#and yes...steaming up the windows on the backroads

[crushcandles]

crush. my friend my lover my(horror) wife. I absolutely ha e to ask you 🍄 for any female character you want in stranger things or witcher?

Hello!! I can't wait to watch Annihilation (or anything else) with you! 💗

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

This is SO inconsequential, but somewhere along the way I decided that Robin Buckley is someone who masturbates almost exclusively lying on her belly. The pressure of her own body, the noise-stifling pillow-biting, the secretive protectiveness of the position. Hell, even the ease of going to sleep after. It's absolutely Robin to me.

ask me questions!

[sl-walker]

Neither Fox Nor Rose (ST:TOS, Arc of the Wolf) for the ask game please!

Ooh, boy. The story that goes after Forty-Eight, which was and remains the hardest tale I've ever told. Neither Fox Nor Rose refers to The Little Prince, sort of roundabout, and the discussion between the Little Prince and the Fox. In a part of the story not yet written, Mel Corrigan tells Corry that Scotty's not his fox nor his rose, and she's referring to that. And it's sort of-- not a refutation of the (paraphrased) line, "You are forever responsible for what you have tamed," exactly, but pointing out (correctly) that Cor's and Scotty's relationship is a helluva lot more complicated, and that it's also pretty erroneous to ever consider Scotty 'tamed'.

And that ties into a few scenes towards the end of this story, not quite written yet (though well known), where Cor tells Scotty that wolves and dogs are genetically almost identical. So-- what's the difference between them? And Scotty -- out of his head on narcotics and probably frankly also on anxiety medication -- says that the difference is that wolves don't need humans the way dogs do. Cor replies that that means the first wolf had to have chosen to come to the light of man's fire, and Scotty answers, "Not just once. The first wolf to the fire woulda had to have made that choice over an' over again."

Anyway! For a snippet (which takes place between those two yet unwritten scenes):

--

The sea fog weighed everything down as dusk fell; ghostly beyond it, the lights of homes intermittently faded into the dim radius of their constricted world, then out again.  Against the darkening sky, the evergreens and bare branches reached up and out, leaving the road a slick ribbon navigable by sight and sensor both, as it vanished into the silhouettes.

The decision to stay down on the peninsulas, hopping from one to the other on old backroads, wasn’t discussed; Corry didn’t need to speak up to know that both of them wanted to stay down there in the fog, bypassing even the relative gentleness of Damariscotta and Newcastle in the off-season.  Instead, he wove them along Splitrock Road and, where it ran into Bristol Road, stopped at the old, gray-boarded general store long enough to get a cup of hot chocolate for himself and a cup of ginger and mint tea for Scotty.

It wasn't exactly routine, but not too far from it; they had often ended up running the roads before, and if this particular time was heavier, then at least they were together for it.

Exchanging small talk in the store (New England politeness in full force) was a rote action that Corry went through, taking comfort in the normalcy of it even as he spoke the words automatically, the usual questions and answers, the gentle routine of it; when he came back out, the lids of the cups steaming in the thick and wet air, Scotty had his window down and his arms folded on the door, chin resting on those.

He blended well into the near-night, all gaunt highlights and shadows, but there was something softer written even in those stark lines than Corry had seen in quite some time; when Cor got back into the driver’s seat, only then did Scotty sit back again to take the offered tea, the barest wince accompanying the motion. “What did ye say those were?  A kind o’ tree frog, aye?”

It took Corry a couple of long moments of combing through those words before he was able to make full sense of them and pull up the memory they related to; he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the peepers singing in the twilight.

It was a sound he had looked forward to whole-heartedly every remembered year of his life.  He wondered what it meant that he hadn’t even caught onto it this time.

“Peepers,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment, not only to mark the sound of them calling into the dark, but to mark the conversation they’d first come up in, years ago.  Him and Scotty in the Wôbanakik Preserve, hiking together on a sunny autumn Saturday; it might as well have been a different lifetime altogether, for all that had happened since.  “I mean, I’m sure they have a scientific name, but we just call ‘em peepers.”

Scotty made a quiet noise in the affirmative, a low hum, and they sat sipping their drinks for another unmarked piece of time before he spoke again, “I hacked her jacuzzi.”

That had Corry looking over, caught off-guard; he was too wrecked internally to smile about it, but he could feel some small jolt of baffled amusement at the words anyway.  “To what end?”

“Pain relief.”  Scotty quirked his eyebrows, looking out the windshield and absently shoving his overgrown hair back out of his way, though to no avail. “Upped the salinity in it well past protocol so I could float.  Meant I had to cycle the cleaning system far more regularly than it'd normally call for, but it's none the worse for wear.”

“Did floating hurt less?” Corry asked, taking in his brother’s profile, heart aching in all too familiar ways at the thought of that pain.

Scotty seemed to think about it for a moment, narrowing his eyes, then said, “Hurt different.  A little less, but mostly different.  Not quite so localized.”

