#dumb idiot fell into a canyon

[tbonetrash]

My pikmin got stuck in the Grand Canyon :(

[mrnovels]

Chapter 1: Seven hundred years later, new human beings!

Ice cold, shaking ......

　　Ye Che's eyelids moved slightly and he woke up.　　"Clang ...... clang ...... clang ...... clang ......"

　　It was a train going to nowhere, the sound of the train moving, heavy and distant.

　　A trace of confusion flashed in Ye Che's eyes, but soon, he snapped his fingers and stood up.

　　Only when he moved, the entire carriage looked towards him.

　　"En?" Ye Che frowned and raised his eyes, this compartment was about thirty people, just a glance over, all these people had deep frowns and were dressed in old fashioned clothes.

　　"Where is this!?" Ye Che gaze, really bizarre scene, so he could not help but ask the mouth.

　　"Pfft ......" a few somewhat clean-cut girls, instantly covered their mouths and laughed out.

　　A boy who looked a bit grinning, but also muttered a sentence: "This person is not scared silly? Can't even remember he's on the exclusive train to challenge the new humans?"

　　"What new human being?" Ye Che frowned even deeper, he was clearly on his way back from the s7 world finals, although he was also on the train, but how could he possibly sit on such an old and rusty train!

　　Ye Che's mind was turning rapidly, but the passengers of this train were already muttering away individually.

　　"This person looks like he's over twenty years old, right?"

　　"Absolutely, it is estimated that he was stimulated, after all, this age still dares to come to take the New Human Promotion Competition, either he has great perseverance or he is an idiot."

　　"Yes, after twenty years old reaction ability, innovation ability are greatly reduced, no wonder a sleep will forget where you are."

"Look at his dumb and dumber look, and innovative power, great perseverance?"

　　With the chatter coming from his ears, Ye Che's brow furrowed even tighter, and the fingers of his left hand secretly snapped more and more sharply.

　　If it wasn't too noisy, one could even hear a hint of a cracking sound.

　　"New human!"

　　This term suddenly gave Ye Che a very unpleasant feeling.

　　Just as he thought of this, suddenly, the entire train shook slightly.

　　"Woo ...... woo woo ......"

　　The train roared long, and then an incomparably cold voice rang out on the train.

　　"The train number from the Abandoned Land, bound for the Experimenter Canyon has arrived, those who do not leave the train within three minutes will automatically lose their qualification for the test!"

　　As soon as the words of this voice fell, Ye Che only felt the train shake violently, and then the door snapped open.

　　At once, a coldness surged in, while the doorway was filled with people's voices, as if they had been waiting for a long time.

　　"Get out of the way!"

　　A figure crashed in and tried to squeeze Ye Che out of the way.

　　Ye Che's footsteps moved slightly and brushed against this figure by a hair's breadth.

　　"Not bad, you still have some reflexes. But at your age, you still dare to come to test new humans, don't daydream, whether there is a team to take you in or not is still one thing, hahahahaha!"

　　This figure, it was the boy with a big grin.

　　Ye Che's expression flickered with thoughtfulness as he watched him quickly get off the train and proceed to drown in the sea of people.

　　Soon, with the crowded flow of people, Ye Che also stood outside the train.

Just in a flash he sucked in a breath of cold air, because this train, actually at the top of a large canyon.

　　This top has a large enough area, the place where the footsteps are even more unknown, carved with thousands of meters large League of Legends four words, plus the resulting gully with a large enough area, is very large and shocking.

　　"League of heroes?" Ye Che saw this scene, some amazement and uncertainty.

　　And at this time, there were thousands of people at the top of this.

　　Many people four in a bunch, ten in a group.

　　They are not well dressed, even very poor, clothes are almost washed white, with a kind of medieval style.

　　Only at the moment their faces were enthusiastic, and a group of people were holding various signs in their hands yelling.

　　"Wolf Lord battle team! Four short of one, any will d or top single please come, new human last year completion rate of sixty-eight percent!"

　　"Aurora! Come a d, last year's completion rate of fifty percent ......"

　　Ye Che turned his head to look, these two yelling warriors were particularly close to him, so he could completely see their expressions.

　　The Wolf Lord battle team is okay, this Aurora battle team yells breathlessly, as if to come here just to get a number of people.

　　At this moment, the people of the Aurora Battle Team were hooting and hollering listlessly, when one of the teenagers suddenly had a bright eye and saw Ye Che who was taking a closer look at them.

　　Soon, he quickly walked over and whispered, "My name is Li Fei, do you know how to play d?"

　　"d?Can a little bit ...... "Ye Che smiled faintly, a hint of nostalgia flashed in his eyes.

　　"Hey, that's good, our team is ......" This Li Fei before he finished his words, his arm was pulled by another teenager who ran over.

"Li Fei, you and he waste what words, do not see this kid obviously over twenty years old? One look is n years have not challenged the new human successfully, although our battle team is the bottom, but also can not obviously pull a waste ah!"

　　This teenager said while sizing up Ye Che, the contempt in his eyes was undisguised.

　　Li Fei looked a little embarrassed, smiled apologetically at Ye Che, and was pulled away by this teenager.

　　Ye Che was slightly stunned and sighed, but turned his head and didn't care.

　　He just looked carefully at the whole canyon, at these crowds, and at the incomparably empty sky here.

　　He faintly sighed: "It seems that I, Ye Che, seem to have stumbled upon something extraordinary."

　　"Sky Blue Battle Team, recruiting peripheral members, requiring under 16 years old, gender female! Last year's new human challenge completion rate of ninety-two percent!"

　　A cold voice suddenly sounded.

　　"Wow ......"

　　It was one of the four ace battle teams, Sky Blue!

　　The hundreds of people nearby were instantly stirred, ninety-two percent completion rate! A very scary number, representing that this battle team would have a high chance of success in the examination this year.

　　That way the entire battle group would successfully advance to become new humans and be qualified to enter the town!

　　If you become a peripheral member of this team, the benefits are even more needless to say, technical guidance, material support, all of them will be available at that time.

　　Ye Che listened to the heated chatter of the surrounding crowd and could not help but move his gaze over.

　　After all, one side of the water and the land nurtures one side of the people, and Ye Che found the air of this canyon incomparably fresh.

　　The five girls of this sky blue battle team, without any trace of makeup at all, looked just like 16 or 17 years old.

　　Although Ye Che likes the girls to draw a little light makeup, but if they are so fresh and lovely without makeup, then there is even nothing to criticize.

Ye Che listened to the longing look of a boy next to him and could not help but smile.

　　It seems like many years ago, such a thought also appeared in himself, just ...... many years ago.

　　Soon, under the scenario of Ye Che looking around and wandering around, time passed nearly two hours and the sky was getting darker.

　　And in these nearly two hours, the train came again, the number of people once again increased.

　　Many people have found their own battle team, the sky blue expensive as one of the four ace battle team of these canyons, there is no lack of embracing households, only half an hour to fill up.

　　Ye Che looked at his grandma not kissed unloved, some distress popped his fingers.

　　After these two hours he also figured out that these people, including himself are old human beings.

　　Like the canyon where they stand, there are a total of three in this neighborhood.

　　And the place to live, even more resource-poor, is a place called the Abandoned Land, and only if you succeed in the test and become a new human, you will be qualified to settle in the town.

　　Why use the game League of Legends to divide people into three, six, nine, etc., Ye Che does not know, ask the people around, they are even more bewildered.

　　As if born, this concept has penetrated deep into the soul, as if eating, drinking, and scraping has become a lifelong belief.

　　Moreover, Ye Che soon even found an even more frightening thing.

　　"Seven hundred years later ah ......"

　　Ye Che murmured with a complicated gaze, not knowing what he was thinking about.

Time, just like this, is gradually passing, finally, the sky has been the whole completely dark.

　　The noisy crowd, all of a sudden stop all actions, an inexplicable atmosphere began to derive in these thousands of people.

　　Ye Che stood up from the mountain rock he was leaning against, and he found that something unusual was happening on the opposite side of the canyon hill.

　　That canyon on the opposite mountain was hundreds of meters higher than the one Ye Che was standing on.

　　It was impossible to see what was happening there in the night, but a roaring sound represented that inexplicable changes were taking place there.

　　"It's finally starting!" Someone muttered in a whisper of excitement.

　　In vain, Ye Che only felt a brightness in front of his eyes, a blindingly bright light instantly entered his eyes, but Ye Che actually didn't even blink his eyes in any way, his expression didn't change.

　　But all around the newcomers who just arrived this year, many of them came out with a cry of surprise, while those old people had already closed their eyes.

　　"Number of eliminations, six hundred and fifty-seven!"

　　The cold voice sounded again, the whole canyon!

　　"What! Why, I'm not convinced, I'm not convinced!!!"

　　This group of eliminated people, simply did not understand the situation, instantly the sky hundreds of red light flashed, like a laser, marking these six hundred and fifty-seven people.

　　And these six hundred people were quickly sidelined out of the circle.

　　"The situation is not alarmed, the first element of the League of Heroes, alarmed by the change in the surrounding environment, the thought of a big change, failure!"

　　The cold voice finished, the canyon once again restored calm.

　　And those who were eliminated, never appeared again.

　　Obviously easy to see, that intense white light, is the test.

　　It was nothing unusual for these six hundred or so people to panic and face elimination because of the sudden appearance of the white light.

　　"Hoo hoo, luckily, luckily I was born

sluggish, otherwise it would be too wrong to be eliminated like this." A teenager next to him thankfully patted his chest.

　　Many people around also looked thankful, but they didn't dare to make any sound, for fear that they would somehow be eliminated if they were not careful.

　　In the blink of an eye, it was more than six hundred people who were cleared away, making some newcomers feel cruel.

　　Ye Che shot a glance at the teenager next to him, then turned his head to look at the opposite side of that canyon again, and at this time, that canyon had already undergone a shocking change.

　　On the surface of that canyon facing Ye Che, an incomparably huge light curtain quietly emerged, and then, instantly enlarged in Ye Che's eyes, enlarged ...... again!

Then, Ye Che was in the situation, as if he had opened the God's perspective.

　　This is not to see 3d, nor 5d, completely have 10d also can not describe the immersive situation.

　　Huge ...... vastness ...... shock ...... crazy ...... greatness... ...

　　膛目结舌...... dumbfounded ......

　　At this point it is impossible to use words to describe Ye Che's senses, he looked down from a height, his expression even a little trance.

　　Below ...... below ......

　　Ye Che horrified to gaze downward and, and instantly, the boisterous clamor that was enough to drown the sky and sea, broke through the sky and came straight to himself.

　　"Kill! The pride of Valoran cannot be desecrated!!!"

　　"We live! You die!!!"

　　The sound was deafening, and the endless battle below swept over millions of kilometers. Ye Che had just shifted his gaze towards the place where the sound was coming from, when he found a dog-headed, humanoid monster roaring madly.

　　Then, its entire body violently expanded a hundred times, like a great man standing on top of the sky.

　　"Ah, that's Desert God of Death Nessus, he ...... has actually cultivated his Ultimate Technique Death Descent to such an extent, a perfection, definitely a perfection Ultimate Technique!"

　　A creature shrieked.

　　Ye Che is also watching completely hold his breath, only to see that Desert Death God Nessus, originally he was surrounded by thousands of glistening monsters entwined, but as soon as he unfolded this technique, those glistening monsters tautly broke layer by layer.

Then, Desert Death God Nessus shouted: "100,000 times soul-drawing painful strike!"

　　The same swollen scepter in his hand was raised high, and suddenly the whole void was as if some kind of crack appeared, and that scepter was swung down by him.

　　"Rumble!!! "

　　This is like a ten-level earthquake, the whole ground sank violently, the surrounding five hundred meters of glistening monsters, as if they had been plowed through, moreover in a flash, they were destroyed and cleared away.

　　Ye Che overhead watching the hands in cold sweat, this power ...... this power!!!

　　"Start killing big time! Long live Noxious!!!" A cold and desperate voice suddenly appeared.

　　Ye Che couldn't care less about the shock of that desert god of death, and hurriedly moved his gaze towards that place.

　　As far as the sight could see, there was only a mat of bright red hair, and that seemed like some kind of sharp blade sheathing ......

　　"Ten times the speed of sound! Instant Step!"

　　"Clang ......"

　　A bright red phantom instantly appeared a hundred meters away, along the way a piece of emptiness as broken as a mirror.

　　"Ejecting blade, ominous blade ...... and ...... death lotus!"

　　"Shoo shoo shoo!"

　　A crazy tornado on the scene appeared in vain, like a sword blade storm, billions of daggers covered the sky, with a tsunami of wild waves swept the battlefield.

　　"One thousand splendid monsters, die! Ten thousand! One hundred thousand! Dead, dead, dead!!!"

　　Just ...... glistening monsters are just too ...... too much ......

　　The glistening monsters that pervaded millions of kilometers, soon, drowned the woman with long bright red hair.

　　Ye Che just vaguely heard that ...... stubborn cry, Noxious, long live!!!

　　"Taste the big guy ......"

　　A shrill, but firm voice came from the distance.

　　Ye Che looked out, only to see that area as if a volcanic eruption, crazy trapped roaring ......

　　including itself, was also collapsed pulled in.

　　"Do not be afraid, I'm coming! Demacia!!!"

　　The space around instantly a quiet, this moment as the whole world is quiet.

　　"Ding!"

The sky seemed to reveal a bit of starlight, then a flash, a huge golden sword as if it were a skyscraper, descending from the sky.

　　"Boom ......"

　　This huge sword ripple range reached tens of kilometers in a flash, the ground left a bottomless hole, through it seems to be able to see the stars at the bottom.

　　The planet, actually by this huge sword a through.

　　"A malfunction ...... system power supply is weakening ...... occurred ......"

　　Suddenly, a metallic synthesized sound came from the glistening monsters surrounded, Ye Che had not had time to look closely, only vaguely felt a yellow shell was completely covered into it.

　　Tragic ...... incomparably tragic.

　　The fall of this yellow shell, it is as if a trigger, that pervades millions of kilometers of glistening monsters madly surge up.

　　Blood soared, and it was already unclear whose it really was.

　　"A lesson from the previous car, the sword knows its master! The day the broken sword is recast, the time when the knight returns!!! Kill!"

　　With this voice that contained an incomparable toughness of will, a huge Giant Queer Sword appeared.

　　In the sky above the sword, a thousand-meter-long shadow of a giant sword appeared.

　　Awe-inspiring, awe-inspiring aura erupted from above.

　　"Kill!" This silver-haired woman had a solemn face, and along with her voice, a voice that spanned the void unexpectedly came from the thousand-meter giant sword shadow: "Kill!"

　　The giant sword was united, and it was as if she was holding the backbone of the world.

　　Then, the giant sword swept violently across the sky, UU look at the book (. &#) sword qi like a flash of aurora, countless splendid monsters were split into dust.

　　"Good ...... so strong ......" Ye Che the whole person watching the gaze even flash, the whole person can not help but tremble, the excitement can not help themselves.

His dropping fingers were even more habitually flicking wildly, bringing up a whistling sound.

　　As if so, it was as if he was in control of the battle.

　　"Destiny ...... is distorted ......" a thick and magnetic voice just sounded.

　　Suddenly.

　　"Old human authority has been used up, return ...... return in progress ......"

　　Ye Che only just heard this voice, did not have time to have any action, only to feel a burst of heat in the eyes, consciousness instantly reversed.

　　The calm canyon mountaintop ...... as well as the opposite canyon light screen framed by four big glowing words, League of Legends!

　　Ye Che gaze confused, like a world away ......

let me know, if you like the story

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 4

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: Time runs out fast, but it’s not the only thing you need.

Word count: 12.6k

Warnings: 18+ only! canon typical violence, blood, injury, weapons (guns),  oral (f receiving), piv sex, handjob, cumplay-ish, a lot of feelings, (sex with feelings...) angst but also some romance

Notes: gif credit to @din-djarn​! This one was tough! Lots of rewriting and changes. Thank you dearly and kindly for sticking with this, and special thanks to Cris and Dani for being my lovely, generous writing consultants! The book mentioned in this chapter is real and was published in 1859.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four: Gunpowder Trail

Gunpowder Trail winds itself a hundred miles away from any surrounding settlements. 

The rough terrain bites and chews most travelers out, and pushes their horses away to seek out other camping grounds. It reaches the ridged peak of a dark forested land, grown over with sun-bleached grass, forming a small pasture at the top.

Jack Daniels pushed up to the top at the age of nineteen, a young and fresh-faced addition to the Statesmen.

Robbers, plunderers. Train stoppers. 

Killers.

Their space was set out for them, where no other person of sound mind bothered to venture, out of respect for their own safety. A near eternal campfire at the center, a gathering of tents, and a store of the West’s most expensive, destructive weapons. The Statesmen kept the ridge to themselves, residing there between jobs of cattle robberies, train hijackings— their faces were never seen, nor did any of them use their real names to avoid personal records.

Whiskey was his new name. Jack knew the depth of the actions he led, but by himself— a young man with no money— the dreaded outlaw band with an ‘S’ mark stamped on the leather of their boots and the metal of their flasks seemed worth it. A lifeline fed to him on a spoon when they found him frequenting and holding his own in a saloon.

We could use someone like you.

Twelve of them lived on Gunpowder Trail’s pasture; a leader, his top men, the others scrounging for something bad to do. A gruff and bearded man of pale skin kept their plans in order, yet he did the least amount of their work. Champ, they called him.

Jack, who before carried nothing but empty pockets, had his hands filled with a whip, a lasso, and two revolvers. Even a Barlow knife, tucked into the back of his faded jeans. The white horse they kept in their meager stables, shyer than the rest, only let Jack ride her. 

And every single day, the men made him loop stolen cattle as practice, shoot bullets through chalk marks on branches, and every time he fell into trouble, his own natural ear for charm would help him squeeze out by a wink or an empty promise.

By the time he was ready, he found himself looking at an exploded train car, his fellow men racing into the flames with their voices tearing through the noise, telling him to grab as many valuable things as were left there.

He kept with them, if only to survive and make something of himself in the harsh winters, and even harsher summers at the summit, where an overlook saw the ridged tower of reddened rocks, a canyon of dirt and grass and blue skies.

Their richness of thieved gold and belongings in the secluded camp kept them healthy, well-fed, as if a step above the rest. And their hefty earnings from committing crimes helped them bribe off even the most steadfast lawmen into shutting their mouths.

Champ held the pocket watch of a deceased mayor, when they pilfered his lavish house in the town of Stag River, had killed him in his living room, for what Champ described as “salvation.” He remained adamant they functioned to bridge the gap from people whose riches made them dumb and powerful, to take from the undeserving idiots and bring life to the less fortunate. But it never lasted long. They helped no one but themselves. What was the point of killing? How long did this have to last before they finally stopped? 

Jack lost sight of what their doings were worth as he grew older and gained a few lines in his face. Taking from the rich folk by slamming through their doors and ransacking buildings was fine, it was nothing quite so special. Except actions got darker, and the thrill was snatched up by the change in him when he’d grown to be a proper man— when his values started to shift. He’d seen couples on the trains he’d snuck onto, holed up in their cabins; he’d seen horrified families when he and his men rode up to their mansions with greed written on their faces. 

Marshals and sheriffs tracked them, one or two men picked off with guns to their temples, but their spot at the end of Gunpowder Trail remained untouched. Their faces still unseen, always covered, but the novelty of existing as untouchable outlaws wore off. 

As Jack pondered his situation— tied to the most dangerous known operation— and gathered his share of patchings-up on the back and arms, the work got too dirty for him to stay around. Ridiculous, for a man of the skill he’d acquired. He could no longer stomach tearing apart the things he wanted that other people had. And although the Statesmen taught him everything he needed to know to survive— they’d preyed on him as a kid— Champ worked him like a dog. Exploited him. Jack exhausted himself through physical pains of strained muscles in his hands from the shooting, red skin from the ropeburn, all the ailments in between. 

Watching death was never anything new, but being forced into causing it for no necessary or sound reason— it pushed him away faster than the travelers who gave up on the trail.

The disagreements over Champ’s increasingly outlandish plans burst out, arguments over what jobs they should do, whether they needed to, what train or town or person they should go after. The growing tension stretched taut between him and Jack, the more he convinced them to stop, that they’d taken enough; Champ and the other men only told him he’d see what they’d soon become.

The final straw; a kid killed in the crossfire. It was a bank robbery in an unassuming town. Not even Champ knew how it had taken this long for a young one to die at their hands, even by accident. But Jack had tried to protect him, tried to seek out his mother, and was promptly dragged out by his fellow men to be knocked out of service by a punch to the head. 

Corruption seeped into each vein of the Statesmen, and at its beating heart, they were led by nothing more than the power-hungry. Death and murder and crime was no shock to the brain in this part of the world, but the guilt grew over Jack’s back like sharp, black vines— he outgrew this life. Yearned for softer things, a solid home, to make his own living and profits and decisions of his own accord. That kid displayed Jack’s own deep desires: to be young, to start over again, to forget the things he’d done.

Coming from a feared group of bandits known in each town for hundreds of miles in every direction, Jack’s luck peaked at his anonymity. He could start over this time, but he could throw one last punch. Tired from being overworked as the most useful of the group, and longing for anything other than living raid to raid, like true calmness, Jack’s resentment grew tenfold. 

Something told him Champ was onto his desires of escape— with painstaking carefulness he prepared Sylvie, biting his tongue between his teeth in fear of her making noise in the dead quiet of night. He had gathered his belongings into one saddle bag long before; it was the gold he needed to snatch up. To leave a mark with Champ, to ensure they wouldn’t assemble enough money to start an even bigger ill-advised syndicate where Jack knew the killing wouldn’t stop. 

