#Blue Cow Guest Farm

[princessbrunette]

HOLD ME, KISS ME ♡

♪ the little dippers — forever ♪

WANTED: JOHN BOOKER ROUTLEDGE - SUSPECTED MURDER - $1000 REWARD - DANGEROUS! IF SPOTTED DO NOT APPROACH!

pairing: outlaw!johnb + sheltered!reader ⋆₊⊹♡

synopsis: your wishes come true when a beautiful boy is found sleeping peacefully in your barn. much to his surprise, you don’t care about who he is or what he has or hasn’t done — you just want to ensure he stays forever.

cw: mentions of prayer, religion and god (for plot purpose) reader has two parents, western!au, innocence kink, slight manipulation, mentions of crime, breeding kink, smut ♡

“Please deliver me a man, save me from this loneliness. Make him kind, and strong, and handsome. I vow to make him the happiest man alive.”

Your forehead rests against your clasped hands where you kneel beside your bed, speaking out loud as there was no one else to speak to. Your parents had gone on a trip for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the farmhouse all by your lonesome.

Isolated didn’t feel like the correct term. You were grateful, happy to live off the fat of your father’s land in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes you wished you had someone to share it with. Someone your own age who was there to see you. You had become the perfect host, thrilled when your parents would bring home guests once in a blue moon. You’d tie ribbons in your hair and pick the perfect dress and set the table like your mother taught you. You often imagined setting the table for a family of your own.

Your own farm house. The thought sent you off to sleep each night, walking through the home in your mind as if it were really real, feeling the creaking of the painted wooden porch beneath your feet as you enter, the distant cooing of your baby being comforted by your husband in the next room. White shabby-chic panels across the walls with oak furniture and knitted throw pillows and lots and lots of warm light. The kitchen table would have the perfect lace floral embroidered table cloth draped across it which you’d serve the heartiest dinners on each night. The babies room would be painted mint green, no— maybe pastel yellow, with handmade toys and a music box that played your song and oh, the master bedroom… where you and your husband rest your head would be flooded with natural light. A haven. All yours.

The details to the decoration often changed, new inspiration plucked from the papers that father would bring home and new favourite colours integrating themselves into your home plans but one thing remained the same each time. Your husband. He never had a face, but it wasn’t important. He was warm, strong without having to prove just how macho he was, kind— you could feel his love from the next room on. That was all you really wanted. You could forget the house, forget the land, live in a barn for all you care — you just wanted to experience a love like the ones in the fairytale books stacked high in your room.

It had been a week already of this routine you’d grown used to. You wake up, feed yourself and then the chickens, come inside, clean yourself and then the house, paint, crotchet or read — however the mood takes you, eat lunch, tend to the crops, brush the horses, maybe milk a cow, come inside and cook dinner, bathe, think about your dream husband and grind your wet messy cunt into a pillow, feel guilty, beg for forgiveness and then sleep. It was an easy life, and you couldn’t complain— but you couldn’t help feel the world had more to offer.

Your mother often told you that gifts from above come when you least expect it, you just had to keep your eyes open. You always wondered how one might find these gifts with no idea where to look.

Your gift arrived bright and early the next morning.

Well, not technically as early as it should have been, infact you probably nearly missed it. The roosters calls at 6AM each morning, but on that very day you had decided to sleep in. A few hours wouldn’t kill them, you think as you pull a plush white pillow to lay over your ear— it’s not like the chickens would starve.

At 11:45AM, you stumble bare foot onto the grass outside, setting out on your walk to the barn a little way up the land. Your pert nipples harden, awakened by the cool morning breeze as the thin white fabric of your nightdress blows in the wind. With the sunlight shining directly on it, it was sure to be totally and utterly see through— and you suppose that was one upside to living in the middle of nowhere, yards upon yards from civilisation. No one would see you. Sigh.

You feed the chickens, totally blind before it even occurs to you that anything might be astray. Infact, you don’t even seem to notice that the barn door was left ajar, as opposed to how you usually leave it bolted by a wooden slab to prevent the animals from wandering off or being massacred by foxes. You suppose that’s the price you pay for sleeping in, you live in dreamworld for the next few hours.

The Earth seems to stop turning for a moment when you see him.

You’re more curious than anything, wide eyed, holding your breath as to be totally silent despite having been humming and speaking to the chickens only a moment prior. You tiptoe through the hay, shards of straw sprouting between your painted toes and pin-needling your sole as you draw closer to the man. A fallen angel, your first thought.

He’s half curled up onto his side in the hay behind the stable for your white pony. He has thick-ish arms crossed over his chest, his hat laying over his face seeming to be serving as a purpose to block out the light. You figure as you hadn’t woken up him before, a closer inspection couldn’t hurt. Unhurriedly, you sink down into a squat beside him, knees pointed upwards and feet taking your balance. A real man, in your barn? It couldn’t be. You chew on your bottom lip, goggle-eyed and inquisitive as you cautiously lift the hat away from his face.

He doesn’t wake and you’re for some reason thankful. It gives you time to observe him, the breath all but knocked from your body as you take in just how beautiful he is. He was perfect, and just like what you were hoping for when you wished to be delivered a husband.

Dark eyelashes kissing at the rim of his closed eyes, pale lips and freckles, sunkissed across his nose. Your eyes trail over and across him, now with his face in mind taking in account what he looks like as a whole. You were still in disbelief, a real man sleeping in your barn. But then again, as your eyes skim lower and you notice the blood seeping through his shirt over his stomach — you wonder if he was sleeping. Surely he wasn’t dead? Only God could be so cruel to deliver you the perfect man without a pulse.

So, you press two cold fingers to his neck, searching for the rhythmic beats signifying life. As soon as you do so, the man jolts awake — wide brown eyes meeting yours.

“Jesus.”

This is where the stare off commences— you were sat in a squat giving him a straight shot up your night dress with dome like eyes and parted lips, observing him like he was some sort of alien life form that had happened upon your barn infront of your very eyes. Your chest rises and falls, and his gender fails to betray him as his eyes fall there for a moment, subconsciously noticing the way your bare tits strain against the thin fabric with each exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but acknowledge that you’re a pretty thing, totally his type. In any other scenario, he might’ve seen you at a local tavern and introduced himself, getting you tipsy and loose, making you giggle beneath his soft gaze and coarse hands in some dimly lit booth before realising he’s far too respectful to take advantage of you like that.

With his eyes open, the picture is complete — and he truly is as beautiful as you thought. He had a puppy like quality to his eyes, they were big and brown but from the sunlight streaming in you could see specks of orange which intrigues you. You wish to look closer, but you feel it’s not the time. His adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow and he tears his eyes away from yours to look around, still disorientated from sleep. He touches his wound with gentle fingers and he winces, going to push himself up on his elbows.

You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, warm deep voice raspy from rest as he dives into a sequence of begging.

“Does anyone know I’m in here?”

“No, I—”

“Okay, that’s— okay, please — hey, please don’t tell anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m in a little bit of trouble with the law, nothing super bad I swear just — I needed somewhere safe to sleep so I ended up here. Didn’t take anything and uh— and I’ll be out of your hair now that I’m up.” He rambles, continually glancing at the barn doors, expecting Sheriff Shoupe to bust them down and take him in at any moments notice. You say nothing for a moment and he pushes himself to his feet, eyes squeezing shut at the soreness of his injury. “Think it’s easiest if I just—”

He cuts himself off this time, because you slip your hand into his— stopping him from going anywhere. His eyebrows jump up and he freezes on the spot, staring down at your doe eyes with a wide and confused gaze of his own.

“…Hi?”

“You just got here? Why’d you have to go?” You sound sad, and he actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only did he break into your barn, on private land — but he’d totally overstayed his non-existent welcome, and now you didn’t want him to leave?

“P—pardon me? Ma’am?” He tries to be respectful, when what he really wants to ask is along the lines of ‘What the fuck?’.

You scramble to stand up and he helps you using the hand that you’re grasping. “Well, you won’t get far with a wound like that. It could get infected. Maybe you could come inside, let me dress it. You can refuel… maybe stay a few days?” The last part sounds wrong coming from your mouth. He’s a stranger for goodness sake— everything your parents had taught you about safety went against this and plus you were practically begging. You might have been embarrassed, if there wasn’t such a nagging feeling in your stomach telling you that this was meant to be.

He scoffs out a chuckle, because he thinks there’s no way you’re serious— but when he sees your wide eyes bouncing between his own, searching for something he couldn’t quite put a finger on— he realises you’re being completely genuine and his expression melts into a more worried gaze, shuffling a little closer on his feet.

“Look, I really appreciate your hospitality, but you have done more than enough, really. Just the fact you didn’t have the sheriff busting in to drag me away is something I will be very grateful for. Believe me. But I can’t drag you into this. Anyway, don’t you have family? That you live with?”

You sigh, looking down at your intertwined hands that you had yet to release, staring as if you were trying to memorise the feeling of a man’s touch incase you really couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Well yes, but they’re on a trip you see — and they’re going to be away for another week and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m awfully lonely, and I know you’re a stranger and all but I could really use the extra set of hands… plus it’s the least you could do… for breaking in…” You feel you’re pushing it with that last part, but decide to proceed with it anyway, any means necessary to get him to stay. He bites his bottom lip in thought as you stare up through your lashes and he thinks screw it. He’s sure you’re not setting him up, a little thing like you would be far too weak to pull that off.

“Okay, I… don’t see why not then.” He doesn’t sound certain, but you make such a good offer he’d be a fool not to accept. He bends down and swoops his hat off the floor, holding it to his chest and you take his hand once more, guiding him out of the barn.

He presses his lips together in an awkward smile at the way you confidently lead him, almost having to break into a jog to match your eager pace. Once nearing the house, you tell him your name and he nods — taking in the scenery.

You’re sitting him down in the living room before he can blink, and he takes in the setting around him. A real cozy place, a family home for sure — with a pale blue couch, a scratchy patchwork blanket draped over the back and floral cushions. There’s photos of you in multiple spots around the room, an only child — he gathers. The main photo sits on the mantelpiece, framed, a set of parents curtaining your smiling face in the image. You seem to be a few years younger, fuller in the face, still cute as a button.

He doesn’t quite realise you’d gone anywhere until you’re returning — the contents of an old first aid box rumbling in your grip. You give him a reassuring smile and lower to kneel by his feet, opening up the container and fishing around for some cotton pads.

“Do you have a name, mister?”

He clears his throat, trying to gage your reaction once he speaks, attempting to work out if the name rings any bells. “Uh, yeah. John B. John B. Routledge. You might’ve… actually heard of me. If you have, uh— I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to react in any kind of alarming way, a smile grazing your face as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a soft white pad.

“Heard of you how? Are you famous?”

“…You’ve never seen those big ‘Wanted’ posters up in town? Kinda got my picture up on one of them.”

You peel up his shirt revealing tanned, toned skin and a wound that had crusted over with blood. You press the pad to it and he winces, knuckles turning white in his lap and head lulling back against the seat for a moment.

“Sorry.” You furrow your brows apologetically before continuing to mop up all the dried blood. “Oh, and I’m not allowed up in town. Not by myself anyway. So, I don’t keep up to date with all that… stuff.” You pull away, rifling through the box for another clean pad. He nods, eyes jumping to look at his wound and then back to you, watching your face for any discomfort regarding his presence. Oddly, there was none. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s wildly apparent now that you’ve truly been sheltered your whole life. There was this innocence you carried that was hard to come by, a lack of judgement that was sweet but made him worry for you slightly. You were lucky he had a good heart.

“That’s… probably for the best, actually. You know, they like to tell lies. I’m being falsely accused.” He speaks a little slower, and enunciates the last part as if you might not understand, and as expected— you hang onto every word, lips a little parted and wide eyed. It’s pretty cute, albeit inappropriate considering he’s a stranger.

As he speaks, you wrap his wound, pressing the sticky part down onto his skin before gently pressing the cotton covering his injury. “Well I’m really sorry about that John B. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You chirp, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the dressing, pulling back to offer him a sweet smile. The lines on John B’s forehead smooth out, his concerned expression melting into his own gentle smile of disbelief.

He wonders what the odds are that he’d stumbled upon a real life angel. Well, it was that — or you wanted to chop his body into tiny pieces whilst he slept and add it to your cauldron. He couldn’t quite figure it out yet, but you were pretty — and he was a total loverboy, so stupidly he was willing to take that risk.

He pulls his shirt back down over his now dressed wound and you begin to clear your things back into the first aid box.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Like, anything you need help with around here?” He offers and you look up at him, brows furrowing with adoration.

“Goodness, no— I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Said you needed an extra pair of hands earlier.” He challenges with a smile.

“I only said that to get you to come inside. With your injury, I couldn’t possibly put you to work.”

He scrunches his face a little with a half scoff, half smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Please, this thing? It barely even stings. Come oooon.” He croons with a smirk, and you really feel the full effects of his charm now— the warm timbre of his voice headed straight to your clit giving it a heartbeat of its own.

“Fine.” It comes out airy with a giddy smile and you take his hand yet again, almost getting distracted by the coarseness against your palm, the sight of bulging veins along the backs of them.

Your bare feet are treading lightly over soft wood chip once more as you lead him toward the destroyed fence round the left side perimeter of the farm.

“So… I suppose you could carry all the planks back from the fence that fell down in that awful storm last week. I was gonna wait for my daddy to get home to get him to do it ‘cus I’m much too weak for something like that.” You point, and John B’s brown fluffy head follows your finger to the destination at hand. He nods, a doable task.

“Well a girl like you shouldn’t be lifting a finger anyway.” He turns his head back to face you with a smile, eyes squinted in the sun. He looks radiant, no sign of pain anymore and you look down at your night gown, scrunching it in your clammy hands with an uncontrollable grin at the floor, harbouring such an innocent crush on the boy already that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His gaze stays on you for a tick whilst you step quietly and he speaks up again, tilting his head a little inquisitively. “I really, really hope this doesn’t sound rude… ‘cus I don’t mean to be. But… are you not… married?” He trails off, thinking of all the times he’s been walloped round the head in taverns for asking questions of a similar nature. Your smile doesn’t go away, your gentle nature not retiring for a moment.

“Oh no, no. I don’t meet boys often. Thats why I’m happy you came!” You chirp, hand reaching out to softly squeeze his arm. “Can be like husband and wife whilst you stay round.”

He just laughs in response. Not necessarily in a mean way, but the same way you laugh when a child tells you they’re going to be an astronaut when they grow up.

The brutal beating of the sun does nothing to stop the honest work you’d put the self proclaimed outlaw up to, he seems to be deep in thought often — carrying the planks to and fro. You slip inside for a while to change into something more appropriate, a sweet and floral sundress that ties up at the straps and hugs you in a more womanly way. You’d rubbed your lips together as you fixed your hair in the mirror before bringing him a sandwich in the early afternoon. “You are adorable.” He grins when you do so, and it wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for on your dress but it still made you warm in the face. He simply brought out a true primal bodily reaction from you— that’s why you’d skipped the panties under your dress. He was making you excited and slippery down there and you just didn’t see the point. You stay out for hours at a time to chat with him. Your affections grow.

John B. Routledge finally returns back to the house when he’s all finished and you let him lay down for a nap on your couch, finally getting some real rest in. Whilst he does so, you spend hours preparing a hearty meal — the type you reserve for when mama and papa have guests round. As the pie browns off just a moment longer in the oven, you come to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and stroking his fluffy hair back.

“I made dinner. Sure you’re really hungry.” You whisper and his eyes flutter once more, the arms that were crossed over his chest stretching out as he wakes. You sit back to give him space, and when he opens his eyes you’re there with a smile — the orange beam of sunset haloing your head. Something about an angel drafts through his mind once more and he stretches.

“Oh boy, I slept longer than I was meant to huh?” He sits up and you shrug, leading him through to the kitchen where you’d laid the round table. Steaming seasoned vegetables in a bowl, freshly picked by you. Warm bread, baked and scored by you with flowers the centrepiece of the table. A jug of gravy there too. There’s a tray of mashed potatoes waiting, creamy and delicious looking. Routledges stomach audibly growls and he chuckles at this as he sits down, taking in the scenery you’d laid out. “You… have spoiled me. All this for someone who breaks into your barn?” He chuckles as he lowers himself into the seat.

You follow him round the table with a giddy smile. “Told you I like havin’ guests.” You perch your bottom on his leg, an arm wrapped around his neck as your feet swing. It felt right. You’d always wanted to sit with a man this way, you’d seen it before in the picture shows. Man and wife, domestic bliss. His brows jump up and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh… sweetheart, you shouldn’t do that. I am a— a stranger, after all.” He tries to do the responsible thing, even though there was something about your innocent brashness that was turning him on beyond belief. Your eyebrows knit in the centre, a line between them and your bottom lip seems to have doubled in size from how it pushes out.

“But I like you?” You mewl, rejected. It all seems so simple to you, which is probably feels super unfair. No one had taught you how to address men because you were so sheltered, and now it was giving you all of these complicated feelings that John B would have to deal with.

“And I like you — a whole bunch. You know I’m super grateful for you taking me in and… all that good stuff. But sitting right here is gonna… make me excited. Because I’m a guy. Go ahead and hop off for me.” He taps your lower back gently and you huff, feeling upset and rejected about the whole thing. His eyes are all wide and hopeful as he stares at you, like he wanted to make sure you were okay. The way he handles you so sweetly made your stomach stir despite your current mope.

You drag your feet to the oven comically and he stifles a chuckle at how dramatic you were, despite his sympathy. You place your hands into oven gloves and take out the pie— perfect and golden. You walk it to the table and John B sits up a little straighter, eyes darting between you and the food.

“Did this all by yourself? You have got a real knack for cooking. Should put you on the TV.” He grins, switching on the charm to attempt to loosen up your silent sulk. You nod, eyes casted down childishly and he reaches out to touch your arm. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

A small smile slips out, and he flickers his eyes over to the heart shape you’d scored onto the pie, his own lips twitching up into a smirk. “That for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

You end up giggling, his smile too infectious and your bad moment is all forgotten as you serve him a slice, plating up for him and then yourself before you eat. John B digs in ravenously, it’s almost erotic — the way he’s groaning at how good it all tastes, gravy dripping from his lips as he licks more off his fingers. He was clearly less proper-mannered than you, but you liked that. Table manners were for boring old people anyway. Maybe everything about him got you going, but you had to really concentrate on getting some food inside you instead of just watching the show of eating he was putting on.

Once you’re finished, and he’s finishing up on his third helping — you let your giggles die down from the wild goose chase story he relayed for you, one where he of course wound up the hero which only made your heart beat harder for him. Your socked foot begins to prod at his ankle, sliding up his leg until it rests in his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind, the food having lowered his guard just that bit as he leans back in his chair, undoing his belt. He adjusts his hips on the seat as he does so and your thighs clench.

“So what did you think?” You ask, though you think it’s clear that he liked the meal from the empty plates and unbuckled belt. He lets out a long satisfied sigh, gazing at you for a moment with a kind smile.

“I think, whoever gets to marry you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together, almost like he was disappointed about the idea of you with another. You blink, the hands resting beneath your chin dreamily slowly falling to play with eachother on the table.

“Why not you, John B?” You question sadly, giving him those eyes again. The ones that tug on his heart and made him wanna give you everything and anything you ask for. He lifts a napkin, bringing it to his mouth as he shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Mm—mm.” The tissue fabric muffles the sound. “You don’t wanna marry me, believe me — okay, I’m an outlaw. Your parents would never in a billion years accept me. Anyway you… you deserve someone less rough and tumble, you know? Like a prince from a storybook. A bubblewrap life. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures to himself, more so the browned blood stain on his shirt.

You sigh, determined. “My parents would understand. They’re — they’re generous people.”

“Really? ‘Cus they don’t even let you leave the house.” He quips quickly in response, smirking at your naivety and you fall silent for a moment. His face flattens just a tad from guilt. You were far too soft for that kind of tone.

When you look up at him again, your face is more solemn — wide eyes searching his for a shred of understanding. “You don’t understand, John B. There are actual scary, dangerous men out there that would take me and do terrible things to me.”

The outlaw leans his elbows on the table, his lips stretched into an amused smile at the irony. There wasn’t an inkling of threat about the gesture, pure amusement coursing through the energy between you from his side alone. “And how do you know I’m not one of those scary, dangerous men. Hm?” His voice is warm, it seems to rumble straight from his chest. You release a shaky sigh.

“Well you haven’t hurt me yet?” Your voice lilts out, and you engage in a long stare off. There’s a different kind of tension in the air now, it’s hot and feels heavy on you. It oozes into the nooks and crannies of your balmy skin and slithers between your thighs. You can’t take the heat and you stand, beginning to bring his dishes to the sink to wash. It’s quiet for a while, John B watching you with this thoughtful and almost knowing smile as you tidy up around him. Even he couldn’t run from how good ‘domestic bliss’ felt.

You let yourself indulge in the fantasy too. Wife cleans up, husband sits behind at the table and sips at the drink she poured him. You wanted nothing more than to experience this everyday, and your heart sinks sadly at the fact that this will probably be the last. You lose yourself to thoughts and daydreams as you scrub away, to the point you nearly don’t hear him stand up, slowly walking to lean against the sink beside you.

You smile at him politely as he eyes you, and return your gaze to the plate in your hand. You mustn’t dwell. He moves, and soon he’s behind you, a hand resting against the sink beside your hip, head craning round to look at you from the other side. “You’re really serious about this husband and wife thing, aren’t you?”

“Very serious, sir.” You bat your lashes at him earnestly and his cock stirs in his pants at the title, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Bless your heart, you were only being courteous. He presses his lips together in thought and the side of your face warms with his slow exhale. Turning your body, you face him fully now. “I just think it was divine intervention that you wound up in my barn. You’re like an angel sent to take away my loneliness.” You’re shy, a little bashful about your beliefs and without thinking he cups your cheek in reassurance, thumb swiping slowly over the skin.

His eyes take in your every detail, and your lips part with a wobbly breath, nervous. “May I kiss you, John B?” You address, just as his thumb strokes the delicate skin below your eye. He grins, slightly amused by your formality and simply nods his head.

You stand on tip toes to reach him, socked feet almost knocking at his boots as your body presses to his, lips meeting. You’re a little messy, inexperienced— which comes as no surprise to the boy as he tilts his head, welcoming your mouth at another angle and taking control in order to guide you. You’re mostly a quick learner, slowing your pace to something much more sultry and he nearly can’t contain his excitement. He wants to be a gentleman, but as soon as he introduces his tongue — you lose composure, needy and all but panting into his mouth right then and there in the kitchen. He pulls away and breaks the string of saliva that connects your lips with his thumb, stroking it over your moist bottom lip as you stare at him readily.

He tilts his head, eyes wide and almost innocent as he gestures away. “You… want me to show you what husbands do with their wives?”

You nod so hard your eyes nearly roll back like one of those baby-dolls.

John B is the one to take your hand this time, leading you slowly and carefully through the house. You partially think he’s giving himself time to rethink what he’s about to do, but from the way your pussy is drooling into your panties — it feels set in stone. He finally reaches your bedroom and you watch his head move left and right as he takes it in, cheek lifting with a smile at the China dolls on the wall and the frilly white bedsheets. It’s clear your room hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. The sun is just starting to disappear behind your lace curtains and he switches on the lamp, sitting you down.

The man joins you, easing himself down at your side and cupping your cheek as he begins to kiss you again. He takes it slow, but the passion and need only grows as the splayed hand on your back begins to slide upwards until its cupping the back of your head and he’s beginning to slowly lower you to lie down like you’re made of glass.

Naturally you shuffle up the bed and he follows, hovering over you and leading with his tongue this time — the wet muscles wrapping around eachother languidly making you moan, legs falling wider apart.

“I wanna make you feel really good, okay? That okay with you?” He asks gently and you nod, sucking in a breath. You’d waited for something like this since you knew what pleasure was, craved the touch of a man with strong coarse hands and a wet mouth. Routledges thumbs swipe across your tits through your dress, massaging them until your nipples were poking painfully through the fabric as he burrows into your neck, licking and sucking.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as he tugs gently at your dress, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?”

He tugs the garment up and over, puffing out his cheeks as he blows air out his mouth, brows raised at the sight of your naked body. You look so soft, so pliable beneath him. He was already hard just from kissing you, but this made him feel like he might combust. “Took your underwear off?” He smirks, pressing kisses to your stomach and between your tits before bringing his face up to eye level with you, same kind but teasing smile on his face. “Have you been needing me aaall day? Hm?”

You turn your head to the side, flustered and clammy with a whine— eyes screwed shut. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“No, s’just — when you speak like that— n’say stuff like that… makes me hurt…” You’re breathless, hips twitching and bucking slightly as he grins, pearly whites showing.

“Aw.” Is all he manages before continuing his descent down.

He’s a real tease, spending an ungodly amount of time on your tits— sucking, licking and biting your nipples until you’re arched off the bed, teary eyed and wincing from sensitivity. It’s then, and only then he starts to kiss lower, pushing himself down your pristine sheets until he’s settling between your legs, gently easing your ankles upwards so that your knees faced the sky, your cunt fluttering and open right infront of his face.

“Well she’s very pretty.” He smiles up at you, thumbs coming up to spread you. He leans in slowly, hot breath fanning over your heat before he simply presses the softest kiss to your clit. He draws back again as you whimper, running the pads of his thumbs up along your spread folds. “Hear that? So wet, pretty girl.” He marvels in a whisper.

“Just want you to make it better.” You mewl and he nods slowly in understanding, tongue swiping over his lips as he observes you.

“That I can definitely do.” He confirms before leaning in, licking and sucking at your clit as his thumb automatically rolls downwards to massage your hole. You gasp, knees shooting up towards your chest as he eats you, similarly to the pure fervour and passion he only recently devoured the meal you cooked for him. You wondered how any appetite remained.