"And now?"

"More tolerable'n usual."  There was a beat, then Scotty added, "I went over to Boothbay Harbor with yer father."

The fact that Scotty had been in Maine often enough and long enough that there was no 'r' left in harbor, even used in the same sentence as over or father, made Cor smile for real, briefly, and made something ache in his chest.  At least until all of the implications of those words sank in.

Dad had been going over there for his monthly pulmonary workup for years now, ever since he’d retired.  He wasn’t ready to commit to a lung transplant because he was mostly able to change his lifestyle enough that the residual damage was manageable without too much disruption.  But that did mean he went to St. Andrews regularly to keep up on it, especially because he was the first person to ever be infected by that specific strain of bacteria and live to tell about it.

There were papers written about him on file; given his own field, Corry had some very mixed feelings about that.

But if Scotty went with Dad, that meant he probably didn't just go along for the ride itself. "What did they find?  And prescribe?  And recommend?" Corry asked, once he was sure he could do it with a neutral-to-positive tone that didn't give away his own, probably sad question of why didn't you let me take you?

Scotty answered the second one first; he pulled an orange prescription bottle out of his (borrowed? permanently appropriated?) coat’s pocket.  After Cor took it, looking over the label -- and noting that the address under Scotty's name was 139 West Side Road and not 22 West Side Road, where he was currently staying -- he said, a little reluctantly, "They only did a quick tricorder scan, so it only got so detailed.  But aside wantin' to do more in-depth scans to confirm it, they figure all that new bone they put me back together with in Baltimore, especially where it was knit to hardware, is micro-fractured all through.”  He worked his jaw for a moment, then admitted, “There were a few larger cracks that were lit up, too.  Not gettin’ into the connective stuff, anyway."

Corry barely held down a shudder, before finally managing to absorb the rest of the prescription label; it was a pretty hefty anti-inflammatory, the kind you could only get from a doctor.  Two weeks worth, presumably to give Scotty time to make some decisions without really letting him kick the whole thing even further down the road.

Cor wasn’t too surprised, though.  Even when they bolted from Maryland, he knew that his brother wasn’t going to heal without actual, active, professional medical care.  He just-- hadn’t anticipated the amount of time it would take before Scotty would even be tentatively willing to seek it.

Then again, now that he knew more, it wasn’t so hard to see why.  No matter how godawful it had been, having to wait and watch and note the inevitable deterioration.  Or the torment of knowing how much it had to hurt and being unable to do a single damn thing to help.

He handed the bottle back over, breathing out. “That’s a-- lot.  To get confirmation on.”

Scotty shrugged, though there wasn't really anything dismissive or casual about the gesture, even if his tone was firmly entrenched between those two as if he could downplay his own words.  "Aye.  And apparently I've lost seven and a half kilos somewhere between now and the last record they've got access to."

That also wasn't any real surprise; the numbers, not the fact of it.  Cor could see it especially on Scotty’s face, the softer curves and lines whittled down in a way that didn’t quite fit him; mostly, he was always too bundled up to see it anywhere else.  Another thing that Corry had been fretting over and was unable to do anything about.

“Maybe having the pain under better control will help with that,” he said, still stepping carefully.

“Maybe.  First thing I’ve had in hand that hasn’t seemed like some manner o’ self-punishment,” Scotty replied, saluting with the cup of tea, the two tags fluttering against the side.  “I mean, yer mother brought food, and the soup wasn’t too hard, but...”

He trailed off there; Corry had little trouble filling in the gaps.  

He wished he knew what to say.  Instead, though, he started the skimmer again; figured to drive a little more, maybe in the hopes that he’d be able to leave his heart-soreness in the parking lot and just let himself be relieved that they were talking and together.

[snarkysarcasm]

Here's a prompt: Holly's car breaks down outside of town and a motorcyclist stops to help.

“No, no, no...C’mon Denise….please don’t do this to me now.”

But Holly’s engine temperature needle continued its treacherous ascent to H. She turned her heat on and rolled down her windows but it wasn’t enough. She pulled off to the side of the road when the engine started to smoke.

She was almost an hour away from the city and still a couple away from Lisa’s lake house. She had taken the backroads to give herself a break from the craziness, and the city, and just people in general. She had hoped the open space and fresh air would clear her mind of her last autopsy, but she never expected her always faithful, always reliable Jeep to fail her when she needed it most.

“15 years together, Denise, and this is how you treat me? No warning. Just an - it’s not you, it’s me. I see how it is...” Holly muttered as she lifted her hood.

Steam poured out and Holly sighed. She glanced up and down the road but there was no one and nothing but trees in sight. She pulled out her phone to call Rachel or Lisa.

“Of course. No service. Just what I needed.” She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the tears from coming and swallowed the lump in her throat. This was not what she needed this weekend.