In the dying fire-light over the ridge, Jack snuck, snuck past the occupied tents, guiding Sylvie by the reins as he stepped on foot. She threatened to huff, only calmed by his gentle petting, but she sighed forcefully at the added weight of the gold, alerting the nearest tent something was up. 

The dread in Jack’s stomach solidified like the glinting gold, unwelcome, heavy with guilt.

Where do you think you’re goin’, Whiskey?

What he did to get away cost him the comfort he sought. It was never his intention, taking out the knife clipped to the back of his trousers— he was threatened. Champ pushed and yelled what sounded like roars in the distance, grabbing the man he once saw as a son by the collar and pulling it tight around his neck.

Get back to your fucking tent, he spat.

Jack raised his hands to Champ’s, clamped around his shirt, and the blade slid deep from the start of Champ’s thumb to the end of his pointer, tendons sliced. It bought him enough time to mount Sylvie while Champ held his hand in screeches, alerting the sleeping men in their tents through more furiously angered shouts. Yet it would do nothing for him, trying to aim his pistol and shoot at Jack, who disappeared beyond the fire and into the black, worry etched into his brow. 

Champ’s last pride— his shooting hand— got torn to a shred and put out of business. Their biggest find of gold, gone. The Statesmen would follow that thief till they struck him dead.

***

“You’re... the fugitive?” You’re still as the air where you’re seated, piecing together what he’d left out before when he’d told you of shortened anecdotes.

“I ain’t proud.” Shifting, his lips press together to form a taut line, his knees drawing over the floor as he comes closer. “Darlin’, I did some bad, bad things.”

Sniffling, you meet his eyes. Glassed, glossy, pleading as they look up at you. Burning amber in the golden light of your room, contrasted to the blue dark outside the open window. 

He seems so different, now, than the man described with the words of destruction and the joy taken in thievery; your head spins. And beyond it all, you don’t find yourself betrayed, or hurt, or taken aback so much as you’re concerned for his life.

“Jack…” you sigh, a tear slipping at last down your cheek. He reaches up to brush it away, and his thumb meets your skin as gentle as it ever has; proving he won’t harm you.

“Thought they’d given up on trackin’ me, I only got days left before—”

“They want the gold back?” You’re not sure what to ask, what to do, but the hands of dread are closing around your chest, squeezing your heart.

The guilt flashes in his eyes again. Deep, aching guilt. “It wasn’t all their gold. But it was enough,” he admits, “I left it on the doorstep of the bank we took it from and kept a little for myself. But it don’t make me feel any better.”

“And the knife…”

“That too.”

It’s like you’ve known all along, and yet not at all.

Jack never lied. 

He’s only telling you now, and it sends your thoughts running unbearably fast— of all the places he’s been, running, of everyone he’s met— why you?

Your head fills with so many more questions, speedily whirling as they pop up one after the other, dizzying you.

“This whole time, you’ve been running from them?”

You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes, the sharp machinery of his mind rolling on and on. Figuring out what to say, what to do. He shifts closer, and his eyes grow wide as he looks at your face, clouded over in warning and protection. 

“Runnin’.” He puts both hands on your cheeks, with a firm hold to focus you back on him as the truth seals dread and yet understanding around your heart. “And I need to start again, so I can end it for once. I can’t let them get here— and I can’t ask the sheriff for help. More people’d get hurt.”

There’s too much to consider now, a million things that could go wrong. If he stayed, the law workers would itch to catch the Statesmen, but with that comes inevitable deaths on town soil. On your own, leading them away from civilization, you doubt you’d be of much help to Jack if they found your camp.

Looking down at him, the sweat forms in your palms, more tears welling in your eyes. Every which way, every opportunity feels like a trap, as if the whole world is closing in on the two of you in your room at the end of the hall. But none of it is born of disappointment, or resentment— it’s plain worry for him. The man you see now is not who he was. Jack looks at you like you’re all the softness in the world he’d ever dreamed of, when he’d been a rougher man. Like he couldn’t stand to upset you, and seeing the conflict crossing your features is tearing him up inside. 

“Why can’t they let it go?” 

“Because,” his eyes narrow, “they’re vicious men. I was, too. And when you take a man’s means of killin’ and protectin’ like I did, you get yourself in real trouble.”

It’s an overwhelming helping of premature grief, your heart thumping sadly, but with a tiny twinge of hope. You wrap your fingers around his wrists, making sure his hands remain at your face, if only to have the warm sensation to ground you. When you think on it, the threads pull together— his skill when he’d rescued the house and everyone in it from Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant, his unusual talent at bargains, and beyond that, the fact that you’d not seen him shoot his gun once, other than during those lessons he gave you. He’d no doubt grown to adulthood on Gunpowder Trail, but if anything had changed, it was that dark part of him. No longer a vicious man, or a taker, but a peacemaker. 

“And… of all the places you’ve been traveling...” you start softly, unable to finish your question, but he understands all the same.

It’s not processing quickly in your mind, that Jack had once lived the life of an outlaw— the kind of men who’d frightened you in the street, the ones who burn good things to the ground. But you can see that streak of something inside him. A deep rooted vein where he’d longed for danger to keep him occupied and lively. Running with the Statesmen meant he learned those skills to hold his own in the face of threats, using that whip, that lasso, those two guns— one that you shoot with your own hand, now. He must have rested at dozens of different places, been granted the generosity from many families. Surely there have been other people that meant something to him.

“It was you.” He bites his lip in concentration, hands squeezing your cheeks as he perches himself closer to you in his kneeling position.

“You wouldn’t let no one give you a hard time,” he laughs, despite the lump in his throat, “but everyday I came back, you had a glass of whiskey waitin’ for me. You’re a hard workin’, busy woman… and yet you were nothin’ but kind to me. I ain’t once met someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe. The promise of danger eats away at your shoulders, but Jack himself, at your feet, so sincere, makes it impossible to feel anything but empathy. What did he mean when he said he would keep running? He’d go without you? 

“I made you a promise, angel. That first time I touched you, I told you I would bring you,” his thumbs stroke your skin, languidly easing you from panic. “But I didn’t know they were still comin’. I could never do that to you, and I doubt you’d—”

“Stop.”

He perks up when you speak again, confusion covering his otherwise sorrowful look when your voice covers his own, doubtful one. Unsure of what you mean, he leans his head closer to you in question, and waits with bated breath.

“I don’t feel any different about you. Or leaving with you.”

Shock clouds him, and you look at him, soft and weary beneath you, leaning into you for any touch he could receive.

You meet the floor in a thud as you wrap your arms desperately around his neck, willing the shame and stress and guilt to drain from his body like wringing a towel dry.

If you squeeze him hard enough, maybe it would help.

The curtains sway across the floor with the breeze of the open window, and the light flickers quickly across the room as you sink further into each other, holding on as if some imperceivable force would separate you now. The house is quiet, not creaking or sighing through the boards— only his shallow breaths fill your ears.

Situated upon his lap, you card your fingers through the loose wave over his forehead as you part, guiding it back into place among the rest of his dark hair. His lip quivers involuntarily, and his mouth makes its habitual pout, expecting some form of disappointment to cross your features. But apart from the small crystalline tears, there is only compassion. You trace your fingers down his cheek, across his bottom lip.

He tries to speak, opening his mouth, and nothing but a weak sound comes out before you place your lips against his, snaking your arms tight around his neck. He whines, readily pulling you further into his lap, scrambling to take you as close to him as he can make you. You feel his nose pressing beside yours, the arched curve prominent against your face. 

“Darlin’, it’s not sa—” he croaks, “—you ain’t scared of me?”

The instances you’d seen him make use of his weapons, he protected. He did it to save you from gunshots, to teach you how to hold your own, to keep his rightful winnings at the saloon. It’s true— you never knew him before, when he would have been handling plans of robberies... but then again. Redemption.

“I know you. You are not a bad man,” you whisper, breaths shaking inside your chest. You’re certain of that— he’d no doubt committed crimes in his time, but the more you ponder it, he was only a kid when they took him in. A vulnerable young man, who needed food, shelter, and people to herd with. 

You feel his muscles loosen in their hold of you when he registers your words. His fingertips dig into your waist, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. His breath ghosts down over your chest, those calming puffs of air blowing the lace trim back and forth on your chemise.

“I know you,” you repeat the words, bestowing a plush kiss to his cheek, then the other. His skin has gotten rougher without a shave the past few days, and on your lips you feel the heat of his face. “You’re a good man.”

He adjusts his grip to settle on your hips, sliding back across the floor until his back hits the edge of the bed, cushioned into the overhang of the blanket. Your legs are thrown over his, squeezing his sides as you bring your foreheads back together. “You left them. You saw it was wrong. How is that so bad?”

A humming noise rumbles against your chest as he forces himself to consider. You watch his handsome face, a fresh wave of appreciation for him washing over your entire body— the anxiety is still settled at the pit of your stomach, but the most important thing to you in this moment is his honesty with you. That he’d helped you find joyfulness in the mundane tasks of your every day, that he’d had the mind to keep running, until it brought him to you.

Ruthless men are after him, but he’s yours, here.

His thighs tense under you as a tearless sob escapes him, and soon enough he’s wrapping his arms tightly around your body, whispering, “You would still have me?”

The intense gaze from below washes over you, and you nod fervently, his hand slipping between your thighs. He draws his fingertips up, met with your bare cunt, wet and waiting.

His voice rasps softly, “Fuck, just let me be close to you. I can— I got at least one more day, I can figure it out—”

“Yes,” you whisper, hugging him with every limb, “yes.”

In that meantime of one, possibly two days before he’d try to leave, you’re positive you could convince him to let you go along. He seems reluctant enough at the mere mention of it, his voice uncertain in tone and volume, and you’re not fond of his insistence on going alone, but his words fill you with trust.

Your heart skips one, two, three beats as you slip the top buttons of his shirt open, widening it just enough to allow you the space to leave a kiss on his sternum. He whines, fighting the urge to do much the same, a pointless battle inside himself, telling him he doesn’t deserve your tenderness.

“Show me,” he whimpers, forearms pressing you down into his lap. “Please.”

You’ve always been the one to say that word.

A sweet kiss follows his desperate wish, turning more heated as he draws you nearer, lifting his thighs to make you dip forward against him.

His fingers slide underneath the ribboned strap of your chemise, gliding along your skin until he meets the fabric at your back.

“I won’t change my mind.” Taking his face into your palms, you kiss him again slowly, his hands tensing up around your figure at the gentle way you treat him— your soft voice, your soft touch. He meets you with a shallow sigh, chasing after you when you part from him for a breath he won’t allow you in his neediness. He captures you for another, holding you by the back of the neck with a strong and sturdy hand. “I will keep wanting you.”

The small modesties he carries rise to the surface of their pool in his stomach, and if Jack were honest with himself, he’d reason that you should no longer take a place at his side. Maybe a traveling life with him isn’t as good or safe or fulfilling if it's spent with a keeper of such secrets. He’d steal you away in a heartbeat, but shame chains him down and couples him with fear— so long as he’s a wanted man, you wouldn’t be secure.

Perching forward, you kiss the corner of his jaw, the end of his chin, the other side of his face.

“You always were too good to me,” he husks, your unbent loyalty throwing him into a fit of need for you, to hold you, to have you wrapped around him until neither of you can take any more.

He ducks his head to kiss your chest through the thin cotton, the ribbon dangling between your breasts. 

“Please, Jack—”

He secures a palm at the back of your head and leans you downward until your body meets the cool floor, his hand providing a gentle landing.

He crawls up over you, planting his hands beside your head, causing a curl to slip over his forehead. You reach up, smoothing it along with the rest of his hair, and he follows the movement indulgently, his eyes shutting.

After a moment of watching you from above, he pushes your chemise up your stomach, the heat of his palm causing the rest of your body to shiver. He stops as he uncovers your breasts, and draws a finger to your navel, flicking his gaze across your torso to meet your eyes.

“I’ll keep wantin’ you,” he places his lips on the column of your throat, tilting your head back to allow him the space, “and needin’ you,” another kiss, at the middle of your chest, “and dreamin’ of you.” 

His mouth drags in a tender line down your stomach, the tip of his nose meeting your skin. Pushing his body down the floor, his mouth hovers over your aching clit, the tingling sensation driven wild by his shallow breaths blowing across it.

“I want t’keep you.”

His stomach and joints press uncomfortably into the floor, but the pain dulls when his tongue meets your wet heat, licking a stripe as he takes his time. Your head falls back on instinct, hands frantically slipping through his hair, a lush sensation replacing the better of your anxieties when he does it again.

Two strong arms wrap around your thighs from underneath, bringing your cunt closer to his face, allowing him to lose himself to it, his tongue sliding across your clit in circles. He closes his lips around it and groans something needy, the hands at your legs squeezing your muscles.

“M’gonna make you feel good if I never do anythin’ else.” His eyes, more doe-like in nature, peek at you with determination, and you nod again, eyes shutting. Jack dives back down but his speed remains the same, his wet mouth sliding over your cunt languidly as he builds you up.

“Want the taste of you,” he groans, muffled, his bottom lip sliding up your entrance, “I’m gonna earn it, every day.”

“It’s yours,” you gasp as his fingers claw, as his tongue swipes more focused patterns. “Take it.”

He follows your words with a literal edge, tugging on your clit with his lips and stroking the bud of it with his tongue. Your spine lifts off the unforgiving wood, and your head threatens to knock against the leg of the vanity table as you let it roll side to side, panting deliriously.

Glancing up once more, he studies your face from between your legs with an equally hungry face, your wetness glistening on his chin as his lips pull into a little smile. His hand travels up your stomach and lands promptly on your breast, earning him a breathy and mindless moan from your throat when he squeezes around your hardened nipple.

“Thought I’d driven you away.” He admits, his attention switching from your chest to your face.

“You’d never—”

The words catch up in your throat as he lowers his mouth and slips his tongue over your sensitivity, your thighs automatically trying to wrench closed from the weight of the pleasure.

Almost too much, but still not enough.

He lets you squish him with a slight chuckle at the state of you, so affected, and rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger in time with the lapping of his tongue.

“Oh, Jack,” you cry, the tone so different from the way you’d said that same sentence not half an hour ago. He preens with a grumble against you, and lets his lips drag closed around you once more.

“Say it,” he demands after you writhe on his face, tilting his head to swipe his nose through your folds. You whine at the smooth feel of its arch passing over you, and again at the sight of his face shining with your slick. “Keep sayin’ my name.”

“Jack,” you allow, a needy prick in your tongue.

“Uhuh...” He groans after you, satisfied, your booming heart momentarily relieved by the slight crinkle in his eyes. 

It’s when he buries his mouth, that you notice him rutting against the floor, his hips bucking and rubbing his cock against his trousers.

“Come up—”

Without a thought on it, you attempt to drag him up to you and let him sink into you by a rough tug on his suspenders, but he remains put with his face hidden and his tongue now furiously swiping.

His arms clamp around your thighs, refusing to be moved from your aching, throbbing cunt, and he locks down. He hums his rejection into you and begins nodding his head along with the motions of his mouth, the muscles in his lower body engaging when he feels you begin to tremble.

“There,” you think you hear him say through the thick fog of arousal, “almost, come on…”

It had ramped up so fast from his leisurely swipes, and now he’s eating away at you freely and quickly, your hands fisting tight in his hair.

“Ah—” you whimper, elbows meeting the rigid surface, your hair sliding over the cracks, and your entire body pulls up in anticipation of what he’s soon to give you.

He mumbles on your clit: “I need to feel it.”

With only a couple more strokes, your body tremors when it starts to flow through you, powerful waves falling head to toe. Jack keeps you in place with a single-minded want to please you, basking in the squeeze of your thighs around his head, and faintly you can see the upward turn of his moustache above your cunt, like he’s smiling at the pleasure he’s offering you.

“Ja-ack…” your head falls, but it hasn’t tired you out yet, nor him.

He lays his cheek against your thigh once you’ve calmed to catch his breath, and lifts a finger to stroke through your folds. Blinking slowly, his gaze traverses up your stomach, your breasts, your neck, then to your face before he hovers over you again, nudging your nose with his.

“I think I’m gonna need all of you tonight,” he murmurs, and you inhale your scent from his mouth, caught in between your helpless panting.

But you’re not listening intently; you’re shrugging his suspenders off his shoulders and tugging him nearer, and he responds in the same manner, frantically pulling his cock free.

“That’s alright, angel? Y’sure?”

Your whimper is almost pathetic in its tone, needy and soft and demanding, but he takes it positively as it was meant, using the gentle guidance of his hands as he spreads your thighs, calloused fingertips inciting a shiver. “I— I’m sure.”

You resist when he tries to urge you up to the bed, instead forcing him back over your body. His eyes bloom in width and darkness when you beg, “here,” and he nods, a strained furrow forming on his brow.

You glance down at his thickness, his fist wrapped around the base as he glides the tip over your soaked clit. Before he pushes in, he fashions a hand underneath your head to pillow it from the rocking, and ensures he has your gaze when he notches himself up with you.

“Hang on to me,” he begs more than he asks, and in the moment before he goes any further, you lock your ankles behind his back, and wrap your arms around his neck.

He rolls his hips forward, giving you half of him as he moans out his relief with a raspy voice.

“Oh, fuck,” he gives you the rest, indulging in your equal enthusiasm for this, to keep him, and you sigh together when he meets his end. He keeps you full as he stares down into your eyes, to burn them into memory— laid on the floor of all places, your expression begging for more of him and only him.

“Feel me.” You urge him to bow his head where his nose fits over the curve of your shoulder, his breaths blowing over its surface in rough pants. 

“Nothin’— nothin’ bad is goin’ to happen to you,” he grates, dragging his hips out to ease back inside the warm squeeze of your cunt, elbows digging into the floor on either side of you. The hand underneath your head tenses, fingers gathering your hair and tugging just enough to make you whimper again, and he looks almost just as broken as when he’d walked into the room.

“I always come back to you, darlin’. I’ll make good on my promise.”

Jack’s whisperings taper off to a breathy moan when you clench, trying to pull him somehow further into yourself. But there’s no space left, except for the inches between you each time he pulls away to slide back in, his thick cock stretching your walls coated in arousal.

“I trust you,” you slide your fingers up his neck, carding through the hair at his nape. You don’t only mean his promise, but him on his own— you trust him that he wants you, that he needs you safe, that he won’t abandon you. 

“I mean it.” Pushing himself to the base, Jack holds his cock inside you, flattening his stomach to yours. “You make me wanna be the good man I always thought I was.”

He sucks a sharp breath before slanting his mouth over yours in a heady kiss, but you remain uninterrupted; his words had left you speechless, knowing that you, above all the adventure and people and adrenaline rushes from his own smart mouth had been the one to inspire an end to troubles and an end to traveling.

His kiss becomes a nip of your bottom lip, a bite and pull before another, longer press of your mouth as he rocks into you. Tightening your arms around his neck, you fit your cheek next to his, shallow breaths sounding by your ear, blending into grunts. 

“I’m never afraid of you,” you murmur, his cock meeting a deep, pleasurable spot, turning your confident words into quiet whimpers.

He picks his head up from yours, the intensity in his brown eyes unlike any time you’ve ever seen them; different than his fierce sureness with the rope, playing cards, different than fucking you in the early hours of the morning.

Maintaining your eye contact, he stops moving.

One hand still cradling the back of your head, the other rises to trace down your cheek, then cupping it in his wide palm.

His mouth quivers before he bites on his lip, trying to focus more on his thumb stroking your face than the way his heart is begging to burst.

“I am gonna give you everythin’ I can.”

Despite the weight of his body on top of you, you try to display your understanding with a tilt of your hips to meet his own, coaxing a gravelly sound out of him as he allows his arm to sneak beneath your lower back. You whine at it, his cock nestled inside you at its deepest, his voice shaking with want and need. He ruts against your body, scanning your face at the shove.

“You— you’ve given me all I could have wanted,” you cling onto his body, “it’s just you, just you that I want—”

“You have me, ‘m gonna make it right.”

He drops his head onto your chest, his scrunched nose fitting in between your breasts as he grunts there, until the sounds could resemble a small sob through gritted teeth. Embracing him, your nails scratch through his disheveled hair, and you can’t help the honest pleas before they spill out of you.

With shut eyes, you breathe, tightening around his cock as you edge closer to coming, “I would go with you, Jack, I’m not afraid...”

“C— can’t,” he murmurs back, his forehead beginning to shine. All of a sudden, you realize your cheeks are wet again, and he wipes the new tears away with a brush of his own rough cheek against your face. His voice jumps at his increasing speed, “I’ll make it safe for us first.”

Your muscles all seize. He gasps at the strength of your clutch as you listen, and his pace only quickens when you cry out his name, its softness spurring him on. Lying here, on the floor, you’d rather never leave this moment with him and his breathy vows. It’s as if the light has dimmed to a burnt orange glimmer; all you can see is him, the expanse of his shoulders rising and lowering as he moves, his solemn but enraptured face capturing your heart all over again.

The crease of effort has not eased in his brow, and you loosen your arms to cradle his jaw. A hint of a smile flashes in his lips as you push on his cheeks, your throat lengthening as you stretch your head back.

“Just keep hangin’ onto me,” he begs, your foreheads pressing together as he nears his end, and you clench on his cock, your wetness coating its entire length. “My darlin’ girl… give me a good one.”