When he sinks his middle finger inside you, your stomach tenses — a high pitched noise of relief and utter devastation leaving you. You had no idea how badly you’d craved fullness to this very moment, and you weren’t even halfway there. He’s smiling against you, glancing up as you flutter around his single digit and make plenty of noise for him. “Yeah? Think you’ve really been needing some of that, little girl.” He nearly laughs at your extreme reaction. He had to admit, it was fun doing this with someone so inexperienced. Everything to you seemed like the best thing ever.

He eats and eats away, proving himself to have quite the monstrous appetite for your slick . Your feet rest on his shoulders at one point, lost in pleasure as you whine and writhe and to keep you out of the way, the outlaw pushes your legs up and pins them there, nose deep in your gloss.

“Feels too good— feels— hurts!” You cry, because you don’t know how to put that you’re simply aching to cum.

“Doesn’t hurt, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” He corrects in that low reverberation that you’ve grown to love. After a series of ‘Uh’ and ‘Mm’s, you feel yourself hitting that peak — the one you usually reach all over the soft cotton of your pillow, but ten times the strength.

As soon as he senses this happening, he doubles down and continues repeating the same action with his mouth over and over until you’re squealing and pushing him away, curling into a ball as your completion dribbles out of your quivering hole.

He grins, real proud of himself as he pushes up on his hands to near you, gently shushing you the same way you would to soothe a baby to sleep. “I know, that was a lot huh?” He coo’s, rubbing your back with his warm hand as you suffer the aftershocks, clenching and whimpering, a smaller clammy hand reaching out to his shirt to grab a fist of it.

He forces you softly onto your back, stroking a hand over your warm forehead. For someone so convinced the two of you shouldn’t be together, he sure did look at you like you were his entire world. By the gaze shared, you would never know the two of you only met that morning.

“What now, hm?” He smiles, quiet. You open your mouth to speak, and your voice rasps from the loud and explosive release that had you calling out.

“Wanna… make you feel as good as you made me feel, John B.”

He licks his lips, thinking over it. If it wasn’t already clear, his dick was throbbing in his pants just from pleasing you— and had you wanted to end things there he would be sure to take a trip to the bathroom to finish in his hand. Maybe swipe a pair of your underwear from the basin for inspiration, but that made his stomach tense with guilt.

“Think I can manage that, yeah.” He nods before reaching slowly for his belt. “Sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, good.”

His belt is still undone from after dinner so he slides the snakey leather from its loops with one hand, the act more attractive than you anticipated which made you clench once more with need. He sits on the edge of the bed and you usher up beside him, pressing your naked body to him and ghosting your drooly lips over his jaw line as he sighs, working his length out of his pants.

“Oh my.” You breathe, as soon as you look down. Now you hadn’t had much experience in dealing with the male anatomy, clearly — but you knew for certain John B had to be miles larger than the average man. His cock stood tall, straight — slightly mauve towards the tip with a beautiful blue vein drifting down his shaft like a river on a mountain. His balls sat beneath, heavy and pink — inviting in a way that made your mouth water primally.

“Yeah? This is… what m’working with.” He chuckles, sounding a little nervous.

“How do I…” You mutter after a moment and he’s quick to take your hand, pressing your fingers so that it forms a cup and bringing it to your mouth.

“You wanna spit for me, pretty? Right here.” He encourages and whilst you don’t understand, you do as he wishes, letting a bubbly glob of saliva drool out into the cupped crevice of your hand. You look up at him with wide unsure eyes, searching for praise or reassurance that you’d done as he asked. He presses his lips together at the sweet and submissive expression, shifting his hips a tad in excitement. “Mm, fuck.” He punctuates with an airy chuckle, ticking his head in a single shake.

He brings your hand down and begins to smear it all over himself, releasing a shaky exhale as he does so. “So, uh… you’re gonna wanna move your hand. Just like this.” He sighs as he works your hand up and down his shaft, slowly jerking him off. Your eyes flicker between his face and pretty dick to make sure you were doing it right. As you do so, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muttering a “So sweet, bubba.” Against your mouth.

This only encourages you to gain confidence, doing whatever feels right. You twist your hand— squeezing just a tad harder towards the tip as that seemed to be what made him release that heavenly groan, jaw constantly agape as he watches your hand.

“Theeere you go sweetheart. Easy right? Like milking a cow.” He kisses your temple briskly once more before his eyes screw shut, chest heaving with quicker breaths. You get carried away, fascinated by the pearly precum that seeps from his slit as you work him with your hand and following your own judgment you lean down. You figure if he used his mouth on you, you could return the favour.

His eyes open with a loud shudder when you tentatively wrap your plush lips around his tip, working your hand up and down to try and squeeze more of the interesting salty flavour from him. You let out a long drawn out moan of your own as you feel your clit throbbing with desire, liberating his precum from your mouth to let it dribble back down his shaft in messy bubbles.

He winces, placing a hand on your shoulder and removing you with such an abrupt speed that you nearly flew off the side of the bed. You sit up straight, slick mouth pouting as your eyes flicker between his, worrying that you’d done something wrong. There’s a second of just looking at eachother, before you stumble over some words.

“S—Sorry. Did I hurt—”

“No, no God no. I uh— I just wasn’t sure if I should make a mess all over that pretty face just yet.” His wide eyed expression melts into a reassuring smile, thumb rising to swipe lovingly at your cheek. You lick your lips, savouring the taste of him and nod — not quite sure where to go from there.

Your silence makes him question, and he eyes you. “Is there… anything in particular you want now?”

You think, blinking your doll-like eyelashes off into the distance before nodding once more— pushing off away from him and scurrying to the head of the bed where you lay yourself gently on the pillows.

“Hm?” He follows up in confusion, craning his neck round to watch you.

“Would… like a baby now, please.” You spread your legs a little, shy and bashful in your request like you wasn’t sure if you’d asked impolitely. His face falls as he stares at you for a moment before closing his eyes, rubbing over his face with an exasperated chuckle, elbows on his knees.

As you stare at him with with an upset little pout, already ashamed by your forwardness. “Like husband and wife?” You try to justify and he sighs out his nose, turning his body fully to you.

“Oh sweet girl.” He tugs you gently lower toward him by your hips, rubbing his thumbs at your waist. “We just met.”

You launch into full fledged begging, whiny and high pitched with tears threatening to dive over their trough. “I’ll make you so happy John B, I’ll make all your problems go away and you won’t have to run anymore. Please?” You were deadset on this man giving you your dream life, and you’d officially pushed shame to the side in order to get this. His brow is permanently creased, staring with those big wide puppy dog eyes, continually stroking your skin in hopes to calm you.

“Are you… sure that’s what you want? You’re still young. So much time for all that.”

“Just want it now. I’d never be lonely again.” You sound defeated, staring down away from him now. He felt bad, he’d always hated disappointing people. Once upon a time he was a fixer, always running to his friends aid to make their problems go away. That urge never died, just burned low and quiet like an old candle flame. He wanted to make your problems go away too.

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He watches your devastated expression lift into a radiant grin, and it was like watching the sun appear from behind a grey cloud after weeks of downcast weather. “Yeah?” You chirp toothily as he crawls over you, leaking tip grazing your tummy and then your folds as he buries his face into your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

When he pushes his tip inside, John B says a prayer for the first time in his life.

He’d never really followed any religion. His father had been the type to say it was all a bunch of ‘Mumbo jumbo’ and that he should believe in the human psyche instead, or something like that. But as your wet folds swallow him and you release that high pitched mewl at the inevitable stretch — he finds himself asking God — please, please don’t let me knock this young girl up.

There’s a warm blanket of chills that cover his spine as he slowly sheathes inside of you, feeling like he was pushing deeper and deeper into a black hole that would selfishly keep sucking him inside for the rest of his life. It felt too good, calming — like falling asleep. He was euphoric.

“So — so big inside me!” Your cry knocks him out of his thoughts and he kisses your shoulder before looking down to watch himself push in all the way to the hilt.

“Feel okay, gorgeous?”

You nod, a pained whine falling from you as you dig your nails into his skin, walls fluttering around him like they were constantly trying to accommodate for this thickness. “Fuck.” He groans, before sliding back a little and starting to thrust. Yeah, he wasn’t gonna last too long— he needed to get to work on you fast.

As he gently fucks into you, your plush tits recoil with the movement and he can’t close his mouth, sounds and sighs leaving him without permission. A hand slides between the two of you, the other pulling his shirt up to grip between his teeth— giving himself a better view of the way he strokes at your clit — your legs being spread exposing it, making it easier for him.

You clench, and shudder — that sweet face contorting with each time his tip ever so slightly grazes your cervix, careful not to bruise it. You really were beautiful, that type of homely beauty he’d thought of marrying in his lonely nights of travelling through desert and grass. The type of girl you work for, the type that deserves spoiling, princess treatment. The more he fucks, the more he’s convincing himself that impregnating you might not be the most awful thing after all. Why should he chase away security?

Your fingertips grace his chest, and he takes your hand — pinning it to the bed as your fingers intertwine, using the grip to aid his rolling thrusts— speeding up the pace and force now he knew you could take it like a champ. His mouth opens to speak, and his shirt drops out of it.

“Taking me real good baby. You like getting fucked, don’t you?” He coo’s and you can only nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes before rolling down to your temples. Poor thing, lost for words.

There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust, your cunt equally gushing as it was thirsty — hungrily welcoming each inch of his, and even demanding more by locking your ankles around his lower back. Perhaps you did it for comfort, or perhaps because you suspected a hesitance, the threat of him pulling out last minute too much for your baby-crazed brain.

“Jesus. Sweet little puppy.” He breathes like it’s a revelation beneath your ear, the curly tuft of hair above his shaft tickling you as he continues to rub your clit.

“S’gonna happen again, John B. The big feeling.” You strain, eyes clamped shut and sniffling— too overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. He kisses each eye lid and watches you closely, experiencing you unfold once more.

“Thats my good girl. Let me have it, pup. Gimme a good one.”

You’re an explosion of whimpers and moans, thrashing under his firm grip once more— and he’s not sure when your orgasm ends, if it even ends at all— he doesn’t care, the release pushing him close to his own. He speeds up his pace, hand that was at your clit now wrapping around your lower back, forearm pushing your lower half up and against him, forcing you to just keep taking him.

He was like a beast from a fairytale book, fucking wildly into you with a primal determination that had you struggling to breathe. You’re crying now, full out crying because it’s just so much. There’s still one last thing you require, and only he can give you it.

“You wanna make me daddy, huh?” He demands, that gentleness in his voice gone. It’s nearly unrecognisable from him, and you preen beneath the rough touch.

“Mhm!”

“Words.” He barks. He didn’t mean to be mean, he just got a little bossy when he was close. You’d come to learn that.

“Please give me a baby. Please just — make you a daddy! Need it!” You’re squealing, voice shaking from the hard ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls slapping against you. You feel you might pass out if this goes on much longer.

He releases with a long groan, lips dropping to the centre of your chest and back arching upwards. You register his sounds before you feel it, hot slimy ropes of him— shooting up inside you, warming your walls. You moan too, because it feels so good to be full. It feels right, like this was what had been missing after all.

Everything is a blur for the next few minutes. It’s like you black out a little, because maybe you forgot to be breathing like you should have been. You briefly recall John B scooping you up and helping you through that, ignoring the gooey seed dripping from you to cradle you like a baby, humming a calm “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. With me, c’mon.” Your gentle boy was back, and through your haze you smile.

Once you’re tucked at his side beneath a soft cotton blanket, his hand stroking over your head after cleaning you up, a whispered conversation ensues.

“Do you really like me John B? Like, you really think I’m beautiful?” You inquire, gazing up at him with stuck together black eyelashes. The question was so innocent, yet he could tell it was so meaningful.

His expression doesnt falter, a gentle smile sat comfortably on his lips as he continues to pet you. “Baby, I think you’re the ponds swan. Just… gotta get to know you a little better, okay? ‘Specially if I really did put a baby in you.” Only then his smile falters, brows knitting as the reality sets in. Oh Lord.

“Okay.” Your eyes flutter closed, happy to leave it at that, happy to fall asleep right by his side under his watchful eye. It was unnerving how safe a lonely girl could feel with a stranger.

“Okay. Good girl. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” He quietly reassures, watching you drift off. He’s not sure if he’s trying to dispel your fears, or his own.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hello! Can you write a small fic about Mr. Qi falling in love and proposing to the Farmer pretty please 🥺

Sure thing, dear anon! Have some Mr. Qi x Farmer one shot! Enjoy 💕

_________________________________________

Of all Mr. Qi's quests and tasks that Farmer had ever received, this one was the strangest. And it was so because... well, there was nothing strange about it, which was rather atypical for the mysterious blue man. No descending into Skull Cavern under any conditions, no growing blue fruit with a funny face and sunglasses. Nothing like that, the paper of the letter they pulled out from the mailbox in the morning simply had only one sentence written on it, "I'm waiting for you at my casino today. Don't make me wait, dear."

"Dear"... If Farmer had told anyone that the man who for a year and a half had given them the most extraordinary tasks for generous and interesting rewards had become their lover, no one would have believed them. On the other hand, the people of Pelican Town are no longer surprised by the deeds of "The Hero of The Stardew Valley," "The Most Chaotic Farmer in the World," and "The One Who Drank a Jar of Mayo on a Bet" (Farmer definitely had a few more nicknames, but can't remember them all anymore). So if they introduce Mr. Qi, an unusual wizard and demi-god, as their partner, it'll be just like a normal Tuesday for the locals.

Hmm, no specific date was written, but Farmer's curiosity was as immense as their determination and stubbornness. So quickly rearranging farm chores, they changed into clean clothes and headed for one of the four teleport obelisks. A simple touch of the huge structure with their fingertips and in the blink of an eye, instead of blooming field of crops, the Calico Desert appeared before Farmer's eyes, with its relentless heat, palm trees, cacti, and of course, the Oasis.

Reaching the shop door, Farmer was greeted by the cool air conditioning and Sandy's warm smile. The shop owner always welcomes guests, especially guests like Farmer (best friend and good customer!). They handed the girl a bouquet of daffodils they had managed to pick before teleporting to the Calico Desert, at which the girl's smile grew even wider. Sandy offered Farmer a cup of cool milk, but they politely declined, heading toward the door to the Casino while the girl accompanied them with an interested look. Standing like an unshakable rock, the perpetually serious-faced Bouncer silently stepped aside to allow the club member to pass. Farmer nodded their thanks, and without wasting a moment more, entered the dark room.

The sounds of slot machines, the clinking of glasses with expensive cocktails, the smell of cigars, someone's loud laughter and a voice full of disappointment at the lost amount of money... Everything sparkled with gold and diamonds, luxurious carpets and expensive furniture, and even being an honored guest of the Casino, Farmer felt a little uneasy. All the noise reminded them strongly of the city environment they had lived in before. It was not bad here, but the wooden house, cows and and forest were more dear to their soul.

"It's good to see you, darling." Thankfully, Farmer didn't have to wonder for long what to occupy themself with until Qi met them.

They turned back around and their gaze softened at the sight of their favourite person. Still the same familiar black clothes and hat adorned with gems shimmering in different colours of the rainbow, still the same round purple glasses and still the same enigmatic smile.

Mr Qi stepped closer to Farmer so they could hear him better amidst all the noise in the casino.

"I knew you'd come as soon as you read the letter."

"You always know how to keep me intrigued." Farmer smiled slyly. "Though this time I'm all guessing as to what the assignment will be."

"Does it have to be another assignment? Isn't just spending time together an good reason to meet?"

Farmer also shortened the distance, almost walking right up to Qi, gazing into his face.

"Of course, it's a great reason too. Especially since I was starting to miss you," if they weren't in the centre of the room, surrounded by people, Farmer would have taken off Qi's glasses to see his beautiful, cosmic eyes. "It's just that usually on occasions like this you turn up on your own, rather than sending letters."

He chuckled. "True. And there is a reason for that, my soul. There is something I must show you. But first...

We need to move somewhere a little more... private."

The snap of Qi's fingers echoed loudly in Farmer's ears, and the world before their eyes faded into darkness. The background noise of the casino was gone - no more clinking of coins or chattering of club members. Before the young farmer could worry, the entire black space was filled with the glow of a thousand stars, as if they were in outer space. Qi's figure stood in the same place where it had been when they were in the Casino, still smiling mysteriously. Except that the blue man's gaze, hidden behind a thick layer of glasses, was full of love at the sight of his beloved Farmer and the thought of how beautiful they were, surrounded by lights in the pitch darkness. As they gazed with delight at the space into which Qi had transported them and himself - after all, he always knew how to surprise them!

Raising his hand upwards, Mr. Qi's palm was enveloped in threads of his magic until an object materialised a few seconds later. Farmer's eyes, mesmerised by the stranger's magic, nearly flew in or out of their orbits when they realised what their mystical partner was holding.

"I guess I don't need to remind you of the traditions of your cute little town," Qi rubbed the Mermaid pendant between his fingers, the material was smooth and pleasant to the touch, "though I think you deserve a whole world more than just this pendant."

Qi had planned this moment in advance, choosing the right words and the right time. However, the speech he was about to make was interrupted by Farmer's abrupt embrace and a passionate kiss. Not even the great Qi could have foreseen such a thing.

"Tut-tut," although he tried to look like he wanted to lightly scold Farmer, there wasn't an ounce of annoyance in his voice. "I've prepared a whole speech, dear. It is not very polite to interrupt your interlocutor so rudely-" but even here Farmer did not let him finish, but once more touched Qi's lips with their. The man himself didn't seem to mind any more - it was at least a little different from what he had planned, but hearing the quiet and happy "I accept" from his lover, Mr. Qi no longer thought of going according to the script.

It had turned out even much better than that.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This mansion in Dover, Massachusetts sold a few years ago for $13.250M. It has 6bds., 8ba. and is on 21.31acres of land, but it also has something that no other mansion we’ve seen has.

It has a lovely entrance hall.

Plus a nice sitting room with a marble fireplace.

There’s also a family room with a rustic stone fireplace.

Of course, it has a formal dining room

And, a chef’s kitchen.

The pantry is nice- I like the blue cabinets and soapstone sink.

Like most big mansions there’s an elevator.

A pretty home office with a kitchenette.

Large main bd. and en-suite.

This bd. has its own library.

Another large bath.

There’s always a work out room.

And, at least a 2nd kitchen.

The home theater has comfy sectional sofa seating.

And, there’s a rec room with a bar.

An extensive wine cellar.

Outdoors is a patio that features a stone fireplace and an outdoor kitchen.

It has a beautiful pool.

And, a cute guest house.

There’s also a barn with farm equipment.

Notice the cows in the field. (Do they convey?)

But, this is what it has that no other mansions have. 

A loaded potato shed. Look at this stash! Did they get rich on growing potatoes? At least they’ll never go hungry. I would hope that these convey with the shed.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/18-Walpole-St_Dover_MA_02030_M49522-51180

[002yb]

No plans to write, but still torn between:

Bed&Breakfast AU where SuperBats runs the bed & breakfast.

Bed&Breakfast AU where Clark runs the bed & breakfast and Bruce is there as a lowkey anxious and uptight guest that desperately needs to decompress.

Bed&Breakfast AU where the Supers run a bed & breakfast at the farm and the bats all go for a chill bonding experience.  Only 3/5 of them end up flirting with owners/staff and the remaining 2/5 flirt with each other.

In all three routes, Bruce walks among and pets cows. A true meditative, therapeutic experience.  Bruce is both stoic and pleased as it happens.  The very definition of  (≖ - ≖ ✿)✧･ﾟ: * and Clark is just quietly pleased as he watches and (for 2 & 3) makes introductions to all the ladies (cows).  Clark knows he’s done for when Bruce tells the cows that, ‘it’s a pleasure,’ upon meeting them.

In route 3 I like to think Jon tries to impress Dami with horseback riding. Only Dami already knows how to ride. He’s more than adequate at it too; he’ll take his own horse no need to saddle up together. Meanwhile Jon is just 🫠 because omg flirtation fail. Only it’s fine because Dami and him race and it’s fun.

Also in route 3, Tim being a workaholic and total dweeb who takes his phone/laptop everywhere trying to find service ahahahaha.   Conner sees Tim stood precariously on the roof and catches him when Tim slips off and it’s a total moment.  Either Tim is !! because hot damn, hello mr. man or because !! he finally has service to send an email please don’t move him!

Needless to say while Bruce, Tim, and Damian are off wooing and being wooed by handsome country boys, Dick and Jason are fucking around the farm and just having a good time.

The question is...does ‘fucking around’ mean legit fucking around or like, slowly falling in love as they keep each other company.  Just two guys hypnotizing chickens, swatting flies, chasing each other through wheat fields before they just lay among the swaying plants - staring up at a clear and bright blue sky.  Dick teasing Jason about the sunburn Jason gets and getting him a hat that Dick pulls over Jason’s head to protect him from the worst of the sun.  And damn, Jay - that sun really must’ve gotten you; you’re red.  But it’s a blush.  Because Jason is a sweet maiden at heart and his heart might have skipped a beat at Dick crowding his space like that and caring about him in such a small and sweet way.

[selamat-linting]

okay serious status update of the game. i finally had a proper base. there's a little farm, and i have a surplus of grain, enough to last the winter even if i dont do anything. i have so much bread my daily meal is a sandwich and a fruit salad. im in the process of making a copper anvil, i have a full leather armor with some to spare, and i have enough coal for several welding and working.

one glaring thing that i lack, is a bed. as i said before i have horrible luck when it comes to animals. when i was hunting and gathering without a stable place, i ate mostly rabbits and deers, which gave me some raw hide. but other than those, i got nothing. maybe a quail or a turkey if im lucky. the only animals that drop a hide large enough for a bed is a cow or a bear. i had a bed in my old base, but its long since burned down. i havent seen any cow ever since. i did meet a bear twice, which i died from btw. maybe i should make a bed from silk strings.

my search for valuable animals brings me nothing so far. but i did find a super large deposit of copper, so big i cant mine them all. i should craft a bag for that too. i probably should work on the things im already good at, like the mining and the agriculture, but when it starts snowing again, i know i cant travel as fast as i can and the resources i can just gather from the wilderness are very limited. plus, i can mine while looking for animals and farming for crops is something you can just left to grow on their own. urgh, i need to find a bed before winter. im sick of having to walk thousands of miles to go home.

my plan this summer is to get a bed, a backpack, farm as much as possible, and a steady source of milk. eggs would be nice. i found a quail but so far theyre all male. i cant breed them together so i think im just gonna kill one of them for food. im sorry but i cant afford homosexuality in my base, even if its pride month. farming is crazy btw, its time consuming, you thought youre done but then its night so you have to wait to leave house in the morning. but then by morning some crops are mature and you have excess seeds and a bunch of compost so the cycle starts all over again.

during winter, i would not be able to go far anywhere so im thinking to expand my base while waiting out the snow. my base already have two separate wings of the house, dedicated first for a kitchen and the other for a forge. dont ever build a kitchen or a room near the kitchen with wattle and daub btw. it WILL burn down. if you want to be safe but have a pretty base, have a layer of rock insulating any room with a fire source before building a second layer of the next room with wood. also dont put barrels on the ceiling of the forge especially if you dont put a proper chimney. dont waste precious hides, limewater and tannins like me. anyway, i want to expand the base, i want to have a bigger storage room, maybe even a little living room for guests, even though im only on my own in this world. also, i got lost really often. so i needed my base to have a super tall and big tower so i can easily find it. im gonna call it my babel tower and it will expand forever until i decide to move out. which will inevitably happen.

i might need to expand the forge next year and build a windmill or a waterwheel to automate the quern grinding process and anvil smithing and oh shit waterwheel requires a river and the flow on the river next door is too slow so i might have to move a bit. also i need a good light source so i need to find tallow and that requires me to explore the sea and hunt some whales. And dont forget to craft some blue steel for the lantern. And try glassworking for the windows. but thats a problem for next year's winter. everything's quite sufficient now.

[maddiem4-writes]

Midway

I stayed up a bit later on this one than I wanted too, but I really got into a flow that I didn't want to interrupt. The more I write these characters, the more I like them. It feels like a good sign to me, that I can't advance the plot without naturally writing character development, and vice versa.

Anyways. You know the drill by now. Close your eyes. It's the Fourth of July, 1982, at the New York State Fair. The heart of the fairgrounds is a busy place, even when it's not bannered red-white-and-blue. Teenagers kiss in the shade behind the portable haunted house, and the line to ride the bumper cars feels eternal. And on the border of the Expo Center, a little girl is closing her eyes, just like you...

The smell hit my nose before I even opened my eyes. Animals, farm animals: cow farts and goat piss and pig muck and horse shit. But also hay, and dust, diesel exhaust, and lilting above it all, cutting through it, the deep-fried irresistible smell of funnel cake. The chaos was wild, alive, constantly teetering between enticement and disgust.

I didn't waste my first moments of sight on Alan. Alan could manage himself. Holding a hand was a skill I'd mastered at age 4, and if my math was right, in here? This particular memory? I was all of 11 years old.

I'd dipped into this memory very briefly that morning, just barely enough to grab a snack and go. I was a little too used to my powers, maybe, only appreciating them when I had a guest to interrupt my routine - to put the magic back into the magic. Looking around me now, I felt the wonder all over again, stepping into this big, impossibly big world, with my whole future ahead of me. It was a lost world, and I'd stolen it back, an immaculate archive woven into my soul.

The Ferris wheel loomed over us, and that terrifying tilting thing I'd never had the guts to ride, and to my left, holding my hand, so did Alan. It was strange to see him so tall. Holding my right hand, was my father. Alan turned to see us and froze in shock, jumped, and I gripped his hand insistently.

"I told you, you have to hold on, idiot." I glared up at him, making a point of it.

