind them. “And where’s your supervisor?”

Lucy let out a small huff at the question. More than a few of their cases had been booked by clients ignorant of their status as lone agents ignoring that small detail in favor of the lower-than-average rates they needed to provide to stay in business. Lucy didn’t see why supervisors were needed at all, the bumbling adults just got in the way of their work. It’s what drove her out of her hometown and into the gangly arms of Lockwood and George in the first place.

The rain beating down on their shared umbrella was slowly beginning to drip onto Lucy’s right shoulder and she scowled, silently cursing Lockwood for not bringing his own. He was always trying to be the perfect gentleman, Lockwood, yet he always managed to fall short in some way despite his efforts. Lucy took a moment to compose herself, shutting her eyes and standing closer to Lockwood to try and get out of the rain.

Lockwood’s face fell a millimeter before he went to correct her but Lucy butted in, annoyance evident in her tone, “No supervisors ma’am, just us . You said you’ve just moved in and were feeling uneasy?”

The woman gave her another once-over and looked to be getting ready to slam the door in their faces before a man appeared behind her with a coat in his hand. “Edda, would you just let the kids in so they can get to work?” The man was soft in a way his wife wasn’t but a permanent crease had made a home between his eyebrows though it had been the only plane of his face that hadn’t seemed to possess a wrinkle before.

“These are unsupervised children you’re letting into our home.” The woman’s face twisted as her husband helped her into her coat and handed her her own umbrella before she swatted him away. “Get off me!” The coat was an ugly shade of puce that had Lucy wrinkling her nose unconsciously and wishing she’d never accepted the job.

“These agents are here to do the job we’re paying them to do. You head to the cab, I'll let them know everything they need to.” The woman pushed past Lockwood and herself, forcing them apart and out into the rain despite Lockwood thrusting his arm towards Lucy to try and keep her dry. 

The man, whose name they learned to be Morton, told them how his wife had become agitated since moving to the house, the loud bangs they heard at night, and the ice-cold temperatures that seemed to move from room to room. Morton was distraught, insisting his wife had never been like this before they moved and that she was ‘a lovely woman. Truly.’ To Lucy, it sounded like a shade or lurker giving off residual emotions from their death which was–what she supposed–Lockwood had insisted: a quick case involving nothing more than a few harmless specters lurking around the property, no need to bring George.

Lucy and Lockwood were given a quick tour by Morton who walked with a slight limp in his left knee. Lucy tried to focus on the man’s limp rather than the incessant squeak of Lockwood’s shoes every time he took a step. Lockwood insisted on having his dress shoes resoled rather than just getting a new pair even with the extra cost and Lucy had laughed at the quirk merely days prior but now she was grinding her teeth. Finally, leaving them in the living room, Morton bid goodbye and headed out to his awaiting wife while the two agents got to work.

After setting up a home base in the living room, they’d searched all around the house but produced nothing. Lockwood was unable to see the faintest glow and Lucy couldn’t even hear a whisper. It wasn’t often both of their gifts failed them, the remnants of death often wanting to be heard rather than stay quiet as they had for generations before them. It wasn’t until Lucy got to the kitchen and lingered near the door that let out to the back gardens that she heard the distant cries of a woman. She ran a tired hand through her hair, fingers pulling at the roots at the notion of searching out in the downpour.

“Lockwood?” Lucy called out, “I think the source might be outside.”

She only had a moment of hope that Lockwood would call it a night before he rounded the corner, his eyes filled with elation. “Let’s hop on then! You first.”

As she turned, Lucy couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the look on Lockwood’s face. Of course, he would have fun trudging around in the rain. As soon as Lucy stepped outside, a gust of wind whipped the hood off her head and plastered her hair to her face. Lucy’s shoe– not her rain boot– squelched in the mud under her feet. Lockwood and her rooted around the garden of the old couple’s estate, pulling back thorny rose bushes that dug into her hands and trying to listen over the hammering of rain. Lucy felt her irritation boil over from where it had been growing in her chest when she managed to slip on a slick rock and end up hands first in the mud.

“I can’t believe you put us in this situation!” Lucy yelled over the pounding rain, “Really, Lockwood, it's like you don’t care about me at all!” She felt something solid in the mud and squeezed it tight in her fist, desperate for an outlet.

She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, trying to work on grounding herself through the object in her hand, the grooves of the metal, the familiarity. Honestly, where did he get off on making her miserable during every case? He made her feel trapped. With a deep breath, Lucy closed her eyes and tried to clear her thoughts, focusing instead on trying to find the source and getting out of there.

“G-get….”

Lockwood’s unintelligible voice interrupted her from behind and she huffed.

“..out”

“Out where?” She tried asking.

“Hus…band”

“Your husband? What happened with–” Lockwood’s voice interrupted again and she snapped. “ Oh , would you bloody shut up, Lockwood? All you ever do is talk!” She screamed whirling around to look at him only to see that the scene had changed.

It wasn’t raining anymore, or even night at that. Instead, the garden was blooming with life. The trellis were bountiful with pink roses and light shone through a giant willow in the corner of the property. Across from her stood a handsome-looking man much older than herself. And she was afraid.

“All I ever do is talk?” The man asked deathly slow.

Lucy was sure she had no clue who the man was but her mouth was already moving. “Yes! You keep me trapped in this house, I have no friends, and you don’t even listen to me!” She was crying now and the man, her husband , stalked towards her.

“You listen to me woman, you belong to me now. You are my property !” Dolly’s breaths were heaving out at an exceptional rate. “Do you hear me? Mine!” Her husband was gripping her arms, his face mere inches from her own.

“Let go of me!” She pleaded, “ Please !”

“Listen to me, Dolly! Dolly!”

She felt herself slipping away, air caught in her throat. Dolly was frantically scratching at her husband's arm, trying to get him to release her through any means.

“I’ll love you, I promise –”

“Lucy!”

Lucy’s eyes snapped open to see Lockwood wrenching her hand open and snatching something from her clenched fist. Her lungs flooded with life, making her cough as her knees hit the ground; she was unsure when she even stood up at all but Lockwood was immediately at her side.

“Lucy, are you alright?” His shaky voice floated through the rain.

Any previous grievances she had against Lockwood had vanished the moment she looked into his eyes. “What happened?”

“You found the source,” Lockwood opened his hand and revealed a rusted locket covered in mud. Lucy went to touch it but Lockwood jerked his hand away. “Better not.”

Her mind went back to how she’d treated him since they stepped foot on the property and she winced. “Lockwood, I’m so sorry I–”

“No! Luce, it wasn’t your fault.” Lucy was poised to retort but there was a pure and unabashed look of concern on his face and she realized it had been a while since she’d seen his megawatt smile.

“She hated him,” Lucy started, “He told her he loved her and trapped her here…she killed herself.”

Lockwood looked concerned. “I think we should head back to Portland Row.”

They finished up at the house, contacting the elderly couple to tell them that the source had been found and disposed of at DEPRAC. The cab ride home was so quiet; whether from Lucy’s embarrassment because of her treatment of Lockwood or because he was hurt by her words she was unsure. It wasn’t until they were putting their gear away that Lockwood spoke again.

“I hope you don't feel… trapped here.” Lockwood was facing away from her when he broke the silence. “Especially not by me .”

“Lockwood, no .” She rushed to his side trying to meet his eyes with her own. “No, no, no.”

He finally looked at her and his eyes were sunken in, his face as sullen as she felt. “I know it was the ghost…but you were begging me to let you go. You were pleading that I let you leave, telling me you–you loved me and that you’d do anything if I would just let you go and I–”

“I don’t feel trapped here, I promise. You mean more than anything to me,” Lucy’s heart stuttered at her slip-up. “You and George both.”

Lockwood’s eyes flicked to the necklace sitting prettily around her neck and Lucy’s hand flew to it instinctively: a loan she was still indebted to him and went to take it off, her still-cold fingers fumbling with the clasp but he stopped her, gently grabbing her wrists.

“I want you to know the necklace wasn’t–wasn’t whatever that locket was to them,” Lockwood’s hands released her, his fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind Lucy’s ear then trailing a path to the sapphire that sat in the middle of her chest. “My father… it was important , and I just wanted you to know you’re important to me.”

Lucy smiled, “I know.”

Five.

A shiver rippled through Lucy’s body in the London rain as the week loomed over her like the storm she walked through. Long nights with back-to-back cases–all too small to send more than one of them–had Lucy disheartened. She pulled her blue coat tighter to her body and stuffed her hands under her armpits in order to get some semblance of feeling back in them. Her tights were ripped, her hair soaked, and above all, Lucy was hungry. It took one smell of buttered croissants swept across the street by a gust of chilling wind for Lucy to cross the street and make her way into the warm cafe.

“No weapons!” The clerk shouted as soon as the bell jingled on the door, not even bothering to look at her.

Lucy’s eyes immediately welled up with tears knowing what was coming. “I-I’m sorry, can I leave it at the door?”

“Let me be more clear: no agents .” The man’s sneer was accompanied by multiple sets of cold eyes looking at her from around the room.

It was something she was unaccustomed to but common in London. Though agents were often looked at with a strange sense of gratitude and more often pity in the country, Lucy noticed it wasn’t the same in the city. People thought them unsightly: the children with sunken, pale faces who were typically only out at night mimicked the sight of the dead they were employed to rid the world of. Though somewhere in her head she could understand the adults' aversion to her, in the moment she could feel little more than resentment for the life she was sacrificing to give them the security they themselves could not provide.

Lucy chuffed on her way out, slamming the door and knocking the bell off of its hook in the process. Not bothering to wipe her face, she blinked away her tears and let them drown in the rain as she walked on towards 35 Portland Row.

It was night, and raining, and she was alone. But she was an agent, and Lucy knew how to defend herself. Therefore, in the face of her reservations, she turned down an alley she knew was faster than the main road despite the absence of street lights . She could handle a few shades and lurkers on her own.

The rain was coming down harder then; her mind had wandered to the doughnuts on the counter that sat untouched when she’d left. Lucy was so caught up in imagining the argument between her and George when she inevitably saw her jelly-filled missing from the box that she didn’t notice the man that slank from the shadows until she bumped into him. 

Lucy ducked her head in apology and attempted to skirt around the man, “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t–”  Then suddenly his hands were on her with a grip that told her this was no mistake.  Before she could utter another word, the sharp edge of a knife sucked the breath from her lungs.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” He ordered, voice low and eyes darting behind her at the lit street.

Lucy tried to seem unwavering, after all, it wasn’t the first time she was at the wrong end of a blade and likely not the last. “I haven’t got anything,” Her voice shook and she silently cursed herself.

“How bout’ I take a look for myself?” He hummed, his hands skimming over her body, drifting across her waist, going lower, lower…

“ Please! Help– ” Lucy yelled but his hand was quick to cover her mouth and let the knife start to dig into her side. She thrashed around, trying to free herself from his grasp while screaming into his gloved hand in any attempt to get help. 

It wasn’t until she managed to land a well-placed elbow that Lucy was able to escape his grip. “You bitch .” The man sagged over but as Lucy moved to run, his hand wrapped around her jacket and a knife planted itself in her stomach.

She almost didn’t register the pain at first until the man wretched out the blade. The feel of her blood oozing from the wound was stark in contrast to the chilling rain and she shivered. Lucy’s hand moved to the wound and logically she knew she was going into shock; George warned them about it enough should they ever get injured on a case but now she couldn’t think back to even a second ago. 