Before long, you feel it coming, taking you out of your worries for a stretched piece of time as bliss replaces all else, and the only sound in your ear is your mingled panting.

“Oh, J... J—Jack!”

Your thighs tremble around his waist, and he encourages more out of you with another stroke and press of his cock, the thatch of hair on top of it brushing your clit.

“That’s it, just feel me, I’m still here,” he coos, calming down with you, and it’s with slower strokes that he starts to come, the thick liquid spilling inside of you. His groans turn softer after a moment, and looking at you, sympathy covers his features, all shadowed and chiseled by the light. You say nothing before he’s kissing you again, the notch of effort returning to his brow as he slants his mouth to yours, his attention undivided on the sensation. It lasts over more insistent presses, each slower than the last.

“I never had a reason to face what I’d done,” he rasps against your mouth, “I do now.”

Something inflates in your chest. 

“I’m ready to stop runnin’ for you.”

***

Come morning light, you blink your eyes open to find his figure obstructing the sun shining into the window as he stands in front, frantically gathering his belongings. His travel bag lays at his feet, full of clothes tossed inside, except for the shirt and trousers he’ll soon dress in. Your chemise lies somewhere discarded on the floor from hours before, when he’d kissed along each of your limbs, and took you there on the rigid wood.

It’s early, a full two hours before your usual time of rising to work, yet your sleep had been full and restful thanks to Jack’s ease in exhausting your body.

“Jack,” you call out, extending your arm across the soft cream pillows. He turns his attention to you with a smile, albeit troubled, and moves to sit by you on the edge, his hand coming to rest at your temple.

“I’ll be gone soon, angel,” he whispers, smoothing the back of his fingers along your face as he lowers himself to brush his lips against yours. “I got a bad feelin’ I should go now.”

It’s so sudden, the confession and the impending departure, the feeling in your chest so different than the day before.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out…” Jack hovers over your body, unable to pull away. “I’ll get a few days ahead of ‘em.” 

Figure it out… you don’t like this at all. You’d been understanding enough to listen to his wishes, but later today, you doubt you’ll be able to let him go out there. Not when the Statesmen are reportedly so close. “I’ll have to tell the boys at the post office that I’m leavin’ and all. Tell Mrs. Adler. Get packed up.”

He sounds forlorn as he tells you the future course of his day, petting at your shoulder. You sit yourself up beside him, noticing the hug of his underwear around his thighs, the sock garters on his calves a garment you seldom find yourself able to study, and kissing the back of his neck, you swipe your hand over his belly. He tilts his head back with a resigned groan, the tickle of his hair meeting your skin, forcing a little laugh from your throat.

“You won’t make this easy on me, will you?” he purrs, letting your hand gently rub over his front. “I’ll miss that sound.”

“You did say you’d come back for me,” you tease, and surprisingly, there’s still a small spark in you for how heavy your heart weighs.

“And I will.” He hoists himself up on the mattress and takes your wrists in his fingers, pinning them above your head. “I’ll take care of everythin’. Come and get my girl, take her away, give her somethin’ better than this chore of a job.”

The scruff of his moustache bites at the sensitive skin of your neck, and then his teeth, as you start to wiggle your wrists between his palms, his body falling into yours. “Promise.” You start to wonder what he’d do if you packed your things and put your foot down, determined to go along with him if he insists on leaving. It makes a whole world of sense to stay and request the help of the town, rather than go on his own. There’s time ahead of you to consider your options— all you know is that he won’t go alone, not if you can help it.

Slipping from your bed, he retrieves his trousers from the window sill, stepping into them. You watch as he does up the front, and then you meet him at the window, taking his shirt.

He eyes you, raising his brow, then smiles as he turns around for you. You guide him into the sleeves, smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders, and pat the collar down before you wheel around to start buttoning the front. Jack watches your face intently, his hands coming down to rest at your waist and squeeze. He can’t help but tug you a little closer, making you huff, and before you can get the top two buttons, he dips his head down for a kiss.

It’s gentle, your fingers tight around the fabric, and then it’s over. Blinking, Jack takes a soft hold of the back of your neck, his lips then pressing against your hair as he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers from above you, your cheek squishing against his shoulder. “I thought things were different now, but they ain’t.”

You sigh onto the exposed patch of skin above his collar, wrapping your arms tightly around him. He inhales sharply at the squeeze as if he still hadn’t expected to receive such affections any longer, and in turn hugs you back with the same strength.

“It’s okay, Jack. I want you to be alright.”

“I will figure it out,” he repeats himself, running his palm flat over your hair. “I found you before. I can find you again.”

Your soft hum turns into a yelp at the sudden bolt of a gunshot ringing through the air, just shy of your window. It echoes barely, and Jack’s grip on your body becomes iron as he peers out of the glass.

“Oh, shit. Fuckin’ shit.”

“What?” you gasp, and he’s already shoving his boots on and throwing every weapon onto his body as you look out from the curtains.

On the street, a half-masked man stands in the dust, staring ahead at the front door of the house.

Jack steers you and shoves you down onto the stool by the vanity, your body dropping to it with a thud, his finger pointing at the end of your nose.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Jack—” you call after him as he makes for the hall, “who is that?”

He swivels on his heel, pulling a revolver from its slot. “Stay put.”

Just as you run up to the door, it slams shut in your face, rattling in its frame. With shaking hands you snatch the nightgown from your dresser, forcing the long, light fabric to drape from your chest to the tops of your ankles. Your stomach flips uncomfortably, and you’re suddenly aware of just how badly you need to eat as you chase down the hall for him.

You force your footfalls to be quiet, ripples of the fabric blowing against your speed as you run down the steps and come to an abrupt halt. You brace your hands onto the railing as your gaze settles upon Jack; he stands tall in the open doors with a wide stance, his hand hovering over the leather pocket of his holster. A gentle wind gusts through the road, and your eyes follow along to the man with the bandana concealing the bottom half of his face, and despite being hidden, you know that he’s smiling.

“They told me you’d be here, old Jack.”

Shrinking yourself against the wall, you listen to his gruff voice and watch as Jack’s shoulders tense further, but he says nothing in return. You’re confused underneath the rich anxiety flooding your veins; why is there only one of them? Did the Statesmen split up to find him?

His lean build is covered in expensive black clothing, and he by no means looks like he’s desperate for gold. Only vengeance. And his confidence has led him to bring a single gun along, with his horse silent behind him.

He takes a step closer to Jack, spinning a silver gun into his grip. “Any idea how much you owe?”

Jack’s chest puffs in and out, and from the side you’re looking at him, his face is twisted deep into anger— eyebrows and mouth pulled downward into a sinister frown.

“I don’t owe you men shit,” Jack spits, remaining still and tall.

The man swiftly points and fires at the door frame behind Jack, making wood chips explode at his side, and you cover your mouth to fight off a scream.

“Extra for fucking up Champ’s shooting hand. Extra for leaving us fucking hungry.”

Your heart thuds painfully hard, but Jack doesn’t seem to show a drop of fear.

“You took our fucking livelihood!” He puts a bullet in the opposite side of the doorframe, and this time Jack flinches, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You inch slowly as you can to the foot of the stairs, staying low to the rail as you creep, and the man points his revolver at Jack’s chest. “We robbed every town we went to, looking for you. And it still ain’t enough.”

You watch his fingers sliding along the end of his lasso, faces appearing in the windows across the dust, but no one daring to exit their doors. Newcomers aren’t treated with much wariness, but this one had shot a bullet into the air to get attention, and he hadn’t brought anyone but himself. You’re holding onto a sliver of hope that sheriff Branch will come and finish this without a fight or scratch. He’s nowhere to be seen, though, and the faces in the windows remain still as they watch the two men square off.

“Well, luck tends to run out.” Jack roars lowly, “Why ain’t Champ here, then?”

“Scouting.” He spits onto the vacant street, and still, no one arrives to interrupt. “You come with me, Jack,” he holds his arms out in alarming leniency, “pay off your debt, aid one more job, and there won’t be no more killing. Or the rest of us are coming when I tell ‘em I found you. You got nowhere left to go.”

You don’t believe that for a second. They want him dead, and you know that. Whoever this man is, he’s stalling, and you doubt that the other man in charge would let Jack live another minute of his life upon spotting him. You try not to make the stairs creak as you slide down the next step, and by now, your stomach is in knots, your legs shaking even as you tense the muscles.

“No one cared when a god damn boy was killed,” Jack snarls, biting down on his lip as he tries to conceal his hands, pulling the rope loose. “I fuckin’ cared. And I ain’t that kind ‘a man no more. You’re all fuckin’ done for.”

The air stills, dead quiet between them. But your breath and blood are pumping laboriously, and you don’t know what to do with yourself, crouched on the steps and folded into yourself.

“But I could kill you right now for the bullshit you did,” the man barks, “we could do this here. I don’t care if Champ wants to do it himself. You make a fuss and I’ll put a bullet in that brain instead.”

Jack’s wrist uncoils the rope, and you’re secretly wishing he’d reach for his gun. But you know that’s his last resort, at least now. “If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Jack whips the rope forward and the loop closes around his opposite’s barrel, but they’re just as fast as each other. He manages to tug the weapon from his grip and back across to himself by the porch, yet a shot had already been fired at his chest. The bullet shoots askew and skims along the flesh of Jack’s left shoulder, and the blood starts to seep before you can scream.

“Jack!” you yell, your entire body numb as you sprint over to him. You don’t feel your feet scraping the wood, nor the ache in your belly, nor the tears already spilling out of your eyes. He stumbles backward, and you drop to your knees at his side to take his head into your hands, his eyes widening at the sight of you. His skin burns, a rasping cough leaving his throat in shudders.

“What do I—”

“Who’s this?” The man asks, eyeing you up and down, not ignorant of your lack of clothing compared to a properly layered, modest dress. “Got yourself a lady now, Daniels? I hope you told her what you did. What a shame…”

He walks closer, hands raised in a false surrender.

“No, no,” he protests, leaning straight up to action, but your rapid thinking has you pushing him back down into the porch, and taking a gun from his holster. 

“Don’t come any closer.” Your hoarse voice shakes, but you push the words out anyway, despite their lack of threat. 

It’s different, this time. Your target is a living, breathing thing. You know you won’t kill him, but something has awoken at the sight of Jack’s blood, at the sound of his pained whimpers, and you can’t stop it, you can’t push it away before you take aim.

Don’t pull the hammer down until you’re ready to shoot.

The first lesson flashes in your mind’s eye as you fix your posture, aimed at the man’s shoulder as he approaches slowly to retrieve his weapon. He’s at your mercy without that damned thing, but he’s only getting closer.

“Darlin’,” Jack croaks, struggling to sit up as the pain weakens him further. 

Your palms are damp against the wood of the handle. You chew your lip, taking one more brief look at Jack and his watery eyes as he lays on the wood, and you take a massive breath. The hammer pulled down, your pointer flexes against the trigger, and you can’t even look as you squeeze.

“Come on, girl,” the voice before you taunts, “you won’t.”

The fire of the bullet explodes in your ears, the following screech of pain almost as loud, and when you blink your eyes, he’s on the ground with a hand holding his leg. 

His blood taints the road, but still no one comes out to aid. You want to scream in agony, too— this was never something you’d do, never something you could imagine doing. Hurting someone who’d offered nothing good to the world still makes you crumble harder.

“Fuck—”

A series of aggravated curses fill the background of your consciousness, and although he’s your shared, lethal enemy, you can’t focus on the masked man thrashing at the other end. You missed where you wanted to aim, but you still hit him somewhere bad enough. 

Your chin trembles so hard it makes your teeth clank together as you pull the rest of the rope back, and the gun in the loop skids across the floor back inside the house.

“Please,” you hear a soft voice call, and you fall back to your knees beside Jack’s trembling body, cupping his face in your hands. Behind you, you hear the scraping of the man’s arms and legs on the road as he struggles back to his horse, and with a jarring groan, he pulls himself up by the stirrups, bleeding onto the side of the animal. Defeated, he starts to guide it away, but not without stopping to stare down at the two of you on the porch, as the red drips down his boot. He’s weaponless, but he knows where to find you.

“Don’t think about running this time.”

He’s weaponless, and injured, but he knows exactly where to guide the rest of his men. And before anyone can catch him first, he disappears.

You and Jack look at each other defeatedly, too, as the pounding hooves die off.

He chokes as you nestle in closer to him, peeling back the ripped fabric of his sleeve.

“Please,” he begs again, but you don’t know what for.

Despite his violent flinch, he lets you continue inspecting the wound. It’s open and still flowing, and the tears in your eyes make the view blurry, your shaking hands patting over his chest as you try to figure out what to do.

“Was too late,” he splutters, his eyes now swimming with tears as yours do, his uninjured arm reaching up to let his fingers round your ear. He settles his palm at the side of your neck, and a full sob shatters your throat at the pained look on his face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Jack,” you soothe, rocking him in your arms. The blood pools onto the fabric of your nightgown, staining the stark white with dark red. 

The world, the town, you— none have ever felt so small.

“I’m— I’m going to get you the doctor.” You smooth his hair back, unsure of how to do that when he’s bleeding out and struggling to stay awake on his own. 

“It’s just a skim,” Jack insists, but his eyelids are drooping, the hold on your cheek weakening. “I… darlin’, I have to…”

“No,” you say softly, and the street rumbles with the arrival of the sheriff and his horse, a minute too late. He comes to an abrupt halt at the porch, eyes widening at Jack, at the blood covering both your clothes, and you beg him with a desperate cry for the doctor. He demands no further explanation before he nods with a concerned frown, pulling the reins the other direction.

“Keep him awake,” he barks back, steering his horse to ride down the street to the doctor’s quarters with thundering hoof falls, “I’ll bring him.”

The clouds have fully covered the sky, casting a grey shadow over Jack’s body as he shivers in your hold. A hiccup hinders his breath, and then he blinks up at you with remorse. 

“This ain’t what I promised you.” He winces, his voice barely audible as the lightheaded rush overtakes him, and you move his head gently in your hands, side to side.

“Don’t worry,” you urge, “don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep—”

You’re whispering against his mouth as you lean into him, foreheads touching, and slowly, you press your lips together, feeling the soft sigh he lets out when his eyes close and his body goes limp. You wish from the deepest, angriest part of you that that man doesn’t make it back to his camp.

***

With an unconscious Jack, lifted up to his bedroom once they’d taken him from your cradling arms, you’re swiftly whisked back downstairs in your upset by the sheriff despite your protests. You don’t know what’s happening to him as he lays upon his bed, the doctor working on him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel alone when he wakes up. Instead of allowing you to be present as the doctor stitches him up— dismissing your gentle, desperate whimpers of “please help him”— he’d requested your presence to listen to your account of the morning.

Only, once sitting, your nightgown damp with a shawl wrapped around your shoulders, you steer the conversation where you need it to go.

Your hands still shake as the fire crackles, and sheriff Branch so far seems to be unbelieving of your story; you tell him of the potential danger, and he strokes his scruffy beard, staring ahead into the contained flames.

“We need your help,” you insist, “they’re going to come here— whoever that man was, he was one of them. He wanted to kill J— Mr. Daniels, and they’re all going to tear it apart here just to get to him.”

“Miss,” he starts, maintaining eye contact as he speaks lowly to you, “I understand your concern, but if this man… Mr. Daniels, is going to cause all this upset, I doubt we can’t just send him on his way.” Checking his pocket watch— this isn’t unordinary— he sighs.

Anger simmers in the pit of your stomach. The easy way out. You stare ahead out the window where it’s now raining, and then peek behind you to find the parlour nearly vacant. You lean forward to catch Branch’s attention, and use the only tactic you have left.

“Hundreds of people want to catch those men,” you remind him, “you could put them in your jail.”

His expression softens in realization, and you don’t find yourself caring much for his odd morals as a lawman— if glory shall convince him, glory it shall be.

“We need anyone who will help,” you press on, pulling the shawl tighter around your shoulders. “People with weapons. They’re dangerous.”

“I’m sure we all understand that...” he rises slowly out of his chair, removing his hat in a slight bow, “I’ll do what I can, miss. I’ll send word after I get them informed.”

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, and Mrs. Adler wobbles over with her cane, ready to guide him out. You don’t think she’d seen you holding Jack on the porch, and the thought of him upstairs, as the doctor still works on his wound, makes another pang of nausea hit you.

Sheriff Branch speaks with her for a few minutes, and even without breakfast, most of the guests had still managed to go on with their day in town.

She appears promptly afterward with a strange look in her eye, but nothing compels you to ask her about it.

“Go on and get dressed,” she says, “you’re fit to work the rest of the day, yes dear?”

You don’t know what she knows. And now that you’re starting to care less about it, you don’t know how to behave.

“You’ll have to tend to Mr. Daniels, too.” Mrs. Adler continues, and a little rush of optimism swims in your chest, finding comfort in the permission to sit with Jack.

Coming forward, she pats your face, disappearing into the study as if nothing had happened, though it’s unsurprising. You doubt she’d expect much worse to occur— but you know it’s coming. With heavy, aching shoulders, you run up the steps, batting away another worried tear with rapid blinks.

The doctor is just exiting Jack’s room when you arrive at the landing upstairs, and he maintains a curt air as he greets you. A bottle of wound dressing and tonic in his hand, he passes them off to you and advises you to reapply it yourself tomorrow.

“He’ll be well enough to recover. Though give him time to wake up, it may not happen within the day.” He speaks in a level tone, transforming into an awkward lilt when he requests payment for his aid.

“Oh,” you nod, relief hitting your chest when you recall the money still scattered across your vanity’s desk.

Jack had wanted you to use it for yourself, but this seems fitting enough. There’s nothing else you can imagine yourself using it for on this doomed day. You fetch them, scooping them into your hands off the surface, and pass them off to the man with the large bag of medical instruments.

With the coins now in his pocket, the doctor announces he’ll visit within the week, and you’re hoping against hope there will still be another week in this town.

***

This isn’t who you used to be— you’re agonizing over it, and you’re oddly fond of that thought. You shot a man today, simply because you wanted to protect— something that was never your place or role to assume— and it terrifies you. The rational and irrational sides of your mind clash as you struggle into your proper clothes without the help of Jack’s hands. Who had witnessed that action? You tie the ribbon of your petticoat; what would happen now? Perhaps the man deserved it. You’d never have killed him; you’ll never kill anyone, for that matter, but you reason with yourself that it was right. You saved Jack from a worse fate, and there was no other way to go about it.

Tonic and dressing in hand, you take a deep breath before opening Jack’s door. 

The sheets, the furniture— everything is clean with lack of use, all his time spent mainly in your room preventing this one from looking as cluttered. The floorboards creak softly as you step over to him, and the sight of him makes your throat tighten with another lump.

His heavily bandaged shoulder hides just under a gauzy sling, holding his arm at a right angle across his bare stomach. His lips part with every light breath, and his hair is a wavy dark mess upon his head, errant curls falling over the front.

Slowly, you sit by him at the edge of the bed, a mirrored contrast to the way he’d leaned over your body a mere two hours ago. The doctor must have stitched him up over an extra sheet; there’s barely any blood staining the blanket.

You brush his hair back, drawing a cover over his body before placing a tender kiss on his forehead, his cheek. “You can wake up, now.”

***

The sense of dread remains in all the worst spots for the rest of the day; in your head, pulling at your shoulders, squeezing your heart. You scrub at the bloody nightgown profusely, but with its white colour and soft toned ribbon, it leaves a pinkish residue that just won’t budge.

No one else seems quite bothered by what had happened. By dinner time, they’re still merry with their cards and drinks, and the gossip is short-lived. Every action you take is rough, as if to grind out the stress. The chopping, the cooking, the scrubbing. Jack’s absence makes it all the worse, and you wonder if he’d call for you if he was awake right now. If he would ask for your help, or if he’s debating whether to let you keep working. Night can never come fast enough. You check on him again in the evening to leave a plate of bread and water with him— something that won’t lose its heat— should he wake up hungry.

You’re half expecting Mrs. Adler to pull you aside and question your state, or your extreme worry about this morning, but she remains tucked away, attempting to knit without forgetting the number of rows she’s completed.

When the clock strikes ten at night, you brew a small cup of tea from the tiny stash at the back of one of the cupboards, alone for once in the kitchen. The lights cast a warm glow soon diminished when you tidy up, and the copper mug steams as you bring it carefully up the stairs.

Slipping back into his room, you pull off everything except for the chemise as your last layer, and resume your seat at the edge of the mattress, setting the mug at the night stand.

He’s still asleep.

“Jack,” you coo, taking one of his hands to lace your fingers together, holding it in between both of yours. “Jack…”

Leaning down, you hold your foreheads together, willing yourself not to cry another time today. You blink against his skin, only soothed by the steady sound of his breathing, until a sharp gasp erupts from underneath you.

Shooting up, you watch him as his face twists into pain, and he tries and fails to move his injured arm. His eyes widen, pupils blown, hissing at the wretched blast of discomfort.

“Shhh.” You let him squeeze you with his own hand until it makes your bones hurt, and he squirms over the mattress, desperately trying to catch his breath. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He hiccups, eyes glimmering with so many unspoken words.

“Hurts,” he manages to say, wet tears tracking his cheek.

“I know,” you brush one away with your thumb, and he takes hold of your wrist, making you still just so he can look at you. “I know it hurts, but you’re awake.”

Knitting his brows, he nods, and the only thing that soothes him now is the sight of you, safe, uninjured, and after a moment, he remembers the extent of what had happened.

