#Maybe when I am older with a more stable life and my own property I can keep some idk

[puppytoast]

Tumblr recommending me chicken keeping blogs today in my for you and I was like "thats interesting but also yes I want to hold chickens now"

[furshrimps]

I'm actually thinking often about where the point would be when I should seriously think about rehoming my dogs. Currently I can still mostly care for them, albeit going for regular walks isn't quite possible. I'm still hoping my condition will get better again so I'll be able to do that again. So far we either have to make use of the property or my sister will help with that, since walks with me have to be few and far between and pretty short. Sister also helps with enrichment. That situation isn't ideal, though, all in all they get much less time outside the property than before, and I do feel bad about that. I also spend less overall time with grooming, but so far I can do at least the minimum amount of grooming.

I think it's a balance, especially considering the history of both of them, as well as their age (10 and 12 now). They've both went through things that left them with serious trauma of humans, and both have done a lot of recovering since they've came to me. I know it probably sounds like I'm trying to turn a blind eye on the situation, but I don't think I can be replaced for them that easily. It probably would be a tad bit easier for Sammy, despite him being older and despite him having had the "worse" objective history. But overall I think he's more stable and adaptable. I'm not sure how Bats would be able to cope, though. Finding good homes for them would be a nightmare, though. Even just finding someone to help with walks feels like a too-big task, at least I still can't think of a good way to find someone who is trustworthy and knowledgeable enough. I do admit I'm probably way too overprotective about the dogs and way too distrustful of human beings in general here, but there are so many idiots out there who intentionally or unintentionally could cause so much serious harm especially to such small dogs that I don't know how to even start on that. And thinking how Bats practically has to be forced to leave the apartment without me even just to go with my sister, whom he knows very well... idk. Sammy is kind of hesitant, too, but not quite to that extent. Once outside they do enjoy their walks just fine from what sis tells me. But with a complete stranger? Idk.

Currently, I think the point to think about rehoming for me would be when I either can't even take care of the rest of the basic day-to-day care anymore, or when they'd start getting unhappy. So far neither of these things seem to happen, at least Sammy seems to be just fine with whatever as long as he gets some play, some running around, food, affection and a generally safe place. Bats is more easily bored, because he needs a lot of encouragement for things outside of activities that don't include treats, and he rarely offers social play on his own. And because he'll just wait it out until someone notices it's easier to dismiss or not notice. But just asking him to do a few tricks here and there so he can earn some treats, and likewise a quiet/ safe/ harmonious environment with lots of affection seems to be enough for him overall. I have a feeling all that could be very different if they had been raised and lived their life in a "good" environment all of the time. With a dog without all the traumas I probably would already be thinking about rehoming, or starting to think about it soon. I mean, I AM considering and weighing it constantly just the same, but so far it appears to be not the right thing to do, despite the downsides for them. But from what they show the upsides seem to outweigh the downsides still. I do try very hard to keep my assessment objective, even though I can barely think about that without breaking my heart. But ultimately, I knew I would and could make the decision in their favor. I'm just lucky they appear to be fine with it so far, and I can't begin to describe how thankful I am for that.

Maybe other people have a different view on all that, and maybe I'm wrong. But I honestly do try my best to do the right thing, and to do right by them. And I also try to do what I can to get better, because I'm sure that is what we all want the most in the first place.

[bread-elf]

Slice of Life

The future is always unpredictable. The battle to fix the Shadowlands continued on, dreaded events happening that could change the entire fabrication of reality. But even so, life continued to tick on for the living, and there was no helping it. The Glaivefall children continued to grow, and with the world of Azeroth becoming slightly more stable since the shattering of the sky, Jiroki decided to return her family back to their home in the Jade Forest. The hippogryphs back at home were expecting new hatchlings, the health of her sister Estal’anar continued to improve with the help of their family as well as their dear friend Moon’s family who lived on the property, and the Glaivefall establishment continued to grow with some unpredictable circumstances.

How could someone so magnificently gorgeous simply exist without care and not notice of all eyes on him? The way Sharpen Jadescythe’s muscles flexed each time he raised the axe with one hand, only to bring it down and split the piece of wood with far too much ease, a light sheen on his coral colored skin as in his other hand he held his precious kitten named Pocky. Like a glorious sunset along a jungle beach, his body glistened like some god of the untamed wild, dipped in honey and kissed by blushing Elune herself. Words written by him himself, Jiroki having once peeked at his secret writings of his romantic fantasies. Yet the fool failed to see the many eyes watching him as he cut wood for the cooking fire. Anorah’lah watched from the window inside the house, peering carefully while her own new kitten rolled at her feet while clinging to her shoe, but the child didn’t care. Since meeting Sharpen for the first time in the Outlands, Jiroki’s daughter had become infatuated with the man, even shy most times. The child had formed her first love. “Dear oh dear…” As much as Jiroki felt happy for Sharpen being around more often, it certainly raised some complications, given her own very personal relationship with the man. Little Taldreath sat on the carpet in the living room with his play blocks, enjoying making a tower and knocking the blocks over. Jiroki herself had something on the stove as she started making a stock, but came over to see two of her children. But as Anorah didn’t notice her presence and continued to stare at the one she admired, Jiroki found herself peering out the window too. Sharpen wasn’t the only one outside. Jiroki’s other son, Vaeren, played outside with his Cousin Andorus, and Andorus’ friend Jaxon. Whereas Vaeren had only just reached the age of four, Andorus and Jaxon were much older. Andorus has the same white sheen of hair as his mother Moon, amber eyes glowing brightly and brotherly towards the smaller Kaldorei. Jaxon, a human boy with a mess of red hair, didn’t seem to mind playing with the small child as long as Andorus did. They all played with new toys received from last Winter’s Veil, toy swords and shields from their father’s. Jiroki knew Vaeren didn’t much enjoy how to properly handle a sword, but Andorus and Jaxon always played Knight with one another, and that was more than enough reason for Vaeren to pretend he enjoyed sword play just to spend time with the older boys. Though Sharpen wasn’t too far off from them, he was not the one watching them. Instead Moon herself is. But that doesn’t appear to be the case as the elven woman lounges on a lawn chair, wearing summer clothes and a wide brim hat to shield her eyes from the sun. A lemonade in hand, though the children were playing she kept casting her gaze to the burly man chopping up wood, a little grin on her lips as she watches the man’s fluid motions as he not only chops the wood with ease, but also tenderly dotes on the kitten close to his chest. “That whore.” Jiroki leers at her best friend from the window. Thankfully Anorah didn’t know anything in Common, but the words slipped out regardless. But her sights are distracted as she sees movement, glancing away and seeing her eldest daughter Merli with her other aunt. Estal’anar has come a long way from how she used to be. Once frail, mentally unstable, constantly confided in her own space, after some time of healing and nurture she blossomed to be close to the person Jiroki once knew her to be. The ordeals of her past still haunted her, wary of just about everyone that isn’t family. Even now, she kept her head down, walking beside Merli as they carried baskets of vegetables from their gardens to bring to Moon’s house to share. Yet Jiroki couldn’t help noticing that even she was casting glances towards Sharpen! Merli was much more obvious, just staring blatantly towards the man. So distracted as to even trip on a small rock, tumbling forward as her basket of produce flings about everywhere, causing others to look at her in surprise. “He’s pretty popular, isn’t he?” Aztook the demon hunter’s voice hums happily besides Jiroki’s ear, having snuck up on her while she spied on her growing family. Jiroki jumps and yelps, causing the kitten on the ground to be startled as well, but Anorah remains fixated on watching her crush from afar. “I told you not to sneak up on me like that!” Quickly putting up a front, Jiroki lightly swats at Aztook’s arm before moving away, deciding now is as good a time as any to wash some dishes. But Aztook follows on along, stalking his favorite prey with a cheshire grin, eyes missing but aware of every single little movement of hers with his demonic gaze. “Riiight, right, my mistake. It’s just, I couldn’t help but notice you staring at him so much…” A hand touches her shoulder, his hand more leathery than calloused, and claw like nails gently drag along her shoulder and down her arm. He’s testing her, trying to rile a reaction out of her, his favorite pastime. “And?” Jiroki tries to remain unphased, but her brow is furrowing, pursing her lips as she tries to focus. But he has such a powerful presence when he wants to, and it overwhelms her senses. “I actually have eyes, unlike you. I like to make use of them.” “Oh gee! Am I missing out? Maybe I should find some spare eyes to use… Is that also why your daughter has been staring at him for nearly the last hour? I could have sworn you two were having one of those like-mother-like-daughter moments.” That makes her whirl out, leering at her husband with a shocked expression. “Excuse me?! Are you trying to mock me?! … Wait, has she really?” Now glancing towards her daughter, surely it couldn’t have been that long. “It feels like an hour but, well, maybe ten minutes.” Aztook keeps on that mischievous grin of his. “You always pull my heart strings when you’re quick to the offense.” “Ugh.” Jiroki rolls her eyes, but she knew this song and dance. Raising a brow at the man, she starts to reach up to lace her arms around his neck. “I’d much rather pull your heartstrings in a normal way. I bet if I wasn’t mean to you at the beginning you wouldn’t even be paying attention to me right now.” “And what, leave you to carry someone else’s offspring?” His sightless gaze remains fixated on her face, but his hands move to her hips, thumbs lightly caressing the sides of her baby bump of their next child. “I think not! No one could be a Mr. Glaivefall better than me! Well- besides your father… Was he a sort of ‘Mr. Glaivefall’ man? Or was that what your father’s father was called? Or maybe your brother likes to go by Mr. Glaivefall, so it would be confusing if I also called myself Mr. Glaivefall-” “Just shut up.” Jiroki snickers, grinning from ear to ear at her mate’s antics. Aztook’s smile gets more gentle, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I want those pretty eyes on me too.” He says, the fel green orbs focused intently on hers. “Don’t you remember? I have eyes on the back of my head. I always have my eyes on you.” “Wait- really?” He pulls back, looking shocked, taking her own flirt too seriously. “Since when? You didn’t do anything when I ate your rice cake yesterday!” “That was YOU?!” Baby number five is on the way!

[ushijimaenthusiast]

hohohoho i did it. here’s a new ushiiwa based off a dream i had

ushiiwa on a family farm with confessions but an unhappy ending

[ao3]

The look of surprise on Hajime’s face is enough to halt Wakatoshi’s footsteps. Immediately, he’s regretting this surprise visit, wondering if maybe he should have called or not come at all. Hajime’s wide eyes and open mouth have sweat starting to build at the base of Wakatoshi’s spine, his hands going clammy. He itches to rub them off on his jeans but doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.

“‘Toshi,” Hajime whispers. His heart aches at hearing the nickname for the first time in years, and maybe, just maybe--

Hajime’s open mouth twists into a splitting grin, and he rushes from the stable door towards Wakatoshi and throws his arms around Wakatoshi as best he can. He’s inches shorter and smaller in more than one way, but the hug is so overwhelming Wakatoshi can do nothing but stand there. He feels like he’s on fire.

Hajime steps away before Wakatoshi can return the hug, but the smile on his face makes him seem like he doesn’t mind. Instead, his hands trail down Wakatosh’s arms slowly, little sparks firing off with every caress until they disappear right before Wakatoshi’s hands. His stomach roils at the thought of them not holding hands right now.

Instead, he pulls back and shoves his sweaty palms into his pockets, and tries to offer his own smile. He’s not sure how successful it is, but Hajime’s smile doesn’t dim.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, rocking back on his heels.

Wakatoshi tries to brighten his smile as he shrugs nonchalantly. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Hajime barks out a laugh, throwing his head back and exposing the long column of his neck. The lightning tattoo Wakatoshi knows is there peeks out from under the collar of Hajime’s shirt. Wakatoshi has never seen the full thing in person but knows it stretches across his chest beautifully.

“You’re about a thousand miles from home if I’m not mistaken,” Hajime says, the smile turning softer. There’s a small fluttering feeling in Wakatoshi’s stomach that moves every time that smile is directed at him. “What really brings you all the way out here?”

Wakatoshi shrugs again and forces himself to look away from Hajime. They’re in one of the family’s many stables, this one holding the older horses on the grounds, the ones unable to breed or race anymore. According to Hajime’s mother, one of Hajime’s favorite horses is in here.

“I know you’re finally on a break from tour, and figured a friendly face might be a welcome sight.”

There’s that soft smile again. Wakatoshi’s insides flip and flop and he feels like he might be sick.

“I could. I really could.”

Hajime leads him out of the stables and back towards the giant three-story house their family resides in. They have a small lunch and catch up, and Wakatoshi does his best to keep that smile on Hajime’s face. After lunch, Hajime takes him back out to the stables to meet the horses. Hajime’s favorite is indeed in the one they met in, a black Appaloosa with what almost looks like snowfall covering his entire back, named Godzilla.

Wakatoshi eyes him wearily. “Really?”

Hajime grins brightly. “We got him when I was a kid. He didn’t last long as a racer but I couldn’t part with him. He’s practically my baby.”

The horse sniffs at Wakatoshi’s hand but otherwise ignores him in favor of Hajime’s attention.

“I was gonna take him out before you showed up, but I can always do that later. How long are you here for anyway?”

“Just a couple of days.” Hajime gives a goodbye kiss to Godzilla and leads them out of the stables and back into the bright sunshine. “Your mother is letting me stay in the guest house, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah man, that’s fine! I’m surprised she didn’t offer one of our guest rooms in the main house.”

Wakatoshi cringes inwardly. “She did, but I didn’t want to intrude that much.”

“You’re not intruding man. You’re practically family.”

Something swells in Wakatoshi’s chest, almost choking him. Hajime doesn’t see him falter in his steps as they walk along a path leading through the property’s gardens.

They go back to easier topics, safer ones. Hajime talks about escapades that happened on tour, and Wakatoshi fills him in on their friend’s shenanigans back home.

As they walk they drift closer and closer together, and Wakatoshi has to swallow the bile that rises in his throat as he itches to wrap an arm around Hajime’s shoulders.

Hajime’s life on tour sounds so exciting and extravagant that Wakatoshi has no idea how he could compare. It doesn’t matter that they’ve labeled each other best friends, it doesn’t matter that they’ve known one another for years. They’ve drifted apart ever since Hajime’s music career kicked off. They haven’t even seen each other in person in who knows how long. Touring kept Hajime away from back home, and work kept Wakatoshi from traveling. This is the first long break Hajime has had in years, and Wakatoshi only knows about it because of Hajime’s social media. There was no actual message to Wakatoshi. If anything, he’s being a creepy stalker and could be wholly unwanted here.

He starts to sweat again as they find a small fountain in the middle of the garden and Hajime goes to sit down. He pats the space next to him and Wakatoshi has no choice but to sit close. They’re so close he can feel the heat emitting from Hajime. He wants to puke.

The sun is starting to set, casting a blue hue over everything. It makes Wakatoshi feel like he’s in a dream.

Hajime sighs next to him.

“I really am glad you’re here,” he whispers. “I know I haven’t done much to keep in contact, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You’ve been busy,” Wakatoshi defends.

“Yeah, but I still could have called or something. Seeing you again makes me realize how much I missed you.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes go wide, not sure how to take that statement. He doesn’t want to say anything in case it’ll be the wrong thing, doesn’t want to alter the meaning dancing in his mind. Hajime’s shoulders rise in a tense breath, then slowly lower as he forces himself to relax.

He turns to Wakatoshi, his lips turned into something that’s not quite a frown, but definitely not a smile.

“I’m serious, ‘Toshi. You’re the one person I’ve missed the most, and I’m still having a hard time believing you came all the way out here to see me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Wakatoshi blurts. He snaps his mouth shut, mentally cursing his traitorous mouth.

Hajime’s lips start to upturn at the corners, but it’s still not quite a smile. “I know. I know.” he scoots infinitesimally closer, pressing their thighs together and sending sparks flying through Wakatoshi. He doesn’t know what to do, with his hands, with his body. All he can do is stare at Hajime as he twists his body to fully look at Wakatoshi, the heat of their pressed thighs burning pleasantly. “Seeing you again ‘Toshi--” he breaks off with an unhappy laugh, then runs a hand over his face before standing from the bench. Wakatoshi’s thigh is now freezing cold. “Shit.”

He’s going to do it.

Wakatoshi stands from the bench and crowds into Hajime’s space, slowly reaching for his friend’s hands before gently pulling them from his face and into the chasm between them, their fingers intertwined. He doesn’t dwell too long on how perfect they fit together, and instead waits patiently for Hajime’s eyes to rise to meet his.

I’m going for it.

When Hajime’s face is at the perfect angle, his lips slightly parted and a wide, curious look shining in his eyes, Wakatoshi leans in just enough to kiss him.

It’s hardly a press of lips, barely a whisper of what Wakatoshi wishes it was, but it’s enough. It’s enough for them to realize what exactly is happening, and it’s slow enough to give Hajime time to pull back, to reject him.

He hopes his friend doesn’t. He hopes he was reading the situation correctly, wouldn’t know what to do if this was a mistake. He knows he wouldn’t stay another night if Hajime rejected him, and knows their friendship most likely wouldn’t survive.

Hajime pulls back, sucks in a breath. Wakatoshi loosens the grip on their hands and starts to lean away, his heart breaking into a million little pieces. Hajime’s fingers slip from his. Wakatoshi has to close his eyes and focus on swallowing the bile in his throat, his mind trying to formulate an apology that his mouth can’t get out.

And then--

Then arms are being thrown around his neck and something crashes against his lips and his body is being thrown backward with the weight of another body on his. His arms fly around Hajime’s waist instinctively to keep them together and from toppling over. His mind finally catches up, and instead of being just a wall Hajime is kissing, he responds.

Hajime lets out a moan when Wakatoshi starts to move, his hands rubbing up and down Hajime’s back as he pulls the other man tighter against him. Hajime goes so far as to lift a leg as if to wrap it around Wakatoshi. He does his best to grab the muscled thigh and keep it against him, needing as much of Hajime against him as he can get.

After a full minute (or two or five) of grinding against one another, of lips biting and sucking and dancing, they pull apart panting, Hajime’s eyes closed and lips turned into a soft version of his breathtaking grin. Wakatoshi has trouble keeping his own eyes open but doesn’t want to miss a second of the look of bliss on Hajime’s face. If this is a dream, he wants to savor everything.

Wakatoshi lets Hajime’s leg drop but wraps both arms around the smaller man until they’re resting around his hips, then leans away to give them both more air.

When Hajime opens his eyes, they’re glistening.

Wakatoshi opens his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but Hajime just brightens his smiles and leans in and gives him a quick peck on the lips.

“That was more than I’ve ever imagined,” Hajime whispers.

“You’ve thought about that?”

“Of course,” Hajime scoffs, like what Wakatoshi said was the most ridiculous thing ever. “I’ve wanted to make out with you since we first met.”

“What?”

Despite the darkening hour, they’re close enough and there’s still just enough light for Wakatoshi to make out the blush highlighting Hajime’s cheeks.

“Dude you’re like, a Greek god. I’ve crushed on you since we met. Being away from you sucked, and seeing you today just brought everything to the surface. I knew I couldn’t go another day without doing anything.”

Wakatoshi can’t breathe. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way this is actually happening. There’s absolutely no way talented, kind, amazing Hajime could return his feelings.

“This has to be a dream.”

A hand gently cups his cheek, the rough thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“This is real. This is real.”

The sincerity on Hajime’s face has Wakatoshi crumbling. He tightens his grip around the other man’s waist and tugs him closer until they can kiss again. Hajime goes willingly, opening up beautifully underneath Wakatoshi as they move together, somehow knowing when to bite or suck or run a hand over a neck or lower to cup a handful of cheek. Their moaning is loud and unabashed, uncaring for who might hear or walk by. This is something they both need, both desperately want, and nothing is going to interrupt them.

Eventually, the need to breathe comes back to haunt them, and they pull apart gasping. Wakatoshi rests his forehead against Hajime’s and just drinks in the sight of him.

He can have this? He can enjoy this? The person he’s wanted for years, the person he’s admired and adored and encouraged--

“Enough of that,” Hajime whispers. “We’ll worry about the schematics later. For now, I think we should head inside, maybe get some dinner.”

“Netflix and chill.”

Hajime laughs, his body shaking with the intensity of it. Wakatoshi can feel his cheeks heat up from the stupid joke, but seeing Hajime laugh is worth it.

“Sure, man. We’ll see how it goes.”

Their hands stay clasped together as they make their way out of the garden and back to reality. The sounds of the farm make itself known first, then they run across stablehands and even Hajime’s father. The meeting is brief and slightly awkward as they don’t let go of one another, but the old man says nothing except to wish their evening well and that Hajime needs to help around some more tomorrow.

“Maybe tomorrow we can take out Godzilla and Nosferatu for a walk. If you like riding that is. Or if not then maybe we can go into town and shop, or--there’s a diner I know of that has amazing burgers, unless you’re still a vegetarian, and if that’s the case, maybe I could just make something for you.”

“It all sounds fantastic,” Wakatoshi interjects when Hajime stops to breathe. “I’m here for a week, so I’m sure we’ll have time to try all of that. And no, I’m not still a vegetarian. I’ve found plant-based meat just doesn’t taste the same.”

Hajime sighs in relief, a smirk playing at his lips. “Good. Because I know something you wouldn’t be able to eat if you were still a vegetarian.”

His mouth falls open at the innuendo, and Hajime breaks away laughing, his form racing back towards the house.

When he’s finally able to move, Wakatoshi takes his time making his way up the path to the house, not sure if he can handle this side of his best friend. He’s heard enough dirty jokes and innuendos from his friends back home, and from his time spent in locker rooms, but it hits differently coming from Hajime. It’s… hotter. It makes his pants tight and his stomach coil and a want build in him that he’s never felt before.

Inside the brightly lit house, he follows the sound of Hajime’s laughter to the kitchen, where his mother and another woman stand cutting and prepping food.

“Hello, Wakatoshi,” Hajime’s mother calls. She’s shorter than her son, but her smile is wide and beautiful and it’s clear to see which parent he takes after. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your day.”

He nods. “It’s been pleasant. Everything here is very beautiful.”

“Aw, thank you. We try our best, but it takes a lot of work.”

Hajime steals a baby carrot from the mess on the island while his mother is distracted. The other woman slaps his hand with a spatula as he giggles his way away from them. He comes to lean against Wakatoshi’s side, the carrot half out of his mouth as he turns to offer a small tomato to Wakatoshi. But instead of just handing it off, he holds it close to Wakatoshi’s lips, staring at him expectantly.

Not knowing what else to do, he keeps his eyes on Hajime as he opens his mouth and lets the tomato slip between his lips. It’s done slow enough that Wakatoshi is able to taste the saltiness of Hajime’s fingers, feel a callus scrape against his lower lip.

Their eyes stay locked as Wakatoshi slowly chews the tomato, the burst of sweet acidity refreshing, but a part of him is craving salt.

Hajime finishes his carrot and is the first to look away, his cheeks reddening beautifully.

The other woman clears her throat and the two men turn to look at the women. “That was very cute. Now, y’all are either gonna stay and help or can go somewhere else until dinner is ready.”

“We’re gonna go,” Hajime manages to choke out. His mother laughs as he grabs Wakatoshi’s hand and bodily drags him out of the kitchen and through a maze of rooms. They reach the stairs and Hajime tugs him up to the third floor before they enter a room near the back of the house.

