#Huntington is crouching

[roki-roki-roll]

YES!!! GIVE US THAT SICK MENDIE CONTENT!! (Love how you draw them tbw)

Thank you! I love them dearly and I’m glad others are liking how I draw them.

I am a sucker for families (as I too have one of those)

[sadprose-auroras]

Distraction – Hazel Callahan x reader

Hey, loves! Thank you everyone for all of the love for On Top, I appreciate it so much!! I’m happy to take requests, just send me an ask <3

Content: violence, cursing, kissing.

Summary: Have you ever wanted to be PJ in this scene? Me too! So, I rewrote the final scene as a self-insert. Most dialogue is from the movie.

Please let me know what you think! Word Count: 2.2k

“Oh, now you want a bomb.”

------------------------------------------------------------

Holding your breath, you watched Hazel set up the bomb on the tree across the field. You could only cross your fingers that it would work properly; the last time did not go as expected.

“Hazel, it’s starting!” Annie shouts, as the football team begins to make their way onto the field. Panic setting in, you briefly consider running over to help her out. Suddenly, she’s sprinting over to the group, diving to take cover. You all bow your heads down, grabbing onto whoever is closest, holding your breath. You try not to think about Hazel’s head buried in your shoulder. Now is not the time. After a few moments, you all collectively raise your heads. It didn’t go off.

Everyone begins to talk over each other as Hazel starts fiddling with the remote.

“Maybe turn it on and then back off?”

“Why isn’t it working?”

“Did you set it to 15 minutes this time?”

You remain silent, eyes darting around trying to think of another solution.

“Okay, Plan B!” you say suddenly standing up. “We need to get the cheerleaders to make out with each other!” You begin to stalk over to the cheerleaders performing for the crowd, most of your friends following you. You briefly turn around to notice Josie crouched down looking at something and frown but decide to continue on your mission. You know how much this school fetishizes queer women. This has to work.

You all begin yelling, making cruse gestures.

“Guys, kiss each other!”

“Make out with each other!” Hazel shouts from the stands. Even your best friend saying the words ‘make out’ makes your knees weak. Despite the adrenaline of the situation, you still feel it. You feel every effect she has on you, always. The too-enthusiastic announcer comes over the loudspeaker, so loud it shakes the ground.

“HIDE YOUR CHILDREN, HERE COMES HUNTINGTON!”

Oh shit.

The yellow-clad team begins their entrance, and the crowd goes absolutely wild. The sense of dread that was gnawing at your stomach begins to grow. You have to do something. Now.

PJ nudges your side, giving you a knowing look. You furrow your brows. You were close, but you couldn’t read your friend’s mind.

“Go kiss her,” she says impatiently.

“Who?” you ask, your heart rate picking up.

“Oh my god, just do it! People will watch, trust me. Go, go!” You swallow heavily, your gaze meeting Hazel’s. Somehow, she understands exactly what your panicked, questioning eyes are asking. She gives the slightest nod. Blood rushing to your ears with nerves, you gather all the courage you have to walk over to her, pushing past some people in the crowd. You don’t look away from each other for a second.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she says, a smile ghosting her lips. You slot your lips together gently, hands finding the sides of her face, hers settling on your waist. The feeling makes your head spin. It takes a few moments for you to find a rhythm, awkwardly bumping noses and hitting teeth a couple of times. Once you do though, desire spreads from the pit of your stomach to your entire body. You had no idea kissing could feel this good.

You’re vaguely aware of people shouting, “look!” clapping and looking at the two of you. Which is what you wanted, of course. It’s the only reason you were doing this in the first place… right? And yet, you didn’t care. About saving the football players, about being a distraction, about anything else. It truly felt like time was suspended and you were the only two people in the world.

As the kiss deepened, you moved closer, bodies pressing against one another. You can feel the coolness of Hazel’s rings on your skin as she thumbs at your hips, your shirt riding up. Just as you were thinking that you could do this forever, an announcement over the loudspeaker brought you back to reality.

“CAN EVERYBODY STOP LOOKING AT THE DYKE PARADE? WHO DO I HAVE TO BLOW TO GET THIS GAME STARTED ALREADY?”

You pull apart quickly, in sync as always, as Hazel’s big blue eyes bore into yours. You touch your lips, which are still tingling, as she rubs the back of her neck which she always does when she feels nervous.

You both rush down to rejoin the others, as they were all frantic about what you were going to do now.

“You guys kissed! With tongue!” Sylvie says, apparently very excited about it. You make eye contact with Hazel as she smirks, your stomach doing a little flip, before looking away.

“Yeah, and we could do it again, if necessary, I mean-if we need another distraction, y’know like I really feel like it worked…” Hazel trails off.

“It certainly worked for me,” you murmur, before you can think about what you’re saying.

“What?” Hazel asks. You open your mouth as if to answer, absolutely mortified, when Josie runs up to you all in a panic. You weirdly find yourself grateful for the distraction, albeit news of the life-threatening situation.

“Look, I found empty barrels of pineapple juice, they’re going to poison Jeff! Where the fuck could it be?” she says frantically, eyes wide. You all look at each other, realisation setting in.

“What if it’s in their mouths, and they’re going to swish it around, and then spit it out midgame?” PJ asks, and you bite back a laugh. You loved her, but sometimes she made no sense.

“I don’t think-“ you begin to say, when Hazel speaks up.

“I hate to say it, but it might have something to do with their semen,” she says, sounding genuinely concerned.

“No, it wouldn’t, what is wrong with you?” you ask, baffled but amused. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Annie moving away from the group, looking out onto the field. You follow her gaze, realisation settling in at the same time.

“They’re gonna spray the field, we’re gonna have to run!” Annie shouts. You take off after her, muttering “oh god, oh shit, fuck fuck fuck, I have a stitch,” under your breath.

“It’s okay, we’ve got this,” Hazel says, voice surprisingly even despite how fast you were all running. You turn your head briefly to smile gratefully at her.

“Yeah, we do.”

“PJ, cover the sprinklers!” Josie yells, picking up Jeff, quite literally hoisting him over her shoulder and starting to run off the field. You were impressed at her strength. As if in slow motion, Huntington began moving towards you in formation. You took a deep breath, turning around to look at your group of friends. Isabel, Brittany and Stella Rebecca appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and you smiled to yourself. Huntington let out a scream in unison, and you all responded by doing the same. It was cathartic, quite frankly.

The next few moments were a blur. As the two groups came together, people paired off to fight each other. One particularly large football player came at you with his arms outstretched as if to push you over, but you dodged out of the way, then swung your elbow at the back of his head with a satisfying crack. He stumbles, coming at you with a raised fist, but he’s too slow. You duck as he misses, then, with all of your strength, you kick out your leg at his knees, knocking him over, hitting his head hard on the ground in the process.

You take the opportunity to glance around and notice that you’re actually winning. There are several Huntington players sprawled on the ground, unconscious, while all of your friends remained upright. (Albeit, covered in blood, but you were trying to be positive)

You scan to look for Hazel, and notice her holding a football helmet over her head, swinging it down on a Huntington player who is choking Tim. The guy rolls off him, and Tim coughs and stands up. You want to rush over to her, grab her, hold her, ask if she’s okay, protect her, before you’re suddenly tackled roughly to the ground by somebody behind you. You scream, try and scramble out of his grip, using your knees and legs to kick out, arms pushing at him, but nothing. He brings his fist down in the centre of your face, and you cry out. The pain is like nothing you’ve experienced. You lock eyes, and the wildness in the man’s eyes makes your heart sink. He wasn’t going to stop for anything.

Just as your life begins to flash behind your eyes, you hear Hazel yell your name, and she brings down the helmet with force on his head. You push him off you, as he lays there unconscious. You look up to Hazel in shock, panting heavily. Her eye is swollen red, blood splattered on her shirt, her hair is mused, and the stadium light just behind her head is casting a glow around her not dissimilar to a halo.

“Are you okay?” she asks, stretching her arm out to help you up. You take it, standing up with a grunt.

“I-yeah- th-thank you.” You notice you’re still holding hands, and drop it, both of you chuckling awkwardly. The brief respite from the dreaded feeling doesn’t last long when you notice a player twice Hazel’s size coming up behind her menacingly.

“Watch out!” You scream, grabbing her shoulders and moving her to the side as she stumbles slightly. Mustering everything you have, you roundhouse kick him with a yell of effort, aiming for his head but getting him in the neck instead. It doesn’t matter though, as he falls to the ground with a thud. Hazel comes up and punches him square in the face, leaving him unconscious.

“Thank you,” she says between heavy breaths, holding onto her fist in pain. You try not to think about how attractive her hands are covered in cuts and bruises.

“Don’t mention it,” you respond, wiping some blood that is dripping out of your nose. You look around, and can’t see any Huntington players left, instead your friends moving around the bodies on the ground, blood covering their clothes and faces.

“Did we do it?” you vaguely ask. Before anyone can answer you, you notice one last player coming up behind PJ who is on her knees on the ground.

“PJ, look out!” you all shout in unison as he moves towards her. Suddenly, he is knocked heavily onto the ground. Josie had come up behind him, swinging a baseball bat. For a few moments, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. You all look at each other, taking in each other’s appearances. You lock eyes with Hazel, breath catching in your throat. The entire crowd is completely still, mouths hanging open. A hissing sound begins, and the sprinklers begin spraying a liquid over the field.

The first person to speak is Tim.

“It’s pineapple juice! Turn it off!” he yells. With a squeak, they stop. Slowly, the crowd begins to clap, increasingly getting louder and louder. Soon, the cheering is deafening.

“Yes, this is the viking way!” Tim yells. You finally allow yourself to let out a breath. The group begins to celebrate, hugging each other. You give PJ a big hug, pulling away to notice Josie and Isabel kissing in the middle of everything. You look at each other and laugh in disbelief.

“Love that for them,” she says, and you nod. PJ moves away to hug somebody else, when you make eye contact with Hazel. You both glance over to Josie and Isabel, then back to each other. She smiled shyly, and your cheeks burn as you look down, unable to help from giggling to yourself. You walk over to Hazel, and you wrap your arms around each other. You let out a shaky breath, holding onto her tightly. When you pull away from each other, you’re not sure what to say.

“I-uh-“ you begin, then chuckle awkwardly.

“I meant it when I said we could kiss again,” she says, her hands in her pockets as she shuffles back and forth on her feet, looking up at you beneath her lashes. Your heart quite literally skips a beat.

In response, you move closer to her yet again, tilting her head up with your fingers on her chin.

“Is this going to ruin the friendship?” you ask quietly. Hazel barely gets her next words out before your lips meet.

“I don’t care.”

Your eyes flutter closed, exhaling through your nose as your lips move together in sync. This time, you know exactly how to kiss one another. You briefly wonder how many girls Hazel had kissed to be this good at it.

“Oh my god,” you murmur against her lips, giving her one last soft kiss.

“I know,” Hazel says, smiling in the way that she does that makes your insides twist in the best way possible.

“Um, so, I have a really important question,” you say cheekily, twirling a piece of Hazel’s hair in your finger.

“Yeah?” she asks, frowning.

“Why the fuck do you know how to build a bomb?” Hazel immediately laughs. As if right on cue, you hear a boom. You whip your head around, gasping to see the tree on fire.

“I still think we were a better distraction,” Hazel murmurs, not answering your question, before she leaves a soft kiss on your neck. You sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Late Shift (Danbrey)

The winner of the "creatures and people" prompt poll was: A vampire who works the night shift at a gas station

Anywhere else, Dani would get in serious trouble for adding fresh herbs to the donut case offerings at four-thirty am. 

Amnesty Lodge, with its attached gas station, does things a little differently.  For starters, the head cook at the Lodge restaurant refuses to let them sell the standard gas station snacks without adding a few of his own into the mix. Hence the fairly fresh batch of doughnuts that he dropped off fifteen minutes ago. Dani’s basil plant has been growing even wilder this year, and she worked out that a sprinkle of basil makes the lemon filled donuts–even the ones Barclay doesn’t make–taste a million times better. 

At least, that’s what customers tell them. Dani hasn’t eaten a donut since 1964. 

Even when Stokers Famous Tonic became mainstream, allowing vampires to eat human food without getting violently ill, it’s not always cheap to get your hands on. And Dani likes to save hers for the fresh fruit from the garden, or when Barclay wants a recipe tester or Mama invites her for an early-morning cup of tea. 

Or, if she plays her cards right, dinner with her favorite regular.

The door opens and the object of her dinner plans walks in, with far more energy than most humans have in the darkness of the morning. 

“Hi Dani!” Aubrey waves. She’s brightened the flame-orange streak in her hair since Friday, making the black curls around it shine like a raven in the sun. 

“Hi” Dani is relieved, not for the first time, that she can no longer blush, as Aubrey bends over to grab a Double Shot Oatmilk Monster Energy Coffee. She’s in her stage outfit, black dress jacket with studs sewn on the shoulders, and shorts and white dress shirt that look like someone ripped the arms and legs from a tuxedo. 

Aubrey looks over her shoulder with a smile and Dani pretends to find a spot on the counter to clean with her nail. 

“Just the usual please, if you’ve got it” The magician sets the drink on the counter. Dani grabs a waffle sandwich from the warming station; eggs, cheese, and hot sauce on a slightly sweet waffle, the kind Barclay makes in huge batches and then freezes. 

“We do. Did you just get back from a show?”

“Nope” Aubrey leans on the counter, allowing Dani to see the bra peeking through the dress shirt, “heading to one. They booked me for a big brunch show at some country club in Huntington but they want me there, like, super duper early. Oh, wait, do you have baby carrots today?” 

“Ummm” Dani glances at the chilled food display, “nope. Shipments are still kind of weird. Sorry.”

“Dr. Harris Bonkers will live without them. I’ve got other stuff to bribe him with to stay calm in the car.” She takes her change, but doesn’t move her hand right away. Instead she adds, “But you’re gonna owe him nose pets the next time he comes in.”

“I can handle that. Break a leg at the show.”

“Always do.” Aubrey gives her a wink and heads out into the parking lot, leaving her to rest her chin in her hands and sigh at the candy display.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Aubrey’s totally going to do it. She’s going to ask Dani out when she stops for gas today. She’s made this promise to herself every day for the last two weeks, but gosh-darnit today she means it. 

Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, runs circles around her feet as she swipes on black lipstick and stamps on her eyeliner. 

“Just a sec buddy, I’m almost done.”

A honk in reply. 

“Look, if I had my way I’d spend all day petting you, but I need to get groceries and you’re not allowed in Leo’s after the banana incident.” She crouches down pets the rabbit’s nose, “but you’re coming with me tonight even though we don’t have a show. I’m gonna need emotional support for this. You gonna be my wingman?”

She moves her hand back a half-inch, and he immediately bumps it with his nose.

“Thanks doctor, knew I could count on you.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Dani is dumping blood orange syrup into the slushee machine when Aubrey walks in. The magician makes a bee-line for drinks, Dr. Harris Bonkers hopping behind her. The white rabbit is close to the size of a Corgi, sporting his black harness with flames on the sides as his claws click on the tile. 

Technically he’s not supposed to be in here, but Mama has never booted him when she’s spotted him inside the Lodge or the restaurant, and Dani figures people who are stopping for gas at eleven at night have more on their minds than complaining about a fluffy bunny. 

She heads over to the counter and Aubrey follows her, setting her Cherry Coke next to the sign for the Kepler Trunk or Treat. 

“That all for tonight?”

“Yep” Aubrey says a bit too cheerfully. She’s worrying the chain of her necklace, something Dani wishes she would do less or do much more, depending on how in control of herself she’s feeling that night. 

She has such a gorgeous neck. 

Oh no that’s too creepy. 

“Anything for the doctor?”

“Nah, he got an apple slice earlier–Dr. Harris Bonkers you put that down.” She disappears from view, reappearing with a pack of Double Bubble in hand. There are two, square teeth marks in it. 

“This too. Sorry, he really likes the smell of bubblegum.” 

“Silly bunny, that’s not for you. And don’t worry about paying for it, it’s like a buck and also Indrid will eat the stuff that didn’t get chomped.”

Aubrey laughs, “Thanks. Um, so, I’m doing shows at the Kepler Fall Festival this weekend. One at eleven and one at three. I know your schedule is probably weird because you work so late here but, um, I realized I’d never actually invited you to one of my shows. This one is going to be super freaking cool, I made up some Halloween tricks and everything. Do you know it’s weirdly hard to make a pumpkin disappear? Uh, anyway, just thought I’d ask.”

If Dani goes, there’s a very high chance she’ll get a serious sunburn. 

Aubrey smiles hopefully, the expression crinkling her nose and making Dani want to lean over and kiss it. 

“I’ll be there.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dani wasn’t at the first so, and with five minutes to go before the second one starts, Aubrey’s worried she won’t show. She so rarely sees the other woman around the Lodge during the day, like she sleeps through it, and it was silly of her to think she’d see her now.

She straightens Dr. Harris Bonker’s skull and crossbones tie, looks at the crowd and doesn’t see her.  So she straightens out her cuffs and looks again, 

Dani is there, in a seat in the back row. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a long, mint-green dress, brown boots up to her knee, lacy green gloves to her elbow, and is carrying a green and white striped parasol. She looks so cool and hot, how the hell is Aubrey supposed to focus on anything else?

Then again, Dani clearly made time to come see her perform. 

The festival emcee announces her name. So she strides out to give the best performance of her life.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dani is pruning her night-blooming jasmine when she hears it; the unmistakable sound of something munching her collards. 

“Hey Dani, have you seen-”

She holds up a hand to shush Barclay, “Can you see what’s making that noise at all?”