He briefly startles, looking at you in wonderment, and then expels a giant breath of stress.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, you know I am,” he sighs, guiding his good hand up the cold skin of your arm. “I didn’t expect I’d be... ‘M sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you don’t pry him for what he was about to say, but you feel the scruff of his jaw scratching at your face, and you scrunch your nose in response. A question still lingers in your mind, and you don’t see any other opportunity than now to ask it. “Who was he?”

“Isaiah. Not the best shooter, but he sure could punch.” Jack’s voice goes solemn as he tells you, his memory circling back to a dark place. “What about—” his throat closes up momentarily, “—the sheriff, I still need to get Sylvie—”

“I got everything settled with him. He’s going to help us.”

Looking at your earnest face, it’s the most cared for he can ever remember being. Pain blooms from his shoulder, but it’s dull, as if you’re taking it from him and replacing it with your devotion. Instead, pride overrides his soreness, and he forgets the worries of the day before in an instant.

“You…” he starts, coughing lightly again, sitting up with the support of one hand. “You made a good shot, darlin’.”

You shoot your eyes up, relief pouring inside at his slight smile.

“I sure wasn’t expectin’ my little lady to come to the rescue.” Jack squeezes your hand, “You… feelin’ okay?”

Sighing, you shake your head, and look to the dark window. It reflects the flicker of light from inside, your own eyes watching you back beneath the orange hue. “I never thought I’d be the one to cause anyone harm,” you say, glancing at him when you continue, “but he was going to hurt you, too. He did. I want you to be safe, Jack. More than anything.”

“Maybe I’m sweeter on you than I am sorry.”

“Stop,” you smile, petting at his hair again. He shifts, catching your wrist in his fingers to guide your palm to his mouth, kissing it gently with his plush lips. “I don’t think I could ever do it again, though. I’m not even sure what happened. The only thing that makes it okay is that he was going to take you from me.”

He makes a pensive noise, eyes swimming with something more grave than tears. “You won’t have to. I’ll be there.”

When he finally adjusts, you pass the tea to him, containing a dash of the healing tonic mixed into the water.

“Then you can start by drinking this.”

“I don’t like tea,” he states, the side of his lip rising, but he takes it anyway, understanding of its use.

“Too bad,” you say, “you’re going to drink it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Offering him a little grin, you get up off the bed to sort out his few belongings scattered across the desk against the wall. The doctor had left his holster there, but underneath it, lies a manual-looking book, titled The Prairie Traveler: A Hand-book for Overland Expeditions.

Lifting it, you inspect a couple of the pages, finding small graphite annotations left in Jack’s handwriting in the margins, listing extra points on the tips written in the text.

You read over the table of contents to find the topics of each chapter, where it reads ‘Marching. Treatment of Animals. Water. Different methods of finding and purifying it,’ underneath the second chapter’s heading.

“Jack, what’s this?” you ask, bringing the book back over to him. He appears a smidge shy when you show him the cover, but he takes it from you, slotting a thumb between the pages.

“A survival guide. This was mine, I was gonna give it to you before I left this mornin’. You said you wanted to learn all that kind ’a stuff.” Jack peeks back up at you, his cheeks blushed pink and warm.

“Oh,” you blink, affection blooming in your chest, your hand coming to rest over your heart. “Thank you.” The words come out shaking as emotion overcomes you, but you don’t need more than those two to convey much more of your gratitude— you simply lean into him, letting the book fall into the mattress as you kiss him fully on the lips. He responds with a small whimper, but soon takes hold of the back of your neck to kiss you deeper, and you’re on all fours now as you lean over his injured body.

“You’re a thoughtful man,” you smile, and you sense him doing the same against your lips. 

“Look in the front.”

Following his gentle order, you flip open only the cover to find a longer note written, and it dates back to only last week.

‘To my darling girl,

Hope this keeps you busy, it sure kept me busy as a boy. Left you some extra notes, but I’m sure you’ll find everything fascinating enough. 

One day you and I might go on our own little expedition. Somewhere calm. 

You know I’ll miss you more than anything.

Yours, Jack.’

“Jack…” you breathe, and before anything else comes, he’s talking again.

“I want to keep you safe, darlin’, I don’t—” he balls his fist with the fabric of your chemise inside, “— I was bein’ an idiot, thinkin’ I could do it on my own. Even they couldn’t make me leave you behind, and I… I know that, now.”

“Why didn’t you take out your gun?”

“I didn’t wake up today thinkin’ I was gonna kill someone, but seein’ as…” he trails off, before rounding back to his thoughts. “I might have to use it again.”

“Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

You crawl closer to him, tracing a line down his throat. “And I think…” You kiss the end of his nose, and he blinks at you as you go lower, kissing his chest over the gauzy sling. “You should rest your mind, for now.”

He inhales sharply, and you sense the shiver run down his spine. Then you bring back the words he’d said to you the first day he’d touched you, and slip your fingers down his belly.

“I want to take care of you,” you smile, “if you’ll let me. I don’t want you to worry about pleasing me like you always do— I want to please you.”

There’s that look again on his face, something disbelieving written in the furrowed brows, and he’s repeating the thought that he doesn’t deserve this.

“What do you—? fuck, angel...”

“I’m going to distract you. Do you want that?”

He nods, already squirming beneath you. You slip the button of his trousers open, freeing his hard length.

“Try to keep still,” you whisper gently, “I’m going to go slow. Make you feel good.”

Running his hand over your hair, he lets his head fall back as you give him the first stroke. The weight of him in your hand is pleasant, the firmness of his cock giving against you as you squeeze.

Eyeing the wet bead at the tip, you slide it down his shaft, getting it wet for you to stroke him easily, and he gasps at the warm pass of your fingers.

“Breathe, Jack, it’s alright,” you encourage him, slipping your palm back up the heft of him. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, and out again, and when he looks at your face full of nothing but admiration, he loses his rhythm.

“In,” you guide, your fist moving downward, taking as long as he does to take in the air. “Out.” When he exhales, the breath exits him quickly, his hips begging to buck up, but he’s not strong enough at the moment to do so.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” he husks, the low timbre rumbling, “please, darlin’. Hurts still, make it better—”

A rich groan fills your ears when he shifts, a blend of his own pain and pleasure making it full force.

“Shhh,” you hush him this time for an entirely different reason than before, and he cracks a smile. Placing your free hand firmly on his chest, he covers it with his own, and looks up at you with his big, brown eyes, plump lips waiting for a kiss.

You give him another testing stroke, your hand then bobbing up and down along his length. He seems to relax the more you do it, tugging your hips closer on his lap. His cock twitches in your hand when you lean down to press your lips to his, and he responds as eagerly as you, a moan vibrating on your mouth.

“There,” you murmur, nuzzling against his face as you work him gently, mindful of his pain that you’re trying to erase, at least for one moment. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You’d never,” his lips curve, repeating your own words from the night before. 

You keep his gaze as you slip your fist down his cock again, his eyes widening before they flutter closed. 

“So... proud,” he whimpers, fingers digging into your hand, “brave girl, brave girl...”

You look down at the tip of his cock disappearing and reappearing in your hand, and you want so badly to put him in your mouth, but now is a time for simpler things, and he is already so pleased by just your palm, his throat forming a long line, shifting when he swallows.

“Does it feel okay?”

“It feels...” Jack hiccups, moving his body down the bed, “it feels—”

All of his stress bubbles up— not telling you for ages, getting caught too soon, the wound in his shoulder— and the pent up worry boils over before he releases with a slow groan, throat bobbing.

“Tha— thank you.”

His cum spills warmly over your fingers, and he relaxes into the pillow with another sigh. You raise the hand to your mouth to clean it all away with your tongue, and though there’s a needy throb between your legs, there’s nothing more you could want. 

He beckons you to join him in laying, your head fitting into his uninjured side as you settle down onto the pillow, mindful of his tender muscles.

As you both catch your breath, his lips skim your temple, and he coos to you with a voice light as ever, comforted by just your presence. Your hand finds its way back to his chest, blanketed by his palm.

“We’ll be alright.”

Somewhere down the road, the sheriff is gathering men.

And when the Statesmen arrive, it won’t be just the two of you against them.

***

taglist:

@highsviolets​ @frannyzooey​ @danidrabbles​ @javier-pena​ @recklesswit​ @frankie-catfish-morales​ @kesskirata​ @xemmaloveskillianx​ @chickadee-djarin​ @apascalrascal @slay-runt​ @princessxkenobi​ @astroboots​ @pedros-mustache​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @mando-abs​ @leannawithacapitala​ @queenofthecloudss​ @writeforfandoms​ @herb-welch​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @libraryofrecs​ @fuck-goes-on​ @little-big-mac2 @quica-quica-quica @badassbaker​ @wardenparker​ @anxiousandboujee @randeerenae​ @aspiringmezzo​ @wyofabdoms​ @just-here-for-the-moment​ @beskarboobs​ @sweetangel0069​ @lawfulgranola​ @jettia​ @spookycora​ @moodsare​ @bella-law​ @rosechvnel​ @agent-jbarnes​ @tuskens-mando​

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Episode 1 SPOILERS

If you need to blacklist, I will be tagging all things as #tfatws and/or #tfatws spoilers

My roommate keeps calling this The Falcon and the Snowman. I'm not entirely sure it's accidental.

I was going to watch at midnight and then fell asleep. Betrayal. I will not forgive this, brain.

Bucky Barnes character development. Sam Wilson character development. Six full episodes of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. When we watched Civil War, did we think we'd actually be lucky enough to get a buddy idiot cop movie? Let alone six hours of it? #blessed

What are we expecting here? I have no idea, honestly. I think all the clips we've been seeing are from the first couple episodes, so they've hidden any sort of plot from us. We know Baron Zemo's around with his stupid purple ski mask and burning hatred for superheroes and probably specifically for Bucky who he tried (and honestly kind of succeeded, before then ultimately failing dramatically) to set up. And Sharon Carter will turn up at some point. OMG guys, Sharon Carter character development!

I'm just here for the buddy bickering and badassery.

SPOILERS BELOW

New World Order: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes realize that their futures are anything but normal. *Realize*? lol

Also, it's tagged as "science fiction, action-adventure, buddy" Awww.

Aww, Sam looks sad as he gazes at The Shield.

"How's it feel?" "Like it's someone else's." "It isn't."

That's right, Sam! Listen to that voice. That's yours now, baby.

We're just going to roll right into a mission. Rescuing a Captain Vassant, whose plane fell out of contact shortly after take off, from the ridiculously named group LAF, somewhere over Tunisia. Sam's got to keep LAF from doing bad things and the US Military can't be seen doing anything blah blah blah, violation of treaties, yada yada. And Sam's all "blah blah got it". We're on the same page, Sam and me. Nobody wants to hear it, Briefing Exposition Guy.

We will have a Lt. Torres on the ground following along and offering helpful commentary as they go.

Sam is warned to be subtle as he falls backwards out of the cargo plane in very dramatic fashion and then swoops off on his brightly colored wings. lol

Sam gets to the captain's plane but the pilot is dead and a shady LAF guy is piloting. Oh no. Hey, it's Batroc. Last seen getting his ass kicked by Captain America in "CA: The Winter Soldier". He makes some jokes about their prisoner - presumably Captain Vassant. Awful cocky for a guy with a history of getting stomped on, you know.

Anyway, he's about to get his ass kicked by a Captain America again as Sam breaks into the plane. You might just be using wing shields now, Sam, but you're Captain America in my heart. Also, hey, dumb bad guys, don't open fire with an automatic weapon inside a plane or the ricochets might kill your pilot. And his body will slump forward and put the plane into a steep dive.

Batroc distracts Sam while the bad guys gather up Vassant and jump out of the plane with him. They have wingsuits, but Sam has, you know, wings. And like a jet pack. Don't hit the canyon walls, Sam!

Somehow the bad guys have waiting gunships. Did they expect to jump out of the plane over this canyon? I can only assume. Red Wing takes care of one of the helicopters. Man these guys are a pain in the ass. They wing suit into one of the many many helicopters that just happen to be right in the right spot. They're racing for the Libyan border. Then Sam shows up, they throw Vassant out the copter again — this guy is having the worst day — and glide into another chopper.

Man ANOTHER gunship? The hell? They're causing serious ecological damage to this canyon, what with all the zillionty missiles they're firing at Sam. How strapped is this thing?

LT Torres is trying to keep up, and you know, trying to get Sam to not fly into Libyan territory and cause an international incident or some such. Sam is struck by inspiration and not by a missile. But, the missiles are following Sam and Sam is following Batroc's chopper. Sam zooms through the open doors of the chopper, knocks poor Vassant out of the chopper AGAIN (but then catches him), and LAF blows up their own helicopter. Alas, Batroc escaped.

Sam saves the day and LT Torres is like super excited. Don't break your humvee, Torres.

Torres and Sam stop by a tea shop in Tunis, or somewhere. Sam's trying to fix his tech that got a little shot up and Torres buys the tea. A man comes up and thanks Sam for saving his wife. It's sweet. And then Torres gets up and wanders about a bit with his phone as he exposits about LAF. Is Torres about to become a pin cushion? Only instead of pins it'll be bullets? I'm not feeling good about his continued health. He's too cute and earnest.

Oh, he's looking for some sort of hidden, augmented reality tag on the walls. A red handprint, id'ing some group that calls themselves the Flag Smashers. Bad guys are really scraping the bottom of the evil name barrel. Anyway, they think the world was better during the blip. Nothing says better like mass failure of infrastructure and probably world wide famine. They want a unified world without borders. I have big doubts the world would be a borderless utopia during a blip-like event. Power vacuums invite trouble, seldom unity.

Anyhoo. Sam kind of agrees with me, "every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another".

Torres will track the 'online chatter'. But he's also heard some wacky things about Steve Rogers, conspiracy theory stuff, "they think that he's in a secret base on the moon, looking down over us". LOL. What? Is Steve a moon angel now? or Santa Claus? "You didn't like fly him to the moon?" Sam assures him that's all very much silly foolishness. Steve's in Boca working on his tan.

Sam's back in D.C. giving a talk about Steve at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space museum. "And he mastered posing stoically". Hey, I have that picture. Also, RHODEY! Hi Rhodey!

"A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after 5 years away. Sending the world into turmoil." Again. I know this was meant to come out before WandaVision, but timeline-wise this works better.

"We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning." Sam holds up The Shield. "I don't know if there's been a greater symbol." Aww, he's retiring the shield. He hands it off to museum people and they put it in a display case. I think Rhodey has some thoughts about this. I suspect Rhodey maybe doesn't agree.

Sam and Rhodey wander through the Cap exhibit and Sam's talking about how when he left (or got snapped, it's not like you had a choice about that, Sam), his nephews were babies and now they're little men. Awww. Rhodey says Sam should bring them to D.C., he'll teach them how to fly, "the right way". lol.

Rhodey says it's crazy to think nobody will be carrying the shield. Sam points out they went 70 years without, so like …

Rhodey wants to know why Sam didn't take up the mantle. BTW, this is a cool exhibit, marvel peeps. Sam says it feels like it belongs to someone else … Steve. Rhodey says everything's broken. Allies are enemies, things are torn apart. People are looking for somebody to make it better. Having made his pitch, Rhodey leaves Sam to stare mournfully at the shield. I think you're afraid to pick up the shield, Sam. Afraid you won't measure up. But, you can do it. I have faith. Also, Steve was kind of a disaster in his own way. He wasn't perfect, which was the point of Steve as a hero. Pick up the shield, Sam.

A fancy hotel, chatting people in the lobby, up to a mezzanine, a group of very Russian oligarch looking dudes and their security. And lo! A metal arm punches through a wall and the Winter Soldier, looking very Winter Soldiery appears and stabs some dudes in the neck. This has a sepia, dream/nightmareness to it. Oh yeah, it's his old shiny silver arm. Totally a nightmare/very bad memory. "Hail Hydra" and he kills the head Russian guy. The poor dude who was just chatting in the lobby is caught trying to get into his door. He swears he didn't see anything, begs for his life and the Winter Soldier shoots him. Bucky wakes up, breathing heavily. Poor Bucky.

Glad he's in therapy. I'm sure goat herding in Wakanda was good and peaceful and all, but, goats will only get you so far. Also glad we've skipped the "wanted terrorist" part and gone on to traumatized hero.

I get the feeling he's not the best patient. He lies to his therapist straight off. Twice. lol. "You're a civilian now. With your history the government needs to know, you're not gonna … [therapist makes stabby motion]." lol (I love this actress by the way. She's been in everything for ages. She's great). "It's a condition of your pardon. So tell me about your most recent nightmare." "I didn't have a nightmare." She starts writing, Bucky objects and tells her she's being passive-aggressive, but he gives in.  

He has a list of amends to make and three rules to follow. He crossed a name off. There's a Hydra pawn who's a senator, he helped her get into office. "After Hydra disbanded, she continued to use the power I gave her." Hmm. He tracks her car and listens in on her plotting to have a congressman killed.

* Rule number one: Can't do anything illegal.

He's hijacked the Senator's car and is remote controlling it, making it drive all out of control and freaking her out. He says he was collecting intel to give to an aide to convict her. Absolutely only did that. Not one illegal thing about that at all, no ma'am.

"Rule number two?" "Hmm. What was rule number two?" "Nobody gets hurt. It's a big one." "Then why isn't it rule number one?" Oh, Bucky, you're a jackass.

* Rule number two: Nobody gets hurt.

"I didn't hurt anybody. Promise." He totally broke a dude's hand and then punched him in the face, knocking him out. I mean, there's levels of 'hurt' I suppose.

"The whole point of making amends is to fulfill rule number three." "Of course I completed rule number three."

* Rule number three: "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends." He says to the corrupt senator he's just been terrifying. And then he walks away as a tac team pulls up. lol.

What I'm getting from this therapy session is that Bucky is a big fat fibber.

Also he's got a little black book full of names. Including, I see, H. Zemo. That's not going to go as smoothly as taking down a shady government fatcat, I think.

"So you did it all right, but it didn't help with the nightmares?" "Well, like I said, I didn't have any." Fibber.

People wanna help you Bucky and you can trust them. "I trust people," he mutters grumpily. She asks for his phone and he hands it over. Look, lady! Trust! Probably government mandated trust, but still!

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." … I don't have ten phone numbers on my phone. :( "Oh, and you've been ignoring texts from Sam." Well …

"I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." lol. Tough love from the therapist. I'm feeling a little judged myself, though. "You're alone." ALRIGHT DON'T RUB IT IN!

"You're a hundred years old. You have no history. No family—" "Are you lashing out at me, doc? Because that's really unprofessional." I love you Bucky, but you are a disaster patient.

Bucky relents. "I'm trying. This is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything. I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years." Get this man a goat farm!

"So now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want?" "Peace." A goat farm. "That is utter bullshit." lol "You're a terrible shrink." "I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell." Get some friends, Bucky. "I know you've been through a lot. But, you've got your mind back. You're being pardoned. These are good things. You're free." "To do what?"

On the streets of Brooklyn. Bucky breaks up an argument between neighbors about trashcans. Hey, Bucky has a friend! Yori Nakajima who's probably like 80+. Did you babysit him back in the day, Buck? har har. They were going to meet for lunch, but some punk named Unique was putting his trash into Mr. Nakajima's trash can and just derailed the whole day. The horror. No joke, though, people get so nutted up about that. It's weird to me. Of course, I did also have a neighbor who never put out his trash for pickup and just snuck out at night before trash day and distributed his garbage into in other people's bins. Cheapass.

"Hey man, I'm Unique. Like Monique but it's got a 'u' in there for uniqueness." Yeah, you should have let Yori smack him, Buck.

Well now Yori is just not in the mood for lunch. Bucky tries to persuade him, but one grumpy old man out grumps the other. "But Izzy. We always go to Izzy on Wednesday. What if I buy?" "Fine. But no talking." lol. BFFs!

Yori is looking at the obituaries. "Look, nobody made it past 90 this week." Bucky tsks "So young, such a shame."

Bucky kind of smiles at the girl behind the counter at the sushi joint, Yori tells him he should ask her out. Bucky makes a "are you nuts, shut up" face. That doesn't stop Yori. "He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle." You're a wild man, Yori!

She's down by it, though, and she and Yori hammer out the details while Bucky's like uh, okay, so wow, that's happening. "There's a dance to these things. You can't … you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943."

Yori sees something and suddenly gets sad. His son loves red bean mochi. His son was a consultant, working abroad and he was killed. Oh. Oh Bucky, why you gotta … Yori's son was the innocent witness he killed at the hotel in his nightmare/memory. "I will never know what really happened to him." Brutal.

Delacroix, Louisana

Sam's on his way home. Wilson Family Seafood. Aww. His nephews are helping mom with the catch. "Blue for the snapper, orange for the white fish," Sam calls out. The boys run over to him. They do look like fine gentlemen. It's weird, Sam, I get it. I recently realized my oldest nephew will be 13 in May and it's like "no, he's only in kindergarten, what are you talking about?"

His sister greets him then tells him he's looking all sneaky. Sam deflects. Their boat has seen better days. The Paul & Darlene. Aww. Is that his parents names? "Baby being held together by duct tape and prayers." Just needs to float long enough for his sister to sell it. But Sam's all, uh I thought we were going to *discuss* that. Uh oh, family drama. "We did, and then you were off fighting Dr Space Cape or whatever (lol), while I was holding it together for five long years." Ouch.

Sam is not down by this selling the boat thing. His sister doesn't seem to think they're in a position to hold on to it. Also, she'd really like to not hash this out on the pier with like twenty other people around, Sam.