If she was thinking clearly she would’ve known better than to grab a towel and remove the radiator cap before the engine had a chance to cool, but she was still recovering from a week of double shifts and nightmares about the body on her table until the case had been solved. But blaming the sleep deprivation didn’t stop the scalding pain from shooting through her hand as the cap flew off the second she loosened it.

“Motherfu- arghhhhhhh.”

She grabbed her hand and jumped away from the car. At least now she had a different reason for tears. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere and would have to walk back to the city with what she hoped was only first degree burns on her hand.

Great. Fucking great.

She was already thinking of all the other things that could possibly go wrong before she made it back to town, which definitely wouldn’t happen before nightfall when she heard the rumbling of an engine.

She could see a motorcyclist making their way down the hill towards her.

“Please don’t be a murderer.” Holly whispered to herself as the bike slowed on its approach to her.

A Yamaha FJR1300. Even if the person was a murderer, they at least had good taste.

“Need some help?”

Holly wanted to respond but she forgot what words were. She was bombarded with platinum blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a whole lot of leather. If she thought the bike was stunning, it had nothing on its owner.

The blonde raised an eyebrow and Holly snapped out of her gay dreams. “Umm, ahem, yeah, yes, please. Denise overheated and I don’t have any cell service to call for a friend.”

“Denise?” The blonde walked past Holly and looked at the fluid that was still pouring out of the bubbling radiator.

Holly couldn’t help the way her eyes dropped to check out the lithe, leather bound woman leaning over her car. She needed to distract herself.

“Yeah, after Denise McCluggage. She was an American racing driver, journalist, author, and photographer. She was also a pioneer of equality for women in the U.S. for both racing and journalism. She wrote for the New York Herald Tribune as a sports journalist in 1954, around the same time that she ditched her MG for a Jaguar XK140 and began to race professionally. She won the grand touring category at Sebring in a Ferrari 250 GT in 1961…”

Blue eyes snapped onto her.

“Why are you saying all these words?”

Holly had a habit of nervous rambling, especially around beautiful women. The way the blonde growled at her made her want to ramble even more but she stopped herself and held up her injured hand.

“Delirious?”

The blonde’s snarl dropped and she gently grabbed Holly’s reddened hand. “Jeeze, Nerd, you know all that about one chick but not to touch hot things?”

Nope, Holly had definitely not learned that lesson considering how badly she wanted to touch her newfound acquaintance. Definitely delirious.

“It’s only a first degree burn, it could’ve been worse.”

“How would you know? Are you some kind of doctor.”

“Forensic pathologist. I’m Holly, by the way.”

“Gail. I’d shake your hand but I wouldn’t want to give you a higher degree burn.” Gail smirked at the look of confusion. “I saw you checking out my ass.”

Holly was sure her cheeks were as red as her hand by now.

“You know, I had hoped you weren’t one of those, names-their-car kind of people.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“I think I’ll help you out anyway. I don’t have any service either but I could give you a lift.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Gail shrugged, “But you’re injured and stuck and I live to serve and protect so…”

Holly wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if she had a hard time taking her eyes off of Gail’s red stained lips. The blonde could murder her any day. “A ride would be great.”

“Where were you heading?”

“Up to a friend’s lake house but the city is probably closer.”

“Probably has more mechanics too. And actual medical assistance if you need it.”

“Yeah...probably…” But Holly really didn’t want to go back, no matter how much sense it made. She was trying to contain her disappointment.

“But…I was heading out this way anyway, I don’t mind a longer drive if you don’t.”

“I don’t. I really don’t. But are you sure it’s not too much of an inconvenience?”

“Buy me dinner and tequila and I could probably lessen it to a nuisance.”

“Deal.”

Gail headed back to her bike and patted the seat behind her. Holly slid on and had no choice but to press herself against her leather-clad heroine.

“Keep it up, Nerd, and you’ll be buying me breakfast too.”

Holly smirked and held on a little tighter to her newfound luck.

[angryschnauzer]

Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car. 

 Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you. 

 Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

 The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

 “In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

 You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

 “My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

 The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

 “AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

 Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

 “Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

 Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence. 

 Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

 “Scoot!”

 The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

 “C’mon, scoot over!”

 Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

 “You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

 Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

 “Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

 “I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

 -

 He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone. 

 With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost  lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs. 

 Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

 “Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

 Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

 “So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

 “Umm, thanks”

 -

 You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

 “Sir?”

 “Chris”

 “What?”

 “It’s Chris, not Sir…”

 “Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

 Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

 “For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

 “Great!”

 “... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

 “What? When were you going to tell me that?”

 “I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

 You let out a grunt of frustration;

 “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

 You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

 “Where ya’ goin’?”

 “To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

 “On foot?!”

 “YES!”

 -

 You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey. 

 -

 An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

 Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house. 

 By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

 “You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

 Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

 “You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

 “How did you…?”

 “Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

 You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

 “Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

 “Nope”

 “No?!”

 “The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

 You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

 “I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

 He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

 “What if I wanted funny business?”