It’s all windows, even half the ceiling is glass. The only lights come from the lighting covering the grounds, and it’s low enough that it doesn’t deter from the brightness of the stars overhead.

Hajime pulls him to the bed in the far corner of the room until they’re sitting side by side staring out the windows.

Their thighs are pressed together, their shoulders burning points of contact. Wakatoshi starts to resist the urge to wrap his arm around Hajime but gives in after another silent second. Hajime immediately leans into the embrace, letting out a soft sigh that sends shivers down Wakatoshi’s spine.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you showed up,” Hajime whispers. He sneaks a hand between them and rests it on Wakatoshi’s thigh, the fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s like, everything clicked into place.”

“I’m glad,” Hajime scoffs, but Wakatoshi continues. “Really. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it, me showing up unannounced. Your mother assured me it would be fine, and she and your father helped get me out here. And then seeing you in the stables, I couldn’t tell if you were happy or just shocked. I was afraid you’d turn me away.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

Hajime’s voice is so resolute that Wakatoshi can do nothing but believe him.

They lean closer together, Hajime’s head fitting perfectly on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, and his arm wrapped snuggly around the smaller man. They sit and watch the night until they’re called down for dinner.

It’s a raucous affair. It’s not just Hajime’s family that sits to eat, but any worker or stablehand still on property that hasn’t gone home for the evening. At the table, in a moment of bravery, Wakatoshi offers his lap for Hajime to sit on in an attempt to save a seat for someone else. It earns a round of laughter that has him hunching in on himself, but the chaste kiss Hajime gives him has his embarrassment floating away.

Dessert comes after, naturally, a slew of pies and cakes and even homemade ice cream. Hajime tells him it’s all because he’s back home and everyone went a little wild, that it’s not usually this extravagant. But they both sit back happily and let their dishes be piled high with sweets.

Wakatoshi can’t remember the last time he enjoyed a dinner like this. The dinners he has with his friends are few and far between and don’t feel the same without everyone there. Hajime sitting next to him just feels right and he’s loath to admit how long it took him to gather his courage and reach for this. He can’t believe how many years he missed out on being able to hold or kiss Hajime, but figures maybe, just maybe, the wait makes it all the sweeter.

Everyone cleans and stores away any leftover food, before departing to their respective places.

It’s late, and even though he doesn’t want to, Wakatoshi knows he should sleep soon. It’s been a long day, a whirlwind of emotions. He wants to take a long, warm shower before crawling into bed, but also doesn’t want to let Hajime out of his sight.

If he’s right, the way Hajime clings to him has him feeling the same.

Once everything is put away, Wakatoshi doesn’t say anything as he grabs Hajime’s hand and pulls him out of the house and towards the guest house, a quaint one-story building surrounded by flowers and ivy. It looks like something that should be in a magazine, and Wakatoshi can’t believe he’s allowed to stay in it.

They don’t say anything as they enter the darkened house. It’s almost instinctive as they cling to one another and Hajime picks their way through the darkened house to the one and only bedroom.

It’s easy to fall in bed together. It’s easy to shed clothing and wrap arms and legs around one another. The feel of Hajime pressing against him has his skin burning and tingling in all the right ways.

They don’t go past grinding against each other, but it’s the most connected to another person Wakatoshi has ever felt, the most intimate he’s ever been with someone else.

It surprises Wakatoshi when he’s turned into the little spoon and Hajime makes it his job to wrap his arms and legs around him as best he can. It should be awkward or uncomfortable, but all it does is make Wakatoshi feel loved.

Hajime presses a kiss to the base of Wakatoshi’s neck. “Tomorrow you’re gonna meet Nosferatu. He’s an ugly son of a bitch but super sweet, you’ll like him. He and Godzilla are like, best friends--”

“Is this you calling me ugly?”

Hajime shakes with laughter. “No, no man! Remember. You’re like, a Greek god, remember? Too beautiful for me.” Another kiss is placed.

Wakatoshi wiggles around until he can grip Hajime’s hand. “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“What if I’m too heavy for him?”

“I told you, he’s super ugly. Part of that is because he’s freakin’ huge.”

“Nosferatu wasn’t that big though, was he?”

“Oh shut up, I was like, seventeen when I named him--”

“Have you even seen the film?”

Hajime shakes again with his laughter, jostling Wakatoshi. “Of course I have, you jerk. Monster classics are my jam.”

“I thought your jam was just Godzilla.”

“It’s a classic monster movie. Thus, part of my jam.”

Wakatoshi shakes with laughter now, feeling utterly happy at this silly little banter. He tugs Hajime’s arms tighter around him. He’s already starting to sweat where Hajime’s chest is pressed against his back, and there’s a kink forming in his neck where it rests on Hajime’s arm, but he doesn’t mind it. He feels totally and completely happy.

He doesn’t register it when their laughter dwindles into whispers and mumbles, or when his eyes stop opening, or when Hajime’s lips don’t move away from the back of his neck.

He just drifts off.

~*~*~

Wakatoshi wakes slowly, taking a deep lungful of air through his nose as his eyes open and he’s greeted by the blinding red glare of his alarm clock. The numbers swim together, and before he can figure out what time it is his stomach is churning, forcing him to roll out of bed and stumble to his tiny bathroom, the lid barely flipped up before he’s spewing into it.

It takes a minute until everything is out and he’s able to breathe without choking. He flushes the toilet, resting his head against the lid while his body wakes and settles.

He hasn’t had a reaction like this in ages. He’s been good at keeping everything bottled up, keeping it all under control.

But maybe it’s because he saw him on TV last night, or heard his friends talking about how lucky they are to have known him, how happy they are for where he’s gotten.

Wakatoshi is happy for him, of course. He’s happy and thrilled and so, so proud of how far his friend has come in his career. He’s able to travel and share his music with millions of people, and millions of people love him just as much as Wakatoshi does.

But that’s just the thing.

Wakatoshi is just like everyone else. He’s no one special, no one to write home about. Hajime had forgotten about him years ago.

He washes his mouth and crawls back into bed, not wanting to close his eyes again and see the images of his dream. The feelings from the dream might lend to it being called a nightmare, but there’s still a deep, dark part of Wakatoshi that cherishes the feelings. The want and need, the feeling of being loved so deeply it makes his toes curl. He wants it so badly he’d do anything to get it back. To get it to begin with.

Not like it matters, though. It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

[chasingthepoguelife]

Lonely Boys Do Stupid Things Part 2

Lonely boys do stupid things Part 2

 (gif credits to @rafecameron​)

  Summary: Rafe is tired of an already boring summer, constantly being judged by everyone on the island, and is looking for a challenge. When the group is introduced to the new girl hanging out with Kiara, Topper suggests a challenge and Rafe accepts only to be conflicted along the way.

  Author’s: So in this world Rafe is still a bad guy, just not a “I killed a cop and have all these daddy issues” bad, Topper hasn’t developed yet, and also John B hasn’t dragged anyone into his stupid shit and there is a civil ground between kooks and pogues and Ward isn’t a “I love two out my three children and murdered my friend” dad. For reference, I do not support Rafe’s canon character. I’m just blinded by the attraction I feel for him and I love Drew, but will never condone or excuse Rafe’s actions. Also, I’m not writing y/n with many descriptions. I know all types of people might read this and I want to make everyone feel included but I also don’t want to do it the wrong way so I’m leaving a lot of physical features up to the reader’s imagination. I would also accept tips and constructive criticism to be more of an inclusive writer.

 Warning: For part 2 I don’t think there is anything, just a mention of underwear and little yelling from Rafe.

 For reference, Rafe is 19, y/n just turned 18 and she’s figuring out her college plans for the upcoming year.

Tag List: @nxsmss​ @prejudic3​ @spencereidbasis​ @alexandracheers​ @ifilwtmfc​ @billybonesxx​

 “So you’re telling me out of all those guys I met today, you don’t have a thing for a single one of them?” y/n asked.

“Dating here is complicated y/n,” Kie began. “Everyone is so focused on money and status, it’s hard to find anyone real. I used to think John B and I would end up together, but that ended sooner than it began. I kissed Topper one time in the ninth grade, and it was like what I imagine kissing your cousin is like.”

“And what about Rafe?” y/n questioned.

“y/n, no. I know that tone. He may look perfect on the outside, and he may seem like he could give a girl everything she wants but there’s a whole lot of issues and drama that he comes with. Ask around. There’s not 1 girl here he hasn’t screwed over or put in danger. The boy only has feelings and compassion for himself.”

“I always believe that people can change, but if it’s coming from you, I believe that you’re just looking out for me Kie.”

“I promise when you ease more into the island, I have two other guy friends that not only look as good as Rafe, but they won’t drag you down with all their problems.”

“Alright Kie, if I’m not making out with someone soon, it’s really on you if I go looking for Rafe.” Y/n teased.

2 Days Later

“How much you want to bet Kiara already bashed you in front of y/n?” Topper asked.

“She can talk all the shit she wants. I saw the way y/n was staring at me. Guarantee she will be dreaming about me tonight,” Rafe smirked.

“But do you think you’ll even get the chance to talk to her? There’s no way Kie is going to let this happen.”

“Kie can’t be with her 24/7. Lucky for me their houses are 20 minutes apart, and thanks to good old dad and his real estate connections, I already know where she lives.”

“Where are you going man?”

“To put her address in my gps,” Rafe yelled running away.

The ride to the Marigold neighborhood felt like a lifetime to Rafe. He had only ever been here one time as a kid, and even that was a distant memory. It didn’t seem much different than figure eight, except for the fact that he couldn’t even fit his driveway onto some of these properties. To his surprise when the gps said he arrived, he was in front of the last house on the street, probably the largest house he’d seen in the entire neighborhood. One might say that he was a little impressed, but back to being small minded after questioning if all 3 cars in the driveway belong to the family. Rafe parked his car in front of the house, locking it once he got out. Within seconds, he was at y/n’s front door, noting how short the walk is in comparison to his own home. He knocked on the door, waiting for what seemed like forever until the door opened. An older woman resembling y/n answered the door.

“Can I help you son?”

“I’m looking for y/n, did I come to right house?” Rafe asked for effect, knowing very well he was at the right house.

“I wasn’t aware my y/n had made so many friends here already. She should be around somewhere in between all these boxes. Y/n!, please come downstairs,” her mother yelled.

Rafe waited in an awkward silence until he heard foot steps coming down. To say he was looking at a different person was understatement, and had y/n known someone like Rafe was in her living room, well she would be coming down with more than a tshirt and underwear.

Y/n stood there, arms crossed, glaring at her mother. “Really? Couldn’t have bothered to mention that someone else was here?” y/n said grabbing a convenient pair of her dad’s sweatpants on the nearest carboard box.

“In all honesty I didn’t think you’d be putting on a show,” her mother joked.

“What are you doing here Rafe, how did you even know which house we bought?” y/n asked.

“I’m sure Kiara told you, but I have a lot of resources available to me,” Rafe smirked.

“Doesn’t make it any less weird, I’ve met you two days ago.”

“Y/N! Don’t be rude,” her mother said slapping her arm. “You’ve already made one more friend than I have.”

“May I use your restroom?” Rafe asked.

As y/n refused to moved, her mother came back momentarily from showing Rafe where to go.

“10/10 daughter,’ y/n’s mom spoke like she was talking to her best friend.

“Just because he has a nice face and body doesn’t make him a 10 mom, besides, I’ve heard some bad things about him, especially from Kiara,” y/n shared.

Rafe couldn’t help but hear everything from the bathroom. He had needed a moment to cool down after already seeing her half naked after two days, but chose to stay extra to hear more compliments about himself. Topper could’ve at least made this harder by picking a girl he wasn’t physically attracted to.

“Kiara is a lovely girl, but she’s just one person. Sometimes you need to give people the benefit of the doubt “ y/n’s mom said.

Rafe was relieved how much y/n’s mom was on his side, at this point he’d even date her mom just to add some difficulty to this challenge. He was about to join them again in the living room when he heard a louder noise come from the back of the house. A few seconds later, a louder, deeper voice began calling for y/n and her mother.

“Lovely to see two more Marigold residents in these parts,” the older man said.

“Ugh it doesn’t matter where we go you two are such dorks!”

“You should be so luck to find someone half as good as your father young lady.”

Rafe couldn’t help but barf. Relationships make him sick as he’s never a real one in his life, nor did he ever have a good example of one. The only one he could ever consider is the nauseating relationship between his sister and John B. He decided  was going to wait for her father to leave the room. He could not handle anymore jokes.

As her mom left the room to her and her dad, y/n had a feeling a hard conversation was coming.

“How about an update on school kiddo?”

“There’s not much to tell dad, I’m still figuring things out,” y/n shrugged.

“Well maybe had you taken 7 APs instead of 4, you would’ve impressed the schools more.”

4 Aps Rafe thought? He could barley get through 1 and this guy was complaining about not taking 7?

“What does it matter dad, I got A’s in all classes. That’s 4 GPA boosters and 4 college credits. Between that a year off to save, I won’t be needing much from you and mom, you know, after all you’ve done for me,” y/n explained.

“After 18 I didn’t see my father and mother for 5 years until I got a stable job. I didn’t go back to them until I could stand on my own two feet without needing anything from them.”

“The world is different now, and you’re acting like I’m never going to do anything on my own.”

“Well you know kid; you have to rustle up something good by next year or we’re going to have to teach you the hard way. Anyways, you know what you have to do. Tell your mother I’m headed down to the Wreck for some work things. See you later pumpkin.”

Rafe thought his dad was messed up, how could this guy insult and support his kid with every other sentence? He waited until it seemed like it was just y/n out there before coming back.

“Finally, I thought you fell in the toilet or something?” y/n joked, but Rafe could tell she was half joking, half compensating for her father putting her down, something Rafe knows all too well.

“I don’t need to explain to you my bathroom habits,” Rafe joked,

“No, but what you need to explain to me is why after two days you think it’s ok to just show up uninvited, without getting the address from me?”

“So you’re saying there’s a problem?” Rafe teased.

“Let’s see, I met you two days ago, you show up unannounced, intruding, and I know nothing about you except for all the bad things-“ y/n shut her mouth once she realized what she was saying.

“Go on, finish what you were saying. All the bad things…. that Kiara told you? Rafe questioned.

“Well what am I supposed to think, you’re not off to the best start. And I’m supposed to believe that after spending like 5 minutes with me, you just have to get to know me, or let me guess, you can’t stop thinking about me?” y/n said sarcastically.

“You haven’t even given me a chance yet,” Rafe stated.

“Rafe, we both know you’re cute, but I can’t take this on right now. I had hoped to meet someone after moving here, but this is already screaming red flag to me. You should just go.”

“You should know, that just because you’re not a pogue, doesn’t mean you’re worth anything on this island!” Rafe spat before storming out the front door.

Rafe made his way back to the car, in disbelief that he didn’t get anywhere with y/n. Kiara must have told her countless stories to turn her off. Not that there weren’t enough known incidences about Rafe, but everyone deserves another chance.  Considering Rafe believes he was sculpted by the gods and can’t remember the last time he’s ever been rejected; he’s still confused as to why he couldn’t make it work on y/n.

After Rafe left to head back to Figure Eight, y/n went on her own drive to Kie’s house, letting her know she’d be there soon. When she arrived, Kie was on the steps of her house, watching y/n’s face.

“It’s only been 2 days, what have you done now?” Kie questioned.

“This island is like a lifetime movie! I met the guy two days ago and he just shows up to my house in his fancy car sweet talking my mother!!”

“Rafe? What that makes no sense? We would’ve heard something by now if he was interested in you. That’s how he likes to move,” Kie noted.

“Apparently not, he just blitzed me, and caught in my underwear I may add.”

“So then what happened?”

“Don’t get me wrong I thought about. He seems perfect and really hot, as you know. But I keep replaying everything you told me about him, and that’s not something to ignore. He said you were lying about it all and that I should find out for myself. But my gut told me to not go down that road.”

“He’ll get over it y/n, even more so when he sees you on the arm of my friend JJ.”

“Kie you are not already trying to set me up with another outer banks man!”

“Did you not say you were looking to make out with someone soon?” Kie teased.

“Well after Rafe insulted me for not giving him a choice, I might need to reconsider.”

[rora-s]

The Derivative Chapter 5: Home

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 4

“You didn’t think to tell him first?” 

“Well I did but unlike Charlie he doesn’t live here” 

“Sometimes it feels like we live here” 

“Ain’t that the truth. Maybe I should give him a call later” 

“Oh no don’t do that” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I want to see his face when he finds out” I replied grinning broadly as I looked at my grandfather over the back of my chair in the sitting room. 

“You know you have a liking to trouble that alarms me sometimes” Gramps muttered. I just shrugged. There was a knock at the door and the man straightened “alright now get up and make yourself look presentable” he instructed heading for the door I got up and stood off to the side as he opened the door. 

“Hello” the woman at the door greeted. 

“Hi you must be Ms. Collins yes?” Alan smiled politely and let her in. She nodded in response looking around the room as she entered. “I’m Alan and this is my granddaughter, Abby” 

“Nice to meet you, and call me Meredith please” She smiled at us and extended a hand that I shook politely. 

“So I was thinking we could start in the back of the house, go through inside and then head outside” Alan suggested. 

“That sounds like a plan” the woman agreed “but I can tell you I already like this entrance space very open and welcoming” 

“Oh thank you” Alan smiled then led her toward the back hall. The woman started to walk and he turned to me “you keep working on your homework. I don’t want to come in here and find you reading another mystery novel” 

I let off an exasperated breath but surrendered at his stern look. He hurried after the real estate agent and I headed back over to my seat. Not long after Charlie came in and headed straight upstairs not even acknowledging my presence. I sighed and continued filling in the pointless pages of my english workbook when the door opened again. 

“Hello” Don called into the house. 

“Hi” I called in reply and he came over to my chair to look over my shoulder. 

“English huh?” he asked. 

“Vocab workbook” I explained “not only do I use a majority of these terms in my normal venacular a third of them I don’t plan to use and all of them I can literally just read the definition of and have it memorized I don’t need to fill this out” 

“You do need to” Don objected “for a grade not for your brain” 

“Yeah but isn’t school supposed to be about the opposite” I grumbled. 

“Yeah well, life ain’t always like that kid” he commented, messing up my hair as he straightened and Charlie came into the room. 

“Hey” the younger brother greeted the older. “Tell me you found Emily Burdick” 

“No, I’m sorry buddy not yet” Don replied. 

“Who’s-” my question was cut off by Alan’s voice reaching us from the kitchen. 

“Hey, take a look at this. Here in the kitchen, I put in the new sink myself, and the, uh… I did the tile work.” Alan was explaining. 

“Oh it’s beautiful work” Meredith complimented “I like how you’ve preserved the original Craftsman detail.” 

“Oh, hey, boys” Alan greeted as they entered the foyer I closed my workbook and shifted around onto my knees in the seat to watch the show. 

“Hi,” Charlie spoke first “we didn’t know you were home” 

“Meredith, my two sons” Alan introduced “this is Don and Charlie” 

“How are you?” my father greeted, shaking the woman’s hand. 

“Hi Don” the woman replied and turned to the younger brother. 

“Hello” Uncle C shook her hand as well. 

“Hello Charlie” she smiled. 

“Pleasure” he assured. 

“Oh, Meredith would you mind going upstairs for a minute?” Alan asked politely “I’ll be right with you” 

“Sure” she responded and headed off waving to me in greeting as she passed. 

“What?” Alan asked as he turned to see the faces of his two sons. 

“Nice, she’s cute,” Don pointed out with a grin. I had to try and keep from laughing.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, seeming amused “What is this?” 

“Oh, come on Charlie. Don’t you remember we talked about this?” Alan sighed in annoyance and I no longer worked to hide my giggles which earned me a look from the men. 

“Talked about what? No” Charlie replied in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, I should have made sure you were paying attention when I was ta-” 

“Don’t apologize, Dad.” Don objected, cutting his father off. 

“No you have no idea what this is all about, trust me” Gramps told his eldest. 

“I don’t think we want to know,” Charlie scoffed. 

“Well you have to know” Alan tried to explain, shooting me annoyed looks as I continued to laugh at the scene. 

“No, we don’t, Dad” Don started “Look you’re allowed a private life” 

“Wait a minute. Just hold it a second” Alan finally intervened “this is not a date” 

Charlie then began to draw bad conclusions it seemed as Don shot me a look “oh, my… Dad, what are you telling me? That this woman is a pr-” 

“Real estate agent” Alan cut off the word about to leave his youngest son's mouth. 

“Oh right” Don murmured in realization as I finally got control of myself. 

“I’m confused. Are you dating a real estate agent?” Charlie asked. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius” I muttered from my seat. 

“Hey, you, homework,” Don ordered pointing to my workbook. I gave him an annoyed look in response. “No, Charlie, he’s selling the house. Right?” 

“Yes” Alan nodded. 

“Why? I- I live here. You live here.” Charlie objected. 

“Don’t you remember?” Alan inquired “I said I wanted to find a smaller place for myself, maybe a condo.” 

“I remember that, sure.” Charlie murmured. 

“And you need a place of your own” Gramps continued. 

“Yeah but I didn’t think you were serious” Uncle C explained growing irritated “you can’t- you can’t sell our house.”

“What are you saying?” Don turned to his brother in confusion. 

“The market is at its peak right now.” Alan attempted to explain to his youngest who was not happy. 

“Yeah but I live here” Charlie reiterated. 

“We are living- We are living on a very large part of my retirement savings” Alan declared 

“He’s right,” Don agreed. “Prices are high believe me I looked around” 

“Can we- do me a favor-” Charlie continued to ramble as Meredith came down the stairs. 

“I like how it looks upstairs; it’s great,” she explained. “I love the solarium” 

“Oh you haven’t seen the outside” Alan told her. 

“I do my best work in the solarium” Charlie commented seeming rather dazed now. 

There was some clanging from the pipes overhead “oh, that’s the heating system.” Alan told Meredith “it’s a little temperamental. It needs a little finessing. I’ll show you later” with that he led her out the door with one last look directed at his sons continuing to talk to the woman. 

Don looked over at me “I take it from the maniacal laughter earlier you knew about this?” he asked I shrugged “uh huh, thanks for the heads up” 

“I can’t believe this” Charlie murmured and Don’s focus turned to him. 

“Look, relax” Don reassured his brother, “I got a great apartment in a good neighborhood. You’ll find one too” 

“Then why are you over here all the time?” Charlie questioned. 

“Because of that one for a start” he gestured to me “and because I’m making sure you let dad have a life” he declared heading into the dining room. 

____________

I raked a couple more leaves toward the pan and let off a breath “you know I have homework to do. I should really be inside.” 

“Ah ah nice try” Alan objected quickly. “You’re helping. Though I do find it ironic you only ever do your homework to get out of doing something else” 

I shot him an annoyed look and continued to rake the leaves scattered about the yard as Alan dumped the tray into the trash bag Charlie held. “You know, Dad I’ve been checking around. You were right about the house. You were right.” Charlie spoke up. 

“Yeah, the real estate lady said that this property on the current market, I can expect competing bids.” Alan explained. 

“Dad, am I, uh… Do I bug you?” he asked. 

“What? What kind of a question is that?” Alan looked to his son confused. 

“Well, it’s just, you know my math work, and uh..” Charlie cleared his throat as Alan unloaded another tray of leaves into the trash bag “I never listen, and I’m always in my own world.” 

