#clearly I just have to speed run my trauma to win

[jynxlovesluck]

Kim Dokja is autistic, in this essay I will-

[brywrites]

Gifted

Spencer Reid x Reader. Summary: All his life Spencer Reid has been told he’s gifted. And all his life he’s wondered what the point was of those gifts that felt like curses. Until her.

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Though he holds so many memories in his mind, Spencer Reid isn’t quite sure who the first person to call him “gifted” was. It was probably his mother, he thinks. Certainly not his father, who thought he was strange. Perhaps a teacher, or maybe even his Aunt Ethel. All he’s certain of is that he’s lost track of the number of times people have praised the so-called gifts he possesses. His eidetic memory, his autodidactism, his absurdly high IQ. His mind, they say, is a gift. But it’s felt more like a curse for most of his life.

Those same things that helped him skip grades and earn the praise of adults brought him years of bullying taunts and miserable adolescent trauma. They isolated him from his peers. His companions were library books and stories and mathematic proofs – nothing with a beating heart. They plagued his nightmares, for his mother had been brilliant too and what had that done for her? And those gifts came with a tremendous burden of pressure, they demanded use in a powerful way. Reid was always terrified he’d fail to live up to that impossible potential, proving himself unworthy of such great and terrible gifts.

By the time he’s thirty-six, he wonders why he was ever given such gifts in the first place. Clearly he’s squandered them, spent them on chasing monsters he thought might be human. They turned out to be hydras – for each one they catch, two more take its place. He’s let his mind waste away on drugs, on grief. In shacks and in prison and in grudges he just can’t let go of. He’s saved lives, he knows, but his team do that same thing without the gifts he’s been cursed with. What’s the point of him? Of any of the talents or tricks he possesses?

And it’s that question on his mind as he walks into a Virginia library to interview a witness to the latest in a string of serial arsons. Her name tag says Y/N. She’s clearly nervous, a little shaken, but she manages a smile when a child runs up to interrupt and ask her how to find The Magic Tree House books. And when she turns back to look at Reid, that smile still lingers – her eyes so bright it catches him off guard. She takes him back to the area of the library that was burned to talk about the crime scene, and she off-handedly asks if he has a favorite.

And when he says, “Oh I could never choose just one favorite. I love books too much for that,” that smile returns, unexpectedly bright.

“A man after my own heart,” she says. “Tell me a few then.” 

So he rattles off a handful, hoping at least one of them will keep that light in her eyes. They do. “Bradbury is one of my favorites, too. I just love Dandelion Wine. Sorry, I probably should focus on the fire. I try to distract myself when I feel stressed, and well, remembering what happened that night doesn’t exactly help with my anxiety.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or excited. Really, I think I just talk a lot.” Another smile, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Over the course of the investigation, the BAU has to ask her to come to the station twice. By chance, Reid finds himself interviewing her both times, and both times he finds himself rambling a little more than he means to – because he finds himself inexplicably a little nervous and a little excited in her presence. It’s that smile, the one that lingers long in his mind after she leaves each time.

There’s something about her, about the light she seems to carry, that draws him in. That compels him to say yes when he shows up at the library to inform her they’ve caught the unsub and she asks, “Could I buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation? If that’s not too much, of course.”

“I think that would be perfect,” he says. And as they sit at the café across the street with lattes in oversized mugs, he’s never been so grateful for his vast knowledge of literature. Each title is a start into a new conversation with her, and they swap stories about stories – the ones they have lived and the ones they have loved. When she disappointedly announces her break is over, she adds, “But maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“How should I get in touch with you if you’re not showing up at the library to interrogate me, Dr. Reid?” she teases.

He hastily withdraws his cell phone from his pocket and offers it to her. She begins to type in her number. “You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he tells her.

She grins at him and something in his chest shifts at the sight. “I’ll definitely call you soon, Spencer.” He’s never liked the sound of his own name more. And he thanks that eidetic memory of his for allowing him to replay it again and again in his mind until he can see her next.

.

They get coffee again the first chance he gets. And then again. When she asks how he has time to read so much and he tells her about how his mind works – about his memory and speed-reading and quantified intelligence, all the things that have been called gifts – she thinks for a moment before saying, “That must be lonely.”

The relief he feels at her understanding is immense. “It is sometimes,” he admits. “But it’s felt less so lately.” They go to a park together. Then out to dinner. By the time he realizes he’s falling, he’s forgotten what it feels like to be on solid ground. Fortunately, he isn’t the only one at the mercy of gravity. She feels it too. And when she laughs at his joke as he walks her home from dinner, he just can’t help himself. He leans in and cups her cheek to pull her to him, pressing his lips to her still-smiling lips. The taste of wine still on her tongue. And though he doesn’t drink anymore, the sensation of her is enough to make him feel utterly intoxicated.

Slowly, his life fills up with her. His sabbatical arrives with the perfect timing to allow him evenings and weekends with her. He picks her up after work. She meets him for breakfast. He takes her to the planetarium. She falls asleep on his couch. He tells her it won’t always be this way and she assures him that’s okay. But it gives him the chance to build the foundation their relationship needs. It’s in that time that he begins to catalogue her smiles in his memory. The dazzling ones she sends his way when she spots him at a coffee shop. The soft, shaky ones she wears after a long kiss. The coy ones that twist the corner of her mouth when she’s teasing him. The nervous one that slowly grows when she meets his team for the first time – not as a witness, but as his girlfriend. A title she declares like a badge of honor. He holds each smile in his mind, picture perfect thanks to that eidetic memory. When a case has been particularly tough or he’s away for longer than he’d like, he flips through them in his mind, trying to remember the cause of each one, trying to hold on to that light until he can hold her in his arms again.

.

He surprises her with flowers on her birthday. “You remembered?” she gasps, her eyes wide. “And these – these are my favorite. How did you know?”

“I could never forget,” he laughs, but she stares down at the bouquet and clutches them to her chest.

“I don’t make a big deal about my birthday, so people don’t usually remember,” she says quietly. “And nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before. Thank you, Spencer.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

He grins from ear to ear. Forget the sound of his name, those three words are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you, too.” It’s a first for both of them. And one week later comes another first – witnessing her panic attacks for the first time. She’s shaking too hard to tell him what she needs, so he tries to do what would help him. He sits down next to her on his living room rug and wraps her in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and murmurs the words to her favorite poem. She seems to breathe a little easier and so he recites another one she loves, and another until her breathing finally steadies and she unclenches her fists to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweater.

Suddenly it doesn’t feel like such a curse to remember everything he reads when it means he can give her the words she loves when she needs them most.

The first time they sleep together is only the second time he’s been intimate with someone and he feels more awkward than he wishes he was. But he commits himself to studying, to remembering what she likes and what she doesn’t, and the next time he proves to be the quickest of learners when he succeeds at making her come within a matter of minutes. He discovers a new smile of hers, one of dreamy bliss and kiss-swollen lips. He loves it. He loves her, adores every single part of her she’s shared with him and every piece yet to be found. And to his continued surprise and delight, she loves him just as much.

He tries every day to be worthy of that love. He makes time for her. He goes to meet her friends and he shakes their hands even though he hates touching people, even though she insists, “You don’t have to. They won’t mind.” He does it because she’s the only person in the world whose touch he actually craves.

When she swoons over a dress Penelope has shown her on Instagram, he makes a note of it. She’s utterly enamored by it by her smile falls upon checking the price tag. It’s far out of her budget. So the next week when he’s out on a case in Atlantic City, he swings by one of the few casinos that doesn’t have his picture framed on the wall of their security office. He wins more than the cost of the dress in an hour and leaves before anyone can get suspicious. The dress arrives at his apartment the same day he gets home, and he invites her over to surprise her with it. When she opens the box, her eyes go wide.

“Spencer, this is… this can’t be. It’s… do you know how expensive this is?” Y/N asks.

Bashfully, he replies, “Now might be a good time to mention I’m banned from casinos in almost every state for my card counting abilities.” It’s well worth the little effort he expended to see the way her face lights up at the sight of it. And though he’s never been a gambling man, when he sees her wearing it for the first time he considers trying his luck a little more often.

At times he worries he’s doing too much, but how could it ever be when the way she loves him has been so much more than enough? For the first time in his life, he feels like maybe he’s enough. When she says, “I love you,” he believes it. When she says, “I’ll be back,” he trusts her. He’s given another person more of his heart than he ever has before, and for once he’s not afraid of it breaking. She doesn’t mind the strange hours he works or heaviness he sometimes carries with him. When he wakes up from a nightmare, she holds him close and keeps him grounded. He sends postcards from each city he visits and she makes his favorite food when he comes home and home is suddenly a place they share. She moves into his apartment and it feels like it was never complete without her there.

.

Not long after, there is a case in Boston. Their terrifyingly intelligent unsub taunts Reid as he leaves the interrogation room. “Judge me all you want, Dr. Reid. But I’ve used my mind to change the world. You’ve done nothing with yours.” The words haunt him on the flight home. He sits on the back of the plane lost in thought. What has he done? Sure he’s saved lives, but could he have done more? Could someone else have used those gifts he’s been burdened with in a way that was better? Why does he have any of these talents? Why has he acquired any of these skills?

His phone chimes. A text from her. Brought home a new book from the library I think you’ll love! Can’t wait to see you, dearest. And it hits him.

It’s her. All along it’s been her.

The answer echoes in his head as he races home to her. Everything in his life has led him to her, has let him be the person she needs. He can memorize all her favorite songs and poems to recite for her when her anxiety gets the best of her. He can remember every date that matters to her and everything she adores. He can read her favorite books overnight to talk about them with her in the morning. He can profile from her body language and her microexpressions when she’s having a bad day and needs him to be there for her, even when she’s too afraid to ask for what she needs. When she asks absurd questions out of the blue, he can give her actual answers with the useless encyclopedia of knowledge he’s obtained over the years. When she needs a distraction his rambling finally proves useful. It’s all for her.

She’s the reason his mind doesn’t feel like a curse anymore. How could he ever think of it with disdain when it’s the reason he can picture every smile she’s ever let him see? When he can catalogue every wonderful word from her lips, every inch of her skin, every action that drives her wild.

Reid can’t seem to open the door to their apartment fast enough. When he finally steps inside, she’s sitting on the couch. She turns away from the book in her lap to smile at him. “Welcome back,” she says. Then, tilting her head, “Is everything okay?”

An unshakeable grin spreads across his face and he knows he must look like a madman right now as he crosses the living to sit beside her. “Everything’s perfect. I just… I had this epiphany. All the things I hate about myself, you love. And all the things I can do let me love you better. It just feels like everything – everything has led me to you. Even the bad things, I mean, being in prison forced me to take sabbaticals and if I hadn’t we wouldn’t have had that time together early on and maybe we wouldn’t have worked and I don’t believe in fate,” he says, taking a breath. “But I can’t help but feel like for the first time, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With you. Like that’s where I was meant to be all along. And I… I just thought you should know.”

His long-winded rambling is rewarded with one of his favorite smiles from her – one that makes her eyes soft and puts sunsets to shame. The kind she wears when she is incandescently happy. Her fingers lace through his and they are a perfect fit in his big hands. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, leaning in to kiss him.

All his life, Spencer Reid has been told he is gifted. But this time, he thinks it might actually be true. He holds the greatest gift the universe has ever granted him in his arms and knows that no part of him is a curse if he is loved by her.

[stupendousconnoisseurpuppy]

The son's warmth

Yandere! Hinata x Reader

Notes: This is my entry for @seijorhi's Deal with the devil collaboration~

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, Violence detail, injury detail, manipulation, kidnap, yandere.

Please refrain from reading if you are uncomfortable with the above!

That said, please enjoy!

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Generosity. You suppose it could be a bit of a double-edged sword.

Although in hindsight, all you had wanted was to care for the exuberant ball of sunshine you had believed was dealt a bad hand. Parents and younger sister deceased, orphaned at the tender age of 14 and placed in a less than ideal environment - one devoid of love.

You had always been one of a large sympathetic capacity and it had always been a goal of yours, born of the principle’s kindness and compassion, passed on by your parents and sanctioned by your entry into adulthood; allowing you to action your desire to care for a young child struck by tragedy…

You’re not exactly sure, however, how that’d landed you in the basement of your own house with a broken leg and shattered kneecaps.

It was to be expected you'd reasoned at first, you had defied common sense and made a deal with a less than savoury entity.

Too bad you hadn't considered the fact that demons could come in the shape of fair seeming, walking tangerines with an aptitude for overbearing affection.

To his defence (something you’ve now come to consider a very ironic concept) Hinata wasn’t exactly - as far as signatories go - the one you'd even made this... deal with. It had been his orphanage, an institution shrouded in fraud and doused in the bitter aroma of embezzlement that had sealed your fortunes in the form of crisp white adoption papers.

You didn’t mind his clingy nature, the crushing strength of his grip when his hand found - sought - yours… actions that could and would have seemed to untrained eyes like a misplaced and overwhelming sense of desperation, like the shock of betrayal carved upon his features when your focus wasn’t solely trained on him, or the unnerving intensity pooling beneath glittering brown iris’ whenever they met yours during his volleyball matches. Again, this was something you’d chalked down to an amalgamation of a passion for the sport, desire to win and an appreciation for the fact that his beloved mother had come to show him the support he had clearly lacked in the early stages of his teenage years.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

He was the coolness of your eyes whilst paradoxically, providing an all-encompassing warmth (much like the sun) and with an ostensibly boundless supply of energy. Such was the ardour that made your heart swell with pride. It was just a terrible pity – in your case at least - that this energy he had was now being put towards severing your contact with the outside world.

Wanted to go outside? He’d want you to help him practice.

Meeting someone? He’d pout and complain.

How could you refuse? You’d naively attributed such possessiveness to the trauma of losing his family and would excuse such behaviour in consideration of the circumstance. It was only natural. You’d decided to be there for him, accepting the responsibility as soon as you’d inked your name on the dotted line… if he needed a little more attention, that’s what he’d get.

And so, the story progressed until towards the end of his third year of high school, he’d decided the affection you were providing him with, however plentiful, wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as he knew it could be. For you still to be surrounded by others must mean his slice of the pie was diminished in size and a growing boy such as himself needed all the nutrition he could get. He’d reasoned that the entirety of said “pie” belonged to him, anyway. Surely no one could chastise him for exercising a due right over his own property?

He didn’t want to be the occupant of most of your time, he wanted all of it… And it was to be brought to your attention as soon as he arrived home from school.

No sooner had he entered through the front door than he was skipping towards your location (in the kitchen) with a blinding smile on his face, proceeding to grip onto your shoulders with a force that clearly betrayed his cheery demeanour.

“What’s wrong Shoyo?” You queried.

He’d went on to detail how neglected he felt whenever you enjoyed the presence of anyone other than him “It feels like you don’t love me anymore!”, like he’s not good enough, y’know? But it wasn’t your fault, all you needed was the chance to see that he was fully capable of being the only one you needed to depend on.

You were, at first, inclined to think of such proclamations as some silly prank, followed by laughter, declarations of how well and truly you’d been fooled and fabricated in boyish mischievousness. You’d managed to ask as such, but the speed and surety of his response had you becoming increasingly concerned.

“Nope!”

You forced out a nervous puff of laughter, clutching at the rapidly burning straws of denial because surely, he couldn’t be serious, but your dismissal had only served to become the source of his irritation and he squeezed you harder, fixing you with a determined stare that could only have been described as no less than peering into your soul.

You had ignored the red flags and were getting your just rewards.

“Sho- stop that hurts!”

“Reeeeeally Okaa-san?!” He quipped with insincere concern “It hurts more when you don’t care for me…”

It was at this bitter intonation that you’d scrambled back in shock and had prepared your body’s primal function of flight in the direction of the nearest exit.

But were you really going to run away from him? Shoyo, your own child, the coolness of your eyes and springtime in the haggard winter of your life?

Yes, yes you were.

And you would have gotten away with it too, had not the subject of your internal conflict taken advantage of your moment’s irresolution. For in a ginger blur of motion you were on the ground, he had taken a hold of your leg…

SNAP

He roughly covered your mouth to silence the scream, pinning you down with the weight of his own body as hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. The pain was excruciating, but you wouldn’t feel it for long, as with a swift hook to the jaw you were out cold. It hurt for him to have to utilize violence on the one he cherished; however, it’d seem a tad counterintuitive for him to give you the opportunity to run away.

You’d forgive him, you’d come around. You always did.

He’d swept you up and carried you to the large basement of the house, gently placing you on a worn settee; sickly ochre in colour - the one you’d been meaning to dispose of for years. His actions were soft and caring and his thoughts clouded almost entirely with his overwhelming love for you.

In passing hours he observed your peaceful state mindfully as his core pulsated in the cosy warmth of his rib cage, imagining what a future found solely in each other’s embrace would hold… eventually you’d stay of your own accord, he reasoned. He’d have no need to harm you or to keep you under the low, flickering lights of the basement. Defiance would become a thing of the past. You’d realise how happy you are he’d made the decisions for you, both of you, together…

“Why?” That was a question you sometimes took to asking yourself; more out of pure, unadulterated boredom than anything else. Something you’d already explored the answer to but thought it better to keep your mind occupied with trivial matters than to succumb to insanity (or the intensifying ache of your battered legs).

On that same note, though, contact with the world outside wasn’t the only thing he’d severed.

At the time, such an observation had very nearly made you laugh (and you could probably blame it on the fact that you’d always been quite partial to the more gruesome forms of satire). It was in an impulsive burst of inappropriate and rather facetious humour that you’d wanted to entertain yourself in the recital of depressing hymns (expected, given the nature of your surroundings), to congratulate your stupidity and wallow deeper into the marshes your own self-pity; only to be met with the simple fact that you didn’t have the option.

Your tongue? Gone.

And it hadn’t been the work of the proverbial cat, but your own son, who – cheery as always – had explained that it was another necessary action to stop you from hurting yourself, done behind the ever-wise teaching that prevention was indeed, better than cure. Could you not see he only wanted what was best for you?

It was then you were sure he’d dangerously distorted his self-awarded role as your protector and had lost his mind.

“Okaa-San, Its aright…” He beamed whilst you’d engaged in silently cursing your weak will “You won’t feel a thing!” - he flashed a guilty smile - after I knock you out…again.

And you didn’t. He’d sutured the wound (with what you really didn’t want to know) and made sure you didn’t choke on your own life juices, patching you up like the loving, doting son that he is… It was your job not to worry about the extremity of his actions, as a mother that should do everything in their power to put their beloved’s mind at ease.

Saved from the fate of Exsanguination… shows how much he adores you right? Not that you'd had half the courage or audacity to end your own life in such a macabre fashion, but even if you hadn’t been relieved of the burden of speech; you weren’t one to shatter another’s fantasies - especially if they were high school athletes with inhuman amounts of strength.

In the passing weeks, your mind had dawned upon the realisation that no one was coming to save you - and did you even need saving? – for your parents were far too busy, friends far too distant and dashing officer that’d do everything in his power far too non-existent. Shoyo was the only one who had cared for you, providing you with physical and emotional sustenance you’d never thought you needed - maybe for the reason that he had made himself the only source.

Another thing you’d come to realise, this time regarding unintelligible murmurs, is that they are very much open to interpretation. So even though his barrage of saccharine words were met with your limited arsenal of what might be considered responses, they been understood as absolute agreement, alongside the reciprocation of his affections. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that far off from the truth, as it was by that point, you’d learned the path of resistance was futile and that you were beginning to get used to (and even bask in) the flattery and praise he showered you with, silently and psychologically solidifying the notion that he was yours and you were his.

“You’ll stay with me forever right, Okaa-San?”

He giggled, placing a soft, lingering kiss upon your lips as if he were certain of your answer. And so were you. However, when he looked at you, tenderly caressing your form there was something amiss, a dormant hunger that hadn’t been there before, one that when coupled with the intensity he’d always regarded you with gave birth to towering waves of nausea and accentuated the persistent throb of your injured legs as if in subtle warning…

But you could deal with that later.

Because, despite the fact that his, short, brilliant orange hair had grown long and luscious with time and his scrawny figure had evolved into a mass of lean muscle, he still looked to you … like he did the first day he entered your care. Young, innocent and without fault. Unfairly dealt a bad hand and with you tasked to be the provider of everything he never had. So, as per the contract signed…

You nodded.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

[jessie-writes-things]

From the Darkness | Part 1

This is a commission from the lovely @grogusmum! I'm so so so sorry for how late this is love! Life got in the way a bit. Originally I was gonna do this as one giant piece, but you've been waiting too long and so I just needed to get something out. This ended up being a bit more soft-angst rather than fluff but I tried my best to balance it out. The next part will be full-on found family fluff though! 🥰

This whole thing stemmed from that throwaway line 'I've spent much time on Tatooine' from The Marshall. Basically, I just liked the idea of Din having a somewhat secret life hidden away there. It gets explained a bit more in the second part, but that's really all the context you need right now. 😅🥰

Pairing: Din Djarin x Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Found family, fluff, soft angst

Warnings: Star Wars level violence, vague mentions of PTSD/Trauma, nightmares

Summary: Din comes home to Tattooine and you spend the night on the Razor Crest.

You always heard the Razor Crest before you saw it. The loud hum of the clunky engine made you jump every single time and you had always wondered how long it would be until the ship just dropped out the sky.

Your answer came quicker than you thought. It was around midnight when the first signs came, snippets of voices fluttered by like quiet, sleep-laced whispers on the wind.

See you we do! Coming home we are!

Then came the ship barrelling onto the landing pad, and you weren’t dramatic in saying you thought the planet was about to explode; walls rumbling, ground vibrating. Peli had been prompted to spew out a few choice words, stepping outside just as you did to watch the slivers of silver moonlight spring off the ship as it finally settled down.

The landing had been…less than graceful to say the least. The engine sounded worse than you’ve ever heard. One of her feet had been ripped clear off, making her tilt to the side at an unnerving angle and you didn’t even want to think about the number of outer plates there were to replace.

What worried you more was the look of annoyance on your boss’s face, pinched and red, and you just had enough time to convince her to head back to bed, promising to deal with The Mandalorian until morning. And thank every planet in the galaxy she listened because if the Crest hadn’t woken up the neighbourhood, you knew she sure as hell would of.

There was an etiquette, you learned through years of working on the hanger; you should never enter a person’s ship first. To regulars, it was like walking into someone’s home without being invited. But so early in the morning you weren’t for niceties.