 There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

 The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day. 

 Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin. 

 Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion. 

 He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you.  With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

 You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts. 

 No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

 “Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

 “Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

 He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

 Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

 Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours. 

 Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

 You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock. 

 Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass. 

 “So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

 His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

 “Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

 “Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

 “My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

 Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

 -

 The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room. 

 Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

 Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

 “Chris please… fill my pussy…”

 Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

 “You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

 “Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

 With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

 You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

 Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

 -

 Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

 With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s. 

 Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

 -

 Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse. 

 The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

 “No… it can’t be…”

 Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

 “Baby… you need a ride?”

 Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

 “Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

 -

 Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

 “Where’s Dodger?”

 “Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

 He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

 “You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

 Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

[particularr-taste]

~broken pieces part two

A/n: oh my gosh I can’t believe y’all actually liked broken pieces:) it makes me so happy! Here’s a part two for ya

Two weeks. Two whole weeks without Shawn. Without the sound of him coming home late at night and plodding up the stairs, no sound of him talking during a Instagram live, no random singing he didn’t know you were listening to, no cooking dinner for two. Nothing. You really had thought that things would be better by now, that you would feel less like crawling back to him. You loved Shawn with your entire heart, and he still had every piece of you.

You really did try to fall into a somewhat normal routine, you rented a apartment and tried to make the place your own. It didn’t work. Shawn wasn’t there. You would have a good few moments, only to remember him, what hurt the most was remembering how everything used to be, before your love for each other became unbalanced.

Shawn had tried non stop to reach you the first week, your phone was filled with texts and calls and voicemails you didn’t bother to read. You didn’t want to hear how sorry he was or how he wanted you to come back, he broke everything you were, and that simply couldn’t be fixed. You hoped he was happy, hoped Chelsea could be better than you, maybe she completed him in ways you couldn’t. You didn’t even know her, Shawn probably met her on tour, probably some gorgeous blonde model with a hourglass figure and five pounds of makeup.

You sighed to yourself, you really needed to stop having a pity party, things had to be like this now. A lost love, that’s all this was, you would get over it, with time.

A little voice climbed into your ear and whispered devilishly, oh but what if you don’t? What if you spend your whole life missing Shawn? A phone call interupted your thoughts, reaching out for your cell, you answered without bothering to look at the caller id.

“Y/n?” You pulled the phone away from your head and glanced at the name across the screen. “Brian Why are you calling me?” There was a hefty sigh on the other end. “Y/n listen, i know you and shaw-“ “no. Don’t bother talking to me about him.”

“Y/n shawn is a absolute wreck. He can’t think, he can’t write, he barely talks and he’s not eating.”

You were taken back by his words, “what?” “Yeah, he’s been like this ever since the break up, the only time he talks is when he’s talking about how he lost you and he wants to just die because he broke you and he knows it,”

You struggled with emotion. You loved him and didn’t want him in pain, but you had to remember how much pain he cause you.

“I don’t care, he hurt me over and over again Brian, I can’t help it if he is the one hurting now.” You cut off Brian’s words by hanging up the phone.

The rest of the day went by rather slowly, you just couldn’t stop thinking back to your conversation with Brian. Trying to be productive, you grabbed your keys and headed out to the store, you have already gone once this week, but you really needed something to busy your mind with.

The rain was coming down by the time you were halfway to the store, you hadn’t paid much attention to the time, and it was already dark, the backroads you were driving were very dark and slicked with the rain. Your car had been making suspicious noises for the past mile or so, you were slightly worried, but you didn’t think about it too much because your car was always like that.

Panic started to set in as your car started slowly fizzing out, creeping to a stop on the side of the road, in the pouring rain with lights flashing. You were stranded, you tried turning the key, but all you received was a strange sound of noises that resembled death.

You slapped the dash in frustration, “you stupid car.” Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, searching for someone to call, “no no, not this one, nope not that one either.” Laughing to yourself you realized you had little to no one you could call at this time of night to come bail you out.

You tried a few people, all of who either gave some lame excuse or simply declined your call. You sighed in defeat as you hovered your thumb over Brian’s name, you knew he would answer.

“Hello, y/n?” You sighed. “Hey Brian, I kinda have a situation.”

“What? What’s wrong?” You hesitated, “I uh, I went out to the store and my car died, it won’t start and I had no one else to call.”

“You need someone to come get you?” “No, I need you to come get me, you can not breath a word of this to Shawn, if he shows up here I swear.”

“Relax y/n, just stay put.” The line went dead and you dropped your head onto the steaming wheel, after texting him the address, worry swamped you.

Brian hung up the phone and walked into the studio, nobody had gone home yet. “Shawn.” Shawn looked up from across the room, looking a mess as usual these days, “what do you want Brian?” He mumbled, glancing down at the floor.