The man looked from her wound to her eyes and sneered. Step by step he retreated deeper into the alley while Lucy stumbled out into the road, clutching her side. Her breathing was ragged as she frantically searched for anyone to help her though she knew the streets were clear because of the rain. Lucy knew she shouldn’t have looked but when she caught a glimpse of blood she couldn't help it. She felt close to hysterics; the blood wouldn’t stop and her teeth were chattering, from the rain or something else she didn’t know. She needed to get to a shop, somewhere that had people . Lucy’s vision was darkening around the edges as she stumbled towards the yellow lights of a restaurant two buildings over. She just needed to get there.

She needed to…she needed…she

- - -

It was the beeping that woke her, but the weight in her hand that made her open her eyes. The lights were blinding as Lucy struggled to open her eyes and the ringing in her ears made it hard to focus on the muffled arguing around her. She heard one final shout and the sound of a door closing before she attempted to move. A gasp tore itself from her lips when she tried to sit up. Her body ached and her mouth was dry but all she could do to ground herself was focus on the worried voice needling her brain.

“Luce? Can you hear me? Luc–” 

Lucy cut off the voice with her own raspy words, “Would you shut up?”

Her eyes finally adjusted to the lights and she saw the lanky outline of Lockwood standing at her side. Any other time she was woken up to the sight of him, Lucy was more than often annoyed but somehow, with the beeping of machines accompanied by the smell of alcohol in the air, he was a welcome comfort.

“Lockwood,” She breathed out a relieved sigh, studying his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes sullen, almost bruised looking, and his skin somehow more pale than normal. “What happened?”

“Let me find a doctor.” His hand found hers again, only giving it a light squeeze before leaving the room in his search. 

Lucy took the time to look around the room and spotted a vase full of orange and yellow flowers adorning the bedside table as well as a lone strawberry frosted doughnut left in a box meant to hold a half dozen. Based on that alone, she knew both George and his mother had visited at some point but as she looked towards where Lockwood had been it was as if he’d never left at all. His jacket was crumpled on a chair in the corner, with his tie folded neatly atop it and, given his appearance earlier, she could only assume he’d slept there.

Finally, she decided to give attention to the dull ache in her stomach and lift the blanket covering her lower half. Between the wires and tubes hooked up to her from all directions and having to wrestle with the gown they stuck her in, the endeavor was all the more difficult than necessary. When Lucy finally got a look at her bandage-covered abdomen she felt ill.

Her stewing was interrupted when a man entered the room, Lockwood hot on his heels. “Hello, Ms. Carlyle. I’m Dr. Stroud, I’ve been your physician since Monday night and–”

“Wait, what day is it?” Lucy coughed and Lockwood was quick to offer her a water which she gladly took.

“It’s Wednesday morning, Luce,” Lockwood supplied in a small voice. His eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers and she grew nervous. The angry blinking of the clock on the bedside table read 4:23 a.m. and she suddenly understood Lockwood’s state of disarray.

The beeping which she’d previously grown accustomed to had begun to quicken and she felt a sweat break out. “How bad was it?”

“Based on our limited knowledge Ms. Carlyle, we suspect it was a robbery.” Lucy nodded along, trying to grasp at the last thing she remembered. Shadows of a dark alleyway and the flash of a knife swirled in her mind but when she tried to imagine his eyes her head began to hurt.

“I remember a man and a knife…it was raining?” Lockwood’s hand found its way into hers once again and his thumb stroked the back of her hand soothingly. She motioned for the doctor to go on and kept her grip on Lockwood’s hand firm.

“You suffered a deep puncture that grazed the top of your liver and you lost a lot of blood. Luckily you weren’t out there too long before someone found you and called an ambulance.” The thought of herself bleeding out in the street forced Lucy to shut her eyes. “We’d like to keep you the rest of the week to monitor but considering you’re up and talking, I’ll leave you to sleep.”

Dr. Stroud left the room with a tight smile and Lucy looked at Lockwood. She’d been there for days unconscious, and Lockwood had been there at her side.

“How is–”

“You were… gone, Luce. You were white and cold and– you put me as your emergency contact ?!” He was incredulous, his grip tightening almost uncomfortably as tears welled in his eyes.

“Who else if not you?” She felt a lump rising in her throat. “My mother didn’t show last time and I’m not close to my sisters. You and George are all I have, you’re…” Lucy trailed off not sure what she wanted to say but knew it was too soon.

“Lucy, when I got that call…George and I rushed to meet you at the hospital. For days I’ve sat here and all I could think about was what if you hadn’t ended up in the road? What if you were in the alley and no one found you? What if–” Tears fell from his eyes and his voice failed him.

“What if I never came to London? What if I had gotten accepted to Fittes or Rotwell? But that’s not what happened. I’m here.” Lockwood brought her hand to his lips and all Lucy could do was watch. She, all at once, realized that it wasn't just her, wasn’t just Lucy who felt like the boy in front of her was her whole world, her whole future.

“You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be comforting you ,” Lockwood laughed shakily and took a deep breath. “Luce, I need you to know that, no matter how far in the future, no matter the distance, I’ll always be there for you. You’re my family now…if, if you want.” Lockwood’s smile was unsure, hope gleaming in eyes.

Lucy sniffled, her emotions finally having caught up to her and smiled back, “ We’re family .”

Plus One.

The case had been cursed from the start. The day started out boiling hot, and Lucy’s usually protective extra layers were stuck to her skin by sweat but now, four hours into the case, a cold front blew in and a massive wind storm had been shaking the house all night. They were constantly unsure if the noises were ghosts or the storm and trying to use her listening had been all but useless.

They had been hired by the city to clear out a long-time vacant house, previously belonging to the lone heir before he mysteriously disappeared. It was uncertain if there were any ghosts on the property and the city wanted to sell so, there they were. She heaved the backpack up higher on her shoulder and a voice piped up.

“Watch it there, you drop me and I’ll kill all three of you.” The glow of the skull brightened on the walls around her. She opted to ignore it and kept on walking through the house.

“Alright guys, let's do one more sweep of this floor and I suppose we can call it a night.” Lockwood scratched the back of his head and George stifled a yawn.

“Lockwood, there’s been nothing the whole case and besides the disappearance, George couldn’t scrounge up anything about anything that would lead to a haunting,” Lucy was aching for a shower and she was tired of carrying around the skull all night because George insisted they bring it but declined to carry it because, ‘ only you can hear it, Luce. It would be a waste for me to carry it. ’ “Let’s just go home.”

“We will…just after we check the ground floor one more time, I–I have a feeling something is wrong.” He seemed more sullen than usual but Lucy attributed that to a boring case and long night.

“Whatever you say. I’m going to check the kitchen.” George walked off without a second thought and she let out a sharp laugh under her breath at the irony.

Lucy headed out, leaving a distant Lockwood in the living room and opted to traverse the dining room once again. The room sported a crystal chandelier, dust-ridden with time and fine silver and china still at their places around the table. Her eyes scanned over the room and she imagined herself in another life entertaining a slew of guests with not even a thought of The Problem on her mind. But then she crashed down to reality and realized that this was as close she's been in her life or ever will be.

“Lockwood, you seeing anything?” Lucy asked, despondent. With every look, the house was more ornate and lavishly furnished than she could stomach, obvious signs of wealth making Lucy grind her teeth.

“ You see something, northern girl?” Once again Lucy ignored the comments and continued on, simply huffing to herself rather than dignifying the skull with a response.

Of course, Lockwood failed to answer as he typically did when he was in the field and she sighed. With hesitance, Lucy trailed her fingers along the objects in the room, trying to detect any fleeting emotion or noise that could be connected but it was to no avail. There was absolutely nothing in this house that any of them could detect and Lucy was almost glad for it. A quiet night in a nice house was a relief that she needed, plus, they were getting paid, ghost or not.

Rolling her eyes, she trailed off to where she knew George was lounging in the kitchen and found him sitting at the dusty table gorging himself on the biscuits and tea they brought.

“Save some of those for the rest of us, huh?” Lucy chastised, snatching the package out of his hands. She took a seat across from him and took two for herself.

“Tell him he’s getting too fat not to share,” The skull laughed and she dropped him to the floor unceremoniously. “Watch it!” 

“C’mon Lucy, there's nothing in this house and you know it! Might as well sit and eat while Lockwood fumbles about.” He emphasized his point by grabbing back the biscuits.

“Where is he anyway?” Lucy stole the thermos as well and shot George a challenging look when it seemed he was going to protest.

George waved off absently, more focused on the food before him. “He was going on about checking the perimeter. I just talked to him.”

“I wish he’d take a break every once in a while. Between the three of us, I’m the only one with a normal work-life balance.” She chuckled leaning back in her chair and using the skull to prop her feet on.

“Yeah…normal.” George’s eyebrows furrowed and she threw her half eaten biscuit at him in retaliation.

The skull chose that moment to pipe up again, “There isn’t anything normal about the lot of you.” This time she kicked over the jar and George screeched on about being careful with the Type-Three.

Bored with the situation and ready to leave, she decided to round up Lockwood and get them on their way. “Lockwood’s been gone a while, I’m going to go check on him.”

Lucy stood to leave and she made it just out of the kitchen when a chill shot through the room and her breath became visible before her. She turned back towards the kitchen and locked eyes with George.

“George, I think–” She was unable to finish her sentence when the double doors slammed shut separating them from each other. Without thinking, Lucy grabbed the brass handle with her bare hand and yelped. The metal was so cold it burned her, the skin ripping where it froze to the door. Lucy bit her lip, almost drawing blood at the action and took her handkerchief to press over her hand.

“Lucy, what’s happening?” George yelled from the other side of the door. 

“I don’t know! See what you can find. The source has to be in the house somewhere for this to happen!” Lucy yelled back, still pounding on the door.

George sounded hysterical, his laugh high pitched and disbelieving. “Lockwood’s never gonna shut up about this after we get out of here!”

The wind began to pick up even more, blowing through the open front door and through the house. Lucy’s hair whipped in front of her face as she tried to focus on her listening. There was little more than the faint whisper of a man she hardly was able to make out.

Cliff…the cliff.

Lucy glanced outside, the doors still banging in the wind and made her decision. “Stay in the chain circle! I have to find Lockwood, you stay safe!” She yelled to George and turned for the front of the house.

Lucy drew her rapier with her good hand and made for the front door which was left wide open and banging in the wind. Using her forearm to guard her view, she creeped outside looking every which way for an incoming attack while yelling for her friend.

“Lockwood? Lockwood, where are you?” She tried to scream over the storm but her words were literally lost to the wind.

As she made her way further outside, she nearly tripped over something on the ground, the metallic clang catching her attention. When she picked it up, she held Lockwood’s rapier in her hand and felt her heart rate spike at the discovery. Lockwood was somewhere out there with no weapon and a ghost preying on them in a windstorm.

In the distance, she saw a figure moving farther and farther away in the direction of the ocean, a figure she could only assume was Lockwood. Her steps were quick yet strained against the storm and she was forced to sheath her rapier as it was getting too difficult to hold. She was closing in quick, just across the field and getting closer to the cliff's edge by the second, but he continued on.