You walked up that ramp like pray on a hunt, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and you may have stumbled a bit, but it was a hunt.

The Mandalorian was clearly waiting for you, sitting in the cockpit, the baby asleep in his pod although you had no doubt he was listening to every word.

Very out of character, he was the first to speak, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t…well, it was. You were just grumpy and tired and wanted to go back to bed, ‘She looks a mess.’

‘Can you fix her?’

You had assumed her mess from the work of another bounty gone wrong, maybe Mar again but you weren’t in the right mind to ask. ‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘What you’re about to ask me to do next.’

There was a silence, a comfortable one but silence, nevertheless. Eyes heavy, you were fading fast, head resting against the passenger seat you had claimed as your own. You weren’t too sure if you had fallen asleep or not. You closed your eyes for what felt like a moment too long and when they opened again, Din had shifted his seat to look at you.

‘We need to stay for a few days.’ His head tilted like a little puppy dog. Helmet still on, you were left trying to imagine how he looked in that moment; eyes squinted, crinkled around the sides in admiration.

Not the exact words you wanted to hear, but not surprising in the slightest.

You decided to push again, ‘Anything else?’

He was smiling, at least you were sure he was, his voice sounding a little lighter despite the artificial muffle of the modulator, ‘Come to bed?’

---

I caught a frog today. Very big frog. I wanted to show you. But ManDad was not very happy with the frog in the big ship. So I ate it, I did. Miss you lots, I did. And so did ManDad. Smiles when he thinks about you, he does. I feel the happiness. Thank you for making him happy.

---

Turns out it hadn’t been Mar that took a hit at his ship.

There had been an incident, Din told you in the quiet of darkness, arms wrapped around you, his head buried safely. Long tufts of hair tickled your jaw and chin whenever he moved or talked, about due for a haircut but that was a battle for another day.

‘Moff Gideon is dead.’ But so was Kuill, the kind Ugnaught who had helped at the start of all this mess. Whatever was left of the Empire was still after the kid and Din still needed to find the Jedi. ‘Karga’s still alive.’

‘I thought he double-crossed you?’ At some point his head had moved onto your chest, letting your fingers card through his hair. You could just about see his face in the small cracks of light, not that he needed to hide anymore, sometimes you think the dark was comforting for him.

The smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips and you really hoped it was because of your touch and not the thought of the Guild agent. Small wins and all that, you guessed. Better to have Greef around than no one at all.

‘I can’t stay long.’ His voice wavered, ever so slightly. You had become accustomed to the bittersweetness of it all, stroking the back of his neck as your heavy eyes began to droop again.

‘That’s okay.’ While it felt like a brick being thrown at your chest, you understood. Truly. The entire Empire was after the kid and, subsequently, him. Not to mention the constant battle against other hunters who had it out for his head.

Because while you knew time was finite with him, at least you had something.

---

Happy to be home we are. ManDad gets lonely sometimes. Feel it I do. I try my best to make him smile but sometimes it does not work. Make him happy, you do. A man should not be lonely for too long, he must not, for loneliness can be deadly. When I am gone, look after him you must. Promise?

---

Quiet moments in the dark were always the loudest for Grogu. Like father like son, you guessed. Neither of them liked the stillness much, both of their minds racing faster than the speed of light. It was always easier to read them in these moments. Flashes of images blended into a mosaic behind your eyes as you tried to hold down a specific part of a memory or a dream.

Some nights it was easier than others. There were times Grogu would sense you in his mind and would purposefully push an image forward, always something he thought was silly like a particularly funny looking frog or a memory of Din singing to some cheesy eighties song you had left behind on a CD during their last visit.

The colourful rhythm and syncopated beats making the walls of the Razor Crest dance along with them and you did everything not to burst out laughing in the still night, biting your lip only for a small snort to escape. Din caught on, barely opening his eyes a crack to mumble out some half-arsed are you okay before rolling over and heading back to sleep again.

It was easier to read Din when he was asleep. Not that you did it much or even intended to in the first place. But sleep tore down the walls he had spent years building up, subconsciously pushing the dreams into your mind. If Grogu’s thoughts were a lulled whisper, Din’s were white noise. Fuzzy static took up most of the space, at times slipping to let through blips of voices or a grainy picture of long past memories. They were too quick to get a full idea of what he was dreaming about.

A boy.

The pop of blasters.

A woman screaming.

One deep breath and the image faded. Din would wake for a moment, eyes closed and he’d turn back to face you. His chest shook, barely and nothing noticeable normally, but you caught it, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and mumbling a soft it’s okay as he settled back into you.

---

Today was not so bad, it was not. But sometimes I still think about the dark place. Scary and lonely was I. For a long, long time. Then there’s light and I see ManDad for the first time. And then everything is better, it is! No longer do I need to fear the dark.

---

Like always, Grogu climbed out of his pod early morning and forced the doors of the sleeping pad open, giving him room to wiggle his way between Din and you. These were the times you’d feel the tug of his mind at the doors of yours, asking permission to be allowed in.

If your consciousness was awake enough, you’d let him, letting the Green Bean explore the distorted images of Earth and your past life. You would find him standing next to you, present you, in the middle of the dirtied street, dark and damp as rain pounded on the concrete around you, drowning out the screams of the people as they rushed by.

He’d hold his arms up, a quiet hold me please passing by and you’d take him in your arms, holding him close. Sparks of fear rolled through you, weighed down by dread and it was hard to tell if it was coming from Grogu or your past self.

Clouds filled the sky like grey shadows. It had taken you a long time to realise they weren’t normal, that the clouds were too big, were floating by too quick to be anything natural.

That had been the first time you saw them. Aliens. Or what people on Earth would think of as aliens. Tall, grey, slimy, the stuff you had only ever seen on TV and they were now shooting from the skies in streaks of red light. Streets pathed in dust that smelt like ash and day-old water.

The two of you walked through the mess like ghosts, people running left and right and through you, some in slow motion while some were ungodly in their speed. They all died in the end. Zapped out of existence by a singular lazar.

Someone yelled about children. Save the children. Spare the children. Collect the children. Round them up near the hanger, discard the ones we don’t need, you know the ones I mean, don’t talk back to me. Their voice washed over you in cold chills, sounding so far underwater that they might as well not be there at all.

A man stopped in front of you. Tall dressed in all black. A human man staring right at you. He didn’t look panicked like the rest, was calm and collected as he pulled out his gun and aimed so perfectly right at your head. You didn’t move, didn’t duck for cover as he pulled the trigger.

You should know better than to look.

There’s a woman behind you. Was a woman behind you. She’s dead when you turn around, a pile of smoking ash on the cobbled path, already being washed away by the rain.

Then there was the child, arms still stretched out to hold their mother’s hand, eyes wide in fear but they don’t cry. No matter how much their heart is racing. No matter how much they want to scream as the man grabs their arm and drags them away, throwing them in line with the rest of them, waiting for their turn to be scanned and thrown in the hanger.

They don’t scream, even when the doors slam shut and darkness is all that’s left.

---

Awake, are you? Sleep I cannot. Wonder if ManDad knows how much I love him, I do. ManDad is amazing he is. He saved me from the dark and keeps me safe, he does. Let’s me eat cookies, he does. Such lovely cookies. Try some, you must. But ManDad hurts, I feel. Feel his heavy heart, I do. So much pain and loss cause a man to be sad. Want him to be sad I do not. When I am gone, please tell him all the time that he is special, he is. Always be my buir, he will.

---

‘Buir.’ Grogu sat on your stomach, watching with wide, curious eyes as he followed your finger to where Din moved back and forth getting ready to head out. It was just some low-level bounty, armature work really, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from budding in the pit of your stomach. Distractions curved the nausea, curled up with the pod door open, blanket tucked under your chin with the residual warmth of his body still hugging you, ‘He’s your buir.’

Din hadn’t put his helmet back on yet, the roll of his eyes contrasted with the small half-smile on his lips. In the light, it was easier to see the damage he had taken during his last fight. There was only so much an ex-bounty-turned-nursing droid and some bacta spray could do. The large gash across his forehead looked painful and you made a mental note to check it over when he returned.

‘Don’t teach him that.’

‘Why not?’

There was a pause. You caught the way the small smile faltered, wavering with doubt and uncertainty and maybe a hint of sadness although that last part was hard to tell. And while the wall Din had built around himself was thick, sadness was strong enough to creep through the cracks. Even Grogu noticed, large ears pricking, head tilting in ManDad’s direction with a small coo.

‘Aliit ori'shya tal'din.’

‘You’ve been practicing.’ The words were light, a brow quirked in your direction and you knew what it meant; you’re adorable. Thank you for trying. At least he was smiling, finishing up the last buckle on his holster ‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’

Maybe you should have been more surprised by the slip of his tongue. The way he carried on getting dressed, not even pausing once at his mistake.

You had heard him say those words before a hundrad times or more. But you wondered how long he had meant those words. Months? Years? Was it a new development? Was it something he had always known?

But there was no surprise. Instead, a warmth planted itself in your chest, and it grew, branches stretching to fill every ounce of your being until it was all you could feel.

‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’ His eyes widened at your mimicked words. The pronunciation was still a bit off and sometimes the emphasis was stressed on the wrong bits, but it was nice to know you were close enough that he understood you, ‘I know what it means now. You can’t trick me anymore.’

Din picked up the helmet and put it on before you had the chance to see the full smile that bloomed, but you heard it, the hints of pure happiness shining through the modulated, ‘I was never trying to trick you.’

You fought back your own smile. The heat spreading across your cheeks told a different story though, serving as a reminder of years old built-up emotions neither of you had time to unpack at that moment.

So, you did what you both did best. You quickly changed the topic, shifting your attention back to the Green Bean plopped on your stomach, happily teething on the small silver ball he sneakily snatched from the controls. A few seconds later and his attention found yours, giving you a gleeful smile as he held out the ball as a peace offering.

‘Ba'buir.’ You pointed back at Din and Grogu laughed, ‘He’s your Ba'buir.’

But Din was already out of sight, halfway to the door when he called back, ‘He’s older than me!’

Older, I surely am. And wiser. Yet know, you do not. Be careful ManDad For space can be dark and dangerous.

The lock hissed as it opened, seemingly louder in the suddenly quiet Razor Crest, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always.’

---

buir = parent

Aliit ori'shya tal'din = "Family is more than blood."

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ="I love you."; literally: "I will know you forever."

Ba'buir = grandparent

[baeklooming-day]

Glossy Fruits | Baekhyun

Summary: Where your best friend doesn't want anyone else to be your first kiss but him.

Genre: fluffish fluff, cheeky Baek is back folks

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: i wanted to write something simple and lighthearted to make yall day a little fluffier since i have a feeling we all need that right now

"You are out of your mind."

You said, watching the black velvet locks falling on your best friend's eyes.

"Why? This is a good deal."

Well, it wasn't really a good one.

Your best friend was known around the school for making bets with everyone about everything, luckily for him he was usually winning all of them.

But you just couldn't stop thinking about a day coming when he would lose and, what would follow, getting himself into inevitable trouble.

"Baekhyun, it would be an alright deal if it was just another student. But breaking into our principal's office and leaving your bluetooth box behind a plant to pretend a ghost through your phone later doesn't appear very good to me." You said, looking at your reflection on your black phone screen to wipe away a little smudge which came from your red lipstick.

"Y/N, this kid said he would do my whole literature assignment for me if I pulled this off." Baekhyun let out a deep breath, making his dark bangs fly up and gently fall on his eyes again. "And before you say anything, it would be a win and win situation because I also made a bet with Sehun that-"

"I thought that I clearly told you not to bet with my stupid brother anymore you jackass!"

"But Y/N" Baekhyun whined, tugging on your right arm. "I made a bet with Sehun that I will win two bets today, and if I fail I will have to wash his socks for a month."

You held back a laugh. "Well then good luck with that, because I doubt that you will get out of it without trauma after dealing with Sehun's used smelly socks."

Baekhyun gave you a mortified look. "I don't want to die of lack of fresh air to breathe." He continued whining. "I already won one today, and nobody beside that kid from class one is willing to bet."

"Then provide yourself a mask for a date with my older brother's socks."

"Y/N, this is for real" Baekhyun now was leaning his cheek on your head. "I need to find a beneficial bet, like, right in this moment."

"Beneficial my foot."

"Foot? Wait." He said, straightening himself. "Foot..."

You looked at him questioningly before speaking again. "Baekhyun, I'm not glueing anyone's shoes to the floor with you, if that's what you just thought of."

"No, no, actually I thought of something more classic." He said, tapping on his lower lip with his finger. "What about the good old if I run there and there in, I don't know, for example four minutes I will win this and this"

"And who do you want to ask?" You asked.

"Well" Baekhyun smiled. "What about my dear best friend?" He gently pulled you closer to him circling your waist with his left arm, waiting for your reply.

"No way, I know you too well, you will ask for some stupid sick stuff which will make a clown out of me in the end." You said, jokingly pushing his arm away.

"I promise I won't ask for sick stuff, I would rather ask for something..." He paused, taking the opportunity to gently pull you closer again. "Something sweet in return."

"And that sweet thing would be what, precisely?" You asked.

Baekhyun let go of your waist, stretching out his arm and pointing ahead of you. "Let's say, if I manage to Naruto run through the entire hallway until the end and back to you in one minute, you will let me kiss you. On your lips." He told you, his smile becoming always wider as he presented you his wonderful idea of which, he seemed to be a little too proud of.

You only widened your eyes, looking at him with disbelief.

Your crazy best friend wanted to do what?

Out of all possible things you could take for a stupid bet, he decided to go a little, and by little you meant a lot, overboard with his idea.

For some girls maybe it wouldn't be a particularly big deal, but knowing that you out of all people still haven't given your first kiss, it didn't appear as the most optimal thing to you in that moment.

"What the freak Baek" You said. "I'm not doing this, this would be my first ever kiss!"

"I know." He replied.

And there you were, thinking that his impertinent smile couldn't become any bigger.

Well, you thought wrong.

"Yeah, that's why you can't do that." You continued. "And even if I agreed to this clownery bet, you would need at least three minutes to run to the end of the hallway and back to where we are now, so this is impossible."

"If you think that this is impossible for me to do, then what do you care? Just agree." He said.

To be completely honest, even if you thought that Baekhyun would lose that one anyway, for some reason you still weren't wholly convinced.

"And for starters, why out of all things Naruto running?" You asked, letting out a soft laugh. "And what will I get if you lose?"

Baekhyun lightly tapped his lower lip again, thinking. "Well, if I lose I will buy you inari sushi for the whole week." He said. "And Naruto run will be funnier than running normally, so"

"Yeah, funnier to watch you fail." You said.

"So do we have a deal?"

"Deal. Better prepare your wallet for my inari already." You said, pulling out your phone. There was no way you weren't going to film this spectacle.

"I'll run on three." He said, throwing his arms back. "One... Two... Three!" He bolted forward at a high speed, accelerating as much as only possible as if there was no tomorrow.

The school hallway was completely empty in that moment, given that most of the students already finished their lessons and left whilst those who had evening lessons were on a break somewhere else.

You watched as Baekhyun became always smaller and smaller in the distance, given that the hallway was indeed amazingly long. You started to wonder if he decided to make running through it a bet only because, like already mentioned, it was completely empty besides the two of you and he knew that he had way better chances of winning.

You tried to push this thought aside as you glanced at your phone, checking the time.

Thirty seconds left.

To your surprise and disbelief, he was already reaching the end of the hallway only to quickly turn around and start running back to you.

Twenty seconds left.

You watched still in a complete disbelief how Baekhyun was dashing forward, almost reaching you.

Ten seconds left.

It was a literal race between him and time, and as much as you hoped for the timer to finally start ringing before he made it back to where you were standing, he was already there panting, three seconds before the alarm.

"How on earth-" You started, visibly flabbergasted.

Baekhyun only gave you a wide smile in response, running his slender fingers through his black hair. "I won."

No, no, no.

It couldn't be.

As your best friend's grin grew always wider and wider, you started to realize the inevitable, slowly starting to get mad at yourself for agreeing to all this in the first place.

You really lost that stupid bet.

And now you would have to sacrifice your first kiss for that.

AND, the person you would have to give it to would be none other than your very own best friend.

For a moment you were just quietly looking at some invisible point in the air, only to be pulled back into the cruel reality by a gentle, soft touch on both sides of your face.

You looked up, being met with Baekhyun's sparkling brown eyes and never disappearing smile. "I won, Y/N. You know what that means-"

"Buuuut-" You interrupted him, looking to the right and to the left, trying to make up some excuse.

To be honest, you didn't believe the efficiency of any excuse in this situation yourself, but it couldn't hurt to try, could it?

You were about to say something else, when you felt Baekhyun's hands slide gently from your cheeks to your neck, softly caressing your loose hair.

Alright, now the red blush which you felt creeping up your dewy cheeks must have been literally beaming.

"But, um, Baek, I'm wearing red lipstick." You said, not even knowing for what you were hoping anymore.

"So?"

"It's, um, it's not date proof." You said, finally looking at him. "So, you know, maybe it will be better to just leave it, it will smudge and stain and you know, we will look like some clowns-"

"Y/N." He slowly pulled you even closer to himself. "I don't care."

"But-"

"Smudge my entire face for all I care. I don't mind." He said, his lips now only millimeters away from yours.

"Baekhyun-"

But before you could say anything else, you felt a soft, warm sensation against your lips, followed by his hands still gently caressing your hair.

It was so gentle, so careful, and really slow, making you feel as if the time stopped around you.

And when you finally gave in closing your eyes and kissing him back, you immediately felt him smiling against your lips, only to deepen the kiss as if it was all he really cared about in this world.

It lasted for about a minute, and when you pulled away, the scarlet stains on Baekhyun's lips, chin, and even cheeks were the first thing you saw.

You felt your already blushing cheeks warming up even more, imagining how you must have looked yourself.

"You were right." Baekhyun said, caressing your, probably equally, lipstick stained cheek. "We really do be looking like clowns right now."

You looked up. You didn't know anymore if the red on his cheeks was only your lipstick, or if he was blushing himself too.

"I told you." You said quietly.

"Y/N." He started again, not breaking the eye contact. "I think this is the right moment to tell you that I really don't want you to look like clowns with anyone else who isn't me."

You only looked back at him, lost in his dazzling eyes.

You didn't need to ask anything else, it was obvious to you what was the real meaning behind his sentence.

"Don't worry, you are the one and only clown I care about." You said, giving him a sweet smile.

The way his face lit up after hearing that, could make even the sun jealous of his radiance.

For a moment you just stood there in the hallway, looking in each other's eyes and smiling.

You didn't even care when the students who came back to their evening lessons were giving you questionable and weird looks when they noticed your scarlet smudged faces.

You finally snapped back into reality, acknowledging the time.

"Baek, we need to go to our classroom." You said. "But-" You paused. "We might want to go and clean this up." You added, pointing at the glossy stains.

Baekhyun gave you what felt like the thousandth smile today.

"Bet who will Naruto run faster to the bathroom?"

"Baekhyun!"

A/N: leave me your thoughts!! as always reblogs save lives uwuw

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part eighteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7450 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part eighteen: A week later Dean and Y/N are training for the Flagstaff Horse Show, a last repetition for Congress. They are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, until Bobby calls Dean into his office. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music:  ‘Little Boy’ - Barns Courtney (scene Singer house), ‘The Farm’ - Thomas Newman.  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “More leg, Y/N. Keep rhythm in that circle!”      Dean has climbed up on the fence of the large arena. His hands are folded together and his elbows rest on his knees, the heels of his cowboy boots hooked behind the lower bar. He watches a horse and rider in front of him from under his hat, picking up even the tiniest flaw and highlighting what’s done well.      As her trainer gives directions, Y/N pushes her calves a little tighter against Meadow’s flank, her right hand outstretched towards the mare’s ears as they finish their circle at speed. Elevated in her stirrups slightly, she makes sure the circle stays perfectly round while maintaining the constant one-two-three beat of hooves drumming against the earth. She can hear Dean’s strong and clear voice above the noise of the wind.      “There ya go. Nice one!”  

     It’s 6.45 AM and the sun has just risen, its early rays of daybreak warming the headwrangler’s back. The nights are getting colder, even in the valley, so the warmth is pleasantly welcome. Summer has come to an end, which means the ranchers are following a different work schedule now. Downside; their midday siestas are no longer a thing, at least not until spring. Upside, they start an hour and a half later in the morning. When he says ‘they’, he means ‘everyone but him and Y/N’, because they have been training for Congress every day. 

     The perfect final repetition for the big event in Columbus is a local horse show in Flagstaff, coming up this weekend. Gold Canyon ranch is going there with a truckload of horses and both Jo and Dean are competing. The head wrangler  convinced Y/N to sign up as well. They can test the new freestyle and see how Meadow does in competition, since it’s been a while since she last showed. 

     Pleased, he observes the woman who was born to ride. They are ready, no doubt about that. He knows it; the only person who needs to believe it now is Y/N.      “Wanna practise a few stops and call it a day? Wouldn’t wanna overwork her,” he suggests when her horse comes past in a slow canter, or a lope.      “No spins?” she checks, not confident with leaving such an essential element out of her training.      Dean smiles at her eagerness; ever the perfectionist.      “I’ve never seen you two screw up a spin. Don’t worry, they are solid,” he reassures.

     She nods while looking over her shoulder, then straightens her back, following the movements of her horse. When she reaches the short end of the arena, she steers away from the fence, bringing Meadow onto the straight line out of another perfect circle. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to give aid to pick up momentum, because before they are fully straightened out, her partner speeds up already.       “Circle her back. Let her wait,” Dean instructs.      The cowgirl tilts her pelvis slightly and sinks deeper in the saddle, before swerving away from the line. She shakes her head disapproving. Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that.  

     “She keeps taking over,” Y/N ponders, slowing down when approaching her trainer.      “She’s a smart horse. Most of the time that works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. She wants to anticipate instead of letting you do the thinkin’. You don’t wanna discourage her enthusiasm, so what you gotta do is keep her busy. Give her something to do, vary your patterns. Throw her off her game a lil’ bit,” Dean explains to his pupil, who listens intently.      “Ride down the line again, but don’t do the usual sliding stop at the end. Don’t speed up, don’t even think about the stop, okay? All you’re gonna do is let her wait for your call.”      Y/N nods, feeling a little bit more confident after being given directions. “Okay.” 