Brian clapped him on the back, handing him a piece of paper with a address scribbled down. “Y/n’s car broke down, she called asking me to come get her.” Shawn eyes widened, jumping up he grabbed the paper from his hand, “is she hurt, what happened, how far away is she?”

Brian shook his head, “calm down buddy, she’s fine. But she didn’t exactly want you to come get her so I would tread lightly.” Shawn nodded grimly, “can’t get much worse can it?” Before grabbing his keys and heading out.

You played with your nails lightly, nervously picking at the already worn polish. It had been nearly thirty minutes since Brian hung up the phone. You really didn’t want to be stuck here in the dark anymore.

Your thoughts were interupted as headlights flashed ahead of you, the rain making it too hard to see the type of vehicle pulling closer. As a tall figure steeped out, you squinted your eyes at the shape, only for them to widen and your heart to jump to your throat as realization dawned.

Curse you brian. You slammed your hand down on the lock button as Shawn stepped up to the window. He peered in, rain matting his curls to his head and drenching him. “Y/n unlock the door!” Shawn yelled at you over the rain. You shook your head firmly, Insisting on keeping your doors locked. Shawn just stood there, and as the rain poored your resolve weakens. Nudging the door open you glared up at him weakly.

“Y/n Im sorry-“ “Shawn I don’t even care, don’t try to apologize this away it won’t work.” Shawns eyes were pleading and desperate. “No. I know I cheated, it was the worst mistake of my life and I don’t have any excuses, but you have to believe when I tell you nothing happened, I didn’t do anything y/n.”

“Shawn that doesn’t make it better.” You were crying as you tried to pull the door back shut. Shawn reached out before you could and grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you out Into the rain with him. He pulled you closer and you beat against his chest, crying out. “Let me go Shawn let me go!”

“Y/n just come back to the house, you can’t stay here in the pouring rain.” You drummed your hand against his chest again, you shrieked at him, “please let me go, let me go I hate you, I hate you.”

Shawns whole body stilled. You suddenly crumbled over, “no no I love you and it’s not fair because you broke me.” He just held you to him until your sobbing stopped. “Let’s just go back home, you need to get out of these clothes your going to get sick.”

The drive back to the house was silent. You said nothing, watching the rain pour down the window and the world blur by. The Jeep rolled to a stop in the all too familiar driveway. You were ready to cry again just seeing the house.

Shawn opened your door, he started to hold his hand out, but quickly thought better of it and retracted it quickly, moving it to the back of his neck instead. He lead the way into the house, opening the door, you hesitantly followed him, the breath leaving your lungs as you gazed at all the pictures of the two of you.

“You didn’t take them down?” Shawn turned towards you, “no, why would I? Those pictures were the best time of my life. You were the best time of my life.” His words suddleny took on a intensive tone, “y/n let me fix this, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose the best thing of my life. You are my life y/n.”

“Im not sure this can be fixed.” The words were followed by a choked sob. Shawns tall body dropped towards you, grabbing your hands firmly, “yes we can, we can fix this, I messed up, beyond anything imaginable, I messed up, but I love you, with every fiber of my body and you love me. That fixes this.” Shawns eyes were red and panic rimmed.

You shook your head, crying again. “I just don’t think-“ Shawn cut you off, reaching forward he pulled you to him and kissed you. Your body stiffened. Pull away! Your brain screamed at you. But you couldn’t, you could never pull away from Shawn, not now not ever.

He pulled back, pressing your forehead together, “I know this won’t be easy, but I’m going to fight for you, I’ll fight for you y/n” your tears fell salty on your cheeks as you shook your head, “okay shawn, okay.” The rest of the night was spent with the two of you just holding each other, Shawn whispering how he would always hold you together.

A/n: It’s here guys! I hope you liked it, kinda scared to post it but haha hope it was okay:)

[the-redmane-family]

Pale Spring

I

“As for you, my sister… Bash’a no falor talah!”

Melinda Redmane spoke only passable Thalassian, having encountered enough of the children of Quel’Thalas in her travels, but she knew the meaning of those particular words as the ren’dorei priestess seated on the other side of the table from her uttered them: Taste the chill of true death.

In the center of that round, carved oak table sat a dark glass orb that the red-haired human rogue had come to despise in a very short span of time. It was nearly identical to the one that she had grown up watching her mother—Patricia Redmane, the Westfall-born witch—peer into, and even the memories of her mother’s behavior, the trances, the visions, the whispers, the seizures, the beatings, turned her stomach. Even now, she could hear faint whispers as the thing’s power was invoked.

The human and the ren’dorei were not alone in the dimly lit, single-room dwelling on the outskirts of the deep forest. At the table also sat the Night’s Watchman, Quincey Holmwood, the serious yet kind-hearted man who had revealed few details about his past in the days since they left Duskwood, journeying first through Darkshire and then making their way to book passage on a seabound ship which took them here, to the mountainous Kul Tiran region of Drustvar.

“Is that it, then?” a gruff voice spoke from across the room where a fourth sat, hunched forward and seated in one of two chairs at a small dining table.