"Just… what? Okay first of all you are so tiny and a child. That is not a move you pull right after sex, I shouldn't even fucking have to say that. Nobody should have to say that!" He was backed off as far as he could go, our arms taut. "And like, second, is this your fucking dad?" He looked up, bug-eyed. "Sir I swear this is not what it looks-"

I yanked his arm close enough to stomp on his foot. "Can it, dumbass. We're in a memory. I'm still me, and he can't really react to you. Be cool."

He was hyperventilating, which I took as a sign of direct disobedience. "Oh yeah? Be cool, huh? I've never been in a memory before. I don't know what's going on! And he's looking at me!" My hapless visitor pointed repeatedly, although once would have gotten the point across. "Why's he looking at me?"

I sighed. "People in memories are like… actors. Placeholders that just kind of wait for cues and lines, so they can do their cues and lines. Watch." I looked up at my memory-dad, and he looked at me, with that soft dopey face of his, the kind of deep-set eyes that are brought to you by the letter Beer.

I looked into his eyes and told him, matter of factly, "Ooga booga woogidee woo." Waved my hand in front of his face, and he didn't even flinch.

I took it further. "Mommy sucks off your brother every Thursday night." Memory-Dad's smile never changed, as peaceful and adoring as ever. Man had the patience of a saint, or maybe more aptly, a golem.

"I'll be damned," Alan muttered in wonder behind me. I turned, and he'd settled down almost immediately. I think if he'd had a notepad handy, he'd be filling it full of scribbles on the spot. "Can you control him?"

I smirked. "Nah. He'll just wait forever until I say my line. This place is halfway between a recording and a simulation. He's not reacting, because none of this is what I said next in '82."

"Obviously not. Although to be fair, you do have a bit of Bad Seed energy. It's not unthinkable."

I chuckled. "There's only one thing that's unthinkable, Alan. Can you guess it?"

He grimaced. "Can I guess the unthinkable thing? I doubt it."

I leaned toward him, with a gap-toothed grin. "THE PSYTANIC!"

He groaned, and I stuck my tongue out at him. "Wow. I didn't figure you for awful puns, Lizzy. That's a clunker."

"Oh, you love it," I said, rolling my shoulders in sweet victory.

"You wish!" But he was smiling. I got him. "Truly, you are full of terrifying and terrible talents." He bowed theatrically.

"Yeah." My smile sagged a little. "I didn't come up with that one though. It was… one of my dad's favorites." I looked up at his automaton. "You would have liked him, I think. The real version I mean."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Kind of a bold claim, for someone who doesn't know me much yet."

"No, but I knew him. He loved everybody, everybody loved him. Well, I guess there were some exceptions. He sure managed to marry one." His image continued to wait, patient and peaceful. It was starting to hurt, to look at his eyes. "I think there had to be a time when mom and dad loved each other. Like, logically, right? Just… sucks that I missed it."

"Yeah." Alan stared at his shoes as the Midway crowd hummed around us. A handful of people screamed distantly as their roller coaster cars ticked over from lift to descent. The popcorn and cotton candy and overtaxed toilets waged war over the air, and the flies buzzed for all of it. Only we stood still. "…. yeah."

I squeezed my dad's hand. He looked at me attentively. I said, softly, "Hey. Can we get slushies?" I felt very, very small.

He nodded, and brightened up with excitement. "Sure, pumpkin, I got a few bucks budgeted for snacks, and I think a slushie would count." He leaned down, until he booped my nose with his. "Do you want…. asphalt flavor?"

I giggled. "No!"

"Do you want… barf flavored?"

I shook my head vigorously. "Nooo! Dad!"

"Do you want… roadkill chipmunk with a cigarette ash swirl, all topped with-"

"Dad!" I suddenly interrupted. This part… would hurt. "I'm not a little kid anymore. I just wanna see what flavors they have, okay? Don't be…" I didn't want to say this line. I was glad I didn't need to get the tone right, and so I said it soft, a soreness in my throat. "Don't be stupid."

His face fell. "Oh." He stepped back a pace, staring ahead. He nodded quietly. "That's how you… okay." He stood up, peered around over the crowd lifelessly. "It's over there. It's… it's over there."

I followed him, and Alan followed me, and at the cart, I picked lime.

We all sat down at a bench together. We were a quiet pack. Alan obviously couldn't order anything, and I didn't feel much like rewarding myself, so I handed mine to him. Dad got peach. We all sat there and watched the people mill and march around us.

Alan put the cup down after a few long sips. "Hey. Look, I'm… sorry about what I said earlier. The bad seed thing. I hope that's not close to home or anything."

I shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. I mean, I joked about Uncle Irwin, and that whole mess was real. Mom was a skank. It's old news, it's fine." I couldn't mask my voice well. I don't think Alan believed me.

He leaned back on the bench. "If it's fine, it's fine." He tapped the straw to his lips, thinking. "I just don't want to say anything hurtful."

I rubbed my temple with my free hand. "God! Can't you see that's a hundred times worse? Don't pity me. I've got a better afterlife than your actual life, if your life was twenty times better. I outgrew all these shitbirds around me." I waved my hand around at my past. "So stop treating me like glassware. These fucks couldn't break me, and neither can you."

He leaned back. "Okay, okay! Jesus." He scratched his head, and winked at me. "Irwin, though. Your mom hoed out for a guy named Irwin."

I laughed, and tossed my hair back. "Well I hoed out for an Alan, and really, who sleeps with an Alaaaan?" I needled him. "The only thing worse would be being an Alan!"

"Heyyyy, what's wrong with being an Alan?" he feigned a great offense. "I've been an Alan all my life, I'll have you know."

"It's a dweeb name! Alan. Look at us, the cuck, the dweeb and the ho."

"A fearsome triumvarate."

"They'll never know what fucked 'em."

"Hear, hear!" He toasted the air in front of me, since I didn't have a drink. Or, well, he had my drink. After a triumphant slurp, he put the half-full cup back down. "On that note, strategy. I haven't forgotten the conversation we're actually here to have."

"Right. You first, wiz kid. What are you up to, in that basement of yours?" My lips curled up, I was genuinely curious.

"A broad variety of things - the broadest possible, really." He cleared his throat. "That's kind of the point. I'm… curious."

"Curious?"

"Yeah, curious. Every type of magic has a feel to it, and details to know, and catches to navigate. Conventional wisdom is, okay, there's too much magic in the world to know it all. Well… fuck that. I don't just want to know everything in the flat and hypothetical sense that I read some words on a page. You don't really know it until you do it, and I want to know… everything."

I tapped my fingers on the wooden table. "Really?" I was fascinated. "'Everything' is… broad, even to read. But you want to do. You realize that your little project is going to include some real fucked up shit, right?"

Alan smiled thinly. "You have no idea."

I found myself very impressed with Mr. Shaw.

He turned to look straight at me. "I think I've incriminated myself enough for one long-past Independence Day, don't you? Now spill, Miss Elizabeth. What's up your sleeve, that you need a half-amateur sorcerer to make it happen?"

The wood was smooth under my slow-moving fingers, polished by heavy use and greyed by sun-bleaching. "I keep my interests close to my chest. But… well… there's a certain spell I'd like to acquire. It has some interesting potential if you put enough juice into it."

He sucked down another sip. "What kind of spell?"

I smiled sweetly at him. "Love."

"That's suspiciously mundane. What are you expecting to happen by amping it up to 11?"

"I'm expecting it to work, Alan. No maybes. Oh, and I'll need to track someone down, but I think I can mostly handle it on my own, unless you have some very interesting contacts."

"Funny you should mention that…"

I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

"Because, if you can help me with the teeny, tiny resurrection I've been working on…" He winked, and finished off the slushie.

[entiremagazine]

The Farm-to-Table Movement: Restaurants Leading the Sustainable Food Revolution

In a world where sustainability and conscious consumption are becoming more important, the farm-to-table movement has taken center stage. More and more restaurants are committing to locally-sourced ingredients, offering diners fresh, seasonal food while reducing their environmental impact. From small towns to bustling cities, chefs are redefining the dining experience by connecting us directly to the source of our food.

Let’s explore how the farm-to-table movement is transforming the food industry and which restaurants and chefs are leading this sustainable food revolution.

What is the Farm-to-Table Movement?

At its core, the farm-to-table concept is simple: restaurants source ingredients directly from local farms, markets, and sustainable producers. This minimizes transportation emissions, supports regional farmers, and ensures the freshest ingredients. Instead of relying on mass-produced food, these chefs focus on seasonal and sustainable fare.

The result? A deeper connection to the land, less waste, and a commitment to ethical food practices.

Why Farm-to-Table Matters

Supports Local Farmers: Restaurants that embrace farm-to-table sourcing build relationships with nearby farms, contributing to local economies and ensuring farmers receive fair compensation.

Environmental Impact: Sourcing food locally cuts down on carbon emissions from transport, making it a more environmentally friendly option. It also reduces the need for preservatives, as food doesn't have to endure long shipping times.

Healthier Ingredients: Fresh, locally-grown food is often richer in nutrients, offering diners a healthier, more natural dining experience.

Seasonal Menus: Farm-to-table restaurants thrive on seasonality, which means you’ll always get the freshest produce at its peak. This results in more flavorful dishes and a unique, rotating menu.

Top Farm-to-Table Restaurants Leading the Way

Here are some standout farm-to-table restaurants across the country that are committed to sustainability and locally-sourced, fresh ingredients:

Blue Hill at Stone Barns (Pocantico Hills, New York)

Located just north of New York City, Blue Hill at Stone Barns is one of the pioneers of the farm-to-table movement. Led by Chef Dan Barber, this restaurant emphasizes sustainability by growing much of its produce on-site. It offers a unique dining experience where guests can taste the farm’s bounty in every bite.

Highlight: The menu changes seasonally and features vegetables, meats, and dairy raised and grown on-site, offering an unparalleled farm-to-table experience.

The Farmer’s Cow Calfé & Creamery (Mansfield, Connecticut)

A gem in Connecticut, The Farmer’s Cow Calfé & Creamery focuses on sourcing fresh, local ingredients from farms in the region. From sandwiches to their delicious, farm-fresh ice cream, the restaurant prioritizes sustainability and transparency in its ingredients.

Highlight: The cafe offers seasonal sandwiches, soups, and ice cream made from farm-fresh dairy, connecting diners to the Connecticut farming community.

Chez Panisse (Berkeley, California)

Often regarded as the birthplace of the farm-to-table movement, Chez Panisse was founded by chef Alice Waters in 1971. The restaurant has been a champion of organic, locally-grown produce for decades, and it continues to set the standard for ethical dining.

Austa ( Algarve, Southern Portugal)

One such gem is Austa, a Portuguese farm-to-table restaurant in Algarve, Southern Portugal that embraces honest eating with a commitment to seasonal ingredients and local producers. Serving breakfast, light lunch, drinks, and dinner, Austa’s menu is rooted in simplicity, allowing diners to enjoy the freshest produce while savoring traditional Portuguese flavors. Austa is a beautiful example of how a farm-to-table ethos can enrich both the palate and the environment.

River Cottage Kitchen (Axminster, England)

For a global perspective, the River Cottage Kitchen in England is committed to organic farming and sourcing all of its produce from local suppliers. Founded by chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, this restaurant aims to reconnect people with the land and sustainable agriculture.

How You Can Support the Farm-to-Table Movement

Supporting farm-to-table restaurants isn’t just about enjoying a delicious meal—it’s about making conscious choices that benefit the environment and local communities. Here’s how you can help:

Choose farm-to-table restaurants: Seek out eateries that prioritize local and sustainable ingredients.

Support local farmers markets: Buy directly from farmers to reduce your carbon footprint and encourage sustainable agriculture.

Cook seasonally at home: Embrace seasonal ingredients in your cooking to mirror farm-to-table practices in your own kitchen.

Spread the word: Share your experiences at farm-to-table restaurants and encourage others to embrace sustainable dining.

Farm-to-Table: A Delicious Future

The farm-to-table movement is more than a dining trend—it’s a path toward a more sustainable future. As more restaurants and chefs commit to locally-sourced, ethical ingredients, we all benefit from a cleaner planet and a closer connection to our food.

Next time you dine out, don’t just settle for any meal—seek out a farm-to-table restaurant that’s championing the sustainable food revolution. Indulge in dishes that showcase the purity of seasonal, locally-sourced ingredients, where each bite tells a story of the land it came from. You won’t just be savoring fresh, vibrant flavors; you’ll be making a conscious choice to support local farmers, enrich your community, and contribute to a more sustainable future. Dining with purpose has never tasted so good.

[greenwoodbettercarbureau]

Places To See Animals When In Greenwood, IN

Greenwood, Indiana may not be known for its wildlife, but the city and its surrounding areas offer several opportunities to observe and interact with a diverse range of animals. Whether you're a nature enthusiast or a family looking for a fun day out, here are some places to see animals when in Greenwood, IN.

Freedom Park

Located in the heart of Greenwood, Freedom Park offers visitors the chance to observe several species of birds and waterfowl. The park has several ponds and wetlands that are home to ducks, geese, herons, and egrets. Visitors can also spot songbirds such as finches and cardinals while walking along the park's trails.

Kelsay Farms

For a more interactive animal experience, Kelsay Farms is a must-visit. This working dairy farm in Whiteland, just outside of Greenwood, offers tours that give visitors a behind-the-scenes look at the farm's operations. Guests can pet and feed the cows, learn about milking and milk processing, and even sample the farm's fresh ice cream.

Hoosier National Forest

Located just a short drive from Greenwood, the Hoosier National Forest covers over 200,000 acres and is home to a wide variety of wildlife. Visitors can spot deer, wild turkey, coyotes, and even black bears in the forest's dense woodlands. The forest also has several hiking trails that offer stunning views of the surrounding landscape.

Eagle Creek Park

While technically located in Indianapolis, Eagle Creek Park is only a 20-minute drive from Greenwood and is well worth the trip. The park is home to over 200 species of birds, including bald eagles, ospreys, and great blue herons. Visitors can also observe white-tailed deer, foxes, and beavers in the park's woodlands and wetlands.

IndyHumane Animal Welfare Center

For animal lovers looking to make a difference, the IndyHumane Animal Welfare Center in Indianapolis is a great place to volunteer. The center offers several opportunities to work with animals, including dog walking, cat socialization, and animal transport. Volunteers can also assist with adoption events and community outreach programs.

While these places can bring you wonderful experiences, Ray Skillman Ford can assure those who are looking for buying a car, brand new or second hand, will be given a buying experience they will never regret. Being recommended by the Greenwood Better Car Bureau, only ensures you that they are one of the best in the greater Greenwood providing such service. This family owned business will ensure that anything that a buyer is looking for when buying a car will be provided, from vehicle itself, new or pre owned, or parts and any other services.

Contact us

Ray Skillman Ford

1250 U.S. 31 South, Greenwood, IN, 46143

Phone: 317-885-9800

Map Driving Directions

[abellinthecupboard]

“The Twilight Tour” (1953)

I. Summer domesticates the outdoors: Of grass and gravel are the floors Over which she pitches her tent, Fragile and blue and impermanent; Trees are partitions, rocks are chairs, Roads are the hallways, and the stairs Are hills we climb at evening, kneeling Under the clearly holey ceiling. II. Along the route of our evening ride Houses and barns stand open wide To let the out-of-doors inside. Hay-doors reveal the half-filled mows, White stables show, empty of cows, Lean-to's expose harrows and plows— Good think for the owners we aren't thieves! Through chamber casements under the eaves We look right through to the backyard leaves. III. By the ruined farm above the town We spent the twilight looking down; Below us in the summer heaven The steeple clock said six, then seven. The swallows sailed by pairs and singles Into the barn that wanted shingles— We estimated the expense. I got a shock off the pasture fence. IV. These late performers in the sky Fight sleep, child-like, by circling high And swooping with excited cry; Others receive the nightly guest With chirps of welcome soft expressed, And nestle murmuring to rest. V. Night, almost, in the avenue Down which the road recedes from view; Yet eastward out of window-holes Framed by black boughs and massive boles, The slopes are light where God would dwell At evening when the world was well. VI. After the kind of day that scorches The wilted earth in breathless heat, People are sitting on their porches On both sides of the darkling street, Just looking out between their feet. They greet you in domestic voices As you stroll through on your twilight tour, And all your heart this night rejoices That you are poor among the poor, And share with them the temperature.

— James Hayford (?–1993), Star in the Shed Window (1989)

[doktortraktor]

Südafrika 2021, Karoo

[deco-devolution]

What do you think would have lived in the Rapture zoo?

Rapture Zoo Headcanons

Probably in the same part of the city as Fort Frolic, though not built within the same mall/theater complex as the rest of the facilities. Rather it has its own structure nearby, and would have been connected to the Fort via a long glass walkway that opened onto the lower atrium.

In terms of species, there are no "local" land animals, so creatures would be chosen (typically in pairs) by a combination of accessibility, perceived exoticness, & size requirements. (While single animals would be cheaper and easier to maintain, couples bring in more guests.) Many are unfortunately acquired through the black market or flat-out smuggled from their place of origin.

As far as who is calling the Rapture Zoo home, I did my research and tried to create a menagerie fitting of Rapture's climate! Here are my proposals, explained (with pictures!) I also have a layout in mind if anyone is curious. But that's for another day!

The Main Exhibits

1. East African Lion (Panthera leo melanochaita)

Amount: Two (mated pair; acquired from defunct surface zoo)

Why: Although one of the rarer species of lion found worldwide, the East African Lion breed is one of the smallest species of lion in the known world, making the space and material required to house and feed them lesser than the needs of its larger relatives. The draw of a real live lion would be invaluable to public interest and ticket sales, so the smaller subspecies would be better for both investors and suppliers alike.

2. American Black Bear (Ursus americanus)

Amount: One (bought from UK circus)

Why: An imposing and visually striking figure, the black bear was chosen as a familiar yet fascinating creature to draw in crowds. Also, they help drive up teddy bear sales something fierce.

3. Arabian Leopard (Panthera pardus nimr)

Amount: One (bought in a black market trade)

Why: Easily one of the most endangered subspecies of leopard known today, the Arabian leopard is also the smallest of the its kind. One of the most expensive subjects purchased for the Rapture Zoo, it was brought as an alternative to satisfy the distinct lack of tigers in the zoo, as the majority of tiger subspecies would be much larger and unwieldy to transport, feed and house.

4. Mexican Grey Wolf (Canis lupus baileyi)

Amount: Four (bonded pack; acquired from defunct surface zoo)

Why: Once again chosen for their combination of smaller size and potential crowd pull, this small pack is notable for requiring much less food and housing than other wolf species, while still being the genuine package.

5. Roe Deer (Capreolus capreolus)

Amount: Five (bonded herd; poached from Norwegian woodlands)

Why: Visually appealing while still being a smaller and thankfully incredibly populous subspecies of deer, the roe deer were also chosen for their less-intensive dietary needs and charming counterpoint to the drama of the carnivores in the zoo.

6. Central American Squirrel Monkey (Saimiri oerstedii)

Amount: Seven (Intergrated barrel; acquired from two seperate surface zoos)

Why: Small, amusing and intelligent, this subspecies of spider monkey was chosen not only for its reduced size and charming appearance, but also for its populous numbers that make the specimens easily replaceable.

The Aviary

With two of both subspecies of macaw and four of other listed species, the population of Rapture's aviary was chosen on a basis of loose compatibility and vibrant feather coloration.

7. Blue & Yellow Macaws (Ara ararauna)

8. Scarlet Macaws (Ara macao)

9. Sun Conures (Aratinga solstitialis)

10. Common Parakeets (Melopsittacus undulatus)

The Reptile Room

With a troop of seven frogs, two of each lizard and one python, the reptiles of Rapture Zoo are chosen for their bright pigmentation and exotic appearance without being too deadly or complicated to care for.

11. Red-Eyed Tree Frogs (Agalychnis callidryas)

12. (Albino) Ball Python (Python regius)

13. Carpet Chameleons (Furcifer lateralis)

14. Leopard Gecko (Eublepharis macularius)

The Petting Zoo

A miniature farm complete with a tiny barn and scarecrow, the Rapture Petting Zoo has one cow, four pigs, and one rooster with two hens. As it's a special, more interactive part of the zoo, patrons must pay a second fee, usually 50% of the standard ticket, to interact with the animals. All the species were chosen for their smaller size and/or docility.

15. Dexter Cow (Bos taurus taurus)

16. Kunekune Pigs (Sus scrofa domesticus)

17. Cornish Game Chickens (Gallus gallus domesticus)

I also think the managers and owners had a plan to trade out/sell off animals to keep interest high, but the city fell before a plan could have been made.

[from-seas-to-skies]

Farm Grown / Hawks x Reader ♕︎

uwu, I had the lovely @weirddpand4 draw this picture of cowboy Hawks for this work!!!

warnings: NSFW, spanking, cream pie

words: 4,802

-

“Oh, wow! Look at that! I’ve never seen grass so green before!” your friend, Urakaka Ochaco, exclaims.

Glancing up from your phone, you follow her line of vision; gracious hills of rich green grass stretch out far into the horizon, meeting with the brilliant shade of blue. It’s so unlike the skyscrapers and closely-knit houses you’re used to seeing. No, this is what pure beauty looks like, Mother Nature in one of her most wonderful forms. Although the fields are dotted with wildflowers and corn fields, you don’t miss the dirt road further up ahead, a large wooden sign planted next to it.

When Ochaco originally came to you with the idea of being a farmhand, you thought she was crazy. You’ve finally graduated from high school, got the title of professional hero, and this is the first thing she wanted to do? However, as she further explained, it was a family friend who needed help during the summer months, and what were heroes for? Granted, you wanted to run around the cement jungle and provide help that way, but this “almost vacation” didn’t sound too bad – plus, with the puppy eyes Ochaco flashed at you, it was impossible to say no.

And so, here you are, sitting in the passenger side of a coupe with Ochaco behind the wheel. You have to admit; the surrounding atmosphere is beautiful, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to run barefoot through the grass. Clouds of dust rise as the car eventually comes to a stop outside of a weathered farmhouse. Ochako flashes you a smile, her large eyes twinkling.

“Look at how huge this place is! I know Uncle Iroh said he had a couple people helping out, but this is incredible! We’ll each have our own room!”

You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Ochaco’s always been easy to rile up, and the fact that she’s genuinely excited to spend quality “bonding time” with you is heartwarming. As the two of you step out of the car, the front door to the farmhouse opens, revealing an elderly man with a long beard and a kind expression. His face cracks into a smile when he and Ochaco make eye contact; the two hurry towards each other, warm greetings and bone-crushing hugs being shared between the two. It’s no wonder Ochaco was so excited to spend the summer here; with a relationship like that, you’d be happy to see the man too.

“Oh, come, come!” Iroh says, hurrying around the car and popping the trunk open. “You must be Ochaco’s friend, yes?” he asks, looking towards you. A wave of pleasant warmth washes over your being as he sends you that charming smile. “I appreciate the help! I only have my nephew and another man working here already, but the extra hands will come in handy.” He pauses then to chuckle at his own joke. “But I think it’s about you two get settled, yeah?”

“Right!” you respond, pulling out your own suitcase.

As you walk up towards the wraparound porch, you glance to the other trucks sitting out in front of the farmhouse. Iroh said two others were already here, so you figured the trucks must be theirs…

“Zuko!” Iroh booms. “Our guests are here!”

After a moment or so, a boy around your age staggers from the kitchen, a tray in his hands. From the looks of it, a teapot and some cups line its surface.

“Tea is our specialty, here,” Iroh says, nudging you with your shoulder. “Get something to drink and then we’ll show you your rooms.”

-

Later on that evening, you’re gazing out your window, watching the sun fall. Hues of orange, peach, and lilac paint the sky, bidding the world goodbye for the night. It’s definitely different to experience it here than back home, back where silhouettes were outlined by the golden glow. A steady breeze carries on, carrying the scent of wildflowers and musk; your curtains flap from the sheer force of it, but you pay it no mind. It’s like Ochaco brought you to a slice of paradise, even if it’s with the intention of putting in labor.

In the distance, you hear calls and the distinguished moos of cows. Shifting your gaze, you catch a herd of cows being moved towards a barn; a man riding a brown horse wrangles them in, a border collie by his side. The way he pulls it off is smooth, and it’s clear that he’s used to pulling such a feat. However, what really catches your attention is the pair of magnificent scarlet wings protruding from his back. Now, you’re used to seeing some rather flashy quirks, but this guy’s is just… Wow.

“Hey, Uncle Iroh wanted me to come get you,” Ochaco’s voice says suddenly. Turning around, you see her standing in the doorway, a pleasant expression playing on her face. “We’re having oyakodon for dinner! Doesn’t a hot meal sound delicious?” And, as if to amp up your spirits, Ochaco licks her lips and pats her tummy. “I’m so hungry from a long drive!”

You huff in amusement. “Yeah, I am too.” Turning around, you catch a glimpse of the cows disappearing into the barn, that mysterious cowboy stationed by the doors. “Hey, Ochaco,” you start before realizing it, “but who’s that other guy that lives here? The one with the wings?”

Walking over to where you stand, Ochaco peers out the window, following your line of sight. “Oh, him? That’s Keigo. Uncle Iroh says he’s only been here for the past year or so, but he’s really good at what he does! I heard all the animals like him a lot – maybe it’s because of the wings?”

“Don’t you think it’s… odd that’s only a farmhand? With a quirk like that, you’d think he’d be doing something else.”

Ochaco shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe you should ask him sometime? Oh, but I’m really hungry! Can we go eat, now?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just got distracted…”

And so, you soon find yourself sitting at a sturdy wooden table, a bowl of oyakodon sitting before you. It smells utterly delicious - and paired with the tea Iroh brewed, you know you’re in for a treat. Just then, you hear a door opening and closing; there’s a chatter of some sorts, but then there he is, right there in the flesh.