“Lockwood!” She tried once more but still he seemed to be unable to hear her. “Lockwood, stop !” Her feet were moving faster now, breaking out into a sprint beneath her. She understood his unresponsiveness then, and the sudden activity once Lockwood walked off. He was ghost-locked . She was flying then, racing up the hill to meet him, the grass slipping under her feet and the wind doing all it could to knock her over. He was steps away but his cadence never faltered–the same one, two , of each foot–and she silently thanked the universe that, if nothing else, ghosts were consistent.

Her hands did one final reach as one of Lockwood’s feet went over and she grabbed the collar of his jacket, heaving him off the edge and back into her. Lucy wrapped her arms around his middle so as to not let him escape and began to yell, an action she was regretting as her voice began to go hoarse.

“Lockwood, please , you have to snap out of it! It’s me Lucy!” She felt him strain against her arms and held tighter, thinking he was still trying to throw himself off the edge.

“You think I could forget you, Luce?” Lockwood’s words tumbled out, unsure and attempting to be comedic.

“Lockwood?” She gasped out, wiggling out from under him to get a look at his eyes. When she was met with the familiar warm brown she’d grown to lo– she finally breathed a sigh of relief. “What happened?”

Lockwood’s eyes searched her own before looking away, a habit he seemed unable to break, and spoke. “He was all alone. No family, no friends, no one left.”

Lucy’s chest constricted in understanding. “Anthony…”

“He killed himself. Right here on this cliff.” His words seemed to choke him and she couldn’t help but bring her hands to cup his face.

“I need you to know that you are not alone,” Lucy brought his forehead to hers and he breathed in sharply, his pulse under her fingertips quickening. “I’m right here.”

His own hand found their way to hers, holding on as if a lifeline and he nodded. “You’re right here.”

When Lucy pulled back, she locked eyes with the boy before her again. They were softer this time but darted down to her lips in a flash. Her cheeks reddened when she noticed as did his in turn. Before she could think to do otherwise she surged forward, Lucy’s lips capturing his in a chaste kiss. It was a bit off and they were both chapped from the wind but it still had her heart pounding in her chest.

The boy before her had gone from stranger to family in the short time she’d known him. Him and George had become more to her than her family had ever been and for that she was eternally grateful. He had taken her in, given her a job, and protected her from everything a gangly teenager could manage. She loved him.

Lockwood’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Lucy–” His hands tightened atop hers and he leaned back in, kissing her slowly, reassuringly.

“You’re it for me.”

[thewordswewrite]

Like Winter, Like Spring

Pairing | Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary | After the events of episode five, Mizu stumbles into the forest barely clinging to life and you happen to be hunting.

Or what would happen if you found Mizu bleeding out and cared for her (in more ways than one)?

Warnings | NSFW 18+, mentions of injury/blood/killing

W/C | 7.3k

A/N | I’ve been consumed by this show and can't help but recommend it to everyone, so please if you haven't already done so, watch it. Please leave me some comments and lmk what you think!!-Smoe<33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link  

Part Ⅰ: Winter

In the moonlit haze, a spirit roams, lost and cold, whispers of vengeance unfold, onryo's bitter gaze.

The snow soaked through your socks as you took exaggerated steps through the powder, cold seeping into your toes and numbing them. Though you had enough firewood to last until the first thaw, your food stores were beginning to dwindle. It had been a harsh winter, one your father hadn’t survived, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your day had been one of minor success; three rabbits hung from the rope tied around your waist, a haul good enough for the next few nights based on their size and you decided to head home.

Food was becoming harder to come by, and without your father, you could not venture into Mihonoseki to stock up on more dried goods. Your father had always been of more liberal views but you were still a woman and he was still your father meaning you knew where you stood in society. Due to necessity alone, your father taught you to hunt; a bow and arrow the ‘only thing suited to a woman’ your father once told you.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your head as the wind whipped around you, snow falling harder and harder as you walked. You were sure anyone else other than you caught in the storm would be utterly lost, but you knew the place like the back of your hand. As the wind howled, it carried to you the sounds of the forest and with it a distant grunt of pain, just loud enough for your keen ears to pick up on and you stilled. You would have ignored it–a lone man more often than not meaning trouble–but he was headed in the direction of your home and therefore you needed to act. With your brow set, you sank into a crouch and rifled through the snow until your unfeeling fingers grasped a rock, waiting for another sound from the man.

A hunter knew how to stalk its prey and in that moment you treated the man as nothing more. With every sound he made you got closer, using the noise from the environment to mask your own as you trailed him. In the distance, you caught sight of someone clad in navy and in the opposite direction of your home, threw the rock. You hadn’t been too worried until you heard the ‘shing’ of a katana and the crash of a tree.

A samurai.

It could be no one else with that blade or skill, and though they were meant to be honorable, you knew, they were still men. You knew every road, every tree that grew in these woods and as you were coming back up on the main trail where the samurai fled, one was struck down. Your pale hand reached out to stroke the clean-cut trunk, not yet five years old by your count and yet it had fallen. It was mindless acts of violence like this that made you distrustful of strangers.

A quick glance at the area revealed a small trail of blood, likely left by the man, and you couldn’t help but let a rueful smile grace your lips. His death would be easier than you thought. Cold, lost, and injured was a dangerous combination for anyone, but for a man in your woods? It was lethal.

You were soundless as you descended upon your prey, a respectable distance away but close enough to see his profile. He was dressed in simple pants and a shirt, though the latter looked to be soaked through with blood as one of his hands pressed against his stomach, the other grasping a blue blade, ripe for attack. It was too easy for you to nock an arrow and draw, your breath steadying as you aimed for his heart. You were preparing for the release when suddenly to your left a twig snapped and the samurai’s gaze turned to the noise, and then onto you.

The man raised his sword, removing his hand from his side to give the encounter his full attention. “Who sent you?”

You were puzzled by the question. Not only were you clearly a woman, but who was he that he thought himself important enough to have assassins sent after him? You didn’t think to voice these questions aloud but they were answered anyway when you finally caught sight of his eyes: blue. 

When he spoke again, he must have registered that you were not who he thought you were. “I am no threat to you. I am just passing through.” To prove his point he sheathed his blade and put up his hands.

You hesitated to drop your own weapon but since he was injured and still a good enough distance away, you let-down your bow and stood to your full height, noticing the man was not much taller than you. 

“Leave here!” You shouted, hands still latched to your grip and arrow, ready to fire should the need arise.

The samurai began backing up slowly, nodding to you and returning pressure to the wound at his side. When he did so, he grunted and his eyes fluttered. It all seemed to happen in a  single moment when he was suddenly face down in the snow and you were taking brisk but weary steps towards him. As you got closer, the extent of his injuries became clearer and you could see the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. Your eyes closed in exasperation; you hadn’t intended to stumble across a half-white, dying samurai let alone bring him to your home, but seeing as you weren’t too far away and he had shown no intention of attacking you, you could not, in good conscience, leave him in the snow to die.

With a huff, you flipped the man over, grabbed him under the arms, and began to haul him toward your home, the dense snow making the task almost more difficult than you could manage. You knew he was alive based solely on the noises of discomfort he released in his sleep as you readjusted your grip and pulled harder. You were forced to stop every few feet, panting from the effort it took but when you finally were able to kick open your door and get him in front of the fireplace, you felt a sense of relief.

As you pulled up the samurai’s kimono, you got a glimpse of four deep gashes punctured into his stomach and your heart dropped. “Please stay with me.”

It was immediately apparent to you what had caused his wounds: Boss Hamata, or more accurately, his Thousand-Claw Army. That would explain why he thought someone had sent you after him and why he was covered in so much more blood than what was plausibly his own. Anxiety sent goosebumps down your arms. The thought of one of Boss Hamata’s men coming to your home and killing the both of you for whatever this samurai did entered your mind. You tried to reason with yourself; no man in his right mind would enter this storm and they must know the samurai was injured, likely only letting him go because he was sure to die. That was that you decided: he could stay until the storm passed and not a second longer. Enough time, by the looks of it, for him to heal enough to leave but not enough for anyone to come knocking at your door looking for him.

With your mind made up, you went about untying his kimono to get better access to his wound. Your still-warming fingers deftly undid the knot and moved to unwrap the samurai when suddenly a hand shot up and wrapped itself around your wrist, halting your actions.

“No.” The man’s eyes fought to open and you were once again treated to a glimpse of blue through thick black lashes. He was only able to mutter the single word before he once again fell unconscious and you stared at him a beat longer.

He didn’t have the luxury of his warning being granted, and you instead opened his shirt, only to find his chest already wrapped. Or rather her chest already wrapped. A gasp escaped you as you balked at the sight, eyes darting again to the face of the person below you and noticing not only the sharp curve of their jaw but the softness of their cheeks and decidedly feminine-looking lips. Yes, you stopped your thoughts from drifting, she was a woman, but that made your job no different.

With clinical movements, you cleaned her wound with warm water, being sure to be as gentle as possible. You retrieved a suture kit your father had gotten from town after you had cut yourself chopping wood one day and began to sterilize the needle over the fire. You ran your fingers over the inflamed skin and worried when the woman’s stomach felt warm. The stitches were quick and clean, the woman below you making no movements which worried you but did make the process easier. Once each of the four gashes was closed, you wrapped up her stomach with strips of fabric and struggled to remove her soaked shirt–though, you left her pants for the sake of her already violated modesty.

You looked at her face once again, now less troubled looking than before, and saw hints of purple peeking out from under her scarf. Much like her shirt you undid her scarf as well and were horrified to see a deep purple handprint marring her skin. With little else you could do you opened your door, the wind catching it as you did so, slamming it open in your rush to gather enough snow to compress onto the samurai’s neck.

Another gust wafted flurries into your home, chilling the room before you could close the door in time and you cursed. You wrapped the snow in the previously discarded scarf and placed it on the samurai’s neck in hopes it would ease the pain. As tightly as you could, you bundled the woman in your father’s blanket and placed your own rolled-up one under her head as support after taking her katana and placing it across the room. Just in case.

With nothing else to do to try and keep her alive, you finally got to skinning the rabbits and making yourself dinner. You decided to wait until the woman was awake until you tried to feed her and thus only made enough for yourself. The food was hearty and warm and after the exertion you surrendered to the day, you were exhausted. In lieu of having a blanket, you threw on a second kimono and huddled close to your guest and the fire and,  in an act of trust, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

- ⚔ -

You startled awake at the sound of someone shuffling around your home but all at once the memories of the day before come back to you.

“You’re awake,” You yawned, rubbing your eyes as you looked over at the half-clothed samurai propped up against your wall.

“You stitched my wounds. Why?” The woman’s voice was thick and gravelly but you could only focus on her eyes.

Your answer was simple and steadfast. “I could not leave you when you meant me no harm.”

The woman seemed to scan your face and must have found what she was looking for when she relaxed and coughed at the simple action. You took the lull to stand and place your kettle on the fire, intending on making sobacha tea for your guest. Her entire demeanor shifted when you moved and she realized she was without her sword. 

“Where is my katana?” The woman ground out, eyes darting around the space.

You gestured silently to where it lay on the other side of the room and went back to pouring the tea, steeping it to your liking and hoping it was to the tastes of the woman across from you. You handed a steaming cup to the woman and cleared your throat, intending to find out more about your mysterious guest. You watched as she took a sip of the tea and closed her eyes for a moment to savor the flavor or feeling you were unsure but either way were happy she approved.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The woman paused before she answered, “Mizu.”