“Well, that sort of makes you the ideal housemate, doesn’t it, Charlie?” Alan pointed out “plus you contribute more than our part-timer over here” he gestured to me. 

“I’m contributing” I held up my rake as proof. Alan gave me a look as he held up another tray of leaves he had raked. 

“I just wanted to make sure.” Charlie sighed 

“Make sure of what?” Gramps asked. 

“You’re selling the house because you want to do it for yourself.” Charlie clarified. 

“No, Charlie, I want to do it for both of us,” Alan informed. 

“I thought we were having a good time,” Charlie continued. 

“We are” Alan agreed “It’s just this house is so big, and it takes so much work to maintain it. And besides you’re almost 30. Don’t you think it’s about time you found a place of your own?” 

“I love this house,” Charlie said. 

“So do I” Alan sighed “but still, the both of us we have to move on” Charlie nodded “alright now you two finish up here I’m going to go make us something to eat” 

I sighed and started raking the leaves more now that Alan was gone. I glanced over at my Uncle’s saddened face “you really do love this house a lot huh?” I questioned. 

“There’s a lot of good memories here” Charlie informed “history” 

I shrugged “I don’t really get that. Bonding your history to a place. Growing up with my mom we were always on the move. I was thirteen when we got our own stable place that actually was ours not a transition or one of her boyfriends places. I never really had a place that was home” 

“I’m sorry” Charlie murmured. 

I shrugged “just because I didn’t have a place doesn’t mean I didn’t have anything. Maybe if I did i’d hate to lose it too” 

“Yeah” Charlie nodded and looked back at the house with a sigh. 

__________

3rd POV. 

Don sighed entering the Burdick’s kitchen where Ethan was pouring himself some coffee before heading back to work with Charlie and Amita on the fake algorithm. The mathematician's hands were shaking and he missed the cup slightly splashing hot coffee on his hand. He winced, nearly dropping the cup. 

“Here let me” Don intervened taking the coffee pot and mug filling it as Ethan grabbed a towel to wipe his hand off. The frightened man let off a shaky breath. 

They were silent for a moment before Ethan spoke up “do you have any children Agent Eppes?” 

Don was caught off guard slightly by the question. “Yeah” he nodded “a daughter she’s sixteen”

“Then you understand” Ethan voiced turning to the agent “Emily is everything to me. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your daughter?” 

“No” Don murmured without even having to think. 

“I have to get Emily back no matter what and- and if she dies-” he choked on his words. “I can’t lose her” 

“I know.” Don sighed “I only met my daughter about two months ago and I can tell you it- it changed everything for me. There was this one time she went missing it was only for an hour or so but for me it felt like an eternity. I couldn’t think straight I- I was terrified with a kind of fear I’d never felt before and- and she was okay. So I can’t even begin to imagine what this is like for you. But I can promise you I will do whatever it takes to try and get your daughter back to you. Okay?” 

Ethan took a deep breath “okay” he grabbed the coffee mug and started to head back to the table to work but paused looking back at Don. “What's your daughter’s name?” 

“Abby” Don replied. Ethan nodded and continued out to the table leaving Don there in the kitchen with his thoughts. 

______________

Don came into his apartment with a sigh glad to finally be back after working so hard on the case. “I’m home brought dinner” he called, setting the pizza he’d gotten down on the counter. Abby appeared after a moment from upstairs. 

“What’d you get?” she asked hopping onto a bar stool as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. 

“Meat lovers” 

“Yes!” she cheered, folding the box and grabbing a slice. “Grab me a Mountain Dew” she asked while he was in the fridge and he pulled the can from the shelf in the door and sat it on the counter. “Thank you” 

Don popped the lid off his beer and went to get his own piece of pizza. “You get your homework done?” 

“Yes” Abby grumbled “finally. I swear they give me more just because they know I hate it” 

Don scoffed “yeah I thought the same thing in school and I wasn’t a genius.” 

Abby hummed “So guess what Charlie told me.” 

“What?” 

“He’s buying the house from Gramps” Abby informed. 

Don looked at her shocked “no way” 

“Yes way” Abby nodded, “apparently he has a lot saved up since, you know, he’s never had to pay rent or anything before and he liked the house so…” she shrugged, taking a sip of her soda. 

“Huh” Don muttered. 

“I’m glad,” Abby declared. 

“Yeah why’s that?” Don asked. 

“Spend a lot of time there and it’s a cool house” Abby explained. 

“Fair enough” the man conceded. 

“Don’t you care about it?” she asked. 

“Yeah but you know it’s just a place right? I moved out ages ago.” 

“Doesn’t seem like it” 

“Well, yeah alright” Don muttered giving Abby a look as she smirked. “Seriously though working with the FBI I moved around a lot guess it helps you realize that what they say is true” 

“What they say?” Abby questioned. 

“Yeah” Don shrugged “home isn’t really a place it’s a people” 

Abby smiled “well I like you people” she declared. 

Don chuckled “me too kid” and he raised up his bottle a bit and Abby tapped it with her soda can for their own little toast. 

Chapter 6 -> 

[butwhatifyouwrite]

Comfort at the Castle

Okay here we go. One final post for @whumptober2020. This one is a continuation of Lila’s Story. 

This one is pretty mild. But don’t worry shit is going to hit the fan for Lila real soon. That being said cw: discussion of war, discussion of death of a loved one

If I missed anything please let me know. And just let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from a tag list. 

Comfort at the Castle

The queen’s presence is obvious the moment she walks into the large throne room that Lila and Nova are lead into. She’s young for a queen, Lila notices. Maybe a few years older than Lila, but certainly no more than that.

 Their horses have been taken to the stables to be cared for. The queen has promised them shelter and safety until they are ready to continue their journey. Whatever that means. 

“Nova. You’ve made it.” The queen says as she sits.

“Yes your majesty.” Nova replies, bowing clumsily. He looks exhausted. Well he has been awake for like five fucking days.

Lila takes Nova’s cue and attempts a curtsy, nearing tripping over her own two feet and winding up on the floor in the process. She straightens up and smiles, hoping the queen didn’t notice her clumsiness.

“This is Lila uh…” He pauses for a moment, looking at Lila. “Lila, your majesty.”

“Thank you Nova. And there is no one else around, you don’t have to end every sentence with your majesty. I think we know each other well enough for that now.” The queen says lightly. A smile dances across her face and it is warm and soft and Lila thinks her heart might have stopped beating at the sight of it. “Now Lila, what’s your family name?”

“My…. Uh… my family name? Your majesty.” Lila adds the title hastily, not wanting to offend the queen. “Oh… oh uh you mean my last name?” She laughs nervously.

“Yes, your last name.” The word seems slightly foreign in the queens mouth, but she smiles kindly.

“Uh, James, my, my last name is James. Your Majesty.” Lila stammers. Dammit, why the hell am I having so much trouble talking?

“Lila James, that’s a good name. And please, call me Alya.” Alya replies. 

A blush spreads across Lila’s face. “Thank you, yo-“ Lila cuts herself off. “Thank you Alya.” She curtsies again, slightly more gracefully this time. 

“Now, you two must be exhausted after your journey. I’ll have someone show you to your chambers so you can get some rest.” Alya says, standing and turning to leave. 

“Thank you, Alya.” Lila says, hastily.

“You’re welcome, Lila.” Alya says kindly. She turns and takes her leave and Lila and Nova are left standing alone in the large room. A few second later two servants enter the room motioning for Lila and Nova to follow them, and they are both led away to their quarters.

Lila’s quarters are more elegant than any thing she has ever seen before. The large four poster bed, a window that looks over the gardens and other plush furniture and soft blankets and pillows. A bath has been prepared as well and the large tub sits steaming in the middle of the room. Oh my god yes. 

“Can I get you anything else my lady?” The servant asks.

Lila turns to look at them before speaking. “Uh, no, no thank you.”

“Okay, food will be brought up in a short while. Let us know if we can get you anything else to make you more comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

The servant turns and leaves, leaving Lila alone for the first time in five days. She takes a moment to survey the room and then begins stripping off her clothes. She sees that a change of clothes has been provided for her as well and sits neatly folded on the bed.

The warm water envelops her tired body and she sighs at the welcome warmth, closing her eyes. She sits there in the water for a while, washing off the dirt from the five days travel. Finally, she drags herself out of the tub, instinctively reaching out for a towel then noticing one sitting on a small stool a few steps away. She grabs it, wrapping it around herself and making her way over to the clothes on the bed. A silk nightgown lays there, more luxurious than anything she had ever owned herself. Hell I usually just throw on comfy shorts and a t-shirt. Have I ever even owned a nightgown?

She sets the towel aside and slips the silk over her head. It’s smooth and cool and so soft against her skin. She runs her hand across the bedspread, feeling the soft fabric beneath her fingers as she looks around again in awe.

There is a soft knock at the door. That must be the food. “Come in.” Lila calls lightly. 

The door opens quietly and Lila turns to see Queen Alya standing in the doorway, a tray of food in her hands. She has changed from the gown she was in earlier and now stands in a simple robe. Her hair is now undone and hangs floating around her shoulders.

 “You- Alya… Hi. Um…” Lila stops herself and rushes forwards reaching for the tray of food. “Here let me take that your majesty, Alya… Um… please come in.”

Lila grabs the tray of food, looking around frantically for a place to set it down. She spots a small table off to the side and sets the tray of food down, turning back around and curtsying quickly.

“How-how can I help you?” Lila asks. The words come out in a rush.

“No need to make such a fuss, Lila. I just wanted to see how you were doing. All of this must be quite the shock.” Alya says kindly. “Please, let’s sit and eat.” She motions towards where Lila sat the food down, making her way over to the small couch and sitting down. Lila follows her over, taking a seat next to her, careful to leave enough space to be respectful. 

Lila grabs the tray off the little table and sets it on the couch between the two of them, lifting the cover off of the top. The smell that hits Lila’s nostrils is unlike anything. It smells decadent and her stomach rumbles, reminding her just how hungry she is. 

“Please help your self.” Alya says with a small smile. 

“Th-thank you. For everything.” Lila says. 

They eat in silence for a while. Lila trying not to stare at Alya, so tempted to break the silence and yet wanting to sit in the silence. There is something so peaceful about it. Slowly both women relax, eating, making small talk here and there. 

Soon, it no longer feels like Lila is talking to a queen, more like she is talking to an old friend. 

“This is nice.” Alya says quietly, after another moments silence.

“What is?” Lila asks softly.

“Feeling normal again.” Alya pauses and Lila stays silent. She can tell there is more that Alya wants to say. “I wasn’t born into royalty. Not even close. I grew up on one of the farms in a nearby village. Life was quiet and contained, and sometimes very boring. But it was predictable. I knew where I fit and I knew what to expect. Then one day all of that changed.” Alya trails off, looking distant.

“May I ask what happened?” Lila says softly. “I don’t-”

“Of course.” Alya responds. She pauses for another moment, gathering her thoughts. “The prince rode by one day. He was coming back from an army encampment right after the war with Jale had begun. We offered him shelter for the night and…. We fell for each other in that night. It was a feeling I had never felt before. Or since. And I was so surprised that he could even like me. Who was I to a prince? His father gave the blessing and soon after we were married. I moved into the castle. My family moved to a large property near by. Not long after we were married, the king was killed in battle. My husband was now the king and I had no idea how to be a queen. Six months after that, my husband was killed as well.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lila says hushed. What else do you say? 

“It was a long time ago. And though advisors have pressured me through the last few years, I haven’t taken a new partner. It just didn’t feel right.” Alya finishes, her eyes look distant. Lila gives her a moment of silence.

“Can I ask what his name was?” Lila almost whispers.

“Anthony. His name was Anthony.” Tears shine is Alya’s eyes now.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Lil says.

“It’s okay. It honestly feels good to talk about it.” Alya replies, a sad, quiet smile breaking across her lips. She pauses for a moment and then changes the subject. “I’m glad you and Nova made it here safely. He’s a good man. A bit impulsive at times, but good.”

“Ye-yeah he is.” Lila’s voice cracks slightly as she answers. She is still wrapped up in the emotion of the moment before. “I’m not sure I could have taken another night on the road with him though. He just wouldn’t sleep. Refused to let me keep watch.”

“He’s careful, especially when he is put in charge in any way.” 

“I was so worried he was gonna collapse before we got here.” Lila admits.

“He’s lucky, his fae blood makes him stronger than the average man. He can pull from the life energy of the world around him. He’s still young and inexperienced and he’s been hesitant about what he learns since a mistake early on. But no one can deny, he has power.”

Lila is quiet for a moment as she takes this in. “This is all just so crazy.”

“It must be a lot for you to take in.” Alya says with a smile. Something about her smile sets Lila’s face into a fiery blush.

A small laugh escapes Lila’s mouth and she looks down towards the ground. “That might be an understatement.” And then suddenly all of the emotion Lila had been holding back for the last five days, maybe longer, breaks over her like a wave. Her face crumples and tears begin to pour down her face.

Alya moves the tray back to the small table quickly, moving closer to Lila. “Can I touch you?” She asks.

Lila nods, not able to form words. Alya pulls her carefully into her arms, letting her cry for a while. Her embrace is warm and soft and safe and Lila sinks into it.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” Alya asks after a while.

“I-I do-don’t even kn-know what I would s-say.” Lila says brokenly.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” Alya says softly, her fingers card gently through Lila’s hair. The motion is as soothing to her as it is to Lila. 

“I-I was packing u-up my grandma’s things. A-and then a-all of a sudden… all of a sudden th-there were strange men f-fighting in the l-living room. H-he tried to t-t-take me. I-I think h-he want-ted t-to h-hurt me.”

“Who-” Alya starts.

“Jale.” Lila wails, letting emotions crash over her as she buries herself further into Alya’s warm embrace. 

“There there… you’re safe now… nice and safe.” Alya says softly, continuing to run soothing fingers through Lila’s hair and letting the other woman cry.

Finally, Lila’s tears begin to dry. She sniffles, sitting up slightly and moving back to look at Alya. “I-I’m so sorry to dump all of this on you.” She says.

“No, no don’t apologize.” Alya pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and hands it to Lila. 

“Thanks.” Lila takes it gratefully, drying her eyes. She holds the handkerchief tightly in her hands, looking down at them. 

Alya pulls back from Lila some, gently grabbing her shoulders. “You have more strength than you could ever know.” She says with a kind smile. “I should let you rest.” She stands to leave, but Lila catches her hand.

“Please- please don’t leave yet.” Lila says, not even daring to make eye contact.

Alya pauses for a moment, looking down at Lila’s tearstained face. “Okay.”

[atc74]

Oil & Water

Square(s) Filled: Arranged Marriage for @spnkinkbingo

Warnings: It isn’t angsty, but it ain’t fluffy

Summary: Jared Padalecki is the heir and next in line to run his fathers oil company. Y/N Y/L/N is the only child of their biggest competitor. What happens when their fathers decide their personal and professional futures?

Pairing: Jared x Reader 

Word Count: 3467 

Written for: @spnkinkbingo

Beta’d by: @alleiradayne, thank you for always being a great sounding board!

Like Jared’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

“I don’t care. You do not get an opinion in this decision Jared! We’ve sealed the deal and you’ll marry that girl come hell or high water!” Gerald thundered at his youngest son.

“So I don’t even get a say in my own fucking life?” Jared demanded of his father.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’ve had your chance to find someone and settle down. For Pete’s sake, boy, you’re thirty-six years old and I ain’t gonna be around forever. I need you to settle down and learn how to run the business,” Gerald sighed, sitting down at the large desk.

“Why does it have to fall to me?” Jared asked his father.

“Your brother and sister chose different fields. You chose to stay here and by default, you’ll take over when I retire. This is a good deal, son. We’ll be the biggest oil conglomerate in the country, by merging companies and families,” Gerald explained. “You’ll do this. End of discussion.”

“Whatever,” Jared scoffed and left his father’s office, slamming the heavy door behind him. His mother stopped him before he could leave the house, a gentle hand on his arm.

“Jared, I know it’s not ideal, but I think you’ll be good together and a mother’s intuition is rarely wrong,” Sharon spoke softly.

“Good together? Mom, we’re like oil and water. Every damn time we’ve been in the same room, it’s nothing but angry words and snide comments,” Jared sighed heavily.

“Oil and water don’t need to mix to be together, baby,” she smiled up at her son. “It’s a good fit. It was for your daddy and me. It will be for you, too. You’ll see. She is coming to dinner tonight with her family to start the planning.”

“Okay Mama,” Jared bent at the waist to place a sweet kiss to his mother’s cheek before he left the house. He took off on foot, wandering the family land until he found himself at the stables. He may not have known where he was going when he left the house, but he always seemed to end up where he needed to be. He saddled up his horse, Wildfire, and the two of them roamed the outskirts of the property.

Even with the heavy thoughts on his mind, Jared felt lighter when he rode her. As she ran effortlessly along the tree line, his mind flooded with a memory.

“Dad stop!” Jared yelled as he spotted something in the middle of the burning trees. A foal, no more than a few weeks old. She stood there on wobbly knees, her coat dirty and sweaty from the fire and ash in the air.

Jared ran from the truck and without thinking, dashed through the flames to get to her. She was skittish as he approached her, but he was able to get close enough to throw the rope in his hands and land it around her neck. He hurriedly but gently coaxed her through the flames until they reached safety. When he finally got her home and cleaned up, her coat was a beautiful chestnut. Jared and his father looked, but they never found out who she belonged to, so she became a permanent resident and he named her Wildfire.

Wildfire whinied beneath him as his mind wandered. “I know girl, I know. Let’s head home, yeah? Don’t want Mama to yell at us for being late for dinner. Gotta shower for my bride-to-be,” Jared chuckled and turned her toward home.

It’s not that he didn’t like Y/N Y/L/N. She was smart, beautiful, funny and sarcastic. She was actually someone Jared would normally have been attracted too, but one run in too many at industry functions and they had just rubbed each other the wrong way, more like he had seemingly rubbed her the wrong way. Truth be told, he wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he could have thought of a hundred women worse than her. Still, he had to figure out how to get along with her if they were to be married.

Freshly showered and dressed in clean slacks, a button down and a light colored jacket, Jared made his way to the kitchen. His mother greeted him as she checked last minute details. “You look so handsome,” she smiled affectionately at her youngest son.

“Thanks, Mama,” he smiled in return, a small blush creeping up his cheeks.

The Y/L/N family arrived on time an hour later and everyone was ushered into the sitting room for drinks. Jared cautiously approached Y/N where she talked with their mothers. She looked annoyed as they talked wedding plans.

“Wanna take a walk?” he offered.

“Will it get me out of marrying you?” she rolled her eyes.

“No, but maybe we can talk, get to know each other a bit more,” Jared suggested, leading her out to the veranda. “It’s not the greatest of situations and I’m not happy with the arrangement, either, Y/N.”

“Well, maybe you’re just better adjusted than you appear to be,” she smirked.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jared asked.

“You’re a playboy, Jared. A rich, privileged brat that shows off his daddy’s money,” she scoffed.

“Yeah, you’re rich too, remember?” he retorted.

“I am now, but I still remember what it was like to be poor, before Daddy struck oil and made his money. I’ve worked hard over the last ten years to help him build his empire that was supposed to be mine. Now I’ve been told that he’s merging with your daddy and I have to marry you in the same week!”

“Yeah, I got the same news,” Jared sighed. He knew this would be hard, but he wasn’t sure why she hated him so much. Apparently her first impression would be harder to change than he realized. “If this is going to work, can we at least try being friends?”

“I don’t want to be friends, Jared, and I sure as hell don’t want to be married to you!” she snapped. “But, we’re stuck so whatever. No sleeping around and stay out of my way.”

She stormed back into the house, leaving Jared staring after her. It was no secret that Jared enjoyed the company of women, but he was not a playboy, by any means. He rarely slept with them and in fact, hadn’t been with anyone intimately in over a year. Y/N was a spitfire and he liked that, but he certainly had his work cut out for him if he was going to get her to even like him at this point.

“No. We’re not making this a huge affair! This is a sham and while we’re prepared to play nice in public, I’m not doing it with an audience of five hundred people!” Y/N shouted at her mother, smacking her hand on the table for emphasis.

“I agree with her. We should keep it small, just family and maybe a few close friends,” Jared offered, giving her a shy smile, which surprisingly, she returned.

By the time the Y/L/N’s had bid goodnight to the Padalecki’s the date had been set, the guest list finalized and menu options discussed. Y/N had decided on gardenias and white heather for her bouquet. The tables would have additional gardenias and candles. They had agreed on blue and silver for the main colors and bridesmaids.

Y/N was an only child and didn’t have many close friends, so she planned to ask Jared’s younger sister to stand up for her since it wouldn’t let more people on to their arrangement. Jeff, his older brother, would be his best man.

Their mothers would take care of the catering, but had told both Jared and Y/N that they were expected the next day at Haven, the bakery they decided on, for a cake testing. Protests had been made but Sharon put her foot down.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki! I am your mother and I am telling you you will do this and you will not complain. I raised winners, not whiners!”

“Wow! You got full named dude,” Y/N snickered at him behind her hand, until she heard her own mother.

“And you’ll do the same, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N! No more acting like a brat. I raised you better than that! You were born naked just like the rest of us, so get over it!”

Jared’s eyes went wide as her mother’s outburst, a not so subtle laugh erupting from his mouth, as he was met with a scowl from all three ladies. “Sorry.”

“Fine!” Y/N yelled before turning on her heels and she shot Jared a look and pointed her finger at him. “Don’t be late!”

~*~

The cake tasting was tense to say the least, but they finally settled on several flavors for the cupcakes Jared wanted and the traditional cake their mothers insisted on.

“I’m glad we’ve come to a compromise,” Y/N said on their way out of the bakery.

“No, we collaborated. Compromise indicates we both gave up something to get what we wanted in the end. Collaboration is us working together for a pleasing end result,” Jared smiled proudly, holding open the door for her.

“God, you’re so annoying. At least you’re pretty and smart,” she scoffed, walking through the open door.  

“You think I’m pretty!” Jared squealed in feigned delight. “Don’t forget I’m right, too.”

“Yeah, okay you’re right, pretty boy,” she said, a small smile tugging her lips. She ducked her head so he couldn’t see.

They walked out into the bright Texas afternoon, Jared just a step behind her. “You know, this arrangement our families are forcing us into doesn’t have to be all bad. I know it’s not what either of us want and I heard what you said last night loud and clear, but just hear me out, okay?”

Y/N stopped and turned to face him, her head tilting up to look him in the eye instead of his annoyingly broad chest. “I’m listening.”

“Let me take you to dinner. Your choice. I just want to talk, I promise,” Jared held her gaze and he saw her giving it thought.

“Fine, one meal,” she relented and he let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

They walked to his car and he opened the door for her, closing is gently after she slid into the passenger seat. Jared prayed he knew what he was doing as he walked around to get in on the other side. He slipped in next to her, turned the engine over and the air on full. “Where to?”

~*~

After their drinks were served, Jared cleared his throat before he began speaking. “Y/N, I know you don’t care for me very much and I’ll admit I don’t know why, but I’d like us to try to at least get to know each other.”

“Why?” she took a sip of her wine while she waited for his answer.

“Because I have done absolutely nothing to make you hate me. Hell, I’m a nice guy!” he threw his hands up. “I just don’t want us to have all the hostility. And although being forced to marry one another isn’t ideal, we can learn to get along.”