They get into more of an argument on the boat. The family biz is not doing well financially. Sarah won't let Sam help for some reason, and he makes some comment about the house and loans and she punches him in the chest. lol "I forgot how hard you hit."

Sam insists they can turn it around, consolidate loans. And she's all, been there done that, I've come to terms with this. He's a persistent little jerk. This is such a perfectly sibling argument. Notably he has moved himself out of punching range.

Aww, she wants to believe he can save the boat, but she has DOUBTS.

Back in Brooklyn. Bucky attempts his date. He turns up at the end of the sushi girl's shift and gives her flowers. "Well, if that's not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone's ever done."

They chat while she tidies. He tried online dating oh lol. It didn't take. She tells him "You sound like my dad. Wait how old are you?" "Hundred and six." Oh yeah, what a funny joke. Next she wants to know why he's wearing gloves. "I have … um … poor circulation." He grimaces at himself and glances out the window. Smooth as silk, Bucky. Smoooooth.

"Let's play a game." Now, I'm thinking like some weird dating word/get-to-know-each-other game or something. I don't know. But, nope, she means Battleship. lol. I like her.

The drinking game version of battleship. Bucky sucks at it. "You sure can drink." "Yeah, well." Super assassin, unfair advantage.

We're just going to rub in this whole The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son thing, as she says it's nice that he's spending time with the old man. Since he was all messed up after his son was murdered and how it was extra hard because he didn't know what happened. I'm not sure this is healthy, Bucky.

"There's no word for someone whose kids die." Okay, ouch, lady, jeez. Bucky looks like he wants to puke. Or crawl into a deep dark hole. Or something. "Because it's the worst thing that can happen." Bucky nopes right out the front door. So, maybe they should have played pinochle instead.

Bucky goes to Yori. Are you really going to tell this man you murdered his son when you were a brain-washed Hydra assassin? Yori asks how the date was, and Bucky sees a shrine to the man's son in the apartment. Poor Bucky. He makes some excuse about owing Yori for lunch and leaves. Yori's name is in his book of amends. :(

Back in Louisiana. Sam and the kids are packing up meals. His sister maybe wants to sell meals in addition to fish. Sam says they've got to get going to their appointment at the bank. She's says it's in an hour. Sam must be just the worst brother to live with "There's no such thing as on time. You're either early or late. Pick one." Man, no wonder he gets punched.

Switzerland

Lt Torres is walking down a street with an unusually large number of people just sort of milling around in the middle of the street looking at their phones. He's got his kind of hidden, recording. He stops a guy and asks if he knows what they're supposed to be doing. Oh it's the flag munchers, or whatever. There's a weird phony bird whistle and then people gather around a person handing out masks with red handprints on them. His decoy bad guy phone chirps and gives the order to run. A guy jumps out of a nearby building with two huge duffle bags (of money it seems) and walks off while the previously milling people become a seemingly panicked mob, distracting police and whatnot.

Torres tries to arrest the jumper guy, who appears to have some super strength as he kicks a policeman halfway across the street. Torres, you're cute, but not super bright. Torres gets body slammed and then stomped. He survives again, however, defying the odds.

At the bank. The account manager keeps giving Sam the side-eye as he goes through their paperwork. "Do I know you from somewhere." Sam's all modest, "I don't know. Do you?" And then he makes a little wing flappy move with his hands. lol. What a nerd. "Falcon!" Then he takes a selfie with Sam. Sarah is very done with all this. She tries to get them back on track. Account guy wants to know how Avengers make a living. Probably not looking good for your loan, Sam.

"Is there some kind of fund for heroes? Or did Stark pay you when he was around? My condolences, by the way."

Yeah, financially this is looking bad, my dude. "You have no income over the last five years." Well, but, he was blipped. I mean …

Alas, shot down for the loan.

Sam and Sarah argue on the street. Ah, Sam ran off to the Air Force and didn't deal with what was going on at home. Oh my, this is getting ugly. Speaking as someone who got disowned on account of a family business, let me just say, they're not easy. Nuh-uh.

"Half the boat's mine and so is the house. We're not selling our family's legacy." "You gonna do me like what when you know I'm right?"

I get it might be awkward to ask, but I bet you could have asked Pepper for a loan, Sam, and she would have given it to you gladly. Come on, man.

Later. Sam's working on the boat's engine, and it's not cooperating. In the cabin he looks at the family pictures on all the walls. He's having a rough day. About as rough as Torres who texts him to find a secure line and call him along with a selfie of his bruised and battered face. #important (lol, really?)

Sam watches the footage Torres caught and they chat about how Torres was supposed to be doing that stuff online and not getting his face kicked in in Switzerland.

Sarah interrupts and turns on the TV. Some guy is giving a speech about how everybody needs a hero. "We need someone who can inspire us again. Someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero." hmm, no comment. Except, you should have taken up the shield, Sam. Now it's Sam's turn to look like he's going to puke. What did I say about power vacuums? Somebody will fill them, whether you want them to or not. 

This new guy looks like a goober. There, I said it.

credits

So … lots of setup. And very clear on the two guys trying to figure out where they fit in this world post blip and big wars. Both of them trying to fix broken families.

Plus a goober in a Cap suit.

So far so good. 

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

You're Still Not Dead/Too Weak to Move (29 Whumptober 2021)

Prompt: you're still not dead/too weak to move/overworked

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Gen

Warning: N/A

Summary: Obi-Wan shouldn't have been walking around in a sandstorm but without the locals to warn him he didn't realize just how dangerous it would be.

-

-

-

It was something they always warned everyone about on Tatooine. The binary sun system was harsh and left the planet with such little water that it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that the sand storms were some of the worst in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan, before leaving on his trek to find Qui-Gon, who was apparently hiding out in the caves of the planet, probably should have asked a guide how to tell whether or not one of these storms was coming.

He hadn’t though, and now he was paying the price as harsh sand whipped at the little skin that he had uncovered and he was unable to open his eyes. Instead, he used the force to try to feel out the area and just prayed that he wouldn’t end up falling off the side of a canyon.

He wanted to curse as he tripped for the tenth time and ended up back on the ground, more sand falling into his clothing and brushing up uncomfortably against his skin. He’d been trying to find shelter for what felt like hours and he contemplated as he tried to get up-and as he fell again- if he shouldn’t maybe just wait out the storm here.

He couldn’t breathe well and he was so tired that he couldn’t believe he was still awake. He decided that for a moment he might as well just stay where he was. He wasn’t getting anywhere anyway.

He ignored the way the force screamed in his ear and pressed his temple back to the sand. It wasn’t as burning hot as it usually was and he felt so weak that it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

---

There were few things Anakin hated more than Tatooine. Its binary sun system was oppressive and its sand and subsequent sand storms made it nearly impossible to feel clean. The planet as a whole was incredibly depressing, with its poor people and even worse off slaves.

He normally wouldn’t come back at all, should his mother be anywhere else in the galaxy. He’d tried to convince her to move over and over again to no avail and eventually grudgingly accepted that he would have to make a monthly trip to the awful planet.

It seemed whenever he did the planet was always angry at him. Every time he’d returned there had been terrible storms and each time he was stuck wandering aimlessly until he found the moisture farm that his mother lived on with her husband.

He had been so focused on his intense dislike of the planet he nearly tripped over the uneven road- except no that wasn’t worn road at all.

Anakin leaned down, pressing his hands in to what was definitely skin. Anakin couldn’t believe that some idiot was dumb enough to be walking around in this right now. He felt towards the face and as his fingers scraped over a beard he realized that man hadn’t even had the sense to cover his face.

What a karking moron. Anakin huffed, hands reaching to move the man when he brushed over his pulse and realized- he still wasn’t dead. Anakin couldn’t believe he was still alive in this, especially after breathing in what must have been at least half a desert’s worth of sand.

Still, if he was alive Anakin couldn’t very well leave the man to die. He hefted the man over his shoulder and began back towards his mother’s farm. If he’d just gotten a few dozen meters further he would have been fine.

As he burst through the door his mother immediately started to fret.

“You shouldn’t be walking around during a sand storm like this!” she scolded him, “Even with your extra senses you could still get- oh dear what happened to him?”

“He got caught in the storm,” Anakin explained, “And it’s nice to see you too mom.”

“Don’t sass me,” she told him with a frown, “and get the poor man over here. He’s going to need some water and probably some medicine for the abrasions.”

---

Obi-Wan woke up slowly, desperately trying to reach out and sense what was going around him as he blinked to clear his vision when he felt a force gently rebuff his own, forcing it back into his person.

He looked up blearily to see a man with golden hair and skin. He thought for a moment that he must be dead and for a minute wondered if this was the corporal form of the force with the way it wrapped around him.

“You should be dead,” the man told him and Obi-Wan looked around, realizing that he was in a room somewhere underground, “That sandstorm was one of the worst the Tatooine has had in nearly a decade.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth but only a hoarse noise escaped.

The man turned around, grabbing a cup and helping Obi-Wan to sit up as he pressed it to his lips. Obi-Wan tried to only take a few sips, knowing how sparse water was on the planet but before he knew it he’d drained nearly the entire cup.

“That’s it,” the man said, “You’re very lucky you know.”

“I don’t know if lucky is the word I’d use,” Obi-Wan told him hoarsely, “But thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” the man said, “My name is Anakin. Who are you?”

“I’m- I’m Ben,” Obi-Wan told him, almost forgetting his cover, “I was sent here to look into the caves outside of Mos Eisley.”

“Well I can tell you now anything in those caves is useless,” Anakin told him, “All the metal in there is magnetic which makes it worthless.”

“I’m not looking for metal,” Obi-Wan told him, “I’m here on a more...sensitive mission.”

“Someone’s hiding in them again?” Anakin guessed and Obi-Wan tried to keep a straight face, “It’s okay. It happens a lot. Hope you don’t need them alive because most people that go in those caves die pretty quickly.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the pang in his chest. It would have hurt less to be hit with a blaster bolt.

“Well hopefully not,” Obi-Wan said instead, “Because I do need him alive.”

“Well you’ll be as good as dead if you go sniffing around those caves,” Anakin informed him, “Between the krayt dragons and the mudhorns you’ll be in a lot of trouble. It’s probably best if you find a guide.”

“That sounds expensive,” Obi-Wan admitted, “And I don’t have a lot of money. Hopefully, I’ll be fine.”

“Ani will take you.”

Obi-Wan turned his face from the man’s annoyed look and over to the woman who had just walked in.”

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan asked.

“My son Anakin will be more than happy to take you. Won’t you Anakin?” the woman asked, crossing her arms.

They seemed to be silently communicating before Anakin turned reluctantly to him, “Yeah I can take you where you need to go.”

“Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?” Obi-Wan had already caused quite a stir by passing out and making them take care of him. It seemed rude to expect more but last they’d heard Qui-Gon was injured and they needed to get to him now. The bacta that Obi-Wan was carrying might be his last hope.

“No trouble at all,” Anakin assured him, “As soon as the storm passes over in a few hours we’ll head out.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said gratefully, “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Anakin replied, “I think you should get some rest in the meantime though. You look pretty beat.”

[tintinwrites]

euphemism | Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: Blame @damerondjarin​ for supporting this when I was looking for 40′s/50′s sex euphemisms and we ended up laughing about the dumb ones!!

Rating: M

Warning: Naughty words. Sexual content. Oral (M and F receiving kind of). Quite a bit of weird euphemisms for sex and oral from the past that are real and can be found here and here.

Word count: 1,889, apparently!!

Summary: 6 Times Your Euphemisms Made Poe Almost Cry and One Time He Was Cool With It.

Tags: @dogsandrocketsocks @himbopoes​ @agentpike​ @greengrassandcyansea​ @arkofblake​ @bunkybarnesbxtch​ @itsamedeemoney​ (this is when you beg me to never tag you in anything ever again)

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

You and Poe had been married for four beautiful, wonderful months now.

You were together for two years full of romance and amazing sex, and you were joining each other on yet another wonderful journey that somehow made the romance and sex even more fun.

He loved you so much.

He pretty much told you that every day; he’d be staring at you and say it in this wistful tone that either turned you on or made you cry depending on your mood.

“I love you so much,” he huffed as you leaned over the back of the couch to hug his shoulders.

“You want to boil my cabbage?” You pressed a kiss to his temple.

That wasn’t something he thought you’d ask with how cute you were being, but he was always happy to help you cook dinner and he turned his head to peck you on the lips then moved to his feet with a dramatic grunt at the movement.

He shuffled into the kitchen in search of the cabbage, looking high and low in the fridge and even bending over to peek behind the bottom shelf.

“Where’s the cabbage, baby?” He opened the crisper, but none of the vegetables in there seemed to be a head of cabbage.

“Not that kind of cabbage, Poe. This kind.” Your words were followed by a light thump.

Poe turned around with his mouth open to ask what you meant when his jaw dropped instead, finding that little thump had been your robe falling on the floor and you were now sitting on the counter with your legs open wide.

Were you referring to your pussy as...cabbage?

He was confused and a little frightened.

But he was also pretty sure you were asking for sex and he was perfectly willing to step between your legs with a grin even if your request was a little strange.

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

Poe moaned, moving his fingertips up and down your back as you pressed the sweetest kisses to his neck. “That’s it, pretty girl…”

You kissed along his collarbone then down his chest, enjoying the access his nakedness offered on this early morning.

The muscles in his belly twitched at your tongue darting out on his skin, a little groan falling from his lips when you continued licking, kissing, and nipping down his belly right above where he really wanted your mouth.

Of course, you did not disappoint, kissing along his shaft, then running your tongue back up to his tip where you sucked on him gently.

“Mmm,” the vibration made him moan loudly as you took him as far in your mouth as you could without gagging and pulled back to stroke him slowly.

“You’re such a sweetheart…” His tug on your hair was gentle.

“My own pricknic.” You breathed softly over his tip, looking up at him.

“Oh, ye— wait, what?” His lustful eyes were open wide now at whatever the fuck you’d just said.

Pricknic?

Like the thing with the checkered blanket and the basket and the sandwiches, but with his cock put in there somewhere?

He might have asked you what drugs you’d taken or what alcohol you’d drank this early in the morning if your mouth taking in his cock again wasn’t that damn distracting.

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

Whenever Poe decided to workout, it was half-actually needing to exercise and half-knowing you would stare at him with the horniest look in your eyes.

He always made sure to work up a sweat since he knew that was your favorite, grunting and groaning in the most obscene way he possibly could.

It was doing the trick as usual since you were sitting on the arm of the couch watching him do push-ups like you were watching some incredible show you refused to take your eyes off of.

He pretended he didn’t see you until he really wanted to be inside you, moving to his knees and letting out a little ‘whew’ as he grabbed his ice cold bottle of water to take a long, obvious sip that made his Adam's apple bob with each gulp.

“You need somethin’, sugar?” His tone would sound innocent if you were a total idiot who didn’t know him inside and out.

“How’d you like to exercise the ferret, too?” You purred, stroking his wet curls.

He was going to say that you didn’t own a ferret unless you’d bought one in the night and hidden it from him, but then something clicked.

This wasn’t the first time you had said something odd when you really meant sex and he supposed that exercise was a typical euphemism for sex and ferret kind of made sense in a totally creepy way what with the fur and teeth.

Now he really didn’t want to have sex the more he thought about his dick being a ferret.

The utter disappointment in his eyes almost made you feel guilty for saying it.

“Can you please just ask if I want to fuck you or something?”

“My mama taught me not to say that kind of word.”

“—you literally said it eight times when I was pounding you last week. See, pounding is a very, very sexy one. I would also accept ‘plowing’ as a way to ask for sex.”

“Plow me? Like I’m a field?”

He knew your offended look was fake since your lips were begging to laugh, but he still fell with his face nuzzled into your lap. “My penis is not a furry little tube thing with legs and sharp teeth.”

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

“Fuck. Fuck.”

You were the hottest person on the planet.

How could Poe not think this as you sat with him in the backseat of the car, outside of the restaurant you’d finished dining at, giving him the best possible handjob ever?

He was thrusting up into your hand as he held onto the back of the seat, teeth bared with each growl and moan that you blissfully stroked out of him.

You always made it worth it when you’d tease him and you did tease him with your hand a little too high on his inner thigh.

On a double date, no less, where he had to pretend that he didn’t want to drag you into the bathroom and fuck you over a sink.

But, again, you made it entirely worth it by satisfying him with a semi-public handjob that would most definitely be repaid with some semi-public tongue in your pussy.

Speaking of tongues, you were shifting to kneel on the floor of the car and hovering your lips over his tip.

He really loved you.

“Want a little sucky-sucky?”

His animalistic posture dropped, staring at you then slowly pulling away from you.

“What are you doing?” You pouted, reaching out for him.

He shook his head and moved a little bit towards the door.

“Baby, stop, come here.”

“I am going to get out of this car and you are going to run me over with it for having to listen to you say that.”

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

You felt a little guilty for all the times you’d kind of turned Poe off and lately all you had was nice, normal sex.

Well, the candle wax wasn’t really normal, but it was fun and it didn’t involve any of your weird euphemisms you’d dug up from the pits of hell themselves.

Poe really wasn’t mad about any of the silly things as much as he was a little grossed out by the things people would say to allude to the idea of having sex, and it was slightly hard to be turned on by a lot of them.

He was obviously still in love with you and happy to have sex with you, which was clear as he crawled into bed next to you and tossed your book aside to lay himself on top of you.

You moaned into his deep kiss, moving your fingers through his curls and gently scratching his scalp.

That was his absolute favorite and you were the best and—

“Are you ready to take a turn among the cabbage, my love?”

—you were a fucking monster is what you really were.

“What is it with you and the fucking cabbage?” He rolled off you and moved off the bed without another word, stepping into his boots.

“Where are you going?” You sat up on your elbows.

“I want kimchi now.”

“Ooh, I want bibimbap if you’re going anyway!”

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

Poe was kind of starting to like it when you were too turned on to do much more than moan, cuss, whimper, and praise his skills.

He’d always liked it, but now it meant that you weren’t thinking about the weird things you could say to ruin the mood like usual.

Sometimes he wondered why you were doing this sort of thing to him.

Maybe you were joking around with him or maybe you were seeing his limits to being turned on considering that one time you jokingly mentioned biting his ass and he railed you there over the arm of the couch for it.

Not that it mattered right now, when he was peppering teasing kisses on your inner thighs right outside of the area where your hips were bucking in search of his tongue.

This was probably all another way to tease him since he always loved teasing you, and he decided to give you exactly what you wanted in hopes that you would start saying nicer things like ‘fuck’ and ‘blowjob’.

His tongue hardly dipped between your folds when you moaned out, “That’s right, yodel in my canyon of love.”

That was…

A lot of the sayings you chose were on the verge of gross, but this one matched with the little smirk his gaze landed on ruined the mood in a different way.

He pressed his face into your thigh and started laughing so hard that tears were falling from his eyes.

Your leg was shaking beneath his nose as you giggled along with him and, hell, maybe that was your goal all along.

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

Poe was happy that the euphemisms finally seemed to slow down; you were apparently appeased by him finally laughing along with you rather than being creeped out.

It was all pretty funny now that he looked back on the stupid comments.

Now you were sitting on the couch together and he was stroking over your shoulder with his arm laying behind you, and the look in your eyes as you looked up at him was familiar.

Fuck, he loved when you looked at him like you could eat him up.

He leaned down to kiss you suggestively and you said against his lips, “I want to have a bit of cock.”

Then he yanked back out of instinct, his brow furrowed disappointedly. “Would you stop—”

He paused as the words processed in his mind and he thought them over a little.

Wait a minute…

“—that was actually hot.” He dove onto you to the sound of your delighted yelp, pushing you back on the couch as he kissed you passionately.

One of your hands went to stroke his cheek sweetly and the other tugged on his hair, smiling up at him when he pulled away.

“You meant a lot of cock, though, right? My dick is pretty damn big.”

“Yes, baby.”

[dumbfuck-mojave]

FNV Companions React to Someone Being Aggressive Towards Rex.

@spidester basically came up with this idea.

TW: Mentions of violence against humans and animals. Some sexual flirtation. Swearing is the norm at this point

Fucking IDEK if these are out of character anymore we just roll with it. Also, shitty and inconsistent writing and react length ahoy. Also yes I lied and said this was going to be out last night but I got sick please understand-

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Arcade: Six had dragged him into Ultra-Luxe because once again, they were being stupid and trying to beat some sort of goal they had set for themselves earlier that day at the gambling tables. Rex had also come in with them, but had wandered off with his snout up in the air towards the kitchens. While Six was focusing on the Blackjack table Arcade heard a sudden yip and bark behind him and turned to see two people laughing and kicking the poor dog. They weren’t dressed like the people that would usually gamble here and they certainly weren’t a White Glove, so Arcade just assumed they were some travelers that didn’t know Six’s reputation and love for their canine companion. Also angry at the situation unfolding, Arcade briskly made his way over to them.

“Excuse me-”

“Fuck off.” 

Now, that made Arcade very unhappy. Honestly, he expected them to be rude, but was still a little surprised at how quickly they shot him down, not even trying to start an argument or anything. Yet.

“Listen, gentlemen.” Arcade said sharply, “I suggest you leave now because you’d much rather deal with me telling you how vile of people you are than for my friend over at the Blackjack table getting word of what you’ve been doing to their dog.”

“Oh, tough guy, eh? Well guess what, we don’t give a shit about what you or your idiot friend have to say!” The taller of the men sneard, getting right up in Arcade’s face. “Fucking forget it, the dumb dog isn’t worth our time. They ran out of booze a while ago anyway.”