“Uhhhhh” the cook scans the beds, then raises his eyebrows, “unless my eyes are going, it’s Dr. Harris Bonkers.”

“What the hell?” Dani slips into the next row and finds Barclay is right; the massive rabbit is happily munching a big, green leaf without a care in the world.

“He must have hopped out the Lodge door.”

Barclay shakes his head, “Aubrey hasn’t been here since this morning, and I saw her leave with him in her arms. And her car isn’t in the lot now. He must have run away from home.”

Dani frowns, “Her apartment is three blocks from here. That’s a long ways for you to have gone, doctor.”

“C’mon little guy, let’s get you into the Lodge and give Aubrey a call. She’s probably worried sick.” Barclay bends down but the rabbit swiftly hops away, leaf still in its mouth. 

“He’s right, we–whoops” Dani makes a grab for him, but he darts between her legs. 

After ten minutes of failing to catch him, Dani is even more impressed with the fact Aubrey trained him for her act. Because if he doesn’t want to do something, there seems to be no way to make him do it. 

“Hang on, I have an idea. Stay here and make sure he doesn’t run into the woods.”

Dani looks around, then turns into a bat and zips across to the gas station, grabs a pack of gum, and runs back to the Lodge garden. She kneels and calls, “Doctor, look what I’ve got.”

The rabbit, done with it’s collard, sniffs the air and turns towards her. 

“It’s your favorite” She holds out the pack and the rabbit hops forward, bobbing now and then like he suspects a trap. Only when he gets his teeth on the wrapper is Dani able to scoop him into her arms. 

He snorts, annoyed, as Dani passes Barclay the gum, “can you toss that or give it to Indrid? I’n gonna go call Aubrey.”

Dr Harris Bonkers explores her room as Dani picks up the landline and dials. Three tries over fifteen minutes leads to nothing. Kepler is in the NRQZ; if Aubrey’s not at home, Dani’s going to have a hell of a time getting a hold of her. 

She keeps trying until it’s time to go to work, at which point she sticks the rabbit in a small laundry basket and carries him over to the gas station with her. After several attempts to get out, he calms when she gives him a few baby carrots and turns on the audiobook of Bunnicula on her phone (it helps her fall asleep).

Around midnight, the door dings and Aubrey walks in, looking more haggard than Dani’s ever seen her. 

“I” she sniffs, wiping her eye, “I was wondering if you’d maybe seen Dr. Harris Bonkers? He, he got out while I was asleep earlier and I, I looked all over the neighborhood and I can’t, can’t”

“Hey, fireblossom, it’s okay.” Dani hurries around the counter a tad faster than a human should, “we found him in the garden. He’s behind the counter.”

“Ohthankfuckinggod.” Aubrey collapses against her, hugging her, “I was so worried, thank you so much, I owe you, like, big time.”

Dani hugs her back, takes a deep breath, and says, “How about dinner tomorrow?”

Aubrey looks up at her and grins, “I was hoping you’d say that” she kisses her nose, “and it’s cute that you already have a pet name for me.”

“Look, I have a lot of free time during work and it’s more fun to think about you than rearrange the candy bars again.” Dani kisses her cheek, “here, the doctor is waiting for you.”

They find the rabbit lounging, legs out, as the story drifts from the nearby phone.

“You are in big trouble young man” Aubrey scoops him up and holds him tight, “you jerk, never ever scare me like that again. You’re lucky Dani found you and not a coyote. Or the Johnson’s cat.” She pauses, listening, “awww, Dani figured out your favorite book.” She smiles like a thousand stars as she says, “I loved that one as a kid. I’ve always been a big fan of vampires.”

Dani licks a fang and kisses Aubrey on the cheek again, making her laugh, “Then I have another really good piece of news for you.”

[baeklination]

🎃 Unwanted Attention

Date: 221031

Warnings: It's not terror on your-street, more mysterious. And I put a little somethin', somethin' in there, so when you get to that part: 🔞!

Pairing: Baekhyun x F. Reader

WC: 6,4k

NOTE: It's Victorian era-ish, so mid-late 1800's.

Masterlist

¤¤

"Blasted…"

The knock on the door jolts you in such a way the quill in your hand draws a long, black stroke of ink across your paper. Sighing, you leave it as is and go to see  who would be visiting at such an hour. Opening the door you see a boy scarcely past his eighth year, out of breath and seemingly relieved to get an answer. 

"Good evening, Miss. Would you be Miss Y/N..?"

"I would. And who might you be? It's a bit late for a lad your age to be roaming around…"

"I'm Anthony, Miss. I've just come from the constabulary with orders to call on you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Is it really me you're looking for?"

The boy, Anthony, pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket and reads the content of it out loud:

"Miss Y/N, 506 Huntington Pasture?"

It's you he's meaning to see alright, but the why is still unclear.

"Constable Braithwaite sent me. He has a man in the clink - he's in a pretty bad state, drunk you see, Miss, and the constable would rather you took care of him."

Letting the door stay open you put your coat and hat on, then quickly check what's in your bag.

"He must be quite ill if I'm being called on… But why not take him to the hospital?"

"No, Miss… Officer Braithwaite sent for you as his contact person."

Stopping in your tracks, perplexed, you search your mind to think who it could possibly be, knowing it couldn't be anyone. A man in a drunken stupor claiming acquaintance?

"Well, who is it?"

"That's just it, Miss. We don't know. But the constable instructed me to bring you, so that's what I'm doing", Anthony says, quite proud of succeeding with his mission.

"I'm sure this is a great mistake, but very well. Lead the way, Anthony."

°

"Wait here, I won't be long", you tell the driver before getting out of the carriage, the boy right behind you.

The air is heavy with the cold mist creeping in from the forest and, save for a couple of men walking on the other side of the road, the streets are empty. Your skirt rustles against the cobblestones as you make your way towards the building of the constabulary, wondering what on earth you'll find inside. It's a small place, so not much; two, three desks and an aisle presumably leading to jail cells - and of course the constable working the night shift.

"Miss Y/N?", he asks, giving the boy a coin for his duty done.

"Yes. I'm sure this is a mistake, a mix-up. Where is..?"

"Right this way", he says and escorts you down the aisle. Stopping by the third door, he opens a hatch in the wooden door. "Him there."

Standing on your toes you look, squint, stare, but can't make out any distinguishing features of the man crouched against the wall.

"I can't see his face, can't you get some light in there?"

Braithwaite frowns a bit, but obliges; grabs an oil lamp and opens the door. He doesn't seem wary of the man, afraid he'll pounce on him, so neither are you as you - still keeping a distance - follow the constable inside. As relayed by Anthony the man is indeed in poor condition, mumbling to himself through laboured breaths, but you shake your head, not at all recognising him. "Wait…"

When the light comes closer, clearly showing part of his face you do - but where from?

"How did you get my name did you say?", you ask Braithwaite. 

"From this", he replies, pulling your card from his pocket. "Only name he had on him."

Your business card. It hits you. 

"Heavens, this is professor Byun..!"

Now not afraid at all you hurry to his side and kneel, trying to get his attention, but he's in such a state it's impossible. You pause. Sniff. 

"How do you know he's been drinking?"

"Just look at him, Miss…"

And you do. He's covered in a thin film of sweat, has a rapid pulse and, lifting his eyelids, you find he doesn't react. You detect an odour - vomit - but not the slightest smell of spirits on him. 

"Help me get him into my carriage, officer. He needs to go to the hospital."

"I…but he's under arrest. What's the matter?"

"He's not drunk, he's been poisoned. He needs medical assistance this instant."

"Dear me! Are you certain?"

"He's showing symptoms of henbane poisoning. Let's not wait to find out when he's dead. Help me get him up."

•

Looking out across the vast fields it reminds you more of an estate, someplace the rich live and hobnob with their peers rather than the home of a bookish professor, but the house itself is more in keeping with the status of the occupant. At least you think and hope it is; seeing as how there was no answer at the door you've come round back to see if there is any sign of him.

The stone paving of the backyard is covered in yellow and browning leaves just as the trees against the overcast sky which paint an evocative picture with the conservatory as its focal point. Luckily the glass makes it easy to spot him right away where he sits by his counter; his shirt isn't buttoned all the way and his suspenders hang loosely about his legs while he stares intently, adjusting the microscope to his liking. Even though the glass door is slightly ajar the proper thing to do is knock, so you do. He looks up, forward, then notices you off to the side.

"Oh. Miss Y/N", he says warmly, putting his circular spectacles on. "Please do come in."

"Good day,  Professor-"

"Baekhyun."

"Beg your pardon?"

He laughs and wipes a smudge from his glasses before putting them back on.

"I'm Baekhyun. My name is."

"Oh…"

"It only seems fitting to skip the titles in light of you saving my life."

He's peculiar. Maybe not peculiar, but…different. 

"You give me too much credit. I'm quite sure it was the hospital personnel saving you, I merely pointed out the issue."

"Come, sit. Tea?"

"Please don't make a fuss on my behalf, I was only stopping by to see how you were doing. And to say thank you for the plant, even though I must confess I haven't the slightest what it is."

"Passiflora incarnata, passion flower."

Passion. It's not an everyday word between a man and a woman, so it's just at the cusp of being risqué, but the context allows its use.

"It's native to the Americas. A great plant to alleviate stress and nervousness."

And there is your perfect in.

"Interesting… Is that something you struggle with?"

"I'm a professor, Miss…"

"Yes. Yes, of course. What I meant was…"

Having a hard time finding the best words to ask him directly, you trail off, leaving Baekhyun confounded, gently tilting his head.

"Henbane. It's not something a learned man like yourself would typically ingest accidentally."

"Miss Y/N… Are you asking me if I purposely tried to end my own life? The one and only life awarded to me?"

"My conscience compels me to do so, professor."

"You're a good woman for doing it, but I assure you that the ingestion was wholly accidental - on my part." Pausing, he looks here and there, bites his lip, then leans closer. "What is your view on the paranormal?"

"Ghosts?"

"Among other things. Hm, I can see you're quite surprised by my question-"

"A pinch."

"But there are things beyond what you and I can see, I'm sure of it. If there is religion, there must be, don't you agree..?"

"Forgive my naivete, but are you trying to put forward that a ghost poisoned you?"

"I know it for sure. Strange things started happening some weeks back; a door opening, lights being snuffed out. Small things, so I thought nothing of it at first, but as of late I've been losing things, seeing…Do you sometimes think you see someone in the corner of your eye but when you look there's nothing?"

"Yes, but it doesn't mean-"

"I know what you're thinking, but I keep all hazardous material safely locked up..." Baekhyun ponders on how to explain what he means in simple ways, then lights up. "Ah! For instance: have you ever had to fight a doctor over a patient? He says one thing, but - without scientific backing even - you know he's wrong, that something else is the matter? Gut feeling, instinct."

You can't argue with him on the very real feeling of gut feeling. Baekhyun is no fool - and you are a bit intrigued, so you relax and keep an open mind. 

"I gather you don't have any scientific evidence?"

"None."

"Then…will you tell a curious woman what you do have?"

He blinks, almost in slow-motion, then quickens with a smile.

"Yes..! I would greatly value your opinion, Miss. Let me collect my notes."

•

Despite the fact that Baekhyun didn't have any concrete evidence of being haunted, the events he described did make a compelling - at the very least curious - case. And even though some of the events could be explained by science or a trick of the mind and shadows, some circumstances were simply too strange to waft away as nothing. If it hadn't on its own deserved a second look, then Baekhyun seeming to be of sound mind convinced you to do what research you could to help out.

A quick look through your medical books here turned into trips to the library there, ending up being something occupying your mind everywhere, putting forward ideas to him when he dropped by your shop or sending letters with your findings. 

Growing increasingly wary of the situation, one of these stops Baekhyun made was to place an order for nitroglycerin - or rather, to ask that you did. Knowing the potentially devastating effects of it you were a bit on the fence, not helped much by him seeming a bit…off-kilter that day and being so secretive about what it was for, but trusting that he would - like he said - let you know upon delivery, coupled with his chemical know-how, you went ahead with the order, presuming his manner was the whole ordeal taking its toll.

¤

After having the same experience as the first time - knocking on the front door without an answer - you go round back again. Baekhyun looks the epitome of a relentless scientist, writing notes of some kind with only one flame, creating a warm globe of light not strong enough to chase away the shadows in the corners. 

This time he sees you before you knock and though you're glad to not give him a scare so late in the evening, his expression makes you feel uncertain. 

"The professor's nitroglycerin", you announce, carefully holding up the parcel of explosive material. "Now, dare I ask again what it's…for…"

You trail off into almost complete silence when you see him widening his eyes.

"Steady, Miss", he says seriously, holding his hands up. "That's highly explosive if not handled with care…"

"I know. That's why I wanted to know what it was for before I placed the order for you…"

"What order?"

Is he having you on, or maybe still out of sorts from the incident the other day?

"Why, two days ago. Do you really not recall? Coming into the apothecary?"

"Two days ago? I've been out of town until this morning. I assure you I did not place such an-"

He stops mid-sentence then walks up to you.

"Give it here."

After doing what he asks you stand dumbstruck, watching as he disappears into the small patch of trees adjacent to the house. When he reappears it's with empty hands, signing for you to follow him to his desk.

"What is going on? Are you feeling alright? Maybe it's not such a good idea to be working very hard after-"

He cuts you short by placing his calendar in your hands and sure enough it states an engagement out of town the previous days. But you know it was him you saw. It was him you saw. You look over the notes made on the days in question and they seem authentic enough. You can't make sense of it.

"But we spoke for-"

A terrible blast rings in your ears and before you can comprehend what's happening Baekhyun instinctively pulls you in, putting himself in harm's way as splinters of wood hit, but don't break, the glass panes of his conservatory. 

When you peek up from his embrace you're staring him straight in the eye. There, behind the windows to his living quarters he stands staring back at you, just as he looked in the shop. Noticing the painful vice you have around his arm, Baekhyun follows your gaze and sees him too.

"Hey!", he calls out and takes off, shouting for you to stay put.

But of course you can't. 

"I told you to stay!", he complains when he feels you're at his heels. 

Whoever that other person is he's fast like lightning as he traverses the grand flight of stairs, refusing to be caught. If it weren't for the moon being generous with silver light you wouldn't be able to see a thing in this dark and would - much like Baekhyun - trip on one of the steps. 

Presuming he's not seriously injured, you careen past him, continuing the chase not sure if you even want to catch the person.

○

"It's locked..!"

"What, it can't be."

Trying again, turning the doorknob to and fro, you push and pull, but your conclusion stands:

"No, it is."

Baekhyun frowns and grabs the knob, also trying; maybe thinking it's only jammed - maybe thinking this is a problem for a man's hand. He looks around and up into the ceiling, as if expecting to see a passage he for some inexplicable reason hadn't known about until now, then puts his arm out for you to stand back. 

With two violent pushes the door finally opens and he tumbles down on the floor inside. 

"Be careful!", you whisper, as if whatever that was doesn't already know you're after it. "Let me get a lamp."

Well inside and well lit it's obvious only two people are in that room. Two people and shelve upon shelve filled with books and papers; boxes on the floor, some half open showing items of another generation, some half covered with white cloth. Baekhyun brushes the dust off of his trousers and goes to the window to inspect:

"Locked…" After taking a moment to take it all in he gets a serious look on his face. "I think you had better leave, it's not safe here."

"What about you?"

"I'll… I'll be fine. Maybe the answer to what's going on is in here-"

"Then I'll help you search."

"No."

"Yes."

"Out of the question! I won't see you get hurt."

"Exactly, you won't! I'm the one who saved you, remember? Either both go or both stay."

The terrified part of you hope he'll decide to go, but the other is itching to solve the mystery and wants to search.  

"First sign of anything, even a draft through the floorboards and we leave, okay?"

"I won't need convincing if it does, Baekhyun. Where do we start..?"

°

A whole lot of nothing (nothing as to say nothing pertinent to your conundrum) is found as you flip through books and notes - and it's followed by a new set of nothing when you go through the boxes.

"Have you ever been in here before?"

"Not to my rec- no, wait. I think my grandmother had this as her quiet place when she lived here. Yes, there was an armchair over there", he says, pointing beside the window, sort of lingering while drawing the memory back. "But it wasn't anything special. She'd just read or do stitch work, nothing that calls for a haunting."

"Did she pass in here?"

"No. And she would not poison me."

"How many generations have-"

That draft Baekhyun had warned about caresses your hand. 

"Hm? How many generations have what?", he asks, wondering about your abrupt silence. 

"-have lived here…", you continue distractedly while you get up to look at the shelf where the cold seems to have emanated from. 

"Many. One hundred and fifty years, give or take. What is it, have you noticed something..?"

Avoiding telling him why, you scan the shelf before reaching up to take out an album; the instant you do, the whole shelf - including the one above - comes loose, dropping everything on and around you.

"Watch out..!", Baekhyun shouts, shooting from the floor to assist you. 

An honourable thing, but by the time he's by your side it's over and no harm done other than a few knocks on your arm and back.

"That's it. We're leaving", he says firmly, pulling you along. "Wait… What's this…"

His attention is focused on the very same album you were reaching for; or rather at the piece of paper sticking out from one of the pages. When he opens it, it's revealed to be a news item from an old journal.

"Building constructions reveal unmarked grave at Byun estate.", he reads aloud. "Look..! It's believed to be the missing son of the estates first owner Byun Hanmin - that's my great grandfather - who mysteriously vanished after months of caustic run-ins."

"Baekhyun, look at the date."

"That's almost a hundred years before all this started happening to me. To the day..!"

Despite his previous insisting on you leaving, Baekhyun becomes immersed in what little information there is in the album and when you see the person in a photo it's no wonder you thought it had been Baekhyun visiting you at the shop - they look exactly alike.