This was their host, the man who had welcomed them upon their arrival. His fiery red hair and full beard sported an impressive amount of silver and grey hairs as well, and although his rugged face was lined with age and evidence of one who had seen their fair share of combat, his eyes were kind, and his question was posed in a cautious, hesitant tone as if he did not wish to break the ren’dorei’s concentration.

For several seconds, the ren’dorei held her hand over the dark globe, her fingers curled slightly as if guiding some spellwork. Melinda watched her face intently as the priestess’s silvery eyes remained closed in intense concentration. Then the woman leaned back, and slowly the whispers in the air dissipated. Melinda was glad for it.

“Yes, Ciarán,” Vizjerei Duskmourn replied, her calm, commanding voice belying a hint of the exhaustion that came from focusing such potent magic. “It’s done.”

Quincey let out a slow sigh through his mouth that was barely audible, as if his entire being had been taut with concentration and was only now relaxing. “So, what happens now? Is your sister and her allies—are they dead?”

Vizjerei shook her head grimly. “I do not know. My sister is nothing if not persistent. She has survived worse.”

Melinda reached across the table, taking the priestess’s delicate and yet dexterous elven hands in her own. It was almost an impulse that seized her; and yet, despite the uncertain fear she felt at this woman’s presence, there was an inexplicable sense of comfort, of wanting to be near her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Vizjerei looked back into Melinda’s eyes. Although the ren’dorei did not smile, her words were spoken softly, as if she could detect the need for reassurance. “I am fine, Melinda. Get some rest.”

“If they’re not dead, they’ll be looking for us. We’ll need to prepare for that. You’re not worried Terquine will lead them back here?” Quincey’s spoke confidently, but the unease in his question was palpable. “I swore an oath to protect you from the Forsaken. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”

“The forest won’t tolerate their presence,” the man named Ciarán said as he stood and moved toward the small countertop that passed as a stove. He was a large man, just over six feet and a few inches tall, clad in the fur-lined garments commonly worn by the mysterious order of druids that Melinda knew inhabited these woods.

“Life and death are a cycle. They’re balanced. The undead… are not a part of that cycle.” As he spoke, Ciarán peered out of the small window over the countertop and rubbed his left arm thoughtfully, as if remembering old wounds. “I suppose I’m fated to meet that sister of yours again. I don’t look forward to it.”

The elven priestess remained seated at the table, peering at the black orb silently for a moment. Then she declared, “Such considerations can wait until morning. The Scarlet Lion will want to bring the full might of his mercenary company to begin the work of helping to Alliance cleanse the Horde from Drustvar. We must aid him.”

Then Vizjerei stood, her eyes traveling between the three humans in the room with her. “But for now, let us rest.”

II

Overhead, a sea of stars hung like a heavy tapestry woven into the sky. The chilly, frosty air cut deeply and to the bone even in the early days of spring, and Melinda shivered as she stood clad in several jackets and wrapped in one of the thick blankets that Ciarán had offered her. As she stood peering upward, her breath visible, she wondered if her mother was looking back. She wondered where her mother was, if her mother was anywhere at all—if anything happened to the dead, or if without interference, they simply ceased to be anything more than the ghosts that haunted every backroad of her troubled memories.

Behind her the door to the small cottage opened, and she could hear heavy boots falling upon the wooden planks of the porch. A moment later, Ciarán spoke.

“Thought you might like some tea,” he offered, and as the older Kul Tiran man stepped out and alongside her, Melinda was glad to see steam rising from the mug that was being extended toward her. She smiled half-heartedly as she accepted it.

“Thanks, Mister Ashgrove,” she said, but she felt as if her words rang hollow. Her entire being was consumed with doubt over why she had come.

“Please. Ciarán.” The taller man stood next to her, looking up at the star-spotted night. “The nights are always the most beautiful this time of year.”

“Yeah?” Melinda’s Westfall accent was a stark contrast to Ciarán’s lilting, seaside Kul Tiran way of speaking.

“It’s the last days of winter, and the first days of spring. Death passes to life. The whole land is preparing to wake up. There’s nothing more beautiful to me than seeing life renewed, and remembering that with every death, there’s also a life. But without death to remind us, we’d forget the true beauty of life.” Ciarán kept his eyes upturned, slowly raising the mug of tea to his mouth to take a careful sip.

Melinda gave him a quizzical look as she cupped her own tea between her pale hands. “You’re too much of a poet to have ever been a soldier,” she muttered.

Ciarán laughed as he sipped. “So soldiers can’t be poets as well?”

The red-haired rogue rolled her eyes even as she smiled. “I haven’t met many who were both, that’s all.”

“Then you haven’t met enough,” he quipped.

For several seconds, the two stood in silence as they watched the stars. Melinda’s thoughts turned again to her mother. To her death. What had she felt at the end? Had she ever felt any remorse for her actions? How could there be any beauty in her death, except that the world was finally rid of her?