“So what’s your solution, pretty boy?” she eyed him carefully.

“Tell me something about yourself. You share one, I’ll share one. We’re going to be married in less than two weeks, and I’d like to know more about you than just your name and occupation,” he offered with a smile.

“So your plan is to make this marriage another collaboration? Or are you trying to woo me?” she jested.

“Why not? You never know...in the end, we both might end up with what we want,” he lifted his glass, clinking it to hers. “To us.”

Dinner seemed to move smoothly after their negotiations. They both enjoyed their meals over not unpleasant conversation.

“So why are you still single?” Jared asked, taking a sip of his after dinner bourbon.

“I work all the time. Helping my daddy build his empire that I assumed I would be running someday occupies, sorry occupied, all of my time. Besides, dating is for people who don’t know what they want,” she shrugged.

“And you do?” he probed.

“Hell yes! I want to be successful in all areas of my life, not just business. But a successful woman intimidates a man. Something about their ego and thinking their junk is the size of Texas and all. I don’t know. I just want a strong man who can handle my own success while still being my man, ya know?” she looked up from her salted caramel cheesecake to look him in the eye, taking note of the myriad of colors she found there.

“There is nothing wrong with being successful. You should be very proud of your accomplishments. Your success would intimidate a lesser man. From what my father tells me, your daddy would be lost without you,” Jared acknowledged.

“I am, trust me. And I know he is too, but that is what makes this arrangement even more infuriating. If I am doing such a great job, why sell now?” she questioned, but shook it off, not expecting an answer from Jared. “This isn’t all about me pretty boy. You too busy playing the field to settle down?”

“Ha, no. Nothing like that. I just never found the one I was looking for,” Jared responded with a low chuckle.

“And what is it that you are looking for, Jared?” she leaned forward in her seat.

“A successful woman who could hold her own, whether it be in the boardroom or the bedroom. A woman who isn’t afraid of confrontation, someone who will call me out on my bullshit when I get out of line,” he revealed.

“So, of all the bombshells I’ve seen you with around town, none of them fit the bill?” she jabbed.

“You’ve seen me with one in the last two years, Y/N. And no, they didn’t. They preferred a free ride and the spotlight. They’d rather get their nails done than do anything that resembled work,” Jared frowned, his brows knitting together.

“Sounds exhausting. But what you’re telling me doesn’t sync with what I’ve seen and heard,” she tipped her glass and finished the rest of her wine.

“Don’t believe everything you hear and looks can be deceiving. I know your what first impression of me is but I’m not what you think I am, Y/N,” Jared declared, placing his phone on the table and sliding it over to her after unlocking it.

“What is this, Jared?” she looked from him to the phone and back.

“That’s my phone. Go through it. The texts, pictures, whatever you want. I’ve got nothing to hide from anyone, least of all you. I’ll even give you the names and numbers of all the women I have dated in the last three years, you’ll see you are wrong about me,” Jared stated, signaling the server for another round.

~*~

It was the night before the wedding and Y/N found herself a bit nervous as she approached the Padalecki estate. Her parents had arrived earlier while she had gotten hung up at the office. It was just a rehearsal dinner and only family would be present. So why was she so anxious? Because after the dinner she shared with Jared a couple weeks ago, she couldn’t get him off her mind. She had freely scrolled through his phone while they were out, even his cloud, but found nothing that provided any evidence that he was telling her anything but the truth.

She had asked for the references, as she put it, and she actually did call all of them. And googled them. Y/N got the same story from all three, which is something else in itself. Over the last seven years, Jared had only seen three women, each of them relationships, not flings. The women had come off as shallow and money hungry. They had each solidified the information Jared had given her. He wasn’t a playboy, he was just looking for something more than they could give him. How could her first impression have been so wrong? The time she spent with him over the last two weeks painted an entirely different picture, something she liked.

No, it wasn’t just nerves she was feeling. It was something more, something deeper. Something she was completely unfamiliar with and it scared her.

She entered the manor and headed through to the back veranda. She took in all of the decorations and the tent that had already been set up for the wedding tomorrow. Everything looked beautiful as she looked around. She was stunned at everything her and Jared’s mother had done to prepare for it. A glass of red wine appeared in her line of sight and she looked up to the man holding it. Jared. She took the glass from him with a shaky thank you.

“Hey, you okay?” he whispered, lowering his head so only she could hear him.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Hey, let’s talk. We’ve got time before dinner,” Jared said, leading her back into the house and into his office.

The room was painted a soft gray with dark shelving filled with old works of fiction. There were some books on business management and leading people, but mostly there were photos. Framed pictures covered one wall and several of the shelves. There were pictures of his friends and family. But what caught her eye most were the pictures of Jared with children. It was unexpected and it gave her one more glimpse into his life.

“That’s my nephew there,” he pointed to a picture of him holding a newborn. “And this is my niece at her third birthday. That one is my favorite.”

Y/N chanced a peek at him, a happy, content smile on his face as he looked at the picture. She pulled her eyes away to get a closer look. Jared was seated at a small children’s table, wearing a crown and sipping from a ridiculously tiny cup. “Tea party?”

He hummed his reply. “She was so elated with the tea set I gave her that she insisted we have a tea party right then and there. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the softness of his voice and his eyes at the memory.

“Sorry, I got caught up there for a minute. Talk to me, Y/N,” Jared took a seat on the leather sofa, patting the other side for her to sit with him.

“I don’t even know where to start, Jare,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“I know this is overwhelming and it’s unfair and we should get to decide who we want to spend our lives with, but it’s happening. I’m nervous too, but I’ve got your back, okay?” he promised, pulling her hand into his.

“I, uh, that’s th-, crap. Okay, I’m going to start talking and please don’t interrupt me, I just need to get this out, okay?” she looked at him for confirmation. She tossed back the wine in her glass and opened her mouth.

“That’s the thing. Yes, it’s overwhelming, but shouldn’t it be? I mean, we are getting married tomorrow. Is it unfair how we were forced together? Yeah. Is it unfair how you’ve been basically courting me for the past two weeks? Yes. Is it unfair that I’m feeling things I have no idea how to deal with? Hell yes. I have learned more about you in the last two weeks than I have about most of my employees in ten years. I’m not good with people. But you? Ha, you’re like a master when it comes to getting people to open up to you. I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone, like ever! And that is exasperating, to say the least. I don’t do feelings. That’s why I haven’t dated, because I don’t want to feel things that normal people feel.

“You’ve made me see things in a new way and feel things that I thought myself incapable of feeling. And now, now I just, I just, shit. This sounded better in my head. What I am trying to say is that I kinda like you and how we got here is unfair yes, but under different circumstances, I think we could have gotten here on our own.” She paused for air after her word vomit and looked at Jared who sat silent, his expression unreadable. “Jare, say something, please.”

“It’s a lot to process, Y/N,” Jared stood, taking another look at all the photos spanning his thirty-six years. He knew there were several moments missing from that wall and he knew then and there what the next photo would be. He took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. Jared placed his hands on either side of her face and looked her in the eye. “I kinda like you, too.” He slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “And I really want to kiss you right now.”

Her eyes fluttered shut at the thought of his lips on her and she rose up on her toes. “Jared.”

He loosened his hold and pulled back to see her. The look on her face didn’t shock him as much as he thought it would. She was pissed and that he had anticipated. “But, as you said, I’ve been courting you and I am going to finish courting you properly. The first kiss we share will be tomorrow when we are married.”

“You better be worth the wait, pretty boy,” she smiled.

continued here

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Others that might be interested, or have asked to be tagged: @saxxxology @thecleverdame @crispychrissy @cosicas-cuquis @wilde-abandon @fatalcrossbow @iamme0456 @kornerstone234 

[drrjsb]

Body & Soul: The Endgame Fix “Part One: The Price”

Summary: If you weren’t happy with Avengers: Endgame, here’s your fix-it fic! We start on Monday, October 22, 2023: Eleven days after achieving time travel, six days since losing Natasha, five days after the Hulk Snap, two days since Tony's funeral, and one since Steve went into the Quantum Realm and Old Man Steve appeared.

[Monday, October 22, 2023]

“Five days! It’s been FIVE WHOLE DAYS that you’ve been walking around like this? Just what the hell were you thinking, Bruce?” Dr. Helen Cho swore intensely as she escorted an ailing Dr. Bruce Banner down the Avengers Quinjet ramp to the rooftop at the U-GEN building in Soule, South Korea. The more she saw of the obvious physical damage inflicted by the Infinity Stones, the more the geneticist was getting wound up. This was a complete reversal of their normal temperaments as the healer began to rant at her friend and professional collaborator, and the physicist calmly accepted her chastisement with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his broad shoulders underneath his tailored charcoal gray suit.

His right arm was now out of the sling he’d used during Tony’s funeral a few days before, but it was an obvious mismatch with his healthy left arm. “안녕하세요to you, too, Helen,” Bruce replied with a good-humored laugh. “By the way, this is Princess Shuri of Wakanda,” he said, gesturing behind them with his good hand to the slim, bright-eyed teen who was enjoying a laugh at his expense as she tucked a meter-long cylindrical container under her arm to bring off the Quinjet with her. “I believe you’ve already been consulting over the Internet,” the physicist added.

Helen suddenly flushed with embarrassment and turned to her other visitor. “Oh, my apologies, Princess Shuri. I’m sorry for being so rude. It’s good to finally meet you in person, your highness.”

“No problem, Dr. Cho. Please, just ‘Shuri’ is a lot easier.” She reached up and gave Bruce’s good arm a pat. “This is more important, and you are right to give him Hell for not getting here sooner,” the young woman chided Bruce.

“Just ‘Helen,’ please,” the older scientist said, feeling very chagrined.

“Hey, I tried to get here faster, and you know that, Princess,” Bruce needled the young Wakandan prodigy in return since they’d had to detour for her to pick up her package in Oakland, CA, on the way from Upstate New York to South Korea. Bruce turned to his colleague, “Please, Helen, you’d just gotten back to your family, and there were too many other things going on after the battle at the Avengers Compound to have more than triage done anyway. Thanks to Shuri and her medics, it’s been stable or improving over the last four days, and if you look closely,” he pulled back his blue dress shirt’s collar and bent down for a better view of his neck, “it’s starting to regenerate around the edges of the burn.”

“I could tell that from some of the scans you sent, but let’s get inside the lab, and I’ll judge for myself.” Bruce was just able to fit his oversized frame inside the freight elevator with the two scientists by ducking and crouching a bit. Squeezing through the doors on the staircase would have been worse. When they arrived at the correct floor, Dr. Cho led them into one of her lab spaces where the third generation of “the Cradle” and its related research projects now resided. “I’m sorry for the mess and disorganization. The program and our research agenda continued in my absence, but I’m almost back up to speed.” Bruce noted everything looked as neat and well-organized as it always had in the past.

Helen kept grumbling to herself in both English and Korean as she helped him take off his clothing from the waist up before tackling the protective sheathing and nutrient treatment wrap shielding his right arm. The irony of their character reversal—her anger and his calm—wasn’t lost on him, and he bit his lower lip to avoid smiling too much and antagonizing her. She still shot him a deadly glance. “Don’t you dare smile unless that’s from the pain meds, Banner,” Helen threatened. He doubted there were currently any pain meds involved since they’d never been effective for long after his original “accident” altered his metabolism. He was used to being stoic about it as Banner and irritable when he’d been just Hulk about three years ago. Now that he’d co-integrated, he was enduring it as good-naturedly as he could.

When Bruce had Skyped Helen very early that morning (tomorrow afternoon for her with the 13-hour time difference), her husband Philip had to reassure her she wasn’t being pranked. A much larger and greener Bruce explained to her that while she was gone for five years, he had made peace with his anger-prone alter ego and “merged” with the Hulk. If it weren’t for his voice and facial expressions, she wouldn’t have recognized her old colleague in the new Bruce. Even face-to-face, she was still feeling a bit unnerved by his floor-to-ceiling size, but he was surprisingly nimble and coordinated as he maneuvered around the delicate equipment. She had to admit, especially with the geeky glasses and easy-going confidence, the new Bruce was pretty charming.

The U-GEN staff had brought in a reinforced examination table for Helen to use, so she could examine him since he was now roughly seven and a half feet tall and about 900 lbs. Not as big as his former temperamental Hulk form had been, but this Bruce was now closer to Hulk physically than Banner’s spare 5’ 9” frame. Thankfully, his intellect and puckish sense of humor were as prominent as ever; still, this was a lot to wrap her head around on top of everything else she’d missed in five years. To be honest, having a project like rehabbing Bruce’s arm helped her focus since she was having difficulty fitting back into her own projects that had moved on without her. In cutting-edge science, five years felt like a lifetime. She wondered what Nat thought about this metamorphosis since he hadn’t mentioned her yet, and they’d seemed to be getting so close. They were all definitely going to have to catch up and talk about this later. Right now, the geneticist needed to see what they had left to work with function-wise and determine a course of treatment or make some tough decisions about whether or not to remove the limb. She guessed this was just one of several likely reasons for the Wakandan wunderkind to be involved since she’d reportedly redesigned Sergeant Barnes’ prosthetic.

Now that Bruce’s upper body was exposed, Helen studied the extensive wrapping protecting his arm and shoulder. “Here, may I please assist you, Helen?” Shuri offered as she caught back up to them in the right section of the interconnected areas. She’d gotten a little lost in thought as she’d curiously looked around the cluster of labs on that floor. (She could hardly wait for the tour!) She’d been taking a lot of mental notes since the final showdown at the Avenger’s Compound as she’d met many interesting people.

As soon as Tony’s body had been taken away from the battlefield crater, she’d approached the exhausted Hulk as he collapsed onto his knees in the rubble. It didn’t take a genius to see he was obviously injured and overwrought, but she was surprised to learn he was not the angry alter ego she was expecting, but the good-humored physicist she’d teased about Vision’s neural configuration who was now broken down before her. Bast forgive her, how she’d mercilessly critiqued Banner and Stark’s work on the synthezoid just before the Snap! Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, and so much had changed while she was “blipped.”

On the day of the second battle, Shuri had quickly sent an assistant to look for Natasha Romanoff, knowing that’s who should have been there to share their loss together only to be told by one of the Dora Milaje that the warrior and spy had sacrificed herself before the battle had even started. Shuri had quickly stepped forward and taken charge of Banner’s care on the battlefield. It was devastatingly obvious to her he’d lost the two most important people in the world to him, but she’d be damned if he was going to lose his life or his arm next.

Tents were set up in a field away from the blast crater where the Compound had been. Only a few of the storage buildings and a maintenance facility toward the very back of the property had been spared due to the angle of attack, so the survivors took Bruce and the other wounded there where they still had electricity and running water. Her initial scans showed he had unusual radiation burns, similar to what Stark had suffered. “So, are you the fool or the hero responsible for bringing us all back, Dr. Banner?” she surmised.

“It was a team effort,” Bruce acknowledged, yet he demurred taking credit even after paying such an awful price. She estimated he had paid about 160 pounds of flesh to return half of all life in the universe—including hers and T’Challa’s—so maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal? Of course, that put a lot of people in his debt. She, however, was one of the few in the unique position of being able to pay him something back now when he needed it.

“Joint effort or not, you alone wore the Gauntlet and made it happen. Thank you, Dr. Bruce Banner. You don’t even have to say, ‘You’re welcome,’” she added pertly.

Despite the pain, he’d smiled and nodded. “You are welcome, Shuri. I just wish Tony had let me do it the second time.”

She shook her head. “Even I, who never met Mr. Stark, know he wouldn’t have let you, and it was not your fate.” The older physicist simply sighed and shook his head as the tears started to fill his eyes again. “Whether you like it or not, Bruce Banner, you are the one who is going to survive, especially if I have anything to say about it.” He looked at her and almost laughed through his tears. That’s when she was sure he had some fight left in him. “Besides, who am I going to teach how to make synthetic synapses work properly if you don’t stick around, hmm?”

That had gotten a small chuckle out of him, so she and an assistant had set to work removing the burned purple, grey, and black tech suit from him. The tricky part had been separating it from where the material had melted onto his tough skin, especially the spots on his back and hand where the healthy tissue was starting to regenerate around the fibers. That wouldn’t have been an issue if the uniform had been made out of Vibranium, which she could easily have made to separate or meld with organic tissue by merely adjusting it with one of her Kimoyo Beads. This was a different carbon-based weave that incorporated organic materials with the high-tech microstructures. At Bruce’s suggestion, the healers used their Beads to apply cold and the fibers shrunk enough to be removed with a dental water jet. They were nothing if not resourceful that afternoon. Next, they applied a Wakandan cooling nutrient wrap to disperse the heat and protect the burned tissue from infection. It was no secret that aloe was a major ingredient, and it also had a pretty powerful anesthetic. However, her patient didn’t need to know that. Eventually, he’d slept stretched across four cots.

Continue on AO3, WattPad, or FanFiction.Net

[pickledchickenetti]

When I came out to my parents just over a year ago, one of the things they blamed my “decision to be gay” on was that I stopped going to church. Up until that point, they had suspected I wasn’t going any more, but had stopped asking a year or two prior. Their assumption now is that I don’t go because I just don’t want to and have turned my back on God. This couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Most Saturday nights I find myself scouring the internet, hoping maybe there is a good church that believes the way I do in this area and maybe I just didn’t see it during last week’s search. I’m desperate to find a church I’m willing to attend, not just because I long for that sense of community but also so I can find others who believe the way I do. The older I get, the more disgusted I am by what American churches have become. 

Shortly after my most recent move my dad was here on a Sunday and decided he was going to find us a church to attend. It was clear his intention was “Let’s find a church for her to visit and hopefully like so she’ll return.” He didn’t ask me for any input or opinions before choosing this church, he just picked a typical Southern Baptist church like what he would attend if he lived here. Afterwards, he didn’t ask me if I liked it or would consider returning, likely because he was afraid of the obvious answer. If he had asked (and of course followed up with “why not”), the answer might have surprised him. 

This church was in the middle of a fundraising campaign to build a sports complex on their church property. Yes, that’s right, a sports complex. This church already has a gym and several soccer fields. Now they want a full-on sports complex. 

While it’s important to me to find a church that supports queer people of every variety, it’s equally important to me to find a church that places doing good for the surrounding community as a top priority. Churches don’t need coffee shops. They don’t need bookshops. They don’t need fancy and expensive sound and lighting systems. They don’t need sports complexes. 

So many churches have a monthly food pantry where they distribute mostly shelf stable foods or they take up the occasional love offering to help with medical expenses for sick church members and pat themselves on the back saying that this is fulfilling Jesus’ command to feed the hungry and take care of the sick. These are both good things to do, but they aren’t enough. 

If your acts of good are limited to church members or people who must first listen to a short sermon as payment you are not following Christ’s command to take care of others. You are taking care of your own and trying to force people to become like you. Be better. 

A common theme I’ve noticed amongst the Baptist churches I’ve attended in the last couple of years is this idea that “The government has no business trying to force us to feed people/provide healthcare/etc. The church can do that so much more efficiently anyway!” If that’s how you truly feel then DO IT. Put the money where your mouth is or shut up. Piss or get off the pot. 

The Jesus I read about in the Bible would be absolutely disgusted by modern churches. He’d look at these extensive children’s wings and theatre-level lighting set ups and coffee shops and just all of the overwhelming excess and say “Great, but how is this HELPING people?” I don’t mean to presume the will of God but come on. How are you all serious with these financial choices? 

I’ve just about gotten to the point in my life where I feel like unless the church is welcoming homeless people with a place to sleep and stay warm/cool/dry/etc or feeding people daily they just shouldn’t have their own building. Sure, that’s inconvenient, but that inconvenience will keep you from buying too many things you don’t need. I’ve seen churches that meet in people’s homes, theaters, grade schools, even bars. These are the churches that seem the most service-oriented. They’re the churches that seem to most closely follow the examples of the early church. And they certainly don’t have sports complexes. 

The reason I don’t attend church is because it nauseates me to sit around listening to people pat themselves on the back about how well they follow the teachings of Christ when most of them lack even the most basic levels of empathy for people who are different than themselves. If I find a congregation who focuses primarily on doing good for others (re: not just their own members) I will happily attend. Until then, I will stay out here in the land of the “sinless heathens” trying to find ways to do good for others with the limited time and resources I have available to me. 

[secretsofthedarkestkind-arch]

“ i think of you often, even when i know we cannot see each other. ” 1864 katlee maybe?

@storieswrittcn Meme from Secret Love Sentence Starters Status: Accepting N/A: I am taking a lot of creative liberties with this....I know some of this probably does not follow canon but as stated elsewhere to make Lee fit, her relationship with Katherine as well, I had to do some twisting

It had been six months since Lee had last seen Katerina, saying goodbye to her lover on the train platform in Pennsylvania. Their summer had once more come to an end--their second one together. It had been filled with gaining more knowledge about each other (such as the woman being a 400+ year old vampire/witch hybrid--a Heretic), learning pleasures the youngest Salvatore had never imagined possible, making plans to ensure not only Katerina’s survival but Lee’s own escape in time from her life in Mystic Falls.

It was now February of 1864, a few months before Katerina was to arrive, and Lee sat in her room reading the newest letter her lover had sent her. It was a habit the heretic had started back in October of 1862.

At the time, the Salvatore didn’t know if that summer had been just a once in a lifetime experience; didn’t know if she would ever see the ‘woman’ who had captivated her and stolen her heart ever again. Yes, ‘Katherine’ had said they would see each other again, a look in her eye that held so much promise. But Lee’s mind and heart were filled with insecurities--one’s so deeply placed there by years of negative words and actions from her life in Mystic Falls.

So it had been more than a shock when a young African American man appeared before her one afternoon as Lee sketched out by her favorite tree in the pastures of their property. She’d been scared, how he had come out of nowhere, uncertain of his intentions. But Harper, a name he’d given her, explained that he was merely there to give her a letter from Katherine. That she’d entrusted him to do so and that he was to wait for Lee to give a reply before returning to her.

It had turned into a weekly occurrence after that. It had kept Lee in high spirits until she was able to see Katherine again for the summer of 1863--hope that this woman did hold the same affections she did, hope that this might be the person she’d dared to dream of at her side, and the hope that she might just be enough for someone. The letters had remained hidden, tucked within the pages of her sketchbooks and locked in her trunk or hidden in the stables where no one would look.  In December of 1863, Pearl had appeared--as part of Katherine’s plan--and opened an apothecary which houses the ‘woman’, her daughter, and their ‘slave’ Harper. It was a safe place for Harper to be, a way to stay hidden why Lee wrote her letters. But Lee also know the cover was for so much more. Lee also used it as an excuse to find peace from her family. Seeking the woman out for friendship or even her daughter Annabelle. Having Katerina’s second most trusted friend and all in town had given Lee a peace she didn’t know she needed. Pearl had patched her up more times than Lee would like to count in the last three months after a fight of her fathers rage and never once had looked down on her or pushed to know the details---something told her that the woman knew from Katherine what was going on though.

---- One line in the whole letter before her stood out and sent her heart soaring.

I think of you often, even when I know we cannot see each other.

“Soon, my heart...soon.” Three to two months, depending on how patient Katerina could be. A smirk followed by a light chuckle left her at that thought. Katerina was anything but patient.

Tucking the letter away safely, Lee pulls a blank sheet of paper out and starts her reply.