     She moves her reins over Meadow’s mane, turning her around, gently aiding her to hustle forward in an easy canter. When she’s back at the short end of the large pen, the rider lets her horse roll away from the fence and onto the line again. She can feel the power under her, so much energy waiting for a release and ready to bolt.      “Steady... Just sit and relax. Let her figure it out,” Dean calls out, loud enough to reach his student’s ears several yards away.      A little confused Meadow pulls at the bit slightly, but Y/N does exactly what she’s supposed to do. Instead of punishing the behavior, she ignores it and lopes down the line, repeating the exercise. The second time around, the American Quarter mare already has her ears perked at her rider, waiting for a cue.      “Change leads. Try the same thing on the right hand.”       Trying to sit loose in the saddle, moving with the thousand pound animal under her, Y/N guides her horse onto the diagonal line and crosses the arena. Normally she would do a flying change in the center, a transition from left to right canter during the brief moment of suspension, almost like the horse is skipping. However, this time the rider decides against it, making Meadow wait until she reaches the other end, where Dean is watching his pupil closely from the fence.      “Smart, well done! That’s riding, Yankee,” the head wrangler compliments.

     With a smile on her face she continues the exercize, working on her horse’s assertiveness and patience instead of the actual pattern. Dean has a point; she can ride the test blindfolded. Hell, blindfold Meadow too and they would still be able to nail it, but only if the mare is willing to wait and follow her lead.      The third time Y/N canters up the simple straight line, the bay mare relaxes, lowering her head a little more and calmly keeping a slow and steady rhythm. It’s exactly the response Dean was hoping for.      “Next straight you do the sliding stop,” he says, just loud enough for the rider to hear, as if he’s worried the intelligent horse might pick up on it and understand what he’s saying. 

     Calm, Meadow turns the corner to the straight line, her breaths even, loose muscles rolling under her damp skin. This time Y/N can give the Quarterhorse an aid before she increases speed, which she does with powerful strides. When the mare is going down the line full throttle, Y/N counts down. Three… two… one…

     The rider sinks deep into the leather of her saddle, pushing her stirrups forward and braces for the sudden stop. She can feel Meadow’s hindquarters lower when she plants her hocks into the soil of the arena. They slide several yards, leaving skid marks in the sand, and when the combination has come to a complete halt, Y/N moves her weight slightly to one side and takes the reins with her as well. The eager horse performs a rollback, a movement right after a stop during which the horse turns on her hind quarters and canters forward in the direction they came from.      “That was awesome!” Dean exclaims. “Cool her down; she’s done for today.” 

     Pleased, Y/N lets her precious four legged friend transition to an easy jog, patting her on the shoulder. She feels beyond relieved that her training went so well. With her former trainer Marcel, the final repetition before a show usually meant bootcamp, pushing Meadow to her limits. But Dean treats her differently. He thinks things through, looks beyond the pattern itself and can really pinpoint what they need to work on, and often it’s not the routine itself, but the preparation and the foundation of horse riding.

     “She felt really good, huh?” Dean looks up at the rider, seemingly content, as they exit the arena and walk back to the tack up area.      “She did. I’m excited for tomorrow,” Y/N returns, halting under the Joshua tree. “Have you seen the starting order?”      Dean nods as he glances up at her, narrowing his eyes when the sun peeks under his hat and blinds him. “I have.”      “I’m fifth on the list,” the cowgirl mutters, not happy about her draw. “Any good riders in my class?”      The head wrangler reads his student carefully, who is clearly fishing for answers. He’s very much aware where this is coming from. It’s a trait of hers, one that used to be much more evident, yet still surfaces every so often, especially in a new situation or uncertain times; she’s insecure.

     “Does it matter?” her trainer reminds her. “Eyes on the ball, Yankee. Flagstaff is just a practice run for Congress.”      “Sure, but I still want to win,” Y/N counters, matter of factly. “Oh, talking about Congress…”       She looks down on Dean, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I booked our room.”      His brow perks up, staring at his girlfriend for a second. That seductive look in her eyes is giving him all sorts of ideas. “Our room?”       “Yeah, most hotels were fully booked, and this room is one of the few I could find,” she adds, teasingly, swinging her leg over the front of her horse, making sure her spur doesn’t hurt Meadow’s neck. “And you know what? There’s only one bed.”      “You don’t say,” Dean smirks, stepping closer and running his hand up her denim clad legs slowly.      She nods, not dismounting her horse just yet, but taking off her western hat and hanging it on the horn of the saddle. Instead, she seductively keeps her eyes locked on his green ones, the sunlight bringing out a hint of amber in them. “We don’t have to worry about squeaky bunk beds, or waking half the ranch…”      “Or Garth taking a piss,” Dean recalls.      She laughs, leaning forward now and slipping from the saddle smoothly, but Dean catches her, holding her up.

     The cowgirl folds her arms around his neck. “You know, I read this research paper on how sex actually increases dopamines, which results in the athlete performing better.”       “Interesting,” Dean is barely able to stop his trademark grin from showing, the effort creating dimples in his cheeks. “Would you like to test that theory?”      “I booked us a suite with a queen size bed. What do you think?” she chuckles, so comfortable in his arms.       “Well, in that case I’m more than willing to go the extra mile for my favorite student,” he grins, lowering her to the ground, after which he kisses her sweetly.

     Meadow turns her ear towards the pair when Y/N’s back brushes against the saddle. She doesn’t take advantage of her owner being distracted and waits patiently, even though she’s not tied up to the pole yet. If the cowgirl didn’t know any better, she’d claim her horse has been their matchmaker all along, casually walking a little closer to Dean’s horse whenever they rode side by side, even taking a liking to the wrangler, despite that she has never been a huge fan of men. 

     Dean reels the cowgirl in, letting his hand roam over her hips as he deepens the kiss. He can’t get enough of her, especially now that he has surrendered in the battle he was fighting with himself. Ever since he let his guard down and submitted to the feelings that lay deep, the weight he was carrying seems a little less. To have someone to share his life and his passion with, knowing that she’s his and no one else’s, it’s something he never expected to find. It’s certainly not something he feels like he deserves, but he has managed to push that denigrating voice to the back of his mind. They are in love with each other, that’s all he needs right now.

     Dean watches Y/N after he parts from her, in awe by the joy that radiates from the girl who has such a hold on him. He has seen her beam before, when she’s amongst the crew, when he makes her laugh. But he hasn’t witnessed this level of bliss and fulfillment yet. She’s glowing, and damn, it looks good on her.      Y/N blushes when she notices his captivated stare. “What?”      “You look happy,” he comments, leaving a short kiss on her lips again.      She smiles, her gaze drifting away as she lets her hands slip from behind his neck down his chest, analysing this contentment that she’s experiencing. She’s somewhat stunned by the conclusion; Dean is right.

     “I feel like - like I’m finally at a point in my life where things are coming together,” she realizes. “I spent years of my life in books, riding as much as I could aside from classes, just to get better. I tried to find that ‘click’ with so many horses, fell off, failed...”      She huffs, thinking of all the times she almost gave up. Overwhelmed, overworked. School, ride, sleep, repeat. All while Granddad tried to find her the perfect horse.      “Then Meadow crossed my path.”       She rubs the mare’s withers, earning an appreciative purr as the horse glances over her shoulder. The head wrangler watches the two, the unbreakable bond, the friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s an indescribable feeling to have such a strong connection with an animal, one he knows well. 

     Turning her attention to her horse, Y/N undoes the leather strap under Meadow’s chin and removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter. Meanwhile, Dean takes her hat off the horn and places it back on her head, earning a chuckle. He then continues to loosen the sinch and removes the saddle, humid clouds of warm air coming from Meadow’s back.       “I couldn’t believe it when Grandpa bought her. You should’ve seen me; I went out of my mind,” she says, reminiscing while taking off Meadow’s leg protection.      Dean chuckles at that, able to picture it perfectly. Her reaction to qualifying for Congress offers a good indication. Before he turns the faucet on, he hands the hose to Y/N, noticing the smile fading from her face.      “But then he died. It took me a while to get back from that,” she admits, glad to have something to do to keep her mind occupied. Often the tears still prick in her eyes when she talks about her grandfather, but today she manages to keep them at bay.      Mesmerized, Dean listens. He had guessed before that her granddad had passed away, since she used the past tense whenever she mentioned him. He never pushed her to talk about it, though, knowing that if the roles were reversed, he would appreciate the space too.      “You got back up, though,” he says, hoping she can recognize the willpower it took.       She nods, smiling faintly as she puts the hose aside. “I figured that after everything that he’s done for me, the least I could do was make him proud. I won State, I graduated a year early and cum laude.”      “And then you ended up in this dump,” Dean fills in, trying to lighten the mood.      She chuckles at his joke and shakes her head, untying Meadow.

     “Actually, ending up in this ‘dump’ is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” she states, leading her horse to her box, Dean in tow. “I’m learning a lot here, and not just about ranch work. It has grounded me. Plus, I met this very handsome cowboy, too.”      Dean smirks. “Did ya?”      Y/N hums, turning after she shuts the stable door. “Why do you think I can’t stop smiling?”

     His eyes bounce between hers, only now realizing that he has a big part in her happiness. It humbles him, knowing that he makes her feel this way. Never before has he stood where he is standing now, in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with this one hell of a woman. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s doing, his gut feeling his only guidance, but apparently he’s doing something right. She has a spring in her step when she walks, her eyes shine when she laughs, and he is the reason. 

Wanting to tell her she is his reason too, but not knowing the words to that song, he takes off his western hat to fit under hers and wields his lips to hers. The kiss is less playful than the ones earlier, but all the more meaningful. Her lashes brush against his freckled skin, her hands cup his face, fingertips tracing the stubble on his jaw. The cowboy’s heart grows warm, rising in his chest, the sensation having him light headed. She is everything he never knew he needed, and he’s never going to let her go. 

     They hear footsteps coming around the corner, but both the wranglers are too occupied to pay attention, until a familiar voice puts an end to their private moment.      “Really? Could you not? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Jo puts her hands on her small waist and halts when she notices the couple. “This is a lot to muster on an empty stomach, y’know?”      Y/N chuckles after breaking away from her boyfriend, Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at his cousin.      “Get lost, Jo,” he scolds, ignoring her request.      “I’d advise you to get lost, because my dad is hot on my heels,” she returns smartly, before opening the door to the cafeteria, which is situated next to Meadow’s box.

     The cowboy’s eyes grow wide as he quickly distances himself from the woman he held in his arms just a mere second ago, before Bobby turns the corner. Awkwardly, Dean fidgets with the brim of his hat as Y/N straightens out her shirt and wipes her hands on her jeans, hoping her tan will hide the blush that heats her cheeks.       “Mornin’, Bobby,” Dean greets, trying not to act suspicious.      His uncle looks at them now as if he only just noticed them, his weary eyes lingering on the intern for a short second before they focus on Dean.       “Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks the head wrangler, even though it sounds more like an order.      “S-sure,” Dean stammers, gulping nervously.      “I’m getting my coffee first,” the ranch owner announces, before he disappears into the cafeteria. “Meet me there. You can let yourself in.”

     Dean takes an apprehensive breath when the door closes, the tight feeling in his chest not so pleasant now. Y/N’s observing him; he can feel her eyes burning in the side of his head.      “Why don’t you just tell him?” she sighs. “It’s been over a week.”      “I think he might be on to us already,” he says, clearly not at ease with that presumption. “I just wanted to ease him in when he’s not… you know, cranky.”       She frowns at that. “It’s Bobby; he’s always cranky. I thought Ellen--”      “- Ellen said he was gonna be fine with us being together - yes - but Bobby specifically told me not to mess around with you,” Dean recalls, returning his gaze from the door to Y/N.      “Well, I hope what we have going on here is a little bit more than you ‘messing around’ with me,” she returns with a tone.      “Of course it is. Hey...” He lifts her chin up with a curled index finger, pleading to look him in the eye. “This, us… It means a hell of a lot to me. Please tell me you know that.”      Her expression softens. She couldn’t be mad at him if she tried.      “I know. I just wish we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore,” she admits.       “I’ll tell him.” He presses his lips to hers quickly, glancing at the door before he does, making sure they will not get caught. “Save some bacon for me, will ya?”      “Will do,” she promises, pushing him off gingerly before she opens the door to join the rest of the crew for breakfast.

     He watches her leave, holding on to the sight of her as long as he can. She’s right; he needs to come clean. It doesn’t feel right to go behind Bobby’s back. Plus, with them leaving for Flagstaff this afternoon, he wants to be able to say out loud that he’s spoken for, aware there’s gonna be a few girls who might want to make a move on him. Not by any means is he worried he will not be able to resist the temptation, because as far as he’s concerned, there is none. But he doesn’t want to have to hide their relationship just because his uncle isn’t aware yet. 

     Dean puts his hat back on as he steps outside into the sun, which is steadily rising in the morning sky. Going over different versions of his announcement, he jogs up the stairs of the house, pulling back the screen door before he steps inside. Out of habit, he kicks his boots off and hangs his Stetson on the coat hanger, like he was taught when he moved in with his aunt and uncle at the age of fourteen. 

     The house is quiet, Ellen cooking up breakfast for the crew in the cafeteria at the stables. He crosses the living room and strolls into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some milk from the fridge. This place still has the same homey feel to it, it even smells the same as he remembered. He still knows his way around, even though he hasn’t slept under this roof since he was twenty. At a certain age, he wanted to be amongst the crew, hang with Benny and the other guys, and have a little more freedom. Jo joined them in the bunkhouse a couple of years later when she got rebellious and never really left, even though she still has a room upstairs. 

     Dean leans against the counter, taking a few gulps of milk. A smile forms on his lips when he notices some of the old photos on the fridge. Ellen always mixes them up, taking them out of albums and putting them in frames, some ending up on the refrigerator or pinned to the board in the office, others are on display in the saloon and in the cafeteria. One of the pictures portrays him on one of the first mustangs he trained, and next to him Jo on her pony, a little fellow called Ghost. He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time, his cousin not older than ten. There’s another one of him and both Ellen and Bobby at his uncle’s fiftieth birthday; Dean was twenty-one then. The first birthday besides his own where he was allowed to drink, but he has never been a saint. God knows how many times he and Benny and Gabe started the Saturday shift hung over, before he reached the legal age. He grins at the memory.

     His eyes glide over the photos, all seemingly normal snapshots, freeze frames of a country boy’s upbringing. But that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t normal to Dean. His life made a complete one-eighty when his aunt and uncle took their nephew in. They did it without question, never once asking for anything in return. They reminded him what it’s like to feel safe, loved, what it’s like to be a kid again. 

     It took him awhile before he could get past the years of worry, fear, and guilt, but eventually he found his way again. Has he forgotten about his childhood, the time he spent with his father and his little brother? Hell, no. He’ll never forget what happened, how the situation escalated and how everyone gave up on family except him, until there was nothing more the loyal son could do to stop the Winchesters from falling apart. But after all the trauma, the lesions on his soul, the nightmares, and endless regret, he found a place he calls home and is surrounded by people who, by blood or by heart, are his family. 

     The hinges of the screen door squeak and rattle when Bobby enters the house. Just like Dean did moments ago, the old man steps out of his boots, knowing very well that his wife will scold him if she finds dirty footprints on the wooden floors when she returns. He hobbles into the house, noticing his nephew in the kitchen.      “Comin’?” he says, nodding at the office, further down the hall.

     Dean empties his glass and leaves it in the sink, following his uncle. When he enters the room, he notices the stack of papers on the desk, open folders littering the flat surface. There’s an open filebox on the floor, numbers and letters scribbled in a notebook. Bobby has never been the person to keep his office tidy, especially with all the extra paperwork that comes with not owning a computer, but right now it looks like a bomb went off in here.       “Take a seat.” Bobby circles the desk and puts down his coffee mug, closing the blinders to prevent curious eyes from peeking inside. 

     Dean does as told, a frown edging lines between his brows. The vibe he is picking up isn’t a pleasant one and he’s sensing this talk will not be about his relationship with the intern. Carefully, he reads the ranch owner, who sits down, rests his elbows on the oak desk and forks his calloused hands together. Bobby doesn’t look up at him, and it’s only now that his nephew notices how the circles under his eyes seem a little darker, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which carry so much weight.       “We’re taking two of the youngsters to Flagstaff,” Bobby announces. “I need you to decide which ones, so I can send in the information to the auction committee.”      “Whoa, what?” Dean says, confused. “I’ve barely haltered a handful. I thought you wanted them under saddle before we sold them?”      “There’s no time for that.”

     His uncle adjusts the worn baseball cap on his head, still not looking at the young man on the other side of his desk.       “What do you mean, there’s no--” Dean stops when Bobby glares at him from under the hat, silencing his nephew with just a look.       “Pick the two who you reckon would go for a good price. And I need you to compete two extra horses as well. The palomino stallion, you think you can show him in the four year old class?”      “Yeah, I - I guess,” Dean says, realizing that riding five horses in competition is going to be a challenge, especially when it comes to time management, but he doesn’t have the courage to contradict the ranch owner.       “Good. I don’t expect them to come home with us,” Bobby acknowledges, picking a folder from the file case next to his desk, flipping through ownership certificates and taking out a file. “I contacted some buyers.”      “Which one’s the fifth you want me to bring?” Dean asks, carefully.      “Joplin,” Bobby states. 

     Dean closes his eyes briefly, cursing internally. He knows Y/N has grown fond of the feisty mare; it’s gonna hurt her to see the little dark horse leave.      “Joplin ain’t the easiest to ride and I can’t use her for the tourists; she’s the obvious choice. She’s good for ranch work and with the cattle, so I’ll sign her up for the cutting competition.��� The ranch owner takes out Joplin’s file as well, adding it to the small stack in front of him. “The intern did some cattle work with her, right?”      Dean nods. “Yeah, rode her on the trail too.”      “Y/N can ride her then, they seem like a good fit. Discuss it with her, let me know if she wants to,” the old man decides, looking up at his right hand when he stays quiet. “I contacted Jody Mills; she might have some clients for Joplin.”      “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”

     Dean’s worried eyes study his uncle, an unraveling stare boring through the rancher’s tough armor, who is unable to hold his gaze. The weariness seeps through the cracks when Bobby rubs his forehead, leaning back with a sigh, the old desk chair creaking.      “We’re in bad waters, ain’t we?” the wrangler realizes.      Bobby still doesn’t look up, but nods quietly, admitting to the painful truth. He seems ashamed, as if he - the head of this family - is failing. The man opposite of him can feel the pressure his uncle is experiencing; he knows it well. Just the sheer thought of the ranch being in much more trouble than he originally anticipated has him anxious, his heart rate picking up. These lands, the company, the horses… could they all be at risk?

     “How bad?” he asks firmly, even though he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.      “I just ordered stable bedding, hay and pellets without havin’ paid for the last bulk. I can’t pay you or the boys by the end of the month, unless we make a profit in Flagstaff,” Bobby admits. “Then there’s the mortgage, bank loans, taxes...”      Dean leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rubs his temple. “What happened to the money we earned on the livestock you sold Rufus?”      “Used it on the electrical bill I was behind on and paid the city and the bank. I owed Caleb a lot of money too.”      The wrangler’s eyes flick up at his uncle again. “So it’s all gone?”       Bobby nods again. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

     Troubled, he reaches for his coffee, taking a sip of the hot brew, wishing it was whiskey. From under his cap he watches Dean process the information, the knowledge doing a number on him, even though he acts tough. Bobby knows his nephew. Hell, he’s been living on his land for so long, he considers him a son. He knows how he values this place and the people and animals living here. He knows how much he craved shelter when he stood on the doorstep fifteen years ago. That’s exactly what this place is for him: his safe haven. And now that a storm is coming, now that his world threatens to cave, he’s losing his footing as well.

     Dean leaves his chair, paces up and down the small room twice, his arms crossed and pondering on a solution.      “You can keep my salary,” Dean says, “I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but I’ve got a roof over my head, that’s all I need. I have some savings too--”      “Dean, I don’t want your money,” Bobby makes clear, his voice less stern. “This ain’t your cross to bear.”      “Hell, it ain’t!” he exclaims, raising his arms up in despair. “This is my home too, and I’m not about to lose it!”      “Do you really believe I’m givin’ it up that easy? It’s my life’s work, damn it!” his uncle raises his voice to level with Dean’s, but tones it down when he continues. “No one is losing their home. We’re just gonna have to save and make money before this spins out of control, stay afloat until business picks up again. That’s why we’re gonna bring more horses to Flagstaff, see if we can make some deals.”

     Dean calms down slightly after his outburst, but is nowhere near at ease. He places his hands on his sides now, focusing on the floorboards. After a deep breath he collects himself.      “We can take the large Pinto and the red dun Mustang for the auction,” he determines.       “Alright,” Bobby writes it down, picking up the phone to make the call. “We’re still leaving at three?”      His head wrangler nods, burdened, taking the que and turns towards the door.      “Son?”       Dean halts in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the man who has been more like a dad to him than his own father ever was. A few strands of light squeeze through the blinds, illuminating the mess they are in, the rest of the room dark, shadows looming over his uncle.       “We’ll figure it out, okay? Ain’t the first recession this ranch survived,” Bobby reminds him, before he dials the number he wrote down earlier. 

     With a forced smile Dean watches him for a few more seconds before he leaves the office, the mask dropping from his face the moment he’s out of sight. With the unsettling information still mulling over, he puts on his boots again and takes his hat from the hall stand, walking onto the porch. He needs a moment to collect himself and let’s a heavy sigh escape his lungs, his eyes wandering over the scenery before him. Gold Canyon Ranch: sacred ground, their harbor, his church. The barn with the high doors through which he walked countless times, the Joshua tree that has watched over the horses for centuries. The saloon where on a good night laughs roar and beer flows. The bunkhouse, the crooked little prairie shed where he has a room and a bed of his own. And the Singer’s residence, where he knocked on the front door in search of refuge when he was fourteen years of age, standing in the exact same spot where he’s standing now.

     The sun hits him when he descends from the steps, the source of light warming the earth rapidly, despite autumn approaching. A faint headache is throbbing behind his eyes already, the conversation getting to him much more than he wants it to. Bobby tried to lessen the blow and reassure his nephew, but he knows very well it’s ten minutes to midnight. He dismisses the possibility of losing everything all over again; he can’t think like that, it will only slow him down. What he can do is think of a way to prevent this train from derailing. 