I will show you the reason why her death haunts you. Vizjerei’s words to her echoed in her mind, and Melinda shifted uncomfortably at the recollection. 

“I don’t know why I came here,” she blurted out abruptly.

Ciarán looked down at her. “Because you chose to,” the Kul Tiran replied simply.

Melinda shook her head. “I needed to give Miss Duskmourn her… that thing back. That thing that my mother stole. I needed it away from me, forever. If I’d’ve left it there, in Westfall, it would’ve always been a part of me—sitting there in the farmstead I grew up in. I knew if I left it there, I’d never be rid of her.”

“So you chose to bring it back.”

“It didn’t feel like much of a choice.”

“Neither do many things. And yet still, we choose to do them. Why?” He chuckled, looking up at the sky. “Because some things need to be done.”

Both fell silent for a moment. Then Melinda breathed in slowly and exhaled, letting the breath pass through her nostrils. “I’ve never much cared for what needed to be done except what I needed to do to survive.”

Ciarán looked over at her. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that?”

“What’s it got to do with that? This is Miss Duskmourn and her sister. Terquine and his vendetta. This doesn’t concern me. She dragged you into it, too—and Quincey, and—”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with me?” Ciarán returned. “With Quincey? Miss Redmane—Melinda—it’s got everything to do with all of us.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow at him.

“Some battles need to be fought.” His kind face was set in a very serious expression. “I remember what it was like to fight in the Third War. To fight the Lich King. Kul Tiras hadn’t been invaded yet, only Lordaeron. But we were prepared to die in that war if we needed to. Because if we didn’t die on the battlefield, at sea, fighting the undead, we would’ve died eventually. Arthas and his master weren’t going to stop with Lordaeron. They wanted the whole world to burn.”

Melinda cupped her tea in front of her, still staring up at the stars as Ciarán spoke. She knew his point even before he made it; and yet, even in the truth she knew the man was speaking, she couldn’t help but wonder if someone else had once spoken words like these to her mother to convince her to follow the teachings she did. Conviction, above all things, impressed and terrified the woman.

“This is just a microcosm,” Ciarán continued. “These battles. This war will be fought on all fronts. No matter where we go, we have to oppose her.” The man’s tone darkened as his words turned to the Horde’s warchief. “Because if Sylvanas and her minions win, that’s it. No more winter, no more spring. No more rebirth… only undeath.”

The pair fell silent. Melinda did not answer, and standing on the frost-touched ground at the edge of the deep forest where Ciarán’s kin the Thornspeakers made their dwelling, Melinda attempted to find what little solace she could in the hot mug of tea in her hands and the reassuring flintlock pistol at her side.

[melforbes]

in the woods

he sets a steaming mug on the coffee-table beside her, the scent of hot chocolate curling her lips up. last night, he made them rib-eyes with spinach and mashed potatoes, used that ridiculously expensive grass-fed butter and everything; she picks up the mug, takes a creamy sip, and decides that she can summarize this weekend with the word rich. though they only have two space-heaters in this little cabin, the room feels cozy nonetheless. she lounges on the couch, the secret history on her pajamaed lap, her legs up on the cushions while he sits down at her feet, lifts her toes up onto his lap. she sets the mug back down, returns to her words while he takes one of her wool socks into his hands and rubs his thumb along her arch. yes, she thinks; rich is the correct term.

though she’s unsure as to whose cabin this is, she knows it belongs to an old friend of mulder’s, some guy whose wife or daughter or other relative had been abducted, and due to mulder’s brash heroism - she stopped listening as soon as he began the story, for she figured it wouldn’t be true or that the true version would be far less exhilarating than mulder’s rendition - and she doesn’t want to question the ownership, not when it’s ever-so-softly snowing outside and not while their little space of the adirondacks is so blissfully, wonderfully quiet. according to the true locals, this is off-season, and they’re in a portion of the state that’s been owned by a specific family for years; the lake water, apparently, is safe to drink though she made sure mulder boiled it anyway. nonetheless, it’s just them and the neighboring cabin’s occupants out here for the weekend, the nearest paved road being thirty miles away, the closest gas station probably thirty-five. 

“are we staying in today?” he asks as he rubs her feet, still tired from their past week of nonstop paperwork. to skinner on friday, mulder claimed that he would have a twenty-four hour virus starting on that coming monday, a lie that skinner grinned and bore; as for her excuse to spend the weekend away, she was registered to attend a conference in alexandria that she’d intended to attend though mulder’s mentioned it hundreds of times that, technically speaking, they’re both playing hooky. yesterday, they spent the morning snowshoeing the property and hiking the short path down to the frozen-over lake, but today, life sounds best when her book, a blanket, and mulder are involved.

glancing out the window, she watches as an evergreen folds heavily beneath the falling snow; outside, the world is silent but full of change, the gravity shifting as it does with every storm. to herself, she wonders if they might end up snowed in and finds she doesn’t mind that prospect. 