My Dearest Heart, You are never far from my mind, always present in everything I do. My soul longs to be near you once more. My body wanting to have it’s heart returned to its rightful place--beside me, with me. For now though we will have to wait. Which I know is one of your favorite things. There are so many things I want to share with you, even if I wish you were not coming here. This town is one I only wish to see burn and never return to. 

Things have become better though since you have sent Pearl and Annabelle here. I know it was not just for my benefit but I do appreciate it more than you could know. Having somewhere in town I can run to where I do not have to worry about the whispers or looks is a peace I did not know I needed nor that could be achieved here. Their presence is a distraction from being away from you, from the people I am forced to call family. 

Pearl is teaching me what she can about running an apothecary, all the herbs and their combinations. Also she’s made me aware of the abilities of vervain. It frightens me to think there is something so dangerous growing here that could harm you. I wanted to destroy it all, burn the plants and pour out the vials, but she would not allow me to do so. Having it apparently helps her to have a way into the inner workings of a council I did not know existed. I understand the need but my love for you causes me to want to do things that could dismantle your plans. 

I know to trust you, to have faith that you know what you are doing and plan to do. I cannot stop the worry that is present though. Please, my heart, be careful. I do not know what I would do if something were to happen to you.I have also become closer to Annabelle, someone who has become a true friend. We explore the falls and wander the woods just to get away from it all. She’s become one of my toughest critics as well. Her eye for art almost rivals yours. But the only opinion that will truly ever matter is yours. Not that Annabelle would believe that it seems. 

Stefan has started to question our friendship. Whether for fear of what father will do or his own opinions on me, I am not certain. Though I feel his eye on me more than I would like. I can only be thankful that he hasn’t spoken of this to father. Damon, though, seeks to consistently keep his wrath away from himself by continuing to throw me in his path.I understand the need to protect yourself, to avoid a situation that could be ill for you, but why must he use me? I do not nor will I ever understand it.

His antics have caused Pearl to have to heal me herself or give me things that will aid in hiding what father has done. Never blood though, I promise you that. I would never ask and she has never offered. So have peace in that knowledge. I simply wish it was you that was doing that. It cannot come soon enough, my leave of this town, with this family you have given me. 

For now though I will try to enjoy the small things, the moments here. Later today, Annabelle and I are going to the falls. A place one day I will take you. I need to get this letter to Harper so he can find you before you move on. 

I love you, my heart and I cannot wait to see you once more.

Always thinking of you and eternally yours, Lee

Lee folded the letter up, kissing the seal lightly before she was tucking it into her satchel--clothes for later safely placed inside--and she was out the door of her room soon to be on her way to Pearl's.

---

Entering the shop she gave the older woman a rare true smile, "Is Harper still here?"

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 21 : The White Lady

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 20 : The Waning O’ The Moon Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Some o’ the auld women at Lallybroch say ye were a wisewoman—a white lady, or maybe even a fairy. When Uncle Jamie came home from Culloden without ye, they said as how ye’d maybe gone back to the fairies, where ye maybe came from. Is that true? D’ye live in a dun?” (Voyager 346).

   Their bellies full with roasted guinea fowl and scones, Jamie, Laoghaire, and the girls lounged on the blanket in the meadow; loathe to climb back onto their horses. Joanie and Marsali had collected some of the early summer blooms from the meadow, and were weaving crowns for each other, though the fragile flowers easily bruised and were already looking slightly wilted.

    “Da,” said Marsali, fingering the thick wool of the green cloak she currently had folded on her lap. “When I brought the cloak downstairs last night, Wee Ian was saying that people said yer first wife was a wisewoman.” She grinned, remembering the conversation. “He said that when she didn’t come back from Culloden, the old women said she was a fairy, and that maybe she’d gone back to live in a dun. Why d’they say that?”

    Jamie met Laoghaire’s eyes, asking an unspoken question, and she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in response.

    “She was a healer,” Jamie answered, lying down on his back, his fingers linked behind his head. Joanie cuddled up against him at an angle, her head on his belly. “And several times she healed people in a way that seemed miraculous. Yer ma’s cousin Tammas, for example, had eaten the leaf of a flower, called Lily of the Valley, up at the Black Kirk. It was poison, but the lads didna ken. One of the lads died, but before Tammas succumbed, she gave him some belladonna, and he woke up. Father Bain didna like that at all. It put him to shame when he said it was an evil spirit, and the Sassenach was able to heal Tammas when Father Bain couldn’t cast out the demon.”

    “A Sassenach?” Joanie rotated her head sideways on his stomach, as if to make eye contact with Jamie. “Yer first wife was an English woman?”

    “Hey, lass, yer heid is like a large rock,” Jamie laughed, his abdomen jiggling Joanie’s head. “Be careful of my tender belly. I just ate!”

    “Sorry, da,” said Joanie, gently resting again on Jamie’s belly as she looked up at the wisping white clouds overhead. “But Marsali,” Joanie mused, “Cousin Michael said that old Alec, he who used to work in the stable at Lallybroch ‘til he died a few years back, he had lived at Leoch. And he said that Daddy’s first wife had been accused of witchcraft, and was set to be burned at the stake. But that you saved her, Da!”

      Marsali was sitting upright, so she saw both Jamie and Laoghaire’s faces whiten in response to Joanie’s words. “Go on, Joanie, ye shouldna be spreading gossip, now,” she said quickly. “You know quite well that while Da’s strong enough to rescue someone, he’s smart enough not to marry a witch. And would a witch wear such a fine cloak as this one?” She swung the cloak out and buried Joanie in it, and Jamie, grateful for the distraction, proceeded to reach under the heavy fabric and tickle the little girl ‘til she squealed.

    “Ma,” said Joanie, once she had come out from under the cloak and was again settled on Jamie’s belly, “ye dinna talk about our da, Simon, much. What was he like?”

    “Kind,” said Laoghaire quietly. “He had red hair, like ye, Joanie. And he worked hard. And he loved ye lasses. He was a bit older than me, older than Jamie. But he ken I was a widow, and that I had no one, and so we married.”

    “Do ye remember our da, Marsali?” Joanie asked.

    “Only a little,” she said. “I was a wee lass when the Redcoats came and took him. But I remember walking wi’ him and ma, with them each holding my hand, and swingin’ me between ‘em.

    “Well, lasses,” Jamie said finally. “I believe we must be on our way, or the darkness will come before we get home.”

    Home, Laoghaire thought. Jamie said home.

☆☆☆☆☆

    Laoghaire didn’t care to remember the next few days. First, she was deathly sick that night, curling up on her bed and crying out in agony. Mrs. Fitz was beside herself with worry, sponging her forehead with a cool cloth and bringing her different stomach-settling brews, but Laoghaire couldn’t tell her the real reason she was so uncomfortable.

    She was up and walking by the time the trial started the next afternoon. Her courses had not started, but she wasn’t dead. Laoghaire had made the excuse of going home to recover and help her da.

    She really hadn’t known what would happen at trial. She didn’t necessarily want the Sassenach to be killed, but she wanted her gone. But she watched as villager after villager testified, telling of the strange potions Geillis Duncan would make, and testifying that they had seen Mistress Fraser mixing up potions in Geillis’s shop.

    When the first day of the trial ended, Laoghaire could see that the jury weren’t likely to condemn Claire. There was too little evidence that she was actually creating or selling potions. She decided then that she needed to make a statement. Only if she shared her story would they see the Sassenach's contempt and cruelty.

    In her memory, Laoghaire's testimony was a blur. She knew she had cried, whether from anger or hatred or confusion. She knew she had told them about the love potion that Claire created—that was the important thing. Other than that instance, all of Mistress Beauchamp’s actions had been those of a healer, only to help people, not to make potions or charms. She did remember the response of the crowd—the way they groaned and gasped at her story. And the angry look on the Sassenach’s face, her hateful face.

    Just before they stripped and skelped the Sassenach, Laoghaire had made her way to stand defiantly in front of her. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say, but then, over Claire’s shoulder, she saw the handsome, lean visage of John Robert MacLeod. Her heart was filled with hatred. If Jamie had only been hers. She would never have been tempted by John Robert if it were not for the Sassenach. She could hear her own voice, feel the fury in her body, see the look in Claire’s eyes as she spit the venomous words out.

    “I shall dance on yer ashes.”

    The next moments were a jumble of noise and chaos—the whistle of the whip, and Claire’s guttural screams; the cheers of the crowd in time with the whip strokes, and then a voice breaking through all else.

    “Claire! Let her go!”

    Jamie barreled down the aisle, pushing and punching anyone unlucky enough to be in his way, including the two men holding Claire’s arms.

    Laoghaire saw his face as he crouched down over Claire, like a man possessed, eyes wild as his fiery hair, mouth in a grimace, teeth clenched.

    “Ye have no right in this court,” the examiner had shouted, and Jamie had stood and turned defiantly toward the balcony.

    “I swore an oath before the altar of God to protect this woman!” Jamie shouted furiously, unsheathing his sword and then his dirk, stretching out his arms toward any who would dare to approach him. “And if you’re tellin’ me that ye consider your own authority to be greater than that of the Almighty, then I must inform ye that I am not of that opinion, myself.”

    The hall had fallen silent, but many men had also drawn sword or dirk.

    Jamie challenged the crowd with his eyes. “The first man forward,” he seethed, “Will be the first man down.”

    He was so strong, so big. Laoghaire had thought him large before, but his anger transformed him into a monster of a man.

    The court descended into disorder again, as Geillis Duncan shouted out. “This woman is no witch. But I am!”

    She didn’t see them slip away; Laoghaire remembered nothing after Geillis Duncan split the front of her dress, revealing the swell of her pregnant body.

    After Geillis exposed herself, Laoghaire had looked down at her own abdomen, covered by corset and thick skirt. Geillis had made a fool of her one last time; the medicine had made her as sick as promised, but her courses had not begun. She felt as if she might faint. She was pregnant, John Robert was married, and Jamie was gone, lost to her forever.

    “Are ye well, lass?” the kind voice at her shoulder asked.

    “Hugh!” Laoghaire turned, threw herself into his solid, comforting arms, and burst into tears.

☆☆☆☆☆

    As they neared the last mile marker, Gaoth’s ears perked up. He could tell they were nearing home, here at the outskirts of the Balriggan property. Jamie released his reins, and suddenly the big beast acted like he hadn’t just trotted 9 miles. He was off like a shot, galloping at his full pace, all four feet off the ground at once, seeming barely to touch the ground, flying through trees and bushes, over rocks and small burns. Jamie was comfortable with a galloping horse, but Joanie was still a little nervous.

    “Just squeeze wi’ ye legs, wee one,” he called into her ear, making sure his arms held the reins close to her, helping her feel secure.

☆☆☆☆☆

    Donas, that devil horse—Jamie had never been so grateful for that fiery, fierce beast in his whole time of owning him. When the word came from Leoch that Geillis and Claire had been arrested and were on trial for witchcraft, Donas was the only thing keeping Jamie from descending into madness and despair. That horse could fly, and as he galloped, Jamie held out hope that he would make it in time.

    He hadn’t told her yet, he thought, desperately. He hadn’t told her that the reason he’d married her was that he’d never wanted anything more in his entire life. He loved her more than life itself. He would descend into hell for her. But they hadn’t had enough time together.

    She hadn’t seen Lallybroch. She hadn’t met Jenny. He’d not taken her to his parent’s graves, to introduce Claire to Brian and Ellen. She hadn’t seen the house where he had grown up, the trees he climbed as a lad, the fields he had worked.

    They hadn’t had a bairn. He hadn’t caressed Claire’s stomach, feeling his child growing inside. He hadn’t watched her swell like a ripe fruit, and then when the child came, watched her feed his baby at her breast. They hadn’t been together long enough. He could not lose her.

    It was Donas, too, that had carried them away from the village below Leoch. Claire, her clothes in tatters, her back marked by the whip, her hair wild, eyes teary, and chin trembling.

    And it was Donas who calmly grazed nearby as Claire bared her soul to him, just like her back had been bared. But baring her soul to him healed her, despite the many tears she shed as she spoke. She had longed to tell someone, anyone, and finally, she trusted Jamie enough. Claire told him the truth, and he had believed her, ridiculous as the story sounded.

    It was Donas that had carried them for days, until they were camped within walking distance of Craigh na Dun. The auld women of Lallybroch didn’t realize how close to the truth they had it when they said Claire lived in one. On that day, she had come back to him. But two years later, that’s where she’d disappeared, slipping from his hands as he sent her back to safety.

    As the roofs of Balriggan came into view, Jamie had one clear thought: he wished that he could travel through time. Whether he could travel to where Claire was now, or just travel back to when he was two and twenty, when he met her. How he would treasure each moment he had with her. What he would give for one day, just one to spend with Claire again.

    Gaoth had slowed again as they neared the house. Joanie turned slightly in front of him.

    “Are ye well, da?” she asked in a small voice.

    “Wee one, how d’ye know my heart?” Jamie asked, blinking his eyes rapidly.

    “I can feel ye,” she said. “And right now, ye feel sad.”

    Jamie put his arm around her, and held his daughter close as he rode the last of the way home.

On to Chapter 22 : Unbearable Everything falls apart.

[defiancerpg-blog]

Congratulations VAL, you have been accepted as VULPECULA with the faceclaim of NAOMI SCOTT and the DOPPELGANGER MORPHING ability!

Notes from the Admins: Ellie and Tasha:

We had some really hard decisions for multiple skeletons during this acceptance, but this one was certainly the hardest. Both were very much in line with how we envisioned Riaan. But ultimately it was yours that we felt fit the most. I (Ellie) just fell in love with the little details of who Riaan was to you. Your headcanons really stuck with me, the emphasis on her pronouns and the little line of freckles and then I really love their answer to the power question (the shapeshifting one especially), but it their answer to the final question that sold me on your app. I (Tasha) have to agree with Ellie, the little details are what really pulled me in. As much as I wanted to hear your version of how the family was, I really loved that i didn’t get to. To me, I felt like that pulled me in and I am a fan of your writing.

You have 48 hours to send in your blog. If you haven’t already joined the group discord then you may do so now (if that’s your wish) [x]. Once you have turned in your blog, you will be given a role that will allow you access to the private channels regarding plots/characters. Please remember to do everything on the checklist, and also we just want to thank you for joining this roleplay. We hope your time with us will be a fun and memorable one!

OOC INFORMATION

ALIAS & PRONOUNS: Val, She/her

AGE: 25

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL, & RP EXPERIENCE: TZ: EST Activity: I have a full time job on first shift, but since i’m not involved in other rps atm I have plenty of time to be active, and should easily be able to meet and excede activity requirements. I typically do my writing early in the morning before work, or after dinner. My one concern is the opening date, because I’m going on a pre-planned vacation from April 5th to April 9th (WALKERSTALKER CON CHICAGO!). I’ll have limited access to a computer, but I will have my phone so I’ll at least be available for plotting and getting to know people via the discord server during that period. If you’d rather wait to review my application until the 9th or 10th I understand that as well. RP experience:  I’ve been roleplaying since 2012 in several fandoms: HP, the 100, TW, TWD, etc. I delved into indie for awhile, but definitely prefer rpgs. A couple of my past blogs are: http://nickbeckett.tumblr.com/,  https://seakept.tumblr.com/,  http://auroragood.tumblr.com/, https://kylexbennett.tumblr.com/

BASIC IC INFORMATION

SKELETON: Riann Foster (Vulpecula- The Little Fox)

FACECLAIM: Naomi Scott, Liza Koshy (Though she’s known for youtube, she does have an acting career including series regular for two seasons of the hulu series Freakish), Alia Bhatt

AGE: 24

ORIENTATION: Demisexual.

ORIGIN: New York, New York (Queens)

NOVA TYPE: Corpus

ABILITY: Intangibility- The ability to pass through physical matter, though difficulty increases as the density of an object increases. If the whole body or part of a body becomes tangible within another object, the object would have to expand outwards at a detriment to its own form (explode, etc) but could potentially cause extreme physical harm to the user, depending on the property of the material. Shapeshifting (Doppleganger Morphing)-  The ability to change one’s personal appearance to identically mimic that of another human being that they have seen before. This user cannot create a completely new form, nor mimic any superpowers should they morph into a nova. The longer they stay in the altered form, the harder it is to return to one’s true self. (I don’t actually have a preference for either, I love both abilities as possible for them)

THE INTERVIEW:

So, tell me a little bit about growing up. What was your childhood like?

“I moved around a lot, I guess…” Riann’s arms crossed lightly over their chest, anchoring their hands in place rather than allowing them to fidget nervously. Memories, both fond and disheartening, flashed through their mind, but they couldn’t help but wonder how much their verbal answers even mattered.  Could this AI detect a lie? Could it determine the truth by analyzing their brains waves, their temperature, or other physiological responses? Did it matter? “I don’t know, I, uh… I was never bored, that’s for sure. Had plenty of extracurricular activities. Learned a lot. Didn’t starve or anything. That’s all you can ask for, right?” It’d be remiss to say they weren’t hesitant to give this AI personal information, particularly to ensure the safety of their makeshift family. A career criminal couldn’t afford to admit all faults. Despite them living in a world of uncertainty- where they’d sleep the next night, what they’d eat, when they’d eat, if they’d all make it home safely- Riann had grown numb to the anxiety stemming from the unknown. What they remembered most about their childhood was the laughter, the hugs, and the beautiful night skylines. Their teen years were a bit more rambunctious, especially as the NPA loomed closer and closer, but the way they saw it, their life was their life and they’d learned not to live with regrets and what-ifs. “I mean, like anyone, I had a bit of a rebellious streak but… It all worked out.”

What about your relationship with your family?

A small smile spread across their lips as Riann let out a warm chuckle, leaning back more casually against the wall as they relaxed. “I have three older siblings and they, uh, well they made sure I knew I was the youngest. Didn’t get much alone time, but I didn’t want it either.” How many times had they been delegated ‘look out’ or done surveillance checks on a mark for their siblings before anything actually went down? They were a cute child, slight in stature and innocent looking, and lying had become second nature to them, ingrained in them from their earliest memories. Fictional stories became so real to them that it occasionally took an extra moment for them to slip out of a character, but that’s what made them good at it, and kept them from having to actively participate in thefts they found morally wrong. Plus, it allowed them a bit of alone time to explore their own Robin Hood type interests. “But I mean, we got along fine, I guess.” They loved them. Their siblings and “adoptive” mother were their home, at least, they had been. The seeds of resentment and abandonment from being left by their biological mother so young were mostly trodden underfoot by the loyalty and love they learned from their family, but sometimes they couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but indulge in anger when they thought about the sperm and egg donors that actually created them. Maybe their family wasn’t perfect, maybe they didn’t function the way others thought was healthy or stable, but for a long time it was consistent, and without that, who knew where Riann would be. “They… still think I ran away with some boyfriend, headed for Miami. And that’s for the best.”

Are you the only Nova in your family? Or were your parents Novas too? What about any siblings?

“They’re human.”  And as far as Riann was concerned, that was the end of the question. As far as they knew, they were all as human possible, and they’d continue to believe that so long as it kept them safer. But were their biological parents novas? Did they have any biological siblings? They couldn’t know. Didn’t want to. They shrugded their shoulders, mounting  nonchalance on their features. “”It’s just me.”

What’s your ability like? Is it easy to control or harder? Do you even like it?

A heavy silence fell, weighing down Riann’s pause as they tried to sort out what exactly they wanted to say. “It’s, uhm… It’s sort of… instinctual? Like once I make the decision, it just happens and  I can’t- I can’t stop it halfway or control it. But… it’s not hard.” Every morph was like a milestone as they wore others’ bodies. In a way, it solidified their comfort in their own skin, as this body felt like home. Like them. Their appearance could change on a whim to that of an existing person, and they were the wolf in sheep’s clothing. They didn’t belong there. The freckles on their arm were the only thing that stayed in tact in their new form, and they often used them as a focal point for changing back to who they were. What was worse- the longer they stayed in a different form, the harder it was to get back. The freckles disappeared one by one as time went on, and Riann had only ever stayed in one body for up for 16 hours before getting so scared of losing themself they had to change back for a few hours for fear of being lost totally to this stranger forever. It was a dark time, a long con at the beginning of their journey to the Sanctuary, and they could distinctly remember the loss of foreignness in the new skin, the comfort and familiarity settling in, hoping to cement them there forever. Riann shook their head to clear the intruding thoughts before finishing their sentence. “It’s, uhm… it’s a cool party trick, that’s for sure. Always win charades.” And that was true; amongst the novas it was easy to get sucked into the game and posture about their ability, flirting with the danger just ever so slightly, but Riann preferred to err on the side of caution. The ability was extremely useful for concealing their identity, or protecting themself, and it made them quite good at the former job, but they’d never admit how each passing hour felt as though they were inching closer and closer to their own identity’s death.

How would you describe your personality?

"I look out for myself,” they concluded. “I have to. I think I’m….” A light chuckle escaped their lips, grin growing across their face, “Wow, I almost said nice. I’m not nice. It’s such a stupid word. But… I care, and I think that kinda comes through. Maybe I’m… I don’t know, a bit too blunt, but I think you have to figure out what’s going to push people away, and what they’re willing to deal with, you know? Does that make sense? I don’t like wasting time or energy, and you gotta go with your gut about what or who is worth it.”

What do you think your greatest strengths and weaknesses are?

“Wow, I guess both my greatest strength AND my greatest weakness is my selfishness. I look out for me, and the people I care about, and I dunno… my own moral compass? But I’m not trying to be a hero.” They paused for a moment, realizing the error they’d made: admitting to caring about others, like they could be used against them, and pointing out their usually self-servitude. This new “home” was still unexplored, and they couldn’t be certain how long they’d be staying. “Also I can’t take a joke.” It was a half-truth. People within their circle had miles of slack, but anyone they didn’t trust couldn’t expect the same wiggle room. There was a certain amount of satisfaction associated with pointing out flaws in logic, even when it meant not accepting a “joke” as something funny.

Where and what were you doing the day the Nova Protection Act was enacted?

“God, I don’t know…” They shifted nervously then, rearranging their arms in front of them. Honestly, they couldn’t quite remember- bigotry and disdain from others had always been a part of their life, whether it be because they were poor and on the streets, or a person of color, or just plain female-passing, they were more than used to the ugliness of society to take note of the “important” day the world gained yet another reason to turn against them. “I was… probably eating ice cream in Staten Island or something. Wasn’t a big deal.”

Did you immediately run? Or did you try to obey the law and report to the Anti-Nova Force?

At the question, the couldn’t help but actually laugh. It was a dry, cynical laugh, one that rang hollowly in their chest, but a laugh all the same. “Yeah, like I’d turn myself in to the same people who’d “randomly” search me at an airport. I didn’t have to do anything. Nothing changed.” Other than the fact their existence officially put their family at risk for more than just being black market thieves. It was one thing to face prison time, and quite another to put their family in danger of detainment just or being associated with them. Looking back, that was exactly the day the left, but they made sure not to leave any indication it was because of the NPA.  Instead, that fateful day, they’d announced to their family they and their boyfriend were headed for the warm weather of Miami.

How have you survived this last year and a half or so? Did you have any help or were you all alone? How did you find Yalena’s Sanctuary?