You introduced yourself and went about using the final two rabbits you killed to make a stew as well as some rice to help fill up. The silence between you two was undemanding as Mizu simply sat with her eyes closed while you cooked. It wasn’t long before you’d finished, offering a bowl to your guest which she took while meeting your eyes.

Mizu bowed her head. “I want to thank you for your hospitality and for saving my life.”

“As I said, I had to.” You shook your head with a smile as you ate.

The woman’s face suddenly went solemn and she put down her bowl. “Yes, but now you have to keep my secret, or else I cannot allow you to keep your life.”

Your eyes darted over to where her katana was, still half a room away, and took a steadying breath. “I can promise you I will never tell another soul but I need something in return,” Mizu looked at you apprehensively, her eyebrow raised. “You must be gone by the time the storm ends. I cannot be caught sheltering you in my home or Boss Hamata will have me killed.”

Her attention drifted from you, her expression unbothered. “You needn't worry about him or his army.”

“Why? You were clearly attacked by one of his men and–” Mizu cut you off with a raise of her hand.

“I killed them all.”

You took a moment to revel in the shock of the admission, spoken as though it was nothing more than a typical day for the female samurai. In your revelation, Mizu slid her bowl over to you, the blanket covering her shifting with the action and your cheeks warmed. You go to look away but stop yourself, instead letting your eyes search over her bandages for any signs of infection or bleeding before Mizu goes to cover herself back up, shooting you an indignant look.

“Oh! No, I–” You backtracked, knowing how it must have seemed. “Your wound, I was just looking to see if I should replace the bandages and…” You gestured to the bloodied cloth, “It looks like I should.”

Mizu looked down at herself and grimaced at the sight. “Fine, but I can do it myself.”

You nodded and retrieved a bowl of water for her to clean herself with as well as a new set of cloth to rewrap herself. You watched her struggle to undo the wrapping for a total of two minutes before you couldn’t help but reach towards her in aid though as you did she jerked away, wincing at the action and your face tightened.

“Please, let me help you.”

The two of you were locked in a stare-down, neither willing to give up ground so you decided to take it, scooting yourself forward and batting away her hands. Mizu looked ready to put up a fight but instead, she relented, allowing you to reach around her torso. Your faces were close as you did so, Mizu’s warm breath wafting sharply across your cheek as you pulled on the dressing to release it.

She began moving in every which way as you passed the bandages around her body to try and help the process go by quickly but your hands must have been chilled because when you finally revealed her skin and ran a hand along the plane of her stomach Mizu shivered and you looked up to see her eyes already trained on you. Mizu kept a hard look on her face as you wiped away congealed blood from her wound though it looked to you to have already begun scabbing, causing a self-satisfied smile to grace your face. 

“It’s looking better. I think you should be okay to travel in a few days.” The labored breathing of the injured woman forced another comment from you. “Although, I think it would be beneficial for you to remove your bindings for the time being.”

Mizu gave you another long look and you figured that she must not be used to conversing with people regularly, a trait you both now shared. In retaliation, Mizu attempted to take a deep breath though before she could, her lungs stuttered out dry coughs and her face screwed up in pain at the action.

“Fine.” She ground out, once again attempting to remove the wrap on her own and failing.

You were unamused at the sight and decided to skip the dance the two of you had been playing at since you dragged her into your home and just helped her instead. It was a similar tension as when you removed her bloodied bandage but thicker by about tenfold when your eyes met again.

You couldn’t get over the sight, blue as the sky and sea but clouded by emotion. She looked to be studying you just the same, her eyes languidly making their way over your features before settling on your mouth. You couldn’t help but let your lips part, overcome with the moment and Mizu’s increasingly seductive gaze. Your cheeks burned under her but you weren't alone in your fluster, Mizu’s own face tinged pink as well, shared heat radiating between you. 

All you had to do was lean forward and–

You cleared your throat at the thought and pulled back, “I’ll let you finish on your own. I’ll leave you.”

- ⚔ -

Ethereal and pale, haunting tales of love's demise, echo through her cold blue eyes, as sorrow sets its sail.

Hunting always cleared your mind, which, at that moment, was racing with thoughts of feelings you’d never experienced before. It wasn’t the fear of attraction that bothered you, but the fear of who you’d grown such a sensitivity toward. It would be easy if Mizu was just a lone samurai, someone wandering through life, a man, but she was none of those things and you were but a woman.

You’d been stalking your prey for a few miles, a serow that looked large enough for four meals between two people. Clad in your lightest clothes, you blended into the snowy environment and stepped slowly so as to not startle the creature. A moment of pause and a softly spoken prayer was all that was in between the serow’s short life and its quick death. Your emotions peaked as you released your arrow and the animal hit the ground, its breaths stuttering wetly as blood filled its chest. The pure white snow tainted red as you kneeled and slipped your knife from where it rested in its holster before promptly goring open the beast’s neck, killing it instantly.

You sat in the snow, waiting until the serow bled out enough for you to take it back, and began to think. You had very little, living in the woods alone, but it seemed to you so did Mizu. You were unsure if she even felt that way about other women as you had just discovered it was possible yourself. Mizu had incontestable skill, having claimed to have killed the Thousand-Claw Army single-handedly and suffered only a single serious injury. To you, she meant safety, security, and companionship, but what could you offer other than a home you were unsure she even wanted to come back to?

“Give me strength,” You called out to the universe and stood, bearing the weight of your future dinner on your back.

It was a difficult hike home but you were greeted by an up-and-about Mizu when you managed to open the door and throw down the serow.

“I made tea,” She announced, gesturing lamely to the steaming pot, uneasy at your sudden entrance.

You smiled and removed your scarf, brushing snow off of you and onto the floor in the process. “I can see that. Thank you.”

She nodded at your gratitude, her eyes not quite meeting your own. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to skin and carve this, then I can get started on dinner,” You moved to begin your task but Mizu stopped you.

“I can skin it. You rest.”

Your shoulders sagged with a relief you didn’t know you would feel and you smiled at her once again. You took your time undressing down to a single kimono and looked back to see Mizu butchering the pelt of your kill.

You gasped and Mizu stopped, startled as she looked up. “What?”

“Have you ever skinned an animal before?” You accused, taking three short strides over to her.

“Yes!” She defends. “Just nothing ever this large.”

You walk behind her and place your hand over hers. “Here, like this.”

Her hands are warmer than yours, but rougher, hardened by years of training and being on the road. She was slightly taller than you, forcing you to lean your head on the side of her arm in order to see what you were guiding her to do. You feigned intense focus while skinning the animal to combat the feeling that Mizu’s stolen and frequent glances gave you. 

“Where is the man you live with?” She asked suddenly, causing you to stop your movements and remove yourself from behind her, too distracted in such close proximity.

Your heart clenched and you sighed. “Dead. My father got sick a month after the first snow.”

“My condolences.”

“I just realized you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since he died.” You laughed mournfully.

A dark look passed over Mizu’s face and she handed you the knife, gesturing for you to finish the skinning with your superior ability. “Let’s finish dinner.”

- ⚔ -

Your third meal together was nothing special, grilled meat and rice being all you had to get through the winter. The days were growing shorter and your energy with it, not to mention the strain healing took on Mizu and you as her unstudied nurse, left the both of you exhausted and ready to go to bed. Though your eyes drooped when you laid down, you couldn’t manage to find sleep, instead tossing and turning as Mizu slept soundlessly across from you.

A deep yawn tore itself from you and finally, you felt yourself relax into your slumber. Little by little your eyes closed and your breath slowed, as you were lulled by the crackle of the fire. This was until Mizu’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“I need you to know, I am on the path of revenge. There’s no place on it for friendship…or love.”

You were hazy with sleep but the admission hurt. “I understand.”

“I’m planning on leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

What else could you say?

The room retired to its previous silence but now you were fully awake and your heart pounded over what Mizu said truly meant to you. The little life you had constructed in your mind vanished into thin air, thoughts racing and consumed with every question you would never be able to ask her.

It was when you accepted you’d never see her again that you spoke. “I feel it's easier to talk in the dark so now I will ask: why do you dress as a man?”

Three seconds go by and Mizu fails to respond, making you assume she was either asleep or ignoring your question. When you’d all but given up hope she responded. “Because of my birth. And because it's difficult to be a woman in this world.”

“It is. After winter, I don’t know what I will do without my father. I have no chaperone to travel with and once spring comes and the roads become busy, I will have no assurance of my safety.” You curled in on yourself a bit tighter than before, your eyes welling up with tears.

“You have your bow and this house. That's more than many.” Her graveled voice sounded almost condescending and you were annoyed.

“More for a man, less for a woman.” You argued, turning to look at her.

Sensing your growing anger, you took a breath and opted not to continue the conversation instead looking angrily at the sword-wielding woman before screwing your eyes shut.

She cleared her throat and you opened your eyes once again, her pale eyes meeting yours before she spoke. “What happened to your mother?”

You sighed, decidedly finished with the conversation but Mizu didn't seem to catch on. “She died in childbirth.”

“You could always marry,” She suggested. “I was married once.”

Your brows set though the admission surprised you. “And now you’re dressed as a man in a pursuit for revenge,” Mizu gave you a look of defeat and you leveled with her. “I would be shackled to my husband and I have no desire for kids. I wish to live freely.”

Mizu’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment before she spoke. “You remind me of a princess I knew.”

- ⚔ -

Mizu had been antsy all day. Sewing up her clothes, checking and rechecking her wounds, stretching and eating her fill, all in preparation to leave you the next morning. You could assume she never stayed anywhere as long as she’d stayed in your home so you could understand why she felt that way though it didn’t help the growing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t wrap your head around it; you’d barely known her for three days and already you were, dare you say, truly sad she was leaving.

When seeing her pack became too much to bear, you used hunting as an excuse to leave, not bothering to go very far, but to a boulder you often frequented when you needed to sit in silence. The view was beautiful, overlooking a shallow valley that was currently coated in a layer of white, a calming sight while you attempted to reacclimate your mind to the reality of your solitude. Mizu was nothing more than a dream that you’d conjured up in order to live your fantasy life of freedom with. You should’ve known better.

When you got back to your house and walked in, Mizu looked you over and frowned. “Nothing today?”

You sighed, feigning defeat. “No, but I have more than enough for now,” Giving her a falsely nonchalant look you shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll need to go out again until after you leave.”

Silenced for a moment, Mizu just nodded and handed you a cup of tea. It seemed to have become a sort of ritual, her making you tea whenever you came back from a hunt. It was welcome and something you could get used to if the universe let you. Instead, you bowed your head in thanks and took a sip, pleasantly surprised to find it was made to your liking.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mizu graced you with a small smile and your eyebrows shot up but you quickly turned to hide your quiet awe.

You moved over to your food storage and tried to come up with a meal that would be a worthy send-off of your limited time together but came up short. It would be meat and rice again though Mizu never showed any indication of being dissatisfied. Stubbornly, you rifled through your shelves and when your hand met glass and you realized it was a bottle of saké you smiled.

“Unfortunately it’ll be another meal of stew and rice but I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. Now seems as good as any.” You held up the bottle and Mizu looked dubious.

“I–I don’t drink,” She tried to deny you but you weren’t taking no for an answer.