Arcade gave them a look of disinterest as the semi-stumbled out the door. He made….. eye contact?..... with one of the masked servers when he looked away from them, who also seemed relieved that the two men were gone, probably because they had trached dust and mud throughout the entire main room.  Making his way back to Six, Arcade was going over scenarios in his head about what Six would do once he told them. Turns out one of his guessed scenarios was true. He did know Six very well after all. Unfortunately for the men, they had decided to sleep naked that night and Six had found out where they were staying through a few connections. A few hours later the men’s clothes were strung up on and lit on fire in the middle of Freeside, with the neat edition of shoving several hungry geckos into the men’s hotel room. The men ran out into the Mojave, naked and with a few flesh chunks missing from their body, while Rex gnawed happily on his Brahmin Steak in the Lucky 38. 

Boone: A Legion party had ambushed them just outside of Red Rock Canyon as they were making their way towards Vegas from Goodsprings. The system they had was working well enough, Boone had managed to climb his way up on the hill to the right of the road and was sniping them from afar while Six was up close with their ripper. It was hard to get solid damaging headshots on them since they were those dumb helmets, but if he got lucky Six would get close enough to rip one of their helmets off so he could get a clear shot through their skull. Usually, there were 4 Legionaries in a party but Caesar must have really wanted Six dead at this point, so they were currently being surrounded by at least 12, possibly even more. As Six drop-kicked two legionaries into each other, Boone noticed one of the other Legionaries targeting Rex and backing him up against the Canyon wall. Luckily for Boone and unfortunately for the Legionnaire, there was no helmet in sight. Boone lined up the shot and it entered the target’s head with a whiz and a squish. As the now-corpse fell to the ground, the group of three reorganized amongst the carnage. Rex sat down at Boone’s feet and looked up at him, mouth open and panting. 

“Don’t look at him like that.” Boone said in a monotone voice, making the Courier laugh beside him.

“Boone, you’re talking to a dog.” The Courier started on their way once again to Vegas, looking down at the dog now trotting beside them.

“You want to go see the King Rex?”

*Bark*

“Look who’s talking to the dog now.” 

Veronica and Cassidy: The girls had decided to hang out together today, without the Courier. They also had Rex in tow and were currently sitting at the Atomic Wrangler’s counter. Both of these women were at least three bottles in each already and their laughter poured through the casino as Veronica slouched over and snorted at one of Cass’ merchant stories.

“There is *snort* there is no way he did that.” Veronica wheezed out, falling into another fit of laughter.

“He did! He just grabbed that fucker by his-”

Their conversation was cut off when a man walked over to them. Much too confidently, I might add. They both looked up at him in disgust and annoyance. 

“So, what are two beautiful ladies doing out here all alone. You know, why don’t we all go upstairs and have a little *fun* together. ” The man leaned in so far he almost touched noses with Veronica. Rex had been sitting idly with his head in his paws on the floor until this moment. When the man leaned in, Rex growled and stood up, brisling at the man. 

“Dumb dog.” The man grumbled, swinging out his hand and hitting Rex in the head. Now no one knew if the man had meant to hit Rex so hard that he slammed his glass dome into the counter, but it didn’t matter now. Veronica pushed up off the counter and shoved the man back.

“Who do you think you are?! First, you come up to two ladies who are CLEARLY disinterested in you, interrupt their good time, then you have the audacity to hit our dog?!” Veronica practically yelled, drawing attention from several others in the room. Two people in particular had the look in their eyes that was almost begging to see a fight.

“Listen, girlie, I do what I want, ok?” The man growled, cut off by Veronica shoving his back against the counter, “Oh, girlie, you want to start right now?” 

“She doesn’t want to do anything with you. Nobody would.” Cass said as she finally stood up, looking over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Now come on ladies, no need to fight over me.” The man slurred, the beginnings of a wolfish grin on his face. 

Now, Ronnie may be small but she has a power fist and can fuck some people up. In a flash, the man was on his knees with both arms straining behind him, courtesy of Cass. Veronica unveiled her power fist and a spark of fear appeared in the man’s eyes as she swung it dainlity near his temple.

“I could swing my fist sideways right now.” She started swinging faster and more aggressively, “And give you a good lesson about how to treat others around you with an indent on your head to remind you.” 

“N-No!”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure it would be no trouble for my friend here.” Cass sneered, tightening her grip on the man’s arms, making him squeal out in man. 

“Please, please! No!” 

As the once confident man was damn near sobbing just at the prospect of getting hit, Veronica and Cass looked up at each other and grinned. Dragging the man outside, Veronica used her unarmored fist to hit him into a puddle of… something. The man stumbled to his feet and looked back in fear at the doorway. Then sprinted off. 

“DAMN! NEXT TIME YOU START A FIGHT YOU BETTER BE ABLE TO FINISH IT!” Cass yelled after him before they retreated into the casino once more.

. On their way back in, two figures walked out the door, following the now out of sight man. Sometimes, if you want to see a fight, you just have to start one yourself. 

Ed-E: *Pulls out laser canon* “Beep beepbeep bop'' Translation: “You bitch ass motherfucker”. Even if Rex sometimes drools on Ed-E or accidentally whips a ball at it’s shell, Ed-E will still protecc and attacc. 

Lily: Ok no but honestly and sorry to disappoint but any scenario involving her reacting to this is just them fighting, her calling the Courier Jimmy, then absolutely rocking the perpetrators shit. Like, tear that person in half grandma. I wanted to write a longer thing out….unless

Raul: He and Six had decided to stop at 188 Trading Post for the night instead of attempting to walk all the way back to Vegas. They were low on supplies, tired and hungry, and Raul’s back was acting up again. Samuel was nice enough to let Raul lie down for a bit on one of the mattresses behind the bar while Six was focusing on cleaning their weapons and bartering. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Six’s voice speak up above the radio.

“Don’t touch my goddamn dog like that!” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do you fucking piece of shit! Oh fuck-” 

Raul stood up and peered around the corner to see a rather interesting sight. Six was straddling some random man and aggressively slapping his hands away when he tried to reach for them, all while screaming every obscene thing they’ve ever been taught, even some things in Spanish thanks to Raul. Samuel was looking very concerned at the bar, not wanting to get directly involved in this mess while Rex was barking his head off in the man's face. After Raul managed to drag Six off the man, he found out the man was an associate of Alexander and was talking about making a deal with him when Rex came up to him to sniff his hand. Agitated, the man reached down and put his fist around Rex’s muzzle, yanking him up on his back to legs. Nothing escalated past that point as Six had entered the picture by then. They eventually decided to just walk back to Vegas that night and extend their break home, but damn if Raul wasn’t impressed and kind of flattered at the way they gracefully told a man how they were going to cut out this tongue and feed it to rats. Raul is dad.

(The insult thing was definitely a nod to one of @nuclear-reactions posts)

Thank you for reading! Requests are open!

[jasiper]

golden

fine line series 1/12

you’re so golden

i’m out of my head

i know that you’re scared

because hearts get broken

A golden state of mind. That’s the California dream, isn’t it? The place where dreams come true, where fleeting thoughts can transform into a tangible reality. The place where the sun never seems to set. The place where nobody is sad—and if someone is sad, there are the means to not feel sad anymore.

Piper’s life seemed to begin—and end—in the golden state. Her dad was living the golden life, making money and walking the red carpets and flashing his pearly whites on the big screen. When she went to the store, his face was plastered on every other magazine cover. He was what the famous people called a California dream. He made something out of nothing. His daughter? Well, she was trying.

But even trying is a generous word for her. California is the place where her dad found his career but lost Piper in the frenzy of the media. This was the place she felt the most alone. This is the place she found herself in the backseat of a police cruiser. This is the place she appeared in court. This is the place where her dad told her she shouldn’t be. She found herself forced across state lines and as she stared over the desert, she saw that Nevada had golden sunsets. Just like California. Only there was no water to reflect the light—only miles and miles of dry land and broken dreams and white walls where bad kids like her resided. But Piper wasn’t a bad kid. She just couldn’t find a place in the golden state.

Dreams came true in California. Only her dream didn’t.

Most people found heartbreak later on in life. Piper felt her first heartbreak as a kid. She should have been tucked into bed by her dad after a bedtime story with a kiss on the forehead. She fell asleep alone, clutching a teddy bear to her chest because her dad was off shooting another movie. Dance recitals meant that she looked out at the audience without a familiar face in sight. She never attended a daddy/daughter dance. Her first heartbreak was due to her own father’s negligence. She promised herself that no one would ever hurt her the way her dad did.

As Piper expected, she didn’t experience a golden state of mind in California. She felt that anticipated bliss in the middle of the winter in New York.

After a whirlwind December, everything Piper thought she knew turned out to be false. Her entire world flipped upside down. It took her the whole month of January to learn the ropes of being half-god. Turns out, there are a lot of things to be taught when your mother is the Greek goddess of love, including how to fight with a dagger, how to detect monsters, and how to come to terms with the fact that an evil earth entity is waking up. Maybe Piper would never achieve the California dream her dad was living; how could she? Everything she ever knew was a lie. Even if she had believed in God or whatever before all of this, she isn’t sure she’d be able to handle the real truth well.

If not for Leo, Piper probably wouldn’t survive this. Not with her life in jeopardy. Not with the knowledge of being a charmspeaker. And certainly not with the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t really her boyfriend at all.

It seems shallow, even to Piper. Her dad almost died and she almost died and the world almost ended but the Mist incident was—and still is—the lowest blow in this entire mess. The closest thing to a golden state of mind was just a hallucination, an illusion, a dream. So ironic since her mom is Aphrodite; shouldn’t her one success be in the romance department?

It took two months for them to kiss (for real this time). It happened so fast, it felt like a dream. Piper was being her usual nervous self, fiddling with her own fingers and she was babbling away and suddenly Jason leaned in to kiss her. The warm feeling in her stomach didn’t go away for a whole week after the kiss. She was smiling like an idiot even while training. Leo gave her shit for her grin and Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she didn’t care. The boy she liked kissed her after everything she endured—Jason didn’t have to like her after the Mist gave her fake memories.

But Piper stopped smiling when reality sank in. Sure, she and Jason were now exclusive, but when did things ever go right for demigods? She heard of the tragedy of her late older sister, Silena, and her boyfriend Beckendorf. Things ended horribly for them. She looked to her new friend, Annabeth, and her tired grey eyes, defeated from dead ends in the search to find her missing boyfriend. There were picture frames lining the walls of the Big House. Half of the faces were strangers to her even though the picture was recent, and although Chiron would never say it, she knew they were dead. How many people really achieved a happy ending here? Camp Half-Blood was the self-proclaimed safe place for Greek demigods, but she felt like she was walking on a gravesite.

And even if Piper somehow were to beat the odds and live through this war, love was never kind. Anyone could see that, not just a daughter of Aphrodite. She grew up in Hollywood’s backyard—she saw the headlines reporting that celebrity couples were divorcing. Love, as powerful as it is, is cruel. It’s ruthless and even has gods at its mercy. Her mother is feared for a reason.

If her own father had the ability to break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same thing?

The walls go up. Piper feels like a child again, staring at her darkened bedroom wall, wishing more than anything that she could live her life without fear.

Unlike her past, someone recognizes that her walls are up.

It must have been hours upon hours of sparring. A sidestep, a parry, a kick to the dummy’s chest. When the dummy fell, Piper would wipe her sweaty forehead, take a breath, pick up the dummy, and start again. A mindless, tedious routine. Anything to get the image of her bedroom wall out of her mind. Anything to chase away the irrational fear dormant in her chest. 

By the time she kicks down the dummy again, she looks up mid-forehead wipe and sees Jason. He stands about five feet away, frustratingly dashing in his black tank top with the sleeves cut off. His sword hangs from the sheath on his hip and by the look of his own sweaty brow, Piper can only guess he had been training as well. When he runs his fingers through his hair—which is glistening in the sun, may she add—she can see his tattoo, forever a reminder of the Mist.

“You’ve been out here for a while,” Jason finally says after several moments of silence.

Piper sheaths her knife. When she finally allows her body to relax, she notices how her arms feel like jello. She’s more exhausted than she thought. “Not too long. I’m still a little shaky on my technique,” she answers, voice hoarse.

Jason bends down and grabs her water bottle. He extends an arm and she gratefully takes it, taking a swig. As she’s drinking, he says gently, “Pipes, you’ve been out here for hours. Annabeth was ready to drag you away from the dummy herself, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that when you’re so, uh, on edge.”

On edge? Am I on edge? Piper wants to ask, but she can see Jason’s concern even though he tries to hide it. There’s that crease between his eyebrows that develops when he’s worried. She saw it when she broke her ankle and got hypothermia. She doesn’t like how he’s worried. He shouldn’t be worried, right?

“I’m fine,” Piper replies, though she doesn’t sound so sure.

The crease only deepens between his eyes. “Really? Fine?”

Piper’s knuckles are white around her water bottle. Jason’s looking at her with a concerned, almost bewildered expression. This should comfort her; someone with the intention of breaking her heart shouldn’t be this worried about her, right?

But Jason is a good person. Break him down to his soul and that’s what he is: a good person. He’s the kind of guy who offers up half of his sandwich if someone forgot to pack lunch. He’s the kind of guy who holds the door open for a crowd of people even if they’re ten feet away. He’s also the kind of guy who jumps into the Grand Canyon for a complete stranger.

What’s stopping a good person from realizing he made a mistake and leaving and unintentionally breaking Piper’s heart anyway?

“Pipes?” Jason’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” is her instant reply. Her voice wobbles and she winces because she does not sound fine. Jason’s look of concern grows more apparent and she clears her throat to try speaking again. “Really. Just… Wow, I am so tired. You’re right, I’ve been out here for a while and I’m tired and probably dehydrated—”

“Piper—”

Piper sidesteps away as Jason moves forward. She turns so she’s walking backward, careful not to turn her back on him to assure him she’s alright. “I really need to shower and probably lay down. I’m fine, really, I am, I just—”

Her ankle snags on something on the ground as she backpedals. She tries to balance her weight a moment too late, her body too exhausted to keep herself upright. She braces herself for impact as she trips ungracefully—pun not intended— over the mysterious object on the ground.

Before she can hit the ground, a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her forward. The momentum of the pull sends her flying and she crashes into a warm, firm body. It takes her a few seconds to realize she’s in Jason’s arms, his hands gripping her biceps. She turns her head to see that she dripped over the dummy she had been sparring with a few minutes ago.

“Piper,” Jason begins slowly, worry laced in his words, “what is going on?”

The worry in his voice isn’t enough to free Piper from her fear. She looks into his eyes and irrationally sees the end to a very recent relationship and it’s all too much to handle. It’s dumb, it’s irrational, it’s flat-out stupid to think about nonexistent relationship problems with her perfectly kind boyfriend when she’s probably destined to die from Mother Nature herself but here she is, in Jason’s arms, and it’s all too much.

Piper pushes her perfectly good boyfriend away and tries to ignore the hurt flashing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to—I can’t—”

A crowd has formed. The volleyball game between some Apollo and Athena kids has come to a complete standstill. Annabeth is in her usual spot for this time of the afternoon, perched in front of her cabin, a book in her hands, and even from several yards away Piper can see those disappointed grey eyes. The only thing making this situation less embarrassing is the fact that Leo isn’t there; he’s busy with his siblings working on the Argo II. If Leo had to see Piper like this…

“Pipes?” Jason makes one last attempt. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Please.”

“I can’t, Jason,” Piper manages, voice shaky, and the edges of her vision blur together as tears prick her eyes. “I can’t.”

It takes all of her willpower not to sprint back to her cabin. She lowers her head and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest—the same sinking feeling she felt when she boarded a plane to Nevada—as she walks away.

***

“You’re going to have to talk to him, you know.”

“I know I do. I just… can’t right now.”

“You already missed dinner last night. And breakfast this morning. Are you really going to let your embarrassment keep you from eating and talking to Jason?”

Piper risks a look at Annabeth from under the pillow she has covering her face. Although Annabeth’s voice is a bit condescending, there’s no hiding the worry on her friend’s face.

“I just don’t understand, Piper,” Annabeth continues. “You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?”

“It’s not that simple,” Piper protests, burying her face deeper into her pillow and rolling on her side to face away from Annabeth. “I’m not trying to do this.”

“You’re not trying to stop it from happening,” Annabeth says softly. “You’ve had every chance to go talk to him since yesterday and you’ve locked yourself in your cabin. You won’t even talk to Leo.”

“Leo won’t understand this.”

Annabeth’s hand, calloused from hours of training, rests on Piper’s arm. It moves down to rub her back. Annabeth isn’t one for physical comfort but she must sense Piper needs it. “Why won’t Leo understand? He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

“Leo’s never been in a relationship,” Piper mumbles, her voice mumbled by her pillowcase. “I’m sure if I tell Leo how I feel, he’ll look at me like I’m crazy.”

“You’re pushing away the guy of your dreams. You are a little crazy,” Annabeth weakly teases.

Piper lowers her pillow and stares at the cabin wall. She stares at the picture of her and her dad in front of her face and her chest tightens. “Maybe he’s not the guy of my dreams.”

“You literally called him that after he kissed you for the first time.”

“Yeah, well, I was stupid and I wasn’t thinking straight,” Piper retorts. “I’m fifteen. What do I know about love?”

Annabeth sighs. “You’re the daughter of Aphrodite. I feel out of my element here. I’m not one for relationship advice.”

Piper chews on her bottom lip. She wonders if Annabeth would understand her crazy, irrational fear of Jason breaking her heart. If her dad, the person who raised her, could break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same? Good guy or not, he has a history he still doesn’t remember, a family of Roman soldiers across the country who might change his mind. The uncertainty of her relationship—and her life—had been eating away at her sanity for weeks.

Before Piper could come up with a response to Annabeth’s comment, a knock sounds from the door. Annabeth calls out, “Who is it?”

“Uh.” Piper sits up because she recognizes that voice. “It’s me, uh, Jason.”

Annabeth looks over at Piper, eyebrows raised. Piper shrugs so Annabeth asks, “What do you need?”

“I know Piper’s in there,” Jason says through the door. “I need to talk to her. Piper? Can I please talk to you? Alone?”

“We’re not allowed to be alone in a cabin together,” is Piper’s pathetic reply.

Jason sighs. “Okay, then we don’t have to—”

Annabeth stands and quickly crosses the room despite Piper’s noise of protest. She opens the door, revealing a crestfallen Jason, and says, “I’ll keep watch. You guys need to work out whatever’s up, I don’t really know what’s up, but if we’re going to go on a quest in a few weeks, we can’t have miscommunication. Got it?”

“Understood,” Jason replies obediently.

“Piper?” Annabeth’s grey eyes flash.

“Yes,” Piper mumbles, still clutching her pillow to her chest.

“Perfect. I’ll be right outside. Yell if you need me.” Annabeth sends Piper one last stop being a baby look and shuts the door behind her.

A long silence follows the door closing behind Annabeth. Jason stands just inside the cabin, staring down at his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Piper’s heart races inside her chest and she grips the pillow like a lifeline.

I just don’t understand, Piper, Annabeth’s voice echoes in Piper’s head. You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?

“You can sit down, if you want,” Piper offers softly. Jason lifts his head and she pats the bed mattress beneath her. “I promise I won’t bite. Or yell. Or push you off.”

Jason cracks a smile and he chuckles. “Promise?”

“I promise. Come here.”

Jason finally walks over and sits on the edge of her bed. He turns his body to face her and for a moment, he studies her face. Her heart races and she wonders what he’s thinking. Although she’s getting better at reading his face, sometimes it’s impossible to know what he could be thinking.

“What… happened yesterday?” Jason asks quietly. “I noticed something was wrong a few days ago, but I didn’t… I just thought you were a little down, which is totally understandable. But yesterday you really worried me. Did I do something wrong?”

It takes Piper a few seconds to realize Jason blames himself. She blinks and rapidly shakes her head. “What? No, no, of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong. I mean it. If you did, I would tell you.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly Jason isn’t the son of Jupiter, or Zeus, or whatever. He’s not the guy who fought the king of the giants with a piece of scrap wood. He’s not the guy who jumped into the Grand Canyon to save her. He’s a scared, insecure fifteen-year-old boy who looks worried about messing up.

If only he knew the only one messing up was her.

“Jason.” Piper pushes away the pillow and scoots closer to him. She takes his hands into his, threading her fingers through hers. She looks up to meet his eyes and she sees the fear. She has to swallow her embarrassment from yesterday’s blowup as she says, “You are… perfect. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I feel like I have,” Jason whispers. “You’ve been so distant. So quiet. I thought you were overwhelmed with the upcoming quest and the fear and everything because I’m scared, too. But yesterday it seemed like you were distant from me and me only.”

Her stomach twists into knots. The hurt in his voice is so evident and it’s her fault. Her irrational fears have forced a perfectly good guy, a guy who likes her, to doubt himself. Some girlfriend she is.

“I’m… scared,” Piper breathes. Jason leans in closer, staring at her with such an intense gaze that she forces herself to look away. “I didn’t realize how scared I was until we got together.”

“Scared?” Jason asks. “Scared of… me?”

“No,” Piper assures him. She squeezes his fingers and he brings their intertwined hands up to kiss her knuckles as he sighs out a breath of relief. “Scared of… this.”

“This?” Jason keeps her knuckles against his lips. “Our relationship?”

As Piper hears it out loud, she realizes how stupid she’s being. She nods miserably, staring at her knees. “Scared of trusting someone this much.”