     He attempts to leave the worry behind, because he can’t let the rest of the crew know just how grim the situation is. Thankfully, the guys have already started their workday. He can hear the tractor pulling up behind the barn and there’s a wheelbarrow in the stable alley. Garth whistles to a country song on the radio as he empties a box with large scoops, while Jo leads a saddled horse to the arena. A quick glance through the window of the cafeteria tells him Ellen already went to the saloon, probably to start on lunch for the group of eight tourists that are currently accommodating the guest houses, but he does spot Y/N, who’s wiping down the table. When he pushes open the door, a bright smile comes his way, her light burning away the dark clouds hanging over him.

     “Hey! I risked my life defending your bacon, but I managed to save you some. Scrambled eggs and two buns too. Want me to heat it up real quick?” she asks, busy putting away the cutlery and dishes she washed.      “Nah, that’s alright,” he says, slumping down in the chair where Bobby usually sits.       “Here.”       She puts the plate down in front of him, the smell of crispy meat filling his nose. He’s not all that hungry anymore, but he starts cutting the bread either way, knowing she made an effort to make sure he had something to eat.

     “How did he respond?” she wonders after a moment of silence, drying off the frying pan.      Dean was about to take a bite when he freezes, only now realizing what she’s talking about. Shit, with everything going on, it completely slipped his mind why he wanted to talk to Bobby in the first place.      Y/N notices the hesitation, followed by a pair of shameful eyes coming her way. She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Dean…”      “I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while he shuts his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Something came up. He didn’t call me in because of us.”

     The cowboy glances up warely, noticing her disappointment. If anything, he doesn’t want her to think he just forgot, or worse - that he chickened out. But business is blending with personal life here; he’s not sure if he should share with her what his boss just told him.       “Why did he call you in then?” she wonders, unable to hide the discontent in her voice.      “He, uh - he wants me to take more horses to Flagstaff,” he says. “To sell them.”      “Oh…” Y/N puts away the pan in one of the lower cabinets. “Which ones?”      “Two of the youngsters we brought in earlier this month. Bon Jovi - the four year old - and...” Dean hesitates, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “And Joplin.”

     In shock the cowgirl turns to him, staring at the head wrangler. “Bobby is going to sell Joplin?”      “I wish it could’ve been different,” he half apologizes, feeling sorry for Y/N. “I know you like her a lot.”      She hangs the dish towel to dry and turns to lean on the back of the chair. Her airway is closing, but she swallows down the lump that builds. Dean is right; she grew fond of the little dark Quarter. Not everyone can handle her fiery spirit, but the cowgirl could, forging a strong bond between them within a short period of time. Somehow, she never expected Joplin to leave the premises.       “It’s not your fault,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m the one who gets attached to horses who aren’t my own.”      The wrangler observes her, well aware she’s trying to be professional about this.      “Bobby hoped you could show her at the competition,” he continues.      “I can do that,” she agrees, keeping her voice steady.

     Dean absently eats his bacon and egg sandwich while Y/N tidies up, giving her hands something to do while she processes what he just told her. He watches her rinse a cloth and clean the kitchen counter, rubbing over a spot to make a stain go away. Not sure if he should say anything, he focuses on finishing his plate, but it doesn’t take long before he can’t stand the silence.      “You okay?” he checks, concerned.      “I guess,” she turns to him, finally taking a second to sit down. “How about you?”      Dean wipes his hands down his jeans to get rid of the crumbs sticking to his fingers and looks at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to horses being sold.”      “That’s not what I mean,” Y/N returns, not at all surprised that he acts like there’s nothing going on. “What’s bothering you?”

     She reads her boyfriend carefully when he looks at her, dropping his gaze the moment her eyes reach too deep into his soul. For a few short seconds he seems to consider telling her what’s going on, but then he shakes his head. Worry swims in circles in her stomach, his inability to open up once again having her question herself.       “It’s not us, I promise,” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand across the table when he notices her doubt. “And I wanna tell you, but I can’t discuss this with anyone other than Bobby or Ellen.”      “Business related?” she guesses.       When Dean nods, it clicks in her head.       “The ranch isn’t doing so well, is it?”

     As if he got caught committing a crime, his eyes shoot up to meet hers. Shit, has he said too much? She might be his girlfriend, but she’s also the intern. She works for Bobby, for God’s sake! This isn’t information he’s supposed to share with anyone.       Unsure of how to respond, he averts his gaze, but she squeezes his hand to call him back.      “Dean, this is kind of my field, remember? I can see the tell-tale signs,” she reminds him. 

     The head wrangler holds his breath, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, but then exhales burdened, accepting she has figured it out. Self-conscious about his own vulnerability, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand as he stares at nothing in particular, focusing on the motion. Bit by bit, the curtain is pulled back, revealing just how much this newfound knowledge worries him.      “Bobby says we’ll figure it out, but things are bad,” he admits after a long silence. 

     She nods slightly, acknowledging his statement. Honestly, she’s not surprised. She wondered how the ranch was able to run on a handful of tourists and trail rides. With only three horses in paid training, it’s impossible to generate an income that covers the dozen others owned by the family, which can’t be sold for a fair price now that the market is at an all time low. She cannot imagine the mortgage on this enormous place. There’s employees who depend on a salary, animals which need to be fed and cared for, machinery that needs maintenance. Selling stock and letting go workers; they seem like desperate measures to her, measures which will not cut it during the economic crisis this country is currently suffering from, one that might drag on for years. It’s a postponement of execution.

     Dean swallows thickly, allowing her to have a glimpse of his crippling concern. He feels weak to admit it, to admit to her that the walls around him are crumbling. But a joke and a laugh cannot save him this time, there is no way he can dance around the fact that he has zero control over the financial situation, and it scares the living hell out of him.      “If we lose the ranch, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. “This place is all I have.”      Hell, this place is all that I am, he thinks to himself. Because, let’s face it, when you take away the horses and strip him from the opportunities he’s offered here, he’s nothing but a highschool dropout with an old pick up truck. 

     “That’s not true,” Y/N dismisses. “You’ve got family, ranch or not. And you have me now.”      He carefully glances up at her, taken aback by the comfort in her voice. A pair of soft eyes wait for him, strengthening her words. He mirrors the small smile she’s carrying, eased by her promise.      “What if I take a look at the books?” she offers. “If Bobby is okay with that, of course.”      “You - You’d do that?” Dean returns, stunned, his eyebrows raised.      “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t expect miracles by any means, but I can shed some light on it. Maybe get an overview of the assets and liabilities, set up a balance sheet if there isn’t one, etcetera,” she states, making it sound like it’s no big deal. “I analyzed several large companies for my thesis.”

     Impressed, the head wrangler takes in the young woman who is so wise for her age. He only now realises the intern might be the one who could steer this ship away from the massive iceberg they are heading towards. Of course she can’t magically make money appear out of thin air, but he doubts Bobby has the skill set of someone with a master’s degree in business.      “You’re awesome, know that?” he huffs.      “Don’t you forget it.” She grins at him, getting up from her seat and taking his plate.      Before she can rinse it and reach for the dish brush, Dean’s arms snake around her waist and pull her against his chest, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He kisses her on the cheek, leaning his head against hers and ignoring his western hat when it tilts to the side.      “Thank you.”      She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

     Y/N turns in his arms, trapped between him and the kitchen counter. She looks up to meet his admiring gaze, adjusting the Stetson on the cowboy’s head and letting her hands linger, wrists crossed behind his neck.      “I’m beginning to understand just how much the ranch means to you. And frankly, this place is starting to mean a lot to me too,” she admits.

     The morning light sheds diagonal beams through the set of four square windows, highlighting her hair and her beautiful smile. Dean drinks her in for a couple of solid seconds, before he dips down and kisses her.       How she is able to vanquish his inner panic, just by offering her full support, doesn’t cease to amaze the wrangler. He’s not getting his hopes up, he knows the financial problems are bigger than she can fix with a run-through and a few budget cuts. But she’s trying. She’s doing her part. She’s here to help, not only the ranch, but him as well. And just like that, the future seems a lot less grim than it did a moment ago. They will figure it out and things will be okay, as long as he has her by his side.

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

Read part nineteen here

[junova]

Wishful Thinking [P.P] [S.R.]

Summary: AU!Peter just can't seem to let the past go and you with it. 

Pairing: AU!Peter Parker x Reader, AU!Steve Rogers x Reader im really a whore for au scenarios for reference peter is early 20s and reader as well (its just how imagined it tho)

Word Count: 3.5K+ 

A/N: Hey guys! It has been a hot ass minute since I have posted anything I have written and I’m little nervous if I’m being honest. Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! If you wanna give this post a little love, you would own my fucking heart. I really hope you enjoy reading this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s really close to my heart, as always pushing my emotional trauma into fictional characters! Yay! Anyhow, happy reading! 

“Don’t.” The moment those words left her mouth, he felt attacked. Who was she to tell him to not go for it? He hadn’t seen her in years and of all the places he could possibly run in to her, it was the place they met. The building which their love used to stand on and she had the audacity to say “don’t”. 

“Excuse me?” Hopefully, if he played dumb enough she wouldn’t know what he was planning. She wouldn’t be suspicious, but the way her eyebrow was arched told him differently. He definitely was not going to get away with this, easily. “Look at her. She’s happy.” 

“But do you know that for certainty? How do you know she’s getting what she deserves?” Wanda laughed. The audacity Peter had sometimes over you. Disgustingly, claiming you as if he owned you. “Because she’s no longer with you. The universe was doing her a favor.” He frowned. He wasn’t that bad of a boyfriend. Was he? 

“I loved her.” 

“Not nearly as much as you love yourself. Everyone in this room knows that. You showed everyone exactly who you were really are. After everything you put her through, do you really think it’s best to bring up the past? Just leave it alone.” 

Wanda words pierced through him roughly, but he had always been stubborn. Yes, he lied, but only because he was trying to protect you. He had a itching feeling if you knew the truth, you would have never been with him in the first place. In the moment, he had needed you terribly and even know with you a world away and wrapped in another man, he still needed you. For Peter, it went past a want. 

“But I-“ He countered back, before he was interrupted by the one person he had been trying to avoid. 

“Parker! You finally decided to show your face, huh?” Michelle hollered at her friend, but all he could focus on was who stood beside her. There she was. Less than five feet away from him, looking like a complete goddess. Obviously, she hadn’t changed one bit. Still appearing as beautiful as the last time he saw her, only this time they were all gathered for celebration. Instead of the unfortunate circumstances they had met under last time. 

Peter hated to admit, but she looked much happier. Her aura was practically glowing and he hated it. Selfishly, he hated that you looked happy because he was wrecked. Even if he had been the one to break your trust and heart in on crushing punch, it still pained him. Constantly, you were on his mind. Replaying the last conversation he had with over and over like a broken record. Maybe if he had chosen different words to break it down, you would have been able to forgive him. Maybe if he had actually told you, instead of you finding out on your own, your relationship towards him wold have been salvageable. 

Looking at you now, Peter began to feel even more of a goddamn idiot. Even now more than ever, he felt the insecurities of you being out of his league. He always knew it was a little too good to be true. That you, goddess in the flesh, chose Peter Parker to be your boyfriend. Out of every guy that came your way, you chose to be with someone like him. He swore you were the most beautiful person he had ever met in his life. The moment he looked into your eyes, he knew he was fucked. The purity of which they held made Peter forget about every little horrible event which happened in his miserable life. Wanting nothing more than to focus on you and he did for a while. He had the privilege to be the man on your arm. 

Well, until now when Peter realized there was another heavy arm wrapped around her waist. One which certainly didn’t belong to him. Had she already moved on? So, quickly might he add. There were parts of him that didn’t blame you. He didn’t blame you for moving on so quickly to another, even if it was the man he had always been insecure of. God, how he wanted to say something to you when he found out. He wanted to be offensive about and blame you for everything. Even went as far getting hammered one night, mumbling to Wanda how you had broken his heart by finally getting with Steve. You had been the one to ruin the magical bond between the both of you. Nearly pressing your contact in his phone, before Wanda confiscated it from him. 

It was the first time it dawned on him that he wasn’t worthy of you. Not anymore. 

“Yeah, I did. Not feeling so sure about it now.” His eyes directed towards yours, which caused you to divert your own towards the floor. Peter giving you his full attention, even if everything inside of you was hoping he would look in any direction but your own. God, why couldn’t you just look at him like you used to. 

“Aww, lighten up Pete. It’s only going to get worse by the second.” The distaste in Michelle’s tone was rightfully placed. She was sticking up for you. Even when you had always been too polite to say anything negative towards Peter, she wasn’t that nice. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. 

It did in fact get worse by the second. 

Obviously, you were uncomfortable being here. The body language you presented showed it all. Your body was turned towards the man holding onto you, your own body leaning against his. Peter noticed the grip you had on Steve like he was the anchor centering you. The one thing bringing you back down from your anxiety which liked to hold you above ground. 

This exact stance, is the one who you took with him many times. You shifted your body from side to side because you were anxious, scared even. You did it when you were uncomfortable and were contemplating one what to do next. Then, there was the head on his chest. Often, you had told Peter it was comforting. Instead of focusing on your heartbeat which only seemed to increase rapidly during a heightened situation, you liked to listen to something steady. Something that could bring you out of the distress you felt yourself taking a part of.  But the hand holding, that was new. 

Whenever you were having a panic attack, you always claimed you couldn’t be touched. But here you were having one, and Steve was touching you. Maybe you had lied to Peter, too. Maybe you liked to have your hand held when panic speed throughout your mind. Maybe it was just Peter’s hand you didn’t want to hold. 

“Michelle.” Wanda warned, but frankly she didn’t care. If anyone should feel like the bad guy, it wasn’t her but Peter. 

Peter fucking Parker. 

“Are you kidding me? We’re all just gonna act like nothing happened? Like we all haven’t seen each other in months because of this imbecile.” Peter flinched, leave it to Michelle to expose the elephant in the room and shoot it dead on the living room floor. 

“MJ, just leave it. Okay?” You finally spoke up. It was obvious you were uncomfortable. Hell, everyone had to be. You didn’t want to bring conflict within the group, even though Michelle had no problem with it. 

“He doesn’t deserve to be let off the hook just because we’re all friends.” Michelle was hell bent on defending you, but you just thought the past was best left behind. You certainly didn’t want to rehash the heartache you’ve been trying to move on from. 

“Clearly, I’m not, Michelle. Okay? Tonight isn’t even about me. Can we just focus on Natasha and Bucky? Please.” She finally caved, giving him one last glare before storming away. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Bucky. I’ll be right back. Promise.” Steve whispered in your ear, before kissing your temple. “Will you be okay?” He gave your hand which was intertwined with his own a small squeeze, as if to let you know he was speaking. You gave him a small nod, before giving him a light peck, letting him know you were going to fine.  Strutted off in the opposite direction, Wanda took that as her opportunity to stay. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let Peter do something unbelievably stupid with your boyfriend mingling in the same room. 

Peter was about to speak before you beat him to the punch. 

“Well, huh. That was….interesting.” Wanda breaking the unbearable silence between you and Peter. Huh, she expected him to say something. Guess he wasn’t as confident as he appeared. 

“Michelle’s sure on one tonight.” 

“More like on her second bottle of red wine for the night. Definitely, will not remember anything she says or does tonight.” Trying to forget Peter was sitting right there you continued to talk to Wanda. It had been months since you’d seen her and you really missed her. 

She was just asking you about Steve, when her husband called her, politely dismissing herself for just a moment. Cursing Vis for calling her, how was she supposed to cockblock the biggest asshole there was from across the room? 

Minutes passed until Peter found the courage to speak anything in her presence. “You look nice.” God, he really wanted to beat himself up. How could those be the first words he spoke to you after everything had happened? 

“Peter, really?” You questioned. Even now, he liked to play the dumbass. The oblivious boy who had done nothing wrong and that only made you want to cry in anger. But you had indulged yourself in those feeling for far too long. If he wanted to play, you were out for the win. Even if your entire body was shaking in fear, you wouldn’t let him know that. 

“What? You do look nice.” Endearingly enough, his chocolate brown swirls peered out with an innocence he no longer held. How could it after he had hurt the one who he promised to love? “I don’t know. I just figured you might wanna apologize first, before handing me a compliment like we’re friends.” Peter’s body shifted, adjusting the button on his dress shirt he was sporting. Now suddenly feeling suffocated by it. Pondering, if it had always been buttoned up to the collar or if he was just starting to feel it now. 

“We are friends. Before everything, we were friends.” You leaned closer, and suddenly he had forgotten how to breathe. “We were friends, Peter. Then we dated, then we broke up.” 

“And now, friends.” Peter weakly argued. Such a child, if only he would give up and learn his lesson. “Peter that’s not exactly how the timeline goes. You have to apologize. Maybe? Just a fucking thought.” He could hear the disappointment drip in your voice, scolding him like a child who touched a lit stove top. He should apologized. Scratch that. He should have already apologized, but Peter was stubborn. Something you knew a little too well. 

“For what? The feelings I felt were obviously justified, you’re with Steve.” There it was. The one thing you felt guilty for. Steve. Your precious Steve Rogers. The perfect partner which stayed hidden, right under your nose until he made himself known. It was quite recent, but it didn’t matter if you told Peter that. It wouldn’t matter that Steve waited until you were ready. It wouldn’t matter to him that Steve had waited until you stopped crying over Peter every night for three months straight. Not pouncing on you at your most vulnerable, but waiting for you until you stood on your own two feet. All of it didn’t matter to Peter. In his mind, the only thing he knew saw was you were with Steve and not him. Furiously enough, it made his blood boil. Even if he had dug his own grave, you just had to be with him. Out of anyone you could have picked, it was the man he felt inferior to. 

“Leave Steve out of this. He is none of your business. My relationship with him is none of your concern. The moment you lied to me about her, we were dead, Peter. You used me from the very get go. You didn’t want me, Peter. You never did. I was just a rebound for you.” Then it started, always with the hands. Fingers hidden under the bar, began to shake. You were scared of this conversation. Confrontation wasn’t something that came easy to you and Peter being the most stubborn man in the world, didn’t make it any easier for you. 

“Of course, I did. I only wanted you.” And the lying started. Again. 

“You wanted me for your own selfish reasons! I wanted a life with you, a future with you. I was a complete idiot and put my trust in you. Where did it get me Peter? It left me with everything blowing right up in my fucking face.” Peter’s face paled. Never had he seen you this angry, entirely filled with rage and it was all because of him. Every negative feeling you had ever felt for him was evidently suppressed, and now your emotions were resurfacing. You didn’t even care if you were making a scene. You needed to say what had been itching at you for months. 

“I-I-I d-do-n’t. What?” Quickly, Peter became a blubbering mess. He was sitting there not knowing what to say, when all you wanted was an apology. In fact, the only thing you wanted from him. You just wanted him to realize how selfish he had been, but he simply couldn’t meet the expectations set for him. 

“You still don’t get it. Do you?” His eye twitching and his hands shaking, entangled with his own revelation. Peter thought he was good boyfriend. He showed up when it mattered. Yeah, the ending of the relationship had been a little rough around the edges, but he though he was just protecting you. He would have never been good enough for you, so he settled for someone who was. At the time, he thought he was making the right desicison. 

He really was a complete dumbass. As he was here in front of you, he realized he had really fucked up. I mean, he knew he already had but actually hearing you say you wanted a future with him messed with his head. It mad had something to do with you never actually uttering those words to him in the entirety of relationship, but only when the t’s were crossed the i’s were dotted. It just seemed terribly cruel when you were so clearly out of reach for him to grip onto. 

“Pete, I loved you and I didn’t want anyone else other than you. Then, you made me your second choice. How do you think that felt? One day were solid, and then the next you were gone. You didn’t even give me a choice because you had already made one. You didn’t talk to me. You certainly didn’t trust me with your feelings and you no regard for my own. You ruined us, Pete.” Just like that the tears began to fall and you wanted to get the hell out of here. But you had to get through this conversation, not for Peter but for you. 

There went his heart, but it wasn’t for the tears cascading down your cheek, but for what you had called him. You called him Pete. He only let you call him that, always claiming he hated and much rather his full name. Ever since he was little, he was really never fond of nicknames. Of course, until he heard you say it. Then, he fell in love with the name Pete which was sung to the tune of your voice. Deeply, did he wish you were saying it different circumstances. He dreamed of it even, but this was reality. Not his fantasy where you would come back running into his open arms. 

This was it. If he ever wanted to be friends with you again, he had to make his peace with what he had done. Peter Parker was finally giving in. “I never felt good enough for you. After college, when Gwen and I had split up, I was miserable. I didn’t what I was doing with my life. Until I met you and this whole other side of me was unleashed. Every terrible feeling I had ever felt vanished whenever I was with you. You became this light in my life, quite literally guiding me through without even realizing it. Maybe I put you on a pedestal and that’s probably why I thought I can never give you what you needed, but I was scared. Okay? I was scared you would do the same thing Gwen did to me.” You laughed bitterly, the irony of becoming what he was so afraid of you. 

“You could have just talked to me. I always there for you, always. I never left until you made me. You could have just communicated what you were feeling and I would have listened.” 

“I wasn’t ready. How was I supposed to tell you? I was paralyzed with fear as you can tell.” You sighed, as he was staring at you with those honey eyes. The nagging, forgiving side of you just wanted to bring him back in. To comfort him until all of his pain vanished, but the stronger part how he left you for Gwen consumed you. 

“Pete, I know now, but can you honestly tell me that were completely over Gwen. If you went back to her, don’t you think there were still some unresolved feelings. Love or not, you still had feelings for her. It’s okay, I just, I’m really tired of everything going on between us. How it’s effecting our friends. Michelle can barely stand to be around you and that’s partly my fault. I probably told her too much and now she thinks differently of you. The mess should have stayed between us. I just want to clean it up, Peter. I want this all to be over with. I need us to be done. Clean slate. For you. For me. For Steve. For our friends. A new beginning where our baggage stays in the past.” 

Even when you were angry, you were still kind. You truly had the purest of intentions, even after he drug your heart through the mud, you held yourself with grace and mercy. None of which he knew how you held such a tight grip on. 

Suddenly it the revelation dawned on Peter, you were forgiving him. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Peter sighed, any plans he had to win you back had fled and the only thing he felt now was guilt. Even though he was one hundred percent in the wrong, you were the one to wave the red flag in surrender. Always being the bigger person when he was incapable of it. Really, when he didn’t have the will for it, but you did. For the both of you, no matter how much it hurt. 