You placed a hand on your hip and cocked it, looking at her unamused. “I think as payment for my food and hospitality you owe me this favor.” She looked conflicted but with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, she gave in. 

“I suppose one would be okay.”

Dinner was mediocre but drink after drink, you and Mizu became more comfortable with each other and much to your amazement, began sharing stories.

“So…who was your rival again?” You wondered, almost sure she had already told you.

“He’s not my rival,” She mocked, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a samurai who I defeated in battle and has been chasing me around demanding a rematch so he can regain his honor.” Mizu seemed exacerbated at the prospect and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why don’t you just fight him again?” You deadpanned. “I’m sure he’d leave you alone once he got what he wanted.”

“Because he wants to fight to the death, it would be him or me.” Mizu sobered up at that statement and swiftly downed another cup of saké.

“But…you defeated the Thousand-Claw Army alone,” You slowly put the pieces together and began to nod. “I understand.”

“He could be a good man, he just needs to let himself.”

That reminded you of a time in your childhood when your father was still young and strong, lending you wisdom that turned you into the woman you are today. Flashes of a house on the corner of a street, and a little girl with two missing teeth shot through your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“That reminds me of something my father used to say,” You smiled at the memory and continued. “When I was little and we still lived in Mihonoseki, I lost my two front teeth at the same time and this girl who lived near me kept making fun of me.”

“What does that have to do with your–” Mizu hiccupped, looking confused. “Your father?”

“If you’d let me finish! So…she kept making fun of me and I made a plan to mess with her and when my father found out he told me,” You deepened your voice, attempting to imitate the way your father spoke with utmost sternness. “‘Daughter, you may be the more honorable, you need only allow yourself to be.’”

There was a moment of pause before the two of you burst into laughter. Though Mizu’s was much quieter, you were endeared by the sound. Your grin felt as though it would split your face if it got any wider and Mizu looked at you flustered.

“I like your laugh.” You found yourself giggling and when you tried to scoot closer to Mizu, the room spun.

She caught you as you swayed but nearly toppled over herself in turn. You found yourself grasping onto Mizu and she onto you, alone in your home as a blizzard raged on outside. You stared brazenly into her eyes, at a color you didn’t think you’d ever become accustomed to.

“Mizu, I–” Your voice failed when you attempted to continue, a lump forming in your throat when her gaze traveled to your lips as you spoke.

You’d thought about it once already, stopping yourself before the thought could develop but now, when you were a little more than drunk on saké, you couldn’t help yourself. A single tick of time went by, eyes flashing from Mizu’s mouth to her eyes and back before you were pressing your lips to hers.

She inhaled sharply at the contact but you pressed on, opening your mouth to her and sliding a hand around her neck. Mizu tentatively slid her own around your waist and gave an almost experimental squeeze as she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue trace yours and forcing a moan from your throat.

When she heard the noise it was as if Mizu was spurred on, advancing on you in a way you didn't think a woman in her state was capable of. Your back was pressed into the ground as she hovered above you, a heated look on her now more delicate-looking features before she descended upon you again. Her mouth was soft in a way her grasp was not as she trailed kisses down your neck, a moan escaping her lips when she sucked on a particularly sensitive spot and you pulled at the hair on her nape, loosening her bun in the process. Your hand cupped her jaw as you brought her mouth back to your own and stole another kiss.

Reaching up, you tugged the remainder of her hair down, allowing it to cascade over you like an inky waterfall. Mizu smiled as you tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed her once more. It wasn’t until you both had your fill that your actions began to slow and you saw her lips red with desire and knew your own likely matched, not to mention the state of your neck. You lay together in front of the fire, your head on her unbound chest as she traced unconscious patterns into your shoulder where your kimono had slipped during your escapades.

You reveled in the heat of her and the tingles she left in the wake of her touch, though knew she’d be gone when you woke and decided to ask your next question on a whim of hope. “If you think of me, even once after you leave, come back to me when you’ve found your revenge.”

You felt Mizu’s head angle towards your ear as she whispered two words: “I will.”

In the realm between, past and present intertwined, where a restless soul confined, seeks justice unforeseen.

Part Ⅱ: Spring

Beneath the sapphire moon, shadows dance in shades of blue, where love once bloomed, now askew, a blue blade gleams, a fateful tune.

Spring had been bountiful for you, animals re-emerged from the frost and the warming temperatures made it easy to forage. With the changing seasons came a margin of sadness in the lack of a certain samurai’s return. The roads had picked up some traffic but all had just been harmless travelers, no bandits busting down your door to attack you which you were grateful for but never had you been so disappointed someone didn’t come knocking. With a sigh, you shook your head, having no reason to expect Mizu to come back, especially considering you had no actual details on where she was going or how long she’d be away.

You managed a few martens in the short time you’d been out and decided it was enough for a decent meal. With a soft huff, you slugged your bow over your shoulder and began the hike back home, your stomach rumbling at your lack of midday meal.

The walk was no more than thirty minutes, cherry blossoms swaying in the wind and the soft earth beneath your feet lended to the tranquil mood. Your house was looking a little worse for wear after the snow had melted: the roof needed to be repaired, and a loose step in the porch stairs somehow always managed to trip you when you went out. Skipping that board on the way up, you pushed open your door and were met with a familiar sight.

Striking blue met yours as you saw Mizu standing in the center of the room, a pot of tea and two cups resting on the table to the right of her. Before you could manage to speak, your body carried you to her, dropping everything you held in the process to take her in your arms.

A small oomph sounded from Mizu as you collided with her and her hand came up to rest on the back of your head, you having already buried it in her shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, just reveling in the feeling of your togetherness before you pulled back, though only far enough to be able to meet her eyes. Her bangs were longer, covering her forehead and you noticed she was without her sword.

It was a silent conversation only shared between the flitting of your eyes but when Mizu’s settled her lips captured yours. You’d longed for the moment you’d once again be endowed with the plushness of her lips and at the contact tears welled up in your eyes. Your mouths danced together and one of Mizu’s hands went to cradle your face, the other holding you firmly to her as she took control of your mouth. Her touch burned, kiss after kiss marring your skin and ruining you for anyone else.

“How have you been?” She asked, her voice lighter than you remembered.

“I’ve been well,” You chuckled wetly. “And you?”

Her eyes closed momentarily and she stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Still walking the same path I have my entire life.”

This puzzled you, having not expected to see her until she’d completed her mission. “You didn’t get your revenge?” Your shoulders sagged when Mizu shook her head, and you gave her a soft peck on the lips in apology.

“I trust Ringo found you?” She looked genuinely curious and memories of a handless man coming to you with rice, beans, and a travel pass resurfaced.

“You sent him?” You smiled but were still confused. “Who is he?” The man had brought you gifts and cooked the best noodles you ever had in your life before leaving and claiming he would be back in a few month's time.

Mizu nodded, letting your face go but sliding her hand from across your back and sliding it into your own. “My apprentice. He accompanied me on my travels. Before I ventured into Edo, I gave him instructions to find you should I not return.”

“Not return? But–” 

Mizu handed you the cup of forgotten tea, effectively cutting you off and you took an annoyed sip. “You’re the only person I had to see before I leave.”

The tea lodged in your throat at the admission, sending you into a coughing fit as you tried to clear the liquid from your lungs. “Leave? Leave where?”

A haunted look passed over her eyes, darkening them. “My path diverged in Edo. I chose the sea and tomorrow…I’m headed to London.”

“London?” All of a sudden you felt the same as you did that night all those months ago.

After some much-needed discussion, Mizu explained what she had set out to do and the vow she made to her mother when she was a child. You understood, how could you not? With every chop of your knife, dinner came together and you learned more about the woman you devoted so many sleepless nights to. Four white men, a quest for revenge, and a chance to gain it across the sea. 

Mizu looked away from you when she spoke her next admission. “The shogun is dead. Edo burned.”

Your eyes shot up from your work and a sharp pain sliced through the backs of your fingers as you brought your knife down onto them. A hand reached out and Mizu was already tugging the white scarf from around her neck to wrap around your hand. She looked startled at the sight of your blood but you assumed she was used to it by now. She handled you delicately, enveloping your injury gently but snug enough that you trusted it would not come undone. Your attention was momentarily diverted before you processed what Miza had said, questions darting around your mind.

“The shogun is dead and Edo burned?”

“There was a coup, but I stopped the man in charge.” She seemed pleased by the outcome and you were in awe of the feat.

“And the city?”

Her expression dimmed and Mizu rubbed her eyes. “I started the fire…and it raged.”

A meal finally suitable for a goodbye–because that’s what this was–was ready in another fifteen minutes, most of which was filled with soft looks and stolen kisses, the pain and fear from hearing of Mizu’s narrow escape melting away with each one. You ate in companionable silence as they often came more naturally than conversation to the two of you. 

- ⚔ -

Through the veil of time dire, the pale visage lingers on, a tale of love, now gone, in shadows of a haunted pyre.

Once the meal was finished and you’d both taken the time to clean up, Mizu took your hand and led you to your spot in front of the fireplace. She did little more than let you rest against her, savoring your touch as she nuzzled into your neck, dropping small kisses onto your skin. When you tried to touch or reciprocate Mizu tenderly denied the advances, letting all her focus stay rooted on you.

“I’ll be gone before you wake,” Mizu murmured as she caressed you.

You knew as much, having been told not an hour before but the reminder stung. “I know.”

She grabbed your face, turning it so you could do nothing but study her as she did you, your eyes locked on one another. Her expression shifted from a subtle longing to an unabashed look of want and seized your lips with an intensity that she had never allotted herself with you. Mizu licked into your mouth, tasting of the food you made and the tea she prepared, and dwelled on what it would be like if this was the rest of your life.

“Let me do this for you,” She rasped, her hot breath fanning over you. “Let’s make the most of tonight.”

Her fingers ghosted over your body until she reached the ties of your kimono and looked to you for permission. Understanding the silent question you nod, letting her undo the knots and reveal yourself to her. Mizu hovered over you, one arm supporting her weight and the other fondling your chest as she tasted your skin. Your arousal was almost uncontainable, your core throbbing at every touch, mewls and groans barely kept to yourself as the woman continued to shower you in affection.

“Mizu,” You couldn’t help but gasp when she slipped her hand between your legs and began to touch you.

Your composure slipped entirely when her fingers entered you and you clung to Mizu, nails scraping over her still-clothed body. You distantly knew you wanted to see more of her but failed to scrape together coherency as she thrust in and out of you, curling her fingers as she did so. Her thumb was massaging a toe-curling circle of pleasure and it was all too soon before you were reaching a peak. Breathy moans escaped you and Mizu swallowed them with hot kisses, noises of her own making their way to your ears as she took care of you.

Your loud cries echoed around the room as you came, clenching down on Mizu’s fingers though she rode you out until you were practically begging her to remove her hand. She smoothed her hand over your flushed face and whispered soothing words of praise as you returned to yourself.

“Beautiful,” She smiled, kissing each of your cheeks and then your lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” You tittered weakly. “I’m doing quite well.”

Mizu busied her hands by tying you back up and retrieving a blanket for the two of you to rest. “Good. I didn’t know if that was too much.” Her nervous tone was odd to you, given how easily she took control.

You gave her a peck to the cheek and took a breath to stare into her eyes that you’d grown to love. “It was perfect”

As you lay there, wrapped in Mizu’s arms and unsure of the future, you echoed to her a question you’d asked before.