Strong build, wide shoulders, blond hair that looks permanently tousled, and oh yes, those magnificent wings. Perhaps you shouldn’t be staring so much, but the sharp line of his jaw and intense eyes make it nearly impossible to look away. You’ve heard of such things, read about them in stories, but maybe, just maybe, you might’ve fallen for the guy at first sight. That, or he’s just too damn attractive for his own good.

“Howdy! Oh, shit, who are these two cuties?”

Or maybe not.

“Oi! Keigo! Can’t you be respectful for once in your life?” Iroh barks, popping around the other. He scowls as he slaps a wing out of his way. “Make a good impression for yourself. These two are going to be here for the rest of the summer, so don’t be an ass.”

“C’mon, gramps,” Keigo drawls, “you know I’m better than that. Plus, if they don’t like my attitude, then it’s not really my fault, huh?”

“Nothing ever changes,” Zuko says lowly, his words followed by a deep sigh.

You and Ochaco share a look. It seems like your Prince Charming is nothing more than a sarcastic asshat. How befitting.

“Liven up, birdies,” Keigo says, sliding into the chair directly across from you. “I don’t bite.” He winks at you. “Yet.”

Your entire body jolts at his proclamation. This guy really is shameless, isn’t he? Still, you can’t help but feel undeniably attracted to him. Curse his charisma, dammit.

“Aw, sweet! Is this oyakodon? Hell yeah.”

To the side, Zuko facepalms. Iroh merely chuckles and shakes his head, much like he’s way too used to this kind of behavior and has accepted it as it is. Hell, even Ochako cracks a smile. You, on the other hand, stare at Keigo in confusion. He has a bird-based quirk, doesn’t he? Does it not bother him to not eat chicken…?

Keigo puts up a hand, an amused glint in his eyes. “Look, I already know what you’re gonna ask, kid. I can practically see the gears spinning in that pretty head of yours. I fucking love chicken.”

Oh… Well, that takes care of that, doesn’t it…

-

After that first fateful encounter, you’ve grown used to Keigo’s ways. It’s funny, though, how he and Zuko’s personalities basically sit on either end of the spectrum, yet Iroh treats the both of them like they’re his children. While Zuko is serious and straight-laced, Keigo is more of a chatty free spirit. That said, you’ve also gotten used to Keigo’s flirty side. You suspect it’s because he likes to get a rise out of everyone. Whether that’s the case or not, your eyes often wander after him, stare down the hard lines of his back. Even better, you itch to trail your lips over the scruff lining his jaw. The guy’s too damn hot and he knows it.

Over the past month, a game of cat and mouse has started between the two of you. Him, trying to act all chummy and overstepping numerous boundaries. You, trying not to give into the weird relationship that’s bloomed between you and him. Sure, you might have flirted back, but what were you supposed to do? After all, Keigo’s proved himself to be a rather cool guy.

“You can’t keep spacing out like that, kid,” Keigo says, snapping you from your thoughts. Glancing down at him, you attempt to suppress your embarrassment, but Keigo’s too smart for that. Despite his relaxed attitude, he’s surprisingly intelligent and quite observant.

Hands tightening around the saddle, you scoff. “I wasn’t spacing out…”

Keigo cocks an eyebrow. “You know, if I wasn’t holding onto the reins, Nugget would’ve bucked you off a long time ago.”

This time, you snicker. You know that he has an undying love for chicken, but every time he refers to his horse as Nugget, you can’t help but laugh. This guy really is like a child.

“Pffft. Laugh all you want, birdie. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to ride.” Narrowing his eyes, he flashes you a sultry look. “If you want, I can show you.”

All laughter dies on your tongue. A spark of heat erupts in your stomach, makes your heart thump against your ribcage. He always manages to fluster you, to plant naughty little thoughts into your head. You swallow thickly. “I think… I think I’ll stick with Nugget for now.”

At that, Keigo shrugs, his expression turning into something more nonchalant. “Suit yourself. Seriously, though; you should always keep your focus while riding a horse. Anything can happen, and you’ll only know you’re fucked until you’re being crushed. Better yet, you’re flying overhead and end up snapping your neck. Hate to break it to you, but you don’t have wings to break your fall.”

“Keigo.”

He looks back up at you. “What?”

“Your wings. It’s just that… Well… Why help out on farm?”

Keigo blinks at you, no words slipping out. “Hah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shit,” you say quickly, mentally cursing yourself out, “that’s not what I meant. You can fly, can’t you? It just seems like you could’ve made a name for yourself…”

“And become a hero, right?” You wince at his words. He hit the nail right on the head. “Heh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I could spew a whole bunch of shit from my mouth and call it a day, but that’s not my style. I’m a hero in my own right.”

You furrow your brows. Remaining silent, you wait for him to carry on.

Keigo sighs at your implication. “Not all heroes wear capes or whatever. What about cops? Firefighters? Nurses? People who help put food on your table and help that old man out? Just because I’m not stopping some robbery doesn’t mean I’m not important.”

His words come as a slap to the face. He has a good point; actually, scratch that. He has a fantastic fucking point.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a moment’s silence. “That was selfish of me.”

Keigo waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. Nugget gets nervous if you get into a bad mood.”

Absentmindedly, your hand drops onto the horse’s neck, giving it a couple of reassuring strokes. “He’s a beautiful horse.”

“Yeah – well, until I bathe him. Getting up close and personal to horse cock isn’t fun. A bit degrading, actually.”

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you try to muffle your sudden laughter. Air streams through the cracks of your fingers.

Instead of his usual smirk, Keigo flashes you a genuine smile. You’ve only seen it once or twice before, but it never fails to make your heart stop. His whole face scrunches, his pearly teeth a startling white compared to his sun-kissed skin. Okay, so maybe you’ve fallen in love with this guy. It’s no big deal; you’re only here for the summer, so there’s no point in chasing after something you can’t have.

“What, did ya find that funny? I’m here all week, folks.”

“You saying you’re a standup comedian now?” you shoot back. “I didn’t know they accepted clowns on farms.”

“Ohoho, so you do got a mouth. Where’s that been all this time, huh? Would’ve made things a lot more fun.” Reaching up, he knocks his cowboy hat further back, revealing more strands of sandy hair and bronzed skin. “Listen here, partner. This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

“Oh my god,” you say with a snort. “You’re such a dork.”

Keigo snickers. “You know you love me.”

Heh. Yeah…

If only he knew.

-

Maybe you should’ve taken his words more into consideration.

Your instincts are more attuned to what could happen in battle, not for words. Besides, Keigo is a sneaky bastard. Most of the things that spew from his mouth are innuendos and pure sarcasm. He doesn’t really come off as a genuine type of person.

It’s whatever. You don’t like to read into things too much, and maybe that’s your fault, maybe it’s not. Who knows?

Even so, your eyes continuously drift over to where he stands. He busies himself with hanging Nugget’s saddle and harness away, his body lax. If one’s thing for sure, he definitely seems a lot more comfortable around animals rather than actual human beings. You can’t blame him, but what about you? Is he comfortable around you?

Clearing your throat, you turn back to the task at hand. Brushing Nugget down, you trail your hand over the coarse hair, the hard muscle. You meant it when you said he’s beautiful. Shiny brown coat, straw colored hair – he seems like the perfect match for Keigo.

“Cowboy Keigo,” you mutter. “Tell me, Nugget,” you begin, “does Keigo treat you right? Feeds you apples and lumps of sugar? A pretty horse like you deserves to be spoiled.” At the mention of his master’s name, Nugget whinnies. “Is that a yes? You’re avoiding the question, man.”

“Are you seriously trying to sweettalk my horse?” Keigo pipes up. Stepping over the stall, he hoists himself up onto the gate and straddles the wood. Wings sweeping behind him, he flashes you a peculiar look. “Didn’t they teach you in school that you shouldn’t seduce a horse? I don’t know about you, kid, but bestiality isn’t smiled upon around here.”

“Then what does that say about you, bird boy?” you quip. “Surely you don’t put yourself in that category?”

“Ooo, degradation. How did you know that was one of my kinks? Were you looking through my search history?”

Rolling your eyes, you set the brush to the side and join him at the gate. Climbing up, you mimic his movements and straddle the wooden beam. “Kinky cowboy, huh? Kind of has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got the bedazzled white boots and everything. I mean, I’m already wearing the assless chaps and everything.”

“You sound more like a stripper rather than a farmhand. What do you think, Nugget?” you ask, turning towards the horse. Nugget merely snorts and shakes his head.

“Hey, hey, don’t agree,” Keigo tells him. “I’ve got to keep my secret life a secret, you damned horse. Help a guy out.”

“I guess your partner would rather throw you under the bus,” you say with a chuckle. “Good horse.”

“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

“Cry me a river, bird boy. Or do I have to kiss your booboos?”

At that, Keigo falls quiet. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but the way his body tensed tells you something else entirely. Abruptly, he swings his leg over the gate and hops back down onto the ground. Aw, shit. Did you take it too far? It was only lighthearted flirting and yanking on his leg-

“C’mere,” Keigo says, offering you his hand. His voice is a lot more… soft.

With little to no hesitation, you take hold of his hand and get off the gate. You’re about to ask him what he wants, but then he’s abruptly pulling you to the side, further away from the stable’s open doors. Birds are singing outside, their sweet melody carrying along with the sweet summer breeze. It almost seems like an entire world away. A grunt escapes your lips as you’re shoved against the wall, the smell of straw and musk filling your senses. Keigo steps in close, the heat radiating off his body sending shivers down your spine.

“Listen here, pretty little birdie,” he drawls, his lips pulling back in a smirk, “but I may just have to take you up on that offer.”

Wait, what?

“What the hell, Keigo? Where is this coming from?” you question. It’s not like you’re against him being so damn close, it’s just… unexpected.

“Oh, right, like I’m supposed to pretend that you don’t gawk at me at any chance you get. You’re not very subtle, you know.”

Embarrassment heats up your insides, crawls up your neck. So this bastard is really going to rub it in your face, huh? Seems just like him.

“Then why didn’t you say anything about it before?” you hiss. “If it’s such a problem, don’t stay silent. You’re not the type to let things like that slide.”

“Who said it was problem?”

Keigo: 1 / you: 0

Spluttering, you try to gain control of your whirling emotions. This is not how you were expecting this conversation to go. Actually, you weren’t expecting this conversation at all!

“I know for a fact that you can’t get enough of me,” Keigo continues. “And if I’m being completely honest, I like it. You look so cute when you stare after me, birdie. Then you have the audacity to pretend like nothing happened whenever I catch you.”

“Is that what this is all about?” you huff. “Okay, fine. I admit it. Maybe I watch what you’re doing more than what’s necessary. It’s not my fault you walk around all the time without a shirt on or anything…”

“Normally, I’d say because it’s because I get hot when I’m working, but knowing that you were watching made it all the better.” He winks at you. “Gotta hand out a treat here and there, you know?”

“You really are a clown!” you squeak. Keigo laughs as you weakly shove at his chest. “You’ve been leading me on this entire time? What am I, a joke?”

“Hey now, don’t get ahead of yourself, kid. It’s not my fault you couldn’t come up to me like a civilized adult.”

Okay, now you’re fuming. “Keigo, you fucking idiot-“

Swooping in, Keigo cuts you off with a kiss. Unsurprisingly, his lips are soft; he tastes like citrus and salt, and before you know it, you’re looping your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off in the process. A huff of laughter fans across your lips as Keigo pulls back, his mouth hovering over yours. “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that ever since your pretty ass sat at the kitchen table for the first time.”

You sigh. “You really do have a bird brain…”

You kiss him, again and again. Perhaps you should be ashamed that you have your tongue shoved down somebody’s throat rather than working, but there’s no way you’re stopping now. Like him, you’ve been waiting for this moment. The two of you have been tiptoeing around each other, rolling the tension back and forth like a goddamn snowball.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good.

His hands aren’t shy, not in the slightest. Fingertips map out the ridges and dips of your body, seek out the spots that really make you tick. You bite back a giggle as he drops his mouth down your neck, the scruff covering his jawline tickling your skin. Your own hands trail over his body, tracing over the hard lines of muscle that hide beneath his clothes. Time and time again, whenever you’d see him without a shirt, you wanted nothing more than to run your hands all over him. This is your chance, now, and you’d be damned if you didn’t take it.

“Shit, shit, shit, not the wings,” Keigo pants into your neck. The scarlet feathers feel like silk beneath your fingertips; skimming over them, you follow their shape, feel how they get fluffier the closer they are to his shoulders. “Oh, fuck. You know just what you’re doing, huh, birdie? Playing around with me like that. Two can play at that game.”

Another grunt slips from your lips as he pushes you against the wall, harder this time. His hands shamelessly drift underneath your shirt, warm palms sliding over your skin. Your shirt comes off before you know it, being unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

“Fuck, birdie, aren’t a pretty one,” Keigo purrs, his nose bumping against your throat as he sucks another mark into your flesh. “I bet you’re real pretty down here, too…” Making quick work of your jeans, he easily slips them down your legs and you eagerly step out of them. “Don’t mind if I do, kid,” he murmurs into your ear before nipping at the lobe.

A weak moan breaks from your throat as a hand slips into your underwear and cups your sex. His hand is just so warm, and the roughness of his callouses causes your head to spin. Within no time, wet, sinful noises sound from between your legs, mixing with your heavy breaths and Keigo’s encouraging words.

“Yeah, you like that, birdie? My fingers feel good, huh? Wait until you get a feel of my cock.”

Spurred on by his words, you hastily unbutton his shirt, pushing the fabric to the side and running your hands over the swell of his pectorals, the ridges of his abdomen. A faint dusting of blond hairs covers his chest and arms; and, if you look close enough, more sticks out from the waistband of his jeans. Keigo hums as you continue to feel him up, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

“Like what you see? I bet you’ve been wanting to do this for a long time… Fuck! Not going to go easy on me, huh? I like someone who can bite back.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?” you breathe. Fingers wrapped around his cock, your movements catch up to his in speed. “You should consider yourself lucky that I like your voice.”

“Oohoohoo, feisty. That mouth of yours is saying a lot of mean things today, isn’t it? Guess I’ll have to put you in your place.” He pauses, swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. “But, if I’m being entirely too honest, I don’t think I have the patience for that.”

“Keigo,” you pant, “I swear to Christ if you don’t fuck me right now-“

“On it, on it. Don’t get your panties in a twist, your majesty.” In hurried movements, he strips you of your underwear and shucks his chaps and jeans down. Large hands grip onto your thighs and then you’re being hoisted up, sandwiched between his rigid body and the wall. “Why, won’t you feel that,” he purrs, “I’d say it’s high noon.”

“Don’t talk about your dick like that, you dork,” you scoff. “Oh, fuck.” Another pleasured noise slips through your lips as you grind down against him, his cock just barely teasing your hole.

“What was that, birdie? You know what they say – sweetie on the farm, a freak in the barn.”

“You’re anything but sweet. Just – Keigo, please?”

“Alright, I get it, enough teasing.” Adjusting his hold on you, he flashes you a tiny smile. “Hold on, partner.”

A choked groan breaks free from your throat as his cock slides in, your velvety walls sucking him in greedily. That damned smirk of his stays on his face the entire time he fucks you, along with that devious glint in his eyes. His façade only cracks after you start stroking his wings and squeeze around his cock; if he wants to act like a cocky son of a bitch, then so can you.

“Shit, you’re fucking tight,” he pants. The smack of skin against skin fills your ears, right alongside Keigo’s breathy moans and muttered words. “Keep squeezing like that, birdie, and you’re gonna make me cum quicker than I want to.”

“You almost sound like that’s exactly what you want me to do,” you breathe. “A cowboy like you has got to have some stamina, right? Don’t tell me all of that work goes to nothing.”

“Jesus, and you called me talkative. Fuck, I can’t wait to shove my cock down your throat and shut you the hell up – I said don’t squeeze like that, holy hell. Dirty little head you got there, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumble, yanking him back into a kiss. Keigo only moans loudly as you continue to play with his wings, quickly finding out that the spot where they protrude from his flesh is the most sensitive.

“Milk my cock, birdie,” he mutters between broken kisses. “You’re so fucking good to me, oh yeah. I should’ve done this weeks ago.” A startled squeak bursts from your throat as he abruptly strikes your ass. Sucking air through his teeth, he does it again, relishing in the desperate noises spilling from your mouth. “That’s right, birdie. Come on, make me cum. I’m gonna cum so fucking hard for you, fill you up until your belly’s bloated.”

“Keigo-“  You moan as his hand drops down, fingers furiously rubbing at your sex.

“That’s right, say my name. Let the whole fucking world know who’s fucking you this good.”

“Keigo-“

Smack.

“KEIGO!”

The knot building up inside you snaps; with a cry, you cling even closer to him, your velvety walls spasming around his thick cock as you cum.

Slamming a hand against the wall, Keigo fucks into you harder, faster, the wet noises sounding from between your legs almost deafening. “Oh fuck yeah, oh fuck yeah, oh fuck, fuck, fuck – ah- ah- ugghnn…” Burying his face in your neck, his hips erratically jerk as warmth fills your insides. “Still… cumming… fuccckkk…”

Your eyes flutter as he shallowly thrusts into you, the sinful squelch of his cum leaking out around his cock filling your ears. Slowly, he comes to a stop, his hot breath fanning over your neck and the side of your face. Gingerly, you let him go, completely unaware that your fingernails had dug into him in the first place.

“Well,” he starts, lifting his head and flicking away sweaty strands of hair, “that was eventful, wasn’t it?”

You scoff. “Tell me why I like you again…?”

“Oh, darling,” he drawls, leaning in and pecking the corner of your mouth. “I don’t think you like me. I think you love me. You aren’t very subtle.” He laughs as you smack him on the chest.

“Okay, fine. You’re lucky I love you, bird brain. Don’t go rubbing it in.”

“Silly birdie,” Keigo hums, his face scrunching into that wonderful smile of his. “I may just love you too.”

Wait, seriously?

“And no, I’m not joking or being an ass,” he continues, as if reading your mind. “What’s it called? Love at first sight? I dunno, seems like cheesy bullshit to me, but I… I like the appeal of it. It sounds nice when you’re involved.”

Your heart thumps against your chest.

Oh, fuck.

[abreathofthewild]

I Need A Hero, Chapter 1/?

Summary: After Y/N finds out that her late grandfather has willed his rural Montana ranch to her, she decides it’s time for a little change of scenery. At least until it’s in a condition to sell. Along the way, Y/N finds a renewed appreciation for hard work, new friends, and possibly even love. She has the land. Can Thor help make it a home?

Word Count: 11559 (I have no idea either, trust me)

Warnings: non-main character death, mentions of alcohol, some thematic elements, eventual smut.

A/N: I have so many people I could tag on this post, so many. For now, I'll just say thank you to @spacelabrathor​ for allowing me to use this idea and to @itssimplydior​ for going above and beyond in helping me grammar check and just being a great hype person. Thank you thank you thank you! And thank you to everyone who has waited so long for this. I have an amazing circle of friends on here. I hope this first chapter was worth the wait!

Edit: The banner is by the amazing @frankiemorales who designed this moodboard because she loves the story so much ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Links: Thor Odinson Masterlist and AO3 Version

Skyscrapers cut through the blue sky like ancient monoliths; they weren’t ancient at all but the way the sun glinted off the glass and steel of their structures made them look like modern interpretations of old gods. Car horns and shouts and ongoing conversations hummed through the air, the constant buzz of life an undercurrent that was all at once hard to ignore and easy to be lost in. There in the middle of it, beneath the heartbeat of the city, you sat in an office chair trying to clear your head around a different type of ringing in your ears.

Your grandfather had passed away. Your estranged grandfather. And yet here you were, listening to his attorney tell you that he had willed you his ranch. The ranch you had spent almost six summers at as a child. The ranch where you had learned to ride a horse. The ranch where you had learned how to skip rocks and climb trees. The ranch where you had decided that one day you’d have a big ranch of your own, “just like Grandpa”.

“Miss? Miss, are you still there?” A breath rattled from your lungs as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I can imagine this is difficult but were you able to hear me on the line? Hank has passed away and he’s left you his ranch. We’ll need you to come sign some paperwork. There are some stipulations that I’d rather discuss in person. Then you’re free to get the details settled to sell it if that’s what you want.” Another pause.

“Um, yes, I’m sorry. I heard you. Can you email the initial documents?” The barely-managed response felt odd on your tongue, stiff.

“Ah, yes, I’m sure we can manage that. I’ll have to apologize, things move a little slower around here so sometimes it slips my mind that electronic signatures are an option now. Like I said though, the final details will need to be worked out here, in Dove’s Reach.” After that, you tuned out; the man’s voice on the line seemed to drone on. Your brain honed in on “it’s not really in a state to sell” and “I’ll put you in touch with a licensed appraiser just to make sure”. Then the call ended and you realized somewhere in there you must have hung up the phone but you honestly couldn’t remember.

A ranch. A whole ranch. 500 acres of rolling hills in Montana. Your breath caught and you quickly brushed away the tears that had welled in your eyes, pursing your lips and glancing at the paperwork spread in front of you. There was so much work to do here with the Harrison case. Your eyes roved from the physical documents to the spreadsheets on your computer screen and back again. It would be foolish to take time off now when you were so close to finishing it up. You could see your father’s frown as if he was standing in front of you.

And yet… Your grandfather hadn’t been a part of your life for so long. In the beginning, when your parents had told you abruptly that Grandpa had done something bad, been mean to them, you took it hard. Seven years old is a horrible time to lose a grandfather who taught you how to milk a cow and showed you the wonder in the small things. But as you got older and your parents became more embroiled in work, more distant, you put it to the back of your mind. You were still young enough that you had no choice but to take their word for it. The thoughts tripped around your head like a broken record; you felt a little queasy. You wiped brusquely once more at a stray tear and, taking a deep breath, turned to your monitor. You minimized one tab and opened another, preparing to write an email. It was a little more difficult than you had anticipated though and ten minutes later when your assistant walked in reminding you of your 2 o’ clock, you startled from a blank daydream and an even blanker screen. Your surroundings rushed back in around you on a pinpoint vortex and all at once, you knew you had to go. Regardless of parts of the will needing to be handled in person, something split in your heart. Right now, your place was at the ranch.

“Reschedule that appointment please. Let Clark know we’ll be switching it over to a Zoom call. Actually, cancel the rest of my appointments for the next two weeks. I’ll let you know if I need you to move anything around after that.” She widened her eyes but nodded all the same, turning and exiting your corner office with purpose. You began typing out the email to your father letting him know that you’d be taking advantage of all those vacation hours you had stored away for a rainy day. You would take the Harrison case with you and could easily finish it remotely. It would be on his desk by the deadline. Your rainy day was today but despite the circumstance, you were beginning to catch the feeling that there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The ranch house flashed across your mind’s eye and you blew out a breath from your lungs you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

You clicked send and stood, throwing on your coat and gathering the necessary paperwork from your desk. You let your assistant know you were leaving and walked out the door, not bothering to pay attention to a few pairs of wandering eyes who watched as you entered the elevator and headed down to the ground floor. With each minute of descent through the high-rise building, you felt your heart beat faster. It felt like there was a balloon in your chest waiting to burst. Your heels clicked on the marble floor and as you pushed through the doors into the spring air of New York City, you felt just a little more alive than you had moments before.

The redeye flight and extra two-hour drive put you in Dove’s Reach before the sun had completely risen. Last week if someone had told you that you would be standing here right now looking at your grandfather’s ranch house with the notion that you could fix it up, you would have laughed in their face. But as the sun rose in the east, it felt as if anything was possible. To the north was a range of mountains that could have looked menacing, but from your vantage only served to leave you in awe. The immediate land was just miles and miles of green fields that met with forest. The trees were behemoths; the sun bathed everything in a rich golden light adding unbelievable depth to the scene before you. The air smelled clean and fresh and alive.

You resisted the urge to pinch yourself because if this was a dream you never wanted to wake up. There was your grandfather’s house right in the middle of all of it. It still held the country charm that you remembered but there was so much that was… off. From what you could see with the naked eye, the wooden fence was sagging and falling over in a lot of places. The barn was missing slats of wood and one door hung precariously on its hinges. The house was a relic, the paint dry and peeling. You knew your grandfather as a strong, stout man who even in his older age was capable of running a whole ranch. The state of things now left a hollow feeling in your stomach and left so many questions unanswered.

A suitcase, carry-on, and laptop bag was all you had with you as you took the key from under the mat and opened the front door. It groaned loudly as if it hadn’t been opened in a long while but it made you smile to know that your grandfather had left the key in the same place after all these years. You walked to your left into the kitchen and set your keys on the counter. The familiarity of it all suddenly made you pause with a sudden sense of Deja Vu. The magnets on the fridge, the little table with four wooden chairs, and an old fashioned clock hanging on the wall that had faded from a once dark blue. The checkered yellow and white curtains were rolled up above the farm-style sink and an old mason jar with some dried flowers sat in the sill.

You found yourself choking up as you realized your grandfather’s coffee mug, the big one with some western painting of a bucking bronco, sat ready next to the coffee pot. You walked over to it and cradled it in your hands as the feeling washed through your bones that it was your mug now. There was so much you remembered about him and yet so much you never got to know, never would know. It nagged at you as the realization began to set in that there was so much to get done to sell this place. And after it was gone, there would be nothing of your grandfather left. A shaky sigh escaped from your lips.

Sleep. Right now you just needed to sleep. You made your way upstairs, the wood groaning in protest as you went, and headed to the right where one of the two guest rooms were located. Again, it was like a museum, in a state of preservation. With a wrenching in your stomach, you wondered if he’d ever had visitors after you. The bed sat against the opposite wall under the window and the sunlight filtering in passed the tree outside left dappled patterns on the patchwork quilt. You brushed your fingertips across it and marveled at how soft it still felt.