"When you have the skills I have, it’s not too hard.” They pushed off from the wall then, choosing instead to pace a bit. This interview was getting tedious, and they were beginning to feel closed in. Uncomfortable. The nervous energy was coursing through their veins and they needed some way to work it out.  “I knew people who knew people, and when I wanted in, I found a way. That’s how transactions work.”  They weren’t about to disclose the favors they exchanged for information, or the people involved. The truth was that though their family had a reputation amongst the black market, they had one with its own standing as well. A few skeptical questions, and a bit of calculated risk in admitting to some stranger what they were had gotten them the key to sanctuary, and that’s what mattered.

It’d taken a long time getting from New York to the Sanctuary. Hitchhiking, mostly, plus a few long bus rides, and a train or two, but the passing days just brought them closer and closer to “safety.” Eventually they found a scout (or was found, it was hard to tell), and the rest, was, as they say, history.

What were you doing when the raid happened? How did you respond to the flood of Wardens? How quickly did you go through Yalena’s portal?

"I was… uhm…” Riann paused a moment, concentrating. What had the been doing? Something inconsequential. Something benign. Something completely disrupted by the ruin of the safety they’d imagined they had. Was it playing cards? Riann enjoyed counting cards, and loved to use the skill when given the chance. That was probably it. Something lazy. They couldn’t remember exactly, because the trauma of it all being ripped out from under them was something they didn’t want to acknowledge.  “I know I was with other people- I don’t do that a lot, just hanging out, so I remember that. And then this guy, he… slumped over. I saw the dart. Or maybe… it wasn’t a dart. Maybe it was a bullet wound.” They couldn’t remember clearly; perhaps in the nights spent afterwards they’d justified a bullet wound as being a dart to ease their conscience. They couldn’t be certain whether the figure had slumped over in sleep or in something far more permanent. Despite being focused on themself, a great deal of guilt followed them for not doing more that day. “And then there were wardens everywhere. I ran. I heard… screaming.” Panic. Pure panic. “I saw Marisol go through the portal, and I heard someone yell for help. I… watched them fall to the ground. And then, I ran. I…” They knew they could’ve brought more people through. Could’ve at least tried. “I did what I had to do.”

What has living in The Imperium been like for you? Do you feel safer than before? Is it better or worse than on the run, or Yalena’s Sanctuary?

There was an audible pause, silence reverberating with the thoughts collecting in Riann’s mind. Their weight echoed with such strength it was a wonder the AI hadn’t already read each passing thought as it grew.  Finally, they let out a defeated sigh and rolled their eyes, settling on indifference and sarcasm for their response. It was too poignant, to real, to say what they really felt. “There’s no wardens yet, so obviously it’s a 10 out of 10…” False flattery was a go-to of theirs when they didn’t want to be honest. In the back of their mind, they wondered whether or not their satisfaction (or dissatisfaction) with their new home could get them booted and back on the streets. Alone. Truthfully? They felt caged. Locked in. Imprisoned with a group of people they mostly didn’t trust, and half they didn’t like. Perhaps it’d be easier to be back on the streets, but at least here their wrist wasn’t going to get scanned at any given moment. They couldn’t tell which they missed more- the safety of being surrounded by similar individuals in the sanctuary, where at least they could be themselves, or the rose-tinted memories of being at home with people that, whether they truly knew Riann or not, they knew they were loved.

“So long as you don’t turn into the terminator, I guess I’m good here.”

The last question. If war broke out between Novas and the humans, which side will you be on?

"I’d be on the side that keeps me safe.” Their answer was pointed and clear, but it didn’t quite explain. Riann’s ties to the human world were something they wouldn’t want to ever speak of, but they’d also made at least one friend within the group of novas, and maybe that was enough. Maybe the idea of coexistence was so long gone that they’d have to side with the novas, knowing that they could never truly belong in the human world. When push came to shove, Riann would choose their kind, but they didn’t want to admit that, even to themself. The idea of belonging to something bigger than them was both incredibly enticing and terrifying.

CONNECTIONS:

Tell us your feelings on their provided connections/relationships and also any other connections you’d be interested in exploring outside of those already provided.

The Hare- I LOVE their friendship. The idea that someone somehow, pushed past the walls Riann has built up and has become important to them is so special.  I don’t think Riann would be capable of functioning if they were truly alone for a long time, so this connection is in a way vital to their survival. It’s important enough that I don’t think even Riann understands the gravity of what their feelings for the Hare means, or what they’d do to protect that connection. Since I interpret Riann as demisexual, this is the type of relationship I’d see a possible romantic future in (be it unrequited or not), so I’m definitely excited to see where it leads, but it could also definitely be entirely platonic, familial even, depending on the chemistry and what going on with Marisol, so I’ll just say I’m excited either way.

The Raven- With the personality traits prescribed to Riann, and their history, I can see this being a super interesting connection. Depending on the plot development, I could see the raven bringing out Riann’s more cut-throat nature, but the way I see it, the Raven is one of Riann’s enemies. They trust their gut too much, and will never really be able to trust the Raven. That being said I wanna throw them together as much as possible because who doesn’t love bringing out the worst in their character?

Other connections- I would like to see someone become almost mentor-like to Riann, or vice-versa. They really do havea great capacity to love, it just takes a lot of time to get there, and I want Riann to CARE about others. Preferably several others. In a variety of capacities. I also want someone to just dislike them- with Riann’s personality, it’s completely plausible. They’d definitely question and distrust anyone with authority over them (they even did with Yalena, to an extent, but there was a level of respect with her not afforded to many).

HEADCANONS:

Riann has a series of 6 freckles down their inner forearm that form a nearly perfect line, and traces them subconsciously if they’re really overwhelmed as a sort of grounding mechanism.

Most of the time, they use they pronouns, but occasionally will identify as especially female. As such, I’d write them mostly as they/them, with the occasional she/her thread, but maintain whichever pronouns I start with through the duration of that thread.

They LOVE spice. Curry especially, but they’ve been known to chow down on hot asian and latin foods as well. Not only do they have a taste for it and enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes with the scovilles, but growing up, the spicier their food was, the smaller the chance anyone else would try to eat it. Their affinity was born of necessity, but they’ve grown to truly enjoy a good hot sauce.

CHANGES:

n/a

DETAILED IC INFORMATION

(OPTIONAL STUFF; THIS IS ALL MERELY SUGGESTIONS, NONE OF IT IS REQUIRED)

Character tropes and archetypes related to this character: Bunker Woman, Affectionate Pick Pocket, The Artful Dodger,  Friend in the Black Market, Karmic Thief, Little Miss Con Artist Other: Defrosting the Ice Queen/The Power of Friendship,  Hidden Heart of Gold, Anti-Villain,

Goals: I’d love to see Riann swing towards an extreme- their self-interest keeps them rather neutral politically and such, but the right plotting could make them go Good™ or Bad™ and I’m so ready for EITHER. I want them to make someone mad and get their ass kicked, to show them they’re not quite as independent and strong as they think they are. I want their morality to be put to the test, and have to choose between saving a life and killing, or the consequences of doing nothing in a situation where they can do something. I want them to deal with authority figures and get to a point where they accept that authority figure. I don’t see Riann as a leader, per say, but they’d make a great sidekick eventually, and then, depending on the long run, it’d be interesting to make them step up as leader as well, but that’s not what I see in the immediate future.

I made a mockblog for them (sideblog to this one to reblog inspo and such): https://vulpeculamockblog.tumblr.com/

ANYTHING ELSE?

I also answered the ability question for the doppleganger morphing because I also think it’s really cool, and would love to play with either!

[mybeautifuldecay]

All Debts Paid: 303 Alt Au: Alive.

I did write an Alt Au for 302...but it isn’t finished. So I’ll just leave this here instead. 

--

The restraints rubbed against his wrists, the blunt metal scraping away at his already sore skin. Jamie, tired and numb from his three day hike across the moors of lowland Scotland, wasn't in the mood for conversation. Lord John, having been on his horse the entire time, wasn’t of the same mind.

“It's been three days,” he sighed feigning nonchalance. “You have to talk to me at some point.”

Falling over his feet again, Jamie grunted as he caught himself and tugged against his bindings. Digging his heels into the moist dirt, he gritted his teeth and pulled harder. “It’s no better than slavery,” he mumbled, disdain lacing his tone.

John halted the horse and dismounted. His lithe movement caught Jamie off guard and he had to bend his knees quickly to stop himself from falling face forward into the mud.

“It’s no such thing, Mr Fraser. It is simply an indenture. Would you have preferred the colonies?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, rolling them as he righted himself and scowled in Lord John's direction. “How would ye ken what I wanted? Since ye didna have the pluck to ask me…”

Rolling his eyes, John searched in his pockets for the keys to the chains. “You’re a prisoner of the crown, Mr Fraser. A fact you should probably remember before dismissing my motives as less than reputable towards you. As it goes,” he continued not giving Jamie a chance to answer, “there wouldn’t have been much point in asking your opinion on the matter. Your freedom is not something I have any control over. But you should be grateful, this situation is better than any of the other options the governors were discussing. And….luckily, my suggestion was accepted.”

“And here we are,” Jamie replied.

“Yes, here we are.” John retorted with more than a little bit of sarcasm added. The mist was starting to gust around them and the border looked depressingly close to both men.

“Where are ye to take me, then.” Jamie asked, resigned.

“To a little place just a few miles south of Carlisle. A manor. With a Lady in residence who is in need of a groom. I expect you’re good with horses, Fraser, given your past excursions.”

Jamie laughed a little, a smile pulling at his lips as he toyed with the rope that attached his manacles to the saddle of Grey’s horse. “Aye, I suppose ye could assume that. Good for you, you’re right.”

“So, you’re not completely averse to this turn of events then?”

Squinting his eyes, Jamie looked up, allowing the side wind to blow the fresh moisture against his filthy face. “I dinna have a choice in this, do I?”

“No, you don’t.” Grey acquiesced, finally approaching Jamie with the key held out ready. “Since we don’t have that far to go, I’m happy for you to walk on your own.” Quirking a brow at Jamie, John slipped the key into the lock and gathered up the cuffs. “Lady Elizabeth won’t be at the manor when we get there, but she’s promised me that her head of household will greet us. After that, I’ll come by once a quarter to ensure your wellbeing.”

Wrapping his arms around his waist, Jamie nodded, his eyes holding Grey's for just a second before focusing ahead of him into the distance. The fog was descending but the lush green still stood clear on the horizon. Taking one breath, he took one look back at Scotland assuming it to be the last glance he’d get for a while.

“We should keep going, if you’re inclined to follow me,” Grey said, his thoughts quickly turning to the time and its fast passing. “I don’t particularly wish to spend another night on the road.”

—

As luck had it, over the horizon, just as the sun was beginning to dip beneath the tree line, the large house came into view. Dismounting once more, John waited for Jamie to catch up before walking the final few steps through the Cumbrian wilds towards their final destination.

“Just one piece of advice, Fraser, before I leave you here. It’s well known to the household that Lady Elizabeth isn’t disposed to traitors. It seems she lost someone she cared for during the rising too. If I were you, I’d consider your name carefully. Maybe you’d consider something less…recognisable?”

Nodding, Jamie rubbed his sore wrists. “Thank ye,” he said, his words strong and honest as he eyed up the large wrought iron gates that lay before them. Beyond he could hear the current household going about their daily duties. Somewhere close by, a horse brayed as the stable hands closed the stalls for the day.

“Feel free to introduce yourself, then,” Grey finished as a heavy-set man approached.

“Lord Grey?” He questioned, his deep booming voice echoing through the murky night that was slowly enveloping them.

“Yes, sir. I am Lord Grey.”

“Good,” the fellow added, his gaze shifting from Grey to Jamie and back again before opening the gates and allowing them safe passage onto the long, winding drive. “You are expected. And you are?” He questioned, staring Jamie directly in the eye as if testing him.

“MacKenzie,” Jamie replied, taking John’s advice seriously whilst holding the gaze of the head of household. No matter his place on the staff, Jamie wouldn’t show any weakness. “Alexander MacKenzie…sir.”

“Hmm,” was the only response as the older gentleman smirked a little at Jamie’s show of verbal strength. “Keep your head down, MacKenzie, and you’ll do. I’m Mr Porter to you.”

Completing his dealings with Mr Porter, John prepared to leave Jamie. Mounting his horse he gave one gentle nod to the subdued Scot, his eyes soft as he clicked his horse onwards. “Tell Lady Elizabeth that I’ll be back come spring, Mr Porter,” he said, his eyes not leaving Jamie’s as he turned.

Jamie watched as Grey disappeared into the night before turning back to face Mr Porter. No matter the events that had transpired between them during those quiet moments in Ardsmuir, Jamie would miss the man. Alone once more, he got the feeling that Porter might not be too keen on his sudden arrival.

Mr Porter, growing tepid and bored coughed, his throat clearing nothing to do with the onset of a cold. “You’ll sleep in the cots above the stables, MacKenzie, with the other men. Lady Elizabeth won’t be back for a couple of days. When she arrives here you’ll stay out of the way until she’s settled. Then,” he said, waiting for Jamie to turn and look back at him so he could cement this sentence into the man’s brain, “and only then, will she arrange to meet you. You will not address her directly unless she expressly converses with you. Clear?”

“Aye,” Jamie replied sardonically, “crystal.”

—

His bed was small, so small that his feet hung over the end. But the blanket that’d been provided for him was soft and warm. It was odd, but it seemed that the utmost had been done to accommodate him. A complete contradiction to the impression he’d gleaned from Mr Porter. The mattress beneath him was comfy too. Soft and subtle it molded nicely to his body meaning he’d been sleeping easier than he had in years.

As expected, his bunk mates were from various background and none of them held any interest in him at all. He’d been given his duties by Porter and then simply been expected to get on with it. Which he had done with grace and finesse. Falling back into another life, Jamie grew accustomed to the company of the horses.

Lady Elizabeth, even two weeks later, was seemingly absent. The men around him spoke fondly of her, again subverting the impression Porter had relayed to him. Jamie had built up an image of her in his mind that was hauntingly similar to a lass from another time, but he refused to connect to two lest it tear his heart in two.

“Mac!” Porter called, his brusque tone sounding even more impatient than usual, “you’re wanted at the main house.”

Peering around the corner of the stables, Jamie took note of a rather large coach that was taking up a large section of the driveway. Wiping his hands against his breeks, Jamie set off for the carriage, preparing to unhook the four glorious stallions that were hooked up to the gold filigree clips.

“No, MacKenzie, fool,” Porter muttered, his deep baritone sounding fatigued, “inside the house. The others will take care of that, the mistress is back and she’s asked to meet you.” Lowering his voice further, Porter took one step closed to Jamie, his eyebrows drawn together, “remember what I told you before. Don’t do anything to cause her alarm, do you hear me? Her or the little one!”

Jamie cocked his head to the side, his forehead crinkling in confusion at the mention of a child. “Aye, sir, of course.”

—

Taking the main steps two at a time, Jamie slowed as he got closer to the door. The large wooden front had been left slightly ajar and the scent of perfume wafted through the gap. Pushing his way inside, he closed the door behind him, letting the latch click shut before taking one measured step forwards.

He didn’t know why he was filled with such trepidation, but Porter’s words seemed to haunt him as he crept closer to the bannister of the main staircase the led up to the first floor rooms of the property.

“Mi-Lady Elizabeth?” Jamie called, placing his his hand on the slick wood as he called out.

The creek alerted him to a presence to his right and he turned just in time to see a flash of red disappear. The girlish giggle echoed long after the wee lassie had disappeared from view. Jamie averted his eyes, buoyed by the laughter of his mistress's daughter even without seeing the girl.

“Mr MacKenzie?”

The voice rooted his feet to the floor, and even the memory of it send his mind spiralling.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

He was certainly hallucinating .

“It’s you, isn’t it. Truly, it’s you…”

Jamie’s hand flew to his chest as he looked up slowly. Blinking madly as if he had something in his eyes, he tried to calm the racing in his chest as he surveyed the intricate patterning on the carpet that covered the central panel of the staircase.

“Look at me….Jamie,” she said, her soft English accent stumbling across his name, his *real* name as she took one step closer to him.

He could smell her now, the fresh fragrant scent of florals, nature and female, surrounding him as his vision blurred. And he still hadn’t looked upon her…yet.

“Please look at me.” She begged, the sweet sorrow of his resurrection causing her to stutter over her words as she pleaded with him.

Unable to resist, Jamie looked up…his eyes meeting with Claire’s in mere moments.

“Dhia…” he cursed, his momentary lapse causing the Gaelic to fall from his lips. Thankfully nobody else was around to hear his slip and he swayed, the breath stolen from his lungs as he stumbled forwards. Whooshing filled his ears and Claire blurred, her beautiful face hidden behind his unshed tears as he struggled to keep his knees locked. His legs seemed to cease functioning as legs and he couldn’t find the words to say anything other than Gaelic curses, so he simply stood with his mouth hanging open.

Claire saw the moment that Jamie succumb to the shock of her appearance. Rushing forwards, she leapt off the third to last step just in time to catch him as his eyes rolled up into their sockets and he slumped forwards.

Cradling his head in her lap, she buried her fingers under the hair at his temple. “That bad, is it?” She whispered as Jamie started to twitch.

Inhaling one long, deep breath, Jamie fluttered his eyes open as he snuggled closer to Claire. Glancing upwards he tried to swallow, his mouth completely devoid of moisture now. “That bad…and worse,” he sighed, his croaky words muffled by Claire’s billowing skirts. “How, Claire?” He asked, the implication heavy in his tone as he attempted to push himself upwards.

Claire waited for Jamie to right himself before slipping her fingers across the wooden panelled floor to twin with his. Her fingers were shaky but warm as she began to heat Jamie’s frigid ones.

“Frank,” she replied, her tempered anger simmering as she spoke. “He found you whilst neglecting to tell *me*,” coughing, she dipped her head as if to distract her from the hate that she felt in having to retell this tale, “but then I had a…friend. She forged historical documents and helped me to fund a fortune and purchase a name for myself here. I couldn’t very well just turn up at Ardsmuir, could I? Lord John would know me. I had to be smarter.”

Leaning forwards, Jamie ran his nose against Claire’s as his hand rested softly against her cheek. “Ye did all of this…for me?”

“Yes,” Claire answered breathlessly, her eyes swimming with tears as she smiled and licked her lips.

“Excuse me, mistress,” he whispered, the false pretence of his status compared to hers making his words seem submissive and demure, “but I think that I might have to kiss ye…is that alright?”

Stifling a gasp, Claire nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile as she tilted her head to the left and opened her mouth, readying herself for his caress. “Yes,” she replied, her cheeks blossoming a light pink in anticipation.

“Oh christ how I’ve missed ye…Sassenach,” Jamie said, his lips grazing hers before stealing her words with a bliss-inducing kiss. Moaning lightly, he pushed himself forwards, using all the energy he had left to mould his body to hers as he lost himself in her. In Claire. In the pliant, warm form of his wife.

[ili-here]

Yuri Plisetsky and Russian CPS

A few days ago I managed to corner a friend of mine, whose work is closely related with Russian CPS. She was kind enough to answer some of my questions (even after I explained that I needed it for fanfiction). 

So, here I am, trying to share some of it with you.

My friend pointed out that some of the rules changed very recently, so some of this wasn’t true even months ago, let alone years - but seeing how the events of Yuri on Ice and fanfics in YOI universe happen literally this year, I decided not to torture her with historical research.

Also, we’re talking about the way it must work according to law, not the way it actually works with real people, because in real-life Russia sometimes those are two different things. I like to assume that YOI Russia is a much better place in that regard.

I headcanon that Yuri Plisetsky’s mother lost her custody of him when he was little, and his grandfather is his legal guardian, so I asked how that would work in real world.

My friend explained that in real Russia for a Russian mother to lose custody of a child, she has to be absolutely horrible. She should be an alcoholic, a criminal (and not just a petty thief, at that), a substance abuser, a hobo, beat him, keep him from going to school, give him drugs or alcohol, or otherwise abuse him in a terribly unspeakable way. Or, alternatively there should be some power willing to pay a lot of bribes to keep them away from each other. 

Otherwise, general state policy is to do everything possible to keep the child with the mother, and influence the mother to stop whatever wrongdoing is going on. Nowadays, there are organizations that actually succeed in making children’s lives better without separating them from their parents. 

So, if someone, like me, wants to write a story where Nikolai is Yuri’s legal guardian (the Russian term is “legal representative”), you have to either keep in mind that that means some horrible experience in Yuri’s past, or pretend that in your universe something less severe could be reason enough. 

Okay, now we have a world where Yuri’s mother, for some reason, loses custody of him. That means, legally, that she’s no one to him in terms of parental rights, but he’s still her son in terms of her responsibilities. She has to pay child support, and if she doesn’t, she can (and will, sometimes by CPS rather than Yuri’s grandfather, as I understood) be sued, and subsequently might lose all of her property (except for her only home) and even can go to jail. 

At the same time, if a child (any child, regardless of his or her family issues) earns money, both he and his legal guardian have access to that money (CPS only cares if the two are in conflict). Hence, Yuri still can give money to his mother without drawing the attention of anyone but his grandfather (who probably doesn’t know how to handle a bank account, because a lot of elderly Russians don’t). In my head, that pretty much equals to Yuri paying his own child support, because he doesn’t want his mama to go to jail. But that’s headcanon; the fact is just that he has all the means to do that, and that nothing in Russian law so far contradicts the “Yuri’s been supporting his family for years” statement. He could be. Legally, they must support him, but in real world, he could be.  

Then I asked what would happen if Nikolai Plisetsky suddenly passed away. Turns out, the law is better (and I mean literally better, easier for Yuri and his potential guardian) than I imagined. 

First of all, at 16, unless emancipated, Yuri’s still a minor, and needs a legal guardian, unless he decides to file for emancipation (more on that at the end). However, since he’s older than 10, the choice of the legal guardian for him must and will be discussed with him; he’s not going to be placed with people he hates.

The day Yuri’s grandfather (if he’s his legal guardian) passes away, any adult in Yuri’s life (in real-life Russia the adult has to be a Russian citizen) can file for custody. It’s a relatively simple procedure; the potential guardian only needs his or her passport and Yuri’s consent. Sometimes they’d be asked for a letter from Yuri’s school (or maybe a letter from his coach, since Yuri is a famous athlete) that confirms that the two are well acquainted and requests to allow that person to become the guardian, in order to keep the child in his habitual surroundings. 

After that, a CPS official inspects the potential guardian’s living conditions and, if everything checks out, they get a 6-month temporary custody. 

Just like that. No evil state officials barging in and taking Yuri away to a foster home. After that, Yuri is supposed to move in with his guardian right away, because a minor must reside with his or her parents or guardians (there are exceptions for boarding schools, which is probably how they got away with Nikolai living in Moscow while Yuri trains in St. Petersburg).

The only case when Yuri can be taken away from his skater family (apart from his new guardian being as abusive as his mother) is if literally none of them is willing to file for custody. That would mean that Yuri is a child without a guardian, and in that case, as soon as that fact is discovered (it doesn’t happen automatically; someone has to report it - most probably that would be his school or his clinic), he will be taken to the Russian analogue of foster care (which is changing so rapidly right now that it can be literally anything). 

Before the six months are due, Yuri and his guardian have to decide on their next move, and they have two options.

First, the guardian may decide to make it permanent. That’s a little harder than temporal custody, in terms of red tape: he or she would have to take classes for adoptive parents (regardless of whether they’re going for adoption or just custody), pass a medical exam and prove that they’re financially capable of supporting Yuri long-term. None of it is particularly hard, and it’s more than doable over the period of six months.