Realising the severity of the problem, should this indeed be the haunting of a ghost disturbed, he reckons it's time to get someone with better know-how involved.

"I think we had better talk to a friend of mine, Mr. Zhang."

°

It isn't long after the knock a figure pops up in the window. He's back-lit but it's indeed the Zhang you know from the occasional stop at the store.

"Byun….Miss Y/N..? I didn't know you were socially acquainted."

"Can we come in?"

Zhang steps out of the way, surveying you with a curious look while you sit down. 

"What can you tell us about ghosts?"

"Ghosts..? Why? What's the matter?"

"Well I… You believe in such things, don't you?"

"Correct…"

"Good. Because I, we, have reason to believe my house is being haunted - and just now we were attacked."

"How do you mean?"

"By some trick it had her believing I had a need for dangerous materials, and so she delivered them on my doorstep. It blew up not fifty yards from us..! We saw the ghost with our own eyes and it even further attacked Miss Y/N, bringing down a bookcase on her.

Zhang's eyes quicken. He gets up and has a rummage around in one of his many drawers; when he comes back it's with a stone attached to a pendant.

"Wear this."

"What for?"

"Spirits love playing tricks on humans. This is carnelian, it protects against evil jokes such as falling objects."

"Shouldn't I have one too?", Baekhyun asks worriedly. 

"No, my friend. You…you get these. Onyx, to protect you while investigating the paranormal. Wear it close to your heart. And black tourmaline to protect the home. Do you live together?"

"Us? No, Miss… If she were my wife I would've introduced her as such, would I not?"

"I'm not gossiping, Professor." Zhang looks serious, looks at the both of you. "If you're not sharing a bed it would be wisest to take some precautionary measures for your home as well is what I'm getting at."

"But if the place is the reason for the haunting, how could the spirit leave?"

"I don't know this one, some have been documented doding so."

You clasp your hands tightly, feeling a sense of regret for having invited evil into your life just for being considerate. 

"On Wednesday I saw Professor Byun- thought I did."

"But I was out of town on business then, so it wasn't me. It must have been this…thing, correct? In that case she's not safe out of my house? How is that possible? How do we get rid of it, call a priest? She should leave- you have to leave town until-"

"Quiet!", Zhang bursts out, not waiting for Baekhyun to dig himself deeper into his hole of desperation. "One question at a time. One answer. Tell me everything, from the beginning.  Are those documents about the spirit?"

°

After a long debriefing, where it was settled that the spirit haunting Baekhyun was most likely that of his ancestor, an ever longer plan to rid him - and you - of it started to take shape. Zhang, a master of alchemy in his own right, knew it would be a herculean task to combat such an entity and therefore felt it was best he had the matter reviewed by his own teacher, and took it upon himself to travel to the continent to discuss it with him, at the same time stocking up on much needed supplies.

Frightening days simmered down to worrisome ones, until the weeks made wearing your necklace, keeping stones, checking and double checking that items within your home and shop hadn't moved, commonplace in a bizarre sort of way. 

Taking Zhang's advice - not needing insisting - Baekhyun had found himself temporary accommodation at an inn; it was closer to town, so easier to meet up, but when he noticed idle talk starting to form among the guests he suggested it might not be a good idea for a woman looking to keep her reputation to - unchaperoned - frequent a man so often. "I think it's safe to say my reputation was lost as soon as I moved here. An unmarried woman, owning a business. And not even actively looking to get married..!" But you'd agreed and decided to meet each other at your home. You got the feeling he liked seeing you at home, maybe he got a sense that if he saw you were alright then it would be fine. And you liked it better as well, getting him out of the inn for a homemade meal whether it was by your cooks or your hand, taking care of him… Having him around, that's what you liked - and liked more as the days and nights waiting for Zhang allowed you to see another side of him. He wasn't always studious - or worried about safety; he was smart, but simple, had stories to tell and loved listening to yours. His greeting when you opened the door gradually turned more relaxed, yet in a way more shy. Composed by his utmost gentlemanly nature, but smiling in such a sweet way.

¤ 

"...and with counsel and judges who judge feminine conduct from the male point of view", is what he said, Ibsen, Baekhyun relays. "He's an interesting thinker."

"And you..?", you ask in jest, as you get up and start collecting the cleared dinner plates. "How do you judge me?"

"Would I dare? The spectrum would be to vast to-"

"Aow..." Frowning, you put the plates back down and reach back. "My hair is caught in the necklace…"

"Oh. Here, let me help you."

Being helped brings an odd feeling of embarrassment, likely due to the ridiculousness of being incapacitated by such a small thing as a few strands of hair in the first place. For having such delicate hands, Baekhyun's tinkering touch isn't all that refined, but you refrain from uttering any sounds of discomfort to save him from a gentleman's guilty conscience.

Nonetheless, the sporadic brushing of his fingers against your neck tickles in a delightful way - in a way making you unusually aware of your demeanour. 

"There, you're free", he sighs and puts the chain down. 

His hands stay half closed against your shoulders. Suddenly the air is filled with unspoken intention.

His thumb cautiously  feathers up and down on your neck. You barely dare breathe, let alone say a word. 

"I…seem to have developed an affection for you, Miss Y/N", he declares softly. 

"Oh…" When reason and poise escape you, foolish manners take the stage. "You have?"

You feel the gust of his laughter on your neck, then he turns you around. A warm gaze, light stroke on your cheek, a nod while he cups your face.

"It's quite acute."

His eyes squint tenderly when he bends forward. A hint of fruit from the inch of sherry he's had is on his tongue.

He steps back, waiting for a reaction, perhaps unable to read you, but how do you ask someone to stay? You don't. 

You take the kerosene lamp and go to your sleeping quarters, hoping the absence of being bid farewell will be enough for him to understand. And as you pull the curtains together you hear a creek from just outside the room. 

In silence layers and layers of fabric - dress, corset, drawers, camisole - are loosened by his hands until there's only skin left for him to touch. He softly cups your breasts, gently feeling them in his hands while kissing your neck. When he strokes across your nipples it sends ripples through your body down between your legs, so you take his hand and- with nerves - guide him to the bed. He takes his own clothes off while you shove the covers to the side, then joins you, carefully laying on top with a smile of anticipation and puts the covers across his lower body. Despite his length already being fully erect he takes his time. His lips are warm and honest against yours as he continuously puts them to your mouth, sometimes pausing to brush the side of your face or simply look at you.

Mid-kissing his hand goes between your legs and it's not long until you feel him entering you, pushing his hips forward a little, then back. A minor groan from you has him looking up, making sure he's not being hasty.

"Are you…comfortable?"

"Yes." You smile, kiss him again, then put your hands on his lower back. 

It's a tight fit in which he glides back and forth with ease and obvious satisfaction, somewhat holding his breath as he gets to know you. 

Oh, the sensation when he starts softly pounding the root against your entrance; full, continuous flares of arousing tickles, reaching inside as well. 

It's dead quiet save for breaths, lips, claps and moans. His legs are spread almost as wide as yours are as he rolls them, in a way refusing to let pleasure let up; cupping one of  your breasts, resting his head against yours. Despite the cool night his body is warm in your grip and his breath is the same as he puffs against your cheek, both masculine and vulnerable. 

"Ahh…..ahh…."

The sateen embroidery on the covers gleam in the light as it billows with Baekhyun's search for an orgasm and his shoulder blades push out of his back with the weight of holding himself up. 

"A-h-h…"

His hand closes tightly on your shoulder, his vigorous thrusting presses his balls to your skin. You hear the scratch of his nails on your sheets, then he gasps, grinding energetically while he climaxes in several loud groans, in spite of his efforts to control them.

When he settles, slowly gliding once or twice, you feel the extra slip as a result of his orgasm, delight in it, even. When he slides out he doesn't move away but stays hovering above your face, tracing your features with an utterly tired breathing but full of contentment. You're almost taken aback when he envelops your lips with his; plush but tight and filled with passion.

He chuckles and nods.

"This affection is quite acute indeed…"

°

A soft trail of kisses along your shoulder wakes you up. It's still dark save for a sliver of natural light by the window so you can't have slept many hours. You take in the tender touch of his lips, the hand caressing your arm, not worrying much about taking immediate action; a simple stir of the head lets him know you're awake. Letting the sound of his lips against your skin take a bigger stage, he also moves his hand to your thigh, patiently stroking it before his eagerness gets the better of him; searching, his clasped fingers brushes against your bum, then the firm head of his length feels between your legs until he finds your entrance. You hug tightly around him while he presses further in, letting a muted groan slip through his lips.

A creaking from your rocking chair in the corner,  and there it is. You haven't even screamed before Baekhyun leaps over you, but after grabbing hold of nothing but a crocheted blanket hanging on the chair he throws it on the floor, shouting in frustration.

"Show yourself!"

A crash of glass downstairs has him hurrying out of the room, not listening to your frightful plea for him to stay. 

After the hard thuds of his feet against the steps stop everything goes quiet. With eyes burning with tears and spasmodic hands you strike a match; after breaking two in half you finally manage to light the lamp and see properly. Clutching the covers until your knuckles turn white, you press your back into the wall, expecting the unwelcome guest to appear in the room any moment - isn't the shadow by your wardrobe uncommonly dark..? You desperately want to call out for Baekhyun but it's a mammoth task in the face of your fear, so you stay silent as warm droplets start running down your cheeks.

When footsteps come booming up the stairs again you breathe a sigh of relief. You can tell it's him, but nonetheless get a good look at him to make sure his eyes aren't sunken in or his cheek manducated by maggots. He's unharmed, but understandably agitated as he goes straight to your pile of clothes to find the carnelian Zhang gave you. 

He puts it over your head, giving you a kiss on the forehead before finding his own to put on.

"What happened?"

"Nothing…", he sighs, a mix of vexation and fright directed at the whole ordeal when he comes back to bed. Like you, he doesn't lie down, but stays sitting upright and draws you to his chest. "... There was a shattered glass on the floor, nothing more. I'll stay awake. Don't be frightened, I won't let him hurt you."

His words are brave, but lying against his chest there's no hiding the truth of his racing heart. Any day now, Zhang will return from the continent. Any day now…

•

Baekhyun's light touch on your shoulder brings you back from a thousand miles away filled with nothing. You try to look brave, following his movements as he kneels next to you but when he hugs your hand you falter.

"Do we have to? Can't we find someplace else to live, somewhere…?"

"I would see you safe before we start that life", he replies softly, kissing your hand. "You heard Zhang's conclusion, we must rid the spirit from our lives or it is likely to come along. You don't have to go with me if you are too frightened. Stay here."

"No..! I'm not frightened. I…well, are you not?"

"Petrified. But would I live the rest of my days in fear or take care to live this one life in joy and love?"

His words strike a chord in you and drum up courage, resolve; of course you will go ahead, not let this visitor from the other side dictate your happiness. Why should you? You bang your fist on the table - a stamp of sorts - and hug his tighter.

"You're right. Let us be rid of it for good and ever." 

°

In accordance with Zhang's instructions you've brought your usual tourmaline, carnelian and onyx, but on the seat next to you in the carriage is also a satchel filled with sage, bistort, fennel and bay leaves for the various protective measures needed to be taken. Your body seems to be charged with electricity - tiny threads buzzing throughout - and by the time you see Zhang waiting by the gate you're raring to spring out of the carriage and fight whatever needs to be fought; ready to be freed.

Every meeting with him has been wrapped in graveness, but tonight is at a peak as this is the moment everything has to be right. Prevail or fail.

"Like I said before, the stronger its reaction is the closer it means we are to banishing it. Remember, we, humans, are the ones who belong here. You, Byun, own this land." Stopping to look you in the eye, he has some last words of courage. "Let us face our mission with unwavering conviction, my friends."

Even though you're closer to the source of your fear, Zhang's words invoke determination. Baekhyun puts his arms around you and whispers:

"The sun will rise on a beautiful morning."

 Replies are redundant, so you merely nod and follow along when he starts towards the entryway. 

The air is heavier inside. 

Even with three lamps the darkness cannot be chased away entirely and it feels as if evil is lurking in every nook and cranny on your way to the conservatory. 

"Protection, healing, strength in spiritual battle", Zhang says, taking out black, white and red candles from his bag. "You see to lighting these, Byun. And you, Miss, light the sage so smoke cleanses the room. The other plants go in this cauldron."

While you and Baekhyun each take care of your tasks Zhang sprinkles black salt in a wide circle and puts stones and crystals of various colours and sizes about the room, mumbling spells for each one as he goes.

You wonder what Zhang is thinking when he signs to you to take a deep breath in and exhale as thoroughly before stepping into the candle-lined circle; is he as calm as he seems or does he, similar to you, have a tight throat? 

His tone is not at all loud and booming like you had expected, but stern in a calm manner.

"I demand the attention of the spirit known by his earthen name Byun Bohyun."

The subsequent silence is terrifying. You know he's here, but nothing. 

When Zhang continues, striking a match and putting it in the cauldron, Baekhyun takes out one of the photos of living Bohyun and holds it firmly in his hands. He quivers slightly when he speaks, but nonetheless manages to do it with assertion:

"I, Byun Baekhyun, demand you, Byun Bohyun,  leave my house and land and leave my relations in peace."

When he puts the photo to the flames a crack of glass makes you jump. One-by-one the flasks and bottles on Baekhyun's table explode into smithereens with violently piercing sounds. 

Remembering Zhang's words about the spirit's reaction, you press Baekhyun's hand, urging him to continue. 

"Your tantrums do not frighten me."

"You have come with great distress but now it is time to leave in peace", Zhang insists, also giving a signal for the chant.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust", you say together, creating a monotonous harmony. "May the wind blow you, wandering ghost-..."

What had started as a light creaking in from the roof above suddenly turns to a loud squeak, like wood being twisted and bent.

"...-and clear the world of the living. Turn you to where you belong-..."

The windows clatter, supporting beams crack with wood dust falling to the floor.

"...-and may you disappear without a trace."

Just as you finish, Baekhyun's great crystal chandelier comes loose and smashes with a deafening sound. 

"Like my ancestor before me cast you out, so will I too cast you out", Baekhyun declares and drops a handful of soil in the cauldron. 

Is that is? Is it finished? It feels like you stay, hands joined, bated breath, for eons but it is only for a minute or two. When Zhang's fingers start unlocking themselves you follow along; still wary of speaking you exchange careful smiles with one another. The conservatory is in disarray but the important thing is that you made it. Daybreak is yet far off - very far off by the looks of the rolling dark clouds. 

"What now..?", Baekhyun asks Zhang. "Is there anything else to do?"

Rolling clouds… But the trees weren't moving..! It's already too late when you look again; outside the landscape is black, the closest trees being swallowed by the oncoming darkness. 

"Baekhyu-!"

The force shatters the glass panes and hurls you against the wall. The violent impact knocks the wind out of you, then you crash onto the floor, landing with your face on the cold stone. Gasping for air you notice Zhang sprawled out not far away from where you lay and force yourself to your knees.

"Zha-!"

Your voice fails you. Smacking his cheek doesn't wake him up, but he's breathing, so you turn to search for Baekhyun. The room is exactly as before save for the candles being snuffed out, but the night sky is enough for you to make out objects. You don't see him. Getting to your feet you go behind his desk but again, he's not there.

"Baekhyun!", you hiss, dreading the return of the spirit. 

Understanding he's not inside you hurry over the broken glass to the patio, but when you don't find him there either your heart tightens. You shout for him, then wait, try to make out even the slightest sound of him. 

Where is he…

Where is he..!?

Without a thought you run into the patch of trees, trying to see or hear anything while calling his name, stumbling and being scratched by branches.

When you reach the end and come out onto the meadow your head is spinning, your heart racing with the strain of running after the impact and fear of what's happened. 

"Baekhyun!"

The flat land stretches for miles, a silent blue-green sea under the moon. No one is here. Your throat is thick, you can't think what to do. There is no one here.

"Baekhyun..!"

●

[kudosmyhero]

Detective Comics (vol. 1) #401: Target for Tonight!/Midnight Is the Dying Hour!