“Will you come back to me?”

“I will.”

Yet, in the azure dawn, hope emerges, love reborn, fulfilling desires anew, as life unfolds, bright and true.

[thewordswewrite]

I just wanted to go ahead and boost (@)cordaiis on Instagram for creating fanart of Like Winter, Like Spring!! I was able to find it through a comment on ao3 and I appreciate it so much!!! I suppose if anyone is feels so inclined to create something based off this fic please tag me or DM me and let me know I want to see everything<33

-smoe

[thewordswewrite]

Like Winter, Like Spring

Pairing | Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary | After the events of episode five, Mizu stumbles into the forest barely clinging to life and you happen to be hunting.

Or what would happen if you found Mizu bleeding out and cared for her (in more ways than one)?

Warnings | NSFW 18+, mentions of injury/blood/killing

W/C | 7.3k

A/N | I’ve been consumed by this show and can't help but recommend it to everyone, so please if you haven't already done so, watch it. Please leave me some comments and lmk what you think!!-Smoe<33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link  

Part Ⅰ: Winter

In the moonlit haze, a spirit roams, lost and cold, whispers of vengeance unfold, onryo's bitter gaze.

The snow soaked through your socks as you took exaggerated steps through the powder, cold seeping into your toes and numbing them. Though you had enough firewood to last until the first thaw, your food stores were beginning to dwindle. It had been a harsh winter, one your father hadn’t survived, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your day had been one of minor success; three rabbits hung from the rope tied around your waist, a haul good enough for the next few nights based on their size and you decided to head home.

Food was becoming harder to come by, and without your father, you could not venture into Mihonoseki to stock up on more dried goods. Your father had always been of more liberal views but you were still a woman and he was still your father meaning you knew where you stood in society. Due to necessity alone, your father taught you to hunt; a bow and arrow the ‘only thing suited to a woman’ your father once told you.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your head as the wind whipped around you, snow falling harder and harder as you walked. You were sure anyone else other than you caught in the storm would be utterly lost, but you knew the place like the back of your hand. As the wind howled, it carried to you the sounds of the forest and with it a distant grunt of pain, just loud enough for your keen ears to pick up on and you stilled. You would have ignored it–a lone man more often than not meaning trouble–but he was headed in the direction of your home and therefore you needed to act. With your brow set, you sank into a crouch and rifled through the snow until your unfeeling fingers grasped a rock, waiting for another sound from the man.

A hunter knew how to stalk its prey and in that moment you treated the man as nothing more. With every sound he made you got closer, using the noise from the environment to mask your own as you trailed him. In the distance, you caught sight of someone clad in navy and in the opposite direction of your home, threw the rock. You hadn’t been too worried until you heard the ‘shing’ of a katana and the crash of a tree.

A samurai.

It could be no one else with that blade or skill, and though they were meant to be honorable, you knew, they were still men. You knew every road, every tree that grew in these woods and as you were coming back up on the main trail where the samurai fled, one was struck down. Your pale hand reached out to stroke the clean-cut trunk, not yet five years old by your count and yet it had fallen. It was mindless acts of violence like this that made you distrustful of strangers.

A quick glance at the area revealed a small trail of blood, likely left by the man, and you couldn’t help but let a rueful smile grace your lips. His death would be easier than you thought. Cold, lost, and injured was a dangerous combination for anyone, but for a man in your woods? It was lethal.

You were soundless as you descended upon your prey, a respectable distance away but close enough to see his profile. He was dressed in simple pants and a shirt, though the latter looked to be soaked through with blood as one of his hands pressed against his stomach, the other grasping a blue blade, ripe for attack. It was too easy for you to nock an arrow and draw, your breath steadying as you aimed for his heart. You were preparing for the release when suddenly to your left a twig snapped and the samurai’s gaze turned to the noise, and then onto you.

The man raised his sword, removing his hand from his side to give the encounter his full attention. “Who sent you?”

You were puzzled by the question. Not only were you clearly a woman, but who was he that he thought himself important enough to have assassins sent after him? You didn’t think to voice these questions aloud but they were answered anyway when you finally caught sight of his eyes: blue. 

When he spoke again, he must have registered that you were not who he thought you were. “I am no threat to you. I am just passing through.” To prove his point he sheathed his blade and put up his hands.

You hesitated to drop your own weapon but since he was injured and still a good enough distance away, you let-down your bow and stood to your full height, noticing the man was not much taller than you. 

“Leave here!” You shouted, hands still latched to your grip and arrow, ready to fire should the need arise.

The samurai began backing up slowly, nodding to you and returning pressure to the wound at his side. When he did so, he grunted and his eyes fluttered. It all seemed to happen in a  single moment when he was suddenly face down in the snow and you were taking brisk but weary steps towards him. As you got closer, the extent of his injuries became clearer and you could see the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. Your eyes closed in exasperation; you hadn’t intended to stumble across a half-white, dying samurai let alone bring him to your home, but seeing as you weren’t too far away and he had shown no intention of attacking you, you could not, in good conscience, leave him in the snow to die.

With a huff, you flipped the man over, grabbed him under the arms, and began to haul him toward your home, the dense snow making the task almost more difficult than you could manage. You knew he was alive based solely on the noises of discomfort he released in his sleep as you readjusted your grip and pulled harder. You were forced to stop every few feet, panting from the effort it took but when you finally were able to kick open your door and get him in front of the fireplace, you felt a sense of relief.

As you pulled up the samurai’s kimono, you got a glimpse of four deep gashes punctured into his stomach and your heart dropped. “Please stay with me.”

It was immediately apparent to you what had caused his wounds: Boss Hamata, or more accurately, his Thousand-Claw Army. That would explain why he thought someone had sent you after him and why he was covered in so much more blood than what was plausibly his own. Anxiety sent goosebumps down your arms. The thought of one of Boss Hamata’s men coming to your home and killing the both of you for whatever this samurai did entered your mind. You tried to reason with yourself; no man in his right mind would enter this storm and they must know the samurai was injured, likely only letting him go because he was sure to die. That was that you decided: he could stay until the storm passed and not a second longer. Enough time, by the looks of it, for him to heal enough to leave but not enough for anyone to come knocking at your door looking for him.

With your mind made up, you went about untying his kimono to get better access to his wound. Your still-warming fingers deftly undid the knot and moved to unwrap the samurai when suddenly a hand shot up and wrapped itself around your wrist, halting your actions.

“No.” The man’s eyes fought to open and you were once again treated to a glimpse of blue through thick black lashes. He was only able to mutter the single word before he once again fell unconscious and you stared at him a beat longer.

He didn’t have the luxury of his warning being granted, and you instead opened his shirt, only to find his chest already wrapped. Or rather her chest already wrapped. A gasp escaped you as you balked at the sight, eyes darting again to the face of the person below you and noticing not only the sharp curve of their jaw but the softness of their cheeks and decidedly feminine-looking lips. Yes, you stopped your thoughts from drifting, she was a woman, but that made your job no different.

With clinical movements, you cleaned her wound with warm water, being sure to be as gentle as possible. You retrieved a suture kit your father had gotten from town after you had cut yourself chopping wood one day and began to sterilize the needle over the fire. You ran your fingers over the inflamed skin and worried when the woman’s stomach felt warm. The stitches were quick and clean, the woman below you making no movements which worried you but did make the process easier. Once each of the four gashes was closed, you wrapped up her stomach with strips of fabric and struggled to remove her soaked shirt–though, you left her pants for the sake of her already violated modesty.

You looked at her face once again, now less troubled looking than before, and saw hints of purple peeking out from under her scarf. Much like her shirt you undid her scarf as well and were horrified to see a deep purple handprint marring her skin. With little else you could do you opened your door, the wind catching it as you did so, slamming it open in your rush to gather enough snow to compress onto the samurai’s neck.

Another gust wafted flurries into your home, chilling the room before you could close the door in time and you cursed. You wrapped the snow in the previously discarded scarf and placed it on the samurai’s neck in hopes it would ease the pain. As tightly as you could, you bundled the woman in your father’s blanket and placed your own rolled-up one under her head as support after taking her katana and placing it across the room. Just in case.

With nothing else to do to try and keep her alive, you finally got to skinning the rabbits and making yourself dinner. You decided to wait until the woman was awake until you tried to feed her and thus only made enough for yourself. The food was hearty and warm and after the exertion you surrendered to the day, you were exhausted. In lieu of having a blanket, you threw on a second kimono and huddled close to your guest and the fire and,  in an act of trust, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

- ⚔ -

You startled awake at the sound of someone shuffling around your home but all at once the memories of the day before come back to you.

“You’re awake,” You yawned, rubbing your eyes as you looked over at the half-clothed samurai propped up against your wall.

“You stitched my wounds. Why?” The woman’s voice was thick and gravelly but you could only focus on her eyes.

Your answer was simple and steadfast. “I could not leave you when you meant me no harm.”

The woman seemed to scan your face and must have found what she was looking for when she relaxed and coughed at the simple action. You took the lull to stand and place your kettle on the fire, intending on making sobacha tea for your guest. Her entire demeanor shifted when you moved and she realized she was without her sword. 

“Where is my katana?” The woman ground out, eyes darting around the space.

You gestured silently to where it lay on the other side of the room and went back to pouring the tea, steeping it to your liking and hoping it was to the tastes of the woman across from you. You handed a steaming cup to the woman and cleared your throat, intending to find out more about your mysterious guest. You watched as she took a sip of the tea and closed her eyes for a moment to savor the flavor or feeling you were unsure but either way were happy she approved.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The woman paused before she answered, “Mizu.”

You introduced yourself and went about using the final two rabbits you killed to make a stew as well as some rice to help fill up. The silence between you two was undemanding as Mizu simply sat with her eyes closed while you cooked. It wasn’t long before you’d finished, offering a bowl to your guest which she took while meeting your eyes.

Mizu bowed her head. “I want to thank you for your hospitality and for saving my life.”

“As I said, I had to.” You shook your head with a smile as you ate.

The woman’s face suddenly went solemn and she put down her bowl. “Yes, but now you have to keep my secret, or else I cannot allow you to keep your life.”

Your eyes darted over to where her katana was, still half a room away, and took a steadying breath. “I can promise you I will never tell another soul but I need something in return,” Mizu looked at you apprehensively, her eyebrow raised. “You must be gone by the time the storm ends. I cannot be caught sheltering you in my home or Boss Hamata will have me killed.”

Her attention drifted from you, her expression unbothered. “You needn't worry about him or his army.”

“Why? You were clearly attacked by one of his men and–” Mizu cut you off with a raise of her hand.

“I killed them all.”

You took a moment to revel in the shock of the admission, spoken as though it was nothing more than a typical day for the female samurai. In your revelation, Mizu slid her bowl over to you, the blanket covering her shifting with the action and your cheeks warmed. You go to look away but stop yourself, instead letting your eyes search over her bandages for any signs of infection or bleeding before Mizu goes to cover herself back up, shooting you an indignant look.

“Oh! No, I–” You backtracked, knowing how it must have seemed. “Your wound, I was just looking to see if I should replace the bandages and…” You gestured to the bloodied cloth, “It looks like I should.”

Mizu looked down at herself and grimaced at the sight. “Fine, but I can do it myself.”