Side note: in Russia you can legally adopt a child only if you’re at least 16 years older than the child. Otherwise, you can only gain custody. There are some exceptions, but becoming that exception takes effort. 

Second, Yuri can file for emancipation - that is, request to be acknowledged legally capable before he reaches 18. For that, he needs to be over 16, has to have a stable income and might want his guardian’s consent (it’s doable without the consent, too, but a little harder). If all the requirements are met, Yuri will be declared a legal adult and won’t be needing a guardian anymore.

TL;DR: In real-world Russia, if Yuri’s mother lost custody, that means she’s absolutely terrible. If Yuri’s legal guardian dies, any adult in Yuri’s life can rather easily take custody, but not without Yuri’s consent. At 16, Yuri can also file for emancipation and be considered legally an adult.

[atc74]

The Letter

Square Filled: Psychic!Jensen

Warnings: Angst, flangst, fluff, loss of loved ones,

Summary: Y/N loses everyone close to her. She receives a very cryptic letter from her grandfather after his passing that sends her on a search for the next seven years. What she finds is not what she expected. 

Pairing:  Psychic!Jensen x Reader, eventually

Word Count: 10,277 (I am not even a little bit sorry. I know it’s a beast, but it will be worth it, I promise. Escape with me for just a little while)

Written for: @spnaubingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, thank you for taking the time, for your continued and unwavering support, love and encouragement. 

A/N: When I got this new card, I was very apprehensive about most of the squares, but especially this one. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to play this, but an idea came to me. With a little gentle nudge from @sis-tafics, this is the final finished product. I am so proud of this, and I hope you guys love it as much as I do. 

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor or their families.

Y/N couldn’t believe she had driven eight hours from her home, her sanctuary, for this-this travesty. What these scam artists did was take advantage of people. People that were in mourning, grieving for the loss of a loved one, holding out hope that they’ll be able to say one last I love you, or I’m sorry.

Hundreds of people crowded the small theater and she couldn’t believe she was one of them. She hadn’t left her small town in years. She hadn’t even really left her property in nearly six months. It wasn’t that she was afraid of people or crowds, she just didn’t like them. She didn’t trust humans as a general rule. That is why it was just her and her animals. She liked the peace and quiet of her solitary existence. It was mostly how she was raised and how she liked it.

Y/N was born to a single mother who had died during childbirth. She was raised by her grandparents until her grandmother, Victoria, had died when she was only five years old. It had just been her and her grandpa, Cliff, save a couple of farm hands and Marta. Marta was a nice woman that came and cleaned and cooked for them. She also home schooled Y/N until she turned sixteen and graduated from high school. The following summer, the week before her seventeenth birthday, her grandpa had passed away.

She was truly orphaned. Marta still came to look after her a couple days a week and the workers were there from sunup till sundown, but they weren’t family. Because she had been tutored by Marta, she had never had friends. She doubted if anyone other than three people even knew she existed.

“Y/N, honey, we need to talk,” Marta called as she pulled dinner from the oven one night a couple weeks after he died. Roasted chicken with homemade mashed potatoes, green beans and squash covered the dining table in her grandfather’s, well her, house.

“Thank you for dinner, Marta,” Y/N said politely as she took a seat.

“Sugar, your granddaddy left this for you. He asked me to give it to you after his funeral.” The old woman slid a yellowed envelope across the table. “Now, let’s enjoy this meal.”

After dinner was eaten, the leftovers stored and the kitchen cleaned, Marta took her leave as usual. Y/N remained at the kitchen table with the letter and a cup of tea. She slid the envelope around the table several times, just watching it spin. Finally, she picked up the cup of tea, dumped it in the sink and locked herself away in her bedroom.

Sleep would not come easy for Y/N that night, just like it hadn’t for the previous two weeks. Slumber and Y/N were fickle friends and would not see eye to eye for some time.

Over coffee and toast the next morning, she eyed the letter sitting there on her table. It was mocking her. She shook her head and went about her day, letting the letter sit alone at the table.

Come dinnertime, Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off the ancient envelope. She grabbed a letter opener from her grandpa’s desk in the study and meticulously opened the letter.

My sweet child Y/N,

The day you were born was both the best and worst day of my life. Your mother, my only child, died bringing you into this world. I have never felt so conflicted in all my years. You brought me such joy, just as your mother had.

I am sorry, Y/N/N, for I don’t feel I raised you right. I should have sent you to a real school. You should have met friends your own age. You should have gone to sleepovers and dances and gotten in trouble for breaking curfew. Instead, I let you shut yourself in, staying cooped up in this house with me or Marta, only coming outside to tend to the animals like they were your only friends. Maybe they were, but still, baby, it ain’t right. I should have done better by you.

I think I was afraid to you lose you like I lost your Mama. There was no worse heartbreak in the world than losing her, then my wife so close together. I wish you had known her better, Gramma I mean. Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have grown into. They both would have. I know I am.

Now, sweet child, there are things that have been kept from you; things you must find. I have faith in you that you will find them all and make me proud. Know that I will be watching you from Heaven with your Mama and Gramma.

I love you sweet child,

Grandpa

A stray tear drop fell from her eye, landing on the yellowed parchment. She was sad, she was angry. She was angry at herself for being sad and sad that she was angry. She curled into a ball on the bed and cried herself to sleep that night. Tossing and turning, she heard her grandfather’s voice guiding her with cryptic clues and nonsensical rhymes.

For three weeks she dreamt of him and his letter. Each dream was different. In one, he handed her a crossword puzzle, just like they would do every Sunday when the newspaper came. Another dream featured a weathered map with a single ‘x’ on it, but the map was written in a language she didn’t recognize, nor was the topography anywhere she had ever seen before. She used all sorts of tools in these dreams; shovels, a pickaxe, a jackhammer. Was she supposed to dig? Was it some buried treasure?

Dreams of riddles and scavenger hunts plagued her restless nights. In the rare case she snuck in a nap during the day, Grandpa was there, telling her to get up and go get it. The dreams were all different, but they all ended in the same location: St. Louis, Missouri.

She spent weeks rummaging through every cupboard, every cabinet, drawer, closet and loose floorboard in the house. She checked the chicken coop, the goats’ pens and the horses’ stables. She dug up the entire patio and half the yard. Her muscles were sore, her back aching and her mind was tired.

“Marta!” Y/N called, bursting through the back door one afternoon. She had been out tending to her chickens when she reasoned the answer could very well be in her house at that very moment.

“Yes, sugar?” Marta turned where she was removing a hot pie from the oven.

“Did you read the letter?” Y/N questioned her.

“Oh no, sweet pea! That letter was private! I would never read something that wasn’t addressed to me,” Marta pledged. “What is in that letter is between you and your granddaddy.”

“Marta, will you read the letter, please?” Y/N pleaded with the older woman. “You’re all I have left and I can’t decipher what he is telling me to do. I can’t sleep, I barely eat. I am slowly going insane! Please help me.” Y/N cried into her arms as she hung her head on the dinner table.

Marta took a seat, pulling her chair closer to the girl she had loved and cared for most of her life. “Dear, please don’t cry. Of course I’ll help you. I will always help you. It is what I have always done and will do until my last breath.”

Together, they read the letter out loud. Y/N felt the tears begin anew and the old woman wiped them away. Marta turned to her.

“Child, is this why you have been pillaging this house and digging up that yard? Are you looking for something?” Her eyes were like steel behind her glasses, boring into Y/N as she nodded quietly.

“He said there are things I need to find. Where did he hide them?” Y/N said, exasperated.

“All in due time, sugar. All in due time,” Marta repeated, patting her on the head as she set about tending to dinner.

As she sat in that crowded theater, the throngs of people, the din of their voices, she almost got up and left more than once. She was here for a reason, even if she didn’t believe in it herself, Marta had and it was the sweet old woman’s dying wish that Y/N come and ask the questions Marta hoped Y/N could find the answers to.

“You have to promise me something, sugar,” Marta gripped her hand and pulled her near. “Promise me you’ll go, that you’ll keep looking.”

Marta slid another envelope out from underneath her afghan and passed it to Y/N. “What is this?”

“Open it and you’ll see,” Marta rasped, her breathing becoming labored.

Y/N pulled the envelope from the woman’s delicate hand and opened it. Inside was a single ticket and another letter.

Sugar,

I know you will find every excuse to stay home, but please go. I have heard good things about this man and had an honorable experience with him myself. If you won’t do it for you or your granddaddy, please do it for me. Go, find what you are looking for. I know he can help you.

With all my love,

Marta

Inside the envelope was a ticket: An Intimate Evening with Jensen Ackles, Renowned Clairvoyant and Medium.

“Marta, I c-can’t,” Y/N breathed heavily in the hospital room.

“You can and you will, sugar,” Marta took her last breath, her hand going limp in Y/N’s. Her tears fell once more against the woman’s hand as she held on the last person who loved her.

Wiping away the tear brought on by a memory, Y/N composed herself. She quietly sat in her seat, willing the last twenty-four years of her life not to give away her uneasiness of being in a crowd this size. Her seat was on the aisle of the second row, stage right. As the house lights dimmed, a hush fell over the audience.

An older man stepped out onto the stage, dressed in a nice blue suit, not expensive, but nice enough, with a white shirt and a blue striped tie. He raised a microphone and looked out to the sea of faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to An Intimate Evening with Jensen Ackles. With all the skeptics in the world, spouting how the afterlife doesn’t exist, how psychics are nothing more than scam artists and there is no such thing as mind reading, I caution you this.

“Anything is possible. With an open mind and an open heart we can achieve anything. We can believe in anything. We can accomplish so much and see more than we ever thought possible. I would like to thank you all in advance for coming and now without further delay, I present to you, my son, Jensen Ackles!” The older man stepped back, holding one arm wide as another man stepped out from behind the curtain.

Y/N had done her research on this man. She knew he had a small, but loyal following. She had read testimonies from the young to the old, all of them saying the same thing, ringing the same praises. Mr. Ackles seemed to be legit from what she had read, but tonight would bring the proof or blow holes in the theories she was holding in.

“Thank you. I am so happy to see so many faces here tonight,” Jensen addressed the audience. “As my father said, the world is filled with skeptics, the naysayers that don’t believe. I myself have encountered frauds that lure people in with promises of saying goodbye to a loved one, of leading them to their loved ones lost treasures. What I ask of you before we begin, is don’t believe what you hear, I only ask that you believe what you can see.”

He walked proud and tall across the stage as he spoke, looking out to the crowd. He was neatly dressed in a dark gray slacks, a white dress shirt and a cable knit sweater. His feet were clad in black boots. He stopped at the corner of the stage and gracefully lowered himself to the floor.

“Can you turn up the house lights please?” Jensen raised his eyes towards the back of the theater and soft lighting filled the space. “Thank you.”

“I feel more comfortable out here with you, if that’s alright. Up on that stage, I feel like a spectacle, an attraction,” he chuckled lightly into the microphone. “I guess that’s what some people think, right. Think back to the early days of the circus with their sideshow performers: The bearded lady, the fire breather, the sword swallower, the mind reader. These attractions drew people, didn’t they? But, do you really think they were real? I didn’t. People talked about them for days after.

“But, it was almost like a mockery of what those people were. Yes, it was just an act, but for those people, it was real. That is who they were. The bearded lady was just an unfortunate woman, perhaps with too much testosterone in her system. I didn’t know what a clairvoyant was until I realized I had a gift. Well, when my grandmother realized I had a gift. I just thought I was helping people. I guess I was about three or four years old.”

Jensen strolled casually across the floor in front of the stage, making eye contact with those he could see. He moved with a grace that Y/N hadn’t seen from many men, then again, her experience was limited to those in her small town. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he slowly approached the side she was seated on.

“I remember my dad losing his keys, and I just knew where they were. I rescued all kinds of animals, found all kinds of things, things that had been lost for a long time. I just could see things, ya know? I made friends easily, and enemies even easier. For me, it was easy to tell the good from the bad; it’s all in their aura. I stayed away from those people and tried to keep my friends safe, but it made me an easy target and I got beat up more times than I can count. But it didn’t keep me from protecting people.

“Again, I just thought I was helping people. It wasn’t until I was about six, when I was reading a comic book in my room. Bright lights were swirling around my vision, I just thought I had read too long, but when I saw Mr. Romans, our next door neighbor, lying in the middle of his kitchen, I knew something was wrong. I ran down the stairs, told my dad Mr. Romans was dead in his kitchen. We rushed next door and sure enough, he was there in the middle of kitchen floor, just like I saw him. My father called 911 and the paramedic pronounced him dead at the scene. We later found out it was a heart attack. That scared the hell out of me! I was just a kid and now I was seeing visions of dead people?! I was back in my room a couple weeks later, thinking about Mr. Romans lying dead in his kitchen, thinking I should have been able to save him, when I heard him calling to me. We had a conversation, of sorts. I saw papers, money and I passed this information on to my dad. Turns out Mrs. Romans had been looking for his will and life insurance papers and I was able to tell her where they were, with a little help from her husband.”

Jensen stopped at the edge of the front row, looking up and down the aisles, smiling at people, shaking a few hands when his eyes landed on Y/N, lingering on her face, looking her up and down. “I don’t want to stand up here and tell you about me or what I have done.” He looked directly in her eyes as he spoke, his jade orbs piercing in the soft lighting of the theater. “Tell me, what can I do for you?”

Y/N looked around the crowd. Surely he was not speaking directly to her. She was completely not ready to ask him to help her find what she was looking for. Hands rose all around her. Across the aisle, a small girl of about ten years old, waved a picture and it caught his attention. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief and he turned to the child.

“Hi sweetheart, what can I do for you?” Jensen crouched down to the girl’s level. She handed him a picture.

“This is my dog, his name is Oscar and he is missing,” the little girl cried.

“What’s your name?” Jensen asked softly.

“Katie,” she sniffed.

“Katie, I have a dog named Oscar, too. Tell me about your dog. Where does he like to go? What is his favorite toy?” Jensen quizzed the little girl and she answered all his questions.

“Katie, I am going to need your help here, okay? Can you hold my hand?” Jensen smiled at her and held out his hand. She slipped hers into his palm, dwarfed by his large hand. “Is this your mom?” Katie nodded and Jensen looked over at her mother.

Jensen closed his eyes and held tight to Katie’s hand, Oscar’s picture in his other. Y/N could see his eyes fluttering under his lids. He opened them slowly, and his eyes started darting around the theater, like he was watching something move about quickly. He had laid his microphone on the floor when he took Katie’s hand, but Y/N could hear the whispers as they left his mouth.

“Hidden, brown, 25, trees, a long fence, gates, water,” Jensen looked back to Katie’s mother. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

The woman nodded, tears coming to her eyes. “There is a dog park out on Country Rd 25 called Hidden Pond. It’s a small wooded area with a fence around it with gates to come and go. It has a brown sign and a small pond. Do you think that is where he went?”

“Worth a shot, don’t you think?” Jensen looked back to Katie. “Go get Oscar, Katie.” The little girl hugged Jensen, then grabbed her mom’s hand, pulling her up the aisle. “Keep me posted please!” Jensen called after them, but Katie was already out the door.

Y/N sat in her seat, riveted by the exchange between Jensen and the girl. She figured it was all part of his act, but he was quite charismatic, dashing and connecting with the people that had come to see him. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She had to remind herself why she had come in the first place.

“Miss? You’ve lost something as well,” Jensen’s voice boomed like it was right next to her. She opened her eyes to see a pair of black boots next to her seat. She followed the long line up a pair of dark gray slacks, followed by a cable knit sweater and the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

“Not really lost, just haven’t found,” she whispered. Jensen crouched next to her, just like he had done with Katie.

“Still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” he sang lightly. “I heard a song like that once.”

Y/N laughed. “And he sings.”

“Miss, will you tell me your name please?” Jensen smiled.

“Y/N.”

“Miss Y/N is looking for something, but not something she lost. Does that about sum it up?” Jensen asked, standing to his full height, he must have been over six feet tall.

“Pretty much.”

She observed Jensen once more as he looked one way then another, but never really looking at any one thing. At one point he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, almost like he was in pain.

“Puzzle, maps, shovel, holes,” Jensen muttered only loud enough for her to hear him. “You really are looking for something. A farm, an old man, a letter.”

“My grandfather,” she whispered.

“Is it something your grandfather lost?” he prodded.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Jensen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, passing it to her as he shook her hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

She looked down at it, seeing his picture and a phone number. It had a small hand written ‘1’ on the back.

The evening continued on like that, Jensen spending a few minutes with several people. His act was spot on, seeming genuinely concerned for the people he came in contact with. With only a few minutes left before the end of the show, for lack of better term, Y/N thought, the door burst open and a dog came running down the aisle.

“Oscar! Come back here!” Katie was yelling and chasing after the animal.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her chest, overjoyed that the little girl had found her lost dog. It was just coincidence, she thought, brushing the feeling aside.

Jensen greeted Katie and Oscar at the end of the aisle. The dog jumped up, laying his large paws on Jensen’s chest and wagging his tail excitedly.

“Thank you so much Mr. Ackles for finding Oscar!” Katie threw her little arms around his waist, hugging him tight. Jensen stood there, hugging both the girl and her dog, the smile on his face a mile wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

After the excitement of Katie’s reunion with Oscar died down, Jensen’s father came back out on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight. I hope that you continue to believe in the work that Jensen does, the help he provides and, for those of you that arrived here tonight skeptics, my hope is that he was able to open your mind, allowing you to see things in a way you may not have before. Thank you and goodnight.”

Jensen was making his way back down the aisle to the stage through the lines of people exiting their seats. Y/N had decided to stay put while the theater cleared out. She saw no value in standing in a slow moving line. Her mind replayed the events of the last two hours, her hands subconsciously fidgeting with the card in her lap.

“Miss Y/N?” an older blonde haired woman stood before you. “My name is Donna Ackles, Jensen’s mother. I understand he handed you a card tonight. He would like to see you in private; he feels he can help you with your search.”

“Right now?” she was surprised.

“Yes, Y/N. Jensen prefers to keep the feeling, the images fresh. It’s only a tick after five, then we’ll have some supper,” Donna motioned for Y/N to follow her through a side door. She led her to a hallway, doors on either side. “Here we go.” Donna knocked on the first door and it opened quickly, Jensen filling the frame.

“Thanks, Ma,” Jensen leaned forward, pecking his mother on the cheek. “Hello, Y/N. Please come in.” He stepped back, allowing her space to enter the small room. Something told her she should feel reluctant to be alone in a room with any man, let alone a stranger, but there was a feeling of peace that washed over her as she stepped inside and took a seat on the small loveseat against the wall.

“Miss Y/N?” Jensen spoke as he closed the door. “Can I get you some water?”

“Just Y/N, please and no thank you,” she responded, her hands now folded in her lap.

“I can sense this was a big step for you, a long journey to get here tonight,” Jensen pulled up a chair and sat a respectful distance from her, but close enough that they could speak softly. “I know you aren’t a believer, and that’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you, but I know I can help you find what you are searching for.”

“Mr. Ackles...:” she started.

“Please, call me Jensen, or better yet, you can call me Jay,” he smiled, putting her at ease.

“Fine. Jay, I came here to appease an old woman who believed you could help me. I don’t even know what I am looking for!” She had reached the point of exasperation years ago, but it felt more like desperation the longer she searched.

“Marta,” he murmured.

“You knew her?” she gasped.

“Yes, I was able to help her some years ago and we kept in touch. She called me just a few weeks ago and told me about you. I am sorry if I haven’t been forthcoming, but I was hoping you would be here tonight. She thought the world of you, you know. I’m sorry for your loss. I am sad to see she passed away,” Jensen cleared his throat.

Y/N had no words. There was so much that Marta and her grandfather had kept from her and she wasn’t sure where to turn anymore. The search had gone on far too long and she was ready to move on.

“Mr. Ack-Jay, I’m not sure I should be here. The last several years of my life have been a waste, an expedition of the unknown, a fruitless hunt. I don’t have the energy anymore,” she cried, then chastised herself for getting emotional.

“Y/N, your life has been filled with loss since the day you entered it. Your mother, your grandmother, then grandfather, and finally Marta. Loss is never easy and, from what Marta entrusted me with, it has hit you harder than most, having no one else that you can trust.

“You can trust me, Y/N. Marta did and I hope you will as well,” Jensen paused, taking her hand in his gently. “Close your eyes, Y/N.” Jensen’s voice was soothing, calming any left over nerves she had. She did as he instructed and closed her eyes.

The room was quiet, their breaths the only sounds that could be heard around her. Jensen didn’t move and she sat still as he held her hand in his. “I want you to clear your mind for me, Y/N. Let go of everything you are holding on to, just for a few minutes, okay?”

“Hmhmmm,” she hummed her agreement and tried to clear her mind. Taking deep breaths, she saw her grandfather, grandmother and Marta standing around her in a circle, their smiles clear as she let them fade away. She didn’t know how much time had passed before Jensen spoke again.

“Seven...doors...an envelope...grandpa...one…,” Jensen’s voice was barely audible and he pulled his hand away from her. “I don’t feel any objects, Y/N. I don’t think your grandfather left something for you to find.”

“What do you mean? There has to be something he left for me? Why would he tell me to go find these things if there is nothing for me to find?” Y/N exclaimed, frustrated once more.

“I can see you have been looking. Your mind is filled with riddles and puzzles, the things I saw before. But I see no object that he left behind for you. What I see are colors, emotions. Cliff is regretful, melancholy, but I can feel Marta as well; her emotions are different. They’re hopeful, joyful, promising,” Jensen paused and opened his eyes, looking at Y/N.

“Mr. Ackles, thank you for your time, but I feel this has been a waste of mine,” Y/N stood and gathered her things hastily. “Have a nice evening.”

“Y/N, wait! Please don’t go,” Jensen reached for her once more, but she sidestepped him.

“I can’t stay here,” she muttered and, with that, she walked out of the room and his life.

Y/N sped back to the hotel, throwing her things in her bag and wanting nothing more than to get on the road and as far away from the Ackles’ as she could. She couldn’t believe she spent so much time, so much energy, for it to turn out to be nothing. No one could help her; she could only help herself.

She missed her animals and her home. Most of all she missed her grandpa and Marta. Her thoughts drifted as she made the long drive home back to Ada, Oklahoma. What did Jensen mean when he said he didn’t think Grandpa left something for her? Everything is either person, place or thing. If it wasn’t a thing, what the hell was it that she was supposed to find? A place? A person?

Could it be her father? She had been told a long time ago that he was also dead. Apparently he was killed in a car accident before Y/N was even born. By the time she was old enough to comprehend what loss meant, she didn’t even care anymore. Surely her grandfather or Marta would have told her if he was still alive. There wasn’t even a name listed for him on her birth certificate.

By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was beyond tired. It was after two in the morning and she trudged up the stairs, falling into bed still fully clothed. She was asleep within moments, but like hundreds of nights before, it was fitful and filled with dreams once more.

But, these dreams were different than before. There were no puzzles, no riddles, no maps. What she did see was what seemed like millions of bright lights, of all different shapes and colors. There were small lights, twinkling in the distance. Some were giant balls, bursting with brightness right before her eyes, threatening to blind her. Blue, green, gold, pink, purple, orange swirling with all the colors of the rainbow and more. Beyond the lights, she could make out faint shapes, ovals, crescents, perfect circles. What she would realize later when she woke, was they weren’t shapes at all, but faces.