Even if you weren’t getting the answers you had originally came for.  

_______________

“How’d it go?” Steve’s arms found your waist, pulling you close to his chest. “Good, for the most part. I think we’ll finally be on speaking terms now. More accurately, I will finally speak with him.” Giving you a small peck to your shoulder, before turning you around so you were facing him. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Hmm.” You looked in his deep, ocean eyes. The love he poured into you, truly unmatched to anything you had ever felt. “Do you still love him?” 

“Like in love? Or just love? Two very different things, peach.” 

“Just, um, like in love?” His voice going up an octave higher, slightly afraid of the answer you would give him. If Steve could count on one thing, it was your honesty. Time and time again, you had showed him it was what you valued most. Considering your past, he understood why. 

“I was in love with my boyfriend, Peter Parker. The man who I thought loved me through and through. I pictured a life with him, and future with him. God, he met my parents even and they loved him to absolute death. My dad told me after we broke up, he even asked for his blessing. That he wasn’t ready, but some day he would be. Of course, the golden boy image Peter sold to them was more than believable so he gave it to him. Shit, like, how could he you know? Obviously, he was clearly still so in love with Gwen since he left me for her. I just wish I would have known about her, but he never alluded to anything about her and I never had a reason to doubt him. He was perfect with me. Right until it wasn’t. 

“So, no. I don’t. My love for him died the very moment he chose her over me.” You began to cry again, and god did Steve hate seeing you cry. Silently, cursing himself for even bringing it up in the first place, but the insecurity of Peter being your first love crept in. What if you had changed your mind one day? What if you decided one morning all was forgiven and left him? It wasn’t the most unreasonable thought. People can change. What if you would? But little did Steve know that you forgave Peter, but still were very much in love with the blue, eyed man in front of you. 

Immediately, Steve embraced you, holding you in his arms like they could protect you from any harm which came your way. Quite frankly, they very well could. In moments like these, everything else seemed to fade. He could make you forget about all the hurts of the past and center you on the future. 

“I wish I would have manned up and asked you before you met Peter.” Steve whimpered. He really had a want to protect you and it only made you love him more. You wanted to tell him so badly, but it just didn’t feel right. “I don’t. I wasn’t ready for you back then.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just gut me.” Once you started kissing him, he didn’t really have much to complain about. Sweet and soft, his lips slanted over yours perfectly. The familiar taste of strawberries invading your senses, slightly ecstatic he had finally started using the chapstick you had begged him to start using. You didn’t mind kissing his slight chapped lips, since it was Steve, but smooth was so much better in your opinion. 

“Doll, I’m sorry. I brought it up. I know it isn’t the easiest for you to talk about it. I really should be more mindful of it.” Even when he wasn’t trying, he was an absolute sweetheart. It only caused your heart to soar, more than ever. “No, don’t be. It’s important to me to talk about these things. To work through, them. You know? Evidently, I’ve never really been the greatest communicator, but I want to be. With you, I want to be better because this is the most important relationship in my life. Just you and I, peach.” 

You lowered your hands that were wrapped around his waist, before resting them on his perfectly shaped bum. You certainly didn’t miss the blush which spilled out over Steve’s cheeks, at your new position. “God, I hope no one ever finds out the reason you call me that.” Steve shamefully admitted. 

“Peach, have you seen your ass? It’s not like it’s a secret.” You giggled when he grabbed yours, and honestly you were surprised. He was never this forward, at least not in public. “Trust me when I saw no one is staring at mine, when you have an ass like that.” He gifted you with light peck before dragging you along to the group of your friends. 

But Peter? He watched the entire interaction. His eyes focused on you since you conversation had ended. It was clear you were over him, but he wasn’t over you. Surely, he could change your mind. He had done it once and he would stop at nothing to do it again. 

________________

[peakatseven]

MICHAAAA CONGRATULATIONS

🌕 broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

andddd

🎸 haunted

this bitch really came for me asking for a story AND a cover of such a hard song to sing. okay thanks i guess.

nah im just kidding babe i had so much fun writing this! i feel like it’s the first time in years that i’m posting proper fanfiction? kind of? idk i was trying to find another name for the mc but i kept picturing frat boy harry so here we go:

Concentration is impossible when the silence is loud and the work is important. The worst part is when one starts thinking about the need of being concentrated, rather than the actual work that needs to be done. As a university student, Harry was no different than most: his anxiety about school and his future co-existed with the emotional backlash of relationships and the need to "experience the best years of your life". There were few people with whom he wouldn't worry about meeting some kind of expectation. But she had been silent with him for the better part of a year. Images of Caro kept coming back to him, a trauma he couldn't let go off. Granted, it was the one painful brake up he'd experienced, one that was never truly over. Even now, uncountable names in between him and her, he still couldn't get her blue eyes off of his mind. The thought of her porcelain skin over his sun-kissed body came to him every single one of his one-night-stands. And at that moment, sitting on his desk, trying to get his homework done, the memory of her laughter drowned every sentence he tried to compose. He forced everything out with a loud grunt, grabbing his head with both hands and pulling on his hair. "The results show that 73.3% of patients responded positively to the treatment." He voiced out loud, trying to silence Caro's laughter in his mind. "No, that's bullshit." After a few moments staring at the cursor beeping at the end of his last sentence, he finally shut the laptop down. On an impulse, he unlocked his phone and opened a conversation from three days prior. He should've answered it when he got the text, but he wasn't in the mood at the time. "Hey, babe, wanna go for a beer rn?" He wasn't even done changing when the phone buzzed on the table. Two happy emojis popped up, and then a "Meet you there in 10". He kept the speed up as he rode off campus, through a park and then into the city. He was glad for the chill air against his face, numbing it to the point where it was the only thing he was able to think about. Finally some peace of mind. It wasn't dark yet when he got to the bar, but the sun had already set behind the buildings. There was one single tree, barely taller than him but strong enough to hold his bike. As he secured it, a red leaf fell to his knee. It was autumn when he got to kiss Caro for the first time, and it was also autumn when he kissed her last. "Nope. Something else, think of something else." he thought to himself. Incapable of coming up with anything, he brought out a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Somewhere inside him, there was a bit of guilt about what he was trying to do. But it'd been so long since he started that it no longer bothered him. His new game was called Darren. The younger guy looked like a model, straight silver hair and pale skin that Harry couldn't wait to leave marks on. All he could think about when Darren was around was the things he wanted to do to him. It was purely sensual, and that was pretty clear from the start. Or at least that's what he told himself. That Darren was on the same page as him- no strings attached, just fun and games. But the way his phone had been buzzing ever since he got on the bike, there was clearly more interest from one side. But instead of doing the right thing, and not stringing him along, Harry was about to sleep with him again and leave with a lame excuse to not spend the night. And then it was back to emotionless texts, conversations on the verge of ghosting him just in case he'd be in the mood again. But it was okay, Darren was playing the same game. He had the same dynamic with a lot of people lately. None knew of each other. They didn't have to, and they didn't ask either. He was no monster, though. Harry would tell that to himself constantly. That because no one had explicitly asked for exclusivity, it was implied they weren't obliged to it. The only one who did, what was her name again? Odella... no, that's not right... Ornella, maybe? He laughed dryly at himself. He'd become one of those guys that didn't even remember the names of all of his

partners. But he was no dougebag, when Ornella asked to be exclusive, he straight up told her no and then never bothered her again. They weren't on the same page anymore, so no more games. He wondered if that would ever happen with Darren too. There was not much time to think about this, because he was soon greeting the guy with a half hug and a gentle kiss just beside his lips. "You smell nice." Darren said, hands in his pockets and scarf almost over his mouth. "You just like the smell of tabacco." Harry smirked and put the unfinished cigarette down. "Let's get in, you're freezing." The night went exactly how Harry planned it. All his jokes were welcomed by Darren, and he let the young boy win at pull- he was cute when he bragged about his skills. But the best feeling was whenever Harry would approach Darren. A stroke of the lower back, a smirk from the other side of the table, a kiss when no one was near... Darren accepted any and everything Harry was willing to give him. The power high that it gave him to have someone be so devoted to him was indescribable. But the night was fully set and he was growing impatient. "Let's get out of here." He whispered to Darren's ear right before his turn. Darren had already started pulling Harry's bike for him when the phone on his pocket buzzed again. Harry walked alongside his date, though his eyes were on his phone. He had a lost call that he hadn't noticed while inside. The number wasn't saved to his phone anymore, but he hadn't managed to erase it from his own memory yet. "Oh, shit." He whispered. "I... Sorry, man, I have to go. There's a- um, it's a family thing." Harry was on his bike before his date could answer. He didn't even look at Darren's eyes before leaving. There was a sting of guilt building up, and maybe he'd feel disgusted by himself if it wasn't for the sheer adrenaline running through his veins. Maybe the alcohol had a bit to do with it too. This had only happened a few times before, and the outcome was always the same. Still, Harry couldn't keep himself from falling to his knees when it came to her. As he rode his bike as fast as he could go, a cynical smile crept on his lips. How ironic. Darren was probably feeling the same way about Harry just a few hours prior. Whenever Caro was in town, she stayed at her best friend's apartment- all the way on the other side of the city. So it was past midnight already when he got to the building. There was a party on the roof, maybe they could sneak in for more drinks. She had some catching up to do, as Harry was already tipsy. Still, he didn't have to check the phone to know which floor to go to and which door to knock. Just like everything else about Caro, he had it indefinitely memorized. 409, the doorknocker was a silver seagull. A very heavy, silver seagull. At first, Harry didn't feel it when his finger got caught in between the door and the seagull, but by the third time he knocked, it started changing colour. "Hm." He said to himself as he examined the swollen-red finger. He put it in his mouth and kept on knocking to the beat of the music coming from above. Why did they have the music so loud? Harry could barely hear his own thoughts, so the neighbours had to be furious about this noise. Carolina was probably waiting for Harry, who was already late due to how far he was when she texted him. "Fuck!" He said, taking his phone out of his pocket again. He hadn't answered. Dumb ass. "im herre" He sent the text before reading the ones Caro had sent before. One was a laughing emoji and the other was a voice note. There were people laughing on the background, and someone turned the music down a bit for Caro to speak into her phone. "I'm so sorry, ignore that, it was a dare." She half said, half laughed. Harry didn't understand, so he played it again. Again. Again. And again one more time. Was she talking about the lost call? or was it about her being in town? Had he really fallen for such a stupid trap? Harry fell to the floor, phone glued to his ear as the voice note played over and over again. His chest was about to

explode, face red and throat dry. He knocked on the door again, now with his fist. The inevitable tear fell down his cheek, though it was impossible to know if it was sadness or anger that caused it. "Oh, god." Someone said behind him. But when he turned around, the stairs were empty and someone on hills was running up the stairs. He got up and ran after them, but he was too intoxicated to keep up. He fell halfway up the stairs, having to crawl for a few steps before getting up. On the rooftop, there were too many people in heels to know which one had seen him. "Great." He sight. Might as well look around. He walked around the place, inhaling the cold air of the night and trying to calm down, make sense of what had just happened. He was about to light up his last cigarette when someone took it from him. She had long purple nails and her skin glowed under the moonlight. She smirked as the cigarette reached her mouth. He lit it up for her. "I didn't think you'd actually come." She said. Her smirk turned into a sincere smile. "You told me to." "Yes, but I also said you should ignore that." "Well I didn't." He took the cigarette from her fingers and smoked himself before speaking again. "Should I go?" He wanted to seem as cool with the situation as she appeared to be, hide the fact that he had just been played like a puppet for a fucking drinking game dare. "What happened to you finger?" She shouted, stepping closer to him. "I- I don't remember." Harry lied. There was still a bit of dignity to be salvaged. And there it was, but this time it was real. Her laugh, once again, drowned every thought on his mind. There was no music and no people around them anymore, it was just him and her, together again, laughing in the middle of the night. "You know I meant to call you, right?" Caro said, a hand tenderly rubbing his arm. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he knew it too. "I'm sure you did." He said. "I did!" She pushed him a little, both cracking a knowing smile. "I promise I did, it's just that-" "Shut the fuck up." He felt more stable now that he'd taken some air and the alcohol effect had cooled down. "It's okay, Caro. Let's just have fun tonight and see what happens." "Sounds fun." She leaned in and kissed him on his cheek, the kiss lingering just a second too long. He instinctively put a hand on her hip, but she walked away swiftly after the kiss. The pain on his chest came back, and the little composure he had gained crumbled. She wasn't coming back to him. This time it was definitive, and it had been for a while now. But the worst realization that came to him that night, was how much power she had over him. How much hope, urge, love, anger and pain she could cause in just a matter of hours. She had him at her mercy, like a puppet she could toy with however she wanted. They were both the same kind of wicked, using others for validation, feasting on their adoration. But as much pain as it caused him to know he was at the other end of his own game, it also sparked joy to know he could provide that for her.

[weirdanecdotes]

Too Many Roosters

From a very early age, I always wanted a small cottage with a big garden and a small flock of hens. I had no special love for chickens as a species; they weren’t up there with kittens, puppies, pandas and koala bears on my list of cute animals. I wanted them for fresh eggs and aged manure to re-activate my garden beds. My desire was strictly practical.

A flock of four to eight layers could easily provide what an old couple needed but Dear Husband (DH) had higher ambitions including breeding his own. Consequently, we ordered two Partridge Rock roosters, two Easter Egg-types along with twenty-one hens in those two breeds and Silver-Laced Wyandottes because they looked pretty in the hatchery’s online catalog. We expected a bonus “exotic” chick for a total of twenty-six. What we got was twenty-nine balls of fluff.  Not being the types that would complain about getting more than we paid for, we considered ourselves lucky. We ordered an excess of chickens in the first place because DH expected 50% losses along the way. He was wrong.

I discovered baby chicks are quite adorable little balls of furry fluff that sit in the palm of your hand. They cheep and emit tiny whistling noises and blink at you anxiously. Among themselves they huddled together for warmth and comfort, making an effort to recover from the trauma of their short lives. They had gone from an egg to a box, gotten jostled thru the US Postal Service, roared down a highway, and been spilled into a Rubbermaid bin with an infrared lamp instead of a hen to keep them warm. At intervals during the day, a giantess came and, at random, plucked them up, checked their butts for pasting and terrified the heck out of them.

With twenty-nine of them, it was impossible for me to develop any kind of one-on-one relationship with any of them and they all seemed very much alike in their reactions. A couple of them weren’t as terrified of me but generally I didn’t feel an empathetic connection to the little critters. They were a means to an end and not intended to be pets. Eventually, I expected to eat them so becoming emotionally attached seemed counter-productive.

By the time they were two months old and let outside, the roosters were clearly identifiable by being larger and more aggressive. We ended up with two Golden Red Araucanas, one white Easter Egger and four Partridge Rocks for a total of seven obvious roosters. We went back and forth on the sex of the “exotic” who early on got named Odd Chick on account of being so different from all the rest. Odd was much bigger than the obvious roosters but had a round female body and a very passive disposition. We thought it might be a Silver Laced Cochin because of its feathery feet and black and white markings but we never sure.

I got into the habit of going out every evening after dinner and sat on a garden stool in the middle of their grazing yard to observe their behavior. It was relaxing to do so and amusing. My first feelings were that they were vaguely reptilian. They reminded me of characters in the Jim Henson movie Dark Crystal. I couldn’t see how anyone could develop affection for these last remaining links to the dinosaurs with their b-b-sized brains and robotic responses. I didn’t see any thoughts or feelings behind their eyes, only genetically-programmed instincts.

I started giving them names just to be able to talk about them to DH. The two red roosters got named Big Red and Lil’ Red. 

The white one became Whitey. The biggest Rock was Mister Big.

The three lesser Rock roosters and all of the hens went unnamed for weeks because of a lack of distinguishing behavior. It wasn’t necessary to refer to them because they didn’t do anything remarkable.

The roosters, on the other hand, engaged in daily battles for dominance. A pair of them would lock eyes across the yard and rush at each other at top speed until they crashed chest-to-chest and knocked each other backwards. Standing a foot or so apart, they would then spread their legs in a wrestler’s stance, crane their heads forward on elongated, fluffed-out necks and have themselves a stare-down. The first one to blink lost the game and would run away, cowering. Some evenings, the yard looked like a Mosh Pit with the males careening at each other and knocking each other silly. Since Odd didn’t play these games and hung with the hens, I became convinced it was a she.

As time passed, Big Red and Mister Big got so much larger than the others that the game ended at the beginning with the smaller rooster getting bumped so hard he scrambled to get away. Oddly, the big guys didn’t confront each other. The lessor Rock roosters stopped wanting to play at all, cowered at a glance from another male, and hid among the hens. 

Only Whitey and Lil’ Red continued to challenge the hierarchy and the game evolved to the next level. Instead of letting the loser of the bump-and-stare retreat, the larger rooster would then pursue him and snatch his tail feathers. This would bring me off my stool, yelling. I couldn’t sit there and watch physical harm being done. Even so, the saddle of Whitey’s back ended up bald before he gave up and took to slouching down behind the hens to make himself invisible.

Now, I suppose Whitey brought this upon himself by constantly picking fights with the bigger roosters and, as DH explained, it was the law of the barnyard in action but I felt sorry for him. DH, who grew up on a farm, told me that one day one of the roosters might kill another one and that’s the way it worked. The biggest, baddest rooster got to rule the flock and pass his genes unto the next generation.

From my point of view, Lil’ Red’s behavior became pathological. He sought out confrontations with the bigger roosters like he had delusions of grandeur. Being sneaky and quicker was his advantage. He always got away before his tail feathers could be snatched and acted like that was a victory. He would strut about, nodding his head on an elongated neck like he was the boss of the block and to prove it he’d attack a hen or two. Viciously, he darted up behind an unsuspecting hen and stabbed her in the back with his beak or raked her head with his talons.

I decided I really didn’t like Lil’ Red very much. He wasn’t as pretty as Big Red and didn’t have the thick neck and whiskers that distinguish the breed. In fact, his head looked too small for his body. His eyes were rimmed with red flesh and he started to look demon-possessed to me. He’d get up in my face while I was sitting on my stool, take the stance and lay a stare on me. I thought he was surely crazy if he thought he could fight me and win no matter how fast he was.

One evening, Big Red was grazing in the grass and Lil’ Red snuck up behind him, bit into his neck, and did not let go. Big Red twitched and ran with Lil’ Red hanging from his neck. He slung his burden left and right, against fence posts and walls, and still Lil’ Red held on. Exhausted and screaming with pain, Big Red crouched down and shivered. Suddenly every rooster in the yard was on top of him, stabbing and stomping to finish him off. 

I was already on my feet, yelling, running across the yard, and when the pile-on occurred I was there to slap and kick away the attackers. The roosters scattered from my wrath and Big Red lay still on the ground. As I stooped to pick him up, Lil’ Red came at me and I backhanded him across the yard. I scooped up Big Red and took him in the house.

We put him in our “hospital” bin, gave him massive doses of vitamins, and kept him in for a couple of nights. I was all for killing Lil’ Red right then. As I saw it, he had violated some kind of chicken code of honor by sneaking up on Big Red from behind. He didn’t deserve to be king of the flock for being devious. DH thought Lil’ Red showed intelligence and didn’t think we should do more than give Big Red another chance to fight for his status.

By the third morning, Big Red was frisky and pressing to get out of the bin so I carried him back to the yard, let the other chickens out of the coop, and watched to see what would happen. He puffed himself up to his full height and stood his ground as some of the hens came around him and made cooing noises. Mister Big nodded but didn’t challenge him. Lil’ Red came out, saw Big Red, and darted around the yard hiding behind hens and smaller roosters. I stood watch for a couple of hours as Big Red went about his business, feeding and drinking, and Lil’ Red kept as much distance as possible in a fenced yard. When it appeared that Big Red had no concept of revenge but had learned constant vigilance and Lil’ Red shied from a re-match, I left them for the day.

That evening Little Red went on a rampage of hen attacks and Whitey was doing it, too. It appeared to me that knowing they couldn’t win against the alpha males, these two malcontents were determined to boss over anyone they could. DH explained that biting hens on the neck is the rooster equivalent of foreplay but I found it very disturbing.

As the days passed, all four of the dominant roosters began biting the hens. They showed no signs of knowing what to do next but they seemed to be having a competition to see who could bite the most necks. The two biggest, dominant roosters – Big Red and Mister Big -- were paradoxically the most gentle; they’d nip, get a squawk and let go. Little Red and Whitey were downright vicious. They’d grab onto a hen’s neck and wouldn’t let go. The poor hen would flap her wings, shriek in pain and wrench her body away at the cost of a few feathers. Lil’ Red made a big mistake trying to bite Odd’s neck. S/he whipped around, Ninja-fashion, jumped up and stomped on his back.

The three lesser Rock roosters just watched; they appeared to have given up their maleness weeks before. The reward for their lack of competitiveness was getting bitten in the neck by Lil’ Red or Whitey. Lil’ Red went beyond that, of course. He’d bite the smaller Rock in the neck then use his foot to bring their head down on the ground and stomp their beaks in the dirt.

So one morning, I wasn’t surprised when the smallest Rock rooster had his left eye swollen shut. I took him into the house and put him in the hospital bin. When DH got home, we gave him antibiotics and vitamins. I wondered out-loud why we were investing effort in the weakest link in the flock. But, instead of putting the pathetic creature out of his misery, DH jokingly named him One-eyed Jack. After a couple of days, it became clear the eye was damaged beyond repair but still DH couldn’t find the will to kill the poor creature. Jack was such a timid, pathetic critter that after a couple more days neither could I.

I admired many of the other chickens for their beauty but this was the first one for whom I felt any affection. He didn’t instinctively jerk away from me; that was the difference. He seemed to like my attentions. I tried to return him to the flock but it didn’t work. Within minutes, the hens were pecking at him and I had to scoop him up. Perhaps, he smelled too human or they all just immediately knew he would never be of any use to them. I let him roam outside of the yard and watched as he ran around the perimeter of the fence trying to find a way back into the flock. It wasn’t going to happen; Big Red and Mister Big prowled the fence beside him, trying to peck him thru the wire. After a while, he took shelter in the compost shed beside the grazing yard and just watched the other chickens from a distance. I brought him feed and water and let him be.