Read Date: January 31, 2023 Cover Date: July 1970 ● Writer: Frank Robbins / Dennis O'Neil ● Penciler: Bob Brown / Gil Kane ● Inker: Joe Giella / Vince Colletta ● Colorist: {uncredited} ● Letterer: Ben Oda / John Costanza ● Editor: Julius Schwartz ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: (first story) ● Batman the target of a hunter. He’s in his penthouse as Bruce Wayne watching t.v. with Alfred when a hunter with a trained falcon is on the program. Just then, an arrow zips past them and shatters the television. Implying that the hunter knows Bruce Wayne is at least connected to Batman? ● Carleton Yager is the hunter’s name. (And since he knows Batman’s identity, I assume something will happen to cause Yager’s death. A non-major character knowing someone’s identity is practically a spoiler that they’re going to die soon.) ● I’m not sure why Batman is crouched atop a piling but… hey, at least it looks cool:

● Yager has Batman in a net. He’s outsmarted Batman every step of the way so far. ● Batman has admitted a couple of times tonight that he’s only going after Yager because of his pride. ● NOW Yager is on my bad side. He has Alfred tied up with a target on him. Leave my Alfred alone! ● Batman kicks Alfred out of the way:

● oooOOoooh… you’d think I’d be used to people in comics using latex masks by now. “Alfred” was actually Yager. I thought Batman was kicking him out of harm’s way before an arrow could hit, but nope, he was actually kicking the snot out of him. ● Yager falls to his death. ● The story is only worth one clap, but the art brings it up to two: ● 👏👏

(second story) ● Okay, so back to Batgirl being bricked up behind the wall. ● Earlier, Robin investigated Willard’s death even before police arrived. No sign of a struggle, and Willard is pointing to a book of poetry, which Robin finds odd because Willard has voiced his distaste of literature. ● Robin walks around campus, pondering the mystery. Some of the info he knows due to being a student here: “Willard and his pals fought with Professor Huntington about whether or not to sell the university’s woodland property. Huntington claims it’s valuable for research… Willard claimed the school needs the money. The jocks and some of the drama majors sided with Willard… while Hank, myself and a few of the hippie types stood for the prof…” ● Robin then remembers a Poe play and puts the pieces together. He finds one of the theater guys with the trowel. The guy escapes by throwing a wad of wet cement in Robin’s eyes. ● Hearing something moving behind the freshly built wall, Robin begins to dismantle it and finds Batgirl. ● A sandbag drops from above, and Robin has to save Batgirl again by knocking her out of the way. ● Batgirl says that what she thought had been the smell of ether had been the smell of spirit gum, which some actors use when wearing false facial hair… so someone was disguised as Hank Osher. ● And the book of poetry the dead man was pointing to, he was specifically pointing to POEtry… which Robin put together as an actor in the upcoming Poe play (a bit of a stretch, but ok) ● Batgirl and Robin capture Jack Markham and turn him over to the cops. ● 👏👏

Synopsis: A big-game hunter who dubs himself "the Stalker" deduces Batman's secret identity and announces his intention to hunt down and kill the Caped Crusader. Batman decides to live up to his reputation as a manhunter and he starts looking for the criminal in order to stop his plan. Batman goes to the Stalker's mansion, where he almost falls for a deadly trap and learns that the hunter has prepared their final encounter in an island near Gotham City.

Batman goes to the location and tries to confront the hunter unseen, but the hunter has prepared a few traps for Batman. The Dark Knight manages to break free and starts looking for his enemy. After a quick search, Batman finds Alfred in a shooting gallery. Musing that he would endanger both their lives by trying to save him in the Stalker's booby-trapped gallery, Batman retreats only to return and tackle his butler to the ground and deliver a strong punch to his face. As unusual as this action seems, Batman has deduced that Alfred is in fact the Stalker in disguise and when the hero unmasks the Stalker, the latter tries to escape by jumping away from Batman, unaware that he'd be jumping to his death.

Unable to save the Stalker, Batman leaves the place and meets with the real Alfred, who had followed Batman to make sure he defeated his enemy.


SECOND STORY Stumbling upon a murder plot at Hudson University, Batgirl soon finds herself the killers next victim after being bound, gagged and sealed in a room behind a brick wall.

Earlier in the evening, Dick Grayson had taken on his guise of Robin in order to conduct his own investigation of the murder. Finding that the body of Willard was pointing at a book of poetry (particularly the words "POE") and remembering the Poe festival, Robin finally realizes who the killer might be.

Rushing to the theater, Robin catches the killer just before he can apply the last brick that would seal Batgirl's tomb, but the murderer manages to get away. Robin then frees Batgirl, and the two heroes begin searching the theater for their assailant. After a chase through the theater, Robin and Batgirl manage to catch the killer who turns out to be none other than student Jack Markham.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Detective_Comics_Vol_1_401)

Fan Art: Batgirl: Barbara Gordon by FelipeSmith

Accompanying Podcast: ● Batgirl to Oracle - episode 11

[whitefromthebeginning]

Robert Fitzgerald Kennedy Jrs bodyguard Dave Ross is one of three crazy-legged Skinwalkers that has been stalking me for years

Another one is this man at Trader Joe's that turns into a woman covering her arms, chest and face with prison tatoos

The scariest of them all though is a woman I couldn't photograph that works for the Mental Health Division of Huntington Hospital that came inches away from me today while I was sitting on my lawn chair talking to Tony Zee on the 13th of September 2024 crouched down as if to lunge with its legs attached too close together at the tops of the thighs and knees pointing to the left and right.

[thatsamericano]

Artistic Like A Jackson Pollack Painting

Characters/Pairing: America/Romano

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1279

Warnings: Description of blood and a minor injury, internalized ableism from the POV character, and possible medical inaccuracies.

Summary: Romano tries to make a Valentine’s Day card for his boyfriend, but his chorea makes that more difficult than it should be.

Notes: Written for the “Bloody Valentine” prompt on @hetaliancupid-hetaliaevent. Credit to @luca-talia for the headcanon that Romano might still have symptoms of chorea as an adult. Note that if he has the Huntington’s form of chorea (which is the most common in real life), I did not go into any other medical problems Romano might realistically have if he were human. I did a little research on chorea for this story, but I can’t promise my depiction is accurate. For those new to my writing, I use Savino as Romano’s human name.

Romano had spent a couple of hours making an elaborate Valentine’s Day card for America. It was slow progress, and the end result wouldn’t be nearly as good as something Veneziano could make, but he wanted to spend the time making something special for his boyfriend. And so far, he was fairly satisfied with his efforts.

But as he was cutting a small heart out a sheet of patterned card stock paper, a familiar tremor went through Romano’s hands, the same tremor that had made it so hard to clean for Spain when he was a little kid. His chorea had gotten a little better over the years, but it had never completely gone away. It was worse when he was stressed out, but it could strike Savino at other times too, in a way he could never control or predict. Romano’s grip on the scissors slipped, and he accidentally sliced directly into his palm. He wasn’t able to push the chair back from the desk before he bled all over the Valentine’s Day card he had been making for Alfred.

“Porca Madonna!” he shouted, tears springing to his eyes as he cradled his injured hand close to his chest. Savino tried not to hate himself for his disability, but sometimes it was difficult. When the chorea made him break something or ruin something he had been working so hard on, Romano felt weak and useless.

A few seconds later, America, who had been visiting him for the upcoming holiday, burst into his study. “Vinny, what happened?! You don’t normally curse the Virgin Mary.”

“I ruined your Valentine’s Day card,” Romano told him. His lower lip wobbled as he stared down at the card, now streaked with blood like something out of the kind of gory slasher film that would give Alfred nightmares if he saw it. He had made it so ugly, when he had only wanted to make something beautiful with his own hands to show America how much he cared about him. He really couldn’t do anything right.

Alfred stepped in close to see the injury Savino had been trying to hide. “Oh, honey, did you hurt yourself?”

“I was using the scissors, and I had a fit… I couldn’t take my hand away before the blood dripped onto your card. I’m sorry.”

Alfred crouched down to be on the same level as Savino. He glanced at the card, but only briefly, and kissed the side of his head. “I don’t care if my card got blood on it when my actual Valentine got hurt. We should go to the kitchen so I can help fix your hand for you.”

“That’s not really necessary,” Romano muttered. “It should heal soon enough on its own.” That was a benefit of being a nation, but his wound was still bleeding badly. Since he didn’t want to make an even worse mess with his blood, he stood up right after America did and started to walk with him to the kitchen. America put his hand on his back, and Romano leaned into his boyfriend slightly as they left the room.

“You don’t have to be this nice to me. I might hurt myself a lot, but I’m not made of fucking glass.” His disability did make him feel fragile, but Romano didn’t like showing weakness to others. Not even the people he loved and trusted.

“I know you’re not. You’re incredibly strong and brave to deal with something this difficult your whole life. I want to take care of you because I love you, not because I think you can’t take care of yourself.”

Romano teared up again, but this time, it was from gratitude instead of pain and disappointment. America’s voice was sincere, and Savino could tell that Alfred actually meant what he was saying.

“Sappy idiota,” he murmured fondly. Alfred chuckled at his comment, and he was still smiling by the time they entered the kitchen.

America guided them both over to the sink. Alfred quickly washed his hands, and then Savino carefully rinsed out his wound. Alfred helped him clean the area around his wound with soap and water, and then he dried Romano’s hand with a clean towel before he stooped down to collect the first aid kit Romano kept for kitchen-related accidents (which unfortunately, happened to him sometimes, even if cooking relaxed him and made a chorea related incident less likely).

America retrieved ointment from the first aid kit and gently applied it to Romano’s wound. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Romano shrugged. “It hurts a hell of a lot less than cutting open my own hand did.”

Savino watched as Alfred used a ridiculous amount of gauze to wrap his hand. “Are you trying to fuckin’ mummify me or something, idiota?”

“Nah. But you would look pretty cute as a mummy.” The asshole winked, probably just because he knew it would make Romano’s face turn red. Then, after he was done wrapping his hand, America lifted it up and pressed a kiss over the gauze-covered wound. “There. A kiss to help you feel better.”

Romano grinned slyly. “You know, my lips are feeling sore too, caro.”

America squinted at him in confusion for a few seconds, and then he grinned once he stopped interpreting Romano’s statement so literally. “Oh, you’re saying you want me to kiss you.”

Romano laughed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Alfred was still holding onto his injured hand as he leaned down to kiss Savino sweetly. Savino reciprocated for a few seconds before Alfred pulled away to brush the lips over the fingers of his injured hand.

“I love your hands, Savi. Even if they don’t always act the way you want them to.” He pressed another kiss over the injured palm before he let his hand go.

Savino smiled a little in spite of himself. “I love you too.” He sighed. “If my hand’s not better by tomorrow, I guess I’ll have to go out and buy you a Valentine’s Day card.”

Alfred shrugged. “You don’t have to. I’d be perfectly happy with the card you made for me.”

“Really? Even with the blood splatter?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s not like red doesn’t fit for Valentine’s Day. And splattering can be totally artistic— like a Jackson Pollack painting.”

Romano snorted. “Only you would find blood splatter artistic.”

“And only you would make an awesome looking card and then worry about the fact you got blood on it instead of the fact that you injured yourself.”

Savino frowned as he considered the card he had left in his study. “I wasn’t even finished yet.”

“Well, if you insist, you can finish it up later. But for now, I think you should take a break and cuddle with me on the couch in the living room. That can be your pre-Valentine’s Day gift to me.”

Romano rolled his eyes as America grabbed his hand that hadn’t been mummified and started to pull him towards the living room. “You’re a cheap date, Fredo.”

“I just know what I want. And right now, I want to spend time with you and make you feel better.”

Savino sat down on the couch next to Alfred, who immediately wrapped an arm around him. He watched the television, which was playing a program with subtitles he obviously didn’t need since he knew Italian fluently.

When he glanced up at America a few minutes later, Alfred was staring down at him sappily, completely ignoring the show he had been watching earlier. Romano smirked to himself, nuzzled into his idiota’s neck, and decided that he could wait to finish his bloody Valentine’s Day card later.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part nineteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part nineteen: The Flagstaff Horse Fair is about to kick off, but not without a hitch. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Fortunate Son’ - Creedence Clearwater Revival, ‘Backwoods Company’ - The Wild Feathers.  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​, @manawhaat​​ and @winchest09​​ for helping me. I especially want to thank Kay, who has beta’d Ride from the very beginning, but needs to take a break from Tumblr to focus on school. I will miss her dearly, but I’m super thankful that Mana is willing to take over. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With a black bumper-pull trailer in the rearview mirror, Dean’s beloved ‘67 El Camino rolls up Interstate 17. The windows are down, allowing the wind to wash in, like waves crashing onto the beach on a hot summer day, the cool air welcome and refreshing. 

     The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan left around three o’clock, the column of three pickups and trailers now heading towards Flagstaff, Arizona. Bobby and Jo lead the company in his powerful Ford with an impressive gooseneck in tow, which currently accommodates five horses. Benny follows in his four by four, with three horses on board another large trailer, facilitated with a small living quarters. Dean is the last wagon of the train, Meadow and one of his calmer geldings in the back, and Y/N beside him in the passenger seat.

     The cowgirl is soaking up the scenery, the hills that flow next to the highway, the mountains in the distance, the blue sky above them. The tall saguaros that dominate the landscape at home are swapped for ponderosa pines, dusty desert for green grasslands. The forest is already beginning to change color, autumn painting deciduous trees in shades of yellow and orange. It’s remarkable how different her current surroundings are from the Phoenix area, only two and a half hours south. 

     With Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing on the old cassette deck of the classic car, Dean drums against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song. He absently hums along, mouthing a few words every now and then. When he glances aside, a small smile forms on his lips. The woman, who managed to calm him after the disturbing news Bobby delivered, is breathtaking without even trying. Loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and dance in the playful wind, her maya blue blouse fluttering against her Arizona sun-kissed skin. She looks at the world through her shaded Ray Bans, lost in thought and wonder.

     He returns his gaze to the road as he reaches for her, laying his hand on her knee to get her attention, softly rubbing his thumb over the denim. Awoken from her daydream, she glances over, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she lays her hand over his, warmed by the touch.

     “Nervous?” he wonders, dropping her hand just long enough to turn down the stereo before he laces their fingers together once again.      “A little bit,” she confesses.      “Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine,” he reassures. “Besides, your class ain’t till tomorrow.”      “I’m not nervous about riding.”      The wrangler moves his focus from the asphalt to his girlfriend. “What about then?”      She’s quiet for a second. Shy, just like she was the first time they met. “Just… This is your scene. People know you, and I don’t know anyone.”      He smirks, lightly. “Concerned about former flings?”       The cowgirl shrugs, half admitting her insecurity.      “Yankee, you have nothing to worry about. Hey…” He squeezes her hand, glancing over again. “I’m with you, okay?”

     A smile breaks through the surface as Y/N glances at the handsome wrangler she gets to call hers, his green eyes making a silent promise. For a guy who claims not to be good with words, he’s doing a pretty great job. She takes a breath when he concentrates on the road again.      “So, how are you going to introduce me?” she wonders.      “As my girlfriend,” he returns, matter-of-factly, cool confidence sitting on the edge of his mouth. He honestly can’t wait to introduce her as his.

     Y/N is unable to hide her contentment, the corners of her mouth creeping up further as she gets lost in the sight of him. There it is again; that tingly feeling, his confirmation breaking down the doubt bit by bit.      “What about Bobby?” Y/N checks. “He still doesn’t know.”      “Believe me, Bobby will be too busy strikin’ deals and sellin’ horses. He’s not gonna notice us,” Dean states, not concerned about his uncle. “It’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna have a blast, trust me.”

     After shooting her that grin she’s loved from day one, he glances past the trucks and trailers in front of them. They drive by a large sign made from stone and wood, that says ‘1882 - Flagstaff, Arizona’, the city up ahead and Humphreys Peak in the backdrop. The caravan turns onto I-40 going west, before taking the exit a couple of miles later.

      When they come over the hill, the competition grounds come into view. Flags reach skyward and wave proudly in the Western breeze, the stars and stripes alternating with the state flag of Arizona, the American Reining Horse Association, and many others. There’s the main arena, several training areas, stables, and amusement rides, complete with hundreds of trucks,  trailers, and RV campers filling the fairgrounds. Observing the scene, it becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just a local show.

     Dean was right, this is the perfect practice run for her and Meadow, but the sight of the large event has her stomach in knots. Right, those lovely performance nerves that never fail to torment her. She hopes she can survive tomorrow and still be able to eat without throwing up, because it wouldn’t be the first time that the highly strung feeling she experiences right before a ride has her physically sick. 

     The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan enters the show grounds, Bobby following the directions of the parking officer. After a short drive, they park the trailers next to each other on a large field, adding to the rows and rows of pickups, trailers, and even semi trucks with pop out living units.       “I’ll check in with the stable manager,” Jo announces when they get out of the cars, heading over to the stable office to check which boxes are assigned to them.

     Y/N picks her hat off the seat and pushes it on her head, leaving her shades on the dash now that she doesn’t need them anymore. She opens the hatch of the black trailer behind Dean’s Chevy, peeking inside. Meadow greets her with a slightly nervous neigh, eager to get out now that they’ve stopped moving. Lovingly, her rider pets her nose, trying to calm her a little, but the spirited mare begins to scrape her hoof on the rubber coated floor, nonetheless.      “She okay?” Dean asks.      “Yeah, she just wants to get off the trailer. I’m going to unload her, let her graze a little,” she says, attaching the leadrope to her halter. “Could you get the lid?”

     The wrangler nods and walks around to the back, opening the latches as Y/N unties her horse. The cowgirl pushes the divider away and gently leads Meadow down the ramp. The beautiful bay Quarter Horse takes in her surroundings with large eyes, alert and ready for action, belting out another loud neigh to announce her arrival. She circles around her owner, who can’t help but laugh at her cocky attitude; she could have sworn her granddad bought her a mare, and not a stallion, even though Meadow behaves like one at times. Eventually she drops her head and cuts a few bites of grass, before pulling up her head again while chewing, staring at another animal in the distance.

     “She really is a character, ain’t she?” Dean laughs, watching the pair.      “Sure is,” her owner chuckles, rubbing the mare’s withers. “She knows it’s showtime. She can feel it.”      Y/N crouches down to remove Meadow’s travel leg protection while Dean holds the feisty horse, glancing in the direction of the stable office, from which Jo returns.      “Tent B. Box sixty-four to seventy-three,” the ranch owner’s daughter informs. “Let’s unload.”

     Within thirty minutes the ten stables are ready, the heavy trunks installed, the tack rooms decorated and the horses unloaded. Y/N does her bit, rolling the wheel barrow from the truck to the stables with hay bails and wood shaving bedding, but it’s clear the Gold Canyon crew has taken this many horses to a competition before. Benny, Jo, Dean, and Bobby operate like a well-oiled machine, although the head of the ranch is moving a little bit slower these days. 