The room smelled faintly of dust so you cracked the window. You were rewarded by the cool breeze laced with the scent of pine wafting gently into the room. It was the beginning of spring but mornings were still chilled with the end of winter. You were pretty sure that in the shade of various trees on your way in there were small drifts of unmelted snow and the dried grass in the fields outside had sparkled with frost. You flopped down on the bed, covering yourself with the knitted throw that was tossed across the bottom.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you had a distinct feeling that you had always lived here. The thought crossed your mind as you edged into sleep that maybe you should stay.

It was well past noon when you startled awake. This time, it felt like there was a weight on your chest. You cracked your eyes and let out a small ah when you were greeted by a plump silver and white cat with green eyes sitting on your stomach. It chirruped when it realized you were awake. The cat hadn’t been in the house when you arrived (that you had seen). Maybe it climbed the tree and hopped in the window. Either way, it had been a long time since you’d last had a pet (your long hours didn’t allow for it back in New York) and your heart did a light skip as you scratched behind its ears. Its purr sounded like a motorboat.

The breeze coming through the window was a little warmer now and after a while of trying to stay lost to the world outside, you knew if you didn’t get up right then, you wouldn’t feel motivated to do so for the rest of the day. And there was a lot to do. With an exaggerated grunt, you deposited the cat on the other side of the bed. It sat there licking a paw and periodically giving you an irked look. You let out a small snort and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the desk and began writing down your goals for the day.

The main one was a basic grocery list (you were pretty sure there was nothing in the fridge or cupboards), and now getting some cat food. If you remembered correctly, the actual town was about another half hour from the ranch in the opposite direction you’d come. You stood and winced as pins and needles prickled up and down your legs from sitting cross-legged on the bed. You glanced at your computer bag tucked in next to the desk on the floor. The Harrison case would have to wait.

Main Street hadn’t really changed much from what you could remember of your time here. A lot of red brick and dark wood. It was quaint and about as small-town as you could get. Something lurched in your chest when you pulled to a stop in the grocery parking lot. Everything was so foreign to how you lived in the big city but at the same time… it sang of a home you had not experienced before. Part of you thought it was a shame that you had to go back in two weeks. You brushed the thought aside as quickly as you allowed yourself to feel it. There was no use indulging that line of thinking and besides, it was the first day. You were sure you would feel differently at the end of that time after you’d put in the work that would be required.

The grocery store was bigger than you remembered; you were pretty sure it had been expanded. Maybe the town wasn’t as little as it used to be. A cartful of basics and what felt like 500 mental notes later, you brought your groceries to the front. You daydreamed for a moment as the steady beep of the register sounded in the background.

“You’re not from around these parts, are you darlin’?” You came back to yourself, shaking your head. The woman ringing you up was older, with short-cropped white hair and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her name tag read “Rose''. “I thought so. We don’t get many people around here that buy tofu. Is it any good?” She wrinkled her nose in such a way that made you giggle. You shrugged your shoulders.

“There’re a few different ways I make it that taste pretty good. I’m not vegetarian or anything, I just like all sorts of foods.” She brightened at that; you guessed there were also not very many vegetarians in Dove’s Reach either. “I’m actually here to handle my grandpa’s estate. He just passed away…” You trailed off, surprised by the lump that was suddenly in your throat. Her eyes widened just a bit before she reached out to pat your hand.

“Do you mean Hank? Was Hank your granddaddy? Yes, he must be, I can see you have the same eyes now. Well, I’m so very sorry, hon. He was a good man. It seems like only yesterday he was here picking up groceries.” There was a tear in her eye now and it made you wonder how close the two were. “It had actually been quite some time since he was able to make it in here on his own. Months at least.” Months? So he had been sick for a while. Why hadn’t he told you? Rose saw the look flash across your face. “Oh,” she breathed out quietly, “you didn’t know, did you?” She clucked her tongue as you paid. “That Hank, always thinkin’ he didn’t need help. We were all surprised when he finally had Jonesy coming ‘round to do things in town for him. Jonesy was his attorney, you’ll probably be speaking to him soon, I’d reckon. Well, if you need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

You grabbed your bags and put them back in your cart. There would be time to ask Rose questions about your Grandpa later, you hoped. But right now, you needed to focus on getting help with the ranch.

“Well actually, Rose, I’m looking for some help to fix the ranch up. Do you know anyone off the top of your head?”

Rose had told you to go across the street to On The Wings of A Dove, the local hang out after a day’s work had been finished for a lot of folks. It was surprisingly modern with an old feel. Deep red brick, exposed black pipe, and low lighting. The smell as you walked in the doors made your mouth water. Luckily the owner, Gus, was in and was more than happy to help a young lady such as yourself.

“Thor! This lady here needs some help fixin’ up her ranch to sell. You lookin’ for work?” You glanced in the direction the portly man was facing, down the bench, and around a couple of other patrons. A man leaned out and smiled in your way; the flash of white teeth made your heartbeat stutter.

“As a matter of fact, Gus, I just finished up at the Finch’s farm helpin’ them with that young colt.” He stood and walked over to you. If he looked big from a distance, there was no denying it now as he moved into your space. You looked up at his face and the golden hair framing blue eyes was enough to make your brain go foggy. He held out a hand, the chorded muscle across his chest and in his broad shoulders evident even with such a small movement. You took it and something bloomed in your chest when his hand enveloped yours. His skin was rough with calluses. It was warm and a vision flashed across your mind unbidden: those hands grasping at your face, roving down your arms, across your chest, gripping your hips, and moving lower… You shook your head and tried to listen to the words coming out of his mouth.

“The name’s Thor. Thor Odinson. How may I be of service, pretty lady?” Normally, someone being so forward would irk you. But somehow hearing Thor say the words “pretty lady” in a slow drawl didn’t bother you in the least. You offered him a smile back, quirking your head to the side. Taking inventory. He couldn’t be much older than you if he was older at all.

“Thor Odinson? That’s an interesting name.” He nodded, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair. It looked ridiculously soft to the touch and you had to stop yourself from snorting in good-natured annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am. My family comes from the Old Country. They wanted a strong name for a strong man. Gus said you’re lookin’ for help though?” He crossed his arms and leaned in, the white t-shirt he was wearing stretching across his chest. You forced your eyes to move back to his face where you were met with a little crook of his lips. You were pretty sure he saw that but there was no embarrassment in the knowledge. “I can help you do just about anything. Pick your poison.”

It was a lot. And you were certain there was more than you even realized with your knowledge of how to run a ranch being zero. You listed off how the house needed a good cleaning but you could take care of that. It probably needed a new coat of paint inside and out. Several of the shudders on both stories needed repairing. The barn looked pretty run down but you hadn’t gotten up close to it yet. One of the doors had definitely been hanging crookedly on its hinges. Then there was the fence… You could probably use more than two people for that. You had no idea of what state the ranch hand cabin was in. You looked up at him and gave him a shrug. His eyebrows were up near his hairline as he leaned back and whistled.

“Boy, we’ve really got our work cut out for us, don’t we? Well, I think we’d better start with those things you mentioned first. Trust me, if there’re other problems we’ll find ‘em real quick. Might cost ya a pretty penny. Are we tryin’ to stay within a certain budget?” He looked you right in the eye and Lord help you, it had been a long time since someone looked you in the eye with any sort of sincerity. You were used to working with less-than-savory types in your corporate world. You cleared your throat and shrugged again.

“Not really. If we fix it up good enough, there won’t be a loss. It’s a pretty place. Just needs some TLC. And the land is worth its 500 acres in gold.” The silence was palpable but not in an uncomfortable way. Thor leaned in and you caught a slip of his scent. Sweat and leather and woodsmoke. You took a deep breath, pulling the smell with it. You realized he was listening. He wasn’t just hearing your words, he was taking them in and mulling them around in his brain. “But wait. Does that mean you’ll do it? We haven’t even talked about wages or anything like that.” He waved a hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes.

“We can talk about that later. What matters is you need help and we like to help people ‘round here. Maybe that’s not somethin’ you’re used to where you’re from? It’s all right though. I’ll introduce ya to small-town hospitality. When are you wanting to get started?” You threw him a sheepish grin before glancing down at the floor as if the pattern there was the most interesting thing in the world. If your parents could see you now, you knew they’d be appalled. Thinking of doing the work yourself, of hiring someone you literally just met and someone who was only suggested to you by a cashier at a grocery store. It was a little ridiculous you admitted but you brushed the thoughts away.

“Tomorrow? You can stay in one of the guest rooms in the house. There’s a ranch hand cabin but I have no idea what it looks like. As far as I can tell, it hasn’t been a working ranch in a while so there’s really no telling what state it will be in…” Again, he held his hand up slowly, politely putting a stop to the words pouring from your mouth.

“The cabin is just fine. I don’t need much anyway. Depending on how long I’m there, the only thing I ask is to bring my dog, Tucker, with me. He’s as good a help as any man I’ve met and twice as friendly.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Well, all right then. Sounds like everything is as settled as it gets for now. Can I get the address from ya? I’ll head over around 5 PM, get settled in if that suits your plans for the rest of the day.

“Perfect.” You smiled as he shook your hand again.

It occured to you that this is the first contract you’d ever made without a signature on paper and yet somehow, it felt like the most foolproof one as well.

It didn’t take long for Thor to settle in. He had insisted on taking the ranch hand cabin despite your protesting. When the two of you looked it over, it wasn’t as bad as you would have guessed it to be, even though there was a thin layer of dust on every surface. You searched through some of the cupboards and luckily came up with a spare sheet set. You took the old one to wash, holding your breath against all the dust motes that flew into the air as soon as you took the sheets off.

“Tucker didn’t want to come?” You asked with a teasing tone,one that Thor responded to with a laugh. He took his baseball cap off and roughed his fingers through his hair. He shook his head.

“No, ma’am. We’ll see how things go here but guessing by the fence line I saw on my way in, he’ll definitely be coming to stay here with me. Don’t worry, either way you’ll get to meet him. He’ll be tickled pink.” Again, a duck of his head that made you wonder how someone could have such good manners. You looked down, shuffling your feet. That seemed to be a regular thing for you now as well. Not being able to look someone in the eye? Not a good look on a big time lawyer. But you had an excuse, right? You glanced up through your eyelashes as he turned away and looked around.

He stood tall, straight-backed. You absently wondered if it was from riding horses. He probably looked great on a horse. He was no longer in just the white shirt from earlier but his Carhartt jacket didn’t swallow him, it just somehow emphasized how big he was. Every movement brought that into sharp focus. The floor creaked beneath his boots as he flipped switches on and off, watching with concentration as each lightbulb somehow still worked. They took a few moments to crackle on but crackle on they did. And with each one his smile somehow got bigger. After a little while of inspecting the little space he turned to you again.

“This will do just fine. No worries need be wasted on my behalf. Tomorrow I’m thinking we should head down to Redwood Hardware and see if we can get an order in for some fence posts. They might have some in stock already but the amount we’ll need is probably not gonna be in store. You might also wanna consider hiring other help besides me. I stand by my work ethic but we’ll get the job done a lot faster with more people.” You blew a breath out of your mouth and pursed your lips. He was closer in an instant, placing his hand on your shoulder. He lowered his head to make sure you would meet his gaze. It threatened to take your breath away. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but we’ll have this place up and running, sale-worthy in no time. A place your granddaddy would be proud of.”

You did meet his eyes then, glancing back and forth between them. You nodded. If anyone was going to tell you how a thing was going to go and you would believe them… It was going to be Thor.

The day came when it was time to actually set up the new fence posts instead of just staring at them with a certain bit of dread each day when you went outside. The sky was a blue that seemed to go on forever and the air itself smelled alive but still, you stood, hands on your hips, ticking off all the other things you could be doing. There were loads of things. But Thor stood next to you, a smirk on his face and you knew there was no way you could put off starting this any longer. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“It’ll be alright darlin’! It’s a lot of work, hard work, but you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll be right there every step of the way to help ya out.” Again, the uncanny wave of reassurance swept over you at his words and so it was you found yourself climbing into the passenger side of his old Ford and marveling at what pristine condition it was in. The last couple of days you’d been driving your rental car; there was an old Jeep in the barn but it needed more repairs than you could focus on at the moment. You’d seen his truck the day he drove up to the house and the days after but you hadn’t seen the interior and you were impressed.

You didn’t know many hyper-specific details about any vehicle but you guessed this one was old and yet… the seats were a rich brown leather, worn in certain places from use but not split. It even had a sheen to it still, as if he wiped it down on a regular basis. There was one little piece of plastic up near the passenger air vent that was slightly cracked but the rest of it still shone as close to new as it would ever get again. A reddish brown darker than the seats but just as fine. Nothing had been replaced or updated it seemed, just kept in the same condition it always had been. But looking around, you knew it had been used. It had worked many long years. You quirked your mouth and glanced at him as he shifted the truck into gear and drove through the gate, driving along the rutted pathway that ran along the length of fencing. The field stretched out for miles and miles beyond you in gentle sloping green hills. There were some wildflowers starting to sprout up but from what you understood, it was nowhere close to peak season yet. The fence closer to the buildings was in better condition; the farther away from there you got, the more obvious it became that the ranch had been non-operational for some time. As it was apt to do regularly now, your mind wandered. You were lost in two vast landscapes, one physical, the other in your memories. It took Thor slowing and then parking at the point where the fence literally ceased to exist to bring you out of yourself.

The two of you hopped out and started grabbing supplies. After figuring out how much you wanted to get done for the day, the two of you started in on the fence posts. Or more like Thor jumped right in and you took a split second to watch him as he began working. Almost immediately he shrugged off his flannel; he was in a simple white tank top and those ridiculously well-fitted Wrangler jeans and boots. Even the gloves on his hands looked slightly tight as if his hands were too big even for the large size. His motions were smooth and concise; he turned away from you, leaving his back on full display. You leaned on your post hole digger for a minute, taking in the way all the parts of his body worked together. From the muscles in his arms, the ones chord across his shoulders and back, all the way down to how his hips swayed with the movement.

An eagle cried out overhead and you moved in about ten feet away from him. You wanted to think that you knew how to do this right away just from watching him. The soil was no problem. It was soft and dark and easy to dig. The smell curled through the air and reminded you of being a kid, when the most you had to worry about was if the dirt was the right consistency for a mud pie. But after a few tries, you realized you must be doing something wrong because your hands kept slipping and Thor had already moved past you to dig and place two more wooden posts. Still, you don’t say anything just yet. You were determined to do this.

As the day waned on, slow as molasses, you could feel him watching you. He didn’t move in to stop you, didn’t tell you you were doing it wrong. He let you struggle. There was a war inside of you at that moment, part of you wanting him to jump in and show you how and the other part being refreshed by him letting you figure it out. That inner monologue went on for a while before he nudged you and handed you a bottle of water. You stopped, relieved. The sun was somehow high overhead now. For every one post you were finishing with difficulty, Thor was getting two done. Frustration flared over your whole body. He cleared his throat and raked his hand through his hair.

“I noticed it looked like you were havin’ a bit of a hard time diggin’ the post holes. Would ya like if I gave ya some pointers?” You watched him, the earnestness in his blue eyes, and nodded. A smile lit up his face and you wondered how many people got to see it. It was bright and put the endless Montana sky to shame. “Perfect. Let’s eat lunch now and then I’ll show ya a thing or two.” You munched on the turkey sandwiches you had thrown together, sitting on the ground in front of the truck where there was still some shade. The ground was cool beneath you, the air around you smelt like something that should be written about in a book; the earthy smell of grass , the distant hints of pine, the promise of wildflowers. Thor was sprawled out next to you but not in an overbearing sort of way. He just took up a lot of space. You tried not to concentrate on the fact that your knees were touching.

“So your granddaddy left you all this? I’d be pressed to sell it. It’s too bad ya can’t keep it.” You stiffened before catching yourself quickly, though you were pretty sure he had noticed He took his last bite before standing up. “You’ve got a life back home though. It’d be hard to leave that behind.” He held out his hand and you accepted it, wanting to push that cagey feeling behind you. He looked off in the distance, hands on hips, then back to you. “Well, ya ready for those tips?”

“Yes, sir.” You brushed dirt off your backside and put your gloves back on. “It is too bad,” you mumbled. Mumbled because you were too afraid that saying it out loud would change something for you. “That I can’t keep it, I mean.” He turned to you, not the least bit of surprise on his handsome face. But there was understanding there. He got it. You grabbed your post hole digger and went ten feet from the last post readying to dig the new hole. Thor watched your position for just a moment before you heard his footsteps come up behind you. And then he was standing there, at your back. If you took one half-step back you would be met with his chest. The day was warm but heat radiated off of him like a steadily growing fire. Something pooled low in your belly and your mouth went dry as he moved into your space and then you were flush with him.

His arms came around yours, his hands engulfing your own. His breath was warm near your ear as he rumbled “No, darlin’, like this.” He shifted your hands from the middle of the handles to the top. You were hyper aware of the way his arms felt around you, acutely aware of his scent. Sweat, and musk, and dirt. “That way you have more leverage and you’re not leanin’ over when it goes in the dirt.” He stayed like that for a moment, probably only seconds, but it felt like longer. You heard his breath catch from behind you before he slowly removed his hands, backing up just a pace. You immediately tried to retain the feel of him against you, the way his voice settled into you when he spoke. The way his smell engulfed you, making you feel like the safest person in the world. When was the last time you had felt that way?

Your limbs moved slow, as if your body was now full of lead. He moved back in again, briefly, sliding his boot between your feet and nudging them just a tad bit farther apart. “That’ll help too,” he said. And this time, when you raised the digger up and heaved down, you immediately noticed a difference. While it didn’t necessarily feel easier, it definitely didn’t hurt as much and your body didn’t feel as stiff, didn’t feel like it was being pushed into an awkward angle. You took a couple more plugs from the earth, digging down far enough to keep the pole stable and when you stood straight and looked at him, there was that grin written all over his face again. This time, that smile leapt to your face.

Thor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, red with a white paisley pattern, and raised his hand, slowly, as if he was touching a wild animal, wiping a streak of perspiration from your cheek. “That’s my girl! Keep that up, we might not need help like I said before,” he exclaimed with a wink. Time seemed to slow to a halt. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. The words thundered through your brain, down out your limbs, between your legs. That’s my girl.

You looked down at your watch, surprised to see the hands tick forward without delay. As the day went on, a thought tickled at the back of your mind, like a horses’ whiskers on your palm. It’d be easy to be his girl.

The night came in cold enough that you were filled with relief when Thor stood to his full height and stretched, slotting the post hole digger in a pile of soil and suggested the two of you call it a night. Goosebumps had already peppered your skin and the breath coming from your mouth was visible in the air. You nodded and stretched a little too, trying to ignore that stiffness you knew would turn into full-blown pain by tomorrow morning. Thor watched you quietly as you slowly put your jacket on; he glanced from the ground then to the sunset when you looked his way. You let out a small barking laugh and almost immediately regretted it, wincing as the cold night air ripped its way into your lungs.

You managed an uncomfortable grunt as you stuffed your gloves in your pocket and Thor grabbed the keys to his truck. You examined your hands; your palms looked like one huge blister. The skin was bubbled and inflamed and if you were being completely honest, it was one more thing you really had no idea how to take care of on a scale like this. Thor started the truck and even though it was only a ten-minute drive back to the house, you were already thankful in anticipation of him cranking the heater just a bit. It would hopefully be a small relief for the contracting sensation in the muscles along your shoulders and arms and back.

There was not a whole lot to gather since the only portion of the fence that went up today was the posts; still, you moved in to help him by grabbing some smaller loose supplies and your post hole digger. You could feel his eyes on you, feel the way he noted you navigating around your raw hands. It took a moment but soon he was wandering over to you and taking the items from you, nodding his head kindly to the truck. You mumbled your gratitude as you got in, frustrated with yourself. It was only the first day but Thor was already picking up your slack. You watched him from the passenger side mirror as he slammed the tailgate shut. There was not a bit of annoyance in his expression. You had small inkling you were being a bit too harsh on yourself.

When he got in, the truck groaned and immediately the cab that felt huge and open before now felt full; crowded but not in an unpleasant way. You sneaked a sideways glance at him as he settled in. He didn’t shift the truck into gear right away but instead sat back, gazing out the windshield at the sunset. Even from your vantage point, it was stunning. The sky was a variation of colors from deep black-blue, to a soft blue, to pink, to orange. The sun slipped back below the mountains to the north and west and the only detail you could make out on them now was their peaks; they were in shadow and looked like a great set of black teeth.

The light coming into the truck had softened, illuminating the planes of Thor’s face. The slip of his golden brown hair, the strong cheekbones and slope of his nose, the clean jawline that now had a five o’ clock shadow. It was quiet, save for the lulling roar of the truck engine and somehow you knew in that second, you wanted more of these moments. Your brain hadn’t quite latched onto how you would get them but you were going to try. Maybe it was Thor. Maybe it was the gentle heat in the cab with the chill outside. Maybe it was the clean smell of spring scented air. Maybe it was a hard day’s work that was so different than the long hours you kept at home. Right now, it didn’t really matter. You sat back with a sigh of content, able to ignore the subtle aching in your limbs. Finally, Thor let out a gentle hum, a sound you guessed actually reverberated through his body.

“When we get back to the house, we’ll take care of those hands, all right?” You nodded and he shifted the truck into gear, turning back the way you came this morning and it was suddenly all you could do not to reach out and rest one of those hands on his arm.

The gravel crunched under the wheels of Thor’s truck as he dropped you off at the front of the house, telling you he was gonna take a shower and then he’d be back up to bandage your hands. You tried to tell him you would take care of it, really, but he insisted. Deep down, you knew you had taken care of blisters on your heels before but nothing like this so you gave in, hiding a smile as he drove the truck down to the other cabin.

When you got to the bathroom, it took every effort not to just quit and wallow right there on the old tile floor but after a few struggling moments, you peeled your clothes from your body and stepped into the warm water, ignoring the stinging of the wounds. It took a few tries with washing off the dirt of the day, with every contact with soap intensifying the hurt in your hands. As you stepped out, you knew you’d be popping some Advil tonight; it would be foolish not to, you guessed.

You threw some leftover chicken noodle soup on the stove and plopped unceremoniously into one of the kitchen chairs, leaning your head against the wall as you relaxed. The fact that you hadn’t worked on the Harrison case for two and half days now nagged like a trapped rat at the back of your mind. Your laptop was currently upstairs though and there was no way you were forcing yourself up those steps again until you absolutely had to. Instead, you checked your emails on your phone, briefly scanning over the subjects on each of them and filtering out the spam. You set it back down with satisfaction. You’d just worked one of the hardest days in your life and you guessed it was probably going to remain tough from here on out. Despite that, you felt more nervous energy bubbling in your veins.

You decided to pull out the old maps you had found at the little desk in the living area. The house was small compared to the expanse of the land itself. Your grandfather hadn’t been a person who needed extravagance, that was for sure. Maybe you’d convert one of the guest rooms into a study. It would certainly be a lot easier to spread out property maps in an office rather than a little desk in the living room. You put little x’s where you thought the boundaries were. You were somewhat familiar in your work life with reading property maps but these… the maps were old enough that you were second-guessing if the plot already marked was accurate. Another thing to put on the to-do list for a town run. Land maps would be public record, especially in a town as small as Dove’s Reach.

A knock on the front door snapped you out of your thoughts. You hollered that the door was unlocked as you rolled the maps up and put them back on the desk out of the way. You ladled soup into bowls, setting them back on the counter to cool just a bit. You heard him knock his boots on the door jam outside and then set them with a thump just inside the door as he ambled into the kitchen. You reprimanded yourself as you turned and got caught off guard again by his size. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the wood of the kitchen entrance, completely filling it up, quietly surveying your movements. You thought he was zoning out but you were not entirely sure.

“Uh, I hope chicken soup is okay,” you let out. His eyes met yours and he nodded enthusiastically as he shot you a dazzling smile. You gave him one back. “Somewhere else just then?” He nodded and you took one bowl at a time to the table, a heavy cloth in between your skin and the bowls. You hissed as the edge of one of the bowls caught a patch of the blister, the hot ceramic making the burning more intense than it should be. Thor was behind you immediately, taking the bowl and steadying it. It was a good thing because you were certain you couldn’t have prevented a spill at this point.

“Let’s take care of those blisters first. Looks like that soup is a little too hot to eat just yet anyway.” You nodded as he placed a gentling hand on your shoulder, maneuvering you to the chair you were sitting in earlier. The pain was pretty bad at this point; you had taken Advil about fifteen minutes ago but it hadn’t taken effect yet so here you were, miserable, and trying to fight the hot tears welling up in your eyes. It was embarrassing. Thor cleared his throat. “Did your granddaddy have a medicine cabinet around here?” You took a shaky breath and pointed to the little doorway off the kitchen.

“There’s one there in the laundry room on the opposite wall from the door.” He stepped away from you and into the little room. You could hear him open the cabinet door and rummage around. You hadn’t looked in there yet to see what supplies were available but you doubted any of it was still usable. Yet here was Thor, a huge grin on his face, some bandages in one hand and a questionable-looking jar in the other.

“I knew if your granddaddy was as much of a working man as you had mentioned that he’d have some of this here with him. Best ranch and farming remedy for just about anything.” You knew the look on your face was one of clear skepticism because he laughed, a deep booming thing that made you want to listen over and over again. “I know you city folk probably like to go to the doctor’s for everything but let me tell ya, if we put this on your hands twice a day and keep them all wrapped up, those blisters’ll be gone in no time. Three days tops,” he murmured as he finally looked at the ragged state of your palms. He was moving slower again, pulling out a chair and placing it right in front of you.

He sat down and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, your breath hitched when he caged your knees with his own. “Let me see ‘em up close, darlin’” he breathed as you held out your hands for closer inspection. He let out a low whistle as he gingerly took one, then the other to examine the raw skin. He rubbed a small circle on the inside of your wrist and you were acutely aware of every little detail as his calloused thumb against the soft skin there elicited an erratic heartbeat. He sat like that for a moment before seemingly catching himself; leaning back and reaching over to open the jar of salve. It was not a bad smell but you wrinkled your nose a little at it. He glanced over at you and smiled.