“Is it me? Or just in general?” Jason asks. His voice is so kind and understanding that it makes Piper want to cry.

“In general… and a little bit of you,” Piper admits. “I know that Hera’s meddling wasn’t your fault, but the Mist really messed me up.”

Jason kisses her fingertips this time. “Gods, I know. It would mess anyone up. I am still so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The Mist and my dad and the whole demigod thing… It was a lot to swallow at once, you know? That and all of my baggage.”

“Baggage?” Jason sounds confused.

“You know. The relationship with my dad. Not having a mom.”

“Oh.” Jason tightens his grip on her hand. “Yeah. Not having a mom… sucks.”

Piper realizes how insensitive she sounds—she has a mom. Sure, Aphrodite is a goddess, but she’s still alive. She’s there in her own weird, annoying, immortal way. But Jason… His mom was abusive and she gave him away when he was a toddler and now she’s dead. At least Piper had her dad, which is more than what Jason could say; Jason has never met Zeus and judging by the tallies tattooed on his arm, his dad has had more than enough time to pop in and say hi. If Piper has it bad, Jason has it worse.

“It’s… so stupid and it’s unfair of me to be taking it out on you,” Piper continues. “But I thought I knew you and then it was all the trick of the Mist. I’m still getting to know you. And trust me, I like what I know. I really, really do. But my own dad broke my heart, Jason. He neglected me for years, thinking he was providing for us. He was gone for days and weeks at a time. He missed every dance recital, every parent-teacher conference. He didn’t see me graduate from middle school. He didn’t come to my first soccer game. My dad missed everything. I know it sounds so unfair because I had a dad, I had a pretty normal life and you didn’t, but my dad… I was a kid and he broke my heart. My own dad did that. If the person who raised me could do that much damage, what’s stopping any other person from doing the same thing? Is something wrong with me? Are you going to wake up one day and realize I’m not the person you want and leave?”

Jason is quiet for a long time after she finishes speaking. Her heart hammers uncomfortably in her throat and she’s afraid that she just drove him away. He probably sees the fifty shades of crazy she is and doesn’t want a part of that—who would want this? A BMW stealing girl who got sent to court for wanting attention? Someone who is pushing away a perfectly good person just because her dad wasn’t around? If he wants to run for the hills, she wouldn’t be able to blame him.

“My mom’s name was Beryl,” Jason says softly. “She was an actress. Hollywood’s starlet. Attracted Zeus himself not once, but twice. And when he left, she lost it. Drowned herself in every bottle she could get her hands on. I don’t remember this, but Thalia says she raised me. She was a kid and making my bottles and changing my diapers. I wouldn’t want anyone to be raised the way I was, but then to make matters worse, my mom abandoned me in the forest? She left a two-year-old in the forest with a wolf goddess to fend for himself. I didn’t even know any of this until a few weeks ago. I… I didn’t even know my mom broke my heart until recently, and I’m so angry about it.”

Piper’s chest tightens. “Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m so upset and I don’t even remember this woman. You know your dad. Your dad has recently hurt you, Pipes. You have a right to be upset. You have a right to be afraid of me. I don’t think I get that right because I hardly even know who I am.”

“I don’t accept that,” Piper argues. “You can be upset over something you don’t remember. Your mom changed your whole life. She forced you away from your sister. I’d be angry, too. I’d be furious. You’re allowed to be furious and you’re allowed to be afraid of me, too.”

Jason’s eyes are frustratingly soft when he whispers, “But I’m not afraid.”

“How?” Piper murmurs. She leans in even closer and when she does so, Jason raises one hand to cup her cheek. “How are you not terrified that I’m going to break your heart like your mom broke yours?”

“Pipes, even if you did break my heart, I’m sure I’d deserve it,” Jason says. “I was a baby then. My mom was a drunk. What she did… It wasn’t okay. That was neglect. I look at you and I’m not scared. I trust you with every cell in my body. You… you trusted me when I was just an illusion. You kept trusting me when you found out I was a Roman. You keep trusting me. You trust that I’m going to lead us to defeat Gaea and keep us alive. How could someone like you be someone I’m scared of?”

Piper’s heart skips a beat and she stares at him, a lump forming in her throat. “We might die.”

“You’re right, we might.”

“Gaea… she’s capable of killing us.”

“Yep. She is.”

“Aren’t you terrified?”

Without skipping a beat, Jason nods. “I am. But I look at you and it doesn’t seem so scary.”

It’s like falling all over again. She stares into his deep blue eyes and it’s a slow tug, a warm feeling pooling in her stomach, and she’s back at the Grand Canyon; he saved her from a death fall. He’s holding her upright, keeping her from hitting the ground. This boy in front of her is not her father. Even if he wanted to, she’s convinced he couldn’t break her heart. He could try and he’d never intentionally hurt her.

When Piper leans in, Jason meets her halfway. She kisses him softly, his warm hand cupping her cheek and his fingers burying themselves in her hair. His lips taste like strawberries and he smells of Old Spice. She melts against his lips and pulls him closer. He complies, both of his hands on her cheeks, soft and warm and comforting.

By the time they pull away, Jason’s cheeks are red and Piper’s breathless. He presses her forehead to hers and for a moment, they just look at each other.

“Next time you feel this way, can you please tell me?” Jason murmurs. “I’m pretty dumb and I can’t read your mind, even though I wish I could. I know years of abandonment aren’t going to be healed by a talk with me, but I want to help. I want you to know I’m here and I’m not going to leave you, Pipes.”

Piper feels her lips curl up in a tiny smile. “Thank you. You handled my crazy and that’s something I never asked you to do.”

“You’re not crazy, but you’re welcome.” Jason kisses her forehead. “Waking up on that bus… I felt so alone. I didn’t know who I was, and I’m still learning. But you… took control of my fears and you made me less afraid. You make me feel like me if who I am is the person I was before I woke up.”

“I don’t know who that person is either, but if you’re anything like who you used to be, I know I trust you,” Piper whispers. She pulls him in for another soft kiss. “I know you’re probably busy, but I haven’t eaten all day so I am starving. Can we head to lunch before going to Bunker Nine?”

Jason smiles and nods. “Anything for you.” He stands up and offers her his hand, which she takes. “Maybe we can take some strawberries before lunch. Sound like a plan?”

Beaming, Piper presses herself against his side. “You read my mind. Let’s go.”

And as they step out into the daylight, Piper can’t help but admire how the sun makes everything golden.

[friendofspidermannedleeds]

Fictober - Day 29

Prompt #29: “back up!” Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: G Warnings: None Characters: Peter Parker & May Parker & Michelle Jones  Words: 589 Summary: May takes the kids to a state park for some outdoor education. 

--- 

“Peter!! Back up!!”

Freshman year of college starts in just a few weeks, and May, Peter, and MJ are spending the day at Letchwork State Park. A week before, May voiced concerns that Peter had grown up “nature-starved.” Apparently, kids were supposed to “see more of the earth” before dooming themselves to libraries and lecture halls, and May was distraught hers was a city boy who had never seen the Grand Canyon. That option being out of the question, they’d opted for Letchwork, “The Grand Canyon of the East.”

Peter and MJ are overlooking a gorge when May’s panicked warning interrupts the sightseeing. He looks over his shoulder at her spot on the safe, paved viewing area.

“May, relax! I’m not even on the edge yet.”

MJ’s standing a good six feet behind Peter’s vantagepoint. “Close enough, though.” She says, hugging her arms across her torso and looking less-than-enthused at her boyfriend’s antics.

Peter backs a few steps away from the gorge.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” He turns to face the women. “If I fell it’s not like I couldn’t…” He trails off as more tourists arrive at the lookout, phones in hand. He retreats to where May stands, MJ following.

May frowns. “So it wouldn’t be suspicious if a kid falls into a gorge, sticks to the side and climbs his way out, unscathed?” She says quietly.

“Or if that idiot kid’s sticky hands break pieces off the side of the ravine, ruining a precious natural resource with his dumb-assery?” MJ adds.

Peter raises his hands in surrender. “Kinda feels like you guys are ganging up on me right now.”

MJ shrugs. “We kind of are.”

“It’s insanely hot out here,” May observes as they stand in the sun, “what do you say we head back to the city and catch a movie?”

“What?” Peter asks. “Whatever happened to the plan to redeem my lack of ‘outdoor education?’ I thought this was a day-long family nature outing of hikes and picnics, vital to my dying childhood?”

May laughs. “Yeah, I guess I read all that in one of those family magazines at the dentist’s,” she admits, squinting at the wall of pine trees across the gorge. “And this scenery’s beautiful and all, but I kind of used it as an excuse to spend time with you two.”

Peter is touched, but he also feels a little guilty. Because he and MJ’s relationship will soon become long-distance—she’s going out of state to her school of choice, and he’s staying in New York so he can continue being Spider-Man—they have been spending every spare moment of their summer together. It’s been wonderful, but it’s also meant that Peter’s neglected May more than he’d intended, subconsciously ignoring her hints that they spend a little time together before college begins.

“A movie sounds great, actually.” He says. “Or whatever else you guys want to do, as long as we’re all together.”

MJ slips her hand into his as May beams. “Let’s go, then.” They begin walking back to the parking area.

Peter looks at his aunt. “So, just to be clear, my brain’s development has not been stunted by a lack of nature?”

“I think your full-ride scholarship to ESU proves that you’re at least okay academically.” May answers. “Not sure about the rest. What do you think, MJ?”

“He’s okay I guess.” She smirks. “Unless your magazine mentioned that being nature-starved can impact height?”

Peter’s mouth hangs open in mock offense. “You two are ganging up on me!”

[damncrapcrapdamn]

<< I see a Trend... >>

To have no resource for looking up such of life's answers. Again, very, very frustrating. Shit. Crap, shit, shit. Here’s a fictional situation that could be non-fiction: I stand with the toe of my right foot in steel-nose workman’s boots abutting my front door and both my hands clenching the door knob of this piece of shit indoor-outdoor industrial-strength side entrance to a hellhole apartment; I struggle and struggle and struggle with the door knob like that of a five year-old boy with the life experience ERA equivalent of the number Zed or Nil, depending on which part of the country you’re from. Now isn’t that ridiculous? Use your ass, and head, dumb ass! Okay, so I put the key in the lock of the door knob, turn the knob and pull the door with the thrust of a heavy weight champion, and nearly fall off the top of the six-step concrete staircase, hanging onto the door frame for dear life like a cartoon character about to fall into a western canyon -- as if my five foot eleven frame couldn’t handle the small jump to the ground below. (It might hurt my footsies!) Because it’s somewhere between late winter and early spring, and the snow and ice next to the stairwell on the ground has built up over the long haul winter into this killer crust of ice you could split your back wide open with if you fell just right. But that would be a great way to collect on one’s home owner’s insurance, now wouldn’t it? Sure it would! Fortunately, in this version of the universe, I only enter the house with the force of twelve young bulls running loose through an alley they’re not allowed to run in; it’s against the rules of the alley keepers. And so I slam my entire body into my home hallway and my left hand is crushed between the weight of my waist extremities and the natural physics of the scenario.

Anyway. Shit. Crap, shit, crap. No more talk about universes and versions, you’re smart, you get it. Hell, I get it – I’m the one talking to myself, for crissake! Just like I’ve been talking to myself since I could breathe. In the first-person. I. Me. Him, Her, It, We, She, They. No, but seriously, the first-person from which I speak in this ongoing monotonous monologue that someone with more brains than I would’ve shot themselves in the head by now if they were smarter than a can of cream cheese. But my doctor told me not to have guns in the house… I know, I know, my doctor doesn’t like to party! Like they might be harmful to my well-being? A depressed person? Nah, never would have thought of it. So instead, I have a very large stash of rubber bands I keep in a drawer in my kitchen in the event of a national reckoning and I need to protect myself from the enemy, exterior element. The grouping of rubber bands is really quite extensive, and includes all widths from ‘really, really, really wide’ to ‘skinny winny, skinny winny.’ Or, very thin and perfect for long-distance flings. Which is a real shame because we could all use a break from hearing ourselves talk to one self. I mean think about it: Day after day after day after day, our mind just running the same slate of banner ads: “You’re dumb, you’re stupid, what are you an idiot?"

[blackypanther9]

Part 7 - After so many years...

Your POV....

352 years had passed and I was on the planet Jotunheim. I got a new family and name and King Laufey said that I will be the future Queen, if he dies. I still remembered Loki and my other friends, but I hated Odin. I was a Frost Giant too, but I already knew that at the very beginning. Firstly I hoped that Loki is searching after me, but my hope died as I grew up to 20 years. I guess Odin said that I disappeared, because of something and Loki then thought he should let me come back by myself or so... Anyway, today is my first day to command these idiots with Laufey together. He was like Odin. He treated me like his Daughter he never had, somehow. I felt here welcome and he didn't even mind, that I rule in my Asgardian form and use my Frost Giant form just if it's absolutely necessary. Anyways fate was mean to me again... Everything went well, just that the planet is slowly falling apart... Later, almost afternoon, the Bifrost portal hit our planet for 5 seconds. Someone or something got here.

"Should we go look ?", one of them asked us.

Laufey looked at me and I knew he wanted me to chose.

"No. Whatever or whoever it is, it will find it's way to us. I won't risk any life's unnecessarily. Hide in the shadows and wait for our commands. Okay ?"

"Okay.", the Giant said and told the rest the plan.

After 2 minutes they were all gone.

"Excuse me, Laufey. I will be back...", I said and went away after he nodded.

I went to a free, hidden place, because I needed to pee. After 5 minutes I was back and saw THEM.

Thor, Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun and....Loki.... He changed much. He had longer hair, which looked like he used some kind of spell or hair gel to make them look like...I don't know...but he looked more attractive...DESTINY STOP IT !!!

"I am Thor Odinson !"

"We know who you are."

"How is it possible that your people could enter Asgard ?!"

Laufey stopped there and looked at me then at them.

"The house of Odin's is full of traitors."

"Do not disown my Father's name with your lies !!"

Laufey stood up, angered.

"Your Father is a Murderer and a Thief !"

"Laufey...let me handle this...", I said.

He nodded and sat down again. I stayed in the shadows.

"Are you here to provocate us or are you here to make some new deals of the truce ? Why would you ? In your voice and eyes, I just see some little boy, who still wants to take the same place as his own Father. You are screaming, for war and trouble. You don't even know, how deep you already are stuck in the shit. Odin will be mad if he finds out. You don't even know, what your actions could do here, we know it. You are just a little boy, who wants to prove himself a man."

"This little boy, is sick of your mockery now. Tell me what I want to know, woman !"

I snarled and got in the spotlight.

"You want me to punch you, after years, again, Thor ?"

Loki stared, but didn't say anything.

"Oh it's you Juliet."

"IT WAS ALWAYS LUCIELLA !! And now it's Lucifer."

It echoed and I smiled at them, in a crazy way.

"How is that possible ? Odin said you died. You fell from the rainbow bridge...", Loki now spoke.

"Oh Loki...He lied. And his dirty, traitor face is not allowed in my presence anymore. And don't say that name again, please. I hate his name."

Loki stared at me.

"Don't you dare- !!"

"SHUT UP THOR FUCKING ODINSON !!!", I screamed at him.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO COMMAND ME !! WE AREN'T IN ASGARD !!"

Thor silenced and gave me a death glare. The others already surrounded them. Thor laughed then.

"You aren't even a Frost Giant."

I smiled at him and jumped down.

"Oh really ? And why do you think that ?"

"Because you are a woman from Asgard.", he still laughed.

I frowned, summoned some Ice and hit his laughing shit face with it. Now I was the one who laughed.

"And Princess ? Do you still think that ?"

I went back up, to Laufey. As I was there I looked at him and he gave me a death glare.

"I have had enough.", Thor angrily said and took his hammer ready to fight.

The other Frost Giants had Ice on their hands, ready to kill. Loki ran to Thor.

"Thor stop and think, think about it, it's nonsense we are outnumbered !"

"Know your place Brother !"

"Now go as long as we still allow it."

A Frost Giant of us walked infront of them.

There was silence. Loki stared at me, like Thor. Loki opened his mouth.

"We will accept your most gracious offer."

With that Loki slowly turned around, to show respect and went.

"Now come Brother.", Loki said angrily.

Thor still gave me a death glare, then turned around and started to walk away.

"Yeah, go home little Princess.", one of our Giants said.

They stopped and Loki said...

"Damn."

Thor laughed and hit our Frost Giant with a hammer, the fight started. I got down.

"ENOUGH !!!"

They all stopped.

"YOU GOD DAMN IDIOTS ! JUST FRICKING GO HOME ! STARTING WAR WON'T HELP !! GO HOME AND STOP ANNOYING US !!"

The Asgardians stared at me, Loki nodded and the others waited for Thor. He threw his hammer at me, I catched it and threw it into the ground.

"That's it. You disgusting, little, wretched, dumb, ugly boy ! That was my last help, sorry Loki...but he didn't wanted it any other way. ATTACK HIM ! KILL HIM !!"

But instead of attacking Thor, which I held my finger on, they attacked everyone of them. I cursed under my breath, teleported away and they all started to fight. I got my daggers and teleported back. I cornered Loki and pressed my dagger at his throat.

"Go home, Loki. Take your friends with you. I don't want you to die."

I took my dagger away from him and went to Thor. Suddenly I heard a scream, Fandral got prong. In his middle of his chest an ice spike went through him. Loki killed the Frost Giant and I took him off of the spike and gave Fandral to the others.

"Go. NOW."

"WE MUST GO !", Loki screamed at Thor.

"THEN GO !", Thor responded annoyed.

I got angry, summoned a dagger and walked to Thor, before I could knock Thor out, I heard Ice breaking. My pet got awoken and send after Loki and the others. I shot a death glare at Laufey, then ran and teleported as far as I could after Loki and his friends. Thor damaged the planet more and the ground fell apart with my pet, but I knew he can walk under the Ice too, so I followed them still. Loki and his friends stopped running after they came to a canyon 30 miles down. Their death. Suddenly Jack appeared and growled at them, he will eat them, if I don't do anything ! I ran in front of everyone, transformed into my Frost Giant form and stretched out my right hand, for him to sniffle at me. He did and was quiet. I stroked him.

"Shhh. There, there my boy. Go back home, Jack. They are friends of mine. Everything is alright."

He made some sounds and then looked up, he growled again. I turned around and saw Thor flying at my pet. Jack tried to protect me, Thor flew through him and made a hole in his head, he was dead. Thor landed infront of us, as soon as he turned around, I kicked him in is balls and slapped him across his grinning, shit eating, face 2 times. Then I turned back to my Asgardian form and I looked at him blankly, turned around and wanted to go back, but I froze up. They were all there, together and cornered us. Someone wanted to attack Loki, I jumped infront of him and stabbed the Giant. Now it was clear, I was again, an Asgardian...fuck. They started to attack, I was still infront of Loki in a protective fighting position, ready to kill and die. Suddenly the Bifrost was open and I stepped one step back, I didn't look out and got stabbed in my right shoulder.

"GAH !!!"

I turned around and stabbed with my right, wounded hand, the Frost Giant. My shoulder made a sick crack and I screamed again. Great, I did it ! My shoulder bone is now broken ! Fantastic ! I am going to die here... I heard a horse, I turned around again and saw a black horse with Odin sitting on it. My eyes widened.

"FATHER ! NOW WE CAN FINISH THEM TOGETHER !"

I facepalmed myself and went behind him.

"Silence !", said Odin.

Thor wanted to say something again, but before he did I knocked him out.

"Done. ....Odin....", I said and stumbled away again.

The Allfather and Laufey talked to each other and I saw someone trying to kill Loki, I jumped to him and got stabbed in my right chestpart. I fell silent and screamed in my head, I couldn't move. Luckily Loki noticed me behind him and he killed the Frost Giant. He whispered to me...

"I want to take you with me."

"Loki...don't you understand ? I am banished in exile. Odin did that. I can't go back. Not without his word."

I could move again, but stumbled more then before, away from Loki and the circle of the Bifrost. Loki stared at me. Before I could walk away more Loki said.

"Odin, with all respect, can we take Luciella with us ? She is badly injured and she saved my life 2 times and Fandral's too. She even calmed a wild beast down, just to save us. Please Odin."

"Loki, leave it be... Odin... hates me... Goodbye my old friend and take care, Okay ?", I said.

"I won't leave you here in this state ! You are my friend !"

"Odin banished me 352 years ago, Loki ! He won't change his mind. You know him. And now leave, finally !"

I stumbled over my left foot and fell in the snow.

"Ow..."

Odin sighed.

"Loki, pick her up and take her with us. We need to talk anyways."

I gulped. Thor woke up as Loki picked me up and dragged me, bridal style back into the circle.

"You don't need to do this, Odin. I know where I belong and what you want. I don't need another punishment."

"You won't get any. I promise, Luciella.", Odin said.

"O-okay..."

And then the Bifrost got opened and I stood with the others in the capsule of the Bifrost. Heimdall looked at me, throwing at me a quick smile.

"Why have you brought us back ?", Thor asked.

More I didn't hear, I blacked out, because of too much bloodloss.

"LUCIELLA !!", I heard someone scream.

Loki's POV....

I saw her blacking out.

"LUCIELLA !!", I screamed.

"Someone bring her to the healing wing ! Fast !!"

Heimdall came and picked her up.

"I will bring her there."

"Thank you Heimdall. Please hurry. Take my horse to be faster there."

He nodded and sprinted to my horse. He jumped on it and rode to the castle with Luciella on his chest and between his arms, so she won't fall down.