You nodded and retrieved a bowl of water for her to clean herself with as well as a new set of cloth to rewrap herself. You watched her struggle to undo the wrapping for a total of two minutes before you couldn’t help but reach towards her in aid though as you did she jerked away, wincing at the action and your face tightened.

“Please, let me help you.”

The two of you were locked in a stare-down, neither willing to give up ground so you decided to take it, scooting yourself forward and batting away her hands. Mizu looked ready to put up a fight but instead, she relented, allowing you to reach around her torso. Your faces were close as you did so, Mizu’s warm breath wafting sharply across your cheek as you pulled on the dressing to release it.

She began moving in every which way as you passed the bandages around her body to try and help the process go by quickly but your hands must have been chilled because when you finally revealed her skin and ran a hand along the plane of her stomach Mizu shivered and you looked up to see her eyes already trained on you. Mizu kept a hard look on her face as you wiped away congealed blood from her wound though it looked to you to have already begun scabbing, causing a self-satisfied smile to grace your face. 

“It’s looking better. I think you should be okay to travel in a few days.” The labored breathing of the injured woman forced another comment from you. “Although, I think it would be beneficial for you to remove your bindings for the time being.”

Mizu gave you another long look and you figured that she must not be used to conversing with people regularly, a trait you both now shared. In retaliation, Mizu attempted to take a deep breath though before she could, her lungs stuttered out dry coughs and her face screwed up in pain at the action.

“Fine.” She ground out, once again attempting to remove the wrap on her own and failing.

You were unamused at the sight and decided to skip the dance the two of you had been playing at since you dragged her into your home and just helped her instead. It was a similar tension as when you removed her bloodied bandage but thicker by about tenfold when your eyes met again.

You couldn’t get over the sight, blue as the sky and sea but clouded by emotion. She looked to be studying you just the same, her eyes languidly making their way over your features before settling on your mouth. You couldn’t help but let your lips part, overcome with the moment and Mizu’s increasingly seductive gaze. Your cheeks burned under her but you weren't alone in your fluster, Mizu’s own face tinged pink as well, shared heat radiating between you. 

All you had to do was lean forward and–

You cleared your throat at the thought and pulled back, “I’ll let you finish on your own. I’ll leave you.”

- ⚔ -

Ethereal and pale, haunting tales of love's demise, echo through her cold blue eyes, as sorrow sets its sail.

Hunting always cleared your mind, which, at that moment, was racing with thoughts of feelings you’d never experienced before. It wasn’t the fear of attraction that bothered you, but the fear of who you’d grown such a sensitivity toward. It would be easy if Mizu was just a lone samurai, someone wandering through life, a man, but she was none of those things and you were but a woman.

You’d been stalking your prey for a few miles, a serow that looked large enough for four meals between two people. Clad in your lightest clothes, you blended into the snowy environment and stepped slowly so as to not startle the creature. A moment of pause and a softly spoken prayer was all that was in between the serow’s short life and its quick death. Your emotions peaked as you released your arrow and the animal hit the ground, its breaths stuttering wetly as blood filled its chest. The pure white snow tainted red as you kneeled and slipped your knife from where it rested in its holster before promptly goring open the beast’s neck, killing it instantly.

You sat in the snow, waiting until the serow bled out enough for you to take it back, and began to think. You had very little, living in the woods alone, but it seemed to you so did Mizu. You were unsure if she even felt that way about other women as you had just discovered it was possible yourself. Mizu had incontestable skill, having claimed to have killed the Thousand-Claw Army single-handedly and suffered only a single serious injury. To you, she meant safety, security, and companionship, but what could you offer other than a home you were unsure she even wanted to come back to?

“Give me strength,” You called out to the universe and stood, bearing the weight of your future dinner on your back.

It was a difficult hike home but you were greeted by an up-and-about Mizu when you managed to open the door and throw down the serow.

“I made tea,” She announced, gesturing lamely to the steaming pot, uneasy at your sudden entrance.

You smiled and removed your scarf, brushing snow off of you and onto the floor in the process. “I can see that. Thank you.”

She nodded at your gratitude, her eyes not quite meeting your own. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to skin and carve this, then I can get started on dinner,” You moved to begin your task but Mizu stopped you.

“I can skin it. You rest.”

Your shoulders sagged with a relief you didn’t know you would feel and you smiled at her once again. You took your time undressing down to a single kimono and looked back to see Mizu butchering the pelt of your kill.

You gasped and Mizu stopped, startled as she looked up. “What?”

“Have you ever skinned an animal before?” You accused, taking three short strides over to her.

“Yes!” She defends. “Just nothing ever this large.”

You walk behind her and place your hand over hers. “Here, like this.”

Her hands are warmer than yours, but rougher, hardened by years of training and being on the road. She was slightly taller than you, forcing you to lean your head on the side of her arm in order to see what you were guiding her to do. You feigned intense focus while skinning the animal to combat the feeling that Mizu’s stolen and frequent glances gave you. 

“Where is the man you live with?” She asked suddenly, causing you to stop your movements and remove yourself from behind her, too distracted in such close proximity.

Your heart clenched and you sighed. “Dead. My father got sick a month after the first snow.”

“My condolences.”

“I just realized you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since he died.” You laughed mournfully.

A dark look passed over Mizu’s face and she handed you the knife, gesturing for you to finish the skinning with your superior ability. “Let’s finish dinner.”

- ⚔ -

Your third meal together was nothing special, grilled meat and rice being all you had to get through the winter. The days were growing shorter and your energy with it, not to mention the strain healing took on Mizu and you as her unstudied nurse, left the both of you exhausted and ready to go to bed. Though your eyes drooped when you laid down, you couldn’t manage to find sleep, instead tossing and turning as Mizu slept soundlessly across from you.

A deep yawn tore itself from you and finally, you felt yourself relax into your slumber. Little by little your eyes closed and your breath slowed, as you were lulled by the crackle of the fire. This was until Mizu’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“I need you to know, I am on the path of revenge. There’s no place on it for friendship…or love.”

You were hazy with sleep but the admission hurt. “I understand.”

“I’m planning on leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

What else could you say?

The room retired to its previous silence but now you were fully awake and your heart pounded over what Mizu said truly meant to you. The little life you had constructed in your mind vanished into thin air, thoughts racing and consumed with every question you would never be able to ask her.

It was when you accepted you’d never see her again that you spoke. “I feel it's easier to talk in the dark so now I will ask: why do you dress as a man?”

Three seconds go by and Mizu fails to respond, making you assume she was either asleep or ignoring your question. When you’d all but given up hope she responded. “Because of my birth. And because it's difficult to be a woman in this world.”

“It is. After winter, I don’t know what I will do without my father. I have no chaperone to travel with and once spring comes and the roads become busy, I will have no assurance of my safety.” You curled in on yourself a bit tighter than before, your eyes welling up with tears.

“You have your bow and this house. That's more than many.” Her graveled voice sounded almost condescending and you were annoyed.

“More for a man, less for a woman.” You argued, turning to look at her.

Sensing your growing anger, you took a breath and opted not to continue the conversation instead looking angrily at the sword-wielding woman before screwing your eyes shut.

She cleared her throat and you opened your eyes once again, her pale eyes meeting yours before she spoke. “What happened to your mother?”

You sighed, decidedly finished with the conversation but Mizu didn't seem to catch on. “She died in childbirth.”

“You could always marry,” She suggested. “I was married once.”

Your brows set though the admission surprised you. “And now you’re dressed as a man in a pursuit for revenge,” Mizu gave you a look of defeat and you leveled with her. “I would be shackled to my husband and I have no desire for kids. I wish to live freely.”

Mizu’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment before she spoke. “You remind me of a princess I knew.”

- ⚔ -

Mizu had been antsy all day. Sewing up her clothes, checking and rechecking her wounds, stretching and eating her fill, all in preparation to leave you the next morning. You could assume she never stayed anywhere as long as she’d stayed in your home so you could understand why she felt that way though it didn’t help the growing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t wrap your head around it; you’d barely known her for three days and already you were, dare you say, truly sad she was leaving.

When seeing her pack became too much to bear, you used hunting as an excuse to leave, not bothering to go very far, but to a boulder you often frequented when you needed to sit in silence. The view was beautiful, overlooking a shallow valley that was currently coated in a layer of white, a calming sight while you attempted to reacclimate your mind to the reality of your solitude. Mizu was nothing more than a dream that you’d conjured up in order to live your fantasy life of freedom with. You should’ve known better.

When you got back to your house and walked in, Mizu looked you over and frowned. “Nothing today?”

You sighed, feigning defeat. “No, but I have more than enough for now,” Giving her a falsely nonchalant look you shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll need to go out again until after you leave.”

Silenced for a moment, Mizu just nodded and handed you a cup of tea. It seemed to have become a sort of ritual, her making you tea whenever you came back from a hunt. It was welcome and something you could get used to if the universe let you. Instead, you bowed your head in thanks and took a sip, pleasantly surprised to find it was made to your liking.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mizu graced you with a small smile and your eyebrows shot up but you quickly turned to hide your quiet awe.

You moved over to your food storage and tried to come up with a meal that would be a worthy send-off of your limited time together but came up short. It would be meat and rice again though Mizu never showed any indication of being dissatisfied. Stubbornly, you rifled through your shelves and when your hand met glass and you realized it was a bottle of saké you smiled.

“Unfortunately it’ll be another meal of stew and rice but I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. Now seems as good as any.” You held up the bottle and Mizu looked dubious.

“I–I don’t drink,” She tried to deny you but you weren’t taking no for an answer.

You placed a hand on your hip and cocked it, looking at her unamused. “I think as payment for my food and hospitality you owe me this favor.” She looked conflicted but with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, she gave in. 

“I suppose one would be okay.”

Dinner was mediocre but drink after drink, you and Mizu became more comfortable with each other and much to your amazement, began sharing stories.

“So…who was your rival again?” You wondered, almost sure she had already told you.

“He’s not my rival,” She mocked, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a samurai who I defeated in battle and has been chasing me around demanding a rematch so he can regain his honor.” Mizu seemed exacerbated at the prospect and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why don’t you just fight him again?” You deadpanned. “I’m sure he’d leave you alone once he got what he wanted.”

“Because he wants to fight to the death, it would be him or me.” Mizu sobered up at that statement and swiftly downed another cup of saké.

“But…you defeated the Thousand-Claw Army alone,” You slowly put the pieces together and began to nod. “I understand.”

“He could be a good man, he just needs to let himself.”

That reminded you of a time in your childhood when your father was still young and strong, lending you wisdom that turned you into the woman you are today. Flashes of a house on the corner of a street, and a little girl with two missing teeth shot through your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“That reminds me of something my father used to say,” You smiled at the memory and continued. “When I was little and we still lived in Mihonoseki, I lost my two front teeth at the same time and this girl who lived near me kept making fun of me.”

“What does that have to do with your–” Mizu hiccupped, looking confused. “Your father?”

“If you’d let me finish! So…she kept making fun of me and I made a plan to mess with her and when my father found out he told me,” You deepened your voice, attempting to imitate the way your father spoke with utmost sternness. “‘Daughter, you may be the more honorable, you need only allow yourself to be.’”

There was a moment of pause before the two of you burst into laughter. Though Mizu’s was much quieter, you were endeared by the sound. Your grin felt as though it would split your face if it got any wider and Mizu looked at you flustered.