It would be the faces she would recall for days to come. They would be there while she went about her daily chores, cleaning pens and collecting eggs. They looked back at her in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She could see them reflected in the screen of her laptop. What bothered her the most is that they were murky, like the bottom of a lake; you could see it, but every time you tried to look closer, taking a small step stirred up the sediment. That and the fact that she couldn’t recognize any of the faces she was seeing; they were all foreign to her.

Shortly before dinner and a few days after the wasted trip to St. Louis, there was a knock at her door. This was unusual in itself. She never had visitors, not since she sold off the farm land, and she was not expecting any deliveries that she knew of. She reached for the shotgun she kept loaded in the front closet when a second knock sounded.

“Who is it?” she demanded, fire in her voice and the shotgun heavy in her hands.

“Y/N? It’s Jensen. Jensen Ackles. Can I please come in?” his deep timbre pulsated through the solid wooden door.

“Why are you here, Jensen?” she asked, some of the fight leaving her voice.

“Please just let me come in and I can explain all of it. Please,” he pleaded with her.

After releasing the deadbolt, she swung the door open and there he was, his eyes wide at the sight of a weapon in her hands. He held his hands up to show her he meant no harm.  “Jensen, why are you here?” She stowed the shotgun back in the closet and turned to face him. That was when she noticed there was something in his hand. A letter. Her letter. “What are you doing with my letter? Where did you get this?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” He held it out to her and she snatched it from him. “You left it. It must have fallen out of your bag when you rushed out of there. I’m sorry it took me so long to return it to you, but I figured you probably needed some time.”

“I didn’t even know I had lost it,” she muttered, holding it tightly to her chest. It was the last thing she had from her grandfather.

“I know you feel your trip was a waste, but there is something different about you today, than when we met just a few days back,” Jensen pondered this as he entered her home. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Wait-” she held her hand up to stop him from getting any closer to her. “How did you even find me?”

“I’m a psychic, remember?” he laughed, but back tracked quickly seeing the look on her face. “No, really. I started with the info Marta had given me, then just followed the signs until I found you. Besides, I promised you that we’d get to the bottom of it.”

“So, essentially, you tracked me?” she asked.

“Essentially,” he echoed. “The letter led me to you. You’re avoiding the question, Y/N. Do you want to talk about what is different?”

“Yes, I am avoiding it, but leave it to you to bring it up again, knowing that I am avoiding it,” she rolled her eyes and walked through the house to the kitchen, leaving Jensen staring after her. “Do you want some tea?”

Jensen accepted the invitation and moved to follow her, though he stopped every few feet, surveying the room. He could sense so much, almost to the point where he felt overwhelmed, drained, like he did at the end of an evening gathering. He made his way to the table where he collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Oh my! Jay, are you okay?” she rushed to his side.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. It’s just...this house. I am feeling everything,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his stubbled face.

“Wha-what does it feel like?” she questioned, curious about his gift.

“It’s like feeling everything all at once, overwhelming, really. The flashes I see, the emotion that goes with it. It’s a lot to absorb,” he breathed out.

“What are you feeling right now? What did you see?” her eyes were wide with wonder.

“I saw the day your grandparents brought you home after you were born,” he closed his eyes. “They were heartbroken over the loss of your mother, but elated over your birth. Concerned with what the years would bring and overjoyed at what you might accomplish.”

“Well, I feel mostly that I disappointed them,” Y/N scoffed. “I never stray far from home, I don’t have any friends. I have no family left. I sold off grandpa’s land to keep the house.”

“None of that means you’re a disappointment. I don’t feel anything of the sort, in fact. Pride, joy, love, happiness, mixed with a tinge of sadness is what I am feeling,” Jensen offered with a reassuring smile

“That doesn’t answer my ongoing situation though, Jay,” she rose, returning to her task. She busied herself with measuring the tea, so caught up in her own thoughts that the spoon slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor when the kettle whistled to life.

“Maybe you’re overthinking it, Y/N,” Jensen proposed.

Y/N eyed him carefully as she returned to the table, setting a mug in front of him, then taking her own, holding it with both hands. “How do you mean, Jay?

“Well, I am no expert when it comes to your grandfather, but sometimes people say one thing when they mean another. I met you four days ago. Since then, I have kept your letter in my possession. And no, I didn’t read it. But I don’t need to. I could feel his intentions,” Jensen explained.

“Can you break this down for me? You’re being just as cryptic as grandpa,” Y/N griped.

“Yeah, sorry. It comes with the job I guess. I had a few interactions with your grandfather these last few days. It was the letter that led me to him. The things he was referring to, aren’t things at all. Not tangible at least. He feels he kept them from you. Kept you from finding them your whole life and now he wants you to go looking for them. Friendship, companionship, love; human connections.  At least that is my read.” Jensen elaborated. “I just want you to have the information, Y/N. What you choose to do with it? Well, that’s up to you.”

Y/N pondered this for for a few moments while they sipped at their tea in silence. Normally, she experienced awkwardness with folks since she had only been around a few people her entire life. She lacked what some might call ‘social skills.’ But it was different with Jensen. She felt different. For the first time in her life, at least her adult life, she felt calm, at peace.

She surmised that what Jensen was saying made sense in some ways. Grandpa’s letter had said she should have been at school making friends. She took another sip of her tea and glanced at Jensen across from her.

“Could it really be that simple?” she muttered. It wasn’t until Jensen looked up, meeting her gaze that she realized she had said the words out loud.

“Sometimes it is,” Jensen shrugged. “I should let you get back to it.”

“Wou-would you like to come back sometime?” she sputtered, suddenly shy.

“I would like that, Y/N. I think your grandpa would, too,” he smiled and turned, heading for the front door.

“Do you like pie?” she called after him.

“I could eat a slice or ten,” he chuckled.

“Well, then I guess I’ll make two,” she added.

“Here’s my personal cell phone number, Y/N. Please, call me if you need anything, okay? Especially to let me know when you’re going to make those pies,” he joked, handing her another card.

“I will,” she took the card and walked him to the door. “Drive safe. And Jay? Thanks for coming, I feel better and I think that is because of you.”

“I am relieved to hear that, Y/N. I’m glad I could help,” he ambled down the front steps to his car.

Y/N watched as he drove down the dirt road, dust billowing behind him. She smiled. She realized she had smiled more that day than she probably had in the last ten years. Maybe, just maybe, Grandpa, Marta and Jensen had been right.

That night, she settled into bed, pulling the quilt up and curling onto her side. She closed her eyes and for the first time in what felt like forever, she slept peacefully.

~*~

Y/N kept herself busy for the next few days. She tended to her animals twice a day like always. She cleaned and started decluttering around the house. She hadn’t touched her grandfather’s belongings since he died and she decided it was finally a good time to tackle his room.

She looked around his room, now boxed up, save a few mementos, and smiled. She caught herself doing that more and more.

Normally, she had the general store in town deliver her groceries and supplies for a few extra dollars, but when she walked through the door, the shopkeeper was surprised to see her.

“Mornin’ Y/N. How’re you doing? Was about to send Tommy over to your place when I didn’t get your order this week,” Ed eyed her carefully.

“Good morning to you, Ed. I’m well, just here for my weekly shopping. Trying to get out a little more, I guess,” she smiled at him as she grabbed a basket and made her way through the aisles. Thirty minutes and four bags later, she had everything she needed for the week, plus the ingredients to make a couple of pies and a good meal.

“Thank you, Ed. Have a nice day,” she called out as he headed back into the store after loading her bags into the back of her truck. He turned and just shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t be a stranger now, Y/N. It was good to see you,” he responded. He stood there watching as she drove away.

Back home, she stored her supplies and groceries, all the while humming a tune. She knew how it had gotten stuck in her head, and she picked up the phone, dialing quickly before she changed her mind. She wouldn’t have had the chance anyway, the person on the other end picking up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” his voice was strong and smooth.

“Hey Jay, I’m not going to ask how you knew it was me,” she commented.

“Well, not many people have this number so...a good guess?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” she agreed sarcastically. “So I picked up some apples today. I was thinking about making a pie later…”

“An apple pie? One of my favorites,” he confided. “Along with cherry, pecan, banana cream, pumpkin…”

“Okay, okay. You like pie, I got the hint,” she giggled. “So if I made this apple pie, would you come by and eat some of it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” Jensen joked. “I have a couple of things to take care of here, but I can be there in four hours. Does that work for you?”

She checked the time and realized it would be just after seven when he arrived. She nodded, then laughed at herself. “Sorry for laughing, I nodded and realized you can’t see me! So, yes, that works. Say, why don’t you pack a bag, too? I have plenty of room and I don’t want you driving back and risk falling into a pie induced coma!”

“Are you sure?’ he asked cautiously, but pleased that she seemed so light hearted, a change from their last conversation.

“Yeah, I’m sure Jay. I’m trying to live a little,” she assured him. “See you later.”

“See you soon, Y/N,” he hung up the phone and went to pack a bag.

Y/N didn’t know what had come over her, but she smiled as she peeled and sliced apples for the pie. Once the pie was assembled, she set it to bake then headed upstairs. She quickly changed the sheets in the spare bedroom and opened the window for some fresh air. Satisfied, she jumped in the shower and sang quietly to herself as she cleaned up.

Dressing in her most comfortable jeans and a tee shirt, she finished up dinner. She felt good for the first time in a long time. She had slept well the last few nights and she firmly believed it was a contributing factor. Y/N knew it wouldn’t fix everything overnight, but she felt she was putting in a solid effort on her new outlook. Jensen played a big part in that, she thought as she placed the macaroni and cheese in the oven.

She knew the path had been originally laid by her grandfather and Marta, but without Jensen, an outsider, she wasn’t sure how far she could walk that path on her own. But, with only a few steps in, she felt confident she was headed the right direction.

She took note of time, knowing dinner had about thirty minutes when there was a knock at the door. She couldn’t help herself as she rushed to the front of the house, a wide grin overtaking her features. She turned the knob, seeing a very casual Jensen leaning against her door frame.

“What took you so long? I can smell that pie all the way out here! It’s how I got here; I just followed my stomach!” he laughed reaching his hand out to take hers.

She surprised both of them by pulling him into her arms, pressing her small frame against his in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you could make it, Jay! And you’re early!”

Jensen couldn’t hide the look of astonishment on his face as he returned the hug. A feeling of happiness washed over him, albeit shadowed by a remote feeling of anxiousness. He slowly released her, pulling back and observing the woman before him. Gone were the dark circles, her eyes bright and shining in the autumn sunlight filtering through the still open door. She looked healthy, happy and eager.

“You look good, Y/N,” Jensen commented, his eyes travelling her frame carefully. “Your colors have improved.”

“How do you mean?” she asked inquisitively.

“Well, everyone has an aura; I can see them, read people,” he explained. “You have more pink, a hint of orange now, mixed with a little soft blue. I feel a more loving, social nature with a peacefulness that I had not seen in yours before. You’re like the sky at sunset right now.”

“I am guessing that is a good thing?” she said, closing the door behind him.

“It’s a very good thing,” he confirmed. “Now where is this pie?”

“Right this way, Jay. Dinner is almost ready,” Y/N led him through the house, back to the kitchen. “I hope you’re not lactose intolerant; I made macaroni and cheese.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I can handle cheese,” Jensen reaffirmed. “Now, what can I help with?”

“Nothing. It isn’t often I have guests...honestly, I’ve never had a guest, so have a seat and let me finish up here,” she confided. “Beer?”

“That sounds great, Y/N. Thank you.”

They chatted for a few minutes, Y/N telling Jensen about her animals and her day, even telling him she went to town. 

“Trying to make friends, I see,” he teased.

“Well, I thought a lot about what you said, about what grandpa wanted for me, so I’m trying for him, and for me,” she said thoughtfully. “It wasn’t as bad I used to make it.”

“That’s awesome, kid,” Jensen commended, taking a sip off his beer.

“Kid? You know you’re only a year older than me, right, old man?” she poked, noting the look of fake shock on Jensen’s face. “I did my research on you, too.”

Just then the timer went off.

“Saved by the bell,” Jensen remarked.

Dinner was comfortable and filled with conversation. Jensen did his best to block his gifts in most situations and, with Y/N, it was no different. He didn’t want her to feel like he was constantly reading her and trying to get into her head. His knowledge of her was quite limited based on what Marta had confided in him and what they had already discussed, so he kept the conversation centered on her. He wanted to know everything about her.

“Okay, okay, enough about me, Jay,” she stopped him as she served up that pie he was so eager to dig into. “Tell me something about you; something I can’t read on the internet.”

“Well, there isn’t much to tell, honestly. A lot about me is already out there. I have a brother and sister, my parents are my managers, I was an athlete in school,” Jensen shrugged, taking a plate from her. “This looks heavenly, Y/N.” He held the plate, taking a whiff and sighing with joy.

“Thank you. The recipe is actually Marta’s; mostly everything I cook is. She taught me everything I know,” she said sadly. “I miss her.”

“I know you do,” Jensen reached his hand across the table, taking hers in his larger one.

“Are you reading me?” she asked, offended.

“No, Y/N. I am not reading you, I promise. I told myself I wouldn’t do that, not since the last visit,” he vowed. “I want you to be able to trust, and I think you are, but I know you can’t if I use my gift around you. With the exception of seeing your aura when I arrived, I have been blocking it. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about her, I can see it in your eyes. I swear it.”

“I’m sorry I got so defensive, this whole letting people in thing is new to me. Please be patient with me, I’m trying,” she smiled.

“Hey, hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jensen squeezed her hand. “I know this is new to you. To be honest, this is a little new for me, too. Most people I meet just want something from me, but not you. You’re doing great, Y/N. I’ll help you navigate your path if you help me with mine.”

“I think that sounds like a fair trade, Jay. Thank you,” she squeezed back. “Now eat your pie!”

Jensen knew he had never tasted pie this good before and he made a fool of himself eating it in front of Y/N with the noises and faces he was probably making. “I’m sorry. This is just so superbly delicious and I just can’t stop myself.”

“I’m flattered, really. I’m glad I did it justice. This was her first prize recipe at the Oklahoma State Fair three years running,” Y/N whispered, pretending it was a secret. “But don’t over do it; I have pecan, too.”

“Are you serious?” his eyes now as big as his stomach. “Please, please can I have a slice?”

“You’re a like a puppy with a treat, Jay!” she laughed and plated a slice of the pecan for him as well. “Good thing I readied a room, you’ll be asleep in no time from all these carbs.”

“Good think I packed sweatpants to sleep in, stretchy waist!” he mumbled around the flaky crust and buttery filling of the pecan pie.

Y/N excused herself to the restroom only to find Jensen at the sink, his sleeves rolled up and washing dishes. “Jensen Ackles! What do you think you are doing?”

“Well, I figured it was a fair price for room, board and pleasant company for the evening,” he shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Fine, but no doing the breakfast dishes,” she relented, sitting down and picking up her beer as she watched Jensen. He had a quiet confidence about him and she was enjoying his company.

“Tell me Jensen, was it your idea to take your gift to the people?” she asked.

Jensen mulled that question over for a bit before answering. “No, not really. My grandmother used to bring people home at first, ones that she thought I could help. Then my folks encouraged me to do private readings. People started paying and it just snowballed from there. This is not something I would have chosen for myself, but I help people.”

“Are you happy?”

“All the travelling, the crowds; it makes me anxious, to be honest, but I like helping people. I have more money now than I could ever spend and I’m only twenty-five. What would I do if I didn’t do this?” his words were spoken from the heart.

“You can still help people, Jay. But, do what makes you happy. That is all I am saying,” she replied.

“Now who’s helping?” he teased, wiping his hands on a towel.

“We’re in this together now, right? Friends helping friends? You’re my first friend, Jay,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” he smiled, taking two more beers from the fridge, passing one off to her. He held up his beer towards her. “To friendship.”

“To friendship,” she agreed and clinked her bottle against his.

After those last two beers, they made their way up the stairs, Y/N showing him to the room she had prepared. “Bathroom is just down the hall. I laid out some towels if you want to shower now or in the morning. Goodnight, Jensen.”

“Thank you for a nice evening,” Jensen said graciously. “Sleep tight, Y/N.”

With their nighttime ados exchanged, she made her way to her own room at the end of the hall, Jensen watching her until she closed the door. She changed into her night clothes and climbed into bed. She laid there for sometime, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the night. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and Jensen’s face in her dreams.

~*~

The smell of coffee and bacon woke her the next morning. Her eyes opened slowly and she stretched out her tired limbs before climbing from her bed. After a quick change of clothes and a visit to the bathroom to take care of business and brush her teeth, she rushed downstairs.

Jensen was still in his sleep clothes, gray sweatpants, a tight black tee shirt and bare feet, when she entered the kitchen. He was standing at her stove, a steaming mug in one hand and flipping bacon with the other.

“Well, Mr. Ackles, this is something I could get used to,” she smiled, pouring herself some coffee.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, this isn’t something I get to do often and I thought it would be nice to give you the morning off,” he slid some bacon from the pan onto the nearby plate. “Besides, I was raised in my granny’s kitchen. I know how to cook, I just don’t get to as much as I would like.”

She went to the back door and slipped on a pair of shoes. “Let me run out and grab some eggs to go with that bacon.”

“You don’t need to run to the store, we can make do with what you already have,” Jensen replied, adding another slice to the pan.

“Oh, no, not the store silly. My back yard. I raise chickens; have since I was a kid,” she laughed and slipped out the door, not missing the look on his face.

She returned just a few minutes later, a basket full of fresh eggs of all colors. Jensen looked in the basket, that same look of awe on his scruffy face.

“These are not from chickens. Chickens lay white eggs, maybe brown, but not blue and green!” Jensen protested.

“Jensen, surely a man with your education knows better than this!” she laughed. “See these blue eggs are laid by Araucanas chickens. These eggs here are from what are affectionately known as Easter Eggers; their eggs can range in color from blue, green, rose or brown to sage, olive or cream. But the key is they are larger eggs than the others from the Araucanas. The deep brown colored eggs? Those are from my French feathered friends, the Marans chickens,” she explained as she picked a few to cook up.

“I was raised just outside of Dallas in the suburbs. I know about horses and bulls and people, maybe even dogs, but I never claimed to know anything about chickens,” Jensen defended himself. “Can I meet them?”

“Yes, only if you eat all your breakfast, Mister,” she laughed, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.

Jensen was fascinated by her animals and asked all about them over breakfast. She told him all about the chicken and the goats. She had never seen someone eat so fast in her life. He was finished and already washed his dishes before she had cleared half her plate.

“Jay, they will still be there when we’re ready. Why don’t you go shower and change and I promise I’ll be ready when you are,” she waved him off and finished her own breakfast. By the time she had washed her dishes and gotten rid of the bacon grease, Jensen was back in the kitchen, dressed in jeans, a black undershirt and a green and blue flannel, looking every part a farm hand.

“I’m ready!” Jensen announced, practically bouncing as she slipped her shoes back on.

“Now who’s the kid?” she teased as they headed out the back door. Jensen could barely contain himself as she let them in the fence and over to the chicken coop.

“How much land do you have here?” he asked as he surveyed the area.

“Had about 500 acres before grandpa died. In the last several years, I have sold off all but ten. I sold enough to keep me here and kept only what I needed for these guys. I had the entire ten fenced in so they can go anywhere they want and they return to the coop each night and for feeding time,” they were now surrounded by over a dozen chickens, of all shapes, sizes and colors.

“These don’t even have tails!” Jensen pointed, giggling.

“Those are the Araucanas; no rumps,” she explained.

“Where are the goats you were telling me about?” Jensen looked around, trying to spot the small, horned and hoofed creatures.

“Probably out grazing, that is what they do,” she surmised. “Oscar, Billy, Gruff, Peanut!”

“Those are their names?” he laughed.

“Yes. Why is that so funny to you?” she side eyed him.

“Because it’s awesome and incredible and I am having so much fun,” Jensen explained himself. “I grew up around horses named Tex and Spitfire, bulls named Stingray and Goliath.”

As if on cue, two of the goats made their way back into the pen, thinking it was feeding time. “This is Oscar and that little one is Peanut.” She affectionately scratched the top of Oscar’s head and he nudged her leg.

“He likes to be scratched just like my Oscar,” Jensen observed. “I guess most pets are alike. Like humans; we mostly crave the attention, the affection, interaction.”

“That is a very generalized theory, Jay,” she told him. “But you’re not wrong. I guess I am proof of that.”

Jensen walked back over to her, Peanut hot on his trail. “Hey, look at me. Just because of the situation of how we met, doesn’t mean you crave attention or affection; it is after all, a natural instinct. What draws us in, it doesn’t mean we’re needy because of it. So don’t you think for one second that I think that, or anyone else.”

“I’m still trying,” she looked down at her feet.

“And I am still helping,” he promised.

“I have something else you can help with,” she tugged his hand and led him back to a shed in the corner. “It’s feeding time.” She pointed out the buckets and Jensen didn’t hesitate to grab one in each hand. She grabbed two more and they made their way back to the pen.

“Those are for the goats, just pour it into the trough there,” she instructed while passing through the gate to feed the chickens. “Jay! Can you grab one more of the red buckets?”

“Yeah, no problem! Just a sec-” she didn’t see what happened, but she heard a crash, followed by a thud and the goats bleating up a storm. She raced to the gate to find Jensen flat on his back, surrounded by goats and covered in feed. She couldn’t help herself and started laughing.

“This is not funny!” Jensen yelled, struggling to get up and escape the animals.

She managed to get through and close the gate, coming to Jensen’s aide. “You’re wrong, it is funny, City Boy. Come on, I got ya.” She held out her hand to help him up, but missed the look of mischief on his handsome face.

Jensen reached for the hand she offered, but instead of trying to pull himself up, he yanked and pulled her down into the dirt with him. She squealed as she hit the ground, but soon they were both laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

The goats were nipping at the tips of Jensen’s short hair and he tried to fend them off, but it just fueled their fire. Y/N was no help as she couldn’t stop laughing, but Jensen now looked less amused. He rolled himself over, coming face to face with her.

“Jay, what’s wrong?” she managed to get out. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. I’m great. And you’re beautiful, you know that?” the look quickly changed to one she didn’t recognize, but felt. Her cheeks were heating up under his gaze.

“Did you hit your head?” she questioned, sure that was it.

“No, I have never felt better, more free in my life,” Jensen looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me you feel it, too?”

“I don’t know what I am feeling, Jay. It’s too much and not enough and I am conflicted,” she admitted, looking away.

Jensen cupped her cheek in his hand, turning her back to face him. “We’re helping each other right?”

She nodded in agreement.

“Then let’s start figuring this out, together,” he suggested and she nodded once more. “Good, cause I really wanna kiss you.”

“I really want you to,” she leaned a bit closer, counting on Jensen to take the lead.

Jensen did just that and closed the gap, lightly pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was unhurried, soft and warm and tingly. It didn’t last as long as the kisses she had seen in the movies, but her knowledge was limited. Jensen pulled back, a dopey smile on his face, matching the one on hers.

“What are you thinking, Y/N?’ Jensen asked.

“That I finally found what I’ve been looking for,” she beamed and leaned back in for more.

Have something nice to say? What did you think? I know it was long, but was it worth it?

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99blog @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27 @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda 

Jensen’s Jamboree: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @cameronbraswell @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets @wingedcatninja @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt 

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