     Y/N tapes a form to the stable with Meadow’s name and an emergency phone number when Dean comes back from the water point, a full bucket in each hand. He and Benny have been going back and forth a couple of times now, supplying the ten horses. When the head wrangler walks by carrying the water, she’s distracted from the task at hand. Watching his shoulders work under his plaid shirt, she can’t help but get a little lost in the view. His biceps flex against the fabric, back strong and firm while he transports the heavy buckets with steady steps. God, he is good on the eyes.

     “Are you gonna continue to drool over my cousin or are you gonna come with me to the show office to pay our fees?”      Y/N’s eyes shift to Jo, who’s leaning against the stable door with her arms crossed in front of her chest and an amused smirk on her lips. Without a doubt, the blush that fires up her face is hard to miss.       “Let me get my bag,” she says, straightening her back and turning to the head wrangler. “Dean, is the car still un--”

     Before she can finish her sentence, her boyfriend has dug up the keys to the El Camino from his pocket and tosses them to her. Y/N catches them skillfully.      “Awww, so you can read each other’s mind now, too?” Jo comments, earning a glare from Dean, causing her to shrug. “What? It’s dead cute!”      “I’m not cute!” Dean counters, his face contorting as if she just called him something foul.       “No, you’re a tough, manly man. We get it, Cowboy.” She passes him, patting his shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”      “You keep tellin’ yourself… somethin’,” he stammers, struggling to stand up to the reputation Jo is undermining.

     She walks on, laughing, not even granting him another look. Bothered with his own unimpressive reply, the wrangler watches his cousin catch up with her father. God, sometimes he wishes he could shut her up without having to deal with her sassy attitude.      Annoyed, he turns back to Y/N, who can’t hide her amusement as she steps closer. He eyes her, which only causes her to chuckle.      “I’m not cute,” he underlines.

     The cowgirl smirks and pushes him into the tack room, out of sight and safe from Bobby’s judgement. She takes his hat from his head and leans in, connecting her lips with his. The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s long enough to make Dean’s head spin. When she parts from him, he opens his eyes again, taking her in as she places his Stetson back over his tousled hair.       “You’re adorable,” she says.      Dean half pouts while furrowing his brow, still trying to establish that he is neither cute or adorable, but breaks character when his girlfriend smiles widely before she spins around. Fine, maybe he is turning a bit soft, but it’s all her doing. 

     Jo joins Y/N with her father’s wallet in hand, the two friends almost skipping to the exit of the stable, joking and laughing as they go. Dean watches the pair and shakes his head, not missing Benny’s wide grin coming his direction. The lovebirds might have stayed out of the ranch owner’s line of sight, however, Benny had a clear view of the endearing interaction. He’s leaning against a tack trunk, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and playful judgement that’s impossible to miss.       “Get it over with,” the head wrangler mutters. “Got anything to add to that?”      “Nah, I reckon the gals made their point,” the Southerner chuckles.

     “So, you two are still doin’ good, huh?”      Jo glances at Y/N from the corner of her eye while pushing her father’s wallet into her back pocket. She leans against Dean’s car, careful not to scratch it, knowing that all hell is going to break loose if she does.      “Surprised?” her friend counters, picking up her bag from the front seat, before closing the door.      “Just checkin’ if the woman-oholic isn’t suffering from tremors, hallucinations, insomnia,” the cowgirl states.       Y/N grins at that, pushing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, ready for her friend to lead the way to the show office. 

     “He’s not, don’t worry,” she claims, very much aware that Jo is just toying with her. “He’s been really wonderful, actually. I honestly didn’t expect him to be so attentive and sweet.”      “No one did. Hell, I don’t think even Dean knew he had it in ’im. Guess you bring out the best in my notorious cousin.” She hooks her arm around Y/N’s neck, pulling her in for a side hug.

     On their way over to the show office, Jo is greeted by multiple familiar faces, asking her how she's doing and the ranch owner’s daughter returning the question in a quick exchange. It becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just Dean’s scene, but Jo’s as well. 

     She soaks up her surroundings, glancing left and right as they walk up a two story building, a little further up the slightly hilly property. Stalls are lined up along the boulevard, selling all sorts of things, from horse gear to fashion and interior design. It’s not incredibly busy yet, the people waiting in the short lines for the food stands mostly riders, trainers, and horse owners. The organisation is probably expecting a bigger crowd on the weekend.

     A ferrier is hammering a loose shoe under a horse’s hoof, the large animal waiting patiently until the job is done, while a promoter tries to sell a new tractor to an interested party. Cheers roar from one of the arenas, excitement heard in the voice of the commentator, who echoes over the terrain through the speakers. The smell of cotton candy when they pass a concessions truck reaches the cowgirl’s nose as she watches children having fun riding a Shetland pony from the local riding school.

     Content, Y/N smiles, because apart from the temperature, the atmosphere on this show isn’t different from the events she’s been to when she was still living in Freeport. The nerves she felt in the car earlier seep away with the familiarity, excitement taking its place. Before she came to Gold Canyon Ranch, she was buried under pressure and books, working on her thesis around the clock. The last competition she rode was the State Championships. God, she missed this circus. This life. This is where she belongs, not behind some desk, no matter how good the salary.

     “Jo Singer, it’s good to see you again, my dear,” the woman behind the counter in the show office says, recognizing the blonde cowgirl instantly. “How are you and your family doing?”      Reading glasses balance on the tip of the nose of the kind secretary, who smiles at both the girls. Her ash blonde hair is short, and worn in a fashion you would expect for a lady in her sixties.      “Good to see you too, Mildred,” Jo returns, pulling Bobby’s wallet from her pocket. “We’re okay. How are the boys?”

     Y/N glances at her friend from the corner of her eye as the two acquaintances make small talk. She noticed the hint of doubt in her claim that everything was fine with the Singer family, followed by the quick counter question to avert the attention back to the woman on the other side of the desk. Aware that the information Dean shared with her is confidential, she didn’t discuss it with Jo, even though she wanted to. While she didn’t want to get the head wrangler in trouble, she was also unaware of how up to date the youngest Singer actually is. Now that she heard the slight hesitation, however, she’s getting the idea Jo knows more about the ranch’s financial struggles than her bubbly and carefree personality leads on. 

     “How many horses are you competing, hon?” Mildred asks, pushing her glasses up her nose as she searches for Jo’s name on the competitors’ list.       “Two. I’d like to pay for Dean as well, and one entry for my friend here. She’s riding one of ours.”      “Winchester, right?” the secretary checks, crossing off names.      Jo nods, picking at her father’s credit card. “Yeah.”      Mildred flips the page until she finds the one on which the riders filed under the letter ‘W’ are listed.      “Four horses for Dean? Your cousin has a busy weekend ahead of him,” she chuckles, warmly, and looks up at the young woman that accompanied Jo. “What’s your name, sweety?”      “It’s Y/N L/N,” the intern answers. “I’m competing two horses, one of my own. I’d like to pay for Meadowsweet separately.”      “Not a problem.” Mildred focuses on the blonde cowgirl again. “So that's an entry fee for seven horses, plus the stable fee for nine. Y’all brought two horses for auction, am I right? I remember because I had your father on the phone just this morning.”      “Yeah, we do. Do we have to pay to enter the auction too?” Jo wonders, nervousness lacing her tone.      “Yes, the auction entry is 200 dollars for each. After the sale the amount will be settled, together with the commission,” the elder woman informs. “Entry fee is three bucks per horse, stable fee is fifty each, so that will be 877 dollars in total.”

     Jo takes a breath and offers Mildred the card. The normally confident cowgirl seems on edge all of a sudden as she watches the secretary swipe it. Several seconds tick by while they wait for the machine to accept payment, and apparently it’s getting on Jo’s nerves. Y/N’s friend fiddles with her father’s wallet, tension coming off her in waves. Then the machine bleeps, a long high tone cutting through the heavy silence.

     Mildred looks up at the blonde rancher, sympathetically. It’s in her eyes and Jo’s heart drops to her gut before she even speaks. “I’m sorry. It’s declined.”       “W - what? No, that - that can’t be,” Jo stammers. “Can you try again?”      The kind lady swipes the credit card a second time, even though they know it’s not going to make a difference. The same message appears on the small screen, followed by the monotone beep. The sound is interrupted by the door opening and closing, two other competitors now entering the show office, getting in line to pay as well. Jo curses under her breath.

     “Any other way you can pay, darling?” the secretary asks, kindly.      “Uh - I have…” She leafs through the banknotes with trembling fingers, counting the money, her face turning red. “I have 300 dollars. I’ll check if there’s more in the truck--”      “I got it.” Y/N steps closer to the counter, pulling her wallet from her purse.      “What? No, c’mon,” Jo objects.       But her friend isn’t taking no for an answer. “It’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out with your dad later,” she assures, handing over her own card. She returns her attention to Mildred again. “Could you add my fees as well?”      “I sure can. That will be 930 dollars,” the elder woman states, changing the number on the terminal before swiping the credit card. 

     This time it beeps three times, confirming payment without a hitch.      “Alright, all good to go. Good luck on your runs, ladies,” Mildred says, cheery, trying to clear the awkwardness with her warm smile.      “Thank you,” Y/N returns genuinely as Jo gives the woman behind the desk a nod.

     The girls exit the show office, Jo pulling her hat over her eyes a little deeper to mask her flustered face. The redness slowly starts to leave her cheeks again after a minute, as they walk down the boulevard in silence. Y/N isn’t sure if she should say something, and so decides to give her friend some space. Her mind is going over the incident, however. A maxed out credit card; that can’t be good. The writing on the wall is applied with a paintbrush, the black letter getting bolder the more she learns about the suffocating situation. Her mind hasn’t stopped reeling since her talk with Dean in the cafeteria earlier this morning. There has to be ways to tip the scale. 

     Jo eventually speaks up, voice clipped with embarrassment. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. My dad will pay you back.”       “I know,” Y/N responds, not doubting it for a second. “It’s no big deal, seriously. No reason to apologize.”      “Still... Thanks,” the blonde cowgirl utters, embarrassed nonetheless.      It’s now Y/N’s turn to wrap her arm around her friend’s shoulder, hoping the gesture will ease Jo a bit.      “That’s what friends are for, right?” she comforts her. “Come on. Let’s head back. What’s your starting time?”      Jo glances at her watch. “Eight thirty. Thirty minutes after the opening. So that gives me an hour and a half.”      “Better ready your horse then,” Y/N smiles. “You’ve got barrels to race.”

     “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome on this Friday night to the eighteenth annual Flagstaff Horse Fair!”

     With Y/N’s hand in his, Dean walks up the bleachers, as if he’s afraid to lose her in the crowd. Plenty of people have settled down in their seats already, only a few spots left now that the opening ceremony is about to begin. She’s glad he’s keeping a hold on her, though, because once again she feels slightly overwhelmed by the number of strangers who all seem to be very much aware who her boyfriend is. 

     Several times Dean was held up on their way over to the main arena, by acquaintances, former and current clients, old friends and forgotten faces. She could tell he was doing everything he could to ease her nerves, his hand on the small of her back, engaging her into the conversation by introducing her. Yet she felt relieved when the ring came into view, hoping to find a time to take a breather from keeping up appearances and pretending she’s comfortable amongst new company. 

     “Dean!”      Y/N almost flinches at the female voice calling out for the cowboy. For a brief second Y/N shuts her eyes and takes a breath; guess she needs to keep her mask on a bit longer. She turns to face two women, who greet the wrangler, the one with dark, boy cut hair the first to embrace him.      “It’s so good to see you again,” she says, warmly.      “Hey, Jody.” Dean returns the embrace, genuinely pleased to see her too, before he directs his attention to the happily smiling blonde. “Donna, it’s been a while. How are you doing these days?”      “Hiya, handsome. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” The woman with a strong Minnesota accent pulls him into a tight hug as well, pressing her dimpled cheek against his. She backs away, her delighted eyes bouncing from him to the girl behind the cowboy. “Are ya gonna introduce us to this lovely lady?”

     Dean adjusts his hat and reaches for Y/N, his hand slipping behind her back when he nods at the brunette. “That’s Jody Mills - she takes horses off our hands regularly and finds us buyers - and her business partner Donna Hanscum. Good friends of mine, good friends of the Ranch.”       He then gently pulls her a little closer, the pads of his fingers lingering on her hip.      “Jody, Donna, this is my girlfriend Y/N,” Dean responds, unable to hide his proud smile. 

     Both women share the exact same reaction, their jaws dropping to the floor. If Y/N wasn’t so nervous, she would have found it comical.      “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaims. “Are you tellin’ me that Dean Winchester is off the market?”      Dean nods, his grin not faltering. “I’m spoken for.”      Delighted, Jody laughs. “Well, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”      “Took you long enough,” Donna jokes, teasingly pushing his shoulder, before she winks at the cowgirl next to him. “You must be one heck of a gal if you managed to tie this one down. C’mere!”

     Before Y/N can escape, the woman with the vibrant personality pulls her in and gives her a warm hug as well. She can’t help but to chuckle, because both Donna and Jody seem like sincerely kind people. The warm welcome eases her, helping her to feel more comfortable amongst these new friends.      “Why don’t you sit with us?” Jody suggests, after Donna lets go. “Because I wanna hear all about this miracle woman.”

     They take a seat and Y/N soon engages in conversation with Dean’s friends. Contently, he watches his girl, listening to her enthusiastic voice as she tells them about their meet cute. Dean chuckles at the memory himself; never in a million years could he have guessed he would be where he’s standing now, together with the then so timid and slightly prissy intern. She opened up like a wildflower in spring, blossoming into the carefree spirit that years of studying and discipline hid away. 

     Damn, he fell hard for her, didn’t he? She isn’t the only one who developed; because Jody wasn’t wrong. He too never expected to be able to commit, to be faithful to one woman, yet he can’t even imagine being with anyone else but her now. She taught him to look further than tomorrow. He has to admit, he has been thinking about the future more in the past week than he has in all the prior years combined.       His thoughts are interrupted by the commentator, who’s voice echoes through the speakers, mentioning the sponsors of the event.

     “We thank you for comin’ out here this weekend. Folks, right now I would like to ask Alex Jones to enter our arena floor with the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.”

     Dean glances at Jody, who proudly watches her adopted daughter trot into the ring on a palomino. She’s dressed in a red shirt, blue and white fringe on her sleeves and chaps playfully dancing in the breeze. The end of the flagpole rests on her stirrup, the American colors fluttering in their wake. The crowd rises to their feet as the flag is carried in, respectfully doffing their hats. 

     “As we gather in the spirit of the Old West, let us be reminded of the part that the horses we cherish have played. They offered our forefathers safe travel, partnership, and the freedom to roam this great land. The same unbreakable bond between man and horse still remains today, as we ride for our country. We ask you to remain standing for the playing of the national anthem.”

     Y/N holds her hat by the brim and squares her shoulders, following Dean’s example when he places his right hand over his heart. A calm falls over the bleachers, every single soul watching the flag with the same steady reverence that only blue-collars truly can. The riders in the warm up area are standing side by side, facing the Stars and Stripes, and even the younger inexperienced horses seem to pay their respect.

     “Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light      What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?      Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,      O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?”

     The hairs on her arms rise up as Y/N softly sings along. She knows every word, taught in school of course, but it’s more than that. She believes them. And since she was a little girl, she has dreamed about the Star-Spangled Banner. She imagined it would play while she was standing on the highest step of the podium at the major events: Congress, the Derby, and who knows, maybe one day at the World Equestrian Games. It’s a long shot, maybe, but a goal nonetheless, one she will continue to chase until the day comes that she fulfills that dream. 

     “And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,      Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.      Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave      O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

     The cowgirl and her horse began circling as the end of the anthem neared, speed increasing. Alex is galloping along the boarding of the arena, the Stars and Stripes flaunting proudly, standing tall. After the last note, the crowd cheers and claps, rallying the rider on as she takes the flag out of the arena at high speed. 

     “Give it up for Alex Jones!” the commentator encourages. “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, get comfortable, take a load off your feet, take a seat, and get ready. We’re gonna kick off the competition with Barrel Racing for three year old horses. Let’s ride!”

     “Jo is sixth, right?” Y/N checks as they sit down.      Dean nods, leaning his elbows on his knees, watching his cousin in the warm up pen. “Yeah, after the drag.”      “Smooth footing. Could work in her advantage,” Y/N notes, linking her arm with his. “I was wondering; why don’t you teach Jo?”      The wrangler snorts. “Because she would claw my eyes out.”      His girlfriend laughs now, leaning into him and sweetly resting her cheek against his shoulder.      “Hey, we’ve tried, but we just fight like cats and dogs. It ain’t a good fit,” he chuckles.

     The first horse and rider combination shoots from the holding box and the audience’s motivating cheers rise from the stands into the Arizona air. Being a good sport, Dean claps too.       “Ever raced barrel, sweetcheeks?” Donna wonders, leaning forward to make eye contact with Y/N.      “Once or twice when I was a kid,” she admits. “You?”      “Oh, you betcha!” the cheery blonde states. 

     The rules to the game are quite simple. Three barrels are set up in a cloverleaf in the arena and the horse and rider pair need to cleanly negotiate the pattern. The cowgirl who’s the fastest without knocking over any barrels wins. It’s a thrilling sport to watch, perfect for a horse’s speed and agility when the rider knows how to bring it out in them.

     The second rider kicks off, setting a better time that pushes her up the board. The third follows, knocking over the second barrel, landing the poor girl a five second time penalty.

     Y/N keeps an eye on Jo, who gets instructions from Bobby. The ranch owner’s daughter is riding a mare called Sundance, who she started up about eight months ago, being the first person to ever ride her. The young horse had her first practise run a couple of weeks ago, but today is her show debut. The atmosphere of a big competition like this can be quite daunting for an inexperienced horse, but Jo prepared her well.