“This might hurt a bit. But it’ll help.” You nodded and braced yourself just a little. The balm itself didn’t sting but the contact of fingers on the blisters definitely did. There was no use hiding your grimace so you just let yourself go, taking deep breaths and letting them slowly out through your mouth. He was so gentle. This close and with his concentration on your hands, you allowed yourself to watch him unhindered by the threat of getting caught. His fingers were steady and slow and he was so sure of himself. You found yourself leaning into his touch, holding your breath. After he was satisfied with one hand, he took the roll of bandage material and slowly wrapped it around your palm, down around your wrist, and back up again to secure it in place.

“You did real good today,” he said quietly, still looking down, almost as if he was unsure he should say it. As if he thought you may not want his opinion. A smile spread across your face as you let out an exasperated groan.

“If you say so,” you replied, willing him to look up at your face to see that you mean it. He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned to you then, looking back. Searching. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and creep down your neck and something leaped in your belly. He was so close. You could see his eyelashes. See how his eyes weren’t just one shade of blue but several different ones. You could smell him. A similar scent to when you first met him but also mixed with a fresher element from his shower. You could smell his wet skin and how it went from a day of work to warm water to the chill outside to the warmth of your house. It made you want to lean forward and bury your face in the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

You must have been staring a hole into him because he bit his lip then leaned back, finishing up with your other hand before grabbing the supplies and heading to the laundry room. “I do say so,” he rumbled from the little room. When he came back out again he’s smiling. His hands were on his hips and for whatever reason, it was exactly the release of whatever emotion that had transpired moments ago. You laughed, grabbing some bread slices and dropping them in the toaster. They popped up and you spread on some butter, ushering him to sit back down.

The conversation was easy, more idle chatter than anything else. Questions about each other’s lives. How long had he lived here? All his life. When did you know you wanted to work in law? As long as you could remember. You wanted to help people at the heart of it. How did he learn to train horses? From his daddy and his grandaddy before him. Would you ever consider keeping the ranch? The question caught you off guard and a rush of emotions flowed just beneath the surface of your calm exterior. Your pause told Thor what he had guessed the moment he saw you go to work on the land that morning.

“Of course I would,” you murmured as you pushed your empty bowl aside. You leaned onto the tabletop, one arm across its surface and the other supporting your face as your eyes stared off into space. “I just… I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me right now. If it had fallen into my lap under different circumstances or at a different time, maybe. But now? I don’t think so.” Your words trailed off and sounded empty even to your own ears. But as you glanced back up at Thor, there was no judgment there. Looking into his eyes, you could almost imagine a future here.

A future here was a dream though. A dream you were not keen on indulging. You tossed him a smile and grabbed the bowls to put them in the sink. Dreams were good. They could keep a person going. But you were already living a dream back home so you plastered your best convincing expression on your face just as he stood and brought the toast plates to the sink. You watched as he washed both of the plates, slowly, like he was waiting for you to amend your words. But you didn’t and he thanked you for dinner and headed for the door.

You followed him to it, leaning in the doorway as he stepped outside into the cold night air. He zipped up his jacket and turned back to you, a curious expression on his face. If he had thoughts about any of the night’s conversation, he didn’t voice them. Instead he just gave you that lopsided grin and bid you goodnight. Without a second thought, you reached out and grasped his wrist. He turned to you, looking at where your hand held on and then back to your face. You let go immediately.

“Um, thanks for… for today? For your help. Thanks for your help so far. I really appreciate it.” He chuckled low and quiet, a sound that seemed to continually get under your skin, and warmed you up from the inside out. He nodded.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.” You watched from your place as he stepped off the porch; you could still see how his breath fogged up the air. “Good night,” he called over his shoulder.

You did not retreat into the warmth of the house until the darkness swallowed him up.

“This is ridiculous. What do you mean there’s a stipulation?” Another ten days had gone by and you were just now getting around to meeting with your grandfather’s attorney. Thaddeus Jones was emblazoned on the golden placard on his desk. The man before you did look like a Thaddeus but at the beginning of the meeting, he had insisted that you call him Jonesy. He sat back in his chair with a look somewhat like that of a golden retriever being scolded.

“Well, your grandfather wanted to give you time to… enjoy the little things in life again. He thought that maybe you’d need a break from all the hustle and bustle in New York. As such, in his will he specified that you could only sell the ranch if you stayed there for one year. If at the end of that year you decide that you still want to move forward with the sale, then you are more than welcome to and will receive any and all profits made from said sale. If, however, you have a change of heart, the ranch is also yours to run as you please. But if you decide to sell any time before then, all profits made from the sale will go to our local youth program.” There was no use trying to hide the stunned expression written all over your face. You had to stay here for a year? How were you even supposed to go about this without feeling torn about one thing or the other? You weren’t in it for the money. You knew that with a certainty that sat deep in your gut. And donating to a youth program was a great use of anyone’s money.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just thought this wouldn’t be so complicated.” Jonesy nodded solemnly, his round spectacles sitting towards the tip of his nose. “I thought this would be a sign and done deal. I thought I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about leaving,” you finished quietly and suddenly it was as if the air had been punched from your lungs. There it was. There was the real reason this whole thing felt so ludicrous. It wasn’t the stipulation itself--it was the fact that you were actually considering it. You glanced out the vaulted window of Jonesy’s office. It was on the second story of his building and gave you a sweeping view of Dove’s Reach. It also gave you a focused picture of the huge storm brewing outside. Massive cumulus clouds gathered not so far away, the heart of them dark and foreboding. It mirrored the storm in your heart.

“I suppose the good news is that you have a while to make a decision. I’ll just have you sign some preliminary papers today and then you take all the time you need. It is a lot to take in but your grandfather was a good man, one of the best. I’ve known him since we were young colts ourselves. I’d like to think he knew what he was doing when he made this decision.” It was difficult to argue with any of that, considering you didn’t get the chance to know him better yourself. Maybe this was a good thing.

“Thank you, Jonesy. I really do appreciate it.” You bit your lip and glanced outside again. “That should work for today. I have a feeling I should be getting hom--getting back to the ranch before that hits.” You pointed and Jonesy watched you for a moment before nodding.

There really wasn’t much for you to sign at this point. Mainly papers about you having seen the will and that you had a knowledge of what was going to come of it. You gathered your copies and shook Jonesy’s hand before leaving; you were instantly glad that the two of you had decided to speed things up a bit because as soon as you exited the building, a cold gale hit you in the face, ripping back the hood of your jacket and nearly blowing your hair out of its braid. It would have been twice as cold had Thor not given you direction on which clothing was worth spending money on. You gave him a call, letting him know you were on the way back. It was a new routine, one that you had started. It felt good to have someone to stay in touch with. It was unlikely you’d get lost in such a small town, but still.

“Drive safe, darlin’. The closer you get out here, the harder the wind’s blowin’. I already put all the tools away and got most of the larger open spots on the barn boarded up. Also dropped some buckets on the front porch just in case. From what I could tell, the roof seemed pretty sounds but just in case.” A pause. “How did the meeting go?” You sucked in a breath.

“Different than how I thought it would go. I’d rather talk about it later though. I’m thinking I’m gonna head straight to bed when I get back. It’s just a lot. See you tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The drive back was definitely worse than the drive out. Wind and rain pelted your vehicle, so much so that by the time you got home your knuckles were white and your hands were aching when you released the steering wheel. Thunder rumbled closer and closer and lightning flashed in the distance. A warm bath and warm pajamas were currently at the top of your list. Then bed. You smiled when you saw there were indeed buckets on the front porch, all mix-matched colors and various sizes but they would do if the roof started leaking. At least you wouldn’t have to be scrambling to find anything if it did. There was also a note taped to the door, scrawled in surprisingly loopy handwriting.

Grabbing some clothes and things from my place, won’t be back for a couple hours. Call if you need anything :)

You smiled and stepped inside, glad to be out of the weather. As you turned again to glance out at the land, the sky darkened visibly even as you stood there. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

Your phone screen was too bright in the dark space of the living room. 8:30 PM. The power had gone out and it had taken you a little bit of time to scrounge up some candles to keep things lit. You knew you should just go to bed but quite frankly, you knew that wasn’t a possibility. The storm raging outside was unlike any storm you’d experienced before. Sure, there were big storms back in New York but this… the wind and rain was coming down so hard, you were sure the roof was going to tear off. It was doing surprisingly well right now but with each big gust, the whole house groaned. The thunder and lightning were even worse. The sound of both was so close, so loud, so frequent that your ears were ringing. There was no way to research now with the internet out but you were pretty sure you had read something about lightning being able to strike you in a house.

You paced, already familiar with the location of the furniture, every wall, every corner. It was a comfortable dance around the couch, passed the coffee table, to the window by the fireplace and back. A flash of lightning burst in the sky, illuminating every contour of the layout of the house. Almost immediately the clap of thunder sounded like some ancient drum and despite the logical part of your brain telling you it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, you dropped to your knees.

“Holy shit,” you breathed through clenched teeth. Your hands were shaking as you brought the phone to your ear. Thor was probably already asleep. He had gotten back about an hour ago and was a naturally early riser because he somehow was able to fall asleep early every night. He was probably asleep--

“What’s wrong?” The sleepy gravel in his voice sent shivers tripping down your spine. He had been asleep. But those two words were still calm. Concise. Protective. You were silent. Now you felt stupid.

“Uh, it’s--it’s nothing. I’m sorry I woke you. I can’t sleep. This storm is pretty wild. Um. I thought maybe you’d still be awake and wanted a drink but it’s fine. We have--” You didn’t know if it was your rambling or if he sensed the fear in your voice.

“I’m comin’ up.” That was that. A dial tone. He had already hung up. There was no chance for you to object. You waited by the front door, listening to the rain and watching for more flashes of lightning. You heard Thor’s heavy footsteps as he came up the porch steps, saw him as a flash of lightning illuminated his outline from behind. You hastily opened the door. He hesitated for a moment, only long enough to watch as you nearly leaped out of your skin when another boom of thunder cascaded about you.

He stepped into you, wrapping you up in a hug. It was unexpected but you felt yourself sag into him. His jacket was wet from running through the rain so he slipped it around you and suddenly you were enveloped in warmth. You buried your face in his chest, as he rested his chin on the crown of your head, rubbing his hand down your back. You took deep pulls of his scent as his voice rumbled above you, into you from his chest.

“Aw, it’s just a little lightnin’, darlin’. Just a little storm. You’re safe. Nothin’ to worry about, I promise. You’re safe.” He kept murmuring it as he nudged the door shut behind him with his boot. Murmured your safety into existence like a mantra. As you rested there in his arms, your hands under his jacket around his back, you tried to remember the last time you felt this way, like nothing could touch you in the world. The house could crumble around you and you would be fine. In his arms, you would be fine. You gripped a little tighter, noticing with mirth how your hands could barely touch around his abdomen.

“How about that drink?” You said it into his chest as he stilled above you, breathing in slow and steady as he nodded into the top of your head. You reluctantly backed up from him as he slipped passed you into the living room making straight for the fireplace. He had it roaring as you brought two glasses of whiskey on the rocks and set them on the coffee table. You sat, dragging the blanket around your shoulders and allowing yourself to zone out while you stared into the fireplace. The crackling of its embers still couldn’t drown out the maelstrom outside, however. Thor took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. When he sat next to you, the couch sagged under his weight. He took a sip of his drink before sitting back and opening his arms in invitation. You didn’t wait this time, instead scooting over to nestle up against him. Heat radiated off of him.

“Did you know the diameter of a lightning strike is actually only about the size of a quarter? Think about that, that big ol’ powerful force of nature the size of a coin.” No you didn’t know that. Another flash of lightning, another clap of thunder. This time you didn’t jump. “And thunder can actually be heard as far away as twelve miles from the actual strike.” Another sip of whiskey. “Lightning can also strike outside of the rain zone. Those strikes are called anvil crawlers.” A log shifted in the fire and your eyes drooped. He chuckled quietly as he intoned “In Norse mythology, the sound of thunder supposedly comes from my namesake as he rides his chariot across the sky.” You offered a lazy smile even though he couldn’t see it.

Thor continued on with more various facts about thunder and lightning and the storms that brought them. The taste of the whiskey sat light and spiced on your tongue, and your eyelids became heavier as you relaxed into him more. The fire burned steady and even though the storm continued to rage outside, at a certain point Thor’s voice faded into nothing as you fell asleep.

You woke up to the sun shining directly in your eyes. You groaned, shielding them from the crisp light and instantly regretted taking your hand out from under the blanket away from your heat source… Thor was stretched out behind you on the couch. It could barely fit the two of you but his arm was locked around your waist, caging you in. His breath came slow and steady on your neck. You could hear the rooster calling from his coop by the barn, hear his hens clucking about him. The cat you still hadn’t named was curled up on the rug by the fireplace, the embers almost completely died down. Thor took a huge breath, tickling the hairs on your neck as he rumbled something into the skin there. Your heart ballooned in your chest.

“I guess my facts weren’t that interestin’, seein’ as how we both fell asleep. Want some coffee?” You nodded as the two of you sat up. The cat chirruped from his place on the rug. He stood and arched his back in a stretch as well, coming over to the two of you for his morning pets. You both reached down to touch his hand, your hands meeting in the middle. Thor offered you a sheepish grin as he stood. “Uh, coffee is… ?”

“In the cupboard above the pot.” You smiled back, not bothering to hide any of the warmth in its shape. You stood, letting the cat out the front door. He seemed a little indignant at the fact that it was so wet outside but his ears swiveled and he was out the door and racing down the steps. You added some kindling and more logs to the fire, satisfied as flames leaped into existence. Thor handed you a mug of steaming coffee, with cream and a little bit of brown sugar. How he knew how you liked your coffee you didn’t know. But you liked that he knew.

The storm had cleared. A peek of blue sky could be seen from the window. With the clear sky came clear thoughts. It had been two weeks already since you had come to Dove’s Reach. Two weeks since you learned you had the rights to a whole ranch. A day since you had learned that you had to stay here for a whole year if you wanted to see any profits from selling. And only a night since you had realized that a year was no time at all.

[keelywolfe]

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

Author’s Note: I am so sorry this chapter took so long to come out! Thank you so much everyone for your patience and all your lovely comments, I adore and appreciate every one! 🧡

The story so far:

1. Crimson | 2. Yellow | 3. Blue | 4. Blush

5. Sallow | 6. Russet | 7. Spice| 8. Whiteout  

9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

13. Golden | 14. Magenta | 15. Marigold | 16. Coquelicot  

17. Daffodil | 18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet

21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx | 23. Gray | 24. Vellum  

25: Iris | 26. Null

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Read ‘ Chapter 27: Dappled ’ on AO3

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Josie, their old milk cow, was licking him, her rough tongue sweeping wetly over his skull. Her patience with his secret naps in the barn must have finally run out and now she was here to drive him from her stall. Her broad tongue swiped over his face again and Rus tried to push her away, flailing out with a limp arm and mumbling, “no, bad cow, go find your trough.”

The wet tongue halted and then came in his brother’s amused voice, “Well, that’s one you’ve never called me.”

That gave Rus a drowsy pause. Whatever was his brother doing in their little barn, he hardly ever came out, always trusting Rus to take care of their small menagerie. He only cared for their livestock when Rus was sick—

Oh.

Come to think of it, he could feel the softness of a feather tick beneath him, not scratchy hay atop an old horse blanket. He must be having another one of his spells and there was a distant regret that Blue must have needed to tend to him. His sockets were still reluctant to open, they felt gluey, too heavy yet to lift.

“brother,” Rus slurred out, “i had the strangest dream…"

A dream? No, that didn’t seem right.

Memory began to filter back, a flutter of mental pictures passing through his drowsy mind; of his home in the woods, the cave, the diary, the snowstorm…and Edge. Realization struck with the force of a slap and Rus opened his sockets with a gasp to look directly into Blue’s starry eye lights. He tried to sit up, reaching for him, and his strength failed him the moment he was upright, a wave of dizziness sending him straight back to the bed, “brother?”

“Easy,” Blue soothed. His small, familiar hands settled on Rus’s skull and the damp cloth he’d mistaken as a surly cow’s tongue gently patted away the sudden beads of sweat that were rising from his brief exertion. “Gracious, child, you’ve been ill for days, you need to take it easy.”

Rus heard little of the words, he only knew that his brother was sitting next to him, his dear brother whom he’d bid goodbye some weeks ago. The last time his sockets were open, Rus was staring out at an endless snowstorm as he waited to die and now, he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, wintry sunlight pouring in through the cheery window curtains.

Rus swallowed hard, croaking out, “what happened?”

“Oh, plenty, little brother,” Blue said lightly. That was a voice Rus knew all too well, the gentle bedside manner he used on those in his care, particularly when there was bad news that needed to be shared. Chilly fear was settling into Rus’s soul and he might have demanded answers if Blue hadn’t gone on. “I don’t mind telling you, you gave me quite a start! Popping right into the living room like that and bringing your husband with you, along with a pile of snow for good measure!” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You always did have to make a mess.”

“edge? edge is here.” Rus closed his sockets and sagged with relief. Rus hadn’t abandoned him then out in the white coldness, though he had only the vaguest of memories about it. Then what his brother was telling him made him frown. “popped in? how do you mean?”

“Oh, yes,” Blue assured him, “it was quite a sight! I always thought you may have some power lain dormant, but I could hardly have guessed how your magic would manifest, brother! Appearing from nowhere at all? That was certainly never mentioned in any of the texts!” He busied himself wetting the cloth again and wringing it out, patting at Rus’s forehead. “It’s been said that a bad fright or danger can sometimes bring out the ability, you’ve certainly proved the theory on that!”

To hear his brother, the one who’d raised him, the one who’d cared for him, who’d dutifully taken him to prayer meetings and obeyed the word of the Elders, speaking so boldly of magic, and not only magic, but of Rus’s magic, was nearly incomprehensible. He wondered dimly that he wasn’t still asleep or worse, still lost out in the storm, burrowed in Edge’s arms as the cold overtook them both.

The trickle of cool water running down his skull belied that. He was here, they both were, and his brother was speaking of magic with nary even a hasty ward signed against hexes in sight.

“you know,” Rus said, slowly. “you know the truth, don’t you.”

It was not a question and Blue did not pretend to mistake his meaning. “I do,” Blue told him softly. He smoothed a hand down the heavy quilt on the bed, chasing out the wrinkles. “I know some of it. There’s few of us living in the village who do.”

“but…you never said…you never said a word!” Tears were warming his sockets. He’d believed since he was no more than a child in the evils of magic and the creatures that lived in the wood, the Monsters, devils dressed in crimson that would kill any they saw, tear out them open and consume their very soul. To learn the truth the way he had by being cast out from his home and then dealing with his own disbelief at what Edge told him about himself, that he was magic? He never could have guessed that Blue knew otherwise and kept such secrets from him, never would have believed if it hadn’t come straight from his brother. Those welling tears spilled over, leaving wet trails down his cheekbones.

Blue’s face twisted in anguish. “Oh, little brother, I couldn’t tell you, I was sworn to silence.” More tears swelled and ran down his brother’s cheekbones in a match to his own. “The risks are ever so much higher than a simple broken promise. Lives are at stake as well as the little knowledge we have left of our people.” Blue set aside the cloth and took Rus’s face in both gentle hands, fruitlessly smoothing away those tears only for fresh ones to take their place. “I tried to push your magic to manifest properly as well as I could, but neither could I risk you accidently performing some spell in front of your peers. They liked you little enough as it was, certainly they wouldn’t keep your secrets.”

As much as that hurt to hear, Rus couldn’t argue with the truth of it. His agemates would have gleefully betrayed him to the Elders with nary a regret.

“No matter what I tried, I couldn’t seem to tease it loose past those basic healing charms that you struggled with,” Blue sighed out, “I only know what little Healer Gestor taught me and nothing at all about what key might have unlocked your cage. But that journal you brought along certainly held a wealth of new information.”

Rus looked up, astonished, “you read it?”

“I did. I had little else to manage, you’ve been asleep for three days.” The stars in his eye lights faded, leaving behind pale, worried orbs. “Brother, I knew of magic and what could be done with it, but I could never have suspected the truth of the creatures of the Wood. That our people were once one.”

“but now you know.” Rus struggled to sit up again, fighting against a renewed wave of dizziness. “they are lying to us all, they are the evil ones, murderers and betrayers! something must be done!”

“Lie down,” Blue scolded, and reluctantly, Rus did as he was told. “I agree, brother, but it isn’t that simple! What would you have us do? Do you think the elders are going to let us stand in the town square to preach our word, perhaps? We’d all be cast out or killed, or worse. We are few, brother, and they are many. Now, enough fussing on that for right now, how do you feel?

The urge that had been driving him to bring the diary to his brother, to share the truth, was left grasping at nothingness. There was only a gaping emptiness as his labors proved fruitless. In the end, he’d changed hardly anything at all, and nearly died for it, even endangering his own husband in his foolish attempt.

But that was hardly what his brother was asking.

Despite the guilt resting heavily in his soul, he could honestly save he felt quite well. As weak as he still was, he felt better than he ever had after an illness before.

“hungry,” Rus admitted.

Blue beamed happily. “That is a very good sign.” He pushed his low stool back and stood. “Let me go downstairs and get you some broth to start with. If you manage that, perhaps a slice of bread.”

Downstairs, hm, that bore another question with it. Rus looked around at the unfamiliar room again. Aside from the lovely bed quilt and curtains, it was nearly empty, the only other furniture a mere stand with a water basin atop it. “where are we?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t keep you at home,” Blue said, “there’s far too many noisy neighbors about in town. It took some doing, but we managed to smuggle you both out in the dark of night. We’re out at Dogamy’s farm taking up his guest rooms. As far as the townsfolk know, little Emma has the grippe.”

Both? Wait.

“where is edge?” Rus cried out, aghast. He struggled to sit up again despite his brother’s exasperated scolding and hands struggling to hold him down. He thought of Azzy, dear, sweet Azzy lost to them all these years, no, it couldn’t possibly be, Blue had said both of them. Rus relented only when it was apparent that his weakness couldn’t combat his brother’s strength. “where is he,” Rus pleaded, “where is my husband?”

“Easy, now, he’s here, he’s resting. He’s hardly left your side at all, so naturally that would be when you awoke, you fickle thing,” Blue chuckled. “That was quite a first meeting between your husband and I.” There was a certain determined glint in Blue’s eye that Rus knew quite well, the very same that allowed Blue to stand unswaying beneath any familial protests when it came to the care of his patients, the same that allowed him to stand before Elder Smith and not bend. “Well, we've managed to gain something of an understanding between us, I believe. He was terribly concerned about you and didn't want me touching you at the beginning. I…persuaded him."

Rus was torn between gratitude and disappointment at having missed seeing that.

“I’ll just go wake him and get some porridge for you. Don’t you budge an inch from that bed, little brother, you were quite ill!” Blue scolded. He rose up on his toes to press a light kiss to Rus’s forehead and pulled the blankets up to tuck around him, then bustled out of the room.

Hardly a moment passed before he heard footsteps hurrying in his direction. The door flew open and his husband tall form filled the entire space of it.

Or, well, he assumed it was his husband. It was certainly his much beloved face looking at him anxiously and the darkened circles beneath his sockets spoke of many a sleepless night.

But the rumpled clothes he was wearing were not ones he’d ever thought to see on that broad frame.

Gone were his tunic and leggings, as well as his long, scarlet cloak. Instead, he was dressed entirely in clothes from the Village, worn castoffs with mismatched patches at the elbows and knees. The oversized shirt hung loosely on him, the top two buttons carelessly undone. Whoever’s trousers they’d given him were far too short, hardly reaching midcalf and his sagging socks might have been acceptable if it weren’t for his bony big toes poking through. He looked, Rus thought fondly, as if he’d dressed himself entirely from the prayer house charity bag and probably wasn’t far from it.

“oh, dear, whatever did they do to you?” Rus asked in amused sympathy.

“Well, we couldn’t very well leave him standing around in the forbidden color, could we.” That familiar gruff voice came from the hallway, Dogamy’s broad head peering around Edge’s side. “Here he was, standing about bold as you please in red! Even if I could explain a stranger in my sitting room, I’d not be able to make much excuse for that if anyone cared to take a peek through my front window!”

Edge paid no mind to any of that. His jaw worked, his eye lights fiercely bright and in two long strides he was by the bedside, falling to his knees and burying his face directly into the blankets covering Rus’s lap. Both his arms worked their way around Rus, holding him with an implacable grip, and his scarred hands fisted in the blankets. His shoulders heaved, a shudder going through his sturdy frame and that banked guilt rose up to choke Rus, to know he’d worried Edge so.

“oh, my darling,” Rus murmured. He settled a gentle hand on the curve of Edge’s skull, stroking gently, earning a muffled sound that was very nearly a sob.

A slight cough from the doorway made him jerk guiltily, both hands fluttering to shield Edge from view, but Dogamy’s expression was one of fond affection. “Ah, that’s the way, then, he’ll be better for seeing you. Your man was worried for you, he was. It’s good to see you awake, lad, and make no mistake. Never you worry, my missus’s soup will have you back on your feet in no time!”

“thank you,” Rus said, heartfelt, and for far more than any healing that could come from any sort of broth.

“Och, it was nothing that a good neighbor wouldn’t do,” Dogamy scoffed waving him off as though he’d done nothing more than lend a cup of sugar.

“i shouldn’t even think to ask even the best of neighbors for such that you’ve given us, and my brother as well.”

“P’rhaps,” Dogamy admitted, one shoulder rising in a shrug, “but we were happy to share whatever help there was to give. Now then!” He clapped his furry hands together lightly. “I’ll head off and leave you two to get some rest.” He put deed to words and turn away, his heavy footsteps carrying him away down the hall.