Heimdall's POV....

I rode there as fast as I could. I found a person immediately.

"Help me please ! That girl here is dying."

The person, which was a girl, ran to me and brought me to one room. She called some helpers and started to heal and save her. After 10 minutes or so I rode back to watch the Bifrost again. As I got off of Prince Loki's horse, he already stormed to me.

"Did she survive ?!"

"Closely."

"Oh thank Valhalla."

"You should go see her, the girls said that she may wake up any moment."

He nodded and jumped on his horse, he rode as quick as he could to the castle. I guess he never changed his feelings towards her... Hopefully it will stay like that...

Part 8

Masterlist with all Chapters of this Story click here !  

[christopher--forrester]

sister’s keeper - self para

Getting to see her every day still feels unreal.

Like they’re in some beautiful alternate universe, one where he never took his eyes off of her, one where she hadn’t disappeared into the short trees and bushes and cacti, where He hadn’t had the opportunity to steal her away from everyone who loved her. Of course, that alternate universe has holes in it, because even though she’s there, things are different. She doesn’t smell like a little kid anymore, she’s sweet and earthy, with a hint of coconut-- she smells like the sweat that gathers on the back of her neck when she sits outside for hours and lets the sun pour into her hair, she smells like sunscreen when he’s able to force her into it, she smells like a completely new person, and sometimes he wonders if she is. She’s Andie now, not Alexandra, never Ally. She has a scar on her forehead and big ones that circle her wrists. Her eyes are quick and clever and studious-- what can she get away with, who can be trusted, how does she survive? He wants to make her understand that she doesn’t have to ask those questions anymore. He can protect her, finally, after twelve years of absence. But some things are the same. She still has that same silly laugh, loud and long and full of syllables, even snorts, like He couldn’t change it. Her hair still gets stringy a few hours after she’s brushed it, like in that second grade portrait. It still falls in her eyes, and if she’s busy, she leaves it there. She can still finish a pint of mint chocolate chip Blue Bell in half an hour. Sometimes she seems to be a mix of the two different Alexandras. Sometimes she asks permission for the simplest things, can I read a book, can I have a snack, can I go outside ( and on the last one, her eyes are wide, like she thought it’d never even be close enough to ask for. ) Sometimes she doesn’t ask for anything at all, just takes it, challenges someone to interfere-- she stands outside when rain pours down heavy and threatening and lightning crackles in the sky and ten different people have to tell her to get inside. Sometimes when someone raises their hand to do something harmless, to tuck her hair behind her ear, to wave off a fly, to turn a lamp on, she flinches, shrinks, becomes mini-Andie, small, lost, afraid. Sometimes she fights when she doesn’t need to, thinks someone who speaks with a tone of condescension is mocking her, calling her stupid, ( you can’t do anything without me. ) and she snaps at them and all her cells stand at attention, ready to protect her. Sometimes her voice is so soft it’s barely audible. Sometimes it’s loud because she’s so full of joy that she can’t contain it, or because she refuses to be silent any longer, and Chris doesn’t care that sometimes it hurts his ears because that is so much better than a roadside bomb or a voice full of commands or that terrible silence that reminded him that she was gone. She’s back now, it was so sudden and he’s still remembering how it feels to have that hole in his heart filled and she’s learning to belong in a world with laughter and flowers and stars and girls with brown eyes and legs that fit perfectly around her waist for a piggyback ride to the kitchen and a brother who didn’t give up. Watching them remove that memorial from the cemetery, strip the plaque with her name off the bench, seeing her in the cafeteria with her friends, finding her asleep with history books on her chest, having her back feels so much better than he could’ve ever imagined.

Watching her in court is more painful than being shot in the abdomen and losing his spleen, more painful than waking up with a mouthful of blood in the sand, ears ringing, mind reeling, more painful than anything he’s ever known other than feeling her fade and seeing everyone else say goodbye.

He can see her change as soon as He walks into the courtroom. Her shoulders get tense, her jaw tightens, her knees start to shake under the desk. She digs into her pocket and snaps her hair clips under her ponytail. He wants to stand over her, guard her, protect her, but she has to do it alone. He connects The Man to The House in his mind: bloody cutting board matches the crooked line on his forehead ( good job, Andie, he thinks ) creepy movie collection matches a brain he can’t see, but knows is twisted, big hands match the stains on the basement floor, ruthless face matches the locked doors. He hates Him. It’s hard to stay in his seat. He gets the no guns rule, because he knows if he had one, He’d totally be dead already. Andie takes her jacket off and he can see how red her ears are, her cheeks, her neck, and He smiles and Chris wants to destroy Him. No matter what sentence they hand down, it can’t be enough. He’d make Him pay for it. Then Andie sits up straighter, puts her jacket back on. He wants to get up and point and laugh at Him because He thought He was still in control, and she’s proving Him wrong. Now she just has to prove everything else. Watching them go through the evidence makes his stomach hurt. He pretends it’s some remnant of that bullet and not guilt or rage or sadness. He doesn’t want to hear them talk about semen samples or rape kits because Andie’s head is hung so low it might as well be on the desktop, and He doesn’t seem to care at all. Why does she have to be the one who bears the shame? He doesn’t want to hear about the ropes in the truck, or the hair or the skin flakes-- he could’ve stopped it, protected her, and he didn’t. He doesn’t want to look at those cuffs, either. As soon as they hold up the plastic bag, Andie’s shoulders jump and in a selfish way, Chris is glad he can’t see her face, because knowing what her wrists look like under the jacket is already too much. They move on: sheets, blood, and she starts crying and he’s the first one out of his seat when the judge grants a recess and he holds her and hates that it’s all he can do. He wants them to just end it, stop going through it, stop reminding her. He knows he should be glad there’s so much to show, to see, to explain, but breaking His neck would be so much quicker. Chris has decided to study the floor in front of him, Andie’s ponytail, the hair clips, anything, when the judge has to tell Him to stop agitating the prosecution. Chris looks up and Andie’s gripping the desk so hard her knuckles are white and He waits for them to continue before grinning like a fucking idiot, sticking His goddamn tongue out, sneaking a wave-- the judge looks like he’s about to call Him out again, then the prosecution desk shakes and Andie’s chair screeches against the floor, a balled up Kleenex flies at Him. He pushed too hard, and no one can blame her for that. They decide to stop and restart the next day. Andie tries to keep it together, turns the air in the car up as high as she can, but it’s not strong enough to cover the strained inhales, the shaking exhales, and it doesn’t dry her face fast enough, but she refuses to acknowledge it, wipe it away, so water flows from her eyes all the way to her shirt and soaks the collar. For the first time, Chris has the opportunity to help her, but no idea how to. This isn’t like when she fell off the swings in Kindergarten or when she got in trouble for talking and had to sit alone at lunch in first grade, or even when she tried to explain why The Silence of the Lambs made her body send her to the basement. He thinks he remembers how they got there before, so he turns the car around, goes East, through canyons and desert and emptiness until Fort Davis appears, tiny roads, dirt, nothing good remains in this town. She knows where they are when they pull into the yard, past the NO TRESPASSING signs. She looks at him, makeup running, confused. “Why?” The one syllable is raw, hurt, layers peeled back until brand new flesh is vulnerable, ( why, why, why did you bring me here I hate this place ) and Chris opens the car door. “You’re in control now.” She doesn’t seem to understand, and stands by the car as he opens the door to The House. She peers inside, perhaps trying to decide what this place could possibly have to offer. He tilts his head toward the inside. “Come on.” It’s completely abandoned, most of the stuff removed, used as evidence or in storage. As soon as she steps past the threshold, there’s a current inside her body, under her skin, humming softly, louder as she approaches The Door. The one that goes down to the basement. ( Shut up. Stupid bitch. You think you’re smarter than me? You think you’re fucking brave? Stay. Stay the fuck down here. Be silent. I remember your brother, don’t think you can escape. Quiet. Stay. I don’t care. This is your fault. No. I make the rules. You’re mine. ) A loud thud surprises them both. It was her foot against The Door, her high heeled shoe, strong, loud, heavy. She looks at the shoe, then The Door ( You try anything and you’re fucking dead, girl. You can come up when I say so. You left me no choice. Hope you learn your lesson. Stop crying. ) and kicks it again. ( Bitch. ) And again. ( Dumb. ) And again. ( Cunt. ) And again. ( Helpless. ) And again. ( Mine. ) Until there’s another noise, squeaking, thundering, and The Door comes off and slides down the steps and it’s gone. The Door is nothing now, just a dented piece of wood in an old basement that will never hold her again. She feels the hum die down, the current ease up, and she turns and runs. The Door is gone, so what’s keeping her there? Not Him. The heels slow her down, so she kicks them off and keeps going, powdery dirt on her feet, mountains in the distance, scrubby grass, cacti to dodge. She ditches the jacket, too. Chris watches as she disappears, almost smiling, then-- shit. He runs after her, grabs the heels-- goddamn, she’s fast-- then the jacket, and throws them in the car. He has to rev the engine to catch up to her, but then he just cruises, letting her feel it. He follows her about five miles out of town, then she stops, hand pressed into her side, bent over, shaking out her legs. He rolls to a stop beside her and she looks over, squinting through what’s left of the sun, and nods. She sits in the passenger seat, not bothering to get rid of the dirt caked on the soles of her feet, and falls asleep with the vent blowing cool air in her face. He watches Fort Davis disappear in the rearview mirror with a quiet “fuck you” for both of them.

The pain gets worse before it gets better, like waking up in the infirmary without the adrenaline or a spleen. Then it subsides, like watching that wound heal, slowly, and letting that blood-soaked desert go.

He thinks he’s ready to hear her testify, but he’s wrong. The things they pull out of her are things she wanted buried, things he didn’t even know to look for. ( Her left arm is shorter than her right because He grabbed her and broke it. If she looked out the fucking window for too long, He put her in the basement. One time it was two whole weeks. He trained me to stay. He tortured me. ) It’s like watching them slice her down the middle and pull parts of her out. His hands are in fists and he has to sit on them to keep from leaping over the gate that divides him from the two parties and knocking His teeth out. And His lawyer’s, while he’s at it. He feels like a shaken bag of organs because the defense attorney asks a new question, asks her to prove IT wasn’t consensual. He can feel her panic, it seeps out when her eyes get wide and she reaches for that ID bracelet, subconsciously, and her lips part and nothing comes out except “I-- I mean, I-- didn’t want it,” and he wants to help her, but even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to say or do and God, that’s not how this was all supposed to feel. He’s supposed to be able to fix this. The guilt shifted when he saw her, when she was really there and nineteen and laughing and eating ice cream, and it’s not supposed to be able to come back. Bad things are unfolding as he sits there, hands over his face-- he can’t watch it. He’s saying she didn’t say no and she’s fumbling, not understanding why it’s not enough to say she didn’t want it, regardless of one syllable at the time, when she wasn’t allowed to say no, and she’s getting more frantic and the judge gives everyone a break and she’s hidden in a bathroom stall before he can even get out of the courtroom. He waits until He and His lawyer are outside, but no one’s around, and as soon as His lawyer turns his head for a moment, he makes eye contact, hard, heavy, cold. He wants to get up in His face, yell at him and cover His face in spit like a sergeant, maybe hold a gun under his chin-- well, he wants to tie him up and torture him, but he settles for the glare, and He just pretends not to see. Back in the courtroom, Andie tries to find some composure, even after He comes up behind her outside, has the fucking nerve to speak to her. ( He should’ve taken the opportunity to gouge his eyeballs out. ) He’s so nervous he’s doing the leg-jiggle thing when her voice breaks through, dear Chris, oh God, no. He feels the courtroom shatter into tiny glass pieces, fall around him. He was going to school and dodging the pity looks, avoiding casseroles, rejecting his parents’ attempts to make him mourn, leaving for college, protecting new girls who needed him and hoping it’d make it hurt less, going across the damn world and watching everything explode and burn around him and she was writing him letters. ( That she would never send. It was a journal. She didn’t think he’d ever read it. ) He can’t fucking stand it, the entire thing is a metaphor for what He did to her, and he hasn’t cried since Jason left but it’s all coming out now. I hope you understand. I can’t breathe the same anymore. I miss you. Ally. “December 6th.” Somehow, ( he must’ve missed the key ) the tide turns. “I turned seventeen on December 19th.” There. The ache in his chest turns into something light, something he can get rid of with an exhale. She’s won, and the whole room knows it. He tries to keep from celebrating yet, because she looks relieved, but her eyebrows are twitching like she can’t decide if it’s okay to relax completely. He knows it is. He’s able to keep from glaring or storming out or physically attacking someone while the defense tries to tear her back down because it’s all bullshit, and it’s not a surprise when the jury announces within five minutes that He’s guilty. They both accidentally cheer when the judge reads the sentence, 327 years, and once they’re outside, she’s laughing and hugging him and that dear Chris was so long ago and it doesn’t have to weigh them down-- at least, not now. The only weight now is on his foot on the gas pedal, because Austin’s a couple hundred miles away, and he wants to get her to that wall, the i love you so much wall with the humble spray paint and show her that he’s proud before night falls.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Confession time... yippee.

Well... it's Christmas. I've had a secret that's been dragging me down for two years now, so, I figured, I may as well get it off my chest so I can - hopefully - move on in the New Year. Yeah. 'Hopefully'. Anyway, if I can't be honest at Christmas, when can I be honest? So, here it is: I love you. You probably already knew this. I told you often enough. But I love you. Like, centre-of-my-world, most-beautiful girl/human/being-I've-ever-seen, a-luminescent-angel-in-my-eyes, 10/10-would-marry. That kind of love. Christ, why am I even writing this?

I don't know exactly when I started falling for you, mostly because I don't think I ever 'fell'. Falling brings to mind some an angel, shedding feathers like stars, twisting and turning with exquisite grace as it falls to earth. I, on the other hand, plummeted. Out-of-control. Most likely screaming in a high-pitched, undignified way. I also splattered at the bottom, like an overripe tomato. There's a mental image for you. I was impaled at the bottom of that vast canyon by lovely spires of self-doubt, insecurities, self-loathing, and - worst of them all, the cunning dagger of stone that went right through my heart - foolish, stupid, idiotic, imbecilic hope. I was, to put it bluntly, a terrified, blindsided mess. And also totally, absolutely, completely, utterly in love. You know when you're scrolling through music insinuating romance and you start picturing the one you love? Up until I met you, I'd only pictured fictional characters. Unrequited, yes, and thus painful, but bearable. Fast forward, and  I was actually amazed at how much more painful it was when the object of my imagination was a real and tangible girl - granted, half the world away - while a thousand knives of agony gleefully assaulted my chest. I would cuss myself out at impressive length whenever this happened. Told myself ad nauseam that there was no way in hell that it was happening. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Thought I was gonna go insane. Maybe I did. It feels like it. But it was such an honour to be driven insane by you. I was sort of half glad that we weren't sharing a continent, because if you could meet me face-to-face, you would have known I was head over heels. A blind, deaf, and dumb codfish would have seen it, so there would be no hope for you not noticing - you, so intelligent and perceptive. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't notice as it was. I couldn't hold myself back from complimenting you practically daily. Maybe you did notice. Sometimes I thought you might have even been flirting back. I dismissed that so fast the thought barely formed; I bashed in its soft infant skull with the brutal logic that was slowly pulverizing my head with its weighty facts. You're beautiful. You're clever. You're creative. You're strong. You're funny. You're smart. You're two years older than me. You want a baby (which I am incapable of giving you without difficulty.) That didn't stop my dumb ass from starting to flirt with you. Many times, I freaked. Thought I'd gone too far, been too obvious. I was quick to fling something platonic at you within the next few messages. My heart raced for a half-hour each time. I am a Hufflepuff, not a Gryffindor, okay. On Valentine's day, I got jealous. I'll admit it. Not even for real people, either. I was jealous over fictional characters, just because you thought of them in a way that you would never think of me. So I sent you a virtual Valentine's card that involved a terrible pun and Comic Sans text. Because I'm a dork, and I have no idea how to do the Romance™. And I wanted to impress you (don't know why I thought that kind of Valentine was the way to do that, maybe because I'm a fucking idiot.) Once it was sent, I freaked, again. Thought I'd gone too far, again. Thank God she didn't notice, I thought reverently after you replied to normally the next day, while I beat back the crippling disappointment using my rib cage as a jungle gym. I tried to be the best boyfriend I could be without actually, y'know, being your boyfriend. I tried to support you. Indulge all your creative ideas (even though 'indulge' feels like the wrong word, since I genuinely loved them.) Whenever you sent pics, I told you how beautiful you looked (you should probably know I almost swallowed my tongue with every picture of you I saw. My puny brain did not like comprehending your level of beauty.) I tried to do everything I possibly could, not even in the hopes that you would actually date me. Just because you deserved my effort and more - as a stranger, as a friend, as a girlfriend. You were you, and that's all that mattered to me. Time went on. Somehow, even though I was already presumably at rock-bottom, I managed to fall even more for you. You were like my own personal brand of quicksand, forget heroin. It was our RPs that kept me from going completely mental. I wrote the other halves of your ships for you - the aforementioned fictional partners over which I was boiling with jealousy - and so I could confess all my feelings for you through their POVs. I could tell you I loved you. I could tell you how I loved you. I could tell you how beautiful, amazing, brilliant you were to me. I could say all of this as many times as I want, and you wouldn't guess it was really me telling you from me, rather than me telling you from your ship-mate. (Now you know why I liked RPing Bree's POV so much. Lucky bastard.) More time went by, and things started getting rough. I kept giving you things. Covers for you and your ships. Things I'd written - scenarios and preferences and imagines, some of them pages and pages long. I kept giving them to you, even when you told me to stop, because the more I gave, the better I felt - it was a way for me to show my love, and I did not want to stop. It wasn't rational, I know, but I felt like if I stopped, I would lose you. But I was giving you too much. It was draining me dry, all my inspiration, all my friendliness, everything. I tried to talk to you about it on several occasions, since you'd told me you were trying to give me more but weren't, but it just ended in arguments after which nothing changed, so I didn't see the point in bringing it up. I started getting anxiety before talking to you. I would spend sleepless nights with headaches pounding behind my dry eyes with every ridiculously fast beat of my heart. I felt sick, listless, constantly tired. I felt like I was killing myself for you, slowly, slowly, slowly, but surely. And yet, I still loved you. It felt like I loved you more and more, every day. I fell for your every quirk, your every 'flaw', your smile and your laugh - oh, your laugh gave me the most indescribable warm feeling, like a small sun of pure joy expanding inside my chest - your mind and your body, your humour, your silliness, your maturity, your childishness - all of it. All of you. I loved you more than myself. And so I kept going. Kept coming on with a smile and a "hello, beautiful" and a handful of pills for the headache that hadn't left since the anxiety-ridden dread of last night. The few times I thought you felt the same were the times that my heart missed a beat, plain stopped, and then sprinted into overdrive. Nervousness and excitement and anticipation. The more excited I felt, the harder the crash after I realized you hadn't meant it. When you finally got a few real boyfriends, I will admit, I lost my cool. Went outside, beat the shit out of the old, tattered couch we had out the back. Had to wait to calm down, played with the dogs, cuddled the chickens, went back inside, and typed the words that bled out of my fingers right from the wound in my heart: "That's great!" I didn't want you to feel bad. I didn't want you to feel anything but happiness, ever. The end came around abruptly. It was the day my Dad asked me to write him something - just something small. He practically begged me, but I said I couldn't. Said I wasn't good enough. Snapped it at him without even thinking. Because I had written so much for you, made so much for you, gave so much of myself away for you, never feeling like it was enough - that I was enough - my self esteem was in shambles. Completely wreaked. I stopped, opened my laptop, and logged into Skype. My fingers hovered over the keys. I felt sick, dizzy, unsteady. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly pick out the individual beats. I was shaking. I distinctly remember the way my teeth chattered. I was terrified. Terrified to leave. More terrified to stay. Torn. Because, even though I was depressed and anxious because of our very uneven relationship, you were responsible for many of the best moments of my life. And they weren't even anything big. They were just us, RPing, talking, laughing together. You had the unique ability to make small, insignificant things, into memories I would cherish forever. You are unique, period. I typed out the first few messages, which were ambiguous, everything in me screaming to turn them into a joke, laugh it off. Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay. But I did it. Said goodbye to you. You replied. I replied to your reply, and I was so pissed, at myself, at you for the way you tried to turn it all back on me even though I had never do anything but love and support you unconditionally, even though I put everything I had and more into making you happy. I said things I didn't need, or really mean, to say.

So I lost you. I know I was the one that said goodbye. I know, and I regret it every single fucking day. I dream about you, for God's sake. My brain hates me more than I know you probably do right around now. On Christmas day, yesterday, I looked through some of our old conversations. I know I shouldn't. I should let you go. Stop living in the past. Let you find someone who can give you what you want and deserve. But I had to look. I cried like a goddamn baby. I've lost count of how many times my cursor has hovered over that request contact button on Skype. The only thing that's stopped me is the knowledge that you're better off without me. And now, here I am, writing all this down even though I hate it. I know you'll never see this. I know you've probably left me behind. I know you probably hate me, and I don't blame you. But I loved you. And I still do. So much that there is a pain like literal fucking knives currently carving your initials all over my insides. Maybe those carvings will heal. Maybe not. I don't even know if I want them to or not. I don't even know anything anymore. Anyway. I just needed to get this off my chest before it crushed me. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. I wish you nothing but a perfect life. Guess I'll always love you in some way, Pancake. .................... FML.