     The fourth goes wide around the first barrel and swerves to the third, wasting valuable time. Number five has a clean run and betters the leading result; 17.13 seconds is the time to beat.      A tractor enters the arena and the crew removes the barrels, white spray paint indicating where they need to be put back once the sand around it is dragged. When the footing is smooth again, the barrels are placed back.

     “Next up is Joanna Beth Singer with Sundance. Now, this young lady knows how to ride, with multiple wins under her belt, so let’s see what she will do with this youngster today.”

     Y/N moves to the edge of her seat, her heartbeat picking up. She might not be the one competing, but sometimes being the person on the sidelines is more nerve-wracking than actually being the one in the saddle.      Bobby walks with his daughter to the entrance of the arena, the young mare next to him already bouncing with excitement. Rousing music only adds to the exhilarating atmosphere surrounding them, the spectators waiting for the thrilling ride that is about to start. The second Jo’s father lets go of the rein, Sundance bolts away, locking on the first barrel like she has been doing this all her life.

     “And she’s off! Look at that speed, people!”

     “C’mon, Jo!” Y/N encourages, joined by Dean, who has gotten on his feet in anticipation.      The crowd cheers when the fast horse turns sharply. Focused, Jo pushes her heels into the bay’s flanks, hands towards the mare’s ears, guiding the youngster through the pattern to the second barrel. They are making good time.      “Smoke them, Jo! You got this!” Dean shouts, voice lost to the crowd that seems to favor Jo and Sundance.

     The clock ticks; eight seconds, nine, ten. Sand clatters against the metal as the eager horse cuts the third obstacle, so tight that you could barely fit a piece of paper between her boot and the barrel. It starts to tip, and Y/N grabs Dean’s arm when the drum almost tumbles over, but Jo pushes it back with her reins in hand so that it stays upright and the audience erupts. 

     “Yeah! Bring it home!” Y/N squeals, excitedly.      At full gallop the two shoot back to the gate, Jo flat on the Sundance’s neck, the energetic horse accelerating until they pass the finish line. The clock stops at 16.35.

     “Folks, if that ain’t horsemanship, I don’t know what is. What a ride and what a horse! Jo Singer and Sundance are in the lead!”

     Dean grins proudly and whistles on his fingers, glancing down at his girlfriend, who is still applauding excitedly.       “Dean, is that mare for sale?” Jody checks, the trader clearly interested now that she has witnessed the talent.       He chuckles. “Depends on your offer.”      “Fair enough. I’ll go have a talk with Bobby then,” she returns, aware that for a horse like that, she needs to raise the stakes.      “We’ll walk with ya,” Dean states, glancing aside when Jody’s friend doesn’t follow. “Donna, you comin’?”      “I’ll meetcha guys later. I’m gonna watch some more runs with Alex.” She nods at Jody’s surrogate daughter, who just sat down in one of the first rows. 

     They say goodbye and the wrangler places his hand on Y/N’s lower back as they walk to the stairs and get down from the bleachers. She can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but she senses his relief. Jo delivered and just secured more than just a place on the podium with that solid ride. The buyers are going to be lining up for Sundance, which means they can keep the price high. It’s a win Gold Canyon Ranch so desperately needs. The cowgirl bumps her shoulder against his, drawing his attention. The smiles they exchange say enough, she knows what’s on his mind, and he knows she understands.      “I’m gonna see if I can catch Jo. It was really nice to meet you, Jody,” she announces, shaking Jody’s hand before turning to Dean. “See you in a bit?”      He nods and meets her in a sweet, short kiss, before she runs off to the stables. His gaze stays fixed on her, lovingly, until he loses track of her in the crowd. Only then does Dean notice Jody’s knowing smirk.      “What?”      “You got it bad,” she comments, an earnest laugh falling from her lips.      He tilts his head, nodding; there’s no denying it. He’s known Jody for a while, and even though they only see eachother every now and then, he considers her a dear friend. 

     “She’s amazing, really. It’s all still kinda new, though,” he admits, comfortable enough to let some of that softness show. “Oh, which reminds me... Bobby doesn’t know yet. So could you not mention it?”      The raised eyebrow and judgemental look she sends him says enough. Jody stares him down as if she’s about to use her mom-voice, causing Dean to slightly cower.      “She’s the intern and it’s kind of a touchy subject. I wanna time it well so that he doesn’t bite my head off,” the cowboy excuses.       The woman who is tough when she needs to be, turns soft now, rolling her eyes slightly.      “Fine, I won’t tell him. Don’t wait too long, though. It’s Bobby, he wasn’t born yesterday. He’s going to find out sooner than later,” she reminds him.      “I’ll tell him soon,” he promises.      “This is a big first for you, ain’t it?” The female ranch owner smiles at him warmly, apparently amused with the somewhat uneasy behavior of the cowboy.       “It is,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s good. Never thought I’d say it, but I could get used to this.”      “I’m glad you’ve met someone, Dean. You deserve a slice of that apple pie life.” 

     Dean smiles at his boots, knowing she means more with those words than would seem so at the surface. From a young age, even before Dean moved in with the Singer family, she has kept a watchful eye on him and his little brother whenever they were at the same shows and rodeos. Even though she’s only a few years older than him, she was always taking care of others, protecting those who needed it, and apparently she sensed the Winchester boys could use some support. To be honest, she wasn’t wrong. She has seen a few things, picked up on the tell signs. That knowledge adds to the weight of her kind message.

     “And if you ever are in the need of advice only a woman can offer,” she continues, “may it be suitable birthday gifts for the lady, or choosing an engagement ring, you know who to call.”

     Dean’s eyes widen, glancing aside at the fierce woman, walking beside him. He thought about what is to come, but he didn’t think that far ahead. Especially with her internship ending March next year, he’s slightly careful to presume she is going to want to stay with him. Yes, he will fight for her, but he can’t predict the future. Who knows what will happen when she’s due to leave.      “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he laughs. “We only just started dating, y’know?”      “Yeah, I know, but she’s a keeper, I can tell,” Jody counters, sure of herself. “Give it some time, I’ll remind you of this conversation at your wedding.”

     The cowboy chuckles, but doesn’t contradict her. Jody Mills is a smart woman, one who usually is right. She can read people, and despite the small age difference between the two of them, his caring friend often mothers him with her wisdom. He can’t believe the thought crosses his mind, but it flashes through his conscience nonetheless. I hope she’s right.

     He doesn’t want to dwell on it too long, though, because the glimpse of what he secretly hopes one day will come true, takes him by surprise. Somewhat daunted, the wrangler redirects the focus.       “I’ve haven’t spoken to Gabe in a bit. How’s he doin’ these days?” 

     There’s a hint of guilt in his voice, even though he tries to suppress it. Gabriel had worked at Gold Canyon since 2005, until Bobby had to let him go last year. The head wrangler felt horrible, especially since he taught Gabe the ropes when it came down to training horses, and getting fired was the last thing his friend ever expected. Just like with Ash, he would have done anything to prevent the lay off, but their boss didn’t have much of a choice.       Thankfully, Gabe got a job as a horse trainer at Jody’s ranch. They kept in touch, but over time the calls came and went less frequent. Lately, it’s been quiet, though, and the woman next to him looks up at him stunned, a mixture of remorse and empathy in her eyes.

     “You haven’t heard?” she asks, appalled.      Dean shakes his head. “Heard what?”      “Oh, honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she starts, averting her gaze to the ground, as if she’s trying to find solace in the dirt underneath her feet. “He had an accident earlier this week. He’s in hospital.”      The wrangler snaps his eyes at her in shock, a frown puckered between his brows. “W-what?”       “Yeah, he--” she pauses, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it, “- he was working with a stallion, quite a special case. He turned aggressive and Gabe got trampled. He suffered multiple fractures in the vertebrae.”      The head wrangler stops dead in his tracks, causing his company to turn to face him. In shock he stares at Jody before his gaze drifts off, the unpleasant surprise still evident, though. Not sure what to say, he moves his hand to his face, tracing his stubble as he tries to digest the news.      “Fuck…” he stammers. “Is he - he’s gonna be ok, right?”

     “The doctors haven’t given us much yet. From what I’ve heard, the first tests showed very little reflexes, but there was still a lot of bruising and swelling. They hope to be able to get better imaging soon, but right now it’s not looking good. He most likely damaged his spinal cord; he can’t move his legs,” Jody explains, observing the disoriented man before her with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know he is a friend of yours. Honestly, I expected you would’ve gotten a call from his brothers.” 

     The cowboy still stares at nothing in particular, unable to grasp what he just learned. “We - uh, we didn’t talk as much as we used to. Kinda fell out of touch after he left Gold Canyon.”       Jody nods at that, the endearing smile that was there when they were talking about his newfound relationship now gone. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, the worry and guilt aging her in a matter of moments.      “It’s really tragic. Honestly, I feel awful. It happened on my land, the horse was my client’s.”      “Hey, this is not your fault, you hear?” Dean replies, gently gripping her upper arm. “These accidents can happen. We forget sometimes, but we still work with thousand pound animals who have minds of their own. It’s dangerous, and he knew that.”

     Jody swallows down the guilt and turns to slowly stroll to the warm up area, not walking away from it entirely, but giving herself something to do. Dean adjusts to her pace, shoulder to shoulder with the rancher.      “I found him in the pen. He was screaming in pain,” she tells. “Of course I happened to be the only other person on the premises. Donna was delivering a horse to a new owner.”

     Shaking his head, Dean glances aside. Damn it, he wishes she didn’t have to go through that. Waiting on an ambulance must have been horrible. Dean knows Jody treats her staff like family, their bond much like the dynamic between the Singer family and their personnel. Dean cares about those he works with deeply, he would never forgive himself if an accident like that would happen to a member of the crew.       “He’s gonna bounce back. Gabe’s a tough one,” he soothes, hoping to offer at least a little comfort.      “Yeah, I hope so.” She sighs as they reach Bobby, who is having a conversation with two older men on the sideline, without a doubt doing business. “I’m gonna talk to your uncle. See if we can come to an agreement on that horse.”      “Better get in there fast, before he sells her to someone else,” Dean advises, after which he turns around. “See you at the party tonight?”      “Depends on how much money I spend at the auction, but I’m certain Donna will drag me there anyway,” she says, doing her best to pull together a playful grin.

     Dean watches Jody step up, politely interrupting the negotiation, not even a bit intimidated by the possible buyers who have already named a price. She’s tough, something that he has always admired. The woman stands her ground in a man’s world of horse traders, runs her own ranch and built her own network. An extraordinary person, who always has his back. He carries nothing but respect for her.

     As he makes his way to the stables, tipping his head to the people he knows on his way over, his thoughts go to Gabriel. Jody is not the only one who feels guilty about his current condition. He just told her she shouldn’t blame herself, so why is it that he wishes he would never have let his good friend go? Maybe if Gabe had stayed, he wouldn’t have broken his back. Maybe if he had taught him better, he would’ve still been able to walk. 

     He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the notion. But like a mosquito the mental picture keeps patronising him, buzzing into his ear, draining him and stealing the wrangler’s peace. When he nears the stable tent B, he picks up pace, however. Because he knows that the one person who will calm his mind and make him feel better with just her smile is right around the corner.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty here

[covid19worldnews]

COVID-19 Daily Update 11-2-2020

The West Virginia Department of Health and Human Resources (DHHR) reports as of 10:00 a.m., November 2, 2020, there have been 792,475 total confirmatory laboratory results received for COVID-19, with 25,235 total cases and 458 deaths.

DHHR has confirmed the death of a 71-year old female from Grant County. “We are deeply saddened by this news, a loss to both the family and our state,” said Bill J. Crouch, DHHR Cabinet Secretary.

CASES PER COUNTY: Barbour (188), Berkeley (1,709), Boone (415), Braxton (76), Brooke (253), Cabell (1,559), Calhoun (36), Clay (65), Doddridge (72), Fayette (799), Gilmer (65), Grant (200), Greenbrier (215), Hampshire (146), Hancock (244), Hardy (109), Harrison (688), Jackson (420), Jefferson (634), Kanawha (3,894), Lewis (115), Lincoln (268), Logan (805), Marion (425), Marshall (451), Mason (183), McDowell (132), Mercer (816), Mineral (250), Mingo (669), Monongalia (2,378), Monroe (267), Morgan (161), Nicholas (193), Ohio (649), Pendleton (79), Pleasants (36), Pocahontas (73), Preston (227), Putnam (1,001), Raleigh (880), Randolph (431), Ritchie (56), Roane (115), Summers (142), Taylor (174), Tucker (67), Tyler (58), Upshur (279), Wayne (630), Webster (38), Wetzel (232), Wirt (56), Wood (748), Wyoming (364).

Please note that delays may be experienced with the reporting of information from the local health department to DHHR. As case surveillance continues at the local health department level, it may reveal that those tested in a certain county may not be a resident of that county, or even the state as an individual in question may have crossed the state border to be tested. Such is the case of Greenbrier and Roane counties in this report.

Please visit the dashboard located at www.coronavirus.wv.gov for more information.

Free COVID-19 testing is available today in Berkeley, Braxton, Cabell, Doddridge, Fayette, Hampshire, Harrison, Jackson, Jefferson, Kanawha, Lincoln, Logan, Marshall, Mineral, Mingo, Monroe, Morgan, Ohio, Ritchie, Roane, Taylor, Tyler, Upshur, Wayne, Wetzel, Wood, and Wyoming counties.

Berkeley/Morgan Counties, November 2, 12:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Hedgesville High School, 109 Ridge Road N., Hedgesville, WV AND 12:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Musselman High School, 126 Excellence Way, Inwood, WV AND 12:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Spring Mills High School, 409 Campus Drive, Martinsburg, WV

Braxton County, November 2, 8:00 AM – 12:00 PM, WV National Guard Armory, 1072 State Street, Gassaway, WV AND 1:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Burnsville Volunteer Fire Department, 237A Kanawha Avenue, Burnsville, WV

Cabell County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Cabell County Health Department, 703 Seventh Avenue, Huntington, WV (flu shots offered)

Doddridge County, November 2, 2:00 PM – 4:00 PM, Ritchie Regional Health Center, West Union Location, 190 Marie Street, West Union, WV

Fayette County, November 2, 11:00 AM – 3:00 PM, J.W. and Hazel Ruby WV Welcome Center, 55 Hazel Ruby Lane, Mt. Hope, WV

Hampshire County, November 2, 1:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Slanesville Ruritan, 6458 Bloomery Pike, Augusta, WV

Harrison County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Harrison County Health Department, 330 West Main Street, Clarksburg, WV (by appointment; call 304-623-9308)

Jackson County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Jackson County Health Department, 504 South Church Street, Ripley, WV AND 7:00 AM – 11:00 AM, Sandyville Senior Center, 29 Gilmore Drive, Sandyville, WV AND 12:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Ravenswood Senior Center, 511 Washington Street, Ravenswood, WV

Jefferson County, November 2, 4:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Page Jackson Elementary School, 370 Page-Jackson School Road, Charles Town, WV AND 10:00 AM – 6:00 PM, Shepherd University, 301 N. King Street, Shepherdstown, WV AND 12:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Sam Michaels Park, 235 Sam Michael’s Lane, Harpers Ferry, WV

Kanawha County, November 2, 12:30 PM – 4:30 PM, Kingdom Life Church, 405 First Avenue South, Nitro, WV (flu shots available)

Lincoln County, November 2, 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Lincoln County Health Department, 8008 Court Avenue, Hamlin, WV (Walk-in testing)

Logan County, November 2, 8:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Man Fire Department, 110 North Bridge Street, Man, WV AND 1:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Cora Volunteer Fire Department, 28 Aldrich Branch Road, Logan, WV

Marshall County, November 2, 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Marshall County Fairgrounds, 714 Myrtle Avenue, Moundsville, WV, *enter from 12th Street AND 8:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Limestone Volunteer Fire Department, 216 US Route 250, Moundsville, WV AND 2:00 PM – 7:00 PM, Sandhill Elementary School, 169 Sandhill Road, Dallas, WV

Mineral County, November 2, 1:00 PM– 5:00 PM, Mineral County Health Department, 541 Harley O Staggers Dr, Keyser, WV AND 2:00 PM– 6:00 PM, Mineral County Fairgrounds, Route 28, Fort Ashby, WV AND 8:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Mineral County Airport, 165 Terminal Loop, Wiley Ford, WV

Mingo County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Williamson Health & Wellness, 173 East 2nd Avenue, Williamson, WV (under the tent) AND 4:00 PM – 7:00 PM, Delorme Bible Church, 1876 Route 49, Edgarton, WV AND 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Beach Creek Volunteer Fire Department, 4198 Beach Creek, Matewan, WV AND 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Chattaroy Volunteer Fire Department, 1 Firefighter Lane, Williamson, WV

Monroe County, November 2, 12:00 PM – 4:00 PM, Monroe County Health Department, 200 Health Center Drive, Union, WV

Morgan County, November 2, 12:00 PM – 6:00 PM, Warm Springs Middle School, 271 Warm Springs Way, Berkeley Springs, WV

Ohio County, November 2, 11:00 AM – 4:00 PM, Valley Grove Volunteer Fire Department, 355 Fire House Lane, Valley Grove, WV AND 11:00 AM – 4:00 PM, West Liberty Volunteer Fire Department, 1333 Van Meter Way, West Liberty, WV AND 11:00 AM – 4:00 PM, Wheeling Island Fire Department, 11 North Wabash Street, Wheeling, WV

Ritchie County, November 2, 2:00 PM – 4:00 PM, Ritchie Regional Health Center, 135 South Penn Avenue, Harrisville, WV