That night when I went out to close up the coop, there was Jack roosting on the handle of my watering can by the backdoor. I brought him back in and put him in the bin. DH laughed, “We’ve got a house chicken now!”

Meanwhile, my evening visits to the chicken yard had become quite upsetting. The place was a frenzy of pain and misery as Lil’ Red and Whitey attacked everything smaller than they were. So I presented the problem of too many roosters to DH. Having the rooster population inside the chicken yard reduced by one seemed to accelerate the competition. Could we just get rid of the main offenders?

Perhaps he thought I was exaggerating and came out to see for himself.  After witnessing repeated attacks on the hens in less than ten minutes, he became irate, chased down, grabbed and tossed the excess roosters out of the yard. Lil’ Red, Whitey, and even the two smaller Rocks found themselves on the outside with Jack. Like a pathetic puppy, Jack greeted them happily only to be rebuffed with pecks and nips. Having a better knowledge of the lay of the land, he avoided them after that. I protested the ejection of the two smaller Rocks; they were blameless. But, DH was too angry to hear reason. He swore that he regretted ever getting roosters at all and even Big Red and Mister Big were on probation. If he saw them mistreating the hens, they’d be out, too.

By nightfall, Whitey and Lil’ Red had figured out how to get back into the yard by climbing atop the compost heap and then flapping over the fence. They celebrated their return by attacking any hens that got within two feet of them. DH didn’t feel up to chasing them down again and decided to see if the yard would settle down. So for a couple of nights, Jack came inside and the two hapless Rocks who continued to shun him were left to find shelter under the compost shed. And Lil’ Red and Whitey continued their reign of terror.

On the third morning when I went to let the chickens out of their coop, I discovered three explosions of feathers across the lawn and one Rock cowering alone behind the feed can in the compost shed. DH said it was a dog that did the deed. I worried the dog would return for the remaining outside Rock. Or worse, come again to dig under the fence and find some way into the coop. Leaving it to Nature to cull the flock might have brought unintended consequences…

That evening as I sat on the patio at dusk, Jack loped up to me and clucked with anxiety. I assured him that I would take him inside again. Not contented by the sound of my voice, he hopped up into my lap, scurried up my chest and took roost on my shoulder. I slowly stood up and went over to the kitchen window to call DH to look out. “Aaarg,” I said, “I’m a barnyard pirate with me one-eyed roo.”

The following morning, DH arose at 5am and sat with his shotgun across his lap to wait for the return of whatever had killed the deceased and never-named rooster. Whatever it was did not return that day.

All day the remaining free-ranging rooster kept company with Jack deciding, in the absence of others, that he wasn’t such a bad fellow after all. I named him Curly for his corkscrew tail feathers. It seemed like it would be a good arrangement but the problems with Lil’ Red and Whitey remained unresolved.

The next day DH decided to chase them down and clip their wing feathers so they couldn’t get back into the yard. It took sweaty effort to chase them down and even with half of their left wings cut off the demon roosters flapped back over the fence. Lil’ Red immediately grabbed Odd by the neck and started to claw his/her head. That was it for DH; Odd was the prettiest chicken we had. He ran into the yard, grabbed Lil’ Red off Odd, and broke his neck with a quick jerk. Still in a fury, he started to chase Whitey then said, “Hell, I’m not wasting my breath,” went into the house and came back out with his rifle. That solved that.

By evening, tranquility settled upon the chicken yard. Big Red and Mister Big strutted with unchallenged superiority and felt no need to bite necks. Both of them crowed to let everyone in the neighborhood know they were the Bosses in our yard. Then, Odd made this noise, not a crow at all, more like the cry of a wild loon and still we wondered if he was a stealth rooster or whether she was announcing she was Queen of the Hens. Curly was cozy with Jack in the compost shed. Instead of digging a hole, DH strode off to the woods and made an offering of the dead demon roosters to the buzzards. That night I was all for putting Curly inside with Jack but he wouldn’t let me catch him. He made it thru that night and all seemed, as it should be.

The next day after dinner, we went out to the garden and discovered another explosion of feathers by the compost shed. In broad daylight, something had come and taken Curly. Jack had wedged himself between the fence and the feed can and only lost part of his tail feathers. When I called for him, he jumped out of his hiding place and flapped up into my arms. I took him inside immediately and the next morning he resisted when I tried to take him out of the bin. I decided to let him stay inside. I stayed outside all day in horrid heat, waiting and watching, then all of the next day until I had to go inside to fix dinner.

When DH got home, he hammered on the kitchen window yelling that there were dogs in the yard. I ran out and there was a golden retriever and a black mixed-breed strolling toward the chicken yard. The retriever got to the fence first and the chickens looked at him curiously. When the black dog came into view, they jumped up, made frantic cries of alarm, and ran into the coop. The black dog had a collar so DH told me to run and get the camera while he called the dogs to him. When I returned moments later, the black dog had already gone into the compost shed, returning to the scene of the second hit. The retriever showed no interest in the chicken yard; he was far more interested in having DH scratch his head. I took pictures of the black dog in the shed. It even went over to Jack’s hiding place and nosed around. It then went to the first explosion of feathers it had made and nosed around there. Not finding any easy pickings, it scouted around the fence trying to find a way into the yard.

I was yelling at the dog while I took pictures, telling it to get away but it was focused on its quest for more chicken meat. DH had gone into the house to get his gun. A fat little boy roared up on his four-wheeler and demanded to know why I was yelling at his dog. I told him his dog had killed two of our chickens and my husband was getting a gun so he’d better get his dog and lock it up while he could. Strangely, he said, “I’ll tell my Daddy,” and roared off across the cotton field toward a man on a tractor.

When DH came out, I told him about the boy and pointed to the man out in the field. We waited and watched the dog continue to test our fence. The boy did not return. The man continued to drive his tractor thru the fields away from us. Maybe fifteen minutes passed. The black dog proceeded to dig under the fence and got halfway under it before DH said, “Damn,” and shot it dead.

We chained up the retriever thinking that if no one claimed it, we would keep it and train it to protect our chickens from other dogs. Eventually, the farmer drove up on his tractor and demanded, “Why’d you kill my dog?”

We told him; showed him the paw prints inside the yard where the dog had started to dig under the fence, showed him the feather explosions, showed him the photos I’d taken of the dog’s behavior.

“Damn,” the man said, “I’m not getting any more black dogs. Last one I had did the same thing and I had to put him down. Glad I didn’t have to do it this time. Least, my kids’ll be mad at you instead of me. I know you had to do it. Once a dog tastes chicken there’s no going back. Hellava way to meet a new neighbor, ain’t it? I’m sorry ‘bout this. What do I owe you for the chickens?”

Of course, we professed our genuine sorrow and thanked him so much for understanding. That’s the way it is in the country: You just don’t mess with a man’s stuff and everyone understands the consequences of dogs killing chickens. He told us the owners of the other dog and said he’d let them know we had it. They came later and were so grateful we hadn’t shot their dog, too. We explained how her dog hadn’t shown any interest in the chickens or acted guilty. All the same, she said she’d pen the dog up and not let him roam around anymore.

When it was all over, DH put his head in his hands and grieved. “When I left Vietnam, I swore to myself I’d never kill another living thing. Now I’ve killed two chickens and a dog all because I insisted on having roosters.”

I felt guilty, too. I ran the whole sequence of events thru my mind.  I go back to the point where I began to feel that Little Red was evil. After he attacked Big Red, I shouldn’t have waited to discuss the situation and expected my husband to do the killing.  I should have followed my impulse, gone back out and chopped him up with a hoe. Then, maybe Whitey wouldn’t have gotten bad habits and Jack might not have lost his eye. The two blameless Rocks would still be sitting with the hens. And the kid’s dog would still be alive, feeding undetected on the large flocks that roam free on the other side of the road. But, it really does start back at the beginning with too many roosters.

[jinkisbelly]

Dawning 4/4

This was my entry for the Halloween fic fest and I hope you like it~  Can be read on AFF and Ao3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Onkey, past Jinki/oc, and platonic ontae, jongyu and onho :D

Rating: Teen

w/c:15k altogether

Summary:  After years of luring humans to steal their valuables, Jinki meets one Human that makes him question everything.

            Jinki tightened the blanket around his shoulders, stepping soundlessly through the forest toward Minho’s den. The large round wooden door was closed as he approached. Minho could very well be asleep, but Jinki desperately needed to speak to someone. He couldn’t go to Jonghyun. Even if he’d never tell Jinki I told you so, or make him feel bad on purpose, Jinki knew he’d be disappointed in him. Taemin was also an option, but he was more likely to say what he thought would make Jinki happy in his own way of supporting him. That wasn’t what Jinki needed. He needed a deep understanding and honesty Minho was able to give. With a deep breath, Jinki let his knuckles rake against the thick wood.

            As the door was pulled open, Minho’s chocolate brown hair blew from his face. “What can I do- Jinki? What’s wrong?”

            “Can I come in?”

            Minho was stepping out of the way and opening the door more before the question was even finished.

-----

            The ceramic bowl half full with soup was gently set on the ground beside him as he averted his gaze from Minho across the way. “As much as I enjoy your company Jinki, I believe it’s time for you to explain why you’re here.”

            “Right. Yes.” Jinki took a deep breath, eyes closed as he confessed. “I did something I shouldn’t have.”

            “You aren’t the type to do something drastic without thinking it through, Jinki.”

            Fidgeting with his fingers Jinki groaned quietly, admitting. “I kissed Kibum. I let him kiss me.”

            “I know why you’re torn and I understand that turmoil within you, but I have watched you all these years moving through life like in a fog. I know you’ve been happy, but you haven’t learned to trust yourself or your feelings again.” Minho moved to hold both of Jinki’s hands, making him lookup. “You’re afraid to get hurt again and to mistakenly blame yourself as you did with Bonhwa if something happened to the forest because you trusted a human.”

            “I once thought I knew Bonhwa so deeply and I turned out to be wrong. No matter how much I feel like Kibum’s different, what if I’m wrong about him too?”

            “When you first introduced Bonhwa to us, do you remember what I told you?” Jinki softly nodded. With a smile, Minho squeezed his hands. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t feel that way about Kibum. I didn’t get that from him when you introduced us. You may not trust yourself, but I hope you can find comfort in your trust in me.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.” Minho cooed as he lifted a hand to wipe the few tears that had escaped Jinki’s lashes. “Wanting to kiss Kibum isn’t wrong Jinki, and neither is acting upon that desire. Tread lightly, but don’t let your past trauma and the fear of being hurt keep you from exploring what could be the biggest part of the next section of your life.”

            Jinki sniffled, breath shaky as he attempted to keep his emotions in check. “Jonghyun thinks I should just let him leave.”

            “It’s in Jonghyun’s nature to protect his pack more than Taemin or I. He wants what is safest for you. I don’t fault him for wanting that.” Minho leaned forward to press a kiss to Jinki’s forehead. “You don’t have to forgive Bonhwa for what he did or even change your distrust of humans, but Kibum shouldn’t be blamed for another man’s actions. He deserves a chance to show you that he’s different.”

            “Thank you, Minho.”

            “I’ll always be here for you, Jinki.”

-----

            Rain clouds were beginning to form on the horizon, but the two men sitting in the southern field pay no mind to them. Their pinkies were barely brushing between them, the flowers swaying in the wind picking up speed by the second. The knowledge that Kibum was fully healed was hanging over their heads like an ax, ready to be dropped at any moment. Going back to Jinki’s home meant a discussion they weren’t ready to have, confronting what hasn't been said for weeks.

            A smile pulled at Jinki’s lips as the flowers began to grow taller and rapidly around Kibum. The man let the flowers overtake him, belly-deep laughter leaving his lungs as he turned his head to look at Jinki. God, he was beautiful. The moon against the rich green of his hair, the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed... and oh his laugh; from soft barely-there chuckles to his deep laugh where he snorts every so often. Kibum could listen to every shade of it for the rest of his life and never find it boring. Gesturing to the flowers with a slight lift of his left hand, Kibum grinned. “Are you trying to suffocate me with pretty?”

            “There are many ways I can do that. Flowers, vines-”

            “You kissing me breathless.”

            Jinki’s gaze snapped back to his, joking smile gone, but in the light of the moon the deep color of his cheek was clearly visible as he breathed out, “Kibum.”

            The flowers slowly receded as the first few raindrops fall from the sky. Jinki didn’t move as Kibum rose to his knees in front of him, bringing his face between his large palms. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll go.”

            “It’s not that simple.”

            “Then help me understand.”

            “Time and lessons learned tell me to let you go, Kibum. Humans take and take until there's nothing left.” Jinki squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before looking at the way his hand spreads across Kibum’s chest. Slowly, his gaze lifted, voice almost pleading, “What will you end up taking from me?”

            “I know my kind has hurt you and harmed what you hold dear, but I am not Bonhwa. I’m not him, Jinki. Hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. Please believe me.”

            “I have tried so hard to make myself hate you to save me the trouble, but I still fell for you. I want to trust you completely. I want you to stay and not worry somehow it will go up in flames as it did before.” A tear falls from his lashes, splashing against Kibum’s fingers on his cheeks. “I vowed that another human would never call this forest home and suddenly you are making me question everything I have stood for, for the last few thousand years.”

            Kibum smiles falters for just a moment before he’s grinning. “You want me to stay?”

            Jinki huffed, but his lips curved up. “That is what you take out of all I have said?”

            “I love you. How I learned to love you through your stubbornness and quick insults, I will never know.” Letting his hand fall, he tugged Jinki closer by a soft grip on his hips, the other’s laughter light and warm at the action. Their noses brushed lightly as he spoke again. “Give me a chance to prove that you deserve love...and that good things don’t always end in betrayal.”

            It wasn’t until after a deep breath that Jinki opened his eyes again, a bright smile on his face. “Alright, if you say it again.”

            “Which part?”

            “The first.”

            Kibum’s brows crinkled before he realized and a chuckle bubbled from his throat. “I love you.” He pressed a long kiss to Jinki’s lips, pulling away and grinning. In between each kiss placed all over his cheeks and lips Kibum breathed out, “I love you,” making Jinki wiggle slightly, but his fingers curled in the back of Kibum’s shirt, as if to keep him close even as the rain poured on them.

----

            Taemin grinned as he laid his crossed arms on the bank of the lagoon, leaning his head on them as he gazed over at Jinki. “I hear we have another resident.”

            “Oh, don’t pester me.”

            The smile only widened on the Spirit’s face, wet, white hair pushed from his face. When Jinki frowned at him, Taemin’s expression softened. “I know I’m not as vocal about my worries as the other two are, but I am relieved to see you as happy as you’ve been these last six months.”

            “Is it that obvious?”

            “We know you very well, Jinki.” Taemin patted the grass by him and smiled as Jinki scooted down from the rock he was sitting on. “I like Kibum. I just saw him yesterday run into a tree branch and apologize to the tree for it. Maha and Salom é have even started to allow him to feed them fruits.”

            “It’s been so long since I’ve loved someone like this and it’s so difficult for me to trust myself. My record with relationships doesn’t really paint a pretty picture as an ending for me.”

            “The way you love Kibum, while different, is very similar to how you love us. When it comes to Minho, Jonghyun and I, do you ever doubt how you feel or the decisions you come to?” Jinki slowly shook his head and Taemin smiled. “You may think you don’t know how to love and that you can’t trust yourself when it comes to Kibum, but you know how to have deep meaningful friendships and that’s the foundation of any romantic relationship.”

            Jinki squinted at Taemin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where are you getting all this?”

            “I read.”

            “You read?”

            “Yeah, you’d be surprised how many scrolls, pamphlets, and books we’ve taken.” Jinki laughed quietly as he shook his head, but Taemin whined. “Stop judging me and come swim.”

            “Fine.”

            All of his worries faded away as he focused on winning the splash war Taemin started.

-----

            The evening sun is warm, the breeze cooling, and Jinki laughs as he watches two baby bunnies chasing each other through the flowers. He slowly takes his eyes from them when he hears someone clear their throat from behind him. Standing there is Kibum, hands in his pockets of the pants Taemin had given him, clay beads resting against his chest from Minho and hair braided done by Jonghyun the night before. Even before he speaks, Jinki can tell he isn’t going to like what comes from the man’s lips. “What is it?”

            “Do you trust me?”

            “Kibum, that’s not how you start a conversation.”

            “There is nothing I want more than to stay here with you for as long as you will have me, but, I never thought I’d live past the war and would have no use for material things.” Kibum softly continued, before taking the few steps to cross the distance between them. After sitting in front of Jinki, Kibum softly takes his hands. “You once said that the forest moves when it’s no longer needed and if what Taemin overheard is correct, the war is over and the forest may very well decide to move soon. I cannot imagine forgetting my mother’s face or my father’s smile.”

            “What are you saying, Kibum?”

            “There are photos… family heirlooms that I couldn’t forgive myself if I left them behind...we may be leaving Korea and never return back here.”

            Jinki tightened his grip around his hands. “If the forest moves when you are no longer within the border we may never see each other again. I don’t want to lose you, Kibum. I can’t control when or how fast the forest moves between locations.”

            “Trust me. I promise to return to you.”

            “Alright… Alright.” Jinki rushes forward, tugging Kibum’s face into a rough kiss. After parting, he begs, “Come back to me.”

-----

            Watching Kibum’s form disappear through the barrier makes Jinki’s hands shake and his bottom lip to tremble. Theodore was sitting on his shoulder. Maha and Salomé were perched on a nearby tree branch huddled close together and observing closely. Jinki cupped his hands out in front of him and smiled as Theodore hopped down his arm to sit on his palms, “Do you want to wait right here for him? Yeah me too.”

            Criss Crossing his legs in front of him he held the small squirrel in his palms gently, staring at the entrance of his forest as if Kibum would magically reappear. Time moves differently on either side of the barrier and even after all these years, he hadn’t deciphered it completely. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the entire forest alive around him. Drowning out each and every thought, trying not to focus on the possibility of living without his heart if Kibum never returned; as Kibum had held his heart captive ever since they had met.

-----

            Minho had found Jinki curled up on the forest floor with the only warmth provided by Theodore nuzzled under his chin. He had sent Maha to get Jonghyun and Salomé to get Taemin. Once both birds were flying to their destinations, he shifted into his stag form. Settling behind Jinki was easy and he let out a soft noise as the man woke up just enough to move until his head was laying against the warmth.

            It wasn’t long before the other Spirits arrived. Jonghyun put his head on Jinki’s tummy, pressing his body on as much of the man’s as he could. Taemin went to fetch a blanket from Jinki’s home, having the easiest time accessing the place through one of the dozen open windows. All of them knew Jinki would never move until Kibum returned or the forest moved, so until then they all would make sure he was well taken care of.

----

            As the forest begins to move, Jinki always can feel the pull slowly getting more taunt before it snaps in place. Usually, with each movement he grows excited for what the next place brings, the creatures and plant life he can help heal and befriend, but this time dread descends over him. His heart and limbs were heavy as he stares at the shimmer of the barrier. He cannot sense Kibum outside and as the pull strengthens, he lets out a shaky breath.

            Kibum wasn’t going to make it. Whether by choice or circumstance, the forest would move before he returned. Jinki stood slowly and pressed his hand against the barrier, eyes closing as he tried to focus on Kibum. “No..”

            Stumbling back he felt like he could barely breathe, hand falling limp to his side. Numb, he turned with tears falling down his cheeks. He couldn’t let Minho find him broken on his domain… He had to make it back to his home he couldn’t-

            Jinki whipped around suddenly, steadying himself on a tree as his equilibrium was knocked out of whack. His eyes flicked over the barrier rapidly trying to pinpoint what had popped up on his senses as he followed his steps until his heart lurched. Kibum was sprinting, breaking twigs and kicking up dirt with each of his strides. He’d never make it to the entrance in time, not with the pull of the forest about to move. There- Jinki shoved his hands through the barrier and tugged roughly, bringing Kibum through the barrier a few dozen feet from the door.

            Kibum stumbled, falling on top of Jinki in a tangle of limbs and bags on the forest floor. Jinki barely noticed the spinning of the forest as he clung onto the man, pressing his nose into his neck, nor the sob that broke from his throat. All that mattered was that Kibum had made it back to him. There was a gentle roar in his ears, whether it was from the tackle, the forest moving or his rush of emotion, Jinki wasn’t sure. The only thing that seemed to cut through it was Kibum’s gentle voice. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

-----

Many years later....

            Chirping birds made Kibum stretch his arms out from him, searching for him, squinting open his eyes when he only found the white expanse of their bedsheets. A slow smile pulled at his lips as he turned over. Tossing the covers off his legs and shimming on a pair of brown simple pants, his hands were gripping the rungs of the ladder before the band of the pants was at his hip. The sun had barely begun to peak over the eastern mountains, but Jinki was sitting on the edge of the balcony with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. This early in the morning the air was nippy, causing Kibum to slightly shiver as he pulls himself upright.

            Jinki doesn’t look his way but does lift his right arm with the blanket held in between his thumb and finger. He lays his head on Kibum’s shoulder after the man slips beside him and takes the blanket from him. After kissing Jinki’s forehead, Kibum softly mumbles, “Good morning, Love.”

            Curling their fingers together between them, Jinki hums, voice soft and warm. “Good Morning, Beautiful.”

-----

            The boots that Jinki had stolen from two unexpected hikers the month before were snug on their feet, but it made walking across the rocks leading up the mountains easier. Kibum watched amused as Jonghyun slipped between them, his white fur making a soft whoosh as it brushed against their legs. The Mountain Spirit looked back, eyes bright before he bounded up the rocks. Jinki called out, “Cheater!”

            On the crest of the hill, little balls of white were a stark contrast to the brown and gray of the mountainside. One of the bear cubs tripped as they ran, tumbling until Kibum scooped them up into his arms. “Hello little one.”

            “She says hello.” Theodore softly squeaks from his spot on Kibum’s shoulder making Jinki laugh quietly as he ran his hand over his lover’s other shoulder, heading up towards the other cub and their mother. “And he’d like to remind you who your animal familiar is.”

            “Are you jealous, Theo?”

            Jinki shook his head at the conversation between the man and his squirrel, focusing on the other cub jumping around his legs. They had been worried when the mother had two, but it seemed both cubs were growing and being taken care of equally. He smiled at Jonghyun sitting up on his rock overlooking his domain, crisp wind blowing against him. He could tell the Spirit was smiling, even with the limited facial expression of his animal form. Remembering how he wouldn’t allow Kibum on his mountains at first made Jinki look back at the human. Noticing the gaze, Kibum stopped walking and smiled nervously. “Is something wrong?”