That left him alone with his husband and for a wonder, Rus couldn’t think of a thing to say. What apology could suffice, how could he possibly beg forgiveness for the dangers he wrought upon them both with his foolishness? Rus swallowed hard, tracing Edge’s coronal sutures with gentle fingertips as he only held on tightly.

“edge?” Rus asked softly. Whatever else he might have tried to say was stifled as Edge abruptly pulled free from Rus’s loose grip, though he didn’t go far. He didn’t so much as hesitate to crawl right next to Rus, sprawling with him on the mattress and things that seemed perfectly acceptable when living in a cave in the woods shook his sense of propriety here in a proper bed.

“oh, you shouldn’t—” Rus began weakly, even as strong arms circled him once again, forgiveness granted before it could even be asked.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to be utterly ignored, resigning himself with near tearfully relief into Edge’s embrace even as he began to scatter kisses on Rus’s skull and face in almost desperate little pecks.

“I supposed I should have known to specify that any calisthenics while you’re abed are also out of the question.”

Rus squeaked at the sound of his brother’s dry voice, blushing hotly up to his browbones and beyond as he struggled to wriggle free. But Edge refused to release him and Rus was forced to relent, settling back into his arms and hardly able to meet his brother’s very amused look as he said, meekly, “i am sorry, brother.”

“Nonsense, you’re married,” Blue said stoutly, “and even if you weren’t, this one seems to think you hung the very moon and stars in the night sky. Angel forbid anyone try to stand between the two of you, certainly I won’t.” Blue moved the basin from the nightstand and set a steaming mug in its place, then spoke to Edge directly, “I trust you’ll help him take his meal?”

“My Rus,” Edge said, with enough surly venom to make Rus blink in surprise even as he was clutched tightly to Edge’s chest.

Gracious, that glare could stop a bear in its tracks and send it scurrying on its way. His brother was clearly made of sterner stuff and only sighed, shaking his head.

“Of course he is,” Blue said briskly. “As I’ve told you every time you’ve said so. Brother, you may wish to work on reassuring your husband that we’ve no intention of keeping you from him. I’d not interfere with such love for all the gold in the village.” His smile was faint and tremulous, his starry eye lights suddenly luminous with memories. “I’m glad to see you’ve found your one, little brother, so very glad. Now, drink your broth and get some sleep.”

With that, Blue left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment it was shut, Edge’s grip eased. Had he thought Blue might snatch him away, Rus wondered, more than a little bemused. Well, he’d disabused Edge of that foolish notion soon enough. For now, there was soup to be had and his soul was eager for any meal at all.

“all right, then.” Rus shifted, reaching for the mug, only to squeak in surprise as Edge’s arms immediately tightened. “come now, shan’t I get to eat?” Then slower, in Edge’s language. “let me have food?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Edge drew away, stricken, hardly the reaction Rus hoped for, but at least he reached for the still steaming mug. Rus waited patiently as Edge blew on it to cool it, testing it carefully before handing it over and even then, he kept an anxious hold on the cup, hands hovering in case it slipped from Rus’s hands.

Such a fuss, even worse than Blue, but somehow, it was warming rather than irritating. After enduring that snowstorm, surely it was churlish to complain about any overprotectiveness. Rus shuddered at the memory and curled up closer to Edge, sipping at his broth and basking in the comfort of his arms.

All too soon, his cup was emptied, every drop of broth eagerly drunk, and Edge took it from him to set it back on nightstand. For all that according to his brother he’d been asleep for three days, exhaustion was already tugging Rus into another kind of embrace. There were things yet to discuss and sins to repent, but those would have to wait.

“sleep with me?” Rus mumbled hopefully. The bed wasn’t the size of their pallet back in the cave, but it was at least wide enough for two, particularly those who didn’t mind sleeping close, and closeness was what Rus craved, a desire within him to all but crawl right into his husband’s ribcage next to his soul to keep him near.

Edge nodded, releasing him long enough to reach for his shirt buttons. His hands, so nimble when they dealt with Rus’s clothes only pawed clumsily at his own and with some amusement, Rus helped him, carefully peeling away his unfamiliar shirt to reveal the well known and well-loved scarred bone beneath. It was just as well he was as tired as he was, Rus thought ruefully, or else he might not be able to resist pleading for his spousal privileges despite his brother being only a room or two away.

As it was, he lifted the blankets in silent invitation, one that Edge took, sliding bare between the soft linens. Rus pulled him close with a happy sigh, settling back against the pillows even as Edge chose to rest his own skull atop Rus’s rib cage.

Edge pressed a gentle kiss to his sternum through his thin nightshirt, murmuring hoarsely. “Rus, k’uhah.”

“k’uhah,” Rus murmured sleepily. “yours, always.” He settled in and let sleep claim him.

tbc

[bodhivilla]

WELCOME TO BODHI FARM VILLA ENJOY YOUR STAY IN BALI-STYLE HOME.

This Bali-style Luxury Villa welcomes guests, in Nashik. If a full-fledged international holiday is what you're craving but time to spare only for a day or two, Bodhi Farm Villa is the perfect choice for you. This spacious 7 BHK villa can easily accommodate 10+ guests. The rooms and attached bathrooms are perfectly tidy and comfortable.

All the rooms open onto the gorgeous sky deck. The seating in the lounge is perfect for the entire group to chill together, chatting or playing board games. There is a separate living room, a dining area. All indoor spaces are air-conditioned. Although the entire house is absolutely lovely, the sunset on the deck is the most magical experience this stay offers. 

Luxurious, romantic and memorable – these are some of the most frequently used words by guests to describe it. You do not want to miss hanging out in the pool, or lazing on the swing and lounge chairs around as the afternoon light turns into a soft golden shade. Enjoy your morning cup of tea or drinks in the evening as you savour the stunning sunset here. 

Besides, there’s a ample parking, horse stable, cow shed, book shelf. You can relax yourself in a blue and clear swimming pool. Also you can enjoy bonfire along with barbeque and free Wi-Fi. The best part is the Gazebo, by that you can have the wide view of the surrounding area. Adventure lovers have many super exciting trekking points and you can also enjoy the star gazing at different points. 

Kids are having the separate playground area. Conquer your hunger with an extraordinary dishes made in our kitchen by in-house chefs. You will also get free Sula Vine tour passes. Nature lovers would also be delighted by the lovely garden, If you like the idea of being in the lap of nature while enjoying every modern luxury, Bodhi Village Farm is the perfect place for you!

[anncanta]

Horses of Carfax Abbey

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

My thanks to my reader Lanovh94 for making me think about this.

Read on AO3

Or read below

The clock in the living room chimed melodiously at noon.

Closing the glass door that protects the dial, Agatha took a step back and checked the chronometer on the chain she held in her hands.

That's right, she noted with satisfaction.

A large mahogany grandfather clock with an exquisite copper dial was delivered yesterday morning, but only now Agatha has the opportunity to set the correct time on it and check how fine-tuned the delicate internal mechanism is.

This Scottish antique clock by Joseph Taylor was chased by Agatha for probably two months. Maybe a little less. In any case, when, after a long search, she finally bought them at auction, intercepting at the last moment from the owner of a hosiery factory in the West End, the owners of all the antique shops in London (not to mention the sellers) knew her by sight.

Taking another step back, Agatha glanced at her acquisition. It was beautiful.

‘Agatha, return my pocket watch!’ a demanding voice from the hallway made her flinch and turn around sharply. Clicking on the silver cover, she hid the chronometer behind her back.

‘Why did you decide that I have them?’ she asked Dracula who appeared at the door in the most innocent tone possible.

‘By the method of exclusion,’ Dracula went up to her and, hugging Agatha with one hand around her waist, with the other pulled out the desired object from her palm. ‘The housekeeper does not understand anything about it, the coachman considers it a pointless trinket, and the maid is afraid of it.

‘I’m the only one left,’ Agatha admitted, following the watch with her eyes.

Dracula nodded silently.

‘Finally, perfect exactly?’ he asked, hiding the watch in his waistcoat pocket.

Agatha turned in the direction he was pointing.

‘I hope so,’ she drawled thoughtfully. ‘I thought yours was in a hurry,’ she added absently.

‘On the contrary, it is falling behind,’ Dracula laughed, pulling her towards him. ‘This is my peculiarity, I would say – my style.’

Agatha smiled, running her fingers over the velvet fabric of his vest.

It has been a little over a year since both of them set foot on the English coast, and they lived together for about the same time.

After Peter, Olgaren and the captain had left Demeter, which had lost half of the crew and all the passengers, Agatha sat in Dracula's cabin for a long time, until the sun began to sink into the horizon. She could not say what exactly delayed her – the desire to postpone the moment of the explosion, or simply the tiredness that had accumulated over the long days. It must be both.

In any case, she did not reach the hold.

Dracula intercepted her on the way, and before Agatha had time to recover from surprise at the fact that he survived, fear for the lives of people whom she tried to save from him at the cost of her own life, and an incomprehensible relief – all together – she found herself on deck in the midst of a hideous quarrel, screaming curses and crying.

Dracula later told her that he did not remember the last time he was so angry. ‘Suicide, seriously?’ he growled at her, as if, having conceived such a plan, she encroached on his personal self-esteem. ‘Double murder is better,’ Agatha hissed, looking at the flashes of fury in his dark eyes.

Somehow they managed not to sink the ship and get to the shore, after which Dracula, without saying a word, stopped the first cab that came across in the port, shoved Agatha into it, and sat down behind. They spent all the way to the count's London house in silence, and when they were in place, Dracula, having paid the cabman, dragged Agatha into the living room and, sitting in front of him on the sofa, said:

‘I'll be honest and won't hide anything from you. You saw who I am and you know me. I will always be like this, more or less. But I want you to stay with me. If for this I have to feed on... rats,’ without looking, he caught the animal running by (Agatha asked herself how long the house had not cleaned) and, after looking meticulously, let it go; the rat instantly disappeared in one of the dark corners, ‘then I ask you one thing: promise, that over time my menu will improve. I don't care how.’

He came close to her.

‘Promise.’

Agatha remembered that she was so amazed that for a couple of minutes she could only sit, looking at him and blinking silently. She didn't even really know what she finally answered. It probably meant agreement, otherwise, she wouldn't be here now.

A year and three months have passed since that day, and during this time Agatha managed to learn many things, some of which she never wanted to learn, the other, as it seemed to her at first, would haunt her in nightmares until the end of her life, and the third, although not become a discovery, still did not stop surprising her.

The danger posed by the sun and the cross, as it turned out almost immediately, was nothing more than a fiction – another legend about vampires, in which Dracula believed so long ago that he himself did not remember what for and why. It scattered like dust from old ceilings when they, examining the house, climbed into the attic, and the roof that had not been repaired for years collapsed on them. Agatha remembered how, lying on the floor, covered with debris, they looked up at the rays falling through the holes in the ceiling, gently caressing them, and how they whispered at the same time: ‘It should be the same with the cross.’

And so it turned out.

Much more effort was needed in order to solve the problem of vampire hunger. After sequentially going through several options and making sure that the blood of mammals close to humans in their physiology was the most suitable for Dracula, Agatha conducted a series of experiments and, discarding goats, sheep, pigs, and cows, settled on horses.

Dracula added a large stable to the west of the house and ordered ten thoroughbred riding horses from Yorkshire. And since Dracula needed food, although daily, but in small quantities, after a couple of months, in order to save noble animals from the blues and inactivity, Dracula began to put them on the races. As a result, his capital doubled in a short period of time, and after another three months, having looked through the settlement books, he called his attorney and acquired a stud farm in the suburbs of London.

Agatha looked at it all with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. At first, out of habit, it seemed to her that Dracula was having fun, striving, as he once told her, to learn to live among civilized people and study them properly, before tying a napkin and picking up a fork and knife. However, days, weeks and months passed, and nothing changed: Dracula was kind, led an active social life, went to libraries and theaters and rode horseback, in the evenings he went to the laboratory, which he equipped in the house at the request of Agatha, in order to give her a couple of ideas regarding the properties of horse blood and the similarity of its taste and the effect of influencing to him with human one and, in general, did nothing else.

Agatha tried to convince herself that the count lived for four hundred years, waiting for a convenient opportunity to enter the civilized world and that another two months meant nothing to him at all, but every day it became more and more difficult to believe it. And she had less and less desire to do it.

Agatha perfectly remembered the evening when it disappeared completely.

She was sitting in the living room and writing something in her diary – a new experiment with horse blood was in full swing, there was a lot of data and a theoretical basis, but the formulas did not agree. Deciding to take a short break, she put aside her notes and began to clean the dull nib. Agatha did not know what was the reason – whether the knife was not sharp enough, or the hand lost its dexterity from fatigue, but even before she could understand what exactly was happening, the blade proportioned the skin of her right hand and got stuck at the base of her fingers.

Agatha spent a moment looking at the scarlet streak of blood that stood out in her palm before a long shadow covered the chair in which she was sitting.

Looking up, she saw Dracula standing in front of her.

For a second, nothing happened. As if spellbound, they watched the blood dripping from her hand. Agatha wiggled her fingers to test. Finally reaching consciousness, a raw pain swirled in her hand.

Without looking, pulling up the second chair standing to the side, Dracula sank into it and, taking Agatha with one hand by the forearm, pulled out a knife. Then he took out a handkerchief and, wiping off the fresh drops that had come through, tore a flap from the sleeve of her shirt, and quickly bandaged her palm.

He did all this in silence, without looking at Agatha, and only when finished he raised his head and leaned back. His pupils were bloodshot, but he himself was absolutely imperturbable. Letting go of Agatha's hand, he went to the fireplace and threw the dirty cloth into the fire. The fabric hissed, cringing in the flames.

‘Tomorrow, samples of the second negative will come,’ said Dracula, glancing into the opened diary of Agatha, thrown on the sofa, ‘you can check the calculations,’ and, turning around, left the room.

Agatha sat for several minutes, listening to his steps, and then got up, climbed the stairs, went to the door of his bedroom and knocked. And he opened.

… ‘There will be guests in the evening,’ said Dracula, distracting Agatha from her memories. ‘Two stud breeders from Australia and a professor from Cambridge.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow questioningly.

‘He has ideas on how to improve the breed,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘He is unsociable and usually does not go anywhere. I promised him dinner in a pleasant company and access to a reprinted version of On the Origin of Species. I had to somehow lure him. We met several times in Cambridge, but apparently too briefly. I invited him to participate in the experiment, even offered a small stake, but he refused. I hope today I will be able to persuade him.’

Agatha sighed. She knew well what it meant to ‘persuade’ in Dracula's language.

Dracula handled business with the same careless ease and a certain mocking touch that were inherent in him when dealing with people in general. Not that he disliked or disdained them: watching him day after day, Agatha came to the conclusion that it was just convenient for him – as if, not being able to eat them, he nibbled them with words and a look, held some time in his teeth and let go.

‘The hunting instinct is not going anywhere,’ Dracula smiled in response to her remarks after another visit to another salon or to a party, on which behind him, like on a battlefield covered with black velvet and silk dresses, there were glades of silent condemnation and bloody spots of flaming cheeks.

What a truly warm relationship he had, was the one with the horses. Which at first puzzled Agatha. ‘You drink their blood,’ she said hesitantly when Dracula asked her what exactly she thought was strange about it. He gave her a long look, and, muttering something like ‘who would speak of it’, took her hand and led her into the stable.

There Agatha witnessed one of the most incredible things in her entire life.

She knew that Dracula can communicate with animals, can control wolves and bats if desired, and is able to establish contact with most mammals.

But it was more than contact, communication, or control. Standing in the stable doorway, Agatha watched as he opened the corral and, clasping the head of Lissa, a young mare that Dracula was one of the first to acquire, stood for a long time, pressing his cheek to the smooth skin, smiling and whispering something before embracing becomes stronger, – and after five minutes he opens his hands and, gratefully patting the horse on the withers, leaves the corral.

Agatha never thought it could be so... beautiful. Then she did not dare to ask, but later could not resist.

‘Do you hypnotize them? Fool? What are you doing?

Dracula smiled as if he was waiting for this question.

‘Horses are stronger and tougher than humans. The portion of blood that will cost you a serious illness or put an adult young man to bed is almost imperceptible for a horse. I had never tried drinking their blood before and therefore did not know how sharply and deeply they react to contact. Amazing animals.’

‘But they can't like it!’

‘They like closeness,’ Dracula said thoughtfully, ‘and they are incredibly generous.’

Yes, and also sincere and discerning. Resistant to Dracula's charm, they seem to have loved him for no reason.

During the time that they lived together, Agatha managed to find out that Dracula had two types of charm. The first is the very vampire charm that was written about in books and legends warned about. It was powerful, bright, and beating on the spot. It reminded Agatha of the scent of flowers that appeared in early spring in Holland – hyacinths. Thick, heavy, enveloping odor. Among the peasants, there were stories that if you fall asleep in a tightly closed room, in which there is a bouquet of hyacinths, you may not wake up.

Dracula used his vampire charm mostly for entertainment, or when he wanted to quickly get what he needed. He lavished it generously at balls and appointments, signing contracts with business partners, on walks and social events such as theater premieres and horse races, while sparing no one.

Once they were at the performance of the famous opera diva who came to London on tour, either from France or from Germany, – Agatha did not remember, – and after the performance, Dracula invited Agatha to go into the diva`s dressing room, – ‘to express our admiration for the singer,’ as he said... Agatha agreed, not suspecting a catch. The performance was really beautiful, the diva sang magically, and there was nothing surprising in the desire to personally pay tribute to her talent.

So they did, and everything went well until Dracula – the very kindness and the embodiment of secular courtesy – asked the diva if she would be an encore. Diva replied that, alas, she would not, as she was tired and would like to go home as soon as possible.

And then it turned on. Vampire charm. In vain the unfortunate singer babbled something about how exhausted after the performance she was, – when dark eyes flashed and a soft smile lit up the cramped dressing room, the diva's fate was decided. Hearing the words spoken in an intimate tone about how much his companion loves opera and how happy she will be to hear such a delightful performance again, the singer turned around and silently wandered onto the stage.

Agatha did not speak to Dracula after that for three days. She hated violence in any form.

But there was also another charm, the one that Agatha remembered from Demeter, the same, probably, that made her believe in a cozy living room and soft conversation at chess – more than vampire illusions and drug intoxication.

Agatha called it ‘a charm for his own’, and if she quickly learned to resist the charm of a vampire, and soon completely lost the interest, then she was powerless against this one.

Dracula looked at ‘his’ people with a gentle warm look and smiled with a cheerful, almost boyish smile. It was physically impossible to deny him anything when he was like that, which he shamelessly used during quarrels.

He did not ask, did not demand, and did not scandal. Did not push and did not try to confuse. He just smiled and said: ‘As you say, dragostea*.’

‘Better vampire charm,’ Agatha moaned and vowed to buy a bell so that she could inform him in advance and without words that he had crossed the line.

...Agatha pulled away from Dracula and, smiling, went to the sofa.

‘The poor professor deserves a second chance,’ she said, leaning back.

‘I gave him everything possible,’ Dracula answered, ‘he missed them.’

‘So maybe we should just leave him alone?’

‘No, I need him.’

Agatha waved her hand. It was useless to argue. All she could do for the Cambridge pundit was to arrange for a good dinner and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere at this very dinner. All the rest was, alas, beyond her power.

The clock struck a quarter to one. Agatha thought idly that she should go to the kitchen and discuss the menu with the housekeeper. And let her cook the steaks with blood, she decided vengefully.

***

Professor Theodore Clifferson was a great scientist and no less an idiot. A combination that Agatha did not believe existed until today. But after spending three hours at the table with the aforementioned professor, she had to admit that sometimes intelligence and learning are depressingly different things.

When the door finally closed behind the venerable merchants and the Cambridge celebrity, and it became possible to remove the kind smile from her face and give vent to the irritation that had pursued her all evening, Agatha wandered into the living room and, groaning with relief, fell on the sofa.

‘Why didn't you warn me?’ she asked Dracula, who came in after her.

‘About what?’ he sank down beside her and pulled her to him.

‘How can you know so much and be such a cretin?’ Agatha continued without listening to him.

‘A common story,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘You look from the point of view of someone who, for the sake of knowledge, was forced to fight the circumstances and mine them like gold,’ he said. ‘And your inquiring mind cannot imagine someone who, from his youth, having access to the fruits of progress, does not realize their value. And worse – to whom they are not useful.’

Agatha covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

‘I want to forget this.’

Dracula buried his fingers in her hair and sat for several minutes, fingering the thick strands.

‘Forget this or what he said at the end?’ he asked quietly.

Agatha, leaning back in his arms, straightened.

‘What did he…’

‘Agatha.’

She knew that look too well. Freeing herself from his embrace, she sat up straight, as if in a theology lesson. Come on, she never visited them. Although it might have been worth it. At least, she would have learned – if not to quote freely from the holy book, than to look calm and confident, when she had not a penny neither the first nor the second.

Damn Clifferson.

‘Dracula, you shouldn't, really…’ Agatha began.

He sighed.

‘I thought so. Should I say it myself, or, as before, do you perfectly understand where you are?’

Agatha shivered at the reminder. But he was right – the situations in which it sounded were too similar. And something had to be done about it.

She tried to smile.

‘Of course, I know. But that hasn't... Look, he's just a stupid boy. Saw something and said tactlessness.’

Well, if you could call it that. Agatha briefly thought that the dinner was already as unpleasant as it could, so that...

‘Clifferson said that you and I are lucky,’ Dracula said slowly, ‘since our age is not too different. And that means,’ he added in the deep silence, ‘we are not threatened to live the rest of our lives in separation, without another who has left this mortal world.’

Well, Agatha thought. Well, he said it. It will no longer be possible to pretend that what the unlucky professor blurted out does not exist or none of them heard him.

Turning away from Dracula, she began to look at the copper dial of the clock, which she was winding in the morning.

Time. Over the past year, she and Dracula were absorbed in settling in the new world, taking care of the house, experimenting, in the end, each other, so much that they forgot about time.

Anyway, she forgot. She hadn't thought about it at all. Looking at Dracula again, Agatha suddenly realized that she would not believe for anything, that he hadn`t.

‘I'm forty-two,’ she said quietly. ‘And if I'm lucky, I'll live long enough to bore you terribly.’

He was silent.

‘And even when I... When you live with people, time does not drag on as long as when you spend it alone,’ Agatha felt how with every step the ground beneath her becomes less reliable. ‘When it is filled with events... and meetings…’

Dracula still didn't say a word.

‘In fifty years, I will be…’ she made another attempt, in an almost inaudible voice, knowing perfectly well that it made no sense.

In fifty years, a decrepit old woman will be with him, but he will remain as young, no older than the same forty-five or fifty.

Pulling herself together, she finally looked into his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said in response to the silent gaze that met her, and, quickly getting up from her seat, left.

When Dracula went up after her into the bedroom, he pretended to believe her awkward attempts to pretend to be asleep, and Agatha spent the time until dawn, staring into the darkness, trying to figure out how to be and what to do next.

‘How could I forget that you are a vampire?’ having entered the next morning without knocking into the parlor and resting her palms on the table at which Dracula was sitting, she asked.

Dracula looked up from the settlement book, in which he was writing something.

‘Yes, that's my omission,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

Agatha looked at him for a minute, then turned on her heels and left the parlor.

They did not see each other for the next two days. Early on Saturday morning, Dracula went out of town to choose a place for a new stud farm, warning her through the housekeeper that he would not return earlier than Monday evening, and Agatha, not knowing whether to enjoy the unexpected respite, or be angry with him, considered it best switch to something else, and completely immersed in experiments.

‘Why is your face black?’ were the first words that returned Dracula greeted her with. He stood at the door of the laboratory and surveyed the surroundings with curiosity. To tell the truth, a lot has changed here since he visited it three days ago: then there were many more whole flasks and jars and less broken glass on the floor.

‘When heated to the boiling point, horse blood explodes,’ Agatha said calmly and carefully placed the test tube she was holding in a tripod.

Dracula nodded and, looking out the door, took out a scoop and a broom and began sweeping soot, stone dust, and debris that covered the floor in the middle of the room.

Armed with a rag and a jug of water, Agatha joined him in cleaning the table and chairs from the burning.

‘I'm not angry about your silence,’ she said after about half an hour, distracted from polishing the gas burner. ‘I understand that the problem is not that this question has no answer.’

Dracula looked up. They both knew very well that the problem was that the answer was too obvious.

‘You know it can't be my decision,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Give me time,’ she added after a short pause and began scrubbing the alembic.

***

‘Sir, I swear I would never…’

‘Remove your pockets.’

Agatha glanced into the living room.

Dracula stood by the fireplace with his back to her, in front of him was a terrified coachman, drawn to the line.

‘It's a mistake, sir. I beg you…’

‘It was a mistake to keep the silver cigarette case in the dresser. However, so was hiring you,’ Dracula's voice was cold and indifferent. ‘By returning it voluntarily, you will save time for all of us.’

‘I…’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘It's in your right pocket. Next to old tissue paper, dirty silk ribbon, and flakes of tobacco.’

The coachman hiccupped and recoiled.

‘How…’

Dracula held out his hand.

‘It rustles deafeningly,’ he said, taking the cigarette case from the coachman's shaking hand. ‘If you are attracted by the career of a pickpocket, then first learn not to stomp like an elephant when you take someone else's, and not to rattle with loot. You will come in the evening for the calculation,’ he finished, gesturing to let go of the unfortunate man.

Dropping his shoulders, the coachman nodded and went to the door.

‘Vampire hearing,’ Agatha said, letting the unlucky thief pass and entering the room. ‘Strongly interferes with maintaining faith in people.’

‘Those who had the one,’ Dracula smiled. He put the cigarette case on the mantelpiece and turned to Agatha. ‘Looking for the benefits of being a vampire?’ he asked innocently.

‘I'm conducting surveillance,’ Agatha said.