Roane County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 1:00 PM, Roane County Family Health Care, 146 Williams Drive, Spencer, WV (flu shots offered)

Taylor County, November 2, 12:00 PM – 2:00 PM, First Baptist Church of Grafton, 2034 Webster Pike (US Rt. 119 South), Grafton, WV

Tyler County, November 2, 10:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Sistersville Volunteer Fire Department, 121 Maple Avenue, Sistersville, WV AND 1:00 PM – 3:00 PM, Wetzel-Tyler Health Department, 425 S. 4th Avenue, Paden City, WV AND 4:00 PM – 6:00 PM, Tyler County Senior Center, 504 Cherry Street, Middlebourne, WV

Upshur County, November 2, 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Hodgesville Elementary School, 918 Teter Road, Buckhannon, WV AND 10:00 AM – 1:00 PM, Buckhannon Upshur High School, 270 BU Way, Buckhannon, WV AND 2:00 PM – 6:00 PM, Banks District Volunteer Fire Department, 206 Rock Cave Road, Rock Cave, WV

Wayne County, November 2, 10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, Wayne County Health Department, 217 Kenova Avenue, Wayne, WV, Pre-registration: wv.getmycovidresult.com AND 2:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Prichard Volunteer Fire Department, 1255 Round Bottom Road, Prichard, WV AND 2:00 PM – 6:00 PM, Kenova Police Department, 1501 Pine Street, Kenova, WV

Wetzel County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 11:00 AM, Wetzel County 4H Grounds, 1821 Mountaineer Drive, New Martinsville, WV AND 12:00 PM – 2:00 PM, Hundred High School, 3490 Horney Highway, Hundred, WV AND 3:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Valley High School, 4 Lumber Jack Lane, Pine Grove, WV

Wood County, November 2, 9:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Church of Christ Latter Day Saints, 2515 Capital Drive, Parkersburg, WV AND 12:00 PM – 4:00 PM, Parking Lot by Blennerhassett Hotel, 315 Market Street, Parkersburg, WV AND 1:00 PM – 5:00 PM, South Parkersburg Baptist Church, 1655 Blizzard Drive, Parkersburg, WV

Wyoming County, November 2, 12:00 PM – 4:00 PM, Old Board of Education, 19 Park Street, Pineville, WV AND 8:00 AM – 12:00 PM, Herndon Consolidated School, Route 10, Bud, WV AND 1:00 PM – 5:00 PM, Huff Consolidated Schools, 374 Lizard Creek Road, Hanover, WV 

For more testing locations, please visit https://dhhr.wv.gov/COVID-19/pages/testing.aspx. New sites are added every day.

https://www.covid19snews.com/2020/11/02/covid-19-daily-update-11-2-2020/

[me-me-big-disappointment]

The One with Chad Broseph...

As is tradition, I wrote another FanFic to celebrate this blog’s most recent milestone. Here it is:

Lil disclaimer is that calling people homos is Chad Broseph Huntington's signature phrase, MMBD does not promote the usage of microaggressions.

“Are you ready, homos?!?!”

Jack flinched at the harshness of his trainers baritone voice. He had decided to join a group workout class just a couple days earlier, at Erin’s insistence.

“You don’t burn any calories from editing all day,” Erin had goaded him, as he’d finished up his fifth straight hour of sitting at his desk, putting together the latest “Fix Your Pix”. “I miss your P90 body.”

And so that’s how Jack had ended up looking at the website of his local gym, searching for a class that appealed to him.

Cycling? No, too basic.

Zumba? Not impressive enough.

Yoga. Definitely not (for obvious reasons(it’s yoga)).

Kickboxing? Jack had always been interested in MMA. And how cool would it sound to say that he did kickboxing? When he told people his profession they would look a him with the same condescending glare every time. Even though he’d been doing it for over a decade, he couldn’t seem to gain the respect from his peers that he’d always desired. Erin would even refuse to bring him along to her office parties sometime. It was time Jack picked up a hobby that both he and Erin could be proud of.

And now he was in a room full of sweaty guys, punching the bag in front of him with all his might. He was acutely aware of the group instructor, the mighty Chad Broseph Huntington, watching him with a disconcerting intensity. His harsh blue eyes bore into Jack as the weaker man tried his best to keep his stamina. But Jack’s labored breathing and drenched forehead exposed his struggle.

“Your knees are too bent, homo.” The trainer grabbed Jack suddenly under his arms and pulled him up, forcing his knees to straighten. “You skip leg day often?”

Jack ignored the burning in the tips of his ears. “No, no. I always hit leg day.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” The YouTuber’s tone suddenly became defensive. “Why?”

“Well as delectable as your calves look, homo, they also look like they’re not used to getting any type of workout.”

Delectable? No one had ever described any part of Jack as delectable before. He found it strangely...arousing.

“I did P90X once.”

“What, like ten years ago? When’s the last time you maxxed out, homo? Bet you can’t even do eighty push-ups.”

Of course Jack couldn’t do eighty push-ups. In one set? No way. It occurred to him that Chad Broseph probably took some type of steroid. Nothing else could explain how his muscles looked like they’d been carved from stone, how his eyes shone with a raging energy, an unquenchable lust…

Jack’s breathing became heavier, but it wasn’t because of the workout. Had Chad’s eyes been sparkling that brightly before? Had his jaw always been so chiseled and sharp?

He ignored the words coming out of the trainer’s mouth as Chad ranted about wide-stance push-ups and the evils of energy drinks. All he could focus on were Chad’s lips and how soft and kissable they looked. He imagined would it would feel like to have the stubble of Chad’s goatee graze his face…

“YO, HOMO, YOU LISTENING?” Chad clapped his hands in front of Jack’s face, startling the trainee out of his daydream.

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” He swallowed roughly, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Watch your stance. If you need extra help after class let me know.” His greyish-blue eyes surveyed Jack’s form. Jack could’ve sworn he saw him lick his lips a little.

The class lasted about a half hour more and eventually everyone trickled out of the room. Everyone except for Jack Douglass and Chad Huntington that is.

“I’ll take you up on your offer for more help,” Jack said nervously, trying to seem relaxed and casual as Chad made his way over to him.

“So keep your toes facing forward…”

Jack followed Chad’s instructions, trying not to focus on just how close the instructor was to him.

“Keep your knees slightly bent. But you’re not crouching, okay? Now, elbows in.” Chad, standing behind Jack, suddenly grabbed his arms, moving them into the correct position. Axe body spray filled Jack’s nostrils and excited his senses. “Keep your chin down.” A strong finger rested gently on Jack’s chin, tipping it down slightly.

The YouTuber felt his heart hammer in his chest. “What do you think about my hips?” His voice was barely above a whisper, nervousness taking over. But Chad’s face was close enough to hear the words he spoke.

“Excuse me...homo?”

“My hips. Are they forward enough? Maybe you need to align them more…”

Jack felt Chad shift closer, his abs now pressing against Jack’s sweaty back. Two hands came to rest on Jack’s hips, straightening them out.

“Does that feel better, homo?”

Jack grinned. “Am I the only homo here?”

A small chuckle rose from behind him. “What do you think?”

;)))))).........you know what happens next.

LMAO this one had a lot less memeing around than I had intended for there to be.

Big thanks to @jay-the-a-lien for suggesting the ship.

One again, I would like to apologize to my parents, anyone who ever talked to me, Erin and Jack Douglass, and whatever god is shaking their head at me right now. Not to mention, you guys, for making y’all read this with your own eyeballs.

This one has a very different feel from the others (at least to me it does(not intentional)) but I hope you all were still able to enjoy. Sorry again about getting it out a day late-computer problems ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Wow, I really can’t believe I wrote this.

See you next time, biches.

-MMBD

[madeyemads]

🌜Weird Naruto Related Dreams the Mun Has Had  🌛

Weird dream 1) I had a weird dream that Tobi and I went on an outing to a boba place. I took the last pink boba straw and that offended Tobi. He called me a bitch and told me about how much getting a pink straw meant to him. Then, he sloshed bubble tea in my face, throwing hands at me, and I got defensive. I was too short (4′11) to punch him so I first kneed him in the groin. As he crouched down in pain, I ripped his mask off and slapped that mutated face of his, the dirty bastard. 

Then, in the dream, I got all sad that Tobi and I were enemies and my sister was comforting me. I decided to check the mail and in the mail, Tobi sent me back all of my art, a picture of the Third Kazekage and him making out with Garfield as his cat on their laps, and a note in glitter pen (pinkish red) - “Fuck off, Thot”

I even illustrated it. 

2) I also dreamt that Sasori wanted to meet my family. He was my boyfriend but also my art teacher?...

 So my family and I were walking to his house (he lived in the desert we used to live in? He was my creepy ex-classmates’ neighbour?) and this brown rabbit with a british accent told us to “have fun” when I knocked on Sasori’s door. There were caterpillars with bright orange spikes everywhere on his yard and in the desert near his house.

So we’re in Sasori’s house and he proposes to me with a funyun onion chip.

I’m so flattered. Sasori’s been my anime crush since 2007-2008? 

 “Yes! Yes!” I say, hugging my beloved. 

His head pops off and starts rolling down onto the floor while we have our moment and I panic. Oh no! 

As a way to cope with such a loss, I shave my eyebrows clean off as his head ambiently asks for assistance regarding being placed back onto his body. 

I woke up, horrified because I was 1/2 asleep and I actually thought that a decapitated man was right near me. 

Then I came to my senses and was like “Madeleine, you’re trash and you need to know that”

3) (my personal favourite) Hidan being my next-door neighbour. 

He was the son of Count Chocula and a generic scooby doo villain in a fursuit. 

The furry was so grouchy but the count was nice. The count spoke like an NPC character. He’d mumble and laugh at inopportune moments as a string of text trailed beneath him.

Hidan was super nice to us. He was a loving and affectionate friend, he’d hug a lot, HOWEVER, he smelt STRONGLY of AXE BODY SPRAY! 

Even worse? Our shower broke and he let us borrow his and I ended up smelling like AXE body spray. g r o s s 

4) Gaara was a kid my sister and I babysat. He is super cute and all, he was like 10 -12 in the dream? But he had 10 rings, 1 for each person he fought.... 

When I asked, he spoke in the deepest, most macho and gruff voice: 

“Each resemble each weakling who lost against me.”

5) This was when I was like 7 years old. 

My family, mom and baby brother included, went to Huntington Gardens. 

I saw a flower bloom on Zetsu and a tree next to him. It was so beautiful I cried. In my sleep, I spoke “a flower bloomed on a tree” and my sister made fun of me for it (I don’t blame her)

Mr.Smee from Peter Pan (1953) was also there for some reason? 

He was like “Yeah, it is a nice tree, kid.”

[thecityofselcouth]

His body immediately relaxed when Fume walked away. Danny could feel himself slump down as he let out a breath. He didn’t quite know if he could manage training someone today, not after having nearly no sleep on top of it turning unusually busy as people tried to escape from the looming storm outside. The clouds rolled across the bit of the sky he could see through the front windows. Danny had always loved storms, every since he was small. They tended to quiet everything around them, to make it a little harder to distinguish slamming cabinets from lightening and angry hands pounding on the counters from thunder.

Danny waved the other employee that had avoided Fume the moment she stepped onto the floor up to the register. “I need to go to the back for a bit,” he murmured, and pushed through the kitchen doors. It had to be the lack of sleep. His blood wouldn’t be roiling, he wouldn’t be hearing his father yell if it wasn’t for the sleep. Danny walked to his office, hastily untying his apron as he stormed through he hallway.

It was the sleep. It was all the noise from the shop. It was everything, her, Delilah, it was all at once.

But, again his father’s voice. His mother’s. The crack of her throwing a some type of glass across the kitchen. No one knew what to do when she began acting like that, especially since it had all only started a year ago. The doctor’s had told them it was Huntington’s disease. Delilah had just turned thirteen, and with that, a tyrant. She was driving everyone in the house crazy, especially a mother who was so identical to her that it was like dealing with the same people. They fought from dusk until dawn. Danny blamed her for their mother’s loss. That’s what it felt like, watching her descend into madness. Because while his father was loving and provided everything, his mother had been the truest gift from God anyone could have asked for before she turned forty.

Danny stepped into his office and rounded the desk. He sank into the chair and rested his elbows on the desk.

The glass had cut Delilah after it shattered, right across the upper part of her arm. She started screaming, and their dad scooped her away. Danny was standing in the corner, watching all of it, his suitcase still in his hand. He’d just returned from his senior trip, hadn’t even been in the house for more than five minutes. Delilah had lied when she said their mother was better. Caroline Lane clenched and unclenched her hands as she stared at the spot on the wall where the glass connected. A few maids lingered by the door, not sure what to do. “Get out,” Danny heard his old voice say. The maids jumped, also not realizing that he was there. Caroline looked over at him, and her entire face smoothed out.

“My baby,” she cooed, stepping over the glass with her bare feet. “My baby is home.”

Danny clenched his hands in his hair. It was just the sleep.

-

Delilah couldn’t help the other brow shoot up at the man’s response. My God, what a dick, she thought. It was nearly enough to make her want to grab her bag and just walk out, but something about the man’s arrogance heated her to her core. And not in the way she direly missed at the present moment.

Shaking her head, Delilah let her arms fall to her side. She made a contemplative noise. Well, by all means if he wanted to act that way, Delilah could indeed make her time with him the most annoying, dreadful way to make a buck. When he called the older man over, Delilah turned and crouched down to unzip her bag. Inside, she had her hand wraps and gloves. Most of the time, training sessions typically called for the gloves. The trainer didn’t get hurt, she protected her hands a little more, yadda yadda. She only really used the wraps when she was hitting the punching bag, but she decided to grab them. As she stood up, she began wrapping each hand slowly.

“Lucky for you, I’m your first lesson,” she said. Delilah put her hands on her hips after she’d wrapped each hand carefully. She had no true desire to try and best the man, because she knew that was impossible. He looked like someone who actually hit people and Delilah only used it as anger management and exercise. But she did have a very intense desire to show him she wasn’t just some phone-obsessed clutz.

Handsy though, she was, and she flexed her fingers as they splayed across her hips.

-

Collins eyed James, her stomach turning over and over itself. It was clear as day he wasn’t telling the truth, or at least some of it. There were things she’d like to omit from him as well- like her relationship with Olly, for one. Secrets weren’t a bad thing in relationships, as long as they weren’t hurtful. His was. But, as Collins sat and looked at him, she could feel her heart reaching out to him like it’d grown little arms. The planet didn’t hold another person that fit her as perfectly as James did, and at the end of the day she knew she only had two options.

Forgive James, or spend the rest of her life in fake-ships. She stared at him a moment longer and then stood. Collins was going to let it go but that didn’t mean she couldn’t put him through a little bit of hell first. Bending over to grab a shirt she’d thrown haplessly on the floor, she put it on and stood by the window that James had climbed through earlier. Traffic was buzzing on the street below and people were still out and about despite the storm on the horizon. She wondered where Veronica had gone during the weather, or if she’d left before it had started to darken and was now caught in it. Collins grabbed up her phone from the nightstand and opened Veronica’s chat to check on her, and then saw Olly’s name.

Okay, yeah. That needed to be taken care of.

She sighed and typed out the quickest thing she could think of- not that either of us really care, but we gotta quit this - and put the phone back down. Collins turned to James, crossing her arms. As her eyes traced over him, she couldn’t help a small smile. “Fine, but I will quite literally cut your dick off if I see you touching another girl like that,” she said. Collins jumped back into the bed on top of James, grabbing him in a loose chokehold from behind and her legs wrapped around his back. “Promise it won’t happen again?” Her voice came out in near laughter, but the words still held seriousness.

-

The rum had gone a little quicker on Olly’s side in the end. He didn’t quite remember falling asleep on the couch, or moving to Noah’s bed. When he finally woke to his phone pinging though, he didn’t feel the least bit out of place. Truth be told, he’d spend quite a bit of time in Noah’s bed asleep. As had she in his. Olly wasn’t surprised either to see that Noah hadn’t touched her side at all. She’d probably wanted to avoid his drunk snoring.

Germ, however, was apparently quite happy to hear Olly snore. He was eyeing Olly from the moment he could tell that he’d woken, and when Olly sat up, Germ scooted his way across the bed. “Good morning, I think,” Olly said to Germ, rubbing his head between his ears. He grabbed up his phone with his other hand and was surprised to see Collins’ name pop up. It was his first assumption that the tattooed man was in fact Collins’ ex, and his second that he probably wouldn’t hear from her again unless she wandered into the bar again. The fact that she felt courteous enough to send him a text that their friends with benefits situation was over with did make him raise his eyebrows. Perhaps Collins and he didn’t have too much bad blood in the past after all. He couldn’t imagine ever being real friends with her, but maybe she could be trusted with a tab at the bar like other regular customers. Olly figured there was no point in replying.

He put the phone down on the bed and wrestled with Germ a few minutes before detaching from the dog and getting dressed. The pleasant smell of coffee was drifting through the bedroom door and Olly followed it out. He saw Noah on the couch and could tell even from behind that her muscles were tight. His mouth straighten into a thin line, and he walked around the couch.

“Noah,” Olly said, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. He didn’t know what was going through her head, but he didn’t want to be loud and shock her. “Looks like Collins and I just split,” he said. Trying to keep his words light, he walked to her cabinets and pulled out two mugs. Olly didn’t want Noah to pity the end of that relationship, and he hadn’t even been planning on mentioning it to her, but he figured it was a good place to start by getting her mind off things. He wasn’t blind, he knew she didn’t like Collins

[weavingthetapestry]

I am wondering why there is doubt about the existence of Marjorie de Huntington. There are detailed accounts of her marriage to the Earl of Gilchrist and that he murdered her in a jealous rage, and fled to England with their two sons; and William the Lion destroyed his castles and revoked his titles; but later forgave him and reinstated his lands and honours, e.g. The History of the Kingdom of Scotland: Containing an Account of the Most Remarkable Transactions and Revolutions in Scotland (1813)

Hi Anon!