            “No, everything is perfect.”

-----

            Chasing Jinki never ends well for Kibum. Even with the decades of climbing and running, he was naturally slower than Jinki. Somehow he still found himself trying, pulling at tree trunks and jumping over roots in an attempt to make up the ground between them. Jinki was laughing up ahead of him, the tips of his long hair the only thing seen as he swiftly moved around a looming tree. No matter how far the elf got from him, Kibum could follow the roses that sprout from each of his steps until he found him.

            If he hadn’t been used to Minho’s massive presence, the sudden appearance of the buck would have caused Kibum to lose his footing. He flared his nostrils and as he slowed down, Kibum followed. Minho lowered his head, stomping the ground with his hoof as they came to a stop.

            Needless to say, the expression on Jinki’s face as Kibum passed him on Minho’s back was priceless.

-----

            A gentle rain was falling from the sky, splashing quietly against the lagoon as they took cover in the doorway of Taemin’s home. The Water Spirit was currently splashing through puddles forming in the grass outside, laughing loudly enough it could be heard over the pitter-patter of raindrops against the stone above them. Kibum stepped closer, laying his chin on Jinki’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Guess what, Love?”

            “What?”

            “Tag,” He whispered before whipping by him into the rain, grinning as he jogged backward to look at Jinki in the dim light of the home. “You’re it.”

            Even as Kibum was tackled, falling backward into the water and mud, he couldn’t find it in him to be mad through his bellowing laughter. Jinki was smiling brightly above him, so beautiful even soaked to the bone and splattered with grass and dirt. Taemin groaning nearby fell on deaf ears as Kibum tugged Jinki down for a kiss.

-----

            The stars were bright above them against the darkness of the night sky. The grass beneath them was soft and cool, tickling against their skin as they laid with their heads pressed together. Jinki shifted slightly to look at Kibum, a small smile on his face as he curled his pinkie around the other man’s between them. “I just thought about how you’d be an old man now if you hadn’t stayed.”

            Kibum snorted. “What conjured that thought?”

            “Sometimes I gaze up at the stars and realize how small we all are. It makes one think about how different paths would have diverged from that one decision you had to make to stay or not.”

            “Is this your way of telling me to leave you for beating you in our race earlier?”

            “No, you oaf.” Jinki rolled onto his side, bringing his hand up to prop his head against it, and smacking Kibum on the tummy with the other. “Besides, you cheated.”

            “Oh, the insults have returned.” Jinki stuck his tongue out as Kibum laughed loudly, turning to mirror the elf’s posture. He moved his hand over the curve of Jinki’s waist, “You will always be my best decision, Love.”

            Instead of speaking, Jinki pushed at Kibum’s shoulder until his back was flat against the grass once more. Slowly he straddled him, holding the man’s hands above his head with a wicked grin, kissing the corner of Kibum’s lips, Jinki whispered, “I love you.”

            “Love you more.”

-----

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 22 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

Barry's not fast enough.

He's not sure he even can be fast enough, ever - the thought that Wells might've deliberately sabotaged his development as a speedster, ensuring that he's always going to be second best, has gone through his mind more than once - but he knows he's not fast enough now.

And now is when it matters.

He comes to a brief stop, panting for breath, for the fourth time in the last two minutes. He's being worn down, just trying to keep up with Wells' superior speed, and he knows it.

He wonders if Wells is trying to run him into exhaustion, and only when Barry can no longer move his legs, when his will to move is utterly broken, will Wells destroy everything Barry has ever loved.

His dad.

Iris.

Len.

Wells will kill them all.

He'll kill them all because he knows that promise or no promise, Barry would agree to anything Wells wanted if Wells showed him how to get them all back.

Or maybe - maybe Wells doesn't know that.

Maybe he'll just kill them because he can.

"Slowing down again, Mr. Allen?" Wells tsks, coming to a stop a dozen feet ahead of him. "For shame - and you were so promising when you were under my guidance."

"Still happier not to be," Barry spits at him. He can feel his muscles recovering, happy for the break. "You murderer."

"You take it all so personally," Wells says. "The deaths of these unimportant people. You’re always taking it to heart, even though they lead uninteresting, unimportant lives that ultimately mean nothing. You always have. That's a weakness, you know - a weakness that will always be your undoing -"

The wall behind Wells' head explodes.

Even when you can move at speedster speed, you still need a second to process shock.

Barry, who's further away, gets thrown back a few feet, skittering onto his feet and looking around in confusion - Wells is buried in the rubble, too surprised to dodge it properly, but that's temporary, Barry knows -

"Barry! Come here!"

Iris!

He's at her side in a moment.

"You need to run around Iron Heights," she tells him, breathless. "All around the outside corridors; Snart has a plan. It might hurt you, you can't know what it is, but it has to be done and he's sorry and he loves you."

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" Barry asks, surprised.

Iris smiles. "Because I'm your best friend, Bar; I'm your anchor and he knows that. He knows I'll always be there for you, even when you go and fall in love with the second hottest guy in Central City -"

"Eddie being first?"

"Pssh, Eddie, I'm talking about Rory. Have you seen those muscles?"

"Iris!"

She laughs - Iris, beautiful and wonderful as always, and at last, at last, he can love her whole-heartedly without any jealousy or resentment or longing; Iris, who is his anchor, his lightning rod, and of course Len would know whose voice Barry would be automatically drawn to, of course he knows - and Barry can hear the crackle of lightning that is Wells back on his feet and before Iris even finishes laughing, Barry's off again, twisting to tackle Wells right around the midsection before he goes anywhere near Iris.

And then they're running again.

Only this time, Barry's leading - not because he's faster, no, but because Wells saw him heading away and followed, drawn after him like a moth to the flame.

"Where are you going, Barry Allen?" he calls, mocking, darting in front of Barry's path to try to trip him up. Barry dodges and keeps going. "I never took you for a coward!"

Barry grits his teeth and focuses on running. He's not as fast. He needs every ounce of willpower just to stay ahead.

Not that Wells is trying to stop him, not really.

Clearly mockery is much more fun.

"Run, Barry, run," Wells calls, his voice jovial, "Yes, run away from me! Just like you always have - from the very beginning!"

The man who murdered Barry's mom.

The man who put Barry's dad into a cage – into the prison where he spent half of Barry’s childhood and into the cage where he is right now both.

The man who is going to kill everyone if Barry doesn’t find a way to stop him.

Run, Barry, run.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Wells says conversationally, only a foot or two behind Barry now. "I know what you're up to."

Crap. How?!

"You can't hide anything from me," Wells says. "I've been studying you my whole life - even in the far future, before I ever met you."

"Creep," Barry can't resist saying.

"And once I met you, well, that just made it easier," Wells says, the flash of red lightning from his eyes the only sign he heard what Barry said. "For someone who lies as much and as effectively as you do, Barry Allen, you really are an open book to anyone who knows you."

Wells - Eobard Thawne - is probably right.

He knows Barry.

But Barry never knew him - not until it was too late.

Just the way Wells wanted it.

And yet -

And yet -

Wells is still running.

So the plan, whatever it is, is still on.

Barry focuses on running.

"I know you," Wells says again. "You'd never run from me, not really. You've been running to me your entire life, Barry. The Man in Yellow, the genius of STAR Labs, your mentor...I'm everything to you."

Seriously, does Wells not get how creepy he sounds?

"And you, Barry Allen, are everything to me -"

Yeah, no, he's definitely doing the creepy thing on purpose in an attempt to get under Barry's skin.

It's working pretty well.

"- because you're my only way home. And you're going to get me there."

"I'm really, really not," Barry says. He's panting again, damnit. He really hopes whatever plan Len's working on won't take much longer. "Why would you think I'd help you? After everything you've done?"

"Because that way we'd both win! Yes, I killed your mother, but I also give you a chance to get her back!"

Those things are really not equal and Barry has no idea why Wells thinks they are. A lifetime without his mom, versus a chance to destroy every important relationship he's built during that lifetime and possibly himself to save her?

Okay, Barry's not going to lie, he's super tempted.

But they're not the same.

Only a psychopath who doesn't actually understand that the worth of a person is in the time you get to spend with them would think that they were.

And anyway, Barry promised Len he wouldn't.

He's really glad he did, too, because otherwise he might've fallen for Wells' bullshit the way he always has, and then Wells would get everything he'd ever wanted.

Everything he's done, all of that horror and death, would actually have been worth it, in Wells' eyes.

And there'd be no reason that he wouldn't just keep going.

Keep killing.

For all of time.

"Know this, Barry Allen," Wells says. "You will help me achieve what I want. Whatever stupid little plan you and your friends have concocted -"

He doesn't know what it is!

...probably because Barry doesn't know what it is.

Good plan, Len.

Barry knows that there’s probably something bad at the end of it, but he also knows that Len is cold enough to make the call he needs to. He knows that Len knows him well enough to know that Barry would agree to anything, anything at all, if it meant stopping Wells.

Stopping Wells is worth anything, even Barry's life.

Barry just really hopes it doesn't end up killing him before he can tell Len that it would be worth it, because Len will feel awful about it, just the way he felt awful about Mick, and that would suck.

“- just know that it won’t be enough to stop me,” Wells continues. “It will never be enough.”

Is he still talking?

Ugh.

Can’t a guy have a minute for some introspection about his boyfriend right before he potentially dies? Seriously.

They keep running the endless loops around Iron Heights. It's all vacant, now, with all the cons having slipped out and most of the guards safely evacuated as well, so the only time Barry sees anyone is when he passes by the room his friends are in.

Even in that room, though, the speed he's running at makes it seem almost unreal - a series of snapshots, separated by a few seconds, like one of those spinning visor toys that mimics video.

Snap: Mick raising his gun as Nimbus looms above him.

Snap: Mick's gun blasting out a giant wave of flame, all at once.

Snap: Nimbus alight, screaming, a gaseous form lashing out with tentacles aflame.

Snap: Mick ducks.

Snap: One of Nimbus' now-partially-solid 'arms' whips into Mick's belly.

Snap: Mick goes flying, his midsection aflame.

Snap: Kara catches him.

Snap: Mick's midsection is somehow covered by a thin layer of frost.

(Yeah, Barry has no idea how that happened either - he's clearly missed something.)

Or take Iris, instead -

Well, no, it's not quite the same thing. Barry got one snap of Iris standing triumphantly over Tony Woodward's semi-conscious frame, that's basically going to be his mental screensaver from now until he heals from his middle school trauma.

So, like, forever.

After that, though, Iris ran over to help Eddie fight Mark Mardon, which Barry personally thought was not exactly good news. Mardon hates Joe West, might know who Iris West is, and he literally caused a tsunami.

As much as Barry loves Iris, neither she nor Eddie has powers. They shouldn't be fighting Mark Mardon.

Except apparently they should be, because less than ten rounds later they're no longer fighting - he's helping them move wires around or something.

No, Barry has no idea what’s going on there.

He doesn't even know where those wires came from!

Maybe they have something to do with the plan?

Maybe Len is off getting more wires.

That would explain why in all the snaps so far, Barry still hasn't seen him - not since he started running.

Barry would really like to see him.

Especially if he's going to die.

Damn, Barry's a superhero, he should get a dramatic last moment. Ideally with a nice goodbye kiss.

Ideally with magic resurrection happening five minutes later, while he's daydreaming.

Which he shouldn't be, because he's in the middle of a supervillain boss battle against the guy who killed his mom.

Bad time to let your mind drift.

Personally, Barry blames the running - he's always found it easy to daydream while he's running -

"In the end you will come to understand -"

Holy crap, Wells is still talking!

"Seriously?" Barry demands, not breaking pace. "Could you can the monologue already? It doesn't matter what you say -" Like Barry was even listening. "- it doesn't change a thing! I'm never going to help you get back to your time period!"

"Oh, you will," Wells says. "You see, because of your refusal to help me, I'm going to brutally murder every one of your friends - and it'll be your fault that they die."

Ouch. Right in the sore spot.

"And because I'm a speedster, too, I can keep you from going back to save them - let the timeline settle - make it permanent - or, at least, permanent enough for you to only be able to change it if you agree to aid me. What do you think about that, Barry Allen?"

"Honestly," Barry says, "it's about what I thought you were going to say, so - mostly bored?"

"Bored?!"

"It's the running," Barry says, faux-apologetically. "I'm so used to daydreaming, my mind drifts if there isn't anything worth paying attention to -"

Why yes, Barry can do some damn good passive-aggressive bullshit if he does say so himself.

(He might be an Allen, but he was raised a West.)

Wells looks murderous, which to be fair is how he normally looks when Barry is tweaking his nose, so Barry takes the moment to leap onto the wall and catapult himself forward for a little speed advantage.

That gets Wells' attention back on the race.

But he's still scowling, still murderous, and if Barry doesn't keep his attention, he's going to stop and Len's plan, whatever it is, will be ruined.

He has to keep running.

All his life, everything he loves, comes down to this race.

He runs.

"Faster, Barry!" he hears Iris shout.

He stops daydreaming, puts his head down, and runs faster.

Faster and faster, till he's going as fast as he can go -

"Faster, Barry!"

That was Len.

Huh, look at that.

Looks like Barry can go faster.

Even Wells is concentrating now, mockery gone as he focuses on keeping pace, his eyes crackling red lightning, his steak of light besides Barry's.

Faster, Barry.

Faster.

"Run, Barry," he hears his dad say. "Run."

(Run, Barry! his mom shouts in his mind. Run!)

Barry puts everything he's got into his legs.

His heart, his soul, his mind -

Everything he's got.

He runs.

He doesn't even see snapshots of his friends anymore - it's all blurring together around him, streaks of light turning into smears of color. It's beautiful and unearthly, an impressionist painting gone mad, and it's something Barry knows at once he'll never be able to show anyone who isn't a speedster, that this is their secret alone. This is how it looks when he's about to travel in time, but there's no other-Barry running beside him to signal that he's broken that barrier, no sign of any time travel, of any anomaly.

Just Barry.

"The Speed Force!" Wells hisses behind him, his voice half-awed, half-jealous, and Barry realizes that this is what Wells couldn't achieve on his own: this detached euphoria, this moment where his mind is empty, his heart is at peace, and everything he is has been given over to the pure act of running.

Where everything, everything at all, is speed.

There's no space for other people here. No room for fear, no room for care - no room for anything at all.

It's suddenly easy. The running, the movement - it locks into place, a runner's high like no other, and suddenly Barry feels like he could do this forever. It's all clear now: how he could run through time if he wanted, how he could return Wells to his time or to go back and rescue his mother in hers, how Barry could do whatever he wanted, but why would he ever want to?

Why would he ever do anything but keep running?

Keep running.

Keep accelerating.

Keep moving.

No one can touch him here. No one can hurt him, or disappoint him, and make him vulnerable. No one to make him care about them. No one to disturb his perfect equilibrium, no one to knock him off his stride, no one to make him stop.

Perpetual motion.

Perpetual speed.

Perpetual peace.

And no one can touch him again, not even another speedster, because Wells is trapped in his own euphoria just beside Barry - visible but separate - distant - and who cares, anyway? This is why Wells doesn't care, Barry suddenly understands, this is why he murders with impunity those people who could never understand this, because what's it worth, what's any of life worth, in comparison to this bliss, this unending perfection? Nothing else matters, not anymore. All that matters is here and now.

All that matters is the speed, the joy of running, the ecstasy of acceleration, because he's left everything else behind.

He couldn't leave this place even if he wanted to, but why would he want to? All there is for him outside of here is pain -

"Barry!"

Len.

Len's voice, not strong but certain, splitting through the indifference of perfect, empty, vacant bliss like a lightning bolt.

Len, who is waiting for him; Len, who is counting on him; Len, who hurt him -

Len, who loves him.

Love.

Love.

That's what this place is lacking, this 'Speed Force' that Wells wanted to reach so much, this place of pure joy.

It lacks love.

Because love isn't all joy, no, it's terrible and wonderful, painful even when it's good: it's the heartbreak and the reconciliation, the cold loneliness of missing someone and the fireworks of seeing them again, it's the inside of your lungs being squeezed out of you because you're so happy to see someone, it's your throat catching and choking on emotion so thoroughly fused that you don't know if it's good or bad, it's every tear you've ever shed for love coming back all at once - the agony and the ecstasy both.

Love.

Barry loves Len.

And if he stays here forever, he'll never see him again.

No!

"Barry!"

That's not Len - that's Iris.

Iris, his best friend, his past love, the one who he first began to love when he was a child and never stopped. The person who knows him best, the one who'll always be there for him, the one who has his back even when she's breaking his heart.

Love.

"Barry!"

Dad.

God, Dad. Barry might have lost his mom for good at age eleven, but he lost his dad as well - every holiday soured by their absence, every birthday bittersweet. Speaking to him only through glass, sadness drowning him but unwilling to give it up because the joy of seeing his dad, even like this, was so much greater. Telling him the best and worst parts of Barry's life, telling him about school and becoming a CSI and the hope that burned in Barry's heart - burned hot and ugly and painful, but a fire he tended to faithfully no matter how it hurt him - the hope of putting this wrong right one day.

Love.

"Barry!"

His friends. Friends already made and held dear; friends only in potential - Cisco, Caitlin, Kara, Mick - people he knows and people he can't wait to get to know. The fear of the unknown warring with the excitement of discovery.

Love.

Barry's anchors are all here.

So is Barry.

And suddenly, leaving the Speed Force behind is the easiest thing Barry's ever done.

Suddenly he’s just running again – strong and without pause, suddenly filled with more energy than he’s ever had before, but he’s not trapped in that blank trance, the nothingness and emptiness and loneliness of being utterly alone.

“Barry.”

That’s Len’s voice again.

Len –

“I’m sorry, Barry,” Len says, and his voice is anguished. “Ramon, Rathaway, hit it!”

Ramon is Cisco, yes, but Rathaway? Isn’t that Hartley Rathaway, the one Cisco’s been calling the Pied Piper? What is he doing here?

And why did Len say he was sorry –

The world explodes.

It’s like being hit by lightning all over again. Not pain, exactly, just shock: every synapse blazing at once, every sensation - good bad mediocre - all bleeding together the way the light had earlier, hitting every single sense - touch sight sound smell taste - all at once as if the sensitivity of every single input in his body suddenly got turned up to eleven and he can feel it but at the same time his brain is just unable to process it all and opting to just give up, shutting down, going from color to black and he can't see and he can't hear and -

And suddenly he's tripping and falling and the world is spinning, spinning, spinning and everything in his body - mind belly brain - all seized by the strongest sense of vertigo he's ever experienced.

His stomach roils, his brain screams, his muscles spasm -

And then it's over.

Whatever "it" was.

Honestly, Barry couldn't give a damn what it was; he's just happy that it stopped. He's still dizzy, still a little nauseous, but it's fading; he's still shivering and shaking a bit, but that overwhelming shockwave of sensation is gone; and sure, he's a bit sore all over but hey, he's not falling anymore.

So, in summary: he's sitting (well, lying) still, he's not about to throw up, he sees nothing but darkness behind his closed eyes, and his brain isn't on fire.

All good important things that Barry really hasn't appreciated properly up until now.

He’s going to appreciate them now. At length. While continuing to lie down and not move, because not moving sounds great right about now.

At least until his ears stop ringing.

" - arry!"

Someone needs him.

Ugggggh.

They always need him. Barry really needs to learn how to say no to things.

Maybe Len could give him lessons.

Sexy lessons.

Mmmm.

"Barry!"

Oh, okay, fine. He's getting up already. Stop yelling.

Barry cracks an eye open.

The world is blurry at first, which is a bit concerning, but then it all stabilizes back into a depressing blank grey slate roof. Very prison decor.

...because he is, in fact, in a prison.

It all comes back to him in a rush: Iron Heights! His dad! Wells! The Speed Force! Wells about to murder everyone!

Barry's eyes shoot open and he starts trying to scramble to his feet, except he feels heavy and slow and clumsy and -

"Barry, are you okay?" Iris demands. She's kneeling beside him, Len right next to her, and they're both pushing him down from getting up.

His two favorite people, yay.

"I'm fine," Barry says, though he's pretty sure it comes out as something more like "Mmfin."

"Are you in pain?" Len demands, looking pale and guilty and -

Oh, right, the plan.

The "it might hurt."

The "I'm sorry" that Barry still doesn't entirely understand.

"I'm fine," he says again, forcing himself to enunciate clearly. "What happened? Was that the plan?"

"Yeah," Len says, still looking distressed. "But you're sure you're okay? No pain?"

"Just dizzy," Barry assures him. "Wells..?"

"He's waking up!" Cisco yelps. "Guys! Someone! Do something!"

Len and Iris turn immediately, Barry forcing himself up to a sitting position - with some help from both Len and Iris - to see as well.

Wells is, in fact, waking up. Worse, he's getting up - grimacing with an expression that suggests he's got some of the same nausea and vertigo that Barry had, but that he's powering through it.

"Whatever you did," he rasps, his eyes fixed on Barry, "it won't be enough. You can't stop me."

And then he runs straight at Barry.

Except -

He isn't moving at super speed.

He's just - running.

At regular speed.

He stops the second he realizes, coming to a half only a few steps away from them. "What have you done?" he shrieks.

"Holy crap that actually worked," Cisco marvels.

"Of course it worked," Hartley sniffs. And then, begrudgingly, he adds, "When we put our heads together, everything we do works."

Cisco looks thunderstruck. "Uh," he says. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Can someone catch me up to what happened?" Barry asks.

"You remember how Ramon installed a miniature version of the Accelerator in Iron Heights to keep the metas in?" Len asks.

"Yeah?"

"We exploded it."

"You what?" Wells shouts. “You did what?!”

"Technically," Hartley says, smirking at Wells, "we just followed your lead, O captain - after all, you were the one who designed the Accelerator to explode if it got overpowered."

"Say, by two speedsters racing through an environment not built to tolerate it the way STAR Labs is," Cisco says. "Barry, remember how your powers disappeared when Blackout hit you with his lightning drain? Like that, just - bigger."

Barry blinks. "So - my powers - they're gone?"

"Theoretically, yeah," Cisco says apologetically. "We needed you and Wells to over-power the Accelerator, so we couldn’t shield you from the blast. We theorized that the second blast would nullify the dark matter in your system -"

"Or blow your head up," Hartley says cheerfully. "One or the other."