“i’d like to,” she says as he switches to her other foot. 

of course, she’d been resistant at his first mention of a weekend like this, one planned out and researched and intended for - she nearly cringes at the word - romance.

“just wait for a holiday weekend instead,” she insisted as they sat together in the basement office, as she flicked through some new file, as she remained friendly but indifferent toward him in the way she’d mastered at work over the years. though their relationship had changed drastically - in a good way, in the best of ways - since he kissed her on the first, she still needed to be professional. “i’d rather not take time off.”

“but it is a holiday weekend,” he gave softly, his eyes puppying and his gaze silently hurt. 

“mulder, martin luther king day is in january, not february.”

“yeah, i know that.”

“then what holiday are you talking about?”

and though she knew that their territory since he kissed her on the first was uncharted, and though she knew that her priorities didn’t tend toward hallmark holidays, and though she knew better than to think he would overlook such a thing, she stared incredulously at him, couldn’t remember any february holiday other than her birthday though even that one was hardly worth celebrating.

“that’s the weekend of valentine’s day,” he explained, his eyes downcast, his ribs still as he waited for the inevitable rejection. “the fourteenth’s that monday.”

and now, she’s playing hooky for the first time in her career, and she’s wearing his thermal shirt, and he made her belgian waffles for breakfast, the world beyond them is a mess of bright white, and work is the last thing on her mind.

“i think there’s a scrabble board on the bookshelf,” he says, glancing back at the dusty, faded stack of almanacs; this place, all gas-powered and wooden, looks exactly the way a cabin should look, the decor straight out of the 1960s, the mugs in the cabinet all fading shades of green and yellow, all of the furniture holding the scent of pine. if there’s a box of scrabble in here, it’ll be an old version, the rulebook fading and three or four of the pieces missing. looking to him, she smiles softly, figures that everything’s more alluring when it has a quirk or two.

“yeah,” she offers, folding her pages over her bookmark, setting the novel down on the coffee-table. then, she shimmies down against the couch, her knees falling over his lap, and motions for him to come closer. though the word of the weekend is rich, she figures contact would also suffice.

“we’re not going to fit,” he warns but leans down alongside her anyway; with his folded legs draping across her hips and his arm steadying himself around her stomach, she exhales, her mind blanking meditatively, her heartbeat slow and soft. 

“i’m sorry that there’s not much to do around here,” he whispers against her skin, his lips ghosting against her collarbone. “i should’ve planned something else. though i know you like quiet places, this might be a little too quiet.”

“no, no,” she says, shaking her head as she twines his fingers through his hair. then, she quirks a lip, says, “a calm, quiet weekend with you is a rare treat.”

“we could’ve gone to san jose,” he muses; though she’s not entirely sure, she thinks he’s joking. “i heard that there have been sightings there. we could’ve stayed up until four in the morning, looked for flying saucers, and eaten junk food all weekend.”

“how romantic,” she deadpans. 

“this hasn’t been romantic at all,” he grumbles, the statement self-deprecating, his words intended for himself only.

on the drive from some tiny rural airport in vermont to this cabin, he brought out his blues brothers cd to keep them entertained while the radio stations went in and out; he imitated the guys on npr for a certain stretch of miles, each quip being met with a smile from her. though they arrived too late on friday night to see much of the property, he offered her a ski mask and sat on the cabin’s porch with her, pointed out the seven sisters constellation and labeled it the smudge in the sky. that night, she took his sleep-shirt out of his duffel, put it on before he could, and the incredulous but deeply satisfied look he gave her for that - and the mild-mannered but insistent way he managed to get it back, or at least to let it reside on the bedroom’s floor for the remainder of the evening - was worth any backroad boredom they could’ve had. though she always knew he was loving, could discern his intelligent passion from the moment she first met him, she’s still shocked with every extraneous touch, with every unnecessary caress, with the way he’ll stop stirring risotto just so he can bring her into his arms, and she’s far more shocked with how at ease she feels with him. when he makes her dinner, when he borrows her chapstick though she insists that he shouldn’t, when he spoons up against her in bed as though he could read her mind and sense that she felt cold, she feels her mind soften, her muscles relax; simultaneously, they’re honeymooners and best friends, and as she turns her head, kisses his forehead, she whispers, “it’s been romantic.”

“but has it been a valentine’s day kind of romantic?” he asks. 

“of course it has,” she laughs. 

“really?”

“you’re asking someone who forgot about the holiday altogether.”

“so i should’ve made this year so memorable that you would never forget it.”

she closes her eyes, breathes him in, thinks of how many hours they have to themselves, just the two of them in the middle of nowhere on a snowy day, books and scrabble keeping them company, this cabin making them feel as though they’re the only people left on earth.

“i'll never forget it,” she whispers to him. “i promise.”