There has been some debate over Marjory, largely occasioned by the fact that Robert de Pinkeney claimed to have been descended from her during the Great Cause in the 1290s, but so far as I’m aware no contemporary sources (i.e. of the chronicles written in the twelfth century and the few royal charters we have) mention her as a daughter of Earl Henry and Ada de Warenne- and some of these can be very specific as they even mention the death of the couple’s infant daughter Matilda and that their youngest child David was a posthumous son, born after his father’s death. Her supposed marriage to the mormaer of Angus is also not recorded in the main sources of the period, whereas the Chronicle of Melrose records the marriages of Margaret (in 1160, to the Duke of Brittany) and Ada (in 1162, to the Count of Holland) and while Marjory’s husband was of a lower rank than the duke of Brittany and count of Holland I reckon it would still be worth mentioning. So basically there are- to my knowledge but I’m not the expert here- no major twelfth century-sources which refer to Marjory as daughter of Henry and Ada. 

(And for what I mean by ‘major 12th century sources’ here are A.O. Anderson’s ‘Scottish Annals by English Chroniclers’ and ‘Early Sources of Scottish History’- whilst these of course don’t cover everything they’re reasonably comprehensive compilations of chronicle entries and other literature from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (read the footnotes too, they’re important), while the People of Medieval Scotland database includes most of the major charters of the time period and you’ll be able to find Gilchrist’s charters in there. But of course there’s also secondary sources a plenty, so check out those too, though preferably more recent ones). 

It is possible that chronicles later in the Middle Ages may have embellished upon Robert de Pinkeney’s claim, but this would be centuries after Marjory’s lifetime. It is not impossible that she existed- whether as just Marjory, the wife of the mormaer of Angus, or indeed as a sister of kings Malcolm and William- but even if she existed, we should probably be very hesitant to accept her as the legitimate offspring of the marriage of Henry and Ada (I’m not discounting the possibility there was an illegitimate line). There are however quite a few different places you can find out more about this debate- whether in the Scots Peerage or A.O. Anderson’s compilation of sources from the period (see my sources page) or the works of the major historians who study this era (a particularly interesting contribution is Susan Marshall’s phd thesis on illegitimacy in medieval Scotland, which stresses the importance of claiming a descent from the royal family, even through an illegitimate line, during the Great Cause, and touches briefly on Marjory). But to all intents and purposes we have no really convincing contemporary sources, which is the main reason for doubt in the first place, and that’s where the argument will begin.

As for the particular narrative of her marriage and death cited above, that is definitely not backed up in any of the major medieval sources I am aware of (even the ones that aren’t from the twelfth century), and honestly I’m a little bit confused as to how the author of the book you’ve referred to (’R.B.’ i.e. Richard/Robert Burton i.e. Nathaniel Crouch) got a hold of that story. I will keep looking for his source however- possibly there’s a tale or something in a medieval chronicle that got mangled somewhere- but again it’s something I have never come across in the main twelfth-century sources, nor to be honest in any later mediaeval chronicles (though there’s a lot of them so I’m not sure). However, I would not call a book written probably in the eighteenth century that doesn’t cite its own sources a reliable account for events in the twelfth century. If you know of any earlier sources Crouch may have based his account on, it would be helpful if I could see those, and I will double-check myself, but as I say I’m not aware of any similar stories in mediaeval chronicles and histories, and they’re certainly not accepted by most modern scholars. 

TL:DR, Marjory’s parentage is debatable, but a long and detailed story like the one Crouch gives is very unlikely. Hopefully this helps, but if need be I can root around and find more appropriate sources which can familiarise you with the debate in greater detail (right now I need lunch).

Happy hunting either way!

[violettesiren]

You are a small shape of death crouched among leaves.

The twist of your red mouth is the torque of poison.

Tangle of leaves, spill of leaves, slow rot of leaves. . .

Misery, ruin, iniquity. You are the scuffling thing in dry grass.

Rodent, snail, the curly-legged spider, centipede, rat snake.

I see you by the back-hooded barbecue in November, brooding

like the smoke of burned meat. The fire in the coals gone out,

the sun hung low and weak in smoldering sky, cold

breath of winter. You are all smoke breath, grief, and conniving.

You are the alien thing invading my garden, a haunt, a plague,

lurking beyond light and warmth, there in the shadows wearing

death inside out, a curse on the sky. You are a spot, a flaw, a

blotch and a stain on the world you corrupt and I hate

you and fear you and look for you everywhere with dread.

Curse One: The Wraith by Cynthia Huntington

[rrrawrf-writes]

22 & 67 for the drabble ask if u do not mind

okay so look

this is painfully long

because i am an idiot

who thought “let’s do one thing for each prompt” because i couldn’t figure out how to put the two of them together

so uh

i apologize. i’m so sorry this took so long, and is so long.

battle buddies for the first one! don’t worry, something (probably???) nice happens to rhiot this time o3o

22. “Did you just hiss at me?”

“What’s down there?” Rhiot asked, yawning as he stumbled downstairs. Loula was already down the hall and at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. Mercado, Hunt, and Parker all crowded the area, glaring down into the darkness.

“We don’t know,” Mercado huffed. “But I’m giving it three seconds to get out before I get my guns!”

She raised her voice to shout downstairs, while Parker gave Rhiot a crooked grin.

“No guns in the clubhouse, Mercy,” he told her. “Since you’re the last one up, Archer, you can go downstairs.”

“What?” Rhiot said, his sleep-fuddled mind still trying to play catch-up. “What for?”

“You gotta see what it is,” Hunt put in helpfully. He moved aside to give Rhiot access. Mercado crouched down on her haunches, her usually straight brown hair now a wild mess. “Parker says he thought he heard someone crying.”

“It’s your house, Parker, you go look,” Rhiot muttered.

“As ranking officer and your host for the week -”

Rhiot waved a hand at him to shut him up. “Yeah, all right, fine, I’ll go. C’mon, Loula.”

He was five steps into the basement when he realized that Loula still waited at the top of the stairs. Rhiot paused, looking back up at her, and she gave an apologetic, mental sort of shrug, lying down.

“Traitor,” Rhiot complained. He could hear the rest of his unit snickering as he clomped down the rest of the stairs, running his hand over the wall to look for a light switch. When he found it, he flicked it a couple times, and was completely unsurprised to find that it didn’t work.

“If this’s some kinda joke, I’m tying you all in to Dixon’s dreams again,” he called upstairs. “Change your lightbulbs, Parker, honestly.”

“Oh, gross, Archer,” Mercado complained. “I’d take your nightmares over Dixon’s fantasies any day.”

“Seriously,” Hunt muttered.

“It’s a toss-up for me,” Parker admitted with a chuckle. “Archer dreams up some pretty horrific things.”

“So does Dixon,” Mercy said. Rhiot shunted their conversation to the back of his mind as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Parker didn’t stay very much at his house, and it showed - furniture and storage totes crowded the basement, and Rhiot banged his shins three different times as he made his way towards the darker corner of the room.

“Hello?”

He paused in what he felt was the center of the room, but he honestly had no idea. He could barely make out the shapes of all the junk Parker had stored down here. After a moment, he heard scuffling coming from a corner, and slowly moved his way over.

Loula padded down the stairs, a moment later, with a flashlight in her mouth. Rhiot accepted it gratefully, and waved her back to stay near the stairs as he clicked it on.

He saw a flash of eyes, and then a flurry of movement as something - someone? - squeaked and dove behind a mattress wrapped in plastic, slanted against the wall. Rhiot sighed, then with more exasperation than bravery, squatted down at the opening of the little nook, shining the flashlight on a small child, curled up into a tight ball at the very back of the narrow space.

They made an incredibly cat-like noise.

“Did you just hiss at me?” Rhiot asked, bemused.

“Hey, Archie, what is it?” Mercy called downstairs. Rhiot ignored her and set the flashlight down.

“Hey, come on out, it’s all right,” he told the child. There was something wrong with her - his? - ears. They were far too long and pointy, and their skin was a completely wrong color.

It took nearly ten minutes of coaxing and shouting upstairs for the others to shut up, before Rhiot sighed and sat back. Loula immediately stuck her nose into the hidey-hole, and the child gasped.

Instead of trying to curl themselves into an ever-tighter ball of anxiety, they immediately crawled towards Loula. She backed up, huffing gently, and Rhiot scooted to the side so he inadvertently wouldn’t frighten the child again.

In the brighter beam of the flashlight, it was clear to see what was so off-putting about the child. They were covered in short, calico-patterned fur, and wore nothing but an overlong nightshirt, with a tail - a tail - swishing from underneath. They were bare-foot, with short-cropped hair and cat ears. Cat ears.

Rhiot bit down on his tongue. Instead of screaming ‘what’s wrong with you!’ like he wanted, he said, in a somewhat strangled voice, “Are - Are you all right?”

The child ignored him. Instead, they wrapped their arms around Loula, digging their fingers into her fur. Rhiot tensed up at the secondhand sensation of hands pressing against his back and shoulder. As he watched, the little kid changed.

Their fur grew longer, a bit shaggier, taking on the brindling of Loula’s fur, and the tail likewise went from sleek to bushy and thick. Their ears lengthened, and twitched when they heard Parker’s heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs.

“Hey, Archer, you get ‘em out - oh, what the hell -”

Rhiot glanced up at his commanding officer. “I think they’re a shapeshifter.”

and now we’re back to rembrandt being a terrible person to winn. this happens directly after rembrant shooting winn in the leg.

67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Rembrandt didn’t know why he was surprised when he came back to the penthouse, and found Huntington on top of Winn, slamming a fist into the smaller man’s face.

Rolling his eyes, Rembrandt flipped on the lights and said, “Don’t kill him, Mr. Huntington.”

Huntington just grunted. It wasn’t until Rembrandt had moved into the kitchen that Huntington finally let their prisoner up. Winn coughed and threw a few meager curses at the both of them.

“I thought I told you to shoot him if he tried anything.” Rembrandt leaned against the wall where the kitchen fed into the living room, a glass of water in his hand.

“You left the moron without a bloody gun,” Winn mumbled thickly from the floor.

Rembrandt watched Winn pick himself slowly off the floor, like an infant trying to learn how to walk, then frowned. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Winn pressed a hand to his mouth; it and his nose both bled. A few drops had already spattered to the floor.

“Thought you said this —— eyesore was a fake,” Winn groused. His eyes darted to the window, but Huntington had stationed himself near it. Rembrandt knew someone was just outside the door to the hall, and he himself stood between Winn and any exits from the back of the penthouse. Rembrandt smiled into his glass, enjoying the resignation settling onto Winn’s face.

“It is,” Rembrandt conceded, and pointed his glass at Winn’s feet, now removed from said eyesore. “But you’re standing on my white carpet, not the rug.”

Droplets of red stood out starkly against the carpet. Rembrandt had brought out the rug specifically to keep Winn’s mess from getting all over his apartment. He should have known better. Rembrandt would have to remind Huntington to be more careful next time.

Winn stared at him for a moment. Then he cupped a hand over his split lip and bleeding nose. Winn brought it away a few seconds later; staring Rembrandt dead in the face, Winn flicked his wrist, sprinkling fresh blood onto the carpet.

Closing his eyes, Rembrandt resisted the urge to smash his glass into Winn’s face. “Come with me,” he said instead.

To his surprise and satisfaction, Winn limped after Rembrandt, clearly too exhausted to resist. Huntington walked right behind Winn, breathing down his neck. Reaching the door several yards ahead of Winn, Rembrandt watched the ex-con brace himself against the wall every few steps, favoring his wounded leg. As much as Rembrandt would have loved to leave Winn in that sort of pain, another visit from Weston might be necessary - Rembrandt needed to get the codes first. Then he could cripple Winn any way he liked.

The back room had an enormous window and balcony. Rembrandt glanced to Winn as they entered, but the ex-con ignored the view - he must have finally learned to stop telegraphing his intentions. Too bad for Winn - Rembrandt wasn’t stupid. He tilted his head for Huntington to, once again, lurk near the window.

There was nothing in the room Winn could use. The bed had been stripped of blankets and sheets; besides a small bundle of clothes on top of it, there was nothing else in the room. Rembrandt nodded to the clothes. “Go ahead and change.”

“Mind giving a man some privacy?”

Rembrandt snorted a laugh. “‘A man’,” he repeated, and smiled blandly at Winn. He didn’t move. Winn scoffed and reached over to pick up the clothes.

Rembrandt made Winn stop mid-change after he had stripped off every inch of clothing, forcing Winn to show his open hands. While Winn pulled on a clean set of boxers, Rembrandt went through the pockets of his torn and bloodied jeans.

Winn had a mess of items in his pockets; besides an inordinate amount of change and dollar bills, the most interesting acquisition was three different pocket knives (one of which Huntington claimed with a glower). The hem of Winn’s sweater turned out to be more interesting: Rembrandt found three slim lockpicking wires tucked into the lining.

“Still using Miss Ryder’s old tricks, are we?” Rembrandt asked. Winn had his back to them as he pulled a pair of too-big jeans over his narrow hips, but Rembrandt could see his ears and the back of his neck turn bright pink.

“Screw* you,” Winn muttered savagely. He reached for the shirt on the bed, but Rembrandt stopped him.

“What’s on your back?” Rembrandt asked, tilting his head to the side to try and get a better look. The glance Winn shot him was a picture: rage, humiliation, and shame, all at once.

“Nothing.”

“Show me.”

“Screw.* You.”

Rembrandt rocked back on his heels, eyebrows arched, and then carefully began to unbutton his suit coat. Winn must have understood the motion, and the implied threat; Rembrandt preferred to keep his revolver underneath his jacket, and it was freshly-loaded.

With a sigh of disgust - at himself, Rembrandt thought - Winn dropped the shirt and put his back to Rembrandt.

Scars covered Winn’s back, slightly raised, in a pattern that was far from random. Wings spread out across his skin, a pattern that was surprisingly intricate for the usual scarification process - and beyond that, it had healed perfectly, without a single blemish that Rembrandt could see. A few feathers trailed across Winn’s shoulders and down either arm. The ex-con held one elbow, shoulders hunched, like he was embarrassed by the work of art branded into the skin of his back.

Rembrandt stepped closer and reached out to brush his fingers over the upraised scars. Winn flinched away, and half-turned to - presumably - curse or cry or otherwise waste the perfectly good air he breathed in. Before Winn could more than turn his head, though, Rembrandt grabbed the back of his neck and his arm, and shoved Winn face-first into the wall.

Rembrandt stretched Winn’s arm out. An old burn scar - a harsh one - ran down the side of his forearm. Whoever had etched those wings into Winn’s back had worked here, as well: thin white lines outlined the burn scar in a sort of bracer effect, reminiscent of celtic knotwork.

He let go of Winn’s arm, but only reached for the other one, transferring his left hand to Winn’s neck. A similar effect had been wrought on Winn’s other arm, but instead of encompassing a burn scar, the scarification patterns wrapped around something more jagged and random - they almost looked like bite marks. “This is Ripper’s work, isn’t it?”

Winn turned his head against the wall to shoot Rembrandt a glare. “Get off me.”

Rembrandt did not let go. He could practically feel the fury and humiliation radiating from Winn’s reddened face as he leaned forward, until Rembrandt’s forehead rested against the wall right next to Winn’s. He gave the younger man a sly smile.

“I have a friend in the PCC,” Rembrandt said conversationally. “I was just so concerned when you were sentenced your whole five years of prison that I got in touch with him, asked him to watch over you. Take good care of you.”

Winn ground his teeth so hard Rembrandt could hear his jaw creak.

“An appointment with Ripper - that must’ve been one hell of a favor, Winn,” Rembrandt said. “It’s beautiful.”

Rembrandt let go of Winn and stepped back - and right on cue, the ex-con whirled around, furious and red-faced - and was he crying again?

“It was —— torture!” Winn yelled. He lunged for Rembrandt - who stepped easily to the side, did a quick mental calculation, and punched Winn in the thigh.

He hadn’t thought he’d hit the bullet wound, but Rembrandt must have gotten close enough, because Winn’s face went ghost-pale, and he collapsed to the floor with a sob. Huntington, always a moment too late, thundered over to glower down at Winn, curled up on the floor.

Rembrandt dropped the spare shirt on top of Winn. “Get dressed,” he told him, “and then get into the closet.”

Winn pulled the shirt off his face, rolling over onto his side. He spewed a litany of foul language instead, which completely unimpressed Rembrandt. Glancing over to Huntington, Rembrandt nodded towards the walk-in closet in question.

“Get off me,” Winn snarled, as Huntington reached down and grabbed him by the arms. Rembrandt tucked his hands in his pocket and leaned back against the wall, enjoying the fear and anger that flashed onto Winn’s face. “Don’t - Don’t put me in there -”

“It’s not that much smaller than your cell in solitary,” Rembrandt remarked, as Huntington tossed Winn into the closet. He slammed the door close before Winn could regain his feet. Rembrandt raised his voice a little, just to make sure he was heard over the ex-con’s furious demands. “If you behave, maybe we’ll let you out on good behavior. Goodnight, Winn.”

[fotokuo-blog]

There’s a boy crouched over the pond, searching for frogs. Can you spot him? Huntington Library and Gardens, California. @thehuntingtonlibrary (at The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8RLgogBGcK/?igshid=1ngr21k5ydmby