"They're gone," Barry repeats blankly. "I'm - normal again."

He doesn't feel like he's normal again.

He doesn't really see no-powers as "normal" for him anymore.

Wait. If his powers are gone -

He looks over to where Wells is standing, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Wells' powers should be gone, too," Iris confirms.

"Now we can arrest him," Len adds. "Bring him to justice - free your dad -"

"No!" Wells shrieks, and then he moves - not a speedster, but fast and unexpected, darting down to the ground and back up and suddenly he has Cisco's discarded vibration gun in his hands. "I'll see you all dead first -"

Len brings his crutch down on Wells' head.

Wells collapses onto the floor, unconscious.

Everyone stares at Len.

"What?" he asks. "I told you they make good weapons!"

Kara starts laughing first, but Barry's right there behind her, and it's only a few minutes before everyone else is cracking up, too.

"Not to interrupt," Barry's dad says archly. "But as funny as this is, could someone please let me out of this cage?"

"On it!" Caitlin says, grabbing the vibration gun from where Wells dropped it and heading over.

"On that note," Mardon says dryly, "I'm gonna duck out before you decide to put me back in prison. I wanna get in a few hits on the Families before I leave town."

"Just keep it to Families," Kara warns. "Or we'll find you and stop you."

Mardon snorts. "Whatever. You already took my powers. What more you gonna do?"

"Iron Heights's regular wing ain't that much fun, either," Len drawls. "Go on, get."

"How come he agreed to help?" Barry asks as Mardon jogs out of the room. "Didn’t sticking around mean he'd lose his powers, too?"

"He really hates Wells," Hartley says dryly. "And he's not alone." He shakes his head. "I'd better catch up with him; I'm probably his only means of transportation out of here."

"It was - weirdly fun working with you," Cisco offers hesitantly. "Like, when it's too much of an emergency for you to be a dick. So, you know, if there's another emergency - not that I want another emergency -"

"I'll call you," Hartley interrupts. "Maybe we can see how we work together when Wells isn't playing us against each other."

"Yeah! Yeah. That."

"See you around, Ramon."

He leaves.

"All things considered, leaving's not the worst idea in the world," Mick says, reaching down and scooping Wells over his shoulder like an unwieldy sack of potatoes. "City's on fire, the people are rioting, the Families and the Feds are brawling in the street, and I'm pretty sure the boss authorized all of it."

"...on second thought, maybe I should’ve let Wells get me," Len says, looking mildly horrified.

"You're not dying," Kara says. "Not after all this effort!"

"Wait, we have to do more?" Cisco asks. "But we already defeated Wells!"

"The city's still going crazy," Eddie points out. "Our job doesn't end until peace is restored."

"That's why being a pig is a shit job," Mick says wisely.

"I'm going to recruit you into the CCPD," Eddie tells him.

"Don't you fucking dare."

"You did good work here -"

"Stop!"

"- probably great with scaring kids straight -"

"Kids?!"

"Mick, he's pulling your leg," Len says. "Stop letting him."

"I don't know," Iris says thoughtfully. "If he’s not going to be a thief anymore, he does need a new job now -"

"That can wait till later," Mick says quickly. "City to finish rescuing, remember? Besides, this guy needs to go somewhere secure 'till the boss can read him his rights."

"Detective Thawne can do that," Len says hastily. "I'm sure it'll be cathartic and all, what with him being his ancestor."

Eddie looks at him, his lips starting to curl up into a grin. "Captain, I hope you don't mind me asking -"

"That ain't a good way to start a sentence."

"- but have you ever read anyone their Miranda rights? Do you even know what they are?"

A moment of silence.

"...I've had them read to me a bunch of times?" Len offers.

That sets them all off laughing again.

"I know what they all are!" Len is protesting when Barry finally manages, with the help of Iris, to get up. "I know them inside and out - probably better than any of you - it's just that saying them feels weird, that's all -"

Barry taps him on the shoulder.

Len looks at him.

"Barry," he says, levity suddenly gone. His eyes are intent on Barry's face, his expression solemn, and suddenly Barry can barely breathe with how much he loves him. It's like the entire world just shrinks down until there's no one there but them. "Barry - your powers - I -"

"Screw my powers," Barry says, interrupting. "We did it. We beat the bad guy. Together."

"But -"

"You didn't betray me," Barry says, because he knows Len well enough to know what's bothering him. "You knew how I felt about defeating Wells and I trusted you to do what needed to be done - and you did."

"You trust me," Len repeats.

"Yes," Barry says. "Because I love you."

Len breaks into a smile. "Yeah," he says. "And you ain't too shabby, either."

Barry laughs, pulls him into his arms, and kisses him.

Len kisses him back.

And it's - perfect.

Not the empty vacant perfection of the Speed Force, but a real perfection: love and joy and relief and pleasure and the hope of a future to come, a future together, a future untainted by the threat of Wells.

That sounds pretty much perfect to Barry.

Someone clears their throat.

Barry ignores them.

Someone clears their throat a second time, and this time taps Barry's shoulder, too.

Barry really doesn't want to stop kissing Len.

But then again, if he stops just long enough to tell whoever it is to buzz off, he'll be able to get back to kissing Len in an uninterrupted manner.

Barry pulls away reluctantly.

Then he turns his head and -

Oh.

It's his dad.

It's his dad!

His dad just saw him making out with his boyfriend!

"So, Barry," Henry Allen says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Are you going to introduce me to Mr. Snart here, or am I going to have to call on our previous acquaintance from back when he was a fellow inmate?"

Oh god.

His dad just saw Barry making out with his boyfriend before Barry's even introduced them and he thinks Barry’s boyfriend is a felon!

"I'm a police captain now, actually," Len says.

"Really? That's nice."

"Yeah. Your son's pretty nice, too."

"I know he is. I'd offer to shake your hand, but you seem pretty reluctant to get it off his ass."

"He has a very nice ass," Len says, even as Barry buries his head in his hands. "One of the many nice things about him, really."

"Please," Barry says. "Both of you - just stop talking."

He considers.

"Also, erase the last five minutes from your memories," he instructs. "I refuse to let this be how you two meet."

"Too late," Iris cackles. "We've all seen it now. This is already filed, documented, and going into the Barry Allen File Of Embarrassing Moments forever."

"No!"

"Is that a real thing?" Mick asks.

"We're breaking it out for his wedding rehearsal dinner," Iris says.

"Really. Say, boss, would you consider -"

"Mick. Finish that sentence and I punch you in the face."

"Yeah," Barry says, unable to resist. "Because as an unquestioned authority in the subject, I can tell you that that would definitely be moving too fast."

Len kisses him again, just for that.

[demonicbolt]

Humans are Space Orcs - Sports!

Topic today? SPORTS! With our advanced capabilities, we’ve invented a TON of sports that require intense physical ability in regards to strength, speed, accuracy, and massive pain tolerances. Baseball, Football, Rugby, Hockey, and this isn’t even going to the Olympic level! Olympic level sports are another tier unto themselves, requiring every aspect above to such degrees that competing at a lower level would be unfair. What would aliens think about these? Especially a race like Loko’s, with their slower rates of healing…

~~~

“Ah, there ya are Loko! I was wondering when ya’d get here!” Jack said happily as she let me into her room.

On the station we served on, we were lucky enough to have individual rooms that, according to Jack, were bigger than her old apartment on Earth. I had to look up the word ‘apartment’ three times to fully understand what one was or wasn’t.

“Hello Human-Jack. I remembered that you said to bring snacks, so I went to the mess hall and asked what would be appropriate” I said happily and held up a large plate of stadium-style nachos.

“Perfect! Larry should be here any minute with some drinks!” Jack smiled and took the nachos, putting the plate down on the coffee-table in front of her couch.

I walked in and sat down, looking at Jack “I do not believe I know of this Larry. Is it also coming for the sporting video?”

Jack giggled a little and smiled “Larry is one of the security guards, though I actually met him back in Canada, on Earth. He transferred here about a week ago” She explained as she adjusted her cast on her arm.

I watched her and blinked as she did so “Does your cast need maintenance? I can contact the medical center for you if you like”

“Thank you Loko, but I’m fi-“ Jack turned to face the door as a buzzer sounded, alerting them of company.

The door opened to reveal a human-male standing there. From just a glance, I could visibly see this new person was an inch shorter than Jack, but still an inch taller than myself. The male also appeared to be a different coloring than Jack, but to a drastic degree. Jack described herself once as ‘Caucasian’ but this new human was different and I didn’t really know enough about humans to understand why. Clearly another research project.

“Hey there Jackie! I brought some beers for us and some of that synthetic stuff for that wolf guy you talked about… OH! You must be him” The human, which must be the Larry mentioned before, walked in and extended his hand.

I took the hand carefully and gave it a shake in greeting. I remembered this activity from when I met Jack. “Yes, I am Loko, one of Human-Jack’s friends and co-workers. I was invited over to see this... ‘rugby’?”

“Football actually, but sweet! I figured you lot wouldn’t like it since your lots idea of sports is competitive chess” Larry said with a chuckle and sat down on the other end of the couch

“Oh hush Larry” Jack said with a shake of her head “Let’s just watch the game”

Though likely in jest, Human-Larry was correct about one thing. Wolfos version of competition was what humans called ‘academics’, not wanting to risk our rather delicate bodies with physical trauma that could cause long-term problems. Despite our size and evidently intimidating form, our bones were fragile and took a long time to heal. We were designed for stealth and short bursts of speed, not for strength or endurance.

Jack meanwhile was setting up a recording of a football game that had happened a few days ago on Earth. Even with the speed of the Galactic Communication Network, a station this far out took about twelve hours to get anything from Earth, and even longer to get large files like an entire sports game.

The humans’ mannerisms completely changed while the ‘match’ was on. They clearly favoured the team called the ‘Cowboys’ and cheered every time they scored points. I honestly couldn’t follow the game at first, watching that many humans thunder across a field covered in lines and numbers, trying to seemingly get an oddly shaped object to one side or the other. I wasn’t used to tracking that many fast moving beings at once.

When ‘half-time’ came up Jack turned to me and smiled.

“Enjoying the game Loko? I mean, it feels a little slow this year, but I think that’s cause they lost a player two weels back so they’re treading carefully” Jack explained as she got up to grab another beer.

“They lost a player? Did they not search for him?” I asked in confusion. Surely a human as big as these football players couldn’t be that hard to spot.

“She means he broke his leg and had to drop out. They didn’t have time to bring in a replacement before the finals” Larry explained and shook his head. “Alright… you know what, I’m taking it! You’re on Jack, I bet the Cowboys lose. The score is tied now, but the Giants pulled their score up hard in the last few minutes. Fifty credits on the Giants to win” He said with a wicked grin.

Jack spun as if on a swivel, facing Larry now. “oh no, you did NOT. The Cowboys ain’t lost a game all season, so they’re gonna win. Double that bucko, a hundred creds says the Cowboys win!” her accent seemed thicker than usual as she spoke.

Larry held his hand towards her and they gave a quick, firm shake to each other while also giving small nods. Clearly, handshakes had multiple meanings… yet ANOTHER research project for later. Humans were so complicated.

As the game resumed, they were now each cheering on a different team. Not wanting to feel left out, I joined in cheering on the Cowboys with Jack, which seemed to please her… I think.

The final point came down to the Cowboys needing a touchdown while four points behind, but with only nine seconds left of ‘game time’ and a long distance to cover, I failed to see them winning. I went to console Jack but she held up a hand and grinned, stating “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over”

I turned to watch the final moments of the game with them. The players were huddled up and talking before two members switched positions. When they formed their line-up, their usual placements were broken and left a gap on one side of their defence. Clearly, they were not as well coordinated as I had come to think, yet…

“And here goes the final play, with an odd formation from the Cowboys as they aim for a final run. Zimmerman signals, and… OH MY GOD! Look at that leap! He just cleared three people with that and… he’s going! Zimmerman’s making a mad dash! That boy doesn’t quit! Six seconds left as he barrels down the field… two… TOUCHDOWN! With just half a second left on the clock, the judges are calling it good! The Cowboys win!”

Jack jumped up, yelling and cheering before turning to Larry “HA HA! Never doubt a Texan with an attitude, cause you’ll lose every time!”

Larry just laughed and shrugged “Fair enough, my mistake! I’ll get you your credits in the morning. I’m off to lick my wounds… night Jack, Loko” He said with another shake of his head and left with a chuckle.

I looked up at Jack as she stood there with that gloating expression still on her face and was about to speak.

“Ah… damn it feels good to win. Thanks for coming Loko, made it all the better to whoop his ass with an audience.”

… I feel like I’m heading back to my quarters with more homework than ever before tonight. Humans are strange…

~~~

For more adventures of Jack and Loko, links below

http://demonicbolt.tumblr.com/post/168455153489/humans-are-space-orcs-broken-bones-and-healing

[words-writ-in-starlight]

The Great Animorphs Reread, Part 7

Book 7: The Stranger

AKA “The PTSD squad sees the future and finally fucking wins a round, the Ellimist shows his not-face, and Rachel antes up her battle morph”

MOTHER

FUCKING

GRIZZLY

BEAR

Anyway.  *clears throat*  Real talk. Gear up for some incoherence. This is a favorite book to be honest. Because this is the book where it really grinds home for them, on a bitter, visceral level, just how truly fucked they are—they see the future, where the war is lost and Rachel is a Controller and they are all dead—and they give up!  They surrender!  They agree to let the Ellimist take them to another planet!  And then…they win a round.  They win quite a round, with the destruction of the Kandrona.  I’m so proud.

Have I mentioned that I live for Rachel.  She’s so strong, and she doesn’t believe that she is—when they attack the Kandrona, she claims that she’s not brave because she believed the guards were humans.  But Rachel knows that humans would be carrying guns (probably BIG guns, given what they’re guarding), she knows that being shot is awful, she knows it fucking sucks, she knows that even a rampaging bear is going to notice a bullet.  And she still trucks right on in there because she has a war to fight and a battle to win and I just.  Love her.

It’s easy to forget how much damage Rachel does and takes in battle. Marco takes the most really spectacular injuries (there’s a statistical analysis of how many times the various Animorphs are dismembered/disemboweled floating around the Interwebs somewhere, and he ‘wins’ by a landslide), but I think for sheer numbers, Rachel takes the cake.  I cannot think of a single battle in which she doesn’t take any damage whatsoever, and the injuries are frequently “you better demorph before you bleed out” levels of severity, either individually or en masse.  I think this is partly because she’s their tank, so that’s her job—they’re a pretty well-coordinated D&D squad, someone remind me to write down my headcanons for an AU where the war is all a tabletop RPG and they are happy and trauma-free children—and also because, since she’s the tank, she would rather suffer than watch her friends take the injuries themselves.  She throws herself headlong into battle because she would rather take the bullet/rampaging Hork-Bajir/hungry Taxxon herself than let the others get hurt.

Also!  As the opening bullet points might have suggested, this book includes the advent of my favorite of Rachel’s morphs: the grizzly.  Ursus arctos horriblis.  Like, okay, if you want finesse in combat, the gorilla is a good one, it has hands.  If you want mobility, the hawk is decent, what with the flying and all.  The wolf has the advantage of sheer endurance, they can run for days.  An Andalite…um…has a sword attached to its body, I feel like the advantages of this are self-explanatory.  For a balance of speed and strength, Jake’s tiger is unmatched.  But for sheer raw power—aggressive power, not bulldozing power—nothing tops a grizzly bear. I lived in Montana, just outside Yellowstone, where grizzlies were a plague, kids, I know of which I speak.  A grizzly bear can take your head off with one swing, and those claws and teeth aren’t just for show.  As battle morphs go: grizzly bear.  Yeah.  I would want a grizzly as my battle morph.

I don’t…like the Ellimist much.  Like, I think he’s a really interesting character, and I’m actually super into the concept of the handpicked dream team to face down the Yeerks being just…people, not soldiers or heroes, just kids with the backbone and grit to do what had to be done.  But that being said.  The Ellimist jerks the Animorphs around largely just to prove he can.  I don’t honestly care what he says about having some grand master plan, he’s just doing shit. He’s well-intentioned—although more from the motive of stopping Crayak than saving people, but I’m not going to fucking split hairs over the fate of the Earth, okay, he can have whatever motive he damn well pleases—but he basically spends this whole book yanking the Animorphs’ chain.  And I get why he does it, I understand his logic, but just for the record: fuck him.

Future Rachel is a scary motherfucker.  I mean, so is present Rachel, but at least with present Rachel it’s a good, clean fear of being eviscerated.  I’m a little sad Rachel didn’t get to whomp her future self in grizzly form.

Speaking of future selves, I continue to be a fucking wreck about Rachel and Tobias, that is all we are talking about for the rest of this thing.  Of all the people at Visser Three’s disposal to put the screws to Rachel—and of course he guns for Rachel, because Jake is the leader and Cassie is the heart and Tobias is the soul and Marco is the schemer and Ax is the brains but Rachel is the fighting spirit, the part of humanity that has to break if the Yeerks want to win—he goes for Tobias. Not her best friend, or her cousin, he goes for Tobias.  He talks about how they killed Tobias and roasted him and Rachel ate him because he wants to break her, and you know what?  It works.  It works.  She goes back on her decision to fight, in order to save the people she loves—her family, her friends, and Tobias.

Rachel and Tobias go to visit each other when they’re stressed or upset or bored.  Rachel worries about Tobias’ safety so much and stresses about how dangerous life as a hawk is for him.  Tobias is so careful with Rachel when she’s upset, and he’s so distressed when she flies away from him to acquire the bear at the Gardens.  They get each other on this really visceral level, Rachel who’s learning to be a killer and Tobias who’s learning to be a hunter, and they have so much in common on that level.  I? Cannot handle this?  I need someone to request some early war era Rachel/Tobias fic from me, I NEED to wallow in this.  

OH. AND WE SEE TOBIAS AS A HUMAN AGAIN. Okay, fuck the Ellimist for many things, but this ain’t one of them.  Tobias is so surprised and cautious and sad about being in his own body again, he has so clearly missed being a person, and also?  The others?  I am distraught?  The others have clearly missed him, too, missed having him around, being able to see his eyes and watch him smile.  And Rachel—who, to remind you all, is habitually described as extremely beautiful and effortlessly smooth, and who could therefore probably walk into her school and have every guy in the building panting over her—is so glad to see him.  Tobias is a dweeb, he’s the quintessential bullied kid, not the kind of kid who traditionally gets that kind of response from a pretty girl.  And to boot he’s a neglected, outright abused kid, so having someone whose response to seeing him is just sheer delight must be weird as fuck to him.  I’ll bet you cash money, here and now, that part of the reason he can’t control the hawk’s immediate response to panic when Rachel runs at him to hug him is because that has never happened to him before.  I’ll bet he’s never in his life had to deal with someone rushing toward him like that except to attack him.  Of course he gives in to the hawk instinct to try to escape.  And she’s so upset with herself for having scared him, and he’s so embarrassed for having reacted badly, and these kids deserve a movie night or some shit.  It’s so fucking sad, God, I’m a mess.  

[lapeaudelamemoire]

Log day #5 I have had a Depression Weekend. Which means I don't sleep, don't eat, and do nothing but watch tv all day for hours on end. I could drag myself to school if I went to school. Or work, if I went to work. And the ennui would overwhelm me anyway. Now I remember why I never bothered - I've just been lucky enough to be able to cut out the middle-act of needing to try like I do bother. I remember the facing people all day with an 'I'm okay!' face and coming home and dreading the next day, the next, the next. I may be very unproductive right now but I'll take not having to put on happy face a win. Fell asleep and coughed my lungs inside out almost during, but also not before my body did a polar-bear-hit-with-a-tranq-dart-and-now-waking-up routine - it looks like a massive epileptic fit, it looks scary, or maybe it looks like I've been possessed, which either wouldn't be wholly incorrect or is probably halfway to the truth. This time it wasn't even just fish-flopping-gasping-for-water/air but actual running motions. Dragging yourself out of trauma isn't pretty. And like a good girl or a Good Woman I tried to make it pretty, like eating a glitter pill to literally shit glitter or throw up sparkly unicorn vomit or fucking fart a rainbow out of crayons. One of those things or all. Trying to reduce everything to a cerebral process, then realising - just how badly my brain functions, that it's not a joke, that maybe I'm not exaggerating, maybe it's not me looking for an excuse. I make the wrong decisions. I can't control my emotions. I can't even get myself to do necessities. I put off eating. My choices are irrational. My body is shutting down, or my brain is shutting down by not registering what my body is saying, prison guard override. This isn't how a healthy brain or a healthy person functions. I don't know why I keep asking myself to function like a 'normal' person when clearly, I've been out and beyond 'normal' for a long time now. Maybe the dysfunction is as simple as me not accepting that I'm sick and to expect not to behave like I'm sick. Maybe that's the mind/body rift I can't mend. Maybe I just have to say 'Okay well I'm very depressed and I have to take things slowly and I can't expect to do everything at top speed like I've been trying to push myself to do all year and then fail and then try to justify it and then feel guilty and then try to make up for it and push like I'm trying to birth a child and do it all over again'. He's not here any more. I don't have to worry about my depression dripping all over him. I don't have to try to assuage his vulnerabilities while I try to patch my own ailing mind any more. I don't have to answer to him any more, or listen to his opinions any more, or feel guilty about everything I am in front of him any more. I thought I'd earned last year, you know? I thought I'd earned, after 7 years of traumatisation, a celebration, to go on a trip, to make good memories, happy memories, begin to overwrite the massive discrepancy in the ratio of how much of my life has been sadder than happier. And - well, it went to hell. So much for that celebration of finally being free of trauma. Maybe I am a princess. Maybe I just don't have to do anything. Maybe yeah when he met me I was on bloody fucking holiday. Maybe whatever. I didn't feel guilty until then. But I can't justify going on a 'trip' again this year, or trying to make something better over something horrible. Maybe just 'okay' is going to have to do. Maybe just 'alive and not fragmenting mentally' is going to have to be enough. This isn't fair, but you'd think I'd be a bit more resigned to that by now. A bit less angry. A bit more grateful. But I'm tired of being level, triple-checking the locks in my own brain, inception I think you think that I think that you think that I think. But - I'll get there. The song. Where the sky is blue forever. You see? Triple-think.