“I like your laugh.” You found yourself giggling and when you tried to scoot closer to Mizu, the room spun.

She caught you as you swayed but nearly toppled over herself in turn. You found yourself grasping onto Mizu and she onto you, alone in your home as a blizzard raged on outside. You stared brazenly into her eyes, at a color you didn’t think you’d ever become accustomed to.

“Mizu, I–” Your voice failed when you attempted to continue, a lump forming in your throat when her gaze traveled to your lips as you spoke.

You’d thought about it once already, stopping yourself before the thought could develop but now, when you were a little more than drunk on saké, you couldn’t help yourself. A single tick of time went by, eyes flashing from Mizu’s mouth to her eyes and back before you were pressing your lips to hers.

She inhaled sharply at the contact but you pressed on, opening your mouth to her and sliding a hand around her neck. Mizu tentatively slid her own around your waist and gave an almost experimental squeeze as she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue trace yours and forcing a moan from your throat.

When she heard the noise it was as if Mizu was spurred on, advancing on you in a way you didn't think a woman in her state was capable of. Your back was pressed into the ground as she hovered above you, a heated look on her now more delicate-looking features before she descended upon you again. Her mouth was soft in a way her grasp was not as she trailed kisses down your neck, a moan escaping her lips when she sucked on a particularly sensitive spot and you pulled at the hair on her nape, loosening her bun in the process. Your hand cupped her jaw as you brought her mouth back to your own and stole another kiss.

Reaching up, you tugged the remainder of her hair down, allowing it to cascade over you like an inky waterfall. Mizu smiled as you tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed her once more. It wasn’t until you both had your fill that your actions began to slow and you saw her lips red with desire and knew your own likely matched, not to mention the state of your neck. You lay together in front of the fire, your head on her unbound chest as she traced unconscious patterns into your shoulder where your kimono had slipped during your escapades.

You reveled in the heat of her and the tingles she left in the wake of her touch, though knew she’d be gone when you woke and decided to ask your next question on a whim of hope. “If you think of me, even once after you leave, come back to me when you’ve found your revenge.”

You felt Mizu’s head angle towards your ear as she whispered two words: “I will.”

In the realm between, past and present intertwined, where a restless soul confined, seeks justice unforeseen.

Part Ⅱ: Spring

Beneath the sapphire moon, shadows dance in shades of blue, where love once bloomed, now askew, a blue blade gleams, a fateful tune.

Spring had been bountiful for you, animals re-emerged from the frost and the warming temperatures made it easy to forage. With the changing seasons came a margin of sadness in the lack of a certain samurai’s return. The roads had picked up some traffic but all had just been harmless travelers, no bandits busting down your door to attack you which you were grateful for but never had you been so disappointed someone didn’t come knocking. With a sigh, you shook your head, having no reason to expect Mizu to come back, especially considering you had no actual details on where she was going or how long she’d be away.

You managed a few martens in the short time you’d been out and decided it was enough for a decent meal. With a soft huff, you slugged your bow over your shoulder and began the hike back home, your stomach rumbling at your lack of midday meal.

The walk was no more than thirty minutes, cherry blossoms swaying in the wind and the soft earth beneath your feet lended to the tranquil mood. Your house was looking a little worse for wear after the snow had melted: the roof needed to be repaired, and a loose step in the porch stairs somehow always managed to trip you when you went out. Skipping that board on the way up, you pushed open your door and were met with a familiar sight.

Striking blue met yours as you saw Mizu standing in the center of the room, a pot of tea and two cups resting on the table to the right of her. Before you could manage to speak, your body carried you to her, dropping everything you held in the process to take her in your arms.

A small oomph sounded from Mizu as you collided with her and her hand came up to rest on the back of your head, you having already buried it in her shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, just reveling in the feeling of your togetherness before you pulled back, though only far enough to be able to meet her eyes. Her bangs were longer, covering her forehead and you noticed she was without her sword.

It was a silent conversation only shared between the flitting of your eyes but when Mizu’s settled her lips captured yours. You’d longed for the moment you’d once again be endowed with the plushness of her lips and at the contact tears welled up in your eyes. Your mouths danced together and one of Mizu’s hands went to cradle your face, the other holding you firmly to her as she took control of your mouth. Her touch burned, kiss after kiss marring your skin and ruining you for anyone else.

“How have you been?” She asked, her voice lighter than you remembered.

“I’ve been well,” You chuckled wetly. “And you?”

Her eyes closed momentarily and she stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Still walking the same path I have my entire life.”

This puzzled you, having not expected to see her until she’d completed her mission. “You didn’t get your revenge?” Your shoulders sagged when Mizu shook her head, and you gave her a soft peck on the lips in apology.

“I trust Ringo found you?” She looked genuinely curious and memories of a handless man coming to you with rice, beans, and a travel pass resurfaced.

“You sent him?” You smiled but were still confused. “Who is he?” The man had brought you gifts and cooked the best noodles you ever had in your life before leaving and claiming he would be back in a few month's time.

Mizu nodded, letting your face go but sliding her hand from across your back and sliding it into your own. “My apprentice. He accompanied me on my travels. Before I ventured into Edo, I gave him instructions to find you should I not return.”

“Not return? But–” 

Mizu handed you the cup of forgotten tea, effectively cutting you off and you took an annoyed sip. “You’re the only person I had to see before I leave.”

The tea lodged in your throat at the admission, sending you into a coughing fit as you tried to clear the liquid from your lungs. “Leave? Leave where?”

A haunted look passed over her eyes, darkening them. “My path diverged in Edo. I chose the sea and tomorrow…I’m headed to London.”

“London?” All of a sudden you felt the same as you did that night all those months ago.

After some much-needed discussion, Mizu explained what she had set out to do and the vow she made to her mother when she was a child. You understood, how could you not? With every chop of your knife, dinner came together and you learned more about the woman you devoted so many sleepless nights to. Four white men, a quest for revenge, and a chance to gain it across the sea. 

Mizu looked away from you when she spoke her next admission. “The shogun is dead. Edo burned.”

Your eyes shot up from your work and a sharp pain sliced through the backs of your fingers as you brought your knife down onto them. A hand reached out and Mizu was already tugging the white scarf from around her neck to wrap around your hand. She looked startled at the sight of your blood but you assumed she was used to it by now. She handled you delicately, enveloping your injury gently but snug enough that you trusted it would not come undone. Your attention was momentarily diverted before you processed what Miza had said, questions darting around your mind.

“The shogun is dead and Edo burned?”

“There was a coup, but I stopped the man in charge.” She seemed pleased by the outcome and you were in awe of the feat.

“And the city?”

Her expression dimmed and Mizu rubbed her eyes. “I started the fire…and it raged.”

A meal finally suitable for a goodbye–because that’s what this was–was ready in another fifteen minutes, most of which was filled with soft looks and stolen kisses, the pain and fear from hearing of Mizu’s narrow escape melting away with each one. You ate in companionable silence as they often came more naturally than conversation to the two of you. 

- ⚔ -

Through the veil of time dire, the pale visage lingers on, a tale of love, now gone, in shadows of a haunted pyre.

Once the meal was finished and you’d both taken the time to clean up, Mizu took your hand and led you to your spot in front of the fireplace. She did little more than let you rest against her, savoring your touch as she nuzzled into your neck, dropping small kisses onto your skin. When you tried to touch or reciprocate Mizu tenderly denied the advances, letting all her focus stay rooted on you.

“I’ll be gone before you wake,” Mizu murmured as she caressed you.

You knew as much, having been told not an hour before but the reminder stung. “I know.”

She grabbed your face, turning it so you could do nothing but study her as she did you, your eyes locked on one another. Her expression shifted from a subtle longing to an unabashed look of want and seized your lips with an intensity that she had never allotted herself with you. Mizu licked into your mouth, tasting of the food you made and the tea she prepared, and dwelled on what it would be like if this was the rest of your life.

“Let me do this for you,” She rasped, her hot breath fanning over you. “Let’s make the most of tonight.”

Her fingers ghosted over your body until she reached the ties of your kimono and looked to you for permission. Understanding the silent question you nod, letting her undo the knots and reveal yourself to her. Mizu hovered over you, one arm supporting her weight and the other fondling your chest as she tasted your skin. Your arousal was almost uncontainable, your core throbbing at every touch, mewls and groans barely kept to yourself as the woman continued to shower you in affection.

“Mizu,” You couldn’t help but gasp when she slipped her hand between your legs and began to touch you.

Your composure slipped entirely when her fingers entered you and you clung to Mizu, nails scraping over her still-clothed body. You distantly knew you wanted to see more of her but failed to scrape together coherency as she thrust in and out of you, curling her fingers as she did so. Her thumb was massaging a toe-curling circle of pleasure and it was all too soon before you were reaching a peak. Breathy moans escaped you and Mizu swallowed them with hot kisses, noises of her own making their way to your ears as she took care of you.

Your loud cries echoed around the room as you came, clenching down on Mizu’s fingers though she rode you out until you were practically begging her to remove her hand. She smoothed her hand over your flushed face and whispered soothing words of praise as you returned to yourself.

“Beautiful,” She smiled, kissing each of your cheeks and then your lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” You tittered weakly. “I’m doing quite well.”

Mizu busied her hands by tying you back up and retrieving a blanket for the two of you to rest. “Good. I didn’t know if that was too much.” Her nervous tone was odd to you, given how easily she took control.

You gave her a peck to the cheek and took a breath to stare into her eyes that you’d grown to love. “It was perfect”

As you lay there, wrapped in Mizu’s arms and unsure of the future, you echoed to her a question you’d asked before.

“Will you come back to me?”

“I will.”

Yet, in the azure dawn, hope emerges, love reborn, fulfilling desires anew, as life unfolds, bright and true.

[thewordswewrite]

400 Followers!!!

Thank you to everyone for helping us hit 400 followers and keeping up with the fics we write!!! With that milestone we're going to use this opportunity to tease TWO new fics coming out very soon...

Smoe's Fic

Fandom | Lockwood and Co.

Ship | Lucy Carlyle x Anthony Lockwood

Summary | Five times Lockwood looks out for Lucy and one time she looks out for him.

(Oneshot)

Saph's Fic

Fandom | Daisy Jones & the Six

Ship | Daisy Jones x Billy Dunne

Summary | Billy’s never considered himself much of a believer, not in timers, not in God but what was Daisy Jones made for if not to be worshiped? Timer Soulmate AU (countdown to your soulmate’s death)

(Multi-chapter)

Fandom Taglist | @superpositvecloudshipper

[thewordswewrite]

Hello!! I kept trying to leave a comment on AO3 and it wouldn’t let me, so I came here!

I tried to post a reply but it said the connection was lost, so if you get two comments from me, I apologize in advance!! I just found this story and I love it. I can’t wait to see more of Finnick’s reaction to their separation and hopefully their reunion!! Also, I don’t know if you plan to write that far, but maybe a different ending for our dear finnick?? He deserves a happy ending 😭 lovely writing, thank you for sharing!

We've gotten quite a few messages like this and we're so happy to see the influx in readers with the release of tbosas. Things have gotten quite busy for the both of us since we last released a one-shot for the Drought of an Ocean but its not totally out of the question that we'll release another so stick around.

As for the fate of Finnick, the epilogue of the main story is set post-mockingjay so he's alive and well! (as he always should've been)

Much love

-- Saph n' Smoe