She went to the fireplace and looked at the cigarette case.

‘You knew he stole it because you heard it rub against the lining of his pocket.’

Dracula rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘He dragged around with it for a week. He had been looking for someone to sell it for so long that I could hardly resist not offering myself as a buyer, just to get rid of this annoying sound.’

Agatha walked around one of the armchairs by the fireplace and stood in front of Dracula.

‘Have you been waiting for his nerves to break down and he confesses, or for the right occasion when you can show me once again the benefits of being a vampire?’

‘How can you,’ Dracula was sincerely offended.

Agatha grinned and sank into a chair.

‘Okay, what else?’ Decently folded her hands on her knees, she asked.

Dracula shrugged.

‘You know all this. After all, you've been watching me for a year. I'm sure you wrote it down and sorted it into categories in those notebooks of yours.’ He nodded at Agatha’s diary on the table. ‘It is unlikely that I can add something else.’

‘Okay, then let's go over the main points,’ Agatha nodded, without changing her pose.

Dracula smiled.

‘You are strong and enduring, you have an increased ability to heal wounds, you can stay awake for weeks and understand some animals.’ She paused. ‘You can control some of them. You can climb walls and send fog.’ Noticing his approving nod, Agatha continued: ‘Let's add to this the ability to keenly smell and hypersensitive hearing…’

‘...tirelessness in bed...’

‘Um, did you notice that I fall asleep in the middle?..’ Agatha got up and walked over to him.

Dracula smiled again.

‘I'm working on it,’ he said, hugging her.

Agatha was silent for a moment and turned away.

‘Is it normal? I mean, how... how right is that?’ absentmindedly running her hand over his shoulder, she said.

‘What exactly?’ Dracula asked.

Agatha frowned and rubbed her forehead thoughtfully.

‘The world works the way it works, for a reason,’ she said slowly. ‘All living beings die, replacing each other. How natural is it to be immortal?’

She lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘Vampires are mortal,’ he said. ‘Agatha, the time when I offered you eternal life is over,’ he added after a short pause. ‘But it’s obvious that I would rather live long before I’m ready to face death. I do not know how much this is against nature, but I still have not heard of heavenly thunder punishing parrots, sequoias, and turtles.’

‘Oh my God,’ Agatha laughed. ‘Of the above, I know only sequoias. And then according to the pictures.’

‘And the parrots?’

‘Are they centenarians?’

Dracula shook his head.

‘The oldest ones are four hundred years old. Turtles can live twice as long. Ask Clifferson about sequoias, but as far as I remember, their exact age cannot be determined.’

Agatha grimaced, demonstrating her attitude to the need to learn something from Clifferson.

‘I will not become immortal,’ she said, summing up, ‘but I will lose the ability to eat human food, sleep at night, and breathe.’

‘A matter of habit,’ Dracula shrugged.

‘But I will learn to understand bats.’

‘What scope for your work on small rodents and nocturnal insects!’

Agatha sighed.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Yes, I am.’

She nodded.

Everything is the same as before.

‘Decide yourself.’

***

‘Please, try to be more restrained in the future,’ Agatha said with a sad smile, holding out an envelope to the boy standing in front of her. The young man nodded, drooping guiltily, cautiously, as if afraid that his touch would burn her, took the envelope from her hands, and, saying goodbye, left the room.

For a minute Agatha looked at the door that closed behind him, and then she also left the parlor and went into the living room.

She managed to persuade Dracula to give the coachman decent recommendations, and a couple of weeks after the unpleasant incident, Agatha found a good place for the guy. Dracula watched all this with restrained skepticism, but remained silent and did not interfere. Agatha suspected that he had threatened the poor coachman with some terrible punishment – the boy was in too much haste to leave their house. But in the end, even she was forced to admit that he got off easy.

In the living room, on the sofa with a book, sat Dracula. When she appeared, he moved, making a place next to him.

Approaching, Agatha climbed onto the sofa with her legs and leaned back, resting her head on his lap. Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Will it be like with Harker?’ Agatha asked. ‘Will you break my neck and sit down to wait for me to wake up?’

‘God, Agatha, no, of course,’ Dracula put down the book. He looked shocked. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The first thing that comes to mind. I mean,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘the most obvious and simplest.’

‘Didn't you say that you would beat the barbarism out of me?’

She looked up at him.

‘Is that when you burned a five hundred pound electric kettle? I was on edge.’

‘I noticed.’

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

‘How could you think that I…’

Agatha shrugged.

‘It must somehow... I mean, if in order to turn a person you need…’

‘No damage. This is out of the question,’ Dracula said in an unchallengeable tone.

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully.

‘There are other ways,’ she said, scratching her nose. ‘Strangulation, various poisons. Drowning…’

Dracula bent down and, choking with laughter, buried in her shoulder.

‘Agatha,’ he moaned, ‘your imagination is really scary.’

‘I'm trying to solve the problem,’ Agatha said. ‘That's what the smart do,’ she teased.

‘The smart ones like to complicate things,’ said Dracula, straightening up and looking at her. ‘The most obvious is not always the simplest. Why, of all imaginable and inconceivable ways, did not the most humane one come to your mind?’ He rolled his eyes at her puzzled gaze. ‘Which one of us is the prince of darkness and the lord of shadows?’

‘No one encroaches on your laurels,’ Agatha grinned. ‘Wait. You want to say…’

Dracula bent down again and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

‘My love, you forgot that a vampire's kiss can be very long.’

***

The fabric was red and the earth was red. Heavy woolen floors flowed like a scarlet stream over the horse's white rump, crumpled from above, and ended in a silver fox collar. The rider's long hair was messed and matted with blood, and crimson dawn caked in his wide-open eyes.

Bending down and grabbing the horse by the neck, the rider rushed forward, as if not making out the road, through the black and red forest, in a straight line, to the ancient castle, frozen on the rock.

Bursting into the courtyard, the rider stood up sharply, pulled on the reins. Dismounting, he threw them to the frightened horseman who ran up, unfastened an oblong large sack from the saddle. He walked with a quick step through the gate, dragging his load along the ground. In the great hall, he stopped and threw the sack on the floor in front of him. He raised his head and brushed the dirty, wet strands from his forehead.

‘I said he would be here before sunrise,’ he turned to someone sitting in a dark corner.

‘Is it really him?’ asked from the darkness.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the rider bent down to the sack and cut the thick cloth, soaked and hardened in the frost.

A pale human face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘I said I’ll deliver him,’ the rider said again, put the knife back in his belt and left, not looking neither at the one he was talking to nor at the dead man lying on the floor.

...

Two thick long candles were barely enough to light the middle of the room. Hands were aching from the cold, and he felt as if Transylvanian soil was poured into his eyes. The younger heir to the old Count Dracul raised up, turned several times, on one side, on the other, and finally lay on his back, his meaningless gaze resting on the carved canopy above him.

There are no younger heirs. Neither for princes and kings from distant lands, nor for Wallachian rulers. From ancient times the eldest sons inherit the ruler who has died in peace or fallen on the battlefield. But what if both the ruler himself and his firstborn left God's world in one day? From the elder brother, if he has no male descendants, the younger takes power. The one that survived.

The heir moved his head and gritted his teeth. God knows he did not seek this power, he did not want to. In vain the courtiers grinned in disbelief, clinked their tongues, suspecting treason, the squad whispered in vain when they brought them, father and brother, on a narrow sleigh – without a drop of blood on expensive clothes and without a single paint on their faces. In vain the brother's widow sobbed loudly, rushing in the yard like a thin hungry bird, in vain screaming and howling – you did not keep him safe, you did not rescue him. In vain she threatened to curse.

He did not wish death to either his father or his brother. Never wanted to become a ruler. Perhaps that is why he was not touched by the piercing words of the courtiers, or the cries of his daughter-in-law, or the sidelong glances of the squad. Standing motionless next to the sleigh, he silently looked at the gathered soldiers and household, did not say anything, only wrapped himself in a warm cloak. And only when the wrong old steps were tapping on the stone slabs of the yard, did he turn around.

Old Count Dracul, a patriarch of eighty-seven years of age, dressed in a light marching cape over a simple linen shirt, slowly walked over to the sleigh and sat down beside it. With long fingers, white and hard as a January crust, he stroked the dead faces. Raised his head to the gray sky. Said, addressing the younger:

‘Bring me the murderer.’

The younger nodded.

He did it all, he did it, – the young Count Dracula got up and ran his hand over his face damp with sweat. It took five hours to search, three of which the heir spent on horseback, racing to the border, hurrying to catch up the defector who had surrendered the lord and his son to Turkish spies, and who was about to join the foreign troops. Almost drove father's stallion. Intercepted, managed.

The light from the candle flickered, swept as if alarmed by a sharp gust of wind. Dracula looked around and lay back on the pillows. What a strange night. It feels like there is something, moving in the corner... As if sitting in silence and looking, waiting for the moment when...

‘What's wrong, young heir, not sleeping? Do ya not satisfied with the blood of the enemy?’ a voice, deaf and raspy, rang out very close to him.

Dracula jumped up and backed away.

‘What scared you, noble master? Why don't you meet a guest?’ squeaked mockingly from the shadows. ‘Or are you afraid to look?’

Dracula turned in the direction from which the voice was heard.

A thin, tall man with an unhealthy blush on his sunken cheeks emerged from the thick darkness that began two spans from the bed.

‘Why are you silent, master?’ he asked Dracula, who stared at him in horror. ‘Why don’t you offer a glass, why don’t you invite me to the table?’

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped forward and stopped at the very edge of the bed.

‘It can't be. I killed you,’ said Dracula.

‘That's right, you did,’ the man bared his teeth and opened the tattered, worn-out sheepskin coat he was wearing. A scarlet slit crossed the shirt underneath from throat to groin. The man lowered his head and, touching the cut, plunged a knotted finger into it. ‘It hurts,’ with a barely audible smack, removing his finger from the wound, he said thoughtfully, ‘it hurts, but you can live.’

Dracula felt sick.

‘How did you manage...’ He straightened up in bed and reached for his belt for a knife.

‘Take your time,’ the man rushed forward, grabbing Dracula's raised hand. His fingers were inhumanly strong and cold as ice. ‘We`ll have all night.’

‘What are you?’ Dracula, recoiling, whispered with his lips, already knowing the answer.

‘I am Grigor Vostritsa, Grigor-The-Traitor, Grigor, whom your gullible dad warmed on his chest, and the crazy grandpa ordered to catch and feed the mad dogs,’ the man replied, grinning. ‘Grigor, who missed the spoil, and came for it. And what a feast it will be...’

Long, sharp teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

Dracula screamed.

...

‘Dracula! Wake up! Dracula! Come on, wake up, it's just a dream!’

Agatha struggled to shake Dracula, who was rushing about in unconsciousness. Not needing to sleep in the usual sense of the word, at night he plunged into a semblance of numbness, which helped him not so much to restore physical strength as to give rest to his mind. This state was in every way similar to a human dream, with the exception that it was more difficult to end it.

Agatha moved closer to Dracula. He looked even paler than usual, shivering and whispering something in Romanian.

Sitting on the bed, Agatha took a deep breath. The sounds made by Dracula were not loud enough to wake her up. But after what happened on Demeter, already here, in London, Agatha sometimes began to sink into his dreams.

Most often they were just scraps of images and vague impressions – reminiscent of flat shadows on a gray stone wall. They were short and blurry, and after them, in the morning Agatha got up with a headache, a feeling of loneliness, and dull melancholy.

Today, for the first time, the dream was so real and clear.

‘Dracula! Wake up, Dracula!’ Agatha tried again.

Dracula groaned and reached for her without opening his eyes.

Agatha bent down and ran a hand over his sweaty chest. Gently stroked, sliding from shoulder to stomach and back, lingering to the left, where the heart was silent, softly touched his cheek. As if alarmed even more by this short caress, Dracula got up and sat up in bed.

For a while, he simply sat without moving, in the light of the moon falling from the window.

Agatha was silent, not daring to turn to him again.

Dracula winced and took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her.

There was such pain in his eyes that it stabbed inside her.

Without a word, she stirred and, sitting down on his lap, hugged him tightly.

‘Everything is fine, everything will pass,’ she whispered, ‘everything will pass, it's just a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream, you killed him,’ she said, kissing his hot forehead and cheeks, ‘you won, he's gone.’

She was saying something else, snuggling up to him and feeling how the nightgown was getting wet from the heat, putting herself under the hands and lips that were taking possession of her – for the first time so strongly, furiously – and so unexpectedly good.

When the splash of pleasure dies down and she opens her eyes, the moon seems higher – the light floods the room, leaving no corner untouched. Agatha looks at Dracula, who is holding her with both hands, and just sits for a couple of seconds, admiring his tired, peaceful face.

The rest is seen as natural as spontaneous. Slightly pulling back, Agatha pushes aside the collar of her shirt, throwing her hair back and exposing her shoulder.

‘Come on. I'm not afraid,’ she says, moving closer to him again and screwing up.

For several long minutes, nothing happens at all.

Opening her eyes, Agatha stares blankly at Dracula. He sits motionless and looks at her, smiling openly and tenderly.

‘No, Agatha,’ he says. ‘Not today. Not this way.’

***

‘You're avoiding me?’

Agatha met Dracula at the entrance to the living room and stopped, blocking his path.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's all because we haven't seen each other since last week.’ Agatha shrugged.

‘I have a lot to do,’ Dracula tried to walk past her into the room, but Agatha did not budge.

‘You leave home in the morning when I’m still asleep, and you come back after midnight,’ she said. ‘If you come at all. On Tuesday and Wednesday, you were not here, although the carriage did not leave the gate and all the horses remained in the stable.’

Dracula took a deep breath.

‘If I wanted to lead a secret life, I should have chosen someone not so observant,’ he said with a short smile.

‘At least,’ stepping aside, Agatha nevertheless cleared the passage.

After following Dracula into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, she was silent for a while.

‘I don’t believe it’s because of what happened that night,’ she said quietly at last. Lowering her eyes, she absentmindedly smoothed the folds of the dress. ‘You and I knew worse times, and I saw you in a much more unsightly light. If now...’

‘Agatha.’ She raised her eyes and met his gaze. ‘You know that's not true,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And I also know that you never lied to me or hid anything from me. Even on the Demeter.’ She waved off when she saw the protesting expression on his face. ‘You didn’t deceive me – all I needed to know about what was happening was in front of my eyes. I just didn't get it right away. Which, of course, doesn't make your behavior acceptable,’ she said immediately. And added: ‘You drank my blood and made me a favorite dessert, but you did not lie to me.’

Dracula was silent.

‘You were honest, although you fed on me, and took me to the ship against my will,’ Agatha continued. ‘That is why your behavior seems all the more strange to me... now when I said ‘yes’.’

Still silently, Dracula leaned back on the sofa. His lips were tightly compressed, and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if for a long time he had been trying to solve a problem that turned out to be too difficult, and could not bring himself to stop thinking about it.

Agatha regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Maybe…’ she began slowly, ‘maybe this is the whole point? That I agreed?’

Dracula turned his head and looked at her amazedly.

‘Count Dracula, the Wallachian ruler,’ said Agatha, ‘cannot choose the daughter of a merchant from a distant province as a life partner. Which has neither a title, nor a suitable name, nor a sufficiently well-born family.’ She looked straight at Dracula. ‘The laws of blood are harsh and unbreakable.’

‘Agatha,’ it was clear from his look that her suggestion took him by surprise, ‘Agatha, I have been living with you for over a year.’

‘It's one thing to live together, sharing leisure and bed, and even going out by the arm, and quite another,’ she smiled, ‘to enter into a relationship under the hand of the clan and under the coat of arms of the dragon. You could reject me when I become a vampire,’ Agatha said, not allowing him to object, ‘reject, as soon as I would bore you – but it was not accidentally that you called those you turned brides. Obligated to you with a new life – no matter how terrible and gloomy it might be – they have become part of your family. As I would. And even you wouldn't be able to change that. Wherever I went and wherever I lived my indefinitely long centuries, I would forever remain Dracula's companion, recognized and accepted by him.’

The silence that followed her words was long, but contrary to her expectations, it did not seem depressing. For a couple of minutes, Dracula just sat, still frowning and unconsciously rubbing the ring on his ring finger.

‘Four hundred years ago I was baptized in Orthodoxy,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What?’ Agatha did not understand. She leaned back slightly and eyed him suspiciously.

‘I presume, you are a Catholic,’ Dracula continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It is unlikely that we will be married under this condition, so, apparently, I will have to convert to Catholicism.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘Why not me – to Orthodoxy?’ she asked blankly.

‘Because considering what you just told me, it would be offensive to me.’

They looked at each other for several seconds until Agatha turned away, covering her face with her hands.

‘Am I making up nonsense?’ muttered, feeling him hug her.

‘You're too smart,’ Dracula smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘I should have taken this into account when I suggested to you... I should have talked about it with you right away. Everything you said’ he pulled away and looked at her ‘is absolutely reasonable and absolutely real. Except that has nothing to do with you and me.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek and added: ‘I have not been a Wallachian ruler for a long time, Agatha. Not in the sense in which you described it. And even if I were still a sovereign medieval seigneur, I would be free to choose a wife to my liking. I would have offered you my hand and heart a year ago,’ he said when he saw Agatha trying to protest, ‘if I thought it meant anything to you.’

Agatha averted her eyes.

‘I thought... I thought after I agreed...’

‘I suddenly realized with all clarity how you would humiliate my good name,’ Dracula laughed. ‘This is perhaps the best thing that I have heard about myself in four hundred years.’

‘But still...’ Agatha did not stop.

‘You were right,’ Dracula interrupted. ‘That night I realized for the first time that it was serious. And I wondered if I really want this for you?’

‘You told me...’

‘Agatha,’ he said, burying his fingers in her hair, ‘it's a long life, Agatha. A life in which values, people, traditions, and customs change. The future and the present, as before, become the past. Only now you don't go with them. Others leave – relatives and acquaintances, faithful servants, and old friends. Not all of them you can take with you. And sometimes you just have to look after them. It hurts, Agatha.’

He fell silent again. Raising her hand, Agatha ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘You will be with me,’ she wanted to tell, but she held back. They both knew perfectly well what a world closed for two could turn into over the years.

Unexpectedly to herself, she laughed.

‘Changing faith can be easier than coming to terms with yourself,’ she said in response to his questioning look. ‘But if trees and birds can,’ Agatha added, remembering their conversation with Dracula about longevity, ‘then I can too.’

He looked at her uneasily and incredulously, and it was like their first evening in this house.

‘And you know what else?’ Agatha said. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you: do not create any illusions by doing this. I want to know what's going on. I go for it with open eyes, and I want it to apply to everything.’

Dracula smiled and covered her fingers over his face.

‘As you wish,’ he replied.

***

November 15, 1898, Times

‘We are pleased to announce that on November 15 of this year in London, at Carfax Abbey, the wedding of Count Vlad Dracula and Miss Agatha Van Helsing took place.’

Agatha put the newspaper down on the dressing table and cast a thoughtful look at the ring on her hand. A thin strip of gold glittering in the twilight of the room seemed like a spark on the surface of the calm sea. Agatha chuckled shortly. A sea that she never intended to enter. It was not only about her past as a nun – her stay in the convent was short and rather forced than chosen at the call of her heart. Marriage as it was just never seemed attractive to her – or useful from any side.

She was distracted from the contemplation of the wedding ring and, straightening, began to remove the hairpins from her hair. Agatha hated complicated hairstyles, but for a sophisticated lady, especially in her current status, a wedding hairstyle was a must. Agatha sighed. It was already good that they managed to avoid a magnificent celebration, limiting themselves to a modest wedding in a local chapel.

The door to the room creaked softly as it opened and closed again.

Freed from bobby pins and hairpins, the hair fell to the shoulders in a heavy wave. Agatha looked in the mirror.

‘I look like a witch from old fairy tales,’ she said, turning in her chair, lifting her head and looking at Dracula standing in front of her. ‘Who appeared without an invitation to the royal palace.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Witches usually have a much more interesting past than the daughters of foresters and crown princesses.’

‘Maybe,’ Agatha agreed. ‘Did you let the servants go?’ she asked, getting up.

‘Gave them leave until next Wednesday.’

‘So long?’ Agatha, approached the bed and began to unfasten the hooks on the dress, anxiously turned around.

‘I think it will take less time,’ Dracula came over and freed a lock of red hair stuck in one of the fasteners. ‘Still, it’ll be better if you and I will be alone in the next week and we don’t have to look back at the door.’

Agatha nodded. Her fingers returned to the hooks and laces. Having straightened with them, she shrugged her shoulders, and the dress slid to her feet.

She did not see Dracula, but she knew for sure that he was watching her. Stepping over the dress, she straightened the lace shirt on her chest and, walking slowly to the bed, climbed onto it.

Slightly closing her eyes, she watches as Dracula locks the bedroom door, extinguishes the lamps one by one, leaving only the candle at the head of the bed to burn, and, going up to the bed, reaches for a silk scarf tied with an elegant knot around his neck.

Once next to her, he sits down behind and, holding Agatha to him, runs his palms over her hands. His fingers stop at the shoulders, freeze as if in thought, grasp the shock of hair that has been scattered down her back, and lift it up.

A slow, long kiss on the back of her head makes her arch and bite her lip. For a few seconds, Dracula does not move, and then he kisses her again and sinks lower, his hands slide forward, to the buttons of the shirt, lower the thin fabric from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Agatha completely surrenders to her feelings. From fleeting touches, the body burns and melts, filling from the inside with a silent ringing, opening and dissolving, almost disappearing, until it gathers again at one point to the left, where the neck passes into the shoulder.

...Soft darkness surrounded her from all sides. There was absolutely nothing frightening about it: Agatha stirred and tried to turn her head rather out of curiosity.

‘Don't resist,’ Dracula's voice rang through her head. And a second later – a chuckle. ‘You'll like it.’

***

The awakening was... sharp. And in a completely literal sense. Smells, sounds, colors were sharp. From the world hanging over Agatha, details seemed to appear and emerge at once.

Dust particles on the dark red velvet curtain of the bed. A scent of fresh varnish rising from a parquet floor painted three weeks ago. Spiky sheets that scratch the body with the skin of an ancient beast. Electric discharges from the back of the head and lost in the thick of long hair.

Agatha closed her eyes. The raging sea of spots of color disappeared and was replaced by a thin squeak.

‘When will the convulsions begin?’ Agatha asked into space without opening her eyes. Her own voice sounded low and hoarse, heavy in her ears.

‘So you want to try?’

Agatha opened her eyes. Dracula's pale face bent over her. A mosquito hovered carefree beside his right cheek.

‘Not that I wanted,’ Agatha said slowly, shifting her gaze from the mosquito to Dracula. ‘I just thought it was part of the process.’

‘Apparently, not always,’ Dracula held out his hand and helped her to rise and sit, leaning on the pillows. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Loud,’ Agatha muttered, wincing.

‘It's okay,’ Dracula leaned away and reached out to the side. ‘You are hungry?’ asked. Agatha lowered her eyes to the crystal glass that appeared in his hand. The dark scarlet liquid in it looked unusually tempting.

‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said barely audibly and looked at Dracula in dismay. ‘I can't,’ she blurted out and closed her eyes, once again dazed by the sound of her voice.

‘Agatha, this is not human blood,’ Dracula reminded her gently. ‘And if you're not ready, we can still wait. It's just that the sooner you satisfy your first hunger, the less strong and uncontrollable it will be later.’

Agatha nodded silently.

Swallowing shortly, she stretched out her hand to the glass – and immediately leaned back, groaning exhaustedly.

‘Agatha?’ Dracula asked worriedly.

‘So many... so many things,’ she said, shaking her head and licking her lips.

Dracula put his hand on her forehead. The rough skin of the palm felt like a touch of stiff paper, but it was cool and soothing.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘In the beginning, it is always like that.’

Agatha could not resist a skeptical smile.

‘It has advantages,’ Dracula whispered conspiratorially, bending over slightly. ‘And a lot.’

‘I remember,’ Agatha snorted. ‘The ability to hear rats scratching under the floor, to catch negligent coachmen...’ Hot lips, catching her earlobe, silenced her. ‘Give me a little time,’ she said with an effort, ‘maybe I can find more.’

He laughed.

Agatha turned and looked again at the glass on the nightstand.

‘Lissa?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Dracula shook his head.

‘Are you afraid that I will find out your secrets with her?’ Agatha teased him. She climbed higher on the pillows and made herself comfortable. The first shock receded, and the deafening world gradually became just unusually bright and clear.

‘Too much information confuses newbies,’ smiled Dracula. ‘Besides, Lissa is active and willful. Her blood may excite you unnecessarily. This is Richard, a stallion from Angola, who arrived four weeks ago. Gentle and meek like a sleeping child.’

Agatha reached for the glass. She held it in her hand for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. Then she raised it to her lips and took a quick sip.

Nothing happened, and the curtain of the bed did not collapse on her head. It felt as if she had taken a sip of old thick wine. The metallic flavor confused her at first, but the further she drank, the more acutely she became aware of her hunger and the satisfaction of being able to satisfy it. A piercing blue sky, humid winds, and a light rustle of hot sand were felt in the shades of taste.

Having drained the glass to the end, Agatha put it back on the nightstand and licked her lips thoughtfully. Neither the taste, nor the sight, nor the smell of blood made her lose her mind, which she most feared. Perhaps, she mused, the insanity of many newly turned vampires was not caused by the craving for blood as such, but rather a consequence of the ‘return’ and the wave of impressions and feelings that attacked them.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by a sharp, persistent rustle. Like someone... Agatha turned quickly towards the sound and saw a large rat crawling across the floor.

Agatha squinted at Dracula. He gazed at her in silence, without a shadow of a smile, but his nostrils fluttered in a very familiar way.

‘You will not get it,’ she said.

* Dragostea (Romanian) – love.